The Old House on the Corner (46 page)

‘You’re nothing but a damn fool, Ernie.’ Her voice was so cutting that he winced. ‘You’ve always been a hypochondriac. Remember that time in Monte Carlo when you were bitten by that dear little poodle and were
terrified you’d caught rabies? There’s been loads of other instances, too many to list. Cut your finger, and you’ve got blood poisoning; the suggestion of a rash, and it’s skin cancer; forget a few words and you’ve got dementia.’ She paused for breath. ‘Stop being such a ninny and comb my hair. I feel like a tramp – what is it they call female tramps in America?’

‘Bag ladies,’ Ernest said promptly.

‘See!’ she said triumphantly. ‘You remembered that.’

He fetched the comb, suitably humbled. She’d always had the knack of turning his troubles into little ones or making them vanish into thin air. He wasn’t entirely convinced by everything she’d said, but it had been enough to set his mind at rest.

By now, Victoria could say she was leaving for New York the day after tomorrow. It was
that
close. She could actually count down the hours: forty-eight, forty-seven, forty-six, and so on until it was time to leave the house and her new friends. Every time she and Gareth made love she tried not to think it could be for the last time: tonight, Debbie might be there and he’d find it impossible to get away; tomorrow was the barbecue and he would have to go because he’d invited his mother. Anyroad, they couldn’t let Rachel down.

That morning, after Sarah and her family had gone home – the police were coming to interview Sarah at ten o’clock about Alex’s abortive attempt to kidnap the children – Victoria and Gareth sat down to breakfast, grinning at each other stupidly across the table because they were high on love, having spent a truly fantastic night together.

‘If we got married, we could do this every morning
for the rest of our lives,’ Gareth reminded her as he bit into a piece of toast.

‘You’re already married,’ she reminded him.

‘Have you never heard of divorce?’

‘You’ve asked me that before.’

‘And what was your answer?’

‘I can’t remember,’ she admitted. She changed the subject. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’

‘You asked me
that
before. I told you, I don’t care about work. Anyroad, I hardly ever take days off. I called earlier and told them I had the flu.’

‘Nobody gets the flu in a heatwave.’

‘I somehow managed to. It’s your fault. Every time I look at you my temperature soars. It’s like that Peggy Lee song, “You give me fever.”’ He sang a few lines and Victoria clapped.

‘I
love
that. It’s ages since I heard it.’

‘I’ve got a Peggy Lee CD at home. I’ll bring it next time I come.’

‘I haven’t got a CD player,’ Victoria told him.

‘Then I’ll bring my portable CD player with me.’

Victoria sighed. ‘You’ve got an answer for everything.’

He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘I haven’t had the answer I want from you. I’ve had
an
answer, but not the right one.’

‘I can’t marry you, Gareth,’ she said piteously. ‘I
can’t
.’

‘They why don’t we just live together?’ he said urgently. ‘I could come and join you in New York. Not straight away, obviously, but in about a month’s time, after I’ve given in my notice, sorted things out here. I’ll tell Debbie I’m leaving her, not say I’m in love with someone else so she won’t feel quite so hurt.’

‘She’ll feel hurt enough.’ Victoria closed her eyes and
imagined living with Gareth in New York. It would be so totally wonderful that it almost took her breath away. She opened her eyes and murmured, ‘It would be heaven.’

‘Wouldn’t it! Will you at least
think
about it, darling?’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised.

Tabitha strolled in yawning, yawned again, and collapsed into a heap on the floor. After Victoria and Gareth had gone upstairs, he jumped on to the table, ate the remainder of the toast, knocked over a mug and drank the spilled coffee.

‘You are a very naughty kitten,’ Gareth told him, hours later, on the way back to Hamilton Lodge. ‘Your manners are appalling. You have no idea how to behave in other people’s houses. Or in your own, come to that,’ he muttered, unlocking the door and stepping over half a dozen letters that had arrived that morning. He shouted, ‘Debbie!’ just in case she was home, although it was most unlikely at one o’clock in the afternoon.

He’d come back to have a shower, change his clothes, and give the cat some genuine cat food. The poor little bugger hadn’t had anything proper to eat since yesterday morning. He went into the kitchen, opened a tin of rabbit, spooned half into Tabitha’s plastic bowl, and filled a saucer with milk.

‘After you’ve stuffed yourself, we’re going back to Victoria’s,’ he promised. ‘I’d better look through the post first.’ He’d only open those on which the address had been written by hand; typed, and they meant trouble. None of the letters was handwritten, so he threw them on to the hall table to look at another time, ran upstairs, had the speediest shower he’d ever had in his life, put on clean jeans and a T-shirt, and returned to the kitchen.

‘Haven’t you finished yet?’ he said impatiently. Tabitha was vigorously licking the bowl and, so far, hadn’t touched the milk. The kitten gave him a filthy look and continued to lick.

Gareth sat down to wait. ‘She’s thinking about it, Tab,’ he chortled. ‘How about that, eh? When you become a fully grown cat, don’t get married until you’re a hundred per cent sure you’ve found the right female. Me, I just drifted into it like a sleepwalker. Oh, look! Madam’s left me a note. I hadn’t noticed.’

A large piece of paper covered in Debbie’s barely decipherable scrawl was attached to the fridge with a magnet disguised as a gnome,
GARETH
, in big block letters at the top, heavily underlined:

Gareth stared at the third item for a very long time. The only sounds audible were of Tabitha noisily lapping the milk and the collapsing of his world around his ears: a thunderous crashing and rolling.

Debbie was having a baby!
His
baby. The enormity of it was taking some time to register in his brain, until the searing recognition came that he couldn’t possibly leave her now: it was out of the question. He couldn’t let his child grow up without a father. He dropped his head in his hands and began to weep.

*

Alex Rees-James was in prison and, according to the police sergeant who’d been to see Sarah that morning, had been charged with breaking and entering and attempted kidnapping. ‘He’s unlikely to be allowed bail since there’s always a chance he’ll try again.’

‘That’s good to know,’ Sarah breathed. As soon as the man had gone, she put Alastair in his pram in the garden and began to put fresh water in the paddling pool – she must buy a hose, it took ages to fill with a bucket and Tiffany and Jack insisted on helping and the kitchen got flooded. It was another fantastic day and her shoulders felt light with relief, although she wasn’t entirely confident she would ever be completely free from Alex. Even in jail, he posed a threat.

Marie Jordan came into the next-door garden with a basket of washing and began to peg it on the line. ‘Have the police been?’ she called.

‘Yes.’ Sarah repeated what the policeman had said. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked when she’d finished.

‘I’d love one, except I’m waiting for an important phone call. I don’t like to leave the house. When the children get tired of the pool, perhaps you could come round here? By the way, do you think they’d like a computer? Victoria’s letting us have her much better one, so ours will be going spare.’

Tiffany had been listening, as always. She leaped out of the pool. ‘We’d love a computer, wouldn’t we, Mummy? I can already play loads of games: Danny taught me. Where
is
Danny?’ she demanded. ‘I thought he’d be in Victoria’s, but when I knocked on the door she didn’t answer.’

‘Danny knocked too,’ Marie said. ‘She must have
gone out. He’s gone into town with Patrick and Kirsty, Rachel’s daughter.’

‘He didn’t ask me,’ Tiffany said sulkily.

Sarah told her not to be silly and that she wouldn’t have let her go anyway, she was far too young.

‘I don’t
feel
young,’ Tiffany said with an angry toss of her head and stamped indoors.

‘I’m glad she’s gone.’ Sarah put her elbows on the fence and said in a hushed voice. ‘That chap, Gareth, from Hamilton Lodge, was at Victoria’s last night. I thought he’d leave after the police had gone, but he was still there this morning.’

‘Perhaps he stayed in the spare bedroom,’ Marie suggested.

‘There’s only two and we slept in one of them.’

‘Or he slept downstairs?’

‘Perhaps,’ Sarah said doubtfully. ‘He and Victoria seem awfully close. I wonder if he’s still there and that’s why Victoria isn’t answering the door?’

‘Isn’t he married?’

‘Yes. I’ve never spoken to his wife. I’ve seen her leaving for work a few times. She’s very pretty and always wears the latest fashions.’

‘Oh, well.’ Marie shrugged. ‘Victoria’s off to America the day after tomorrow. If anything’s going on, it’ll have to end.’

‘Don’t repeat what I’ve told you, will you? I wouldn’t want to spread gossip,’ Sarah added a trifle sanctimoniously.

‘Me lips are sealed,’ Marie assured her.

‘Mummy!’ Tiffany said stridently from the door. ‘We’ve got a visitor.’

‘Who is it, darling?’

Tiffany made a grotesque face. ‘Midge.’

‘
Midge
!’ Sarah groaned.

‘Who’s Midge?’ Marie asked.

‘Alex’s first wife. I wonder what the hell
she
wants.’

‘All I want,’ Midge said meekly, ‘is to know if I can see the children every now and then.’ Her accent, like Alex’s, was upper class with a hint of cockney. They were standing in the kitchen so Sarah could keep an eye on Jack who was playing in the pool. There seemed something odd about him and she realized he had parted from his blanket and thrown it on to the grass. Alastair had woken and two tiny naked feet could be seen waving in the air. Tiffany was by the door, listening avidly: Sarah couldn’t be bothered telling her to go away.

‘No.’ She shook her head emphatically at Midge and wondered how anyone could be so thin and stay alive. The woman’s hips were scarcely wider than Sarah’s thigh and her bones, including every single rib, were visible under her silky, clinging frock. Her narrow face and pale green eyes were drawn, as if she’d been up all night – probably waiting for Alex to return with the children so they could all fly off to God knows where.

‘I know Alex and I have acted very badly. By rights, I should be in prison with him, but I’ve grown to love those children, Sarah.’ Her voice broke. ‘I can’t stand the thought of never seeing them again.’

‘You didn’t seem to care if I, their mother, never saw them again,’ Sarah said accusingly.

‘I’m sorry.’ Midge bent her head in shame. ‘You turned out to have far more character than we’d expected. We didn’t think you cared two hoots for the children. Once you and Alex were divorced, he presumed you’d be quite happy for him to keep them.’

‘
I
wouldn’t have been happy,’ Tiffany interjected.

‘Shush, darling.’

‘But Mummy, I wouldn’t. I would have been terribly,
terribly
unhappy. And so would Oliver. And so would Jack and Alastair. And I wouldn’t have met Danny or Victoria or Tabitha. I love Danny very much,’ she said gravely to Midge. ‘We’re going to get married when I grow up.’

‘Are you really, darling?’ Midge was staring at the little girl, real hunger in her eyes. ‘Have you got a kiss for your Auntie Midge?’

‘No.’ Tiffany backed away, a look of distaste on her haughty little face. ‘I don’t like kissing you. Neither does Jack. I hope you don’t come again. This is
our
house, not yours.’

‘I think that answers your question,’ Sarah said quietly, not wanting to gloat when Midge appeared to be devastated by Tiffany’s blunt message.

‘I’d better go,’ she muttered, her skeletal frame looking as if the bones had turned to spaghetti and she was about to land in a curled heap on the floor. Sarah squeezed Tiffany’s shoulder, hoping to stop her daughter from issuing any more home truths.

Sarah followed her unexpected visitor to the door. The silver Rolls was parked outside, a driver behind the wheel: someone must have pumped up the tyres that Gareth had let down last night. Midge turned, ‘I don’t suppose it’s much use suggesting Tiffany and Jack come back to the house from time to time to ride Boots?’

‘No use at all,’ Sarah said emphatically.

‘A photograph then,’ she pleaded. ‘Could you at least let me have a photograph of them, just once a year? It’s not much to ask.’

‘I’ll have one taken at Christmas,’ Sarah promised.
Midge was right, it wasn’t much to ask, but still far more than she deserved.

Marie finished hanging out the washing and went indoors. To her surprise, Danny had arrived home. ‘I didn’t hear you come in, son. Tiffany’s been looking for you.’

Danny wrinkled his nose. ‘Tiffany’s OK, but she gets on me nerves. Why are you selling our old computer, Ma?’ he asked. ‘It seems a bit mean when we’re getting a new one for nothing.’

‘I’m not selling it, it’s going next door.’ An awful suspicion entered her head. ‘What made you think I was?’

‘The phone just went. It was some man about the computer. He said he’d seen a card in a window somewhere.’

Marie felt herself go very hot. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘He asked for our address, so I gave it him. Is there anything to eat, Ma? I’m starving.’

‘I’ll make you a sandwich in a minute. What did the man sound like? Did he say when he was coming round to look at the computer?’

Danny shrugged. ‘Like a man and he just asked for the address. What sort of sandwich?’