by Linda Huber
‘Ah – I wasn’t there for long and I left because I was never able to finish in time to collect my daughter punctually from the childminder’s. The shop owner wasn’t pleased when I – handed in my notice.’
‘I see. If you get the job, would your daughter need a place in the playgroup?’
At least she had anticipated this one. ‘She had a place with an excellent childminder who I’m sure would take her again, but I’d be able to be more flexible if she were here with me, until she starts school. If I get the job.’ Was that a good answer? Mrs P would take Frith back, surely, if push came to shove.
‘I see. And I understand you’d be able to start soon?’
‘Yes. I’ve been busy moving house, but we’re settling in nicely.’ Liane smiled across the table.
A few more ‘What would you do if…’ questions ended the interview, and Liane landed on the other side of the door at last. Golly, she’d been put through the wringer there.
She started back to the lifts, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Steve waiting at the end of the corridor. He came to meet her, his face expectant.
‘How did it go?’
‘All right, I think, but they were pretty neutral. I’ll hear by the middle of next week, one way or the other.’
He walked downstairs beside her. ‘I’m sure you’ve smashed it. Hey, how about going to an art exhibition this week? A guy I was at school with has one on – Dave Struthers. It’s nothing Frith would enjoy, unfortunately, but we could go when she was on a play date? It’s on until the tenth.’
‘Sounds good.’ This would be their first date exploring something cultural. Liane made a mental note to Google Dave Struthers before they went.
Steve opened the door to the entrance hallway for her. ‘I’m on evenings all week but if we went at half one-ish, we’d have time for a coffee afterwards.’
‘That would be great. Where is it?’
‘The Gallery of Modern Art in town. How about Wednesday?’
Liane agreed, anticipation fizzing inside her. She and Steve hadn’t had a lot of us-time yet, and much as she loved Frithy, it would be nice to be a twosome for a while. He walked to the main doors with her before kissing her cheek chastely and leaving her to run for the approaching bus. Wow, oh, wow. Liane plumped herself down on the first empty seat, her heart singing. He cared, and so did she. And they were going on a date. Whatever the interview result was, she was walking on air right now.
Ten dreamy minutes later, she jumped off the bus and started towards Daria’s flat. The rain had eased off, but everything was soaking. And heck, she’d forgotten to text her ETA. Better do that. On my way, with you in 5. Liane marched along the street and up Daria’s driveway. This was a much more upmarket area than theirs; lucky Daria to live in such a gracious old house.
To Liane’s surprise, Frith and Daria were waiting on the landing outside the flat. Daria was pale, but she smiled kindly at Frith and gave her a little hug goodbye before turning to Liane.
‘How was the interview? It’s been lovely having her. I hope you’ll let me do this again sometime?’
Liane glanced at Frith, who was grinning up at Daria and nodding. Daria did seem to have the magic touch, so…
‘It went okay, I think. As you’ve asked, and only if it’s not too cheeky, could you manage Wednesday afternoon? I’m supposed to be going to an art exhibition and heaven knows if our usual babysitter’s little one will be well enough by then to stand a visit from Frithy.’
‘I’d love to.’
Daria hugged Frith again, and Liane hesitated. Were those tears in her old friend’s eyes? Daria was smiling, though, and Liane relaxed.
‘Brilliant – I’ll call you later. Put your feet up at the hairdresser’s, you deserve it.’
An awkward clap on the shoulder later – you couldn’t exactly hug someone who was balancing on one leg and crutches, could you? – Liane and Frith were running downstairs.
‘Daria has a lovely big TV and I played tennis on it. Can we get some TV games, Mummy?’
‘One day. We’ll have to save up first – they’re expensive.’
‘I’ll ask Santa.’
Oops. But there was plenty of time to channel Frith’s Christmas wish list in the direction of more affordable toys. And hallelujah, she could chill for the rest of the day. It was a longish walk home from Daria’s, but Frithy’d been inside all morning and some pre-lunch exercise would do them both good. And she’d pop by the neighbours this afternoon, the ones with the little girl Frithy’d met, and say hello. A friend next door was just what Frithy needed.
Frith skipped along, chatting about this and that, and Liane revelled anew in the sight of her pink cheeks and energy. Maybe if she saved every possible penny, they could get a Wii at Christmas after all. Frithy had missed a lot during her illness, it would be lovely to make it up to her a little. She could—
Liane rounded the corner into their street and stopped dead. Tony was hanging around outside their gate, hands in pockets and a frown on his face she could see from twenty yards away.
‘Daddy!’
Frith dropped her bag of toys and ran to be scooped up in Tony’s arms. Liane trailed along the pavement to join them. Something was bugging Tony big-time, if those knitted brows were anything to go by. His hair was greasy and uncombed and his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them – which, knowing him, was perfectly possible. He was a ‘crash on the sofa after a night out’ kind of guy.
Liane forced a neutral expression onto her face. ‘Frith, love bug, I’m going to ask you to be very good and play in the garden for a few minutes while I have a chat with Daddy. You can see him again afterwards. Okay?’
Frith’s shoulders drooped, but she nodded dumbly and trotted up the path to the back garden. Liane put the bag of toys down beside the gate. Was he here to scrounge some lunch?
‘I wasn’t expecting you, Tony.’
He sniffed. ‘That’s blatantly obvious. What was that with the midnight phone calls? And when were you going to tell me you’d moved? I had to ask the neighbour at your old place.’
‘Tony, I sent you a message with the full address days ago. It’s not my fault if you don’t check your texts.’
‘I noticed you had your phone switched off all morning.’ He scrolled down his message list, then sniffed again.
No need to tell him where she’d been. If he thought she was in with a chance of a better job, he’d be round for cash every five minutes instead of every two weeks. Liane sighed. What had happened to the good-looking, fun guy who’d give you his last penny? The one she’d fallen in love with? But then, Tony’s main problem was he didn’t have any pennies to give now she’d left him and taken her income – or lack of it – with her.
Tony was still frowning. ‘I want to see Frith a lot more regularly, Liane, do things with her, show her things. She’s my daughter too.’ He strode over to the front door, forcing Liane to follow on.
She opened the door and led the way to the kitchen, where she could keep an eye on Frith, who was playing skittles on the patio. Marmaduke had come to visit, good.
Okay, there were two things to consider here. Tony was right; as Frith’s dad, he did have rights. But he hadn’t exactly been a hands-on father when Frith was ill, so why was he starting now?
‘We can arrange something, yes, of course. But I’d like you to visit her at home more regularly before you take her out anywhere, Tony. You barely know each other.’
‘I think I’m capable of entertaining a four-year-old in an appropriate manner. And don’t forget you owe me – you’ve had her to yourself all this time.’
What the hell was he talking about? Liane choked out a reply, tears of rage burning in her eyes.
‘Tony. I owe you nothing. You’re the one not supporting your own daughter.’
‘I’m an artist, aren’t I? All my career needs is one little push, and you block me every time.’
His voice was loud and petulant – had he been dr
inking?
‘What planet are you on? I’m fed up with this, Tony. Grow up.’
Liane moved over to the window. Looking at him for two seconds longer would have her exploding. Outside, Frith was running to meet a dark-haired little girl emerging from the jungle at the far end of the garden – this must be Bridie. A slight child with a solemn little face that brightened when Frith took hold of her hand and pulled her towards the house. The pair set up the skittles and began a new game.
‘Liane! Did you hear me? I said, I have the same rights as you do.’ Tony folded his arms and stood glaring at her.
Liane kept her tone neutral. ‘When you want to spend more time with Frith, you can phone and we’ll arrange something.’
He strode to the back door. ‘We’ll make that tomorrow afternoon then, shall we?’
Brilliant. A visit from Tony two days running. Ah, well – Frithy would be happy.
Day Nineteen – Tuesday 5th May
Chapter 22
Tabitha was having a wash. Margie stroked the cat’s soft fur beside her on the sofa, then abandoned her after-lunch cuppa and swayed to her feet. Her legs weren’t quite as shaky today, and after three rainy days on the trot, the sun was struggling through again. That trip to the chemist might even be possible this afternoon. She had to go, didn’t she? Her throat hurt and this cough was still dreadful – once she started, she couldn’t stop. Her chest was playing a tune as if all the bells and whistles in Ireland were in there.
Bridie was in the kitchen, sorting through the cupboard by the door. Exploring the cupboards and making houses with cardboard boxes had kept the child occupied during the bad weather, but she’d want to go out today. Margie gazed out to the sunny garden. Leaving Bridie out there while she went to the chemist wasn’t safe, but taking her wasn’t a good idea either. That traffic was dangerous.
A car backfired outside, and Margie shivered. Bridie. Her Bridie had an accident, didn’t she? The world faded into grey and Margie leaned both hands on the table, shaking her head to get rid of the buzzing. She was fine.
Demelza jumped inside through the open window and streaked past to the hallway. Bridie stood up, and Margie grabbed her before she ran off too. ‘Let’s do up that bandage before it falls right off. Then you can look after Tabitha while I’m at the chemist. We need to take care of her until the kitties come, you know.’
Bridie perched on a chair while Margie unwound and reapplied the bandage.
‘How many kitties will there be?’
‘They sometimes have three or four. We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?’
Bridie waved her arm around when Margie was finished. ‘It’s almost better.’
‘Good. Off you go and keep an eye on Tabitha – she’s on the sofa.’
‘I’m going to the loo first.’
Bridie sped off, and Margie rummaged around in the kitchen drawers for her purse. It must be here somewhere… yes, here it was at the back, and thanks be, she had enough money for a visit to the chemist’s. A spasm of coughing shook her ribs, and Margie held onto the edges of the drawer. Her chest was on fire, full of everything but air. She needed more than aspirin to beat this bug. Margie wiped her eyes, turning and tripping over Topsy.
‘Scram, you!’
Topsy slunk through the window while Margie leaned over the sink, panting. Poor darlin’ Topsy.
She poured herself a glass of water and shuffled out to the hallway, where Daisy was tapping at an envelope lying on the floor behind the door. Margie tutted and went to pick it up, leaning against the front door while she peered at the plain white envelope. Her eyes were worth nothing now, and her specs were long gone. The address was handwritten, so it probably wasn’t a bill, and – she turned it over – there was a name scrawled on the back too, though she couldn’t for the life of her make out what it said. Another spasm of coughing left her breathless and Margie tossed the letter onto the hall table and went for a sit down. It wouldn’t be important; nobody ever wrote to her.
She sank down beside Tabitha, water slopping over her glass and seeping through her trousers, making them cling to her leg. Two minutes, then she’d go. She took a few mouthfuls, but swallowing was an effort.
Ach, Tabitha puss – such soft, warm fur, such a contented purr when Margie rubbed behind the torn ears. Oh, for the days they were all safe at home in Ireland… but they weren’t gone, not really. She only had to close her eyes and she was back there, with Ned and all her babies. Oh, it was wonderful then. Tabitha dug her claws in, and Ireland was gone. Come on, Margie. Another few sips of water and she’d be ready to go. Ready as she’d ever be, anyway. Where was that girl?
‘Bridie! Come to Mammy!’
Thumps on the stairs, and Margie staggered to her feet, swaying as Bridie skipped over to the sofa to join Tabitha. Margie’s heart swelled with love – Ireland was gone, but Bridie was right here.
‘Good girls. And you stay inside this time, hear? I’ll be back before you know it.’ A glance told her the windows were closed – not that she often opened these ones – and Margie wheezed her way to the door, closing it behind her. There.
The pavements were wet, but at least the rain had gone off. Margie lifted her chin and set off for the row of shops. This uphill part was murder, but it would be downhill on the way back and she had to do this; she had to be well for her family. Ireland loomed in her head again.
Remember what fun it was when the babies were small? Aiden and Sammy, then Maeve, and then – oh, and then her darlin’ baby girl.
Tears blinded Margie as she stumbled along, grabbing the odd handful of hedge to help her balance. The holes in this pavement were a disgrace.
‘All right, hen?’
Another do-gooder. Margie swiped a hand over her eyes, then stuck her chin out at the postman staring at her from a thin, spotty face. Upstart. Who was he, call her ‘hen’?
‘I’m fine.’
‘Off to the shops, are you?’
‘None of your business.’ She inched past him, nose in the air.
‘Give you a lift if you like. I’m heading back to the depot in Thurston Street.’
Margie stopped. A lift. What a luxury. She shouldn’t take it, but a lift would make such a difference today.
‘Thank you. You’re – very kind.’ And many a long day since she’d said anything like that. Margie followed him across the road to his van and dropped into the seat when he opened the door for her. Whistling, he started the engine. Two minutes, that was all it took, and here they were at the shops already.
‘Which one?’
‘Chemist. Thank you.’
He pulled up beside a motorbike parked on the pavement and came round to help her out. ‘Looks like the chemist’s the right place for you, love. Or the doc’s. You take care.’
Lucky, she was, all that energy saved. Margie walked into the shop with her head high. ‘Something for my chest, please.’
It was a different woman on today, an older one. She narrowed her eyes at Margie, a frown gathering behind thick glasses with red frames. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Bit of a wheeze. Sore throat.’
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Is this something new?’
‘Aye. Two or three days.’ Not true, but it was no one’s business but hers. Margie fixed her eyes on the assistant and held her ground.
The woman went through to the back and returned with a box of something and a packet of sweeties.
‘These are powders, take one sachet in hot water four times a day. And you can suck one of the throat pastilles every two hours. If you’re not better by Friday, see your doctor.’
Margie sniffed. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ She wasn’t going to walk nearly an hour to the new medical centre to queue for an appointment she wouldn’t get for three weeks.
The woman grimaced. ‘They’re overworked. Drop in again if you need more advice. Anything else?’
Margie took another bottle of Calpol and paid – the price was shocking,
she wouldn’t come here again, anyway – before shuffling out. The woman was staring after her, nosy besom that she was. So what if she didn’t have posh clothes? She’d paid for her medicine, hadn’t she? And while she was here, she’d best stock up on soup and beans. Heavy to carry but cheap and nourishing. And she’d get some jam, too, Bridie would like that. Margie stepped into the minimarket. At least there were no nosy busybodies in here, and no policemen either today. And look, they had aspirins too. She added a packet to her basket, peering at the chocolate on the stand by the cash desk; a bar of milk always went down well at home. Aiden and the rest had always enjoyed a treat, in the old days. But she’d already spent too much.
A throat sweetie to suck helped her on the way home. Blackcurrant, they were. Nice. Took her back to the days when her granny made cordial with the berries they gathered down by the beach. And here she was, home in no time just like she’d said. Margie stepped through the back door and dumped her bag on the kitchen table, then rummaged for the packet of medicine. Lemon, good, her granny had sworn by lemons when she had a cold. Margie put the kettle on and looked around for a clean mug. Tallulah was sniffing at the empty cat bowls.
‘Bridie, lovey! Mammy’s home!’
Silence. Had the maid fallen asleep? The kettle boiled with its usual shriek, and Margie poured water into a mug for her lemon drink, then stirred. The mug was hot to lift, so she wrapped a tea towel round it to take it to the living room to drink in comfort. Wheezing again, she swayed through to the hallway, knocking the letter off the hall table as she passed. The living room door was open…
