The Old House on the Corner (48 page)

‘It smells really horrid.’ Tiffany pretended to be sick.

‘What did you just say?’ A white-faced Anna had come into the hall, holding on to the walls for support. ‘What was it you just said, darling?’

‘Rachel’s kitchen smells really horrid.’

‘Before that. Did Rachel have her head in the oven?’

Faced with Anna’s breathless urgency and stricken expression, the little girl had lost some of her composure. She stammered, ‘Yes,’ turned on her heel and ran away, clearly frightened. Ernest had cottoned on and was already hurrying towards Three Farthings. For the second time that day, Anna made her laborious way to Kathleen’s.

Ernest had turned off the oven and dragged Rachel into the fresh air by the time Kathleen arrived, closely followed by Steve. Kathleen dropped to her knees beside Rachel’s prone body.

‘Shall I phone for an ambulance?’ Ernest made to return to the house, but Steve told him curtly not to. ‘Don’t touch anything in there, it’s dangerous.’ He turned to Kathleen. ‘Do we need an ambulance, luv?’

‘No, she’s breathing quite steadily. I think she might have fainted. She’ll come to in a minute and, hopefully, vomit.’

At that very moment, Rachel groaned, raised herself to a sitting position, and was sick. Steve supported her with his arm. She opened her eyes and a dark flush spread over her already red face when she remembered what had happened. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said hoarsely. ‘So sorry. I didn’t want to inconvenience anybody.’

‘Shush, love,’ Kathleen said gently. ‘Can you walk? Let’s go to our house and I’ll make some tea. You need to rest awhile.’

‘Don’t tell Frank, will you? Please don’t tell Frank.’ She looked at them pleadingly, her eyes resting first on Ernest, Steve, then Kathleen. ‘Don’t tell anyone.’

Ernest opened his mouth as if to argue, but Kathleen frowned at him and shook her head. He closed his mouth without a word and Steve hoisted Rachel to her feet.

‘Ernie,’ Kathleen said briskly, ‘will you please keep an eye open in case Frank or the children arrive home shortly? Tell them there’s been a gas leak but it’s already been seen to. In a little while, you can go inside and open the windows. The smell might have gone by the time anyone comes and they won’t know a thing about it. Just say Rachel’s feeling a little bit off colour and she’s with me.’

‘You saved her life, Ernie,’ Anna said when Ernest came home. She’d been watching the proceedings from the front door.

‘No, luv, it was you. Me, I’m as thick as two short planks. When Tiffany said Rachel was baking her head,
it never crossed me mind what she really meant. You’re the clever one.’

‘I suppose it’s Tiffany who should be taking the honours. I bet she doesn’t tell her mother. She probably thinks she’s done something wrong. Can I have a glass of wine, darling? I don’t know about you, but I’m shaking like a leaf.’

Ernest’s own hands weren’t exactly steady. He fetched the wine and a whisky for himself, after telling Anna not to move from the window in case Rachel’s husband or children appeared. But it was almost seven by the time they arrived: first Frank, then James, followed shortly afterwards by Kirsty. By then, the smell of gas had completely gone and Rachel had insisted on going home.

‘But do you feel well enough?’ Kathleen asked anxiously.

‘Yes,’ Rachel said steadily. ‘I want to be there when Frank and the children come. I’d sooner they think it’s been a perfectly normal day. I’m sorry for causing such a fuss, Kathleen.’

‘Stop being sorry. You apologize far too much.’ Kathleen put her hands on Rachel’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Rachel, love, I don’t know what goes on inside your head, but please, please, don’t do anything like that again. Imagine if your son or daughter had come in and found you!’

‘I think I reached my lowest point and now I’m about to climb up again.’

‘That’s good, really good. Look, I can’t possibly let you go back by yourself. I’ll wait downstairs while you have a shower and get changed – your clothes smell a bit of gas.’

Rachel gave a slight smile. ‘I’d sooner you didn’t,
Kathleen. You’ve been kindness itself, but I can manage on my own. I promise I won’t drown myself in the shower.’

Kathleen had no alternative but to let her go. Tomorrow was the barbecue and she hoped Rachel would be able to cope.

‘It’s all over, Gran,’ Victoria whispered. ‘All over,’ she sighed. ‘He’s the love of me life, but after Sunday I’ll never see him again. I don’t suppose you’d have approved, him being married like, but people can’t stop themselves from falling in love.’ She caught her breath when a light came on upstairs in Hamilton Lodge. ‘I wonder if that’s him! Have he and Debbie talked about the baby? Will he make love to her tonight?’ It would be best if she didn’t think about it because it hurt too much. Tomorrow, at the barbecue, they’d have to pretend they hardly knew each other.

‘I’m glad, now, that I’m leaving on Sunday, Gran. Until now, I was in two minds about it, what with everyone coming to live in the square and being so friendly. But now I can’t wait. Oh, Gran!’ Victoria wept. ‘
Do
something: make me strong, because I don’t think I can live without Gareth.’

Outside, in Victoria Square, the leaves on the tiny willow tree trembled in the slight breeze. In number one, everyone was asleep except for baby Alastair who was thinking about food and wondering if he should send a signal that he was hungry to the person who fed him. But the person had stopped offering the nice, squashy things that tasted so good. These days, food came on something hard and cold and wasn’t nearly so nice. If he couldn’t have the nice squashy things, he’d
sooner not bother. Alastair uttered a little regretful sigh and fell asleep.

In the house next door, Marie Jordan lay in bed, rosary beads threaded through her fingers, unable to sleep. That afternoon, she’d gone shopping in Allerton Road and had peeked in the window of O’Connor’s shop, but the card advertising the computer hadn’t been in. So, who was it who had rung and asked for their address?

Judy Moon was dreaming about her new garden that, because this was a dream, was at least ten times as big as the real one. The grass was emerald green and spotted with pink and white blossom that had fallen from trees that were at least a hundred feet high and the fence was covered with vines bearing bunches of luscious purple grapes. She plucked one and wasn’t at all surprised when it tasted of chocolate.

In Three Farthings, Rachel was poised on the edge of sleep, relaxed, her mind at peace. Things couldn’t go on as they were or she’d go completely insane. Tomorrow, the next day, as soon as she had the opportunity, she’d tell Frank the truth.

Gareth Moran pounded madly on the keyboard. He didn’t bother to look at the screen, knowing he was making no sense at all, that he’d have to do the work again. It helped get rid of his frustration, his … his … he clicked on to the computer’s Thesaurus … aggravation, irritation, annoyance, disappointment, dissatisfaction … every single one of those damn bloody things. He looked at his watch and groaned: almost two o’clock and he’d never felt less like sleep in his life. Tonight, he and Debbie had had the mother of all rows and he’d kept thinking, ‘I could be with Victoria. I don’t have to listen to this,’ except he
did
, because Debbie was his wife and
she was expecting their baby and somehow, in some way, he had to make things work.

In Clematis Cottage, Anna and Ernest were watching a video:
Top Hat
with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They’d seen it so many times that every scene was indelibly printed in their minds. Anna’s eyes sparkled with anticipation just before Fred and Ginger burst into a favourite song followed by a brilliant display of dancing. ‘Here it comes,’ she murmured, when the fabulous couple were sheltering from the rain in a bandstand in Hyde Park. ‘Isn’t it a lovely day to be caught in the rain,’ Ginger began to sing …

Kathleen and Steve were fast asleep in each other’s arms when the telephone rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ Kathleen murmured, but Steve stumbled out of bed and into the front room, saying, ‘It’s all right, I’ll do it,’ and Kathleen woke up properly. Was he expecting someone to ring? Or did he think that a phone call in the middle of the night could only be for him?

He was back within a few minutes, his face grim. ‘That was Brenda. I have to go to Huddersfield first thing in the morning. Jean’s been taken to hospital. She’s had a heart attack.’

‘What sort of heart attack?’ Kathleen’s voice was cold.

‘I dunno,’ he replied irritably. ‘I didn’t know you could have different sorts.’

‘You can have a mild heart attack, a severe one, and all shades in between.’

‘I didn’t ask.’

‘It might be nothing.’

‘Or it might be something.’ His mouth set in a hard line. ‘I’m going to see her, Kath, so there’s no point in trying to talk me out of it.’

‘Take the car, go now,’ she said shortly.

He looked at her uncertainly. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Steve, go and see Jean. I’m sure she’s far more important to you than I am.’

‘You know that’s not true.’

She ignored him, went to look for her bag, found the keys and threw them at him.

He caught them and left without another word.

‘Anyroad, I suppose I should try and get some sleep. I’ll speak to you again tomorrow night, tell you how the barbecue went. Goodnight, Gran.’

And goodnight, Gareth.

Victoria closed her eyes.

14
JULY
2001

The Barbecue

The sun was a stark sliver of gold on the horizon and the sky a pearly grey when a milk cart glided into Victoria Square for the first time, the only sound the faint rattle of bottles in their metal crates. The elderly driver stopped the vehicle in front of Clematis Cottage and placed two pints of milk and a small toast loaf outside the door – Anna liked the milk fresh, not bought in bulk and left in the fridge for days. Ernie had only placed the order the day before.

The driver glanced speculatively at the other houses: was there any chance of more business here? When he came to collect the money, he’d deliver a leaflet to each house saying he could provide free-range eggs, yoghurt, and fresh fruit juice as well as milk and bread. Since supermarkets had started selling milk in cartons, he’d found it hard to make a living. He sighed: it was going to be another blisteringly hot day. It wasn’t that he longed for rain, but this sort of weather was unnatural and it would be a relief to see some clouds back in the sky. The milkman got in the cart and glided away, having not disturbed a soul.

Two hours later, the sun by now a pale shimmering ball, a postman strode briskly into the mews: new, young, and enthusiastic, determined to get his round done in record time. He wore a short-sleeved shirt, navy-blue shorts,
and three-quarter-length white socks – people could laugh all they liked: it was the way postmen dressed in
Neighbours
.

There was nothing for numbers one and two, one letter for number three – it felt as if there was a card inside. Number four had decided to call itself Three Farthings and most of the letters had been re-directed from their previous address in Lydiate. The next house was Hamilton Lodge – how bloody pretentious, the young man thought as he pushed a pile of official looking envelopes through the letterbox. Clematis Cottage had joined a book club and sent for a mail order catalogue. He stood the catalogue outside the door – it didn’t look the sort of place where it would be pinched. Number seven had a letter from Liverpool General Hospital – he hoped it wasn’t bad news.

The post alerted Gareth who was wide awake, but still in bed. He cringed when he heard the thud of letters on the floor. They were bills, he could tell from the sound: ominous and threatening. He groaned. He had a grinding headache and what felt very much like a hangover, although he hadn’t had a drop to drink last night. Downstairs, Debbie was throwing dishes at the wall. He groaned again, turned over, turned back again and rolled out of bed. She would be leaving for work soon and he wanted to clear the air before she went.

Debbie wasn’t throwing dishes, but stacking them in the dishwasher. It was new and he’d forgotten they had it. There was no sign of Tabitha, who’d probably gone to hide in a place of safety.

‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked politely. He’d slept in the guest room: they had three and he was the first guest.

‘What do you think?’ Debbie snarled. ‘What were you
doing to the computer last night – attacking it with a hammer?’

‘I was typing,’ he said truthfully. ‘About last night …’

Debbie turned on him, eyes ablaze. ‘I am
not
,’ she repeated the word, putting even more stress on it, ‘not going to live in that crappy little house and rent my lovely one to strangers. not, Gareth,
not, not, not
.’

‘In that case,’ he said mildly, ‘would you kindly explain how we can pay the mortgage, keep up with the hire purchase payments, give the credit card companies their monthly pounds of flesh, buy food, pay the council tax, the gas, electric, and water bills, the house and contents and various other insurances, run the car, entertain your large and avaricious family?’ He paused. ‘Have I missed anything? Of course: your regular supply of very expensive clothes and the holiday in Barbados that I’m really looking forward to. How can we do all that, Debbie, when you’re no longer working because you’ll have a baby to look after?’

It was last night’s row all over again. Debbie said, ‘I told you, Gareth, I have no intention of leaving work. I’ll take maternity leave and then Mum will look after the baby.’

And
he
said, ‘And I told
you
, Debbie, that you’ll leave my baby with your mother in that filthy house over my dead body.’

‘
Your
baby!’ Debbie snorted.

‘Isn’t it?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘Of course it bloody well is. How dare you suggest it isn’t?’

‘You said, “
your
baby” in the tone of voice that made me think otherwise.’

‘Anyroad, what’s wrong with my mother?’ she
demanded aggressively. ‘She’s already had five children of her own.’