Older Man

by Bright, Laurey;

  She was ferociously glad at the look of torment in his eyes. “You're not making this easy for me."

  "No.” she said, cruelly obdurate in her despair. “I don't want to make it easy."

  He nodded, almost smiling. “That's my girl."

  "But I'm not,” she said. “Am I? In spite of—everything."

  "You can't be! For your own sake—"

  "You don't need to dress it up in self-sacrifice. The truth is, you want me, you—love me, but not enough.” She moved away from him. “That's it in a nutshell, isn't it?"

  He had shifted back, too. His hand was clenched hard on the steering wheel. It was dark now, and she couldn't see his eyes. “You have a neat ability to cut through to the kernel, Rennie.” He shrugged. “What more can I say?"

  She was too proud to cry. It was nothing she hadn't known all along, and she would probably think herself lucky, some day, that he hadn't been the sort of man who would have taken what he could get and then discarded her. Because surely that would have been worse. If anything could be worse than what she was feeling now.

  He stooped and picked up the box with its torn wrapper that had dropped to the floor of the car. “Here,” he said, and closed her hands over it very gently. “I'll get your bag."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  It was going to be a long year, Rennie told herself on the first day of the new term. But she would get through it. And at the end of it she would have a law degree. Three months later she'd have professional exams to sit, and at twenty-one she would be eligible to be admitted to the bar, as planned.

  Her friends would have said that in her last university year, Rennie had a high old time. On beach trips with friends she swam out to sea the furthest and climbed highest on the cliffs. When a group decided to go to Ruapehu to ski, Rennie was first on the slopes, and the last to give up and return to the ski hut, where she led the singing in front of the stove for hours. At parties Rennie was always there, tossing her impossible hair over her shoulders and talking, laughing, flirting until nearly everyone else had gone home. If there was dancing, Rennie was first on the floor and the most energetic performer, outlasting all her partners.

  Her mother looked at her askance a few times, and hinted that if she wanted to talk...

  But Rennie just hugged her, gave her a husky, “Thanks. I know.” And kept her own counsel. She was long past the stage where her mother could kiss the hurt better.

  She visited Toby and Ellen often, after her daytime lectures and before Grant came home. She was surprised at how much she missed them, at the rush of love that always came over her when they greeted her with hugs and clamoured to tell her what they had been doing since she saw them last. Her heart ached a little at the small changes that she noticed between visits, Toby becoming less solemn, developing a mischievous sense of humour and telling terrible jokes learned from his friends, Ellen losing the last of her baby fat and talking about going to school. They were growing up so fast, and she had a passionate desire to be with them, not to miss any phase of their development.

  But she forced herself to make the visits further apart. Just before the May holidays she phoned Grant and asked for his permission to take them out for a day. He gave it coolly, asked how she was, made arrangements for her to collect the children, and said a firmly pleasant goodbye.

  When she went to fetch Toby and Ellen, they met her at the door and took her into the lounge. Grant stood up with a glass of something in his hand and said, “Hello, Rennie, how are you? You remember Lorna, don't you?"

  Lorna Fielding was there, smiling and looking very much at home, her blonde hair as sleek as the first time Rennie had met her, but her smart businesslike clothes replaced by equally smart casual slacks and a loose but beautifully styled shirt.

  "I'm all right,” Rennie said. She wrenched her eyes away from the strangely intent look Grant was giving her and said hello to the other woman. With some difficulty she managed to conduct a polite if stilted conversation, and, refusing a drink, got the children away as quickly as she could. She deduced that Lorna and Grant were looking forward to a quiet day together.

  Extravagantly, she took the children to Kelly Tarlton's underwater world. She knew Grant had taken them there once or twice, and Toby was keen to go again. Ellen held her hand for a good deal of the time they were in the tunnel via which the aquarium stingrays, sharks and other sealife were viewed. But she didn't seem frightened.

  Afterwards Rennie bought them milkshakes and a snack, and they walked a little way along the waterfront, watching the ferries and sailboats on the harbour, and having a look at a cruise ship that was in port, before boarding a bus to go home.

  When they returned there was no sign of Lorna. Grant met them at the door, asking, “Had a good day?"

  The children proceeded to tell him exactly why. Rennie said, “Well, I'll be getting along,” and was in the act of turning when he said abruptly, as though he hadn't meant to, “Don't run off just yet. Come in for a few minutes."

  She shook her head, but he reached out and took her arm, and she found herself in the hallway, then being led into the lounge.

  "Sit down,” Grant said. “Can I get you some coffee? A drink?"

  "I should be getting home,” she said.

  "I'll drive you. The children can come along. You've already been on enough buses today. And with two kids in tow."

  "Do I look tired or something?"

  "Not particularly. You look remarkably fresh and quite—beautiful.” His voice was suddenly husky.

  She hadn't expected him to say anything like that. “Flattery will get you anywhere,” she responded. “That is, it would if you wanted it to,” she added gloomily.

  Grant laughed, and the tension relaxed a little. “You can't be kept down, can you, Rennie?"

  "That makes me sound like some kind of noxious weed."

  He shook his head. “An exotic plant, perhaps. Definitely not a weed."

  "The definition of a weed is a plant that's growing where it's not wanted, isn't it?"

  She thought she probably fitted the description rather well, but Grant just shook his head and said, “Sure I can't get you something?"

  "All right,” she said. “Coffee.” He would have to go in the kitchen to make it, and that might give her a chance to gather her defences.

  By the time he brought it, the children had disappeared to play outside. “You don't have to do this,” she said, stirring in sugar.

  "I wanted one for myself, anyway. How did you enjoy the outing?"

  "Very much. I love being with them. They seem to have got over any problems they might have had about their mother's death."

  "I think they're both managing well. I heard Toby once explaining to Ellen exactly what I'd told him."

  "About him and his sister not being responsible?"

  "Yes. I think eventually it sank in."

  "It must be awful for a child to feel guilty about something like that."

  "Yes. It's bad enough for an adult."

  "Do you feel guilty?” Rennie asked. “About Jean?"

  "I was guilty of a lot of things. I can't dodge that. At the same time, it's no use dwelling on what can't now be mended. The main thing is not to make the same mistakes over again."

  "You mean you won't ever marry again."

  His eyes rested on her enigmatically. “It's unlikely."

  Because, she thought, after one failed marriage, he didn't want to risk another. He'd been hurt, and seemed to feel worse about the fact that he'd hurt his wife. He'd lost confidence in his ability to sustain a permanent relationship, was still flailing himself for the breakdown of his marriage. Still brooding over his own failure and his part in his wife's unhappiness. The anger Rennie had felt with him after his rejection of her love shook her again. She tried to despise him for his lack of trust in himself, in her. Instead, she felt a wave of love and pity.

  She thought about Lorna Fielding. Did she hope to be the second Mrs Morrison? Or would she settle for
something less?

  "Did you enjoy your day?” she asked him.

  Perhaps he had followed her train of thought. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Very much,” he said. “It was nicely restful."

  Lorna looked a restful sort of person. Was that what he wanted? Someone composed and self-possessed and mature, as Rennie imagined Lorna to be, rather than volatile and unpredictable and sometimes disastrously impulsive, like herself?

  Feeling suddenly depressed, she finished her coffee and said, “I'm ready to go whenever it suits you."

  She and Shane had both been invited to a twenty-first birthday party that night. Shane wanted to borrow their parents’ car for the occasion and as he hadn't long had his licence their father was a little reluctant to give permission.

  "He won't worry if you're with me,” Shane assured her. “Come on, Ren, say you'll come."

  It was noisy and crowded, and there wasn't anyone there over twenty-five. All the men appeared youthful and boringly full of themselves. Rennie tried to shake off a feeling that she had been to umpteen parties just like it, and that there were more interesting things in life than listening to tapes played at top decibel level, conducting a shouted conversation with people only inches away, and trying to dance on the minuscule bit of floor space that was left by the several dozen people squeezed into three quite small and not very comfortable rooms. Drink flowed freely, and at eleven o'clock the owner of the flat had a loud argument with one of the neighbours, after which the tape player was turned down for a time, but Rennie suspected that someone later inched it up again.

  Kevin was there, ignoring Rennie either because he was embarrassed about his drunken attempt at making love to her at last year's legal ball, or because he was too engrossed in his partner.

  The girl at his side looked about fifteen, and was wearing a miniskirt that barely covered her hips. As the evening wore on, Rennie noticed her getting progressively gigglier, apparently trying to keep up with the number of drinks Kevin was having.

  It was none of her business, Rennie told herself, but when she went to the bathroom and found the girl vomiting into the toilet bowl, she couldn't retreat and leave her to it.

  She found a cloth and wet it with cold water to wipe the girl's pale, sweaty forehead. Then, as she patently couldn't stand up, Rennie helped her to lean back against the wall, her thin legs sprawled on the vinyl floor.

  "Thanks,” the girl said weakly. What's your name?"

  "Rennie. What's yours?"

  "Amanda. Oh, I suppose you wanted the bathroom. Sorry.” She tried rather unsuccessfully to get up, and had to hold onto the washbasin, swaying.

  "Maybe you should lie down."

  "I just want to go home!” Amanda wailed, putting a hand to her head. “Could you find my boyfriend for me, and ask him to come and get me, do you think?"

  "He drove you here?"

  Amanda nodded, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Mmm."

  "Are you going to be sick again?"

  "Yes,” Amanda gasped. “No.” She gulped in some deep breaths. “No, I don't think so. If you fetch Kevin for me..."

  "Okay,” Rennie agreed doubtfully. She returned to the other room and made her way to where Kevin was leaning heavily on the young man next to him, waving a beer can splashily and hazily eyeballing another man standing less than a foot away.

  She plucked at his arm, and tried the ignore the leering grin he gave her as he turned and recognised her. “Amanda,” she told him, “wants to go home. She's sick."

  He guffawed. “Sick? She's shickered, that's what. Told her she couldn't keep up with me. Silly bitch. Anyway, don't want to go home jus’ yet. You tell her."

  Rennie itched to slap him. Maybe her childhood instincts had been correct, after all. Turning on her heel, she went back to the bathroom. Amanda had subsided to the floor again, and was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed.

  "Kevin isn't going to be much use, I'm afraid,” Rennie told her. “I wouldn't trust him to drive a car tonight, and I don't think I'd trust him in any other capacity, either."

  "You mean he's drunk,” Amanda said, without opening her eyes. “So am I. My mother'll kill me! I've never had more than two or three glasses of anything. Only Kevin dared me. Oh, God, I feel sick!"

  Rennie said, “Tell you what, I've had enough of this party, anyway. My brother and I will drive you home."

  "Oh, I couldn't ask you to—he'll think it's an awful cheek, won't he?"

  "You didn't ask. And I'm sure he won't mind."

  Shane showed surprisingly willing and competent, helping to remove Amanda from the bathroom to his car with a minimum of fuss, and even firmly calming Kevin, who was inclined to be belligerent at what he apparently conceived as some infringement of his rights.

  "I'd drop that nerd if I were you,” Shane advised Amanda as he helped her into the rear seat. “If you ask me he's got a big fat hole where his brains ought to be."

  As Rennie climbed into the front beside him, he added, over his shoulder, “Where do you live, kiddo?"

  She told him and he nodded. “Not far from our place."

  When they got there Shane helped Rennie get Amanda up the path. She threw up again on the doorstep. Then her father flung open the door and seemed to think Shane was responsible. Amanda was too busy being sick to talk, and the man wouldn't listen to Shane's explanation or Rennie's.

  Her mother came out and helped her inside, and Shane hastily backed off while her dad shook a clenched fist in his face and threatened to have his guts for garters—and other parts of him for less mentionable things—if he ever set foot inside the gate again. Rennie followed, still futilely trying to explain what had happened.

  "And we were just doing his little darling a good turn!” Rennie sympathised as they climbed into the car.

  "Oh, well,” Shane said philosophically, “it's all experience, I guess."

  Shane won two tickets to an Oscar-winning film in a phone quiz run by a radio station. “Want to come with me?” he asked his sister. “The tickets are for tomorrow night, and every girl in my little black book is booked up."

  She knew he didn't have one, that he was rather shy about asking girls to go out. “Okay,” she said. “How can I refuse such a gracious invitation?"

  In the foyer afterwards, as they made their way from the theatre, they were discussing the film's excellence when a warm feminine voice said, “It's Rennie, isn't it?” And she turned to see Lorna Fielding smiling at her, one hand hooked into Grant Morrison's arm. Rennie's hand clenched in the pocket of her light jacket, and she carefully refrained from looking at Grant.

  Grant said, “Good evening, Rennie. Hello, Shane.” The four of them stood discussing the film for a few minutes. Then after a slight pause Grant said, “We were going to have some supper. How about you two joining us?"

  "Do come with us,” Lorna said, smiling at them both.

  "Thank you, but—” Rennie started to say.

  Grant added, “I'm paying."

  Shane leapt in with, “Thanks. That'd be great."

  Shane was hardly starved at home but he had a healthy appetite and an appreciation of food—good, bad or indifferent. The chance of a free supper in a good restaurant rarely came his way. Rennie looked at his eager expression and nodded. “If we're not too long. I have an early start tomorrow,” she reminded him.

  "How's the study going, Rennie?” Grant asked when they were seated around a table in a small, comfortable supper restaurant.

  She risked a glance at him, thought he looked slightly strained in spite of the air of neutral interest he had adopted. “Okay,” she said. “My tutors seem pleased."

  "Good.” A waiter approached with menus, and after they had all made their choices the talk turned to the film they had just seen.

  As they had coffee, Shane said, “I forgot to tell you, Rennie, that girl came round yesterday, before you got home."

  "What girl?"

  "The one we did the rescue act on—whatsername
—Amanda."

  Grant said, mildly interested, “Who have you been rescuing, Rennie?"

  Shane explained, and added, “She must have remembered me pointing out our place when we passed it taking her home. She was on the doorstep when I got home yesterday from school. Said she wanted to thank me—us—properly, and apologise for her father."

  Rennie thoughtfully noted his slight embarrassment. But he was saying to the other two, “Her father thought I was the one who got her drunk, you see."

  "Went after you with a horsewhip, did he?” Grant enquired.

  "If he'd had one, I reckon he would've."

  Rennie said, “She seemed like a good kid, really."

  Looking at the quirk of his lips, she could tell what Grant was thinking. But she had felt much older than the other girl.

  "Yeah,” Shane said.

  "Something bothered you?” Grant asked shrewdly.

  "She had a bruise on her face.

  "Do you think her father beat her?” Grant asked, frowning.

  Shane looked worried. “He was pretty angry. And I was sorry for her, you know. The way she thanked me, you'd think I was some kind of knight in shining armour. All I did was drive her home."

  Grant said, “It sounds as though the girl's set to develop a bad case of hero-worship. She could turn into a real headache, and you'll end up having to hurt her. Which is bad news all round."

  Rennie didn't look at him, but she felt herself going hot. Bending her head, she fiddled with the spoon in her coffee cup, waiting for the tell-tale flush to subside.

  "But if her parents are ill-treating her—” Lorna objected.

  "We can't jump to conclusions on the strength of one small bruise,” Grant said. “The girl wasn't afraid to go home. She was with a boy at the party? Maybe he hit her."

  "Very likely,” Rennie said. She decided not to mention that he knew Kevin.

  Shane said, “The bastard!"

  Shane was one of the most non-violent people Rennie knew, but he looked positively murderous now, his fists clenched on the table, and a furious scowl on his face. Seeing their surprise, he said sheepishly, “She's a skinny little kid, you know? Brings out a man's protective instincts."