He got out of the car and stood beside it hopefully. Would she acknowledge him? Or just walk past?
She saw him when they were a mere hundred yards apart and she didn’t hesitate for a second. Touched by his kindness, she turned the buggy and walked straight across to him in her old friendly way. But when they were standing face to face, she remembered how badly she’d behaved the last time she saw him and she couldn’t think what to say.
He smiled at her and mimed a chauffeur touching his cap. ‘Where to, ma’am?’ he asked.
‘You are kind,’ she responded.
He agreed with her, grinning. ‘That’s me.’
‘To the school first,’ she said. ‘To pick up Jon.’
‘Right, Jon first and then home.’
She put the buggy in the boot and strapped Emma into the back seat as well as she could. ‘I suppose…’ she began.
‘What?’
‘We couldn’t go down to the beach for a little while could we? I haven’t seen the sea for ages.’
‘Nor have I,’ Morgan said, understanding her completely. ‘Hop in. The sea it is.’
Chapter Eighteen
The sea was peacock green that afternoon and patterned with rolling white-horses, the horizon a thick line of indigo blue. Over to the west, the beaches of the Selsey peninsula were clearly visible, yellow under the sun and edged with white foam. Over by the sailing club, the wind surfers were out, their fluttering sails skimming the choppy surface like butterflies, red and orange, emerald green, fuchsia pink, butter yellow. Beyond the pier, a lone brown dinghy headed out to sea, its bow ploughing to a white furrow, its stern low with the weight of an outboard engine sputtering grey smoke.
Emma toddled off to find a patch of sand to dig and Jon ran to the water’s edge and began to throw stones at the waves. The shingle at the shore line was washed clean and bubbled with retreating water. Even the gulls, perched in a chorus line along the breakwaters, looked as though they’d been newly groomed. It was a bright, brisk, beautiful afternoon.
Yet the magic was not working, as Morgan could see all too clearly. Alison was quiet but not comforted. She didn’t smile and she didn’t look at him. She stared out to sea, biting her bottom lip.
‘Lovely, issen it,’ he encouraged her.
But she sighed. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, watching the dinghy, ‘I wish I had a boat. I’d like to get in and head straight out to sea and never come back.’
This will have to be handled with caution, Morgan thought. ‘That’s a bit drastic,’ he said, keeping his tone light and slightly teasing.
She sat down on the pebbles. ‘Well not never, perhaps, but not for a very long time,’ she said. ‘What I mean is, I can see why people run away.’
‘You’d like to run away?’ Morgan said, sitting down beside her and glancing at her averted profile. It was her undamaged side and her skin looked soft and vulnerable.
‘Sometimes. Yes. I would.’
She’d given him the chance to say ‘Run away with me’ but he knew this wasn’t the moment. ‘I used to feel like that when I first when to Guildford,’ he told her.
‘Did you?’
‘Often. Homesick, I was. Didn’t know anyone. Missed the sea. I used to think if I had a boat, I’d sail downriver and head for the Channel and go straight back home to Port Talbot. Daft the ideas you get.’
‘You’re very fond of Wales,’ she said, more as a statement than a question.
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you leave? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Lost my job. I was a miner.’
‘Ah!’ she said. ‘That’s where you got those scars.’ She had often wondered and never liked to ask.
‘Right.’
The fact that he’d been a miner impressed her. There was something admirable about miners, something heroic that set them apart from the general run of mankind, as they worked in the danger and darkness of the mines. ‘How long were you…?’
‘Down the pit?’ he finished for her. ‘Six years.’
‘A long time.’
‘It was,’ he said. ‘It was a good life though. We worked together, always helpin’ one another, a team, like.’
‘Wasn’t it dangerous?’
‘Sometimes,’ he said, remembering the roof fall.
‘I think it’s awful the way they closed all those pits.’
‘There’s more to go,’ he said with some passion. ‘It’s not finished. Not by a long chalk. They got a hit list a’ pits still to go. We’re Thatcher’s enemy, you see, miners. She got it in for us.’
‘Rigg’s one of Thatcher’s boys,’ Alison said. ‘He thinks she’s wonderful. When they had that deregulation – do you remember? – and you could borrow as much money as you wanted from banks and building societies, he was so happy. He said we were made. And now we’ve lost the house and all the shops and I don’t know where he is.’
That was news. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No. He came back to see us the other day – after – well you know – but he wouldn’t give me an address or a telephone number or anything.’
‘Why not?’
Out there in the freedom of open beach and wild sea air, it was possible to confide. ‘He says he doesn’t want his creditors to know where he is. I’m not surprised. They’ve sent me some horrible letters. Really heavy. Threatening.’
‘Why did his creditors write to you?’
‘I’m co-director of the video shop. At least I was. They were addressed to him actually but I thought I ought to open them. They say he owes them money for the stock.’
‘Then you’d better give the stock back to them.’
‘I can’t. I sold it to pay the VAT bill.’
‘What, all of it?’
‘It was a big bill. I had to close the shop.’
‘Does Rigg know all this?’
‘He ought to. I wrote to tell him when he was in Spain.’
‘What have you done with the creditors’ letters?’
‘I left them in the house.’
What a mess, Morgan thought, and how cunning the creature’s been. If she’s co-director of that shop she’ll be liable for all his debts there, and I’ll bet he’s got plenty. I should have told her what I knew about him. I ought to tell her now. But she was plainly too unhappy to be burdened with an unwanted confession. It would have to wait.
‘They’re bound to find out where he is sooner or later, aren’t they,’ Alison said. ‘His insolvency consultant’s bound to know. He can’t hide away for ever. I think he’s making a bad mistake.’ She paused, gazing out to sea. ‘But there you are. It’s his life. He’ll have to lead it the way he wants. I used to think I could help him. In fact I used to think I ought to help him. But I know I can’t – not now. Not after he…’ She touched her bruises, bowing her head. The conversation was going too far. She’d have to find some way to change it.
The intimacy of the conversation was taking Morgan’s breath away and making him feel unsteady. After a moment, while she found her balance and he gathered his nerve, he dared to ask, ‘Do you mind about him not living with you?’
She answered honestly. ‘It’s hard work, being a single parent,’ she said. ‘I can’t deny that. But in many ways we’re better off without him. He wasn’t easy to live with. Anyway, I’ve got used to it. He’s been gone a long time.’
‘How long?’
‘Nearly a year.’
Could I tell her what I know about him now? Morgan wondered. Is this the time?
But at that moment, Jon came crashing up the beach over the pebbles. ‘I’m starving,’ he said.
They had a McDonald’s and a Coke, which was much enjoyed. Then both children had an ice-cream, which they smeared on their coats. It was dark by the time Morgan drove them home.
‘It’s been a lovely afternoon,’ Alison said, when he pulled up beside her garden path. ‘I’ve really enjoyed it.’
‘Am I allowed in for five minutes?’ he hoped.
> She looked at him for a few seconds and then smiled. ‘Yes. Of course.’
It was a happy homecoming. They tumbled into the house together, switching on the lights and the television, filling the room with cheerful sound.
‘Give me those coats,’ Alison said to her children, ‘and I‘ll sponge them down.’
‘If you’re good kids an’ get to bed in ten minutes,’ Morgan said, ‘I’ll tell you a Welsh fairy story.’
They were almost exemplary.
The coats were sponged clean by the time Morgan came downstairs.
‘I’ll just hang them in the porch,’ Alison said. ‘On the airer. Then we’ll have a cup of coffee.’
The coffee never got made. Two minutes later she came back into the room with a letter in her hand. Her face was ashen, the bruises etched in dark colour against paper-white cheeks. She looked so dreadful that Morgan was on his feet at once.
‘What is it?’
She held the letter out to him. It was a notice to quit. ‘The owners have intimated to us that your tenancy does not conform to the rules laid down…’ he skimmed the rest of it, looking for a date. She had till the end of March to ‘find other accommodation.’ ‘Oh Alison, cariad!’
His sympathy broke her control. Her face crumpled into crying as hot tears spilled out of her eyes. It was all too much. ‘Just as I thought the worst was over,’ she wept. ‘I’ve worked so hard on this place. And now this.’
He had his arms round her before he could stop to think whether he ought to be holding her or not. ‘My poor dear darling love,’ he said into her hair. ‘My poor dear darling.’
‘It’s not fair,’ she wept. ‘We haven’t done a thing wrong. Not a thing. I mended the window. It wasn’t my fault he broke it. I’ve broken my back keeping everything clean in case they came out to inspect us. Nobody’s been near. How do they know we’ve broken the agreement?’
He drew her head on to his shoulder, smoothing her wet hair out of her eyes. She was warm in his arms and her skin smelt of the sea. It was such a joy to be holding her at last that he could barely speak. ‘Don’t cry cariad,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll look after you.’
But she was too distressed to understand what he’d said. ‘Why now?’ she wept. ‘Why like this? Why didn’t they come round and see the place, talk to me, tell me? Why a rotten letter? It’s not fair to tell me like this. Why didn’t they give me the chance to explain? Somebody must have been telling tales. One of those old cats on the green. They’re always spying, looking out of their rotten windows, tittle-tattling. I’ve a good mind to heave a brick through one of their rotten windows, whoever it is. I should have sailed away this afternoon in that dinghy. That’s what I should have done. Oh Morgan, what am I going to do? I can’t face another move.’
Still holding her, he eased her to the sofa and sat her down sitting beside her with one arm round her shoulder and the other cuddling her into his side. ‘I‘ll help you, cariad,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry.’
But a dam had been breached. There were too many tears to shed for her to stop now. ‘We’ve only just got over the first lot,’ she wept. ‘You don’t know how awful it was … to sit in a court and hear them say you can’t live in your own house. It’s like the end of the world. And moving … There were packing cases all over the place … and it rained all day … and Emma kept grizzling … and the dirt! Oh God, the dirt! We were scraping grease off those cabinets and the loo was brown. And now just when I’ve got it all nice, they go and … It’s not fair. We had such a lovely afternoon too … down on the beach. Poor kids! They’ve both been wetting their beds since he … I have sheets to wash every morning. And now we’ve got to go through it all again. I can’t bear it.’
He let her cry it all out, smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead until her sobs finally subsided and she sat up and blew her nose.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone on like that. It’s just…’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s all right. You can say what you like to me. I love you.’
That made her weep again, slow tears this time, rolling out of the corners of her eyes and falling on to her jersey. ‘Oh Morgan. Do you?’
He looked at her lovely eyes, knowing he would kiss her. The whites were bloodshot from weeping but the pupils were as green and clear as the sea that afternoon and her lashes were thick as seaweed, clumped and spiked by tears.
‘Cariad,’ he said. Then he kissed her.
When the kiss began it was the gentlest touch, a softness, mouth to mouth, as he intended, but within seconds his emotion and the sensations he was rousing combined to break his control and, holding her face between his hands, he kissed her with increasing passion, long and hard. Dazed by a surfeit of emotions, she kissed him back, her heart thundering. When he stopped they were both shaken by the power they’d unleashed.
‘Oh Morgan!’ she said.
‘I love you so much,’ he told her. ‘So much.’ And kissed her again.
‘We’ve got to be sensible,’ she said after the third kiss.
His eyes were drowsy with love for her. ‘Why?’
‘If we go on like this, we shall end up in bed.’
The thought made him groan.
‘I can’t,’ she said, setting a preventive palm against his chest. ‘You know that, don’t you. Not tonight. I’m in enough trouble as it is. If you stayed the night I should be cohabiting.’
The word brought him to his senses. She was right. He couldn’t make her run that sort of risk.
‘But we’ll cohabit one day,’ he said, ‘won’t we?’
She was too confused to be able to answer. ‘Yes. No. Probably. I don’t know.’
That made him laugh. ‘I do love you,’ he said. ‘More than ever now. But I’ll go. You’re right.’
‘You are a good man,’ she said.
‘Or a fool.’ She was still in his arms and he hadn’t kissed her for two whole minutes.
She kissed him. Briefly but with delicious tenderness. ‘No. Never that,’ she said. ‘You’re a very, very good man.’
‘Which means I’ve got to go now.’
‘Well not now perhaps. But soon.’
‘You’re not to worry about that letter,’ he said, when they finally parted more than an hour later. ‘If you’ve really got to find another place, we’ll look for it together. Right?’
She was so lulled by kisses she agreed. ‘Right.’
‘And I’ll help you with the move. Right?’
‘Right’
‘I’ll phone you in the morning. Sweet dreams.’
She stood in the porch beside the damp coats and watched him into his car, watched him reverse and drive away, watched until the last red gleam of his tail lights turned the corner. It was as if she was hanging on to the very last of the evening.
He loves me, she thought. She felt slightly delirious but she knew what a difference this evening had made. From now on, she had someone to trust, someone to advise her and comfort her, someone to turn to. I’m not alone any more. He loves me. The sheer amazement of it filled her mind to the exclusion of everything else. He loves me. Her own feelings towards him were in such turmoil she didn’t know whether she loved him in return or not. It was enough that she was loved. Loved and protected and cared for. I’ll go down and see the agency first thing tomorrow afternoon, she thought. She had the strength to fight back now. He loves me.
The next afternoon Alison dressed very carefully for her visit. She put on her suit and a freshly ironed blouse, polished her handbag as well as her shoes, even took time to make up her face. It was important to be seen as serious and well-groomed.
But it was all a waste of time. Although the young woman who interviewed her was patient and sympathetic, the position couldn’t be changed. The owners wanted Alison out and, as she’d only been given the tenancy on a month’s probation, that was all there was to it. There’d been a letter, the woman said. Something about a breach of the peace. ‘There was a m
an in the house, apparently, lots of screaming and shouting – so the writer says – damage to property. A window was it?’
‘It was my husband,’ Alison admitted shamefacedly. ‘I couldn’t stop him. I did try.’
The woman looked at Alison’s black eye. ‘So I see.’
‘It’s not fair to drive me out because of him,’ Alison pleaded.
‘No. I know.’
‘Well then.’
‘It’s the rules, I’m afraid,’ the woman said. ‘Not much I can do about it. If they say you’ve got to go, you’ll have to go. We’ve got other properties on our books, if you’d like to look at them.’
‘No thanks,’ Alison said. She was suddenly weary, all the euphoria of the previous evening drained away. Less than a month, she was thinking, and then I’ve got to pack up all over again.
She stood up, squared her shoulders and prepared to get on with the rest of the day. If that’s what I’ve got to do, she thought, that’s what I’ve got to do.
On her way back through the town, she saw Brad standing outside Quality Seconds contemplating a pair of floral leggings. Glad of the chance of a bit of friendly conversation, she crossed the road to greet her.
‘Whatcher!’ Brad said. ‘What d’you think a’ them?’
Alison tried to drum up some enthusiasm for the leggings but made a poor job of it. ‘Pretty lurid,’ she said.
Brad gave her a searching look. ‘What’s up now?’ she said.
‘Nothing much.’
‘Oh come on!’ Brad rebuked. ‘You’ve got a real gob on. Spit it out.’
So Alison told her. There was no point in trying to hide her problems any more. They had a habit of becoming all too public.
‘Charming!’ Brad said, when she heard about the neighbour’s letter. ‘You’d better come and live with me an’ the hedgehog, that’s all.’
‘We couldn’t do that,’ Alison said at once, then paused. Could they? It was very tempting.
‘Can’t see any reason why not,’ Brad said. ‘It’ud only be for a couple a’ weeks, wouldn’t it. We could manage that. You’d have to put up with Martin being around now an’ then, but you wouldn’t mind him.’
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