“Oh Lily,” Tom said with a sigh. “When are you going to learn not to go interfering in people’s lives and jumping to conclusions? You don’t even know that she was talking to her husband?”
Lily practically quivered in frustration. “I am not jumping to conclusions,” she cried. “Honestly I’m not, and it was her husband she was yelling at. He made her cry... Oh, and by the way, she’s finished Bobby’s book, you know.”
For a moment Tom froze, emotion flooding through him. “She promised me that I’d be the first to read it when it was done,” he said, remembering.
“Well then ask her,” Lily suggested. “She can only say no and it must be at least two weeks since you spoke to her so it’ll give you an excuse.”
“I’ll see,” Tom promised. “Maybe tomorrow. Now you need to get off home. Mum will be worried...and, Lily.”
“Yes...”
“Stop worrying about Ali. I’m sure she can look after herself.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AFTER LILY LEFT Tom couldn’t get the information she’d given him out of his head. So Ali’s husband didn’t want anything to do with the baby; if that was true then what was she going to do now? Lily also said that Ali had finally finished Bobby’s book without letting him know. Despite their differences he’d thought she might have told him; she had promised that he’d be the first to read it. Perhaps he should just go and talk to her, as Lily had suggested. But if she said no it would make the situation between them even more difficult than it was now. No, he decided, a promise was a promise and her book was about Bobby after all; he had a right to read it.
She answered on his second knock and as the door swung open anticipation flickered inside him, overcoming his doubts.
“Oh... Tom,” she said, nervously pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. Then she stood aside, motioning him in. “Are you looking for Lily?”
“Lily...er...no,” he responded. “I just... Lily said you’d finished your book.”
Ali nodded. “I’ve sent it to a publisher friend of mine to see what he thinks.”
For a moment he hesitated, feeling hurt and annoyed. “But you said you’d let me be the first to read it,” he reminded her.
He looked tired, Ali thought, tense; it made her heart ache. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to read it now after...you know.”
“After what?” he asked.
She shrugged awkwardly. “Well we’ve hardly been getting along well lately, have we. It’s been weeks since we’ve even spoken.”
“A promise is a promise,” he insisted. “No matter how the situation has changed.”
“I know that, I just didn’t think you were interested anymore.”
He held her gaze, raising his eyebrows slightly. “Interested in you, do you mean?”
She felt her cheeks flush. “No of course not,” she snapped, annoyed with herself for rising to the bait but unable to help a sudden rush of anger. “I just didn’t think you were interested in the book that’s all.”
“But why wouldn’t I be?” Tom responded. “After all it is about my brother.”
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice distant and cool. “The brother you thought I was sleeping with.”
“Look, I...” he began. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before turning abruptly and walking out.
“Tom,” Ali called after him, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. Okay, when he’d asked her if the baby was Bobby’s it had really hurt, but bearing grudges and making sarcastic comments wasn’t helping anyone. Tom was entitled to his own opinion and she couldn’t blame him for thinking the worst. Everyone else surely would.
“Just forget it,” he responded without looking back.
It was almost dark when Ali placed a copy of Bobby’s book in a plastic bag and slipped out of the door.
The night air was cold and a blustery wind blew in from the sea, lifting her hair in a tangled cloud above her head. She clasped her arms about herself, looking out across the dark shimmering water. Way out in the bay she could see the lights of a fishing boat, a stark reminder of her one tragic fishing trip. She gripped Bobby’s book tightly, remembering. What if Tom refused to read it or what if he hated it; what if she’d got it all wrong?
She could see him through a crack in the curtains; he was sitting quite still staring into space. Oh how she wished she hadn’t made that cheap remark; placing the plastic bag carefully on the step outside his front door she knocked twice before hurrying off.
* * *
TOM CLOSED HIS EYES, going through their stupid conversation; if only he’d been more civil. He was hurt that she’d finished the book without telling him and then sent it off for some stranger to read about Bobby’s life before he did; his impulsive question about Bobby being the baby’s dad had obviously hurt her a lot, and the crazy thing was that until the words had left his mouth he’d really thought he trusted her. Deep down though he hadn’t or the thought would have never come into his head. So did he trust her now, he asked himself? Did he even know? Perhaps she was right to be so angry and disappointed.
He heard a sound at the door, breaking through his reverie. A knock? He went to see what the noise was, throwing open the front door only to have it pushed back in his face by the wind that was howling across the bay. Grasping the handle firmly he peered out into the semidarkness. Ali’s lights were on, he noted, warm and bright in the black night; was it Ali who’d knocked, he wondered, or had the wind just hurled something against his door?
When the moon slid out from behind a dark cloud its pale light picked out a movement from farther along the shore. Was someone there? “Hello,” he called, stepping outside. “Hello.”
The only response to his call was the high-pitched moan of the wind and he turned away from the stormy night, eager to get back inside. His foot hit something on the step and he stopped in surprise to see a plastic bag shining in the moonlight; picking it up carefully he felt the weight and shape of it in his hands, his heart lightening. So it had been Ali.
Closing the door behind him, he put the bag on the table and carefully withdrew the manuscript, staring down at the title that leaped out at him.
A Fisherboy’s Tale.
For Bobby.
Tom read Ali’s words with a sense of amazement; laughter came alongside pain, and the joy in the pages made him feel as if he was on a roller coaster of emotion that left him breathless. The stories she told of Bobby as a boy growing up in the shadow of his two brothers were so real that he couldn’t understand how Ali had gleaned so much information. Of course when she first came to Jenny Brown’s Bay she’d spent a lot of time talking to some of the older fishermen who frequented the pub; it had all been just about the fishing back then but she’d absorbed the atmosphere of the place and they were sure to have told her tales about the Roberts boys.
She’d also taken in everything he’d told her in their early chats, and when he’d called round in the evenings; she must have a real way of drawing people out because he couldn’t even remember telling her some of the stories in the book and they had to have come from him. Like the day when, after being told off by their dad, ten-year-old Bobby had decided to run away to sea; Tom had followed and found him looking for a fishing vessel to stow away on. He’d explained to Bobby there were only local fishermen in the bay, and persuaded him to come home, promising he wouldn’t tell a soul.
And then there was the tale Tom had told her about five-year-old Bobby fishing for crabs on the mysterious sand bank island that wasn’t mysterious at all; tears brimmed as he relived that day as if it was just yesterday, feeling every moment. Every antic Ali recounted brought pain and a terrible sense of loss but also so much joy. He recalled the laughter they’d shared when they were walking the dogs along the beach and he’d told her about the caves that were revealed only at low tide. He, Ned and Bobby had decided to go and search fo
r the treasure that they’d heard was stowed away in the caves. It could have gone horribly wrong when they’d almost got trapped, but as usual they’d escaped by the skin of their teeth. That story had made Ali laugh, he remembered now, reading about it in the book. She was good at laughter, wholehearted and spontaneous; he liked that.
It was the summer he turned fifteen when they searched for the caves and the treasure; Ned was eleven and Bobby must have been only six. Whatever had he been thinking to put his younger brothers at such risk? It was the last time though. The following year he’d left school and become a proper fisherman, way too old for kid’s adventures, or so he’d believed.
After that the stories Ali told were unfamiliar; they were about Bobby and Ned and latterly Bobby and Lily. In one incident, if it was true, Bobby had taken six-year-old Lily to the small island around the headland that was supposed to be haunted by Old Bill, an elderly fisherman with a long white beard. If you saw him it was said that you’d have good luck with your fishing for ten years. Bobby and Lily had crept around the island and started screaming when they thought they saw Old Bill. He turned out to be a white goat that must have somehow managed to get onto the island at low tide. Bobby and Lily had then corralled the goat onto their boat and set it free on the mainland.
Now where had Ali heard about that, he wondered. From Lily he’d guess. In fact most of the rest of the tales had probably come from Lily: after all she had spent most of her life either listening to her brothers talk about their exploits or being directly involved herself. Most of the stories were slightly exaggerated of course but they were all based on fact and inspired by Bobby’s life. She’d used the real names too; he liked that.
The main thing that came through, was Bobby’s character, that fun-loving, high-spirited character that they all loved and missed so much, beautifully portrayed by Ali. She’d managed to show his serious side, too, his pride at catching his first fish, his efforts to become as good at fishing as his brothers, his love of the sea and the life they all led. And as Tom read the final pages while the pale light of dawn crept over the horizon, he wept with both sorrow and joy for a life well lived but for way too short a time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ALI SLEPT RESTLESSLY, wondering if Tom was reading Bobby’s book. What if he hated it, what if he thought all the facts were wrong, what if he thought it didn’t do his brother justice?
She’d stored up so many bits of information, from Tom and from Lily, and Bobby when he was alive. At first she’d been writing about fishing as a way of life, listening to the fishermen who went into the pub in the evenings. Each and every snippet of information she’d carefully stored up, either on bits of paper or just inside her head. By going through it all again and again she’d gradually formed a picture of Bobby as a boy and she’d tried to tell a truthful tale of a special young man.
Tom’s approval of her book, Bobby’s book, meant so much to her. They may not have a future together now but her feelings for him were as strong as ever. She needed to cling to her pride, though, so he would never know that.
Trying to put her apprehension about the book from her mind, Ali grabbed a piece of toast, drank down her cup of breakfast tea and reached for Freckles’s lead. “Come on, young lady,” she called.
The pup ran eagerly toward her, and after snapping on the lead she headed out of the front door into the fresh morning air. All traces of last night’s turbulent weather had disappeared. The sea was tranquil, sparkling in the summer sun, and the gentle, rhythmic swish of waves upon the shore brought Ali a whole new sense of peace. Inside her belly Daisy kicked, making her jump, and she laughed out loud, counting her blessings. For now at least she lived in an amazing place, she had no money worries and the baby she carried was healthy and strong. Her book was finished and it was time to focus on preparing for Daisy’s birth. At the moment she had only herself to take care of; but once Daisy arrived she’d be half of a “we” and she’d never really be alone again. She liked the idea, she decided, heading along the shore with the sea breeze in her face.
She’d walked only for a few minutes when she saw a man approach. At first glance her heart began to race; was it Tom? As he came closer she drew back. It was Ned, walking toward Cove Cottages. Her thoughts raced and her breathing quickened; should she say hi or should she just ignore him? Maybe she could simply nod and scuttle by.
As he came alongside her he hesitated. “Hi,” she said, hoping friendly was the best approach.
He glared at her. “I need to know the truth.”
Dismayed by his show of aggression but feeling that she owed him, Ali stopped. “What do you mean, Ned? The truth about what?”
He looked her up and down, focusing on her baby bump. “About the baby. It’s Bobby’s, isn’t it.”
Anger soaked up her initial alarm. “This baby is mine,” she insisted, wrapping her arm protectively around the familiar bump. “And it has nothing to do with your brother whatever you might like to think.”
As she tried to walk past him he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Well I think you’re lying,” he said determinedly.
The ferocity of his accusation brought a vague shiver of apprehension but her anger overrode it. “The trouble with you, Ned,” she announced, looking him straight in the eyes, “is that you can’t read people and you jump to conclusions without thinking things through. I don’t have to defend myself to you anyway. You’re just soaked up by bitterness and jealousy and that’s sad.”
“How can I not feel bitter when my brother died because of you?”
“And you’re saying that it was my fault?”
For a moment Ned hesitated. “Well you did make him bring you here—and you put us all against each other by insisting that you come out on the boat that day... He was in love with you. It was obvious.”
Seeing the pain in his face Ali hesitated, her anger draining away. “This baby isn’t Bobby’s, Ned,” she told him. “Maybe you’re right and he was in love with me, but if that’s true then I certainly didn’t know it. If that makes me selfish then I’m sorry, but Bobby and I were just friends as far as I was concerned...good friends.”
Ned frowned, going over their conversation in his head. “So why did you say I was jealous?”
His question shook her. When she’d blurted out the words it had been on impulse, to hurt him maybe. For a moment she thought about it. “Just an observation I suppose,” she eventually said. “I’m a journalist—it’s my job to notice things about people.”
“Pity you didn’t notice how Bobby felt then,” he snapped. “And who do you think I’m jealous of anyway?”
“Well, your brothers of course, but don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that you don’t love them. It’s just...”
“Just what?”
“Well,” she replied cautiously. “As the eldest son Tom has always been in charge, I suppose. It was obvious to me right from the start that you resented that slightly. You went against him that day on the boat remember and backed Jed and Bobby about me coming out with you.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” Ned muttered.
“Also,” Ali went on, ignoring his quip, “Tom has always been the one your dad listens to, despite the fact that you work with Search and Rescue. It was different for Bobby—he got away with anything he wanted because of his charm, but I think you sometimes felt left out.”
“Well you’re wrong about that,” Ned insisted, his face turning a dull red. “And I do love my brothers, always have.”
On impulse Ali reached out and touched his arm. “I know you do,” she said, softening toward him. “There’s always jealousy with siblings though, that’s just how it is. It doesn’t mean you don’t care about each other.”
“And did you care at all?” he asked quietly. “About Bobby. Or were you just using him?”
Ali drew back her hand. “Of course I cared about Bobby..
.just not in the way you think. And I wasn’t using him.”
“Well if that is true and he really isn’t your baby’s dad then who is? Tom...is it Tom?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ali snapped.
Ned shrugged. “Or maybe you’re lying to all of us and it really is Bobby’s baby. After all he isn’t here to tell us the truth is he.”
“But why would I lie about that?” Ali insisted. “After all it would be quite convenient to have your family’s backing and you’d never know the truth, would you.”
“Have you never heard of DNA tests?” Ned said. “All you have to do is fill in a form online and send some money. They’ll supply the stuff you need to take a swab from the inside of your mouth and hey presto, it’s as simple as that. And it doesn’t even have to be you—anyone who has access to your baby could do it.”
Ali stiffened, biting her tongue to keep back an angry retort. “I don’t need a DNA test to know who my baby’s father is,” she said, holding her head high as she started to walk away. “And it’s no one else’s business so I suggest you just back off.”
Several yards on she couldn’t resist glancing back to see if Ned was still there. To her surprise he was standing motionless, watching her retreat. Did he believe her about Bobby? she wondered; somehow she didn’t think so. Someone had managed to make Tom doubt her credibility, no matter what he said, and she didn’t need to look very far to guess who that might be. Ned Roberts had a lot to answer for and he was obviously hurting more than anyone realized.
Ali walked to the headland, waiting patiently while Freckles investigated the scents and sights that surrounded them. As she headed back toward the row of cottages that sat at the very edge of the shore a dull, nagging pain settled across her back and she felt a wave of weariness wash over her.
“I think I’ve overdone it girl,” she said, reaching down to scratch the pup’s ears. Or was it just her unpleasant confrontation with Ned that had caused the dip in her spirits.
A Home for Her Baby Page 14