Letting the music invade his senses, he was surprised to find himself being lulled into a kind of sleepy trance. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think of work and the big deal he hoped to pull off. He thought of Libby and his two children, Daisy, aged eight, and Jamie, four. A faint smile touched his features. Work was important, it had to be. The mortgage needed paying, there were everyday bills and unexpected ones, holidays and outings, and kids cost a fortune to raise. Yes, work was important. But the children and Libby were his life.
He gazed down on her. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
‘Nearly home.’ Libby sat up, straightening her hair, fastening the tie-belt on her coat. ‘I hope the kids have been good.’
The roads were well lit now, and the cars were passing them both ways. Dave was relieved. Back there, it was like some kind of nightmare. Now, it seemed like something and nothing. He must have imagined the woman. What other explanation could there be?
His thoughts strayed to the owner of the restaurant. That man had put a notion into his mind and the storm had created confusion. That was it. Of course. The innkeeper was a bloody fool, and so was he. All the same, it pleased him to see the lights of oncoming cars. There were people walking on the pavement and over there a stray dog cocked its leg at a lamppost.
Everything seemed so normal.
Ida sat beside the old man, her hand in his, her gaze false with love. There were tears in her eyes, and a lifetime’s agony too. Addressing the woman in nurse’s uniform, she sighed forlornly. ‘It doesn’t seem fair, does it?’ she said. ‘A whole lifetime wasted. Why, Eileen? Why do these things have to happen?’ She was asking about something else now. Something the nurse knew nothing at all about and, God willing, never would.
Small-boned and strong, with kind blue eyes and cropped fair hair, Eileen was an attractive woman in her late twenties. ‘I don’t have any answers, Ida.’ She was tired, aching to go home and put her feet up. A mug of hot chocolate wouldn’t go amiss either.
‘If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know what I’d do. He likes you, you see. He trusts you.’ That much was true at least.
‘He trusts you too, Ida. You couldn’t do more for him if you were his very own daughter and he loves you dearly. Anyone can see that by the way he follows you with his eyes. I know he can’t speak or communicate in the same way we do, but he can still take immense pleasure from the simple, ordinary things in life – the song of a thrush perched on the windowsill, or the sunlight making patterns in the sky. It’s hard, I know, but we must be grateful for even the smallest blessings.’ She went to Ida and eased her out of the chair. ‘Leave him now. You both need your rest.’
‘You’re a great comfort to us, especially to him.’ Glancing at the old man’s face, she noticed he was gazing at Eileen. ‘See how his face lights up whenever he sees you.’
Eileen looked on him then, smiling when she saw his brown eyes twinkle. ‘Go to sleep,’ she chided and, like a child, he closed his eyes. ‘When you hired me I wondered if I was up to it,’ she told Ida. ‘My first nursing job and all, but I’m glad to be of help, Ida, and I’ll be here as long as he needs me.’
‘I need you too.’ Loneliness was a hard price to pay.
A few moments later, Eileen prepared to leave. ‘You get some sleep, Ida. You’ve got my number. Ring me if you need anything.’
After the door closed behind Eileen, Ida went to her bedroom. Here, she opened the bedside drawer and took out a small photograph album. It was filled with yellowing photographs. Larry, through his baby years and into his youth. There were photographs of him as a teenager, then as a young man. Never handsome, but on the day they were married, he looked upright and proud. Beside him she seemed like a lost child.
There were pictures of his father before the tragedy. Unlike his son, Tony Fellowes had been a handsome man. The hair that was now grey and thinning had been a thick brown mane, and the dark eyes twinkled then as they did now. He was a fine-looking fellow, with a strong athletic figure and a love of all things a young man of means might pursue: football; sailing; rally-driving. In fact, anything and everything that was foolhardy and dangerous.
‘I know all about you, Tony Fellowes,’ she muttered. ‘I know all there is to know. More than your own son knows. More than you will ever know.’ The soft, evil sound of her laughter was like a shock in the quietness of that house. The train of her thoughts more so.
Impatient, she flicked through the pages, searching for the one photograph that meant more to her than all the others. The one she looked at time and again, though it tore her apart inside. When she found it, she leaned back, her gaze roaming the picture and drawing comfort from it.
‘You set me a terrible task,’ she whispered, tears breaking from her sorry eyes. ‘But I won’t give up.’ Kissing the photograph, she held it close to her heart. ‘I’ll make them pay for what they did to you. With all my heart and every breath in my body, I promise they’ll be made to answer. All of them!’
Holding the picture away from her, she let her eyes take in every tiny, fading detail. The woman was in a bridal gown, her small, pretty face crowned with a halo of rosebuds. She was smiling, but the smile was like a mask over her features, thin and transparent to those who knew and loved her.
On the day the picture was taken, her new husband had been standing proudly beside her. Now, though, only a jagged line remained where he had been torn out of existence.
A moment more to savour the memories of that sad, pretty young thing, and then, with the greatest care, Ida returned the cherished picture to its resting place.
Fired now by things of the past and with the need for sleep gone from her, she made her way back to his room. She sat beside him, her hand on his, her eyes boring into his sleeping face. ‘Can you hear me, Tony?’ she whispered. ‘I’ve been looking at her picture again.’
Like an innocent, he slept on.
‘I know you’d rather forget her, but I won’t allow it. We both need to remember what you did to her.’ Her voice shook with emotion. ‘It’s hard, every day pretending, living a wicked lie. But I have no choice, you must know that.’
She observed how deeply he slept and yet his sleep was not an easy one. ‘What are you dreaming about, old man?’ she persisted. ‘Are you dreaming of her? Can you see her face as clearly as I can see it?’ She wanted to end his life there and then. Grabbing the pillow from beneath his head, she pushed it hard over his face. ‘It would be so easy,’ she whispered, ‘so easy.’ Realisation dawned and she snatched away the pillow. The old man jerked, turned his head ever so slightly and began snoring.
‘I almost lost control.’ She was still shaking. ‘That was unforgivable of me.’ Leaning forward, she whispered, as though sharing a secret, ‘She’s out there. The young man brought her back. But she won’t have you. You know I can’t allow that.’ Lowering her gaze she watched with fascination as her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his wrist. She watched the blood trickle on to the sheets and only then did she stop. ‘Oh dear, I’ve hurt you.’ She dabbed at the blood with her handkerchief. ‘It’s only what you deserve. You gave her no peace and now I can give you none.’
Returning to her own room, she undressed, bathed and got into bed. When Larry came home some time later, she was still awake. But she closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping.
It was easier that way.
2
It was half past seven on Monday morning. As usual in the Walters’ household, there was chaos and uproar.
‘I can’t find my PE kit!’ yelled Daisy from the top of the stairs. ‘I’m not going to school without it! Miss Lucas won’t let me stay in the gymnasium. She’ll send me to Frostie’s class, and I hate it.’
In the middle of breaking eggs into the pan, Libby spun round. ‘Look in the wardrobe,’ she called out, swearing under her breath when she dropped an egg on the floor. The cat made a dash for it and Jamie made a dash for the cat. The result was a mess from one end of
the kitchen to the other. ‘Get up, Jamie!’ she snapped. ‘Leave the cat alone!’
Exasperated, Dave glanced up from the table where he’d been browsing through his schedule for the day. ‘What’s the problem here?’ Aiming a disciplinary glare at his rebellious son, he waited for an answer.
‘He’s got a mood on, that’s all,’ Libby answered for him. ‘The best thing to do when he gets like that is ignore him. He’ll soon get fed up.’ She spoke from bitter experience.
‘Got a mood on, eh?’ He was making light of the matter, but when Jamie put out his tongue, he took a more serious approach. Swinging Jamie up by the scruff of his neck, Dave sat him firmly in the chair. ‘We’ve all got our problems, Jamie,’ he said. ‘Taking it out on others won’t help, will it, eh?’
‘I don’t like that cat.’
‘Maybe the cat doesn’t like you, especially when you keep tormenting him.’
‘I only tickled him.’
‘Tickled nothing,’ said Libby from behind the cupboard door. ‘You pulled him across the floor by his ears. No wonder he bit you.’
Already out of his depth and thinking ahead to his first crucial appointment of the day, Dave gave some fatherly advice. ‘Do as your mother says and leave the cat alone. That way he won’t bite you.’
‘I’m hungry.’
‘We’re all hungry.’
‘I don’t want eggs and soldiers.’ Jamie’s bottom lip began to tremble. ‘I want beans.’
Libby was losing patience. ‘We’re out of beans until I go shopping.’
Now he was sulking, which was a small blessing, because at least he was quiet.
Not so Daisy, whose voice shattered the sudden quiet. ‘I’ve looked in the wardrobe and it’s not there!’
‘Look in the drawer then!’
‘I’ve looked there too.’
Engrossed in mopping up the egg, Libby appealed to Dave. ‘If it’s not in the wardrobe, it’s definitely in the drawer,’ she said.
Going up the stairs two at a time, Dave took Daisy by the hand. ‘Let’s look in the drawer again, eh?’ And, after much arguing and protest, she led him to the pine chest. ‘It’s not there,’ she insisted, ‘I’ve already looked.’
‘Well, for your mother’s sake,’ and for mine, he thought, ‘it won’t hurt to look again.’
The contents of the drawer had been turned upside down, with every carefully ironed article now hopelessly crumpled. Buried beneath it all was a small blue bag with the initials D. W. stitched on the front. ‘One PE kit, I think.’ Drawing out the bag, Dave dangled it before his daughter’s wide, astonished face.
Delighted, she would have snatched it and made good her escape, but Dave pointed to the heap of clothes. ‘I don’t think you should leave it like this, do you?’
‘No, Daddy.’
‘Straighten the clothes and leave the drawer exactly as you found it. The bag will be downstairs in the kitchen when you’ve finished.’
‘Aw, Dad. I’ll be late for school.’
Adamant, he gave her a hug. ‘You made the mess. You put it right. OK?’
She knew it was no use arguing. ‘OK.’
Taking the bag, Dave made his way down to the kitchen.
In a surprisingly short time, Daisy burst into the room. ‘I’m ready now.’
Libby’s temper was sorely tried. ‘Well, I’m not, and neither is your brother.’
‘I can go to school on my own.’ Eight years old, going on twenty, she was.
‘You’ll do no such thing, my girl.’
Horrified at how swiftly the time had flown, Dave grabbed his coat and car keys. ‘I can drop her off if you like,’ he suggested.
Libby would have none of it. ‘I thought you had to meet an important client at nine o’clock.’
‘So I have, but I’m sure he won’t mind waiting a minute or two.’
‘If you go out of your way to drop Daisy off at school, it will be more like half an hour,’ she told him. ‘Besides, you’ve been stuck with that old house long enough. This is the first real interest you’ve had in it for over a year.’ She knew how important it was for him to be rid of that particular property. It was like an albatross round his neck. ‘You go,’ she told him, reaching up for a kiss. ‘You can tell me the good news when we meet in the Boulevard.’ Eyeing him suspiciously, she teased, ‘You haven’t forgotten, have you?’
‘One o’clock,’ he reminded himself. ‘I expect you want me to buy you lunch.’ His smile was wonderful.
‘Of course.’
Daisy was frantic. ‘If I have to go in Frostie’s class, I’ll run away!’
A quick goodbye and Dave was out of the door. Libby grabbed Jamie, and his coat. When he was ready for the outdoors, she put on her own coat, then her gloves and the pretty crocheted beret she’d bought at May Dexter’s shop last year. ‘Now, I can’t find my scarf.’ She hunted high and low but it was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where the devil did I put it?’ Another quick search in the pockets of her long woollen coat, then a frantic scramble in the bottom of the hall cupboard. ‘It’s not here.’ The scarf was one of her prize possessions.
‘You’ll make me late!’ Daisy cried, standing at the open door in the path of a force nine gale.
‘I’m hungry.’ Jamie’s stomach was still his prime concern.
‘Sorry.’ Slamming shut the cupboard door, Libby ushered them both outside into the teeth of a biting wind. ‘I’m lost without that scarf,’ she groaned, packing them into the old red Escort. ‘Besides, it was the first present your dad ever gave me.’
Daisy had the solution. ‘Get him to buy you a new one.’ Grinning from ear to ear, she revealed, ‘Old Frostie’s got a new scarf. It’s red and green with yellow stripes, like the kilt she wore on open day. Simon Travers says it’s her clan colours.’
Libby glared at her in the mirror. ‘I’ve told you before, young lady,’ she chided, ‘it’s rude to call your teacher by nickname.’ Though when she was a child they did it all the time. She was a parent now, though, and parents should set an example. ‘Damn these gears!’ With an almighty heave she crunched into second gear.
Jamie piped up from the depths of a sunken seat, ‘What’s clan colours?’
‘It’s to do with Scotland and family tradition.’ With a grinding screech the gear popped out again. ‘Honest to God, one of these days I’ll pay the scrap man to take this heap away.’ With an angry thrust she crunched it back into third.
Jamie stared at her in horror. ‘You can’t give it to the scrap man,’ he protested. ‘It’s my car. You said I could have it when I grow up.’
‘And I meant it,’ she lied, thinking how the old heap would have been transformed into a thousand tins of dog meat by the time Jamie grew up.
Woburn village school was only ten minutes away. After their reconciliation, the Walters had bought a house on the edge of the woods, far enough away from the beautiful historic village to avoid the rush of summer tourists, yet near enough to walk to the shops and post office, and beyond into the magnificent parks. The parks, like most of the village and surrounding area, belonged to the Duke of Bedford. With its old gabled houses and curiosity shops, it was a lovely place to live, and now that Dave had set up his own estate agency in the nearby town of Woburn Sands, the family had put down roots here. Now, Libby could not envisage living anywhere else. Even the house was a dream come true; large and rambling, surrounded by fields and woods and with panoramic views from every window, it was the most picturesque place.
It hadn’t always been like that. When she and Dave first saw it, the house was dilapidated and the many outbuildings were falling down. She and Dave had bought it cheaply at auction. They lovingly planned its refurbishment and even rolled up their sleeves to help. It was a labour of love. The kitchen was the kind of spacious, country kitchen she’d always dreamed of, with old oak beams and a wide brick chimney above the cooker. On one wall she had asked for numerous deep shelves which she’d filled with blue plates and hung with copper pans
. She had a big old pine table and a dresser to die for. The kids had a large playroom in the cellar, and Dave had the whole of the attic for his study. All in all, it was as if the building had been waiting for them all its life.
Twelve months after they first viewed it, the house was transformed into a wonderful, warm cosy home. A place to right all the wrongs of the past. A place to raise the family. Sometimes, Libby wondered if it would ever go wrong.
Daisy was still considering her mother’s remark about the teacher. ‘Everyone calls her Frostie,’ she retorted.
‘Miss Frost,’ Libby sighed, wondering how Peggy Blake always managed to stay so calm with six children, all boys. And she was always meticulously dressed and had a smile for everyone. I must be a lousy mother, Libby mused. I love my kids to bits, but I’m always in a rush; I never seem to do anything right, and these two little sods run rings round me. She glanced at them in the mirror; Jamie had his nose pressed to the window, his eyes big with pleasure as he watched a group of boys building a snowman. Daisy was so pretty, eager-faced and bubbly, much like she herself had been at that age. Her heart swelled with love, and she foolishly vowed never to show her temper in front of them again.
At that moment the car chose to splutter and cough, limping along one minute and jerking the next. ‘Bugger it!’ Banging a fist on the steering wheel, she suddenly remembered her silent vow. ‘Oh sod it! I’ll make a new start tomorrow,’ she muttered, thankful they were at last turning into the courtyard of Daisy’s school.
‘Remember now,’ she reminded her daughter, ‘the teacher’s name is Miss Frost.’ Bringing the car to a halt, she groaned when the engine spluttered and died. ‘Dammit!’
Daisy couldn’t get away quickly enough. ‘I can’t call her Miss Frost when the others call her Frostie,’ she said indignantly. ‘Anyway, she’s not my teacher.’ Throwing her arms round Libby’s neck, she hugged her hard. ‘But I’m not late, so I won’t be sent to her class, thank goodness.’
‘’Bye, sweetheart.’ Libby was past arguing.
‘’Bye, Mum. ’Bye, Jamie.’
Seeker, The Page 3
