The reverend blew his nose loudly and had to take a few moments to compose himself.
‘Now we can openly celebrate her. There is no proof she was anything other than an old lady who lived and died amongst us. Her kind are safe. If any of them still exist. We have not betrayed them.
‘Remember Raine de la Mer with affection and love. As she loved us. And I urge you all to pray for the lost soul of Joan Hawk.’
Gladys’s ‘huh’ reverberated around the church.
‘Someone’s daughter,’ said the vicar pointedly. ‘The coastguard have not been able to recover her body. Find it in your Christian hearts to wish her well on her way.
‘Now let us pray. Our Father . . .’
At the end of the service, as each pew emptied, there was a general move towards the coffin. Not one person left without laying their hand on it and wishing Raine some personal, private message of affection.
‘You must stay for something to eat,’ said the lady with her hair pulled into a tight grey bun; the woman who had taken Albert. Apparently her name was Gladys, and Clare recognized the name. She was accompanied by an old stooped man in a black morning suit with a line of medals on his chest.
‘Thank you,’ said Clare. ‘We’ll be glad to.’
The three friends joined the stream of people who headed for the village hall from the church. The tables were heaving with refreshments. It appeared that many people had brought food and wine in honour of Raine’s wake.
A waitress appeared at Lara’s elbow with plates of nibbly food: quiches and pastries, sandwiches and tiny stuffed potatoes. These had the hallmark of Jenny.
The mayor had donated crates of champagne to toast the old lady’s memory. Lara allowed herself the one glass but wished she could have had a few. She didn’t want to go back and sort out the mess with James. She had barely thought about him for days and now he was looming on her horizon again.
Suddenly a wheelchair barged a path through the crowd and Daisy Unwin sat, cross-armed and furious, in front of them.
‘Isn’t it funny that everything was okay until you three came? Suddenly Raine is dead.’
‘Daisy, be quiet,’ said Frank, arriving behind her.
‘No, I will not be quiet.’ She smirked, knowing she had the whole of the hall’s attention. ‘How dare you shout at me, a disabled woman . . .’
Then Clare remembered.
It happened almost in slow motion. Lara and May watched Clare put her plate down on a nearby table. She took three strides so that she was standing beside Daisy, then she pushed cousin Pauline out of the way, grabbed hold of the handles of Daisy’s chair and tipped her right out of it onto the floor.
Daisy screamed.
‘What the heck, Clare?’ Lara made to grab Clare and drag her to a position of safety before she got lynched.
‘She can walk,’ cried Clare. ‘Can’t you, Daisy? There’s nothing wrong with your legs. I know.’
‘You can’t know,’ shouted Pauline. ‘Only we know.’
‘Pauline, shut your mouth,’ shrieked Daisy.
Pauline began to stutter in a panic: ‘I meant that . . .’
‘Shut up, shut up, Pauline.’
‘Is it true, Daisy? Can you walk?’ Frank cut through to the front of the gathered crowd. His usually gentle voice was tight.
‘Don’t be stupid. Of course I can’t. Help me back into the chair.’
‘Can she walk, Pauline?’ Frank bent to stare into Pauline’s face.
Behind her glasses her eyes were blinking madly and her head was shaking protests. ‘Of course she can’t. The doctors have said she won’t walk again.’
‘No they haven’t, you idiot,’ yelled Daisy. ‘They’ve said I might.’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’ Pauline was really flustered now. ‘You might walk after the wedding.’
Daisy dropped her head into her hands.
‘You might walk after the wedding? When you’ve got Frank safely down the aisle?’ Now Gene had come forward and he really did have the power to intimidate the truth out of people. He turned. ‘Is that the case, Pauline?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Pauline, on the verge of tears. She was looking at her cousin on the floor for guidance.
‘If you can walk, Daisy, you’d better get up. Today isn’t about you.’ This was from Gladys.
‘I’ve got a bit of movement in my leg. I was saving it as a surprise,’ mumbled Daisy, her face colouring. She wiggled her foot and pretended to be in pain after doing so.
‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Daisy Unwin,’ said Gladys. ‘I think you had better get up and leave.’
‘Help me up, for God’s sake,’ Daisy called. Pauline bent down and tried to lift her.
‘Not you, YOU.’ She stabbed her finger at Frank. He didn’t move. ‘Francis, did you hear me?’
‘I’ve heard nothing but your voice for a long time,’ said Frank. ‘You’ve put me through hell.’
There was a grumble of disgust as people moved away from the woman sitting on the floor and starting to sob now. They were gathered here out of respect for Raine, not to witness such a stomach-turning spectacle of self-ridicule.
May began to panic. ‘Are you sure she can walk? I wouldn’t like to . . .’
Lara nudged her. ‘Watch.’
Ignored, the snuffling Daisy, her fascinator now over her face like a visor, made a very dramatic, puff-filled struggle to stagger to her feet. With her arm around Pauline she had to make a stiff-legged zombie limp through the townsfolk to get to the outside door. It was a walk of shame to end all walks of shame.
‘How the bloody hell did you know she could walk, Clare?’
‘I don’t know, Lars,’ she said. ‘Raine knew.’ A wisp of a memory came to her: Raine talking low into her ear. ‘I think she told me. She said that I’d know what to do when the time was right.’
May and Lara turned to each other and raised their eyebrows. Mass hysteria? Maybe it wasn’t that simple to explain after all.
Whilst Clare was talking to Gladys, May saw Frank standing alone and rubbing his neck as if his collar was chafing his skin. She walked over to him almost sick with sadness that this was the last time she would ever talk to him.
‘We’re going to make a move,’ she said. ‘Leaving with a bang. Are you all right, Frank?’
He repeated the question back to her. ‘Am I all right? May, I feel as if I’ve been carrying a millstone around my neck and someone’s just lifted it from me. Oh, yes, I’m all right. Are you? You’re covered in scratches. Was that from the other day when you helped me?’
‘Ah, they’ll heal.’ May waved her hand dismissively. ‘You won’t be making an honest woman of Daisy Unwin, then?’
‘I don’t think anyone will make an honest woman out of her,’ replied Frank, shaking his head. ‘Thank you.’ He reached for her hand, lifted it and pressed it to his lips.
‘Goodbye, Frank. Be happy.’
He let her hand go, slowly, but not slowly enough, then he walked over to his brother.
Clare finished off her glass of wine and popped it on a passing waitress’s tray. In her other hand she held a brooch which Gladys had given to her. It had been Raine’s, she explained, and thought Clare might want it. It was in the shape of a key.
There was such a feeling of warmth and affection in the room that Clare didn’t want to leave it and return to the cold of her lonely life. As May came towards her, Clare took hold of her arm. ‘Ready?’ she asked.
‘No,’ May smiled, watery-eyed.
Lara took a last look at the dear people of Ren Dullem. Jenny was smiling, relieved of as much of a burden as Frank was. Daisy Unwin would never have the upper hand of her again. Frank was laughing and talking to Gene. Gladys was loading Edwin Carlton’s plate with bite-sized chocolate cakes. Lara wanted to bound across the room and say another goodbye to Gene, to feel his cheek against hers.
‘Let’s go,’ said May, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Please. Let’s go now whi
lst I can.’
Lara knew what she meant.
‘Goodbye,’ they chorused silently as they slipped out through the door. ‘Goodbye, lovely Ren Dullem.’
Chapter 93
They dropped Clare off first, outside her flat in Queens Park.
‘Good luck with the promotion,’ said May, giving her a big squashy hug. ‘Let us know how the first day goes.’
‘You’ll be brilliant. Have lunch with us soon.’ Lara threw her arms around Clare. ‘It’s been wonderful, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes, yes, it has. It’s been . . .’ She couldn’t think of the word. She didn’t even know if there was one.
‘You take care. And we will see each other outside of work soon. I promise,’ added May.
Clare waved them off, managing to hold back the tears, but they flowed from her as soon as Lara’s car had turned the corner. She wondered if they would ever stop.
‘I’ll be back at yours in less than two hours, if that’s okay with you, May,’ said Lara.
‘Do you want me to come with you? I don’t mind,’ May asked, touching her arm.
‘Nope. I’m a big girl. I need to do this myself. But thanks.’
They turned into May’s street and when they saw the number of bouquets littering her path they thought there must have been a crash.
Lara pulled up outside Manor Gardens and could barely press down the brake with her foot because her leg was shaking so much.
Come on, Miss Rickman. You can do this. Think of that skinny bum. One – two – three. She got out of the car, opened the boot and dropped the two back seats to make space for her luggage, then strode across the pavement, down the path and in through the front door.
It was as familiar if she were coming in from a day at the office. It would be so easy to slip back into this life full of luxury trappings. James appeared at the lounge door.
‘Darling, I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I’ve rung your phone and I rang the spa and no one knew where you were.’ His arms were round her before she could put up any resistance. They didn’t feel anything like as nice as Gene Hathersage’s big crushing arms around her. She found it shockingly easy to keep her arms stiffly at her sides.
‘I’ve just come for my things and then I’ll be gone,’ she said, enjoying the sound of strength in her voice.
‘You mustn’t go. I made a dreadful mistake. I have never missed anyone the way I’ve missed you. I love you. What can I do?’
‘You can let me go and get my things.’
She walked out of his arms and into the kitchen to retrieve her coffee percolator which she placed by the front door. Then she stomped up the stairs. He followed like a hungry Labrador suspecting his master had a pocketful of biscuits.
She pulled her clothes out of the wardrobe and stuffed them into the black bin bags she had purchased from the garage on the way over. She revisited the memory of trussed-up Tianne for a second and hoped James had washed the sheets. Then again, did it matter? She wouldn’t be sharing them again. Behind her, James’s voice dissolved into white noise. ‘I love you. I was stupid. We have something special. We’ll have a holiday. Just you and me, no children.’
On cue, Keely arrived in the bedroom doorway.
‘Well, look what the cat dragged back in,’ she said.
‘Keely, go away,’ said her father. ‘I’m talking to Lara.’
‘No, you’re talking at Lara,’ said Lara. ‘Lara isn’t listening.’
‘I used to clean Garth’s toilet with your toothbrush,’ Keely said with a smirk.
Lara froze. ‘The pink one?’
‘Spot on.’
‘That’s unfortunate, Keely, because, one: mine’s black’ and placed right away from your grasp at all times ‘and your father uses the pink one.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ said James. ‘You did what?’
‘And two: I knew that you did, so I swapped it for yours.’ Lara smiled.
Keely paled before her eyes. ‘You didn’t.’
‘Trust me, I did.’
Keely ran off, retching. Lara couldn’t believe she was doing this. She felt absolutely nothing for James, no ghost feelings, no worries that she was ensnared in temporary madness and would flip over any minute now into pleading with him to let her stay.
‘Please, listen to me, darling. I don’t just want you back, I need you back.’
‘Where’s Kristina?’ Lara asked, spotting the overflowing laundry basket in the corner. .
‘She . . . er . . . walked out,’ said James. ‘Never mind about her, I’m talking about us.’
‘Ah.’
‘Another au pair will be arriving soon. I promise you there won’t be any extra duties.’
‘Extra duties?’ Lara laughed at the very thought of it. Never again would she have to wipe a bogey from her bedside cabinet or make meals that no one ate.
‘Darling, please stop and think. Don’t throw it all away.’
Lara whirled round. ‘Throw what away, James? What would I be throwing away? Being taken for granted? Having to look after your children, who hate me – and it’s mutual, by the way, they’re vile little brats. The infidelity? Oh, and the crap sex, of course. How could I forget?’
‘I’ll try harder. I’ll spice things up. I haven’t seen Tianne since that night and I never will again.’
‘I, however, have been snogging someone’s face off,’ said Lara with a grin that would have the Cheshire Cat asking for tips. ‘A nice, hunky, gorgeous wild man. Goodbye, James.’ Lara dropped his house keys into his hand, picked up her bin bags and headed for the stairs. ‘If I’ve missed anything, just throw it away. It won’t be important.’
She strode out of Manor Gardens, laden like a donkey with all her possessions. She only wished Gene Hathersage had been there to witness it all. She thought he might have been proud of her.
Chapter 94
The bouquets were all in various stages of decomposition, indicating that they’d started arriving a good week ago. Worryingly, there was a fresh one by the door. Michael hadn’t given up, then.
May had to push the door hard to move the weight of post behind it. Most of the items had the same handwriting – letters, cards, presents. She ripped one open – an ‘I’m Sorry’ card. Inside were lots of drawn hearts and I love yous. It was like a five year old’s effort for Valentine’s Day.
She wished Lara would hurry up; her company would be nice. The house felt cold and stale. She spotted Michael’s comb on the worktop and threw it in the bin.
Then the doorbell rang three times, insistently, and she really didn’t need a clue to work out who it could be. She hoped she was ready for him.
She stalled as she went down the hallway, seeing his face pressed against the glass. Her heart leapt in conditioned recognition; it was a hark back to all those times when his presence brought a flood of warm feelings to it. May took the biggest breath that her lungs would allow and opened the locked door.
‘May, I’ve missed you.’ His arms were open, ready, waiting. ‘I forgot you were going on holiday. I’ve been out of my head. I even drove up to the spa to see you but they said that you were having a treatment. Did they pass on the message?’
May wanted to laugh. The lies just kept on coming.
‘I think you should go,’ she said.
‘I can’t. I love you. I want to marry you.’
Two weeks ago May would have married this man in a minute and yet now he was nothing to her.
‘I don’t love you. I don’t want to marry you. Please go away.’
‘I’m not giving up on you.’
She shut the door in his face, hoping he would leave. His proposal wasn’t romantic or flattering. He was like an annoying mosquito and she wished she had a big enough fly swatter handy.
She had just lugged her suitcase upstairs when she heard a strange noise from outside. Someone was singing. Or rather attempting to.
You are joking, thought May, crossing to the window. There in the middle of the stree
t, arms open wide, Michael was murdering a romantic song with his strangled falsetto voice. A couple of the neighbours opposite were standing on their doorsteps to watch, highly amused. Another had stopped washing his car to listen.
May opened the window. ‘Michael, go away,’ she shouted. He was holding a red rose towards her.
‘Give him a chance.’ This was from old Mr Wilkinson next door. He was standing beside Michael, his stick in one hand, the lead restraining his pet Labrador in the other.
‘No, Mr Wilkinson, I won’t,’ replied May.
‘A man serenading you? What’s he done that’s so bad you can resist that?’ called the car-cleaner from across the street.
‘Invent a dying wife so he can get me into bed,’ screeched May. She closed the window just as Mr Wilkinson started hitting Michael with his stick and the big black Labrador started ravaging his trousers. Then she heard Michael shriek as a bucket load of dirty car-washing water completely saturated him and his rose.
Chapter 95
Clare switched on her phone and immediately columns of emails started to appear. Work, work, work, another congratulations from her father telling her that her siblings were delighted. Yeah, of course they were. She’d just raised the bar and set a new challenge for them – and they would rise to it and exceed her success, she had no doubt. She didn’t scroll down any more. She threw her phone on the worktop and opened the fridge for the half bottle of white wine she knew was in there. Another email pinged its arrival. Clare sank a glass in one. Her hands were shaking.
The intercom buzzed. She hoped it wasn’t a courier bringing her something to do for tomorrow.
She picked up the handset. ‘Hello.’
It's Raining Men Page 36
