by Jane Holland
‘It’s okay,’ I tell her quickly. ‘It was my fault, not yours. I ought to have hung on until you arrived, even if it meant I was late for my lunch meeting. It was wrong of me to expect Irina to wait.’
‘Well,’ Ruby says tentatively, ‘it occurs to me that this kind of thing could be averted if…’ She stops, and shakes her head as though dismissing some idea.
I’m surprised by her hesitancy. ‘Go on.’
‘No, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘Ruby, for goodness’ sake!’ I smile at her encouragingly. At least she’s no longer looking so miserable. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’
‘I was just wondering if it wouldn’t be better for me to move in and care for Celeste full-time. I noticed you have several spare rooms, and…’ She comes to a halt, seeing my expression. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t poking around. I ran upstairs to turn off the smoke alarm after the fire and opened some of the bedroom windows so the house wouldn’t reek of smoke all night.’
‘That was very thoughtful of you.’ I frown, considering what Ruby has said. ‘Moving in though… What about your own place?’
‘My tenancy is coming to an end, anyway. The owner wants to sell up. I’ve been looking about for a small place but they’re all so expensive.’ Ruby bites her lip. ‘That sounds awful. Like I’m trying to grab a free ride or something.’
‘No, it’s… Actually, it’s very sensible.’ I glance over my shoulder; the front door is still open and the house will be getting cold. ‘Look, let me think about it. Will you be able to sit with Mum tomorrow night?’ I smile, a little embarrassed. ‘I have another date with Logan.’
‘Have you? But that’s marvellous. He looks like such a nice man; I hope you have a great evening. Of course I can come over.’ Ruby seems relieved by my attitude and doesn’t press me for an instant answer, which I appreciate. ‘What kind of time?’ She gives a quick chuckle. ‘I promise faithfully I won’t be late.’
*
That night, while locking up the house at around midnight, I again hear someone moving outside in the garden. Just the faintest sound, a kind of rustling, which could be a wild animal, but followed by a few grating steps across gravel.
I freeze in the hall, listening, and the sound stops, as though whoever it is knows I’m there.
There’s no garden security light now, of course. In all the frantic chaos of the past few days, I forgot to get it fixed. And indeed, I’m not even sure how. The whole thing would need to be replaced, not just the bulb.
I wish I was daring enough to go outside with a torch, but I’m not. Instead, I simply stand there, listening, my heart thumping, and wonder who on earth can be out there – and why.
After several minutes have passed, I check the rest of the downstairs, including Mum’s room, but everything seems quiet again.
When I go up to bed, I leave several lights on downstairs, blazing away in the night without anybody around. Ridiculous, perhaps, but it makes me feel safer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ Logan says as we walk out of the arthouse cinema, having spent rather too much time whispering to each other instead of watching the French film with subtitles we’d come to see.
At any other time, I might have been content to sit back and watch it and lose myself in the story and characters. But the guilt over my mother nearly setting fire to the house in my absence, not to mention her burnt hand, coupled with fears over my seeming ‘promotion’ at work, had left me too on edge to enjoy anything, except perhaps a drink.
‘What, hitting the pub before last orders?’ I smile, not bothering to hide my enjoyment, and am surprised – perhaps even shocked – when he takes my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine. Yet why shouldn’t we hold hands as we walk along the street together? ‘I agree, I’m terribly thirsty.’
Our elbows rub against each other, our hips brushing too, and I feel ludicrously self-conscious.
Perhaps this was too soon after David, I think, wondering if I will offend him by pulling my hand free. Though it’s been two years. If I’m not ready for a new relationship now, then when?
‘No, I meant about Ruby moving in.’ Logan peers down at me when I say nothing. ‘I take it you’re still undecided?’
I mentioned Ruby’s suggestion to him earlier, just as we were leaving the house. He came to pick me up as arranged and spotted Ruby in the hall. When he asked after Giorgios, I explained that our previous carer still appeared to be on holiday, and since Mum had taken such a shine to Ruby, I was seriously considering allowing her to move in.
‘Oh, that. The thing is, if I do decide to go down that route, it could only be for a few weeks. Just until Giorgios comes back.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
That surprises me. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’
Logan shrugs, looking vague. ‘People do funny things.’
‘Maybe.’ I frown. ‘It’s true that I’d feel more confident leaving Mum alone if Ruby was living-in with us. There’d be no more of this “running late” business, for starters.’
‘Much safer too, given your mum’s propensity for arson.’ He nods, stopping outside the pub and glancing about at the tables that habitually clutter up the pavement. ‘Sitting in or standing out?’
‘Inside, please. It’s far too cold to be outside.’ I see his expression and grin. ‘You want to smoke, don’t you?’
‘I’m happy not to, if you’d rather go inside.’
‘You’re supposed to be giving up anyway,’ I remind him, and we crowd into the warm interior, the counter bristling with punters. ‘There,’ I say promptly, spotting a table that’s just been vacated, and steer him over to it. ‘Shall I buy this time?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Not a chance. What would you like?’
I give in, and he brings our drinks over a few minutes later. It’s a good feeling, being out with someone on a date, but I’m unsure how far I want this new relationship to go. Not least because he knew David so well. That complicates things. It’s not a completely new slate, that’s the thing; I keep being reminded of times when we went out as a threesome, or in a group, while David and I were together and Logan was just a friend. Perhaps I’m being oversensitive. But the feeling of awkwardness is still real.
‘So, what did you think of the film?’ Logan asks as he squeezes next to me in the cramped space and leans forward, taking a quick sip of his pint.
Our thighs press together, and I’m very aware of him physically, which increases my unease. I find him sexually attractive; there’s no doubt about it. But it’s too soon for that. Way too soon.
‘Well, it was very… French.’
He laughs.
We discuss the film for a few minutes, then I decide to check on Mum and pick up my phone. He watches me without comment, though he must think me overprotective. She’s my mother, after all; not my child.
I text Ruby.
How’s it going? Any problems?
Her response is surprisingly quick – and reassuring.
Just fine. Celeste is having a shower, then getting an early night. You enjoy yourself.
Logan smiles when I read out the text message to him. ‘See? Nothing to worry about.’
‘You think I’m a snowflake.’
‘Not at all. I think you’re charming.’ It’s noisy in the packed pub, but his voice is deep and warm in my ear as he bends towards me, adding, ‘I wish I had someone to look after me the way you look after your mother.’
I turn my head to look at him and have a sudden impulse to kiss him. Luckily, common sense kicks in, and I give a wry smile instead, picking up my pink gin and tonic.
‘It’s a full-time job, to be sure.’ I pause. ‘Actually, I’m not sure how much energy I have left over for… for a relationship.’
He’s silent for a moment. Then nods.
‘Of course. Your mother’s welfare has to come first at the moment. That’s perfectly understandable. But I’d sti
ll like to give this a try, Kate. Whatever this is. And tell me to get lost, but I suspect you’d like to give it a try too.’ He’s watching my face closely. ‘Otherwise, why agree to a second date?’
Why indeed?
‘Maybe I needed a break. I’ve been having a difficult time lately,’ I say carefully, looking away from him. ‘Not just with Mum, but at work too.’
‘Yes, you said. Though I’d hardly call being handed such an important author something to be worried about.’
I’d texted him soon after my lunch meeting with Mark, not just to check when we were meeting up tonight but to tell him about Calum Morgan, whose self-help books I was sure he would have heard of, at least. Which he had, sending back a suitably impressed message within minutes.
I worry Logan might think I was boasting, telling him about Calum Morgan like that. And maybe I am. Which is a sobering thought.
‘It’s not just that.’
Logan raises his eyebrows. ‘What, then?’
Haltingly, I explain about the poison pen letter I received, and his face soon changes.
‘Show me,’ he says without hesitation, pushing aside his pint, and holds out a hand.
Embarrassed, but eager to get a second opinion, I take the envelope out of my bag and let him look at it.
‘Good God.’ Logan studies the printed sheet, his brows knitted together. ‘This is appalling. And a disgrace to David’s memory. Did you show this to anyone at work?’ When I say no, he stares at me. ‘Why ever not?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. Maybe because I didn’t want anyone else to know about it?’
‘I don’t understand.’ He reads the note again. ‘This sounds like a threat. You should have reported it at once.’
I shrug, feeling heat bloom in my cheeks, and not just because of the large gin I’m sipping.
‘Making it public would have felt too intrusive. Especially with David’s name attached. The way he died… I prefer people not to know my private business.’
‘All the same, you should take this letter to the police,’ he says decisively, and hands it back to me.
I put the horrible letter away. ‘What good would that do?’
‘It’s clear that someone has it in for you at work. A secret enemy of some kind. You want my advice?’
‘Please.’
‘Let the police deal with it. You need to flush this person out. Straightaway. If you don’t, you risk an escalation.’
‘Meaning?’
‘They may feel emboldened to send another letter like that. More poison intended to upset you.’ Logan sounds sombre. ‘Or worse.’
I meet his serious gaze, wishing I’d never shown him that stupid bloody letter. Now I feel under pressure to do something about it. And I’d rather just forget about the whole thing.
‘Worse?’
‘That’s just a letter. Maybe they’re testing the waters. Seeing how you’ll react. If you stay quiet, they may take their campaign to the next level. So, something more shocking.’ Logan shrugs. ‘Become physical, perhaps.’
‘You think I’m in real danger? Because of a nasty letter?’
‘I don’t know anything. And that’s what worries me. It should worry you too.’ He downs the last of his pint in one long swallow. ‘Take it to the police. You’ll feel better when you have.’
Would I, though?
I don’t voice my uncertainty, merely nod and smile. But already I’m imagining a long, pointless wait at the police station, or filling out one of those onerous online forms, and for what? To be told what I already know, which is it’s insignificant and there’s nothing they can do about it. And to have some police officer look at me with pity or even suspicion. Perhaps I was to blame for David’s death, after all. Because I didn’t foresee it or do anything much to prevent it, did I?
Stone-cold bitch.
I wonder what Logan made of that, and whether he believed it or secretly agreed with it. A thought that’s unworthy of me, perhaps. But I can’t help worrying…
I could never tell what David was thinking. But his suicide note made it obvious he blamed me for his depression.
And maybe Logan does too.
*
Three days later, with no further update from the absent Giorgios, I ask Ruby to move in with us. The spare room – the one that used to belong to my brother – is cleaned out by a reluctant and clearly brooding Irina, and the bed made up, and Ciaran’s dusty stuff put into cardboard boxes and stored in the attic.
My brother had dabbled in oil painting in his spare time, privately indulging an artistic streak Dad had advised him to suppress at school because it wouldn’t pay the bills. There are numerous canvases stacked against the desk in his room, and his favourites are framed and already hanging on the walls. I dust these off and redistribute them about the house.
There’s a wonderful family portrait he painted a few months before his death, capturing us together on the lawn under the large sycamore. Dad has his arm around Mum, standing proud and smiling in a characteristically wide-legged stance, while Ciaran and I, on either side of our parents, grin at each other rather than looking outwards. And at my side is David, his hand on my shoulder, his head turned away slightly as though looking at something beyond the picture frame…
I hang this oil painting in Mum’s room, opposite her bed, and she seems both pleased and disturbed by our likenesses, her gaze frequently moving back to the scene in wonder.
‘Who did that painting?’ Mum asks more than once.
‘Ciaran,’ I tell her repeatedly.
‘And is… is that your father?’ She points to my dad at the centre of our group, frowning. ‘I think it might be.’
‘It’s all of us together, Mum. See? This is me, and that’s David…’ Slowly, I name each of us in the painting, one by one, and see her confused stare move away, as though rejecting what I’m saying. But I persevere. ‘He really captured Dad there, I agree. It’s a brilliant self-portrait too, of course. Ciaran was an impressive artist. And with no real training either. I sometimes wonder if he shouldn’t have gone to art school instead of taking that business degree. He had so much raw talent.’ I shrug. ‘But he always took Dad’s advice. And I suppose it felt like the right thing at the time, steering him towards a private sector career instead of art.’
She says nothing, and I worry that she’s forgotten who Ciaran is. It hurts to see her so blank-faced, and I long for one of her better days to roll around, when Mum remembers all our names and history and things feel almost back to normal.
Clearing out my brother’s room ought to have been done long ago; it’s been years since Dad and Ciaran died. I put it off for a good reason, though. It makes my heart ache horribly, sorting through his old sketchbooks and artwork, skim-reading his letters and private journals with a vague sense of guilt, and then bundling up the best of his shoes and clothes to go to various charity outlets.
But at least once it’s done, I feel better. Lighter, almost. As though a terrible weight has been lifted…
Ruby brings her own boxes and stores them in the garage, which I rarely use. She exclaims in pleasure at her room, and thanks both me and Irina profusely for having prepared it for her so quickly.
‘I won’t get underfoot,’ she insists, tweaking the curtain to gaze out across the leaf-strewn back lawn, ‘so please don’t worry.’ A recent storm has denuded the trees and I haven’t got around to going out with the leaf-blower yet, to disperse the scattered wet yellow and red detritus building up across the garden and drive. ‘I’ll keep to my room unless you need me to look after your mum.’
‘Oh no,’ I stammer, embarrassed by this suggestion, glancing about the sparse bedroom, ‘you mustn’t… You live here now. I can’t expect you to stay in your room when you’re not working. That wouldn’t be fair.’ I hesitate. ‘You should consider the house as your own… Use the kitchen, watch telly, walk in the garden.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Ruby says, and I can see tears in her eyes.
‘You’re so sweet.’
‘No, I’m very grateful to you. My mother is too, trust me. Having you here will make a world of difference to us both.’
I leave her to settle in, and head downstairs to check on my mother, whom I left napping on the sofa under a blanket.
Irina is quietly tidying the room but straightens at once when I come in, shooting me an irate look. ‘Miss Kinley,’ she begins, but I warn her with a shake of my head not to wake my mother and we talk out in the hall instead.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask softly.
‘Ruby, that’s the matter.’
I stare, perplexed by her venomous tone. ‘But she’s only just moved in. What’s she done to upset you?’
‘That thing with your mother… When she burnt herself.’ Her voice has risen slightly, and she’s flushed. ‘That wasn’t my fault.’
‘Nobody said it was.’
‘But Ruby told you I left before she arrived, and that’s why it happened.’
I’m surprised. ‘You mean you didn’t?’
Her flush deepens. ‘I did leave, okay. But only because Ruby rang to say she was five minutes away. Otherwise, I would never have left your mother alone.’
‘And you think she took longer to arrive than five minutes?’
Irina bites her lip deeply. ‘How do I know? I wasn’t here. But your mother, she burnt herself. She nearly set fire to the kitchen. How could she do that in five minutes? Five minutes!’ She shakes her head, looking scornful. ‘I don’t believe it. Do you?’
I don’t know what to believe. Though I do recall her being very anxious to leave. Maybe this is her guilty conscience speaking, knowing she left my mother alone and wanting to shift the blame for what happened onto Ruby, the newcomer. But I soothe her with a few conciliatory words, and then head into the kitchen to start making Mum’s lunch.
‘Oh, Miss Kinley?’ Irina calls me back; she draws an envelope out of her blue overalls and hands it over. ‘This arrived for you a short while ago.’
‘So late?’ The post usually arrives around breakfast time, and it’s nearer midday.
