The Wishing Well

by Anna Jacobs

  She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. She and her mother didn’t get on, but she felt Pop had enough on his plate with Gran and Deb. Only her dad wasn’t having an easy time of it lately, either. “I’ll ring him.” She pushed her plate to one side. “I’m not hungry.”

  When she got back her dad had pushed his plate aside as well, half the food uneaten. “Pop says it’s OK. Will you drop my things over there for me when you’ve finished? I still have to go to work.”

  “I’ll drop you at work and then take your things over. Thanks, love.”

  She tried not to let her hurt show, but she did feel upset. This was the only home she had and now, it seemed, she wasn’t welcome here.

  When she finished work, Rick came to pick her up, as usual. She was exhausted after a busy night’s work and wished she were going home to her own bedroom.

  Her grandparents were in bed but Deb was waiting up for her.

  “I’m sorry to crowd you,” Angie said, kicking her shoes off as soon as the front door was shut behind her and setting them on the stairs to take up later.

  “It will be crowded, but if you’ve nowhere else to go, that can’t be helped.”

  Angie looked at Deb. “Something wrong?”

  Deb shrugged. “Mum and Kit.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m sure they’ve got something going.”

  “I hope they do have. He seems really nice.”

  “My father’s only just died, for heaven’s sake. How can she fall into bed with someone else so soon?”

  “Your mum and dad hadn’t been together in that way for a long time, from what I’ve heard, and he’s the one who shacked up with someone else first - a girl young enough to be his daughter - and he put her up the duff. So how can you possibly get upset about what your mother does?”

  “Because Mum and Dad had been married for over twenty years. Doesn’t she care that he’s dead?”

  Angie rolled her eyes and went to pick up her shoes. “It’s not worth arguing about. You’ve got your head in the sand about your precious father.”

  Deb glared at her. “Oh, and what about your precious mother? Nutty as a fruit cake, she is. You’ve no room to badmouth anyone else.”

  “What is it with you, Deb Wells? Do you like causing trouble? You treat your mother like shit, then you turn on me. Well, let me tell you, I’m not impressed with that and if you can’t be nice to people, the sooner you go back to Australia, the better for us all.”

  “Stop this at once, girls!”

  They both swung round to see Pop standing at the foot of the stairs, wrapped in his checked woollen dressing gown, with the striped, faded pyjamas showing beneath it and his scraggy ankles looking vulnerable above his slippers.

  He came over and put one arm round Angie, the other round Deb, guiding them into the front room. There he swung them round so that they were facing one another and said severely, in a tone of voice neither girl had heard from him before.

  “I’m not having quarrelling and name-calling in my house.”

  After a pause during which neither girl said a word, he went on, still speaking sharply, “You started this, our Deb! And don’t deny it, because I heard every word.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it again, shooting an angry glance at Angie.

  “I’m ashamed to hear you complain about your mother like that,” he went on. “Hasn’t she a right to her own life? If you want to build a shrine to your father in your mind, that’s up to you, but normal people get on with their lives when someone’s died, however much they miss that person. One day I’ll die, your Gran too, but I’d be sad beyond bearing if I thought you’d start quarrelling about us before we were cold in our graves. If I’ve learned one thing in my seventy-five years, it’s to live and let live.”

  The girls exchanged shamefaced glances.

  “And how could you call our Sue names like that? No one gets ill on purpose and it’s hard enough on the family when they do.” He looked from one to the other and the tone of his voice changed. “Eh, my dear lasses, haven’t we enough trouble in this family without you adding to it?”

  Angie could feel tears welling in her eyes. She hated to think of Pop being upset with her.

  He stepped back. “You’re not to come to bed till you’ve made up your differences. And if I hear any more quarrelling between you two, I shall be sorely disappointed.”

  He left them standing there and made his way up the stairs. And the very slowness of his movements, the way he set one foot on a step and brought the other up to join it, because he had a bad hip as well as angina, seemed to underline what he’d said more than more words could ever have done.

  When the bedroom door had closed, Angie turned back to her cousin. For a moment the two girls eyed one another, then she stretched out one hand. Deb took it but somehow didn’t want to let go and wound up throwing her arms round her cousin and bursting into tears.

  By the time they’d made cups of drinking chocolate and sat talking for a while, it was one o’clock.

  Deb yawned. “I can’t stay awake any longer.”

  “I hope we haven’t kept Pop awake.”

  “I’ve never seen him like that.”

  Angie gave her a faint smile. “I think his disappointment in you is worse than someone else’s anger.”

  Deb nodded. Her parents had quarrelled many a time, and both her mother and her father had shouted at her, but nothing had hit home like Pop’s disappointment tonight. As she snuggled down in the narrow bed, she prayed that she wouldn’t disappoint him again.

  * * * *

  The phone rang at about nine o’clock and Kit took it in his new office. He limped through into the kitchen. “It’s your son, calling from Australia.”

  Laura swung round, her expression anxious. “He’s all right?”

  He smiled. “Pick up the phone and ask him yourself.” He left her to it.

  “Hello? Ryan?”

  “Hi, Mum.”

  “There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

  “No, of course not. I just wondered how everything was going. How’s Gran? Has Deb settled in all right?”

  They chatted for a while then she put down the phone and stood staring at it. It was lovely to speak to him, but there seemed to be no reason for his call. And though he’d talked about his job, he hadn’t said anything about making friends or taking up tennis again. In fact, it had just seemed like a call from an acquaintance keeping in touch.

  He hadn’t said anything about how he was coping with his father’s death - or asked about her feelings, either.

  She knew there was something wrong, she just knew it.

  Chapter 23

  Deb went into town on the bus. She really had to get herself a set of wheels, though the public transport here was better than at home. She was at a loose end, not knowing what to do with herself. Angie had gone out to see a friend, the nurse had called round to see Gran and check her progress with Pop’s help, so it had seemed better to get out of the house.

  But she didn’t want to go and see her mother and that man. Whatever Pop said, it was indecently soon for her mother to have another relationship and you wouldn’t convince Deb otherwise. Though she’d keep her mouth shut about it from now on because she didn’t want to upset Pop. And she shouldn’t have had a go at Angie’s mother. She’d been out of order there.

  She saw a sign saying “Park and Rotunda” so followed it. Maybe she could get a really good walk in. Exercise toned you up. It was a crisp morning and she was glad of the warmer coat she’d bought, but the weak sunlight was bright enough to lift her spirits.

  An hour later she found the Wishing Well and stopped to peer into it. People had thrown coins in. A thing like this couldn’t really make your wishes come true, of course, but the coins went to a good cause and she took a fancy to make a wish, smiling at her own stupidity. As if!

  She tossed in a pound coin, closed her eyes and wished hard. Then, feeling a bit foolish, she de
cided to have a good strong coffee and went back to the Rotunda Café. She felt hungry, too, though she shouldn’t be because she’d eaten a good breakfast, a whole slice of toast and then an apple. Still, she remembered that merciless mirror in the hall and went to look at the display cabinet, choosing a slice of carrot cake, because it looked to have the least fat and calories.

  Only as she was turning back did she notice Alex sitting in a corner watching her. She hesitated then raised one hand in greeting, wondering if she should go over to say hi. He beckoned so she did. They’d probably quarrel again, but it’d be nice to have someone to speak to, especially someone who wasn’t family. “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself. If you’re not meeting someone, why don’t you come and join me? It’s not much fun talking to yourself.”

  “All right.” She sat down, feeling unaccountably shy. When the waitress brought her cake, he looked at it approvingly but didn’t comment, thank goodness, because after all it wasn’t his business how thin or fat she was, and so she’d have told him. “So, what are you doing with yourself, Alex?”

  “Looking at flats. Only everything I’ve seen so far has been about two feet square with sagging furniture. Not to worry. I’ll find something. I’ve got a car now, so it’ll be a lot easier.”

  “I’m thinking of buying a car - only I still don’t know how long I’ll be staying. Maybe I should rent one, just a cheapie. It’s a drag having to use public transport all the time.”

  He watched her eat the piece of cake and his voice was gentle, not aggro, as he said, “It’s nice to see you eating properly. Don’t be like my sister. She had anorexia, nearly killed herself, looked like a walking skeleton.”

  “That must have been hard for the rest of the family.”

  “Yeah. Very.”

  She stared down at the crumbs on her plate, picking them up with her fingertip one by one and licking them off it carefully. “I’m trying to get my head round it all, which size I want to be, I mean. My dad always said I looked great, but here everyone says I’m too thin.”

  “Maybe he liked scrawny women.”

  “He was always going on at Mum about being too fat.”

  “She didn’t look fat to me.”

  “She’s a size fourteen, which is bigger than I ever intend to be.”

  He didn’t comment on that and the silence went on for such a long time that she wondered whether she should get up and go - but go where?

  “Would you like to come for a ride in my new car? I need to take it out for a spin and thought I’d go up on the moors. It’ll be cold, though. Do you want to go back and get something warmer to wear?”

  “I’ve only got this.”

  “Well, we don’t have to get out of the car.” He grinned. “Unless it breaks down. You pays your money and you takes your chance on that.”

  “I’ll risk it.” She smiled and they walked out of the park together at a brisk pace.

  “It’s good that you walk fast. I hate it when girls dawdle along. My legs aren’t made for small steps.”

  “I enjoy exercise.”

  He didn’t say much as he drove so she didn’t either. It was kind of nice sitting in silence and looking out at miles of rolling countryside. He pulled into a lay-by on the tops and they got out, leaning on the car and staring down at the patchwork landscape and doll-sized houses below.

  “I like Lancashire, but I want to go back to Australia when I settle down,” he said after a while. “What do you want to do after this trip?”

  And she couldn’t answer, couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted to do. She looked at him in near panic. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re lost, aren’t you?”

  She nodded.

  He held out his arms. “Well, a good hug never goes amiss.”

  She walked into them and stayed there for ages. It felt good. When he stirred, she felt shy. When he lifted her chin and kissed her, she felt as if the world had turned dreamy around them. He didn’t spoil it with talk, just gave her another hug, then drove her home.

  “You really do need to start making plans,” he said as he pulled up. “Everyone should have a few goals in life.”

  She waited for him to ask her out, but he didn’t. So what had the kiss been about, then?

  It didn’t matter how carefully she watched her weight, how well she dressed - she still couldn’t pull the guys, she thought as she watched him drive away, hoping the smile she’d pasted on her face looked genuine.

  * * * *

  The door bell rang just as Laura was finishing putting the top crust on an apple pie. She grabbed a tea towel and hurried to answer it, wiping flour off her hands and hoping whoever it was hadn’t woken Kit up. He’d walked round the shopping centre with her that morning, still with a limp which she knew he tried hard to minimise, but at least managing without the crutches he hated so much.

  When they got back, he’d admitted with one of those wry smiles that he needed a lie down, since when there’d been absolute silence from his room.

  She opened the door to see two men and a woman, the woman and one of the men very tanned, the other man pale, as if he didn’t go outdoors much, and with very chill grey eyes. They didn’t look as if they were there to sell religion, Laura thought as she waited for them to state their business.

  It was the woman who spoke. “Does Kit live here? Kit Mallinder?”

  “Yes.”

  There was the sound of a door opening behind her and she turned to see him standing in the doorway of his bedroom, balancing on the crutches.

  The woman pushed past Laura and ran to throw her arms round Kit, nearly knocking him off balance.

  Laura dived across to support him and shoved the newcomer out of the way. “Don’t you know better than to knock people around when they’re on crutches?”

  The woman threw back her head and laughed, ignoring her as she said to Kit, “Don’t tell me. She’s your nurse.”

  His face was expressionless. “Laura’s my housekeeper and if you can’t speak about her and to her politely, you can leave, Jules.”

  She pulled a face at him, tossing a casual “Sorry!” at Laura.

  One of the men came across. “You always were good at putting your foot in it, you fool.” He hauled Jules aside and held out his hand to Kit. “You’re looking a hell of a lot better than when I visited you in hospital.”

  Kit shook the hand, his expression softening into a smile. “I see you’ve been sunbathing again, Andy, but you’re still as ugly as ever.” He turned to the other guy. “Well, Shaun, still working in management, I see. What on earth’s dragged you out of London?”

  Shaun shrugged. “A meeting.”

  “We bumped into him in Manchester, so hauled him along,” the woman said. “After all, you used to be one of his top correspondents.”

  “It’s great to see you all.”

  Watching with interest, Laura decided Kit wasn’t as close to the pale guy as to the two others.

  He turned to her. “These ruffians are Jules, Andy and Shaun, former colleagues of mine. They don’t deserve it, but could we find them a cup of coffee and maybe a piece of your wonderful cake?”

  “Certainly.” As she slipped into the kitchen, she heard Kit shepherding the visitors into the lounge, then clicked her tongue in annoyance at herself for feeling left out. It was no business of hers who came to visit him. She was just the hired help around here and she’d do better to remember that. Not that Kit had ever made her feel like a servant. But still, that’s what she was.

  After putting some coffee on to percolate, she set a tray with one of the hand-embroidered mats she’d found in the linen cupboard and got out the good crockery. It was like old times when she’d entertained people from Craig’s work and made things as stylish as she could. As she worked, her thoughts were still on the visitors. What did they want with Kit? This was such an out-of-the-way place that they couldn’t just have been passing through.

  And why would someone who clearly wa
sn’t a close friend tag along?

  When the coffee was ready she carried the tray through into the hall, set it down on the table there and knocked on the door of the living room.

  Kit called, “Come in!” and she carried the things in, not looking directly at anyone. “I’ll just fetch the coffee.”

  When she’d brought the coffee pot she asked in a deliberately neutral voice, “Shall I pour?”

  Jules leaned forward. “Oh, I think we can manage that for ourselves.”

  “Thanks, Laura.” Kit smiled at her.

  She felt lonely as she walked back to the kitchen and mechanically set about finishing the apple pie. You’re so stupid! she told herself. When she looked at the clock, she realised it was time to be starting dinner. Only how many would she be catering for?

  She made some general preparations and checked her emergency stocks, just in case they stayed, working to an accompaniment of voices, shouts of laughter, arguments at times. She couldn’t hear what they were saying but she could hear the tone of voice. For the first time she heard Kit roar with laughter, and later she heard him speaking loudly and emphatically. It was like listening to a man coming alive after a long sleep. This was his milieu.

  It wasn’t hers.

  There was a knock on the kitchen door and the sun-tanned guy poked his head inside. “Kit says I have to smoke outside the house. Can you point me in the right direction, please?”

  “This way.” She opened the back door. “There’s a bench there and I’ll bring you out an ash tray.”

  “Kit never did like smoking and says the whole of this house is a smoke-free zone.” The guy pulled a face. “I’m Andy, by the way. How long have you been working for Kit?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “He says you’re a brilliant cook.”

  “I’m not bad. He’s a brilliant eater. Loves anything.” Then she realised that Andy was pumping her for information and wondered why. “You’re journalists as well?”

  “For our sins.”

  “Where did you get the tan?”

  He grimaced. “Middle East. Things are getting worse not better out there. I got shot, just a flesh wound, but they pulled me back home for a while to recover.”