Having a Ball (12 page)

Tom was sitting in the car, tapping away into his phone. He saw her come
out of the building and glanced irritably at his watch.

"Sorry," said Stevie. Despite running around as fast as she could, she
knew she'd kept him waiting a good quarter of an hour.

Tom said nothing, merely popped open the boot of the car and put her
bags in it. Feeling sheepish, Stevie let herself into the passenger seat and sank into
the leather. Tom slid back into his seat and pulled out. He hadn't said a word to her.
Clearly, he was annoyed. She hoped he wasn't going to sulk all the way to
Oxford.

Stevie's eyes still felt raw. She rubbed her hand on her cheek, trying to get
rid of the starchy feel left by the tears. The movement brought with it a fresh wave
of loneliness and her eyes filled up once more. She blinked them back and
inadvertently sniffed.

Tom threw a glance at her and then focused back on the road. Stevie
pretended to stare out of the window and quickly wiped away a tear that had
leaked out of the corner of her eye. The silence in the car seemed to get heavier and
heavier.

Finally Tom said, "Are you okay?" Rather than sounding annoyed, he
actually sounded concerned.

"Fine," said Stevie, her voice quavering.

"Sure?"

She turned to look at him. He raised his eyebrows.

Stevie sighed. "Just had a small argument with my brother, that's all." She
wiped her eyes. "I'll be okay in a minute."

Tom nodded. "Do you argue a lot?" he said after a moment. "With
Marshall, I mean?"

Stevie shrugged. "I guess."

Tom nodded again. "My brother and I never really got on either." He
paused to manoeuvre round a roundabout and get them onto the motorway.
"That's one of the advantages of growing up. We moved out of home and don't have
to see each other anymore."

How strange, that the very thing Tom thought was an advantage was
making her feel like she'd lost everything. She didn't say anything aloud, but a little
snort escaped her. She resumed staring out of the window.

"Marshall really upset you, huh?" said Tom. "I guess he has got a temper
on him."

"No he hasn't." She was allowed to complain about her brother, but that
didn't mean other people could. "He's just very protective of..." she was about to
say "his family", but realised she wasn't sure who that meant anymore. Did it still
include her? Right now she didn't feel very protected by Marsh. "...of some people,"
she finished. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay. Just trying to help," said Tom.

Now she'd offended Tom as well. Stevie sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't
snap at you. It's just that Marsh and I manage to wind each other up so well. Years
of practise."

Tom nodded. "I know that feeling. Dan and I were similar."

"Do you still argue?"

"Not really. I only see him on Mum's or Alice's birthday. He's always away
on expeditions and conferences and things. That's why poor Alice has to spend her
holidays with her grandmother."

Stevie filed this piece of information away to think about later. "Alice
seems happy enough to stay with Evelyn."

"She doesn't have much choice. She's been dumped on Mum and Dad
often enough though, so they're all used to it. It was okay when she was little, doing
up a house can be lots of fun when you're seven or eight years old, but now she's a
teenager, she's probably missing her friends and dying of boredom."

Which might explain why he'd bought Alice an iPhone? "You're fond of
her, aren't you?"

For the first time that day, Tom smiled. "She's a great kid. We used to
have lots of fun when she was little. It's harder now that she's older and trying to be
cool, but I think we still get on quite well."

Stevie looked at him in surprise. His voice was warm and full of affection.
She had never heard that before.

"What's it like?" she said, slowly. "Having a niece?"

"Great fun. You get to play with them and they think you're wonderful.
Then you can hand them back when they get tired and cranky. Best of both
worlds."

Stevie wondered if she should be feeling some sort of bond with this
unborn child of Marsh and Jane's. She felt nothing towards it at the moment, merely
resentment towards its parents. Perhaps there was something wrong with her.
Perhaps there was a vital Aunty gene she was missing.

"Why do you ask?" said Tom. "Is this part of your party planner research?
Trying to see how best to get work out of me and Alice?"

Stevie gave a little giggle. "No," she said. "I've already figured that one
out. It's just that I'm going to be an aunty. I hadn't really thought about it before,
that was all."

"Ah yes. Marshall's child. When is it due?"

Even Tom knew.

"In about six months, so it doesn't feel real yet."

"It won't feel real until she...or he...is actually born."

"Oh. That's good."

There was a pause. "You said you'd figured out how to get work out of me
and Alice," said Tom. "How do you propose to do that?"

"I was going to get Evelyn to ask you."

Suddenly, Tom laughed. "I see I've underestimated you. You're a devious
one. I'll have to watch you."

Stevie stole a glance at his laughing face, handsome in profile. She smiled.
She knew she would be watching him. With pleasure.

Stevie woke up from the dream with tears on her cheeks and immediately
scrambled for her phone. It was 2:00 a.m. Even if she'd felt inclined to call Marsh,
there was no point doing it at this hour. Looking around the unfamiliar room, she
remembered she was in Oxford. Absolutely no point calling Marsh, then.

She lay back down, clutching the phone to her chest. Under her fist, her
heart still thundered. She tried to breathe slowly. Eventually, her heart settled
down to a more normal pace. Now all she had to do was get back to sleep. She
closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids was an imprint of a white lily. In gloved hands.
Her eyes flew open again.

Her room was up near the attic. It would once have been an anteroom
used for preparing flowers for chapel, but was now a comfortably furnished single
room with a lovely skylight that let her watch the moonlit clouds without leaving
her bed.

After a few moments of staring at the night sky, Stevie felt a little better,
but was no closer to returning to sleep. She might as well go make herself a hot
drink. Pulling a dressing gown over her short pyjamas, she stepped out into the
corridor.

The house was eerie in the dark. Moonlight slanted in through undraped
windows, leaving a patchwork of light and dark. Clutching the banister, she took
the stairs slowly.

She hadn't managed to count all the rooms in the house. Some were part
of the original building, some later additions as people had extended it to suit their
needs. The corridors that connected them all looked similar, making it impossible
to keep track of where she was. There was a real danger of getting lost and
spending hours wandering down corridors. She made a note to suggest that some
signs be put up to guide guests around.

She only knew one way to and from her room and that was through the
kitchen. Ignoring the unfamiliar corridors and doorways that she passed, she stuck
to her route. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she realised she could actually
make out a lot of detail--doors, light switches, fire exit signs, the outlines of pictures
on the walls. Getting to the kitchen using her special route involved crossing the
small courtyard. As she stepped out into the warm night air, the ground was cool
and gritty under her bare feet. A light was on in the kitchen.

It was bright enough to hurt her eyes. She blinked. There was no one
there. Pots, which had been scrubbed clean after the day's cooking were stacked on
the side ready for when they would get together to finish making the snacks.
Passing Evelyn's enormous fridge, Stevie resisted the temptation to check on the
bowls of ingredients and fillings inside.

When she picked up the kettle, she realised that the water was still hot.
Someone had been down not long before. She refilled the kettle and set it to boil
while she hunted through the cupboards. After some cursory searching, she located
a jar of Ovaltine.

Once she'd made herself a drink, she looked around. Warm and
comfortable though the kitchen was, she didn't feel like sitting there under the
clinical strip lighting. Turning the lights off behind her, she padded up to the
library.

She poked her head round the door. Huge swathes of moonlight fell into
the room, silhouetting an armchair pulled out to face the window. The room
appeared to be deserted. She debated turning the light on, but the moonlight was
enough to see by as she made her way towards the window.

Suddenly something stirred in the armchair. She shrieked and hot
Ovaltine slopped on her wrist.

A figure rose out of the chair. "It's only me, Tom."

Stevie stood still, getting her breath back, too shocked to speak.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She hesitated. Should she go back to her room and leave him alone? Or
would that be rude. She nervously moved the mug from one hand to the other.

"You can sit down, you know. I don't bite."

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" Stevie pulled up a chair and sat down, a
little unsteadily. "If you don't mind my asking."

Tom shrugged. "I was looking out of the window." He gestured towards it.
"And I have a headache. The light makes it worse. What are
you
doing
wandering around in the dark?"

"I couldn't sleep." She didn't mention the nightmares. It was too personal
a thing to discuss with strangers.

"You can turn the light on, if it makes you feel better." Tom sat back down
again. Now that the moonlight caught him, she could see his face and limbs, pale
and slightly hazy against the dark.

"No, that's okay."

Tom in the daylight was distractingly attractive and quite irritating. This
slightly spectral Tom was somehow easier to deal with. She settled back. The chair
was an old fashioned one with deep wings either side. There was something
comforting about being surrounded by thick velour.

The garden glowed through the window. The moonlight was bright
enough to make out a hint of colour. The white gazebo and night flowers shone
ghostly against the dark green foliage. "Oh. It's beautiful."

"Isn't it? There's something wonderful about the garden at night." He
smiled, making the shadows move on his face. His voice was soft, almost
reverential. "It's pretty during the day too, but at night it's something special. The
night jasmine and honeysuckle smell wonderful too."

"Why are you looking at it from inside then? Why not go outside and
enjoy it properly."

"I did. I got cold."

She took another look at him. He was wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt.
So, not much. Her face flushed. She was even more grateful for the darkness.

Under her gaze, he self-consciously crossed his legs. "I wasn't expecting
to have company. I don't normally, when I'm up in the middle of the night."

Stevie was glad of her dressing gown. She hadn't been expecting to see
anyone either, but had opted for sensible short pyjamas and a spaghetti top
because she was in a client's house. At home she would have been in a large t-shirt
and nothing else. She wondered if Tom would normally have bothered pulling a
t-shirt on over his shorts. Probably not, if he was in his flat.

The silence was beginning to feel strained. She had to say something. "Do
you often wake up in the middle of the night?" Oh dear. That sounded too personal.
Her face suddenly felt very hot.

Tom shrugged. "I have trouble sleeping sometimes." He frowned. "Well,
quite a lot, actually. These headaches don't help." He rubbed his temples.

"You get them a lot then?"

He nodded, still rubbing his temples.

"Have you seen a doctor about it?"

He opened one eye and nodded.

"And..."

"You're not nosy at all, are you?"

She said nothing and kept watching him. She was on safer ground now.
Headaches were easy to talk about. And not embarrassing.

He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes glittering. Then he sighed and
looked away. "Stress apparently."

She nodded. That tied in with what he'd been saying the day before. It
would also explain the grumpiness. She took a sip of Ovaltine. Having lived with a
workaholic brother for so long, she knew the signs of burnout.

What had driven Marsh to work so hard was the pressure of suddenly
being responsible for himself and his sister. But what drove Tom? He didn't seem to
have any major insecurity that she could see. His mother was still alive and he
clearly came from a fairly wealthy background.

There was only one way to find out. He'd already decided she was nosy.
What did she have to lose?

"Why do you do it?" Her voice sounded unnaturally loud. She lowered it.
"If working so hard is making you ill, why not slacken off a little."

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"I mean, you've got a good job, a nice home to come to. It's not like you've
got a family to look after..."

He leaned forward. "You want to know why I do it?" He stood up in one
swift movement. "Here," he said, his voice taut with annoyance. "I'll show
you."

He strode over to the other side of the room and turned on a small
reading lamp. The room was instantly flooded with a warm yellow glow. He
crouched down, his long legs folding underneath him. "Here. Look." He pointed to a
shelf.

Stevie hauled herself out of the comfortable cocoon of the chair and
joined him, taking care not to get too close. He was pointing to a row of books that
seemed to be of random shapes and sizes.

"Look at the authors," he said.

Stevie knelt on the floor and looked. Every single one had the name
'Blackwood' on the spine.