‘Harold doesn’t really like cats,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to convince him to keep this one.’
Content to admire the cat, who was clearly adoring the attention, Mrs Lord didn’t require much conversation, and so Tab took the opportunity to surreptitiously look over her for any signs of other injuries. Although she couldn’t see any scratches or bruising, there were a few tiny tears in her trousers, dried mud on her shoes and hay in her hair. She wished she could ask her where she’d been the last twenty hours, but that would only confuse her and it was unlikely she would remember anyway.
‘Here we are,’ Fergus said when he returned a couple of minutes later, carrying a tray with a teapot, a jug of milk and three cups on it.
He placed the tray down on the coffee table but just as he began to pour, they heard cars on the gravel drive. All three of them looked out the window and saw the ambulance approaching. A police car followed immediately behind.
‘What’s going on?’ Mrs Lord’s voice was high-pitched and she jumped in her seat, startling the cat, who sprang off her lap and darted off down the hallway. ‘Why are the police here?’
‘Your hand is pretty bad,’ Tab said, ignoring her last question. ‘I’ve done what I can but we really do need the doctor to check you out.’
‘No. No. No.’ Mrs Lord shook her head and started rocking back and forth. ‘I’m not going to hospital. No hospital. No. Don’t let them take me back.’ It was the first indication that she had any idea she’d ever lived anywhere but here. She looked pleadingly to Fergus as the doors of the emergency vehicles slammed and Sergeant Skinner, Constable Morris, Boots and another St Johns’ volunteer, Steve, approached the cottage.
It broke Tab’s heart to see her old neighbour so distressed. ‘I’ll go talk to them,’ she told Fergus as she got to her feet.
He nodded and reached out to take the old woman’s good hand. As Tab went out onto the porch, she heard him talking softly to her but couldn’t make out the words. He seemed to have developed a rapport with his landlord.
‘Hey, Tab.’ The sergeant nodded towards inside. ‘So, it’s really her?’
‘Yep.’
The three men shook their heads and Constable Morris asked, ‘How on earth did she get here?’
Tab shrugged. ‘That’s your job to work out, but aside from the burn, which she only got once she came here, she seems physically fine. Mentally is another issue. She was quite calm until she saw you guys arrive and now she’s in a bit of a state. I’m not sure it’s going to work trying to sweet-talk her into coming with us.’
‘I don’t want to manhandle an old woman,’ said the sergeant, running a hand through his thick grey hair. ‘Maybe we should call Dr Palmer to come out and give her a sedative or something?’
‘We could try the green whistle,’ Boots suggested. ‘Tell her it’s for the pain. It sometimes has a calming effect.’
‘It might,’ Tab said—methoxyflurane was a wonderful pain relief, ‘but I think calling Dr Palmer and asking her to come out might be a good idea. I honestly don’t think Mrs Lord is going to get in the ambulance willingly, and …’
Before she could finish her sentence, the screen door opened and they turned to see Fergus ushering the elderly woman out, one arm wrapped around her shoulder. She held her bandaged hand out in front of her like a gift as she looked warily from face to face.
‘Mrs Lord doesn’t want to go in the ambulance,’ Fergus said, his tone telling them not to argue with him, ‘but she’s agreed to come into town and get checked out if I take her.’
Tab noticed he didn’t mention the word hospital at all.
The others exchanged looks.
‘And you’re okay with that?’ the sergeant asked.
‘Yep. If someone could just let the school know I might be a little late?’
Constable Morris held up her phone. ‘On it.’
‘Okay, then.’ Sergeant Skinner nodded. ‘Thank you. That sounds like a good plan. We’ll follow you in.’
‘Is there anything I can get for you?’ Tab asked.
Fergus looked down at his shorts and singlet and almost smiled. ‘Do you think you could grab me a pair of jeans and a shirt from the wardrobe in the bedroom? Also the black shoes by the door and a pair of socks?’
‘Of course,’ Tab said, as Fergus slipped his bare feet into a pair of thongs on the verandah. Against her better judgement, she found herself warming to him slightly—it was hard to hate someone while they were being so sweet to an elderly woman.
They all hung back as Fergus ushered Mrs Lord over to his car and helped her into the front seat, clicking her seatbelt into place with tenderness and patience. Tab watched as he started down the driveway, the ambulance and police car following closely behind, and then she turned and went back inside, feeling only slightly awkward about being in his house alone.
The awkwardness went up a notch as she trekked down the short hallway and found his bedroom. Although Mrs Lord’s touch was still very evident on the walls, the bed was rumpled and unmade with brown sheets and the aroma in the room was decidedly masculine. Mixed with a not at all unpleasant smell of sweat was a rich earthy scent, and on the dresser she found a small bottle of cologne. Without thinking, she sprayed a little into the air and inhaled deeply. Overtones of what she thought were patchouli and rosewood tickled her nose hairs and her eyes closed as a shiver of pleasure shot through her.
What was it about certain scents that had such power?
‘Meow!’
Tab almost jumped out of her skin, her eyes flashing open and the bottle slipping from her grasp as Fergus’s cat wound its way around her legs. Her hand to her chest, she bent and picked up the bottle, put it back on the dresser, and then reached down again to rub the cat.
‘Oh my goodness, girl, you scared me half to death.’
The cat nuzzled against her hand and purred. Tab gave her a few more moments of attention—the poor thing was obviously starved of affection—and then marched over to the wardrobe and flung it open. Surprised to find all the clothes neatly arranged—trousers on one side and shirts on another—she grabbed the first pair of jeans she came across and a classic navy-blue gingham shirt that seemed smart enough for work but casual enough for a classroom.
Ignoring the instinct to snoop a little more, she folded the clothes neatly, grabbed the shoes and socks, and went back through the house. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the kitchen was still in a state, with strips of bacon on the floor and milk and eggs out on the bench. If Fergus didn’t return home until after school, ants would likely have found the bacon, and the milk would be off. It would only take her a few moments to clean up the mess. Whatever her feelings regarding the man himself, Tab had too much respect for milk to let it go to waste like that.
As she opened the fridge to return the few items, she couldn’t help shaking her head. Aside from the eggs, bacon and a stale loaf of bread, there was very little else. Her heart squeezed at the sight. This was exactly what Lawson’s fridge would have been like in the days following Leah’s death if Tab hadn’t intervened.
In her books, an empty fridge was a sure sign of someone not in a good mental state. Despite their unfortunate beginnings, Tab felt a ridiculous urge to do something about it.
Chapter Thirteen
Fergus was surprised to see Tabitha’s ice-cream van outside the house when he arrived home just before five on Tuesday afternoon. He got out of his car just as the door opened on the front porch and Tabitha herself stepped out of his cottage.
Their eyes met. She looked like she’d been caught in the middle of a crime. In theory she was trespassing, as he hadn’t invited her in, but he wasn’t about to call her on it after what they’d gone through together this morning.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said.
‘Hey, I know this looks suspicious but I have a very good explanation.’
He cocked his head to one side as he joined her on the porch. ‘I’m listening.’
‘I
thought you might be too exhausted to cook after being out half the night searching for Mrs Lord, then having to go into work after this morning’s dramas, so I made you some dinner. I assumed you’d be home by now and that I could give it to you in person, but I didn’t want to just leave it on the step in case—’
‘An animal got it,’ he finished the sentence for her, smiling.
Tab held up her hand as if he were holding a gun at her. ‘I do not want you getting the wrong idea. I promise I’m not cracking onto you. The food means nothing. I would do this for anyone who had gone out of their way like you did this morning to help Mrs Lord.’
And although she protested a hell of lot, he believed her.
‘Anyone would have done what I did this morning,’ he said. ‘The poor woman broke my heart, but the food does mean something. After the day I’ve had the last thing I feel like doing is slaving over a hot stove. I considered going to the pub for a meal but …’
‘The kitchen isn’t open on Monday and Tuesday nights.’
‘Exactly. So thank you.’
‘And, I’m not sure they do much in the way of vegan cuisine at the pub anyway.’
‘Vegan?’ He couldn’t help but screw up his nose.
‘Aren’t you a vegan?’ she asked. ‘That’s the talk around town.’
‘What? No!’ He couldn’t hide his horror; then it clicked. ‘Ah, I know where that came from. I went to a barbecue with the teachers at Joanne’s and this woman dropped by—she has three single daughters or something—and when she asked if I wanted to come around for a roast Joanne told her I was a vegan. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a vegan, but me? I love my meat.’
‘Right.’ Tabitha nodded slowly. ‘That must have been Eileen Bennett—Joanne did you a massive favour. And now that I think about it, the food you ate at the tea rooms wasn’t vegan.’ She sighed. ‘I should have realised, but … I’m afraid it means you might be a little disappointed with the dinner I made you.’
‘What is it?’ he asked warily, his mind conjuring all sorts of tofu and mung bean concoctions.
‘Lasagne. Obviously I’ve never made vegan lasagne before, so I had to find a recipe. And then it was hard to find some of the ingredients at IGA, so I improvised. Promise it’s all still vegan … not that it really matters, I guess.’
He laughed, but inside he couldn’t help feeling chuffed at the effort she’d gone to. The urge to apologise again almost overwhelmed him, but at the same time he didn’t want to bring it up and possibly ruin what felt like a tentative truce.
‘Would you like to come in for a drink?’ Sometimes actions spoke louder than words.
She shook her head. ‘I’m pregnant, remember.’
‘It doesn’t have to be an alcoholic one, but after you’ve gone to all this trouble, it’s the least I can do. What about coffee?’
Her lips twisted up slightly and her shorter arm shifted at her side. ‘Coffee? Now, do you really mean coffee or should I be worried that you’re trying to crack onto me?’
He laughed loudly. ‘Touché.’
‘I’m not really drinking coffee either,’ Tabitha admitted. ‘But I could go an orange juice, and I happen to know you now have some in your fridge.’
‘I thought you just brought me dinner?’
She winked. ‘You should know, Fergus McWilliams, that I never do anything by halves.’
‘In that case,’ he gestured to the door behind her, ‘let’s go have an OJ.’
The moment he stepped inside, he was hit by an aroma like he’d noticed at her café and once again his stomach rumbled accordingly. He held the door open for her and led her into the kitchen where they found Mrs Norris, standing on the table, pawing at the alfoil on top of a rectangular casserole dish.
‘Get down,’ he shouted as he launched himself at the cat. Of course, the horrible feline stood her ground, hissing and swiping out to scratch him as he tried to shoo her off.
Tabitha cackled. ‘She really doesn’t like you, does she?’
‘Not at the best of times,’ he said, looking around for something to throw at Mrs Norris.
‘Here, kitty cat.’ Tabitha stepped towards the table and held out her hand. It was like watching a magician. Immediately the cat’s fur smoothed again and he heard her purring as she allowed Tabitha to scoop her up. ‘So what did you do to her?’
‘I did nothing.’ Ferg picked up the casserole dish and transferred it safely to the oven. ‘I’ve been nothing but a gentleman to her, I promise, but she’s actually not mine. I recently broke up with my girlfriend; the cat used to be hers.’
Tab frowned. ‘Did you keep her to be vindictive?’
‘What? No!’ He chuckled as he shook his head slightly. ‘You don’t have a very good opinion of me, do you?’
‘I don’t know what to think of you, to be honest. One minute I think you’re an arsehole, the next minute I think maybe you’ve got a few redeeming qualities. Then again …’ she stroked Mrs Norris, ‘animals are usually very perceptive.’
He snorted, loving the way she didn’t hold back. ‘Not this one.’
‘So how did you end up with the cat then?’
He didn’t know what possessed him to tell her. ‘A couple of months ago, my fiancée called off our wedding.’
‘Oh shit. I’m so sorry.’
He shrugged as if the betrayal hadn’t nearly killed him—she didn’t know the half of it, but he didn’t want her pity any more than he wanted the mortification of admitting the whole sorry story. ‘Better to find out before we tied the knot or had kids, I guess. Anyway, she had the cat when we met and it never took a liking to me.’
Tabitha continued to bestow affection upon the psychopathic beast, or maybe she was simply a misandrist.
‘My ex’s new partner is allergic to cats, so she begged me to keep Mrs Norris. I was stupid enough to think that when it was just the two of us, she’d come round. But so far, despite me spoiling her rotten with expensive cat food and letting her sleep on my bed, she can still barely bring herself to look at me,’ he said as he opened the fridge to grab the juice. ‘Holy shit!’
Tabitha laughed as he stared into the fridge.
‘You weren’t joking when you said you didn’t do anything by halves.’ In addition to the lasagne and a freshly baked loaf of bread he’d noticed on the bench, his fridge was full of fresh fruit, vegetables, and of course the promised orange juice. ‘How much do I owe you for all of this?’
‘Nothing. Most of it’s from my garden anyway and it’s just my way of saying thanks for taking care of my old friend. I guess I should have realised you weren’t vegan when you had eggs and bacon here this morning.’
‘Never mind.’ He grabbed a glass, poured two orange juices, handed one to her and then gestured she take a seat at the table.
‘Thanks,’ she said as she lowered the cat to the floor and then sat.
He sat too and held out his glass to chink hers. ‘Did you know Mrs Lord well before she went into care?’
Tab took a drink, then, ‘Yes, she was very good to my family after my mother died.’
So he hadn’t been the only one telling the old dear porkies. Now that he thought about it, he recalled his colleagues talking about the cancer that had taken Tabitha’s mother. ‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘It was a long time ago now, but Mrs Lord was always very kind, bringing us food and treats and helping Dad take care of us when our own grandma was busy. They were friends too—my gran is now in the hospital full-time as well, but Mrs Lord can’t really be much of a friend these days.’
‘Does your grandmother have dementia too?’
Tab shook her head. ‘Parkinson’s. I’m honestly not sure what’s worse—being mentally alert and stuck in a body that no longer works or being fairly physically fit like Mrs Lord but not remembering anyone, anything or even how to take care of yourself.’
‘Old age really sucks, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, but the alternative isn’t so app
ealing either. You were great with Mrs Lord though. I’m so glad we didn’t have to use force to get her back.’
He sighed, because although that was the case getting her out of the house and into the hospital, once she realised she wasn’t going home again, she’d acted exactly as they suspected she would. The local doctor had no choice but to sedate her and Fergus had left to go to school with a heavy heart.
As if she sensed the need for a change of subject, Tab said, ‘So, how is school anyway? Ned has nothing but praise for you. Honestly, I’m considering paying him money not to talk about you.’
That made Fergus laugh. ‘School’s great. The kids are awesome.’
Tab raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve got some difficult cases in that class.’
He smirked, guessing she was talking about the Walsh twins, who could be a little domineering, and Mason O’Reilly, who hadn’t yet learnt how to channel his excess energy into good. ‘I didn’t go into teaching because I thought it’d be a walk in the park. I wasn’t the easiest of kids myself, and without the interest of a few good teachers, my life could have been very different. Those teachers made me believe I was worth something and that I could rise against my not so great start.’
‘You didn’t have the best home situation?’
‘I didn’t even have a home for most of my childhood. My mum had bipolar. She overdosed when my twin sister and I were seven, but even before she died, she didn’t have her act together enough to pay regular rent. We lived on the couches of her so-called friends, sometimes her dealer. We were in and out of foster care long before we lost her for good.’
‘Oh God.’ Tabitha pressed her hand against her heart. She looked as if she was about to cry. ‘Where was your father?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Fergus said. ‘Mum met him at a B&S ball and didn’t even know his name or where he came from. She always used to say, “one night of hot sex and a lifetime of penance” referring to us kids.’
‘That’s an awful thing to say to children.’
Ferg nodded. ‘She was awful—half the time. The rest of the time she treated us like a little king and queen, but those times never made up for the bad.’
Something to Talk About (Rose Hill, #2) Page 11
