by Anna Jacobs
The letter was from the adoption agency. He recognised their acronym. They’d written once before, asking if Mrs Elizabeth Pulford was the former Elizabeth King from Rochdale. He’d tossed that one away. No need to stir up Libby’s past.
Methodically he packed the rubbish back into the bin liner and set the dustbin ready to take out in the morning for the weekly rubbish collection. Then he picked up the other letter, stained and dirty though it was.
When he went inside, he sprayed it with disinfectant. He kept the rubber gloves on, though, until he’d brought a document protector from his study and slipped the letter inside. Only then did he take off the gloves and mask, and wash his hands thoroughly.
He read the letter. They wanted to know if she had received their previous letter. Would she kindly reply to this one so that they could set their records straight? If she refused all contact with her birth mother, she would hear nothing more from the agency, but they would be grateful if she’d make her wishes known.
Irresponsible fools, upsetting families. He’d had good parents who’d given him a sound education and brought him up to recognise the importance of tidiness and doing things the right way. His parents were dead now and he hadn’t kept in touch with any of his relatives. Well, they’d never liked him and he thought them fools.
He was grateful to his parents for the careful upbringing and sound education, though. Always would be. He intended to do the same for his own son.
He left the letter in its transparent cover lying on the draining board. He’d think about it carefully. No use rushing to act.
And he’d need to remember the lawyer’s name. It wasn’t like him to forget. If he didn’t remember, he’d phone every lawyer in Rochdale, if necessary, till he found the one who’d contacted his wife.
He went to bed at his usual time, not having taken in what had been playing on the TV, because he had a lot to think about. The TV was just a noise, something to fill the silent house.
He did not, he decided, like living alone. Not that he wanted to live in a tribe. No way. One wife and one child suited him perfectly. He’d had a vasectomy so that he couldn’t have any more children. Hadn’t told Libby. That was his decision, not hers.
He’d get her back, however long it took. Oh, yes.
Ned sat in the café, wide-eyed, taking it all in.
Joss watched him, then looked at Libby. ‘Hasn’t he eaten out before?’
‘Not during the past year. Steven preferred to eat at home and I couldn’t afford to eat lunch in cafés when we were out shopping.’
‘I thought your husband had a good job.’
‘He has. A very good job. He has a luxury car, expensive suits, anything he wants.’
Joss shook his head very slightly, disapproval etched on his face, but he made no further comment. When he turned back to the little boy, his expression changed completely, becoming warm and caring.
The receptionist was right. He really loves children, Libby thought. For all his cat-that-walks-alone act with adults, Joss could win children’s confidence easily. She’d never seen Ned take to a stranger like this before. He usually stayed close to her when they were out.
Joss showed him the menu. ‘This tells you what there is to eat, Ned. You can choose what you want. Shall I read it to you?’
Ned nodded, listened intently as Joss read out the three items that were specifically for children.
‘Tell Joss which you want, darling,’ she prompted.
‘Cheesy chips, please.’
Joss gave her a wry glance. ‘Not the most healthy option. Do you mind?’
‘No. I give him healthy food the rest of the time. If he wants chips and melted cheese once in a while, he can have them.’
‘Does he know what they are?’
‘Yes. I’ve made them for him at home once or twice.’ When she’d needed comfort food, needed to rebel against Steven’s ferociously healthy meals. Childish, but it had made her feel a bit better. And Ned had learned not to tell his father anything which she said was a secret.
‘What would you like to eat, Libby?’
She realised Joss wasn’t the only one who was ravenous. ‘A burger, chips and a garden salad, please.’
‘That’s what I’m having. Pot of tea for us and an orange juice for Ned?’ At her nod, he went to put in the order.
When he came back, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket, opening it to show a wad of notes, but shielding that from the other customers. ‘Henry asked me to get some money out of the bank for you, and when we go to the bank to sign the papers, you can put in an application for a debit card.’
‘Thank you.’ She put the envelope into her handbag, feeling so much better for having it.
‘Are you sure it’s not too much to do after yesterday? This is a pretty full-on day. We could go to the bank tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be fine. Oh, I forgot to bring Ned’s pushchair.’
‘I can carry him if he gets tired.’
She didn’t protest, because at the moment her chest hurt too much to carry her son. ‘Thanks. I’m very keen to get my own finances sorted out.’ It was such a strong need, she almost ached with it.
‘Um … I forgot to ask Mr Greaves, but maybe you know. Do the payments I get during the six months I have to live in the house come out of the bequest money?’
‘No. The living allowance is extra. And there may be a little more than the £20,000 at the end. It depends how things go with the rest of the bequests.’
‘Did Grandma Rose leave many bequests?’
‘I’m not at liberty to talk about the others, just as they know nothing about you.’
‘OK.’
When the food came, her mouth watered and apart from keeping an eye on Ned and offering him a few mouthfuls of her salad, she ate steadily. It felt as if she was filling up a huge empty hole. ‘Paint me a cavernous waste,’ she murmured without thinking.
‘T.S. Eliot.’
She was surprised. ‘Do you like poetry?’
‘Some of it. What made you quote that one?’
‘I was thinking of how hungry I was, so I left out the last word of that line and it seemed to describe how I felt.’ She concentrated on the pleasure of eating, finishing before he did. She pushed her plate back a little and sighed with pleasure. ‘That was absolutely delicious.’
‘Abs’lookly d’licious,’ Ned echoed, eating the last three chips covered in melted cheese and licking his fingers before drinking the rest of the orange juice.
She took him to the toilet before they left, teasing him as she wiped grease off his chin and fingers. She could see them both in the mirror above the washbasins. They looked like a normal mother and son. Happy, even. Except for her bruises.
Since she’d checked the tinned and dry goods at her grandmother’s house, she knew exactly what she wanted from the supermarket, so that didn’t take too long. Afterwards they went to the bank, then to get a car battery.
By the time they returned to Top o’ the Hill, it was nearly teatime. The skies had cleared and the view from the road up the cleft was stunning.
She stared out of the car window in delight. ‘The scenery is like something from Last of the Summer Wine. I love that programme.’
‘So do I. The villages where it was filmed aren’t far away from here.’
‘Really? I must go and visit them once we’ve settled in.’
‘It’s playing on TV again. They often repeat it. I’m especially fond of Nora Batty.’
Libby chuckled. ‘She has some brilliant lines, doesn’t she?’
And they were off, comparing favourite incidents from the series as he negotiated the final bends and the narrow streets of the village.
Joss helped her carry in the bags of shopping. ‘If you give me your car key, I’ll put your new battery in.’
‘I could do it myself. Though probably not as quickly as you.’
‘I don’t mind doing it.’
So she found the keys and went out to
watch him, Ned trailing along behind her. She had to learn to look after herself, so she watched carefully. Yes, she could have done it. ‘Thank you.’
Joss sat in the driving seat and turned on the ignition. The car started first time, at which he let out a crow of triumph. ‘Want me to check your oil and tyres in the morning?’
‘Thanks, but I can do that myself. Steven wouldn’t have anything to do with my car, nor would he pay for a service, so I did what I could myself.’
‘Mean sod.’
‘Yes. Very.’
‘OK. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Ned watched Joss go into his house, the corners of his mouth turning down. ‘I want Joss to stay with us.’
‘He can’t. He lives next door. You’ll see him again tomorrow.’
She diverted his attention by unpacking some of his toys and settling him at one end of the table in the back room. He began to play with them as she unpacked her groceries, telling his trio of tiny stuffed animals that they were in a new house now and had to be very good and not make a mess.
Libby had already examined the fridge. It had been cleaned out and the door left partly open, so it didn’t need anything but a quick wipe of the shelves. The fridge was elderly, but it seemed to function well enough and soon grew cold.
There was a small freezer in the scullery, more than big enough to hold the few packets of frozen food she’d bought.
When she’d finished unpacking, she looked round in satisfaction. This terraced cottage might be no more than twelve feet wide, but it felt like a palace to her.
She hadn’t gone upstairs to the third floor yet. Joss had told her there was only a jumble of old furniture up there, but she wanted to check it out before dusk fell. Check it out and gaze out at the view. She felt she could never have enough of the big spaces. Even the sky seemed higher up here at the top of the moors.
‘Come on, Ned. We haven’t seen the rest of the house. Let’s go and have a look.’
Docile as always, he put down his toys and came across to join her.
He was too docile, too afraid of upsetting people. She was looking forward to a few rebellions and tantrums. She’d discuss that with Carina. Helping her son was a better reason for getting counselling than indulging herself.
Five
Mrs Barley from Social Services turned up at the antiques centre the following day, as agreed, to introduce them to another candidate for the units. She was accompanied by a young woman who looked stiff and nervous.
Emily had asked Toby to meet the newcomer with her, hoping this would put her more at ease.
Mrs Barley shook her hand, then Toby’s. ‘This is Ashley Statham. Ashley, I told you about Toby and Emily.’
The young woman nodded, not offering to shake hands but staring at them as if memorising every detail of their appearance.
Toby smiled at her with his usual open friendliness. ‘Shall I show you your flat?’
Ashley took a step backwards, looking at Mrs Barley in panic.
‘We’ll all go to see the flat,’ the social worker said. ‘This place looks so different these days, Emily. Perhaps you’d tell Ashley what you’ve done to the old inn?’
Emily explained briefly about the antiques centre, while Ashley stood near the door and stared round. Then something caught her eye and she moved a little closer to a display.
‘This one needs dusting.’
‘Ashley likes things to be kept clean, just as Nicky did,’ Mrs Barley said. ‘That worked so well, and Nicky was so happy here, I wondered if it might happen again if we chose the right person.’
Something made Emily say, ‘Perhaps you can help me dust sometimes, Ashley?’
The young woman’s face brightened a little. ‘I like dusting. I’m very careful. Mummy taught me not to break things. I have her ornaments now and I won’t let them get dusty.’
Emily knew Ashley’s mother had died recently and there were no other close relatives, which was why the poor young woman had been handed over to Social Services. She had inherited some money, but wasn’t thought fit to continue on her own in her old home.
They walked past the coffee shop and through the huge old barn, where a stallholder was setting out her wares. That led them round the back of the inn to the oldest part, which was parallel to the front. Here the flats had been made from converted outhouses.
They went into a new passage which had big windows on the right, looking out towards the moors, and three doors on the left. There was a door with frosted-glass panels across the far end.
‘This is my home,’ Toby said proudly, opening the first door with a key hanging on a chain round his neck.
‘There are two other flats.’ Emily moved forward to unlock both doors. ‘If you think you’d like to live here, the middle one would be yours, Ashley.’ She pushed the door open.
Slowly, watching them carefully, as if afraid they’d jump on her, Ashley walked inside. The two women stood near the door, letting her go round at her own pace, but Toby went in after her and started explaining about the facilities. In such a small flat, this wasn’t really necessary, but Ashley didn’t seem to mind.
Emily smiled. Toby was so friendly and assumed others would be the same, and they usually were with him.
Ashley went round opening every single drawer and cupboard to look inside, then she stood by the window and looked out at the internal courtyard. ‘Flowers!’
Emily had put a few pots of flowers out to soften the courtyard, which was about twenty yards by thirty and was now paved by square grey setts. ‘Do you like flowers?’
‘We had flowers at home. I helped Mummy with the garden.’
‘You could help me and Toby look after these, if you liked. I’m sure he won’t mind.’
Ashley looked at her, then around the flat again, opening every cupboard and drawer for a second time.
After that, she turned to Toby. ‘Is your flat clean and tidy?’
‘She’s a bit obsessive about keeping things clean,’ Mrs Barley murmured to Emily. ‘Her mother must have spent untold hours training her to look after a house. A good fault for a tenant, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed, yes.’
‘Come and see my home.’ Toby led the way next door and again the two women stayed by the entrance.
‘It’s quite tidy,’ Ashley said. ‘I’ll help you keep it better than this, though.’
‘That’d be good,’ Toby agreed.
Bless him, Emily thought. He’d do anything for anybody.
‘Ashley’s brilliant at housework,’ Mrs Barley said. ‘Oh, and she has her own furniture. Would she be able to bring it?’
‘Of course. We can move these things out.’
‘We’ll send someone to check up on her a couple of times a week at first, and of course someone will take the two of them shopping every week.’
Ashley came out of Toby’s flat and he took her into the courtyard. She stood with her head on one side, as if listening, then turned to Mrs Barley. ‘This is a good place. I can come and live next to Toby. I can keep everything very clean.’
Mrs Barley turned to look questioningly at Emily.
‘I’d be very happy to have you here, Ashley,’ she said at once.
The young woman nodded, as if expecting that answer.
‘We’ll go and choose the things you’ll need and arrange for them to be brought over tomorrow, Ashley,’ Mrs Barley said.
‘I’ll have this furniture taken out,’ Emily said.
‘And I’ll help you set up your new home, Ashley,’ Mrs Barley said.
‘No. I’ll arrange everything. I know where things go.’
‘Your furniture might not fit in here the same way as it did at home.’
‘Mummy and I re-arranged things sometimes. I can re-arrange things here.’
‘I can help you lift the heavy things,’ Toby offered.
‘If you do it carefully. We mustn’t scratch the furniture.’
He beamed at her. ‘I’ll be
careful. I’ll be happy to have a friend next door. Come and look at this.’
He took Ashley along to the communal room at the end. ‘This is where we can all meet and watch television together.’
She looked round it, eyes narrowing. ‘This room needs re-arranging. You can help me do that, too, Toby.’
He nodded cheerfully.
‘What exactly is Ashley’s diagnosis?’ Emily asked in a low voice.
‘A form of autism. Her mother gave her a lot of attention, so she learned to interact with people, but she’s very rigid about keeping things tidy and arranging them just so. Obsessive even. We don’t want her to upset Toby. If you want to employ her in the antiques centre, she’d probably be brilliant at dusting everything.’
‘A job that bores me.’
Mrs Barley nodded. ‘It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing, not even charging them rent.’
‘Chad and I were both trapped in poor care after accidents, and we know how bad the experience can be,’ Emily explained. ‘We have enough money to do this as long as the tenants’ social benefits cover their living expenses.’
Libby went up to explore the third floor of her new home. These stairs were slightly narrower than those below, and the stairwell was enclosed in panelling, with a door at the bottom. She opened the door and found herself facing a dark space with six steps then a bend from which some daylight showed. The treads were of bare wood with the stain worn off in the middle, where countless feet must have trodden their way up.
As she and Ned walked up, their footsteps echoed in the stairwell and he laughed, stamping his feet to make more noise.
It was brighter in the big room at the top than anywhere else in the cottage, because of the long walls of windows, from waist to ceiling height, on either side. They had stone uprights between each panel of glass. Mullioned windows, she thought they were called. She’d have to look that up online.
She went to gaze out of the front windows at a view you would have paid millions for elsewhere: rolling moors, with the occasional clump of trees surrounding old-fashioned stone farmhouses, or short rows of workers’ cottages. Not many red bricks up here.
