by Penny Kline
Rousseau was missing, again, but she had more important things to think about. It was one of those days when the whole world seemed against her. At times like this, she became so self-absorbed she forgot other people had their own troubles, and the nice woman from number fifteen might have failed to smile because she was worrying about her health, or her finances, or any number of other problems.
Before she left for the shops, Eddie must have climbed on a chair while Jane was talking to Simmy, found the offending object in the kitchen cupboard and taken it next door. Since it was Saturday, no one would have been working on the conversion, but the door had been left open. A serious oversight or had Noel unlocked it, prior to a visit? In any case, by the time he fell, Eddie had been almost a mile away, outside Sainsbury’s, talking to a dog.
The thud of post dropping through the front door interrupted Jane’s thoughts and she hurried to collect it, hoping as she always did that there would be something personal among the junk mail. Charities tried to make you feel guilty, including raffle tickets for you to sell, or a small gift you didn’t want, and the only way to reduce the guilt was to decide which charities to support, and stick to them. In Jane’s case, they were cancer research and Marie Curie nurses, chosen because she had a phobia about cancer. No, not a phobia, a perfectly rational fear, although, in recent months, her fear of dementia had taken precedence.
Between the junk – she almost missed it – was a handwritten envelope with a foreign stamp. Her great-niece in Australia. When she tore it open a photograph fell out, a picture of a baby with a pink sunhat, and, turning it over, she read the smudged words. Edwina, aged five months. Her brother Hugh’s great-granddaughter. Should she laugh or cry? The name was a coincidence, must be, but there was something consoling about it. Another Edwina to replace Eddie. A sign, if you believed in such things, that life goes on.
When the doorbell rang, Jane groaned. A delivery man with stuff for the Tidewells. Tricia had warned her there might be a package containing a cricket set.
It was Gus.
‘I’m sorry, Jane, it’s Rousseau. A car was coming up the road and he —’
‘He’s dead.’ First Eddie, now Rousseau, she couldn’t bear it.
‘Up near Noel and Corinne’s house. Nicky’s with him. Nicky from number twenty-two.’
Running on ahead, Jane could see the woman bending over Rousseau’s inert body. So she was the one who had knocked him down. Jane shouted at her, but Gus put out a restraining hand.
‘It wasn’t Nicky. A white car. The driver didn’t stop.’
‘Stunned, I think.’ The woman had taken off her coat and laid it on the ground. Now she was gently placing her hands under Rousseau’s shoulders and hindquarters and sliding him onto it. ‘There’s no bleeding but I need to be careful. As far as I can tell, the car only caught his leg, and I don’t think it’s broken. Gus and I were walking up the road. You know what cats are like. He darted across and now it’s getting dark ...’
‘Nicky’s a vet.’ Gus knelt beside Jane and put an arm round her.
‘A vet? I didn’t know. You think he’s going to be all right?’ Jane was tearful with relief. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. Oh, Rousseau, what am I going to do with you?’
‘Rousseau. That’s a great name.’ Nicky stroked his head and he sprang up with a loud yowl, and she caught hold of him to restrain him. ‘Seems OK but have him checked out at your vet’s to make sure.’
‘Yes, I will. Thank you. I’m so grateful, so glad you were here.’
‘No worries.’ She picked up her coat and slung it over one arm. Without her woolly hat, she looked different. Red hair, cut very short, and a sprinkling of freckles on a face that was not dissimilar to Jane’s at that age. How could she have thought she was a sinister character?
‘I’ve seen you about, but we haven’t been introduced. Jane Seymour.’
‘Nicky Robbins. I live down the bottom, number twenty-two. When I say “live”, I’ve been doing it up, decorating and carrying out minor repairs. I’m moving in properly next week.’
‘It will be nice to have you as a neighbour.’
Gus laughed. ‘In case the cat tries to use up another of his nine lives.’
‘You know I didn’t mean that.’
‘You need a cup of tea.’ Nicky was examining the back of her hand and Jane was afraid Rousseau must have scratched it. ‘You’ve had a shock. You’ll do the honours, Gus?’
Jane’s body had started to shake. It had been the same when she found Noel. But Rousseau was alive and when she opened her front door he leapt from her arms and raced through to the kitchen. ‘Oh Rousseau, no I’m not going to let you into the garden. Not yet.’ She turned to Gus. ‘You know Nicky quite well?’
‘In a manner of speaking. Sit down, look a bit unsteady on your pins.’
‘I’m all right,’ Jane turned on a tap and water hit a spoon and splashed her blouse. ‘Do you think ... oh, Gus, it’s been such an awful few days. I feel beleaguered.’
‘No long words.’
‘What about the names of your spiders?’
‘Touché.’
‘Why did Nicky wear that knitted hat? I mean, why did she wear it in the summer?’
‘Lost her hair. Chemotherapy. In the clear now, thank the Lord.’
‘Cancer. Why didn’t you tell me? I wish you had. I thought ...’
‘While she was having the treatment, she preferred to keep herself to herself.’
‘Yes, of course. How did you meet her? Have you been helping with her house?’
‘Hardly. You know me and DIY. Only have to pick up a hammer and I knock a nail through a water pipe. She’s buying my old premises.’
‘Your shop? I thought the lease had run out.’
‘No, it was the customers ran out.’
‘Oh.’ Jane leaned against a kitchen unit, the one with the cupboard where she had hidden the fluffy handcuffs. The rash on her wrist had reappeared. No surprise there. Brian must be right for once – it was the result of stress.
‘Belonged to my dad,’ Gus said. ‘Did pretty well in the old days. There’s still people who prefer proper cameras but it wasn’t a good site for passing trade and when the regulars started dying off.’
‘You had trouble finding a buyer?’
He nodded. ‘Then Nicky came along. Coincidence she’s moving into Faraday Road. She contacted me through the estate agent. Wants to open a new veterinary practice, her and her partner. Nearest one’s miles off, as you must know to your cost.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? I mean that you were having problems selling the shop?’
‘Superstitious. Afraid the deal might fall through. Her partner’s called Jude.’
‘You’ve met him? I thought since the two of you seemed so close ...’
His face broke into a broad grin. ‘I should be so lucky. Besides, she’s not interested in blokes. Jude’s her girlfriend.’ He dropped a tea bag into the mug he had found on the draining board. ‘You were good to me when the shop closed, Jane. Don’t think I haven’t appreciated your efforts to get me back on my feet.’
‘That you successfully resisted. And I wasn’t being entirely altruistic. It’s lonely on your own.’
‘You? Lonely? Always struck me as self-sufficient. Iron self-control. Not like us mere mortals. Even when Eddie died you pretended it was for the best.’
‘It was.’
‘Except nothing’s that simple, is it?’
‘No. My “iron self-control”, as you put it, is a way of keeping going. Some people – Corinne is one of them – throw themselves on other people’s mercy. I was brought up to —’
‘Stiff upper lip, I know. Shall I move this bag of potatoes? Rousseau wants to go through the cat flap.’
‘Oh. Yes.’
‘Can’t keep him indoors forever.’
‘No.’ Jane pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Gus?’
‘Now what?’
‘It was an accident, wasn’t it?
No, not Rousseau, I meant Noel.’
He took his time replying but Jane thought he was probably still thinking about Rousseau. When he finally spoke, she caught her breath.
‘If he told you he’d been pushed, he must have known who did it. Any ideas?’
THIRTY-SEVEN
Once the cupboard had been wiped clean, Jane carried the handcuffs to the garden, placed them in an empty flowerpot and sprinkled them with white spirit. Did white spirit encourage flames? She would soon find out.
The ginger and white cat from number twenty was shitting in the nicotianas. Funny how words you would never dream of speaking out loud were regular visitors to your head. Shit and fuck, and wank. Cock and fanny and arse. After she started to become ill, Eddie had come out with strings of words she had never uttered before. A symptom of dementia, Jane had read, but all it meant was that the illness was disinhibiting. The words had been in her head all along.
Rousseau had been watching the ginger cat from the safety of the magnolia. Now he had decided to see it off and Jane watched the angry scuffle, happy he was none the worse for his collision with a car. She would make it up to Nicky for the unwarranted opinion of her she had formed. She ought to be ashamed of herself. She was ashamed, especially since the poor woman had been ill.
‘Burning your love letters?’ Gus was watching from his window on the first floor.
‘That’s right.’ Jane prodded the ashes.
‘When you’ve finished can I have a look at Eddie’s paintings? I could do with something to hang on the wall.’
‘One of Eddie’s paintings? Yes, of course. I’ll leave the front door open and we can go up to the loft together.’
‘Make sure your fire’s gone out.’
Jane stared down at the charred remains. There was no sign of the pink fluff but the plastic had not even melted. She found a garden fork and lifted it out, depositing it in the centre of the bed of cat mint. She would deal with that later – after Eddie’s funeral which was to take place the following Monday. How many people would come? Gus would, and possibly Willa and Brian. Not Corinne – Jane had decided not to tell her about it – and not Tricia Tidewell who had the children to look after. Just the four of them would be fine and after the service they could have lunch somewhere, not in her house, possibly the Portuguese café. Ofelia and Andre Cardozo were such kind, comforting people.
Eddie had been up to the new loft conversion at least fifteen minutes before Noel fell. Why had it been left unlocked? Perhaps the builders had been in earlier – Mrs Garcia putting pressure on Noel to complete the work – and Noel had told them to leave it as it was. Dave and Gus both had their own front doors so, if Noel or the builders were around, the front door to the house was often left ajar.
Up in the loft, Gus studied Eddie’s paintings, stopping at a representation of the Dorset coast, big slabs of black and green and blue.
‘How much?’
‘Take it.’
‘Are you sure? There must be a going rate. All right then, if you insist. I’ll just have another look.’
‘Take as long as you like. Your photographs are all of insects and birds?’
‘Need a macro lens that allows you to focus on things at a closer distance than landscapes and such. On “the day of the crime” I stupidly left mine out of my bag. Had to return home and collect it.’
Jane took the Chagall book off the shelf. Always useful in a tricky situation. Was it tricky? An old friend up in Eddie’s studio. Was Gus an old friend? She liked to think so, but Gus might have other ideas. He was sorry for her and buying Eddie’s paintings was the only gesture he could think of that might make her feel a little better.
The book had come open at Chagall’s painting of a naked woman in a tree, or rather the woman was part of the tree. Below her, a man held out a hand to a red donkey, or was it a bull? The picture was called La Branche and gave the impression it was a dream. Jane was fluent in French, which was why Senegal had been one of the countries she and Eddie had planned to visit. Senegal and Côte d’Ivoire. Had Eddie retained any memory of their plans? Now and again, she had recalled in detail an occasion Jane had forgotten about, the waitress who had dropped a tray and broken some china, or a school outing when one of the second years had been sick and the coach driver had let out a string of expletives. Around that time, Eddie still had a sense of humour and had played a trick on her, showing her a painting she had found in a junk shop that she thought might be an early Cézanne. Jane had fallen for all the talk about what they would be able to do with the money, only to have Eddie collapse in fits of laughter. Honestly, Jane, it’s so easy to take you in.
‘No, this is the one.’ Gus had returned to the landscape. ‘Sure I can’t give you something for it?’
‘Quite sure.’
‘What’s the matter with your arm?’
‘Itchy rash. Stupid.’
‘Euphorbia. I saw you cutting it back. Well-known for bringing on an allergic reaction, I should dig it up and add it to the bonfire.’
Jane sat down on the chair last occupied by Arthur. ‘Of course, how stupid. Brian thought it was my nerves.’
‘Typical.’
Jane took a deep breath. ‘Rousseau went up to the new loft conversion in your house and apparently it hadn’t been the first time. Lee was there and he suggested I had a look round. There’s a new sofa and —’
‘Once belonged to the Garcia woman.’
‘Only I found something. No, it’s no good, Gus, I’ll have to tell you the whole sorry story. I opened a parcel addressed to Willa. Yes, I know it was wrong but I’d taken in so many people’s parcels.’
‘Not mine.’
‘I re-wrapped it but left out part of it. By mistake.’
‘What was in it? Something you wanted?’
‘Hardly.’ Should she tell him about the scene in Willa’s conservatory? Noel roaring with laughter as he held up the knickers. Maybe that story would keep for a while. ‘It’s a shame you can’t see your daughter and granddaughter more often.’
‘She’s having another. My daughter. Don’t know about you, but I’m not very good with kids, never was. That was one of the problems. Too absorbed with my work. Didn’t do enough round the house.’
Jane remained silent and Gus erupted. ‘The trouble with you, Jane, you want me to bare my soul while you keep yourself —’
‘I’ve just admitted I opened someone else’s parcel.’
‘Oh, that! Personally, if I see one of those vans I ignore the doorbell.’
‘I was married once.’
Gus put down the painting. ‘Really?’
‘I had a baby, a boy. He died when he was three days old. A heart defect.’
She expected him to turn away, study another painting. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms round her. ‘What was his name?’
‘Edmund. After he died, it was never the same. We tried to console one another but ...’
He stared up at the dormer window, firmly closed now Arthur had fixed the catch. ‘I wish you’d told me before. No, don’t look like that, I’m not good with tears.’
‘At the time, I don’t think I did cry very much. I was too shocked. Afraid if I started crying I would never stop.’ Gus nodded. ‘ You know how you and Eddie were going to travel the world?’
‘Africa. Australia. Not America. Possibly the Far East.’
‘Ambitious.’
‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Now she’s gone, I’m free. Free to do whatever ... I thought ... I don’t know what I thought. If you have no purpose in life what’s the point of getting up in the morning? You’ve got your photography. What have I got? A cat, a cat that doesn’t care as long as he’s fed. An old woman and her cat!’
‘I’m thinking of going on a walking tour.’
‘Really?’ Jane was taken aback at the announcement. ‘You never said.’
‘You never asked.’ He grinned. ‘Not sure I could manage a world tour. Too many mosquitoes. Not good in t
he heat. Coastal path sounds all right. Starting in North Devon, Lynton, Ilfracombe, Barnstaple, and on to Dawlish and Torquay.’
Jane gave an involuntary shudder.
‘Well, what d’you think?’
‘You’ll enjoy it. It will do you good.’
‘Come on, Jane, I’m asking if you’d like to accompany me. Past Land’s End and The Lizard. The autumn would be the best time of year. Don’t know about you, but I like wild weather. What d’you think? We could stay in bed and breakfast places, booking ahead or taking pot luck. See how far we got, how long the old bones put up with it. Parts of it may be fairly strenuous but we wouldn’t be in a hurry. What d’you say?’
‘Accompany you?’
‘Yes, all right, forget I mentioned it.’
‘Separate rooms.’
‘Oh, don’t worry. Not sure I’m up to any hanky-panky, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do.’
‘We get on, you and me.’ He laughed. ‘Yes, we do. We’d make sure we did.’
‘What about Rousseau?’
‘He can stay with Simmy and Dave.’
‘He’ll set up home there, never come back. No, I don’t think that’s very likely. You’ll need some new clothes. For the walk.’
‘You think so.’
‘I do.’
‘Right you are, we’ll pay a visit to one of those camping shops. No, not a tent. They have boots and thick jackets and waterproof trousers, the lot. Come on then, no not the shopping centre, that’ll keep for a day or two. How about introducing me to that Portuguese place you’re always on about? Trying to cut down on the cakes and pastries.’ He patted his stomach. ‘But I reckon this is a special occasion. I took the risk of being turned down flat. And you agreed to be taken in hand.’
‘Taken in hand? I don’t need taking —’
‘Yes, you do.’ He picked up the painting. ‘Going to need some ground rules. No arguing, no bossiness, and—’
‘Backpacks with plenty of clean underwear and socks.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
A buzzard hovered overhead, waiting to pounce. Jane stared at the streaky blue sky, felt a sharp sensation in her left ankle, and turned to her companion with a wry smile.
