'They've trashed Dad's house,' he told her sadly.
'No, they've trashed my house. Wait till I see your father!'
Caleb rocked on his heels. 'Grandma's ill. Dad's gone to Bedford to see her.' Shakily, he drew on the fat roach between his fingers, which had gone out anyway. 'Back on Sunday.'
'Today.'
'Sunday.'
'Sunday's today!' She wanted to shake him, preferably by the throat.
Caleb's eyes grew rounder. 'Holy crap. He'll go mental.'
'That'll be two of us!'
Should she call the police? It was the sensible option for several reasons. An aggressive party reveller fuelled by God-knows-what might turn on her as she tried to clear the house. Officialese, in the form of a crime report with statements could very well prove to be necessary.
And on the off chance that some stupid young idiot had died during the revels, the police could deal with it instead of her.
But then... She studied Caleb, wide-eyed and pasty white. Caleb might get arrested. Charged. She'd be responsible for getting him a police record. The house stunk of dope, he and most of his unattractive mates were off their faces. The government might've seen fit to downgrade grass, but she wasn't sure she wanted to put their reaction to the test when damage to property was involved.
And how would she feel if it were Kieran?
She was saved from further heart-searching by the banging of the front door as it slammed back against the hall wall. And, slowly, in stalked Adam. 'Shitty death,' he spat. Judith watched his progress up the hall as he carefully skirted the girl at the bottom of the stairs and the evidence of her excesses, peering into the sitting room, wincing, and heading inexorably for Caleb.
Father and son stared at each other. The square-cut man who'd been thumping the units advanced, fists clenched, but Adam shoved him irritably in the chest, and, with a stagger, he ricocheted harmlessly through the back door.
Adam had eyes only for his son. 'Are you all right?'
Caleb nodded, and swayed. 'Sorry, Dad. They, like, got completely out of hand.' For an instant, he looked as if he might burst into tears.
Then Adam spotted Judith. Eyes crackled like a winter sea in a moment of infuriated pride. 'Oh, hell!' Each stared at the other. 'I take responsibility. I'll get it cleared up,' he ground out.
She folded her arms. 'You bet.'
It took till mid-afternoon just to empty the house of unwanted bodies.
Showing some inventiveness, Judith thought, Adam filled a plant-sprayer with icy water and travelled around squirting the slack faces of the unconscious. 'Come on! Up you get, son, on your way.' Squirt. 'Wake up, wake up! You must leave. You! Hey, you! Wakey, wakey!' Squirt, squi-irt. 'Time to go.'
Grunts, snarls or squeals greeted his efforts and he was equally impervious to each. 'Out, now! Now, I said! On your feet and get out.'
The bathroom door remained obstinately locked, he had to kick his way in to where a waxen girl was out cold on the floor, the room a filthy mess around her where her stomach had rejected its contents.
Judith swore in outrage at the sight of her snow-white suite so defiled. If there was one thing she hated it was a dirty bathroom.
Caleb lurched about, gathering cans and bottles into plastic sacks, imbibing plain water at his father's behest. Periodically, Adam grasped his son's face and stared into his eyes, satisfying himself that Caleb was in no immediate danger from any of the poisons he'd put into his body.
Judith patrolled the clean-up operation with hands on hips at this insult to her home, (even if it wasn't, strictly speaking, her home at the moment). Adam swept up the glass then borrowed a wet/dry cleaner from a friend and scoured the carpets, improving the situation but failing to return the carpets to their state before cigarette burns and unsavoury stains.
Gradually, the smell of carpet cleaner and bleach began to overpower tobacco, beer and vomit. A glazier made the appropriate emergency repairs to the windows and doors. Caleb was finally permitted to haul himself upstairs to collapse atop his duvet.
Slowly, Adam returned to the kitchen, where Judith waited.
'Is Caleb going to be OK?'
'I think so,' he said, flatly. 'I need him to live, so that I can kill him. And when I've done that I'm going to resurrect him and kill him again.'
Despite her anger, she almost smiled. It hadn't escaped her that his first words to Caleb had been, 'Are you all right?' rather than a screamed, 'What the hell have you done?' which she was sure would have been Tom's reaction had Kieran put him in a similar position.
With curt movements, Adam made coffee and set out a biscuit tin.
They sat down facing one another at the pine kitchen table.
Adam passed his good hand over his eyes. As so often his damaged right hand was out of the way, in his pocket or beneath the table. He looked exhausted. 'So now you have perfectly good grounds for eviction,' he offered, bitterly.
'In anyone's book,' she agreed.
He nodded. 'Can I have seven days, Judith?'
'Yes, you can use the time to do the repairs. I should think the key money might just about cover it.'
Chapter Eleven
So she found herself in the odd position of working for Adam at the same time as chucking him out of the house, each of them adopting the policy of speaking only as necessary, getting through the week without friendly chats or exchanges of jokes.
Adam moved out of 18 Lavender Row at the end of it, all his possessions in a hire van.
On the Monday, Judith moved back in.
The insurance company had yet to stump up for the tiles and the fire surround to be refinished, some of the carpets to be replaced and for the bathroom door to be repaired, but the house was habitable.
Her furniture arrived from the storage unit, the cottage suite in shades of blue and lilac, the bed with the carved wooden headboard, the maple wardrobes and the dressing table with the mirror. The phone line had been returned to her name.
The proud possessor of a landline again, she was suddenly overtaken by a desire to ring Cass and pass the number on.
First she got down to the jobs of arranging the furniture and making tea for the deliverymen, trying to squash it to the back of her mind. But, at the first opportunity, she nipped into town and bought a phone with built-in answering machine.
Safely installed, the shiny grey plastic set seemed to taunt her, waiting to see how long she'd hold out before looking up Cass's number. That wasn't all there was to it, though. Judith must be careful. If Saviour knew Judith was calling his wife, Cass's life would be made difficult.
She dialled.
The first time, Saviour answered, but Judith had prepared the voice of a confused tourist. 'Oh, dear. Is this the Park Hotel?'
She heard Saviour's deep chuckle. 'You call the wrong number.'
'Oh, I'm so sorry!'
'Is OK.'
But, in the evening, when she tried again, she heard Cass's high voice. 'Cass, it's Judith,' she whispered. 'Can you talk?'
Cass sounded tense. 'Saviour's not here, if that's what you mean. But I have nothing to tell you.'
Judith felt ridiculous disappointment slinking through her. What had she expected? A miracle? 'No change at all?' Her voice was hoarse.
'He won't suddenly begin asking for you. You know that, Judith.'
'Can I...' Judith had to clear her throat. 'Can I give you my new phone number?'
'Of course.' Cass's voice was sad, weighed down by the words she didn't speak. If you think there's any point.
Judith felt her breath desert her and could scarcely get the numbers out.
After the call she heeled her hands fiercely into her eyes, holding back the scalding tears.
The tears wouldn't be held. They burst from her eyes and flooded down her cheeks, ran into her mouth, burned the inside of her nose and filled her throat.
Two hours later, her entire head aching, she came to a decision.
She would cry no more for Giorgio.
It was pointless now, wasting energy that she was going to need to build a new life that didn't include him.
She had to accept that she would never again see laughter in his dark, dark eyes, or desire as he reached for her. There would be no phone calls to interrupt meetings with long-wooed clients, no waves from the windows of buses returning after a day trip.
No waking in the morning to find he'd kicked off the sheet and was spooned around her, sharing her pillow.
No whispers, no laughter, no hanging entangled beneath the waves.
'That was then, and this is now,' she told herself aloud, treading up the stairs. 'This is Brinham, this is England, this is my life. I'm going to finish unpacking my cases. Because I live here, now.' She blinked away a fresh burning.
Three cases left to unpack, and she could ring Richard tomorrow and ask him to ship the things that had been too bulky to bring, a few small items of furniture, several pictures. She was fond of watercolours of the island by local artists. Giorgio had bought her two, the ferry crossing Marsamxett Harbour to the bastions of Valletta, and the promenade along Tower Road, The Chalet projecting starkly into the sea. Where they'd met.
She emptied the first two cases, enough stuff to fill a wardrobe and spill over into the spare, and then began on the third, a grey giant filled with what she'd judged she wouldn't need much. She stood for a painful minute clutching the neoprene of her wetsuit, the rubber mask and fins, breathing in the familiar smell, remembering long sunny days when she and Giorgio dropped together into the quiet and cool green-blue depths.
Then she bundled it quickly into the built-in cupboard in the box room. She wouldn't need it. She wouldn't go under the waves again.
There were no shoots in the next week. It was blessedly peaceful now that she'd winkled Adam out of the house and given Molly and Frankie their spare room back. She had time to...
Almost anything.
Time was not a shortage.
Time to think, time to grieve, time to be freshly aware of what she'd lost. Time to wish she'd never left Malta, time to realise that it was probably for the best.
Brooding made the time go slowly and left her unable to sleep, to eat, so she threw herself into activity.
The garden looked a good project; she watched garden makeover programmes and thought the physical work might be just what she needed. She got only as far as cutting the long, narrow lawn, which was growing strongly. It took ages with the lawn mower, and even longer to neaten the edges with the clippers. And the raw smell of cut grass made her sneeze and her eyes run. Enough to remind her how much she hated gardening
So she abandoned the garden and rang The Cottage retirement home to say that she was coming to take her mother out. Even so, Wilma was flustered at her appearance and Judith couldn't decide whether it was with pleasure to have an unexpected outing, or irritation that she'd miss Neighbours and The Natural World.
Judith whizzed her in the car into the neighbouring county of Buckinghamshire to shop in Milton Keynes.
On the ice-smooth floors of the shopping mall the wheelchair bowled along. Wilma folding her arms over the handbag in her lap. 'It would be lovely to go outside to the market, wouldn't it, duck?' So Judith manhandled the heavy chair through the glass doors and into the market place, where the chair moved like a bent supermarket trolley through mud.
But Wilma was content as they wheeled past stalls of fruit or cleaning fluids or jeans. At the end of its last row Judith was thankful to manhandle the chair back into the mall.
Wilma's eye fell immediately on a nearby kiosk. 'That frozen yoghurt looks lovely! And they've got peach!'
Judith chose strawberry, and finished first, licking her spoon and her fingers. 'That was a good idea of yours, Mum.'
Wilma laughed, still trying to manoeuvre the tiny blue spoon. 'It's all on my chin and my hands! Have you got a tissue, Judith? Then we can go and look for my new bag.'
But after they'd rolled around the mall from department store to department store for what seemed to be hours, Wilma sighed. 'They're jolly expensive and I don't like any so much as my old one. And you must be getting awfully tired, heaving me about.' She sounded suddenly dreary.
Judith squeezed her shoulder and sighed inwardly. The shopping trip seemed to be more a trial than a treat. She cursed herself again for not appreciating her mother's world. Molly would have known, Molly always knew how to handle their mother. 'Is this all a bit much, Mum? Would you rather I took you home?'
Wilma considered. 'But we shouldn't leave without having a cup of tea first, should we? And a scone, with lots of jam. John Lewis does lovely scones.'
Two scones later they set off home, Judith reminding herself that she really must stop pouncing on her mother on whim, interrupting Wilma's routine and not giving enough thought to whether she'd actually enjoy what Judith decreed a treat.
Later in the week, Judith met Kieran for dinner, accompanied, naturally, by Bethan, taking Molly with her because Frankie was at work.
The insurance company paid up and she chose new carpet.
She was glad that next week she'd have her part-time job to occupy her mind. She hadn't begun scouring the sits vac ads yet because helping Adam wasn't demanding, was generally interesting and quite often fun. Hopefully, the froideur between them would soon thaw.
Being a full-time lady of leisure would surely have confirmed her in the flea-jump mental responses from which she was suffering, flitting from thought to thought.
Because, however much she'd yearned to be on her own, now that she was she felt unlike the self she'd always known, it was like hearing a familiar song with the words changed.
She searched around for occupation.
And phoned Melanie.
Melanie had been Judith's friend since school. At Brinham Grammar she'd been an absolute knock-out, the one that all the lads fancied rotten, with a lush figure, clear skin that tanned rapidly in the days when a deep tan was considered a desirable sign of health, and a sultry brown gaze.
She'd peaked early, unfortunately. Her beauty became overblown, her busty body overweight, the one people always said, 'Shame, because she's got a lovely smile,' about.
But so far as Judith was concerned Melanie was still Melanie, a ready grin, a dry wit, and a sympathetic nature.
Melanie was enchanted to hear from Judith and demanded a girls' night out that very night, organising tickets on-line to see a play about murder and betrayal at the modern Derngate Theatre in Northampton, and booking a table in a wine bar afterwards.
And it was so wonderful to see Melanie again, to be yanked into a big, squashy hug, Melanie's cry of delight ringing in her ears, 'Judith, how I've missed you! How fantastic that you're home!'
Judith felt unexpectedly choked. 'Oh Mel, I've missed you, too! I wish we hadn't bothered with the play, now. I just want to go somewhere and talk our heads off.'
Ian, Melanie's husband, waited outside in the car, sportingly prepared to undertake chauffeuring duties to allow for a decent session at the wine bar. His eyes twinkled through his big, silver-framed glasses at his wife and her friend squashed in the back seat of his Punto so they could talk without drawing breath all the way to Northampton.
But the play was good, although they agreed that they preferred the old Royal Theatre next-door, joined on to the Derngate now, and the pantomimes there when they were kids. The ice-creams had seemed bigger and the performances magical.
After the curtain, Melanie threaded them through the streets to a wine bar with a primrose frontage and a grapevine painted across the windows. So,' said Melanie, pouring big glasses of deeply red wine. 'Poor old Adam blotted his copy book, did he, and you had to throw him out?'
Judith felt a flush heat her cheeks. 'His son, Caleb, had a party and trashed the place. Adam instantly agreed to leave. Hard luck on Adam, I realise, but it's good to have my own place back.'
'And it's your house, of course. But, yes, hard luck on Adam. And he's had enough bad luck lately.' Frow
ning slightly, Melanie fanned her face with a beer mat.
The flush deepened. 'I know he's a friend of yours.'
Melanie's ready smile burst across her face. 'A good friend of Ian's, really, but yes, Adam's lovely. He's moving in to a new place this weekend, a flat.'
Judith knew that. She sipped her wine. But she hadn't felt able to ask him where he was staying prior to the flat becoming available. Felt guilty that in leaping at the opportunity to reclaim her house afforded by righteous wrath she hadn't much cared where he went. 'Been staying with friends, I suppose?'
Melanie fanned herself harder. 'Shelley, his wife. They were never what you'd actually call devoted, you know. But they're fond of each other. I don't know if she ever actually wanted him to leave. She certainly misses him.'
'So why did he go?'
A shrug of Melanie's rounded shoulders. 'Who knows what goes on in a marriage?' She blotted her face with a tissue. 'Do you remember Adam, from school? A bit of a star attraction in the sixth form. Too much sought after to bother with us fifth years.'
Judith let her lips curve up in a tiny smile. 'I think I spoke to him once.'
At the weekend, Adam came to call.
When she opened the door, his smile was polite but his eyes were wary. 'Are you safe to be spoken to, yet? Or still likely to erupt?' His brows drew down intently.
She shrugged. 'Depends what you have to say.'
'A Judith answer.' He turned and beckoned. Caleb stepped into view. 'Don't be shy,' he said. 'This is your conversation, not mine.'
Gingerly, Caleb edged closer.
His thick, dark hair looked combed, his jeans were unripped and his T-shirt bore no offensive slogan. Judith could imagine Adam instructing, 'Make yourself presentable.'
'Hello, Mrs. McAllister.'
She folded her arms. 'Hello Caleb.'
Caleb eyed her, apprehensively. 'Would it be OK if we came in for a minute?'
She stood back and let them troop past and into the sitting room, having trouble keeping a straight face at the deep sigh Caleb vented as he trudged back to the scene of his recent crime.
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