by Penny Kline
‘You have been doing your homework. It means a deficiency in the amount of amniotic fluid. That’s certainly something we monitor carefully. It can be a problem but as of now . . . Any more questions?’
‘I don’t suppose you can say how likely it is the baby will be all right?’
The doctor had her back turned, checking one of the electrodes attached to Claudia’s upper chest. ‘With premature babies, it’s a question of monitoring their condition from hour to hour. Your sister’s baby will have immature lungs and may have to be kept on a ventilator at first.’
Erin opened her mouth to ask the question had been putting off, but the doctor got in first.
‘Let’s take it one day at a time, shall we?’
When she left the hospital, she decided to stroll down to the shopping centre. She needed some more Indian ink, and while she was there she would look out for the health food shop where Diana worked part-time. Now that she had met her, she would not be taken in by Jon’s complaints that she was neurotically over-protective of Maeve. Jon was the neurotic one, tossing out enigmatic remarks then closing up like a clam.
An alleyway, littered with junk food containers, led through to the shops. Deep in thought, she jumped when a man, wearing a zipped-up hoodie, stepped out of a doorway and hurried past her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. The laces in his trainers trailed on the ground. He slowed down to re-tie them and, when she drew level, mumbled something she failed to catch.
‘Sorry? What did you say?’
He paused. His face was hidden, just a glimpse of dark hair. The man who hung about in her road? The figure in the graveyard? Running on ahead, he dashed across the road, almost into the path of a passing bus. Had he been following her? Did he know she visited the hospital every other day at more or less the same time? The foetus is a surprisingly good size. He could be the baby’s father, frantic to know what was happening to it. If it was going to survive.
Forget about the Indian ink, and Diana’s shop. Like it or not, her only hope of finding out more, was to talk to Ava again.
Ava pointed to a table well away from the door. ‘People keep leaving it open and letting in cold air. What can I get you, my darling?’
‘Just an orange juice, please.’
‘Coming up.’ Ava’s broad hips swayed between the tables, with practised expertise. She would know the orange juice was an excuse, but from the look of her she was in a better mood than last time. Either that, or she had prepared herself for another visit and knew how she was going to handle it.
The table where Erin was sitting could have done with a wipe and the floor next to her chair was covered in crumbs. Close by, an old man, with a droopy moustache, was making his cup of tea last as long as possible. Erin nodded in his direction and he raised a hand in greeting.
‘Chilly today.’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ The good old weather to fall back on. Like the man in the raincoat who walked up and down Claudia’s road. Her road. Was he a widower? He gave the impression he was the archetypal bachelor.
‘Always nice and warm in here.’
‘Yes, it is.’ The café smelled of stale cheese, thinly disguised with cinnamon, and Erin considered making a deal with Ava. Tell me everything you know and in return I promise to give the place a thorough spring clean. She could just imagine Ava’s face.
A glass of juice was placed in front of her and, to her surprise, Ava pulled up a chair. ‘So what did you think of the play?’
‘Oh. Kent told you I went to see it?’
‘No, but I assumed curiosity would get the better of you.’
‘I talked to him afterwards but he has no idea where Ollie is. He hadn’t been in touch.’
‘No?’ Erin had expected Ava to be disappointed, but the expression on her face was more one of relief. ‘Actually, I don’t think he and Ollie were that close.’
‘The play was quite unusual.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Ava’s hands were clasped together, as though she had a genuine interest. ‘A parody of Hamlet, wasn’t it?’
‘Only three characters and I don’t think there was a magician in Hamlet. Although there was a ghost.’
‘But not in Kent’s version. Tell me, Erin, have you thought what’s going to happen after the baby’s born? It’s unfair, all that responsibility put on you.’ She studied Erin’s expression, misinterpreting it. ‘You’ve never wanted children? Me neither.’
Erin picked up her drink. ‘You mentioned that Hoshi helped paint the walls in Claudia’s loft.’
‘When she knew you were coming to live there.’
‘Did Claudia pay him?’
Ava laughed. ‘Oh, you’re thinking she paid him in other ways. I know I complained Claudia could be tactless, but only because she was so spontaneous.’
‘Impulsive.’
‘Yes, but that’s a good trait, isn’t it. Living life to the full, I was terribly fond of her.’
‘When I left the hospital earlier today, a man was hanging about, waiting for me.’
‘Waiting for you?’ Her voice was high-pitched with incredulity. ‘You’re overwrought, my dear, but why wouldn’t you be? Obviously, you knew your sister far better than I did, but if you want my honest opinion . . .’ She broke off, checking in case a customer was waiting to be served. ‘Ollie’s a dear, but young for his age, much too young to be a parent. I expect he’d like to give the baby up for adoption but feels he’d be letting down your sister. I know you wanted Claudia kept on life support but—’
‘If I want your honest opinion?’
‘Take no notice, my darling. When tragedy befalls us, we always look for an explanation. Human nature, I suppose.’
Chapter 20
As she was about to go into the house, Claudia’s neighbour, Harold Lord accosted her. ‘Any news?’
What did he mean? Did he think Claudia was still alive?
‘Your sister and I, we used to have conversations. Had a shared interest in education. The key to social mobility.’ He came very close. Too close. ‘Not schools so much although they’re important if you want a literate society. Higher education, universities, that’s what Claudia and I used to discuss. I was in admin. I expect she told you. Not a local college, one up north. Took early retirement when student numbers escalated.’
‘You knew her quite well then?’ Perhaps she had felt sorry for him, except that was not like Claudia.
‘She worried about the students from overseas,’ he continued, ‘feared they might be homesick. There was a girl from Hong Kong who was going to have to provide for her whole extended family. They’d saved up for her to come to the UK to gain a higher degree. Claudia told me her name, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.’
‘Did my sister ever mention someone called Lara?’
‘Lara?’ He scratched his chin. ‘The heroine in Doctor Zhivago. Russian, is she? We don’t get many of those. Not that I’m up to date in such matters. Some of them have problems adjusting to our culture. There was a boy from Ceylon. No, these days it’s called Sri Lanka. He kept bursting into tears your sister said. Lonely, poor lad.’
‘I wondered,’ Erin interrupted his description of Claudia, the do-gooder, ‘have you noticed a man wearing a hoodie hanging about in the road?’
‘What age, young or old?’
‘I’ve no idea. He keeps his hood up.’
Harold smacked his lips. ‘Drugs. Sure to be. We’ve had our share of break-ins. Make sure you lock up properly. I used to say the same to your sister but she took a carefree approach. Whatever will be will be. There’s a special centre for overseas students.’ Warming to his subject, he moved even closer and she could smell the oil on his thinning hair. ‘Claudia worked there for a time, providing advice and support, a shoulder to lean on.’ He fished in the pocket of his raincoat and handed her a crumpled flyer with a picture of a redbrick house and details of the student centre.
‘Thank you.’ It was irritating how one of her neighbours knew more about C
laudia than she did, although it was something she ought to be getting used to.
‘I’m surprised she never told you,’ he said, increasing her annoyance. ‘Research students are often poor. Ollie used to complain he hadn’t a penny.’
‘Oh, you know Ollie too?’
‘Haven’t seen him lately. People talk, but it’s always the same. Have you met Veronica at number seventeen? Terrible gossip. I take no notice. Better that way.’
Erin murmured something non-committal and, when he saw Ben approaching, Harold moved on quickly.
‘I’m arranging a party for Jennie’s birthday.’ Ben clapped his hands and spread his fingers wide. ‘But not a word to her. It’s a surprise.’
‘When?’ A party was the last thing Erin felt like.
‘Tomorrow. She doesn’t like birthdays.’
‘So how will she feel about a party?’
Ben pulled a face. ‘Once everyone starts arriving, she’ll love it.’
‘You’ll have to tell her before that so she can change.’
‘Good point.’ He picked at a scab on his knuckle. ‘Did I tell you the joke about the life coach and—’
‘The student, Ben, ex-student. Hoshi. How well do you know him?’
‘Don’t say you’ve fallen for him. Most women do. It’s those eyes. Not fair. Still, if I looked like that I might get even less work. Character actors are far more employable but rarely get the kudos they deserve. In my profession, you have to put on a brave face, keep up appearances. I’ve always had a fear of losing my hair, and I’d like to be well over six foot instead of a miserable five foot, seven and a half, but it’s the hair I worry about.’
‘Hoshi?’
‘I’ll invite him to the party. Can’t guarantee he’ll turn up though. Works in a shop down at the shopping centre. Sports stuff. Expensive. Has Harold Lord been bothering you? He writes down registration numbers in case a passing van scrapes someone’s parked car. Take whatever he tells you with a pinch of salt. I gather you’ve met Kent. He’ll be coming to the party too. Writes his own plays so he can keep his hand in. Took rather a fancy to poor old Ollie. I imagine he bats for both sides. No, not Ollie, I didn’t mean Ollie.’
‘You liked Claudia, didn’t you?’
‘Liked her? Yes, of course. What have people been saying? Not that Harold Lord?’
‘He told me she took an interest in overseas students. Befriended them. Only not long ago this girl came to the door, demanding to see her and—’
‘As if you didn’t have enough to put up with.’ But he was looking away from her and she suspected he might know who Lara was. Not that he had any intention of telling her.
Maeve was straightening things on Erin’s shelves, two rulers and a pen with flexible nib, a bottle of black ink and a pile of scrap paper.
‘You’ve got a lot of stuff.’
‘I need it for the illustrations. Come and sit down, I want to talk to you about colours.’
‘Why did you leave London?’
‘I split up with my boyfriend.’
‘What was he called?’
‘Declan.’
‘Were you sad?’
‘A bit. Not anymore.’ Erin drew up a chair next to Maeve’s. ‘Right, reddish colours are warm and bluish ones are cold. Warm colours advance, come forward.’
‘And cool ones go back. Little children draw big yellow suns with lines sticking out but the sun never looks like that. And animals like dogs are a funny shape when they’re lying down, not just sausages on legs. Dad takes me swimming on Saturdays.’
‘I expect you’re a good swimmer, aren’t you? So you have a busy weekend. Art class in the morning and swimming in the afternoon.’
‘It’s so Mum can work in the shop. Have you been to it? Oh, look!’ Miss Havisham had strolled through the door, tail in the air. Maeve picked her up and hugged her. ‘Who does she belong to?’
‘I still haven’t discovered, but a cat must have lived in this house once because of the cat flap in the kitchen.’
‘Mum was pleased you came to our house. Dad thinks she suffers from nerves but I think it’s Dad who’s the nervous one, only he’s better at hiding what he’s feeling.’
‘That’s very perceptive of you, Maeve.’
She laughed, pressing her face against the cat’s soft fur. ‘Miss Havisham smells of mint. Is there some in the garden?’
‘I don’t think so, but I expect she visits most of the gardens in this road.’
‘I don’t think Claudia liked me.’
‘What? Why do you say that? Of course she did. You only met her a few times.’
‘Is Ollie dead?’
‘No!’ But how could she sound so sure?
‘Where is he? Nobody knows, do they? A man came to our house in a van with that dresser you saw in our kitchen. An actor with a funny name. Kent, I think he’s called Kent.’
So he had another string to his bow – palming people off with sub-standard antiques. ‘What made you think about that?’
‘I’m not going to be an actor.’ Maeve tossed back her fringe. ‘But I might write plays. No, I know, I could write a story, like your one about guinea pigs, and do my own illustrations.’
‘Good idea. Now, let’s get back to colours.’
‘Can I draw my own picture? With a pencil. It won’t need colours.’
‘Right you are.’ Erin was thinking about the money in Claudia’s desk and wondering if it had anything to do with Kent’s antique business. Cash in hand, a way of avoiding tax? But Kent could have kept the money himself. With a jolt, it occurred to her Claudia could have been blackmailing someone. Surely not. Would she really have sunk that low? If she needed the cash badly enough . . .
Miss Havisham was pretending she was too large to squeeze through the door and, as Erin opened it, she heard the post fall on the mat. ‘Just going downstairs a moment. Maeve?’
No reply. She was too absorbed with her drawing. It was the first time she had asked to draw something out of her head. Was she starting to feel frustrated with the objects Erin gave her, the fruit and vegetables, and last time a pair of shoes?
All junk mail, apart from a reminder to renew car insurance that she would add to the folder she was keeping – to be dealt with at a later date. When? In her head, “a later date” meant after the baby was born. It was like the deadline for her illustrations. No, it was far more important than that. The illustrations had to be completed, but the rest of her life was on hold.
When she returned to the loft, Maeve was sitting with her arms folded.
‘Finished already? Let’s see.’
The drawing was babyish, as though Maeve had deliberately reverted to an earlier time. Two crudely-drawn people, a man and woman faced each other, heads in profile, mouths wide open, and next to them stood a large gravestone with RIP carved into it – she had managed to make the letters look three-dimensional – and a single name: MAEVE.
‘Is it an illustration? For a story you’ve written?’
She shook her head.
‘Who are the people? Anyone in particular?’
‘I heard them.’ Her voice was muffled by the fingers she had stuffed in her mouth.
‘Who? Who did you hear?’
No reply. She was crying. ‘Oh, Maeve, what is it, what’s the matter?’
‘They thought I was asleep. I go to bed much earlier than most of my friends. I heard them arguing. Dad said it was time I knew the truth and Mum said if he told me . . . And Dad said if they didn’t—’
‘Told you what?’
‘I’m going to die. It’s because I’m clumsy and I can’t do Maths or climb trees. I read in one of Mum’s magazines, it’s called a life-limiting disease.’
‘Oh, Maeve, I’m certain that’s not what they were talking about. Of course you’re not going to die.’ Erin knelt beside her. ‘I expect they were discussing which school you’ll be going to.’
‘Boarding school, you mean. I don’t want to go to boarding school.
Promise you won’t tell Dad I told you? No, please, I wouldn’t have said if—’
‘If you promise you’ll talk to him yourself.’
‘You don’t think I’m going to die?’
‘No, I don’t. Talk to your Dad on your way home. I’m sure it was nothing. Schools, it’ll be schools. Have they ever mentioned boarding? I thought you were going to that school on the hill.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’ But perhaps Maeve was right and it was something to do with her health. The reason Jon kept starting to tell her something, then changed his mind?
‘Erin?’
‘Now what?’
‘I love you.’
‘Oh, Maeve, I love you too.’
Chapter 21
Jennie was wearing a shapeless blue dress and her hair was still damp from the shower.
‘Happy birthday.’ Erin handed her a small parcel. ‘It’s the thought that counts.’
‘I hate birthdays.’
‘Me too, but people won’t let you get away with it.’
Laughter was coming from the living room and Erin guessed Ben was relating one of his anecdotes about a film company, or the BBC, or perhaps it was his audition for the slimming drink. Erin had had actor friends in London and knew the amount of rejection they had to bear. And how they often dealt with it by turning painful experiences into funny stories.
‘Come through.’ Jennie tore the paper off the scarf Erin had bought her. ‘Oh, thanks.’ She actually sounded as though she meant it. ‘Lovely colours.’ She kissed Erin’s cheek. ‘Thank you.’
‘Need any help in the kitchen?’
‘Ben’s done everything. Wouldn’t let me move a muscle.’
The room was full of strangers, and the music – a female singer with a deep, throaty voice – was too loud for comfortable conversation. Erin joined the laughing group, moving away when Ben started on a story she had heard before. Plenty of people but no sign of Hoshi. Would he turn up later? She was rather banking on it.
Jon was on her mind too. Her description of Maeve’s drawing had shocked him, but only because he felt guilty she had overheard him and Diana arguing. Yes, you’re right, it’s about her going to a private school. Diana wants to tell her but it’s not fixed yet, not what I want although Diana usually gets her own way. Erin was relieved, poor Maeve would be too, although something about Jon’s manner had made her uneasy, as though he had jumped at her suggestion of what the argument could have been about. Obviously, Maeve had not spoken to him herself.