Live to Tell (35 page)

Although I was home early, I felt weary after the drive. I had just pushed open my front door when Mrs Jeffery caught up with me.

“Have you heard about the terrible thing that’s happened to Henry?”

Henry? I didn’t know anyone called Henry, unless of course it was another name for Mr Bonneville. “No, what’s the matter? Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you. But are
you
all right, Dear? You look a little peaky. Anyway, he’s been abandoned. Isn’t it awful? I know he comes in here so I thought you might have an interest. I’m going to take him in, poor thing, but if you want to share him, I won’t mind.”

She smiled at me not understanding that I had no idea who she was talking about. Then in a flash, it came to me. The only creature that regularly came into my house was Clothilde, the Dutch family cat. It must be her.

“I’m away a lot so, it would be difficult for me to look after her, er, him,” I said. “But I’d be happy to contribute in some way.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Dear. I saw that lovely Barry the other day.”

I smiled back. Unlike my dad, she was obviously charmed by Barry as well. Probably because she’s a woman, I thought.

“I had a boyfriend once you know, who had a Bugatti. His name was Monty. You know, short for Montague. The trouble was, he was a bit racy too. I think they thought that if they took you out in a sports car, they could do what they liked. But it was in the nineteen twenties and there weren’t many cars on the road at all then.” She winked at me in a knowing way and her eyes sparkled. “If you know what I mean.”

As I didn’t even know that Henry was a cat, I hadn’t got a clue what a Bugatti was, let alone the motoring habits of flappers.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Dear,” she asked again. “Perhaps you need a holiday. Don’t worry about Henry. Between us we’ll manage.”

She left and I felt a bit stupid. Fancy, not realising that Clothilde was actually a tom-cat. Shows how observant I am, I thought and sighed. Wonder what happened to his family? Perhaps they went back to Holland.

Not used to being at home early, I had to decide how I was going to spend the rest of the evening. The pile of clothes that I kept downstairs was growing daily and I had to rummage around in it to find some jeans to change into. I found a pair and my office outfit took their place on the festering heap. God, I’ve got to sort this lot out, I thought with a sigh. But not tonight. I can’t be bothered. Just too, too tired, I’ll have a glass of wine instead. I went into my kitchen. With a yawn I grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir from the corner of the kitchen worktop, opened it and without waiting for it to breathe, poured myself a large drink. I sat down at the table, with a copy of the
Evening
Standard
.

Sick of searching the television news channels each night, I wondered whether to just play some music for a change. It might do me good, I thought. Some Debussy, or better still, that lovely Faure CD that Dad gave me. I might even try to pretend things are normal around here. Fat chance of that.

I found the disc but before I could play it, the door bell rang and at the sound, my stomach churned. Cautiously, I slipped into the main room and inspected the monitor. It was Barry’s face that looked back at me almost as if he could see into the house. I hesitated. He frowned. Then he pressed the bell again and banged the knocker. I knew there was no point in hiding from him, as I felt he would keep coming back until I answered. I opened the door and could not resist glancing beyond him into the mews. To my relief he was alone.

Although he was dressed in stonewashed jeans and a navy and pink rugby shirt, he looked immaculate. I realised with surprise that this was the first time I had seen him wearing anything other than work clothes. A wafer thin, gold watch gleamed on the wrist that he rested casually against the door frame and, instead of the van, a sports car was parked outside my house. Ah, now I understand Mrs Jeffery’s comments, I thought.

He turned round to check what I was looking at. “I’ve brought your keys back,” he said. “I got the cheque; not cashed it yet though. I wasn’t ’ere on the last day, so I didn’t do a final inspection. Is everything alright? Did they leave it clean and tidy?”

I nodded. “Yes, thanks, I was very pleased. It all looks gorgeous.” I wanted to ask him about the wall and the carpet, but didn’t dare.

He held out the newly redundant keys but when I took them he stood his ground and didn’t look as if he was going anywhere else. “And how was Peterborough,” he asked and raised his eyebrows.

Peterborough? My mind went blank and then I remembered. Peterborough was where I was supposed to be. “Oh, very nice,” I said. “And thank you for not telling my dad about it.”

“He gave me a bleedin’ hard time. Practically had to throw ’im out.”

“I know. He told me.”

He grinned at me. “Well, no ’ard feelings.”

I hesitated, and then said, “Er… would you like to come in?”

He stepped forward and as I went to move aside to let him through the door we collided. He knocked my injured shoulder almost sending me flying. I cried out in pain and clutched at it.

“Sorry, Babe.” He reached out to stop my falling and caught me around my waist where the bruising was even worse.

“No, please don’t touch me,” I screamed, clutching my side. “Please, I’ll, I’ll be fine.”

He closed the front door behind us. “You don’t look fine to me,” he said. “What’s goin’ on?” He stared at the CCTV monitor, the dishevelled sofa and the pile of clothes next to it on the floor. “And what’s happened to you? Show me!”

The thought crossed my mind that no-one had seen any of my injuries and that if I ended up on trial he might be able to testify on my behalf. Obediently I undid the top button of my jeans and pushed them down a couple of inches, at the same time lifting my shirt to expose the still purple bruise my attacker’s boot had inflicted on me.

“Jesus! Who the fuck did that?”

“No-one. I fell down the stairs.”

“Yeah, and they found me under a gooseberry bush. I reckon I see more bruises in a week on my lads, than you will in a lifetime. Now, who the fuck was it? Just wait till I get my hands on him, I’ll kill him.”

Don’t say it, I thought. Please, please, don’t tell him, however much you want to. Don’t tell him what you’ve done. What would he think if he knew that his van was used to move a corpse with all the trouble that would bring to his door?

“Have you seen a doc about all this? Got yourself checked out? Don’t you know that if you
fall
down
the
stairs
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
,
” He wagged his fingers at me. “You’re supposed to call for an ambulance.”

“It’s okay Barry, really. But thank you for asking. Please come through. I was in the kitchen.”

He paused and stared hard at me. An angry look crossed his face. “Did this staircase do anything else?”

“No.”

“It’s just, you ain’t in no domestic situation, you ain’t got any black eyes and there’s only one other reason I can think of why a man would beat up a woman.”

“No, honestly. You must believe me. He didn’t. I managed to stop…” I trailed off.

“Jesus! Who was it? Is it some sod you know? Just tell me.”

“No, no, no really.” This conversation was getting out of hand. I had to stop his probing but I didn’t know how.

“And I don’t suppose you went to the police. Did you? And what’s ’appened to your new bed? Why are you sleeping down ’ere?”

I just shook my head, unable to think of any plausible excuse. At the kitchen door, he stopped and looked at the half full goblet of red wine and the opened bottle next to it. He rolled his eyes skywards and took a seat.

“You ’ad these bruises two weeks ago, didn’t you, when I found you on the floor? That’s why you did a bunk. Let me see the rest. Take your clothes off.”

“No, I’m alright honestly.” I shook my head. “Drink?”

“Don’t get in a panic, you’re safe with me.”

I fetched another goblet, filled it with wine and with a trembling hand, placed it carefully in front of him. I wanted to touch his shoulder with my other hand but couldn’t allow myself the pleasure.

He picked up the glass and swirled the contents. “My mum and my nan swear by arnica,” he said. “For bruises; gin for everything else. Cheers.”

I sat down opposite him, took a sip of wine and smiled. “They sound nice,” I said, letting my guard down for the first time since he arrived. “Cheers.” I noticed that he was watching me again.

After a moment’s silence he stood up and walked round the table. Carefully he placed his hand on my left shoulder. Then he kissed me and his lips were warm and rough and tasted of wine and I wanted him. I caught my breath. Although it was cut very short, I ruffled his hair and we kissed again. I wanted him to wrap me in his arms and sit me on his lap and keep me safe.

“I really came round to ask you if you’d let me take you out,” he said. “Would you consider that?”

I gazed into his shrewd blue eyes and realised that although, by now, Danny would have been older than him, Barry could be his older brother. Perhaps that’s why I like him, I thought. Then ten years’ hidden realisation hit me like a lightning bolt. I knew that Barry would protect and probably fight for me but I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t let him risk unleashing the fury of hell onto himself. Danny had lost his life in the conflict, Aidan’s life had been destroyed and mine had been ruined. You could never beat the IRA they said, and they were right. I couldn’t carry the burden of his unwitting involvement. And if we became close, I’d have to tell him what I’d done.

I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “I can’t.”

He looked surprised. Obviously he was not used to being turned down and was not expecting a refusal. I swallowed, feeling guilty, not even able to explain.

“Why not,” he said, returning to his seat. “I’m not good enough for you, Babe?”

I stared at him, horrified. “Please don’t say that. That’s rubbish. You’re gorgeous. You run your own business. You’re obviously successful at what you do. Anyone would…” I had to stop, and turned away.

“What’s wrong then? Why aren’t you even interested?”

“It’s not you. It’s me. I work all the time. I’m…” I struggled to find a believable reason as I could never tell him the truth. “I… I work away from home a lot. I’m hardly ever here.”

“So? Work less. Be here. You must be here at weekends, or is this a brush off?”

“No, honestly. I’m often away at weekends. Since I got back from Peterborough I’ve already been away somewhere else. It’s just this week that I’m working in London, in Acton.”

“So? Be flexible. Oh Jesus, listen to me. Why am I even bothering?” He started to get up.

The last thing I wanted to do was upset or humiliate him and I had to think fast. I couldn’t bear it if he walked out of my life in anger.

“Please Barry, let me explain,” I said. “You see, when my husband was killed I was only twenty-one and I went to pieces. Completely fell apart and had to go back to live with my mum and dad. It was like I was in a living nightmare, couldn’t work, couldn’t cope on my own, couldn’t even think straight. And this went on for a long time. You think I’ve got a good job? Well it’s not because I’m clever or smart, it’s because my dad already worked for them and got me a job with the firm.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. My dad trained me.”

“The sort of work we do, we have to travel around a lot and because my colleagues have families and social lives, I have always offered to do the unpopular shifts, if you like. The one upside of this is that I get paid overtime. That’s why and only why I can afford to live here. If I didn’t work overtime any more, travel around and work week-ends, I couldn’t afford this house. And I can’t bear to give it up. It’s all I’ve got. My aunt even paid for the decorating, not me. So you see,” I finished, “I can’t go out with you, even though I’d like to.”

Even as I spoke the words they sounded hollow and ridiculous. If I didn’t believe them why would he? He pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know my number.” He walked out without a backward glance and shut the front door behind him. I heard the turbo-charged sports car roar away.

It was dark and my neck ached. I tried to sit up but my shoulders were so stiff from where I had fallen asleep at the table. With my head resting on my arms I could hardly move. As I sat up I realised my face was wet with tears.

With difficulty I walked to the wall and turned on the light. The bottle of wine I had opened was empty but Barry’s abandoned glass was still half full. It was only ten o’clock but I straightened the rug on the sofa and once again went to bed there.

CHAPTER TWELVE