“You’re kind of quiet this evenin’,” Billy said. “Everything okay?”
Serena ran her finger along the brim of her glass. “I just don’t know what is next for me.”
“Meanin’ what?” Billy’s face was open and relaxed. He wasn’t worried in the least about how this whole mess was going to get sorted out.
“Well, my job, for one thing. I can hardly stand being there anymore. I want to be a part of your life, and your son’s, but I don’t know how. I can’t just keep jumping on planes … .” She clasped her hands together, wedged her chin on top of them, and stared at him, waiting for him to respond. She realized she’d only flown here twice, but she felt the frustration of the distance between them already. Last week was so empty, and it seemed like life in Dallas was the only reality there was.
“I am not sure what to say, Serena. You know I love you, I have from the moment I laid eyes on you. But I’ve got a kid on the way from a foreign country, and I am not sure you’re over everything and ready to move on, ya know?”
“What are you trying to say? That things aren’t over with Richard?”
Billy was stunned at the venom in her voice. “No, I meant that, well, maybe it’s too early for me to be proposin’ to you. I mean, I need to see about Jackson, he’s my responsibility now, I hope, and you’ve been through a lot. We might need a little time to work things out in our lives, before we can get our lives together.”
“So you do expect me to just keep jumping on planes every time you want to see me.”
“No, honey, that works both ways.”
“You hate to fly, you know that. Unless it’s to go to England, apparently.”
Billy stared at her with a bland expression. Serena knew she’d pushed things a little too far with that last off-handed remark. But, she couldn’t stop now. She had to push for a conclusion with this relationship. Every woman in her position had the right to know how things were. She wasn’t going to let herself get strung along. That wasn’t fair, because she was willing to consider a future with Billy. He couldn’t just “yup and shucks” his way through the next five years. Her days of wasting time were over. Serena drew in a diplomatic breath and changed tack.
“I am sorry, Billy. But you have to look at this from my perspective. I feel like you’re going to get involved with your son and forget all about me.” Her voice struck a pathetic note, and she starting speaking in a rush. “Look, I know how selfish that sounds, but I can’t help it. I want to get closer to you, but I don’t know how.”
Billy looked at her and smiled. Emotion chocked in her throat, and she didn’t mind showing him how vulnerable she was. She surprised herself. She really must love him, more than she realized. She’d been so emotional where he was concerned. And she desperately wanted a stable relationship with him. Starting now.
“Look, baby. I am not sure what the answer is. Let’s do this.” He reached across the table and pried her hands from under her chin, and held them in his. “Let’s take a couple months to figure it out, okay? I want ya to think about what it would mean to leave your parents, your job, everything you know, and move down here. I am goin’ to have to concentrate on Jackson some, but then, we should be able to make some decisions. I’ll be lookin’ at getting a bigger place, and stuff like that. Sound okay?”
Serena pulled one hand away and brushed it under her nose. “Yes, okay.”
“Nothin’ we’re doin’ now is forever. I mean, the long-distance thing is temporary. But, I think it’s gonna work out just fine, okay?”
Serena closed her eyes and nodded. That’s just what she wanted to hear. And she had a scheme in mind to hurry things a long.
Chapter 15
The acrid smell of ashes pierced Jane’s nostrils and stung her eyes. She stood alone, in the middle of the high street, in Hartsbury — a village that she felt she’d somehow never seen before — looking at the building that had once housed a small business office, Mr. Collins’s violin shop, her florist business, and Charlotte Lloyd’s ladies’ dress shop. Jane didn’t go to pieces. Somehow her grief over Lydia’s death made this tragedy to seem like just another obstacle to face, rather mechanically; another disaster to slog through.
She’d collect her insurance, and begin again.
Mr. Collins wasn’t handling the loss as objectively as Jane. He didn’t speak beyond a greeting this morning at breakfast. Jane understood. Several of the violins in his shop, including his own personal instruments, were irreplaceable. Like any instrument, they had a set value, but the sweetness of antiquity was lost forever.
Both Mr. Collins and Jane lived in the flats above their shops; likewise, both were left homeless. Eleanor kindly offered them rooms at Brambleberry House for as long as they were needed. In fact, she seemed to have more vigor this morning than Jane had seen in a long while. Eleanor and Clarice had a houseful, and they thrived on nursing the fire’s victims. Mr. Collins said that he needed to go to London and see his brother, but he’d return on the evening bus in a few days. He left a phone number with Jane, in case he was needed by the police or other.
Everyone quite forgot the arrival of Jackson’s father from America. Eleanor had meant to have a nice chat with her grandson, to let him know that his message, sent through Mr. Beacon, was bringing his father to England. It slipped her mind.
“Pet, go see who is at the door,” Eleanor Membry said to her grandson. Jackson slid from his chair at the kitchen table where he’d been coloring a picture of Dudley, his pony, and made his way past Ausfrid lying next to the Aga, and into the passage. The spaniel followed. Jackson pulled open the front door, to find a tall stranger dressed in leather.
“Hey there, you … you wouldn’t happen to be Jackson, would you?” said the man, bending over to be eye-level. Jackson took a step deeper into the house, away from the smiling dimpled face and cloud of musky cologne.
“Yes,” Jackson replied quietly. His hand found the head of his dog.
“Well, isn’t that somethin’! I am your daddy. You asked for me to come, didn’t you?”
“I suppose.”
“Oh, well, uh, is your granny at home?”
“Yes.”
The stranger suddenly shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked over his shoulder, down the street. Jackson wondered what he was looking at. He wasn’t what Jackson expected. He was quite set on his dad resembling the lead singer of Coldplay, and imagined that he’d be holding a guitar. This bloke was rather odd and spoke funny. Ausfrid stepped forward to sniff his boots. They were the kind that cowboys wear, but all the pop stars on the telly wore trainers, sometimes in bright colors.
The stranger took a deep breath and then refocused his attention on Jackson. The boy could see now that the American was sort of upset or something, and was rubbing his chin with the fingers of one large, multi-ringed hand. The hand was interesting. Jackson hadn’t seen a man wear so many rings before, and one of them was like a chunk of gold nugget.
“Jackson, who’re you talking to?” Eleanor suddenly appeared behind the boy and rested her hands on his shoulders.
“Oh, my, well, we’d all but forgotten you, Mr. Killian!” said Eleanor Membry, obviously recognizing him in an instant. “I am so sorry. Won’t you come in? How was your flight, then? You’ll want a cup of tea. Or, well, perhaps you drink something else?”
The stranger started laughing.
“Ma’am, you’re just like my momma. She says three thangs at one time. Thank you, Mrs. Membry? De-caf coffee would be nice, if’n you have some. Or water. I am, uh, I am Jackson’s father, you know?”
“Yes, yes. Yes, I know.” Eleanor looked at the stranger for a a few seconds.
“Please, make yourself comfortable in the lounge, Mr. Killian. I’ll get the coffee and be back in a tick. Jackson, would you come and help me?”
Jackson took his grandmother
’s hand and walked down the passage, meeting Clarice’s singing as they came into the kitchen.
• • •
“Oh, love, I am so sorry I sent you to the door on your own. I should have been there with you, duck, but I entirely forgot he was to come today, what with the fire,” Eleanor said to her grandchild. His face was starched and expressionless.
“It’s all right, Gram,” he mumbled. Clarice had stopped singing and was turned at the waist, hands in dishwater, watching them, her mouth agape.
“What now?” Clarice asked.
“I am getting him some coffee. I think he said decaffeinated. Do we have that?”
“Should do. Try for the yellow packet,” answered Clarice, turning back to the sink. Jackson returned to the table and began coloring.
“Jackson, you’ll come with Granny when I go back in, won’t you, love?” Eleanor said cautiously.
“Yes,” the boy replied, focused on his drawing. Clarice and Gram exchanged looks, wishing they knew what Jackson was thinking. He had the tendency to be a tough customer in these matters, quite as indifferent as his Uncle Nigel. The phone rang, and Jackson dashed to pick it up. It was his friend, Toby, wanting him to go to the barn.
“Say yes, Gram, please?” Jackson asked earnestly. His tone suggested that he was afraid, or at least feeling overwhelmed, at meeting his father.
“Well, I suppose for an hour or two, it might be a rather good idea. I’ve heard there’ll be rain, so take your jacket, love.” She refrained from saying anything about Jackson’s father, waiting in the next room. Jackson had already gone before she decided whether it was a good decision.
“Do you think it’s all right, then?” she asked Clarice.
“Well, he weren’t very chatty with him, was he now? I don’t suppose another hour is going to matter one way or the other, Ellie.”
Suddenly the back door opened and Jane shuffled in, looking like a haggard woman who’d been out all night instead of gone for twenty minutes.
“Jane, thank God you’re here!” Eleanor exclaimed.
“Why?” Jane said tenuously. “Oh, I am sorry. What is it?”
“No worries, darling. The last twelve hours have been quite a strain. Especially feeling afraid that the whole village might go up or something. But don’t let’s talk about the fire any more at the moment. Jackson’s father’s just arrived.”
• • •
“Oh — I, I see,” Jane checked her reaction for Eleanor’s sake. The child didn’t seem to care a toss whether his father was here or not, as she’d just come across him leaving with Toby. Jane suddenly suspicioned that it was Nigel who’d wanted Mr. Killian to come, and perhaps Nigel hadn’t been entirely honest with her. She felt that niggling distrust of Nigel, and it made her cross. She couldn’t deal with more emotion at present, so kept it under wraps, putting on a brave face to meet the enemy head on. Had it not been for the fire, it would have been mere curiosity that would drive Jane to want to meet Lydia’s mysterious lover, but that no longer held any fascination.
“Well, I’ll just go and say hello,” Jane said, passing quickly towards the front sitting room, knowing the stranger would be installed there.
He was, and was ironing the fringe on the sofa cushion between his fingers. His eyes were locked on a photograph of Lydia and Jackson, taken the year before she died. He looked up suddenly, and Jane was annoyed at the man, just looking at him. He was invading their lives, and for what purpose? Because he felt that being a parent might be rousing good fun?
“Mr. Killian, I am Jane Quinn, how do you do?”
Billy Killian stood to his feet and met Jane’s outstretched hand.
“Hello, there, ma’am. Um, are you Jackson’s teacher or neighbor or somethin’?”
“I was his mother’s best friend.” The one who stood by her when you left her with a child after a one night stand. “I am quite close to the family.”
Billy Killian and Jane Quinn faced each other in silence.
“Well, I’ve got your coffee and some biscuits, Mr. Killian. Clarice wanted to know if you’d care for a late breakfast? Perhaps they didn’t give you anything on your flight?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay, ma’am,” Billy replied. “Coffee, and them cookies, will be just fine.”
Billy slurped his coffee and Jane cleared her throat. They attempted small talk.
• • •
After three minutes to an eternity, Mrs. Membry returned and took a seat in her favorite chair. “So, Mr. Killian, how long are you planning on staying?”
Billy was stumped. “Well, I wasn’t rightly sure. I mean, I could stay a week or so, dependin’ on everything.” He didn’t have the nerve to imply he was taking his son with him. This was going to be harder than he thought.
But he was ready to fight. Jackson had fine features like his momma, but his eyes were Billy’s. Billy had wanted to scoop the boy up in his arms, and tell him that he was sorry he’d missed so much of his life so far. He’d make up for it, he wanted to promise. Billy was going to bring his boy home.
“What if he doesn’t want to go with you?” Jane said pointedly.
“Well, ma’am, I figure we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, you know? His uncle said that he, that Jackson, asked for me. So, I am here.”
“He’s only six, Mr. Killian,” Jane said sourly. “He’s obviously not very interested, as you can see. He’s just stepped out with a friend. His life is here, with us. This lark, getting in touch with you, was just a little boy being silly.”
“Jane,” Eleanor said soothingly. “I am sure Mr. Killian just wants to make sure Jackson is well-looked after. And, naturally, he would want to meet him. Why, after finding out about him, all these years later, you must have been quite surprised?”
“Yes, ma’am, you could surely say that!” Billy smiled at Eleanor’s encouragement.
With agitation, Jane sprung from her perch on the piano bench and went to the window. She could just glimpse a slither of black shard from the high street. It was what was left of Mr. Collins’s flat. Why was Eleanor being so kind to Billy Killian? What was she playing at?
“Jane, my dear,” Eleanor said in measured tones. “Would you mind to excuse us for a while? I wonder if perhaps Clarice might need a hand tidying upstairs?”
Jane was speechless. Dutifully, and a bit stunned, she withdrew, feeling Mr. Killian’s eyes on her back as she went. What was going on here? Eleanor, dismissing her, with the cheeky suggestion that she ought to go polish something? Fine, let her deal with the rock star on her own, Jane thought, glaring at the American on her way out of the room.
Clarice was sweeping the kitchen floor. “How do you find him, Jane? Do you think he’s a good sort of person?”
Jane picked up the drawing that Jackson had made of Dudley. “It wouldn’t matter if he was a saint, Clarice. He’s here to take Jackson away. Worse, Eleanor seems to want to help him.”
“Now, that can’t be, Jane. Eleanor certainly doesn’t want Jackson to go, anymore than you or me. Why, that’s just nonsense, it is. You can’t be thinkin’ all together rightly, love, what with the shock of losing your home and your business … .”
Jane allowed Clarice give her a firm hug. “I hardly know what to do,” Jane said. “It suddenly seems like there hasn’t been any time at all. Lydia’s gone, and we haven’t done anything but run in place. We’ve worked, eaten, sent Jackson to school, and it all seems a misery, like all I’ve done is cry and work and survive. But, yet, there’s nothing to show for it. No business, no home, and now Jackson may be leaving. Oh, Clarice, I can’t bear it!”
Clarice thumped Jane’s back reassuringly, as though trying to burp a baby.
“Cuppa tea, love? You’ll feel better.”
Jane slipped onto a chair at the kitchen table. She tried to think of somet
hing constructive, but nothing came, so she decided to concentrate on having tea, calming down, and trusting that things would sort themselves out. The stranger would surely go in a few minutes, and he certainly wouldn’t be invited to the kitchen. She was safe for now.
Clarice filled mugs for them and served Jane a piece of cake. “Your favorite,” she said, as Jane stabbed a corner of the lemon cake and ate it. She caught her crazed expression in a reflection from a piece of china standing on the bureau, and it made her laugh. It was simply to exhausting to process everything happening, and to be upset with it all. She smiled warmly at Clarice.
“That’s it dearie.”
“I suppose you’re right. And your baking has always made me slightly giddy, Clair!”
Clarice swelled with pride at the compliment, and slowly sipped her steaming tea.
Jane stirred two lumps of sugar into her tea and a plan started forming in her mind. The fire brigade hadn’t secured the building, but, as soon as they did, she could see if there was anything to salvage. She’d kept her most important business papers at the bank, but she had a small safe upstairs. And there were some papers in there that she needed. Desperately.
Chapter 16
Billy walked to the edge of town and up a long lane that led to Hollyhock House Bed and Breakfast. The sun was warm and he took off his leather jacket. He thoughts wandered back to having his second drug-induced heart attack. The darkness had been swallowing him up, and he had called out to God, believing he was dying. Then, everything cleared. He hadn’t walked towards a light like other people described, instead he was in a meadow. And the view had been sort of like this one. Glancing across the fields, he remembered the wonderful impressions he had when he graced the edge of heaven. The fence here in this place and time wasn’t magnificent, like his divine vision of carved mahogany; but it was rustically charming, and a break in the hedge revealed a large stone house that had stood sentinel over the village for ages.
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