Rachel's Coming Home

by Gillian Villiers

  ‘I can see there’s a problem,’ he said quietly. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘I need to get home. But I need to find Anthony first.’ Rachel closed her eyes for a moment, to clear her head. She was supposed to be the organised one, she shouldn’t be panicking.

  ‘I said I’d meet Anthony and that very nice young lady in the tea tent, so that’s most likely where they’ll be. Why don’t you head over there and I’ll say our goodbyes here? I’ll catch you up.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I was a relief to have someone take charge. Rachel jumped down the steps of the stand two at a time and set off across the emptying field. What was going on? How could her mother suddenly be so ill? She felt shaky with fear. It couldn’t be anything serious, could it?

  Chapter Nine

  Maggie Collington was taken to the Infirmary in Dumfries. Rachel and her father followed the ambulance in her car and Anthony stayed at home to look after the dogs, assisted by Philip Milligan and Amelia. Rachel couldn’t quite understand how Philip had become so involved, but she didn’t have the time or energy to object.

  By the time they arrived at the hospital Maggie had been taken straight to Intensive Care and all Rachel and her father could do was wait. The hospital canteen served surprisingly good coffee, but it was no comfort. Eventually, on their third attempt to visit the ward, a white-coated doctor came out to see them.

  ‘How is she?’ demanded Rachel and her father together.

  ‘She’s doing fine. We’ve stabilised her condition and are doing a number of tests, but our suspicion at the moment is that she has had a bad reaction to the new drug she has recently started. She may have been warned about dizziness and a rash?’ He looked questioningly at his interlocutors.

  Rachel shrugged and looked at her father. She felt horribly guilty. There had been so much to worry about recently, she hadn’t given her mother’s visit to the hospital outpatients the attention it deserved.

  ‘She didn’t say anything,’ said her father with a sigh. ‘But then Maggie does like to play down her own problems. She hates to feel a burden, not that she is, of course. Why, look at me …’ He indicated the crutch that he still used to help him walk although the plaster had now been removed from his ankle.

  ‘So if she stops taking the medication immediately she’ll be all right?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘That is what we’re hoping, but only time will tell.’

  Rachel sat back in the hard chair and breathed properly for what seemed like the first time in hours. ‘Thank goodness.’

  ‘Can we go in and see her?’ asked her father.

  They were allowed to go briefly to the bedside, to see for themselves that Maggie’s breathing had improved. She couldn’t talk to them as she was mildly sedated but the nurse who showed them in assured them that they could phone for updates and they were welcome to visit again the next morning. As Rachel pressed her lips to her mother’s pale cheek, she closed her eyes to hold back tears of relief. They had all had a fright, but the important thing was everything was going to be all right now.

  After the excitement of the Boroughbie Show and the anxiety of the hospital visit, Rachel was relieved when life settled into a calmer rhythm. Bookings in the kennels were picking up, although still lower than the previous year. Her mother had been transferred to a general ward and was due home any day. Her father could now walk short distances without a crutch. It was time, she decided, to turn her attention to Anthony.

  ‘You’ve been really helpful around the kennels,’ she said, catching up with him as he returned from walking three cairn terriers.

  ‘Mmm.’ Anthony gave each of the dogs a treat and let them back into their runs.

  ‘Mum and Dad are paying you what they can, but things are a bit difficult at the moment, as you know.’

  ‘I know. I’m not complaining, am I?’

  It was true that Anthony wasn’t complaining, which was good, but nor was he making any decisions about what to do about his future. And that wasn’t good.

  ‘You’ll need to confirm whether you’re going to take up your place at university within the next two weeks,’ said Rachel, perching herself on the garden wall. It might be easier to talk to him out here.

  ‘So you and Dad keep saying.’

  ‘So – have you decided?’

  Anthony leant against the wall but looked at his feet, not at her. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I want a career in IT any more.’

  Rachel suppressed a sigh. It wouldn’t help if she annoyed him even more than she usually seemed to do. She never intended to come across as the bossy elder sister but that was how he saw her.

  ‘If you’re not sure then you shouldn’t do it. It’s a four-year course. That’s a big commitment of time, not to mention money.’

  Now Anthony did glance at her from beneath lashes so long they should have been a girl’s. ‘Are you serious? I thought you were all desperate for me to go.’

  ‘Not if you don’t want to. There’s no point.’

  ‘OK, then I won’t go.’ Anthony seemed genuinely relieved. ‘The more I think about it the more I’m sure it’s not what I want to do.’

  Rachel was surprised and pleased to have got a decision out of him, but she wasn’t going to leave it there.

  ‘That’s fine, if you’re sure. We’ll need to let the admissions people know. And then, if you’re not going to do that, you’ll need to think about what you are going to do.’

  Now it was Anthony’s time to sigh, a huge exhalation he didn’t bother to try and hide. ‘I don’t know, do I? Everyone thinks you just know what you want to do, but I don’t. Gemma’s lucky, she’s desperate to start her Business Studies course. I can’t think of anything duller myself.’

  Rachel thought Gemma was possibly as keen to get away from her difficult father as she was to progress her studies, but she didn’t say so. ‘It’s good that you’re getting on well with Gemma. She’s a nice girl.’

  ‘We’re not going out,’ said Anthony abruptly. ‘She won’t go out with me. Says her dad won’t approve.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ said Rachel, thinking it would be a very good thing if Gemma left home. ‘But you can still be friendly; that’s something, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Anthony and heaved himself away from the wall. He headed off down to the house, the conversation over. Rachel would have liked to discuss things further, and vowed to make the opportunity for a further chat in the next day or so.

  She was about to follow him indoors when she spotted a piece of white paper on the ground. She bent down to pick it up and turned it over slowly in her hands. It was the card of an artist called Rupert Randall, based in Boroughbie. It was beautifully illustrated with black and white drawings of an eagle. Rachel remembered now how Anthony had raved about meeting this man, about how brilliant his work was. The man had apparently said that Anthony could call in at his studio, but he said he wasn’t going to bother, as there was no point.

  Rachel turned the card over in her hand again and wondered if she wouldn’t pay a little visit herself.

  Rachel found herself going out to lunch with Charlie McArthur. He had invited her out a few times recently but for one reason or another she hadn’t been able to go. This time she had accepted, more because she felt bad for the earlier refusals than because she really wanted to go. Charlie was a nice enough guy but she suspected he had more interest in her than she did in him, and this made her uncomfortable.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ said her mother fondly when she went up to her bedroom to say goodbye. Maggie Collington had been discharged from hospital a few days earlier, but still needed to rest. At the moment she was agreeing to do so. ‘Have a lovely time.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rachel glanced down at her floaty pink and cream skirt, which she had paired with a short maroon jacket. She hoped it wouldn’t look like she was trying too hard.

  ‘Charlie McArthur is a lovely man,’ said her mother.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He’s got mor
e than one or two of the local girls after him. It’s very flattering that he’s so keen on you.’

  ‘Mum, we’re just friends.’

  Maggie nodded understandingly. Then she said, as though there was a connection, ‘And have you seen anything of Philip Milligan recently?’

  ‘No. No reason why we should. He was very helpful that night you were rushed to hospital but he’s got his own life, no doubt he’s busy.’

  Charlie took her to the Maypole House Hotel in a little village just outside Boroughbie. Rachel had forgotten what an attractive place it was, the four-storey house with its myriad sash and case windows, flanked at right-angles on each side by two two-storey wings. In the square this created was a complicated knot-garden of herbs and flowers. ‘It’s very smart,’ said Rachel, glad she had dressed up but worried now that Charlie was going to be spending rather a lot of money on her.

  ‘The food’s good, that’s the main thing,’ he said. That was one of the nice things about Charlie, he was so easy going it was hard not to relax when in his company. He wasn’t moody and unpredictable, like someone else she could mention.

  They were shown to their table. Charlie ignored the almost intimidating array of snowy-white cloths and polished silverware and chatted away about his work and the Boroughbie Show. Rachel found it was easy to join in, sipping the one glass of white wine she had accepted, and beginning to enjoy herself.

  They had reached the pudding stage when there was a crash followed by the sound of two familiar voices in an unfamiliar altercation. Rachel’s seat gave her a lovely view of the gardens but she had her back to most of the room and had been unaware of who their fellow-diners were. Now she turned to see Philip Milligan and his little niece at a table not very far away, with a tumbler of some kind of coloured juice now spread over the white cloth and dripping on to the floor.

  ‘You need to be more careful …’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not a problem, sir,’ said a waiter, hurrying up with a pile of napkins and beginning the mop-up operation.

  ‘How many times have I told you?’ said Philip to the girl. He was quite pink with embarrassment. This wasn’t the sort of attention he was used to. The child looked close to tears.

  Rachel moved to stand up, sure she could do something to help, and her action caught Philip’s eye. ‘Amelia …’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘How nice to see you,’ said Rachel cheerily, as though there hadn’t just been a small disaster. She kissed them both on the cheek, taking herself by surprise. ‘Are you here for lunch too?’

  ‘This place was recommended,’ said Philip stiffly. ‘But I should have realised it really isn’t suitable for a child.’

  ‘They’re very helpful,’ said Rachel, impressed at the way the waiter had removed the plates, whisked off the stained cloth and replaced it with another, all in the blink of an eye.

  ‘I spilt my juice,’ said Amelia, still looking horrified.

  ‘These things happen,’ said Rachel, patting her thin shoulder. Then she realised she had left Charlie alone at their own table and with a few more words of encouragement, withdrew.

  ‘That’s that television guy, isn’t it?’ said Charlie. ‘He did a good job at the show. Not surprising, of course, with you there to help him. How’re his dogs doing?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ said Rachel. ‘Luckily. You did a good job of sorting out Ben.’ She wished she didn’t have her back to the other couple. She wanted to know what they were doing but she couldn’t keep turning round.

  ‘I heard he bought that lovely old house in the next valley to you. Is he going to settle in the area?’

  ‘I presume that’s the plan,’ said Rachel, wishing they could talk about something else. To her relief, a waitress arrived to see if they wanted coffee, and Charlie was distracted.

  When they left she made sure she didn’t go too close to Philip’s table, just raised a hand in a casual farewell. At Charlie’s suggestion they took a walk in the hotel gardens, which fell away to the river at the back. It was a lovely spot, if a little too manicured for Rachel’s taste. She was about to suggest they head for home when she realised Philip and the child were coming to join them.

  ‘Thank you for coming to my aid back there,’ he said. She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic. He hadn’t needed her to jump in like that.

  ‘No problem. Did you enjoy your meal?’

  ‘Once we got over the accident, yes, it was fine.’

  ‘I had a burger,’ said Amelia. ‘It was really big. I couldn’t finish it.’

  ‘It’s a shame they don’t do a children’s menu,’ said Philip.

  ‘They serve generous portions, don’t they?’ agreed Charlie. ‘I couldn’t finish my steak, either, and I’m sure I’ve got a much bigger appetite than your niece.’ He seemed quite taken with the child and took her down to the water’s edge to see if they could spot any fish.

  Philip hung back and Rachel felt she should stay with him out of politeness. He had been so good after the show, but now he was back to that supercilious tone she disliked so much.

  He said abruptly, ‘Amelia and I wondered if you’d like to come and have supper with us one day.’

  Rachel was dumbfounded. She had expected, hoped even, that she might see some more of him after his helpfulness. He had phoned a number of times to ask after her mother, but he had never suggested meeting up. At first, she had been too anxious to think anything of it, then she had told herself not to be silly. Why should Philip Milligan have time for someone like her?

  And now this.

  ‘Do I presume that is a no?’ he said, his grim tone making her realise she hadn’t yet answered.

  ‘No … I mean, sorry, I was thinking. I’d love to come. That’s very kind of you.’ She met his eyes and felt herself beginning to blush. She looked quickly away. ‘What day were you thinking of?’

  ‘How about, say, Thursday? Yes?’ His tone was cheerful now. ‘If you come along late afternoon we can take the dogs for a walk and eat afterwards. Amelia would like that.’

  Oh, he was inviting her for Amelia’s sake, was he? Well, that was fine.

  Chapter Ten

  Rachel hadn’t forgotten she was going to do something about Anthony. On the Monday she made a trip into Boroughbie and sought out Rupert Randall’s studio. She stood before the door for a moment, nervous now. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to say and had no idea if she would be welcome.

  She tapped on the half-open door of what was clearly a converted garage, a square stone building with double doors.

  ‘In you come,’ shouted a voice, so friendly she felt herself relaxing.

  The room she entered was large and airy, lit by numerous skylights. A small, balding man was bent over a worktable in the centre. ‘I cannae stop the now,’ he said. ‘But take a seat, I’ll no’ be a minute.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m sorry to disturb you.’

  Rachel looked around for a chair, but found they were all being used to prop up canvases or hold piles of paper. She didn’t mind. The place was fascinating enough for her just to stand and look. There were pictures everywhere, mostly the same distinctive black and white designs she recognised from the little card, but also sketches, water colours, and piles and piles of what she assumed to be artists’ supplies – paper and ink and knives, brushes, sheets of lino, and she didn’t know what else.

  She was amazed to see all this here, in a little back road out of Boroughbie. She had thought of this as an agricultural area, a little market town, and now realised there was so much more she didn’t know about the place.

  The man finished his task and wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘Good afternoon to you,’ he said with a twinkling smile. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m Rachel Collington. You won’t know me, but I think you’ve met my brother.’

  ‘I recognise you from the papers,’ he said with a grin. ‘You’re the heroine.’

  Rachel pulled a face. ‘Ha
rdly. My brother came up and spoke to you at the show, a tall, fair-haired boy, nineteen-years-old?’ She hoped the man remembered him. So much of her plan relied on that.

  ‘Aye, I mind him. Had a young lady and a wee lassie with him, did he no’?’

  ‘That’s right. Our neighbour Gemma and the little girl was Amelia, niece of Philip Milligan who opened the show … But never mind about that. Anthony was really interested in your work.’

  ‘He said so. I told him to come and see me.’

  ‘Yes. The thing is, he’s a bit … shy. And, I don’t know, maybe it’s just a teenage thing. He is really keen but he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself at the moment. He wanted to come but he wouldn’t, so I thought I’d come and talk to you myself.’

  ‘Aye?’ said the man. His round face seemed amused by her interference.

  Rachel tried again. ‘Anthony’s not doing anything with himself at the moment. I wondered if he could spend some time with you as a, I don’t know, an assistant or a dogsbody or whatever. He just seems fascinated by what you do and if he could get a chance to see it close up maybe it would give him an idea …’ She tailed off. This had all made sense when she thought it through at home, but now, with the little man watching her silently from dark eyes she wondered if it wasn’t an incredible intrusion. ‘I’m sorry, it’s probably a cheek to ask you …’

  ‘He wants a job, does he?’

  ‘He wouldn’t expect you to pay him. He just needs to do something, you know? Something he’s interested in, for once. He’s been helping my parents with the kennels they run, but that’s their interest, not his.’

  ‘There’s no’ much money in print-making,’ said the man. ‘It’s not a great career.’

  ‘I’ve not got as far as thinking of a career just yet,’ said Rachel. ‘First he needs to find out what he’s interested in, then we can take it from there.’

  The man continued to regard her in silence for a while. His cheery face did not lend itself to frowns, but he seemed to be considering. ‘I’m busy enough at the moment, an extra pair of hands wouldnae go amiss.’