People We Love Page 9

  There was no mistaking that voice. As Lexie’s eyes became accustomed to the half-darkness she began to make out Patrick Mulgrew’s familiar figure.

  Behind his shadowy shape, another materialised. The moon crept out from behind a passing cloud and slid off auburn hair to light a face of classic beauty, and a voice made husky by tobacco smoke said, ‘Patrick? What is it, darling?’

  Lexie clutched at the door of the car. She was unable to decide what was worse: hitting a deer, or meeting Patrick in this way.

  Patrick recognised her at once – it was impossible not to in this light, with the moon seeding her vivid hair with winking diamonds.

  ‘Lexie?’

  ‘Hello, Patrick.’

  He was uncomfortably conscious of Diana, coming up at his shoulder. Of all the times to meet her. It took a moment to register that Lexie wasn’t driving.

  ‘We hit a deer,’ came a voice from the driver’s side of the car. ‘There was no chance to swerve.’

  Patrick remembered the deer he’d just avoided last week and the memory of startled eyes saddened him. Luck, it seemed, had run out for one small fawn.

  ‘A young one? White spots on its back?’

  ‘Didn’t have time to see, there was just this almighty thud then we crashed to a stop.’

  Lexie began to weep. There was no sound, she didn’t even sniff, but Patrick sensed distress and looked over in time to glimpse a streak of silver on her cheek. She reached up and dashed it away with her sleeve, but another chased it, then another. He ached to gather her in his arms and even started to move towards her before two voices cut in.

  ‘Is it dead?’ from Diana, with curiosity and, ‘We’d better take a look,’ from Lexie’s companion.

  Lexie jerked her head away.

  There was no sign of the deer, only a significant dent in the front bonnet of the Volvo.

  ‘Do you think it will survive?’ Lexie’s voice was thick.

  ‘Probably limped off to die,’ her companion said, ‘but I’m sure it’ll be quick,’ he added hastily when Lexie let out a sob.

  Patrick wanted to punch the man and carry Lexie to his car. He wanted to cuddle her and care for her and chase all thoughts of the deer away, but these things were impossible. There was a brief discussion about the car and whether it was all right to drive, but the damage was superficial and Patrick could find no excuse for detaining them.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ he asked Lexie in a low voice as Diana strode off.

  She nodded, her eyes still round with shock.

  ‘Can I call you?’ It was the second time he’d asked this, in just a matter of days.

  There was a slight hesitation before she shook her head, but she was still staring at him. The moment stretched and stretched, then her eyes flickered to the man she was with and Diana called, ‘Coming, darling?’

  He was left in impotent frustration watching Lexie climb back into her car.

  Chapter Nine

  Catalogue number 29: Dr Martens, black leather boots with distinctive yellow stitching around the sole. Donated by Kevin Murieston, Hailesbank. Klaus Märtens boots became popular in Britain among factory workers, postmen and policemen, but by the 1970s had become the favoured footwear of skinheads. They were adopted as a fashion statement by the grunge movement in the 1990s. ‘These remind me of my misspent youth,’ says Kev...

  Alexa couldn’t get Edith Lawrence’s face out of her head. The old lady hardly seemed capable of forming stratagems, yet somewhere within her muddled brain was a compass that had steered her to Fernhill.

  Alexa wanted to find out more, but was concerned that doing so might upset the delicate balance of Edith’s mind. But discussions with the staff at Edith’s care home were encouraging and her son (sixty-five years old, in London, and not in good health himself) was sufficiently intrigued to give his permission for a return visit to the house.

  ‘You really think she might have a secret?’ he wheezed, when Lexie called him to discuss the matter, ‘Mother? Well, if the people at Sea View are alright with it, then so am I. Let me know how you get on.’

  Lexie arranged to bring Edith back for lunch. She was worried about doing everything herself – handling Edith, driving (which she hated), concentrating on the route and trying to talk all at the same time. What if Edith proved to be upset and needed calming? It would be much better, she decided, if there was someone with her to help – but who? Molly was too busy, Neil would be working, Carlotta ditto. Her father would be at the Emporium and no doubt her mother would be fussing over the lunch preparations. A little reluctantly, thinking he might find it tedious, she asked Cameron.

  ‘No worries,’ he agreed cheerfully, ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. She’s very odd.’

  ‘I’m okay with odd.’ His grin was easy and she experienced again the sharp jolt of the electricity that so often arced between them. It was only a matter of time, she knew, till they found themselves in bed once more. Time, or timing.

  They’d bring Edith to Fernhill in another week.

  On the appointed morning, Martha despatched Lexie into town.

  ‘I forgot to buy bread,’ she said, her shoulders sagging in the way that was now so dispiritingly familiar. ‘Would you? That new baker’s...?’

  Lexie wanted Edith’s visit to go well but she was irritated by this extra duty. Still, she thought, the walk would do her good, and she could say hi to Pavel on her way back.

  The bread was still warm, and the delicious smell of it wakened her senses. She turned into Kittle’s Lane and there was no sign of the sandwich board on the pavement. She glanced at her watch. It was half past ten and Cobbles was still closed. She couldn’t understand it – Pavel always opened up sharp.

  ‘I like to get properly organised before the rush,’ he’d explain, with a self-deprecating smile.

  They both knew there was never a rush.

  She pressed her nose against the window, cupping her hands round her eyes to cut out the sun . He hadn’t even switched on the lights. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she made out the Regency console table, then the shield-backed mahogany chairs. She half expected to see Pavel doing some quick polishing or rearranging of the candlesticks on the dining table, but she could see nothing. She pulled out her mobile and dialled the shop. Immediately, she heard the trilling of the telephone from the back room, but there was still no sign of Pavel.

  Really worried now, she peered inside again. This time, something moved. Was that a flash of white on the Persian rug? Yes – there! A hand, surely. She rapped on the door frantically. Pavel must have collapsed, she could just make out the shape of his favourite burgundy velvet jacket among the jumble of chair legs and lampstands.

  ‘Pavel!’ she shouted, her voice shrill with anxiety, ‘Pavel! It’s Lexie! Can you hear me?’

  The hand moved again, then she saw him struggling to sit, his slender frame creaking as if it needed oiling. She rapped on the glass again.

  ‘Pavel!’

  His legs were sticking straight out on the floor in front of him, thin pins encased in black velvet. After what seemed an age, he looked across at her and she saw a glimmer of life come back into his eyes.

  ‘Can you get up?’ she called. ‘Take your time now.’

  He mouthed something at her and started to twist onto his knees. This was sensible. She saw one hand grasping the chair nearest to him and he began to claw his way upwards. When he was three-quarters upright, he placed both hands flat on the striped satin of the seat upholstery and paused, his shoulders drooping, his head hanging down as if its weight was too much to bear. Finally, he straightened and turned. By the time he reached the door, he was smiling bravely, although his face was grey.

  ‘Hello, darling.’

  ‘What happened?’ His hands were trembling. ‘Come back in, sit down.’

  She pulled a chair clear of the table and lowered him onto it, her hands firm under his arms. He was slim to the point
of skinniness, but right now he felt like a dead weight.

  ‘Not quite sure, sweetie. Must have fainted.’

  She felt his forehead. The temperature seemed normal. ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Right as rain.’

  She laid her fingers on his pulse and frowned. It was racing unnaturally, the blood pounding through the veins like horses at a gallop.

  ‘Well,’ he admitted as her glare intensified, ‘maybe a little shaky.’

  ‘Any pains anywhere?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head but a tell-tale hand crept up to his chest.

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I’m all right. I need to open the shop, darling.’

  ‘You sit right there. I’m going to get you some tea. And I have to get you to the hospital.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Lexie darling.’

  ‘The doctor, then.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Pavel, you are quite clearly not fine.’

  The colour was returning to his face and something of the old glint to his eyes.

  ‘I’m going to open the shop, Lexie.’

  ‘You’re an obstinate man.’

  ‘And you’re a bully.’

  They glared at each other, then Pavel’s creased face split into a smile.

  ‘All right, you’re not a bully you’re a sweetheart. I’ll accept the tea, but then I am going to open up.’

  Lexie, like her father, could be very stubborn. She stood her ground. ‘Only if you promise you’ll make an appointment with the doctor today.’

  ‘If you insist,’ he conceded with a sigh, ‘but it was just a little turn, that’s all.’

  By the time she’d made the tea, he’d shuffled into the back room and was sitting by his desk.

  ‘Can you manage a biscuit? It might be good to eat something.’

  ‘Not yet, sweetie, you’re such a fusser. Just the tea.’

  His hand was still far from steady, but the tea seemed to revive him.

  ‘Any idea why you fainted? Have you been feeling funny?’

  ‘No, not at all. And I feel so much better now, you have a magic touch with the teapot.’

  ‘You’re doing too much. You’re in here at all hours, Pavel. You can’t go on like this.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Isn’t there anyone who can come and help out? Your sister?’

  ‘Hanke? You have to be joking. I haven’t seen her since my mother’s funeral and anyway, she lives in Slough.’

  ‘Then I’m going to help you. You shouldn’t be here on your own all the time.’

  ‘You? Lexie, darling, you’re working flat out as it is, and besides, there’s your demanding mother…’

  ‘She’s not demanding,’ Lexie jumped to Martha’s defence, ‘she just needs support. She’ll get back to normal soon. We’ll all get back to normal soon. We have to.’

  ‘Sweetie, listen to yourself…’

  ‘Anyway, that’s irrelevant. I can easily spare some time to help out here. I’d like to.’

  She dug her heels in and refused to let Pavel open the shop until he’d agreed a plan, so she won the battle of wills this time.

  ‘Saturday mornings, then. That’s all.’

  ‘Saturday mornings,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll open up and manage things until midday. That’ll give you a bit of free time. To relax in,’ she added with a stern glance. ‘And just you remember that you have given me your promise that you’ll go to the doctor and get a check-up.’

  ‘You are such a bossy boots,’ Pavel sighed, his hand closing round hers, ‘but I do love you.’

  Because of Pavel’s ‘funny turn’, she was a few minutes late getting home from Cobbles and Cameron was sitting on the doorstep at Fernhill, waiting for her.

  ‘There’s no-one in,’ he said, jumping from sitting to standing in one fluid movement.

  ‘Really? Mum must be in the garden. Sorry I’m late, I had a crisis. ’

  Cameron held up a set of car keys.

  ‘Do you still trust me?’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she reiterated for the dozenth time. Whenever she thought of the accident, she thought not of the fawn, nor of Cameron, nor even of her parents (who’d had to be told). It was Patrick Mulgrew her disloyal brain remembered. Correction, not just Patrick: Patrick and a woman, damn it. ‘You did well not to turn the car over. Yes, I trust you.’

  ‘Phew. Jonas has lent me his Discovery. Thought a high car might be easier for the old wifie. Should we get going? You can tell me about your crisis on the way.’

  ‘Not much to tell. Pavel collapsed. I found him on the floor at the shop.’

  ‘The old geezer at Cobbles? I didn’t know he was even still alive.’

  ‘He’s not that old, and this is the first time he’s had a problem.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘I think so. I’ve made him promise to let me help out at the shop on Saturday mornings. I think he does too much.’

  Cameron glanced across at her and shook his head.

  ‘Oh Lexie, Lexie, you’re such a sucker. You let people trample all over you.’

  ‘I do not. I just want to help him.’

  ‘You always want to help. Your parents. Pavel.’ He reached a T-junction and halted before turning right and accelerating again. ‘Don’t get all indignant. It’s what I love about you, but you do need to think about your own needs.’

  There it was again, that phrase dropped so casually into the conversation. It’s what I love about you. When Pavel said it, she accepted it cheerfully for what it was, but when Cameron said it – well, what did he mean, exactly? Nothing, she suspected, calming herself down because she was determined not to read too much into the words. He said it too easily, it was just his way of talking.

  ‘He’s on his own, and he’s such a dear. He never complains, but I think he misses his partner Guy terribly. His sister’s a complete witch, apparently,’

  ‘You mean she can’t cope with her brother being gay.’

  Lexie sighed. ‘Yes, I expect that’s it.’ She leant forward and turned on the radio.

  Cameron had turned along the winding back road from Hailesbank to Musselburgh, rather than the busy main road. It was the route she’d have chosen herself, because she hated driving in traffic, but why had he come this way? It went past the farm where she’d had her studio years ago, before he disappeared.

  It was distracting sitting in the car so close to Cameron. He smelt fresh and soapy and she imagined him stepping out of the shower, his hair damp, drops of water glistening on pink, scrubbed skin. She crossed her legs.

  There was the barn, up on the hill. Just an old barn, with four sturdy walls and a roof pierced by huge slanting windows that let in the most wonderful light. Just a barn – yet it had been a perfect studio, the space of her dreams, with its huge workspace and small bedroom and kitchen. She’d been so happy then.

  ‘I thought about you every day,’ Cameron said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I was away.’

  He slowed to take the sharp bend on the road below the barn.

  ‘There’s no need to lie to me, Cameron.’

  ‘But it’s true.’

  ‘Damn that!’ she burst out, consumed with a sudden fury. ‘How dare you?’

  Cameron looked startled. ‘Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have—’

  ‘Shouldn’t have what? Shouldn’t have disappeared without a single word? Shouldn’t have left me wondering what the hell had happened? Shouldn’t have left me feeling a bloody failure?’

  ‘You didn’t think that, surely?’ He looked at her, his sandy eyes suddenly intense.

  ‘Watch the road.’ Her hand curled convulsively round the thick handle on the door. ‘What do you think I felt?’

  ‘But I was the one who was a failure.’

  ‘No, you were in control. You were the one who took the decision to go off. How else could I look at it? Whatever happened, I was the one who’d failed to keep you interested en
ough to stay.’

  ‘No! That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t—’

  ‘Oh, spare me your excuses now, please.’

  Lexie didn’t understand her own outburst – her anger had sprung from nowhere. She wanted to mend fences with Cameron, but she needed to understand what had made him leave.

  Frustratingly, he did shut up, which annoyed her even more.

  There was silence. They crossed the flyover above the A1 and approached the first houses on the outskirts of the old fishing town of Musselburgh. They were nearly there and soon she’d have to talk to him.

  Cameron broke the silence.

  ‘You look great when you’re angry, by the way,’ he grinned. ‘Your nose goes pink.’

  ‘It does not!’ Her hand flew to her nose.

  ‘Does so. Where’s this place we’re headed to, then?’

  ‘Next left. See the large sign? Turn in there.’

  Cameron inched the car expertly into a tight gap in the car park in front of the building. As Lexie struggled into the narrow space between the door and the neighbouring car, a large truck drew up and stopped on the road outside. At the corner, the lights had turned red and a small queue of traffic formed quickly. Engines belched fumes, music throbbed, cars roared past in the other direction. How had Edith Lawrence managed to walk out of this gate and along this road and be challenged by nobody?

  ‘Not much of a sea view, is it?’ Cameron said, locking the car.

  Lexie eyed the developments along the coastline.

  ‘Maybe Sea View was an accurate description fifty years ago. It is a bit depressing, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess there might have been trees here,’ Cameron gestured round the car park, ‘and maybe a lawn. Looks as if they tarmacked it over to make parking spaces for visitors.’

  ‘Looking at trees,’ Lexie said, ‘helps ill people to recover. I read that in a newspaper recently.’

  ‘Well, there’s no recovery from old age,’ Cameron said with his customary bluntness, ‘so I guess it makes no difference to this lot.’

  Edith was ready for them, after a fashion.

  ‘She’s wearing odd shoes,’ Cameron hissed as Edith trotted with surprising nimbleness along the corridor towards them, her arm through a carer’s.