The Old House on the Corner (33 page)

‘A bit. You’d think everyone around here lived in the Dark Ages.’

‘All this is new to me. I’m not used to buying groceries and stuff. All I bought were clothes for myself and occasionally for the children. Nanny always bought their shoes. It was such a bore, having to have their feet measured. Jack always cried, I can’t think why.’

‘He thought they were going to cut his feet off, Mummy,’ Tiffany said.

‘Poor little angel.’ Sarah kissed the top of Jack’s head. ‘Next time, Mummy will take you to buy shoes, darling, and no one will cut off your feet, I promise.’

They walked on. When they passed a small W.H. Smith, Sarah asked Marie if she would hold the pram again while she went to buy a book.

‘What sort of book?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sarah said vaguely. ‘Any sort, really. Alex said one of the worst things about me was I never read books.’

She wandered inside and emerged about ten minutes later with a book in a plastic bag. ‘I told the woman I’d never read a book before and she recommended this one. It’s called
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
. Isn’t that an interesting title? Oh, look, Marie!’ she shrilled. ‘There’s a dear little cafe´ across the road. Shall we go and have coffee?’

‘OK,’ Marie said weakly.

‘I used to get on Alex’s nerves terribly,’ Sarah confessed when they were having the drinks. She lowered her head and her thick, blonde hair fell forward, shadowing her face, making her blue eyes seem darker. In a low voice, she said tremulously, ‘I’m awfully worried about him, Marie.’

‘There’s no need to worry, surely? The police took him away.’

‘I rang the station this morning and they’d let him off with a caution. My solicitor has applied to have a restraining order put on him, but nothing will stop Alex from getting what he wants. He told me he was going to take the children abroad, that I’d never see them again.’

‘Can he do that without your permission?’

‘He wouldn’t ask for my permission.’ She glanced to see if Tiffany was listening, but she was busy trying to make Oliver drink through a straw. In an even lower voice, Sarah said, ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to come with a gang of thugs who’d snatch them off me and put them straight on to a plane.’

‘I wouldn’t go, Mummy.’ Tiffany had been listening all the time. ‘I’d scream and scream and Ernie would come and save us again.’

‘I know you would, darling,’ her mother said tearfully, ‘but Ernie won’t always be around to save you. I wonder if we shouldn’t move again to a place where Alex will never find us,’ she whispered to Marie.

‘If he’s the sort of man you say he is, there’s nowhere on earth where he won’t find you,’ Marie whispered back.

‘I envy you, Marie.’ Sarah sighed. ‘Your husband, Liam, seems awfully nice. You never complain, nothing bothers you. I wish my life was as calm and trouble free as yours.’

Marie wanted to say, ‘Don’t you believe it.’ Instead, she just shrugged and said nothing.

Victoria had advised getting a proper desk for the
computer, ‘With a shelf at the back for the monitor, otherwise you’d have to balance it on books or something to save getting a pain in the neck having to look down all the time.’

Ernie said everything could go in the spare bedroom. ‘It’s still a mess. I haven’t had time to sort it yet.’

‘We could call it the office, Ernie,’ Anna said importantly. ‘Or does the study sound better?’

‘Call it anything you like, luv.’

Desks only came in flat packs, but Victoria said she’d put her own desk together and, anyroad, Gareth would be there to help.

Ernie’s idea of a mess differed wildly from Victoria’s. When they got to Clematis Cottage, she went into the spare bedroom where cardboard boxes, as yet unpacked, had been neatly placed on top of one another. There was a single armchair and a bookcase full of books: in alphabetical order by author, she noticed. Most of the books were thrillers, but there were a few military histories and political tomes on a separate shelf.

Ernie said that, once they were settled, it was where he intended to come and have a quiet read when Anna was watching a film he didn’t like or had a visitor. He was carefully opening the box that held the desk with a Stanley knife.

‘I see you’ve got
The Ragged Trousered Philanthropist
,’ Victoria remarked. ‘That was Granddad’s favourite book. He read it over and over. I only put it out the other day for a charity shop.’

‘I’d’ve liked to have met your granddad,’ Ernie said. ‘He sounds like a man after me own heart.’

‘You’d have got on well together.’

‘That copy you’ve got,’ Ernest said thoughtfully,
‘Steve next door might like it. He’s a Socialist, same as me.’

‘I’ll take it round sometime. I met Steve’s wife this morning. She seems awfully nice.’

The doorbell rang and Ernest went to answer it. Seconds later, Gareth entered the room. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Ernie’s gone to make us some tea.’

‘Hi.’ Victoria didn’t look up, her head bent over the diagram showing how the desk should be erected.

‘I understand we’ve got a desk to put up.’

Victoria nodded, still not looking at him. ‘It was my idea that they buy it. It’s quite straightforward, there are no drawers or extending bits. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course I don’t mind. I’d do anything, build a house, let alone a desk, if it meant being with you,’ Gareth said simply.

She looked at him then. ‘Don’t say things like that. What about Debbie? What excuse did you give her for leaving? Where does she think you are?’

‘She hasn’t come home. She’s probably gone to her mother’s again. I’m being punished because we had a row this morning. I’m very much in Debbie’s bad books.’ He stuffed his thumbs in his jeans’ pockets and shrugged. ‘It was about money again. She can’t understand why I’m not willing to get even more overdrawn.’

‘I’m sorry, Gareth.’

‘Not half as sorry as I am,’ Gareth said with a sigh, just as Ernie came in with three cups of tea on a tray.

‘Anna’s got wine, but I thought it’d best if we kept our heads clear until this thing has been put together.’

‘You’re very wise, Ernie,’ Victoria told him.

‘It comes with growing old, luv,’ Ernie said gruffly.
‘I wasn’t wise when I was your age else I might have done all sorts of things differently, but then I wouldn’t have had nearly such a good time. Too much wisdom can make life awful dull.’

‘Lord, Ernie! Now you sound even wiser.’ Victoria gulped down the tea. ‘Shall we get started? The sooner it’s finished the better.’

Victoria was kneeling on the bed, looking out of the window at the still and soundless square, and breathing in the heady scent of lavender. She would have gone downstairs and made a drink, but it meant climbing over Gareth who was fast asleep, disturbing him. She’d been unable to sleep herself, although she usually dropped off the minute her head touched the pillow. The last time she’d looked at her watch it had been ten past two.

They’d had a marvellous time at Clematis Cottage – not that anything even faintly exciting or interesting had happened – but just being in the same room as Gareth, knowing how he felt about her and she about him, eyes meeting, hands touching every now and then when they’d put the desk together, sharing Anna and Ernie’s astonishment when the computer had been connected and the logo appeared on the screen.

‘It’s a bloody miracle,’ Ernie had gasped.

‘Don’t swear, darling,’ Anna chided, nudging him.

‘I bet Victoria and Gareth have heard worse words than that in their time,’ Ernie said, not at all apologetic. ‘Now, how d’you play them card games you told us about?’

‘I thought the computer was bought for me?’ Anna complained.

‘You can have a turn in a minute, luv.’

It was almost ten by the time Ernie could be parted from the computer and into the front room to drink the wine and eat the biscuits Anna had provided. Victoria had refused wine, preferring tea and, as soon as she’d drunk it, said she had to be going home. ‘I’ve loads to do tomorrow, walls to wash, that sort of thing.’ Gareth remembered he had work to do on his own computer and it was time he went too.

They’d left together, running hand in hand towards Victoria’s house, knowing what would happen when they got there.

And it had. And it had been wonderful, far better than Victoria had ever known before, even with Philip with whom, until days ago, she’d thought she’d been in love. Gareth had said the same, and she’d told him that he shouldn’t, not when he was married to Debbie, but he said he couldn’t help it. It was the truth.

‘We were made for each other,’ he said softly. ‘It’s another bloody miracle.’

Victoria had sobbed into his shoulder, knowing that what he said was true, but things had all gone wildly wrong because he already had a wife and it wasn’t a miracle, it was a bloody tragedy.

She’d fetched a bottle of wine and they’d drunk it in bed, leaning against the headboard, telling each other tender things, their voices sad because they knew theirs would only be a very fleeting affair.

They made love again and it was even better than before, and then Gareth had made sure no lights were on in Hamilton Lodge indicating that Debbie had come home. It meant that he and Victoria could spend the night together. It might be the only night they ever would. Soon afterwards, he’d fallen asleep, and
she had lain watching him, wishing things could be different, knowing it was a waste of time.

She looked at her watch again: quarter to three. A car door slammed in the main road and she was surprised when two men walked into the square. They could be seen quite clearly in the light of the moon and the lamps that cast a soft glow over the silent houses. They stopped in front of the first house where Sarah Rees-James and her children slept. Although the men had their backs to her, Victoria could tell they were giving Sarah’s house a good look over. Their voices were audible through the open window, though she couldn’t make out the words. One of the men approached the front door and she held her breath, wondering if she should shout and order them to go away, but the man merely examined the lock and returned to join his companion.

‘Gareth.’ She shook his shoulder.

‘Wha?’ muttered a sleepy voice, followed by a wide-awake one saying, ‘Victoria, what a cracking surprise! I’d forgotten where I was for the minute.’ He tried to drag her back into bed, but she said urgently, ‘There’s these men outside Sarah’s house, casing the joint.’

‘Casing the joint!’ He laughed out loud.

‘Shush! The window’s open and they might hear. Come and look.’

When Gareth looked, the men were walking away. Soon afterwards, a car door slammed and she said quickly, ‘Look through the other window, quickly, see if they came in a silver Rolls-Royce.’

Gareth leaped out of bed, as naked as the day he was born, and ran to the end room. ‘It’s a Rolls,’ he said. ‘I
couldn’t tell what colour in the streetlights, but I’d guess silver.’

‘That’s Sarah’s husband’s car. I told you what happened yesterday, didn’t I? He tried to take the children, but Ernie stopped him. I missed everything,’ she said regretfully. ‘I was covered in cobwebs at the time. He must be intending to come back again. I’d better tell Sarah tomorrow. Oh!’ She put her hand to her mouth.

‘Oh, what?’

‘Say if they come back tonight?’

‘We’ll just have to stay awake in case they do, then sound the alarm.’

‘Stay awake all night!’

‘That’s easily done.’ Gareth got into bed and took her in his arms. ‘Very easily done,’ he said, kissing her.

Tonight was the second time that Liam had tried to open her bedroom door, but had found it bolted on the inside. He knocked softly and whispered, ‘Marie,’ but Marie merely buried her head in the pillow, the rosary in her hand.

‘Hail Mary, full of grace,’ she whispered. ‘Blessed art thou amongst women. Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus …’

Liam whispered her name and knocked again, but must have decided to give up when there was no response. The floorboards creaked as he crept back to his room, the bed creaked when he got into it, and Marie prayed faster and faster until the words ran into each other and no longer made any sense.

They hadn’t been able to have a private word with each other all day – in a way it had been a relief as she had no idea what she would say. Patrick had been in
when Liam had gone to work and was there when he came home. He had followed Liam into the kitchen when Marie was making the tea, and trailed after him into the garden where she’d gone to fetch the washing off the line. Quite clearly, Patrick had no intention of leaving her alone with Liam again. She wondered if her son had been awake when Liam had knocked and didn’t like to think what would have happened if she’d let him in.

Things couldn’t be allowed to go on in this way, living in such a horrible atmosphere – Danny had noticed and been unusually quiet all night. He probably thought it was all to do with the row the night before. He didn’t know what Patrick knew, that his mammy had nearly had carnal knowledge of a priest.

‘What am I to do?’ Marie asked piteously. Her hand gripped the rosary so tightly that the crucifix pressed painfully into her palm. She gripped it harder, wanting to draw blood in order to pay for her sins, but the thought of blood brought back the memory of the house in Belfast with its blood-soaked room and the man with half his face blown away.

Who had done it?

And why?

‘Marie Clare Brennan, have you been wearing my black frock again?’ Theresa screamed. ‘I saw you sneak out last night, your coat buttoned to your neck, when you went to that dance at the Holy Spirit.’

‘I did
not
sneak out,’ Marie screamed back. ‘My coat was buttoned because it happened to be snowing outside and I wore me very own blue dress underneath, the one
you
wore last week when you went out with Calum O’Reilly.’

‘Then why is my black frock full of stains?’

‘Don’t ask me, Theresa. They’re someone else’s stains, not mine.’

‘Mam!’ Theresa continued to scream. ‘D’you know who’s been
borrowing
my best black frock?’ The ‘borrowing’ was said in a tone of extreme sarcasm.