“And what about their house?”
Geraldine shrugged. “Alice was vague about that too. I suppose they might try letting it. It’s all a bit up in the air right now.”
Hannah studied her mother. “And how do you feel about taking over in the shop?”
“To be honest, love, it makes a lot more sense to have only one of us in there these days, it’s gone so quiet. I just hope this recession doesn’t last much longer, or we’ll all be twiddling our thumbs.” She put her sherry glass on the mantelpiece and turned to the cake. “Now, that’s enough of that kind of talk—time to wish me a happy birthday.”
She blew out the three candles, and they ate cake and drank her health, and then they sat by the window looking out at the endless rain as darkness fell.
Hannah told them that Nora had been in touch with Adam to say she’d found a job in a theater in L.A. “Right up her alley, I’d say.” She mentioned that she was considering asking Una to do a couple of full days in the shop, instead of just mornings. “It’ll give me some proper free time during the week.”
She didn’t add that she was thinking of approaching Una’s sister, Claire, if and when the time came for her to be able to take on a second person to do one or two more days in the shop. Claire hadn’t gone back to the restaurant where she’d worked before Jason’s death, but maybe in another month or two she might be glad of something part-time. It might suit them all—but Hannah wouldn’t mention it tonight. Time enough for that.
She told them about the mini-cupcakes she’d been asked to provide for a christening. “I’m going to introduce them into the shop, maybe three days a week, see how they sell. They’re fiddly, but there’s a better markup on them.”
She described a new variety she was trying out in the regular size. “Pineapple-mango. I’m calling it Tropical Delight.”
She made no mention of Patrick’s visit to the shop. She didn’t tell them that John had moved back to Scotland. She said nothing about meeting Leah and her son on the street.
Finally, around ten o’clock, she pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’d better call for a taxi. It’s too wet to walk.”
Geraldine closed the sitting-room curtains. “It’s unbelievable, this weather. Mind you, I don’t know why we always expect it to be better in the summer, because we haven’t had a decent summer in God knows how long.” She turned to the door. “We’ll have a cuppa before you go.”
They were sipping tea when it happened. The three of them turned toward the curtained window.
Hannah put her cup down. “What was that?”
“It sounded like—” Geraldine began, but Stephen was already halfway to the door. They followed him out of the house and saw the taxi leaning crookedly against the lamppost. Roof sign still lit up, engine still running, rain pelting down into the slanted beams of the shining headlights. The road silver with accumulated water. Music still playing faintly from within the taxi.
Hannah ran down the driveway. In the few seconds it took to reach the car, she was soaked. She wiped the driver’s window with a trembling hand to see inside.
And there was Wally, slumped against the steering wheel, blood trickling from his temple. He opened his eyes briefly as Stephen shouted at Geraldine to phone for an ambulance, as Hannah wrenched open the door and called his name.
“Hi,” he murmured, and his eyes fluttered closed again.
“It’s good to be home,” Tom said.
He’d lost more weight. His hair needed a cut. His shirt collar was grubby. The dark shadows were still under his eyes, the whites still bloodshot. A mesh of tiny red lines wandered across his cheeks and over his nose. He looked cold.
“I’m glad to have you back,” Alice said. “It was…quiet without you.”
She’d put fresh sheets on his bed the day before and opened the windows to air the room. She’d hoovered and dusted and polished. She’d filled a vase with cuttings from the shrubbery and put it on the dressing table, then on the windowsill, and then back on the dressing table.
She’d taken her nightdress from the single room and put it under the pillow on her side of the double bed. She’d placed her slippers on the rug where he’d see them when he walked in. Ten minutes later she’d gone back in and moved nightdress and slippers out again, back to Ellen’s room.
“Will you have a bit of lamb casserole?” she asked. “I made it this morning. It won’t take long to heat up.”
“That’d be grand,” he said. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, his suitcase on the floor beside him.
“Tom,” she said, and then stopped. He didn’t move. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you.”
On the last word, her voice broke, and he stepped across and put his arms around her. She dropped her head onto his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she wept. “I was horrible to you, and you didn’t deserve it.” The words she’d wanted to say all afternoon spilling out now.
“Shh,” he said, rocking her gently. “Don’t feel bad. You don’t need to feel bad, Alice, love. You were angry, I understand that.”
“But you didn’t mean it,” she cried into his shoulder. “You didn’t mean what happened.”
“No, I didn’t mean it,” he said quietly.
“And I treated you like a murderer. I acted like you killed that child deliberately.”
“Shh,” he said again, holding her. “Don’t cry, love, it’ll be all right.”
It would take time for them to heal; she couldn’t expect it to happen all at once. The accident would always be with them, the death of a child forever on their consciences. But standing there in the kitchen, with his arms around her, she began to feel hope.
Tonight she’d feed him and sit by the fire with him afterward. They might switch on the telly to get the weather forecast, and she’d say something about the fact that they were calling this July the wettest on record. They’d be careful with each other, mindful of what had gone before.
He’d probably comment on the freshly painted walls. They’d look at Ellen’s latest photos. She’d tell him the roses seemed to be coming along better now. She might show him the last gas bill, see if he thought they should question it.
She wouldn’t ask how the past month had gone. She’d bring him up to date on what had been happening in the neighborhood, but she wouldn’t mention the crash outside Stephen and Geraldine’s house the other night. She wouldn’t talk about early retirement, or her plans for a move away from Clongarvin. Not this evening, not yet.
And if, when they were putting up the fireguard and locking the front door, he happened to ask if she’d consider moving back into the bedroom, she’d say yes, she’d like that.
“Let’s begin by going back over the scales,” Vivienne said, “and then we’ll move on to the tune.”
Adam placed his right hand on the keys.
“No,” she said, “your thumb on middle C.”
“Middle C, got you. Here?” he asked, sliding everything one space up.
Vivienne sighed. “Did you practice?”
“Of course I did,” he said. “I mean, I meant to. It’s just that Wally’s keyboard is a bit different, so it puts me off.” He did his best to look ashamed. “Sorry. Maybe you could show me again.”
Vivienne placed her fingers on the keys. “This note here is middle C. Remember, it’s ‘do’ in the key of C.” She played up the scale, moving her fingers gracefully over the keys, and back down again.
She wore a dark gray trouser suit, and a burgundy ribbon gathered her hair loosely at the nape of her neck. It was all he could do not to drop his head and kiss the pale, freckled skin there.
“Pay attention,” she said softly, and he realized she could see him out of the corner of her eye. He switched his gaze back to the piano and watched her fingers as they traveled up and down the scale several more times.
She’d moved in a little from the edge of the bench this evening. Another couple of lessons and their thighs would be almost touching.
“You make it look so easy,” he said.
“It is easy,” she answered sternly, “if you practice.”
“I will,” he promised. “Honest. Swear to God. Let me try now.”
She wasn’t blushing as much. She smiled a little more, even if her smile was still tiny. She looked at his face when she spoke to him. She responded to comments, instead of just answering questions.
It was three weeks to his birthday. It might just be long enough.
My dear Geraldine,
Thank you for the lovely card and your very thoughtful gift before we left. It was quite unnecessary, but much appreciated by both of us.
We’ve found a small house to rent, just outside Clifden. We signed a three-month lease, although the owner was anxious for six, but we persuaded him to give it to us for three. We were very lucky—we only had to do two nights in a bed-and-breakfast. I thought we might be there much longer.
It’s a two-bedroom bungalow, quite basically furnished but with lovely sea views. We’ve taken to going for long walks in the afternoons, weather permitting, and we’re both feeling the better for it. Tom is even talking about taking up golf again, which I’m very happy about.
I hope all is well with you and Stephen. I was sorry to hear that Hannah’s new romance was over—she deserves a bit of happiness. Let’s hope someone else comes along soon.
I hope the shop isn’t too much for you on your own. If it stays as quiet as it had been before I left, you’ll find it easy enough, I suppose. But if it does pick up, remember you have my full permission to take someone on part-time. I’ll leave it entirely up to you. It’s such a relief to know it’s in good hands.
Well, I’d better get the dinner on—that sea air certainly gives you an appetite! I’ll post this tomorrow on our walk. We’ll be going by the village anyway for mandarin oranges—Tom is addicted!
With much love,
Alice
August
I call it Saucy Salmon Pizza,” the birthday boy said, bringing out the main course.
“I thought the chicken wings were all we were getting,” Hannah said. “I stuffed my face.”
“I couldn’t help noticing that,” Adam answered. “But knowing you as I do, I’m fairly confident that you’ll find some space for the pizza.”
Hannah turned to Vivienne. “Should I hit him now,” she asked, “or wait till he’s brought the dessert out?”
Vivienne smiled. “Maybe wait,” she murmured.
“Bloody right,” Wally said. “The dessert is what I came for.”
And Hannah’s smile, when she looked at him, made him want to walk around the table and grab her.
“You and your sweet tooth,” she said.
“Me and my sweet tooth,” he agreed, and he wondered if she was remembering, like he was, the day he’d walked into her shop to claim his free cupcake. Knowing then that he wanted her. Knowing before then, long before then.
But in the end it had taken a concussion and a broken wrist to bring them together. It had taken his taxi careening into the streetlight to get her to look at him properly, just before he lost consciousness.
“What have you done with the pizza wheel?” Adam was rummaging in a drawer. “It was always here.”
Wally watched as Hannah got up and crossed the room. She wore the blue top she’d been wearing that night—he remembered the lace at her wrists when he’d come to in the ambulance. She’d been sitting across from him on some kind of bench, her hands at his eye level. He’d traveled cautiously from them to her face.
Grandpa’s chair is on the wall, he’d said, and instantly she was crouched at his side, ignoring the ambulance attendant’s order to stay where she was.
She’d put a palm lightly on his chest. Are you okay?
You have a yellow shop, he’d answered, and for some reason this made her eyes fill with tears, and he’d drifted off again as she’d raised a blue sleeve to her face.
She was gone the next time he woke, his head thumping, his wrist throbbing. He was on a trolley in a tiny cubicle, and he wondered if he’d imagined her earlier.
Was there a girl here before—I mean a woman, with dark hair? he’d asked a nurse, who was steering an empty wheelchair through the cubicle’s narrow doorway.
I didn’t see anyone, dear, she’d answered, pulling his sheet down none too gently.
Hey, watch it, he’d protested weakly. I’m nearly naked here. Someone had replaced his clothes with a blue garment that stopped long before his knees began.
The nurse hadn’t batted an eyelid. Seen it all before, dear. Come along, now. We must get that wrist of yours to X-ray and check out that head.
They’d kept him in overnight because of the concussion, but when he woke the following day, his mother and Vivienne were standing at his bedside.
I didn’t know you knew I was here, he’d said.
We were here last night, his mother had said, bewildered. Don’t you remember?
No. How did you find out what happened?
Someone I know, Vivienne had said, her color rising. You crashed outside his friend’s parents’ house. He called and drove us here. We had this exact same conversation then.
Did we? Did you meet Hannah?
Who’s Hannah? his mother had asked.
She sells buns. She has a chair on the wall in her shop. She came in the ambulance.
Silence, while they both digested this information doubtfully.
You’re still a bit mixed up, his mother had said then, and Wally had felt too weary to explain.
He thought it strange that even though he had no memory of meeting them the night before, he remembered Hannah in the ambulance. He remembered the band of blue lace at her wrist, how her eyes had filled with tears as she’d looked at him.
He’d dropped in to the yellow shop two days later, pushing the door open with his good hand.
She’d gone delightfully pink when she saw him. You’re okay, she’d said. I rang the hospital and they’d told me you’d gone home.
He’d thrust the bunch of violets across the counter. This is to say thank you for looking after me.
She’d taken the flowers, going pinker. There was no need, she’d said. I did nothing, really. I just went with you in the ambulance. She’d hesitated. It seemed…a bit mean to send you off on your own.
And you got your friend to call to my mother’s house.
Well, Adam’s learning piano from Vivienne, and I knew she lived with your mother, so I just thought it might be better if someone they knew called to tell them, rather than a guard or the hospital.
That was good of you.
She’d smiled. Actually, as it turns out, I did Adam a big favor. Your mother thinks there’s nobody like him now.
Why would he want my mother to think well of him? he’d said, confused.
Because, she’d murmured, burying her face in the flowers, he’s got a soft spot for Vivienne.
Ah. He’d said, rubbing a hand across his face. I see. That explains a lot.
Is your wrist broken? she’d asked.
’Fraid so—that’s the end of my playing the keyboards for a while. Not to mention driving a taxi.
Oh, poor you. How’ll you manage?
I’m back in my mother’s house till the plaster comes off. I don’t have to lift a finger, and my meals are all served up to me. He’d grinned. It’s a tough old world.
But your car—it must be a write-off.
He’d shrugged. Like they say, nobody died. Things’ll sort themselves out. They generally do. I had good insurance.
That’s something, I suppose. She’d paused, then added, going pink again, You didn’t have to, you know.
I didn’t have to what?
Break your wrist. She’d stuck her face into the flowers again. To get my attention.
It was a bit extreme, wasn’t it? Wally had laughed and rubbed his face again. The least you could do, really, is go out with me now.
Hannah had tilted her head
to one side. I suppose I owe you that much.
She got him, that was the thing. She understood his silly jokes, she forgave his chronic unpunctuality, she teased his total ignorance of fashion and tolerated his utter uselessness with money. He was himself with her, and she got him.
She called him sweetheart. She was soft and round in his arms. Her kiss, when it finally moved from his cheek to his mouth after three dates, was delicious.
And this, Adam’s birthday party, was their fifth date. And she was becoming frighteningly important to him.
With an effort he switched his attention to his sister, sitting opposite him. “All right?”
He didn’t need to ask. Look at her, blooming after years of crippling unhappiness, when he’d felt powerless to help her, when she hadn’t known how to help herself. Looking so different in the green dress that caught the color of her eyes.
Blushing deeply in the backseat of their taxi on the way over when Adam’s name had been mentioned.
He’s just a friend, she’d murmured, turning away from him to look out the window.
I know that, Wally had answered.
The green eye shadow had been a disaster, and when she’d scrubbed it off with a facecloth—which had taken ages—it had left the skin around her eyes all blotchy. She should have learned her lesson with the lipstick. And her hair never looked right, no matter how long she left the conditioner in or how carefully she blow-dried it. Easier to tie it up and forget about it.
Except he’d said he liked it down.
She wasn’t a bit sure of the dress. The sales assistant wouldn’t leave her alone, went on about Vivienne’s figure, which as far as Vivienne could see was nothing to write home about. And size eight feet, when most women took a five. So mortifying anytime she needed shoes.
And it’ll be dead easy to take it up a bit, the girl had said, when it had never occurred to Vivienne to make the dress any shorter. But she’d gone ahead and bought it, and her mother had actually admired it when Vivienne showed her.
Semi-Sweet Page 31
