‘Then come to Tallows. The house itself is scarcely furnished, but there’s a terrific orangery and a summerhouse complete with every mod con. Loads of land, woods, brooks – let’s see the good weather out together. He can have his paddies and his bonfires without bothering you.’
‘He is still in the room,’ Richard announced.
‘Did someone speak?’ Lucy turned and winked at him. ‘Hello, honey,’ she purred with exaggerated bonhomie.
He blushed to the roots of his hair and left the scene. In the surgery, he sat and swivelled in his chair. They were laughing at him, and he was trying hard not to be bothered. Two things helped. If he thought carefully, he could swear he remembered seeing pleasure in her eyes for a moment after that spontaneous embrace. And the ‘Hello, honey’ had been double-edged, half mockery, half come-on. He would bed her by Christmas. But first, Lexi must be dealt with.
*
They were pleased with him. He had survived the surgery, his weight was down, and the cholesterol reading had been halved. No more butter, no more cheese, no more beer. And Howie Styles was dead, God rest him. The funeral was out of the way, but Trish wasn’t. She visited Alan almost every day, and was turning out to be eminently suitable for him. Because her husband had been dead long before his actual demise, she didn’t grieve as much as some might have expected. And she had a friend; she had Alan.
But he needed to be clever. To get what he wanted, it would be necessary for him to absent himself completely from his past life. He didn’t want Lizzie turning up to put both feet in it. The decree nisi was through and, in a matter of weeks, the divorce would be final. While the boys had never visited, Alan’s daughter came from time to time, and she even had the address of the private convalescent home to which he should be moving. So it was now or never.
Trish was twittering on about low-fat cheese and bacon that was treated so that most of the fat was removed. He liked her twittering. Lucy had never done that. Latterly, his soon-to-be-ex-wife had delivered very few words, though she had spoken often enough on the phone to their sons and daughter. ‘Trish?’
‘Yes, love?’
‘Do you have a spare room?’
Her face lit up. ‘Only about ten or eleven. Howie built us a grand house, because the builder’s place has to be an advertisement, yes?’
He nodded. ‘I’ve been straight with you, Trish. Lucy’s got everything, because I really did think I was going to die. And who am I to take property from kids with leukaemia?’
‘What do you want to do, Alan?’ Anticipation and excitement burgeoned in her heart. She didn’t want to be alone, had never been alone. With no children and few family members to turn to, she had been dreaming of living with Alan, and he was making it so easy, bless him.
He breathed deeply. ‘I’ve been in here so long that I’m becoming institutionalized. Can I stay with you for a while? And can you sneak me out of here today? I don’t want all the questions and the lies I’d have to tell. Will you help me?’
Too emotional for words, Trish nodded her consent. It was settled. She and Alan would disappear to Alderley Edge, and they would live happily ever after. It might be all skimmed milk and sugar substitutes, but she would get recipes, special omega spreads and porridge. It would be a life. She would have a life, and so would he.
A very different David arrived just before half past ten. He was led in by a pleased dog, who made a beeline for the cat. The animals circled one another, the usual sniffing, licking and paw-tapping forming the larger part of their happy greeting.
‘Why were you crying?’ demanded the human guest. ‘Come on – you’d better tell me.’
Lucy looked at him with new eyes. His hair stuck up all over the place, lending him the air of a startled hedgehog frozen in someone’s headlights on full beam. There was something very wrong with his shirt, since one of the buttons was fastened into the hole above, thereby forming a bubbled effect which left the hem out of line. Baggy corduroys meant that even if he stood to attention, the trousers would probably remain at ease. But his shabby appearance was not what made the difference. She went for the light, humorous touch while she worked out what had changed in the man. ‘Who got you ready?’ she asked. ‘Because they didn’t even tuck your shirt in.’
He marched right up to her, and she refused to laugh. He marched, but his trousers strolled. ‘Lucy, will you stop being flippant? I’m sick to death of your clever repartee and half-answers. Stop messing me about, or I’ll get angry. And even if I don’t go green and split my clothes, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.’
In spite of his rather decrepit appearance, the man was splendid. ‘You shouldn’t have come, David. I was crying because Moira’s so ill and so brave. By the time I’d wiped my face, the phone was dead, the text arrived and—’
‘And what?’
‘Someone came to the door.’ It wasn’t his outer appearance that made him different; it was the look in his eyes, the way he held his head, the tighter mouth. This was the decided man and yes, she was falling in love with him. She hoped he’d never lose the string and the rubber bands, but at this moment a fully-grown scarecrow was wrapping her in his arms as if to shield her from all slings and arrows. He smelled terrible. ‘Have you been playing in the bins again, David?’
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Sugar soap and stuff.’
‘Ah. Cleaning?’
‘Trying to. Nothing’s been touched in over a decade. I seem to be having a fresh start. But I had to come and hold you. Your voice on the phone isn’t enough any more.’
Lucy closed her eyes. Diane was standing in the doorway of David’s tree house, and she was being mother. She wore a black hat with feathers hanging over her face, and she blew at them continually. With arms folded over a yellow apron, she upbraided her children. ‘David? Louisa? Come here at once, because supper is served.’ The two of them hid behind a bush, parting its branches just to have a view of their angry little parent.
And here they were again, holding on to each other. But this time it wasn’t a game, wasn’t funny. She touched his face. ‘You’re lovely, you are. Even with sugar soap and grease, you’re special. Thank you for caring. Thanks for coming all this way.’
‘I’d go to the ends of the earth, and you know that.’
‘Ditto,’ she said, biting back a silly remark about Demi Moore in Ghost. This time, the kiss was no accident. It was a different day, a different man, one who had made some decisions about himself. No longer clinging solely to a desperately sad past, he hung on to his future until his future was breathless.
He used a finger to tilt her chin. ‘Who’s managing whom now, baby?’
He was a big man, a powerful man; he knew it, and she needed to acknowledge the fact that he had made huge strides, and that he had made them for her. ‘You’ll have to excuse my daftness. I’ve never had real love before, you see. So if I get a bit stupid and say the wrong thing, it’s because I’m wearing L-plates. You’re the grown-up now. By gum, tha’s changed, lad.’
He smiled. ‘OK, Mrs L-plates. I’ll talk you through the theory, but the mechanical side of the operation will probably take care of itself. Do you have automatic transmission?’
‘Do you have a van with one of those lift things in the back?’
He burst out laughing. ‘You should probably see a psychiatrist, darling. Why would you need a van with a lift? Am I missing some strange sexual connotation here?’
‘No, no. I want it for Moira, of course, for her wheelchair. I’m going to bring her to Tallows for a week or so. He’s in a bad mood. I think she should leave him to stew for a while. There’s something afoot, and she could do with a break from it.’
David, who didn’t like the sound of Richard Turner, concentrated on Lucy’s request. Yes, he had access to a suitable vehicle, yes, he would borrow it, and yes, he would pick them up and drive them to Bolton. He would plug in the summerhouse fridge and buy basic foodstuffs; he would also visit the two women every day at Tallows.<
br />
‘Promise?’ she asked.
‘It’s a threat. I have to keep an eye on you and, more particularly, on Moira. Now I’m going to talk to your boys through the fence – I need to borrow clothes.’
‘Kiss me first. I want to remember the heady perfume you wore when you finally declared yourself.’
He kissed her chastely on the cheek before going out to beg clean clothing from her sons. She wasn’t going to have everything her own way – oh, no. Sometimes she needed her bottom slapping. With that delicious thought in mind, he carried out his mission, was told where to look for what the twins termed gear, walked back to the house, and was met at the back door by the second love of his life. For a moment, he paused and looked at her. No. This was the love of his second life, a life he had denied himself for too long. Then he noticed the expression on her face. She was clearly perturbed. It seemed he couldn’t leave her for five minutes. ‘Lucy?’
‘He’s gone missing, David.’
‘Who has?’ He walked to her side and placed an arm round her shoulders.
‘Alan. Lizzie just phoned me. Mr Evans-Jones told her they’d found his room empty. They think they might know where he is, but there’s something about patient confidentiality and me ceasing shortly to be next of kin. He needs tablets. He needs diet sheets and help not to drink. It seems he took with him a prescription for enough drugs for a week, but after that he’ll need a GP.’
‘He’s not your responsibility.’
Lucy sighed deeply. ‘I know. But what people tend not to realize is that a husband is a woman’s first child. I don’t love him, and I probably never did. But he’s ill, David.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Come in and let’s get all our ducks in a row,’
In spite of unease, she grinned. She hadn’t heard that expression in years, but she remembered it now. Little David Vincent’s ducks in a row were plans written in proper order on paper. This time he used no writing implements, because the list wasn’t long. ‘OK. Tomorrow morning, I go to work. You?’
‘Glenys is briefing silk in Liverpool tomorrow morning, so I’m meeting her at the Crown Court, then we’re going to lunch. She likes window-shopping, but I’ll keep it as short as I can.’
‘Fair enough. When I finish work, I’ll get the van and drive you and Moira over to Tallows.’ He picked up her hand and kissed it.
‘You forgot one of the ducks. Fridge in the summerhouse, basic foods.’ There was no lack of confidence in David; he had simply wanted love to make sense and, as it never would, he was accepting it for what it was – exciting, uncertain and good for the soul.
‘Right. Missing duck replaced and in my sights. Meanwhile, I’ll get what I can out of Evans-Jones. You talk to Lizzie again. We’ll find him. I promise you, we’ll find Alan.’ He dropped another kiss on her head before leaving the room to steal clothes and have a shower.
The twins came in. Dr Turner was lighting a bonfire, and the air was tainted by whatever he was cremating. ‘He’s gone berserk out there. Steph says he lights fires when he’s in a bad mood – shall we tell the fire station we have a potential arsonist in our midst? Oh, and your boyfriend is borrowing clothes from us. What’s going on?’ Paul asked.
‘Your father’s missing.’
‘Is that all? We thought it was something serious.’
Lucy stood up and wagged a finger at her elder son. ‘You have a too-clever mouth, Paul, and until you start tidying up after yourselves – both of you – you’re far from perfect. Whatever Alan’s done, he’s your dad. Whatever I might do, I’ll still be your mum. He gave you many good times when you were young, but he has failings like everybody else. The man’s had some nasty surgery, and he probably isn’t well. So shut up.’
He shut up, and they both retreated to the gods.
She shouldn’t have spoken to Paul like that. Although she was his mother, she was no longer in charge. Everyone else in the world seemed to make the adjustment – why couldn’t she? Because she wasn’t perfect. No one was perfect. Then she looked at the dog and the cat curled together, a mixture of black and blue-grey fur in a heap near the window. Where there was no free will, there could be no sin. God had made some good stuff, but He’d given mankind too free a rein.
Mankind entered. It sported jogging bottoms and a T-shirt bearing the legend EMERGENCY SUPPLIES above a plastic bubble containing a condom. ‘Your children have some very strange clothes, and few of them fit me. Intelligent boys, though. Humorous. They say you’re in a paddy. Are you in a paddy?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s men,’ she told him. ‘My sons won’t make an effort with their father, while their father cares for no one but himself, yet he is one half of their parents. Then there’s Richard the Lionheart next door. Came home disgruntled and started throwing things around in his car. I gave Moira a massage, and she explained to me that he gets like that, and not to worry till he starts lighting fires.’
‘He’s lighting fires, Lucy. Shall I dial the emergency services?’
She shrugged lightly. ‘Well, there are toxic fumes. He’s probably burning plastics among other stuff. But he’s the only one breathing the air in the garden, so leave him to it.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I think he’s in some kind of trouble. He said he needed to talk to Moira, but that she’s too ill.’
‘So he spoke to you?’
‘Yes, but only to ask for a map.’ Sometimes, confession was self-indulgent, and David didn’t need to know she’d been kissed by a man he perceived as a threat. He certainly didn’t need to be told that she’d enjoyed the encounter.
‘Perhaps he’s emigrating?’
She laughed. ‘To West Derby? No, something’s happened. He’s like a cross between a bear with a sore head and a baby who’s thrown the dummy out of the pram. Come on, misery-guts – give me a cuddle. We’ve a hard day tomorrow.’
He sat and held her, whispering in her ear, ‘Much as I’d love to spend the night with you – and I am equipped, as you can see from the T-shirt – we had probably better postpone while your boys are here.’
‘OK,’ she whispered in reply. ‘We’ll pretend that’s your idea, even though I made the rule first.’ She smiled broadly. ‘And I’ve been doctored. Got myself done when the vet had a special offer going. Now, tell me about some of these children who need my house.’ If her parents were looking down on her now, they would be pleased about Tallows.
He was on ground he understood, and he amazed her. Not only did he know the patients, but he could recite a list of siblings, parents and their jobs, the areas where they lived, and his opinion about clusters. ‘But the truth is, we don’t know why. Pylons, nuclear plants, crop-sprays, electrical substations – all investigated, all blamed. Remove those factors, and we still get occurrences.’
‘Genetics?’
‘Again, nothing proved, nothing predictable. And there are so many different types. Broadly speaking, we’ve made huge progress, but none of us will be satisfied until we’ve beaten the bugger. As with other cancers, we move forward all the time. Then we hit a wall and start again. But every time we hit a wall, we’re more knowledgeable.’
He was buried in his work, and no man, woman or beast would ever excavate him. But he didn’t need digging out; what he required was someone who would listen and distract him, who would be there at the end of days good, bad and indifferent. Living in two or three different places might help, as might new friends, a woman who gave more than a damn, her children and all who accompanied them on the start of their journey into adulthood.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.
‘You, mostly. There’s a missing ex-husband skulking at the back of my head, and a daughter who, I suspect, is shacked up with Simon Turner. His mother let slip that he has a week off, and Lizzie has been less than forthcoming about her return to the fold. Says she’s coming back to see me, her brothers, and the boy next door, but I think Simon’s jumped the queue.’
‘Oh dear.’
But Lucy had d
ecided not to do ‘oh dears’ any more. She’d made a few mistakes of late, and she was learning that she had to be there for her offspring, but only in the background. Imagining that she could simply exit from the scene while they were at university had been a faulty idea. She couldn’t walk, but they could.
However, if they encroached on her life, she would put them straight. They were on the cusp betwixt and between, and she could reclaim her own existence as long as she didn’t push them away.
Lizzie had already gone. There was something very real between her and the Turner boy, and age didn’t come into it. ‘They’re in love,’ she told David now. ‘And it will work, or it won’t. It’s nothing to do with age. Except it is, because Lizzie’s my child, yet she’s a woman. When they’re tiny, that’s the easy bit. Getting it right now is harder. But I’m trying.’
They talked well into the night. Subjects covered included Anne and Tim, Lucy’s brief career as a nurse, Alan and his women, and some of the crazier behaviour of Lucy’s three children. It was as if the intervening years were being eaten away along with all the anecdotes.
‘So you did have some fun with Alan, then?’
‘Yes. One of the best was when his cap went in the cement mixer. It was a disgraceful piece of headgear, but he loved it. So he brought it home and left it to set, then bought a water feature and stuck his concrete cap on the angel. He called it Northern Sprite and was going to enter it in competitions. Well, if folk can get away with piles of bricks, unmade beds and animals cut in half, why not?’
David yawned. It was three o’clock. ‘I’d better go to bed, Lucy.’
She stood up and held out a hand. ‘My bed. It’s all right, I’ve thought about it. We’re too shattered for adventures, but won’t it be lovely to wake up together? Come on. Just children hand in hand. My boys never surface before ten, anyway. Look at Samson and Smokey – it would be a pity to disturb them.’
‘Your cleaners?’
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 19
