by Ruth Hogan
Vince barged past Freddy into the hall, where Sunshine was hovering uncertainly. He turned to Laura in order to deliver his final insult with appropriate aplomb.
“I hope you’ll be very happy in your big house with your little retard friend and your toy boy.”
Sunshine, no longer the child in the playground, answered him with admirable aplomb.
“I’m not the retard, I’m dancing drome.”
Freddy continued with rather more menace.
“And nobody talks to my girls like that, so sod off and don’t come back.”
Vince had never known when to keep his mouth shut.
“Or else what?”
Seconds after the answer was delivered, Vince was nursing a bloody nose, lying on his back, and struggling to extricate himself from the spiny clutches of the Christmas tree. When he finally managed to scramble to his feet, he lunged at the front door, claiming grievous bodily harm and threatening to summon the police and his solicitor. As he slammed out of the house, Carrot’s head appeared from behind the study door and he barked just once, but very sternly, at Vince’s vapor trail. The three of them stared at the dog in astonishment. It was his first bark since coming to Padua.
“Well done, fella!” said Freddy, reaching down to stroke Carrot’s ears. “That certainly saw him off.”
The sound of the doorbell sent Carrot scuttling back to the study. Freddy charged across the hall and flung open the door to find a rather startled-looking young man with a plastic identity card strung around his neck and holding a black tool case.
“I’m Lee,” he said, flashing his card. “I’ve come to sort out your broadband.”
Freddy stood aside to let him in and Laura guided him round the still-prone Christmas tree and through to the study, which was immediately vacated by a supersonic Carrot. Sunshine trotted along behind them, thinking with all her might and still trying to work out exactly what was happening. Eventually she rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.
“You’re the bored van man!”
She checked her watch.
“You came in the window.”
Lee smiled, uncertain what to say. He’d been to some strange jobs before and this one was shaping up nicely to be right up there with them.
“Shall I make you the lovely cup of tea?”
The young man’s smile broadened. Maybe things were looking up.
“I’d love a cup of coffee, if that’s okay?”
Sunshine shook her head.
“I don’t do coffee. I only do tea.”
Lee snapped open his tool case. It might be better to just get the job done and get out after all.
“Of course you can have coffee,” Laura intervened hastily. “How do you take it? Come on, Sunshine, I’ll make it and you can watch, and then next time you’ll know how to make it yourself.”
Sunshine considered for a moment, and remembering Vince’s threats, she allowed herself to be persuaded.
“Then when the police get here I’ll be able to make them the lovely cup of coffee too.”
CHAPTER 28
“The Very Thought of You.”
The song broke Laura’s sleep, although whether it was part of her dream or real music coming from the garden room downstairs she couldn’t be sure. She lay still and listening, snuggled in her duvet cocoon. Silence. Reluctantly she crept out into the cold, rose-scented air, threw on her dressing gown, and went over to the window to let the winter morning in.
And saw a ghost.
Laura peered out through the frosted pane, unwilling to trust what she saw; a shadow, perhaps a figure, pellucid as the rimy spiderwebs strung trembling in the icy breeze between the rosebushes. Laura shook her head. It was nothing. Customary common sense was temporarily out of service, and her imagination had cut loose, rampaging through reason with party poppers and a silly hat. That was all it was. Vince’s visit had unsettled her. He had stomped dirty footprints all over her nice, new life. But he was gone now, she told herself, and unlikely to return. She smiled, remembering with satisfaction the sour milk soaking into his shirt and the horror on his face as he squirmed like an upturned tortoise in the branches of the Christmas tree. But perhaps something else had unsettled her too. Freddy. He had called her “his girl.” She had been ridiculously, dangerously flattered. She had replayed the moment over and over in her head, but it was persistently and annoyingly accompanied by a warning voice telling her not to be so stupid. Now she didn’t dare think about it at all. Time for the lovely cup of tea.
Downstairs, the smell of Christmas tree cut through the air in every room. It was wonderful. The tree itself glittered and sparkled with tinsel and baubles and all manner of decorations that Laura had found in a box in the loft. Anthony had always put up a tree at Christmas, but his had usually been a much more modest affair and most of the decorations had hardly ever been used. Laura slotted two slices of bread into the toaster and poured herself a cup of tea. Noises in the kitchen had finally roused Carrot from his bed by the fire in the study, and he came and sat at Laura’s feet waiting for his breakfast of toast and lightly scrambled eggs. In spite of their best efforts to fatten him up, he had barely “thickened his skin,” according to Freddy. But he did look much happier now, and was beginning to view life as a curious adventure rather than a terrifying ordeal. Today, Sunshine was going Christmas shopping with her mum, and Freddy was visiting his sister and her family in Slough. He had told Laura that his pre-Christmas visit was enough to keep his “good big brother” certificate stamped up-to-date, provided it was supplemented with generous (preferably cash) presents for his ungrateful niece and his surly nephew.
Laura drained her teacup and brushed crumbs of toast from her fingers. Perhaps a day spent in her own company would do her good. Besides, she had Carrot, whose gentle head was resting in her lap. After a quick stroll around the frosty garden, which allowed Carrot to cock his leg up several trees and Laura to check that there were no specters, wraiths, or banshees loitering in the rose garden, she stoked up the fire in the study and Carrot settled himself back into his bed with a contented sigh. She fetched a box from one of the shelves and set out its contents on the table. The laptop bleeped and blinked into life and the vast virtual lost property department, of which she was now the Keeper, opened its doors. Laura picked up the first object in front of her.
CHILD’S UMBRELLA, WHITE WITH RED HEARTS—
FOUND, ALICE IN WONDERLAND SCULPTURE,
Central Park, New York, 17th April …
Marvin liked to keep busy. It stopped the bad thoughts creeping into his head, like black ants seething over the body of a dead songbird. The drugs from his doctor sometimes helped, but not always. When he had first fallen sick, he used to stuff his ears with cotton wads, hold his nose, and keep his eyes and mouth clenched shut. He figured that if all the holes in his head were blocked, the thoughts couldn’t get in. But he had to breathe. And no matter how teeny tiny he made the crack between his lips, the bad thoughts always managed to sneak in. But keeping very busy kept them away; and the voices too.
Marvin was the umbrella man. He would take all the broken umbrellas that were thrown in the trash at the New York Subway Lost Property Department and fix them up back in the dark and dingy room that was his only home.
It wasn’t raining yet, but it was forecast. Marvin loved the rain. It washed the world clean and made everything shine; made the grass smell like heaven. Gun-smoke clouds rolled in across the blue sky above. It wouldn’t be long. Marvin was a giant of a man. He strode along Fifth Avenue, his heavy boots thudding on the sidewalk and his long, gray coat billowing behind him like a cloak. His wild, black dreadlocks were frosted with gray and his eyes were never still; flashing whites like a frightened mustang.
“Free umbrellas!”
Central Park was his favorite place to work. He took the entrance on Seventy-Second Street and headed for Conservatory Water. He liked to watch the pond yachts gliding across the water like swans. The boating season had only just begun, and despite
the threat of rain, a sizable fleet had already set sail. Marvin’s regular pitch was by the Alice in Wonderland sculpture. The children who played there didn’t seem to mind him like some of the grown-ups did. Maybe they thought he looked like something out of a story too. There were no children today. Marvin set his bag of umbrellas down by the smallest mushroom on the sculpture, just as the first spots of rain began to polka-dot its smooth, bronze cap.
“Free umbrellas!”
His deep voice boomed like thunder through the rain. People scurried past but looked away when he offered them one of his gifts. He could never figure it out. He was just trying to be a good person. The umbrellas were free. Why did most people scaredy-cat away from him like he was the devil? Still, he stood his ground.
“Free umbrellas!”
A young guy on a skateboard skidded to a halt in front of him. Sopping wet in just a T-shirt, jeans, and baseball boots, he was still grinning like the Cheshire cat peeping over Alice’s shoulder. He took the umbrella that Marvin was offering and high-fived his gratitude.
“Thanks, dude!”
He sped away, his board splashing through the puddles, holding a huge pink umbrella aloft. The rain slowed to a drizzle and the people in the park slowed to a stroll. Marvin didn’t see her at first. A little girl in a red raincoat. She was missing one of her front teeth and had freckles across her nose.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Alice, like the statue.” She pointed to her namesake. Marvin hunkered down so he could see her better and offered her his hand.
“I’m Marvin. Pleased to meet you.”
She was British. Marvin recognized the accent from TV. He always thought that Britain would be a good place for him, with his crooked teeth and fondness for rain.
“There you are, Alice! What have I told you about talking to strangers?”
The woman who had joined them was looking at him as though he might bite.
“He’s not a stranger. He’s Marvin.”
Marvin smiled his best smile and offered the woman the best from his bag.
“Free umbrellas.”
The woman ignored him. She snatched Alice’s hand and tried to drag her away. Trash. That’s how she was treating him; like he was trash. Marvin’s face grew hot. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and his ears began to ring. He was not trash.
“Take it!” he roared, thrusting the umbrella at her.
“Don’t touch me, you moron,” she hissed as she turned on her heel, towing a tearful Alice with her. As soon as her mother’s grip slackened, Alice pulled free and ran back toward the sculpture.
“Marvin!” she yelled, desperately wanting to make things right. Their eyes met, and before her mother could retrieve her, Alice blew him a kiss. And he caught it. Before he went home he left a white umbrella with red hearts leaning against the White Rabbit. Just in case she came back.
Laura yawned and stretched back into her chair. She checked her watch. Three hours in front of the screen was more than enough for today. She needed some air.
“Come on, Carrot,” she said. “Time for a walk.”
Outside, the sky was marbled gray.
“Looks like rain,” she said to the reluctant Carrot. “I think we might need an umbrella.”
CHAPTER 29
The dining room looked like something out of a fairy tale. The table was laid with a snow-white linen tablecloth and napkins. Silver cutlery framed each place setting and cut-crystal glasses winked and sparkled under the light from the chandelier. It was her first Christmas as mistress of Padua and Laura wanted to do the house justice. If she did, perhaps it would banish the unwelcome thoughts that crept into her head like black ants through a crack in the wall of a pantry. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that the previous mistress still hadn’t quite gone. She pulled the silver and white crackers from their cardboard box and set one on top of each precisely folded napkin.
That morning, even in the dark, she knew that something in the bedroom had changed. It was the same feeling which, as a child on Christmas morning, had told her that the stocking at the foot of her bed, empty when she had fallen asleep, was now full. She could sense, somehow, the alteration. As she padded over to the window in bare feet, she trod on things which were not the carpet; soft, hard, sharp, smooth. Daylight confirmed that the drawers of the dressing table had been pulled out and their contents strewn across the floor.
Laura picked up one of the wineglasses and polished away an imaginary smudge. Sunshine and her mum and dad were coming for Christmas dinner. Her brother had been invited, but he “wasn’t bovvered.” Freddy was coming too. She hadn’t known whether to ask him or not, but a stern pep talk from Sarah had convinced her. He said yes, and since then Laura had wasted an inordinate amount of time trying to work out why. Her hypotheses were numerous and varied; she’d caught him by surprise; he was lonely; he wanted a roast turkey dinner but couldn’t cook; he had nowhere else to go; he felt sorry for her. The one explanation she was most reluctant but excited to entertain was the simplest and most nerve-racking. He was coming because he wanted to.
Perhaps she had done it in her sleep, like sleepwalking. Sleep trashing. It wasn’t a burglary because nothing was missing. Yesterday she had found Sunshine in the garden room dancing to the Al Bowlly song that had begun to haunt her, night and day.
“Did you put the music on?”
Sunshine shook her head.
“It was already on, and when I heard it, I came in for the dance.”
Laura had never known Sunshine to tell a lie.
“They’re done!” Sunshine burst into the dining room looking at her watch. She had been making mince pies and now the kitchen was dusty with flour and icing sugar. Laura followed her as she trotted purposefully back to the kitchen and hopped from foot to foot excitedly while Laura took the pies from the oven.
“They smell lovely,” she said, and Sunshine blushed proudly.
“Just in time,” said Freddy as he came in through the back door accompanied by a blast of freezing-cold air. “Time for the lovely cup of tea and an even lovelier mince pie.”
As they sat round the table, drinking tea and fanning mouthfuls of mince pies, which were still a little too hot, Freddy gazed thoughtfully at Laura.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Nothing.” It was a reflex rather than an answer.
Freddy raised his eyebrows. Sunshine shoved the rest of her mince pie in and then spoke with her mouth full.
“That’s a lie.”
Freddy laughed out loud.
“Well, no points for tact there, but ten out of ten for honesty.”
They both looked at Laura expectantly. She told them. About the dressing table; the music; even about the shadow figure in the rose garden. Sunshine was unimpressed.
“It’s just the lady,” she said, as though it ought to have been obvious.
“And what lady might that be?” Freddy asked, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Laura.
“St. Anthony’s wedding wife. The Lady of the Flowers.” She reached for another mince pie and dropped it under the table for Carrot. Freddy winked at her and mouthed, I saw that. Sunshine almost smiled.
“But why would she still be here, now that Anthony’s gone?” Laura surprised herself by taking the idea seriously enough to ask.
“Yes. Why would she still be here making a mess and disturbing the peace? And after we gave her such a lovely wedding too?” Laura had no idea if Freddy was being serious or not.
Sunshine shrugged. “She’s upset.”
Despite her skepticism, Laura’s stomach tipped like a tombola machine.
Christmas day dawned bright and sunny, and as Laura ambled round the garden with Carrot, her spirits lifted. Christmas Eve had passed uneventfully, and she had even been to midnight mass at the local church. She’d had a few words with God and maybe that had helped. Laura and God didn’t get together too often, but he was still on her Christmas-card list.
Sunshine and her mum and
dad arrived at twelve on the dot.
“Sunshine’s been ready since eight,” her mum told Laura as she took their coats. “She’d have been here for breakfast if we’d let her.”
Laura introduced them to Freddy. “This is Stella and this is Stan.”
“We call ourselves the SS.” Stella chuckled. “It’s very kind of you to invite us.”
Stan grinned and thrust a poinsettia and a bottle of pink cava at Laura.
“There’s nothing like a drop of pink fizz at Christmas,” said Stella, smoothing down the front of her best dress and checking her hair in the hall mirror. As Sunshine proudly gave them a guided tour of the house, Stella and Stan oohed and aahed appreciatively. Back in the kitchen, Freddy was whisking gravy, basting roast potatoes, stabbing boiling Brussels sprouts, and drinking vodka martinis. And occasionally sneaking an appreciative glance at Laura. A couple of times, their eyes met, and he refused to look away. Laura was beginning to feel rather warm. He had insisted on helping to show his appreciation for the invitation. He raised his glass to Laura.
“If they’re the SS, then I’m 007.”
Christmas dinner was every bit as glorious as it ought to be. In the fairy-tale setting of silver and white and sparkle, they ate too much, drank too much, pulled crackers, and told terrible jokes. Carrot camped out under the table taking tidbits from whichever hand offered them. Laura discovered that Stella was in a book club and did flamenco, and Stan was on the darts team at his local pub. They were currently second in the league, and with three more matches in hand, they were hoping to take the championship. But Stan’s real passion was music. Much to Freddy’s delight, they shared a broad and eclectic taste, from David Bowie to Art Pepper to the Proclaimers to Etta James. It was easy to see where Sunshine’s love of music and dancing came from.
While Laura, Sunshine, and Stella cleared the table and then set about tackling the bomb site that used to be the kitchen, Freddy and Stan slumped back in their chairs like a pair of deflated soufflés.
“That was the best Christmas dinner I’ve had in years.” Stan rubbed his belly affectionately. “Only don’t tell the missus,” he added, winking at Freddy.
