Third Child

by Kate Mitchell

  ‘I don’t consider her as being my auntie. I don’t like her. I think she’s only after his money.’

  And then Peter broke into laughter which caused everyone in the room to look at these two.

  ‘You tell it as it is, don’t you Clara,’ his laughter was beginning to abate. ‘I love your sense of humor. Well, your nightmare hasn’t come true. I’m still here, and the world is still beautiful.’

  ‘How long are you here for?’

  ‘Until my job is done.’ A smile changed to curiosity; he leaned his head to one side.

  Was he trying to make his mind up about her? What did he think and feel when he looked at her?

  ‘And how’s Victoria?’

  ‘Victoria?’

  ‘Yes, your sister. Is she coming to see your uncle?’

  Now, he was interested in her fantasy sister.

  ‘No.’ she frowned. Hadn’t she called her sister, Virginia?

  ‘Don’t tell me that she’s dead as well?’

  ‘We are a dysfunctional family. We never talk to one another, never see each other. It’s as if we’re dead to each other.’

  He laughed again. ‘That sounds like my kind of family. You know, I like you and your family more and more.’ He looked about the room, searching for something. ‘Dinner’s late tonight. Why do you think that is?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘Everyone has been behaving strangely.’

  ‘Yes, they have.’ Then he too fell into silence.

  He had forgotten about the wine until the kitchen door flipped open and out came the hot plates, feeding the air that it was cottage pie tonight.

  ‘I just love cottage pie,’ Peter begun to pour out the wine. It fell tumbling and sparkling into their glasses. ‘It reminds me of my time in England.’

  ‘You went to England?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve traveled all over the world, but there’s nowhere like home.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you,’ Cecelia took the glass which he passed to her, took a sip and then waited for their plates to arrive. There is an order to everything.

  The people next to them were being served first.

  ‘It’s a tragedy,’ said a woman to the landlord standing in as a waiter. ‘And so young. Forty isn’t anything these days. He had a wife and two daughters.’

  ‘Yeah, I spoke to his wife earlier,’ said the landlord catering to the audience with a show of respect. ‘She’s in shock. She asked me to keep his things. I was packing them away for her. We forgot the time that’s why dinner is so late.’

  The landlord was now between the tables. ‘She said she would come and collect his things at the weekend. I told her not to rush. Her head must be all over the place.’

  ‘Yes, poor thing—what was it he was supposed to have died from?’

  ‘A heart attack. Apparently, it came out of nowhere. He was someone who looked after his body, you know, exercised two or three times a week. He was a really lovely man, friendly, well-mannered. It’s unfair that it should have happened to him.’

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s such a tragedy.’

  ‘Look, can we get our dinner before it’s tomorrow,’ Peter had been listening and now had lost his temper.

  ‘I’m sorry sir,’ the landlord as the waiter turned to look disapprovingly at Peter. A death deserved some respect, and he should know that. ‘I think everyone’s suffering from shock here. But I’ll go and get your dinner right away.’

  Cecelia felt strange. Someone in this bed-and-breakfast had suddenly died and without warning. Why was everyone dying about her? Death had become a plague.

  ‘I know, I’m a pig. My attitude stinks, but honestly, why should I be upset about a man who I didn’t know?’

  ‘Someone died here at this bed-and-breakfast house?’ Cecelia dazed now asked Peter, he knew more than she did about the man who now would never go home.

  ‘No, he dropped down dead out in the street. No one really knew him here. I don’t know why they’re making so much fuss,’ Peter’s cheeks had turned red from annoyance and anger.

  ‘I suppose it happened right out of the blue,’ in her dull voice another question she couldn’t help asking.

  Was Peter angry because someone couldn’t help dying?

  ‘It frightens people when someone they know disappears out of their life just like that,’ said the landlord.

  ‘Well, then, they should thank their lucky stars that they still have their lives and teach them to make the most of it while they still have it. Because if they continue to jabber between them… oh, hell, what does it matter, I’m not hungry anymore?’ Peter stood up, swallowed his glass of wine, and then without saying anything more, he walked out of the dining room.

  What had happened? Had she said something wrong? She was so pleased to see him, she wanted to know how he had got on with his day. She wanted to know everything about him like the young woman he was looking for. But Peter, she realized, didn’t like to hear about death any more than anyone else.

  When two plates of cottage pie were brought to their table, Cecelia’s smiling excuse told the waiter that Peter had just gone out for a breath of fresh air, and he had been very upset by the talk of the other boarder’s death.

  ‘Yes, well, the other man’s death was Mr. Thornton’s gain. If Mr. Jonaway hadn’t died, Mr. Thornton would have had to board somewhere else,’ the landlord with a somber face duly placed down the hot dinner plates.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Cecelia was now confused.

  ‘I mean that Mr. Thornton was fortunate, that’s all. I hope you enjoy your dinner.’

  Now she understood what was wrong with Peter. Guilt. He felt bad that he was sitting here in the other man’s place while the late—whatever his name was, Jonaway was now lying in the morgue. Well, he wasn’t to blame for that. And he wasn’t to blame for being upset about his feelings about death. It was a shame that Peter had to suffer without having anything to eat, and why should he? She knew what she would do, she would take his dinner to him.

  ‘Do you mind if I take this plate up to Mr. Thornton? He was very upset about the death.’ A smile is often a way of apology, it usually gives license for thoughtless actions or speech.

  ‘You can do as you like,’ shrugged the waiter.

  ‘Do you know which room he is in?’

  ‘Eight, he is on the right as you turn the corner.’

  Why should he dine on his own? Should she be cheeky and take her plate with her and offer her company? Would he mind if she brought his dinner with hers with the hopes of cheering him up? There was only one way to find out. She would take the initiative; it was part of her new persona. Be brave, what could she lose?

  Stairway to adventure, Cecelia knew she was being watched as she walked out of the dining room with two plates in her hands.

  Let them talk, she smiled to herself. Let them think whatever they want, this was her life and no one else’s. I’m too important to worry about what they think. Throwback the unkind whispers peeping inside her head. She was a celebrity or even royalty; she could do what she liked. She was not imposed upon by others’ values or rules.

  Yet, as she climbed the stairs, the manacles of the thoughts of others’ twisted heavily on her wrists. Her room was on the left side of the house, number seventeen.

  But what if she read him wrong to find that he didn’t want her? Just because you were attracted to someone did not automatically mean they were attracted to you.

  Standing outside number eight, she wondered for a moment lost in indecision whether to knock or return to her room. Can’t turn back now. Everyone had seen her walk out of the dining room, it was probably now being confirmed by the landlord.

  Take the plunge. Cecelia kicked the door and waited for an answer.

  There was a scuffling behind the door, she couldn’t make sense of it. Was he undressed? Now she was worried about his privacy because she didn’t like it when anyone poked their nose into her life.

  ‘Who is it?’

 
‘It’s me, Clara. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Clara?’

  Long strides to the door and it was pulled open.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ and then he saw with astonishment that she was carrying two plates of cottage pie in her hands. ‘My God, what are you doing with those? Is this your intention to feed me up with two plates of food?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I knew it was a big mistake once I arrived at your door. But I thought you had been upset about the man who died today. And I didn’t want you missing out on your dinner—but, you see, it wasn’t your fault about what happened to him. It was one of those coincidences which you had nothing to do with.’

  His eyes grew bigger and bigger listening to Cecelia talk and then he burst into laughter.

  ‘And you brought my dinner up for me, and yours as well?’

  ‘Yes, I thought we could sit together. I spend most of my time eating on my own and although you can do what you like when you eat alone, sometimes it’s nice to have company.’

  ‘What am I thinking of,’ he stood back from the door. ‘That was very considerate of you. Would you like to come in and we can eat our dinner together before it gets too cold?’

  Once more, her heart bounced in her chest as she followed him into his room. This was the sacred chamber. She smiled to herself.

  Was he pleased to see her? He was pulling the table over to his bed and pulling another chair around.

  ‘You know, as soon as I walked out of the dining room, I knew I’d been a fool. But pride stops one from returning, don’t you think? Put the plates down—I should have taken them from you. Sit down, sit down on the chair.’

  ‘Oh blast, I’ve forgotten the knives and forks, I only picked up the spoons.’

  ‘That’s how I like to eat,’ he laughed. ‘I’m a class one pig if I’m allowed to get away with it.’

  I think you’re wonderful, she thought as she passed him a spoon.

  He was now staring at her, his merry blue eyes contained glee.

  ‘I’ve got a bottle of brandy, for medicinal purposes,’ he said grandly.

  ‘Oh yes, brandy is the best drink to have in the house.’

  ‘Do you want a glass—I’m having one and I recommend you having one also?’

  In a gesture of hugging her shoulders, it confirmed that she was game if he was.

  ‘Brilliant, just wait one moment. And I’ll get madam her drink.’ He moved to the other side of the room where there was a cabinet, and squatting, he bent down. ‘I have everything under control,’ he said his head in the cabinet. ‘I am in charge of my own fate.’

  She smiled. She could see them together. A nice little house, going on trips to other countries and even to England, a place of enchantment. People would look at them and wonder how much they loved each other. They wouldn’t have children; children would come between their love for each other. Yes, she was a dreamer, but that was okay as long as you have someone to dream along with.

  ‘I found one glass,’ he called to her. ‘And now I know there is another glass I’ve seen it somewhere before. I remember seeing it on the day that I arrived. I believe he must have been a secret drinker. I bet his wife didn’t know about that.’

  His wife, Cecelia repeated to herself. What wife was that? Like a ball which had been hurled without a thought had now made its mark in her. Of course, it was Mr. Jonaway. He who had walked in this room probably rang his wife on his cell phone, who had taken his meals down in the dining room… She rubbed her nose where the impact had landed. Yes, just a few hours ago he was enjoying his life. She turned her head away to the side.

  There on the floor to the base of his single bed was Peter’s briefcase. This was the reason for the rustling. Papers had been hastily picked up and tossed into the case.

  ‘I think I’ve found the other glass. Yes, I have. The landlord said that he had taken away all his things but there are some things which he missed—and for us, the most important one.’

  Was that a photograph? Cecelia pushed herself forward to look. She could see a pair of black-and-white eyes looking back inanimately at her, and yet just as real as if they had been in life. Was this a picture of the woman he was looking for?

  ‘There you are,’ Peter placed one of the glasses in front of her followed by the sound of the brandy bottle being cracked open. ‘Let’s have a drink. I think we damn well need one.’

  Looking down at the glass now presented before her was a healthy tot of brandy, half a glass full.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said sitting down opposite her. ‘Here’s to life and the living of it. And here’s to money which makes everything worthwhile.’

  He waited for her to clink glasses. The satisfying tinge of agreement which again provoked another one of his smiles. This was something that should have made her happy, but it didn’t. In the present flush of the evening, she felt despair.

  Had anything changed with her? Would she always find her faith and belief in rejection and suspicion preferring that instead of hope?

  Over her glass, Cecelia watched Peter gulp down his brandy. He was a professional drinker, he knew his capacity, and now he was waiting for her to compliment his thirst.

  Impeaching her taste, Cecelia took a sip. Brandy and whiskey were two drinks she disliked even though this one was better than most.

  ‘You are such an angel for bringing my dinner to me—no one has ever done that before,’ he began pouring himself out another glass. ‘Mind you, I’ve never allowed anyone to get that close to me,’ he stopped and smiled at Cecelia. ‘Except you.’

  She found herself staring at him wondering what on earth they were doing together. Her life had stepped into the bizarre.

  ‘You know, you’ve affected my life and I’m not sure whether it’s for the best. A person like me doesn’t have any time for others… but I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said all day about a wife traveling with me.’

  ‘It’s a very nice brandy,’ she rubbed her lips to erase the taste. Whiskey came from sharp pipped stems while wine clung juicily on family vines.

  But somewhere inside his heart, he was listening and seeing and entertaining his dreams.

  ‘I’ve got the impression that you’ve never been married?’

  What a question to ask a woman who was now in her mid-thirties, it was almost rude. Biting her lips, she lowered her head.

  ‘I thought so. I thought you’d never been married. The same here. I’ve never contemplated it. My life, I told myself was to live it on my own. I’m not like anyone else. It’s to do with my job. I have to pick up and go whenever I’m called for.’

  Who is the woman in the black-and-white photograph in your briefcase?

  ‘I’m not husband material. Yes, I’ve had affairs—I’m a man,’ and then he laughed. ‘And this is delicious, but you’re not eating yours. Come on, I can’t sit here and eat on my own. Eat up or otherwise, I’ll eat yours.’

  She was ruminating on her thoughts and not on the food sat on the table. Yet, had he worked it out why she had become silent? No, he was too busy with himself with what his future was now guaranteeing him that he didn’t notice her voice had given in its notice and gone to bed for the night.

  ‘Tell me something more about yourself,’ he asked, sweeping up some creamed potatoes with his spoon.

  ‘There isn’t much to tell. Except that I’m a bit like you.’

  Yet, had he heard her because he picked up his glass and took another swig. ‘Was I correct when I guessed that you worked in the tax department of the IRS?’

  ‘Yes, you were right.’

  ‘I knew I was,’ he punched the air like a conquering warrior. ‘Are you going to drink the rest of your brandy and then I can refill your glass?’

  ‘I’ve suddenly got a headache.’

  ‘Well, it can’t be the brandy. You only get headaches and hangover from cheap booze—and I never drink cheap. Like I normally never stay in cheap accommodations, except for here. I earn enough money to have the best.�
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  ‘Did you find the woman you were looking for?’

  What a change to his mood. From a high to a low in less than a second. Holding his glass, he rolled his lips.

  ‘No, but I will. No one ever escapes, except perhaps you. I take it that the headache was to leave me?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. I think it was seeing my uncle like that today. I remember when he was young and strong…’

  ‘And that’s how you should remember people. People should never be allowed to get old. I’m never going to get old. The grim reaper will have his way someday and find me before I find him.’

  9

  Cecelia was startled to find how mixed up she could feel towards Peter. She hated that there could be anyone else in his life other than her. Her jealousy was all-encompassing and corrupting, turning her once stability to murderous thoughts. If he had anyone else in his life, she knew she could kill her.

  Please don’t let there be anyone in his life, Cecelia returning to her room avoiding the patterns woven into the carpet.

  Every look he showed her, the turn of his chin, the way he crouched, the clothes he wore, the aftershave he smelt of was collected and stored inside her. She would never release him, he was hers. But to keep him, she had to be careful. Not like the first time. The first time drove her to the threshold of madness. Down in that dark and bottomless gully, the screams of confusion echoed but didn’t receive any answers.

  It was summer, these wonderful incidents always happen in the sunshine. As she came out from the office Thomas walking along the sidewalk walked straight into her and knocking her down. All her papers and books went up in the air and scattered to the ground.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she shouted while his arms went around to help her get to her feet, her skirt had flared out to expose her underwear. She was angry not only because she had been embarrassed but also because he was grinning as if he found her distress funny.

  ‘Don’t you look when you come out of a building?’

  She brushed herself down pushing at her skirt because it had betrayed her. Who was this rude man who could laugh at her? She stole questioning looks to his face while admitting that his face was attractive.