The Ties That Bind

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Nothing more,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Well, that’s good.’ He paused and gave a little laugh. ‘You know, it must be at least six weeks since we first met, and it’s just struck me that all I know about you is your name!’

  She smiled. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Well, certainly more than that! Your likes and dislikes, where you work, your taste in music. How about your family, for starters. Any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Two younger sisters, both still at school.’

  ‘Are you close?’

  She shrugged. ‘Fairly close to the elder, but the younger one’s a nightmare!’

  ‘And your parents?’

  ‘My mother illustrates children’s books, my father’s a deputy headmaster.’

  ‘Wow! Impressive! What school?’

  ‘St Catherine’s College.’

  ‘And I suppose you went there yourself?’

  ‘No, by the time we moved down here I was at university, but my grandparents lived in St Cat’s – my grandmother still does – so I’ve always known it. Now it’s your turn! What family do you have?’

  ‘Parents, one in insurance, one in IT, and an older married brother.’

  ‘And where do they live?’

  He laughed wryly. ‘Oh, we’re all Bristolians, born and bred. None of us have strayed far, except for uni.’

  Jess tried to sound casual. ‘So you’ve known Maggie and the others for some time?’

  ‘No, actually, only Dom.’ He paused. ‘A long-term relationship had just ended and he took me along with him one night to cheer me up. To be honest I needed a bit of persuading, but he insisted it was open house and I’d be welcome, and that was how it started.’ He smiled a little. ‘Though to be honest, I’ve only started going regularly since you arrived!’

  ‘As it happens,’ Jess said quickly, ‘a break-up was one of my reasons for coming to Bristol.’

  ‘There you go! I knew we had something in common!’

  ‘So you knew the person who was sharing with Maggie before me?’

  ‘Not really; I met her a couple of times, but she was leaving to get married so she spent most evenings with her fiancé.’

  Their food arrived, causing a natural break in the conversation. The waiter poured sparkling water into their glasses, hoped they’d enjoy their meal, and moved away. Snippets of conversation from the neighbouring tables reached them, and as they unfolded their napkins Jess admitted to herself that her initial liking of Connor had strengthened. Also, since he was relatively new to the group, she persuaded herself he was unlikely to have been one of those who’d sanitized the crime scene.

  His voice broke into her thoughts. ‘A penny for them!’

  She flushed, shaking her head. ‘Not worth it!’ she said.

  He took the hint and there were no more personal questions, both of them accepting that enough information had been exchanged for the moment. At the end of the meal they left together.

  ‘Can we do this again?’ Connor enquired as they emerged from the Circus and prepared to go their separate ways.

  ‘I’d like to,’ Jess acknowledged. ‘And thank you for my lunch.’

  ‘You’re more than welcome. See you this evening, perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t think so; Maggie’s staying on at the centre for a late delivery.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Probably,’ she said.

  ‘Before too long, anyway. Bye, Jess.’

  ‘Goodbye, and thanks again.’

  As she walked back to the office, Jess replayed their conversations in her head, analysing her overall reaction. Favourable, she decided, but she’d no intention of becoming too close to Connor till she knew a lot more about what had happened in the flat the afternoon she left for St Cat’s.

  The first person Fleur saw as she reached the surgery was Dr Roger Price, Jess’s erstwhile boyfriend. Instinctively she hesitated, but it was too late to withdraw; he’d seen her, and after a corresponding flash of embarrassment, was coming towards her with a smile.

  ‘Fleur!’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘You too, Roger. How are you?’

  ‘Busy as always. What’s the news of Jess? Has she settled in Bristol OK?’

  ‘I think so. She and Rachel are just back from a holiday in Italy.’

  ‘The obligatory girls’ jolly!’ he commented. ‘I remember it well! Nothing was allowed to interfere with that!’

  Fleur smiled distractedly. ‘I’d better report to Reception,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He hesitated and she realized he was refraining from asking how she was. The mere fact that she was here meant something was amiss and even the most conventional query might breach medical ethics. She was his father’s patient, not his.

  ‘Good to see you,’ he said again, and she nodded, moving towards the desk to register her arrival.

  It was sheer bliss to have the flat to herself that evening. Jess kicked off her shoes, poured herself a G&T and settled on the sofa. After a day in a busy office she craved some quiet time to herself, which, as she’d complained to Rachel, Maggie’s social arrangements usually denied her. But her peace was soon interrupted by the ringing of her mobile and, glancing impatiently at the ID, she remembered her promise to phone Patrick.

  ‘How was lunch?’ he asked in greeting.

  ‘Very good, thanks.’

  ‘Where did he take you?’

  ‘Giraffe, in Cabot Circus. I’d recommend it.’

  ‘Right. I’ll look in next time I’m up. Are you going to tell me the name of the latest Lothario?’

  ‘He’s not that, I told you, but if you must know, his name’s Connor Ross.’

  ‘Connor Ross?’ Patrick repeated, his voice rising. ‘Honestly? You had lunch with Connor Ross?’

  Jess sat up straighter. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Not well, but we were at school together and I see him at reunions. The last I heard he was on the point of becoming engaged.’

  ‘It fell through,’ Jess said. ‘I’d forgotten you lived in Bristol then.’

  ‘So how did you meet?’

  ‘He’s a friend of my flatmate’s.’ She paused. ‘Did you like him?’

  Patrick gave a short laugh. ‘Jess, I hardly knew him. He’s a couple of years older and at that age it makes a huge difference; we didn’t come into contact, though he was quite a hero of mine – very good at sport and in all the school teams.’ He paused. ‘More importantly, do you like him?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Poor chap! Treats you to lunch, and that’s the best you can come up with!’

  ‘I’m just being cautious, after Roger.’

  ‘Point taken. Now, enough about Connor Ross. What the hell were you on about at Cassie’s party? I don’t mind telling you, you gave me a few sleepless nights worrying about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jess said contritely. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘But you did, so you at least owe me an explanation.’

  It was as well that she’d talked it over with Rachel, Jess reflected thankfully, since as Patrick knew Connor, albeit slightly, there was no chance now of confiding in him.

  ‘Really,’ she said, almost truthfully, ‘it’s all been … settled now.’

  ‘But you said someone had died, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Patrick, honestly, it’s nothing for you to worry about. I was probably a bit tipsy.’

  There was a brief silence. Then he said resignedly, ‘I’d forgotten how stubborn you can be!’

  Jess breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Tell me about your love life,’ she invited. ‘Is the gorgeous Tasha still on the scene?’

  ‘As much as she’s ever been.’

  ‘Still being elusive?’

  ‘I haven’t a hope in hell, Jess. I’ve always known that.’

  ‘Faint heart never won fair lady!’

  ‘There’s such a thing as being realistic.’

>   ‘Then why not make a clean break?’

  ‘For the simple reason that I can’t let her go. Pathetic, isn’t it?’

  ‘So you’ll just go on feeling sorry for yourself? Come on, Patrick! You’ve more backbone than that.’

  ‘Very clever!’ he said heavily. ‘I phone you to ask for an explanation and you turn the tables on me!’

  ‘It’s for your own good.’

  ‘Which doesn’t make it any easier to hear.’

  ‘I love you really!’

  ‘Glad someone does!’ He paused. ‘Sorry, scrub that. Things are somewhat fraught on the home front, so I’m a bit thin-skinned at the moment.’

  ‘Oh? What’s happened?’

  ‘I had a run-in with the old man so I’m in the doghouse. It’ll blow over, don’t worry.’ His voice changed. ‘Talk of the devil! Tasha’s calling on my landline.’

  ‘Right!’ Jess said. ‘Here’s your chance to sweep her off her feet!’ And heard his low laugh as he rang off.

  ‘Look, love,’ Ron Barlow said desperately, ‘it’s her birthday! She’d love to see you.’

  ‘That would be a first!’ Gemma retorted, hating the bitterness in her voice. She heard him sigh. Poor Dad, it wasn’t his fault; he seemed to spend his life trying to smooth things over.

  Across the room she caught Brad’s eye and he raised a reproving eyebrow, which she ignored.

  Ron tried again. ‘It would only be for lunch. You could make some excuse and leave straight after, but a family lunch on her birthday—’

  ‘Is Freddie going?’ she interrupted.

  ‘Yes. Come on, Gem, make it a full house!’

  Hearing the pleading in her father’s voice, Gemma felt the prick of unwelcome tears. It always seemed to end like this.

  ‘Gemma?’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said sullenly, knowing the battle was lost.

  ‘Thanks, love.’ Ron knew it too. ‘That’ll be just great.’

  She cut the connection and stood for a moment, still holding the phone, before turning to Brad, who was lounging on the sofa. ‘Why do I always give in? Why?’ she demanded angrily. Then she drew a deep breath. ‘All right, I know you think I’m a cow but you don’t know the half of it!’

  ‘Then tell me.’

  She shook her head dismissively but he held out an arm and, still seething, she went and sat down next to him, feeling that arm come round her.

  ‘How come I’ve never met your parents?’ he asked idly. ‘We’ve been together for a while now.’

  ‘I prefer to keep my life in compartments,’ she replied, making herself speak lightly. ‘Work, relationships, family. It’s less complicated that way.’

  ‘And never the trey shall meet?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And if, heaven forfend, you should decide to get married, what then?’

  ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Now, pour me a drink and I’ll make a start on supper.’

  Patrick’s satisfyingly long phone call with Natasha was drawing to a close. He’d managed to persuade her to spend the weekend with him, a major coup, and was already planning where to take her when she said suddenly, ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you – the strangest thing! You know that man who was washed up near you a week or two ago? He’s been identified as Bruce Marriott from Oz, and guess what? I met him once, at a function in Sydney!’

  ‘God, how creepy! The police are saying he was murdered. What was he like?’

  ‘Quite a big cheese but seemed pleasant enough. We only talked for a few minutes, but after I’d left Oz an aunt told me he’d been involved in some sort of scandal, though I don’t remember the details.’

  ‘Even creepier! Do you think the police here know?’

  ‘Bound to; they’ll be digging around over there, I have no doubt, but I guess they’ll play it close to their chest. Probably nothing to do with his murder anyway. So: Friday evening; OK if I drive up around seven?’

  ‘Perfect. See you then.’

  It had been easy enough to end the conversation with Brad, less easy to shut off the tumult of emotions that followed any contact with her family. Lying next to him later that night, weary of fighting her memories, Gemma let them come.

  It hadn’t always been like this. With an ache of the heart she remembered bedtime stories, goodnight kisses, running to her mother with grazed knees for them to be kissed better, aware – though she’d never thought to question it – of being loved. Then, when she was eight or nine, Jenny had become pregnant and, though initially surprised that such things happened at her mother’s age, Gemma had been quite excited. It would be good to have a little brother or sister; Freddie, three years her senior, was always off with his friends, who didn’t appreciate her tagging along. She could help Mummy bathe the new baby, wheel it out in its pram.

  But the baby was stillborn, and everything changed. For a long time – weeks, it seemed – her mother had spent her days crying, and she and Freddie were forbidden ever to mention it; incredibly, they still didn’t know if it had been a boy or girl. As a result a barrier had grown up and the sense of separation grew until it struck Gemma that her mother must have loved the dead baby more than herself. That idea took root, strengthened and festered. It was only now, lying sleepless in the dark, that she realized her own withdrawal had been a defence mechanism, protection against being hurt.

  Eventually, of course, Jenny had made an effort to resume her role as mother but it was too late, and when Gemma had continued to rebuff her advances, she’d turned instead to the Tempest family, and their young children seemed to take the place of herself and Freddie in her affections.

  Gemma turned restlessly on to her side, pulling the pillow under her chin as the memories continued to plague her. For years, though, she’d been unaware of the extent of her mother’s interest in the Tempests; in the early days she’d been at school all day, and on leaving she’d moved into a flat with a girlfriend. It came as a shock when, after the family moved to Somerset, her parents forsook their annual European holiday, always a highlight of their year, for a fortnight near Weston-super-Mare.

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ she’d fumed to Freddie. ‘It’s not as though they were particularly friendly with Owen and Fleur! To the best of my knowledge they’ve never even been to our house, nor the parents to theirs. It’s those bloody girls that are the draw! Why, in heaven’s name? Aren’t we enough for them?’

  Her brother had shrugged. ‘No skin off our noses, is it? It’s not as though they try to drag us down there with them. Be thankful for that!’

  But Gemma would privately have preferred it if they had. They’d been down again last month, she remembered, with the usual rush of emotion she unwillingly recognized as jealousy. And therein lay the trouble: at some level she still loved her mother, and knew to her shame that that was why she lashed out.

  In an attempt to escape the admission, she again turned over, pulling the duvet with her, and Brad grumbled in his sleep. ‘Sorry!’ she whispered.

  Sorry. Sorry for so many things. For the lost little brother or sister, for not trying to understand her mother’s loss, for being spoilt and jealous and causing her father such pain, for so many things in her life. And as the slow, hot tears soaked into her pillow, they brought enough relief for her to be able to slide into sleep.

  SEVEN

  Sydney, Australia. New Year’s Eve 2012

  The scene in front of her was breathtaking, as ships of all sizes decorated with rope lights sailed across the water in the fantastic Harbour of Light Parade.

  Mel, leaning on the rail, marvelled at her luck in being afforded such a vantage point; this balcony, with its grandstand view over the bridge, the harbour and the opera house, belonged to Dave Brooks, a work colleague of Jack’s, who’d invited a group of friends to a New Year party, thereby saving them the hassle of fighting for space among the heaving crowds down on the waterfront. Which confirmed her belief that friends certainly had their uses.

  Her
own feelings, as at every New Year, were ambivalent: slight apprehension about stepping into the unknown – and possibly over a precipice – while at the same time welcoming the challenges it offered of new beginnings, a fresh start. And this particular New Year was certainly the time to take stock of her life, and what she’d achieved since arriving in Oz five years ago.

  Admittedly she couldn’t complain; since coming over as temporary maternity cover in a well-known hotel, she’d been systematically promoted until she’d attained a position of authority as Head of Housekeeping, with commensurate rises in salary. Lately, however, what had originally been cause for self-congratulation had begun to feel stale, and she was beginning to think it was time to move on. A fresh start was indeed what she needed – a point reinforced by Jack’s proprietary arm round her shoulders. She gave a little shrug to dislodge it.

  ‘Time to charge your glasses!’ Dave called from inside. ‘The midnight hour approacheth!’

  Mel and Jack, along with others on the balcony, returned to the room to take a brimming flute from the table. But as she bent to claim hers another hand, large and tanned, reached for the same glass and she automatically drew back, as did the man beside her.

  ‘Sorry!’ they said together, and laughed.

  ‘Please!’ He indicated that she should take it and she turned to thank him, meeting smiling grey eyes in a lean, tanned face. He held her glance for a shade longer than required before taking a couple of glasses himself. A current of excitement ran through her; a man with decided potential – just what she needed!

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked Jack casually. ‘Another of your work colleagues?’

  He glanced after the man, who, with his companion, had joined a group across the room. ‘No, never met him. Probably one of Dave’s tycoon mates.’

  The countdown started and they all crowded back on the balcony as midnight struck. A great roar rose from the revellers round the harbour and the world-famous fireworks began, painting the sky in a stunning sequence of gold and blue and red and silver. Everyone was hugging and kissing and Dave edged his way between them, topping up their glasses as general chaos reigned.

  It was some time later, when they’d all returned inside, that she felt a tap on her shoulder and a voice said, ‘After trying to steal your drink, the least I can do is wish you a Happy New Year!’