The Old House on the Corner (4 page)

‘What about my milk?’ Tiffany wailed when Rachel raced down the path and across the lawn to number one where the front door was wide open and the house looked as if a hurricane had swept through it, although it had been the same when Rachel had glimpsed inside the other day. There were dozens of cardboard boxes and plastic bags in the hall and living room waiting to be emptied. She ran upstairs, doing her best to avoid the clothes and toys left dangerously on each stair, into the
front bedroom, where Sarah lay, face down in a froth of frilly bedclothes, wearing a dirty T-shirt, and apparently dead to the world.

Rachel shook the inert woman vigorously and after a while a groan emerged. ‘You’re alive!’ she gasped, sinking thankfully onto the edge of the bed.

Sarah groaned again, turned over, and screamed when she saw Rachel, whom she hardly knew, sitting on her bed. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded shakily.

‘Tiffany said you were dead. She gave us a dreadful fright.’

‘I was asleep,’ Sarah said in a croaky voice, ‘fast asleep, having a lovely dream. I didn’t drop off until about three o’clock. Alastair’s teething. I need some of that stuff you dab on gums, I can’t remember what it’s called, and baby Aspirin and Calpol and hundreds more nappies, but before I can buy anything, I have to get money from somewhere. Are there any cash machines around here?’ She sat up, swung her legs out of bed, and looked around the untidy room, as if expecting to see one amidst the jumble of bottles and boxes on the dressing table.

‘I’ll find out,’ Rachel said helpfully. ‘There’s bound to be some on Smithdown Road. If not, I’ll lend you some money. And my husband and I are going shopping later. We’ll get the stuff for you and anything else you need.’

‘Thank you, you’re very kind – I can’t remember your name. I’ve no idea where Smithdown Road is. I don’t know anything any more,’ she wailed. ‘And I need all sorts of other stuff: a kettle, for instance, and an iron, not that I know how to use one, and one of those big flat things you fry things in.’

‘My name’s Rachel, dear, and what you need is called a frying pan.’ She patted Sarah’s hand. ‘Smithdown and
Allerton Roads are no distance away. They’re full of shops and there’s a lovely big park directly behind called the Mystery where the children can play when they get older. You’ll find this a really convenient place to live. Liverpool city centre is only a bus ride away. It’s hardly worth taking the car.’

‘This time last week, I lived in a seven-bedroomed house and had a nanny for the children. I’m finding it hard to get used to this – but I
will
. I’ve promised myself that I will.’ Sarah brushed back her thick, fair hair with a determined gesture. Her dishevelled appearance, and the fact that she smelled a bit, couldn’t disguise how lovely she was, with perfect bone structure and huge blue eyes surrounded by thick dark lashes. Her legs were long and brown and as perfect as her face. She wore brief shorts to match the T-shirt. It was one of those modern sleeping outfits – Rachel’s daughter, Kirsty, wore the same sort of thing.

Frank arrived. He came bounding up the stairs and into the bedroom, puffing slightly. ‘It’s bloody hot out there,’ he panted. Rachel noticed the way his eyes narrowed calculatingly when he saw the long-legged Sarah. It was a look she’d seen before. Frank had always been a flirt, but it was only recently he’d started to have affairs. Sarah would be perfect for him: just separated from her husband and feeling very vulnerable – and living right under his nose.

‘Well,’ Frank drawled. ‘You’re clearly not dead. That’s a relief.’ Sarah smiled tremulously and fluttered her eyelashes.

‘Where’s Tiffany?’ Rachel enquired.

‘I woke up Kirsty, she’s with her.’ Frank didn’t even look at his wife, having eyes only for Sarah’s shapely
breasts – the nipples were enticingly visible through the thin cotton top.

A little boy came wandering in, completely naked, sucking the corner of a scrap of blue blanket. It was Jack, who Rachel remembered was two and a half.

‘Oh, hello, darling.’ Sarah regarded him listlessly. ‘Is Alastair still asleep?’

‘Alastair not there,’ Jack said through a mouthful of blanket.

‘Perhaps he went walkies with Tiffany,’ Frank suggested.

‘He’s only seven months old,’ Sarah screamed. ‘I’ve just remembered. I had him in bed with me. I might have smothered him.’ She dragged back the duvet to reveal a plump baby lying with his face buried in the pillow. ‘Alastair, darling.’ She picked him up and clutched him to her chest. ‘He’s still breathing,’ she announced tearfully.

‘Thank goodness.’ Rachel suddenly felt very tired and wanted to go home. Sarah Rees-James and her offspring were very wearing.

She therefore wasn’t quite sure how it happened that, two hours later, Frank drove to the supermarket with a list of groceries, accompanied by Sarah Rees-James, while Rachel was left to look after the children. Why couldn’t Sarah have written a list and looked after her own children? Come to that, how come the two women hadn’t gone and left the children with Frank?

Why didn’t I think of that before? Rachel wondered, too late.

Anna Burrows was sitting up in bed when her husband came in with breakfast on a tray. ‘There’s some children playing on the lawn, Ernie. They’re awfully sweet.’

‘I hope they’re not making a noise,’ Ernest growled. ‘That’s why we moved, to get away from the noise.’

‘Only of never-ending traffic, darling. I love the sound of children playing,’ she said wistfully. The Burrows hadn’t been blessed with children. All they had was each other. She surveyed the contents of the tray. ‘I’ll never eat all this, Ernie. Just the toast will do fine. Oh, you’ve got gooseberry jam, my favourite,’ she added gaily when she noticed his disappointed face. ‘You have the fried stuff. I know you can find the room.’ He had the appetite of a horse.

‘If you’re sure, luv.’ He took the plate. It held only a single sausage, one slice of bacon and an egg, but Anna seemed to be eating less and less these days. ‘Would you like to go for a walk later? It’s a lovely day outside, going to be another scorcher.’ They’d hardly been out since moving to Clematis Cottage a week ago – it had been Anna’s idea to give it a name. He’d been too busy laying carpets, arranging furniture, putting up curtains, making the house perfect for his beloved wife. Ernest was eighty-one, but had the health and strength of a man half his age, as well as a full head of silver hair and all his own teeth. He only wore glasses for reading.

‘I’d love to go for a walk. I’m longing to see where we’re living now. Can you get the lid off this jam for me?’

‘Sorry, luv. I should’ve done it before.’ He unscrewed the lid. A small child could have easily done it, but Anna had hardly any strength left in her hands. She’d had multiple sclerosis for almost a quarter of a century. At first, it hadn’t been too debilitating, but now she could hardly walk. There were days when her speech was slurred, she couldn’t concentrate, felt giddy, though
today she seemed as bright as a button. She had borne her illness with infinite patience, rarely complaining.

Ernie regarded her tenderly as she pecked at the toast like a bird. He was her willing slave, her cook, her nurse. When they’d first met, he’d risked his life on her behalf. Then, her hair had been pure gold and her cheeks as pink as roses. Now the hair was silver, like his own, and her face was lily-white and wrinkled. But Ernie still loved his darling Anna just as much, if not more.

‘I forgot to say, a postcard came this morning. The woman in Three Farthings has invited us to a barbecue next Saturday.’

Her blue eyes glowed. ‘We’ll go, won’t we? I won’t find it too tiring, I promise. You know how much I love parties.’

‘I know, luv. As long as you’re up to it, we’ll definitely go.’

An hour later, after Anna had washed and Ernie had helped her into a smart purple cotton dress and dangly red earrings – today, she had managed to put on lipstick and brush her lashes with mascara – they set off for a walk; Anna in her wheelchair, Ernest pushing.

The children were still playing on the lawn, a little boy chasing a butterfly while managing to carry a piece of blanket, and a girl slightly bigger doing cartwheels, watched over by Mrs Williams from Three Farthings who was sitting on the grass nursing a baby and not looking very happy about it. The girl came running over. ‘Why are you in a pushchair?’ she wanted to know.

‘Because I’m ill, dear,’ Anna told her. ‘I can’t walk, least not very far. What’s your name?’

‘Tiffany. That’s Jack, he’s my brother. Alastair’s my other brother. He’s got a pushchair, ’cos he can’t walk either.’

‘Yes, but one day he’ll learn. Hello!’ Anna waved at Mrs Williams who was struggling to get to her feet while holding the baby. ‘Don’t get up, we’ll come to you. You’ve got a lovely family,’ she said when Ernie had parked the wheelchair beside the heavily perspiring woman.

‘They’re not mine. I’ve got three children too, but they’re much older. James’s twenty, and Kirsty’s nineteen. They’ve both gone into town.’

‘And how old is the other one?’ Anna enquired.

‘Oh!’ Mrs Williams’s moist face went very red. ‘I’m sorry, I meant two, two children. These belong to Sarah Rees-James from number one. I’m just looking after them while my husband takes her shopping.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s time they were back,’ she muttered.

‘It must be you who’s having the barbecue. Let’s hope the weather’s as good as it is today. Ernie and I would love to come, wouldn’t we, dear?’

‘Yes,’ Ernest mumbled. He hated socializing and wouldn’t have gone near the barbecue if it hadn’t been for Anna.

A bright red car drove into the square and parked outside one of the garages, windows open, music blaring. The music was turned off and a young man got out. He wore heavy, horn-rimmed glasses that made him look rather owlish, jeans, and a T-shirt. His brown hair was tousled and he was badly in need of a shave. ‘Hi, Rachel – we’d love to come to the barbecue, by the way. Hi, kids. Hi, folks.’ He smiled cheerfully. ‘I’m Gareth Moran. You must be Mr and Mrs Burrows. Pleased to meet you.’ He shook hands with them both.

‘Call us Anna and Ernie,’ Anna trilled. This was what she loved, Ernest thought fondly, being surrounded by people.

It took quite a while to extricate her from the crowd – it was a crowd by then, as Frank Williams had returned with the children’s mother, Sarah, who was a fine-looking girl, Ernest had to concede, though not a patch on Anna at the same age.

‘I’m ever so glad we moved, Ernie,’ she said breathily as they left the square, an elderly man out with his invalid wife. They probably looked very ordinary, very boring. Ernest chuckled to himself, and supposed they were, now. But they hadn’t always been.

‘Debbie,’ Gareth shouted when he went into Hamilton Lodge – he loathed the name, considered it pretentious, but Debbie had insisted. He was relieved that she had decided Moran didn’t sound as grand as Hamilton and had used her own name instead of his.

There was a note by the phone. ‘Gone to town. Let’s meet for coffee in Bluecoat Chambers at 3.30. Deb.’

He searched for his mobile, found it in his jeans pocket, and texted her a message. ‘No can do. C u at home.’ She would be cross, but he didn’t care. He had work to do in his office upstairs.

In the kitchen, he wrinkled his nose when he saw the place was a tip. A fluffy tortoiseshell kitten jumped off the table and rubbed itself against his leg, purring loudly.

‘Nice to see you too,’ Gareth muttered, giving it a saucer of milk that looked slightly off. The kitten had already been christened Tabitha before they had discovered it was a tom, by which time it was too late to change the name and confuse it.

‘Well, this is a fine old mess,’ he sighed. That morning’s breakfast dishes were piled on top of last night’s dinner dishes. Gareth was perfectly willing to do his share of housework, but Debbie had taken the day off
and it seemed unreasonable that she hadn’t washed up while he was at work. He sniffed virtuously. The other way round, he’d have done the dishes like a shot.

Debbie wanted a cleaner. ‘I can’t be expected to clean a big house like this on my own,’ she complained, although they’d barely been in the place a fortnight. She was irritated when he pointed out they hadn’t had to buy such a big house in the first place. He’d been keen on moving to the square, giving up the flat in Woolton that cost an arm and a leg in rent, expecting to pay much less for a mortgage on one of the semis or a bungalow, but Debbie had insisted on this one, although they had no need for four bedrooms. Both were too busy with their careers to think of having children for years. Debbie was a beauty therapist and wanted to open her own salon one day.

I should have put my foot down, Gareth told himself. Easier said than done when faced with Debbie’s appealing little face and appealing little voice. ‘Oh, go on, Gareth, we can afford it.’ She could wrap him around her little finger and Gareth, who loved her to bits, was only too willing to let her. It accounted for why the house was full of dead expensive furniture and Debbie wore dead expensive clothes, why they were going on holiday to Barbados in October, why, any minute now, he would get rid of the old Ford Escort that he was rather fond of and buy a ghastly four-wheeled drive thing called a Prairie Dog that he considered as pretentious as the name of the house. He sighed, picked up his mobile and texted another message. ‘Changed mind. Meet u 3.30. OK. Luv u. G.’

Victoria was still badly missing her gran. There was something very unsatisfactory about having one-sided
conversations with a woman who’d been dead for two years, no matter how dear to her she’d been. From her window, she had seen the Burrows speak to Rachel who was looking after Sarah Rees-James’s children, seen Gareth Moran drive in and join them. Then Frank Williams and Sarah had arrived, and Victoria was about to go round and introduce herself, when the Burrows left and Rachel went indoors, Gareth Moran disappeared into Hamilton Lodge, Frank carried Sarah’s shopping into number one, Sarah carried the baby, the other children followed, and there wasn’t a soul left on the grass.

It frightened the usually fearless Victoria that things could so quickly change. One minute there was a crowd of people yet, in a flash, all had gone. The same thing had happened with her mum and dad, who’d vanished from her life within the space of weeks. Gran was old and apparently in the best of health, but had died quite unexpectedly in her sleep, leaving Victoria without a soul in the world to call her own. The boyfriend who had expressed his undying love only a few months ago had turned out to have a very pregnant wife, although Victoria tried hard not to think about that particular episode in her life. She would get over it one day soon.