Carnations in January (6 page)

“In here, Bradley.”

She glanced up at the familiar voice and watched as a small child, maybe around seven or eight, slid into the seats beside her. Elliott sat beside him. Even his overcoat seemed lighter now they were out of the rain.

The blond haired child beamed up at him. “Daddy, can we go to the park this afternoon?”

“In the rain? Your mother won't thank me if you get sick.”

Grace looked down.
Daddy?
What happened to his
not married and no kids
line? Divorce would cover the ‘not married', but then most people normally say divorced or separated.

“I'll wear my raincoat and my hat. Please, Daddy. Mummy never takes me, nor does Uncle Bryan cos they are always too busy.”

“We'll see.” Elliott studied the service sheet, totally ignoring her.

Well, fine. Invite me here, no, rather insist I come, lie to me, and then blank me. Why did I even think things would be different this time around? I don't care
.

The problem was, she did care. Hurt and not caring who knew it, Grace stood and left the row of seats via the center aisle. She headed to the back of the church.

She didn't need men who had a secret agenda, or who lied to her face several times, any more than she needed a God. She reached the doorway and was about to step outside when a hand touched her arm.

“Grace?” Elliott asked. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she said shortly.

“Why?”

“No offense, but has anyone ever told you, the mood swings are a bit much? I don't appreciate being completely ignored like you just did back there.”

Confusion crossed Elliott's face. “I did what?” He drew her back into the lobby out of the rain. “I don't understand.”

“Also you told me you didn't have children. That you weren't married.”

“Because I haven't got kids, and I've never been married.”

“So, I just imagined the cute kid sitting between us calling you
daddy
then, did I? I don't know why I'm here anyway. You been very nice but then there have been times when I passed you in the street said hi and you don't even acknowledge my presence. And the cold shoulder when I returned your casserole dish.” She sighed heavily. “I'm out of here, before you make a fool of me again.”

Elliott shook his head. “I told you I was going into the vestry. I haven't sat with you.” He glanced over his shoulder into the church and then grinned. “Oh.”

“I don't find this remotely funny.”

“I told you I have a brother who lives with me, right? Well, we're identical twins. He and his son were sitting beside you.”

“Oh.” Grace gazed into the sanctuary and the other Elliott was still there. She looked down, feeling like a chump. “I didn't…”

“I'm sorry.” Elliott raised her face gently to his. “I didn't think to say. Come and meet him properly.”

She shook her head, backing away. “I should go. I made a complete idiot of myself.”

“Please, you're here now. Besides the rain is really bad. I'm doing the kids talk, so I have to stay. Otherwise, I'd gladly take you in the car. Please, Grace, stay.”

She sighed. As he said her name, her resolve shattered. Why did he affect her like this, even when she was mad at him? “OK.” She followed him back into the church.

“Joel, this is Grace Chadwick from next door. Grace, this is my twin, Joel. It's about time you two met properly instead of her thinking you're me.”

“Ah,” Joel said. “I had wondered why a total stranger kept waving at me.” He shook Grace's hand firmly. “Nice to meet you. This munchkin here is Bradley. He stays over every other weekend, sometimes more.”

“Hi.” Grace managed.

“Hi,” Bradley said. “You're pretty.”

“You're very kind.” Grace wasn't sure how to react as she sat down, Elliott sitting beside her.

The rain pounded on the windows and the wind howled.

“Good job you fixed that roof tile. It might have blown away.”

Elliott nodded, sliding his service sheet into his hymn book. “Just as well.”

Bradley looked at her. “We're having lunch at the carvery. Are you going to come as well?”

“I ought to go home,” she began.

Elliott looked at Bradley. “Sure she'll come, too.” Then he turned to Grace. “Please, you have to eat. And who can turn down a cute grin like Bradley's?”

“OK, but I have to go home first and pick up my other bag. I don't have my purse in this one.”

“You won't need money,” he said quietly as the pastor stood up in the pulpit. “But sure, we can pop home first.”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow, but couldn't object to his paying now as the service began. It could wait until later. But she wasn't about to have her lunch bought for her. Even if eating there would leave her short for the rest of the month, letting him pay a second time for her meal would make her feel beholden to him and that was something that she couldn't let happen.

~*~

The storm hadn't diminished throughout the service, and the rain still pounded down as they reached the foot of Carnation Street, where a huge “road closed” sign and diversion arrows pointing the other way greeted them.

Elliott stopped the car and opened the window as a police officer came over.

“We live here, officer.”

“Which number, sir?”

“Forty-three and forty-five.”

“One minute.” The police officer pulled back and spoke into his radio.

Grace peered up the road. “Wonder what's happened?”

“I don't know. Nothing good by the looks of it.”

The police officer came back. “OK, you can go up and speak to the officer in charge. You'll need to leave the car here.”

“OK.” Elliott reversed and parked in the layby. “Good job I got the umbrella.”

Grace shook her head as a myriad of thoughts, each worse than its predecessor, ran through her mind. She and Elliott walked up the hill towards the houses. Branches lay across the road. “Maybe part of that oak tree fell,” she said. “It has been creaking a lot.”

A uniformed officer stopped them before they could go further. “This area is cordoned off. You'll have to go back.”

“The officer at the end of the road said we could come up. I'm Elliott Wallac from number forty-five. This is Grace Chadwick from forty-three.”

Grace looked beyond the officer, her body going cold and numb. She blinked hard, trying to take in what she saw, but she couldn't. “That's my house,” she managed.

The huge oak tree lay across the road, the top of it buried in the roof and the front of her house.

“Elliott, that's my house.” She darted around the police officer and headed towards the crime scene tape.

“Grace, wait!” Elliott ran after her and grabbed her arms, pulling her back. “You can't go in there.”

“It's my house…” She struggled against his firm hold, needing to work free and get in there.

“Once it's safe you can go in.” The police officer spoke in a soothing tone.

Elliot looked at the officer. “Is mine all right?”

“Fire department says it's just forty-three that's affected.”

Elliott jerked his head in response. “In that case, we'll wait in there out of the storm. Come on, Grace.” He gripped her arm firmly, almost dragging her over to his place.

Grace surveyed the ruins of her house, tears blurring her vision. Her feet stumbled on the debris covering the path as Elliott pulled her inside.

Haven't I lost enough without losing this too?

~*~

Grace perched on the edge of Elliott's black leather sofa. Her stomach roiled and any hint of an appetite had long since vanished. Her skin crawled, and she didn't think she would ever be warm again.

Elliott had rung Joel and sent him and Bradley to lunch on their own.

She pushed her hands through her hair. “I don't believe this.”

Elliott held out a cup of tea. Steam rose from the dark liquid. “Here, drink this.”

“I don't want it. I feel sick.”

“You need to drink it.” He pressed the cup into her cold hands. “I won't take no for an answer.”

She gripped the cup tightly. “What do I do?”

“Honestly, it depends on how bad the damage is. It could just be the roof and front wall. But you'll need the whole place surveyed to get a full damage report. It could be worse than it seems.”

“Why?”

“I've worried for a while about the sloping concrete floors, crumbling brickwork, the moisture, and the rotten window frames.”

“It's an old house.”

“It's the same age as this one.”

Grace sighed. “Yeah, well, you're a builder. You have to keep this place in good nick. It wouldn't do your work credibility any good if you didn't. Aunt Tilja lived alone.” She put down the cup. “I shouldn't even be here. I should go home.”

“You can't. Not yet.”

“Not the house. Home.” She drew in a deep breath. “Only I can't do that either. I don't have a home any longer. My flat back in Ely is gone as I rented it. Perhaps mum and dad…” She dissolved into tears, unable to remain strong any longer, but she had nowhere to go. Her new home was now in pieces. She doubted they'd let her back in today.

The couch buckled as Elliott sat beside her and she shivered at his nearness.

The front door opened and Bradley ran in. “Uncle Elliott, there's a fireman wanting to talk to you and the lady from the broken house. Did you see it? There's a huge tree crashed through the roof.”

Elliott pushed a hand through his hair. “Yes, I saw it.” He helped Grace to her feet. “Come on, let's see what the fire department wants.”

A tall firefighter in full kit stood in the doorway. “We're off now,” he said.

“Can I go back home?” Grace asked.

“Not until the building inspector's been in and that won't be 'til tomorrow. The outer front wall and roof are badly damaged and could fall at any time.”

“Well, can I at least go and get my things?”

The firefighter shook his head. “Not tonight. If the wind picks up again, that wall may give way.”

Grace looked down, not paying any attention to the men talking. Only when she found Elliott looking at her expectantly, did she twig that he'd said something. “Sorry.”

“I said you can stay here tonight.”

She shook her head. “You have a houseful. I'll find a hotel or…well, I guess I can't. My credit cards and money are in the house. I'll sleep in the car—assuming that's not under the tree, too. I left it on the drive.”

“What about the apartment above the shop, then?” Elliott suggested.

Grace looked at him blankly. “What?”

“You haven't been upstairs there yet?”

“No…”

“Didn't you see the stairs?”

“I thought that was to the attic.”

“No.” He smiled. “Much better. I'll show you. Do you have the keys?”

“Yeah, I have all my keys on the same key ring. Dad says that's not very safe, but, oh well.” She slid into her coat.

As they reached the pavement, she looked at the ruins of her house. “I should be dead.”

“But you're not.” Elliott said softly. “Ironic—you were saved because you were in church.”

“You do love your irony.” She pushed her hood down as the rain stopped.

“God was looking out for you this morning.”

“By destroying my house? That's sure a funny way of showing it.” She sighed.

Elliott looked at her seriously. “Mysterious, not funny.”

She sucked in a deep breath and huffed it out. “I need to find a shop that's open before I do anything else. I need milk, bread and so on.”

“There's no need, just give me a minute. I've got stuff you can have to tide you over until morning.” He vanished back into the house.

Grace walked along the pavement and glanced around before ducking under the police cordon. She walked down her front path where the huge tree lay square across the house. It had crashed through the roof and into her bedroom leaving a large, roof to ground crack on the outside corner wall.

She glanced around again, but everyone had gone. Using her key she opened the door—if she could only get her purse and her computer she'd feel much better. Branches and debris filled the hall. A broken picture lay on the carpet. She bent and retrieved it. She'd made this one for Aunt Tilja when she was ten.

The house creaked around her as the tree settled. Yes, the floor had a definite slope to it. Why hadn't she noticed that before? Elliott had. What else had he noticed that she'd just assumed was a quirk of the house she'd loved so much as she grew up.

Grace climbed over a branch and pushed at the bedroom door. It was stuck fast. She pushed harder. The house groaned as the door moved. Bricks cascaded down, dust rose. She raised her hands to protect her head and let out a scream.

5

Elliott pulled Grace backwards out of the house and held her tightly. Dust poured from the door as something inside gave way. The woman was mad. No, more than mad. Maybe even clinically insane. Why else would she go inside a wrecked building after being told not to do so? But then she was a woman, and women were complex creatures.

“What are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Grace's face was lined with dirt and her dark hair white with dust and debris. “I need—”

“You need to stay out of there until it's safe,” he hissed. “If I hadn't seen you go in there…You have no idea what could have happened, do you?”

“I have no clean clothes,” she told him. “I have nothing.”

“You could have died, Grace. Rules and crime scene tape are put in place for a reason, not so people can ignore them and do what they want.”