‘Don’t knock it then,’ Francesca told him. ‘The locals won’t like that.’
‘I don’t knock it. I never do that. I’m only telling you. And, however sceptical you might be, however much you sneer at it, there is something about it that does pull you in. There’s a magical feel, no two ways about it. I defy anybody not to feel something is there.’
‘Now you’re back tracking,’ she said, teasing him and was surprised to see a slow flush cover his cheeks.
‘Francesca …?’
‘What?’ she said, more sharply than she intended, but there was something in his tone that worried her. She hoped he wasn’t going to make a move, declare his undying love, something like that, because that sort of thing when she was not ready for it might push the friendship one step too far.
‘I have to tell you something about myself, Francesca, something that you’re not going to like one little bit,’ he said, inching away slightly as if they had been sitting very cosily together which they had not for her overstuffed bag was very firmly in between them. ‘I think before things go any further, you should know something about me.’
‘You’re married,’ she said at once, jumping in with the obvious. ‘It’s OK. I don’t have any designs on you, Gareth,’ she went on hastily. ‘I’ve just lost my husband for goodness sake. Give me a break, please.’
‘I’m not married and I know that you’ve just lost your husband, but I want to be straight with you and it’s best sometimes to come out with these things at the beginning. Just in case …’
‘Just in case what?’ she bristled. ‘Forget it, whatever it is. I’ll forgive you unless it’s something awful of course. I can’t believe you’re about to confess that you’ve committed a murder and got away with it or that you’ve just served a long stretch in prison.’ She tried a laugh, but it was hollow. ‘Can’t we just go on for a while as we are, Gareth? I haven’t got many friends here, not yet, and I want us to stay friends, just friends. I don’t need any complications.’
There. It was said and she couldn’t make it any clearer, could she?
‘I’m sorry, Francesca, I know it’s too soon and I know you’re in pain. I can see it in your face and I wish I could help.’
‘You can’t,’ she said abruptly.
‘But I can. When you lose somebody, you need people around you, people you can trust. Don’t go into a shell, Francesca. That’s not good and it won’t help.’
‘I’m not going into a shell. If you give me a chance I’m coming out of it. Don’t push me. Perhaps we need to get one thing clear. I’m not ready for another relationship if that’s what you’re hinting at.’ She could feel her face flaming, but she had looked into his eyes and there was no mistake that he was starting to think of her as slightly more than a friend. ‘I bought the house and I am doing it up and for the moment that’s quite enough for me.’
‘I know. These things take time but you’re not going to shut yourself away for ever, are you? Would he want that?’
‘No of course not. And I dare say I will think about it sometime but not yet. Rebound relationships are never any good, are they? Don’t rush me,’ she warned, lightly brushing his arm. ‘You and I are just friends. That’s all. Please don’t be offended. I really appreciate your friendship. I don’t want you to walk away from me. To be honest I feel a bit lonely,’ she said, desperate to make amends.
‘Fine by me. But even so, I should tell you about this. I don’t want secrets between us and if you hang onto a secret long enough it gets harder to tell.’
Oh how true and how little he knew about her.
‘Oh for goodness sake, Gareth, you’re getting on my nerves now. What is it?’ She stood up ready and indeed willing now for the return journey.
‘We’ll take the longer way down,’ he said. ‘Can you see the path stretching out over there. We’ll head down there. Come on …’
‘No.’ She shook off his proffered hand. ‘I’m not budging until you tell me. You are not keeping me in suspense a minute longer.’
‘OK. Sit down.’
They sat down again, side by side. There was a slight breeze but it was pleasant and warm and Francesca closed her eyes to it, hearing the surf and very aware of Gareth beside her. Whatever it was, whatever was so important to him that he had to make such a big thing of it did not matter. She had formed an instant impression of him when they first met as she had with David and she was rarely wrong. Whatever he had done she could forgive.
Well, almost anything.
‘You said you could forgive me almost anything but you hit it on the head, Francesca, when you said you might perhaps not if it was something really awful. Well, it was something really awful. I was responsible for killing a young girl.’
On the edge of the cliff, a little too close to the edge for comfort, Francesca watched a gull swoop low as if it was landing before it did a sort of silent change of gear and soared away on the warm sea breeze.
She had to hand it to him.
It was a conversation stopper.
Chapter Thirteen
THEY WERE HOLED up in Gareth’s caravan having a coffee. At the last, Francesca had to limp down the lane from the field and when she took off her trainers and socks she had a blister the size of a five pence piece on her foot. After the shock announcement he had clammed up, saying stiffly that they should get back and they had completed the walk in virtual silence other than standing aside to make room for other people, exchanging a few friendly words with them in the time honoured tradition of people in the same boat or, in this case, on the same narrow coastal path.
Once in the caravan, she sat down thankfully on part of the curved seating arrangement rolling up the hem of her trousers as, calmly and efficiently, he administered to her medical needs, soaking her feet in a little bowl of warm water which was utter bliss before patting them dry with a soft fluffy towel and sprinkling them with some medicinal powder.
‘Better?’
She nodded, speechless. To her horror, she had felt a vague erotic pull as he carefully and thoughtfully tended to her needs. Womanly awareness reared its head then and she registered that following the energetic little stroll she must look like hell although she was thankful that her legs were freshly smooth and lightly tanned at that so she was not letting the side down in that department. Her hair was all over the place though and she tugged at it ruefully.
‘Sorry about that. I never meant you to get a blister. I can see I shall have to break you in a bit more slowly,’ he said, washing his hands afterwards at the little sink.
‘It’s my fault. It was a daft idea to wear new shoes and it was hardly a marathon. I’m not usually such a shrinking violet,’ she said, half teasing but annoyed with herself at the same time.
‘I know that.’
Having dropped the bombshell on the walk he now infuriatingly seemed in no great hurry to come up with explanations so she had not much option but to wait. A little more comfortable now, she looked round this other place he called home, such a contrast to his lovely cottage.
There seemed to be no shortage of mod cons and it was all very cute in a Lilliputian way and Francesca could see that for a single man it would be perfectly fine to spend the summer here. It might be rather fun at that, back to being a child again, playing at houses. It was all neat and tidy, but that’s what she had come to expect of Gareth. David, despite his immaculate personal appearance, had been content to let somebody else tidy up for him, his cleaner and latterly his wife although that had been temporary and she had been working up to sharing the workload in a fairer way.
Another forlorn hope.
‘Gareth …?’ Barefoot, she wiggled her toes and, to make it easier for him, avoided eye contact.
He opened a cupboard, reached in and pulled out a packet of shortbread biscuits. ‘Want one?’
‘No thanks,’ she said. It was as if he had never said what he had said up on the edge of the cliff. Her impatience spilled over and she sat up straighter r
epeating his name in a questioning way.
He took a biscuit, nibbled at it. ‘I suppose you want to know the full story?’
‘Of course I want to know the whole story.’ She managed a brief laugh. ‘The suspense is killing me. You can’t just spring something like that on me and then let it drop.’
‘It happened a few years ago, I was involved in a car accident.’ he gave a low whistle as he exhaled. ‘The woman, the young girl, in the other car died.’
‘Oh. I see.’ She let out a sigh. ‘I guessed it was an accident but you might have made that clear.’
‘Didn’t I?’
‘No. Although I never thought for a moment you had actually murdered her.’
He did not laugh. ‘No, but she ended up dead. I killed her, Francesca. I killed her just as much as if I had strangled her.’
‘That’s not true unless you deliberately ran into her or you were drunk at the time and if that was the case you would have gone to prison.’ She paused, looked up. ‘That didn’t happen, did it? ‘
‘No. I was stone cold sober and the verdict was accidental death.’
‘So how can you say you were responsible?’
‘You weren’t at the inquest. You didn’t see the state her parents were in. You didn’t see the way her mother looked at me. I’ll never forget that look. She blamed me, I could tell.’
‘Well she was wrong to blame you. It wasn’t your fault. When something like that happens I know it’s hard but you have to try to forget,’ she said, knowing she was a fine one to be telling him this. ‘When accidents happen, people always have to look for somebody to blame. That’s the way it is and …’ she stopped, seeing that he was not listening and she knew that he was remembering instead, recalling the incident as vividly as she recalled James’s. ‘What happened? You can tell me.’
‘It started out as an ordinary day.’
‘They always do,’ she said, remembering the three of them wandering down to the river, James bounding ahead, she and Izzy drifting along behind, chatting about this and that.
‘I wouldn’t care but I’d only gone out in the car to take some reference books back to the library. They weren’t even due back for God’s sake. They could easily have waited a few days. I didn’t need to be out on the road. And, if I hadn’t been out on the road then she wouldn’t have hit me. Would she?’
She kept quiet. No, but there would have been another car to hit but she would let him tell it in his own way.
‘She was a learner driver, or rather she’d just passed her test. She was seventeen, Francesca. A child. She was a lovely young girl with all her life before her. Her name was Stephanie.’
‘Pretty name,’ she said helplessly and uselessly.
‘Yes. A pretty name. It was a bad corner, tight, and yes, she came at it badly, too fast, and momentarily she was on the wrong side of the road, my side of the road, but surely I could have done something to avoid her. I could have swerved out of the way onto a grass verge which wouldn’t have done me any harm but I didn’t and she hit me full on and then bounced off across the road into a tree. She didn’t have her seatbelt on either. Oh God, it all happened so fast. I was fine apart from whiplash but she was crushed and trapped and it took an age for them to get her out. The firemen cut her out eventually and got her to hospital but it was already too late. We all knew it was too late.’
Francesca felt a relief surge through her. Good heavens, he was full of guilt for something that really was not his fault. She, on the other hand, was guilty of something that most certainly was her fault. Sitting there in the caravan, she felt that pull of guilt again.
The guilt that was always just a heartbeat away.
It was just another day.
It was the school holidays and they, she and Izzy, were lounging about on the river bank anxious to get a natural tan after some disastrous efforts with the fake stuff. Grensley Bridge had become their place, a perfect spot for an illicit smoke. It was a quiet place even in summer for most people tended to congregate at the better known and easier to get to bridging point up river where there was ample parking and easier access to the moor.
Their plans for the day were in tatters because with Francesca’s mother otherwise engaged trying to sell her pots over in Truro, Francesca had been roped into looking after her six year old brother.
‘You will keep your eye on him?’ her mum asked, ready for the off, her wild red hair pulled up on top of her head in a messy arrangement, a narrow black ribbon anchoring it there more or less. ‘You know I don’t like to leave him for the whole day but he really would get in the way, bless him, when I’m trying to look professional and everything. Children and business meetings just do not mix. Now, I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but I have several appointments and you never know how long they will take. Are you quite sure you’ll be OK?’
‘Yes, mum.’ She reacted in the usual bored teenage way. Honestly why did her mother feel she had to issue pages of instructions whenever she went anywhere. ‘For the hundredth time we will be just fine.’
‘Don’t be cheeky.’ She shot her a fond glance. ‘He’s not to have any sweets. He’s had his ration for the week.’
‘I know.’
‘And you’re not to go anywhere near the river. Are you listening, Francesca?’
‘Mum …’ she protested. ‘As if …’
‘Got to go.’ Her mum grinned at her, the last time she was ever to look at her like that, waved a cheery goodbye and with that she was off in a flurry of summery skirt and perfume.
Izzy had been looking after her younger brothers since she was eleven and her mum never made such a fuss about it and none of them had come to any harm. Izzy laughed when she told her about her mum’s fussing and on the way down to the river, they broke the first rule by stopping at the shop and buying James some sweets, managing to refrain from buying some for themselves because of the constant danger of erupting spots.
Francesca handed over the little bag to the delighted James. ‘If Mum asks you’re not to tell her. You’re not supposed to have them,’ she told him.
‘And you’re not to tell her we’ve been down to the river either,’ Izzy said, grabbing him and squeezing him tight. ‘Are you listening, James Blackwell? If you tell then I’ll wave my magic wand and make you disappear. Do you promise? Cross your heart and hope to die.’
He squealed until she let him go, but laughed at her before promising not to tell. Standing aside, Francesca’s heart ached a little at the easy camaraderie the two of them shared; anybody would think James was Izzy’s brother instead of hers.
In fact, although they had missed a shopping trip into Plymouth it was not so bad relaxing here in the sunshine. After all what did they do in town other than prance about and hope to be noticed. They counted the number of looks they got from boys and afterwards they played at being the interesting girls in café thing, spending ages over one hot chocolate or fizzy drink.
Francesca’s mother made no secret of the fact that she did not really approve of Izzy thinking her a bit too worldly wise and it was true that Izzy did seem older than her years, but other than saying ‘watch that girl, she’s trouble,’ her mother had not gone so far as to ban Francesca from seeing her. For a girl of sixteen it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Izzy was the popular girl whom everybody wanted as their friend and it seemed, for reasons she was hazy about, that she had chosen Francesca.
Izzy had got her started on the smoking. Francesca envied Izzy her chaotic family, her happy go lucky mum, her loving dad and also her carefree attitude to life. Izzy might be the cleverest girl in class, but it was almost certain she was not the one who would get the best grades. Her teachers despaired that she would not fulfil her potential and somehow slip through the cracks in the education system, but she was in the happy position of being put under no pressure from her parents, just told to do the best she could. Francesca knew that, notwithstanding the importance of their exams these days, Izzy was not working at full capac
ity.
Having to work her own socks off to achieve decent grades, anxious to do well because her mother expected nothing less, Francesca could not understand Izzy’s attitude, but as Izzy’s sole ambition was to get married and have a horde of children what did it matter? Izzy was more in tune with attitudes of the nineteenth rather than the twentieth century – ambition and a worthwhile career were not a part of her thinking and planning ahead.
Lying on the river-bank, Francesca was enjoying the sunshine and listening to Izzy’s accounts of what she had got up to the previous evening with her boyfriend who was eighteen and already working as a car mechanic. He had promised to give Izzy driving lessons as soon as she was old enough which would not be long. From what Izzy was saying he was giving her lessons of a more intimate nature already.
Francesca doubted it was true. Izzy had a vivid imagination and she suspected that it was just a deliciously exaggerated yarn, but she was not going to challenge her. It was exciting stuff to listen to, true or not.
She looked closely at Izzy finding herself fascinated by the smoky make-up round her eyes. Izzy was enviably curvy; she was just on the right side of plump, with a mass of dark curly hair and her sparkly blue eyes did not really need any enhancement. Francesca experimented a bit with make-up, but her mother said she looked better without it and, although that got her back up, she tended privately to agree.
‘And then he kissed me again and off he went,’ Izzy finished the tale triumphantly. ‘I’m seeing him again next week. He’s taking me to the cinema.’
‘Lucky you. I can’t wait for the next thrilling instalment.’
‘Are you being sarcastic?’
‘No,’ Francesca protested. ‘It’s like a Mills & Boon story. I want to know what happens in the next chapter.’
‘There you go again.’
‘What did I say? Honestly, Izzy, you’re so touchy.’
‘And you’re just jealous. You could have a boyfriend if you tried a bit more. You’re not bad looking. All you have to do is stop being so snooty. Boys don’t like you looking down your nose at them.’
Just Another Day Page 11