by Susan Lewis
The man seated at a large oak desk to one side of the cluttered shop, with a laptop open in front of him and an assortment of mosaics beside it, regarded her regretfully as she explained why she was there. She was becoming depressingly used to that expression.
‘We’re not actually open at the moment,’ he told her. ‘I’m normally out back in the workshop restoring and repairing. I’m only sitting here because the Wi-Fi connection’s better.’
She suddenly realized this was Blake Leonard, who’d been in the papers a couple of years back when his teenage daughter had gone missing. They’d found her in the end, but not alive. Angie’s heart went out to him as she wondered if he was even close to getting over it; she knew she would find it impossible.
She thanked him as graciously as she could and left, still hearing the tinkle of the bell over the door after it closed.
As she turned back to the Promenade she could feel a horrible agitation starting to build inside her. She wanted to cry and beg someone, anyone, to tell her what to do. She looked up at the sky, shouting inside, Steve, please help me to get through this because I don’t think I can do it on my own.
She waited for an answer, watching the clouds, silently imploring them, barely aware of the rain that was coming down soundlessly in an icy soft veil that soaked her face and hair and trickled inside her collar. She thought she could hear him, she was sure she could, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
In the end, feeling more wretched than ever, she began retracing her steps along the Promenade. She was telling herself that she wouldn’t give up, she’d never do that; she just didn’t know what to do next.
As she reached the Seafront Café a small group of women rushed past her and in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and laughing at their luck in escaping the worst of it. She reflected on how wonderful it would be to go in with them, to sit around a table drinking hot coffee, or chocolate, order one of Fliss’s delicious specials and spoil herself with a dessert, maybe even a glass of wine …
Realizing her mouth was watering she started to turn away, but paused as her eye was caught by a man sitting in a window booth. Though the glass was steamy on the inside and spattered with rain on the outside, she recognized him right away. Her eyes moved to the person opposite him. She was young and blonde, talking animatedly and making him laugh.
Angie barely knew what she was doing or even thinking as she started for the door. Pushing it open she made her way through the crowded tables right up to the booth, where she came to a stop without even knowing what she was going to say.
Martin Stone looked up in surprise. ‘Can I help?’ he said, frowning.
‘I-I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch,’ Angie stammered. ‘I know this is … It’s just …’
His frown deepened as he regarded her more closely. ‘Angie?’ he said uncertainly. ‘Yes, it is you. You’re soaked through. For heaven’s sake, come and sit down.’
‘No, I just, I’m sorry to do this but I …’ She had to say this, she just had to get it out. ‘I need a job,’ she blurted, ‘and I was …’ Tears suddenly fell out of her eyes, unstoppable and huge and drowning her voice into humiliating silence.
He got quickly to his feet, held her steady as awful sobs shook her, and easing her gently into the booth next to the blonde, he called out to Fliss to bring a hot chocolate.
‘No really,’ Angie protested, rigid with embarrassment.
‘Yes, really,’ he insisted.
‘You should take off your coat, it’s soaked,’ the blonde told her.
‘This is my daughter, Alayna,’ Martin explained. ‘Alayna, this is Mrs Watts. You might remember her husband, Steve. Yes, help her take off her coat.’
Angie tried to protest again, but the girl was already unwinding her sodden scarf, and it was as though her strength and so much else was unravelling with it. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she stammered, ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch …’
‘It’s OK, we’ve finished,’ he told her, and taking the scarf from his daughter he waited for the saturated coat and said, ‘These need to be dried off somewhere.’ Holding them up he looked around, and as if by magic a server appeared to take them from him.
‘One hot chocolate,’ Fliss announced, placing a large steaming mug on the table. ‘Oh, Angie, love, look at you. You’re chilled to the bone. Get that down you now and there’s plenty more if you want it.’
Realizing the time for pride was long past, Angie said, ‘I can’t pay, Fliss. I don’t have any money, so you’d better take it away.’
‘Leave it right there,’ Martin instructed as Fliss planted her hands on her hips.
‘You’re not leaving here until I’ve seen you drink every last drop,’ Fliss informed her bossily.
Angie started to speak, but only a sob came out. ‘Please don’t be kind to me,’ she tried to laugh. ‘It’s making me cry and I’ve already made a big enough fool of myself.’
‘Bloody nonsense,’ Fliss snorted. ‘Now drink, and I’ll be keeping an eye on you to make sure you do.’
As she turned to carry on dealing with the lunch-hour crush, Alayna said quietly, ‘Dad, I have to go.’
Angie immediately started to get up. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve …’
Putting a hand out to stop her, Martin spoke to his daughter. ‘Yes, of course. Call me when you get there.’
With a smile, Alayna said, ‘I need to get out.’
Martin let go of Angie’s arm and stood up too as Alayna slipped out of the booth.
‘I have to catch a train,’ she explained to Angie, ‘but it was lovely meeting you.’ She embraced her father, whispered something in his ear, and reaching for her bag she made her way to the coat racks. Angie stared after her, admiring how polite and poised she was. Grace would do well to turn out like her, she thought.
‘Please don’t let the chocolate go cold,’ Martin warned, ‘or Fliss will find a way to blame me.’
Aware of what a dreadful mess her face and hair must be, Angie dipped her head and sat down again.
She felt him watching her as she cupped her hands round the white china mug, allowing the heat to sink into her icy skin. His scrutiny felt unsettling, but oddly comforting too, as if someone was looking out for her, at least for these few short minutes.
She lifted the mug and treated herself to a deliciously warming swallow and when her eyes finally went to his she felt a flush of colour rise in her cheeks. She’d made such a fool of herself, pleading for a job, crying, sobbing like a child … ‘I’m sorry, I …’
‘No more,’ he said, putting up a hand. ‘You don’t have anything to be sorry for.’
She looked at the hand, large and masculine, like Steve’s and yet not like his because this one wasn’t stained with paint or dusty; it was clean and tanned and strong. His face was tanned too, evidence of his recent holiday. It made his thick fair hair seem lighter and his penetrating eyes even bluer.
‘So what’s this about needing a job?’ he asked, as a fresh mug of coffee was set down in front of him.
She felt embarrassment threaten to overwhelm her again, but she pushed herself past it; it really had no place in her world any more. ‘I realize I can’t work as a labourer, or anything else on a building site,’ she said, ‘but maybe you could use a cleaner, or a delivery person, or …’ she couldn’t think of anything else, not while his study of her was so intense.
‘What happened to the charity?’ he asked. ‘Bridging the Gap, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘I’m still there, but I … I’m just not earning enough. I need to find another job to work around it, or some night shifts, although that’s not great for the children, obviously. Your daughter is beautiful, by the way. How old is she?’
His eyes sparkled with the ironic pride of a father. ‘Twenty-two. She graduated from Bristol last summer with a degree in Theatre and Performance Studies. She’s now taking a year off to decide what she really wants to do.’
Angie had to smile.
>
‘Actually, she’s off to London today. She has an interview at the Royal Court in the morning.’
Angie was thinking how entranced Grace would be to meet someone like Alayna. ‘Is she an only child?’ she asked, feeling more comfortable now she wasn’t talking about herself.
‘No, I also have a son. Luke. He’s twenty-three and committed to protecting wildlife in Africa.’
Angie’s eyes widened. How could she not be impressed by that? If only Liam had been left alone to choose a similar path …
‘What?’ Martin prompted, as though sensing he’d triggered something in her.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. I was just … So does your son live in Africa?’
Martin nodded, with a rueful smile. ‘He certainly does and he hardly ever comes home, so we have to go there to see him. We couldn’t stay long this time, but frankly I think we were lucky he could fit us in at all.’ The intensity of his gaze deepened. ‘But we’re not here to talk about me,’ he reminded her gently, ‘and can you drink some more chocolate please?’
Obediently she took another generous mouthful – not as hot as the first, but delicious nonetheless.
‘I’m guessing,’ he said, ‘that things have been tough since you lost your husband.’
She took a breath and lost it in a surge of emotion.
‘It’s OK,’ he murmured, covering one of her hands with his, ‘with the way things are these days a lot of people are finding it hard, and being a single mum, trying to do the best for your family …’
‘You have to stop,’ she told him, ‘I already warned you, being kind will make me cry.’
He smiled and she felt almost dizzied by it, as if it were sweeping her away from the deadening horrors of her world.
‘Tell me about it,’ he said gently. ‘Tell me what’s really happening, and then I’ll be in a better position to know how I can help.’
To Angie’s surprise, once she got started, she found it easier to open up to him than she’d have imagined. He was a good listener who showed no signs of shock or judgement, even at the worst parts; he seemed only to give her his full attention, as though nothing else in the world mattered beyond what she was telling him. He didn’t ask many questions either, just nodded now and again, or frowned as though going deeper into a thought, apparently immersing himself in every part of her wretched tale.
When she got to the part about losing her home, his eyes closed as if he was feeling the horror of it himself. ‘And Hari Shalik’s son is your landlord?’ he already seemed to know the answer to this.
‘Was,’ she corrected. ‘That’s the only good part of it, I suppose, that I don’t have to deal with him any more. Or I wouldn’t if I didn’t still owe him so much rent. He’s informed me that I have to move my furniture out or he’ll do it for me. Luckily a friend of my sister’s has somewhere for me to store it.’
He nodded thoughtfully, and asked her to continue.
‘There isn’t much more to tell,’ she said. ‘I’ve lost my home, I’ve run up a crippling amount of debt, and next week I’m due to appear in court for non-payment of my TV licence.’ She swallowed hard on her dread and embarrassment. ‘I’m sure it’ll be the first of many summonses, and I’ll be fined for non-payment of them too, which is a bit crazy when the whole reason I’m there is because I can’t afford to pay in the first place. Anyway, it’s why I’m so desperate to find a job, or jobs, to add to the one I already have, so that I can at least show the court that I’m making an effort to sort things out.’
Clearly understanding that, he said, ‘So are you living with your sister now?’
She stiffened; this was one truth she really couldn’t bring herself to admit to. ‘The children are,’ she replied. ‘I … stay there at weekends. During the week I … I stay in various places.’
He frowned, and his eyes became so penetrating that she felt sure he was actually reading her thoughts.
Quite suddenly he said, ‘Have you eaten today?’
She started, not having expected the question, but when she began to say that she had, other words came out. ‘No, not really, but I’m not hungry.’
Raising a hand, he called out to Fliss. ‘Can we have a fish-finger sandwich over here? And another hot chocolate, please.’
‘Coming up,’ Fliss called back.
Angie said, ‘You don’t need …’
‘I take it you like fish-finger sandwiches,’ he interrupted, ‘or am I inflicting one of my favourites on you?’
She had to smile at that. ‘It was one of Steve’s favourites too,’ she told him. ‘And yes, I’m a fan, but I can’t let you …’ She stopped as his mobile rang, and watched him check who it was.
‘I can always ring back,’ he said, letting the call go to messages. ‘Now tell me more about Shalik. Did he go through all the proper channels to get you out?’
‘Yes, he did, unfortunately, and that’s why I can’t forgive myself, because I knew it was coming, but I buried my head in the sand and told myself it would work out somehow.’ She closed her eyes, wishing it was all just a bad dream and that where she was now, with him, feeling safe and less panicked than she had in so long, was the only reality.
‘Shall I tell you what my daughter whispered to me before she left?’ he said. ‘She said, whatever’s wrong, Dad, you have to help her, OK?’
Angie smiled at the generous heart, just like Grace’s, while inside she felt ashamed of having appeared so wretchedly needy.
‘We’re going to sort this out,’ he told her, clearly having come to a decision. ‘We’ll start with a job. It’s in my office – my PA needs help and we’ll be glad of whatever hours you can give us.’
Angie started to protest, but she seemed to have stopped breathing.
‘I’ll pay you fifteen pounds an hour in whatever form you like, to make sure it doesn’t get soaked up by the bank to clear the overdraft. Perhaps your sister can receive it and give you the cash?’
Before she could answer he was saying, ‘The debt needs sorting out, obviously, but there are experts who can advise you on that far better than I. I’ll put you on to someone as soon as I’ve made a few calls. Next, you can stay at my place until the council can come up with something suitable.’ He laughed, ‘Don’t look like that. I won’t be there. I’ll move in with my mother. And no need to worry, she’s used to it, and so am I. There’s always someone in town who needs a flat for the duration, and it’s usually mine that gets taken over. Luckily, no one’s using it right now, apart from me, and as I said, I can stay at home.’
Angie was overwhelmed and confused. ‘But what about your wife?’
For a fleeting moment the light seemed to dim in his eyes, and she detected a different sort of tension in his frown as he said, ‘Ex-wife.’ It was apparent that he regretted this, and Angie wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Actually, she’s someone else I think you should meet,’ he told her. ‘She has a lot of contacts in the police, so maybe she can help to find Liam.’
Angie’s heart skipped a beat. This was beyond anything she could have hoped for.
‘Do you still have the text telling you he’s safe?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘Good. You can show it to her when you see her. She’s just back from a long trip to New Zealand, but I think she should be over the jet lag by now.’ He returned to the main issue. ‘I know people at the council,’ he informed her, ‘so I’ll see if we can move things along on the housing front. I’ve no idea if they have anything on the Fairweather estate, but if they do it’s probably already taken. Still, no reason not to try and push for it. What you need is a three-bed place, am I right, and hopefully somewhere close enough to the schools so your children don’t have to change.’
He looked up as a waiter delivered a chunky fish-finger sandwich oozing melted butter from its crusty sides and accompanied by a small pot of thick, creamy ketchup with a tiny marble spoon.
‘OK, I’m going to leave you to eat that in pe
ace,’ he said, ‘while I go over there and talk to the bloke in the corner.’
Angie glanced in the direction he indicated.
‘He’s a site engineer,’ he explained. ‘I’m hoping to recruit him for a project we’re looking at starting next year. I’ll be right back, and then we’ll go and meet Martha. My PA. It might help to know that she’s not exactly like other people, but don’t worry, I think you’ll like her.’
Half an hour later Angie was walking along the Promenade beside Martin, feeling as though she was in a dream as they headed in the direction of the marina and she tried to stay under the vast golfing umbrella he’d borrowed from Fliss to keep them both dry. As they passed the early-Georgian terraces that housed many flats, hotels and businesses she kept expecting them to turn into one, but it wasn’t until they reached an imposing Regency mansion standing on its own at the back of a small car park that they’d apparently arrived. It was a three-storey red-brick building, with a black front door between crescent-shaped bay windows each side of the ground level, and tall, white-framed sash windows on the upper floors. Wide marble steps led up to the entrance, an elegant handrail either side and two small olive trees at the top that Angie realized must be fake, for live plants wouldn’t flourish at this time of year.
‘There’s a separate doorway at the side,’ he told her, ‘which takes you to the flat on the first floor, so not much of a climb. The second floor is home to an old friend of mine who’s away for the next couple of months, so you don’t need to worry about him.’
As he folded down the umbrella he gave the glossy black door a shove. It opened easily to display a classic Georgian-style hallway with a black and white tiled floor, a grand dark wood staircase with intricately carved rails, and two sets of double doors that presumably opened into opposite wings of the house.
It was magnificent, Angie was thinking as she took it all in, from the watercolours on the walls, to the scuffs on the paintwork, to the alluring woodland scent emanating from the diffusers dotted around the place. She was just beginning to imagine what it must have been like at the time it was a family home when Martin tapped on a door to the right and called out, ‘Martha? Are you decent?’