Silver Rain

by Jan Ruth

  *

  A couple of days later two items of post arrived. Full of curiosity, he opened the box first, to find the fully deflated Chinese swimming pool folded into a neat square, with a compliment slip from the hotel in Auckland. He slung the whole lot onto the second, humongous bonfire they’d made out of the kitchen and the back porch, confirming that his life was mostly rubbish.

  The second item was a formal invitation to dinner, from George.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Al said, over the phone. ‘It’s a bit Victorian, isn’t it? Why didn’t you text me?’

  ‘It’s a proper dinner invite. Kate’s had one too, so it will be just the four of us. Formal mind, no denims or stupid hats. I’ve got a small announcement to make.’

  ‘What about? Have you spoken to Kate?’

  ‘Briefly, just to enquire how she is.’

  ‘Well? And?’

  ‘She’s fine. I told her about Tom and Maisie but she already knew.’

  ‘Oh, leave me out of all the loops why don’t you? Did she say anything about me?’

  He laughed, sounding like The Count from Sesame Street. ‘She’s really got you all sewn-up hasn’t she? Kate must be the first woman ever to give you a bit of a knock-back and here you are, desperate.’

  ‘Tell me what you know.’

  ‘I don’t know anything! See you Friday.’

  ‘Hang on! Any news about these blood tests for Becca?’

  ‘I’ll tell you on Friday. I’m cooking, so don’t be late.’

  The phone went down. He deliberated over calling Kate to make sure she was going to attend. It was only ten days since the shooting but it felt so much longer. The prospect of seeing and talking to her had him in a lather of anticipation. If she turned up.

  To save himself from going mad, but mostly on impulse, he emailed the completed book to her, with an explanation as to why he’d written three possible conclusions. Option one had him killed off, murdered by a single silver bullet. Option two was the most understated ending and had Jim walking down a lonely suburban street with his suitcase. Option three had him reacquainted with a woman from his past, his soulmate, from book three.

  ‘I want you to choose the ultimate ending,’ he typed. ‘Whichever option you think is the most appropriate for Jim. Then you can tell me. Friday night?’

  She replied in the affirmative on both counts, but it was a single, solitary sentence with no clues to anything else. By direct contrast, Jo called him and they had a grown-up discussion about him going down to London again and talking about access and money, maybe seeing a scan. This was pleasing, to the extent he booked some train tickets.

  When Friday evening rolled around, an authoritative rap on the door had Tom and himself exchange a look. No one knocked on a door like Bernice. Tom scuttled to the window and keeping flat against the wall, looked furtively through a chink in the curtains.

  ‘It’s her. Tell her I’m not here.’

  ‘I’m not telling lies,’ Al said, anyway, your car’s out there.’ He was in his boxer shorts, ironing his best shirt and his Abercrombie denims were flung over the back of the sofa.

  ‘She’s walking round the back! What now?’

  ‘You could go hide in the airing cupboard? Ah…problem. Back door is unlocked.’

  ‘Dad, please.’

  Keeping below window-level and crawling along the hall in his underwear, the dogs leaping all over him, was something Jim Silver would have taken in his stride. He reached the back door and stealthily dropped the latch, seconds before it was tried. Mission accomplished. The only problem was that Bernice clearly intended to wait, and paced around on the drive, looking up at the windows for a further twenty minutes.

  ‘Tom, I have to go out.’

  ‘You can’t, just wait till she’s gone.’

  Consequently, not only was he running late but he sensed a vague impression of an iron stamped on the back of his shirt between his shoulder blades. Other than that, he felt full of anticipation for the night ahead. He brushed off his black felt fedora and shrugged on his leather jacket. As a last thought, he snatched a splash of his son’s Givenchy Gentleman.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said to Tom. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like an older guy on the pull?’

  Finally, Bernice decided to call it a day and as the acceleration of her powerful vehicle faded into the distance, he called up Fig and ran to his car. It made a single groaning noise and refused to start. If he got the bonnet up he could probably suss it out, but he’d get covered in oil so he kicked the front tyre instead and went back inside, the dog on his heels questioning his every frantic move.

  ‘Tom, help me out here.’

  The keys to the BMW came his way but Tom followed him outside and hovered nervously as he flicked switches, adjusted mirrors and moved the seat back. ‘Look, just be careful, will you?’

  ‘I’m only going five miles in it.’

  ‘Irrelevant, so far as you’re concerned.’

  Fig leapt into the passenger seat and Tom fussed about her claws on the leather seats while Al connected his iPod and Morrissey’s velvet tones flooded the interior. Nice. He jammed his hat down at a jaunty angle and rested his arm on the open window.

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like a desperate, older guy on the pull?.’

  Al rolled his eyes as the window slid back into place.

  As he sped across the engorged river, the sun was sinking, infusing the water with a cool metallic sheen and it seemed like every colour was reflected there. Love did that, it found the romance in everything, changed a void of grey into a rainbow of opportunity.

  He was around forty minutes late, not too bad, and when he parked outside George and Fran’s flat, it was immensely gratifying to see Kate’s car. Fran answered the door and there was a moment of madness as she and Fig were reunited. She looked so much better, like the old Fran.

  ‘Oh, thank you for bringing her! I’ve missed her so much,’ she said, hunkering down so the dog could lick her.

  ‘How are you, really?’

  ‘So much better. I love my new job.’

  ‘That’s good. Where’s Becca?’

  ‘Sleep-over.’

  A beat. ‘Fran… Kate knows.’

  She looked up and caught hold of his hand briefly. ‘I know, and we’ve talked. And so have me and George, I mean properly. Tonight is a fresh start. He’s let go of a lot of hate, Al. Give him a chance, for me?’

  He followed her up the narrow stairs, Fig bounding alongside.

  Upstairs in the flat, there was a trestle table in the middle of the sitting room covered with a white cloth; flowers, Champagne on ice, candles, the works. George grumbled about Al’s attire and insisted he remove the hat, but filled his glass generously with a cold, fragrant Chablis.

  ‘You’re late, as well.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry, long story,’ he said, staring at Kate. She was in dark blue, something with a cowl neckline and her breasts formed the most exquisite cleavage, a chunky silver heart pendant nestling in the swell. He went to her first and kissed her cheek, unable to draw his eyes from hers as he made his way back round to the only available chair, opposite. It seemed too far away, he couldn’t even hold her hand under the table.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, much better, thanks. You?’

  He could have echoed her words and kept it simple but found himself talking too much, and it was all about the fire, crawling around in his underwear and the return of the Chinese swimming pool. Fran laughed, and it was good to see her so relaxed. Kate just smiled enigmatically. Although her eyes shone with amusement there was a coolness there that had him anxious.

  During all of this, George fussed and flapped in the kitchen, then emerged with four small plates on a tray, cursing at the dog under his feet. ‘To start, we have seafood on a bed of samphire with a balsamic reduction of something.’

  Al frowned at the
lopsided tower of scallops placed in front of him. ‘What’s all this in aid of then? I hope you’ve not over-cooked them.’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘I hope you’ve not under-cooked them either. Last time you tried anything like this we were all ill.’

  ‘They are perfect.’

  ‘He’s been to cookery school,’ Fran said, grabbing Fig by her collar and making her lie down.

  ‘I’m not eating anything till you tell me about Becca.’

  ‘She’s just anaemic,’ Fran said. ‘I could have told you both, if you’d asked.’

  George grinned. ‘Good news eh?’

  ‘Why couldn’t you tell me this before? I’ve been worried for fucking days!’

  ‘Keep your hair on!’

  ‘He wanted tonight to be full of good news,’ Fran said, warningly.

  Some of the tension in his guts dispersed, because it was good news, and with the arrival of the main course - roast lamb - the conversation moved on to the New Zealand trip.

  ‘I’ve been reading Ruby’s memoirs,’ Kate said, helping herself to glazed parsnips. ‘I think you should read them, Al.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Why not publish them?’ George said, refilling everyone’s glass, this time with a dark Merlot. ‘Get in before someone else does.’

  ‘I think they’re meant to be private,’ Kate went on. ‘Personally, I hate the way everything is plastered over the internet. The sharing of someone’s inner thoughts is a privilege, not a right. I’d hate her story to be ripped to shreds, when she’s not even here to defend it.’

  George raised his brows and he and Fran busied themselves clearing the plates. Al let his eyes rest on hers, still unsure how he felt about Ruby’s inner thoughts, but Kate’s calm logic made it feel more comfortable somehow. He wanted her to expand on this, but it wasn’t the right time or place.

  ‘Did you get to read anything else?’

  ‘Uh huh.’ She sipped some of her wine through beautifully outlined lips and he tried not to fixate on them, or her breasts. Or the fact that she was about to announce the concluding scene for Jim Silver.

  ‘It was option one for me. A clear winner.’

  ‘What, kill him off?’

  ‘Yes, it was far better written, held more impact too. Had a ring of truth about it.’

  ‘So… not option three then?’

  ‘Well, it’s not a romance is it?’

  Pudding arrived, a cherry tart with the pastry base suspended in the middle of the filling. He managed a small portion, but the longer he considered it the more it had him in mind of that old cliche, a second bite of the cherry, and how much it applied, hopefully, to him and Kate. He pushed the food around his plate and she smiled. ‘You don’t agree, do you?’

  ‘I’m stuffed,’ George said, patting his belly.

  ‘It was absolutely delicious,’ Kate and Fran said, and elected to make coffee. When they were all settled back in the lounge, with the table shoved out of the way, George popped the cork on the champagne.

  ‘I’d like to make a toast, well, more than one actually.’

  ‘Just get on with it,’ Al said moodily.

  ‘Fran and I have decided to renew our wedding vows and we’d like you, Al, and Kate, to be there as witnesses.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful news,’ Kate said and rose to kiss them both, offering congratulations. Al did what was expected of him, but he felt fed-up. He wanted to make a happy announcement as well but there was nothing to say and there were no kisses coming his way, no reunion of hearts and minds with the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  ‘And,’ George went on, ‘A second toast for good health. I think it goes without saying that little Rupert will have our love and support. Oh, and best wishes to Kate, in her new job.’

  ‘What job?’ he said crossly.

  ‘I have an interview with the council, that’s all. I applied months ago.’

  ‘The council?’ he said, unable to hide his disgust, and she glared back.

  The party broke up and they were all in high spirits apart from Al. The way the evening had gone, he felt left in the dark, toyed with like a cherry tart. Like they’d all discussed everything before he got there. Like everyone’s life had moved on except for his, because he was waiting for Kate.

  She’d even killed Jim Silver. A bullet for a bullet.

  He carried some of the plates through to the kitchen and managed a tiny smile at the sight of an old glass fish tank on the work surface. Devoid of water, and fitted instead with a heat lamp, it was occupied by a row of sleeping baby hedgehogs. Fran wrapped up the lamb bone for Fig.

  ‘When we get sorted out with money, we’re going to buy a little cottage with a garden, and I can have her back. Just the one dog, mind.’

  He flopped an arm across her shoulders. ‘You’re both okay with me living at Chathill?’

  ‘More than okay. It needs to stay in the family.’

  He thought about these precious words as they said their goodbyes. When he followed Kate down the stairs, he was pleased to see she was no longer limping but the dressing on the shaved patch of her head made him feel weak with love. Out on the pavement, he placed the wrapped lamb bone on the car roof and leant with his back against the door.

  ‘Nice car,’ she said.

  ‘It’s Tom’s.’

  ‘Al, have you had this heart test yet?’

  ‘No, there’s no point without you,’ he said, and reached to take both her hands in his. Before he could say anything else, she moved closer and touched her lips to his and it felt so good he manoeuvred her fully into his arms. The joy of having her so close was like a molten shot of adrenaline, it flushed through his body like the golden, silvered river, swollen with the spring tide.

  He didn’t know if he could quantify how he felt about her in a single kiss, but every nerve and muscle in his body seemed up for trying. She tasted of heat and champagne, and as her mouth opened to his the connection was undeniable, real and raw. The possibilities seemed endless, the future seemed like a safe, sun-blessed place when she was in his arms. She broke away and there was a mistiness in her eyes that had her search out a tissue in her bag.

  ‘When you kiss me like that I feel like you’ve woken me from a long sleep.’

  ‘Sleeping Beauty?’

  She laughed, but then it was awkward. ‘I’ve had so much stuff going on in my life since Greg died, barely time to find out who I am without him.’

  ‘Hell, Kate, this sounds like there’s a brush-off coming.’

  She looked away and something deep in his subconscious snapped, maybe it was something he’d known since the start. ‘Here’s an idea. I’m going to London on Monday. I need to see Jo again. You could come along, meet her new bloke and maybe I could meet Tia? We could go shopping for new boots and fun pants, maybe pick up a show in the West End? The Muppets are on…’ He trailed to a stop and she frowned.

  ‘That’s the strangest list.’

  ‘Meet me at noon at the station. If you’re not there, I’ll consider myself dumped.’

  She folded her arms and sighed. ‘So theatrical. Your mother’s son.’

  There was no clue in her face, nothing to give him a shred of hope. He left her on the pavement outside the newsagents, her blue dress fluttering in the cool air.

  There was a tiny morsel of positive thought in giving her an ultimatum. He told no one. Two days to get through and then he’d know if she wanted to be with him, despite the appalling trail of baggage that not only haunted his past, but seemed set to cling to his future as well.

  Not having a better idea, he threw himself into clearing up the mess outside, and unpacking some of the boxes inside. He sat up most of Sunday night, worried about killing Jim Silver, then woke late on Monday morning feeling sick for no good reason. When he looked through the sitting room window he saw that not only was it raining but Tom had gone to work, leaving his wre
ck of a car as the only means of transport.

  The old address book was in one of the packing cases and he flicked through it looking for taxi firms, distracted by old phone numbers written in his mother’s neat hand. Always ready to extract a possible drama, and with impeccable timing, Helen popped round for an argument to see if she could convince him that she was entitled to some of his inheritance.

  ‘You’ve had the majority share of the house!’ he said, watching the hands of the clock fast forward to eleven-fifteen.

  ‘I worked all my life for that house, you earned nothing. It isn’t fair.’

  ‘Fair? If I was a woman who’d been an organic free-range stay-at-home mother and brought up her children like it was the most important job in the world, and you were a bloke, moaning about the commute, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  He moved to the fireplace and concentrated on his reflection in the gloomy mirror as he slid the train tickets and some cash into his inside pocket. When he glanced up, it was to see Helen’s face snarling at him through the glass, and it made him wonder what on earth he’d seen in her for so many years. When did she get to be so mercenary and uncaring?

  ‘I could make life very uncomfortable for you,’ she said, almost sweetly.

  ‘Are you trying to blackmail me, over Becca?’

  He turned to face her then and she had the decency to look away, a twist of the mouth, downcast eyes.

  ‘You’d put a kid through that, would you?’ he said quietly, then grabbed his jacket. ‘Look, I have to go out.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To see The Muppets. Drop me at the station, will you?’

  A filthy look shot his way, but he didn’t care. He cared about nothing except Kate. His bluff paid off and he followed her outside, his heart-rate soaring.

  Helen drove like a tourist, braking on every bend and slowing to a virtual standstill for every concealed driveway, or so it seemed. When she pulled in to the drop off area at Llandudno Junction, he did a quick scan for Kate’s car. It wasn’t there, and his feet were like lead as they shuffled up the first flight of dirty concrete steps, across the covered bridge stinking of nicotine, and down the second flight of concrete steps.