by Jules Wake
‘Idiots the lot of them. And your mother was no better. Well, all I can say is I’m relieved the two of you aren’t brother and sister. I take it from the fact she’s gone AWOL that Lisa still thinks otherwise.’
Will couldn’t believe that Nan was this cool about the revelations. Although he had to admit that finding out the man he’d always thought of as his father hadn’t come as much of a disappointment to him. It made him feel less of a failure, not measuring up to Richard’s expectations.
‘Do you know where she is?’
Nan looked mutinous for a moment. ‘What are you planning?’
‘What do you think? I need to speak to her urgently.’
‘Don’t you think it’s best to leave well alone? Lisa’s quite happy as she is. And you’re not exactly Mr Faithful.’
‘On what basis?’ snarled Will.
‘I watched your parents’ shenanigans. And my Hattie’s. And never a truer word’s been spoken than whoever said, ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’. I was determined to keep Lisa away from all that. She deserves a lot better. Needs a bit of stability in her life.’
Will thought he might explode as his face reddened and the pressure in his head at his temples built and built.
‘You know that she’s terrified you’re going to die and leave her alone. So much so she’s never taken a chance on happiness herself.’
‘Well, of course I’m going to die. Everyone does.’ Nan sucked in her cheeks. ‘That’s daft. Besides, I’m not about to shuffle off any time soon. Fit as a fiddle, I am.’
‘Really?’ He put his hands on his hips, wanting to square up to her, and then realised it probably looked a bit odd, given she was a good foot smaller than him. He needn’t have worried.
‘Really, Will Ryan.’ She prodded him the chest, which surely looked comical but felt anything but. ‘Yes. Got all my marbles.’
‘So why’s Lisa so worried you might have a stroke at any moment? Why is she constantly worrying about you taking your tablets?’
‘Them doctors. Don’t know anything. Worryworts.’
‘That’s not what Lisa thinks. She carries an information leaflet about strokes around with her. She texts you every day to remind you take your pills, but you don’t, do you?’
Nan shrugged. ‘I forget.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t. Lisa remembers.’
Nan looked a tad shame-faced. ‘She worries too much.’
‘No, she doesn’t. Lisa is one of the most laid-back, happy-go-lucky people I know. You’re the person she worries about constantly.’
‘Well, I can’t help that, can I?’ snapped Nan, turning away from him and starting to dry up the solitary cup and saucer on the draining board.
‘Yes, you can.’
‘Spare me.’ She pitched onto her tiptoes to put the crockery away. ‘You’re not going to start lecturing me about fish and bloody chips again like Dr Gupta.’
Will leaned against the opposite kitchen bench in the tiny kitchen with his arms folded, pretending nonchalance.
‘I couldn’t care less what you eat, but I do care that Lisa worries about it. You should at least take the medication properly. Then Lisa could stop worrying as much as she does.’
‘And that’s all it’s going to take.’ Nan sniffed and turned her nose up.
‘Lisa doesn’t want to deprive you of your fish and chips; she wants you to live a full and happy life, but if you have a stroke, it might not be that full or that happy.’
Nan glared at him. ‘You’re as bad as she is.’
‘Yeah, I give a shit. I care that Lisa is worried about you. I care that she’s terrified she’s going to lose her one remaining family member. I care that she doesn’t think there’ll be anyone there for her.’
Getting it all off his chest didn’t give him an ounce of satisfaction when he saw her wizened frame deflate even further. Her mouth moved but no words came out.
He moved quickly to touch her on her arm, guiding her to one of the chairs in the adjoining dining area.
‘I’m fine. Stop fussing,’ she patted his hand away.
He did as he was told, but watched her carefully, reminded again how frail she was.
She sat down, holding onto the table, her mouth pinched and white. When her eyes closed for a minute, he reached out to touch her again.
‘I’m alright,’ she huffed. ‘Didn’t take my pesky pills this morning.’
She gave him a baleful glare. ‘I don’t like them. They make me feel funny. Horrible, dizzy. The woman at the newsagent thought I was drunk the last time I took them.’
‘Have you told the doctor that? Sometimes they can change them, give you something else that suits you better.’
She huffed again. ‘I don’t like causing a fuss. There’s nothing wrong with me but old age.’
‘And high blood pressure, which the right medication can sort out.’
Suddenly she looked old and defeated. ‘I don’t like going to the doctors. They treat me like I’m an old lady. Bloody hate it, I do. I might be old but I’m not stupid. I was up to no good before they were even born. All the same. Patronising, posh, clever blokes who haven’t got the first clue about life.’
He smiled at that, but then she suddenly added, ‘I wish Lisa were here.’ Her out-of-character tremulous words almost floored him. Sitting in a chair nearly as big as she was, like a child sitting on a throne, she looked rather defenceless and lost.
For someone who’d spent almost his entire life keeping a surreptitious eye out for his wayward parents and younger sister, and swore he’d avoid being responsible for other people in the future, he realised it had become an intrinsic part of his make-up. Family was family. People who needed looking after, needed looking after and it seemed he was pre-disposed to help where he could.
‘Come on, get your coat.’
Nan looked at him suspiciously. ‘What, have I pulled?’
He saw a little of the old fire spark back up again.
‘Don’t tell me, you’re taking me to the bingo.’
Will laughed, relieved that her fighting spirit had only been taking a brief rest. ‘No, but I’m going to take you to the doctors now. Let’s get your tablets sorted.’
Nan rolled her eyes, but there was a distinct brightness to them. ‘Alright, but you have to take me to Morrisons afterwards. Lisa always takes me on a Thursday.’
‘It’s Tuesday.’
‘So? You can take me Tuesdays. She can take me Thursdays.’
She pulled on an ancient hairy coat, brushing it down, releasing puffs of dust, or possibly small termites, and grabbed a crocodile handbag.
‘Don’t think this puts you in my good books, though, young man.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
Will opened the front door with a bow and followed her out into the street.
‘Good, because if you think I’m telling you that Lisa is staying with that sister of Siena’s up in York, you’ve got another think coming. Now are we going or not?’
Chapter 33
Lisa stifled a yawn, it had been a very long day but she didn’t want to appear rude. They were in Cam and Laurie’s sitting room, and she was doing her best to fight against the plush worn velvet sofa, which seemed to have designs on eating her up. Her weary body welcomed the soft feather-filled, accommodating cushions, prompting a protest that it had been up since seven helping Norah to serve breakfast to the party who’d arrived to celebrate a sixtieth birthday. Poor Laurie couldn’t cope with the smell of bacon at that time of day. In fact, it didn’t seem to matter what time of day it was.
Who knew that Cam would be this keen on Scrabble? She gave in to an enormous yawn and shifted slightly from her curled-up position wondering if she might tell him she had to go to bed, but Cam rather studiously ignored her as he looked at his watch.
‘Another game?’
He was having a laugh, wasn’t he?
Laurie was half asleep leaning against him.
�
�No, I need to go to bed,’ replied Lisa, uncurling and rubbing her tingling left foot, which was about to go numb. Tiredness had finally won over being polite.
‘What about a hot chocolate and a nightcap?’ Cam bounced to his feet, as if this was the best and most original idea on the planet.
Laurie stirred sleepily. ‘That sounds like an excellent …’ she slurred her words.
The two of them were mad. It was after eleven. Laurie normally admitted defeat at ten, at which point Cam usually escorted her up for the night.
This evening they were rather like a pair of cats about to have kittens, circling round and round as if trying to find the right spot. And Cam, who normally derided mobile phones, kept checking his. Apparently, there was some auction of a car he was interested in. It had been Cam who had suggested a game of Scrabble, which Laurie had welcomed, but after one game it was clear that Cam didn’t have the patience or the interest, although Laurie had enjoyed it before her head started drooping over her collection of letter tiles.
‘No brandy in my hot chocolate,’ reminded Laurie, ‘but I would like some squirty cream and some of those mini marshmallows.’
‘Didn’t you eat all the mini marshmallows yesterday?’ asked Cam.
‘Norah bought some more.’
Shaking his head, Cam stalked off to the back of the house to the kitchen, where Norah was still pottering and, no doubt, she would be the one who served up the hot chocolate.
‘I love having these cravings,’ whispered Laurie. ‘It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card all the time.’
By the time Cam brought the mugs back, piled high with cream and sprinkled with pink and white mini marshmallows, Laurie had slid down the sofa and fallen fast asleep.
Cam stood for a minute, a tender smile on his face as he looked down at her. He perched on the edge of the sofa and stroked her face gently. ‘Come on you. Bedtime.’
‘Sorry,’ Laurie’s voice slurred and her eyes blinked owlishly. ‘Did my best.’
Cam tucked his arms under her and lifted her. ‘My hero.’ Laurie looped her arms around him and nestled her head into his neck, her eyes fluttering closed.
‘I think I’ll go up too,’ said Lisa.
Cam’s resigned expression made her wonder why he’d been so eager for them all to stay up, but she was bushed.
Cam and Laurie’s about-to-have-kittens’ routine had unsettled her – God knows what they’d be like when Laurie’s baby was due. She fell into bed, grateful for Laurie’s excellent taste in pure-cotton sheets and blissfully comforting duck-down duvet, but she couldn’t sleep and she needed to.
She set her alarm, wishing Cam hadn’t been as flipping insistent on playing Scrabble, especially when it clearly wasn’t his game. With a sigh, she plumped up the pillows and switched out the light. Her brain sprang into action, like it did every night. What was Will doing at this moment? Rounding up empties in the bar? Locking up the front door after the last regular had been coaxed from their seat at the polished wooden bar. Laughing with Marcus, Al and Siena as they bagged up the money from the till.
Her thoughts seemed to tune in to the same channel constantly. Even when she was stripping beds in the morning, she could picture him opening up for the day. In the kitchen with Marcus and Al, discussing the day’s menu. Sorting through the deliveries.
She punched her pillow, which seemed to have developed lumps in the wrong places. Why couldn’t they invent a remote to reset your brain and change the channel? Deliberately she focused on tomorrow, knowing that even if she did get to sleep, she’d wake again in time to see the first straggling rays of sunrise clutching at the clouds with pink-and-gold fingers.
The sixtieth-birthday crowd had already declared their intention to be up early and go into York to visit the Minster. They looked like hearty breakfast-eaters, who would want a full English. Like excitable boys, the men were all looking forward to their late-afternoon tour of the hi-tech garage housing the vintage cars and the promised trip to the track to drive some of the collection.
She tried to switch her mind off but it was up and running, thinking of all the things she needed to do tomorrow. She’d promised to help Laurie do some wedding stuff, which was hush, hush as she was keeping the finer detail a secret from Cam. He, in turn, had commandeered her to help with arrangements for the honeymoon, which was also a secret from Laurie. Hopefully she could keep her stories straight and not let anything slip to either one of them.
The arrival of a car crunching to a halt on the gravel outside made her stiffen. A late arrival? She couldn’t remember Cam or Laurie mentioning expecting more guests. She listened hard and heard a car door close. Should she get up? Poor Laurie was bushed and if Cam got up he might disturb her. She waited for the jangling peal of the old-fashioned bell. Nothing. She strained to hear and could just make out some slight sounds of movement and low masculine voices. Sounded like Cam had it under control.
With a grateful sigh, she snuggled into the duvet.
The knock at the door had her groaning. Really? She’d finally got comfortable.
‘Yes,’ she called.
When there was no answer, she threw back the bed covers and padded to the door. Had Laurie forgotten some instruction for the morning? Sent Cam to deliver a message?
The soft knock came again.
Hiding her exasperation and framing a polite smile on her face she opened the door.
Her heart stopped. She stared. White noise rushed in her ears. When she opened her mouth nothing came out.
She registered crumpled clothes and shadowed eyes as he stood, almost swaying on the spot with exhaustion. Her nerve endings buzzed with awareness.
Longing swamped her, followed, like a door slammed, by fear and shame.
She flinched.
He took a step forward and she took a step back, scared that if she touched him, the grief would well up and drown her. Even though it was wrong, she drank in the sight of him. Her throat closed as she tried to speak and his name came out in a strangled croak, ‘Will.’
‘He’s not your father.’ Will’s hoarse words hung in the air between them as they stared at each other.
She tried to assimilate them, her brain whirling and fuzzy, but her body tuned in immediately, a hot flush of adrenaline coursing through her, making her nerve endings jump and fireworks fizz through every vein.
‘Vittorio, he’s not your father.’
‘But …’ she frowned, trying to focus against the wealth of sensation taking her system by storm.
‘He’s my father, not yours.’
The urgent expression on his face made more impression than his words, but she couldn’t manage to frame a single word. Her mouth moved, but everything she thought she might want to say stuck fast in her throat.
‘Your mother was already pregnant when he married her. He loved her, even though she was pregnant with another man’s baby.’ The words came in a rush, like the sea overcoming her, washing in her ears as she tried to make sense of them, her heart lifting in hope and then fighting against the tide. Was it true? Or was it what she wanted to hear?
‘He’s not your father. We’re not related.’
‘B-but …’
Will took a step forward, clamping his hands on her arms, his eyes boring into hers. ‘We’re not … he’s not …’
Like a balloon bursting, all the misery of the last few days exploded. Her legs, limp as noodles, barely held her up.
Then his arms slipped around her, pulling her to him so tightly she could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. She clung to him, desperate and hopeful, as if she might be absorbed into him, her cheek against the soft, crumpled cotton of his shirt, so fine she could feel warm skin and heartbeats, his and then hers thundering like hooves on the gallops.
Standing in the circle of his solid embrace, feeling his steady breaths, with her head tucked under his chin, inhaling that indefinable Will smell of musky man, washing powder and woodsy soap, she felt as though she’d come home.
A harbour at last. Suddenly she realised in a rush that he’d been the reliable one. She’d run out on him when the odds looked insurmountable. The facts stacked against them. And here he was, holding her as if he’d never let her go again.
She looked up. He smiled, a sweet unWill-like smile edged with tenderness.
‘I’m sorry.’ With a very shaky hand she reached up and touched his face. ‘I’m sorry. When I saw Vittorio, I ran. He looked so like you it completely threw me. But I should have stayed. Should have talked to you.’
He cupped her hand. ‘I can understand why you ran. It must have been a hell of a shock. It was a shock when I saw him. Like looking in the mirror in twenty years’ time.’
‘I didn’t know what else to do. I had to get away. When I thought you were my brother, I felt dirty, ashamed, sordid. I couldn’t face you. But that’s an excuse. I bailed because I was scared … of everything.’ Just thinking about it again and remembering that terrible sinking in quicksand sensation, so helpless and out of control, made her suck in a desperate breath, a precursor to an almighty sob. She didn’t want to spoil this by crying.
‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He led her over to the bed, where they sat down side by side, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder. He took her hand as she dropped her head on his shoulder.
They sat there for several minutes, peaceable in the shadowed light of the bedside lamp, content to be.
‘Lisa.’ His voice sounded uncertain.
‘Yes.’ Trepidation crept into her voice. She hadn’t wanted to ask. ‘Does he know who my real father is?’
Will turned her to face him and dropped a kiss on her forehead. ‘Yes.’
Lisa gulped. ‘And did he tell you?’
Will nodded.
‘Do I know him?’
Will nodded. ‘You do.’
‘Oh God.’ Lisa’s palms turned clammy. ‘Not your father. I mean your … other father?’
Will took her hand and squeezed. ‘No, thankfully. That would be too weird. It’s …’ he paused, his eyes roving over her face, as if he were checking she was alright. ‘It’s … Sir Robert.’
