Song of the Skylark

by Erica James

  Seconds passed. ‘What is it, Luke?’ asked Ingrid. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said. ‘Everything’s fine. Fancy an episode of House of Cards while we eat?’

  And there we have it, he thought, he was just as bad as his parents. It’s what we don’t say that matters the most.

  Chapter Forty

  With her breath held tight and her heart hammering in her chest, Lizzie snapped her eyes open with a start. She blinked and took a moment to work out where she was. And then relief kicked in. It was a dream. Just a dream. It wasn’t real.

  But the vividness of what she’d been dreaming still had the power to convince her she was mistaken, and as her body convulsed with a shudder of horror, she felt compelled to rush to her parents’ bedroom to check they were all right, that they weren’t both lying amidst the bloodied wreckage of a car crash. She didn’t, though. Instead she shuddered again at the thought of the twisted remains of her father’s car, which she had been driving in the dream. The accident had been her fault. She hadn’t been concentrating; she’d been too busy looking for her mobile in her handbag on her lap, her hands off the steering wheel as she hunted through all the rubbish in her bag to find the phone.

  ‘It’ll be Curt,’ she’d said happily, ignoring her father’s instruction to keep her eyes on the road, ‘he’ll be ringing to say he’s sorry and will I forgive him for what he said.’

  She’d found the phone just as the car skidded off the road and went careering down the slippery, grassy slope of a steep hill and no matter how hard she banged her foot on the brake pedal, the car wouldn’t stop. Faster and faster the car went, until finally it crashed headlong into what was the only object for miles around, a colossal oak tree. Then, as if she were suspended above the wreckage of the car, she was calling to her parents. ‘I’m sorry,’ she was crying, ‘I’m sorry for what I did!’

  Sitting up now, Lizzie took a deep breath. Two things, she told herself, trying to make sense of the dream. First, Curt is never going to ring and beg forgiveness, and second, never would she forgive him. Never. Not even if he turned up here in person with tears running down his cheeks and a choir of heavenly angels singing to her.

  She thought again about the dream and what had caused her subconscious to create such a nightmare. Did its roots lie in the conversation she’d had with Jed about his mother? Certainly it had left her thinking whether she could be as selfless as he had been. ‘Being responsible for another person was the ultimate act of growing up,’ Jed had said. It sounded a bit preachy, but maybe he was right.

  In the dream she had been driving without care or thought for anybody else; all that mattered was the ringing of her mobile – was that a sign that she lacked responsibility, that she didn’t think enough of others before herself? Was that how she’d been lately? She had a dreadful feeling that maybe it was true, for hadn’t her every waking thought revolved around herself since Curt had turned her world upside down? And hadn’t she, in her haste to throw herself into an affair with Curt, isolated herself from her friends, not caring a jot about how they felt? Was it any wonder so many of them had taken Simon’s side and deserted her?

  Putting Curt from her mind, she asked herself again if she could ever be as selfless as Jed.

  Or as selfless as Mrs Dallimore. Look what she had done when she was years younger than Lizzie. Without a backward glance she had thrown herself into not just helping her grandparents, but caring for two young refugee children. And not forgetting Leon, the Polish refugee. What had driven Mrs Dallimore to be so generous and to do so much good at so young an age? And why hadn’t Lizzie felt the same, because when she thought back to when she was twenty and what she was getting up to, the comparison didn’t bear thinking about.

  Feckless and without purpose – that just about summed her up. By rights the admission should have depressed her, but it didn’t. It made her think that the time had come to ditch her bad old ways and get a grip on what was important.

  Jed had given her the chance of a job, albeit a job she wouldn’t have previously considered, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and she might just as well accept that and see what transpired. It was always possible this Ricky character wouldn’t think she was suitable for the role at Skylark Radio, but the first step was to get in touch with him. She had entered the contact details into her mobile and planned to make the call this morning before she went to Woodside. Knowing how desperately her parents wanted her to find a job that would get her back on her feet, she hadn’t mentioned Jed or the opportunity that he had passed her way in case it got their hopes up, only for them to be dashed.

  To get the ball rolling on her new-found determination to be more positive, and since all was quiet in the house with everybody else still sleeping – it wasn’t quite six thirty – she decided her first selfless act of the day would be to surprise her parents by making breakfast for them.

  But when Lizzie got downstairs, she found her mother was already in the kitchen, the kettle coming to the boil.

  ‘Hello, love,’ Mum said. ‘You’re up early.’

  ‘So are you.’

  ‘The birds woke me. They’ve been at it since four.’

  ‘You haven’t been awake since then, have you?’

  ‘Off and on. Tea or coffee?’

  Remembering her first act of selflessness for the day, Lizzie said, ‘Why don’t you sit down and let me do it?’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’

  ‘I know it isn’t, but I’d like to do it for you.’

  Her mother looked at her.

  ‘What’s that look for, Mum?’

  ‘I’m not aware of giving you a look.’

  ‘Well you did, now out of the way. What would you like, tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea, please, and no sugar.’

  ‘I know you don’t have sugar in your tea, Mum. And nor does Dad. Honestly, the way you’re carrying on anyone would think I never make you a drink.’

  Her mother neither confirmed nor denied her comment. Instead she said, ‘Seeing as it’s such a lovely morning, shall we have our drinks in the summer house?’

  ‘Good idea. You go and plump up the cushions, I’ll be right with you.’

  Dad had built the summer house for Mum last year as a birthday present, and it was her favourite place in the garden to sit. He had also made her a sign that read Tess’s Retreat, and he’d run an electricity cable from the house to the summer house so that it could be lit up with little lanterns in the evening. Mum and Dad often enjoyed a gin and tonic in there – but when was the last time they had done that? Certainly it hadn’t happened since she’d moved back home.

  The drinks made, she carried them outside and settled herself in the chair next to her mother. How beautiful the garden looked, she thought, bathed as it was in a golden wash of early morning sunlight. The only sound to be heard was the joyful chorus of birds singing their hearts out.

  ‘Birds always sound so happy to be awake first thing in the morning, don’t they?’ Lizzie remarked. ‘Do you suppose that’s because they don’t have anything to worry about?’

  Her mother looked at her. ‘That sounds like a question only somebody with too much to worry about might ask.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to,’ Lizzie said. She drank some of her tea, taking care not to scold her lips. ‘You might find this hard to believe,’ she said at length, ‘but before I came downstairs I was trying to sort out some of the clutter going on inside my head.’

  ‘Why would you think I’d find that hard to believe?’

  Lizzie shrugged. ‘I know how people see me, Mum, that I’m a hopeless flibbertigibbet who can’t get anything right.’

  ‘That’s not true. I’ve told you before, you mustn’t be so hard on yourself.’

  ‘Okay then, give me an example of something I’ve achieved.’

  ‘Well, from what I
hear, you’re a big hit at Woodside, particularly with Mrs Dallimore.’

  ‘That’s hardly an achievement.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I’d say it is. All somebody like Mrs Dallimore wants is the company of someone who’s genuinely interested in what she has to say. And you do that.’

  ‘But I like spending time with her.’

  ‘Not everyone would. And initially you weren’t too keen on the idea of going to Woodside, were you? But instead of complaining about it, you rolled your sleeves up and in the short time you’ve been there, you’ve made a success of it.’

  ‘All right, I’ll concede that one maybe, but if you put that to one side, there isn’t anything else I can be proud of, is there? Everything I touch turns into a gigantic mess. In one fell swoop I hurt Simon badly, I destroyed your friendship with Lorna and Keith, I lost my job into the bargain, and all because I was stupid enough to fall for the oldest trick in the book, a married man who had no intention of ever leaving his wife.’

  Her mother tutted. ‘As always you’re blaming yourself too much. I doubt you’re the first person Curt has lied to, and probably not the last, so try to take some solace in that. Do you mind if I ask you something?’

  Lizzie smiled. ‘Mum, since when have you asked permission to interrogate me?’

  ‘I’ve never interrogated you!’ her mother remonstrated.

  ‘Well, maybe we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point. What is it you want to know?’

  ‘Do you think if Curt hadn’t come along when he did you might have stayed with Simon?’

  ‘Good question,’ Lizzie said as she watched a pair of sparrows hopping along the path. ‘We’d hit a sort of fork in the road, I suppose, and you could say I chose the wrong road.’

  ‘Have you thought of speaking to him?’

  ‘Oh, Mum, you’d love nothing better than to see me back with Simon, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘He’s such a lovely boy.’

  Lizzie smiled at her mother’s description.

  ‘And it was good of him to come and see us the other evening.’

  ‘It was. You’re right, he was always very thoughtful. But maybe I don’t deserve somebody so decent and good.’

  Her comment produced a tut of gigantic proportions. ‘That’s utter rubbish, Lizzie, and I never want to hear you say anything like that again.’

  Loving her mother for always rushing to defend her, Lizzie said, ‘I’m going to turn the tables on you now and ask you something.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘Why have you and Dad been acting so strangely these last few days? Have you rowed?’

  Her mother immediately looked flustered and bent down to pick up a leaf from the floor of the summer house. ‘It’s my fault entirely,’ she said. ‘I blamed him quite unfairly for Freddie falling in the pond. I overreacted. And all because I’m so scared of what Ingrid might say. What if she declares us unfit grandparents?’

  ‘I think she’d have a tough job getting that one past Luke. And Freddie, for that matter. He loves you and Dad to bits. Besides, an accident is just that, an accident.’

  ‘I know, but in the heat of the moment I wasn’t thinking rationally when I blamed your father. And he’d probably admit that his reaction wasn’t altogether rational either.’

  ‘Why, what did he say?’

  ‘He shouted at me. Accused me of making a drama out of everything, of not supporting him. And then he stormed out. I’d never seen him like that before. He was so cross. I’ve tried apologising to him, but I don’t think he’s forgiven me.’

  ‘He will. Dad’s not one to harbour a grudge.’ But then, nor was he the kind of man to shout or storm out, Lizzie thought. ‘Would it help if I spoke to him?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. He might be upset that I’ve been tittle-tattling to you about him.’

  Lizzie sipped her tea thoughtfully. Then from nowhere, a gem of an idea struck Lizzie. What her parents needed was time on their own, an evening without Freddie or her. She would book a table at their favourite restaurant for tonight and deliver it as a fait accompli. That’s if she could book it in time. She’d call in at the post office to make a withdrawal from her bank account, and give them the money to dine out in style. It would make a serious dent in what little money she had, but it would be worth it. It would be her way of trying to make amends for the turmoil she was putting them through.

  Lizzie cycled into the centre of the village, propped her bike against the bench in front of the duck pond – scene of Pond-Gate – and sat down to tackle the first of the phone calls she needed to make, both of which had to be done out of range of her parents overhearing.

  When Ricky Chambers answered her call he sounded breathless. In the background she could hear birds singing and the distant noise of a car engine.

  ‘Sorry,’ he panted, when she said who she was and hoped she wasn’t disturbing him, ‘I don’t always sound like this, but I’m in training for a half marathon I’ve agreed to take part in. Stupidest thing I ever said yes to. What’s yours?’

  ‘Err … sorry?’

  ‘What’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever agreed to?’

  Okay, he was testing her, putting her on the spot with a classic left-field interview question. Think carefully, Lizzie, she warned herself, think very carefully. But before her brain had time to filter out the raft of wrong answers, her runaway mouth had seized control and to her horror she heard herself say, ‘Agreeing to have a drink with my last boss ranks prettily highly as the stupidest thing I ever agreed to.’

  ‘Interesting. Jed’s told me a little about you and since I know him of old, I know to trust him. How about you come into the studio tomorrow and we can have a chat?’

  ‘What time shall I come?’

  ‘I’ll be on air from twelve o’clock until three, so why don’t you arrive towards the end of the show?’

  With the first task of the day crossed off her list, and hardly daring to believe anything would come of it, Lizzie then rang the restaurant in Lavenham to book a table for her parents that evening. With that done, she called in at the post office to drain her bank account. It’s for a good cause, she reminded herself when she saw the paltry amount she had left.

  Next stop Woodside, and back on her bike and pedalling fast, she realised she was looking forward to seeing Mrs Dallimore again, in the hope she would hear what happened next after she’d married her dashing pilot.

  But there was no sign of Mrs Dallimore that morning, and when Lizzie asked after her she was told the old lady hadn’t slept well and was in the medical wing. Alarmed that something might be seriously wrong, Lizzie spent the next few hours on the lookout for her.

  By lunchtime there was still no sign of Mrs Dallimore, and as she helped Mr Sheridan take his seat at the table in the dining room, she asked him if he knew anything.

  ‘She looked a touch peaky last night during supper,’ he said, ‘told her as much, which she didn’t like one little bit. Lovely woman,’ he said wistfully. ‘Wish I’d known her years ago, after my wife passed away. I think we would have had some fun together in our twilight years.’ He sighed heavily.

  That sigh stayed with Lizzie during lunch while she helped oversee things, giving help to those who needed it, but holding back respectfully from those who had not yet reached the stage when they were prepared to ask for assistance. It broke Lizzie’s heart to see poor old Mr Jenkins, who suffered badly with Parkinson’s disease, trying to feed himself, and she longed to take hold of his hand and steady it so that the food from his plate made it to his mouth and not down his front. Sitting on the same table as him was a new resident, a woman who had quickly gained herself the reputation amongst the staff as being ‘difficult’. Her name was Mrs Lennox, and she had arrived two days ago and told anyone who would listen that she wouldn’t be staying here long; it was just a stopgap until her son
found her somewhere more suitable. Observing the disgust on her superior face as she watched Mr Jenkins doing his best to feed himself, Lizzie very much hoped the woman’s son would find somewhere more suitable, and soon.

  She was just helping to clear away the plates from those who’d finished eating when Jennifer approached. ‘Could I have a quick word?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lizzie replied. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s Mrs Dallimore, she’s—’

  Lizzie’s heart sank. ‘What?’ she cut in. ‘She hasn’t died, has she?’

  The woman frowned. ‘Heavens no, whatever made you think that?’

  ‘She’s been in the medical wing all morning and Mr Sheridan said she wasn’t looking so good last night, and—’

  ‘She’s fine; her blood pressure just went a bit haywire. She’s in her room resting, and knowing how fond she’s grown of you, I wondered if you’d like to take her some lunch and sit with her for a while. Would you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  ‘Such a lot of fuss about nothing,’ said Mrs Dallimore with a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘A rise in my blood pressure and everybody’s getting ready to measure me up for my coffin.’

  ‘Better to err on the side of caution,’ Lizzie said, conscious that, despite the fighting talk, the old lady did indeed look more frail than yesterday. ‘Are you sure you can’t eat any more lunch?’ she asked. ‘You haven’t eaten much.’

  ‘I’ve never really been a fan of poached salmon if I’m honest; it has the habit of repeating on me. But I’ll have that bowl of fruit salad now. So what news do you have for me? How’s Mrs Lennox settling in? Is there anyone left she hasn’t offended with her superior airs? She rather reminds me of dear old Virginia Charlbury.’

  Lizzie removed the plate of half-eaten food from the tray resting on Mrs Dallimore’s lap and replaced it with the dessert bowl and spoon.

  ‘Now you know I couldn’t possibly comment on one of your fellow residents,’ she said good-humouredly.