A Home in the Sun

by Sue Moorcroft

  ‘I know about him and his young lady doing a moonlight.’ Wilma ruminated over her dentures again. ‘He came to say goodbye.’

  Distantly, the rattling of the cocoa trolley beginning its evening circuit could be heard above the loud and clear voices of the carers talking to other residents. But in Wilma’s room the hush swelled until Judith’s ears buzzed with the pressure.

  ‘I see.’ Judith’s voice somehow sounded as if she were under water. So her mum had known before her and before Tom, who only knew now because they’d stopped on the way so Judith could stick the note she’d written through his letterbox. She minded, she realised, with a rush of mixed anger and surprise. She minded that Wilma had seen Kieran to say goodbye when Judith hadn’t been able to, because he’d called when she was at Matthias’s wedding. She particularly minded that Wilma had been sitting on the information. Dimly, she was aware of Adam leaving the room, of the murmur of his voice, of him returning with cocoa for three. Automatically, she let him pass her a cup and saucer. The crockery used by The Cottage had a matt feel to it that she disliked and now it positively set her teeth on edge as she sipped to ease her rigid throat.

  Wilma, apparently unaware that she’d upset Judith’s applecart, took saucer in one hand and cup in the other. ‘He told me all about the baby. Poor little dot, wasn’t he? Poor, poor little dot.’

  Though she was telling herself that her mum’s grasp on time and the order of events wasn’t to be relied upon these days, Judith’s voice seemed to be coming from someone else. ‘And what did you say to him?’

  The light reflected off Wilma’s glasses. ‘I told him how much you’d miss him, duck. Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve just got an email. He says they’ve rented a place and he’s got a job.’ Judith swallowed more of the milky cocoa. ‘Did he tell you where he was going?’

  ‘Back to Sheffield.’ Wilma said it as if there should be an ‘of course’ at the end of the sentence.

  The cocoa was gone and Judith felt sick. It had been too milky, too sweet. Kieran hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her where he was going to live. Of course, Sheffield – where he’d been at university and knew the area, had friends – was an obvious choice. Easy for him to organise accommodation and a job. Why had she never thought of it? And what possible use was the information now that she had it?

  When the visit was over, in the darkness of the car Adam delayed starting the engine and took her hand instead. ‘He may have been trying to protect you. He knew his father’s temper – he probably felt that you’d be more comfortable facing Tom if you genuinely didn’t know where he’d gone.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ she agreed, dully, but still the feeling of betrayal persisted.

  His fingers squeezed hers. ‘I don’t think Wilma realised she might hurt your feelings.’

  ‘Of course not.’ It was raining now, the droplets on the windscreen shattering the car-park lights into fragments in the navy-blue evening.

  His thumb stroked her knuckles. ‘I think she was just hinting that she’ll miss you in the same way that you miss Kieran.’

  ‘I expect so,’ she muttered. She knew only too well the leaden emptiness of missing someone. The way you got used to it and learnt to live around an absence.

  ‘She’s bound to miss you. So will Molly,’ he murmured. ‘And so will I.’

  She stirred, feeling as if something were sliding out of control, going too fast, carrying her along when she wasn’t sure yet where she wanted to go. ‘I’m only going for a recce this time,’ she reminded him weakly. ‘If I decide to live there again, it’ll take time to organise.’

  His breath came out in a heavy sigh, steaming up the windscreen. ‘I suppose …’ He considered his words, then began again. ‘I suppose none of us can see quite what would keep you here. We feel the “recce” is just a formality. And that you’re humouring us.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Adam pulled up outside Judith’s unlit house a few minutes later.

  She screwed up her eyes and stared through the rain to a point across the street. ‘Hell’s blood, is that Tom waiting in his truck?’

  He turned his head to follow her gaze. ‘Looks like it. Shame. I quite liked it when he wasn’t speaking to you.’ His tone told her he was only half-joking.

  They sat in silence, listening to the hiss of the rain as the warmth the car heaters had generated seeped away. The rain increased until the hiss became a grumble. Adam offered, ‘I suppose I can stay out of earshot while you talk to him.’ His tone was grudging and the inference was that he intended to remain within eyesight.

  Judith unfastened her seat belt and let it slither over her shoulder and snap against the side of Adam’s car. She was only half-joking too when she observed, ‘Or, as it’s peeing down, it would be perfectly natural to make a run for the house.’

  Adam laughed. ‘Put a real spurt on, in that case.’

  Of course, Tom spotted them, even if they did scurry through the inclement weather. By the time Judith had jiggled the key in the lock and Adam had hit the door to make it open, Tom was on the garden path behind them, huddled against the sting of the rain. ‘Oh, hello,’ said Judith unenthusiastically. ‘You’d better come in out of this downpour.’

  Switching on the hall light and hanging her wet coat over the newel post, Judith faced Tom in the hall while Adam went down the passage to the kitchen, discreetly absent but not out of earshot. ‘Not cutting me dead, tonight?’ Judith challenged, when Tom didn’t speak.

  Rain dripped from the peak of his navy baseball cap with the name of a builders’ merchant embroidered on the front. He ignored her question. ‘Do you know where he is?’

  She didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was. ‘He didn’t tell me,’ she answered truthfully.

  In the kitchen, Adam coughed.

  Tom glanced in the direction of the sound and scowled. ‘I suppose it’s too much to ask that we do this privately?’

  Judith folded her arms. ‘Yes, actually. You got pretty physical last time you came to my house.’

  Without responding, Tom stepped closer to loom over her. ‘Did he phone or write? Where’s the letter?’

  She felt her temper rising. ‘Get out of my face – you really are lacking in all manners!’ she challenged. ‘Allow me to breathe or leave my house.’

  Another glower … but Tom stepped back.

  Judith made herself remember how let down she’d felt less than an hour ago to realise Wilma had known where Kieran was and hadn’t told her. That was almost certainly due to age but Judith didn’t have that excuse. She softened her voice. ‘I can’t tell you more than I did in the note. He contacted me. He gave me permission to let you know he’s all right. I encouraged him to contact you directly. That’s it.’ She omitted the word ‘email’ as Tom would instantly demand Kieran’s new email address.

  In the kitchen, the kettle bubbled to the boil and clicked off. Adam could be heard turning the pages of a newspaper, making them crackle. Tom removed his sullen stare from Judith and narrowed his eyes in Adam’s direction. ‘Do I have to worry about him?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘In what way?’ Judith hadn’t quite meant to inject the level of astonishment that coloured her voice.

  He turned his basilisk stare back to her. ‘Are you together? A couple? An item?’

  Incredulously, she laughed. ‘Mind your own bloody business. The days when who I slept with was your concern are long gone – very long gone, you ridiculous arse.’ The insult came out almost affectionately. She heard footsteps behind her and knew Adam had come back into view.

  ‘I don’t like the way he hangs around,’ Tom persisted obstinately, ignoring Adam’s presence.

  Adam snapped, ‘I was just thinking the same about you.’

  With an exasperated tut, Judith slipped past Tom and yanked open the door. ‘I like Adam hanging around,’ she said with deliberate calm. ‘There’s nothing else I can tell you so goodnight, Tom.’

 
On Thursday, Judith assisted Adam at a photoshoot. Podraig Mahoney, the subject, had lost his short-term memory and had to be constantly reminded of his surname. He was highly reliant on his dark-eyed wife, Loraine, because if he left the house for too long alone, he forgot his route home.

  He treated his highly unusual and frustrating condition with humour and had to be constantly reminded not to beam into the camera lens as the magazine was looking for a pensive mood.

  By the time the shoot was over, Podraig had to confess that he’d forgotten why it had happened at all. Helplessly, he smiled at his wife. ‘You’ll have to remind me. I forgot to write it down.’

  Seated at Adam’s computer later, downloading the pics into a fresh folder ready for Adam to select his submissions to the commissioning magazine, Judith mused on how often Podraig asked his wife to be his memory and how often his wife patiently complied. How strong did love have to be to withstand the constant drip of a frustration like that? Podraig and Loraine had seemed truly happy together.

  Adam concentrated silently on the images he was working on from an earlier shoot. He’d been almost morose since Tom’s visit.

  From her pocket Judith’s mobile began to ring, vibrating disconcertingly against her hipbone. An unknown number flashed up on the screen.

  But the voice that went with it when she answered the call was achingly familiar. ‘Hey, Mum.’

  Judith swallowed. A rush of love surged through her, making her hot and dizzy, and any resentment that he’d confided more in Wilma than in her evaporated.

  ‘Mum? It’s me.’

  ‘Hello, Kieran,’ she managed. Her voice cracked. She was aware of Adam looking up suddenly, a smile clearing his frown like magic. She closed her eyes, the better just to absorb the sound of Kieran’s voice as he told her about the house they’d rented. ‘Red bricks, black roof, white windows. Nowhere to park.’ And his job. ‘I left the one in Brinham without working my notice, so they wouldn’t give me a reference. I’m working in a shop, now, but it’s cool. It’s a big shop so I’ll be able to work my way up. They’ve already put me in charge of ordering stuff for the CD section.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ she bubbled. ‘Darling, it’s just wonderful to hear from you and know you and Beth are OK.’ Her heart expanded in relief. He had a roof over his head and a way of keeping it there.

  ‘Luckily, Bethan’s good with money.’ Then Kieran cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘So, I’ve rung to ask a favour. You know … at the cemetery? We ordered this little …’ He cleared his throat again.

  She said it for him. ‘The stone tablet? For Aaron?’

  She heard him take a couple of deep breaths. They whooshed down the line. After a moment, his voice unsteady, he said, ‘Yeah. We’ve had notification that it’s been laid in place. We were wondering … could you ask Adam to take a digital photo of it and email it to us? Bethan’s a bit stressy about whether it’s been done right, so when we’ve seen it, we’ll be cool.’ His voice became gruffer. ‘Well, we might be upset, but we want to see it. We need to.’

  ‘Of course.’ Without waiting for the conversation to be over, she passed the request on to Adam.

  ‘Tomorrow, as soon as the cemetery opens,’ he promised. ‘The light will be pretty decent – this rain’s due to pass over tonight.’

  ‘Cool.’ Kieran’s relief was audible. ‘You’re both cool. Thanks.’

  They talked on for ages and Judith went to bed happy that night.

  Next morning, the cemetery was silent apart from the breeze through the naked trees and cautious, is-it-finally-spring birdsong. Adam’s camera bag containing the black Nikon swung from his shoulder as he paced at Judith’s side.

  The stone, set into the grass, was easy to locate; the grey veined marble was lettered with gold. Adam took shots from above so that Kieran and Bethan would be able to read the inscription, Aaron McAllister Sutherland, and then a couple of Judith laying white roses beside it, her hair blowing back from her face.

  Crouching, touching the engraved inscription, the bleak, single date that reflected the baby’s failure to draw breath, Judith felt claws of pain around her heart.

  Adam extended his hand to help her to her feet. ‘Let’s go back to my place and send the pictures straight away.’ He kept her hand all the way back to the car. He knew exactly when she needed small expressions of support. She might get a bit of silent disapproval from him where Tom was concerned but he stepped up the instant she needed him.

  The next day, it was Adam who found a message from Kieran in his inbox.

  Really cool. Thanx mate. Tell Mum we’re really, really ok – don’t think she believes me. Thx again. Means a lot. K&B

  Reading the mail for the fourth time when she should be typing invoices, Judith mused. ‘It sounds as if he’s truly growing up. As if they both are.’

  Adam nodded as he cleaned out one of his equipment cases with the brush on the nozzle of the vacuum cleaner. He didn’t like dust on his equipment. ‘Tough breaks tend to chase immaturity away.’

  She clicked to print out the invoice she’d been working on and began a fresh one. ‘I think they will be OK. It’s still hard to accept that Kieran’s chosen not to confide whether he is living in Sheffield or whether that’s just what he told Mum, and I expect Tom’s still livid, but if a young man decides to resign from his job, pack his clothes and leave, there isn’t very much you can do about it. The Sutherlands have discovered there isn’t much you can do about a seventeen-year-old girl doing the same thing – or is she eighteen by now? I think she must be.’ She looked outside to where rain had begun to fall in a cold, heavy curtain. Again. She sighed and turned to look at the quiet, gentle man beside her. Softly, she said, ‘Adam, I think it’s time for me to plan my trip to Malta.’

  Adam fitted the crevice nozzle to clean out the smallest compartments where the brush wouldn’t reach. When all was satisfactorily dust-free, he switched off the vacuum, wound up the flex, and went out to stow the machine in the cupboard in the hall.

  He came back into the room and picked up his diary.

  ‘I can clear the first two weeks of May,’ he observed, after quickly flipping through the pages held within the navy-blue cover. It wasn’t a question or a hint, just a statement of a fact she could take advantage of or not. He shut the book with a snap.

  She smiled to herself as her rapid fingers opened another invoice template. ‘I’ll ask Richard if we can stay with him.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was the second day in May when Judith stood, motionless in the soft darkness, and listened to the sounds of Malta and its overwhelming feeling of ‘home’.

  The crickets, werzieq, were making their endless background buzz. Sliema Creek lapped at the edge of the pavement, a gentle noise that soothed and comforted. Late-night cars whooshed past between the silent shops and the broad pavement where she stood, headlight reflections wheeling over those of streetlights that lay across the black water like golden scribbles. The smooth railings that edged the harbour were cool beneath her hands. She breathed in salt water and boat oil, pine trees and dust, listening to the pull and suck of the water, feeling the utter peace.

  Quiet footsteps made her turn.

  Hands stuffed in the pockets of his black canvas jacket, Adam had the creased appearance of someone who’d just woken up. ‘Are you safe out here at two in the morning?’

  She smiled at his disgruntled air. ‘Probably. There’s not much crime here – not that I have any valuables on me – and any self-respecting Romeo would be looking for someone younger.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ he said drily, and yawned. ‘And maybe even Romeos are put off by madwomen who hang around alone in the dark.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep and I like the dark.’ With a long, slow, even breath, she inhaled the essence of Malta, the perfume from the oleanders on the promenade and the brine from the sea.

  He stifled another wrenching yawn.

  ‘Go back to bed,’ she suggested gently. ‘E
rminia’s given you a lovely room, and she’s wonderfully hospitable. I expect your sheets are scented with lavender and your pillows plump and inviting.’

  Groaning longingly, he leant his forearms on the rail and studied a rowing boat that rocked beside a faded red buoy. ‘Richard heard you leave and made me come out to look after you.’

  She tutted with exasperation. ‘Don’t say he’s waiting up for me too?’

  He yawned again, saying sourly, ‘Not now I’m out here.’

  Her laugh was loud in the still air. As he didn’t seem inclined to leave her to a private wallow in the Maltese atmosphere, she decided to tell him about his surroundings, nodding first to a bulk of land across the narrow ribbon of sea. ‘This is Manoel Island, here in front of us. It is an island, but only just – it’s joined to this road, The Strand, by a bridge. This part of The Strand’s called Triq Marina or Marina Street on some maps, but everyone still calls it The Strand.’

  She looked left. ‘Those are the ferryboats – see the little one with Lowenbrau on the side? That shuttles all day to-and-from Valletta. We can go across in the morning. Or stay in Sliema. Whichever you prefer.’

  He turned, resting his backside on the rail, regarding her curiously. ‘Can we? I thought you had plans? Giorgio’s family?’

  Slowly, she nodded. She did have plans involving Giorgio’s family, of course. Wasn’t that the main reason she’d come? ‘Now we’re here, a little rest and relaxation won’t hurt. I’d like to show you some of Malta and I need a couple of days of thinking time.’

  He didn’t comment that she’d had weeks to think but glanced around with weary interest, as if resigned to the fact that sleep wasn’t immediately in the offing. ‘So where’s Richard’s office?’