He showed her the text. ‘I’m so sorry. I have to go.’
‘Of course.’ She frowned, not seeming to realise she was rubbing his arm comfortingly. ‘How’s he found her?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know.’ He said goodbye and drove to Bettsbrough, thinking grimly just how much he didn’t need a run in with Garrit after all this time.
He parked behind Whispering Court and ran lightly up the stairs, using his key and walking into the apartment, dreading finding his mother had turned to alcohol at the threat of Garrit’s return. Bernie the Jack Russell flew to meet him in a volley of yaps. Behind him Debs paced the floor, white-faced, and to his relief, appearing sober.
‘He came to the door!’ she cried as soon as she saw Joe. ‘He seemed to think he was dead funny, didn’t he, Mari?’ she demanded of her cousin, who was seated on the sofa. ‘He – he tried to give me a bottle of vodka, but I pushed it away, didn’t I, Mari?’ Tears trembled on her lashes.
Mari, looking as perturbed as Debs, nodded and said, ‘He did, the rat.’
Joe relaxed slightly, acknowledging how hard that must have been. ‘You were strong, Mum. Did he try to come in?’
His mother shook her head wildly. ‘But he kept putting one foot over the threshold and laughing as if warning me he could get in any time. Bernie was barking himself hoarse, but Mari kept hold of him in case Garrit kicked him.’ A tear escaped her eye and she wiped it with the side of her hand. ‘I’m frightened.’
A fist grabbed Joe’s gut and twisted. He’d never hesitated to blame his mother for their situation in the bad old days. Yet, though he’d known Garrit had treated her roughly, somehow it had never dawned on him that she’d lived in fear. A tiny seed of affection blossomed inside him. ‘I’m here now. Did you tell him you’d be contacting me?’
Her chin tilted. ‘I didn’t tell him anything except to go away.’
Hiding a smile, because he was pretty sure the term would’ve been more Anglo Saxon than ‘go away’, Joe did something he could barely remember ever doing in his life. He gave his mother a hug. He’d just registered hesitant arms closing around him in return when a loud knock sounded at the door and she sprang away. Bernie flew at the door and bounced off, thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to air his best barking crescendo, if his beating tail was any indicator.
‘Is it him?’ Debs whispered.
‘Let’s find out. Hold the dog.’ Joe marched to the front door and flung it open.
And there was Garrit. Older, hair and stubble grey but unusually short and neat, the sharp features the same. No surprise flickered in his eyes when it was Joe who opened the door. Instead, he smiled the sly, malicious smile Joe remembered only too well, because it had often preceded a slap around the head. ‘Johnjoe,’ he murmured. ‘How lovely to see you. Flying high these days, I understand.’ The smile became ingratiating. ‘Congratulations! When I saw that article in the paper I said to my friends, “That’s my boy, that is”.’
His heart galloping at being so close to the man who’d made his childhood a misery, Joe leant on the doorframe and folded his arms in case his hands flew out and administered a slap of their own. How tempting it was to demonstrate how it felt to be at the mercy of someone bigger and stronger. To be trapped against a wall, to absorb a hail of stinging blows and kicks. Held on tiptoes in a chokehold. He had vivid memories …
Rather than allowing himself the luxury of revenge, he went for a cold, emotionless pursuit of information. ‘How did you trace my mother?’
Garrit shrugged. ‘Moved back here meself a while back. Seen her around.’
Joe tried not to let any surprise show, but the news didn’t make him happy. He envisaged Garrit spotting Debs in town and following her home; asking around neighbours until somebody told him the number of her apartment. It made his skin crawl.
‘Going to invite me in?’ Garrit suggested hopefully.
Joe kept his face impassive. ‘No. Did you come here for a reason?’
Abruptly, Garrit abandoned his pretence at friendliness. ‘I came for money, Mr Rock Star. You owe me for twelve years’ bed and board and now you can afford to pay.’
Red mist threatened the periphery of Joe’s vision. It was only the memory of how he’d hated himself for hitting Billy that kept him from flinging Garrit over the bannisters. ‘Leave, or I’ll call the police,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Don’t come back. Don’t come near my mother or me. You don’t want to push me, Garrit, because I’m no longer the half-starved kid you used to shove around.’
Garrit sneered. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Joe didn’t even raise his voice. ‘Phone the police, Mum.’
‘The police won’t come out to someone calling on an old friend,’ Garrit said, but he sounded less sure.
Joe made his voice soft. ‘I’m overjoyed that you want to find out. If you’re living locally again the cops probably have a few enquiries you can help them with.’
Garrit, scowling, turned on his heel and began to saunter down the stairs, though he speeded up when Joe followed him. In the foyer, Garrit slammed out of the front door so hard it bounced off the outside wall before swinging closed with an injured groan and a click.
After testing that the door had fastened, Joe ran back upstairs, adrenalin still burning its way around his body. In his mother’s apartment, he found Mari making coffee while Debs watched the street in front of the building. ‘He headed off towards town,’ she said, glancing at Joe. ‘Thanks for getting rid of him.’
‘My pleasure,’ Joe said, meaning it. He tried to calm himself. He didn’t want Garrit to affect him this much. He was a shit, one of life’s losers, and had no right to make Joe shake with rage. ‘Sit down a minute, Mum. When’s the last time you saw him before today?’
Debs blinked as she joined him on the sofa. ‘Just before he and Chrissy took off.’ Bernie galloped up, looking as if he were thoroughly enjoying the exciting afternoon, and jumped up beside Debs.
Chrissy. Joe made a mental note to call her. Warn her. ‘I presume you heard him say he’s living locally?’
Debs pulled Bernie onto her lap. ‘He’s been following me, hasn’t he?’
‘Sounds like it. And he appeared so quickly after I arrived that I suspect he was out there to see me come in and barged past someone coming out,’ Joe agreed sombrely, watching his mother shudder before taking the cup of hot, strong tea Mari brought in.
Mari gave Joe a direct look. ‘I think Debs was brave to stand up to Garrit, particularly to not take that vodka.’
‘So do I.’ Joe smiled at Debs. ‘Very brave. Well done. That was a particularly horrible trick from him. I’ll bet he was astounded that you resisted.’
Debs flushed, eyes sparkling for an instant before she dropped her gaze.
Joe’s heart squeezed. He’d been focused on Debs’ problems with alcohol, and how they’d affected him. Maybe he hadn’t given her credit for the clean life she was presently living and how hard it must be. Though he’d tried to create the best environment for her, it was impossible to remove temptation from daily life. She’d travelled Sobriety Road with Mari beside her, but little in the way of emotional back-up from her son. He’d even looked cynically upon the affection she lavished on the little dog currently gazing up at her from her lap.
‘We can always move you, Mum,’ Joe found himself saying. ‘A hotel or rental property, until we find you somewhere else permanent. There are apartments at Acting Instrumental,’ he added. ‘But you couldn’t be there during term time because of the students and I don’t know how you’d find living in a village.’
Debs was already shaking her head, although she looked pleased at his offer. ‘If I leave Bettsbrough it needs to be for far away, or he’ll find me. Anyway, I don’t want to leave Whispering Court. We’re all going out for Christmas lunch tomorrow.’
His heart squeezed some more. ‘Then I’ll get a camera put up on the landing so you won’t ever have to answer the door without knowing who�
�s there. I’ll try to get agreement from the other residents to beef up security at the front and back doors too.’ He glanced at Bernie and joked, ‘Maybe you need to get a bigger dog.’
Mari joined the conversation. ‘Or you should just have let this one bite him. Bernie knows how to stay out of range of a kicking foot, I’ll bet.’ She leant over to fondle one of Bernie’s black ears.
Joe restrained himself from saying, ‘You soon learn to do that around Garrit.’ Debs was upset enough already.
He stayed a while, burying his emotions in practical tasks. First he located a security firm on the internet and arranged for a representative to call on Tuesday morning, December nineteenth, when Joe hoped to be around before the opening of A Very Kerry Christmas. Then he jogged down to apartment 8, where the current co-ordinator of the residents’ management committee lived, to plant the ideas of increasing security and encouraging residents to raise an alarm if someone slipped past them in the doorway.
Then his phone alerted him that he was supposed to be at The Three Fishes at seven for the Acting Instrumental staff Christmas dinner. Exhausted by the unpleasantness of the day, he almost rang Oggie to give his excuses. Then an image of Georgine swam into his mind and, after reassuring himself Debs was OK to be left and that she wouldn’t open the apartment door without knowing who was on the other side of it, he drove back to Middledip.
He called Chrissy hands-free as he drove. ‘Hi, Johnjoe!’ She sounded out of breath and happy. ‘We’re in Oxford Street on the open deck of a tour bus in the middle of the mad Christmas shopping crowds. Polo and I are frozen but the kids love it!’
Joe pictured her beneath the bright lights that had bedecked every major street in London since September, trying to paint in the faces of her kids and husband, so far seen only on her phone. ‘Don’t want to sour the mood,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘But Garrit’s turned up in Bettsbrough again.’ He summed up the events of the afternoon.
‘Oh, hell,’ she sighed, when he’d finished. ‘Did you – did you tell him you’d seen me?’
He was quick to reassure her. ‘Of course not. I just thought you ought to know.’
‘Yeah. Well.’ She sighed again. ‘I guess he’s not on my Christmas visit list. There are … important people in my life.’ He’s not coming near my kids was the subtext Joe heard.
Joe disconnected as he drew up in the car park of The Three Fishes, wondering if there was anyone alive who’d willingly offer Garrit a place around their Christmas table. What he remembered of Christmases spent with Garrit was more about booze and the TV than family and food.
He pulled a black beanie hat and his glasses from his coat pocket and put them on, feeling, as he had ever since The Hungry Years began to hit the album charts, simultaneously surprised how easy it was to alter your appearance and faintly pretentious for doing it. But many an encounter on the tube or in restaurants had convinced him of how many people would invite themselves to chat, and bearing in mind the exposure he’d just received in the Daily Snoop, he wasn’t taking any chances.
On entering the pub, vaguely registering his usual distaste for the smell of alcohol, he swung left towards the restaurant section. He found his party easily. Everyone was wearing jolly red Santa hats. He was the last to arrive, which placed him in a seat next to Errol and across from Don the site supervisor and, conveniently for someone not trying to attract attention, in a corner with his back to the bar. As greetings were exchanged, his gaze quickly located Georgine at the other end of the table.
Something in his chest misstepped at the expression of relief that flickered in her eyes. Had she been wondering how he’d fared after the SOS text from Debs? The thought warmed him.
She looked amazing tonight. Her turquoise dress made her hair gleam where it hung below the white fluff around her Santa hat, a string of Christmas lights above bathing her in a golden glow. The dress clung to the rounded swells of her breasts, its wide neckline displaying the hollows above her collarbones. It made him regret that darkness had cloaked their night together, cheating him of images to carry in his memory – apart from the glimpse of her body in the meagre light that had filtered around her bedroom door in the morning. More, he felt cheated of dinners in restaurants or lunches in wine bars. They’d had no chance to date. Everything had blown up in his face within hours of waking next to her, pressed against the satin of her skin.
He sent her a smile and tried not to think how much things had changed and yet stayed the same since they were kids. He had money now, a choice of comfortable homes, he could holiday in sun or snow … but he still didn’t get the girl.
Errol broke into his thoughts. ‘Wearing the wrong hat?’ His smile was warm enough but, as usual, he couldn’t help nitpicking.
‘I forgot to buy a Santa hat for tonight.’ Joe offered him one end of the gold Christmas cracker lying beside his fork. ‘Let’s find me another.’ Though Errol won the pull, Joe swooped on the purple tissue Christmas hat that fell out and exchanged it for the beanie. ‘Better?’ It hung drunkenly over his eye, making Vix and Avril, who were sitting nearby, giggle.
Errol had the grace to laugh, and crackers began their sharp reports all down the table as others joined the fun.
They’d chosen their meals in advance. Joe’s was soup and then turkey. It was a homely meal, well cooked and substantial.
He listened to the chatter, joining in occasionally. It was a warm, undemanding social occasion. Vix loved the cracker puns and mottoes, gathering them all up to read aloud. Keeley told funny stories, putting on all the right accents, as befitted a drama teacher. Several times when Joe’s gaze flicked to Georgine’s end of the table he found her looking at him. A lot of people had arranged not to be driving this evening and their glasses emptied and filled with noticeable regularity, faces flushing and laughs growing louder, but the level of red wine in Georgine’s glass was slow to sink.
He didn’t have a problem with drinking per se, but he suppressed a sigh when the main course was removed and Vix, whose glass had been refilled frequently, leant across Don – who looked as if he didn’t mind – to gaze flirtatiously at Joe. ‘So, Mr Rock Star, got lotsa groupie stories?’
Joe edged back, careful not to let his gaze stray to Vix’s jostling cleavage. ‘A gentleman never tells.’ Because it provided ammunition to the likes of the Daily Snoop.
‘Aw, c’mon!’ Vix wheedled. ‘Do you really select girls from the audience and send roadies to bring them to you?’
Joe raised his eyebrows to express astonishment at the very idea and tried not to think of Billy, who did that virtually every gig. Vix propped her chin on her hand and studied him owlishly. ‘Was all that stuff about your early years real? Or a publicity stunt?’
Before Joe could decide on a reaction, Oggie rose, tinging his fork on a glass. ‘Time to swap seats for the dessert! Joe, change with me. Vix swap with Errol, Avril with Keeley.’
Relief washing through him at this opportunity to avoid Vix’s probing, Joe grabbed his cranberry juice and hopped up, muttering, ‘Excuse me.’ He cast Oggie a grateful smile as they passed in the space between tables. In moments, he was seated beside Fern, diagonal to Avril and opposite Georgine, with only the wall on his right. Some of the others grumbled at being switched around, but he was just relieved Oggie had found a way to head Vix off at the pass.
His Christmas pudding arrived, rich and fruity, swimming in custard, and he blew on the first delicious mouthful as he glanced at Georgine under the edge of his purple Christmas cracker hat.
She began to tuck into her crème brûlée. ‘Is everything OK with your mum?’ she murmured. ‘Did she really see … him?’
Those nearby – Fern, Avril and Keeley – were deep in conversation, so he could probably reply without being overheard, but now he was with Georgine Joe just didn’t even want to think what it meant that Garrit had crawled out of his hole. Waggling his eyebrows, he managed to make his Christmas hat descend almost over his eyes.
As he’d hoped, Georgine’s eyes began to dance. Then the smile faded, and she leant closer. ‘You still do it,’ she murmured.
He paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘What?’
‘Play the clown when under fire.’
Slowly, he returned his spoon to his dish. ‘Shit. You’re right. I see Garrit again and become an emotional teenager.’
Shock flickered in her eyes. ‘You saw him? Are you OK? How about your mum?’
He nodded. The movement made his party hat slip. He snatched it off and crumpled it into a ball beside his plate. ‘She’s anxious, but OK, thanks. Garrit showed up as soon as I got there so I was able to see him off the premises and suggest he keep away. I doubt it had much effect on the shitty little ferret.’ He found his hands had curled into fists and made himself unclench them. ‘Seeing him again made me so angry I could hardly see straight.’
Georgine stopped eating. The Christmas lights reflected in her eyes. ‘Not frightened?’
‘Only that I’d grab the bastard by the throat and prove myself as bad as him.’
‘You’re so not like him!’ She leant across the table as if it was important to her to stress the point. ‘I’m glad you resisted. He’d be delighted to file charges of assault, wouldn’t he?’
He stared at her, looking both sexy and cute in her Santa hat. ‘That didn’t even occur to me. Holy hell, would he have milked that cash cow!’
She picked up her spoon. ‘I can see you’re not enjoying this conversation. Let’s talk about something else. The forecast’s for snow next week. I hope it stays away until we have the show wrapped up.’
They fell to talking about the show and about tomorrow’s get-in, which was safe territory. Safer than saying the words that formed in Joe’s mind more and more clearly the longer he listened to her speak and watched her laugh and smile. You’ve always been so good and kind, you’ve made me want to be a better person. I feel as if I’ve loved you half my life.
A Christmas Gift Page 27