The Wishing Well

by Anna Jacobs

  “Heard what? How can we hear anything when our only child vanishes and doesn’t tell us where she’s living? If it wasn’t for Barry, we wouldn’t even have known where you were.”

  “You wouldn’t leave me alone. I needed time to sort out my feelings and decide about my future.”

  Her father scowled at her. “Without consulting us! You’ve been brought up to know what’s right and wrong. Did you think we’d accept you living in sin? Other people may be lax about morals, but in our church we know right from wrong.”

  Her mother nudged him. “What should we have heard, Caitlin?”

  She looked at Barry. “Didn’t you find that out?”

  “Find out what?”

  “Craig was killed last week.”

  It was her father who broke the heavy silence. “How?”

  “A car accident.”

  “So it’s over.” A look of satisfaction crossed her mother’s face. “The Lord’s will be done. And we’ll have no more of this sort of thing, Caitlin Sheedy. You’ll come home again and live modestly, go to church on Sundays and - ”

  “I’m not coming home, Mum. I’ve told you that before. I’m twenty-five. Old enough to choose my own life and as I said when I left, I don’t want to belong to your church any more. It’s too - extreme for me.” She hesitated, then said it, “Besides, it’s not over. I’m expecting his child.”

  Disgust on her father’s face, shock followed quickly by eagerness on her mother’s, revulsion on her cousin’s.

  “You’ll need our help even more now,” her mother said in satisfaction. “I’ll be able to look after it for you when you go back to work. It’s not the child’s fault if it’s born in sin. It’ll still be our first grandchild.”

  “I’m not coming home,” Caitlin repeated. “I prefer to live on my own.” She knew better than to tell them about the money or she’d never get rid of them. They’d been dirt poor all their lives, but had given more than they could afford to their peculiar little church. They would want her to do the same with her windfall.

  Barry cleared his throat and when they were all looking at him, said very solemnly, “I’m still prepared to marry you, Caitlin, though not till after the baby’s born. You know my feelings for you haven’t changed.”

  “Nor have mine for you. I can never think of you like that.” She stared back at him, refusing to let him outstare her. She had grown up with him and let him boss her around when she was younger, but the thought of him as a husband repelled her. It’d be like marrying a brother, and a stern elder brother at that. She waited till he looked away then asked, “Now, would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

  Barry followed her into the kitchen area. “You’re not thinking clearly, Caitlin.”

  “Am I not?”

  He smiled, a confident smile as if he considered himself in a winning position. “No. Definitely not. And you’ll change your mind about marrying me. You’ll have to now, if you want to keep the child. I’ll give you a week to get used to the idea, then I’ll come over and we’ll discuss it again.”

  “Don’t bother. I won’t change my mind.” She’d not let him through the door next time.

  “How long do you think you can hold out against your parents? Your father’s a very determined man when he wants something and will probably bring the pastor with him next time. And your mother’s longing for grandchildren.” He paused, then added, “I too am very determined where you’re concerned, Caitlin.”

  She hoped she’d hidden her fear of him, of the whole machine that was her devoted, ultra-religious family.

  Barry was watching her, still smiling confidently. “You’ll marry me,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure of that.” His smile didn’t falter as he sauntered back to sit beside her parents again. And when he looked at her, his gaze was that of a man studying a prized possession.

  In your dreams, Barry Donning! she thought.

  And in my worst, my very worst nightmares.

  Thank God she had the money!

  Chapter 8

  In the middle of the night Laura woke to hear footsteps going down the stairs. She slid out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown, wondering if her mother was ill or needed something. But she didn’t find her father in the kitchen as she’d expected, only her mother who had turned on all the gas burners without lighting them and was in the process of putting empty pans on them.

  “What are you doing, Mum?”

  Pat spun round, saw Laura and cried out, hurling a pan at her, then another. “Stay away from my husband!” she shrieked.

  Footsteps pounded down the stairs and Ron came in, pushing Laura outside into the hall and moving towards his wife, speaking soothingly as he switched off the cooker. It took him a while to get her to sit down and then he stood beside her as if on guard, calling, “Are you all right, Laura love? She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

  One of the pans had hit Laura’s arm and no doubt left a bruise but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m fine.” She went into the kitchen picking up a pan from the floor, intending to set things to rights, but as soon as she appeared, her mother grew agitated again.

  He looked at her in anguish. “I’m sorry, so very sorry. She’s taken against you. It’s happened before and for no reason that anyone could tell. They get delusions, you know. She thought the milkman was trying to poison us, so I had to stop having it delivered and use that long-life stuff in paper cartons. Perhaps you should go back to bed till I get her settled?”

  “All right.” But it wasn’t all right. Laura went upstairs and huddled in bed listening to her father talking soothingly, wondering how her own mother could reject her so violently and absolutely. As her husband had. And her daughter. Why? What was wrong with her?

  She fell asleep again with tears drying on her cheeks and that gentle, murmuring voice coming from downstairs, unknowingly offering comfort to her as well as her mother.

  * * * *

  When she got up the following morning, her father was asleep at the kitchen table, his head pillowed on his arms. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. Sorrow for what he had to endure put a tight band round Laura’s her chest and for a moment she couldn’t move. What had he ever done to deserve this? Or her mother? It wasn’t fair!

  She didn’t want to wake him but was desperately thirsty and hungry, too. She put the kettle on then checked the downstairs rooms for her mother. No sign of her. Worried that she might have slipped out of the house, Laura laid a hand on her father’s shoulder and shook it gently.

  He jerked awake and immediately looked round. “Pat?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. She isn’t downstairs.”

  “I’ll check our bedroom. I always lock the front and back doors now, so I don’t think she’ll have got out. She can’t work the locks any more.” He came down almost immediately. “She’s gone back to bed, and she’s fast asleep, thank goodness.”

  “Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve just brewed some.”

  He nodded and sat down again.

  “You look exhausted.”

  “I am. It’s getting too much for me, really, but I don’t like to put Pat in a home, not till I absolutely have to.” He looked down, fiddling with a spoon as he added quietly, “When I do that, we’ll both be on our own, you see.”

  Deeply moved by this admission and the sadness on his face, Laura waited a few moments, then asked, “Is there any way I can get her to trust me, Dad? I came here to help you, not make things worse.”

  “Eh, love, I don’t know. We’ll have to see how things pan out. Maybe she’ll get used to you when she sees you every day.”

  She didn’t think he sounded optimistic.

  He drained his cup of tea, then pushed himself to his feet. “Look, I’d better go and have a shower while I can. Just help yourself to anything you fancy for breakfast.”

  “Can I make some for you?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  When he came down he still looked tired but his face wore the fa
miliar polished look it had always had after a wash, and his sparse white hair was neatly parted and arranged, the comb lines showing pink scalp beneath. “Your mother stirred when I went in for some clean clothes but she dropped off again. I’ve been thinking - perhaps you could do some shopping for me later? You can borrow my car and there’s a good supermarket just down the road now. That’d be a big help because I can’t take Pat to the shops any more, you see. She gets bewildered and upset.”

  “Of course I will. And I’ll cook the meals for you as well.”

  “That’d be great. It’s hard to keep up with everything. And you’ve got your mother’s flair for cooking. I’ve never really got the hang of it.”

  “How do you manage to get out and do the shopping, Dad?”

  “Angie comes in sometimes and sits with Pat, and Social Services have arranged for a carer to come in two afternoons a week to give me a break, but by the time I’ve bought the groceries and changed my library books, the time’s gone. I sometimes manage a few minutes in the park when it’s fine, though. They’ve a lovely display of flowers there this year.”

  He sighed and gazed towards the window. “I can’t do our garden these days because if I take her outside, Pat wanders off. Maybe you and I could go to the park together on my next free afternoon, though? If I don’t have the shopping to do, I’ll have more time. There’s a nice café there.”

  “I’d love that. I’ll buy you a cappuccino.” She had introduced him to them on her parents’ last visit to Australia. Such a happy time they’d all had.

  “That’d be great. Remember when . . . ”

  Laura let him talk, watching him cheer up. He’d lost a lot of weight since she’d last seen him and his skin was muddy-looking but his smile was still as warm as ever. No one had a smile like her dad’s.

  At half-past nine Angie rang and said her friend Rick could come and pick Laura up if she wanted and show her some cars.

  Her father looked at her questioningly as she set the phone down.

  “That was Angie. I need to buy myself a car and her boyfriend sells them. Is it all right if I do your shopping later?”

  “Of course. She’s found herself a nice lad there. He’s lovely with your mum. What sort of car are you looking for?”

  Laura looked down at the table, fiddling with the cloth. “One that’s not too expensive. I don’t have as much money as I’d expected, Dad. Craig left his share of the house to his mistress, you see, and his insurance policy named her as beneficiary. There are some stocks and shares, but I’ll need to keep those as a superannuation fund.”

  He looked at her in shock and it was a minute before he spoke. “Eh, why didn’t you say before?”

  “He moved out to live with his mistress a week before he died. I couldn’t talk about it on the phone. I was so ashamed.”

  He reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “It’ll have made a big change in your life. Have you had time yet to make any plans?”

  He was a great one for planning, her dad. She tried to summon up a smile and failed. “Not yet. Perhaps I’ll stay in England to be near you?”

  “Only if it’s the right thing for you, love. I’m seventy-five and I’ve got a few problems with my heart. By the time your mother goes, I’ll not have long left myself, so don’t build your life round us.”

  The words escaped before she could stop them. When she was young, she’d had trouble with runaway words, especially hot, angry ones. “It’s not fair! You don’t deserve this.”

  “Nor does Pat.” He looked up as there was a thud, then footsteps. “And talk of the devil. I’d better go and make sure she doesn’t do anything silly.”

  Laura listened to him showering her mother, having to treat her like a child as he washed and dressed her. It took much longer than she’d have thought it would. Once she heard him beg Pat to stand still and another time there was a hoarse yell and he had to soothe her before he could continue.

  Then Laura had to wait in the front room while her mother had breakfast in the back. She felt utterly useless. So much for her plans to help her father and spend time with her mother. She was too late for the latter.

  It was a relief when Rick turned up.

  * * * *

  He took her to where he worked and showed her one car after the other till she was bewildered. In the end she stopped him moving on and said, “Just tell me which one to buy, Rick. I need something reliable, that’s passed its M.O.T. and won’t guzzle petrol. Not too expensive, either.”

  “The blue one,” he said at once.

  “It’s OK, but a little more than I wanted to pay,” she said, automatically falling into bargaining mode.

  He grinned. “You’re Angie’s aunt - let’s say we’ve agreed a price of two hundred below what my boss is asking. I know he’ll not go any lower than that.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take it, then.”

  He looked at her anxiously. “It’s a good one, honest it is. I don’t want you to think I’m foisting some lemon off on you.”

  She lowered her voice and looked round, as if making sure no one would overhear. “I’ll tell you a secret: I’ve never cared much about cars. As long as they get me from A to B and have a wheel on each corner, that’s all that matters.”

  “Wash your mouth out, Mrs Wells!”

  They both laughed then he took her to see the blue car again and they took it for a test drive. Afterwards he drove her home, promising to pick her up the next day when the car would be ready. “Good thing you brought proof of no claims insurance and all that stuff. Very efficient.”

  “I’m usually quite well organised.” Her dad was right about Rick, she decided. Angie’s guy wasn’t good looking and his hair was thinning already, but he had a broad smile and radiated honesty. No wonder her niece cared about him.

  Once back inside that small, claustrophobic house, she had to sit in the front room while her father tried to keep her mother calm and happy in the back - an impossible task today, it seemed. Laura being there was adding to the complications, not making life easier for him. She went to stare blindly out of the window.

  She went out again after lunch and did the shopping, and at least she was able to cook tea while her father sat dozing in the living room with the television on and her mother slumped on the couch beside him.

  When Laura peeped in to tell them it was ready, it was almost like old times. He’d always dozed in front of the TV - and invariably denied it. Smiling she went back to the kitchen. The food could wait a few minutes.

  Her smile faded. Dad looked so deep-down tired, it worried her.

  * * * *

  As teatime approached Kit began to prepare the vegetables for a stir-fry, sitting at the table and humming beneath his breath as he chopped and sliced.

  Joe came in just before six looking tired but happy. “Sorry to be late. Some of the parents are very slack about turning up on time to collect their little darlings.”

  “Never mind. I’ve got tea ready to cook.”

  Joe stared at the array of vegetables. “You must have been shopping! How the hell did you manage that?”

  “I went to look at Uncle Alf’s house then persuaded the taxi driver to nip into a supermarket for me on the way back.”

  “You shouldn’t be going out of the house yet, except to the physio’s. They told me you were to take things easy for a few weeks.”

  “Try stopping me.” After yet another exchange of challenging looks, Kit broke the heavy silence with, “I hope you like stir fry, because that’s what you’re having for tea.”

  “Oh.”

  Kit groaned. “Don’t tell me!”

  “It’s very kind of you, but I prefer my steak in one piece, actually.”

  “Sorry. I’ll remember that next time. I’ve already sliced up the steaks, though, and put them to marinate.”

  “Ah. Well, I dare say it’ll be all right. You’ll have to tell me how to cook it.”

  “No way are you getting near it! You’ll cook the vegeta
bles to death. I’ll prop myself next to the wok and do the cooking while you stand beside me passing things and acting as kitchen slave.” He frowned. “How on earth did you acquire a wok, if you don’t like stir fries?”

  “Lois left it behind. She tried out that sort of cooking at one time, though we neither of us thought much of it.”

  “Why did you two break up? I thought you were ideally suited.”

  Joe’s face froze. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

  “OK. But if you ever want to talk about it . . . ”

  “I don’t.”

  Kit ate more than he had for a while, relishing the crunchy vegetables and spicy flavours. He watched Joe pick at his food but didn’t comment. Too bad. He was sick of plain steaks, roast lamb with nothing more than a scattering of salt on it, or whole chickens bought from the only take-away place which Joe trusted, a place which seemed as wary as he was of spices and herbs.

  While his brother cleared up the dishes, Kit asked idly, “Don’t you usually go down to the pub on a Saturday night?”

  Joe hesitated then shrugged. “Not any more.”

  “Because of me?”

  Another shake of the head.

  “Why, then?”

  “Because I don’t.” He hesitated then said stiffly, “Look, I’d prefer to drop this.”

  “I wouldn’t. I shall feel guilty if my being here stops you enjoying your life. Especially after a day of Five-a-Sides. Surely you’re longing for a pint?”

  “I’m perfectly happy to have a quiet evening in.”

  “Right. Be a bloody martyr. Mind if I work in here on my laptop? I haven’t had a chance to pick up my emails today.” The kitchen was the only place with a telephone line.

  “You should relax a bit.”

  “And do what?”

  “Well, watch TV. I don’t mind if we have your sort of programme on for a change.”

  “Joe, you’re the kindest of brothers, but we’re chalk and cheese when we try to live together - and it’s not just the food and TV programmes.” He sighed and decided to get it over with. “I may as well tell you - I’m going to live in Uncle Alf’s house, but I hope you’ll bear with me here a bit longer, because I can’t move into it till I find myself a housekeeper. As soon as I do, I’ll leave you in peace.”