Bells

by Jo Verity

  It was the sort of down-at-heel place she would normally walk past but, once inside, the smell of fresh coffee and grilling bacon was irresistible. She ordered a large black coffee and was about to pay when she added, ‘And a sausage sandwich, please. Raj tells me they’re the best in town.’

  The woman on the other side of the Formica counter was about Fay’s age. Plump and solid, with dry, home-bleached hair, she smiled. ‘You a friend of Raj’s, then?’

  Did she look like a friend of an Asian newsagent? Maybe she did, in her creased clothes and without a trace of makeup. Before she had chance to respond, the woman continued, ‘He’s like a dog with two tails since the results came out.’

  Results? Was the poor man ill? She must have looked confused because the woman elaborated, ‘You heard that his daughter got four As in her exams? Off to be a doctor.’

  Fay sat in the corner near the window, half reading her paper, looking up as customers came and went, all taking breakfast out in lidded cups and paper bags. There was something glamorous, European, risqué, about not eating breakfast in one’s own kitchen. But there were no cafés in the suburb where they lived, and she would have to drive for several miles if she wanted to get a sausage sandwich in a paper bag.

  In a quiet moment, the woman came across, refilled her coffee mug and chatted about a film she’d watched on television the previous evening. Fay felt like an explorer, making landfall on a new continent and she regretted that she would never become Raj’s friend or meet his industrious daughter. She wished that she could tell someone about her expedition. It was eight o’clock. Jack should be awake now, even if he wasn’t up and dressed, and she scrolled through the list on her mobile until she reached their home number. It was engaged. Who on earth could he be talking to this early on a Saturday? Disappointed, she dropped the phone back into her handbag.

  The terraced streets had little to distinguish one from the next and she took a few wrong turns before finding her way back. Caitlin’s car was still parked opposite. This shouldn’t have surprised her but it did because, although she’d only been away from the house for a couple of hours, it seemed to her that she’d taken a week’s holiday in a different country. She glanced up at the front bedroom, where Laura slept. The curtains were still closed and she had no keys. She tapped gently and, when no one came to the door, she perched on the wall, lighting a cigarette and trying to fathom out why she’d been so entranced by her early-morning sortie.

  ‘Not another dirty stop-out.’

  Fay turned to see Caitlin and Cassidy, looking bright and fresh, strolling towards the house from the opposite end of the street. She stubbed out her cigarette and fixed a cheery smile on her face, hoping it would compensate for the lack of make-up. ‘I went for a wander and I forgot to take keys.’ She stared Caitlin in the eye. ‘I didn’t want to wake anyone.’ She paused, ‘But you obviously weren’t there to wake.’

  Cassidy produced a set of keys from his pocket and opened the front door, standing back for her to enter. ‘Didn’t Mum pass on the message? She said you’d already gone to bed, but I thought she might have let you know. We didn’t want you to worry, did we Cait? She’s hopeless.’

  Caitlin, rather eagerly Fay thought, joined in. ‘We stayed with Cass’s friends. They’ve got a fantastic place. Huge. Part of a converted bus depot. We had a sofa each, didn’t we?’ She looked to Cassidy for confirmation.

  ‘Yes, unfortunately.’

  Laura appeared at the top of the stairs, still in her nightdress. ‘They’ve explained where they were? I didn’t think it was kind to wake you. And you knew Cait was in good hands.’

  Jack was tipping milk onto his cornflakes when the phone rang. He was surprised that Fay was up and about so early. But it wasn’t Fay.

  ‘Morning, Jack. Thanks for last night.’ It was Neil. ‘Is it okay to bring the rest of my stuff over this morning? I’ve got to be out of this place by midday.

  ‘Of course. Fay’s due back this afternoon so I’ll be confined to barracks, making sure it’s all ship-shape.’ He had no idea why he was adopting the persona of hen-pecked husband or speaking in military clichés. In fact he’d better make an effort to be assertive, right from the start, if he were intending to earn Neil’s respect. ‘Oh, and Neil, anything back from Kingsley?’

  Neil explained that he hadn’t had time to check his email during the twelve hours since he last saw Jack.

  ‘Never mind. You can do it here,’ Jack replied. ‘See you soon.’

  One thing Jack had to do was ensure that there was nothing – not one single thing – to indicate his transaction at the building society. He put the red passbook back in the bureau, exactly where it had come from. He checked that there were no give-away scraps of paper in the waste-paper baskets. He went through their email to ensure that the patronizing teller hadn’t been super-efficient and done something stupid, like confirm the withdrawal of such a large sum. He hadn’t.

  In his ‘Inbox’ there was a reminder from Stan that rehearsals for the Wicker Men would start again the following Thursday. Stan was attending computer classes for the ‘silver surfer’ and he’d become besotted with the technology. However, the temptation to press ‘send’ was so great that he often forgot to include everything in his first message. A second mail, sent seven minutes later, added a fixture to the schedule which he’d circulated the previous week:

  An extra date for your diaries, lads. Llangwm Harvest Celebrations. Saturday 27th September. Short notice but hope you can all make it.

  Stan.

  Elation and panic centred themselves in Jack’s lower intestine and he headed for the cloakroom where he sat on the lavatory, marshalling his thoughts. Since his visit to Llangwm a couple of days ago, he’d been trying to come up with a plausible excuse for another weekend away. It was too soon for a second dental conference and, unlike Fay, he didn’t have friends whom he might conceivably visit on his own. It was wonderful, therefore, to be supplied with a bona fidereason to return to Llangwm.

  When Iolo had turned up at the surgery the other day, his two lives, because that’s how he’d started think of them, collided. Iolo’s second visit was ostensibly to collect some tickets for the Opera. Not wonderful, but Jack needed a credible excuse for handing him a brown envelope containing the cheque. Fortunately, only Sheila had witnessed these encounters and he was confident that his explanations for the events had convinced her. But if the Wicker Men, a thoroughly garrulous crowd, were let loose in Llangwm, anything could happen. He had three weeks to fathom out a way to avoid disaster.

  Alarm quenched his euphoria.

  Jack was in the shed, cleaning his shoes, when Neil found him.

  ‘Are those your dancing shoes? Cool.’

  Jack glanced up. No one had ever called his shoes ‘cool’ before but the lad seemed genuinely taken with them. ‘Yes. I like to give them a complete overhaul at the start of the season.’

  Neil looked puzzled. ‘I would have thought this would be the end of the season. Isn’t Morris dancing a summer thing?’

  ‘I suppose it is, strictly speaking. But we get booked for events all year round. Mind you, I often think we’re there to pad out the programme. You know, along with the bouncy castle and face-painting.’ Put like that, his hobby sounded like a waste of time and, to dispel that impression, he grabbed his bells and shook them violently.

  Neil asked lots of surprisingly sensible questions about the Wicker Men. When he reached, ‘Have you got them on video?’ Jack began to feel uneasy.

  ‘Neil. A word of advice. How can I put it?’ He needed to warn Neil without painting Fay as some kind of prison warder. ‘My wife’s never been too keen on the dancing thing. She’d never stop me going or anything like that, but we tend not to talk about it much.’ He paused uncertain how to proceed.

  ‘No worries,’ Neil winked, ‘I don’t want to blot my copybook on day one, do I?’

  Jack hadn’t set out to form an alliance with the lad and he hoped that, when Neil saw F
ay and him together, he would realise what a devoted couple they were. This might involve some play-acting on his part but he was becoming pretty skilful at that.

  Whilst Neil took the last consignment of his possessions upstairs, Jack put the kettle on and broke out a packet of chocolate Hob-Nobs. He wasn’t sure how Fay saw things going when it came to, say, catering and washing. Surely she didn’t intend Neil to eat with them, so they would have to agree some sort of cooking rota if they weren’t to get in each others’ way. Would she invite Neil to use their washing machine? It seemed harsh to expect him to traipse to the laundrette. Did laundrettes still exist?

  He thought back to student days and the constant bickering about dirty lavatories and festering pedal-bins. Once, he’d been forced to confront Dafydd, when it became clear that he was helping himself to Jack’s groceries. It might have turned nasty but Dafydd had roared with laughter, assuring Jack that he was more than welcome to pinch anything of his that he fancied. ‘Except my women, of course.’

  ‘Thanks for coming.’ Laura hugged Fay and handed her a carrier bag. ‘Lunch. Service station food is so dreadful. And so expensive.’

  ‘Thank you. It’s been a lovely end to the holidays.’ Fay had only half her mind on what she was saying as she watched Caitlin and Cassidy making their farewells in the garden.

  Laura must have misinterpreted the distracted expression on Fay’s face as having something to do with their friend. ‘I’ll ring Isabel sometime over the weekend. I’m sure a lot of her bull-shitting is covering up her insecurity. We must give her our support.’

  Fay stopped gazing into the garden and concentrated on what Laura was saying. ‘Oh, come on. Where was she when you were the one needing support?’

  Laura shrugged and gave a little smile. ‘We’re all different, Fay.’

  They trooped out to the car. When Cassidy stooped to kiss Fay’s cheek, he squeezed her arm, as if to confirm some special understanding between them. She was irritated at the ease with which he reduced her to a breathless schoolgirl, but was uncertain whether this was calculated behaviour or just his natural manner.

  On the way home, they stopped at a service station on the M42. It was the last Saturday of the school holidays and the car park was packed. They sat on a grassy embankment, as far as they could from the rumbling traffic, eating the tasty lunch that Laura had provided.

  ‘Did you have a good visit, Mum?’ Until now they had limited their conversation to the passing countryside and what was on the radio.

  ‘Lovely.’ She paused. ‘Well, not entirely lovely. Isabel was particularly wearing. Laura’s brilliant at letting it go over her head but I can’t seem to do that.’ She pulled the pith from a segment of orange. ‘What about you? I hope you haven’t fallen out with Sarah.’ Her words sounded like a reprimand.

  ‘Not fallen out exactly. We don’t have much in common any more. She banged on about some chap she’s just split up with. And some weird diet she’s on. I think she was quite relieved when I said I had to leave early.’

  The air was tainted with petrol fumes from the filling station. Cars and lorries came and went.

  ‘You and Cassidy seem to get on well.’

  ‘Mmmm. We do.’ A smile flitted across Caitlin’s face as she tucked in to a piece of Laura’s fruitcake.

  21

  Caitlin dropped Fay off at the gate, declining the invitation to come in. Fay thought this might be to avoid an inquest on her re-scheduled weekend. It was only as she unlocked the front door and spotted the unfamiliar jacket hanging on the newel post – she’d have to put a stop to that – that she remembered Neil was moving in today. She listened but the house was silent. ‘Jack?’ He must be around. Both cars were on the drive.

  The kitchen was immaculate. No cups or plates left draining in the rack, the newspaper neatly folded in the magazine holder, the tea-towels over the rail. ‘Jack?’ She looked out of the window and saw them, Jack and Neil, chatting on the decking, coffee mugs on the table in front of them, for all the world as if they were life-long pals.

  She went out to join them, and, on spotting her, Neil jumped to his feet. She trained all her students to do this when she entered the classroom and was flattered that the habit had stuck. ‘Hello, Mrs… Fay.’ He blushed, as though he had overstepped the mark by using her first name.

  Jack remained seated. ‘Good journey, love? You look a bit frazzled. I’ll get you a coffee.’ He glanced behind her. ‘No Caitlin?’

  ‘She had to get back for something.’ With an outsider there, it wasn’t the right time to tell him about their daughter’s uncharacteristic behaviour the previous night.

  Ignoring whatever Jack was muttering about extra dance fixtures, she drank her coffee, the rich, brown smell transporting her back to breakfast time. What was so remarkable about having breakfast in that shabby café? Why had she found it so delightful? ‘I’d rather like to go out for breakfast tomorrow,’ she interrupted. Jack stared at her, evidently not catching what she’d said. She tried again. ‘Breakfast. What about finding a nice little place to get breakfast tomorrow?’

  ‘No need, love. There’s plenty of bread. And I picked up some milk this morning.’

  Neil raised his hand. This pupil-teacher thing might become tiresome. ‘There’s a great caff near my old flat. Formica tables. Fantastic bacon baps.’

  She extended her upturned hand towards him, acknowledging his contribution. ‘Thank you, Neil. I was beginning to think I was speaking Urdu.’ Seeing Jack’s confusion, she relented and put on a cheery smile. ‘Shall the three of us go, then? Let’s celebrate the last day of the school holiday.’ She stood up. ‘Could you bring my bag upstairs, please, Jack?’

  Jack hovered, watching her unpack. It unnerved her, as if there could be something amongst her dirty washing that she’d rather he didn’t see. No doubt a psychiatrist would explain that she was, indeed, trying to hide something. But Jack was exceptionally unobservant. He’d barely commented on her recent ‘new look’, or her eagerness to re-establish her friendship with Laura. If he came home one day with a trendy haircut, and started wearing expensive shirts and handmade shoes, she would definitely know that he was up to something.

  ‘Neil appears to be settling in,’ she said.

  ‘Yes. Nice lad. Seems pretty straightforward.’ He squared up the pile of books on his bedside table. ‘I’m not quite sure what the ground rules are, though.’

  ‘Ground rules?’

  ‘House rules, that’s more the phrase I’m after. For example, will he be eating with us? What about his washing? Will he be allowed to bring friends back? That sort of thing.’

  Fay hadn’t considered any of these things but wasn’t going to admit it. ‘Of course he won’t eat with us. Unless we invite him to. He’ll have to use the kitchen after we’ve finished. Washing? I don’t see any reason why he can’t use our machine, as long as he treats it carefully and buys his own washing powder. Friends? No. I don’t think so. Not with the pale carpets.’ She had an aptitude for making quick, if not always correct, decisions and couldn’t bear Jack’s inclination to vacillate. ‘What’s he doing now?’

  Jack peered out of the bedroom window. ‘He’s not in the garden. Must be in his room.’

  His room. It would take a while for her to get used to that.

  She filled Jack in on Geoffrey’s decision to leave Isabel for a more homely woman. ‘Very odd. But no doubt Geoffrey will make sure that Izzy’s well provided for. She had hysterics at the prospect of people thinking she couldn’t hang on to her man.’

  ‘Sounds like a Charles and Camilla job to me.’

  She’d forgotten how funny Jack could be; how, when they first knew each other, his quiet, anarchic humour had made him different from the rest. It had been such fun to sit in the pub, eking out one drink, listening to his stories about weird patients or his take on their fellow students.

  She told him about Caitlin’s premature return to Nottingham and her night on the tiles with Cassidy, trying to
keep it light and humorous, not wanting to give a intimation of her own feelings.

  ‘Caitlin’s got her head screwed on. Can’t imagine she’d be daft enough to get carried away by good looks,’ he assured her. ‘And how’s Laura?’

  ‘Oh, you know Laura. Loveable. Messy. Vague. Wise. Too bloody tolerant of everything and everyone.’

  ‘It’s a good job we’re not all the same.’

  ‘And, guess what? She told me she doesn’t know who Sadie’s father was. But I’m not sure I can believe that.’

  ‘Well, as I said, it’s a good job—’

  ‘Perhaps she was just ahead of her time. These days, lots of young women prefer to go it alone. They look for a man who fits their criteria, use him as a sperm donor and send him on his way.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting that Caitlin—’

  ‘Good heavens, no.’ Could Caitlin be sizing Cassidy up as a possible father?

  Music, not loud but quite distinct, filtered through the closed bedroom door. Neil was making himself at home. After they had run through the ‘house rules’ with him, she must put her mind to finding him a job and launch him back into the world, before he made himself too comfortable.

  That afternoon, before Fay got back, Jack had encouraged Neil to check his email and was unable to contain his excitement when Neil called out, ‘Yep. There’s one from King.’

  The message, sent that morning from an unfamiliar email address, was short but tantalising.

  Neil, Mate.

  Not totally surprised to hear from you, considering the situation. On the move again. I can recommend this nomadic life. I ALMOST came home when we won the Grand Slam. Next time, maybe.

  Kingsley.

  Tell M&D not to fret. Love to C&D.

  Neil gave his trademark thumbs up. ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘But that’s not the email address we have for him.’ Jack tapped the screen.