by Debbie Chase
We were alone in the house, Rose having gone out with Steve—they were definitely becoming a serious item—and Dad, to Mum’s great pleasure, was paying a visit to the Coal Exchange to have a beer or two with Michael, at Michael’s invitation. From what Michael had said to me and Rose, I thought he was trying to pay Dad back for sorting out his bill at the pub after Priscilla had bled him dry.
The room was cozy with the glow from the wood-burning fire and the twinkle of the Christmas tree lights. The smell of burning wood and oranges hung in the air. “Now then,” Mum said, looking full at me. “I suppose it’s been a strange Christmas for you without James?”
“Yes,” I said sadly, nodding my head. “But I had to tell him about Blake, especially after we saw him on the telly with his band.”
“Yes, of course, you did. Blake’s done well, hasn’t he? A famous musician—wow! And from the pictures I’ve seen, he’s a very attractive young man.” Glancing at the television screen, I saw James Stewart rushing around in a demented frenzy, eyes almost bursting from his head. “I do love this film,” Mum told me.
“I do too. Yes, if I wasn’t so mad with Blake, I’d be really proud. And yeah, you’re right, he’s very handsome.”
Mum smiled as James Stewart gave Donna Reed a big hug and kiss and, as the whole cast smiled at the camera, the closing credits scrolled slowly down the screen. She turned to me, giving me her full attention. “It’s got to be said, though—James is very attractive too.” I nodded in agreement, and then she said, “What do you want from this, Ruby? How do you feel about these two? Have you discussed it with Rose?”
“Well,” I said, thinking hard, concern furrowing my brow. “I’m extremely…extremely fond of James. In fact, I can’t really imagine my life without him.” Then I shook my head. “No, I haven’t said anything to Rose. She’s really caught up with Steve now, and we don’t seem to spend as much time together as we used to.”
I glanced at Mum, who said, “Rose has got her own life now too, I suppose, and she seems fond of Steve.” She smiled at me. “Yes, James is a very nice boy. Your Dad and I are upset at your splitting up, but obviously, we can see the reasons. What about your feelings for Blake?”
“I’m angry with Blake for not getting in touch—for hurting me so bad—yet I’m glad for him that he’s made the big time.” I paused for a minute and then said, “I told James that if I hadn’t seen Blake on the telly, I could have let it go. I was enjoying being with James, but it brought it all back and…. Well, I know what I’m going to have to do, Mum.”
“Yes,” she said. “Confront Blake—go to St Malo? But what about holiday from school? When would you be able to go?”
“Look.” I showed her the screen of my phone where a new website, “Tickets are Good,” was selling The Pilgrim’s concert tickets. “They’re touring the UK in March and April, so I thought, okay, I’ll go see them in concert, maybe in Portsmouth. Hopefully, I’ll be able to go backstage, but it’s not guaranteed I’ll be able to. He might say no, or say he doesn’t know me, or never heard of me! After all, if he really did want to see me, he’d have gotten in touch, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
“But look.” I showed her some earlier dates that were featured on the website. “They’re doing an ‘Up Close and Personal’ mini-concert at La Bar in St. Malo in February, for Valentine’s, I think, which coincides with the February half-term. And no need for backstage passes or anything like that, because the concert is happening in the bar—voila!”
“I don’t know why you wanted to talk to me, Ruby. You’ve got it all worked out anyway.”
“I need to know if you think I’m doing the right thing, Mum. Going all that way, spending all that money, to confront Blake. And I can’t go, like, now anyway, which puts my relationship with James at risk. And not knowing whether to apply for the library job…I need your advice.”
“Okay, this is what I suggest. First thing, yes, go and confront Blake. At least you’ll know the score. Second, James has refused to see you until you’ve sorted things with Blake, not the other way around. And thirdly, go for the library job. It’s what you always wanted to do. And as for when you go to France, February half-term is the first opportunity you’ll have!”
“Okay, but what if there is a genuine reason that Blake hasn’t been in touch? I forgive him and move to France. What about the library job then?”
“Yes, that could happen, but if you move to France to be with Blake, you’ll have made your decision, and you won’t see James again. And as for the library job, so be it—there are other jobs here or in France.”
“Oh, God! Dilemma, dilemma!” I wailed, falling back into the soft cushions of the settee, my head in my hands.
“All that aside, just apply for the job, Ruby,” urged Mum. “Apply for it. You might not get it, and even if you do, there’s a strong possibility you wouldn’t even start until after the February half-term because of DBS checks and references, so you’ll have confronted Blake by then.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “As long as the ‘Up Close and Personal’ concert isn’t cancelled, I’ll definitely catch up with him then, and he’d better watch out!”
“Good,” said Mum, raising an arm high above her head and shaking a fist. “Fighting talk…Warrior Woman!”
Giggling, we cracked open a bottle and toasted my decisions, or should I say Mum’s, with a flourish.
Taking a sip from her glass, Mum said, “Oh, by the way, Ruby, changing the subject, I know, but….” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Michael met up with Nick, his Dad.”
“Wow, that’s great. Does Dad know?”
“Oh yes,” Mum assured me. “I haven’t mentioned it to Rose yet, though.”
“When did they meet?”
“Last week in Horndean. Michael went to his house, met Julie, his wife—not the daughters yet, I don’t think. They seemed to get on okay.”
I frowned and said, “Why didn’t you tell us about it before?”
“Michael wanted to see how it went first. And he was keen to tell his dad about the impending court case and that soon he might be able to see his granddaughter.”
I nodded and then said carefully, aware that I was treading on thin ice, “What about Nan and Grandad—do they know about Michael yet?”
Mum shook her head. “No. I’m not sure what to do about that, Ruby.”
“I suppose you’ll have to tell them, won’t you?
Mum, her eyes downcast, carefully studied her nails. “Why should I tell them?” she said sadly. “They made me give him away—they don’t deserve him.”
“Mum!”
“No, Ruby, please.” Glancing at me, tears hovering in her eyes, she said, “Just go and fill in that application form. That’s what you should do next.”
I knew I shouldn’t pursue the subject any further, so I backed off. Hugging her, I said, “Thanks, Mum,” and went from the room, rushing upstairs to my laptop.
~*~
I didn’t have to sneak out of the house this time because everybody knew when I was going, why I was going, and what I was going for. Rose told me to go for it, but I was aware that she was worried I might track down Blake and finish with James for good. Although, really, James had finished with me just before Christmas on that cold frosty day when we’d had coffee together in Café Mocha. He’d texted on Christmas Day and a couple of times after that, and I’d told him I was going to St. Malo, but so much time had gone by with nothing resolved that I’d be very surprised if he’d be waiting for me when I got back. Nobody had said anything, but I thought maybe there was a new girl on the scene and that James had found the courage to move on.
It was a dank, dismal day, the sky arching above, grey as iron, speckled with mournful cawing gulls. Gazing from the window of the bus as it trundled along, I glimpse Langstone, the tide a long way out and the sea
just a thin line, the stony beach deserted. Even on the bus, the smell of mud was very strong. But then, thank God, it disappeared as we neared Cosham and then finally trundled into the city of Portsmouth. I shuffled in dense chattering crowds, my rucksack on my back, onto the swaying ferry, and then stood at the rail, clinging on with gloved hands, a stiff sea breeze slapping at my face until it shone bright red.
I couldn’t believe it had been more than six months since I’d last been on the ferry. That I’d travelled alone all the way to St. Malo with hope in my heart of a great adventure. So now, a seasoned traveller, I felt confident enough in the future to go further afield on my own. Well, it was very unlikely I would meet another Blake to entertain me on this particular journey, so as it was so cold on the deck, I wandered inside to the same little café to warm up. With a surge of excitement, I thought of the booking I’d made at La Petite Amelia for a whole week and how glad I would be to see Amelia and Georges again.
Drinking creamy hot chocolate and gazing out the window at the glassy green sea rolling and heaving, the day of the library job interview came to mind. I was thrilled to finally get the job. Talking about my starting date with Katie, going over my duties and responsibilities, and just sitting in the library with the students and chatting about books and reading made me realize just how much I’d given up for Rose, and I was over the moon that she’d finally found a job that suited her and that I’d finally found mine. I was looking forward to starting the job properly when I returned to school after the break.
Now all I had to do was sort things with Blake, and everything would be plain sailing—pun intended, seeing as I was on a ferry rolling its way across the sea to France! What a year last year had been—all the dilemmas we’d been through as a family, and the most important thing, of course, Michael seeking us out. Really, he’d turned Mum’s life around, and now that she was able to see her granddaughter, Leah, that was just the icing on the cake.
My thoughts turned to the day of the court case but were quickly gone when suddenly there was pandemonium as people began to stand up, gulp down their drinks and swallow last morsels of food while collecting belongings and making their way out onto the cold deck. I realized with a jolt that we were arriving in St. Malo. The journey had flown by, so I quickly put my rucksack on my back and began to follow the slow-moving crowds.
The grey sea tipped with white rose and fell, sharp pointy little waves peaking and troughing, peaking and troughing. A great flock of pesky seagulls squawked and dived as I made my way down the creaking gangplank, shuffling along as if I was shackled with a chain gang until once again I was standing on French soil. I smiled to myself, looking forward to another adventure and The Pilgrim’s concert at La Bar. All I could say really was, “Look out, Blake Edwards, here I come!”
Chapter Fourteen
La Petite Amelia was exactly the same, and Amelia and Georges just as warm and welcoming as they had been back in the summer. They showed me to my room, the same one as before, where I wandered around, unpacking my clothes, bouncing eagerly on the bed like the little girl I’d once been—to test the mattress—and gazing from the window at the garden, still beautiful in the thin February sunshine. The lawn glowed thick and green, and lustrous color still shone from the borders.
Sitting on a comfortable chair at the window, I texted Rose and Mum, and then, with only a slight hesitation, texted James to let him know I’d finally arrived in St. Malo and that I hoped he was well. A sheaf of leaflets and cards on the bedside table caught my eye, and, thumbing through them, I came across a flyer for La Bar, advertising their up and coming events.
The Pilgrims were heavily billed in great bold letters and showed the one date in February for their “Up Close and Personal” mini-concert. There was a picture of the band, all young men with long flowing hair, Blake posing in the middle wearing tight trousers, a bare chest, and a sultry expression. Frowning, I wondered what had happened to Blake’s band T-shirts. He certainly didn’t seem to wear them anymore.
Suddenly curious, I googled them, searching for their debut single, “Baby, You’re a Doll.” I’d heard it before but listened again to the heavy bass guitar and screaming vocals. “Oh yeah, baby, you’re a doll, doll doll, you make me rock and roll, roll roll, you kill me when you move, move, move, and make me wanna groove, groove, groove.” Hmm, okay, I wasn’t a song writer, but compare those lyrics to, say, “Ruby Tuesday,” and would “Baby, You’re a Doll” make the charts, or did people nowadays not listen or even care about song words?
For a split second, I wondered what on earth I was doing in St. Malo, searching for somebody who, clearly, didn’t want me and who, clearly, couldn’t write decent song lyrics. I immediately felt bad. Blake was on his way up a long hard road, and I was comparing the words of his songs with classics written by the Rolling Stones. Was I losing it? He would obviously improve with time and experience.
My phone beeped, and a message from Rose appeared on the screen, wishing me good luck, and would I please let her know as soon as I found Blake. Mum replied in a similar vein but, as yet, there was no reply from James. My heart sank. It had been weeks since I’d seen him, and, not really wanting to admit it even to myself, I had to face up to the fact that I missed him. I missed so many things about him. His warm hand holding mine, his tender kisses, our crazy conversations, and our long ambling walks when we talked and talked and talked.
All these thoughts swirled around and around in my head, but resolutely, I pushed them aside and, shrugging on a jacket, decided to go out. Maybe a brisk walk along a chilly beach would make me feel better and, once I’d got the impending meeting with Blake over and done with, surely that would cheer me up too. It was hanging over my head like an executioner’s axe.
My phone beeped as I made my way out of the B&B and down to the tiny secluded beach, where I’d spent so many hours sunbathing in the summer. Glancing down, I saw that at last, it was a message from James.
Hi, yes, I’m okay. I hope you find what you’re looking for, Ruby. Take care. Thinking of you. J x
I’d dreamt of doing this, of coming back to St. Malo, to walk the sandy beaches and sit in a dark corner in La Bar drinking red wine and watching Blake perform on the stage. But now that I was here and all my dreams coming true, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be here at all. What had Rose lectured me about? Something about the grass being greener on the other side? I vaguely remembered her words. “A classic case of assuming the grass is greener on the other side, Ruby. And it isn’t, it really isn’t, it’s a mirage!” Well, I was beginning to think she could be right, but only time would tell—oh yes, only time would tell.
My thoughts went back to the day of the court case and what an eye-opener it had been. I recalled the dark old fashioned room and the scary-looking judge who had turned out to be so kind. I recalled the musty smell of the courtroom, the dark, somber brown of the seating and the paneling on the walls, and the judge, presiding like a god high up in his chair, wearing a long black gown and a light curly wig. His features were sharp as pencils, and his gaze from hooded eyes as penetrating as a mighty eagle’s—or, I think with a shudder, a vulture’s. I felt, in this dark, gloomy place, that I’d gone back in time by a hundred years or more and that at any moment, people would come streaming through the old oak door wearing shawls and clogs. It amazed me that this man had the power to say whether or not my stepbrother, Michael Fisher, would be granted access rights to his daughter, Leah.
Mum, Dad, and I sat quietly on a bench watching the proceedings. Rose couldn’t get time off so soon in her new job, so it was just the three of us as support for Michael, who sat nearby wringing his hands with anxiety, his face white and pinched. Priscilla, her black fringe dangling in her eyes, lips a pale sheen of pink, sat almost proudly with her boyfriend, Ray Lister, a great hulk of a man, broad shoulders hunched beneath his coat. He had huge meaty hands but the face of a child, all snub nose and doleful blue eyes. Mum and
I exchanged a glance, Mum’s eyebrows raised as if to say, “Hmm, an interesting combination.”
Michael’s solicitor, Ralph Butcher, took to the floor and gave a heartfelt speech, outlining the facts of Leah’s birth and the subsequent breaking up with Michael by Priscilla—Ms. Fenton—with the words, “You’re not needed now. You’ve done your bit.” And also the fact that she had said that she would always prevent him from seeing his daughter and that she had pretended to love him to get what she wanted—a child. It was pointed out that Mr. Fisher had been traumatized by the break-up so soon after his child’s birth and had suffered a breakdown resulting in the loss of his job, a job with a local newspaper that had not only given him a very generous salary but that he had excelled at. He then talked of the house in Bosham that Mr. Fisher had bought for the sole reason that Ms. Fenton had agreed to live there with him, but immediately took back her word on this and proceeded to steal his money—in fact, to bleed him dry—and once again, left him, taking her daughter with her.
I watched Priscilla’s face change at Ralph Butcher’s words, all the various emotions flitting across her face, none of which were sadness or even shame. Her expression was more defensive and even gloating than anything else. She read as easily as a book. I noticed Ray Lister giving her sneaky sidelong glances, his smooth pudgy face bland. Oh, to know what he was thinking.
The solicitor went on to say that Mr. Fisher was now employed, had sold the house in Bosham, and was in the process of buying a property in Emsworth close to his recently reunited family, where he would be able to provide a warm and loving home for his daughter. He recommended visiting rights of every other weekend, Friday to Sunday, the starting date to be agreed between both parties, and once during the week, Wednesday afternoon, which would be reviewed when the child was of age to attend nursery and school. At the end of his speech, he gave a slight bow to the judge and quietly took his seat.