‘Luce …’ He murmured the name to himself, surprised at the emotion that buffeted him suddenly as sharply as the sea breeze. Something in the breeze, something in his head, murmured ‘Matty’ and he looked round, startled. It had happened a few times since her death, a sort of peculiar filial communication, but it was not something he talked about to anybody, least of all his mother. She blamed herself for Lucy’s death and nothing would change her mind.
His little sister would have been properly grown-up now, maybe married, maybe a mother herself and that would have made him an uncle. He wondered if she would have got on with Nicola or if they would be daggers drawn, but it was all hypothetical now – and what the hell had brought all this on?
The mood passed and he pulled back his shoulders and walked briskly on.
There were a few visitors about but as he wandered down towards the Barbican, he decided to have a bite and a coffee in a café. It would be nothing elaborate but the idea of eating a sandwich on a bench somewhere did not seem too good an idea as storm clouds were thudding in at speed and it was getting chillier by the minute. It was going to pour down soon. The smaller yachts were bunched together in the harbour, tossing a little as the water buckled beneath them, masts tinkling, and on the swing bridge by the Marine Aquarium, lights were flashing as it lifted to accommodate the sails of a vessel making its way into the safety of the harbour.
He and Nicola usually dined at one of the smarter establishments here in the city or somewhere out in the country when they had an evening out. He was not too familiar with any of the cheaper eating places, but in a crowded side street he found a reasonable-looking café with a good-enough-sounding lunch menu and made his way inside.
‘Sit wherever you like,’ the elderly waitress informed him, looking surprised to see him, and he did that, wondering at once if he had made a poor choice as the place was practically empty. As he settled at a table set for three, the bell tinkled and the door opened again and a woman came through.
A woman in her thirties with red hair chopped into one of those messy in-styles the smarter set were displaying these days, a woman wearing skin-tight blue jeans and a cream sloppy sweater, a woman wearing very little make-up, a woman with a striking face and anxious eyes.
Scanning the room she stopped dead when she saw him, did a double-take as he did, hesitated as he confirmed it with a nod, looking as if she might well make a run for it before managing a shocked smile.
‘Well, fancy seeing you here,’ she said. Matthew had half-risen from his seat, going towards her prepared for a social kiss, but he was too late for that gesture as, with a now rueful smile, she took a seat opposite.
‘Hello, Chrissie,’ he said, so shocked that for a moment he could not even summon up the momentum to reach for the large menu the waitress was handing them.
‘The specials are on the board,’ she said, eyeing them both a little accusingly. ‘I’ll give you a few minutes.’
After fourteen long years they needed considerably more than a few minutes.
Chapter Twelve
PAULA WAS SO glad to be home.
The last two days on holiday had dragged, to be honest, because in her head she started the countdown to being home. She thought she had packed well, but she was starting to run out of things although she could of course buy something from one of the cheerful colourful markets that Eleanor had taken her to. She hesitated because she knew that the abundance of flowing cotton dresses that looked wonderful here would not look quite so wonderful back home and she would end up stuffing it in the back of the wardrobe and never wearing it again.
It was so beautiful in the hotel by the lake being waited on hand and foot, soaking up the sun on the terrace. They had visited quaint villages with their terracotta and pastel-coloured houses and steep little streets. Paula had loved being on the lake, staring into the crystal-clear water and listening to those beguiling Italian voices. She had no idea what they were saying, but even the mundane sounded fantastic. As for Alan, he was lapping it all up, and saying that they needed to come back here because there was so much he did not have time to see.
For both of them then it was as close to heaven as you could get.
And yet …
For one thing, the amount of food – delicious though it was – the sheer amount that she was consuming was beginning to have an effect and she was starting to feel bloated. She had eaten more than enough of those delicious Italian ice-creams served in tall glasses, served by elegant dark-haired twinkly-eyed waiters who knew just how far to go in the flirting stakes with middle-aged Englishwomen.
And so, on the final day, she would have much preferred a simple bowl of chicken soup and a roll to that last meal on offer in the splendour of that dining room. Eleanor was wearing a new dress purchased from the market, a sherbet-lemon colour that looked good on her, and she was wearing her hair long and loose, her bare shoulders bronzed and glistening. Rotating her dresses now, Paula was back to the first one she had worn, her tan not so pronounced as she took care in the sun. Henry let Alan choose the wine that evening – big of him – and Alan had chosen well, looking intently through the list as if he knew something about it and giving her a sly wink as he finally made the choice.
It was a good meal that final evening with Eleanor on good form, more relaxed than usual. It was Eleanor and Alan who did most of the talking. Henry seemed content to sit and listen and make occasional comments and she was happy too to sit there quietly, for when Eleanor shook off her abrasive cloak she was capable of being an amusing and entertaining dinner companion.
It was an early start next day, back to the airport in Milan and then, before they knew it, they would be home. She could not understand it, this desire to be home but, once she was on the plane, and then with Eddie in the car, the relief when they finally turned into the street was immense. She could even feel the tears pricking her eyes as Alan, understanding, squeezed her hand.
The street was bathed in summer sunshine, a more delicate summer sunshine here, and the house was blessedly still there. In one of her dreams on holiday it had burnt down and she had awoken in a sweat, crying out because Lucy was trapped inside. Often, in her dreams, Lucy was there somewhere, but always just out of reach.
She trusted Alice of course to keep an eye on things whilst they were away, but even so, Alice was not around all the time and she was deafer than she admitted, so if burglars had taken it upon themselves to do the worst, Alice wouldn’t have heard a thing. She felt a vague excitement as she put the key in the lock and saw that everything was just as she left it.
Eddie helped them with the bags but refused to come in for a cup of tea as he had to get on. Alan treated him, giving him a bit extra to what they had agreed on, and they sent him on his way, relieved in fact that it was just the two of them because once Eddie got started on his naval adventures, you never heard the last of it.
It felt stuffy and she opened all the windows to let some fresh air in and put the kettle on and sat down for a while in the lounge before she so much as thought about the business of unpacking and washing the dirty clothes and putting everything away.
Alan, who was back to work the day after, rushed upstairs to check his emails and so on and she, with one more day off still, looked forward to sorting out everything later. Oh, the bliss of being able to sleep in her own bed tonight. The bed in that hotel had been all right, but there was nothing quite like your own bed and your own sheets and pillows.
And when had she become middle-aged?
Alice, bless her heart, had bought in some basics: milk, bread, ham and a packet of chocolate digestives so they would not starve, not immediately. She intended to go out shortly and buy Alice some flowers to go with the Italian biscuits and she already had a thank-you card to go with it, from their shop’s luxury hand-printed range of course.
The post was sitting on top of the kitchen table neatly divided into two piles; proper letters and circulars. It was totally mad the amount of rubbis
h that came through that letter box.
She started to open them.
A week on and it was all looking back to normal, the holiday fading already in her head, and, although she had spoken on the phone to her son to break the long silence and tell him that they were back and to give him the other news, she was delighted as ever when he turned up on the doorstep. He was on his way home, he explained, and couldn’t stop for long. They hugged each other and he held her tight a moment.
‘Did you have a good time, Mum? You look well.’
‘It was lovely. I like Italy and your dad was most impressed. We might go back next year, on our own. Did I tell you we went on a coach trip all around the lake, just the two of us? Eleanor had been before and didn’t fancy a long day out so they did something different.’ She hesitated because she didn’t like to criticize the Nightingales, not to Matthew. ‘We enjoyed that day, stopping off at all these little places on the way, and it was nice to have some time on our own. We sat beside a lovely couple from Bolton on the coach and we exchanged addresses. Mind you, I don’t suppose we’ll ever get up there. It’s too far but they said they love Devon so …’
Matthew laughed. ‘You’ve set yourself up there, haven’t you? You’ll have them staying for a week if you’re not careful.’
‘It doesn’t matter. As I say, they were very nice. A bit older than us with grandchildren.’ She took a breath and looked at him. ‘What did you think about your granddad dying?’
‘I was sorry to hear that. It was a bit of a surprise.’
‘You can say that again. It was a shock. We didn’t even know he was ill, Matthew. Can you believe that? What does that make us look like? As if we didn’t care. Nobody told us that he was dead. I don’t know who went to the funeral. He was in a nursing home and we didn’t know that either. I thought he was still at home. Stubborn old so-and-so, he should have told us or somebody should have told us. If I know him, I bet he told them not to tell us,’ she said, knowing she was getting in a state, but that’s what it had done to her, coming out of the blue as it did.
‘I would have gone to the funeral if I’d known,’ Matthew said.
‘Would you? He didn’t come to your sister’s,’ she said bitterly and then, running an agitated hand through her hair, ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. And yes, I suppose I would have gone too if I’d known. As to the money, well, I feel terrible at taking his money but what can we do? If we refuse it, it will just go into the government’s pot so we have a sort of duty to accept.’ She was still trying to justify it to herself and this was the best she could come up with. ‘I’ll make sure you and Nicola have some of it of course. It’s going to be much more than we’ll need and you need the money now because we don’t intend to pop off for a while yet.’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s yours.’
‘I hope he did care for us at the last and I’m sorry we didn’t go to his funeral. But somebody should have told us. I would have gone to visit at the nursing home. I really would. We might have been friends again.’
‘You were never friends.’
‘That’s true.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘He never liked me, Matthew. He always said I wasn’t good enough for your father.’
‘He was wrong there, wasn’t he?’
She smiled at that. He was a good son, but she had been doing some serious thinking since they heard the news. ‘We’ve all been stupid and stubborn and it wasn’t worth it, was it? Families should stick together whatever happens. Me and your dad …’ she hesitated, not sure whether to tell him. ‘We had a tough few months after Lucy died and it could have gone wrong for us but we stuck it out. Well, we should have done the same with your granddad. We should have kept in contact with him.’
‘Stop beating yourself up about it. Just take the money because that’s what he wanted. I’m glad for you, Mum. Have a good spend. You can move house now if you like.’
‘I know and we should do it before we get any older.’ She sat down at last, having fussed around her son from the moment he came in. He looked tired and a bit worried and she hoped everything was OK with him and Nicola, but it was more than her life was worth to ask.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ he said, putting his cup down.
‘Nicola’s pregnant,’ she said at once. ‘Oh, I’m so glad for you both.’
‘No. She’s not and we have no plans there.’ His smile was a touch forced. ‘The thing is … guess who I met up with the other day?’
‘I don’t know. Male or female?’
‘Female.’
‘Young or old?’
‘Youngish.’
‘Dead or alive?’
They laughed. They had played this game a lot, one of the games they played when the children were small and they were on a car journey.
‘Give up.’
‘Chrissie York … she’s not York any more but I don’t know her surname now,’ he said. ‘She’s back in town and we had lunch together. We couldn’t avoid it because we both happened to be in the same café but it was all a bit awkward.’
‘Chrissie? Well, I never. How is she these days?’
‘Very well. She’s had her hair cut.’
‘That’s no surprise. It is … let’s see …’
‘Fourteen years.’
‘Is it really?
‘She teaches English.’
‘Does she now? That’s a surprise.’ She didn’t think Chrissie bright enough for that, but perhaps she had been a late developer. She smiled, determined not to say anything detrimental about the girl who was now a woman. She had never said anything against her when she and Matthew seemed so tied up together and she wasn’t about to start now. ‘Let Matthew find out in his own time’ had always been her motto, but in the event Chrissie’s sudden departure had put paid to all her concerns. ‘Does she still talk for England?’
He smiled. ‘You bet. She never drew breath.’
‘She’s married, then, if she isn’t York any longer?’
He nodded. ‘She’s married to a pilot and she has two children and she seems very happy. They live in a house in Surrey and the house is worth close to a million. The kids are at private school and she has her own car and her husband plays golf and they go on two or three holidays a year, an exotic summer one and a winter skiing break. They’re just back from three weeks in the States. They travelled business class so they must be rolling in it, or maybe he gets a staff discount. I wouldn’t know.’
‘She did have a lot to say.’ Paula sniffed. A bit too much, in her opinion, a little hint there of over-egging the pudding, for surely it wasn’t the done thing to do too much in the way of bragging. ‘That must have been a surprise for you. What is she doing down here?’
‘Visiting her mother. Her mother’s been living back here for the last year and this is the first time Chrissie’s had time to visit. She’s not so good.’
‘Who? Mrs York?’
He nodded.
‘I’ll go and visit her if you like, if you can find out her address,’ she offered, although as quickly as the thought struck her she wished she had not said it. ‘Not that we knew each other that well in the first place so …’
‘It’s not a good idea, Mum. Leave it. After all, if we hadn’t met by chance the other day I wouldn’t know that Chrissie had ever been back, would I? She certainly wasn’t going to try to get back in touch with me, not deliberately. It was pure coincidence that we happened to be in the same café.’
Paula sniffed. She did not believe in coincidence and knowing how devious Chrissie had always been she wondered about that, but again she was not going to stir things up. ‘Married with children, eh? And a teacher. Married to a pilot at that.’
‘Long-haul. His schedule is frantic but she has help in the house and had a nanny when the children were small. The boy is at boarding school and the girl a day boarder.’
‘Did she ask after me and your dad?’
The hesitation was minimal, telling. ‘Yes. She asked me to pass
on her regards.’
‘Thank you. Does she know about Lucy?’
He nodded. ‘She did know. I don’t know how.’
‘It made a few of the nationals …’ Tucked away in the middle pages somewhere, just a paragraph with a photograph of course, another little tragic story for journalists to lick their lips over. ‘So I suppose she might have read about it, although I don’t recall a card from her or that mother of hers. Not to worry, and she’s done well with her life, then, from all accounts.’
From her accounts, that is, and she had always reckoned that Chrissie York played light and loose with the truth. Some of the things she came out with about the father who had left them, for instance, had been hard to swallow and Matthew, a young boy in the first throes of first love, had always been a soft touch. Alan too had always been taken in by Chrissie, but then she had such a doe-eyed innocence about her and Paula had always felt a bit mean that she had forever harboured doubts. ‘Was she pleased to see you? You must have had some catching-up to do.’
‘Yes, we did. I don’t think she was that pleased but she could hardly walk out when there I was. It was good to see her but it’s unsettled me. I wish I hadn’t. I thought I’d put that behind me. I had this memory in my head and she’s different now. She’s not the same person any more. She’s not the girl I knew.’
‘Of course she’s not, so maybe that’s good, then. I know you were upset at the time but I think we make that first-love thing more important than it is. I can remember my first proper boyfriend. He was called Jack. Jack Evans and—’
‘Don’t start, Mum,’ Matthew interrupted her. ‘I know you mean well but I wish I hadn’t said anything now.’
‘Will you be seeing her again?’
A Close Connection Page 11