by Vivien Brown
‘Hmmm, four of them, and only three of us.’ Fiona, always the most forward, had stopped laughing and was considering the possibilities. ‘Awkward. But at least it gives us some element of choice. I’ll take the blond one. I’ve had enough of tall dark strangers lately. I fancy a change.’
Laura cringed. She didn’t know where to put herself. They’d obviously heard what Fiona had said, or they’d realised there were three pairs of curious female eyes staring in their direction. Either way, they were staring right back now, amused smiles on their faces, and she just wanted to hide herself away, under the table, behind a pot plant, anywhere. Fiona and her big mouth! She could feel her face burning red as the one with the wallet looked straight at her and she immediately saw who it was. Even without the dog collar, he was instantly recognisable, unmistakeable. It was Paul Thomas. Out of her league, quite possibly the man of her dreams, untouchable because he was a priest, Paul Thomas. He smiled, held up a hand to his mouth and wiggled it up and down in a clumsy sort of ‘can I get one for you?’ gesture and, when she shook her head, he turned away, busying himself with a twenty-pound note, then juggling pint glasses and change.
She had just enough time to compose herself before he was elbowing his way through the busy pub and bringing his friends over to join them at their table. Introductions were made all round, and Fiona quickly squashed herself along to make room for Ian, the blond one she’d clearly already earmarked for herself, to sit down next to her while the others went in search of extra chairs.
‘Well, Laura,’ Paul said, once he’d placed his chair right in front of her. ‘How about our Ruby then? Good to know she’s found her family. Or should I say, that her family have found her? Thanks for letting me know, by the way. Now all we have to pray for is that she’ll wake up.’
‘Oh, she will.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘She has a daughter to live for, doesn’t she?’
‘Is it really as simple as that?’
‘I think so. Little Lily’s just as likely to bring her back as any one of your prayers. Love can be a powerful thing. The maternal kind especially.’
‘Touché!’ He laughed. ‘Not really a believer yourself, then?’
‘In God? I’m not sure. In love, absolutely.’
As soon as she’d said it, she wished she hadn’t. But then they got caught up in other conversations around the table, about football and the weather and who was watching that police drama thing with the old Doctor Who in it, and more drinks were bought and there was talk of them all going for a curry together, and even though both kept popping in and out of Laura’s thoughts, neither Ruby nor love were mentioned again for the rest of the evening.
*
Patsy had only picked at her dinner. She had made a quick lasagne just in case, and left enough for Michael and his mother on plates still being kept warm in the oven, but it would be overheated and ruined by now. She scraped the leftovers from her own plate into the bin and turned the oven off.
Something must have gone badly wrong or they would all have been back hours ago. Briefly she imagined them all chatting, laughing, eating without her, Geraldine peering suspiciously at her burger and asking how much fat was in it, Michael wolfing down his fries in big handfuls, like he always did, and adding extra salt. But, no. If that was where they were, he would have called. Something was wrong.
She dug her mobile out from her bag and checked again for messages. Nothing. She had tried calling a couple of times but it just went straight to voicemail. Either out of signal or, more likely, switched off. He obviously didn’t want to be disturbed. In a way, she was glad to be apart from it all. Michael and Ruby’s arguments weren’t her arguments. She would have just been a bystander, an unwanted hanger-on, if she’d gone with them, maybe even a catalyst, adding to the already volatile atmosphere and making it all ten times worse. Still, it would be good to at least have been kept in the loop. A few minutes to send a quick text couldn’t be that hard to find, surely?
She was just starting to wonder if perhaps she should give up on any of them making an appearance, wash up, watch some TV and get herself ready for an early night, when the phone finally rang. The sudden burst of You make me feel like dancing broke into the silence and made her jump. It had seemed a good choice for a ringtone when she’d bought herself a new phone a few weeks back, a bit of fun that represented how Michael made her feel, but now it just sounded inappropriate and flippant. She would change it later.
‘Michael? Where are you? What’s going on?’ She tried hard to keep her voice light, not to come across as the nagging partner keen to check on his every move, but she wasn’t sure she’d succeeded.
‘Everything’s fine. Well, not fine exactly, but it’s being sorted. Oh, God, Pats, it’s a long story … I don’t know where to even start but I’m afraid we won’t be back any time soon. Ruby’s been in some kind of accident. She’s in the hospital. And so was Lily for a time, but she’s out now, and back at the flat.’
‘No! That’s terrible. What happened? Is she all right? Lily, I mean. Well, Ruby too, obviously. But, oh, you know what I mean.’ She was rambling. She must stop that. Stop, Patsy. Let him talk. Just listen.
‘Ruby was hit by a car. Pretty badly. She’d left Lily at home by herself. God knows why.’ He went quiet for a moment, long enough to make Patsy peer at the screen to make sure they hadn’t been cut off, and then he was back. ‘Look, Pats, we’re going to have to stop here, for tonight at least. I need to go back to the hospital in the morning, let Lily see her mum if that’s allowed, and the Social Services people are involved now, so I’ve more or less promised not to leave the area. Will you be all right there by yourself? Or do you want to come up? It’s a bit crowded here. I’m stopping over at Ruby’s, by the way. And Mum too, of course.’
Patsy took a deep breath. ‘No, Michael. I don’t think me coming there would help anyone at all, would it?’
‘It would be great to see you, though. I could do with the support. And a hug. Someone to make everything seem more normal, you know …’
‘Normal? Nothing about this sounds very normal to me. No, I’m fine here. Honestly. You’re better off without me getting in the way. You must be short of bed space as it is, and you won’t catch me bunking in with your mother! In fact, if you’re not coming back for a while, I might just catch a train up to see my family. We were going to go up there soon anyway, weren’t we? It’s been ages since I’ve seen them. It’ll give you some time to sort things out. I promise I’ll be back, as soon as Ruby’s okay, as soon as you need me.’
She realised he’d gone silent again. ‘Michael? Are you still there? Did you hear what I said?’
‘Oh, Patsy, sweetheart.’ She could hear the sigh that escaped in the pause between his words. ‘What if Ruby isn’t okay? What then?’
‘Is that a possibility? Is it that bad?’
‘Yes, I think it is, but I couldn’t take it all in. It all came as such a shock, all the medical stuff, the jargon they use, and I’m not good with illness. Never have been. You know that.’
‘Neither am I.’ Patsy remembered being sick on the plane. The taste, the smell, that awful gagging feeling. Just the thought of it almost brought her lasagne rushing back up into her throat. ‘But tomorrow will feel different, won’t it? Get a good night’s sleep and you’ll be better at asking the right questions. And anyway …’
‘Yes?’
‘You’ve got Geraldine with you. She can be pretty formidable, I bet. She’ll soon suss out what’s what. You just concentrate on Lily. How is she anyway?’
‘Beautiful. And big. I can hardly believe how much she’s grown. And she’s not hurt. Just a few bumps and scratches. In fact, she’s remarkably okay, considering what she’s been through.’
‘That’s all that matters then. Lily. Healthy, and spending time with her daddy.’
‘I suppose so. Look, Pats. I have to go. None of us has eaten, and I don’t want to leave Lily for too long.
Even with Mum. I’ll call you in the morning, all right? Let me know if you head off up to your parents. Don’t be gone too long. I miss you already.’
They made their usual kissing noises down the phone and Patsy waited for him to say ‘I love you’ before they hung up. She hated being the first to do it, knowing he was still there, still connected. The three words were like a signal they had always used to show that the call was over. A bit like ‘Roger, over and out’, but with more feeling. But when she looked at the phone, it was back to its blue sky wallpaper screen, and he was gone, the magic words unsaid.
Right. Onto the internet, and check the train times. She couldn’t sit here, twiddling her thumbs in someone else’s house, waiting for a man to say he loved her when his thoughts were so clearly elsewhere. Time to spend some time with her own family. She was looking forward to that, with or without Michael.
It was only later, when she’d ripped off the nylon sheets and replaced them with pretty cotton ones she’d found in the drawer under the bed, and was tucked up with a magazine and a cup of tea, her route worked out, her train tickets bought and her case repacked, that she suddenly remembered something Michael had said. Social Services? How did they come into the picture? Didn’t they only get involved when there had been neglect or abuse? No wonder Michael had sounded so stressed. Whatever it was Ruby had done, if that lot were sticking their oar in, then things must be serious. You read about these things all the time. Perhaps they would take Lily away, put her into care or something, or perhaps they would hand her over to Michael permanently. Might they do that?
Oh, my God! Patsy let her tea go cold beside her, the magazine stuck open on the same page across her lap. Things could be about to change beyond all recognition. She could be a stepmother a lot sooner than she’d expected. And a full-time one, at that. What would happen then, to her career, her home, her relationship with Michael? What would happen to her life?
*
‘I think we should ask if there’s anything we can do to help.’ Agnes was at the table, still in her dressing gown, eating porridge, when William came in, dripping rain and leaving a trail of muddy footprints across her kitchen floor.
‘Haven’t we got enough to worry about trying to fix your ceiling?’ William pulled off his wet coat and the slightly damp jacket he’d been wearing underneath, and dumped a carrier bag of paintbrushes and old turps bottles on the worktop, alongside an almost full giant-sized tin of emulsion he’d found at the back of his garage. Susan had abandoned it as ‘not quite right’ after just a few brush strokes when she’d wanted to decorate the hall at home, and it was close enough in colour to the paint his mother already had up there. All these shades of white looked pretty much the same to his untrained eye anyway, once you got past the fancy creamed buttermilk and fluffy cloud names. If it didn’t match, which, let’s face it, it probably wouldn’t, then he was happy enough to paint the whole room if necessary, ceiling and walls all the same colour. He had nothing much else to do.
He hadn’t slept well. Despite his assertion that it was none of their business, and that simply being the ones to find the child and rescue her did not give them automatic rights to be included in whatever happened next, he had found it hard to put the little girl out of his mind.
‘But I’d like to do something for them. Offer them breakfast at least. You can be sure that fridge up there is not packed with bacon and eggs, and they probably haven’t even got their own toiletries with them. Imagine not being able to brush your teeth properly.’
He wondered when exactly his mother had last had any teeth of her own to brush. As far as he knew she kept hers in a glass at night, fizzing away in some kind of tablet stuff. But that was being unkind. He knew she meant well.
‘I suppose so,’ he said, half-heartedly, hoping she might let the whole thing drop, but there was no chance of that, it seemed.
‘William, they may not even have milk.’
‘Is that really the disaster you’re making it out to be? Will the world as we know it come to an end without milk? Anyway, you said he went out last night, in the car. The shops are less than a quarter of a mile away. I’m sure he would have picked up the basics at least.’
‘Even so … They must have plenty to worry about without having to trudge round the supermarket. And that poor girl in hospital still.’
William sighed. He’d have to go along with it. ‘Right. What is it you want me to do?’
‘Just go up there, will you? Knock and ask.’
‘Ask what, exactly?’
‘Well, just be neighbourly. Invite them down here. For a cup of tea, or a bite to eat or something. I’d like to know how little Lily is, and perhaps see her. So, just find out if we can … Oh, I don’t know. Use your imagination. Meanwhile, I am going to get myself washed and dressed.’
William stared after her as she hobbled out of the room. He heard her bedroom door close, and moved through to the living room where he sat for a while in the old armchair, trying to summon up the energy, the will, the courage, to venture upstairs. Whatever could he say that didn’t sound like an intrusion? Like they were a couple of curious old bystanders nosing into others’ misfortunes?
He looked at his watch. It was only twenty past nine and, for all he knew, they might still be asleep. Yesterday had been a traumatic day for everyone, and a tiring one, not to mention the stress and the worry that poor family must be feeling. But he knew from bitter experience that when his mother got an idea into her head she could be extremely persistent and frighteningly unwavering, and consequently virtually impossible to ignore. The many outpourings of vitriol that had followed in the wake of his separation from Susan were testimony to that.
He felt Smudge move with a sudden furry flick against his leg. The old cat appeared by his side, asking for food. He must have been hiding underneath the table.
He plonked some cat food in a bowl and replaced the water in another, then took a deep breath and stepped out of the flat into the cluttered hallway. The child’s buggy was still there, pushed against the far wall, although the other one had gone. The woman up on the second floor must have taken her baby out somewhere. There were a couple of flyers on the mat inside the front door, pizza ads by the look of them. He didn’t bother picking them up. It was still too early for the proper post.
One of the young men from the flat at the top came down, nodding as he stopped to tie up a shoe lace on the bottom step. He was dressed for a cycle ride, in black lycra leggings, already wearing his helmet and carrying a bottle of water. He wondered what they did, this one, who he thought was maybe called Jason, and his skinny flatmate. For work, that is. They certainly seemed to keep odd hours, but if they liked to keep themselves to themselves, it was no business of his.
All he was doing, of course, standing here gazing into space and pondering other people’s lives, was putting off going to the flat upstairs. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt so awkward about it. They seemed nice enough people, not likely to bite his head off just for being friendly.
He squeezed past the lad in lycra and took the stairs two at a time, the most exercise he’d had for weeks, and the surefire way of making sure he just gone on with it and didn’t have the chance to change his mind. He tapped very gently on the door. If they were still sleeping it off, he didn’t want to be the one to wake them, but it only took a few seconds until there were sounds of movement from inside.
It was the woman who opened the door. She was still in the jeans and blouse she’d been wearing yesterday, but her hair was freshly washed and still quite damp, and she was wearing more make-up than she had before. In a way, she reminded him of Susan, well turned out and made-up this early in the morning, even when she probably had nowhere special to go.
‘Oh! It’s Mr Munro, isn’t it? What can we do for you?’ The smile lit up her face, accentuating the little lines around her eyes.
‘William, please … And it’s more the other way round actually. My mother was wondering, well, we both were
– if there was anything we could do for you. You know, to help. It can’t be easy for you, landing here unprepared. Breakfast perhaps, if you haven’t already eaten?’
‘That’s very kind of you, but we couldn’t put you to all that trouble. Look, come in for a minute, won’t you? My son is just getting Lily dressed. Can I get you a tea or something? I would like to say thank you for yesterday. For finding Lily …’
William waved her thanks away with an embarrassed flick of the hand and a shake of his head, and stepped over the threshold into the flat. It looked different now, tidier, everything back where it was supposed to be. It was hard to imagine that just yesterday that little girl had been trapped here all by herself.
‘Tea would be lovely. Thanks.’
He followed her into the living room. There were a few toys on the floor but the handbag and its scattered contents had gone from the sofa. The smell had gone too, a slither of fresh air wafting in through a partially open window. He didn’t like to sit, not without being asked to, so while she went off to the kitchen to boil a kettle he stayed standing, looking out of the window at the street below. Life going by, in a flurry of dripping umbrellas and splashing puddles and mushy leaves. It was exactly the same scene he had glimpsed from his mother’s window just moments before, but the view was subtly different from up here. Different angle, more bird’s eye, more panoramic.
There was a big white van pulling up outside, the driver obviously looking for somewhere to park. A large man with a bald head jumped down and started to make his way up the small driveway, feet scrunching through the gravel, and up the steps to the door. He didn’t ring any of the bells on the wall, just walked straight in so someone must have left the front door open. Probably the cyclist, still fiddling about in the hall. The bald man was carrying a large cardboard box, not unlike the one they’d found outside the door when they were trying to get to Lily.
Before he could think any more about it, the woman came back in. Geraldine, that was her name. He’d been trying to remember it ever since she’d let him in. ‘Sorry. No milk,’ she said, apologetically. ‘Michael only thought to buy a pint last night and it’s gone already. Would you like it black? Or a coffee instead?’
