Red is for Rubies

by Linda Mitchelmore

  ‘Two hundred and three?’ Jonty said.

  ‘Yes. You haven’t been looking in there lately, have you? You were too taken up with her. Is she dead yet? I always stick a strand of hair over the catch on my cuttings box so I know when you’ve opened it. You didn’t know I did that, did you? We used to do that as children to keep our own things private. How could you have forgotten? I rang up a nice girl at The Times. She’s got a daughter called Emma too, you know? Only I think my Emma is much prettier and by far the more good baby. The Times lady’s Emma cries at night and keeps her poor mummy awake. She said the Editor would be very interested in my story because Hugh is big league at the moment. What’s big league, Jonty?’

  ‘In this instance, Becs, it probably means the newspapers are very interested in him.’ God, what an unholy mess was going to be all over the papers before long. Political sleaze – top news this week, all forgotten next week. At least, Jonty hoped it would be. He wished at that moment he had somewhere to hide. How long before the papers sussed out he’d been looking after Hugh Harris’s wife for decades?

  ‘So, I did the right thing?’ Becca asked. ‘There, I’ve finished Emma’s packing now. But I don’t think I’ll pack anything for myself. I’ll buy all new things when I get there. What fun that will be! I haven’t had anything new in ages. I might dress all in orange, or all in turquoise – try something new. Hugh will like that. He will come to see me, won’t he? And all my clothes are loose on me now. Will the food be good there, where I’m going? Will they know to cut the crusts off?’ Becca’s voice was higher-pitched than normal with excitement.

  ‘Pack a few things, Becs,’ Jonty suggested. There were too many questions for him to answer and past experience was telling him Becca had already forgotten she’d even asked them. ‘A nightie and some undies?’

  ‘No! You’re spoiling it for me! I want new!’

  The Irish doctor put a hand on Jonty’s arm. ‘Go along with it. It won’t matter much, will it?’

  You have no idea, mate, Jonty thought. Once she gets where she’s going and she finds she hasn’t got her velvet tops and her scarves she’s going to go ape. But he was too tired to try and persuade both the doctors and Becca otherwise. When was the last time he’d slept? Yesterday or the day before?

  ‘Okay, Becs. New it is then,’ he said wearily. He helped Becca pull the zip around the case.

  ‘The rubies?’ Jonty asked the doctors, meaning ought he try and get them off Becca now.

  The Irish doctor waved the palms of his hands towards Jonty in a ‘leave it’ gesture, and Jonty guessed the rubies would be taken from her by whatever means and locked up for safe-keeping much as Becca herself was being locked up.

  ‘I’m ready!’ Becca clapped the palms of her hands together happily. ‘Will there be postcards? And cafés where I can buy a crème de menthe? Hugh used to buy me crème de menthe – it’s my favourite.’

  Hugh used to buy you a lot of things, Becs, Jonty thought, hugging her to him. And the worst bloody thing of all was the abortion. The bastard! And all this exposure wouldn’t even ruin his political career if past sleazebags were anything to go by.

  ‘Have a …’ Jonty whispered into Becca’s hair. It smelled of vanilla and it tickled his nose. And how much more silver there was in it now. Perhaps Becca’s memory was going and she wasn’t putting a rinse on it every other wash. Ought he to have said something, helped her do it? Too late for that now. He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead. But how the hell could he say ‘Have a lovely time?’ God, he was going to miss her, as mad as she was.

  And then she was gone from the room, a doctor either side; one holding the case, the other gently cupping Becca’s elbow as she carried a heavily swathed Emma.

  Jonty heard their slow progress down the metal stairs into the workshop, then out through the door to the courtyard. Slowly he walked to the window, looked down just as Becca looked up and waved at him, gave him a radiant smile. She was wearing every single ruby in the box and they all caught the rays from the sun, throwing beams of red light, dazzling. Jonty waved back, blew a kiss like he used to when Becca was the big sister and he was the younger brother stopping at home as she went out on a date.

  ‘She’s lit up like a bloody Christmas tree.’ Jonty’s voice was a croak, then it broke and he howled and howled, an animal sound reverberating around the room, making the window rattle in its frame. ‘Oh, Becs, I’m so sorry. I tried, but it wasn’t good enough. This is for the best.’ Jonty knew Becca couldn’t hear him but it was better out than in.

  ‘I’m going to have to ring Jonty, Mum. I don’t want you to have to cope with Amy today.’ Drew was looking down at his daughter, one hand on her hot little forehead as he spoke.

  ‘Don’t be daft. I do it all the time. Kiddies get temperatures all the time too.’

  ‘No. I’m stopping.’

  Drew knew he was more than likely overreacting but now with the news that Amy was to get her op, why did she have to fall ill? Might it be another bout of meningitis?

  ‘It won’t be like last time,’ his mother said, gently. ‘Look, I’ll put another fever strip on her, see if it’s going down.’

  ‘No. Go down and ring the doctor instead. Please, Mum. It’s not long until the appointment for Amy’s operation assessment. She has to be well for that.’

  Drew had rung the specialist hearing centre and been told that as she’d had scans to determine the size of the implant she would need, the sooner the operation went ahead now the better.

  ‘She will be. But things happen to kiddies all the time, all sorts of things. She could have a fall from her bike. Anything. There will be other appointments, Drew. If they’ve said the funding is there for the operation then it still will be. Just not when you expected it to be perhaps.’

  ‘You’re not being a lot of comfort.’

  ‘I know. But you’re overreacting. Go to work, she’ll be fine. I’ll ring you if she gets any worse.’

  ‘No you won’t. You’ll ring the doctor.’

  Amy began to make a strange mewing sound. Not a cry as hearing children cry. But what satisfaction could Amy get by crying when she couldn’t hear the sound she was making?

  ‘After I’ve checked her temperature.’

  ‘Mum …’ Drew pressed his lips together to stop him from saying anything else. His mother was taking over again. Just as soon as Amy had had her op he’d think about finding a different way of coping. It had been a mistake coming back to live in his mother’s house, but what else could he have done in the circumstances? He needed to work and he couldn’t afford childcare for Amy, even if he’d wanted to. Sod Mel for walking out on them. Sod her, sod her, sod her. He bit his lip, feeling his tiredness and his worry begin to manifest themselves as tears.

  ‘I’ll get the strips. They’re in the drawer over there. I always keep them handy. Kiddies get temperatures at night mostly.’

  ‘Okay. Get the strips. I’ll put it on.’ Drew gave in, knowing when he was beaten.

  ‘If you say so,’ his mother sniffed.

  Oh dear, she wasn’t liking having her authority questioned.

  ‘I do say so. I’m her dad,’ Drew said firmly.

  But Amy’s temperature had gone down a few degrees. Almost normal.

  ‘See,’ his mother said. ‘I told you.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad you’re right. Sorry I was a bit of a bear but I’m worried for Amy.’

  ‘We both are, love.’

  Drew wondered when he would ever be able to go surfing again, go out with some mates and have a few beers, get happily squiffy again. Most of his mates had dropped away anyway – there were only a certain number of times a bloke could say no, he couldn’t come on the trip, weren’t there? And would he ever find another woman who would understand that Amy would always be paramount in his concerns? He couldn’t see Grace being that woman then wondered why Grace had jumped into his mind as even being a contender. Someone to go out with, have sex with maybe. No, scratch
that. He wouldn’t use Grace – not least because Jonty would probably kill him now if he did.

  ‘I don’t suppose the worry will ever go away, will it, Mum? Even when she gets this op Amy won’t be like other children, will she?’

  ‘Oh, love,’ his mum said, ‘don’t say that. And for what it’s worth, Amy’s got the right dad.’ She gave Drew’s shoulder a squeeze before turning away and going downstairs.

  She wasn’t one for showing affection, his mum. But thank God she was there. He was going to have to break her in gently to the idea that after the op he was going to have to look for another place to live.

  But first, he had to get to work and see what he could do to help Jonty who was in far deeper cowpats than Drew himself was.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘You’ll be okay, Gracie,’ Justin said. ‘Your old man’s loaded. He’ll probably buy his little girl a house. A flat at least.’

  ‘How can you say that? That’s a very below the belt thing to say. Things don’t replace love.’

  ‘It might be easier if you try and forget you ever loved me.’ Justin’s voice was flat, devoid of any emotion at all – impossible for Grace to read anything into his choice of words.

  ‘Why? Is that what you’ve done already over me? Forgotten?’

  ‘I’m a right shit, aren’t I?’ Justin said. ‘But I’m trying to make it easy for you.’ He grabbed a scarf from the rack by the front door and wound it round his throat. ‘I hope by the time I get back, Grace, you’ll have gone.’

  ‘Say it’s not true. I don’t believe you. This is some sort of sick joke.’ Grace’s words were coming out staccato fashion with the shock of what Lydie had just told her. It had to be something to do with her head injury making her misunderstand things.

  Her father was dead? Dead? A small stroke, then a massive one. No pain. For him, no. But me? And Mum? Why was her mother looking so calm?

  Lydie nodded, then shook her head. Yes, it is true, no it’s not a joke – Grace knew exactly what her mother meant.

  ‘I’ve just seen him,’ Lydie said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And there’s no doubt. I was told the police would need to see me but from what the ambulance crew have told the hospital, it seems we are to be spared that. Although there will be an autopsy …’

  ‘Stop! I know what that means.’

  ‘Oh, darling.’ Lydie leaned forward to put her arms around Grace but Grace pushed her mother away.

  ‘Why did you have to go running back to Bath? You would have been with him if you hadn’t done that. Then he wouldn’t have died alone. That must be the worst thing in the world – to die alone with no one to hold your hand, no one to kiss you, tell you they love you. If I hadn’t had this accident I’d have been home with Dad. Maybe there would have been something I could have done. Reflexology or something. There was a client in the restaurant I got to know quite well, Sally Baker, and she told me that if you massage the big toes immediately after a stroke then the effects are lessened and often there is a complete cure. Did you know that?’

  ‘I read about it somewhere,’ Lydie said.

  ‘Well, I could have done that,’ Grace said. ‘If I’d been there. Or you could have. If you’d been there instead of in Bath with Granddad.’

  Grace knew she was saying too much but she couldn’t stop herself. While she was talking at least she couldn’t hear any other horrors about what might have happened to her dad.

  ‘Don’t you think I know all those things?’ Lydie said.

  Grace pressed her lips together then took in a big rush of air and began to speak again.

  ‘You didn’t want to move down here did you, Mum? You couldn’t wait to get back, could you? We hadn’t even finished unpacking for God’s sake! And Dad was so happy here, so happy playing with his art gallery after years of muck and dirt on building sites. He was trying to better himself. For you. For us. Why couldn’t you at least have stopped longer than a couple of weeks, Mum?’

  ‘It was longer than that. More like two months. And no one’s to blame,’ Lydie said. ‘It’s all been a bit much, hasn’t it? The accident, Justin on the TV just now. Your Dad.’

  ‘I didn’t want to come here either. Not really. But I was trying to make the best of things. RED is a total mess, and that Becca is a complete fruitcake, but in a strange way I was enjoying it all even though I’d only been there such a short time. I sort of felt I belonged in a way. Jonty and Drew make some great stuff, they just need a marketing strategy, a bit of PR.’ Grace reached up and gingerly felt the puckered, still blood-encrusted place on her forehead. ‘It’s so different from the restaurant in every way – less people about, less stress for me with no staff problems to sort, nothing to go wrong with stoves and microwaves or stuff. Jonty’s a great bloke, Mum. The way he lets Drew – that’s the guy who does the throwing with Jonty – have time off to take his daughter to the hospital. It can’t be easy for him with Becca always on the edge of his mind. I noticed he only listens with half an ear in the studio, the rest of him listening out for Becca moving about in the flat above. What’s he going to do about Becca?’

  Grace had exhausted herself with her chatter and leaned back wearily against the pillows. In talking about people who were still alive was she hoping in some way to reverse this conversation she was having with her mother? She had only dreamed that Ralph had died, hadn’t she?

  ‘Becca?’

  ‘Jonty’s sister. I’m sure there’s a long story there.’

  ‘I’m sure there is,’ Lydie said. ‘But can we get back to your dad? There’ll be a funeral to organise, people to tell. Is there anything special you’d like to do for him?’

  ‘Apart from bring him back to life you mean?’ Grace said, her voice petering out from shock and exhaustion. There was a hotness spreading up inside her and she knew it would manifest itself in tears. She pushed her head back further into the pillows waiting for the tears to come. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m being a complete cow. This must be just as bad for you, if not worse.’

  ‘Worse,’ Lydie repeated. ‘Hold my hand, Grace, I’m scared. Please?’

  Grace reached out and took her mother’s proffered hand. It was icy cold, made even more icy to Grace because she was hot from her anger and the medication she’d been given.

  ‘Oh, Mum, what are we going to do without him?’ She wrapped her other hand over the top of Lydie’s, feeling the rings Ralph had bought her mother pressing into the palm of her hand.

  ‘I really don’t know. I really don’t. I wish I did.’

  ‘It’s like someone’s just built a concrete block wall between us and the rest of the world, isn’t it?’ Grace said.

  ‘That’s exactly it. I was just thinking the same thing.’

  ‘When can I see Dad?’

  ‘I’ll go and ask a nurse, shall I? We’ll go together.’

  ‘Okay,’ Grace said. She watched her mother walk, as if in slow motion, towards the door, then fatigue and grief overwhelmed her and she slipped gratefully into sleep – an escape from it all for now.

  Lydie refused to look at the clock on the wall or her watch. She had no idea how long she’d been sat watching Grace sleep. But this time it was a more natural sleep than the drug-fuelled one of the night before.

  She’d been to the mortuary and formally identified Ralph to the Coroner’s Officer. Lydie had been glad that part of her was her father’s daughter, able to place a dignified distance between her emotions and people she didn’t know.

  Lydie traced a vein on Grace’s arm with a forefinger. How smooth her skin was, how young. But old enough to absorb the information that Lydie knew she would have to tell Grace soon – that Ralph was not her biological father. Should she tell her after Ralph’s funeral? Or before? Was there going to be a right time? And where should she do it? Somewhere where Grace could rant and shout, get angry as it would be her right to be angry? Up on the moors perhaps, or maybe Lydie would drive them over to Bantham and walk along the cli
ff path? Or should she not tell her at all?

  ‘I’m sorry, Gracie,’ Lydie whispered. ‘So sorry.’ But the words sounded banal, worthless, even to her own ears.

  ‘What was that?’ Grace asked sleepily, rubbing stickiness from the corners of her eyes.

  ‘I was just mumbling,’ Lydie lied. How adept a liar she had become, and how she was hating herself for it.

  ‘What did the nurse say? About me seeing Dad, I mean.’

  ‘Not just yet. They want to run a few tests on you first.’

  ‘Oh.’ Grace was feeling her neck, searching the folds of her nightdress for something. ‘My pendant. It’s gone.’

  ‘I think Jonty has it. Yes, I’m sure he has. He showed it to me. And then he put it in his pocket.’

  How false my voice is sounding, Lydie thought. Any minute now Grace was going to challenge her, detect the lies that were poisoning her body, making her feel sick with shame.

  ‘Does he know I’m still here?’

  ‘Yes. No. Oh, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Mum, you’re sounding a bit odd. Maybe you should go home? I’ll see if they’ll discharge me and I’ll come with you. Where’s the buzzer thing?’ Grace groped about with both hands trying to find the buzzer control.

  ‘Jonty said he’d come back as soon as he could. As soon as he’d seen a doctor about his sister. Yes, that’s what he said. Perhaps we’d better wait until then?’

  ‘You’ve rung him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Lydie said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

  But Grace was very quick to pick it up. ‘Well, I don’t remember him saying that when I was in A&E.’

  ‘Possibly not,’ Lydie said. ‘You were drifting in and out of sleep. I caught up with him in the car park afterwards. He told me then.’

  ‘But didn’t you leave ages after him? Why would he be waiting for you in the car park?’

  ‘Grace. Stop it! What is this?’

  ‘Look Mum, I’ve just been through a similar experience with Justin – half-answered questions and that flush spreading up his neck as he dug himself deeper into a hole of deceit. Look in the mirror, Mum – at your neck. You’re digging yourself in deep for some reason. Oh God, don’t tell me there’s more?’