by Emma Davies
Stephen had just taken a mouthful of coffee and almost spat it across the table at Laura. He wiped his mouth as a trickle of it escaped. ‘What did you say?’ he gulped.
‘Well there’s no need to sound quite so surprised,’ Laura retorted. ‘I’m trying to apologise but if you—’
There was another touch to her hand and she snatched it away.
‘No, you misunderstood me, don’t be cross, Laura. You said a name just now, what was it?’
There was a very urgent expression on his face and Laura wondered what on earth she’d done wrong.
‘What, Giles, do you mean?’ she asked tentatively.
Stephen muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, which probably meant he was swearing. He lowered his head to his hands, and she tutted in exasperation, flapping her hands at him.
‘What did you say?’ she urged. ‘Why do you want to know about Giles?’
A pair of hazel coloured eyes met hers. ‘I said bloody hell,’ answered Stephen. ‘Because I only know of one person around here called Giles, and that’s Giles Drummond. I just hope to God I’m wrong.’
Stephen searched her expression, looking for her confirmation. He swallowed hard when he saw it.
‘And you just said that Giles would have run you over… Are you absolutely sure the person driving the car that day was Giles? It couldn’t have been anyone else?’
‘Well, it’s possible, but I wouldn’t have thought so. What’s the matter Stephen? Why is it such a big deal, I mean everyone knows what Giles is like: too much like his father; too much money and too little sense. He has never been able to handle that car; it was ridiculous buying someone so young a machine that powerful. And half the time he’s pissed out of his brain which doesn’t help either…’
She sat back as the colour drained from Stephen’s face.
‘What is it, what’s he done?’ Her voice was like ice.
There was something like regret in Stephen’s eyes. ‘Do you get the evening paper?’ he asked. ‘Would you have yesterday’s?’
Laura shook her head, unwilling to say any more.
‘The reason I ask is because there was an article in it about a suspected hit and run. An elderly lady was knocked down and left for dead, and it happened about the time that I was forced off the road. No one saw the car properly but it’s thought it left the village on the Witley Road.’
Laura sat up in shock, trying to process what Stephen had just said, and then it came to her, just why Stephen was here, exactly why he had come to see her. Anger straightened her back like a ram rod.
‘You must think I’m stupid as well as deaf,’ she snarled. ‘You didn’t come here to see how I was at all, did you? With your pathetic attempt at signing and your look at me I’m such a nice guy act. You don’t care about me one jot!’ Her eyes flashed dangerously.
He baulked at this. ‘That’s not fair, I—’
‘No,’ she shouted.
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘No, as in, no, I won’t help you. I’m not going to the police.’
‘Laura, someone was seriously hurt. How can you not want to help?’
‘Jesus, Stephen, are you completely thick? Who’s going to listen to me? Giles Drummond is the son of the man who killed my husband. He ruined my life once, there’s no way I’m going to let him do it again.’
She glared at Stephen across the table, bile rising in her throat as tortured memories of the past few years came flooding back.
‘I think you’d better leave,’ she said coldly.
Stephen blinked in surprise. ‘What, that’s it? You’re not even going to consider it? How can you be so callous, Laura, she could die.’
‘I might as well have, for what that man did to me.’
‘But we’re not talking about Francis now, we’re talking about his son. Someone who has, in all probability, committed a horrific crime. You can’t just sit here and do nothing.’
‘Watch me,’ Laura spat. ‘And if you’re so holier than thou, you go to the police. You can still tell them what you know.’
Stephen shook his head several times. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, getting up from the table. ‘We all wanted to help you, but I never thought for one minute you weren’t worth helping.’
‘Get out of my house!’ she shouted, launching herself out of her chair and pushing at his arm.
Stephen strode from the room, his long legs taking him to the door in seconds. He yanked it open and was about to slam it shut behind him when he suddenly turned and grabbed both Laura’s arms.
‘And you got it wrong for what it’s worth. I did come to see how you were, but I won’t bother you again.’ And he signed the word goodbye.
Laura stared after him, tears pouring down her cheeks before she slowly closed the door and sank to the floor.
Chapter 8
Not even the sight of squirrels playing on the lawn the next morning could lift Laura’s spirits. She had moved through the rest of the day before like an automaton, making chocolates, steeping more blue black damsons in brandy, and as the golden afternoon sun had dipped behind the hedgerows she tore up the list she was making for Freya’s wedding and cried some more.
She should have known it would come to nothing, but she’d so wanted to believe that things could change. She had seen something in Freya that spoke to her, awoke a spark in her that she hadn’t felt for a long time; but now all the hopes she’d had were like scalded sugar in the bottom of a saucepan, turned bitter and fit only for the bin.
Her head was full of jagged images from the past: David’s coffin, impossibly small to contain a whole life, and Francis Drummond standing over her, laughing, a gobbet of spit clinging to the end of his chin as he told her she would never win. She hadn’t, and though time had done its best to ease her failure, with one fell swoop she was right back where she had started; except this time it was worse, because now she had nothing to fight for, not even David’s name.
How could she possibly go to the police when all they would think – all anyone would ever think – was that she was trying to settle old scores? The thought of helping Freya with her flowers had been enough to completely unnerve her, it meant coming face to face with the people who had mocked her so cruelly; but she had allowed herself to dream, to think that things could be different and that with Freya’s help, she might finally escape the past. How foolish she had been. Her bed last night had been cold and unforgiving, but she had lain in it anyway, wishing for sleep to steal her misery.
She poured a cold cup of tea down the sink, watching the brown liquid swirl across the white porcelain of the big butler’s sink. As usual it gathered in the corners, but this morning she didn’t even have the energy to wash it away. She would just have to put one foot in front of the other today and count off the hours. The graves still needed tending, and there among the undemanding dead she might at least find some peace. She lifted her eyes to the notebook which still lay on the table, a stark blank sheet waiting to be filled. She had no idea what she was going to say to Freya later.
Stan’s chocolates were in the fridge, and after Laura had collected these, together with a Dutch apple cake for Millie and Blanche’s gin there was no further reason to hide in the house, and pulling on her jacket she crept from the house.
She half expected Stephen to be lying in wait for her, ready with a barrage of reasons why she should change her mind, but the lane was quiet as she reached her gate. It was a beautiful autumn morning; the sky tinged pale pink and purple as the sun crested the rise of the fields beside the house. The bright orange ball hung in the still air, its golden rays filtering through the swirls of mist which clung to the grass. Within an hour the sky would be the clearest blue.
It would be a perfect day for foraging, for seeking out scarlet haws in the hedgerows, or the dusky medlars which grew in the garden of a house behind the church. A day for hurrying home to make rowan jelly and damson ketchup, but Laura knew she would do none of those things, not today.
Her knock at the door went unanswered, and Laura automatically made her way along the path to the side of the cottage and into the back garden. It was quite usual to find Stan there, even this early in the morning, crouched beside one of his precious vegetables, or sitting in his greenhouse, letting the sun warm his bones through the glass, but she was surprised to see Millie this morning too, and Laura felt her mood sink even further. Millie’s presence could only mean one thing and Laura was in no mood for a gossip this morning, but she gave her customary wave and went to join them.
‘Beautiful morning,’ she called, remembering to smile.
Millie’s face fell immediately. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, twisting a hanky around her fingers. ‘You haven’t heard, have you? I didn’t think you had. I did call around, but perhaps you were out…’
‘What haven’t I heard, Millie?’ she asked, thinking back to yesterday evening when she had studiously ignored whoever had come to her door.
Millie looked hesitantly at Stan. ‘Perhaps you should tell her,’ she said.
Now that she was nearer, Laura could see that both of her neighbours were not their usual selves this morning. Millie looked quite upset, and Stan wore a distracted air; fidgety, not the calm, relaxed persona she was used to.
‘It’s Blanche,’ Stan began, for some reason over emphasising the words. He had probably intended to make sure she understood them, but instead the reverse was true and for Laura it was like listening to a transatlantic call with a lag on the line. Her brain took much longer than normal to relay the message so that she nearly missed what came next altogether. She held up a hand.
‘Say again, Stan. I missed that.’
‘She’s in hospital,’ he enunciated. ‘With a broken hip and wrist.’
‘She’s lucky to be alive,’ added Millie.
Laura stared at both of them, trying to wade through the fug in her brain. ‘But I only saw her yesterday… No, not yesterday… what day is it today?’
‘It’s Saturday, Laura,’ replied Stan, with a worried look. ‘The accident happened on Monday, but none of us knew until the Tuesday night, when her daughter came round.’
Laura tried to piece her week back together. ‘That’s right, I came to see you all, on Tuesday… except Blanche wasn’t in.’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God.’
Stan patted her arm. ‘Don’t upset yourself dear, none of us knew. She’d been in hospital over a day before we found out.’
‘But is she okay?’
Laura studied their faces, but neither of them said anything, just a glance flickered between the two of them.
‘It’s… difficult,’ said Stan eventually, ‘because of her age. The bones will heal, but the shock, well, you can imagine… and the doctors are worried about the risk of blood clots.’
The pit of Laura’s stomach fell away. ‘I’ve got to go and see her, where is she?’
Stan looked nervously at Millie. ‘Up in Hereford, but, Laura… will you be all right? The police are still investigating what happened, and you know how nervous you still get around folk. There were reporters there too we heard, to start with, although maybe not now…’
‘Police?’ asked Laura, shocked. ‘Why were the police involved? When you said she’d broken her hip, I assumed she’d fallen—’ She stopped as she caught sight of Millie’s face which was starting to crumple.
‘What happened Stan? Tell me.’
‘They’re not sure, they think she was hit by a car.’
A slice of pain shot through Laura’s head. She thrust the bag she was carrying at Stan. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.’
Somehow she stumbled back down the path to the front of the house, where she leaned heavily on the gate post, breathing hard. There was a wild rushing sound inside her ears, something which always happened when she was really stressed, but it was disorientating, it made her feel sick. She took several deep breaths waiting for the panic to subside. How could it be Blanche? Her lovely neighbour who had never harmed anybody. It was happening all over again – why was it always the good ones who got hurt?
If she thought she was angry yesterday, it was nothing compared with the boiling rage that hit her now, a wave of adrenaline-fuelled fury. And it was directed towards one person only: Giles Drummond. Her legs started to move of their own accord, flying first across the tarmac and then the open fields beside the church. She ran through the churchyard and out towards the Witley Road. By the time she got to Freya’s house her chest was burning, but she carried on. She hadn’t reached her destination yet.
‘All right, all right,’ Stephen grumbled, fumbling with his trouser leg. ‘Will you give me a minute or I’ll be bloody well naked.’
His wet feet refused to slide through his jeans, but eventually they made contact with the floor and he stood up. He jogged down the stairs, doing up his fly as he went. The doorbell was still ringing.
‘For pity’s sake, what’s so urgent,’ he started as he yanked open the door, the words dying on his lips when he caught sight of the figure standing there.
Laura was breathing heavily, eyes wild and darting, bleeding slightly from a cut on her cheek, the very last person he expected to see. A sheen of perspiration gleamed across her forehead as she stood there, her tiny figure diminished by the grand dimensions of the porch she stood under.
She held out a trembling arm. ‘You’ve got to help me,’ she said, the rest of her breath rushing from her in an anguished gasp. She looked like she was on the point of collapse.
Without thinking Stephen pulled her through the door and into his arms. He realised too late that he would probably receive a swift and excruciating knee to the groin, but as Laura sagged against him the seconds stretched out and the threat of imminent pain receded. Instead he gently rested his chin on the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her, fingers splayed but unmoving, as her tiny body shuddered against him.
He stared at the opposite wall in the hallway, focusing on the creamy expanse of paintwork and willed his body not to respond. But her fingers felt so good against his bare back, her hair against his chest…No! He sucked in a breath and thought about a song he had heard on the radio a few minutes ago, trying to repeat the words. Gradually as Laura’s breathing eased, and what Stephen realised were tears trailed off he found himself relaxing. He had no idea what had brought her to his door, but whatever it was she had asked for his help, and right now that’s all he needed to give her. Whatever comfort she sought, Stephen would provide it.
It was an unusual feeling for Stephen, offering comfort to another, and not one he’d had much experience of before. Of course, he had held women in the past, snuggled up to them, but it had always been either a prelude to sex, or during its aftermath, and he could never understand the accusations levelled at him: Why does it always have to lead to something else? Why can’t we just have a cuddle? As he felt a peaceful calm envelop him and his breathing match that of Laura’s, he suddenly got it. He understood what he had been missing all these years, and despite the rather unpleasant memories of yesterday, he would stay like this forever if he could.
Whether he liked it or not, this little spitfire of a woman had stolen a march on his heart, and as this thought struck him squarely he also realised that he would never be the kind of person who Laura deserved in her life. With all she had gone through, and the hurt that she was still suffering, his loud opinions and crass behaviour would overpower her. So, on the day that Stephen discovered a tiny glimmer of what it was like to fall in love, he also realised that Laura must never ever find out.
He’ll think I’m an absolute nutter, thought Laura, and it was this which finally made her pull away from Stephen’s warm embrace. Wh
en she had heard the news about Blanche, she had thought only of getting to Stephen, to tell him, to ask for his help. The anger that had engulfed her had long since gone, but in its place was a steely determination.
The Drummonds had ruined her life and stolen David’s, but to leave an elderly lady for dead was more than Laura could bear. She had fought against Stephen yesterday, shock and fear replacing calm reasoning, but the last few days had taught her one thing. Just as the Drummond family had a hold on her past, the Henderson family seemed to have an equal hold on her future. She was waking up from the self-imposed sleep she’d been in for years and, although she didn’t understand why things had changed, she certainly recognised that they had. There was only one person who could help her bring Blanche’s assailant to justice, and that was the very man she had kicked out of her house…
She gave a low moan of embarrassment. What on earth was she going to say to him now?
‘You’re wet.’ It was the first thing that came into her head. She cringed even more.
To her surprise she felt Stephen’s chest rippling. He was laughing. She looked up at his dripping wet hair.
‘I’ve just got out of the shower.’ He grinned. ‘In fact …’ He looked down at his bare torso. ‘Maybe I should go and get dressed. I’m practically naked.’
Laura only caught the last of his sentence as he raised his head, ‘Naked?’ she asked.
‘Yes, me,’ said Stephen unnecessarily. ‘Well not quite, but…’
Laura stared at the pale smooth skin that had felt so nice under her cheek. She blushed.
‘I feel such a prat,’ she groaned. ‘You’re going to think I’m completely loopy; what with my performance yesterday and then coming round here this morning, like… like I just did.’
‘There is a somewhat marked difference in your behaviour,’ replied Stephen. ‘I’ll give you that.’ He cocked his head at her. ‘So I’m guessing that something important has happened to bring about this change.’ He watched her for a second or two. ‘I tell you what, why don’t I go and put some more clothes on, and if you like you can make yourself a hot drink. I’ll show you where the kitchen is.’