“When are you going?” he asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! So soon.”
“No point in hanging around once the decision has been made.”
He nodded. That’s exactly what his mother had said last night. No point in hanging around Paircmoor. In fact, that’s what everyone said, with the exception of Leah. His wife saw this godforsaken spot as the centre of the world. He could not bear Ellen to think he belonged here.
“Actually, I’ll be leaving soon too,” he said. “An opportunity has come up to work in America. Reams of paperwork involved with visas and permits but it will be worth it.”
As he spoke the words, he realised he meant them. He must go. The blackness that filled the very core of his being seeped up from the soil of Paircmoor. It was sucking him down into its boggy land, shackling him with knotted roots.
“Oh, I’m so glad, Ben! You need an outlet for your talents and it appears it will be quite a while before this country is up and running again.”
She was smiling at him, glowing, her eyes sparkling. The muscles in his arms twitched with their need to reach out and hold her.
“That reminds me,” she said. “Your new project. Any news on that?”
“It’s a total fuck-up,” he said.
He saw a cloud pass over her lovely brightness and thought his swearing had offended her.
“I’m sorry. Excuse the language, Ellen. It’s just that I’ve put so much work into promoting it and now I realise it was never a viable idea. I don’t know why I thought there would be a market for quality scale models of historical Irish buildings.”
“I’m so sorry, Ben. It’s a niche market and would take a long time to build up.”
It was a talent of hers to imply without bluntly stating. The word idiot never passed her lips, but Ben heard the implication loud and clear.
She stood up and pushed back her chair.
“I’d better read that story I promised the children. I’ll ask Anna to get her book.”
He bowed his head, not wanting to see her walk away. Not wanting to see her take the colour from his life. Not wanting to be left alone with the cold blackness enveloping him from the inside out. He wondered why she had left her husband in the first place, only to go back to him now.
He heard them laughing in the lounge, his precious babies and the woman who should have been his. As he sat there he knew, deep within him, that this was his fate. On the outside. In the cold. Needing to belong but not knowing how to bridge the gap between himself and happiness.
CHAPTER SIX
The cuckoo sprang out of its clock housing, forcing me to grit my teeth at the racket it made. I found it hard to believe that it was already five o’clock. The day had sped past as Tina and I worked our way through the busy Friday bookings. I was admitting by now that the girl had a flair for hairdressing and a natural talent for dealing with customers. When her work experience was over, I fully intended offering her Saturday and holiday work. Unless she reverted back to being a total slouch when Mags returned. If Mags returned.
I stacked that problem in the back of my mind for now, concentrating on the up-style I was doing for Viv Henderson – Lady Paircmoor as she was referred to locally. And with good reason. The Hendersons were Paircmoor royalty, controlling anything worth having in the area. They owned the garage, grocery shop, pub, hardware store, and the post office now run by the eldest Henderson daughter, in addition to a sizable farm where they raised cattle which ended up for sale in their butcher shop. In fact, I rented the salon from them. It had somehow become part of the leasing contract that I style the matriarch’s hair every week. Viv never offered money for my work and I always felt unable to ask.
I held the hand mirror up so that she could see the French plait I had done for her. As she patted her hair and preened, the door of the salon suddenly burst open. In the mirror I saw Minnie Curran rushing towards me. I twirled around.
“Minnie! Slow down! What’s the matter?”
“Look at me! Look at my scalp, at my forehead!”
With a move as dramatic as her entrance, Minnie whipped the scarf from her head. The mirror slipped from my hand to crash onto the tiled floor. She had no need to shout. The scalp inflammation was apparent, even through her hair. I immediately linked it to the delayed colour treatment she had here yesterday. And so, obviously, did she. Her forehead also showed an angry red rash. The skin was glistening as if ointment had been applied. Had she been to a doctor? Was she building a case against me?
My stomach muscles contracted so violently I thought I would be sick all over her. I became aware that Tina was brushing shards of broken mirror into the dustpan. Harbinger of seven more years of blasted bad luck. I was annoyed with Mags for lathering Minnie’s head with hair dye and then abandoning her. I was angrier at myself for not knowing if I had rinsed the dye out in the recommended time or not. I had been under pressure because of being short-staffed. That I knew. Had I left Minnie waiting so long with the dye in her hair that I burned her? Would my insurance cover me if it was my fault?
I was usually a strong woman, for me and for my family, but now my legs began to shake. Judging by the interested stares of Viv Henderson, the news would be all around the village in no time. With embellishments, of course. The truth in Paircmoor had magnetic qualities, attracting exaggerated and downright false particles of gossip to itself as it spread through the parish.
“What are you going to do about it, Leah?” Minnie demanded.
Yes, indeed. What was I going to do about it? Offer to pay medical expenses? That would be admitting liability. But then, again, I probably was liable.
“I’ll be with you, Minnie, when I’ve finished with Viv. Tina, would you make a coffee for Mrs Curran, please?”
“Don’t try to fob me off with coffee, Leah Parrish,” Minnie said. “I’m not moving from here until you take responsibility for the damage you’ve caused.”
Minnie seemed to have taken root so firmly in the middle of the salon that it would take an excavator to shift her.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Viv Henderson said.
I knew that much was true. She wanted all the gory details. I was not going to give her that satisfaction.
“Actually, there’s no reason for you to stay, Viv,” I said, removing the protective cape from around her shoulders. “You’re done.”
Viv stood reluctantly. As I walked towards the door with her, it opened from the outside. Ellen Riggs came in. The famous potter. The woman Ben often spoke about. His school-run friend. Tall and willowy, she had magnificent hair framing a face best described as perfect. Ellen herself was a work of art, beautifully presented in designer clothes. Even though Ben had not admitted his infatuation with this paragon of feminine appeal, I knew instinctively she was special to him.
“Have I come at a bad time?” she asked as she looked around at Tina with dustpan in hand, Minnie Curran and her multi-coloured forehead and scalp, me attempting to steer Viv Henderson out the door.
“Not at all, Ellen. I’ll be with you now. We’re not taking any more appointments today though.”
“That’s alright. This is a personal visit, not business.”
My stomach lurched again. Given the direction the day had taken, whatever brought Ellen Riggs here was bound to be negative.
Viv Henderson was still standing by the door. Listening. I was getting to the stage where I would gladly kick her out.
“Take a seat Ellen, please. Viv, good evening. I’ll see you again next week.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, as she and her free French plait sailed off.
I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. Just long enough to ease the ache in my lower back and to do what I always did in times of crisis. I called on my mother to help me. A long-distance call to wherever the energy that had been Mam was resting. Cancer had ended her journey here, but nothing, not even death, could break our bond. I briefly closed my eyes and dr
ew on her strength.
The tinkle of broken mirror being tipped into the bin galvanised me into action. It seemed to have an effect on Ellen also as she stood and walked towards me. She was carrying a bag. It was tied with cream-silk ribbon and had a ceramic scarlet poppy flower stuck in the middle of the bow. Very beautiful and artistic just like the woman carrying it. I felt compelled to note every detail as she stood in front of me. As if this was a moment I would remember forever. I shrugged off the ridiculous thought.
“What can I do for you, Ellen?”
“I called to let you know that Finn and I are leaving. We’re going back to London.”
At least this was one problem solved. I would not have to worry about my husband making an idiot of himself over Ellen Riggs and her ethereal beauty. I checked my expression to be sure it was suitably regretful.
“We’ll be sorry to see you go, Ellen. Especially Rob. He will miss Finn. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow. We made a quick decision. Just like Ben.”
It happened again, the nausea and the shaking legs. What in the hell was she talking about?
“Like Ben. What do you mean?”
She took a step closer to me.
Minnie Curran took a step closer to us both.
“He told me about America. About the opportunities there. I hope it works out for all of you. This gift is to say thanks to your family for your kindness to Finn and me. Good luck with your move.”
She handed me the bag with the silk ribbon and, without seeming to rush, she left the salon in a flash. But not as quickly as it took Minnie Curran to reach me.
“No wonder you don’t care about the damage you’ve done to me,” she said. “Don’t think I’ll let you run off to the States scot free. You’ll pay for what you’ve done, Leah Parrish!”
Then with far less elegance than Ellen, Minnie flounced out the door, forgetting her scarf.
I felt weighed down with questions. What had Ben told Ellen about the job offer in California? Was he seriously considering leaving here to dance to his mother’s tune on another continent? Without even discussing it with me. What about us, me and the children? And was Minnie Curran really threatening legal action?
I managed to get my jelly-like legs to walk me to a chair. I eased onto it and began to shake. My head, too full of panic and unanswered questions, bowed down. I heard Tina moving around in the kitchenette. I had forgotten about her. I was just about to tell her to go home when she came towards me, a mug of coffee in her hand. My mug. My Stephen Pearce. She handed it to me.
“Drink that up, Mrs Parrish, while I talk to you.”
I muttered my thanks and did as I was told. It was like we had reversed roles and Tina was the adult while I was a vulnerable teenager.
She pulled up a chair and sat beside me.
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
No! Not Tina too. Not another kick in the backside.
I nodded to her to continue.
“You know I’ll be assessed on my work experience when I go back to class.”
“Right.”
“So, the point is, I’ve been taking notes so that I don’t forget any details.”
“Yes. Go on.”
“Remember you changed supplier for dye products? It was Mags’ first time using that brand, so she carried out patch tests before she used it on anyone. Including Mrs Curran.”
I sat up a little straighter. I should have remembered this. I had instructed Mags to test all clients for allergic reactions before using the new brand. It was just a dab of the product behind the ear and a twenty-four hour wait to see if any adverse reaction developed. Unfortunately, I did not follow up with Mags. I had trusted her to tell me if there was any problem.
“And? When did she test Minnie?
“Last week when Mrs Curran was here for a wash and blow-dry. The result was negative. No rash. No itch or redness. Mrs Curran herself said so. Look, she made a note in the ledger you keep for client hair-dye mixes.”
I looked at the page she held open. Sure enough, there was the information, dated and signed. Better still, Tina switched on her phone and showed me a photograph she had taken of Mags applying the patch test.
I took a sip of coffee and felt its warmth trickle through me.
“I did ask Mrs Curran’s permission to take the photograph,” Tina said as if I had objected. “I explained to her that I would have to do a presentation when I went back to school.”
So, Mags and Tina could both testify that Minnie herself was satisfied she was not allergic to the dye. The blame was still down to me. I must have left it on too long.
“Would you know, Tina, how long the dye was on Minnie’s roots?”
“You had the timer on. My memory is that you rinsed her off when the alarm sounded. Sorry, I was too busy to log anything. But does it matter? She’s not allergic to it anyway and Mags can confirm that.”
I nodded. That was true. What happened to Minnie’s scalp and forehead then? Yes, it was good that the skin test had been done but there was still a problem to be faced. I would have to ring my insurance company for advice on handling the situation. Or maybe not. Not until the situation was clearer. Just what I needed. Yet another problem.
Tina was watching me, solemn-faced.
I smiled at her.
“Thank you, Tina. You’ve been a great help. I appreciate it very much.”
“That’s nice of you to say, Mrs Parrish.”
“Call me Leah, please. Off home now. And I don’t want you worrying about this, Tina. It’s my responsibility to sort it.”
I could see her shoulders relax with relief.
When she had left I continued to sit there, finishing my coffee and trying to get control of the panic welling up inside me.
I opened the bag Ellen had given me. Inside, nestling in swathes of pale-lavender tissue, was an exquisite vase. An Ellen Riggs piece. I knew from reading about her work how valuable this must be. Precious, just like I suspected she was to my husband.
With huge effort I got myself out of the chair and prepared to face home. This was it. No more procrastinating. Tonight, when the children were in bed, Ben and I had to sit down and talk.
About America.
About Ellen Riggs.
About the most important thing of all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ben was alone in the kitchen while Leah put the children to bed. Her nightly maternal duty. She had left Ellen’s vase on the countertop in the kitchen, in between the toaster and the breadboard. Careless. He picked the vase up and placed it in the centre of the table. He sat in front of it, sipping his tea and absorbing every detail of the artwork. Ellen hand-painted her pottery before glazing and giving it the final firing. She had told him about the process. And about her love of the poppy flower because of its vibrancy and the daisy because of the smile on its face.
As he examined her work, he knew she had made this specifically to remind him of the conversations they had about wild flowers and arts and crafts and life and death. They had spoken about everything as they waited outside the school gates. Except of course, her marriage to the tit-and-bum surgeon and his to Leah. Ellen had been cold today. She blatantly did not feel the sadness of their parting. She had actually offered him a handshake when they said goodbye for the last time outside the school gates. As if they were nothing more than business partners. But he had to accept that anything else, such as a kiss, would have been inappropriate. He reached out and touched one of the scarlet poppies. He imagined the concentration on Ellen’s face as she had painted it, the –
“What in the hell was Ellen Riggs doing in here today? Anna has just told me she read a story for them. Why didn’t you say?”
He looked from the beautiful vase to Leah. She was glaring at him. He shrugged. What could he say? That his precious time with Ellen was none of his wife’s business.
“She just called to tell us she’s leaving. Pity.”
“A pity? Why?”
“Why did you tell Ellen about the States when we’ve not even discussed it? Where did she get the idea that you’re all ready to go? Apparently I’m emigrating too. And the children. Did it just slip your mind to tell me? Ben! Talk to me!”
She was standing over him now. He could hear her intake of breath between sentences, the bracelets she wore clinking against each other as she gesticulated. That was Leah. Always talking. Always waving her hands about.
“Ben, would you please lift your head and look at me. If the children behaved like this, I would put them in the bold corner.”
He tried not to be angry with her, to admit to himself that Leah was his reality while Ellen had been his fantasy. And that there was no escape. He opened his eyes and slowly lifted his head.
“I am in the fucking bold boys’ corner,” he said. “It’s where I live.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and answer my question.”
“Okay, there’s a job waiting for me in San Francisco pending a meeting with Piper’s brother. So what do you say to that?”
She was silent. No criticism. No terse order. But there was reaction. He saw it in her eyes.
“We did tell you last night. Why the shock?”
“Of course I’m shocked, Ben! It sounds as if it’s a done deal. You and Cruella plotting together and –”
“Don’t talk about my mother like that. We need help and she’s giving it to us.”
“How? By splitting us up? Is she moving to California with her two sons and her socially acceptable daughter-in-law? What about our children, Ben?”
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