by Jacobs, Anna
This time the celebrity in the Who Am I? segment was the famous opera singer. The reprise reminded viewers that Rosa had lost all her photos when her ex deliberately trashed her house after she split up with him. The opera singer’s deep grief at the loss of all her family mementoes was what had brought her to the show.
Pete had found his preliminary interview with her surprisingly moving. In fact, this segment continued to surprise him in many ways, both during the preparation and when it went live. He enjoyed doing it far more than the chats with the rich and famous.
Quite a few people had rung in offering old photos of the opera singer, some from when she was a child, a far bigger response than for Cassadee. Pete could provide Rosa with computer images of herself as a child, but real photos were so much better.
Who knew that better than him? He still wished he had proper photos of himself as a baby and toddler. Strange how that lack continued to irritate him. Why had no one who knew his mother come forward with photos, as they had for Cassadee? In fact, why hadn’t his father and mother kept in touch with anyone from before the house fire? All their friends had been made later, after they moved into a new house in a new town.
When he saw Rosa walk on to his set, he was upset at how fragile she looked. He tried to set her at her ease, but it didn’t work very well.
During the advert break he laid his hand on her arm. ‘Are you all right?’
She tried to smile and failed.
‘We’ve had several people ring in to say they’ve got photos of you as a child.’
She drew in a sharp breath. ‘You have?’
‘Yes. Old neighbours, distant relatives, all sorts of people. But if you’d rather not do the segment tonight, I’ve got some emergency tapes of interviews that we could put on instead.’
She clasped his hand for a moment. ‘That’s kind of you, Pete, but I won’t spoil your show.’
‘Sure?’
‘Why are you being so understanding of my foolishness about photos?’
‘Because my family lost all my early childhood photos in a house fire, so I know what it feels like.’ He looked at the clock and added, ‘Would you like to come out for a drink with me afterwards? I can never settle once the show’s finished. Just a drink. I’m not propositioning you.’
‘I’m the same after I’ve been performing on stage. All right, I’d like that. Just a quick drink.’
When they went on air again, she drew a deep breath and managed to answer his questions and comment on the computer images.
They’d selected two former neighbours, who were brought on to the set. She recognized one, apologized gracefully for not remembering the other.
‘We have another surprise for you,’ Pete said, ‘but it’ll have to wait for a later programme. It needs a bit of preparation. Keep watching, viewers, for a very moving conclusion to Rosa’s story. Now, on next week’s show, you’ll meet someone else who needs your help. Here’s a preview of why . . .’
Afterwards, while she was having her make-up removed, Rosa wondered whether Pete had meant it about going for a drink or had just said it to soothe her. But as she left, she found his PA outside ready to take her to a waiting room. He assured her that Pete wouldn’t be long.
She was relieved. Even the few photos they’d found had raised memories that brought a lump to her throat and she definitely didn’t want to go home yet, needed company to chase away the sad memories.
They went to a bar Pete knew, a quiet place with low lighting and gentle musak playing in the background.
She sipped her fruit juice. ‘Those images on your show are amazing.’
‘Yes. But only accurate for children older than six.’
‘I saw the segment with your mother. It didn’t look like you, she said. Did that upset you?’
‘A bit. I’d like to know my baby self. And Mum said the revised image of me wasn’t much good, either.’
She watched him stare into his drink, and waited in silence until he looked up and smiled.
‘Tell me about your next concert. I don’t know much about opera. I’ve always been more into popular music, really.’
‘I’ll send you two tickets for it. You and your wife might enjoy it.’
‘That’d be great.’
She was surprised at how easily they chatted, but after an hour she’d relaxed so much she began to feel sleepy and couldn’t prevent a yawn. ‘Thank you for taking me out. It’s been lovely. I wasn’t ready for bed yet, but now I think I am.’
He patted her hand. ‘And the photos upset you a bit tonight, didn’t they?’
She nodded. ‘Especially the one with my mother in it. She died when I was ten, so I never did have a lot of photos of her. I’d been having trouble picturing her face. Silly to let that upset me so much.’
‘I always need to wind down after the show. And I’d really like to come and hear you sing. I’ll look forward to it. I’m not sure whether Fran will be there. She’s not into classical music.’
‘I’ll send two tickets anyway.’
As the taxi took her away from the bar, she sighed regretfully. What a kind man he was, not at all like she’d expected from seeing his show. Sometimes you could talk to strangers more easily than to friends and relatives.
His voice hadn’t sounded warm when he spoke about his wife. Rosa had become an expert at picking that up. So many marriages broke up these days. How sad that was!
Even sadder to be like her, never married, when she longed for a real family, with children and pets, just like she’d had as a child.
Six
Linda Harding answered the phone yet again at Bailey’s Building Supplies, scribbling down the message and assuring the caller that Nat would get back to him.
It was a bright, sunny day and she had a sudden urge to stand outside for a few minutes. She always felt more cheerful when she could get some sunlight on her face.
She had barely reached the outer door of the prefab where the office was located before the phone rang again. Some days it hardly rang at all; other days it never stopped. In between calls she did the accounts, placed orders, got lunch for Nat, did whatever was needed.
The job was pleasant, busy enough that she didn’t get bored, not too tiring for a woman of sixty-five. But if Nat didn’t stop asking her out, she might have to look for another job. If she could find one at her age. She didn’t want to retire, couldn’t think what she’d do with herself if she had nowhere to go each day, no one to talk to.
She’d told him straight out she didn’t date, was too old for that now, but he was like a steamroller when he wanted something. He said you were only as old as you felt. He clearly still felt young. She had days when she felt a hundred, others when she felt more bouncy. He was an attractive man, though, more because of his personality than his looks.
Talk of the devil. She’d recognize those footsteps anywhere.
He poked his head round the door. ‘Any urgent messages?’
‘Two. I’ve put them on your desk.’
‘I like that outfit you’re wearing, brings out the blue in your eyes.’
She’d given up answering remarks like that. ‘Do you want me to order lunch for you?’
‘Yes, please. Tell them to send steak pie and chips. Are you joining me today?’
‘No. I have to go out.’
‘Where?’
‘Where I always go on Fridays.’
‘I’ll come to the shopping centre with you.’
She looked at him in exasperation. ‘I’m going to the hairdresser’s, Nat, not the supermarket.’
‘Then come out for a drink with me after work.’
‘No, thank you.’
He stopped smiling and gave her one of his piercing looks. ‘I’ll not stop asking until you do go out with me, Linda. You’ve not even given me a chance.’
‘Because I don’t want to date anyone.’
‘You mean, you’re afraid to date,’ he corrected. ‘Afraid to get too close to anyone.’
She didn’t argue. Perhaps he was right. It didn’t change how she felt, though.
Linda was walking into the nearby multi-storey car park after having her hair shampooed and trimmed when the mugger struck. Before she knew what was happening, she’d been knocked down and her handbag snatched. It happened so quickly she didn’t even have time to scream before footsteps pounded away. She lay there for a moment, feeling dizzy with shock, then a young woman knelt beside her and helped her to sit up.
‘Are you all right? I saw him. I can tell the police exactly what he looked like. Here, let me help you to your feet. That floor’s dirty.’ She pulled her mobile out and before Linda could stop her, had dialled the emergency number.
‘The police will be here in five to ten minutes. Is there anyone you want me to call?’
Linda gave her Nat’s mobile number and leaned against the wall, only half-hearing the conversation. Nothing had really happened, she tried to tell herself. She’d just been knocked down, not beaten up. But she couldn’t stop shaking.
‘He’ll be here in two minutes. You really ought to sit down.’
‘I’ll be all right.’ Already she was regretting sending for Nat. She should have given Beth’s number. Only Beth was always so busy. Linda felt her temple gingerly. She’d gone down with a crash and must have hit it on the ground. Her hand came away with a smear of blood, but with her handbag gone she didn’t have anything to wipe it with.
‘It’s more a graze than anything,’ her companion said, pulling out some tissues and stuffing them into her hand.
There was a squeal of brakes and Nat’s car came up the ramp and pulled to a halt beside them. He left it to one side and jumped out, rushing across to her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Just a bit shaken.’ But she was glad when he put his arms round her and held her close for a moment before helping her across to his car.
The police arrived soon afterwards and took down the details of the attack, but it was the young witness who could tell them most, and though they asked Linda to go to the police station to make a proper statement, they took the young woman with them to make up a computer image of the attacker’s face. There had, it seemed, been several muggings lately, all by men whose descriptions were very similar. But this was the first time anyone had seen the mugger’s face.
When the police had driven off, Nat got in beside her. ‘I think the police are right and we should take you for a check-up at the hospital.’
‘No, I’ll be fine. Honestly.’
‘Shall I call your daughter, then?’
‘No, she’s busy. Look, Nat, I just want to go home. Please.’ But her voice wobbled as she spoke.
‘I’ll take you home, then.’
‘What about my car?’
‘Donny can drive it out to your place. I’m taking you home.’
‘You can’t leave the business unattended.’
‘Just watch me. No, don’t argue, Linda. You’re far more important than the few customers who’re likely to phone on a Friday afternoon, and Jim will still be there to attend to anyone wanting supplies. It’s usually amateurs wanting tiny amounts of this and that for DIY on Friday afternoons, anyway.’
She let her head fall back against the seat of his car, too shaky to argue.
‘Where are your car keys?’
Then she realized. ‘In my handbag.’
‘Do you have a spare?’
‘Yes, but it’s at home. And my house key’s in my bag too. I shan’t be able to get in – and the mugger can.’ She began to cry. It was all too much.
‘We’ll go to your home first and make sure it’s all right. I’ll break in, if I have to.’ He pulled her towards him and let her sob against him for a moment or two.
He made her feel so safe that after a few minutes she stopped shaking. ‘You must think me a weak fool,’ she muttered into his shoulder.
‘No, I don’t. Anyone would be upset by that sort of thing.’ He moved her gently to arm’s length. ‘Now, is it all right if I drive you home?’
‘Yes. And Nat . . . thank you for coming.’
‘I’ll always be there for you, Linda.’
He didn’t seem to need an answer, just drove off, weaving carefully in and out of the traffic.
Always be there, she thought. No one could promise that.
At her house, she remembered the back door key she’d hidden in the garden shed. ‘It’s in the—’
‘Don’t tell me.’ He went into the shed and came out again a minute later holding the key. ‘Not a safe place to leave it.’
‘But I’d hidden it. How did you know where to look?’
‘There are a few rather obvious places where people hide keys.’ He looked at the back of her house. ‘A child could break into this place. We have to do something about that, Linda.’
When they were inside, he insisted on making her a cup of sweet coffee, even though she never took sugar. She couldn’t raise the energy to protest because it felt wonderful to be looked after and she was still a bit wobbly.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘if you’ll find those spare car keys I’ll have them couriered to Donny and he can fetch your car. Then I’ll have a look at your house locks. They’re all old. You really should have updated your security. I could break in myself in two minutes flat – and without smashing a window.’
She shivered.
He came to put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere till I’m sure you’re safe.’
‘You’re a juggernaut,’ she teased, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
‘You’ve called me that a few times over the years. How long have you been working for me?’
‘Five years, no, six.’
‘Penny was already ill when you took her place. What a long time ago that seems now!’
‘You must miss her.’
‘I miss the old Penny, not the poor frail creature she became. I never believed in a “merciful release” till she was in the final stages of that damned cancer.’ He shook his head as if to clear it of memories and smiled at her. ‘How about another cup of coffee?’
‘I’ll make you one, but if I drink any more I’ll not sleep tonight.’
‘I’m a light sleeper, but I sleep soundly. I don’t think anyone could break into my house without waking me. Should I call your daughter now?’
‘No, she’s got a date tonight. She goes out so rarely, I don’t want to spoil it for her. She’s too young to be on her own.’
‘So are you.’
‘I’m sixty-five.’
He grinned. ‘A mere youngster.’
‘You’re only sixty.’
‘It’s a good age to be.’ He made another cup of coffee for himself with his usual efficiency. ‘You wouldn’t have any biscuits, would you? I didn’t manage to finish my lunch.’
‘Home-made cake any good?’
‘I’d kill for it.’
Everything seemed so blessedly normal, chatting to him, being complimented on her cake, that she relaxed still further.
‘I’m staying here overnight,’ he said afterwards. ‘Or else you can come to my place. The thief’s got your keys and I can’t get anyone to come out and change all your locks till tomorrow morning.’
She opened her mouth to protest, but couldn’t. The mere thought of being here on her own while someone else out there had her keys made her shiver.
‘Thank you, Nat. I appreciate that. I’ve got a spare bedroom.’
‘We can send out for some take-away.’
‘Nonsense. I’ll cook you a meal.’
He beamed at her. ‘That’d be great. I really miss home cooking. I can’t usually be bothered after a hard day’s work.’
He seemed different from the busy, loud-voiced Nat she knew at work, calmer, gentler. And she loved cooking for people.
Somehow, the quiet meal and the pleasant conversation made the shock of the attack recede. And his solid, comforting presence was . . . just what she needed.
Edward rang Beth’s doorbell exactly one minute before the appointed time on Friday and she told him on the intercom that she’d be straight down. She took a last look at herself in the mirror. The lilac skirt looked good and her new hairstyle really suited her. Renée was right.
But black was still the most serviceable colour to wear to work, whatever her friend said.
She opened the front door of the flats and accepted a kiss on her cheek. Only it didn’t feel as cursory as the usual kissy-kissy ritual and she forgot to breathe for a few seconds. Edward paused with his head just a few centimetres away from her face, frowning at her as if puzzled.
The air between them seemed charged with undercurrents and for a moment she had an urge to pull his face towards hers and give him a proper kiss instead of this meaningless air kissing. That was so unlike her she couldn’t move for a moment or two.
In the end, to her relief, he broke the impasse, straightening up and clearing his throat. ‘I’ve – um, got a taxi waiting, and I’ll bring you back in one because I like to have a glass or two of wine with a meal. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all. I could have driven us, though, because I’m not a big drinker. Alcohol doesn’t agree with me.’
‘Another time, perhaps.’
They made small talk in the taxi, not hard to do with him, and by the time they arrived at the restaurant, she’d relaxed considerably. Indeed, he was one of the easiest people to talk to that she’d ever met.
The whole evening went well until the moment she asked if he’d tell her how to contact his cousin.
Edward stiffened and drew back. ‘Why?’
‘I can’t tell you. It’s . . . very private, personal.’
‘It’s that damned Who Am I? segment, isn’t it?’
‘In a way.’
His voice grew scornful. ‘Have you lost all your childhood photos, too? Is that why you agreed to come out with me, to get to Pete so that you can go on the show?’
‘No! I agreed to come out with you because—’ She could feel herself growing hot, fumbling for words. ‘I thought we’d get on well.’
‘I thought so too. But I’m not giving you Pete’s phone number unless you tell me why.’
She shook her head. ‘It’d not be right. I need to tell him first. It’s about his childhood, you see.’