“What do you look for if they have?”
“Well, I would usually listen to them, and talk to their families. You have to try and find the reason. You have to listen. Very often it’s just a cry for help.”
David chewed silently for a moment. “Help for what?”
His mother turned to face him. “Where is this coming from? Don’t tell me you’ve picked up another stray? Honestly, you attract people with problems like wasps to jam.”
“Don’t exaggerate. Help for what?”
Elizabeth shrugged and carried on peeling. “Oh… depression. Abuse. Very often there’s a lot of anger inside. Sometimes it’s a hangover from a trauma in childhood…” The knife stopped, hovered for a moment. “Of course, not everyone reacts to childhood trauma in the same way.”
It was a moment after she had finished the sentence before she looked round. He was looking down at Manna, fondling the silky ears. When he didn’t speak, Elizabeth put the knife down and reached her arm clumsily around his waist, hugging him sideways. “David, we love you. You must never question that.”
“I don’t question it.” He hunched away from her with a bleak smile. “But there’s forgiving and forgetting. Forgetting’s the harder part.”
He watched as his mother’s eyes filled with tears. “But how could we ever forget?” she said.
She brushed her eyes. When she looked again there was only Manna, his head turned to the hall door slowly swinging closed.
David checked on his father who was watching television in the den and then went up to his room. Sitting on the chair at his desk he swivelled round. A small television sat on the chest of drawers at the bottom of his bed. Posters covered the walls – musicians, travel scenes. A large picture of an orange sky as the sun rose over a mountaintop. Words blazed across the bottom: “We are an Easter people and hallelujah is our song.” A large wooden cross hung over the head of his bed. Beside it was a calendar of Garfield cartoons.
The black quilt on his bed was rumpled the way he had left it when he had got up this morning. The sliding door of the fitted wardrobe wasn’t quite shut on the rail of clothes inside. Plenty of clothes. Good clothes.
He swung back to his desk and leaned on his elbows to look past his laptop and out the window. His room looked over the front garden to the laurel hedge and the trees in the avenue beyond.
He had to move out. He had to. Yet he knew he couldn’t do that just now. He couldn’t leave his parents just as they dealt with the anxiety of his father’s frailty. But by next summer, even if university was just down the road, he promised himself he would get a place of his own.
He dropped his chin into his hand and twirled a pen round on the desk. It snagged on his mobile phone where he had set it down when he came in. A sudden longing to talk to Robyn again washed over him.
It had been a crazy afternoon. They had both reacted to the release of tension by going slightly mad. After a feast of sandwiches in the café, they had wandered round the exhibits in the natural history gallery. She doubled up with laughter at his impression of the fury of the wildcat who fought a perpetual battle with a stuffed eagle in a glass case. They squabbled about the correct pronunciation of the word ‘Echinoderm’.
At the display of molluscs, they marvelled at the huge bivalve, a shell almost up to David’s knees in height. They speculated on whether the world would have ever heard of Jonah if he had been swallowed by a bivalve instead of a big fish. She had turned away in disgust from a Giant Japanese spider crab, all of five feet across. David had turned his hands into claws and pursued her.
They wandered on to the geology gallery and on a huge wall map of Ireland she pressed buttons to light up areas of different rock types. She didn’t let him see which buttons she pressed and gave him marks for how many he guessed right – after she’d checked the answers herself.
Finally they had arrived at the park gate. She thanked him shyly, hesitated, and then skipped lightly away across the road to walk back to her flat. Her red jacket swung over her shoulder, half hidden in her curtain of hair.
He smiled at the memory. On an impulse he lifted the phone and thumbed: ‘u ok?’. Within seconds a message came back: ‘fine!’
He set the phone down. If only she could unpick the knots of her own past, he suspected that she was the one person in the world who would be patient with his own.
Later that night, Tim phoned him.
“I want to talk to you, man,” he said.
“Talk.”
“Not now. Tomorrow afternoon. My house.”
“OK. What about?”
“Tell you then. Cheers.”
Gemma set the salad bowl in the middle of the table and sat down.
“There. I think that’s everything.”
Neil tried pouring a drink for Anne Daniels who was sitting opposite him. A stab of pain went through his ribs and he set the jug down. “Sorry, Anne. Still a bit stiff.” He pushed the jug towards her.
“You poor thing,” she sympathised. “Still, you’re not as bad as I thought I might find you. Give yourself a week or two yet and you’ll be fine.”
She looked great, he thought. The drive up to Belfast had not tired her at all. She was wearing well. If genes had anything to do with it, it boded well for her daughter.
“Much traffic on the way up?” he asked.
“No, it was a fairly smooth run. It’s not nearly as bad as in the days when the army was here. Some of their road blocks weren’t easy to see in the dark. I came round a corner once and only just saw the red light in time. If I’d driven on they might have shot me!”
“That would have meant a public enquiry!” Gemma, to whom the Troubles were history, grabbed the mayonnaise bottle and pretended to be a television reporter. “Anne Daniels, supposedly upright citizen, is actually a loyalist arms smuggler, it has been revealed. She was discovered this evening with a boot full of rifles and detonators. Police are checking her car for further evidence.”
Neil was aghast. “Gemma! don’t make a joke of it.”
She sulked. “Why not? It’s the only thing to do.” She passed Anne the bread. “Have some Semtex – I mean bread.”
Neil took a deep breath and tackled the subject they had all been avoiding.
“Have you seen Robyn recently?”
Anne took a delicate bite of ham, chewed and swallowed before answering. “No. I haven’t. I spoke to her last at the beginning of the week. We were both a little fraught.” She cut a finger of bread. “Have you seen her?”
“Yesterday morning. She’s being very stubborn.”
Anne raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean – stubborn?”
Neil waved his fork irritably. “Well, she won’t go back home. She says she’s going to stay in Belfast.”
Gemma looked from one of them to the other as if she were watching a tennis match. She said conversationally: “We met one of the guys who teaches with her. He says she’s really popular with the pupils. He wasn’t bad himself. Hidden depths, our Rob.”
“Shut up, Gemma,” said Neil.
Gemma calmly buttered a piece of wheaten bread. Anne turned back to Neil. “It’s all very strange.”
Neil searched for words grumpily. “She was always supposed to be mine.” Even he knew this sounded petulant. “I mean, who else would have her? She’s as odd as two left shoes.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be anybody’s,” said Anne.
Neil looked at her in surprise. “I thought you were on my side.”
Anne shrugged. “She may just want to work something out of her system. Have a fling before settling down.”
Gemma broke in again. “That reminds me of something Rob said to me once. She said ‘Can’t I just belong to myself?’”
Anne folded a piece of lettuce and skewered it with her fork. “She’s her father’s daughter. Wilful and stubborn.”
“Poor Matthew,” said Neil automatically. Then he banged the table. “But she didn’t used to be! Now thanks to he
r, I have to put off moving up here. It’s damn awkward. The new office is sitting waiting and I have to start paying rent on it in two weeks.”
Anne set her knife and fork down deliberately, waving her hand in refusal of Gemma’s offer of another drink. “Actually, Neil, I’ve been thinking. Perhaps you should see if you can extricate yourself from that contract.”
Neil’s voice went up a note. “Why on earth would I do that?”
Anne spoke carefully. “When I considered investing Matthew’s estate in your business, I hoped I was investing in a secure future for my daughter.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. Gemma stopped chewing. “It doesn’t seem as if things are going to work out like that.”
Neil spoke in disbelief. “You wouldn’t do this to me. You wouldn’t! Not after all I’ve done. All we’ve been through.”
Anne lifted her knife and fork and cut a tomato. “Believe me, I don’t like this any more than you do.” She paused with the fork half way to her mouth. “But if Robyn has changed as much as she seems to have…” – she raised an eyebrow in his direction – “…we’re not related, are we?”
That night, Neil lay in bed and swore into his pillow. Two weeks ago he didn’t think he could hate Robyn. But he was working up to it.
The chime of the doorbell made Robyn look up from her book with a start. Who on earth would be calling at this time on a Sunday afternoon? As she went down the stairs to the hallway, she hoped it wasn’t Neil. But it was Angus who leaned round the door jamb, face very close to hers as soon as she opened the door.
“Hello, Robyn,” he smiled. “You did say maybe another time?”
“Angus!” She controlled her surprise, her hand still on the door latch. “Another time for what?”
“A drive. We never did go on that drive yet. The weather seems settled. How about tomorrow?”
“I think it was you who said ‘another time’. Thank you, but no thank you,” she said.
Angus put his hand on the door. “What about dinner then? Just down in the Square. Ten minutes from here.”
Conflicting fears and desires wrestled in her head. She had even briefly speculated about this. To go out for dinner sounded attractive, even normal. What would be wrong with it? But she wasn’t attracted to Angus Fraser, not one bit. In fact he still made her nervous. But wasn’t that because for so long she had been afraid of life in general, wrapped up in a cocoon of iron protection? For a reason she didn’t understand or analyse, something new was present, making her able to consider possibilities, to understand that she had a right to options.
It’s just dinner. Oh, what the hell? Make an effort. Just once.
“OK. But not late.”
His smile flashed. “Great. I’ll have you back before ten. I’ll pick you up about six thirty. Till tomorrow.”
As he walked away she closed the door on his pale eyes and leaned against it. It was just dinner. And just down the road. She could manage that.
David held the steering wheel on full lock in an even sweep round the turning circle at the end of the cul-de-sac. When he pulled up at the familiar blue gate, Tim was already on the footpath. He climbed into the passenger seat, red curls twisting over his freckled brow.
“My folks are in this afternoon, including my sister,” he said. “It’ll make her week if you come in. But you’re not going to.”
“Am I not? I thought you wanted to talk.”
“I do, but not with an audience, man. Drive.”
With a puzzled shrug, David eased the car into gear and drove. He turned towards the city centre and pulled up in a side street. Tugging the handbrake on, he slid round to face Tim, propping himself against the door and hitching a knee in front of the steering wheel.
“So? What’s the big deal? Woman trouble?”
Tim grimaced. ‘I should be so lucky.” Then his tone became challenging. “You’re the one has the woman trouble, man. What’s with you and La Daniels?”
David’s eyebrows bunched. “What?”
“You know how I have to fill art portfolios with sketches before September? For my art presentation?”
“I do.”
“I was in the Museum yesterday. Fossils and stuff are great things to draw.”
“So?”
“Don’t be so innocent, Davey! When you arrived at the café…” he poked a finger, “I swear she was holding your hand.”
David kept his voice level. “Where were you? I didn’t see you.”
“I bet you didn’t! You weren’t paying too much attention to anyone else. I nearly said hi, but then I decided staying out of sight might be more interesting. And it sure was!”
David shifted his back against the door, his black hair crinkling on the glass. “You didn’t see anything much.”
Tim thumped David’s large foot where it rested beside the gear stick. “What’s going on, mate? That wasn’t an English lesson.”
David turned back into his seat suddenly and fired the engine. “There’s nothing to talk about. Is that all you dragged me out for?” When he reached for the handbrake, he found Tim’s hand there before him, holding it firm.
“Listen to me, I’m a mate. OK? Is she fooling with you?”
David leaned over the steering wheel and drummed his fingers on the rim. He didn’t look at Tim. “We just happen to have run into each other a few times over the holidays. That’s all. She’s OK.”
“She’s more than OK, man. She’s the dream lay of half the sch …”
“Don’t!” David’s head spun round in one of his sudden spurts of anger. “Not even you, Tim. Don’t talk about her like that. It’s gross.”
Tim went quiet. Then he said slowly: “You just told me enough.” He looked away, out the side window. “Chloe’s back on Wednesday, isn’t she?”
“So?”
Tim shrugged. “Just checking.” He became thoughtful. “You know, you and La Daniels looked good together. You’ve no idea how jealous I am.”
Very deliberately, David turned to face him. “Before God, there is nothing going on between us, I swear. How could there be?”
“You don’t need to swear, Davey. You’re an honest old Prod.” He tilted his head and looked quizzically at his friend. “But get it out of your system, man. If you don’t, you’ll get hurt and that’ll put you in a foul mood and I’ll get the ass end of it.” David half-smiled, but Tim raised a plump finger. “One other thing. Her career’s hardly started. Do you want to see her on a professional misconduct charge?”
David hit the steering wheel. “How the hell could that happen? There’s been no misconduct. I’ve told you.”
“I believe you. Keep your hair on! But I saw you both, remember.” He thought for a moment. “Your minds are together, even if nothing else is. Yet.”
“Pillock.” David sat still, watching a slight spit of rain patter the windscreen. Then in a few sharp movements, he swung the car out into the street. “I’ve a youth group tonight and nothing prepared yet. I’d better get back.”
They didn’t speak until he pulled up at the blue gate. He looked across at Tim, then punched him on the shoulder. “You’re OK. But just let me go to hell my own way.”
Tim jerked the door handle and heaved himself out. The rain had got heavier. As he slammed the door, David heard him say, “No chance, man. No chance.”
As he prepared to swing into the gate of his own house, David’s eye caught a movement further up the avenue. A girl with no coat, purple hair and a chin stud stepped out from the hedge. She was soaked through. He pulled the car past the gate and stopped. Reaching over, he pushed open the passenger door.
“Get in,” he said. “You have to go home.”
17
ROBYN WAITED FOR the doorbell. She had dressed carefully in navy trousers and a short-sleeved top. Her red jacket lay ready on the table beside her bag. She felt good, confident. Taking a deep breath, she promised herself that she would enjoy herself this evening. Allow herself to relax, to have a good time. She didn’t kn
ow why, but something had loosened inside her. She felt cleaner, lighter. She pummelled one of her new yellow cushions and sat down. Her mobile phone bleeped. She had told no-one else she had it. She hugged it like a secret, a convenience for herself alone. And one other.
‘Walk this evening?’ said the screen.
She smiled and thumbed a message. ‘Sorry. Got a date!’
There was quite a pause before a message came back: ‘Who with?’
She thumbed: ‘Mind your own business!’ and softened it with a winking emoji.
Angus transformed himself into the perfect companion. He could do it effortlessly. He thought that Robyn looked more enticing than he could ever remember seeing her before. He watched her bouncing down the steps to his car. Her clothes hugged her figure as she slipped into the seat beside him. He couldn’t help his eyes tracing down the V of the neckline to where a strand of her hair was caught. He realised that she had seen where his eyes had wandered and smiled quickly.
“OK. Let’s go find a menu.”
He turned the conversation to holidays and weather, trying to make her relax. He would make sure she was even more relaxed by the time the evening was over.
The restaurant wasn’t very busy and they were seated in a booth near the window. And then, damn it! she wanted apple juice. Apple juice! On the other side of the wooden partition, American accents were discussing their hotel.
“Lots of tourists about,” said Angus casually.
“There are.” Robyn turned her menu over, scanning it. “There are accents from all over the world here now.”
“Ever been to America?” he asked.
“No. I haven’t travelled very far at all, I’m afraid.”
And so it continued. She seemed to stay distant, wary, and it irritated him. She ate very little. Over dessert, he watched her left hand settle beside her plate as she lifted her fork with the other hand. He tried reaching for her fingers but they vanished onto her lap as if he approached with fire. The quick dart of her glance to his face tightened the pressure in his head.
When she crumpled her napkin and said, “Well, I think I should get back,” he slid from the booth so fast he saw the little startle he caused. He cursed himself for the slight alarm. He reached to grip her arm, to pull her up. Stopped himself. Not yet. Not yet. Let’s go. Time to get this done. Time!
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