Redemption Song

by Wilkinson, Laura

  The last guest wobbled down the path and through the gate. Rain sighed, the moment gone. It would take only minutes to clear up and a long evening stretched ahead. She fancied sitting in the manse garden with a glass of icy, fizzy wine, a nice Cava. But she didn’t know when Saffron would return – if she’d return for the night – and she couldn’t drink a whole bottle by herself. She tipped her head to the sky. Candyfloss pink striped the blue. It was magical.

  I will go for a walk. Why not?

  ‘Hello there.’

  Startled, she jumped. Eifion stood at the chapel gate. ‘I hope you don’t think me presumptuous, but I was wondering if you fancied a walk this evening? Lovely, isn’t it? I closed the hut early. Didn’t want to waste it. The evening, I mean. Ceri says it’s no wonder I’ve got money troubles. Never make a businessman, me.’

  ‘Small pleasures. They’re what make life, not money and possessions.’ She smiled. He looked good out of his overalls and ill-fitting jeans. He wore a pair of beige chinos and a short-sleeved, checked shirt. Rain found herself wondering what it would feel like to run her palm across the gentle curve of his belly, if he had a line of hair running from his navel, if his skin was smooth and soft to the touch.

  A cough interrupted her thoughts. ‘I’ll be off then,’ he said. ‘Hope you didn’t mind me asking.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  He turned to leave.

  ‘I’d love to come.’

  He swung back round, his face illuminated by an enormous grin, revealing those lovely teeth.

  ‘Too beautiful to waste, as you said,’ Rain continued. ‘Give me a minute to lock up and grab my handbag.’

  ‘Take as long as you wish. I’ll be here,’ he said.

  Though it was after seven when they reached the promenade, it was still busy. ‘I’d have to agree with Ceri, you’ll never be the next Alan Sugar. You could be raking it in,’ Rain said, pointing at the pier which thronged with people.

  ‘I’d rather be here with you,’ Eifion replied, turning to supposedly admire the skyline.

  Rain caught the blush on his cheeks. To cover his embarrassment, she ignored his comment and added, ‘All come to check out the gory remains of the ballroom, no doubt.’

  ‘They’ll be disappointed. It’s blocked off ages before the ballroom. The businesses further up the pier are rabid; they’re losing money, all closed off like that. And there’s no damage to their stalls. Safety issue, I suppose.’

  ‘And here’s you, shutting up shop of your own free will!’ she laughed and he joined in.

  ‘It’s a bit bonkers down here for me. I’m not keen on the crowds. Shall we climb the rise and look from up above?’

  ‘I’d like that very much.’

  If Eifion had offered his hand, Rain would have taken it. But he didn’t. Instead they weaved their way through the crowds separately, up towards the less well-known path to the top of the cliff. It was a steeper climb, but shorter and quieter, and as they were both good walkers they reached the summit in no time. Breathless and hot, Rain flopped on the grass and closed her eyes. Eifion sat beside her.

  ‘Bit exhausting, isn’t it? But worth it for the view.’

  ‘Definitely.’ She sat up to take it in.

  ‘It’s the thing I’d miss most if I had to leave, the view. The drama of it,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve lived here all your life?’

  ‘Yes. Makes me sound very unadventurous, doesn’t it? But I love it here. Don’t want to leave. And it’s not just the view; it’s the people, the town, the pier, even the chapel, which, as you know, I hardly frequent. I’m like an old oak, roots so deep it’d kill me to move.’

  Rain laughed. ‘We can find adventure everywhere. Moving can be a form of running away.’

  It was for me. But you can’t run away from yourself.

  ‘Have you found adventure here, in Coed Mawr?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so. I’ve found peace.’ She looked into his eyes and held them there for what felt like an age. He broke the hold first.

  ‘Are you hungry? It’s getting late. We could have dinner.’ He jumped to his feet.

  ‘I ate a huge lunch …’

  ‘Doesn’t have to be much. Pizza, or we could share a bag of chips and sit on the bench by the toy train at the bottom of the rise.’

  ‘Like teenagers?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘I like.’ She held out her outstretched hand and he pulled her up from the grass with ease. His grip was firm, not bone-crushing, and his fingertips were calloused and rough. His was a secure hold.

  They took the tourist train – the toy train as Eifion had called it – back down to town and bought a large fish and chips for one, and quibbled and laughed over how much vinegar to add. They agreed to go easy on the salt. Afterwards, they drifted through the windy streets, ‘to walk off all that fat,’ as Rain had put it. Outside Y Castell Eifion suggested a drink. Rain dithered. She wasn’t sure she should be seen in a local boozer, older parishioners might not approve, and anyway she wanted to suggest a glass of wine in the garden of the manse. Would that seem forward? She didn’t want to give Eifion the wrong impression. Whatever that was. She had no idea how to play this. She had met Stephen young; she’d been a faithful wife. And she wasn’t even sure what ‘this’ was, if anything. Her head began to spin.

  ‘I … I was wondering …’ she began, but she was interrupted by a yell.

  ‘Dad! Rain! Fucking hell, thank God, I’ve found you.’ Ceri came running up the street, though it was more of a fast waddle. Her stride was severely restricted by her tight little skirt. Rain pushed unkind thoughts about pelmet skirts and weightier women from her mind. Ceri was a darling, if foul-mouthed.

  Breathless, Ceri continued. ‘Have you seen Saff?’

  ‘She’s out – with JJ. Joe,’ said Rain.

  Ceri leant against the stone wall which surrounded the pub garden. ‘Oh Jesus, I’m knackered. Been everywhere. She’s not with Joe. That’s part of the problem.’

  Confused, Rain could only shake her head.

  ‘He’s with some posh cow in a red dress. Saw them together, I did, down by the beach earlier. Went to introduce myself, as you do, and she said she was Joe’s girlfriend. Except she didn’t call him Joe. Right snotty bitch, she was. Looking down her nose. I wanted to lamp her.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have solved anything, love,’ Eifion said.

  ‘What did Joe say?’ Rain heard the alarm in her voice. She’d always suspected something, hadn’t she?

  ‘He said it wasn’t how it seemed – which makes it look worse not better, if you ask me – and would I go and find Saff. Tell her he’ll explain everything after he’s spoken to Allegra.’

  ‘Allegra?’ Both Rain and Eifion chimed in unison.

  ‘I know. Bloody stupid name.’ Ceri spat, pulling a cigarette from a packet retrieved from the waistband of her skirt.

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t smoke, Ceri, love.’

  ‘It’s the name of a Greek goddess,’ Rain said, swatting a fly away.

  ‘And an old car,’ Eifion added.

  ‘So what’s happened?’ Rain said.

  ‘I have no idea. He was trying to shut the snotty mare up, but she was babbling on and on. He shouted again to find Saff and then he dragged her away. She was all over him like a rash. And if you ask me he’s hiding something. I can’t believe it, I can’t. I thought he was decent, like, but it seems like he’s been stringing Saff along.’

  ‘He is a decent bloke, I’m sure of it,’ Eifion said.

  Rain stepped in front of Ceri. ‘But you’ve not found Saff?’

  ‘No. Been everywhere I have.’

  ‘The manse?’

  Ceri nodded and blew out a smoke ring. Rain was irritated by Ceri’s apparent calm. Saffy would be so upset; beside herself. Smoke rings indeed.

  ‘Nearly knocked the door in, I did,’ Ceri said.

  Rain turned to Eifion. She didn’t need to say anything. He lifted his eyes and tipped his
head in the direction of the manse. ‘Another time. Go wait at home for Saffron; she’ll need her mam. We’ll keep looking round town, but I bet you she’s home. Call me.’ He gave her his number and she texted him hers immediately.

  Rain hurried to Upper Coed Mawr and the manse.

  The moment she pushed open the door, Rain knew Saff was home. The air carried a different scent when she was in; its mass was different too. Months ago the atmosphere in the house was heavy when Saff was about, of late it had been sweet and light. Now, it was oppressive again, as if a storm approached, though Rain had seen no such evidence in the evening sky. She glanced at the barometer. Stupid. It told her nothing.

  Without understanding how, Rain knew that Saff had been home when Ceri called. She’d have heard the door – from what Ceri said she couldn’t have missed it – but she’d have retreated into herself, like a tortoise. She’d done this since childhood, after every argument with Matthew or fall-out with her friends: tucked the soft part of herself away beneath a brittle exterior. As a child she’d sleep for hours and hours too – like hibernation.

  Rain pushed the front door behind her, careful not to make much noise. She slipped off her sandals and crept across the tiled floor to the foot of the stairs. She lifted an ear. There, the faint sound of crying. Her heart clenched; her breathing became shallow. Saffron was hurting and that meant Rain was hurting. She tiptoed up the stairs, the wood of the banister cool against her sweating palms.

  She knocked gently on the door before entering when she heard a muffled, ‘Yeah?’

  Saffron was sprawled on her bed, face down in a recovery position. Rain had no idea what to say. Running up the rise to the manse, all manner of thoughts had scooted through her head, good and evil. She’d ranged from ‘he’ll come to his senses’, to ‘you could be mistaken’, to ‘forget all about the bastard’, to ‘we’ll cut his balls off’.

  In the end, she sat at the bottom of the bed and stroked Saffy’s nearest foot, running her thumb up her Achilles’ heel, something Saff had found comforting, loved, from babyhood. Rain said nothing. She let her daughter weep, and watched her back, rise, fall, and shudder, until the sobbing finally abated. Saffron rolled onto her side and looked at Rain plaintively. She sat up and threw her arms about Rain, who stroked her beautiful, golden-red hair.

  ‘My angel,’ Rain said.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ said Saff and the crying took hold once more.

  Downstairs, Rain crashed and banged round the kitchen, furious. Saffron slept, exhausted. Unable to relax, to sit still even, Rain emptied the cupboards around the cooker. Why, they’d not been cleaned since they’d moved in and that was coming up to a year ago now. Out came the spice jars, bottles of oil, sauces, and gravy granules, leaving sticky rings on the white cupboard shelves. Rain scrubbed away, bleach fumes searing into her nostrils, burning into the flesh on her fingers. She’d not bothered with rubber gloves. Once the cupboards shone, she began to cook. Saff would be hungry when she woke. She must eat. Rain didn’t want a return to the rake-thin Saff of a few months earlier.

  She threw vegetables onto the chopping board and hacked away at them. She lobbed them into a pan and added stock from the fridge. She recalled a film she and Stephen had watched years ago, about a woman whose cooking contained her dominant emotion at the time of preparation. This would be hate and bewilderment stew. Could she even serve it up to Saff? She might not wake till morning anyway.

  Rain stirred. She took slow, deep breaths, filling her lungs from her diaphragm. How she disliked being right, this time. She had thought him slippery early on. But he was worse than that.

  A criminal and a cheat! Horrible.

  She checked herself. When he first came into her home, she’d liked him. Joe, Marcus, whatever his name was – who was to say he wasn’t lying to this Allegra woman? She harrumphed. Ceri was right; Allegra was a ridiculous name. But he was good-looking and well-spoken and utterly charming. Delighted to have young male company, she’d invited him in. For heaven’s sake, she’d asked him to coffee mornings, encouraged him to do the work on the chapel roof. It was all her fault. Men, they were all bastards, they really were. But this. This surpassed everything. She looked at the ceiling and said, ‘Sorry. Don’t really mean it. Not all men.’

  But this Joe might be. Saff said he’d gone to jail for this woman. What crime had he committed? It must have been serious to warrant a custodial sentence; prisons were jam-packed these days. Didn’t you have to kill someone to get sent down? The man they knew as Joe Jones had lied to Saff, to everyone. He had broken her daughter’s heart. He was a bastard.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said to the ceiling once more.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Joe watched Allegra’s orange VW beetle roaring down the dirt track from his cottage. Dust billowed in the air. He waited for it to settle, until tyre tracks were the only physical evidence that Allegra had dropped back into his life. If only the emotional and psychological fallout could settle as easily. Fat chance. He sighed and walked towards the Land Rover, heart increasingly heavy as the elation at getting rid of Allegra diffused.

  He’d played it all wrong. He should have told Allegra to fuck off on the pier, to hell with the scene, he should have fled, gone to find Saffron immediately, explained everything, and then he wouldn’t be in this mess. Why the hell hadn’t he considered that she might come down into town early, as soon as lunch was over? After all, it was a beautiful day. He’d known that Allegra had got to her the minute Saffron looked over the promenade railings, even before Allegra appeared beside her like a spectre.

  Joe had lied to Allegra when she’d turned up on the pier. He’d been caught off guard, but he wasn’t entirely surprised. After all, he knew she was looking for him. It was one reason why he’d hidden away and he’d dreaded it, mostly because, until recently, he’d not been sure how he would react to seeing her, if he was truly over her. He’d not felt guilty about lying; it’d felt good. He’d wanted to slap her, not kiss her, when she stood on tiptoes, stroked his cheek and threw him that nauseating, lizard-like grin she thought was seductive. She’d tasted foul and it was hard to disguise his repulsion, but he was well-trained in duplicity. ‘I’ve thought about you so much, Marcus, darling. I nearly died thinking you might never want to see me, that you wouldn’t forgive me. I had no contact address after you were released. I thought you were dead.’ She gasped, the corners of her eyes filled with tears, crocodile tears. She was an expert at crying; she would have made a good actress.

  He nodded, and she continued, ‘I can’t believe you’ve holed yourself up here. Must have been hell.’ She’d stroked his nose. ‘You know, I have considered that you might have been hiding from me …’

  ‘Just biding my time. I knew where you were. You’re out early.’

  ‘I was sooo good in there. All for you,’ Allegra said, in her baby voice. She had no idea how unsexy she sounded. He recalled the cuddly toys lined up on her bed when they first met. How had he ever fallen for this woman? Been so beguiled by her? He felt sick. Until that moment, he’d not fully appreciated just how over her he was. He didn’t hate her; he pitied her, and she was utterly inconsequential to him, emotionally. Practically, she was a first-class pain in the arse.

  Unbeknown to him, she’d been watching. She’d seen Saffron leaving the cottage that morning and put two and two together. It wouldn’t have been hard. She trailed her to the manse. His gut twisted at the thought of Allegra spying on Saffron, dissecting her beauty, the way she moved, where she lived. How he wished Allegra’d presented herself to him at the cottage, as soon as Saffron had gone. It would have been so much easier. But no, she’d slipped away and reappeared at the worst possible time. Typical. He could have kicked himself for taking a walk on the pier before going to meet Saffron. He might have avoided Allegra had he gone straight to the beach.

  Allegra had challenged him about the ‘ginger woman’ almost immediately. He’d presented the relationship as a friendship, unaware she’d seen Saffr
on leaving the cottage at first. Allegra had fired questions at him, machine-gun-style: what does she do for a living, is she clever, what is her name? He’d given as little as possible away, though a name had spilled out. ‘Saffron. Unusual,’ Allegra had sneered, as if only she had the right to a distinctive name. Desperate to get Allegra away from the seafront, he’d made up an excuse, said he had a business associate to meet, and would she meet him back at the cottage? Evidently, she’d not gone straight there.

  Trouble. Allegra was a massive bundle of trouble, though trouble didn’t really do the carnage she brought in her wake justice.

  After Saffron had fled the beach, Joe had turned to Allegra, expecting her to challenge him for the lie he’d told on the pier. She didn’t. Instead, she linked her arm in his and suggested they retreat to the cottage, ‘to make up for lost time.’ Stunned, he allowed himself to be steered up the steps to the promenade. There, they bumped into Ceri. Garnering his wits, Joe said as little as possible and virtually dragged Allegra to where she’d parked her car. Clearly, she thought him desperate to rip her clothes off. How wrong she was.

  With every step, Joe’s rage had built. But having to control what he said, how he behaved, was exhausting. The traffic was awful and by the time they reached the cottage Joe was in control of his emotions and longed only to be rid of Allegra as fast as possible. Out of the car, he steered her round the house, saying only, ‘Garden.’

  ‘Al fresco. How exciting,’ she tittered, running her fingers along her collarbone. At the sight of the scrubby grass, she added, ‘If a tad uncomfortable. There’s no rug.’

  She lunged towards him, lips puckered. He pushed her away, registering her disbelief. Was she really that deluded?

  ‘Oh, baby, it’s been so long.’

  She was.

  ‘Not long enough.’ There was no emotion in his voice.

  ‘Sorry?’

  He watched her eyes, those mirror images of his own, pool with tears. He was almost surprised at how unmoved he was. His mind was full of Saffron, concern for her; he felt nothing for the woman before him. Not even hate. Now that did surprise him.