Joe watched the man staggering down his path, the dog like a wet blanket in his arms. He kept one eye on the house next to the chapel; the house that was actually next to the chapel; the man’s was next door but one. Joe rolled the Land Rover forward a little. He watched the pathway; clumps of snow flew through the air. He wound down the window. The sound of scraping, metal on concrete assaulted his ears. As he looked the top half of a figure emerged from behind the white mound. An unmistakable figure, regardless of the hood: Saffron. How kind of her to clear the neighbour’s drive; it wasn’t as if he was infirm, he looked pretty fit.
Without thinking Joe turned off the engine and jumped out. She was so thin, like the bare branches of the birch in the cottage garden. Clearing snow was back-breaking work. He ploughed over, but to his astonishment she didn’t seem relieved at his offer of help. Instead she said, ‘We might be stuck for days. It’s not unusual for this dump to get cut off, or so the locals claim. Mum’s been fretting about you. Worried you might try and get the car.’
‘I was heading to the main road. Figure the ploughs and gritters will have made it safe.’
‘It’ll be days before they get here. The council didn’t order enough salt; cutbacks and that.’ She pushed back her hood to reveal her face, framed in a woollen bobble hat, locks of dark hair falling down the front of the duffel coat, twirling round the wooden toggles. She looked beautiful. A thought shimmied across his mind: wouldn’t mind getting trapped with you.
‘You always so angry?’
She glared at him.
What’s come over you, Joe? Your good sense frozen? Thought you were going to keep your distance. Shut up.
He waited for the bollocking, but it never came. To his astonishment, she dropped her gaze to the ground and bit her lip.
‘Sorry. I’m not angry with you. Why don’t you come in and have a drink. Listen to the news. See what they say about the roads. I don’t think it’s safe and you might be able to talk some sense into Mum.’ She waved her arm in a circular motion. ‘Rain. She’s determined to go to work, but there’s no point.’
‘Radio’s working in my car today. I really must be off.’
‘No one’ll be working.’
Despite the robust heating in the Land Rover, he could no longer feel his toes or finger tips. A mug of coffee or tea would be most welcome. He hesitated, searching for another excuse, and then she smiled at him, and it felt so good he found himself nodding.
‘I don’t bite, despite appearances,’ she said, still smiling. ‘And Mum will be so pleased to see you again.’
That’s what I’m worried about. I cannot get involved with her, the chapel, you. No one. I should never have agreed to come in.
He watched Saffron walking away, shoulders hunched; the tall girl’s affliction.
Too late to refuse now.
He was stamping the snow off his boots when he heard Rain’s voice drifting down the hall. The door swung open. ‘JJ! You have an uncanny knack of turning up at just the right moment!’ She continued to talk, something about the car, clearing round the chapel, though he couldn’t be sure because he wasn’t listening. Rain stood before him in a cassock and a dog collar, the gold cross luminous against the dark fabric. She pulled on a pair of neon pink Hunter wellington boots. Saffron was indeed a minister’s daughter, but it was her mother who was the minister, not her father. Joe hoped he concealed his surprise.
She gestured at her gown. ‘Special occasion. You won’t often see me in these. Go through. I need to have a word with our neighbour.’ And out Rain went.
Chapter Four
Saffron was standing at the sink, holding the kettle, when Joe walked into the kitchen.
‘Coffee?’ she said, turning to face him.
She saw him clock the cafetière on the counter and without really understanding how, she knew he was an instant coffee man. He hesitated. Taking a jar from the cupboard to her right, she added, ‘I hate the real stuff too. Makes me gag. Rain loves it, but then she grew up with a couple of hippies. Everything real and natural and all that.’
A broad smile broke over his rugged features, soft crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. His teeth shone white against his skin.
‘Instant’s great. Can’t be doing with the faff of real.’
Had she misjudged his taste? ‘It’s no bother,’ she said.
‘I hate real coffee,’ he shrugged.
‘Take a seat.’ She pointed to the table.
Judging by his accent and the way he spoke, he was pretty posh, but he worked as a carpenter and liked instant coffee. It didn’t fit somehow. She focused on making the drinks, afraid that her thawing towards him was obvious. Yes, he was a good-looking bloke: tall, nice build, interesting face, but she was meant to stay away from men a while longer if she wasn’t to look like a heartless cow.
He looks younger this morning, fresher. Clean-shaven, and bright-eyed. He’d been working yesterday, he was probably tired. That might explain the roughness.
Fresher than she’d thought last night or not, he’d definitely had a shock. She saw it in his eyes as soon as he walked into the room. Rain, the minister. It got most people. Ever since she was tiny, if she had to reveal that she was a minister’s daughter – and she avoided this as much as was humanly possible – people assumed she meant her father. Wrong. Dad was an architect. Had been an architect. The familiar choking sensation at the back of her throat rose, her hands shook and granules of coffee fell from the teaspoon and scattered onto the counter top.
Not here. Not now. Please.
Joe saw her hands trembling. He’d been studying them to stop himself staring at her face – her lovely face – and the gentle curve of her body, clear through the thin black jumper she wore today.
A minister’s daughter.
Joe’s head swam. Was this a turn-on or a turn-off? Was she as pure as this suggested? Or was he being ridiculous? Minister’s daughters were probably no different to any other young woman. Same desires, same needs. He’d never encountered one before, that was all, but when he saw the shaking hand, the smooth white skin, he sensed her vulnerability again, felt the tug, and he knew he must stay away from her.
But he couldn’t leave. She was making him a drink; he’d promised to rescue her mother’s car, and it looked highly unlikely that he was going to be able to do it today thanks to the snow. It was impossible.
He hadn’t meant to look up at her face, but he did, and when he saw a tear rolling down her cheek, he grabbed the box of tissues from the table and lunged over, handing her a tissue without saying a word.
After she’d dabbed at her eyes, he didn’t know what to do. Stand there like an idiot, watching, intrusive and cloying, or return to his seat and appear like an insensitive bastard? He shrugged and offered the tissues again. She shook her head and mumbled, ‘Thank you,’ and then looked right at him.
Before his gaze, more tears pooled, spilling over lashes thick with mascara. A brown-black droplet streaked down her face. He wanted to reach over and wipe away the teardrop with the pad of his thumb. Instead, he lifted the box of tissues yet again, but he lost purchase and it dropped to the floor. Simultaneously, they crouched to retrieve it, hands outstretched. Their fingers touched and their eyes met. He felt light-headed.
Saffron snatched back her arm as if she’d received an electric shock. She stood up, pulling down the stretchy fabric of her skirt. Joe grabbed the box, stood, coughed, and, unsure what else to do, offered another tissue.
‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, reaching towards a cupboard. ‘Fine.’
‘I always cry when I’m fine too.’
She laughed then. Not a belly laugh, but a laugh all the same. Covering her mouth and nose with the flat of her hand, she composed herself, and reached into the cupboard. She placed two mugs on the counter and sprinkled in coffee, straight from the jar. ‘Sugar?’ She held up a bowl.
‘Please.’
‘One or two?’
‘What? Shakes or teaspo
ons?’
‘I was thinking about my dad. He died, in an accident.’
‘That’s harsh.’ It explained her anger. It was one of the stages of grief. He remembered it well. He stepped forward and went to touch her. ‘I know what you’re …’ She stared at him, blue eyes red with rage. He froze, hand hovering in the air a few centimetres above her shoulder.
‘With my boyfriend. Fiancé. My fiancé was in the same car.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Why? You didn’t know them. People say the stupidest things. I don’t understand why they don’t just keep their mouths shut. People die every minute, every second, of every day. Big deal.’ She slammed the mug onto the table. Coffee slopped over the rim.
‘You’re right. Stupid. It’s because people don’t know what else to say. I didn’t know what else to say.’ He took a sip of coffee, though it was far too hot. He felt a blister forming on the inside of his mouth. She stared at him, unapologetic. ‘Mind you, if you’re going to be a doctor you might consider working on your bedside manner. That kind of pragmatism might upset some relatives.’
She burst out laughing and he wanted to take in every new detail of her face when it was flushed with happiness, but Rain breezed into the room and Saffron turned back to the kettle. She offered her mum a drink, her tone lighter.
‘No thanks, darling. I need to visit Mrs Davies over at Bryn Coch, before the infant dedication. She’s got no one.’ Rain grinned expectantly at Joe and he had a nasty feeling he knew what she’d meant earlier by his turning up at the right time.
‘Left at the next junction, please. This snow is crazy, isn’t it?’
Rain had cornered JJ into driving her to the farm and she felt bad about it, but not bad enough to let him off the hook when he’d offered up a flimsy excuse. Mrs Davies was expecting her, needed her. She was an old lady – ninety-seven, she’d told Rain.
‘Not as bad here as in town, just like you said,’ JJ muttered.
‘The weather systems round here are peculiar. Always have been. I grew up not too far from here,’ she explained.
‘You’d never know from your accent.’
‘Oh, I left more than twenty years ago. There wasn’t much here for young people back then.’
‘Is there now?’
She laughed. ‘It’s such a shame. It really is so very beautiful.’
He nodded. ‘I must try and get to work after this. How long did you say you’d be?’
She wondered why he stared straight ahead, resolute. The road was empty; they’d not seen another car on the three-mile journey.
He’s cross with me, though he’s trying not to show it, Rain thought. Why’s he so desperate to get to work? Most people relish the excuse for a day off.
‘Not long. I’ve got to get back for the dedication. Are you freelance?’
‘Sorry?’
‘As a carpenter. Are you self-employed?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Where do you work?’
JJ pointed. ‘Is that it? Massive place for an old dear all on her own.’
The Davies farm was big, though nothing had been farmed there for decades. ‘She still keeps chickens, but nothing else. She’ll always offer me a basket. Do you like an egg in the morning? You’re welcome to them. Saff barely eats and I worry about cholesterol.’ Rain felt it was the least she could do for his trouble. She felt bad for virtually forcing him to take her; she knew how well she administered guilt-trips.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ Rain said as she slammed the Landy door.
‘Will you have an Ovaltine, cariad?’ Mrs Davies said.
Rain shook her head. It was a strange drink to offer at this time of day; Stephen had been partial to the odd mug last thing at night, until his sleeping habits went all skew-whiff.
Rain remembered the first time she’d found him on the sofa. A heavy sleeper from childhood, she rarely woke. But that night it had been uncommonly hot and Rain woke shortly after four with a raging thirst. Half asleep, she’d staggered out of bed, unaware of the empty space next to her. She was on her way back upstairs when she’d heard the faint murmur of voices. The television was on in the front room. Stephen lay sprawled on his side along the sofa. The dawn light sneaked through a chink in the curtain illuminating his face. He looked innocent and young, and Rain had been filled with such longing she’d wanted to wake him and tell him how lucky she felt: the luckiest woman alive. She didn’t, naturally. Stephen needed his sleep and without a solid eight hours he was irritable and bear-headed. And while she didn’t know it at the time, that summer marked the beginning of months waking to find the other half of their bed cold and unused.
Yes, Ovaltine reminded her of Stephen.
‘Ever so kind of you, Mrs Davies, but I really mustn’t stay and you need to be careful with this milk. Make it last.’ Rain gestured to the carton, which sat on the table with the loaf she’d also brought. ‘If you need anything else, you must ask. They’re saying the snow will clear tomorrow, but who knows!’
‘Indeed. Always getting it wrong, here. It’s the mountains, you know,’ Mrs Davies said.
People had always blamed the mountain range. Rain wondered how a bunch of hills could foil the technologies of modern weather forecasting, but said nothing.
On the doorstep, Mrs Davies squinted into the sky. ‘There’s more snow in those clouds, you mark my words. Hope you’ve got that roof sorted out.’ The old woman peered at the Land Rover. ‘That your lift, then?’
Rain nodded. What else could it be? But Mrs Davies’s comment about the chapel roof gave her an idea. The roof was in a terrible state of repair and the last lot of workmen had done more harm than good, according to the company who’d tendered for the contract last month. If more snow did fall, the weight of it could bring the whole thing down. A sheet of heavy tarpaulin kept out most of the rain – a couple of buckets caught the excess – but snow was weighty, and a freeze could signal disaster. She must get back to the builders, get it all sorted, a more accurate price. It was stupid of her to ignore it, hoping the problem might disappear. It had seemed so expensive. It would near enough empty the church funds. A telephone call, that’s all it would take and work could begin. That’s what the builder had said. ‘Could get started immediately,’ he’d said. Church members had approved the quote. Rain said goodbye to Mrs Davies and made her way to the car.
‘It’s warmer in here than in Mrs Davies’s kitchen,’ she said, slamming the door and sliding along the seat till she sat next to JJ. ‘God knows how she doesn’t feel the cold. She looks like a little bird but I reckon she’s as tough as old boots.’
JJ laughed. ‘Born in the days before central heating. Right, belt on. I need to get going.’
He’s so cautious, won’t move till I’m strapped in. ‘To work?’ Rain asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Other side of the valley, across the border.’ He tipped his head at the seat belt again.
She clicked it in. ‘Cheshire?’
He nodded, revved the engine and rolled forward.
She coughed. ‘There’s a problem with the chapel roof,’ she said.
‘Oh yeah.’
‘The beams. They’re rotten.’
‘Oh yeah.’ The car tipped and rolled towards the main road from the farm.
‘I just wondered, with you being a carpenter, and being freelance …’
‘I’m not really freelance … I’m on a big job at the moment. A school. And they’re short of labour. Not really a job for one person.’
It was more information about his work than he’d offered when Rain had asked earlier, and she’d only been trying to make conversation, really. He didn’t want to do the roof, that much was obvious, and Rain wasn’t going to push it. Despite what JJ said about a labour shortage and the legacy of the last group of craftsmen, Rain knew there were plenty of carpenters desperate for a contract to repair the roof. Unemployment was rife in these parts. She wou
ld make that call as soon as she got home. What a contrary man he was. One minute all chummy and nice, the next distant to the point of almost being rude.
He fancies Saff, that’s it. Nice when she’s about, but when he’s stuck with her mother, different story. Ha. Welcome to middle age, Rain.
Her pride was hurt. Crazy. Stupid. And true. It wasn’t as if she was in the market, even. She was grieving.
Rain had always known this moment would come: the painful realisation she was no longer the most desirable. Youth trumped all. She had prepared for it years ago, when Saffron was approaching sixteen, her awkward beauty starting to bud at last. With her blonde curls and curves, Rain had demanded more male attention – Saffron’s male school friends flirted outrageously – and Saff was too much like her father to be considered conventionally pretty, but her appeal was there, for those who chose to really look. But sixteen-year-old boys see only the obvious, heads full of Mrs Robinson fantasies. Saff’s friends had often commented that Rain looked more like a sister than a mother, and at thirty-eight she had been much younger than most of the other mums.
It’s a wonder she didn’t hate me back then.
Saffron hadn’t seemed bothered. If anything she appeared to take pride in her sexy, young mum. She was so in love with Ben.
‘How things can change in eight years.’
‘Sorry?’ JJ said.
Rain jolted. ‘What?’
JJ looked confused. ‘What changes in eight years?’
Bugger. I’m at it again.
‘I said something?’ She stared at JJ’s profile as he navigated the icy road.
He turned to look at her and then back to the road, nodding.
She smiled. He must think me mad. ‘I do that sometimes. Talk my thoughts.’
He lifted his chin and she felt the need to explain. ‘It’s because of God.’
He raised his chin again.
Redemption Song Page 4
