Rachel's Coming Home

by Gillian Villiers

  ‘He’s new to the area, isn’t he?’ she said as soon as the 4x4 had drawn away. ‘Certainly not one of your normal clients.’

  ‘He seems a very nice man,’ said her mother. Rachel smiled. She should have known her mother would say that. She never could see the bad side of anyone.

  ‘As long as he pays, I suppose that’s the main thing,’ she said. ‘Now, tell me how Dad is. And where Anthony is. What a good job I arrived when I did, you look worn out.’ Rachel took over the pouring of the tea and collected the biscuit tin from the pantry. She would start the way she intended to continue.

  ‘Your dad is doing very well and looking forward to seeing you later on. As to Anthony … Well, I’m not sure where Anthony is. He didn’t come home last night.’

  Chapter Two

  Anthony was walking slowly along Buchanan Street, shivering despite the sunshine. He was sure he had had a fleece with him yesterday, but it seemed to have been mislaid. Now his head was pounding and the bright sunshine hurt his eyes and he had no idea how he was going to get home from Glasgow. Staying out so late last night had seemed like a fun thing to do at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  He pulled his mobile out of the pocket of his jeans and looked at it hopefully. The battery was still completely flat. It might actually have been better if the thief had taken this and left his wallet behind. There hadn’t been much money in the wallet after paying his ticket to the concert, and then a few beers afterwards, but there must have been something.

  He fingered the change in his pocket. Eighty-three pence. Either he could try and find a very cheap coffee or he could use it to phone home. He knew his mother would be worrying, she always made a fuss about every little thing, she was sure to panic about his being missing for a whole twelve hours. That thought decided him. He wasn’t a child any longer, was he?

  He headed for the station where he knew he would find one of those awful vending machines. He used seventy-five pence for a watery but warm chocolate drink. Now he had eight pence left.

  He sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs and closed his eyes. He was completely knackered. By the time they’d got back to James’ room in the halls of residence there hadn’t been much of the night left. And sleeping on the floor hadn’t been exactly comfortable.. He wished he’d thought to ask James for a loan but at the time he had been too intent on showing he wasn’t worried about a thing.

  He’d just sit here for a while and see if any bright ideas occurred to him.

  When Philip Milligan bought Courockglen House he had known he had found a gem. He had finally moved in on April 1st, but it had been no April Fool. This was the place he was going to settle, to review the one or two successes he’d had recently, and to work on a book to follow on from his last television series. He had been determined to brook no interruptions to this schedule so he really didn’t know how it was he found himself on a visit to his sister.

  His sister! Philip and Alison had never got along. She was twelve years his elder and had always seemed more like a second extra-fussy mother than a sibling. Or perhaps it had been that she had been the perfect child in every way whereas he, until he had broken into television, had never seemed to do anything right.

  He almost groaned as he pulled his Freelander into the beautifully-paved driveway of his sister’s house. It was on one of those exclusive little housing estates that had sprung up around Manchester: perfect, expensive, five-bedroomed detached houses with the tiniest of gardens. Everything was manicured and tidy and looked like something out of a magazine. For Philip, a professional historian, the fake Corinthian pillars and the pseudo-leaded windows were painful to behold.

  Alison appeared at the door before he had even climbed out of the car. Her brown, bobbed hair was as neat as ever and her slacks and shirt were pristine. The carefully applied make-up did not, however, hide the fact that her face was pale and pinched.

  He air-kissed her cheek and said brightly, ‘You’re looking well.’

  ‘Thank you for coming. I was expecting you half an hour ago but I expect the traffic was bad …?’

  Philip immediately felt defensive. He could have phoned her on his mobile, but it hadn’t occurred to him. He didn’t think they had agreed on an exact time. He bit back an apology and followed her into the shiny white kitchen.

  ‘I’ll call Amelia down to say hello in a moment,’ she said, reminding Philip of the existence of his niece. She was such a quiet little thing, it was easy to forget her. ‘But I thought we should have a little chat first.’

  It was then that the first real feeling of foreboding touched Philip.

  ‘You have done this kitchen nicely,’ he said at random. He had only visited this house a couple of times before but he was fairly sure she had redecorated. He remembered that Alison liked to redecorate.

  ‘It works well, doesn’t it?’ she agreed with a small, pleased smile. ‘I wanted somewhere calm and I think the different shades of white are just what I needed.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. And how is Colin? Is he home at the moment?’ Colin was Alison’s husband, whose work in the oil-rich countries of the Middle East funded this comfortable lifestyle.

  ‘He came home briefly last week but he’s away again now. He was lucky to get leave at short notice.’

  Alison placed a white porcelain teapot on the breakfast bar along with two delicate white cups and saucers. Philip would have preferred coffee, and something to eat, but didn’t say so.

  ‘And how are you?’ he said, perching uncomfortably on one of the shiny stools. He knew he would have to ask sometime. ‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

  Alison stirred her tea and didn’t look at him. Normally she was alert for his every word and expression, ready to advise or criticise. Her reticence only increased his unease.

  She said to the floor, ‘I’ve not been well. How shall I put it? Women’s problems, you know.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Colin came home last week so he could be with me when I saw the specialist.’ Philip jerked his head in surprise and she said quickly. ‘It’s not serious, don’t worry. I mean, it’s not life-threatening. But they’ve decided they do need to operate. It’s quite a major procedure. I’ll be going into hospital on Monday.’

  This was the last thing Philip had expected. Alison was not only always organised, she was also always annoyingly healthy. ‘I’m sorry …’

  ‘Originally they were going to operate the following week so I thought I had more time to arrange things. But now they’ve brought it forward. I suppose I should be pleased. I’ve been in some pain and, well, you don’t want to talk about that. I’ll be in hospital for up to two weeks and then there’ll be quite a lengthy period of convalescence. Colin’s plan is that I should go out to Dubai to rest and recover.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense,’ said Philip doubtfully.

  ‘The only difficulty is, of course, what we should do about Amelia. There is no one to look after her here whilst I’m in hospital, and it won’t be ideal for her in Dubai whilst I convalesce.’ She gave him a quick glance. She really looked exhausted and Philip felt the stirrings of sympathy.

  Then she continued, ‘It was Colin who thought of you. Colin’s parents are dead, and with his sister living in Australia, there’s no one here we can send her to. I was at my wit’s end. But Colin remembered you weren’t gallivanting all over the country any more. He thought that, now you’d settled down, this might be an ideal opportunity for you to get to know your niece better.’

  Philip felt as though someone had struck him. To get to know his niece better meant … what? ‘I’m sure Amelia is a lovely girl,’ he said faintly, trying to deflect what he knew was coming.

  ‘She is. She’s a good girl. She’ll be no trouble. And you’re the only family she has left in England. It makes sense that she goes to you.’

  ‘Scotland,’ said Philip, shaking his head. ‘I live in Scotland.’

  ‘Exactly. And you’ve got that lovely big house, you won’t have any
difficulty accommodating her.’

  ‘But Alison,’ said Philip, trying to marshal his thoughts and put up a convincing argument, ‘what about … about, er, school? And I’m very busy on this book I’m writing. And how will a little girl feel about being whisked off to the back of beyond? Alison, isn’t there someone else?’

  Alison shook her head very slowly, as if even that was too much effort. ‘No, there’s no one else. It’s the summer holidays just now, so we don’t need to worry about school. And at seven it wouldn’t really matter if she missed a few weeks. What matters is that she has someone to look after her.’

  ‘Couldn’t Colin come home?’

  ‘Colin will lose his job if he takes any more time off. His employers pay well but they’re not very understanding. I’m not asking much, Phil. It would just be a month or two.’

  ‘A month or two!’

  ‘Please, Phil.’ Alison put out a hand to touch his. Her skin was dry and almost translucently white. She looked so frail that Philip was afraid to argue with her.

  ‘Well I suppose I could think about it …’

  ‘Thank you. I knew I could count on you. I’ll call Amelia down, shall I, and then we can sort out the details?’

  Rachel was making a cake when the policeman phoned. There were hundreds of more important things she should be doing but her mother had taken it into her head that they couldn’t welcome her father home without a cake, and as she was clearly too tired and worried to do it herself, the task had fallen to Rachel. She didn’t mind. She enjoyed baking and thought this might be a useful first step in encouraging her mother to leave things to her.

  She was enjoying the smell of the coffee-flavoured mixture and the feel of the wooden spoon in her hands when the telephone rang. She had persuaded her mother to have a lie down and hurried to pick it up before it disturbed her.

  ‘This is Sergeant McFarlane,’ said a deep voice. ‘I have a Mr Anthony Collington here. He has given me this number to contact his mother, Mrs Maggie Collington.’

  He left a weighty pause.

  Rachel’s first feeling was relief. She had persuaded her mother that it really wasn’t anything to worry about, if an eighteen-year-old didn’t turn up for a few hours after a rock concert, but the longer the silence lasted the more concerned she had become.

  ‘Is he all right?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘To whom am I speaking?’

  ‘Rachel Collington, his sister.’ Already the relief was fading into concern. Why on earth were the police phoning? ‘Is he in trouble? What’s happened?’

  Rachel could hear Anthony’s voice in the background, arguing to be allowed to speak. That was a good sign, as it meant he was well enough to argue.

  The man succeeding in keeping the phone from Anthony. He said ponderously, ‘I was hoping to speak to Mrs Collington.’

  ‘My mother isn’t here at the moment,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m Anthony’s older sister. Perhaps I can help?’

  ‘We’re at the police station in Boroughbie. Perhaps you could come here? Then we can explain what it is all about.’

  ‘You’re holding Anthony at the police station?’ Rachel almost dropped the phone in her alarm. ‘What has he done? Goodness …’

  ‘Are you able to come here?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

  It was fortunate she hadn’t yet put the cake in the oven. She pushed the mixing bowl to one side and hoped that she wouldn’t be away too long. Then she dashed to the little downstairs toilet and washed her hands and checked her appearance. It was a good thing she did so. The floury smudge on her forehead would not have impressed a policeman. Then she scribbled a note to her mother and departed.

  Rachel tried to make sense of the phone conversation as she drove her little car along the winding country road. Boroughbie was where she would have expected Anthony to phone from, if he had got the train back from Glasgow and didn’t want to wait for one of the infrequent buses that passed their cottage. Why the police were involved she couldn’t fathom. But she knew that she had to sort it out before her parents heard. They had more than enough to worry about.

  A burly policeman led Rachel through to a small room at the rear of the police station. Anthony was sitting on a plastic chair, wearing a disgruntled expression, shoulders hunched. Rachel gave him a brief hug. ‘I’m so pleased to see you,’ she whispered.

  Anthony said nothing.

  The policeman cleared his throat. ‘We brought young Mr Collington here as there has been a difficulty with the payment – or rather non-payment – of a train fare.’ He sounded deeply disapproving.

  ‘Anthony didn’t pay his train fare?’

  ‘That’s right. A very serious matter. Something we’re trying to crack down on.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Rachel, eyeing her brother.

  ‘My wallet was stolen,’ he said. ‘I tried to explain to them.’

  ‘Theft of a wallet is also a very serious matter. If you had reported that to the police in Glasgow none of this need have happened.’

  The man spoke ponderously but from the glance he cast in her direction Rachel suddenly realised he wasn’t as angry as his words might have indicated.

  ‘I’m sure Anthony is very sorry it has happened, aren’t you, Anthony?’ she said encouragingly.

  ‘Of course I am,’ said her brother. He glared at the policeman. ‘I’ve said so twenty times already, haven’t I?’ Rachel wished he had tried to sound a little more remorseful.

  Fortunately, after more disapproval from the policeman, and further explanation and a muttered apology from Anthony, an agreement was reached that the fine would be paid but no charges pressed. Rachel suspected this was the outcome the police had wanted all along. Yes, Anthony had broken the law and, yes, he had been a fool, but this was a first offence. The matter of an unpaid seven-pound rail ticket was to be viewed as silliness rather than malicious theft. Rachel impressed on him how seriously she took the incident, mixing dismay and anger in her tone, and assured him that it wouldn’t happen again.

  She couldn’t understand why Anthony had done this. Why hadn’t he just phoned? She really didn’t think a flat mobile battery was reason enough. ‘Couldn’t you have asked someone if you could borrow their phone? Or you could have made a reverse charges call from a phone box.’ From the blank look on his face, clearly he hadn’t thought of either of those things. She paid the cost of the ticket, paid the fine, and did her best to placate the disapproving police officer. It would have been nice if Anthony had shown a little more contrition, but he merely looked sulky. She sighed deeply as she finally drove away with him in her car.

  ‘I can’t believe you did that,’ she said.

  Anthony hunched his shoulders and looked gloomily out of the side window. He seemed very tall all of a sudden, although still slightly built. ‘You won’t tell Mum, will you?’ he said in an undertone.

  ‘No, I won’t tell Mum. Or Dad. But Anthony, you really need to sort yourself out. You’re eighteen, you need to grow up.’

  He said nothing and with an effort Rachel managed to hold her tongue. She hoped that he was sorry and embarrassed about what had happened and that he was just having problems expressing himself. She didn’t teach youngsters of his age, but she knew enough about teenage boys to know that communication wasn’t their forte.

  One thing was clear. It wasn’t just her parents who needed Rachel to take a hand in their lives. Anthony most certainly needed it too. What a good thing she had come home.

  Chapter Three

  After the excitement of the afternoon Rachel was very pleased the rest of the day passed quietly. Her mother was rejuvenated by her nap and in the evening the two of them went to the hospital to visit her father. He was sitting up in bed, rather pale but very jolly.

  ‘Lovely to see you, my dear,’ he said when she bent to kiss his cheek. Rachel felt a lump in her throat. It was good to see him too, but he seemed rather wan, with the newly-plastered an
kle poking awkwardly outside the covers.

  ‘Have they said whether you can come home tomorrow?’ asked her mother, fussing around, straightening the bedclothes and fluffing the pillows. It reminded Rachel so much of being ill and pampered as a child that she felt another lump forming.

  ‘It’s looking hopeful,’ said her father heartily. ‘They were worried about that temperature I was running yesterday but that’s gone down nicely. If it stays that way tomorrow I can come home on Monday.’

  ‘That’s excellent,’ said Rachel. ‘Mum’s got everything ready for you and we can’t wait to have you back.’

  ‘I hope your mother isn’t working herself too hard.’ Rachel’s father looked anxiously from his daughter to his wife.

  ‘Of course I’m not,’ said his wife.

  ‘Now I’m home, she won’t need to,’ said Rachel firmly. ‘Anthony and I will do all the heavy work between us.’

  ‘Does Anthony know this?’ said her father with a faint smile.

  ‘I mentioned it to him,’ said Rachel. ‘And I’m really looking forward to it. You should see the two collies that came in today, Dad. Real darlings. I’m going to take them for a long ramble on the hill tomorrow; they look like the sort who need their exercise. And Anthony has agreed to do a deep clean of the two kennels you were working on when you had your fall, Dad.’ Anthony hadn’t agreed willingly to this, but he had been too cowed by his experiences with the police to refuse. Rachel intended to make the most of his acquiescence.

  Her mother was quiet on the way home from the hospital. When they got in Rachel made a pot of tea and they took their normal seats at the kitchen table. There was no sign of Anthony.

  ‘It’s good Dad’s going to be discharged soon,’ said Rachel encouragingly. ‘He seems to be pulling through very well.’