Rosie (19 page)

Nick was horrified. ‘Dad?’ he managed weakly.

‘Yes. I gave them to him for safe-keeping. I couldn’t get to the bank so he said he’d take them for me.’

 
 
21

A little prone to rust.

S
ophie knew something was wrong. For the rest of the day Nick was preoccupied, and she assumed it was to do with the woman and child who had come to the house. Open as she was with her brother, she knew that this was not the moment to ask. The relationship, if that was what it was, was clearly at a critical stage, and she kicked herself for having forgotten to give him the message earlier.

During the day Nick called Alex several times but there was no reply. Then, at around five, the phone was picked up. By Alex. ‘Hi!’

‘Hi!’ He felt as though someone had opened a valve in his head, so great was his relief at hearing her voice. ‘I’m sorry I missed you. I didn’t get the message that you’d called until late.’

‘Oh. I see.’ She sounded cooler than he had hoped. ‘What’s this about Rosie? Victoria said she’d had an accident but there was no need to worry.’

‘She’s broken her hip, messing about in boats, but she’s on the mend.’

‘Are you sure? It can be tricky.’

‘They say that this is the most critical stage. She was a bit dopey at first but she’s pulled round now. She’s almost back to her old self.’

‘Oh, good. We did worry.’

‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘We called in but you weren’t there.’

‘I was at the hospital.’

‘Of course.’

‘Look, I couldn’t see you again, could I? Soon.’

‘Oh, well . . . it’s a bit tricky at the moment . . . Victoria’s back at school and . . .’

There was a long silence. He had hoped she would be as glad to hear his voice as he was to hear hers. But she seemed distant. He tried again. ‘Perhaps I can ring you tomorrow, then?’

‘If you like.’

‘Is everything OK?’

‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

‘No reason. It’s just that . . . well, OK. I’ll call tomorrow.’

‘’Bye, then.’

‘’Bye.’

He put down the phone, hardly able to believe it had happened. Why had she gone so cool on him? Was this the final brush-off? He ambled out on to the veranda and flopped into a chair. Bloody hell! He’d cocked it up again. But this time he had no idea why.

‘Mavis?’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Nick again. Any news on Pa?’

Mavis was a sixty-something, amply proportioned spinster who lived with five cats on the edge of Epping Forest. She had devoted the last twenty years of her life to Nick’s father – as his secretary-cum-personal assistant – but six months ago Derek had decided that he wanted to be more independent and that Mavis was always too keen to tie him down.

‘Very little.’ She cleared her throat and took another sip of her sherry. ‘But I have put out some feelers.’

‘What sort of feelers?’

‘International ones.’

‘How did you know where to start?’

‘Ha!’ Mavis laughed. And then wished she hadn’t: the smoker’s cough took hold and left her incapable of conversation for a good thirty seconds. When she spoke again it was with a bronchial wheeze. ‘I’ve been following up a couple of old contacts. Eastern European ones.’

‘That sounds suspicious,’ said Nick.

‘I think they might bear fruit, but your father doesn’t keep me abreast of things like he used to.’

‘No. Is there anything I can do?’

Mavis shook her head, and wished she hadn’t done that either: the cigarette ash had fallen over her freshly laundered crimson satin blouse. She brushed herself down, holding the telephone receiver between her chin and her shoulder then stubbed out the lipstick-stained cigarette. She picked up the spectacles dangling from the golden chain round her neck, and fumbled on the pad in front of her. ‘I’ve come up with a possible sighting in the Baltic and a new mobile phone number.’

‘The Baltic?’

‘Yes. On a cruise ship. But it was vague and, to be honest, dear, not from a very good source. On the sherbet, you know. But the phone number might be more reliable.’

‘Right.’ Nick picked up a pen.

‘But I’ve tried it and there’s no reply.’

‘Damn. Has he done a bunk?’

Mavis took another restorative sip. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so. He’ll just have gone to ground until the deal’s done.’

‘What sort of deal?’

‘Now, you know better than to ask me that. There was a time when I would have known all but couldn’t tell you. Now, alas, I cannot tell you because I know bugger-all. Your father no longer tells me what he does or where he goes. Sad . . . but there we are.’

‘But I feel so out on a limb.’

Mavis beamed to herself. ‘Join the club, dear. Your father prefers to work as a free agent nowadays.’

‘Agent? What sort of agent?’

‘Don’t be dramatic, dear. He’s never done anything on the wrong side of the law and I’m sure he’s too old and too wise to start now.’

Nick sighed. ‘I do hope you’re right.’ And then he asked, ‘Is there really nothing we can do?’

‘No, dear. I’m afraid there isn’t. I’ll give you the phone number and you can keep trying it, but other than that I’ve nothing to offer.’

Nick took down the number and thanked Mavis for her trouble.

‘That’s all right dear. Send me a bottle of sherry at Christmas.’

He would try to remember. And he tried the telephone number. It did not even offer a number unobtainable tone. The line was dead as a doornail. Just like his love-life.

That evening he sat down to supper with Sophie. He was not the best of company.

‘Come on, then, what is it?’ she asked, spooning up her melon.

‘Sorry?’ He was preoccupied. Distant.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Oh, nothing.’

‘Yes, there is. You’ve not said more than half a dozen sentences all day.’

‘Oh, just girl trouble.’

‘Well, you’ve got more than most, I suppose.’

‘Mmm?’

‘Four all told. Alex and Victoria, me and Rosie. Which ones are you especially worried about, as if I didn’t know?’

Nick nodded in the direction of the mainland.

Sophie smiled indulgently. ‘On your own tonight, then? Only Sis for company.’

Nick poked at the melon on the plate. ‘No need to rub it in.’

Sophie looked guilty. ‘Maybe I’ve frightened her off – by being here, I mean.’

‘Don’t be silly. She’s not that feeble.’

‘Certainly didn’t look feeble.’ She popped a piece of melon into her mouth.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning nothing at all. Just that she seemed very . . . capable.’

‘She is.’ He laid his fork on the table and leaned back in his chair. ‘I mean, I said I hadn’t got her message until late–’

‘Oops, sorry.’

‘–but she didn’t seem to hear, just asked how Rosie was and said it could be a tricky time.’

‘In more ways than one,’ muttered Sophie.

Nick leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. ‘Was she OK when you saw her?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘Suppose so. Didn’t really concentrate. I mean, I don’t know her so I can’t exactly fill you in on her mood.’

Nick slumped back, looking distracted. ‘I suppose not.’

‘If anything, she looked a bit disapproving,’ confessed Sophie. ‘Saw her eyeing up my rucksack. Probably thought I was some sort of traveller.’

Nick sat up. ‘Did you tell her who you were?’

‘Why?’

‘Did you say you were my sister?’

Sophie hesitated. ‘I . . . don’t think so.’

Nick got to his feet and pointed at the rucksack lying in the corner. ‘That was on the veranda, with airline labels all over it and you didn’t tell her who you were?’

‘Well, no. But what have my stickers got to do with it?’

‘You – What’s the female equivalent of a plonker?’

Sophie looked bewildered. ‘Silly bitch?’ she offered.

Nick nodded. ‘And how.’

‘I’m sorry. I still don’t see where you’re coming from.’

‘Alex comes here to tell me she’s going, and she sees you sitting on the veranda.’

‘So?’

‘And she knows I had a girlfriend who ran off to America.’

‘Oh.’ Sophie sat quite still, and then said, ‘Oh, God!’

‘Yes. Oh, God. She only thinks that Debs has come back.’

Sophie did her best to keep a straight face, but failed dismally. Her mouth spread into a grin. ‘You mean she thinks I’m . . .’

‘Yes,’ said Nick.

‘Debs the Delight?’

‘It’s not funny.’

Sophie did not agree. In fact, she couldn’t speak for laughing.

‘Your sister?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh.’

There was a pause in the conversation, and Nick wondered if Alex was about to say, ‘That’s a likely story.’ But she didn’t. Instead she chuckled and said, ‘How silly.’

‘Silly of her not to say.’

‘And silly of me to jump to conclusions.’

‘Typical Sophie. She gets it from our mother. She’s a great sister – love her to bits – but she can be a bit short with people she doesn’t know.’

Alex brightened and made to brush it aside. ‘Yes. Well, never mind.’

‘No, but I do mind.’

‘Do you?’

There was a pause. Quite a long pause. ‘Yes. More than I realized.’

‘Oh. That’s very nice.’

‘Look, can I see you again – soon?’

‘How soon?’

‘Tomorrow night?’

‘Well, I . . . yes . . . I suppose so.’

‘Shall I come over to you? I mean, you’ve been over here a lot lately.’

‘No. No. I’ll come to you. I’ll just have to find a sitter, that’s all. Oh, and I have a new mobile. Same number, but it works now.’

‘Right. See you tomorrow, then.’

‘Yes.’

‘And . . . er . . .’ He fumbled for the right words.

‘Yes?’

‘It will be lovely to see you.’

‘Oh, and you.’

He put the phone down. In spite of the other ‘local difficulties’, he felt strangely empowered.

A few moments later Nick’s mother rang. She was unusually compliant. She had been giving some thought to Rosie’s convalescence, and had decided, she said, that perhaps it would be best if Rosie stayed on the island. Rather than risk moving her. There was a calm finality about her tone. Nick wondered, for a moment, whether he was imagining it. She said little, but her resigned manner spoke volumes.

He hung up. It was a defining moment. To all intents and purposes, his grandmother’s future care was in his hands. It would not surprise him if his mother never mentioned her again.

He wondered if he was being dramatic. Perhaps it was just something about the day.

‘I don’t really want to go out, you know,’ grumbled Sophie, the following evening.

‘I know, but you owe it to me, don’t you?’

‘Mmm. I suppose so.’ She was changing in the bathroom and talked to him through the half-open door. ‘What time will it be safe for me to come back?’

‘Will you stop talking as though there’s some kind of furtive liaison going on?’

‘OK, OK – I just don’t want to barge in and interrupt anything, that’s all.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘I’ll be back about ten, then.’

‘What?’

Sophie grinned. ‘Only teasing. I don’t want to cramp your style. I’ve booked a room at the Royal London – I’m meeting up with a few old drinking mates.’

Nick back-pedalled: ‘Look, you can come back here. Nothing’s going to happen. I just want us to have a bit of time on our own.’

‘Of course. And who’d want their sister hanging around?’

‘It’s not that—’

‘Even if she has only been home a couple of days.’

‘Soph!’

She came out of the bathroom wearing a T-shirt and jeans. ‘You’re
so
easy to wind up.’

‘And you’re so good at it.’

‘Years of practice.’ She reached up and ruffled his hair. ‘Better clean yourself up a bit, though. Don’t want to put her off.’

‘I will – now I can get into the bathroom.’

‘You are
so
selfish. It’s just me, me, me with you, isn’t it?’ she teased, and they burst out laughing.

‘Well, you might meet some rich yachtie at the club who’ll sweep you off your feet,’ Nick said eventually.

‘Oh, yeah? Who says I want to be swept off my feet?’ Sophie smiled ruefully. ‘Too scared.’

Nick looked reflective. ‘Family trait.’

‘Come on! Time you had a bit of fun. Debs isn’t the only woman in the world.’

‘I know that.’ Then he added softly, as he walked into the bathroom, ‘Now.’

He met her at the ferry terminal at Fishbourne, in the MG with the hood down.

‘Is this wise?’ she asked. ‘Having the hood down?’

He leaned across and kissed her cheek. ‘No rain forecast.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘I thought we’d eat in. Try to do a bit better than last time.’

Alex grinned. ‘That’s nice. No need to worry about anyone else.’

He looked at her meaningfully. ‘No.’

They didn’t speak much on the journey, just sat back, happy to be in each other’s company. She watched his feet on the pedals as he drove over the bridge at Wootton Creek; looked at the way the hair curled on the back of his neck as they sat on the chain ferry between East and West Cowes, and smiled as he opened the door for her to get out once they had reached the Anchorage.