Mrs Martin was astonished. ‘Why! You’ll get married. That’s what you’ll do.’
‘I can’t ask him to do that. He’s too young. We’re both too young.’ She looked up, her pretty green eyes anxious. She felt incredibly alone, unsure of what the future held. But this much she did know: she would not jeopardise Dave’s career. ‘What about college?’ she demanded. ‘You know he’s all set for medical school.’
‘Don’t you think that’s for him to decide?’
‘If we did get married, where would we go? How would we live?’ She had gone through the whole thing in her own mind, over and over. ‘I don’t want you to tell him,’ she pleaded. ‘I have to be the one to do that… when I feel the time is right.’
‘Answer me, dear. Are you happy here, in this house with us?’
Lianne’s heart turned over. ‘I have no right to be happy.’ With her parents in hospital and her sister in a mental institution, she could see nothing ahead but heartache.
‘Look at me, dear.’
Lianne raised her eyes. They were awash with tears. In her sorry heart there was crippling pain, and a terrible anger. Also a strength she never knew she had. Dave and his family had done enough. How could she ask them to do even more?
‘Are you content here, with us?’
Lianne nodded. As content as she would ever be again, she thought.
‘And do you want to have the child… yours and David’s?’
Her face lit in a smile. ‘Oh, yes!’ This child was hers and Dave’s, made with love, and growing strong inside her. It was a bright, glowing light in the middle of darkness.
Mrs Martin was satisfied. ‘That’s all I need to know,’ she said. Coming round the table she wound her chubby arms round Lianne’s shoulders. Hugging her tight, she declared, ‘It’s settled, then. You’re to be a mother. I’m to have a grandchild, and this will be your home for as long as you want it.’ Anticipating Lianne’s protest, she told her sternly, ‘As for Dave’s career, there is no reason why he can’t still go to college… on to medical school if that’s what he really wants. Though I suspect he would want to take a job, and support you and the baby.’
Already Lianne was wondering how she might persuade him to her way of thinking. She said, ‘How can I persuade him not to give up his career?’
Mrs Martin made a sly little face. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. I’ve an idea he’ll listen to what you have to say.’ Nudging Lianne, she grinned broadly. ‘My son might be a stubborn bugger when he wants, but he adores you. Besides, I have great faith in you, dear.’
‘You don’t think we’re too young to be married?’
‘Not a bit of it! If you’re right for each other, age doesn’t matter a jot. Mr Martin and I were in our teens when we wed, and as you can see, we’ve come to no harm.’ She returned to the subject of the baby. ‘You’ll need to see a doctor, dear. You can’t neglect these things, especially as it’s your first one.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘How far are you? Three, four months?’ She instinctively glanced to Lianne’s stomach. It was suspiciously flat. ‘I must say, you’ve covered it well, dear.’
‘It happened at the party,’ Lianne confessed. ‘I’m about three and a half months.’
‘However did you manage to hide it? If I hadn’t heard you being sick in the mornings, I might never have guessed.’
‘You’d be surprised what a tight pantie-girdle and loose-fitting clothes will do for the figure,’ Lianne explained.
‘You’ll have to tell him soon, dear.’
Lianne’s eyes clouded over. ‘I know. I’ll have to tell my parents too.’ Not Ginny, she thought, I can’t tell her. For the briefest moment she suspected that Ginny might already know.
Suddenly it all came flooding back: the creatures in the cellar; the discovery of Old Tom and the idea that Ginny had killed him with her own bare hands. The fire. Her parents at death’s door. Amy Burton on the witness-stand, saying how she had actually seen Ginny swim to the other end of the pool, just before the teacher was drowned. Ginny had denied nothing, and now she was locked away. It was all a nightmare.
‘I don’t want to talk any more,’ she said now. ‘I have to go and see my parents.’
Mrs Martin understood Lianne’s pain. What she didn’t understand was why she shut everyone out of the tragedy. ‘Why won’t you ever let Dave go with you to the hospital, dear? He would be such a comfort to you.’
Lianne was adamant. ‘I’m better on my own.’ On her own she could talk to them, say things that no one else could ever understand. On her own, she could share their suffering. ‘I’ll be back in a few hours,’ she said. ‘They never let me stay long.’
‘I’m sure it’s for the good, dear.’
‘I suppose so. I’ve got another duty as well.’ Good God! Why did she say it like that? Another duty? As though visiting her parents had also become a duty?
Paying particular attention, waiting for her to finish what she started, Mrs Martin said, ‘What duty, dear?’
Lianne felt her face growing hot with shame. ‘Nothing to worry about. It’s just that I promised Mum I’d keep an eye on the bakery.’
‘I thought your father wanted old Fred to take care of all that?’
‘He did. And Fred’s doing a really good job.’
Mrs Martin understood. ‘But your mother wants you to keep an eye on it, anyway, eh?’ She tapped the side of her nose. ‘When it comes to the important things in life, us women don’t tend to trust anyone,’ she whispered.
Both women were thinking of how Lianne had tried to hide her pregnancy. Both women were glad to have shared such an important secret.
‘I’m sure Mum does trust old Fred, but she’s bound to ask me today, so I’d better call in at the bakery on my way to the hospital,’ she said, ‘just to make sure everything is all right.’
‘Okay, dear. Mind you take a key. I have to go into town. I’ll probably be back before you, but just to be sure, eh?’
When Lianne left the room, Mrs Martin’s heart went with her. It’s a good job she’s made of strong stuff, she thought as she nibbled a butterdrop. Many another would have buckled under the weight of it all.
An hour later, Lianne left the house. In a straight blue skirt and butterscotch blouse, she looked stunning. Her short, fair hair was washed and bouncy, and her green eyes shone like an ocean in the sunlight.
‘Morning, lovely.’ A nasty little man with an unfortunate tendency to spread malicious gossip, Mark Robbins had been the postman round these parts for many years. He was late as usual. ‘How are you?’ he asked, with a sickly grin.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Lianne answered, hurrying by. As she went down the street she could feel his beady eyes on her. ‘Sly little bugger!’ she grumbled, knowing he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in how she was. What he really meant to say was, ‘How are your parents after your sister tried to burn them to death? And what about her? Is it right what they say? That she’s completely crazy? And do they really keep her in a straitjacket?’
At the bottom of the street, she turned. The postman was still following her progress. In a fit of rage, she lost control. ‘I shouldn’t look at me for too long!’ she yelled, startling him. ‘How do you know I’m not the crazy one? How do you know they haven’t locked my sister away when it should be me they put in a straitjacket?’
Mrs Lorrimer, from number four, came out of her front gate. Realising what was going on, she said, ‘Don’t let him rile you. Don’t give him the satisfaction.’
Lianne was still bristling. ‘It was the way he stared at me,’ she murmured. ‘Saying one thing and meaning another.’
‘I’m afraid there will always be people like him.’ Like everyone else, she knew of the Lucas scandal. She was also one of the many that loathed the one sister, and pitied the other. ‘It won’t be easy,’ she said, ‘but you will have to deal with it.’
They parted company then, the older woman to her shopping, and Lianne to the bakery. It was
quite a walk, down the street, along the main road and down the hill towards Heath and Reach. It took her fifteen minutes at a brisk pace.
Fred was in the office. ‘Thought you might call in again,’ he said, wedging the pen behind his wrinkled ear. ‘You can tell your mother everything is shipshape. The order book is healthy. Money duly banked, and if you look down there…’ leading her to the window, he pointed a gnarled old finger to the bakery floor, ‘you’ll see the ovens are all producing, and the men are hard at work.’
Letting her gaze rove from one end of the bakery to the other, Lianne felt more alone than she had ever been. In her mind’s eye she could see her father, dressed, like the others, in white overalls and peaked cap. She could see him walking up and down, carrying his precious ledger, checking this, checking that, loading pallets with crusty brown loaves, and counting the big currant teacakes into the trays. He was smiling. Now he was angry because the ovens had gone wrong again. Then he was climbing the steps towards her.
For a moment she needed to be quiet. The pain clogged her throat and the tears burned deep inside. But she wouldn’t let them pour out. She wished she could, for it might open that hard, agonising fist inside her. Would it never end? Would life ever be normal again? In the end, what was normal?
‘Got a lot on yer mind, eh?’ Old Fred was wise enough to know she had come out worse than anyone.
Her sad eyes belied the smile painted on her lips. ‘Oh, I was just thinking,’ she confided. She had always liked this old man. He was a good friend to her father. Loyal and trustworthy.
‘And what were that then, eh?’ His toothless smile put her in mind of his faithful old dog.
‘I was just thinking how some things never change,’ she mused aloud. ‘The house is burned down. My parents are just back from the brink of death, and my only sister is branded insane. But here, in this old bakery, time seems to have stood still.’ In a strange way she didn’t altogether understand, but it was a comforting thing.
‘How are they all?’ He could guess how they were. They were scarred for life, in more ways than one.
‘Daddy’s very moody. He’s in a lot of pain still, because of his neck, mostly. I spoke to the doctor yesterday about Mum. He says the burns on her back are healing well.’
Slowly nodding his head up and down, he considered for a minute before asking in a wary voice, ‘What about your sister?’
Lianne’s face fell. ‘I’ve had permission to see her again. I’m going at the weekend.’ A shaft of fear stabbed through her. She still suffered nightmares about the last and only time they had let her see Ginny.
Fred knew, because he was one of the first she had told. His voice betrayed the concern he felt. ‘And are you taking your young man with you next time?’
‘Dave says he won’t let me go without him.’ She had argued, afraid of how Ginny might react. There was a terrible resentment between those two: Dave because he was protecting his sweetheart, Ginny because she had been rejected by him and couldn’t forgive.
‘And what about you?’
She stared at him through big, surprised eyes. ‘Me?’ The surprise was replaced by pleasure. ‘Nobody ever asks about me.’
‘Well, old Fred’s asking, so tell me, young lady, how are you coping?’
Gulping back the emotion, she whispered brokenly, ‘Oh Fred, I do miss them so.’ She dropped her gaze, closing her eyes in anguish. ‘Why did it have to happen?’
He had no answers. But her plight caught at his old heart. ‘Can an ugly old bugger like me give yer a hug?’
‘Please.’
He put out his arms and she went to him. He was soft and old, his jacket was rough to her face and he smelled of flour and nutmeg. She felt like a child again. ‘Ginny and I never knew our grandfathers,’ she murmured.
He looked into her pretty green eyes, his smiling face uplifted in a multitude of cavernous wrinkles. ‘If you ever feel the need of a grandfather,’ he told her, ‘I’m yer man.’
He held her a moment longer, though his mind had moved on to other things, like the phone call he had to make with regard to a big order from the Bull Hotel in Leighton Buzzard. There was an urgent delivery to Buckingham this morning, and it was late already. A batch of currant buns were ruined when a rat found its way into the stores and left its calling card. They would have to be replaced, and time was short. With all this playing on his mind, his eyes wandered towards the window. The girl was in no hurry to be released. He could feel the weariness in her, the heartache that a body could never speak about to another. ‘Be brave, young ’un,’ he murmured.
There was a whispered reply, so soft he couldn’t make it out. Straining his ears, he heard it again. ‘What’s that yer say, me darling?’ he asked.
Lianne heard it too. ‘It wasn’t me,’ she murmured, gently pushing away with the flat of her hands. With a fast-beating heart, she listened with him.
The faint whisper was like a teasing breeze, or the rush of a skirt as it swished by: ‘Kill him… Old Tom watching… Kill him!’
The old man gasped. ‘What in God’s name?’ He looked confused. Horrified. ‘I must be going mad,’ he said, rubbing his old eyes.
Lianne also. ‘What did you hear?’ she asked softly.
He felt a little foolish. The ovens were drumming in the background, and the sound of men chatting filtered up between them. He forced a little grin. ‘Did you hear anything just then?’
‘No,’ she lied. The voice was as real to her as it had been to him. ‘I’ll have to go,’ she said, ‘or I’ll be late.’
Before she left, they talked about finance, and orders, and he reported how he had had to send one of the vans in to be fitted with a complete new exhaust line. ‘It’s all written down,’ he said, handing her the office ledgers. ‘The accountant spent the entire day here on Wednesday. Very pleased, he were. Said I were doing a grand job. It’s all in order.’ Opening the filing cabinet he urged, ‘See for yourself.’
Lianne graciously declined. ‘I’ll leave it to the accountant,’ she said. ‘After all, I expect Daddy pays him an absolute fortune.’
She thanked him for everything and hurried away.
As she turned the corner out of sight, the old man took a swig of brandy from his secret bottle. ‘I know what I heard,’ he told the wall. ‘It was a voice. A soft, beautiful voice, like I’ve never heard before.’ He took another swig, before making the sign of the cross on himself. Putting the bottle away he went downstairs. ‘Shan’t be sorry when the responsibility’s lifted from these old shoulders,’ he muttered. Glancing behind him, he quickened his step.
Lianne tried to shut out the voice. The harder she tried the louder it echoed in her mind. ‘I heard you, Ginny,’ she whispered. ‘Please! Don’t torment me.’
‘Lovely day,’ the bus conductor announced as she boarded. ‘Shame some of us have to work.’
She bought her ticket, and chose to sit at the top of the bus, right in front, so she could see where she was going. That was important to her now. Once upon a time she would have sat anywhere: at the back; in the middle; behind one of the posts. Now, though, after all that had happened, she would fight her way to the front, where she could look out of the window and see the road ahead. She couldn’t explain it. She just felt safer. As though she might see the enemy coming from a way off, instead of being taken by surprise. The journey from Leighton Buzzard to Aylesbury took just under an hour. They stopped several times to pick up and deposit passengers, and much to everyone’s frustration, the bus was delayed by roadworks on the main route.
Lianne got off at the corner, just a step away from the hospital gates. As usual the foyer was busy, with people going back and forth, porters with trolleys, visitors carrying huge bouquets or baskets of fruit, and the few fortunate patients who were allowed a little walk down the corridors.
‘Is it all right for me to go straight up?’ she asked at the desk. In the earlier weeks when she came here, Lianne was sometimes asked to wait until the doctor
attended one or both of her parents. Badly injured and close to death, they were being closely monitored in Intensive Care. Now, though, they had been moved to private wards, and visiting was easier.
‘You can go in.’ The nurse was too busy to look up, and too tired to smile.
With Jack in the main wing, and Liz in the burns unit at the far end of the hospital, Lianne had developed a visiting pattern. On Mondays she would see her father first, and alternate the turns each day. Today was Friday, so it was her father’s turn.
From the moment the doctor left, Jack did not take his eyes off the door, because he knew that at any minute Lianne would walk through. He wished it could be Ginny, but sadly, that was not possible. He blamed himself. Though he could never admit it to anyone, least of all Lianne or Liz, he loved Ginny more than anyone. She was cold natured where Lianne was warm. She was extraordinarily beautiful where Lianne was merely pretty. Ginny hated. Lianne loved. Of the two, Lianne was the stronger. Ginny was weak and flawed, and like any parent he believed it was all his fault. Somewhere along the way he had failed her. That was why he had to love her the most.
Lianne opened the door. The sight of her father lying there was now all too familiar. On his back, with both legs in traction and his body twisted at a peculiar angle to allow for the brace around his neck. ‘Hello, sweetheart.’ He couldn’t even move his head. His eyes followed her progress to the bed. ‘You’re late.’
Leaning over to kiss him tenderly, she explained, ‘There were roadworks.’ She had brought a novel for him to read. She laid it on the bedside cabinet and sat down beside him. ‘When will they take the plaster off?’ Every day she asked, and every day his answer was the same: ‘When they’re ready.’ That was his answer now.
His green eyes closed in pain, as he tried to turn. He sucked in a long breath, and held it for a minute. Lianne did not intervene. She knew he would cope. When he was composed, he voiced the anxieties that plagued him. ‘Have you seen Ginny? How is she? How are they treating her?’ A tear trickled out of one corner of his left eye. ‘Does she really know what she’s done?’
No Heaven, No Hell Page 25
