by Anna Jacobs
When she’d finished, she pushed aside her plate. ‘How long till we get there? I drove down quite slowly when I was going to Wiltshire for the interview, because I’m not used to long-distance driving, and I was so het up, I didn’t notice much.’
‘It’ll take about three and a half hours more, depending on traffic, of course. I usually stay within the speed limit. You’ll have to direct me once we get near Newcastle.’
‘All right.’
A couple of hours later, he said, ‘We can stop and have one of your snacks before we get there or wait till we reach your house and have it then. Your choice.’
‘We’ll wait.’ She didn’t feel hungry so close to a possible confrontation with Donny but she made another excuse. ‘I’ve brought some tea-making things in case my son has moved out, so we can have a fresh brew with it if we wait.’
From the look Iain gave her, she reckoned he’d guessed how she was feeling. He was very perceptive about other people’s feelings. Or was it just about hers?
Oh, what did she know about anything? What she needed was to get today over and done with. Then she could stop worrying and get on with her lovely new life.
When they pulled up outside her old home, she was astonished at how small it looked and how run-down the whole street seemed. She hadn’t been away long, but she felt completely divorced from the house and the area.
‘It’s not much of a place,’ she muttered, feeling ashamed.
‘I spent a whole year once living in a caravan. I’m not a housing snob, love.’
Love? she thought. He’d called her ‘love’. When she stole a quick glance sideways, he caught her looking and winked. She didn’t know what to think.
He waited and when she didn’t say anything, he asked, ‘Is Donny’s car here?’
‘Yes. That white one with the scratch down the side. I’d hoped he’d be at work. He sometimes works Saturdays. I wonder what he’ll say when he sees me.’
‘You’re a bit nervous about going in, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. More than a bit.’
‘I’ll be right behind you – and remember, I won’t let him hurt you. Not physically, anyway.’
Iain even understood that not all injuries are physical, she thought in wonderment. Him being there gave her the courage to get out of the car and walk up to the front door.
As soon as she opened it, a chair scraped back and Donny peered out of the kitchen door at the far end of the hall.
‘Ah! You’re back at last. Where the hell have you been, Mam?’
‘Minding my own business.’
He stared beyond her. ‘Looks like you’re minding someone else’s too. Picked up a fancy man, have you?’
She got annoyed at herself for standing there like a guilty fool, struggling for words, so began to move towards the kitchen.
Only, Donny didn’t step aside to let her pass. His fist shot out and he grabbed her shoulder, holding her at arm’s length, shaking her and saying in a growling voice, ‘Send him away. You and I have things to talk about, Mam, an’ I want some answers.’
‘Speak politely to your mother,’ Iain said sharply. ‘And get your hand off her.’
‘Oh, it can talk!’ Donny mocked in a falsetto voice.
‘Don’t start, son!’ she warned, anger starting to take over from her nervousness. Shame, too.
‘You’re the one who started it, running off like that to play the whore. Well, I’m not having it. Not now, not ever!’
He swung her round and slammed her back against the wall twice, so hard it took the breath from her body and made her head spin for a moment. She couldn’t help crying out at the pain.
Next thing she knew, the hand left her shoulder, there was a blur of bodies and Donny went hurtling down the hall, yelling out in shock, to land sprawling on the front doormat.
Iain moved Ginger into the kitchen, so gently and yet so firmly that she was out of the way before she realised he was doing that to protect her. Then he turned to face Donny, who had struggled to his feet and was about to rush forward.
‘Stop that, Donny Brunham, this minute!’ she yelled at the top of her voice.
Her son came to a halt but the light of anger was still burning fiercely in his eyes. He had his father’s temper.
Iain simply stood there in a relaxed posture that nonetheless showed confidence in every line of his body. ‘I’m a black belt in karate,’ he said quietly. ‘Don’t go any further with this, son, because I’ve learnt how to defend myself and to protect people like your mother, who do not deserve to be bullied and thumped around.’
The last few words were said very emphatically.
Donny stood motionless, but he was still radiating anger.
‘Come into the kitchen and sit down, then we can talk,’ Ginger said, hoping he’d obey her.
And he did. Thank goodness.
Iain moved out of the way, standing behind Ginger now.
Once Donny had passed them, she moved towards the kettle.
But her son moved too, taking them both by surprise by picking up a chair and trying to smash it down on Iain with all the force of a big, muscular body.
But Iain didn’t wait to be hit. He moved sideways and after a brief scuffle, somehow the chair fell to the ground and Donny was thrown across the room again. Only this time he fell awkwardly against the old-fashioned stove and screamed out in pain.
When he tried to move, he yelled and grabbed his left arm to hold it still.
‘Oh, hell!’ Iain muttered. ‘He’s hurt. I hope he hasn’t broken that arm. He’s certainly hurt it badly. Men don’t scream for no reason. Call the police and the ambulance at once, Ginger.’
She picked up the phone and dialled 999, shaking with reaction as she watched Iain bend over Donny, who screeched when the older man touched him.
‘I need the police and an ambulance. Now!’ she yelled into it, giving her address. ‘There was a fight and when my friend defended himself, the other man got hurt. We think he’s broken his arm. That was him you heard yelling.’
Her son didn’t attempt to get up, just stayed on the floor, moaning.
‘Help is on its way,’ the voice told her. ‘Can you manage for a few more minutes?’
‘Yes. He can’t hurt us now.’
The minutes ticked by slowly.
Donny tried to get up and abandoned the attempt. He glared at Ginger. ‘Your fancy man’s broke my arm. I’ll set the police – on you both. Call yourself a mother?’
‘I’ll join in and break the other one if you try to hurt either of us again,’ she told him. Not that he could. Or that she’d even try to hit him. But it never did to try to reason with Donny when he got a fury on him. You just had to shout back.
Iain stayed near Donny but didn’t attempt to touch him again.
She prayed that the police and ambulance would arrive quickly.
Chapter Sixteen
Stacy set down her little welder and looked at the new creature she’d suddenly ‘seen’ in her mind and made up mainly from scrap metal pieces. It was another bird. This one stood there on tall metal legs, its long beak stretching out towards her. She touched its head lightly and it bobbed at her a few times, because she’d fitted the head on a long spring. That was the only component she’d had to buy to finish it off.
She loved it, one of her best creations, she felt. She couldn’t wait to show it to somebody but she knew Elise had gone out to the shops.
A few minutes later she saw her friend drive into the street and park next door, but waited till Elise had unloaded the shopping. When the older woman took out the final items, two little pots of flowers, and placed them on each side of her front door, Stacy came out to admire them.
‘I might do the same thing. In fact, it’d look nice if we all had pots of flowers at our doors, don’t you think?’
‘I agree, but do you think he would be interested in doing something like that?’ Elise nodded her head in the direction of Cutler’s house.
&nbs
p; ‘We can mention it to him. We have to try being friendly if we’re all going to live next door to one another for six months.’
‘Well, good luck with that. I’m not getting involved with him beyond a nod in passing.’
‘You took a real dislike to him, didn’t you?’
‘I take a dislike to anyone who treats me like a puddle-brained old fogey. Wait till you’re my age and see how you feel about being spoken down to.’
‘Does it happen often?’
‘More often than you’d think but I don’t let them get away with it.’
Stacy let a few seconds pass, then changed the subject. ‘Have you got a minute? I want to show you something.’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘Come and look at my new bird. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever made.’
Elise had only to look at the nodding bird to chuckle. ‘Oh, it’s lovely!’
‘How much do you think I should ask for it?’
Her friend studied it more carefully, then said thoughtfully, ‘Have you thought of selling the idea instead? Make a copyright claim on the design, then offer it to a manufacturer?’
Stacy stared at her in surprise. ‘That would never have occurred to me.’
‘I sold a couple of my paintings to printmakers. Then I fell and broke my hip, so I didn’t carry on, but I’m going to get back in touch with them now that I’m settled here and producing again.’
‘What a brilliant idea!’
Warren saw the old hag drive up and fiddle around with two pots of flowers. She’d have been better saving her energy for her work at her age.
Then Stacy came out and the two women stood chatting, so he hid behind the curtain near his open window and eavesdropped. He scowled when he heard what they were suggesting. If they did things like put out flowers to beautify their houses, he’d either have to follow suit or let them gain an advantage. But he was useless at keeping pot plants alive, and anyway, who wanted to fiddle around with them?
The two women were only doing it to suck up to Angus Denning. These weren’t even their own houses and they’d only be in them for six months.
Well, he wasn’t going to let them show him in a poor light. He smiled as he thought of something. The pots weren’t nailed down, were they? Perhaps he could do something about putting such things outside where anyone who passed by could damage them.
He’d overheard Stacy talking about finishing some object or other and wanting Elise’s opinion. Ha! Another of her twee toys, probably. You couldn’t call them art. How she’d got this residency was beyond his understanding. Denning’s wife must have pushed for it. Trust a woman to favour other women, whether they deserved it or not.
He watched the two women go inside Stacy’s house, which meant he couldn’t hear anything. He nibbled his thumbnail. What else were they plotting, damn them?
He went outside at the rear of his house and stood in the back garden. If either of them left their French windows open, he could sometimes hear what they were saying.
This time the window next door was open and what he overheard infuriated him. Why was the old hag helping her rival? That didn’t make sense. He’d never help other artists. On the contrary. He didn’t intend to be outshone by anyone.
The next time they both went out, he’d see if he could check out Stacy’s work through her back windows. He might know she wasn’t all that good, but maybe her work would appeal to common types who liked novelties, and then she’d bring money into the gallery.
Well, not if he could help it. No one was going to get better sales than him. He’d make sure of it.
That was even more important than getting rid of their stupid flowers.
When Emil’s phone rang, he was delighted to hear the voice of the woman from the estate agent’s.
‘About that flat, Mr Kinnaird, I can show you around it today, if you’re free. How about this afternoon?’
‘Great.’
‘I’ll meet you there at two.’ She gave him the address.
‘Happy to. Sorry to keep you waiting but there’s a bit of a problem: the owner died and his daughters have inherited the flats. They’re going to need one of them, so you can see them but not choose which one till the owner has made her choice.’
‘Does that mean I can’t move in straight away?’
‘I’m afraid so. But it’ll only be a day or two.’
He sighed. The hotel was all right, but there was nothing like your own home and possessions. He’d had to leave things in storage while he travelled round Australia and was looking forward to having them around him again.
The estate agent was very chatty as she drove him to a short street just outside the town centre. Emil said yes and no, almost at random, and that was all she needed to keep chatting.
This seemed like his best chance of somewhere decent to live, somewhere without the risk of electrical problems if the flats had just been refurbished. He hoped the flats would be a bit stylish.
The Quartet was a two-storey, purpose-built block of four flats, as the name suggested. Emil walked round the two vacant flats, each of which, unusually, had three bedrooms. He had a slight preference for the one on the upper floor, which had a balcony big enough to sit out on, whereas the lower ones had small courtyards.
Not wanting any delay he expressed his preference and was promised a phone call within a couple of days.
As he wanted to be ready to move in as soon as he heard, he went out to the big shopping centre to buy some bits and pieces: a bed, a small extendable table and four accompanying chairs, a recliner armchair and matching sofa. They would give him a start on furnishing the flat. He then bought a fridge/freezer and chatted to a very helpful sales assistant who promised to have the goods delivered as soon as Emil gave the word.
He went on to buy some basic crockery and kitchen stuff, which he took with him. Anything else could wait, he decided.
They were such nice flats. He’d fallen on his feet there, whichever one he got in the end.
Chapter Seventeen
There was the sound of a car stopping outside. Ginger sagged against the table in relief, still keeping a wary eye on her son. He had stopped cursing and threatening now and was looking pale.
She heard footsteps coming to the front door. That must be the police.
‘Go and answer it, love,’ Iain said. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Donny.’
She found two police officers standing at the front door. ‘Thank heavens you’ve come.’
She didn’t manage to do more than explain the bare details of what had happened, because they insisted on getting Donny to hospital.
‘You two will need to stay here, sir,’ they said to Iain and Ginger.
‘We’re not going anywhere.’
‘He attacked me for nothing,’ Donny said.
Ginger was furious. ‘You liar! You attacked us.’
When the ambulance had taken Donny away, another police car drew up and Ginger found herself giving a statement in the front room to one pair of officers while Iain spoke to the others in the kitchen.
Now the worst of the crisis was over, reaction had set in and she couldn’t stop herself from weeping as she tried to answer their questions. That somehow led to her explaining why she’d left home in the first place.
‘You should have come for help when your son started hitting you,’ the woman officer said in a sympathetic voice. ‘There’s a unit which deals with domestic violence of all sorts.’
‘I couldn’t. I was too ashamed.’ Ginger sobbed some more.
‘His shame, not yours. Um … your son claimed Mr Darling went for him without provocation – only he kept changing his story and the officer taking down the details didn’t find what he said very credible.’
‘My son grabbed me and slammed me against the wall. That’s why Iain had to defend me. Iain would never start a fight and he hadn’t had anything to drink.’
The officer smiled. ‘He’s already taken a breath test and re
gistered clear, unlike your son. Um … is Donny a heavy drinker?’
‘Yes. It’s one reason I left home. He was getting violent whenever he drank. Um … what’ll happen to him afterwards?’
‘Your partner’s been discussing that with the other officers. He thinks your son is an alcoholic and he’s willing to drop the charges, for your sake, if Donald will agree to go into rehab – which I consider very generous of him.’
Ginger started to say that Iain wasn’t her partner, but stopped because she’d heard his voice in the corridor outside, protesting about something.
‘He’s been trying to get in to see you,’ the female officer said with a smile. ‘He’s more worried about you than himself.’
‘I want to see him too. What will happen to my son after they’ve dealt with his arm?’
‘He’ll have to stay in hospital overnight.’
‘Thank goodness. That’ll give me time to pack my things.’
The officer gestured towards the door as Iain’s voice was heard outside again. ‘Perhaps we should let your partner in? He’s very anxious to see you – unlike your son, who’s threatening to break both your arms if you go near him.’
Before she could say more, the male officer went across to open the door and beckon to Iain.
He ignored the police completely and hurried across to kneel beside Ginger. ‘Are you all right, love?’
‘Yes. I might have a few bruises from where Donny thumped me, but—’
‘Where did he hit you? Let me see the bruises.’
‘Donny didn’t hit me, he banged me hard against the wall, and now my arm and the back of my shoulder feel a bit sore.’
‘He bumped you hard on the wall twice,’ Iain put in. ‘I couldn’t get to you in time to stop him.’
‘Yes, but they’re only bruises.’
The officer frowned. ‘Nonetheless, we’ll have the bruises checked out and photographed. Did your son do anything else to you? Best for you to tell us the whole story before the case goes to court.’
