The Wishing Well

by Anna Jacobs

  When she got back, the pub was almost empty and the barmaid greeted her with, “Eh, I was wondering if you’d get here before closing time. You’ll be on your own tonight, love. No one else has booked a room and the owners don’t live in.”

  Laura was startled. “On my own?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry. The outer doors will all be locked, so you’ll be quite safe, though you won’t be able to get out. Of course the emergency doors work if there’s any trouble - only you can’t get back in if you let one shut behind you, so if I were you, I’d not try to get out if you don’t have to.”

  Laura wondered uneasily how it’d feel to be on her own in a strange building whose layout she didn’t even know, apart from the public rooms and the way upstairs. She ordered half a pint of bitter, her first glass of English beer for many years, savouring the taste, which brought back more memories of her youth, when she and her friends had scraped together the price of half a pint of beer or shandy and made it last all night.

  Ten minutes later the barmaid called time and came to pick up the empty glasses, clearly in a hurry to get off home. Laura went past the sign saying Residents Only, climbing the stairs reluctantly, her footsteps muffled by a thick, garishly coloured carpet. She didn’t at all fancy being on her own in a strange place, but it was too late to do anything about it. Oh, she was probably worrying about nothing.

  Her room looked most unwelcoming by the dim light of the single ceiling lamp, which was swinging to and fro as the wind blew in through the open window. She went to use the bathroom and when she returned, found the wind gusting so strongly that the window had come off its catch and was banging open and shut in a most annoying way.

  She went across to fasten the catch. The sea view outside was now nothing but darkness because the moon was hidden behind heavy clouds. As she looked out she heard a car start up and headlights swung round to one side, then vanished. After the sound of the engine had faded into the distance she was left with only silence inside and windy darkness outside.

  The catch didn’t fit very well and within a minute of her closing it, the window had blown open again with a loud bang that made her jump in shock. No amount of fiddling would make the stupid thing stay closed because the wooden frame had warped so badly. What did they do with it in winter, for heaven’s sake? Or was this floor also destined for refurbishment?

  Think! she told herself. No need to panic.

  The wind shrieked at her derisively and the window banged even harder. Tears rose in her eyes and she almost packed her bags and left.

  Then she grew angry with herself. She would not give in to this minor setback! She had to learn to stand on her feet in all situations. Had to. Would do.

  * * * *

  In Melbourne Ryan strolled along Collins Street, enjoying the sunshine on his face after a morning of meetings in air conditioned offices. However good the system, canned air never felt quite right to him. He’d always meant to get an outdoor job, but had been pushed into the university stream by the school authorities and had wound up graduating with a degree in commerce.

  Melbourne was still new enough to delight him. He loved the statues in the city centre, the old-fashioned arcades with their stained glass and intricate patterns of tiles, the trams, the massive older buildings, the many bookshops - there were lots of things to see and enjoy here.

  As he turned a corner he bumped into a woman, stepped back hastily then gaped at her. “Caitlin! What are you doing over here in the eastern states?”

  “I’ve come to live here.”

  “But I thought your family were over in Perth?”

  “They are. And they were driving me crazy fussing over me. They - um - belong to a small, very strict religious sect and they’re upset about the baby. They won’t stop pestering me to go and live at home, and my cousin Barry has been turning up every day to try to persuade me.” Her voice trailed away and she looked down at her stomach with a grimace.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of coming here when I said I was moving to Melbourne?”

  “I hadn’t made up my mind then.”

  “Have you time for a coffee?”

  She hesitated, biting her lower lip, frowning at him. He held his breath, willing her to agree. He didn’t know why it seemed important but it did.

  “All right. Thank you. That’d be nice.”

  He let out a sigh of relief before he could stop himself. “You’re looking well.”

  “I’m feeling a lot better. The first three months I felt sick in the mornings, but I’m getting over that now. Well, most of the time. I still have off days.”

  They sat and chatted over two flat whites, both agreeing that cappuccino was vastly overrated, then he looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to the office now, I’m afraid. Look, let’s meet sometime, eh? I don’t know many people in Melbourne yet. We could maybe have dinner one night?”

  Another of those hesitations, then she looked at him, reluctance showing clearly in her face. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to keep seeing me?”

  He shrugged. “I feel connected because of the baby. I’d hate not to know my own brother or sister.”

  She continued to look at him searchingly for a minute, then gave another of her slight shrugs. “All right. As long as it’s for the baby.”

  They exchanged addresses and phone numbers then he had to rush back to the office, but her words stayed with him all day. Was it for the baby’s sake he wanted to see her? Hell, he didn’t know.

  Just let it flow, he told himself. See what happens.

  And if he still continued to feel attracted to her?

  He didn’t know. If he had any sense he’d back off now.

  He definitely didn’t have any sense. He wanted to see her again.

  * * * *

  Caitlin watched him vanish into the distance with that long-legged, energetic stride, then sat on in the café, cradling the now cold coffee cup between her hands to stop them clearing it away. She still felt guilty about all the money she’d received from Craig, knowing his poor wife had more right to it than she did. Only it spelled freedom and security for her and the child, and she couldn’t bear to give that up. No way was she ever going to be dependent on her parents. Or Barry.

  She hadn’t told them she was moving and had taken very elaborate precautions to prevent Barry from finding out where she was, breaking off connections with all her friends in case they betrayed her, though Barry’s computer skills worried her. He’d boasted that you could find out anything on the Internet and for some reason hacking didn’t seem to be against his morals.

  He was as fanatically religious as her parents - worse! - and had no tolerance of opposing views, socialising only with other members of their sect, treating women as lesser beings. Though how they could think their sect knew the perfect way to salvation when it was so small and showed no signs of expanding, she had never understood.

  As soon as she’d grown old enough to question their ways, she’d stopping believing, which had led to some very unhappy times, till she’d learned to pretend. Even so, it had taken her till she was twenty-four to pluck up the courage to leave home. She was determined that her child should have a more open upbringing - and a happier one.

  People didn’t believe it when she told them what it had been like to live in such a family, so she’d stopped telling them. They couldn’t understand the crushing weight of love and duty that had been piled on her for as long as she could remember? She was the only child and her mother had been unable to have any more children after her. And it had been all the harder to pull free because they’d not ill-treated her. No, they’d lavished all their love on her, pinned their hopes on her, urged her to marry and give them grandchildren, until she felt she’d suffocate under the weight of their hopes.

  Craig had been like a breath of fresh air. Sophisticated yet casual, making her laugh as she’d never laughed before. She’d been temporarily
infatuated, ripe for the plucking and he’d not hesitated to pluck her. The baby had been a cruel jest by fate, a condom that burst at exactly the wrong time of month. Condoms weren’t supposed to do that, but you could hardly take the defective merchandise back to the chemists and ask for your money to be refunded, could you?

  She sighed. Well, she’d got away again and this time hoped her family wouldn’t find her, She didn’t know what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, could only look ahead as far as having the baby. She’d rented a furnished flat, bought a modest second-hand car and the worst thing she had to contend with now was a little boredom now and then.

  She glanced at her watch and went to pay her bill, walking out into a street that seemed to be filled with couples. She envied them. Ryan wasn’t the only one who was lonely. But she’d had a lot of practice at coping with that. You could be just as lonely in the middle of a close-knit family, whose views you didn’t share, as on your own in a strange city.

  But if she got to know Ryan, if he got to know her, then he might find out how she had really felt about his father once the first flush of infatuation had faded. Then he’d despise her for taking the money, she was sure.

  Well, she despised herself. But she wasn’t giving it back. That money meant freedom, not only for her but for her child.

  Chapter 11

  Laura knew she’d have to do something about the banging window or she’d never sleep. No one was going to rescue her; she had to rescue herself. After staring at it, feeling angry that this was happening to her, she bent her mind to the problem.

  Maybe she could find something to hold it shut with. She peered out of the door and the darkness of the corridor nearly made her retreat to her room again. Stop being such a coward, Laura Wells! Taking a deep breath she went out to face her demons.

  Switching on the corridor light she began trying doors. Only two opened. One proved to be a cupboard full of neatly folded towels and the other a bedroom.

  Her heart still pounding with nervousness she went down to the first floor, stopping halfway to listen. What if someone was lurking in those shadows?

  Stop that, you fool!

  Tentatively, with many quick glances over her shoulder, she began trying doors that had been stripped of their paint and numbers. But they were all locked.

  She went on down to the ground floor, hating the way this flight of stairs creaked and groaned beneath her. Anger helped push her onwards - anger at herself as much as the situation. What was she afraid of, for heaven’s sake? The building was empty. It was only shadows. Pull yourself together, woman!

  If she had to, she decided, she’d search every cupboard in the place till she found something to tie that damned window shut. She would not be beaten!

  To her immense relief she found a meter cupboard at the foot of the stairs and in it some copper wire. A door banged somewhere in the empty pub. Snatching up the roll of wire, she ran up both flights of stairs again as if all the fiends in hell were after her. She yanked open her bedroom door and was inside within seconds, locking it and leaning against it, panting.

  The window banged and she realised it had been that she’d heard.

  Fool!

  She managed a weak smile. Pulling the window closed yet again, she wired its handle to the other one.

  “I did it,” she said aloud, sitting on the nearest bed. “I coped.”

  But her moment of triumph was short-lived. The sound of her own voice quavering in this shabby little room was the final straw. Her life was a mess and there was no one to care whether she sorted her problems out or not. And she certainly wasn’t going to confide in her Dad how depressed she was feeling, because he had enough on his plate.

  When tears began to trickle down her cheeks she let them flow, lying down and burying her face in her arms. She didn’t know how long she wept, but when she felt sleep overtaking her she gave in to it with a sigh of relief.

  In the middle of the night she woke shivering, crawled under the duvet and lay there for a moment or two. To her surprise she felt better, as if the tears had been a necessary catharsis. “It will get better,” she said aloud as sleep tugged at her again. “I’ll make it get better.”

  * * * *

  Morning brought a beautiful sunny day. “There, what did I say?” She smiled out at the view as she got dressed.

  In the dining room she enjoyed every mouthful of her “full English breakfast” of bacon, sausage, half a tomato, mushroom and egg, then went up to her room to stand by the window and consider her options. She’d stay here a second night on the principle of better the devil you knew. And she’d go into Blackpool today.

  A long walk along the promenade there cheered her up further. She bought pink candy floss and ate it like a child, licking her sticky fingers clean. Then she found some Blackpool rock to take back for her father and Angie. She’d always loved the way the circle of tiny letters spelling Blackpool went all the way along the stick of candy. Later she went into town and bought a novel that looked interesting, then strolled round the shops.

  What she didn’t do was work out any practical plans for her future. Well, to hell with that! Everyone deserved a holiday, didn’t they? And today she felt better than she had at any time since Craig’s death. It was as if her successful overcoming of her own fears the night before had acted as a catalyst for change. She smiled. Such a small problem to most people, but it had seemed big to her at the time.

  When she got back to her room at the pub she cut off a piece of the wire she’d used to hold the window closed and put it into her purse to remind herself that she could cope. Strange sort of lucky talisman that was! But it was a symbol of what she hoped would be a turning point in her new life.

  * * * *

  The following day when she got back to Rochdale, her father greeted her with, “Our Deb rang while you were away, love. She’s coming over to see us. Now won’t that be grand? You’ll have missed her. Pity Ryan can’t come too, then we could all be together.”

  Laura pinned a smile to her face and agreed with him that it was wonderful news. But she wasn’t so sure about that. How would she and Deb get on without Ryan to mediate? She couldn’t see Deb changing her sharp ways.

  Well, she wasn’t the first person not to get on with her own daughter and she wouldn’t be the last. She’d cope with that as well.

  She looked at her reflection in the mirror and squared her shoulders. The first thing you need, she told it, is a job. And she would find one, by hook or by crook.

  But first she had a personal pilgrimage to make, to a place she’d often visited as a girl. She’d been meaning to go there ever since she got back.

  * * * *

  Kit phoned a couple of employment agencies, both of which seemed inordinately suspicious of his reasons for wanting a live-in housekeeper and insisted he come into their office to register. They offered to send him some literature about their services, but when pressed didn’t sound at all hopeful about finding the sort of person he needed.

  That afternoon, as the walls of Joe’s tiny house seemed to be closing in on him more tightly than ever, he went out to the park to think things over. He’d been there a couple of times and could just make it on his crutches from the gates where the taxi dropped him to the Rotunda Café, where there were usually plenty of people for him to sit and watch.

  That day a woman of his own age and an elderly man took the table next to his and he began his usual guessing game about their relationship. When she called the man “Dad”, Kit felt inordinately pleased that he’d interpreted the situation correctly. It was a journalist’s skill, he’d always told himself, to analyse a scene and its players. Not that he needed that skill any longer, but still, it was nice to know he hadn’t completely lost his touch.

  After a while the elderly man looked at his wrist watch and stood up. “Will you be all right, love?”

  “Of course I will, Dad. I can easily walk back from here. In fact, I’ll enjoy it.”

  When
her father had gone, however, the woman’s smile vanished and she sat frowning into the distance.

  Kit was intrigued. Maybe she had a problem she didn’t want to trouble the old man with. She was about his age, he’d guess, quite attractive in an understated way, with gleaming brown hair that bounced around her face and clear skin with a residual tan. She hadn’t got that tan in England, so where had she been or come from?

  And she was woman-shaped, not one of these scrawny females who looked like human safety-pins, all bones and skin. They’d never turned him on. She did, for some reason. It was the first time he’d found a woman attractive since the accident and that pleased him enormously, another sign that he was continuing to get better.

  A waitress came up to ask the woman if she wanted anything else and when she said no, began to clear the table.

  Nothing like a broad hint, thought Kit, sorry to see the woman leave. She walked away slowly, as if she had nowhere urgent to go. Know that feeling, he thought.

  He wondered if she came here regularly. Half hoped so.

  * * * *

  Laura looked up at the sky as she left the café and decided she’d just have time to visit the old wishing well before it began to rain.

  It was still there, unchanged since her girlhood till she looked inside and saw that they’d filled it in and the water was now only about a foot deep. There was heavy wire mesh padlocked firmly across the top, presumably to stop people from pinching the coins that gleamed silver and bronze beneath the ruffled surface of the water.

  In the old days you tossed your coin in and that was that. It vanished from view. It really did feel as if you’d made an offering to the gods. Now, a small sign announced that proceeds from the well were given to the Karen Drake Hospice.

  She fished in her purse and pulled out a two pound coin, tossing it in and making her wish as it splashed and sank. It’d been sixpences she’d tossed in when she was a girl, but her wishes then had been no less fervent than today’s: to find a job, and soon.