Sunshine Through the Rain

by Gilly Stewart

  Ellen wished she could be as easy-going as Clare. True, her standards had slipped since taking on three children, but even now she wouldn’t have said the weed-infested borders and overgrown shrubs comprised a ‘nice’ garden. ‘It’s a good place to sit,’ she said equably. ‘So I take it you’re still seeing Grant?’

  Clare tossed back the long hair and smiled, embarking on a long discussion of the good and bad points of her boyfriend. She was funny and indiscreet and made Ellen laugh out loud.

  ‘And what about you and Kit?’ continued Clare blithely. ‘Any progress there?’

  ‘What do you mean, me and Kit?’

  ‘Come on, anyone can see he’s interested in you. And you can’t tell me he hasn’t got a certain earthy attraction.’

  ‘Kit’s very caught up with his mother at the moment,’ said Ellen primly. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed he’d accepted ‘taking things slowly’ so easily. She definitely didn’t want to discuss him with Clare. ‘You know she’s in hospital in Dumfries?’

  ‘I’d heard. Is she bad?’ Clare, as ever, was keen to know the details of other people’s lives, but she hadn’t yet finished with the topic of Kit. Once they had dealt with Mrs Ballantyne, she was back on the scent. ‘You’re avoiding the issue. Are you saying that if Kit wasn’t so busy with his mum something might be happening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what has happened?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ellen firmly. ‘Absolutely nothing. I came to talk to you about something else entirely.’ She was relieved to have other news with which to divert her friend.

  She told Clare about the offer of work, and Clare was suitably impressed.

  ‘Are you going to take it? You’ve got to take it, it could lead on to other things.’

  ‘I’d really like to,’ admitted Ellen. ‘But I have the kids to think about. I wondered if you knew of any day care centres they could go to? I remember Cal or Lucy bringing leaflets home in their school bags, but I seem to have binned them.’

  ‘There are always lots of things on in school holidays,’ said Clare. ‘Sports courses, arts and crafts. And most of it’s not too pricey. But if you’re just looking for somewhere for the kids to stay while you’re at work, why not leave them here? I’m at home most days, as you know …’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ said Ellen quickly. She was still amazed at how helpful her neighbours were (except Mrs Jack). And she was aware how hard she found it to reciprocate. She had had Grace for one sleep-over at Craigallan and the hours of high-pitched excitement had totally exhausted her.

  ‘I know it wasn’t what you meant, but I still think it’d be a good idea. Grace is far easier when she has a friend to play.’

  ‘Even if that’s true for Lucy, I couldn’t dump the boys on you.’

  ‘The boys’ll do their own thing, but they can have lunch here, use me as a base. No problem … Ah, you’re worried about that social worker, aren’t you? They’ll be fine, I’m a very responsible person.’

  ‘I know you are, it’s not that. I don’t want to take advantage.’

  ‘Hey, I’m not saying I’d do it for the whole of the holidays, or every day after school, but a couple of weeks is nothing. As long as I’m here, of course. I’ve arranged to take Grace to her dad’s at some point, let’s check the calendar …’

  Ellen found herself, as so often with Clare, carried along on a wave of good-humoured optimism. She put up more objections and Clare laughed them off. She went to fetch her calendar, artwork clearly done by Grace. ‘Mmm, slight problem. On the Thursday of the second week I’m taking Grace down to her dad in York. But if you can make other arrangements for that Thursday and Friday I’ll do the rest.’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘Think about it. I’m sure Kit would help if he could.’

  ‘I’m not asking Kit.’

  ‘Oh-oh? Well, I know someone who would like to be involved for a couple of days at least. Your mum. She’s desperate to see more of the kids. She said when she was down for Angus’s birthday that she could come down for the occasional few days, but she didn’t know if you’d think that was interfering.’

  Ellen was astonished. She’d been trying to save her mother from worry. Had she been unintentionally excluding her? Something else to worry about. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Ellen’s first two days working at the college in Dumfries had gone very well. She loved how interesting it was, how at home she felt in that environment. Best of all, the childcare arrangements with Clare were working out a treat. Although the boys moaned they were old enough to be left on their own, they dutifully appeared at Clare’s cottage for lunch, so Ellen had at least the illusion they were being supervised. Lucy was finally losing that lost waif look that she had had since her parents’ death. She was less clingy, her face was pinker, her laughter more willing.

  Ellen’s mother had arranged carers for her father and was looking forward to coming to collect the children and having them to stay at the end of the second week. She insisted she could cope and seemed to be looking forward to it.

  Ellen hummed to herself as she prepared the evening meal and didn’t realise she had a visitor until there was a fierce rap on the door. Monty began to bark vociferously. Why couldn’t he be more useful and bark before someone knocked?

  She was surprised, when she pulled the door open, to find Kit on the doorstep. Normally he let himself in after a perfunctory knock.

  ‘Hello,’ she said doubtfully, standing back to let him in.

  ‘Clare’s just told me you’re working and she’s looking after the kids,’ he said without preamble.

  ‘That’s right.’ Ellen wasn’t often aware of how big Kit was, tall and solidly built. Now he seemed to tower over her.

  Kit came one step into the kitchen. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It was all arranged in a bit of a rush. You’ve been busy with your mum. How is she, by the way?’

  ‘The same. So you didn’t think it would be useful for me to know that you were all going to be away from the house all day. Who is keeping an eye on the animals?’

  Ellen met his gaze coolly. ‘Kit, that’s my problem, not yours. And anyway Angus isn’t away all day. He goes to Clare for his lunch. The rest of the time he’s here, if he doesn’t have band practice with Simon.’

  Kit harrumphed.

  ‘You’ve been a fantastic help to us all, but with the cattle gone and the sheep going next week life is getting easier. We can manage.’

  ‘So now I’m not needed, it’s thank very much and goodbye?’ He glared down at her, the brown eyes that usually seemed so sleepy dark and angry. ‘Or maybe you didn’t think you even needed to bother with the thanks and goodbye?’

  ‘Kit, it’s not like that. You’ve been busy. We both have …’

  ‘You should have asked me to help.’

  ‘Kit, you’re working, you’ve got your mum to worry about. The kids are my problem.’

  ‘You didn’t even think to discuss it?’

  ‘I wasn’t hiding it from you. It just never came up.’

  ‘Well, fine. If you’re not willing to discuss things with me there’s no point, is there?’ And he swung around and left without another word.

  Ellen felt as though she’d been punched. Kit’s good humour had been the one constant in the last difficult months. The growing attraction between them had surprised her, and she still wished they didn’t have to be sensible, take things carefully. But she had been willing to be patient, and she thought he had too. What on earth had happened to make him behave like that?

  Kit cursed himself for losing his temper with Ellen. All those months they had jogged along so well together, helpful neighbours, almost friends. It was he who had breached the invisible barrier between them, as he had wanted to for weeks. None of it was Ellen’s fault. But he had been more furious than he could remember, when he had heard she had turned to Clare and n
ot to him for help.

  She had needed help, and she hadn’t turned to him. It was so unfair, after all he had done for them. He’d assumed he would always be the first person Ellen would turn to. Clearly he was wrong.

  But even if he still thought she should have told him what was happening, he had behaved like an idiot, totally over-reacted.

  ‘Do you think I should say I’m sorry, Mum?’ he said to the silent figure in the bed beside him. Her eyes met his, but she said nothing. It was hard to know how much was an inability to speak, how much a lack of understanding, and how much simple lethargy.

  Of course he should apologise. He sighed and ran his fingers through the heavy hair. ‘Do you think I should get it cut, Mum?’ Still no response.

  Sometimes she scanned the room as though looking for something, sometimes her lips moved but no sounds came out. What was it she wanted? He took the soft, lined hand and squeezed it. Even the hand felt frailer. This person was a mere shadow of his large and cheerful mother.

  ‘I’ll make arrangements,’ he said, more gently this time. ‘I’ll look after you. Properly, this time.’

  That was what he needed to concentrate on. He’d do that first, and then he’d think about Ellen.

  ‘Why do you never talk about my mummy?’ said Lucy, out of the blue.

  ‘Your mum?’

  ‘Yeah. And my dad. I was thinking …’

  Ellen had just collected Lucy from Clare’s. Now she needed to start preparing tea. Getting back to teaching might be interesting, but by the end of the first week she realised it was also exhausting. She suppressed a sigh. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘We want to know, I want to know, what happened. You know, when …’

  Ellen stared at her. Lucy was so much the baby of the family she hadn’t expected this from her.

  If Lucy felt strongly enough to voice the words, what must the boys be thinking? Did Ellen really avoid the subject of their parents? In the weeks immediately after the accident it had been physically impossible to talk about them. She had developed a knack for avoiding the subject. That could be one reason they so liked to see their grandmother, she at least would talk endlessly about how wonderful their parents had been.

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’ she said, cautiously.

  Lucy’s lips, still so young and soft, did quiver then, but she stuck out the lower one and said, ‘We want to know what happened, in Ch, Chec – that place where they were. Angus said the police had spoken to you, but he didn’t know what they said.’

  ‘They didn’t have anything new to say. I would have told you, if they did.’ Ellen shook her head, trying to get her thoughts straight. Why had she not seen this coming?

  Just then Angus and Callum came in from the yard and she said, without pausing to think, ‘Lucy says we never talk about your parents, and she’d like to. I didn’t realise … I hadn’t thought … What is it you want to know?’

  Angus halted in the doorway between the scullery and the kitchen and glared at Lucy. ‘We don’t need to talk about them to you.’

  ‘But we want to know – things,’ said Lucy, helplessly.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing I can do,’ said Ellen. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? ‘I can get back in touch with the British Embassy in Prague and get as much detail as possible about the accident and what has been found out since. If they can’t tell me, they’ll know who can. I suppose I hadn’t really wanted … I didn’t really see the point … Would you like me to do that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucy. Callum gave a slight nod. Angus’s face was impassive.

  Angus was wondering if he could get together enough money to buy the new Ed Sheeran album. He really wanted it. Simon had it and if Angus had an iPod he could have downloaded his friend’s copy. But of course he didn’t have an iPod. His aunt would never let him spend money on something like that. To be fair, his parents wouldn’t have either. Apparently he was too young. As if everyone else in his class didn’t have one. And probably half of Callum’s class, too.

  He was thinking these thoughts as he made his way by a back route to Grant McConnell’s house. Grant had offered to call off lessons during the holidays, but Angus felt he really needed them now, to keep up with the rest of the Dudes. And he had decided he wasn’t going to let Jason Armstrong and his gang keep him away.

  At that moment an unwelcome voice said, ‘So this is the way you come. Hey, Annie, how ye doing? Look, guys, it’s little orphan Annie.’

  It was Jason Armstrong, who else?

  Angus swore under his breath. How could he be so stupid? He’d let his guard down, and look what happened. He kept his head down and walked more quickly. He was glad he had taken to playing one of Grant’s guitars during lessons and didn’t have his own with him. At least they couldn’t wreck that.

  Jason sauntered out onto the pavement in front of Angus, murmuring something over his shoulder as he did so. Angus’s heart fell when he recognised his companion, a spotty youth with glazed eyes. He was the one who had taken Angus’s bus fare, weeks ago, so that Angus had had to walk home. He was older and had an even worse reputation than Jason Armstrong.

  There was a smell of smoke and alcohol hanging around the boys. Angus kept his head down and mouth shut and tried to push past.

  ‘Not going to speak to us, An-gus?’ said Jason.

  ‘That’s no’ polite,’ said his friend, nudging Angus in the chest.

  ‘Get lost. You’re making me late.’

  ‘Get lost. You’re making me late,’ mimicked Jason.

  ‘You think you’re so clever,’ said Angus, taking a step back from the beery breath. His heart was beating wildly but he didn’t actually feel afraid this time. He slipped his hand into his coat pocket. His aunt had said it was far too warm for a coat but Angus liked to have something to hide within. Thank goodness. The knife was still there, and felt comforting in his hand.

  ‘Bin crying the day?’ asked one of the Dawson boys, and sniggered. ‘Crying for yer mum-mee?’

  Angus’s anger rose a notch. ‘You shut up, OK? Just shut up.’

  ‘Oooh, isn’t he the tough guy.’ Someone nudged him on the shoulder, someone else raised the empty bottle they were holding and gestured with it at his face.

  Did they think Angus was scared of a bottle? He drew the knife from his pocket with a vicious sweep, and was gratified to see pimple-face waver at the sight of it. ‘Let me past or I’ll use this.’

  ‘Oo-ooh,’ said someone, but doubtfully. No one came any nearer, but they didn’t retreat either.

  He brandished his weapon. ‘Get out of my way.’

  He heard someone smash a bottle on the pavement. As he glanced over the pimply boy took the chance to lunge forward.

  Angus reacted instinctively. The knife made contact with a sickening thunk.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Ellen’s heart was thudding as she drove the short distance into Dunmuir. Lucy and Callum sat silently in the back of the car, too stunned to speak.

  Angus had been arrested!

  Angus was being held at Dunmuir police station because he had been involved in a knife fight. This latter fact she had kept from the children, but the words reverberated in her head. Presumably her nephew wasn’t hurt, or she would be on her way to the hospital and not the police station, but what on earth had happened? She felt cold even thinking over the possibilities.

  She swung the car too fast around the last corner and parked with a skid by the station door. ‘Stay there, OK?’ she said to the other two as she leapt out.

  She introduced herself at the reception desk. ‘What happened?’ she demanded of the officer who came out to meet her.

  ‘That is what we are trying to ascertain.’

  ‘Where’s my nephew?’

  ‘He’s along here.’

  ‘And the other boys? The ones he was fighting with?’

  The officer was an older man, and he turned to her now with a look that might have been sympathetic. H
e said quietly, ‘I believe one or two people have been taken to hospital.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ellen was having difficulty taking this in. ‘But Angus is all right? Are the others badly hurt?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t say. I’ll take you to your nephew now.’

  ‘I want my mum! No, I want Ellen. I want Ellen!’ Angus was sobbing out the words as she was led into the interview room. His head rested on the table and the efforts of the plain-clothed woman at his side were not so much brushed off as totally unnoticed. ‘I want Ellen.’

  When Ellen saw that Angus was, truly, uninjured, she felt her legs quake beneath her. Then he turned a pale, desperate face towards her. ‘Auntie Ellen.’

  She fell onto the chair beside him and pulled him clumsily close. ‘Angus. Oh, God, Angus. Are you all right?’

  Angus collapsed against her, crying in earnest now. ‘I’m sorry, tell them I’m sorry. Auntie Ellen, I’m so sooorreee …’ And then the words became indecipherable and he was a shaking, sobbing bundle of bones and skin.

  ‘It’s all right.’ She held him tight, arms completely around him, keeping him safe.

  The plain clothed woman had moved to a seat by the door but she kept her eyes on them. Ellen recognised her now. It was Kathleen, the social worker.

  Ellen met the woman’s eyes. ‘Can’t my nephew and I have a few moments on our own?’

  To Ellen’s surprise, the woman rose and left the room. She kept the door ajar, but Ellen could cope with that.

  She held the slight figure of her nephew and let him cry himself out. She felt swamped with love. She stroked the short, light brown hair and whispered words of comfort. It didn’t matter what she said so much as that she was there and he knew she was there and he trusted her.

  After ten minutes or more she pushed him gently away and reached in her pocket for a tissue. ‘Here, have this.’

  He sniffed and took it and began to dab at his eyes.

  Ellen took a deep breath. ‘Thank goodness you’re all right,’ she said slowly.

  Angus sniffed again and looked down. He must know he couldn’t avoid the questions for ever. She put a hand to his thin cheek and said, ‘Angus, look at me.’