‘You best go, then.’ Tess swatted Evie away. ‘I’ll see to Dylan.’
‘Thank you.’ Evie kissed Tess’s cheek and then crunched her way to the Mini. ‘What would I do without you?’ She climbed in and started the engine. ‘Did you have a good afternoon?’
‘I did, thanks. Which reminds me—’
Logan’s red alert tone sirened its way around the drive.
‘Sorry. I have to go. Tell me about it later, yes?’ Evie shut the door, waved to Tess, and drove away, fighting to keep her head above the swamp of guilt into which she was sinking – guilt swilling round her ankles because she wasn’t at Logan’s when he needed her, guilt sucking at her waist because she’d failed to maintain Dylan’s boundaries, and guilt engulfing her chest for having to rely on Tess so much.
And for not finding the time to talk to her about her afternoon.
Or Neil.
‘Tomorrow,’ Evie said to herself, ignoring another blast from her phone. ‘We’ll go out and we’ll talk and we’ll start making up for lost time. Before it’s too late.’
If Griff would look after Dylan, Evie and Tess could go out for the evening. They could go for a pizza, or to the cinema. Evie couldn’t recall the last film she’d seen on the big screen. ‘I must have taken Tess,’ she muttered.
It wasn’t when Neil was around, that was a given. He’d forbidden Evie from setting foot in the place.
‘You’re not going,’ he’d said. ‘It’s full of dirty pervs in the back row, playing with themselves, waiting for sluts like you to turn up and finish the job.’
So she didn’t go. Not for Neil’s sake, though. For Tess’s. There was no way Evie could have taken her to watch a film without Tess chatting about it afterwards. They’d have been found out on the spot, Neil would have punished them, and Tess would have always associated a pleasurable activity with her father’s wrath.
It had been that way for Evie and sex.
Until she met Griff.
Who, at this moment in time, has vanished from the face of the earth.
‘Where are you?’ Evie said, turning into a side road.
She’d not heard from him all day and she could only imagine his heartache over losing Ozzy. She wanted to see Griff and hold him and let him know he’d done the right thing, but he wasn’t returning her calls or messages, and he hadn’t turned up at the cottage, not even for Dylan.
With no time to progress her thoughts, Evie pulled up outside Logan’s house and set her mental status from useless wife to able carer.
Having interrogated Evie as to why she hadn’t replied to his last three texts, Logan was now showered, in his dressing gown, and eating a late supper of tomato soup and a warmed roll.
‘It feels a bit back-to-front,’ Evie said, emerging from the kitchen.
‘I needed a shower there and then,’ Logan retorted. ‘Before I had tea. I bet you take one when you want.’ He held the spoon as close to his mouth as he was able, and sipped at the soup. A red trickle ran down his chin. He huffed, put his spoon on his tray and wiped his face.
‘I promise you, with a two-year-old and a teen sharing the bathroom, I rarely get in there on my terms.’ It wasn’t a harsh comment or a criticism of Logan’s needs, it was a simple comparison to show him how Evie’s life sometimes mirrored his. ‘And when I do stake my claim, I’m hassled out within ten minutes. I swear the children would be in there with me given the chance.’ She stopped. That was a thoughtless thing to say when she’d just assisted Logan in the bathroom. Changing the subject, she took the paper napkin from Logan, and dabbed his chin. ‘Have you heard from Griff?’
Logan picked up a piece of buttered roll. ‘He came to see me on my birthday. Did you know?’
‘Tess mentioned it in passing,’ Evie said. ‘Was everything okay?’ It must have been a shock for Griff to find his father so weak and withered. If it wasn’t for Ozzy’s tragic accident taking Griff away, he’d have been at the cottage demanding an explanation, Evie was sure.
Logan finished his mouthful, and edged his tray towards his knees. ‘Take the plates, will you?’
Evie collected the dishes, deposited them in the kitchen and returned with a handful of grapes. She detached them from the stalk and placed them on the tray. They rolled to the rim.
‘Everything was fine until he took Ozzy out,’ Logan said, attempting to pick up the largest grape. ‘It’s sad about Ozzy. He was a lovely dog.’ Turning his hand palm up, Logan grasped the fruit between his second and third fingers and transported it to his left hand, which he then lifted to his mouth. The grape fell. Logan’s sigh was delivered with an air of defeat. ‘Couldn’t open my jaws wide enough anyway.’
‘I should have cut them. Sorry.’ Evie bent to retrieve the remaining fruit, intending to take them back to the kitchen and slice each of them in half. ‘You’d think I’d know by now.’
‘Throw them,’ Logan said. ‘Unless you want them. I don’t. They’re vile reminders I can’t do anything for myself. Rheumatoid’s a bloody awful disease, Evie. It takes everything away.’
Evie held Logan’s face in her palm and kissed the top of his head. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I wish there was more I could do to help.’
‘You know what will help, but you’ve made your choice. I won’t push you on it any more.’
‘Thank you.’ Evie took the tray, sat in the armchair and returned to the previous topic. ‘Was it Griff who called you about Ozzy?’
Logan ducked his chin back. ‘Good grief, no. He’d used his self-imposed communication time during his visit. He won’t be in touch for weeks now.’
‘Tess, then?’ No one else knew. ‘She was so upset. We both were.’
‘If you stop talking for a second, I’ll tell you.’
Reprimanded, Evie put the tray on the floor, pushed back in her seat, and folded her hands together.
Logan adjusted his position, too, setting his shoulders square and crossing his ankles. ‘Griff brought an old friend with him when he came to visit. Imogen. It was a lovely surprise, but that’s by the by. It was Imogen who told me about Ozzy. She called me today, shortly before I texted you.’
‘Imogen?’ It wasn’t a name with which Evie was familiar. Was she an ex-girlfriend? ‘Why was she with Griff?’
‘They bumped into one another a few weeks ago. It was wonderful to see her on my birthday.’
It was apparent Logan was oblivious to Evie’s concern. ‘But why did Griff bring her here? Are they a couple?’ she said, not believing she had to ask the question.
‘A couple?’ Logan chewed over his reply. ‘I didn’t ask, but it seems unlikely.’
For want of a distraction, Evie fiddled with the weave of her cuff. Her fingers found a loose fibre. If she pulled it, she thought, the seam would unravel. ‘My marriage is hanging on by a thread,’ she said, not bothering to hide her indignation, ‘and for the first time in months Griff visits you, and he’s with another woman.’
‘She’s an old family friend.’
‘How old?’
‘From when Griff was at school.’
‘I meant how old is Imogen?’
‘A few years younger than Griff.’ Logan fingered the knot in his dressing gown belt. ‘Why the interrogation? Can you loosen this?’
‘I think I’m entitled to ask questions when my husband casually turns up with a woman from his past.’ Evie left her chair, crouched beside Logan, and slackened the belt. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ That wasn’t quite the truth. She was thinking how quickly, now she and Griff were separated, Griff had taken his chance to be with an old flame, and that two nights ago, he had indeed used Evie for sex.
‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ Logan said, brushing Evie’s hair away from her face. ‘I think having Imogen around will impact your marriage.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Griff
Portland Bill belonged to a different realm at five-thirty in the morning to the one it inhabited during the normal working day. In t
he dark before the dawn, the dusty-grey car park was empty, apart from Griff’s old Land Rover; the commanding, red-and-white-striped lighthouse stood tall and peaceful; and the small but popular café with its ice cream parlour on the side was waiting for its owners to arrive and remove its shutters.
Even the sea was tranquil.
Some would consider it eerie, ghostly, but for Griff it was a haven; a little piece of heaven where he was going to scatter Ozzy’s ashes. Not today – Ozzy’s body was still at the vet’s – but soon. And early morning was the right time. It was quiet.
‘You know, don’t you?’ Griff said, speaking to the universe. ‘You’re waiting for him.’
It was a favourite walk of Ozzy’s. He’d jump in the back of the car, thump his tail against the wheel arch non-stop for the thirty-minute journey, bark at his arrival, and run free across the grass and rocks of the peninsular.
Griff regarded the landscape. Apart from their family cottage, this was Ozzy’s favourite place. ‘I can’t take you home, old boy.’ By home, Griff didn’t mean the flat. That would never be home. ‘It wouldn’t be fair on Evie and the children. And I wouldn’t be able to visit you.’ Sniffing, Griff ran his thumb under his nose. ‘The garden’s tiny, anyway.’ The Bill provided all the space Ozzy needed. ‘We can come here.’
The associations were strong. Griff could already see the large, lumbering dog galumphing towards the ice cream parlour, willing some poor, unfortunate soul to drop their vanilla scoop on the ground. Ozzy didn’t mind a bit of grit.
It was a good image and one that laid the foundations of a smile on Griff’s lips. His burgeoning comprehension of his father’s desire to connect with Marilyn through him should have built on it further, but a surge of melancholy washed it away.
‘I still wish I could’ve taken you home, Ozzy. Just one more visit to hear Dylan’s laugh when you’re being daft, or see the settling effect you have on Tess, receive a hug from Evie. One last chance for them to see you. Say their goodbyes.’
Not that it eased the pain, but Griff hadn’t made the same promise to Ozzy as he had his mum. There had been no pledge to get him home. He’d not had the time to say much at all.
He had made another vow, though – to do everything possible to save Ozzy – another he was unable to keep.
Awake for two nights on the trot, berating himself, debating whether or not a half-life was worse than death, and questioning the integrity of his judgement, the conclusion Griff reached was that he might have prevented Ozzy suffering indignity and pain. It afforded Griff no comfort. Making the decision on Ozzy’s behalf and then condemning him to death was awful. God only knows what he’d have done if it had been Dylan or Tess lying on the operating table.
‘I never want to be in that position,’ Griff said. ‘Never.’ The concept was too huge to remain contained in his head, so he let it go, hoping an angel, his mum, Kieran, would hear his prayer. ‘We’re guided by the experts,’ he said, his words drifting on the breeze, his mind returning to Ozzy. ‘Is that enough? Should I have explored the options for myself rather than trust their knowledge?’ He clamped a hand around the back of his neck and rolled his head. Lack of sleep and weeks in a rickety, single bed were taking their toll. ‘What if you could talk, Ozzy? What if you’d told me your future was too bleak to contemplate, and you wanted to die? Would I be more accepting of your fate? Is that why Dad could let Mum go?’
Griff dragged his fingers from his neck to his chin, and gave it a hard rub. It was coarse from two days’ stubble. He’d been picked up on it at work. He’d argued they should be grateful he made it in at all, clean-shaven or not. The past few days had been horrendous.
Standing alone, facing Pulpit Rock, he corrected himself: the past few months had been horrendous.
Life was testing his mettle; distracting him, and stealing precious pieces away.
There was nothing on earth that would bring Griff’s faithful pal back; no amount of wishing or what ifs or if onlys would change how things stood. His mum, Kieran – they were gone, too. Taken. Never to return. And nothing could or would change the past.
But Griff had the desire and the capability to put right the present.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and strode across the grass to the car.
If his theory about his dad’s acceptance was right, he might just have found a way to reconcile their differences.
There was only one way to find out.
Having been to the flat, showered and shaved, Griff pressed the bell on Logan’s door, waited, pressed again and entered. It seemed to be the way Logan liked keyholders other than Evie to proceed.
‘Hey, Dad. It’s me.’ He closed the door, stuffed his keys in his pocket and poked his head into the living room.
‘Twice in a week. I’m honoured.’ Logan waved him in. ‘You know where the kettle is.’
Griff traipsed through to the kitchen and set about making two coffees – one white without sugar, and one black with – gazing into the garden until steam fogged his view. ‘Nice job with the shrubs,’ he said, preparing the drinks.
‘That’s Evie’s handiwork,’ Logan said. ‘I direct and she does the manual stuff. I’m training Imogen up next. Did you know she’s agreed to become my second assistant?’
‘Yeah, she told me.’ Griff hadn’t given it much thought since then. Logan sounded pleased with the idea. ‘If you’re happy with the arrangement, that’s great.’
‘I am ecstatic. Not sure what Evie makes of it, though. I think she’s feeling a little pushed out. She’s arranging to meet Imy.’
Griff carried the mugs through to the living room. ‘Evie’s looking out for you, that’s all. And don’t worry, she’ll love her, especially if you have Imogen lumping the compost sacks around instead of her.’ He put his coffee on the floor next to the armchair and waited for Logan to signify he was ready to receive his. ‘That’s how it used to be at the cottage. You directing, me doing the donkey work.’ So far, so good. Logan nodded. Griff lowered the cup into his hands, not prepared to let go until he was positive his father had a decent grip on the handle.
‘I have it,’ Logan said, firmly. ‘And thank you for not overfilling it.’
‘There’s some cold water in it, too.’ Griff repaired to the armchair, relieved at completing the first task without mishap or complaint. ‘I take it Evie’s been and gone.’ He twisted his watch round and checked the time. ‘Is it really only half eight?’
‘It is. And someone my age should be tucked up in bed, enjoying a lie-in, not up, dressed and breakfasted. That’s an observation,’ Logan added, promptly. ‘Not a whinge. I know Evie has other responsibilities. I can’t deny it would be nice not to have to fit my life into others’ schedules, though. I wonder if Imy’s a late riser.’
Griff watched as Logan fought to raise the cup to his mouth. With two fingers hooked around the handle and his other hand supporting the base, it was a precarious move, which had Griff on the edge of his seat, ready to dive to his father’s aid.
The mug jogged up and down, as Logan laughed. ‘At ease, son. I’ve drunk hundreds of hot drinks this way. It’s when I have the steak knife in my hand you should worry.’
Griff kicked back and folded his hands across his stomach. ‘Would that be for your Aberdeen Angus fillet steak?’
‘Aye. It would.’
‘The old vernacular,’ Griff said, appreciating his father returning to his Scottish roots. ‘I must have been at school the last time I heard you say aye.’
‘You probably were. It disappeared. Living in Wales did that. I went all Ivor Emmanuel. It was your mam’s fault.’
In one sentence Logan had travelled from the remote Scottish Highlands to the busy Welsh town of Pontypridd.
‘Mum never lost her accent, did she?’ Griff smiled as he recalled the soft, silken quality of Marilyn’s voice.
‘We both experienced it full on when she was having a go at us. Do you remember the ticking-off we got when we played cricket with her
baby tomatoes?’
‘And we used the shed door as a wicket.’ Griff’s smile strengthened. ‘She loved those tomato plants.’
‘I loved my shed door.’ Logan laid the empty mug down in the valley of his thighs. ‘I was told to repaint it that summer.’
‘I had to help Mum pot more plants.’
The conversation came to a natural and comfortable end, with Griff cherishing its simplicity and sincerity. It was the first time in years he and his father had shared memories of Marilyn without the volcanic issue of her death erupting.
‘I’m very sorry to hear about Ozzy,’ Logan said. ‘You’re not blaming yourself, are you?’
‘It was my fault, Dad.’ Griff took full responsibility. At the time of the accident, he’d been mulling over his father’s words when he should have been concentrating on his two charges.
He opted against a full disclosure; having established a connection with his father, Griff wasn’t about to sabotage it by implicating him in the incident.
‘I wasn’t paying attention,’ said Griff. ‘I was careless. Stupid. And I know better than that – people depend on me to keep them safe. It’s what I do. One mistake, one idiotic slip of the hand …’ He couldn’t finish. Anger and sorrow made for a heady mix and he needed a moment to regain his balance.
‘So, you’re mad with yourself?’ Logan stretched his hands over the rounded ends of the chair’s arms.
‘Furious,’ Griff said. ‘That’s twice my recklessness has led to fatalities.’ It was such a formal declaration. Professional. As if he was reporting to his senior officer. ‘Two errors, two lives. It’s quite a hit rate.’ With an unpleasant heat crawling up his back, Griff yanked at his collar. The cool air was quick to soothe his neck. ‘I had to make a judgement call about Ozzy. It was bloody difficult.’ He breathed. ‘The vet was great. I’m sure she should have gone home long before I arrived, but she didn’t hassle or rush me. She let me take my time, reach my decision and see it through.’ He pursed his lips, his brain sending signals for him to stop. His head was reluctant to relive Ozzy’s death. Thank God his heart was committed to the cause. Griff had to show his father how far he’d come. How willing he was to learn from this awful situation.
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