‘Be a darling and find me some arnica cream. It’s excellent for bruises. I’ve mentioned it to Alex but he thinks I’m talking hokum and won’t take me seriously.’
‘Arnica?’ Monica said doubtfully. ‘Isn’t that some mumbo-jumbo stuff? It’s not proper medicine, is it?’
Kate glared at her severely. ‘The likes of some doctors might not think it’s proper medicine but I can tell you it works. Let’s face it, I should know. Don’t forget I’ve got plenty of previous form in covering up the after-effects of a good beating.’
Monica grimaced, knowing the effort it must take to be so casual when mentioning the savage attacks Kate had suffered at the hands of her late husband.
‘I’m perfectly adept at masking the underlying injuries, the odd broken rib and suchlike,’ Kate continued, ‘but the state of my face is something else. I know that when the colour has faded and the swelling goes down I can do wonders with some carefully applied cosmetics, but before that can happen I need a little extra help. Arnica’s the thing. So will you get some for me?’
Monica wavered.
‘It will be no trouble. Boots will have some. Here, take some cash.’ Kate pulled her purse from the drawer of the nightstand. ‘Can’t have you spending your hard-earned wages on mumbo-jumbo potions.’
Monica hesitated. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’
Kate flashed her a smile and it was almost like the old Kate was back in the room. ‘Of course I’m sure. I’m always sure of everything, you know that.’
Monica conceded defeat. ‘All right, then. I’ll pop down now so I can bring it back before visiting time’s over.’
‘That’s the spirit. I’ll be eternally grateful.’ Kate’s face set in an expression of determination. ‘Because I need to get out of here as soon as possible and be in a fit state to welcome my little girl home. I’ll do anything to speed up the process. Anything.’
Amber checked her phone, a snarl beginning to form as she did so. Getting back to her silent Airbnb room, she’d felt the need for company, to share her success at the antiques shop – not that she intended telling anyone about the details of that. But her mood was on the up, and she’d decided to call Giles after all. OK, he was no Alex Price, but he was sufficiently athletic and compliant. She wanted – no, needed – to work off her excess energy. A couple of hours on the treadmill wouldn’t quite cut the mustard.
He wasn’t answering, though. That annoyed her. Even if he was stuck in his research lab or the library he should surely have his mobile on vibrate, in case any urgent calls came in. As far as she was concerned, this was urgent. She’d left it for an hour and tried again but still answer came there none. What was he playing at?
She whirled around the room, noticing now how inferior it was to her flat only a few streets away. Compared to the old place in Litherland, it was luxurious and well presented, but now she knew what real quality was like she found it sub-standard. Her expression grew fiercer. She was ruined forever, and it was Kate’s fault – giving her a taste of the good things in life, only to whisk them away again by failing to die when she should have done. The woman had no right to survive, no right to Alex Price and all the prestige and status that came with him. All of that should belong to her, Amber Simpson.
She forced herself to get a grip before her mood escalated into something uncontrollable. Losing it wouldn’t help. She had to think straight. Giles might be working on a ward. He was attached to Alder Hey, wasn’t he? That must be the solution. She’d ring him there, go through the switchboard, track him down that way. He’d probably be glad of the diversion – ministering to sick kids for hours on end must drive him mad. They’d be so demanding and yet so infuriatingly helpless. He’d welcome a call from her.
Before she could change her mind she found the number and dialled, focusing on sounding upbeat and polite. On no account must any trace of her real mood find its way into her voice. The eyes might be the windows to the soul but it was the voice that got you places – accepted as a professional, a rational human being worthy of attention and respect.
So when the receptionist refused her request to be put through she was startled. ‘Why not?’ she demanded, forgetting her resolution to hide her rising temper.
‘Because he no longer works here,’ said the receptionist.
‘What? Since when?’ Amber was flabbergasted. He’d said this was his ideal job, giving him the chance to conduct research into his favourite topic, and the prospect of making a real difference in his chosen field.
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, madam,’ came the voice down the line. ‘Now is there anything else I can help you with?’
Amber pressed the disconnect icon without deigning to reply. Madam yourself, she thought angrily. Could the woman have made a mistake? Confused him with someone else?
No, these people were trained to be accurate, otherwise they wouldn’t have such a responsible position. It was highly unlikely there would be another Dr Girling on the staff. Something had happened and he had gone, left without telling her.
Amber’s face twisted into a mask of pure fury. He had escaped her. He hadn’t even had the decency to say goodbye or to tell her where he was going or what he was doing – he’d just vanished. She hadn’t been enough for him. Just because he could see he wasn’t going to get Kate, he’d done a runner. He hadn’t spared a thought for Amber, despite all the kindness she’d shown him, all the times she’d welcomed him into her bed and the good times he’d had there. He’d counted all that as nothing. The despicable coward, the ungrateful monster.
Amber conveniently forgot that not long ago she’d been debating never ringing him again. Now she had been scorned her anger had grown to immense proportions in no time at all. She was beyond fury. No punishment was good enough for him. She had to deal him a killer blow, a lifetime of pain. There was only one thing she could think of which would achieve that – and by great good fortune it served her own purposes too. Kate Price could not be allowed to live.
Sixteen
Brenda stretched out and sighed with satisfaction. Even with the strangely shaped pillows, this was one of the most comfortable beds she’d ever slept in and she’d had the best night’s rest she’d managed for ages. She wondered if that was because she’d been increasingly worried recently – all the trouble with Pete’s family and Kylie in such a pickle, Kate’s joyous appearance on the scene all too soon turning to near-tragedy, Alex coming out of his shell only to have his bubble of happiness burst in spectacular fashion. On top of all of that she’d had to come abroad. Brian turned over in his sleep and grunted, which at least was normal, and she felt grateful for his familiar presence.
Yet somehow yesterday evening had set her mind at ease. Kate’s little girl was just adorable. Of course, all parents thought that about their own children, so Brenda hadn’t put too much faith in what Kate had said about her daughter since she’d moved in, but she truly hadn’t been exaggerating. Amelia was enchanting: extremely sociable and comfortable in the company of adults, even beyond what might be expected of an only child. She could hold a conversation, didn’t make a fuss as it grew late, ate all her food with apparent enjoyment (and Brenda noted there was no kids’ menu – she got what the grown-ups did) and left with her grandparents without complaint when they explained it was time to go.
This morning they were to pick her up from the Powers’ home and begin stage one of their journey of adventure. Tim had arranged to swap the hire car for a bigger one, so they could fit in a child’s seat and the extra luggage. They were to make their way slowly north, going where their fancy took them, until word reached them that Kate was in a fit state to welcome her daughter back. Alex had Skyped them yesterday and said she was getting more restless than ever at being restricted to her hospital bed, but the doctors wanted to keep her in to monitor her progress and there was no getting around that.
Brenda squinted at the lace curtains and the slatted shutters behind them, which let through the morn
ing sunlight in bright white bars. Somewhere outside a bird was singing, and there were a few muffled shouts from what were probably tradesmen going about their early business. A few days ago she would have been terrified by this – they were shouting in their weird language and perhaps the birds sang in French too. Yet today Brenda had a sense that all was right with the world. She intended to hang on to that, and no London lowlifes were going to stop her enjoying this most unexpected of holidays.
‘Happy, my darling? You’ve no regrets about doing this?’ Tim propped himself up on one elbow and regarded his new wife, the woman he loved more than anyone in the world. Her pixie-like face was relaxed in the soft light of the early morning but she was still far too thin.
‘You needn’t look at me like that, as if I’m going to break if you breathe on me too hard,’ she said lazily.
Tim snorted. He’d been caught out and had his mind well and truly read. ‘How do you do that? We’ve been apart for all these years and yet you still know what I’m thinking.’
Julia shrugged. ‘Not difficult. Your face always shows exactly what’s going on in your head.’
Tim recoiled in mock-horror, pulling his pillow to his chest. ‘Oh no. You mean my patients haven’t been taken in for all the time I’ve been in practice? It’s a miracle I haven’t been struck off.’
‘Relax, honey. It’s only me who can do it.’ Julia laughed at him. ‘Anyway, a few more meals like the one last night and you won’t have to worry about me at all. I reckon I gained ten pounds just from the first course.’
Tim chucked the pillow to the bottom of the bed and drew her to him. ‘It was fabulous, wasn’t it? And those cheeses afterwards. Ones that you can’t get back in England.’
‘Let alone in Vermont. Guess I’ve made the right move. When I’m in need of cheese I can just hop on a short flight down to France in future.’
Tim smiled, and then laughed. ‘I thought Brenda was going to keel over when she asked for the nearest thing to scouse and they brought her boeuf bourguignon.’
‘She seemed to like it, though. Or if she didn’t she hid it well, finishing it all off and wiping her plate clean with that crusty bread.’
‘Stop it. You’re making me hungry again. Wonder what’s for breakfast? More bread? Croissants?’
‘Ooh, yes please.’ Julia rolled onto her back and stretched her arms above her head to the carved curved headboard. ‘That would be most acceptable. Definitely makes me hungry all over again.’
Tim’s eyes lit up. ‘Is that all you’re hungry for, Mrs Dyson?’ As she smiled back up at him he drew her to him.
*
In the dim light of the presbytery scullery, Max was stacking plates, not at all resenting a task he would have considered beneath him only a short time ago. Kitchens were for women’s work. But the housekeeper had a couple of days off and he found he was more than happy to lend a hand where he could. He hadn’t volunteered to cook, as he realized that his skills were nowhere near up to the required standard, but everything else he could do. He carefully transferred the plates to the dresser. Back home he would have laughed at the delicate patterns on the crockery, but in this place it felt just right.
He sighed. He was living on borrowed time and he couldn’t bear the thought of jeopardizing his new-found happiness here, but his recently awakened conscience was tormenting him more and more as the days rolled by. He didn’t need St Bernadette to come to him in his dreams any more. Since she had spoken the mysterious words ‘say twa’ he had had no peace. Visions of Trev floated before his eyes at the most inconvenient moments. Images of a small girl separated from her family haunted him as he dug into the consecrated earth. Even thinking of Kate Latimer, or whatever name she was going by these days – Mrs Know-It-All, Have-It-All Kate – wrecked his composure as he considered all the ways he had helped to make her life hell. As if being married to Jim Latimer wouldn’t have been bad enough.
Today was the day. He was going to speak to Père Pierre, although he knew full well it might cost him his position here. He’d put it off for ages but the truth was the savagery of his inner torment was outweighing the joy of living with the kindly priest. When he admitted to himself that this was the case he knew he had no option but to confess.
He stopped to run the rosary beads through his fingers once more. The steady rhythm of the movement calmed him. He would wait until the priest came in for breakfast after the first Mass of the day and then broach the subject. He considered whether he should have something to eat right now, in case the priest threw him out on his ear immediately, but somehow he had no appetite. His stomach churned in nervous dread. If he did this, it would be contrary to every self-serving act he had ever committed in his life. But if he didn’t, he would be forever tortured by the pictures in his head – and they were what he deserved, he didn’t kid himself otherwise.
As he pocketed the beads once more, he heard the outer door creak.
This was it.
‘Father, I need to confess,’ he blurted out as the priest entered the shadowy room.
Père Pierre regarded the man he had taken in, the man whose deep personal troubles followed him round like a black cloud. He had waited a long time to hear those words, unprompted and freely given. But now was not the time.
‘Mon fils, I know you are in need of absolution,’ he said, putting his hands on the big man’s shoulders. ‘However, I cannot hear what you have to say right at this moment. One of the young women in my congregation, she is, how do you say it, about to have a child. She is very sick and her mother fears the child will not live. I must be there when it is born in order that it does not die without blessing. We cannot leave the little one’s soul in limbo, no? So I must go. Wait for me and I will hear your confession later. I cannot say how long I will be.’
With that he took an apple from the fruit bowl by the window and rushed out again. Leaving Max where he stood, stunned and defeated.
He’d geared himself up to admit to his many crimes, and now it seemed as if he’d have to hold on to them. He thought he was going to burst with the enormity of what he’d done and what he’d intended to do, and he didn’t know if he could bear it.
The larger hire car was slightly more difficult to manoeuvre but Tim thought he was handling it well, considering he’d only been driving it since this morning. Amelia had been silent to begin with, slightly overawed at being in the presence of virtual strangers with no grandparents to turn to for reassurance, but it hadn’t taken her long to perk up. She now sat in her booster seat wedged between Julia and Brenda, giving a running commentary on everything they passed.
Even inside the car she insisted on wearing her sun hat. It was as if taking it off was the one thing that made her afraid. Tim quietly wondered how deep the psychological wounds ran, for run they must. No human being, adult or child, could have gone through what this little girl had suffered and come out totally unmarked.
He could see in the rear-view mirror that Julia was beginning to doze off. They had stopped for lunch in a smallish town and wandered around aimlessly afterwards, not paying much attention to where they were, simply enjoying the new sights and sensations. Brenda had brought out the sun cream and insisted that Amelia wore it. Brian had refused, claiming it made him smell like a softy. Tim had accepted a dollop, as he’d forgotten to bring his own. It wouldn’t do for him to get sunstroke – he was the only one insured to drive and if he let them down, where would they be?
He had checked for somewhere nice to stay the night on the internet but Brenda was unhappy about it, arguing that anyone could write anything and stick it up for all to see and you didn’t know what you were getting. She relied on the now slightly dog-eared guidebook, which recommended another small town some way to the north. There was no reason to disagree; Julia surreptitiously checked it out online and gave Tim a quiet thumbs up. So they set off mid-afternoon, air con blasting away, and slowly everyone except Amelia and Tim fell asleep.
His eyes fixed on the road
ahead, Tim counted the kilometres rolling by, and by the time they were approaching the town of Nevers he was distinctly pleased with their progress. Looking at a map it was easy to forget how great the distances between places were over here, as the country was so much larger than Britain, a fact he tended to overlook. He was trying to estimate how long it would take them to get to the town Brenda had chosen, and whether there would be time for them to all eat together before Amelia’s bedtime, when the car gave a shudder.
Alarmed, Tim glanced down at the unfamiliar dashboard and let out a groan, which woke the rest of the party. Amelia pointed through the gap between the two front seats. ‘Look! A big orange light! It’s been on for ages.’
‘That’s pretty,’ said Brenda. ‘I wonder what it means? Tim, should it be doing that?’
Tim slapped his forehead in frustration as the car spluttered, gave a cough, spluttered again and, as he managed to pull into a convenient lay-by, conked out altogether. ‘Well spotted, Amelia. Yes, it’s a nice colour, isn’t it? A bit like peach juice. But no, it shouldn’t really light up like that.’
Brian looked at him, knowing what it meant. ‘We’ve run out of petrol, haven’t we?’
Tim groaned. ‘I’ve run out, more like. It’s my fault, no one else’s. I was concentrating on the road, and it slipped my mind that a bigger car would use more fuel.’
Julia immediately leant forward and hugged him. ‘You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Not one of us spotted it, and we even went to sleep and left you to do all the work. We’ll sort it out. There must be a gas station nearby. What’s this city called?’
Tim smiled gratefully. ‘It’s Nevers. It’s a sizeable town and we should be all right. There’s an empty petrol can in the back, I checked before we left the hire place. I’ll walk into town along the main road, and there’s bound to be something. You stay here with the bags and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. I’ll take my phone, so I can let you know when I’ve found somewhere.’
For the Love of Liverpool Page 27