Redemption Song

by Wilkinson, Laura

  ‘Did you know, when you met Dad, that he was … the one?’ Saffron said, gazing intently at her mother. It was one of ‘those’ Saffron stares; a look that unsettled Rain in its intensity.

  She laughed, a short, snappy kind of laugh, more a harrumph than a laugh. Where was this question leading? For she knew it was leading somewhere. Saffron didn’t do idle chatter. Not often. ‘Like love at first sight?’ Rain said.

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I think so. It was a funny time for me. I’d not long been reborn, less than a couple of years. I was totally, truly, madly, deeply in love with Jesus.’ She checked herself. ‘I still am. But it was the honeymoon period. Your dad chased me. More than I did him, at least.’ She wished she hadn’t demolished that croissant so quickly, she felt a little nauseous all of a sudden.

  ‘But how did it feel?’ Saffron stressed the ‘feel’.

  Rain laughed again. What was the matter with her? ‘The usual. Butterflies in the stomach, weak knees. All those awful clichés. Though love seemed to increase my appetite rather than diminish it, more’s the pity!’

  ‘Quit with the fat thing, Mum. You’re not. Though you might consider your cholesterol levels occasionally. Is it OK to talk about this?’

  The queasiness increased. ‘Yes, yes. Happy memories. Happy.’ Rain lifted her mug to her mouth only to find it empty. ‘But you know how it feels.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do. Did.’

  Rain looked at Saffron, waiting for more.

  Saffron paused. ‘Ignore me.’

  What does she mean?

  Rain remained silent.

  Saffron picked up her croissant and took a large bite.

  Conversation over then, thought Rain, relieved.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The key wouldn’t open the door to the church hall. Rain couldn’t understand it. Only days ago it was fine. She kicked and heaved against it to no avail; the door wouldn’t budge. She checked her watch. There were twenty minutes before the prayer meeting was due to begin. She had to drag the chairs from the store cupboard herself – the members were far too decrepit to help – and turn on the recently fixed heating to take the chill off the air. She didn’t want any of them to die of hypothermia. Congregation members were in short enough supply as it was without her inadvertently bumping some of them off. In one final, desperate attempt she launched herself, shoulder first, at the door. It always worked for the police in crime dramas. The door remained steadfast. Furious, she stomped to the chapel. JJ would be able to help, she felt sure.

  But there was no reply when she hollered his name into the rafters. All of the slates had been removed and what looked like a thin tarpaulin covered the skeleton of the roof. Surely, he must hear her through that? She cupped her hands around her mouth and called again.

  ‘He’s not here. Gone to the wood merchants. Is there anything I can help you with, Reverend?’ It was Eifion, all smiles, and she noticed that his teeth were straight and white. Quite a contrast with his swarthy complexion, gained after years of working outdoors in all weathers she presumed. ‘I hope so! I’ve a prayer meeting in less than ten minutes and I can’t get into the hall. The blasted door’s stuck.’

  ‘It’ll be all the damp weather. Wood swells.’

  ‘But it opened the other day. I don’t understand it,’ she said, exasperated, clapping her hands together.

  Eifion turned towards the exit and said, ‘Right then. Let’s be having it.’ He marched off with Rain in tow.

  The prayer meeting members waited on the path while Eifion removed the entire lock mechanism. Rain had suggested they wait in the chapel, or the manse kitchen, though there weren’t enough chairs for them all to sit, but they had ignored her pleas, content to watch the drama of the jammed door unfold. Their lives must be very dull indeed, she thought. She tipped her eyes to the sky and mouthed, ‘Sorry. Bad morning.’

  Eifion pushed open the door, lock barrel in hand, and the group applauded and traipsed in. ‘Thank you so much,’ Rain said. ‘Without you, we’d have had to cancel the meeting and that would have been an absolute calamity for some of us.’ She nodded towards Mary Campbell. Mary had no one, nothing, in her life bar the church.

  Eifion smiled and she noticed that he did so with his eyes as well as his mouth. What a good, kind man he was. He pointed at the gaping hole in the door and said that he would ask JJ to pick up another barrel while he was out. ‘I’ll fit it as soon as I have it, so no need to fret about all sorts getting in.’

  ‘I wonder what broke it?’

  ‘Probably you, thumping the door and rattling the key. It’s bent, you know.’ He held the key aloft. ‘Don’t know your own strength.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not strong, far from it,’ she said, making her way through, conscious her members would be waiting in the cold, still standing.

  ‘You’re stronger than you think.’

  ‘Hey, man, how you doing?’ There was lots about Simon Joe liked – really, really liked – but he didn’t like the Americanised lingo and accent Simon affected whenever he was on the phone. He didn’t speak like that in person, in court, or anywhere else, as far as Joe could tell. Simon was a Home Counties boy, Hertfordshire, and mostly he spoke as you would expect.

  ‘OK. You?’

  ‘Cool. Look, I’m calling because I figured you’d wanna know Allegra is looking for you. I mean, seriously looking for you. She’s out and she’s hired a private dick and all.’

  ‘Seriously? No way.’ Joe stopped dead and another pedestrian almost collided with him.

  ‘Yup. She asked me outright if I could recommend anyone, given my line of work.’

  ‘Jesus. She got parole?’

  ‘Yeah, good behaviour.’

  Joe remembered the strange car in the lane weeks ago, the man who’d been asking questions at the school building site and wondered if the PI had made progress. ‘When’d she hire one? Why?’

  ‘Seems to think she’s got the power to lure you back. Crazy chick. She said she’d tried one guy, recommended by Freddy, but he was kinda useless.’ Simon wheezed and paused to drag on a cigarette. A roll-up was almost permanently attached to his fingers, which were stained a dark brown as a result. So she was in touch with Freddy. That would please him, no doubt. But this could work for Joe, this delusion, this arrogance. Could he get to them both in one fell swoop?

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. Keep me in the loop, yeah?’ Joe replied, hoping the next man Allegra hired would draw a blank as the first clearly had.

  ‘Sure thing, bro.’

  ‘Simon, I like you, but I am not your bro. OK?’

  ‘Sure. Sorry.’

  Joe hung up and looked around the high street. Lower Coed Mawr was almost deserted, no sign of anyone, let alone suspicious looking strangers. And perhaps this new guy wouldn’t come up this way regardless. After all, Joe had left no trace. Still, he’d have to be careful. No more popping down here for lunch. And he needed to think; he still didn’t have a plan. There were lots of fantasies, but nothing he could actually execute. Allegra’s career was over; there was no scope for professional ignominy, not short-term, and she didn’t have a boyfriend.

  Her father. He’s a shit, a duplicitous, amoral wanker.

  Allegra was a daddy’s girl. Perhaps that was Joe’s route in – disgrace by association, with the added benefit of an emotional blow. The sound of a car backfiring made him jump. Thinking about Allegra and PIs made him nervous. He caught sight of the entrance to the shopping arcade in his peripheral vision.

  Has Saffron started work yet? Get a grip. Grab a sandwich, get out of here.

  He stepped towards the bakery on the corner of the arcade, kidding himself he was tempted by the smell of hot sausage rolls.

  He was making his way back to the van when he saw Saffron. She was some distance away, but moving down the sweep of the main street. Her lope was unmistakable. He slowed his pace, lingering outside shops, peering in without seeing the wares on offer, more interested in what th
e reflection might reveal. She neared. He stared into a ramshackle charity shop.

  ‘Hi. Fancy seeing you here,’ he said, casually.

  ‘Fancy.’

  ‘You’re early for work. Grabbing lunch first?’

  ‘Er, no.’ She stuffed her hands into the deep pockets of her duffel coat. It was warm for the time of year and he thought she must be hot. Her cheeks were flushed pink.

  ‘Looking for something?’ he said.

  She furrowed her brow.

  ‘Shopping,’ he explained.

  ‘I’m not much of a shopper. I was heading for the beach.’ She looked past him and shrugged. ‘Join me if you like.’

  He almost dropped the paper bag he held in one hand. It contained a sandwich and a sausage roll. ‘Got your eyes on my Coke, eh?’ He lifted the condensation-drenched can in the other hand. She smiled and his heart soared.

  On the beach they walked westwards, kicking pebbles and lumps of mangled seaweed as they went. ‘I love being so close to the sea,’ she said after a period without conversation. He liked that about her; she was comfortable with silence. ‘It’s liberating. I feel free, even though I know I’m not. I’m as trapped as the next person. But when I look at the skyline,’ she pointed to the wispy clouds beyond, ‘there’s a sense of how big the world is, how infinite, how explorable.’ She laughed at herself and he liked that about her too. The gentle breeze whipped her hair off her face, revealing her profile. Hers was a strong nose, long and straight. Noble. No upturned button nose like those on dolls or cartoon women.

  ‘Why do you dye your hair?’ he asked, focusing on the shingle.

  She stopped, compelling him to do the same. ‘You’ve asked before.’

  ‘You didn’t answer.’

  ‘I fancied a change. Don’t you like it?’

  He didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. ‘So when did you dye it?’ he asked instead.

  ‘Before we came here.’ She carried on walking.

  ‘A new you?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I’d like to see your natural colour.’ Had he overstepped the mark? It was personal and almost flirtatious, and he’d said he wasn’t going to go there. But he’d seen her face from the upstairs window of the manse, the way she’d looked at him. He’d felt her before he saw her. He’d almost fallen backwards from the force of her scrutiny and he’d sat down on the ridge so that he could be within her gaze for longer. God knows, he hated being on that roof for any longer than he needed to be, but he’d forced himself. Because of her. He’d not imagined that look, had he?

  She stopped again and turned to face him. ‘I can’t go back to being the person I was before.’

  He didn’t know what to say. He knew exactly what she meant but he couldn’t tell her that. It might lead to questions. Questions he wasn’t sure he was ready to answer. Not yet. Maybe not ever. ‘Are you hungry?’ he said, holding up the bag. Grease had seeped through the paper, creating shiny, transparent patches.

  ‘Doesn’t exactly look appetising,’ she said, screwing up her nose and looking considerably less noble than earlier. More cute and sexy and approachable.

  ‘There’s a sandwich too. Brown bread. Cheese and piccalilli.’

  ‘The yellow stuff? Yuck.’

  ‘Ever tried it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Then you must. It’s surprisingly good, despite the radioactive shade.’ He moved to the promenade wall, crouched, and placed the bag on the shingle. He smoothed pebbles and marine debris with his palms, creating a flat area on which they could sit. The exposed sand was ever so slightly damp.

  ‘I’m really not all that hungry.’

  ‘But it’s lunchtime and you’re thin. That part of the new you, too?’ He parked himself on the spot.

  ‘You’re very personal, aren’t you?’ She stood above him, staring down at him, through him, and he began to regret starting this conversation. He went to reply but before he could apologise, she bent, took hold of the bakery bag and sat down. From her pocket she pulled out an anti-bacterial handwash and doused her hands. She offered him the bottle of gel. ‘Old habits. Always carried these on the ward,’ she shrugged. She handed him the sausage roll and picked open the plastic sandwich container, pulled out half and took a large bite. She didn’t take her eyes from his as she began to chew.

  It was clearly an effort and as she swallowed, he said, ‘Not your favourite? Something to take the taste away?’ He pulled the ring off the can, the hiss of escaping gas incongruent against the sound of the lapping waves, gulls, and the breeze gusting round his ears.

  She took a large swig and shuddered as she swallowed. ‘I’m not keen on fizzy drinks either.’

  ‘What do you like? Apart from cheap wine and the occasional cigarette?’

  ‘Neither of those things really. I don’t know. I liked blackcurrant cordial as a child and snakebites as a student. And I used to love shepherd’s pie and roast chicken.’

  ‘I’d have had you down as a veggie.’

  ‘What about you? I’ve told you all about me and I know almost nothing about you.’

  It was bound to come to this. He could hardly have expected her not to ask questions. He wasn’t prepared to lie. Not to her.

  ‘I like meat, video games, history, bats, and art. Sculpture, mostly.’ He pushed himself upright and took a drink from the can. ‘Sand’s wet.’ She noticed he didn’t wipe the rim as Ben would have done.

  ‘Most blokes I know like video games. Let me guess, Call of Duty, Grand Theft Auto. Bats? That’s weird.’

  He laughed.

  ‘History. That’s interesting. Any particular period? And sculpture. Favourite artists?’ She’d found history quite dull at school, though she’d got an A* like the other nine subjects she’d studied at GCSE. History was too much like a story for her liking and so it reminded her of the Biblical fables she heard over and over as a child. She’d been hopeless at art, though she’d enjoyed visiting exhibitions.

  He brushed sand from the seat of his jeans. ‘You know lots of blokes then? You must have done at medical school.’

  ‘Actually, more women study medicine right now and don’t change the subject. Which period?’ She clambered up. It was obvious he wasn’t going to sit down again and she supposed she should think about making a move. Wynne’s called.

  ‘The usual. The wars and all that.’

  She raised her eyebrows in mock disapproval, though she was a touch disappointed. How predictable.

  ‘But I’ve a new book on the Celts. Boudicca and all that. Looks great.’

  Had he sensed her disappointment? He wanted to please, she thought. She hoped. ‘You like strong women?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He extended the vowels as if unsure where she was leading him. ‘Though not axe-wielding, murderous types.’

  She laughed but inside a little part of her shrivelled. She wasn’t strong, she was anything but.

  ‘Look, this is fascinating, but I have to get back to work,’ he said.

  Why did he do this? Withdraw just when she thought they were getting somewhere? Perhaps he didn’t like her. Perhaps he was being nice because he had to be, because he was working for her mother. But she’d seen the look he gave her from the roof. Had she really got it so wrong? ‘Yup. Me too, I guess.’

  As they returned to the high street, Joe asked if she’d spoken to her mum about Ben. Ashamed at her cowardice, she fudged her reply, and said that she’d not really had any time alone with Rain. ‘Our house has a constant stream of visitors and she’s out a lot.’ She was about to expand on this when a familiar voice cut through her excuses.

  ‘Hiya!’

  Ceri waved from across the road and yelled, ‘How you doing? Nice to see you, it’s been ages.’ She leaped into the road, stopping the traffic with an aggressive wave of her arm, as if it were the drivers who were in the wrong rather than her.

  ‘I love the way she pronounces “you”. Eifion, the labourer, does the sam
e,’ Joe said, waving back at Ceri.

  ‘Me too,’ Saffron whispered.

  ‘Fancy seeing you here. You not hot in that coat, Saff? Flippin’ boiling it is, today.’ She fanned herself and Saffron wondered how Ceri fared in the summer when she assumed it genuinely did get warm. March wasn’t even out and it snowed in April, occasionally, according to the locals. Barely stopping for breath, Ceri continued. ‘I am SO glad I bumped into you. I’ve got a job – I know – incredible, isn’t it? Looking after a couple of brats three days a week.’

  Saffron wondered what kind of a parent might leave Ceri in charge of their children, lovely though she was.

  ‘I know, I couldn’t believe it. Offered it to me straight away. References and CRB check dependent, of course. I did a trial – took ’em down to the play park, whizzed ’em round on that wheel thing, pushed ’em on the swings, played tag, bought ’em an ice lolly. Bloody knackered I was but they liked me!’

  Joe was laughing. ‘I bet they did,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t take any shit from ’em either.’ She beamed at Joe. ‘Anyway, what I’m trying to say is let’s go out for a celebration drink. All of us? My treat. Tonight.’

  Saffron paused, wondering if Joe would agree.

  ‘I’m not sure. You two probably want to catch up? Girl talk and that?’

  ‘Bollocks. We’re not girly girls. Nice to have a man about.’

  Saffron glanced at Joe. She didn’t want to share him, but if it was the only way to see him again … And she wanted to see Ceri, very much.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said.

  Ceri beamed. ‘Great. Eight o’clock. Y Castell. Be there.’ And off she skipped.

  ‘OK. I have to run,’ he said. ‘Have this. You might get hungry later.’ He passed Saffron the bakery bag.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘See you later then.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He smiled and walked away.

  She drifted towards the shop wondering why he wouldn’t commit. She threw the bag in the bin by the entrance, flattened her windswept hair, and prepared for Mrs Evans.