by Marie Evelyn
Pitcher tapped his right leg impatiently to get Sairah’s attention. ‘You don’t need another bandage, Mr Pitcher. Look how well it’s healing.’
Pitcher looked mildly anguished. ‘OK. A plaster. I’ll get you a plaster.’ Sairah went through a selection of plasters then rejected them all for a theatrically large piece of gauze, which she taped to his leg.
‘How is Joe?’ she asked.
Becky sighed. ‘He’s sort of OK. I don’t think I realised how much he missed our father. I’ll take him back photos of the grave. Maybe that will help.’
‘I have something for him.’ Sairah pulled a plastic bag from beneath her desk and handed it to Becky.
The bag contained a boxed car. Becky took it out and held it in both hands to study it. The name of the model on the box (a Holden LH Torana) meant nothing to her but it was a cheerful green and looked old rather than new, which rather added to its attraction. ‘He used to bring back dinky cars for Joe but this is huge.’
‘He said the colour was called “Barbados Green” – that’s why he got it for your brother. I’ve kept it since … I’ve had it for twelve years. I couldn’t throw it away.’
‘It’s great that you kept it all this time,’ said Becky.
‘I brought it here in case you came back.’ Sairah dropped her head and corrected herself, ‘in case we ever talked.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It was for his next trip home. I suppose Joe would have liked cars then.’
‘He still likes them. He’ll probably be as happy with this now, as when he was eight.’
Sairah looked at her. ‘I’m sorry there’s nothing for you. Philip was looking for the perfect present. He just couldn’t find it. He did keep looking.’
‘No worries. Joe’s present is enough.’
Becky turned to Pitcher, who looked like he still wanted more treatment, and laughed. ‘Come on. This excellent nurse has fixed your leg.’
Pitcher remained seated defiantly. ‘When is the next time?’
‘Sorry Pitcher,’ said Becky. ‘There is no next time.’
He got up and limped noticeably towards the door.
Becky and Sairah swapped amused but sympathetic glances.
‘That man is not getting enough attention,’ warned Sairah.
‘I know,’ said Becky, sadly.
She wanted to say a proper goodbye to the woman her father had loved but couldn’t decide what was appropriate. Finally she stuck out a hand to shake. Sairah took it and pulled Becky in for a hug.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘Still no news about Zena,’ said Alex coming to meet them as soon as Maureen and Becky got back to the house. Pitcher wandered off limping worse than he had when he was first injured.
Maureen, Alex and Becky looked at one another. Matthew and the others must have reached the hospital by now. Maureen went into the kitchen, presumably to prepare something for them to eat when they got back and Alex headed for the office though Becky could not see how he was able to work. She sat at the table in the morning room and fired up the laptop but found it impossible to concentrate. She couldn’t even think what to put in an email to Joe. She could hardly say she had important news about their father to share with him on her return: not when she wouldn’t be back for almost another month.
One more month. She couldn’t imagine not being here at Copper Mill. She couldn’t imagine not seeing Matthew every day. Had he given any thought to their lives after she went back to England? Did he remember that she was due to leave in just four weeks?
Becky pushed these thoughts aside and remembered Zena. Hopefully she would be receiving treatment by now. But why no news? All Becky was aware of was the passing of time. The clocks in the house that she had barely registered before seemed to tick like synchronised bombs. She kept going into the hall and staring at the phone yet she jumped when it rang. It was Matthew.
‘Becky? I just thought I’d let you know what’s happening. Zena’s being seen by a doctor now so we haven’t heard yet. But she did get distracted in the car. Once she saw a few things on the way that grabbed her attention she certainly seemed less upset. I think she’s going to be OK.’
‘Thank God,’ said Becky.
‘Early days yet,’ said Matthew, quickly. ‘I’ll phone as soon as I know anything definite. I’m going to take a wander now to see if I can find some coffee for us all.’
‘OK, thanks for letting me know. I’ll tell Maureen and Alex.’
She hung up and discovered Alex and Maureen were both standing behind her in the hall. They must have heard the phone ring too.
‘Matthew thinks Zena’s going to be OK. The doctor’s with her now.’
Alex smiled and returned to the office. Maureen still looked concerned. She must be feeling responsible. Becky decided it would be a good idea to make a drink for all of them as well.
She was on her way back to the morning room with a mug of tea when the phone rang again. Had the doctor finished examining Zena already? It was Matthew on the other end but his voice was very different, very harsh.
‘I’ve just bumped into that complete waste of space, Richard Carrington.’
‘Richard?’ Becky knew he was still at the hospital but that did not explain Matthew’s angry tone. ‘Yes, his brother said he’d be could be discharged today.’
‘Do you know how much they bid for the land?’
‘No idea, Matthew. How would I know?’
‘Two point three million and fifty dollars.’
Becky was not sure what she was meant to make of that. She said nothing.
‘Why did you tell him?’ Matthew said, ‘did he get you drunk? Did he trick you? Why in God’s name did you tell him?’
Realisation slowly dawned. The Carringtons’ bid was only fifty dollars more than Matthew’s own. ‘I didn’t tell him. Why on earth would I?’
‘I’ve no idea. You tell me.’
‘I’m telling you I didn’t pass any information to Richard.’
‘You saw the amount I was going to bid. I know you did.’ Matthew sounded really angry now and the tenor of his voice reminded her of the man who had humiliated her at the Monmouth UK. She felt sick.
‘Yes, I saw it on the computer, but –’
‘You know how much that land meant to me.’
‘But I didn’t tell him.’
‘How else could he have known?’
Becky was already sure she knew who the culprit was and could imagine how he had been tricked into disclosing Matthew’s bid. But the truth wasn’t important: the point was that Matthew had immediately assumed she was to blame. She’d believed she’d seen a different side to him here in Barbados but clearly he was as unpleasant as she had first thought. ‘If that’s what you want to think then that’s up to you,’ she said. ‘At least tell me if there’s any news on Zena.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ he snapped. ‘They say Francesca’s trick with the milk made the difference.’
Before Becky could decide whether to correct him or not she heard a click: Matthew had hung up on her.
Becky returned to the morning room feeling furious but also deeply betrayed. So much for the man who was prepared to forgo profits to save endangered turtles. Had that all been an act to get her to sleep with him? And she had fallen for it. There was no way she could spend another minute in his presence. She felt badly about letting down Clara but she was going to have to invent some reason to go home.
Mechanically Becky sat down in front of the laptop and searched for flights from Bridgetown to the UK. There were two flights that evening to Heathrow; the latest left at 11 p.m. Was that soon enough to be gone before Matthew came back? The idea of seeing him – even at a distance – filled her with anxious dread.
But first she had to come up with a plausible excuse. Whatever it was it would have to be a lie, unless Matthew had shared his apparent discovery that she had revealed the bid to Richard Carrington in which case Clara herself might think it best that Becky leave
Barbados early too.
As she started going through the booking process to find out if there were any seats, she heard the gruff engine of a jeep pulling into the yard. They couldn’t have returned already. Becky checked the time on the laptop and was astonished to see she had been on the computer for more than half an hour. She went to the window and looked out, feeling a huge relief when she saw it was only Clara and Francesca.
A few minutes later they came in, Clara looking drained. ‘Zena is going to be absolutely OK,’ she said. ‘Cook is staying with her and then her daughter-in-law will bring her back here tonight or tomorrow.’
‘I think Matthew took it the worst of all of us,’ said Francesca. ‘Even when we knew Zena was fine he seemed to be …’ She frowned. ‘He seemed very upset.’
‘He’s staying at the hospital?’ said Becky, hopefully.
‘No, he wants to spend the night at the hotel,’ said Clara. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Anyway,’ said Francesca. ‘I’ll be off now.’
‘Thanks Francesca,’ said Clara. ‘That was some very good driving.’
Francesca nodded her acknowledgement and walked out. They could hear her heels tapping across the hall.
‘No need to look so upset, Becky,’ said Clara. ‘Zena’s going to be fi –’
‘I had a phone call when you were at the hospital. My mother’s very ill; I have to go back to the UK. Today if possible.’
‘Oh no,’ said Clara. ‘What dreadful news.’
The sound of heels on the wooden floor got louder again and Francesca reappeared in the doorway of the morning room. ‘Did I hear right? That’s dreadful, Becky.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Clara. ‘But can it wait until tomorrow? Alex could sort out a ticket and Matthew could give you a lift to the airport.’
‘There are still free seats on a flight tonight. I just need to book a ticket and get to the airport.’
‘But who – actually, I suppose I could take you,’ said Clara doubtfully.
‘I’ll take Becky,’ said Francesca. ‘It’s the least I could do.’
Clara looked worried. ‘Oh, Francesca, that’s very good of you but you’ve been up and down the island already today.’
‘It’s no problem.’
‘Thanks Francesca,’ said Becky. ‘Clara, I’m going to try and book the ticket on my credit card, but to be honest, I’m not sure what my limit is.’
‘You will not. I wouldn’t dream of it. You tell me when a credit card is needed and I’ll sort it out.’
Becky refreshed the screen and was relieved to see that there were still seats available on the eleven o’clock flight. The screen that came up was asking for credit card details.
‘So, I type it here, do I?’ Clara gave the screen a rather worried look. ‘It’s quite safe is it? I mean it won’t steal my card number.’
‘It will be fine,’ said Francesca. ‘It’s completely safe.’
Clara sat down and filled in the payment details. Becky pressed ‘Confirm’.
‘Done.’
‘Really?’ said Clara. ‘Just like that? You’ve booked a ticket.’ She peered at the confirmation screen. Becky was writing down the reference number.
‘But I’m afraid I’ve got to get back for my parents so we’ll need to leave pretty much now-ish,’ said Francesca.
‘I’ll pack,’ said Becky. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
She ran upstairs and pulled her suitcase from under the bed, opening drawers and cupboards and stuffing the contents in. She left the black Léger dress in the wardrobe. She would have loved to take it and its empowering properties with her but just couldn’t visualise a scenario in England where she would wear it. Anyway Matthew had clearly meant it to be a business prop, not a personal gift.
She decided to take the box with Joe’s car in her rucksack.
Maureen appeared in her bedroom doorway. ‘You’re going?’
‘My mother’s ill.’
‘When are you coming back?’
The question almost floored Becky. She didn’t intend to come back. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll see how it goes.’ They hugged and Maureen left quietly.
Becky made sure her passport and money were in her rucksack, closed her suitcase and hauled it downstairs.
Francesca was drinking a glass of water in the hall. ‘Wow, I made that just ten minutes,’ she said with a note of admiration. ‘And you’ve got your passport?’
Becky nodded.
Clara looked as though she could cry. ‘I’m just sorry that Matthew isn’t here to say goodbye.’
‘Please say goodbye to him from me,’ said Becky. ‘And say goodbye to Cook and Alex too. I won’t disturb him now.’
Clara gave her a big hug. ‘I will see you soon, Becky, I’m sure. You’ve got to come straight back. As soon as your mother’s better.’
Francesca started twirling her keys around. ‘You need to check in a good couple of hours before the flight and it could take us two hours with the traffic –’
‘I’m ready.’
Becky lugged her suitcase down the veranda stairs, hoisted it into the back of Francesca’s jeep and got in. Francesca drove them off without any ceremony. Becky hadn’t wanted to look back but changed her mind; her quarrel was not with poor Clara. The older lady was standing at the bottom of the veranda steps, waving.
They were soon on the now-familiar main road to Bridgetown. Becky knew Francesca’s assistance was not entirely altruistic; in fact it was downright self-serving. Even so she was grateful for Francesca’s deviousness. Apart from getting her away from Matthew so promptly it also meant Becky was under no obligation to talk to the driver – and the driver certainly didn’t want to talk to her.
So that was it – after two months of her planned three-month stay she was going home to England. She would think about how to explain her early return to her mother and Joe on the plane. For now she wanted to remember as much of Barbados as she could.
The fields blurred by as Francesca’s car chewed up the road in front and spat it out behind. Snapshots of the last few weeks streamed through Becky’s mind: gardening with Clara; little Zena playing with a Christmas worm; researching the Redlegs; finding out about Matthew’s ancestors; the dreadful night of the attack on Richard; daily life at Copper Mill; finding out about her father’s other woman.
And finding his grave. Becky groaned. She needed the photographs from Matthew’s phone to show Joe. That meant she would have to contact him. She never wanted to speak to Matthew again but given Clara’s technophobia she’d almost certainly have to. Would he be difficult or would she get a glimpse of the other Matthew: the one who had comforted her in Southbury Cemetery and shared the turtle run with her?
Amazing to think their time on the beach was only last night. It seemed like a lifetime ago when they were two different people. Becky set her jaw, determined not to cry. In the scale of things a broken romance was hardly a big deal: baby turtles had to face the gauntlet of predators on their hike to the sea and her father’s ‘wife’ was clearly still alone.
And of course she was doing something the Monmouth rebels sent to Barbados could only dream of: she was going back to England.
Almost before she realised it they were at the airport.
‘Shall I come in and make sure you’re OK?’ asked Francesca, revving the engine slightly.
‘No need.’ Becky got out and hefted her suitcase from the back. ‘Thanks very much, Francesca.’
She headed for the terminal building without a backward glance.
Chapter Twenty-five
Naturally, Becky’s mother and Joe were curious as to why she’d come home early but she was initially saved from having to give a full explanation because they were both out at work when she arrived back in Brentwood. Feeling incredibly tired after travelling for ten hours, she took her case and rucksack upstairs, lay down and fell into a deep sleep. She was woken by the sound of the phone ringing and staggered groggily downstairs to answer it.
It was Clara wanting to know that Becky had landed safely. Her voice full of concern Clara asked after Becky’s mother. Becky said she was doing a bit better, relieved her mother was not at home for it would have been somewhat difficult to talk about her imaginary illness with her in the background, calling ‘Who’s that?’
“We all miss you,” Clara said, wishing the whole family well and hanging up.
All except Matthew, no doubt, thought Becky. She definitely could not face speaking to him and had thought of a way around it on the journey home. She rang Alex’s mobile, explaining she needed some photos off Matthew’s phone and giving Alex her email ID.
‘Do you want Matthew’s phone number?’ asked Alex, confused.
‘Already got it, thanks,’ Becky said.
Still sounding confused, Alex said he’d organise it and within the hour Becky received the photographs in the graveyard sent from Alex’s email ID.
At that moment she heard her mother coming through the front door. Joe was not far behind. They sat in the front room with a cup of tea and Becky tried to answer their questions about her unexpected return truthfully, while deliberately giving them both the wrong impression. She told them Clara’s pleurisy had meant little progress had been made with the book. She told them she had worked in the garden instead. She told Joe she had taken photos of their father’s grave, which she’d show him later and, when their mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner, she brought out the model car. Joe was beyond delighted – he was ecstatic.
Of course he wanted to know how Becky had come by this present so she told him about their Dad’s ‘other partner’ but decided not to mention the bigamous marriage. Joe took the news of their father’s relationship more easily than Becky had originally.
To his insistent questions as to what Matthew was like she just said that he worked very hard. But her answers didn’t really explain why – with her three-month term not up and no book written – she was back. Her mother said she thought Becky had been sacked because she wasn’t up to the work, while Joe asked (more accurately) if there had been ‘man trouble’. Becky didn’t deny or confirm either of these suspicions but suspected both her mother and her brother thought their own assumptions were correct.