Girl in the Attic

by Valerie Mendes

  “No!” Nathan screamed. “Stop! Please! Stop!”

  He staggered into the road in front of the bus, waving his arms, waving a blood-spattered hat.

  Rosalie glanced out at him. She pressed her face to the window. She saw Nathan. She saw what he was waving. Surprise and then alarm cracked across her face. She stood up, yelling to the driver. He seemed not to hear. The bus moved on. The girl lurched down the aisle to the front.

  The bus ground to a halt, snow thrown up in slush around its wheels.

  The driver opened his window. “Idiot!” he yelled.

  “I’m sorry.” Nathan’s breath seemed trapped in his lungs. “I must talk to—”

  Rosalie stood at the door of the bus.

  It opened.

  “That’s Dad’s hat.”

  “Thank God I caught you in time.”

  “It’s covered in blood. Where’s your coat? What’s happened?”

  “There’s been an accident. Outside the pub. They’re ringing for an ambulance.”

  She turned to the driver. “Will you let me off?”

  “Move, then. You’re holding everybody up.” He leaned across the wheel and glared out at Nathan. “Don’t you ever try that stunt again.”

  Rosalie grabbed her bag and slid down the steps.

  The bus rumbled away up the hill.

  She looked at him. “There’s blood on your jeans.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it Dad’s?”

  He took her arm, steadied her against him, told her all he knew.

  “He’s been asking for it.” The bitterness in her voice alarmed him. “He owes money everywhere. He plays on people’s goodwill until—” She looked at him. “What am I going to do?”

  “Let me take you back to the flat. Leave your bag there. We’ll ring for a taxi.”

  “To go where?”

  “To take you to the hospital.”

  “You mean, I have to see him?”

  “Yes, Rosalie, you do.”

  She suddenly looked much younger. “So there’s no running away for me tonight?”

  “Not now, not ever.”

  He heard his own words and thought, Running away never solves anything, does it? Sooner or later you just have to face the same stuff all over again. The trouble is, Mum’s running away from London, but I’ve got to go with her.

  He pushed Rosalie’s hair out of her eyes and touched her cheek. It felt cool beneath the heat of his fingers. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” He swung an arm around her shoulder.

  Then he remembered.

  Gently, he pulled the necklace from his pocket, held the clustered stones in his palm. “Put this back on.”

  She faced him. Flakes of snow fell on to her face, sparkled on her lashes. “Do it for me. I’m shaking like a leaf.”

  He fumbled with the clasp, his hands beneath her hair, on the warmth of her neck.

  He stood back and smiled. “It looks much better on you,” he said, “than it did on me.”

  He woke the next morning feeling lumpy and sore. An egg-like swelling bulged beneath his hair on the side of his head.

  What a delightful present, Mr Croft. Thank you very much. If Mum notices it, you’ll have something to answer for.

  He’d left his jeans to soak in the bath the night before. He rinsed them out. The stench of dirt, stale beer and old blood turned his stomach. He pulled on his swimming trunks and bath robe, then limped along the corridor to the pool.

  Tonight’s Christmas Eve. I’ve never felt less like Christmas in my life. It’s as if it hardly matters any more. I wonder how the party went last night. I must ring Tom and find out.

  He pushed at the door to the pool. It stretched long and flat, its turquoise water barely moving. He walked across the cool tiles, raised his arms and dived.

  It’s weird being the only swimmer. I expect everyone is still in bed.

  I wonder how Rosalie is. And Jake. I’ll have to ring the hospital, tell them I’m a relative, try to get some news.

  He thrashed up and down the length of the pool. As he pulled himself out of the water, he saw a girl standing the other side of the glass partition, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

  Rosalie.

  He raced for his towel, his feet slipping on the tiles. He ran out to meet her, uncomfortably aware of his skinny, angular body, the wet hair clinging to his forehead, the goose pimples shivering his arms.

  “Hi.” Her face was pale, her voice low. “I had to see you.”

  “How is he?”

  “They operated last night. He’d lost a lot of blood but he’s been lucky. He’s going to be OK.”

  “Thank God for that. … You look terrible.”

  “Thanks! They gave me a bed next to his but I couldn’t sleep.” Tears filled her eyes. “You should have seen him, Nathan. He looked so sad and old.”

  “I did see him,” he reminded her. “I know what he looked like. I’ll never forget.”

  “Yes, of course.” She bit her lip. “I do love him, you know, in spite of everything.”

  Nathan shrugged. “He’s your dad. Of course you love him, whatever he’s done.”

  He stared at Rosalie’s tired face. He saw her lips moving, but for a moment he couldn’t hear what she said, only the sound of his own words echoing in his head, giving themselves new meaning.

  And I love my dad. Whatever he’s done. Whatever he’s doing right now and whoever he’s with. He’ll always be my dad, even if other people get in the way. Other things …

  “Nathan? Are you OK?”

  He jumped. “Sorry?”

  “Dad wants to see you. That’s what I came to say.”

  “What?”

  “He remembers everything. He’s so grateful to you for not leaving him lying there, after the way he treated you. He wants to say sorry.” She looked almost too tired to talk. “And he’s got something to tell you.”

  “I’m not sure I want—”

  “Please? It’ll be worth your while.” She hesitated. “You remember the prayer we said together in the attic?”

  It seemed like years ago. “Yes?”

  “I can’t tell you any more now. Just please come.”

  He took pity on her. “OK. For you. When I think about how he’s treated you—”

  “He says he’ll stop drinking. He says I’m to throw out all the booze in the flat, so he can make a fresh start. He says—”

  Impatience with the man welled up in Nathan. “Do you believe him?”

  She met his eyes. “If I don’t, who will?”

  “I suppose.” Hunger clawed at his stomach. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “No.”

  “How does bacon and eggs sound?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

  She glanced at his bare chest. Something in the shyness of her smile made Nathan blush.

  It was not until the fragrance of cooked breakfast curled beneath his nose that Nathan realised how hungry he was. It felt extraordinary, having Rosalie beside him, introducing her to Mum, watching them instantly take to each other.

  They told Mum briefly how they’d met at the cottage, how he’d been helping Rosalie to clear the attic, about Jake’s accident.

  “I was walking back after the carols,” Nathan said, deftly spinning a story to leave out the bit about Rosalie’s plan to run away. “I just happened to find him outside the pub. I got some people to ring for an ambulance, told Rosalie about him. And now he wants to thank me. … Will it be OK if Rosalie and I go to the hospital? I promise I won’t stay long.”

  “That’ll be fine,” Mum said. “I’ll meet you back here at midday. I’m house-hunting again. It’s my last chance to find something.” She looked at Rosalie. “Will you be on your own tomorrow?”

  Rosalie flushed. “I suppose I will, now that Dad’s—”

  “We can’t have that. Not on Christmas Day. Come and have lunch with us. At my dad’s house in Bowling Green Terrace.
Number twenty-two.”

  Rosalie’s face lit up. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. He’ll be delighted to meet you – delighted that Nathan’s made a friend.” She poured herself another cup of tea. “Let’s say one o’clock. That’ll give you time to see your dad in hospital and then come on to us.”

  “Thank you very much, Mrs Fielding. I’ll check with Dad. But I’d love to.”

  “Thanks, Mum.” Nathan looked across at her. “That’s really nice of you.”

  She gave him a sudden, dazzling smile.

  Nathan and Rosalie stood together at the end of Jake Croft’s bed. He lay sleeping, his head and neck heavily bandaged, his mouth purple, his skin pallid.

  Rosalie moved towards him and touched his hand. “Dad?”

  He stirred, muttered, opened his eyes. “Ros.” He tried to sit up. “Where—”

  “Don’t try to move, Dad. I’ve brought Nathan to see you.”

  “Yeah, sure.” The head rolled back on to the pillow. “Good girl.” The dark eyes glinted up at Nathan from their heavy lids. “Wanted to say thanks.”

  Nathan swallowed back a mixture of anger and pity. “I was in the right place at the right time. That’s all.”

  “No. It was good of you to stay with me. Not many would have bothered.” Jake’s hand clawed at the sheet. “Your coat. They’re cleaning it up for you.”

  “Right. I’ll ask one of the nurses …”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “Good of you to come,” Jake said. “I need to ask you something. Something important …” His voice trailed away.

  “Yes?”

  “Those men who—”

  “Yes.”

  Jake seemed to make an enormous effort to speak. “You never saw them. Not them, nor the knife. If the police ask you, tell them you came across me lying there. But you never saw the fight. Get it?”

  “You mean—”

  “Yeah. I know why they beat me up. Know only too well. But I’ll not give the police their names. I’ll not press charges.”

  “But one of them—”

  “I know. Could have been murder. I’m bloody lucky. Thing is, if I tell the police, it’ll never end. I’ll never be able to live in St Ives again. But if I leave it, pay back the money I owe them once I’ve sold the cottage, they’ll feel they’ve had their revenge.” His voice faltered. “And maybe Ros and I can get on with our lives in peace.”

  So Rosalie might have been in danger too?

  I can’t bear the thought of that. I’ll have to do what he asks.

  “It’s your decision, Mr Croft. I’ll go along with whatever you want.”

  “Good lad … Thanks.” Jake sighed with relief, his hand relaxed from its clawing. “Could I have some water?”

  Rosalie held the glass to her dad’s mouth. He slurped at the liquid.

  “Wish there was a drop of whisky in that!” He grinned faintly at her.

  “Well, there isn’t,” Rosalie said firmly. “And there won’t be!”

  “I know, I know. Only the tasteless stuff from now on.”

  Rosalie put down the glass. “Dad, there’s something else you wanted to tell Nathan. About the cottage. Remember?”

  “Oh, sure.” Jake’s eyes glinted at him again. “Ros tells me you and your mum want to buy it.”

  Surprise tingled down Nathan’s spine. “Your house?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I … we …” he spluttered. “Well, yes, of course—”

  “A Mrs Fielding rang me a couple of days ago. Is she your mum?”

  “That’s right. She … we—”

  “She offered me the asking price. Is that right or was I just dreaming?”

  “No. I mean yes. That’s right. We wanted to buy it very much.” Nathan swallowed. “You told her it was already sold.”

  “Thought it was. Thought I had the money in the bag.” Jake shifted his body beneath the sheets. The smell of disinfectant rose from the starch.

  “Mum’s been looking for something else all over St Ives.” Nathan felt colour flood his cheeks. “She’s not found anything she likes.”

  Jake’s hand brushed the air, as if to shut Nathan up. “Then the bloody woman who was buying it – what do you think she did, eh? What do you think she did?”

  Nathan’s tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. “I’ve no idea.”

  “She let me down, the silly cow, that’s what she did.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Rang me at the flat yesterday morning. I was just off to Penzance to talk to a mate of mine about some work. She said she’d found somewhere else with a smaller garden. Said she was worried about the cliff, what with the baby and all. Said she couldn’t be too careful.” He gave a wheezy cough. “’Course, I reckon some loud-mouth told her about my wife’s accident. … Warned her off.”

  “Was that why—”

  “Yeah. I crashed out of the flat, got myself well and truly plastered.” He licked his lips. “Shouldn’t have taken it out on you and Ros. … What I’m trying to say, lad, is that if you still want it—”

  “Still want it!”

  “You and your mum can buy our cottage.” Jake searched for Rosalie’s hand, as if it were his lifeline. “We don’t want to have to sell up, but I must pay off those debts of mine—”

  “Mr Croft! Mum will be over the moon.”

  Our prayer … It worked!

  He met Rosalie’s eyes and knew she was thinking the same.

  The attic. I’ll have the attic. Rosalie can come there. We’ll climb down to the plateau together, sketch there, swim from the beach.

  Tom can stay. At half-term. I’ll ask him for half-term.

  “OK.” Jake gave him the faintest grin. “Consider it a done deal. Soon as I’m out of this place, I’ll get things moving.”

  Rosalie leaned towards her father. “Dad?”

  “Yes, Ros.”

  “I met Nathan’s mum this morning. At Tregenna. She gave me breakfast.”

  “That was good of her.”

  “I told her about your accident—”

  “Not the truth, I hope?”

  “No. Only that you’d been hurt.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “She’s asked me to Christmas lunch tomorrow at Nathan’s grandfather’s.”

  “That’s nice of her too, what with me stuck in here.”

  “Can I go, Dad? You won’t mind if I go?”

  “’Course not.” His eyes closed. “Go and enjoy yourself. … Give me another swig of that tasteless stuff, there’s a good girl.”

  Thirteen

  Nathan waited at Tregenna for Mum. He’d left Rosalie with her dad; rescued his coat from one of the nurses. Now he paced the front of the hotel, watching the last vans deliver Christmas food, flowers, wine; the new arrivals drive up, travel weary, just in time for Christmas Eve. The sea heaved and glittered under the midday sun. Drifts of snow released their whiteness into melting patches of sharp green lawn.

  He spotted Mum walking across the path and raced towards her.

  “Good news at last,” she said. “I’ve found us somewhere to live.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “There’s a pretty house out along the road to Carbis Bay.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “It’s expensive but I think we can afford it.”

  “No, we can’t.”

  “I want you to come and see it this afternoon.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She frowned. “Why not, Nathan?”

  “Because, because, the Wizard of Oz.”

  “Why are you behaving like a drunken bumblebee?”

  “I’ll give you three guesses.”

  “Nathan—” she began warningly.

  “Come on, Mum. Guess.” He flapped his arms, circled around her, zoomed away and back again. “In your wildest dreams. Something’s happened.”

  “What?”

  “Something terrific.�
�� Zoom.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”

  “Then I’ll have to tell you.” Double zoom.

  “Nathan, slow down. You’re making me dizzy.”

  “Remember that cottage I found? Rosalie’s cottage?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “It’s ours if we want it.”

  Mum stopped plodding. “What?”

  “Jake Croft’s just told me. From his hospital bed.”

  “But he’d sold it to—”

  “The buyer changed her mind.”

  “You mean—”

  “She pulled out. Yesterday.”

  Mum gazed at him, rooted to the spot. “I don’t believe it.”

  “True as I’m standing here. Wonderful or what?”

  Colour flooded Mum’s face. Then she gave a yell of delight. She scooped off her beret, threw it in the air, flung herself at Nathan and caught him in her arms.

  They began to bob along the sandy path, two small figures twirling beneath the sun.

  Nathan rang Tom that evening, on Christmas Eve. The party had gone well, Tom said, but it hadn’t been the same without him. Nathan quickly told him the news about the cottage and asked him to come down to St Ives for half-term.

  “We can do tons of things here,” Nathan said. “It won’t be warm enough to swim but we can walk on the beach and stuff, and you can meet Rosalie and—”

  Tom hadn’t needed any persuading. He went to check with his mum and came back to the phone a minute later. “You’re on, Weed! Mum says she can’t wait to see the back of me!”

  Nathan was about to leave his room five minutes later when the phone rang.

  “I wanted to surprise you,” Dad said. “There are presents for you in that basket from Karen and Amy and me, but I wanted to give you something extra special this year. For being such a great kid and coping with everything.”

  Nathan tried to say it was OK but the words stuck in his throat.

  “I’ve been meaning to say this for ages and I’m going to say it now. Back in September. When I left. I should have told you about Karen before I went. It was horrible and cowardly of me and I’m sorry. Leaving Mum to tell you on my behalf was a rotten thing to do. Just because she’s so brilliant at dealing with other people’s problems. I shouldn’t have taken it for granted that she could handle her own the same way.”