“Then they contacted me,” Gemma snapped. “And I couldn’t reach you till this morning.”
“You’re seeing somebody, aren’t you?” Neil tried to turn his head up and winced again.
Robyn felt surrounded by pressure, poked and prodded. She had tripped into a snakepit. A familiar feeling bloomed inside her as her personality heeled over, pivoting yet again on a point of strain.
“Of course I am. In fact I see quite a few others. I have a double life as a prostitute down an alley. Didn’t you know?”
The effect on Neil was electric. He swung his legs to the floor and then collapsed backwards in pain. Gemma fussed to his side but he thrust her away with his good arm. With considerable effort he pulled himself to his feet. He thrust out his hand and gripped Robyn’s chin roughly.
“Neil…” It was Gemma, alarmed.
He spoke as clearly as he could, twisting Robyn’s skin till she gave a cry of pain. “Don’t talk about yourself and those whores in the same breath.” His voice rose to a shout and spittle showered her face. “Do you hear me?”
“Neil! Let her go!” Gemma pulled him back and he released her, falling back onto the couch.
Gemma put a hand out to Robyn. “Are you OK?”
Robyn felt the blood going from her head as she turned to the door. Her hand shook. She closed her eyes and steadied herself on the wall. She was suffocating, gasping. You’re being a bad girl again, aren’t you? Just as well only Daddy knows. She felt Gemma’s touch her arm.
“He’s very stressed. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“Yes, he does, Gemma. Oh yes he does. They all do.” Robyn took several deep breaths and straightened. A boiling anger was rising in her and she really didn’t want it to spill over just now, just here. She looked at Neil, lying pale and exhausted.
“I’m sorry for you, Neil. One of the reasons I was late was because I was thinking hard about what I said yesterday. I thought maybe I was wrong. But you know what? I was right. I don’t want to see you ever again.” She turned to go, then turned back. “I really hope you get better soon,” she said. “But you’re such a black and white person. I just never realised it before.” She went out into the hall. “And get your hair cut, you look stupid!” she yelled and slammed the front door behind her.
Through the window, Gemma watched her walk away down the street.
“Now who’s going to look after you tomorrow?” she said.
There wasn’t any name she could put to this anger. It welled up from somewhere very deep, very black. It mushroomed until it covered the entire world around her and she was in the middle of it, throwing punches and hitting air.
She walked back to her flat and was reaching to push the street door open before she realised someone was approaching, saying her name.
“Well, Robyn Daniels! How are you? You are still about.”
Angus Fraser was the last person she expected to see.
“Angus. What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I was just ringing your doorbell. I was calling to see if you’d gone home yet.”
She was distracted, fidgety. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Just wondering.”
“I’m tired, Angus. This isn’t a good time.”
“How about tomorrow then? I was thinking of going for a drive up the coast and I thought it’d be much nicer with company. And I thought of you – unless you’ve other plans, of course.”
A hand on the door, she answered over her shoulder. “Thank you, Angus. But no thanks.”
“Sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“But you’ll be going back home soon?”
“I’m staying up this year.”
“Ah. Another time then.”
He smiled and walked away.
Robyn stood in the middle of her room. Her anger had subsided, been tucked away. Despite what had happened afterwards, it had something to do with her meeting with David Shaw. In a way she didn’t understand, his company and calmness were empowering, and his influence was still gentle on her when she had entered Gemma’s house. Indeed it had not entirely dissipated even yet.
Her shock when she had looked at Neil this afternoon was not just at the state he was in, but at how she felt. This was the person who had been around through almost her entire life. He had been there in crises, in family events, in bereavement, at Christmas, at Easter, at weddings, at every corner and at every straight.
He was a small, fussy, arrogant dictator. Being around him was to be constantly on the defensive, waiting to be found out, for the next inadequacy to be blazoned in lights.
She sat down suddenly. She should have seen before. He was exactly like her father. No wonder the two of them had got along together so well. A memory. She was just a teenager and had been helping her mother in the kitchen. She had been about to return to the sitting room when she overheard her father:
“I hope it works out for you, Neil. I couldn’t hand her over to a better person. You’ll know how to handle her.”
You bastard. You wanted to hand me over to another man. Look after the goods, boy.
Deliberately, consciously, she called up the peace she had felt beside the river and said aloud – “I don’t have to belong to anybody. I’m me. I can choose for myself. I can choose my friends, my job, my home.”
They were only words in the air but at least she had said them.
Later, her telephone rang. She let it click to the answer phone and turned down the music to listen. It was her mother. I’ve just heard about Neil’s accident. How terrible. You must be terribly upset. Ring as soon as you get in, no matter what the time. You are so lucky he’s still around. I hope this will bring that home to you, Robyn.
Aha. Mummy doesn’t know yet.
Energy surged through her. She vacuumed the floors, cleaned the window, dusted every surface.
Her sleep was sound and dreamless.
David Shaw sat cross-legged on the floor of the study, in front of his mother’s shelves of medical books. He took each one in turn and checked the index. Some were irrelevant, some too advanced; some he flicked over a few pages and ran his finger down the lines. One was more use and he read several pages, motionless in concentration. Manna nuzzled him and whined. Getting no response, the dog planted a huge paw on his shoulder.
His mother came into the room and he slammed the book shut.
“David! Everything all right?”
“Fine. Just checking on something.”
“Is something wrong?” His mother’s face took on its familiar look of anxiety.
David unfolded himself and stood up. “No, Mum. I’m fine.” His voice was patient, used to allaying fears. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I wouldn’t want to have any of the horrors described in those books. I think I’ll go back to the Mr Men.”
She smiled. “Much nicer reading. Shouldn’t you be at the church?” “Five minutes ago. See you.” He pointed at Manna. “Hang onto him while I escape.”
Despite being late, he decided to leave the car and jog to the church. A shower of rain had cleared and the trees along the avenue glowed with the sheen of freshly washed leaves. The air smelled warm and green.
What he had read had confirmed his suspicions. It also scared him. Earlier, when Robyn Daniels had reached over to pull a branch from the bush by the river, he had seen a scar running down the length of the inside of her wrist. It was very pale; it wouldn’t be noticed unless her arm was close to you and you were looking straight at it. Shock at the realisation of what it was, in all probability, had made him want to run away. It was instinctive. Get out of here. You can’t handle this. This is deeper than you can cope with. No-one has all the answers and you have fewer than most.
He stopped and crouched to tie a lace on his trainer. That this girl was troubled was evident. To find out how much those troubles had affected her and for how long – that scar was old – frightened him. Instinctively he had walked away from her, hardly knowing he
did it. He remembered saying in his mind: “No. Too heavy! Not me.”
Then she had called his name, and he had turned and walked straight back to her side.
As he turned in through the wrought iron gates of the church he remembered something his father had said years ago in a voice choked with tears: “A day at a time, child. A day at a time. It’s all we can do. We have to get by.”
David paused outside the door of the church hall. Soon he would be surrounded by the exuberance of the members of the youth group, pulling at him, calling him, the younger ones wanting piggy backs, the boys wanting him to play football, the girls teasing him, hoping that he would tease them back. As he pushed the door, the youngest of the children inside let out a whoop of delight and rushed to clamp himself around his leg.
David sent up a quick prayer. “A day at a time. Still. For her. And for me.”
12
THREE ANGULAR PEGS threatened to poke the eye of any unwary customer trying to get a view in the full length mirror of the claustrophobic fitting room. Robyn tried a pirouette, flicking her hair out from the neckline of the green dress. It suited her and she knew it. It wasn’t trendy, it was classically elegant. It had everything: lace, delicate cap sleeves, a wide pale green lace band circling the fitted waist, stitching detail on the gently flared gores of the graceful skirt.
This was the fifth shop she had visited this morning, and she had bought something in every one. She had intended to look for clothes suitable for school – if she managed to get a job when this temporary post finished. But this dress was a sheer indulgence. She didn’t know where she was going to wear it, but a new life needed new clothes. She’d wear it when she’d worked out the life. She took it off with care. This would have to be the last.
She debated whether she could comfortably have lunch in town with so many bags to manage. Eventually she gripped a sandwich and a bottle of orange juice long enough to reach a table in a coffee shop.
She kicked off her shoes and stretched her toes. Shoes! She should get some new shoes. The orange was cold and refreshing. This was the first major shopping trip that she had undertaken without either her mother or Gemma being with her. Why had she suddenly found faith in her own judgement? The feeling was good in a scary kind of way.
A short walk away, at the side of the City Hall, she was just in time to catch her bus. It was still early on a warm afternoon. She planned to hang up all her new clothes and then take a book to the Botanic Gardens.
As the bus turned a corner, an unmistakable figure stood out from the shifting currents of people on the pavement. David Shaw was guiding Penny Woodford to a pedestrian crossing. Penny’s denim jacket was frayed and she had dyed her hair bright purple. The stud on her chin moved in time to her jaws as she chewed. Just as the bus moved on, blocking them from view, they turned slightly to dodge through to the kerbside, and Robyn saw David put out an arm and his hand almost touched the small of Penny’s back.
It wasn’t a day for the park after all. Robyn stood in the middle of her room with a black bin bag in her hand and all her old clothes in a heap on the floor. The doors of her empty wardrobe yawned behind her. Carefully she lifted and judged each item. The pink tunic with the crocheted sleeves was the first to go into the bag. Even though it was new, she would never wear it again.
When the reprieved clothes were back in the wardrobe, or carefully folded, Robyn unpacked and hung her new clothes. She shook out the green dress. It seemed even sillier now. What a waste. Only a good day and a good occasion would be the time for it, and when was that going to happen?
That night the black bag was wedged beside the chair at her door, ready for the charity shop.
At three o’clock in the morning, she woke. The black fog was coming back. She felt the dread of it digging deep. She threw back the quilt and stood up. Motionless in the middle of the room, she looked into the dark and waited. No sound. No voice. Nobody wishing her to be whole in body and spirit; to be at peace with herself.
She woke in the morning stiff and cold, curled in a ball in her chair.
Edith Braden waved across the snack bar, smiling broadly.
“This was a great idea, Robyn. I’m finding the holidays a bit of a bore.”
“Great to see you, Edith. Have you been away anywhere?” Robyn settled herself at the table, relaxing at the prospect of company.
“Not possible, I’m afraid. My mother’s a dear old soul, but there was just no respite care available. So I’m stuck.”
“It’s not great travelling just now anyway. Terrible queues at the airport.”
Edith looked at her appraisingly. “You look a bit pale. What have you been doing with yourself?”
“I spent a lot of money yesterday. Enough to account for the pallor.”
“Great pastime. What on?”
“Clothes.”
“More? You’re the best dressed person in the school.”
Robyn bit her sandwich. There was mustard in it. She hated mustard. She raised a teasing eyebrow. “Well, I want to stay that way.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re not the vain type. It’s the man in your life, isn’t it? Need to impress him.”
“There’s no man in my life.”
“So you said. Where’s the guy from the Hooley?”
Robyn took her sandwich apart and scraped the mustard out. “Still on the planet somewhere, I assume.”
Edith cocked an eyebrow. “No story there then?”
Robyn smiled but said firmly, “There’s no story. End of.”
“He seemed a solid type, just what you need.”
“What do you mean – just what I need?”
Edith looked down. “Well, I mean that you seem…” She hid behind a mouthful of egg and onion sandwich.
“What, Edith?”
“… you seem a bit lonely sometimes.”
Robyn squashed her sandwich together again. “Well, I’m here talking to you!”
“You are indeed. Don’t mind me.” Edith lifted her teapot. “I just thought you were maybe going to settle down to a normal life in suburbia.”
There was that word again.
“Normal? Getting married would ensure I had a normal life? I didn’t think you of all people would have that idea.” Immediately, Robyn regretted the words. She reached over and touched Edith’s arm. “I’m sorry. That was…”
Edith calmly poured the last of the tea from her teapot-forone.
“I’m more than twice your age, Rob. Believe it or not, I was in love once. Jackie, a lovely Fermanagh lad. Farmer’s son. But I thought I’d play hard to get. String him along. He wanted to marry me and I said well, I’d have to think about it. Make him wait.”
She sipped her tea, holding the cup in two hands in front of her mouth as she spoke, her voice slow. “Finally I decided it was time to say yes. He was to call for me that evening and we were going to the pictures. He was late.” She stopped talking for a moment. Robyn waited. “My father phoned his father. They had just found Jackie’s body in the lane. There was a booby-trap on the gate. Blew his head off when he touched the bolt.” She put her cup down. “It was meant for his father. He was in the Reserves.”
“Oh Edith. I am so sorry.”
Edith made a quick dismissive gesture. “Don’t waste time on being sorry. It was a long time ago. The only reason I’m wringing your heart with history is to explain I’m not single by choice. It can be a very lonely row to hoe. Regret isn’t good fertiliser.” She looked at Robyn keenly. “I may be wrong, but I don’t think you’re the type to go through life happy to be alone.”
“As you say. You may be wrong.”
“So no hope then?”
“Nope.”
“Good solid businessman.” Edith mused.
Robyn kept her tone light. “Let’s change the subject. Another pot of tea?”
When she returned with the refilled teapot and another coffee for herself, she said gently, “I hear what you’re saying, Edith. But your choice was
forced on you. I’ve made my own.”
Edith sighed. “He wasn’t all that bad looking. Looked at in a certain light.”
A change of subject was urgently needed.
“Tell me about the Shaws.”
Edith looked puzzled. “What Shaws?”
“David Shaw. I think you said you knew the family in Enniskillen.”
“I did. Vincent’s a good bit older than Elizabeth, but they were so obviously besotted nobody thought it strange.”
“David’s their only child?”
“Elizabeth didn’t seem to conceive easily. They were married a good few years before he came along. Even then she nearly lost him. She had to lie in hospital for two months to make sure he went to term. I visited her then. It was very hard for her; she was such an active, intelligent girl.”
“So why did they come east?”
“Vincent’s something very important in the Civil Service. I think he was promoted. I’ve lost touch with them really. I left Fermanagh years before they did.”
“Did you know David as a child?”
“I met him occasionally. Saw him in church, of course, and at church things. They’re a nice family. I mean, good, you know? Down to earth.” Her eyebrows rose. “Why the interest?”
Robyn shrugged. “Oh, I had a chat with David after school one day. He seems a bit, well, different. Quite a serious guy. Older than his years in a way.”
Edith didn’t speak for a moment. Then: “Yes, I could believe he’s grown up that way. There was always a depth to him. Even when he was four years old he was a thoughtful child.”
“Loneliness certainly isn’t something he suffers from anyway.”
Edith put her cup down. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Oh? What do you mean?”
Edith looked at her watch. “I really must go. I left mother with a neighbour and promised I’d be back by half two. I can only afford help in term-time.” She hooked her bag from under the table. “Let’s meet up again. I enjoyed getting out for a chat.”
The colour printer hummed a sheet of photo-quality paper into the tray. Angus had spent all morning following her. She was getting inside his head; he needed to see her; wanted to see her everywhere he looked. There was a buzz in his head. Sometimes it hurt.
Healer of My Heart Page 9
