Redemption Song

by Wilkinson, Laura

  ‘Tell me Joe’s story,’ she said.

  They sat talking until the bottle of wine was empty. After Eifion recounted Joe’s story, Rain had wanted to say she would tell Saffron, explain it all, but she couldn’t. It had to come from Joe.

  ‘He’d have preferred Saffron to be the first to hear it. He only told me because I was there. He was desperate. Fit to burst. He’s ashamed and regretful, but he doesn’t want it to define him.’

  ‘And he’s laid aside all thoughts of revenge?’ Rain said.

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Only the weak never forgive.’

  ‘You’re one of the strongest women I know.’ He stood up. ‘Right, I should leave you in peace. It’s been a lovely evening, thank you.’

  Rain thanked him, for coming, for sharing Joe’s past, for not judging Saffron.

  At the front door, he said, ‘We should do this again sometime.’

  Rain laughed, unsteady on her feet. ‘Let’s stick with a walk. Not sure my liver can take it.’

  ‘Whichever,’ he said, offering his hand.

  She took it and placed her left hand over their interlocked fingers. ‘We might even dance in the ballroom once it’s restored. If it’s restored. I so hope it is.’

  ‘Me too. And if it is, who knows … I might hold you to that offer.’ He paused. ‘Was it an offer?’

  ‘It was.’

  She stood, leaned against the doorframe, and watched him weaving down the path and out on to the street. His movements were fluid and graceful. He waved before he disappeared from sight and she imagined him a good dancer.

  ‘You’ll lose your job if you disappear for days,’ Eifion said.

  Joe was pushing a lid back onto a tin of paint. ‘Might be longer. Do I look like I care?’

  Eifion smiled and stepped onto the balcony to help Joe clear his workspace. ‘What if you bump into Freddy?’

  It was Joe’s turn to laugh. ‘London’s a big place, Eif. What are the chances? Anyway, it’ll be all right even if I do. I’m OK with all that. This is going to sound funny, but there’s good come out of Allegra showing up. It forced me to confront everything, and it’s made me realise that I don’t hate them, that I can really move on.’ He sounded positive, more positive than he felt.

  It wasn’t that Joe didn’t mean what he’d said, he did, but the sense of desperation he felt at the possibility of not finding Saff, or of finding her and being rejected, threatened to stymie him. He needed to act, and act fast, without thinking too much. He stepped out of his overalls, grabbed his phone and shook Eifion’s hand.

  ‘Will we see you again?’ Eifion said.

  Joe shrugged.

  ‘There’ll be the pier job at some point. I’ll keep my ears open just in case, yes?’

  Joe nodded. He didn’t want to give voice to the possibility that he would come back, alone.

  ‘We’ll miss you,’ Eifion said, as Joe stepped from the balcony into the hotel room.

  Joe turned back to Eifion. ‘I’ll miss you too. I like it here. A lot. It feels like home. More than anywhere I’ve lived.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Let’s hope the Landy’s up to the journey.’

  Joe checked his watch. It was still early; he could be in London by teatime. A surge of energy flooded his veins. Back to the cottage to gather the essentials and then he’d be off.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Fumes caught in Saffron’s throat and she choked as she stepped out onto the platform. She watched the train pull out of the station, disappear into the black hole of the tunnel, before lifting her head to sky and sucking clean air into her lungs.

  Outside the station, she waited for a cab. An old woman wandered past. ‘Noswaith dda,’ she said.

  ‘Noswaith dda,’ Saffron replied without thinking. She’d been away over five months, though it had seemed much, much longer.

  She paid the driver at the bottom of the lane. She didn’t care that it was almost dark, that her case was cumbersome, that the wheels would struggle on the rough, icy ground of the cottage path. She wanted to walk, to gather herself, to feel the familiar earth beneath her feet. She wanted to surprise him.

  Even Rain didn’t know Saffron was back. If she had she would have insisted on meeting Saff at the station, or coming to collect her, taking her home to the manse, feeding her, before allowing her some space. Rain wouldn’t have been able to help herself. And Saff needed to see Joe, Marcus, before anyone.

  It was icy and still; the darkening sky weighted with cloud. A bird, or rodent, scrabbled in the undergrowth, the sound broken only occasionally by the squall of a lone seagull. Toes already stinging, she turned on the torch on her phone, took hold of her case, and began to walk; the echo of her footsteps and the wheels navigating the stones magnified by the quiet.

  There was no sign of life at the cottage, though Saffron had deliberately not pitched up till after four, when Joe commonly returned from work during the short winter days. She knocked at the front door a number of times before peering through the small, grimy window. She left her case by the door and crept round to the back, grateful for the lack of fencing or bordering of any kind. There were no lights on at the rear either. The skeletons of the trees loomed over the garden, branches bare and spiky, trunks strangled by ivy. Though Joe had never been big on gardening, preferring a natural look, it was clear nothing had been touched for months. The grass was dusted with frost, long, and hunched over on itself.

  A half-finished sculpture glossy with moss stood near where they’d sat and watched the fire burn out. It was hard to tell what it would become.

  Saffron pushed her face against the kitchen window and held up her phone. A cup and plate rested on the side, next to the range. A good sign. She knocked at the back door – from habit more than anything – before trying the latch. Joe rarely locked it. Only locals knew of the cottages and many assumed they were derelict. The door creaked open. A huff of stale air assaulted her. She called out his name; there came no reply. She stepped over the threshold and picked up the mug. Spores of mould covered the interior. He’d left in a hurry, it seemed. How long had he been gone?

  She wandered through the cottage. Nothing had altered. Aside from the layer of dust, silence, and cold, it was exactly as she remembered it. His books on artists, bats, and Welsh history were stacked up neatly, next to a lean selection of games. Upstairs, the bed was unmade and an open drawer in the chest revealed that he’d not bothered to take all his clothes.

  She would never find him. She wouldn’t even know where or how to begin looking. She didn’t even know what he was calling himself these days.

  Saffron slumped on the bed and cried.

  In an attempt to compose herself before seeing Rain, rather than calling a cab, Saffron walked to the manse, dragging her case behind her. She could no longer feel the cold. She was almost at the manse when a scream forced her to look up from the ground. She wiped the end of her wet nose, and looked down the street. It was Ceri, jumping up and down, running on the spot, fists clenched. Before Saffron could acknowledge her with a wave, Ceri hurtled towards her, still screaming, and threw her arms about Saffron’s neck, almost knocking her over.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s so good to see you! I thought I was seeing things. Only came up this part of town for that special chocolate shop. Mum’s birthday and I figured I’d better get her something special as I’m not paying no rent. I’m a student now, at college. You’re not the only one with a career, you bitch!’

  ‘It’s good to see you too.’ And it was.

  Ceri paused and held Saffron by the shoulders. ‘You been crying, girl?’

  Saffron nodded. ‘I’ve been to the cottage.’

  ‘He’s gone. You both disappeared off the face of the earth. No one’s seen or heard from him in months. Not even Dad. He called him a few times, left messages. Nothing. He went looking for you in London.’

  ‘Shit.’ Saffron felt as if her insides had been torn out. The air felt colder s
till, creeping into her veins, freezing the blood which ran through them. ‘I’ve messed up, Ceri. I’m an expert at it. I should have heard him out, when I had the chance. I’ve missed him, this place, you, Mum, the people. Everything. But especially him. I thought I would get over him. Get on with my life. Get my career back on track. But I can’t get him out of my head, and I can’t help feeling that I got it wrong. It’s been eating away at me. That he isn’t the sort of bloke to string someone along. And as time’s gone on this feeling that he was telling the truth has grown and grown.’

  A woman with a buggy came to halt before them. They muttered apologies and stepped aside to let her pass.

  ‘He loved you, Saff. That was, like, mega obvious. Dad’s not telling me everything. Says it’s none of my business – which drives me bananas because it is my business because you’re my mate and I love you. Even if you did piss off without a word. Dad says you need to hear it first, which is total bollocks because he knows.’

  Saffron almost leapt with joy. Hope. ‘So your dad’s in touch with Joe?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Ceri pulled a face. ‘Not at all. Hasn’t heard a peep. But he says Joe’s all right. And if Dad says he’s all right, then he must be.’

  ‘But he’s not here. He’s not here.’ Saffron punched at her forehead and howled. She was too late. It was over.

  ‘Only two days?’ Rain tried to hide her disappointment. It was so wonderful to have Saff home, nothing was going to get in the way of her enjoyment. Nothing. They sat at the kitchen table, cradling steaming mugs of hot chocolate, a plate of biscuits between them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. It’s a flying visit, but the job’s unrelenting and I’ve not long started this one.’ Saffron leaned across the table and squeezed Rain’s hand.

  ‘Still enjoying it, though?’ Rain said.

  ‘Sure am. It’s hard work, but I knew that already, and doing Foundation 1 a second time means I have an advantage over many of the other students.’ She laughed. ‘It’s amazing how quickly it all came back. It’s what I was put on this earth to do.’

  Was this small nod to Rain’s faith deliberate? Rain neither knew nor cared. It was lovely that her daughter could acknowledge her beliefs, even if she couldn’t share them.

  It was clear Saff was content in her work, but Rain could see that she’d been crying. She was even paler than usual, her eyes were red, and it was more than the long hospital hours and interrupted sleep. Rain thought of Joe and then, in rapid succession, Eifion.

  How he warmed her. God’s love was wonderful and beautiful, but life was richer with Eifion around. For a while, it had been a bit odd going out with Eifion. He was such a different animal to Stephen. Perhaps this helped? Who knew, and it didn’t matter. At first, they’d kept it ever so casual, but here they were, months later, and Rain’s feelings ran deeper than friendship and she suspected Eifion felt the same. Like Jesus, she would always love Stephen – for the life they’d led together, the future they’d built, the children they’d raised, but she allowed herself to be angry with him too, to remember his weaknesses, as well as his strengths. He was only human, after all. And she no longer had any regrets.

  ‘And what of friends? Have you met any others since starting at Wrexham?’ Rain asked.

  Saff snorted. ‘Do you mean friends or boyfriends, Mum?’

  ‘Oh, I know it’s not possible to get over someone that quickly, I just meant …’ What did she mean? She had no idea. Eifion had told her that Joe had gone to London to search for Saff, and Rain knew he would never find her. She wasn’t there. She’d returned to her training here in Wales, but she’d sworn Rain to secrecy. No one else knew where she was.

  Saffron smiled, a cheeky glint in her eye. ‘What I’d like to know is how things are going for you?’

  ‘Wonderful, wonderful. Church is hectic at the mo – of course – Christmas swiftly approaches and all that. Miss Shawcroft pops in regularly, Mr Roberts is still a pain in the arse –’

  ‘Not that stuff. Eif?’

  Rain felt herself blushing. ‘It’s good.’

  ‘You really like him.’

  ‘Is that OK?’ Rain’s chest tightened.

  ‘Are you kidding? Of course it’s OK. It’s more than OK. At least one of us deserves happiness.’

  ‘Is it too early for wine?’

  Saffron glanced over at the clock. ‘Nah.’

  ‘We could have a glass while we dress the tree. And I know it’s a bit early for decorations but I fancy some sparkle about the place!’

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Saffron half expected it to have snowed overnight. The floorboards were icy against her bare feet when she swung out of bed and yet the air felt a degree or two warmer than it had the night before. She flung open the window, shivered, and gazed over the fields, now empty of crops, the brown earth hardened in regular furrows. To her left was the chapel, the frost-shiny slates of the new roof caught her attention. For a moment, he was there, sitting on the ridge, as he’d been that day when they’d watched each other, spellbound. A gust of wind startled her and when she looked again, he was gone. A bird fluttered from the manse eaves to her right. Then another and another. Or was it a bird? It moved so quickly. She remembered Joe’s words after the fire: ‘The bats will take their young to a new home. A cave, a roof, a loft.’ It wasn’t fully light; a bronze sheen glazed the countryside. Even in her despair, she registered how beautiful it was. But the fields weren’t what she’d yearned for. She’d hungered for the sea. And Joe.

  The house was quiet; Rain still slept after an evening of wrestling the silver tree from the cellar, untangling fairy lights, and rethreading baubles. They’d talked and drank into the small hours. Saffron picked clothes from the case on the floor. In the bathroom she splashed her face and brushed her teeth. After a mug of instant coffee, she wrapped up and headed to the beach.

  Too early for the shops to open, there were few people around. Saffron was grateful. She looked forward to seeing familiar faces, but right now she needed to be alone, with her thoughts and her memories. Litter skittered along the promenade in front of her – a polystyrene burger box and a couple of crisp packets – no doubt pulled from an overfull bin by an enterprising gull. The tide was in and there was no beach to amble along. She leant against the railings, gripped the cold metal, and watched sea foam blowing into the sky. To the east was the pier, the charred remains of the ballroom skeletal against the pink sky. It appeared ghostly but, like a phoenix, the ballroom would rise again. It would breathe with new life, be beautiful and enjoyed once more. Drawn to it, she headed east.

  Everything was closed. Shutters blinded the little huts, the lights of the Wurlitzer and merry-go-round were dull, their carriages shrouded with plastic covers. It looked tawdry and shabby, its magic gone, like a theatre set without the lights and music and expectation of the crowd. Her footsteps echoed on the boards as she headed towards the ballroom. Looking at it now it was hard to believe it could be repaired. Yellow tape sectioned off the area, a loose end flapped in the breeze, slapping against the morning air. A bird – not a gull, too small – flew out of a window, and Saffron wondered if the bats had come back after all. If they’d found another roost, if the young had flown the maternal nest, had found their own place in which to hibernate for the harsh months ahead, if they were fit and strong enough to survive till the spring when they would re-emerge and thrive.

  She lifted the tape and crouched. A moment’s hesitation and then under she went. She crept towards the ballroom entrance, testing each board before she put her weight on it.

  ‘Be careful. It’s dangerous.’

  She stopped, but couldn’t turn round.

  ‘It’s ugly now, but with care it’ll be beautiful.’

  ‘It looks ruined.’

  ‘Nothing’s ever ruined.’

  Slowly, she turned to face him. Joe. Marcus.

  He appeared unchanged, the same beautiful, extraordinary eyes of different colours, the dark hair, weightier o
n top, the square shoulders and broad chest. The same gentle, open expression she remembered after they’d made love for the first time on the living room floor of the cottage. Gazing at him, wondering why he was here, thinking on what she had to say and knowing that he might reject her, that it might be the last time she looked upon his face, was almost more than she could bear.

  What’s in a name?

  ‘Some things are worth risking everything for,’ she said, sweeping a strand of hair from her face.

  ‘Sometimes we get it wrong.’ His lips were pale; she detected a tremble.

  Does he mean me?

  ‘I’m sorry, Saffron. You deserved better.’

  ‘You deserved better too. Running away was pathetic.’ She shrugged, though her voice shook. ‘It’s a habit, I’m afraid.’ The wind threw her words out to sea. She went to repeat the words, shout them out. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  There was a creaking, a splintering, and a sensation of the ground moving beneath her, melting away and then, with one sharp jolt, disappearing altogether. Time did not slow down as everyone says it does, it happened in a blink. One moment she was standing, staring into the face of the man she loved more than anything else in the world, the next, the world was tumbling, her legs dangling beneath her, kicking against the empty air, arms above her head, shoulders almost wrenched from their sockets.

  She clung on with her fingers. Knowing she should not, but unable to stop herself, she looked down. A swirling, shifting mass of grey water slapped up against the steel girders which bore the weight of the pier. The waves carried the shattered boards up and down on the swell. Sea spray hit her exposed ankles and cheeks like needles. She pressed her fingers harder, her fingernails digging into the wood, and tried to heave herself up. Her upper arm muscles trembled; she groaned with exertion. No good, she fell back down, elbows locking, her frozen, damp fingers losing purchase.