by Kate Field
*
I unlocked my front door and stepped into the silent, empty house. My man-free house – or it had been, until now. I reckoned I had about fifteen minutes to race round tidying up and getting it ready for the arrival of the first man ever to spend a night here since I had purchased it. And not just any man – Paddy, the very last man I would ever have expected or invited to stay here. How on earth had this happened?
I hadn’t taken my car out this morning, and Tina had offered to drive Paddy here and to call at The White Hart for his bags and at the pharmacy for his medication, so that I could have some time to make the house decent. Not that it needed much: it wasn’t a large house, and I didn’t make much mess on my own. I had cleared away the breakfast bowl and glass, removed anything personal from the bathroom cabinet and fitted the single bed in the spare room with clean sheets by the time I heard car doors slamming on my drive.
When I opened the front door, Paddy was standing on the drive, resting on a pair of crutches as he gazed up at the house. What was he thinking? Was he making a judgement – feeling relief that he hadn’t ended up here too? There was still too much pain in his face to tell.
‘I had a stroke of inspiration!’ Tina called, as she and Graham retrieved a couple of bags from the car. ‘I called at The Chestnuts to see if they had any spare crutches. It was the least they could do after Paddy was injured fighting for their cause. Come on, let him in, he needs to get that leg up.’
I moved out of the doorway and, with a weary smile, Paddy hobbled over the threshold, turning left into the living room.
‘Bags are in the hall,’ Tina called. ‘We’ll leave you to it. Ring if you need anything!’
Before I could beg them to stay, the front door slammed shut and I was alone with Paddy.
‘You’d better sit down,’ I said, following him into the living room and pointing at the sofa. ‘I’ve brought some spare pillows to rest your leg on. Is that elevated enough? I didn’t know how high it needed to be. Have you taken your painkillers yet? Do you need a glass of water? Have you felt any dizziness?’
Paddy lowered himself on to the sofa while I gabbled a million questions at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ignoring everything I had said. ‘I know this is weird. You don’t want me here, I get that. I’m the last person you want to look after. I’ll be gone as soon as I can.’
This speech disarmed me. I had expected him to be irreverent, cracking jokes about the situation. This thoughtful, perceptive Paddy was a more welcome guest than the one I had envisaged. But I wasn’t sure that was a good thing; did I really want to welcome him? Bitterness was so much more straightforward; more in line with what my head told me I should feel about him.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. What else could I say, when the vitality I had noticed this morning had been replaced by the gaunt face of pain? ‘But I’ll be back at work tomorrow, so you’ll be on your own all day.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘If you would rather go home, there’s still time for me to drive you, and you could collect your car when you’re better. Your mum and dad could come and look after you, couldn’t they?’
‘No, they …’ He stopped, shook his head. ‘They’ve a lot on at the moment.’
There was something in the way he said that – a story lurking behind his words – but he was plainly not willing to tell it and I wasn’t inclined to ask. Providing practical assistance was one thing, but I didn’t have to hang around making conversation too, did I? Surely he would have a telephone for that?
I pottered to the kitchen and came back with a bag of frozen peas which I helped position under his leg.
‘I have salmon in the freezer,’ I said, moving the TV remote control to the table next to him.
‘Perhaps we should stick with the peas for now. The fish could get messy and begin to smell …’
It was a lame joke, and I should have been able to resist. I tried my best to resist. But the Paddy smile was there – tinged with pain, but still so much like the smile I used to love seeing, that my own smile flashed up in response before I could stop it.
‘I meant we could have it for dinner,’ I said, retreating to the doorway, as if by moving away I could stretch this connection that had flared up between us until it snapped. ‘It won’t be anything like as fancy as you’re probably used to.’
‘Don’t cook. The least I can do is pay for a takeaway.’
‘No! I mean, it’s no problem.’ Far from it. It was the perfect excuse to hide away in the kitchen and avoid spending more time with Paddy. I’d already calculated that I could probably get away with a couple of hours by myself for preparing dinner and cleaning up afterwards, if I worked very slowly. I might even be tempted to bake a cake to spin out the time. ‘Is there anything you need before I go and make a start?’
It was still too early to cook, so I busied myself for the next half hour in cleaning the oven – a job that even I, with my loathing for being idle, usually found an excuse to put off. But then, over the quiet burbling of the radio, I heard Paddy call my name.
I ran into the living room, expecting to find that he’d fallen to the floor at the very least; instead he was lying in state on the sofa, holding out my mobile phone and with a broad smile chasing away the extremes of pain that had marred his face.
‘Your phone rang,’ he said.
‘And you answered it?’
‘Hey, I’m not good for much else tonight, so the least I can do is be your secretary …’ He waved the phone at me. ‘Aren’t you going to take it?’
‘There’s still someone there? Why didn’t you say?’
I snatched the phone off him and put it to my ear as I hurried to the kitchen again. I hoped it wasn’t Rich, inviting me over to his house. How on earth was I going to explain that I was sharing my house with a man tonight, when I had never allowed him to stay? But my concern was blown away when I heard Caitlyn laughing.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, and I could picture the amusement on her face as clearly as if she’d been here. My heart sank under the weight of missing her. ‘He has the sexiest accent – after Luc’s, of course. And what was that about him not being good for much tonight? What have you been up to? Do I need to send you a few more vouchers so you can carry on?’
‘Stop it!’ I said, unable to resist joining her laughter. I closed the kitchen door, and sank onto a chair. ‘It’s the celebrity who came to start the walk. He’s had an injury, so he needs to rest for a while. I have to look after him.’
My vagueness didn’t fool her for a second.
‘How long is a while? Until after dinner?’
‘Yes …’
‘Or is he so bad that he needs to stay the night?’
‘I don’t know what you’re implying,’ I said, my attempt at primness undermined by laughter. ‘But you’re wrong. It’s all perfectly innocent. I’ve made up the spare room for him.’
‘Really?’ Caitlyn’s laughter abruptly faded. ‘He is spending the night? Is that safe? I don’t think you should be staying on your own with a stranger. Who did you say it was?’
‘Paddy Friel.’
‘Oh yeah, the archaeology man. I’ve seen some of his programmes. I thought his voice sounded familiar.’
My reply caught in my throat. I had never mentioned Paddy to Caitlyn, and had hidden away in the loft all the photographs and mementoes of our time together; the things that, despite what had happened, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to throw away. But I had often wondered whether she would have any memory of him.
‘I mean, he seemed nice enough on TV,’ she continued, ‘but you never know. That might all be an act. He might actually be a psychopath, who’ll creep up and kill you in your sleep.’
‘He’s not steady enough on his crutches for that yet.’ I tried to laugh it off, but there was no ignoring her concern. I would have felt exactly the same if the situation had been reversed, and she knew it; I had drummed safety into her too well. I wrestled, but I had no choice other than t
o come clean.
‘He’s not really a stranger,’ I admitted. ‘I used to know him, way back.’
‘Mum!’ she shrieked. ‘You knew Paddy Friel? When? How come you’ve never mentioned that?’
‘It was a long time ago. There’s nothing to mention.’
I could tell by her silence that she understood. Paddy was part of the life-before-her, the time I never spoke about. I had always told her that it didn’t matter – that nothing interesting had happened in those years, that there had been nothing to miss when my circumstances changed. My real life began when she came to live with me. It was an artifice we had chosen to maintain long after she was too old to believe it – the Father Christmas effect applied to my history. I couldn’t bear that she should ever think she had been a burden.
‘Text me in the morning to let me know you’re alive,’ she said, and I was happy to agree and change the subject. She had actually telephoned to find out how the walk had gone, and I took great delight in laughing over Gran’s exploits and monopolisation of the newspaper photographer.
‘I’ll forward you the link when it’s in the paper,’ I offered. ‘Send her a postcard to say how smart she looked. She’ll love that.’
‘Will do. Did she model one of the T-shirts?’
‘No, but there were lots of people wearing them.’ The T-shirts featuring Caitlyn’s design had proved so popular that we had had to order a second batch. ‘I wish you could have been here.’
My attempt not to sound wistful clearly failed.
‘I’m definitely coming back in August for your birthday. We bought cheap flights yesterday and saved a packet.’
‘We?’ I repeated carefully.
‘Me and Luc … you don’t mind, do you? I said he could stay with us. And you can hardly object now you’ve broken the no-men-in-the-house rule …’
That was the trouble with children, I reflected, as I got on with preparing dinner after finishing the call with Caitlyn. You spent never-ending amounts of time and money encouraging them to be smart, bright, confident young people, and then they harnessed all that cleverness and used it against you.
I carried our dinner in on trays, ignoring Paddy’s half-hearted protest that he could probably move to the table: he wouldn’t be aggravating his injury on my watch. The sooner he made a good enough recovery to go home, the better. I switched on the TV – dinner in front of the TV! – another rule broken, but needs must – hoping it would deter conversation, but the painkillers must have kicked in as Paddy was looking far perkier.
‘So that was Caitlyn on the phone earlier,’ he said, spearing a cherry tomato. ‘She sounds so … grown up.’
‘Because she is. Children have a habit of doing that.’
‘So she’s away at uni?’
‘No. She’s working in Paris.’
‘When did she start calling you Mum?’
I swallowed a piece of salmon, not tasting it at all.
‘After a few months. Everyone at nursery had at least a mum or a dad. She wanted one too.’
I would never have suggested it myself; the last thing I had wanted to do was take Faye’s place. But then I had gone to Caitlyn’s first sports day at the nursery she had attended before we moved here. It was a delight to see her running round and enjoying herself, unbroken by everything that had happened in the previous few months. But the playing field had been full of children scampering round, showing off, shouting, ‘Look at me!’ as they clamoured for their parents’ attention. Cries of ‘Mummy’ and ‘Daddy’ had flown through the air like a colony of wasps, impossible to ignore. And then Caitlyn had won the giant egg and spoon race, and without a moment’s hesitation, she had run up and clutched my hand, squealing, ‘Did you see me, Mummy?’ It had stuck ever since.
Tears filled my eyes. My feelings couldn’t be reconciled: the love and pride I had felt for Caitlyn in that moment, and the guilt that it was a moment I should never have known. It should have been Faye on that playing field, not me. It should have been Faye for every subsequent moment – the first day at school, the sports achievements, the exam celebrations, the first period, the first boyfriend, the sleepovers, the holidays – even chatting to Caitlyn in Paris this afternoon. None of those moments should ever have belonged to me.
Paddy was watching me. I brushed my tears away roughly.
‘As long as you’re staying here,’ I said, my voice sounding unsteadier than I would have liked, ‘there’s one rule. No talking about the past – any part of it. And that includes not talking about Caitlyn.’
‘But, Eve, there are things …’
‘No.’ I put down my knife and fork and looked at him. ‘I don’t want to hear your explanation. It was all a long time ago. I can’t quite stretch to forgiveness, but I won’t waste any more energy on being bitter. You’re just flesh and blood, and you put yourself first, like everyone else. I can’t blame you for that.’
‘But …’
‘Don’t. Stop pushing it. It still hurts, you know? Not your part in it, so much now – but Faye, and Dad, and being reminded about what we have all lost. Just seeing you here brings it all closer to the surface than it has been for years. I really don’t want to talk about it, or to rake over the rights and wrongs of what happened back then. It doesn’t matter any more. You’re happy with your life and I’m happy with mine. Let’s leave it like that.’
He looked at me then and, from the expression on his face, it seemed as if an internal battle was going on. I wondered, briefly, why it bothered him so much; why he seemed to have this overwhelming need to dig around in our past, and to justify what he had done.
‘If that’s what you want,’ he said at last. He reached out and gently rubbed the back of my hand. ‘The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you.’
Chapter 13
It was all very well to have a rule that there would be no talking about the past; I couldn’t control my thoughts as easily. Paddy was in the same house, sleeping under the same roof as me for the first time in over seventeen years. The smell of him lingered on the sofa where he had sat all afternoon. I could hear the bed creak in the spare room next to mine as he tossed and turned in the night. As I lay alone in bed, struggling to sleep, it was impossible not to remember the past and our time together.
We had worked well – been a good match, despite the awful circumstances in which our relationship had started. I had blossomed under his influence, finally lured out of the shadow cast by Faye, by having to go through life following in the footsteps of an older sister who dazzled everyone. Being the ‘clever one’ had sometimes seemed a small prize compared to what Faye had – the power to captivate all who met her, including me. But Paddy had made me feel the first choice at last. And for once I had led the way; I had settled down with Paddy, while Faye had flitted from one man to another, even after having Caitlyn. There were so many good memories from our time together; was it any wonder I had thought it would last forever?
Paddy managed to hobble to the kitchen table the next morning, sitting in Caitlyn’s place while I dashed about getting everything ready.
‘You didn’t need to get up so early,’ I said. I’d been creeping round, hoping to sneak off to school before he woke up.
‘It’s fine. I couldn’t sleep well.’
‘You’re not feeling sick, are you?’ I’d read up on the signs of concussion. He shook his head. ‘Is the leg any better?’ I asked.
‘Maybe.’ I took that as a no. I had seen him trying to stifle a grimace as he walked in. ‘Though I don’t reckon I’ll be able to drive home today.’
‘I never expected you would. Dr Gould said it could be a week.’
‘It can’t be a week. I need to be somewhere on Saturday.’
I glanced at him, but he was looking out of the window, giving nothing away. It must be a date, I decided. He may not have a girlfriend, but he could still be going out on dates. Not that it was any of my business. The sooner he was out of my house, the better.
�
��What about work? Are you expected anywhere?’ I asked.
‘Not this week. I’ve a project design to work on for a proposed excavation in Yorkshire. I can be getting on with that on my laptop.’
It sounded more fun than a day spent with Jo Blair, even with the leg injury and the bruise adorning his head.
‘I’ve made you a flask of coffee,’ I said, gesturing at the large flask next to the sink. ‘I’ll put it on the table beside the sofa. Sandwiches for lunch are in the fridge. Is there anything else you need?’
‘A working leg?’ He smiled. ‘Thanks. You didn’t need to do that.’
I knew that, and I didn’t need to pop home in my lunch break either, but of course I did. I’d tried to reduce his need to move as much as I could, but the upstairs bathroom was the one thing I couldn’t fix to suit him. All morning at school I’d had visions of him misjudging the stairs with his crutches or having a dizzy spell and crashing to the bottom, sustaining even more serious injury, so as soon as lunchtime arrived, I abandoned my desk and drove home.
All was quiet when I let myself into the house, but I was relieved to find no body at the foot of the stairs. Peering in at the living room door, I spotted Paddy stretched out on the sofa, his leg raised on a pillow. A couple of magazines lay on the floor at his side, and his laptop hung precariously off his knee, as if unsure whether to follow. I stole across the room and looked down at him. He was asleep, and sleep had smoothed away the pain that had altered his face the day before. In rest, he looked more like the Paddy I had known; it was easy to imagine that the years hadn’t passed, and that I was watching him sleep as I often had, struck with amazement that this man, whom I loved so much, was there in the bed beside me.
I shook away those haunting thoughts of the past. This man wasn’t the boy I had loved. There was a small scar below the jawline on this man’s chin that hadn’t been there before, the record of an event I knew nothing about. A couple of grey hairs lurked amid the dark curls at his temples. The body, though covered by a shirt, was still visibly more muscular than the slim chest I had once held close to mine. I didn’t know this man at all. And yet, as I walked away, the laptop safely removed to the floor, a sleep-soaked voice called out, ‘Eve?’ and my body turned, recognising and reacting to the sound with no input from my brain.