by Penny Kline
When she returned to the loft, he was still standing where she had left him. ‘I had an affair.’ He moved a pile of clothes off a chair and sat down. ‘The pregnancy was a shock, a mistake, but we decided to keep the baby. Then, when it turned out Maeve was less than perfect . . . No, don’t look like that. I’m only telling you how her mother reacted. She didn’t stay around long enough to discover how mild her symptoms are.’
‘So where does Diana come in?’
‘She offered to help and at the time it felt like the obvious answer. She’d been working as a housekeeper, for a man with two boys, but they were going away to school so she wasn’t needed any more.’
‘Go on.’
‘We should have told Maeve.’ He was sitting up straight, staring at the window. ‘I wanted to, but Diana’s always been afraid . . . She thinks of Maeve as her own child and every time I said she ought to be told the truth . . . We didn’t have a very happy childhood.’
‘Oh, that one. No, I’m sorry, go on.’
‘After our mother died, we had to go and live with our grandfather. He did his best, but he didn’t like it if we made a noise. And he forced Diana to eat food she disliked.’
‘What about your father?’
‘He’d left when I was five and Diana was only three. Married again and moved to New Zealand. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. Our grandfather died when I was fourteen.’
Miss Havisham strolled through the door and jumped onto the plan chest.
‘Get off.’ Erin was thinking about Phoebe and how determined she was no one would lie to her. The truth – she would be told everything, all her questions answered, nothing glossed over.
Jon stood up and started walking backwards and forwards. ‘I’m going to tell her next week.’
‘Good. There’s something else you didn’t tell me about. Claudia and Kent’s scam.’
‘Oh, you know about it.’
‘Ben told me.’
‘I threatened to report them to the university. I should have done. If anyone found out, I’d be in serious trouble.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I don’t think Kent had written very many.’
‘You know that, do you? As far as I can tell, he wrote quite a number. Or, even if he didn’t write them from scratch, he improved on what the students had produced. That’s what Ben and Jennie said.’
‘I suppose I felt sorry for the students. They come over here with limited English and—’
‘Yes, but Claudia and Kent were making money out of them. The man who phoned, and the woman who came to the door, and the man I’ve seen hanging about in the road . . . I expect they want their money back.’
Jon picked up the cat. ‘You know what Claudia was like. When I said I wouldn’t report her as long as she and Kent stopped immediately . . . She reacted just as I expected her to. Flung her arms round my neck—’
‘—and kissed you. I can just imagine. A reward for getting her own way. What was Maeve’s real mother called?’
He sighed. ‘Does it matter?’
‘It will to Maeve.’ But a new possibility had occurred to her. Supposing Jon was another of her sister’s beautiful young men. Not that he was as young as Ollie and Hoshi, but Claudia appeared to have collected a string of lovers, hapless victims, caught in her web. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to explain.’
‘You had the baby to think about.’
‘Even so.’
He should have relaxed now he had told her the truth, but he was still pacing up and down, with the cat struggling to break free. ‘I feel what happened to Claudia was my fault.’
‘You dropped a scaffolding pole on her head?’
‘She was short of money, desperate.’
‘So what were you supposed to do? Not your problem. Anyway, I have to go and see Phoebe.’
‘Erin?’ He moved towards her. ‘I just . . . I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before.’
She opened her mouth to say, yes, she was sorry too. But everything had changed and, against her better judgement, when he gave her a hug she responded as though the two of them had been set free, as though all the taboos on their relationship had disappeared. Not true, of course, but the tension between them had melted and, for the first time for weeks, she felt like something approaching her old self.
Chapter 30
Ava kept phoning to ask how Phoebe was getting on.
‘I’ll keep in touch,’ Erin said, ‘let you know if there’s a problem.’ Would she? Ava had loved Claudia and been devastated by the accident. At the funeral, in spite of her smart clothes, or perhaps because of them, she had looked quite haggard, as though the tragedy had aged her.
‘I expect you’re too busy to come round.’
‘To the café?’ This was a surprise. ‘I spend a lot of time at the hospital. And I have to finish my illustrations. When I have a moment, I’ll drop by and show you a photo.’
‘Of Phoebe? That would be wonderful. When can you come?’
‘Tomorrow?’ Ava, eager to see her? That was a change-about. Now she was asking if there was any news of Ollie.
‘No.’ Erin was tired of people asking. Why did they think he would have been in touch with her? Wherever he was, he would be blaming her for insisting Claudia was kept on life support. Wherever he was? If he was still alive.
Ava asked if she was eating properly. Funny the way people thought food was a measure of mental wellbeing. Perhaps it was. Perhaps if she ate better she would feel less tired. ‘I’m fine, apart from worrying about Phoebe.’
‘But they’re pleased with her? And she was quite a good weight considering.’
Considering? But Ava meant since she was premature.
‘Oh, by the way, have you seen Hoshi recently? I expect, since he used to work in the café, he comes to see you quite often.’ Not what she actually believed but it might prompt Ava to give her some information.
‘Not since Jennie and Ben’s party.’ Ava sounded tight-lipped. ‘People who work here . . . I’m always on the lookout for a pensioner. They’re more reliable.’
Someone was knocking on the front door. It was Ben, standing on the doorstep with a rueful expression. ‘The stuff I told you about Claudia and Kent’s scam, Erin. Jennie’s annoyed with me, she thinks I shouldn’t have told you.’
‘Well, tell her I’m very glad you did. In fact, I wish you’d told me sooner. And if there’s anything else about Claudia’s life . . .’
She was offering him the chance to let her in on any other secret he might have been keeping. But he failed to take the bait. Either he knew nothing, or she had been right about him and Claudia, but confessing an affair was a step too far. Was he Claudia’s type? Was anyone not Claudia’s type? Erin would give everything she owned – well, almost anything – to know who Phoebe’s father was, but it was possible Claudia herself had been uncertain.
‘Don’t give it another thought, Ben. The scam business. To be honest, all I care about at the moment is Phoebe.’
Ben was humming, tunelessly, under his breath. ‘Yes, of course. Anyway, come round whenever you like, we’re always pleased to see you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re all right?’
‘Will be when Phoebe’s out of danger. Incidentally, did Ava know about the scam?’
‘Shouldn’t think so. She and Kent are friends but I doubt he’d have told her.’
‘But she may know where Ollie is.’
‘What makes you think that?’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps because I’m always the last to know what’s going on.’
Miss Havisham had caught a thrush. One of its wings was missing, but the rest of it lay on the floor, just inside the cat flap. Erin found a brush and pan, flicked in the remains of the feathered body and transported it to the wheelie bin at the front, bumping into Jon and Maeve as she opened the front door,
‘What’s that?’ Maeve never missed a trick. ‘Has Miss Havisham been sick?’
‘No, she caught a bird.’
‘Can I see?’
‘No.’
‘Please.’
‘Stop it, Maeve.’ Jon hurried her through the door and Erin heard her clumping up the first set of stairs, then the uncarpeted ones that produced an even louder noise.
‘I’ll be back about six,’ Jon avoided Erin’s eyes. ‘If that’s all right?’
‘Fine.’ So Maeve still knew nothing about her real mother. When were they going to tell her?
‘She had a snack in the car, so don’t fall for it if she says she’s hungry. I have to be in London on Thursday but I’ll be back on Friday evening if you need me.’
‘OK.’ She was thinking about the relationship that produced Maeve. Had he loved Maeve’s mother? Had she loved him? If she ran out on their baby, how could she have done? Had she been in touch since? Did she know about Diana?
When she reached the loft, Maeve was buttoning up an old shirt Erin kept for her.
‘Would you like to see a picture of Phoebe?’
‘Is that her name? Oh yes.’ Maeve waited impatiently while Erin found the photos on her phone. ‘Oh, look, she’s so small, but she’s not all funny looking. Poor Claudia, she’ll never see her. And poor baby, she’ll never see her real mother. Is Claudia dead?’
‘Yes.’ Erin almost added, but not suffering any more, although when someone died it was the people left behind who suffered, and the fact that she and Claudia had never been close seemed to have made her death harder to bear.
Maeve was inspecting Erin’s painting of Mrs Moffatt and the little girl. ‘Is it her birthday?’
‘I don’t know, it doesn’t say. Yes, I expect so.’
‘Is Mrs Moffatt her grandmother?’
‘It doesn’t say that either.’
‘I hope she chooses the frightened little guinea pig. I haven’t got any grandparents. They’re all dead.’
Erin found a sheet of paper and some poster paints. ‘No drawing today. I want you to make use of what we talked about, the effect of one colour on another.’
‘Just do a pattern?’
‘A picture if you like. The seaside? Sand, water and sky.’
Maeve frowned. ‘I’ll paint the beach in Ollie’s photograph, only his is black and white and it looks very gloomy. You know Jennie? Is she your friend?’
‘Yes, yes she is, why do you ask?’
‘She invited Mum and Dad but they couldn’t find a babysitter. Anyway, they don’t like parties. I’m not very good at patterns, Erin, and I can’t do mirror images in Maths. Dad wants me to have a tutor. It’s because he’s clever and I’m stupid. Why do people talk behind your back? It makes you think you must have done something bad.’
‘I’m sure there’s nothing like that. They could have been discussing money, anything, nothing about you.’ What was she doing? Maeve was worried, hoping she would reassure her. Erin returned to the safer subject of Jennie. ‘Jennie has a house she lets out to students.’
‘Ollie might be living there.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘He’s got a degree in Maths. I’m the only one in my class that can’t turn fractions into decimals. Or decimals into fractions. Sometimes I get it right. Then I forget and . . . Tell Dad.’ Her face was scarlet. ‘He’ll listen to you. Yes, he will. Why are you looking like that?’ She stood up, noisily. ‘I thought if I told you, you’d say you’d—’
‘Calm down.’
‘Why should I? That’s what everyone says.’
‘All right, I’ll talk to your dad.’ She would, but not about Maths.
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘Oh, thank you, Erin. And you’ll ask him why they keep whispering. I hate it when people whisper.’ She bumped against the plan chest, knocking over a glass jar and as Erin watched, frozen with horror, water ran over Mrs Moffatt and the little girl, and she knew she would have to start the painting all over again.
Chapter 31
After several visits to the hospital, combined with frantic work on the illustrations, Erin returned to the Special Care Baby Unit the next morning, only to be told Phoebe had not had a very good night.
‘Her heart rate dropped,’ the nurse explained, ‘but it’s back to normal now.’
‘Why would that happen?’ The infection had cleared up. Now there was another problem. ‘And why has she got a mask over eyes?’
‘Nothing to worry about. She was a little jaundiced so she’s having phototherapy.’
‘A compound called bilirubin builds up. I read about it. Lots of babies have it, don’t they, not just premature ones?’
‘It’s quite common, yes.’ The nurse had her back turned, searching in the cupboard where they kept the tiny clothes. ‘A present arrived.’ She handed Erin a toy cat with a long, fluffy tail.
‘Did it say who it was from?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘But it must have been someone who knows her name. When the phototherapy’s finished, I’ll prop it up where she can see it. Tomorrow she’ll be having a brain scan. Don’t look so worried, all premature babies have them.’
‘In case there’s any bleeding? You’ll let me know? No, it’s all right, I’ll come in. What time would be best?’
For the staff, the test was routine. For Erin, it meant another interrupted night, falling asleep then waking with a start, dozing, listening to the radio, and finally dropping off again when it was almost time to get up. And now she had another worry. The soft toy must be from Ollie. Anyone else would have attached a card. Someone had told him about Phoebe and he was putting in a claim. Who had told him? Someone who knew where he was staying but had chosen not to say. Her hands, that she had washed so carefully, were sticky with sweat.
‘Are you sure there was no card with the toy?’ She wiped her hands on her jeans, making a mental note not to touch Phoebe until she had washed them again. ‘Did it come through the post or was it left at reception?’
‘Not sure.’ The nurse was adjusting Phoebe’s knitted hat ‘People usually buy a teddy bear, but I like cats, don’t you?’
‘Except when they catch mice and birds.’
As she approached the shop where Hoshi worked, a guy with a shaved head, was locking up.
‘Hoshi?’ Erin said. ‘I need to talk to him.’
‘That makes two of us. Didn’t turn up today.’
‘I know which road he lives in, but not the number of the house.’
‘Can’t help you, I’m afraid.’ He fingered his double chin. ‘Not allowed to give out addresses of employees.’
‘It’s important. A relative of his is in hospital.’ She stared at him, willing him to make an exception. ‘She’s dying.’
He looked away, unable to deal with bad news.
‘I’ve been asked to get in touch with him but—’
‘You don’t know the house number.’ His eyes moved from side to side. He suspected she was lying. But she might be telling the truth. ‘Hang on.’ He unlocked the door again and disappeared into the back of the shop, returning a few moments later with a piece of card in his hand. ‘If you find him, tell him if he wants to keep his job—’
‘Yes, yes, I will. Thanks. Thank you very much.’
The house, with its patches of crumbling stonework and a front garden full of weeds, could have been a student let. A tiled path led up to a front door, with peeling paint and a row of bells with names next to them, written in ink on yellowing cards. It was getting dark and, since there was no street light nearby, they were difficult to read, but in any case, as far as she was concerned, Hoshi was just Hoshi. He had no second name.
Erin chose the bottom bell, hoping it was for a flat or room on the ground floor and would cause the least disturbance, and after a short pause the door was answered by a girl, dressed in Scooby-Doo pyjamas and holding a slice of toast and jam.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m looking for Hoshi.’
‘Not here.’
&n
bsp; ‘But you know him? He lives here?’
The girl shrugged.
‘Any idea where he might have gone?’ A large, brown and white dog had appeared, wagging its tail. The girl grabbed its collar and started to close the door. Erin put her foot in it.
‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance, but it’s important. Someone’s ill. A relative. If you can think of anywhere he might be, a club, a friend’s house . . .’
The girl’s face was expressionless. ‘The Chinese guy, is it?’
‘Japanese.’
‘Whatever.’ With her free hand, she gave Erin a push, and the door closed in her face.
It was a one-way street and she had left her car some distance away. Retracing her route, she realised she should have taken the trouble to memorise the names of the roads. Each one looked like the one before, big old semi-detached houses with narrow gaps between them that led to an alleyway behind. She thought her car was three streets away but there was no sign of it and when someone stepped out of the shadows, she was not sure if she screamed out loud, or the scream was inside her head.
‘Hoshi! I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Graham said you’d been to the shop.’
‘He phoned? Look, the part about a relative in hospital—’
‘Is the baby ill?’
‘No. No, I think she’s all right.’ Erin was too superstitious to give a definite answer. ‘I just needed your address.’
He was dressed all in black. Black trousers, black hoodie, black woollen gloves. His voice was cold and she should have been afraid, but there was something about the way he was clasping and unclasping his gloved hands. He was the frightened one. He made a sound in his throat and when he spoke it was so muffled she had to ask him to repeat what he had said.