Viv had no idea if Heath knew anything about Geraldine’s past and hoped, if he found the message first, that he would take it seriously enough. Then she remembered that the answerphone never flashed an alert. She needed to speak to a person, not a machine; and as Geraldine didn’t have a mobile, she would have to call Heath.
She scrolled down in her address book. She had meant to delete his number but thank goodness she hadn’t yet. She pressed the phone symbol next to his name. Frustratingly it went to voicemail. Shit. As she was leaving a message, the incoming call alert sounded. She accepted it. His voice.
‘Viv. Where are you? I’ve been look—’
‘Where are you?’ she gabbled.
‘I’m in Sheffield trying to find you. Viv, I have to talk to you—’
‘Heath, listen,’ Viv cut him off again. ‘I think Geraldine’s in trouble. I might be overreacting, I really hope I’ve got this totally wrong, but you need to get back to Ironmist because she’s not picking up the phone. I think her ex knows where she is. He’s dangerous, Heath. I’ve rung the pol—’
‘Viv, I’m . . . the . . . other side . . . take me . . . hour at . . .’ The line went dead at his end.
As soon as they were outside, Al set Stel onto her feet whilst he ran back into his house for the keys. Viv held onto her, not wanting to let her go, but she was safe – and it was Geraldine who was in danger now. She had to drive to Ironmist. The words of the strange girl with the dog lead were going round and round in her head: You should go back, really you should. Now.
‘Mum, I’m going to have to get hold of Geraldine. I think Ian knows her and he’s on his way over to her. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Promise.’
Stel nodded and squeezed her daughter’s hand.
‘I wish I could split myself in two.’ Viv’s eyes pricked with tears but she blinked them away because this was no time to be overtaken by emotion; she needed to be sharp and clear and focused.
‘I’ll sort your mum,’ said Al, appearing behind her. He looked down at the old hockey stick in her hand that she’d taken from the umbrella stand. ‘You’d better not be going after him, Viv. You ring the police and let them deal with it.’
‘He’s dangerous, Al. I have to make sure my friend is safe.’ Viv gave her mum a tight hug.
‘Ring the police, Viv,’ Al insisted. ‘Though God knows I wish I’d known sooner because there wouldn’t be enough of that bastard left to arrest.’
*
Viv rang the police whilst she was driving. Frustratingly, the emergency call centre operator kept cutting off what she was trying to say and the situation wasn’t helped by the intermittent mobile signal on the remote Woodhead Pass which traversed the Pennines. Viv kept having to repeat herself and shout to be heard, and the operator seemed more intent on rebuking her for raising her voice than recording details. Eventually the operator said that a squad car would be on its way as soon as possible and Viv had to hope that was true because the call had drained the battery on her mobile to four per cent and she was presently in the middle of nowhere.
Chapter 100
After Geraldine had finished mopping the kitchen floor, she put the kettle on the Aga to boil. She’d overfilled it, as was her habit, but that was all right, because it would just be whistling by the time she’d finished cleaning out Jason Statham’s hutch. Steadily, she got down on her knees and transferred the rabbit to Bub’s old wicker cat basket then she set to with the dustpan and brush. She had meant to clean him out yesterday but what with Heath being away trying to locate Viv, she’d had too much to do and something had to give. She wished he would find her and bring her back. Viv meant a lot to him, to them all. Wildflower Cottage was missing something whilst she wasn’t there; it felt incomplete. There hadn’t even been a wisp of mist for two days.
Pilot suddenly jumped up and gave a woof at the door.
‘Shh, Pilot. There’s nobody there,’ Geraldine threw over her shoulder.
Then she went rigid because behind her, she heard the voice from her nightmares say:
‘But there is, Vonny. I’m here.’
*
There was a bottle-neck of traffic at Tintwistle and Viv noticed her petrol gauge had nudged into red which meant she had about thirty miles-worth of petrol left, unless she had to use it all idling here, sandwiched between a bus and a Transit van. She considered turning off the engine then had a sudden vision of trying to restart it and hearing only a laboured turning, or worse a solitary click, as happened in horror movies. It took ten minutes for the traffic to start nudging forwards, but it felt like hours.
*
‘I see you’re down on your knees, Vonny. Just where I like you best,’ he said.
In her head, Geraldine was screaming, but her mouth wasn’t moving. She was trapped again inside her own body. Running around inside it, trying to find the way out.
Ian stroked Pilot’s head. The gentle old dog let him. It trusted everyone to be nice to it. It had never learned. Geraldine’s eyes were glued on his fingers. Please don’t hurt Pilot.
‘Nice dog. Does he bite?’
Her voice was a frightened mouse-whisper. ‘No.’
‘I do. Do you remember, Vonny? Or am I supposed to call you Geraldine now?’
Chapter 101
Viv spotted a petrol station coming up on the left-hand side. She daren’t risk running out of fuel so pulled in. Luck was on her side as there was a vacant pump. A tenner’s-worth of unleaded later, she was back on the road.
*
Ian Robson gave a dry, nasty chuckle. ‘Who would have ever thought I’d find you again because of your perfume. Isn’t life funny? Aren’t some things just meant to be?’
Geraldine’s whole body felt heavy, limp, as if she were a puppet being controlled by someone else. Which she was at this moment and had been for many years by the puppet-master standing in front of her. He hadn’t changed at all since she last saw him. Not one bit; he was his same vile, smirking self with those small horrible eyes. But she was changing by the second: from content, free Geraldine Hartley back to crushed, frightened Yvonne Taylor.
Pilot moved away of his own accord and out into the yard, and Geraldine released a secret breath of relief.
‘Now, I haven’t thought this through,’ said Ian, rubbing his chin, ‘but the sooner we get out of here the better, I think, so up you get, Vonny.’
Geraldine started to lever herself up. Behind her the kettle was boiling now, puffing out steam into the air. Ian was talking but she was only half-listening because her focus had switched to the tiny mirrored tiles that formed a pattern of a cat on the wall. In them, she saw her jigsawed image couched in cloud and momentarily mistook herself for Isme, come to save her. The thought brought with it a surge of hope and gratitude – but mainly adrenalin. As Geraldine groped for purchase on the lip of the sink, her fingers fell on the handle of the copper-bottomed frying pan in the bowl.
‘Hello kitty-witty.’ Ian bent down to stroke the friendly black cat who was weaving in and out of his legs and Bub, presented with a rare opportunity for carnage, was determined not to waste it. Not only did he wrap his front paws around Ian’s arm, but brought the back legs into play as well: a gift of eighteen synchronised claws-worth of damage plus teeth. Ian was so fixated on shaking off the cat intent on puncturing his bone marrow that he wasn’t aware of the pan swinging in the direction of his face until his nose was busted by it. His pain receptors had just commenced screaming when the pan came full circle, landing on the back of his skull. He collapsed like a dynamited building.
‘If you think I’m going back to you after what I’ve got used to here, you’re very much mistaken, duck,’ said the fully reformed Geraldine Hartley.
Chapter 102
Viv sped along the drive to Wildflower Cottage to find Ian Robson’s car was parked halfway down. She guessed it was so Geraldine wouldn’t hear him coming. There was no presence of a police car, bloody incompetent cow. Viv picked up the hockey stick and was about
to get out of the car when she saw her wonderful, dear Geraldine appear in the cottage doorway.
Viv couldn’t have run faster to her. Words tumbled out of her mouth: Are you all right? It’s the same man as my mum’s been seeing. I was so worried about you. And where was he?
‘Have the police got him?’ Viv took back everything she had thought about that operator.
‘Not yet,’ said Geraldine. ‘I’ve only just rung them. He’s on the floor. I’ve trussed him up with some of the birds’ training cord. Not bad considering I did most of it with one hand.’
Geraldine took Viv’s hand and pulled her into the kitchen. She stood over the groaning, pinioned man whose nose resembled a burst strawberry tart.
‘See that,’ said Geraldine, poking his leg with her medical sandal, ‘I wasted over ten years of my life on it. When the police have carted him off, we’ll have a cup of tea and a good chat. Sounds like we’ve a few things to talk about.’ She squeezed Viv’s fingers affectionately. ‘It’s so good to see you, duck. Heath’s been looking everywhere for you . . .’
They could hear a car in the distance. Geraldine limped over to the window.
‘It’s the police,’ she announced. ‘Maybe I should have rung for an ambulance as well.’
As Viv went to the door to meet them, she noticed the infamous mop bucket standing full of dirty water waiting to be emptied into the drainhole outside. There was just time, she reckoned. It might even bring him round. She quickly snatched it up and tipped it above Ian Robson’s sorry face.
‘And that’s from me and my mum,’ said Viv, rejoicing in his spluttering. If it was good enough for the Leightons, it was good enough for him.
*
The operator had sent a squad car straight round, as it happens, but it had been diverted to a high-priority incident in Hyde. Crime-wise, it had been a too-rich morning. The present team had had to come over from Fennybridge.
‘I thought hitting people with frying pans only ever happened in Laurel and Hardy films,’ said the younger of the two policemen. The older one held up his finger to admonish him for that remark.
Robson was in the back of the police car now, head down, concentrating on surviving the pain claiming his whole upper body.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ said the older policeman, stroking the big dog.
‘I’ll be here if you want me,’ said Geraldine. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Ever again,’ and she grinned because she felt bloody marvellous. She’d had a momentary bout of hysteria and seen a goddess rising from the mists come to save her; and it might have turned out to be a reflection of herself with a kettle boiling behind her, but still it had served to empower her enough to face her biggest demon and beat it.
The police car trundled off down the drive. Geraldine filled up the mop bucket with water and bleach to clean up the mess which Ian Robson had left. She smiled as she mopped and wrung, ridding the tiles of his every trace.
‘Whatever anyone says, I know more than ever, after the events of this week, that Isme is here in this place, Viv, looking after us all. Does that make me a mad woman?’
Viv thought of the pale-haired girl with the dog lead. ‘I don’t think it makes you mad at all, my dear Geraldine.’
‘As soon as I’ve done this, we’ll talk,’ beamed Geraldine. ‘There’s so much I have to say to you – and hear from you.’
‘I’m just going to ring to see if my mum is okay,’ said Viv. ‘My mobile is dead. Could I use the the office phone?’
‘Of course. You don’t need to ask,’ said Geraldine. ‘Tell her to come and visit. I can help her make sense of what I suspect he’s put her through.’
Viv went into the office for some privacy and rang the Admissions department in Barnsley Hospital and they transferred her to the relevant ward. They let Al take the call on the nurse’s station and he told her that Stel was a bit bruised and battered and though they were keeping her in for the night, she had nothing to worry about. Not now. And Viv told him briefly what had happened at her end and asked him to give her mum a kiss for her.
*
‘That was your Viv on the phone,’ said Al, taking hold of Stel’s hand in his big rough bear paw. ‘She said I’d to give you this.’ He leaned over and delivered a soft kiss to her cheek.
‘Ah, that was nice of her,’ smiled Stel, her voice a ragged croak.
‘They’ve got him, Stel. He went up to that place where your Viv worked and he tried attacking another lass. And she cracked him with a frying pan, bust his nose all over his face. She’d like to see you, and talk to you.’
‘I’m an idiot, Al,’ said Stel, tightening her grip on his fingers, drawing warmth and comfort from them.
‘You are where fellas are concerned, Stel Blackbird,’ Al replied. ‘Why aren’t you as good at picking them as you were at picking a daughter?’
‘I never have been. Anyway, I’m done with men,’ said Stel. ‘I’m going to get myself a wimple and become a nun.’
‘You could have had me, you know,’ Al said, head down, waiting for Stel to laugh at the thought. But she didn’t.
‘You never asked me, Al Thackray. And all them fish-finger sandwiches my mam cooked for you an’ all. She loved you.’
‘You were always out of my league, Stel.’
‘Me?’ The word came out as a squawk. ‘Are you kidding? I was never out of your league. I’m from Holton Road not bloody Beverly Hills. You’re the one swanning about on a Jim Davidson bike and moving to a big posh house . . . so I think you’ve got that the wrong way round, love.’
Stel didn’t want him to leave the street. It wouldn’t be the same without him next door to her.
Al studied Stel’s fingers and didn’t recognise them. She’d always had lovely nails, pointed and polished not bitten right down as they were now. He wanted to kill that piggy-eyed streak of piss.
‘I’ve still got loads of his stuff in my house,’ Stel said, closing her eyes against the thought of going back home and seeing all his belongings everywhere.
‘If you tell me what you want shifting, I’ll load it into my van and get my mate to store it. You don’t want to get done for criminal damage. He’s taken enough of your head space up.’
He stroked her hand, as if he were stroking the back of the guinea pig they had in their class at school. He’d been given a certificate by the teacher for being the boy who handled her the gentlest.
‘Will you come up and see my new house?’ asked Al. ‘Help me pick curtains and things like that?’
‘Course I will,’ replied Stel. ‘But you’re good at all that stuff yourself.’
‘You’re better.’
‘Thank you,’ said Stel and she smiled at him. ‘Not just for saying I’m better at choosing soft furnishings, I mean for being my friend.’
Al nodded, too choked up to reply. Stel’s face was swollen and dark with bruising but she was still gorgeous to him. He’d always loved Stel Blackbird. When all this was done with and she’d had time to herself, he hoped he could dredge up the way-overdue courage to ask her out. But if she said yes, he’d make sure they had the longest, slowest, courtship in bloody history.
Chapter 103
When Viv went back into the kitchen from the office, she found Heath was there sitting with Geraldine. He looked worn out and drawn but his green eyes sparked with light when they fell on her and though every sinew and muscle in her body screamed at her to run to him, she just couldn’t do it.
‘I’m going to have a nice bath,’ said Geraldine, doing a very unsubtle job of getting out of the way. Even Pilot followed her out of the room.
‘Viv, walk with me,’ asked Heath. ‘Please,’ and he got up from the table.
‘All right.’
She would let him say goodbye, then she would go.
They walked side by side, down past dear Bertie, Roger and Keith, Ray and Roy and Wonk nodding half-asleep in the sunshine. They stepped over the banks of blue-violet flowers and through the ghost-mist that hovered above
the grass, until they came to the bench in the bird arena. Heath sat down. Viv followed his lead, leaving space between them.
He didn’t look at her as he spoke, but kept his eyes low, forward, focused on nothing. ‘Geraldine doesn’t know what I’m about to tell you, which is why she . . .’ He stopped, swallowed, took a breath, began again. ‘The best of people make mistakes, Viv.’
Why was she even here? Whatever he said couldn’t put it right. ‘Heath, I’d hardly call what you did a mistake.’
‘Please, let me finish. I’m not talking about a mistake that I made.’
There was a long pause. Confused by what he had said, Viv nodded that he had her attention and he resumed.
‘When I married Sarah, I didn’t know her heart had been broken by someone else. I was the rebound boyfriend, part of her healing process. She married me to show someone that she didn’t care what he’d done to her, but she did. And she hadn’t stopped loving him.’
His lips were dry and cracked. And so was his voice as he spoke.
‘He realised he should never have let her go. They started an affair. I didn’t see it because I was busy looking after Dad; then he died. Sarah had known she was ill herself but she was terrified of doctors so she kept her symptoms secret, hoping they’d just go away. It was a very aggressive form . . . even if the doctors had discovered it earlier, there still wouldn’t have been anything they could have done.’
Viv saw his jaw clench as he fought hard against an onslaught of emotion. She hadn’t expected to hear any of this.
‘When she knew she was dying, she had to tell me about the other man and how much she loved him because she wanted to spend her last days with him, not me. But she felt so guilty because I’d just lost Dad. How could I deny her what she asked me for?’
His long fingers pushed his hair back from his drawn, tired face.
‘On the night she left, she begged me to tell her that I didn’t love her any more and that she should leave, so she could go to him with her conscience clear. So I said the words she wanted to hear, only so she could die being loved by him. I had no idea that Geraldine was worried by our raised voices; we didn’t know she could hear us . . . not that we were shouting exactly . . . it was just that the situation was so intense. She heard Sarah say that what she needed in her last weeks was to be with the person who loved her the most. She heard me say that I wished it could have been me but we both knew it wasn’t. She heard me asking Sarah to give me back her wedding ring and go. She didn’t know that Sarah’s lover was waiting for her up the drive in his car.’
Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage Page 34
