Secrets (41 page)

‘Emmeline is ready for her tea. And I'm ready for a shower.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Em.

‘Goodbye,’ said Joe, matching her gravity.

While she stirred the pan, Tess silently sang out, oh, I so love you both.

Fish and chips it was.

‘So, what have you been up to these past few days?’ ‘Well, I saw Andy.’

And once Tess had finished telling Joe all the ins and outs of IVA it seemed to him too forced to say to her, and what else, Tess, what else have you done, where have you been, who have you seen? Actually, he was avoiding it, he knew he was. He didn't want anything to threaten the idyll. Wasn't it worth all that travel for this? Wouldn't it be a waste of a journey just to instigate conflict?

The next morning, though, the need to rumble Tess rose like bile in his throat. It was a hateful feeling and he loathed himself for it. He had to do it, though, despite being aware that he only half understood the personal drive behind it. He didn't really want to catch her out, or endanger the tranquillity she brought to him; certainly he didn't want to upset her – but there again, he didn't really want to go to Swallows either and see his mother. But he was just going to have to do both. To prove something or other to himself. Quite what, he didn't really know. But the task to find out had been looming like a portentous shadow from the moment he'd woken.

He had her.

He knew her facial expressions absolutely and was thus able to note her momentary look of panic, in reality little more than a flicker across her eyes, when he said he was just off out, just had a visit to make and no, he wouldn't be taking Wolf.

Tess felt fear fill her mouth with silence while her conscience screamed at her to tell him, tell him about Swallows, tell him it's all above board – tell him it's a good thing, nothing to hide, you've discovered a really good thing you can do. However, she was tongue-tied, hiding her alarm behind Em's wriggling little body as they waved Joe off.

Shit, what's the number for Swallows? Laura gave it to me. I don't know where I put it. Lisa! She has Laura's number – they swapped them after the Made With Love evening. Phone Lisa.

Both numbers were somewhere in her pocket diary which she belted up to her room to find, almost tripping over Em on her way down. She'd practically forgotten about Em. She wondered for a moment who to phone first. She chose Swallows. Only Laura wasn't there and Tess had no idea what to say to the lady who'd answered whose voice she did not know. She thought, I'm hardly likely to say I think the son of one of your residents may be popping in, please could you make sure that neither the staff nor any of the residents mention the girl who's been coming in twice weekly doing the beauty treatments. As she dialled Lisa's number, her fingers slowed and she replaced the receiver before the call connected. It didn't matter if Lisa did have a number for Laura, what could Laura do about any of it anyway? Tess knew she wouldn't ask her even if she turned up on the doorstep this very minute.

She kept telling herself, I haven't lied to him, I've just kept it quiet. She kept telling herself, I haven't done anything wrong.

But she kept answering herself back.

You've done what he expressly asked you not to do. You've let him down. You've betrayed his trust.

‘Hullo, Mr Saunders – well, this is a surprise.’

‘Flying visit – as usual.’

‘I'll see where Mum is, shall I?’

‘Thank you.’

As the matron bustled off, Joe looked around the spacious hallway at Swallows. It really was a lovely building – airy and elegant and not institutional in the slightest. And it was fragrant too. It was one of the best. He shuddered, recalling some of the establishments he had visited. He looked around him, alighting on the noticeboard. Bingo on a Wednesday evening. Sing-song on a Saturday. Walking Club every morning 9.30. Church on a Sunday. Bridge on a Monday. And well, would you look at that, Tuesdays and Fridays Heaven at Home.

Look and feel years younger! Let our skilled beautician pamper you!

I wonder who that could be.

As if I didn't bloody know.

‘Yes, it's a full week for those who take up all on offer.’

Matron was back, standing alongside Joe. ‘Bridge, bingo and a sing-song?’ said Joe.

‘Isn't that admitting you're old?’

‘We have poker evenings too, every once in a while. And we tried a Debate Evening – but it almost ended in fisticuffs. Mum's ready – she's in the sunroom. Please follow.’

He wanted to talk about the notice about the beautician but the matron was bustling him along.

It was when Joe was at the door of the sunroom, when he peered in to see her sitting by the window, that he realized he hadn't actually come here to see her at all, he'd only come for proof that Tess had been. He didn't much want to take a single step further, but he could hardly turn and go now. He took a deep breath and inwardly squared his shoulders. He walked over and sat down.

Eventually, Mary turned to him.

‘Hullo, Mother.’

‘Mother? No no, not me – I'm Miss – do I know you?’

‘Yes, you do. I'm Joe. I'm your son.’

‘Try her – over there. She's always waiting for her son to come.’

Joe looked around the room. The elderly lady, clock watching. He'd only ever seen her watching a clock, whichever room she was in. He turned back to his mother.

‘It's a lovely day out there.’

‘Isn't it. I do love France. People rave about the British seaside – but of course, you just can't depend on the weather over there.’

‘This is Saltburn.’

He expected her to argue that it wasn't. But it seemed she hadn't heard him, or she hadn't the energy, or there was something far more interesting out of the window, or in her mind. He'd stay a little longer. At least she didn't know him today. They sat quietly; every now and then a sigh or splutter or mutter about a cup of tea elsewhere punctuated the thick silence of the room.

‘Do you like it here?’ Joe asked.

‘Oh, it's lovely. I've lived here all my life, you know. The only way I'll be leaving is in a box.’

‘Do you have many visitors?’

‘Oh yes, lots and lots.’

‘Family?’

‘Friends – my family has all gone.’

‘Who comes to visit you?’

A vague look swept over his mother's face as she tried to find names for the multitude of imagined visitors clogging her mind's eye in an unruly, faceless mob.

‘Don't worry – I'm sure you're very popular.’ He tapped her hand. And then he looked at it. Her fingernails were bright red. He hadn't seen her with nail varnish for years. Not since he was much younger. He didn't like it then and he doesn't like it now.

‘Look at your nails,’ he said.

‘Ah, that's the girl who visits here now.’

‘Visits?’

‘She comes in with all her paints and potions. This colour is called Red-in-Bed.’

‘I see. What's her name?’

‘Red-in-Bed.’

‘No,’ said Joe, ‘what's
her
name?’

‘Sorry?’

‘What's her
name
?’

‘Who?’

‘The girl.’

‘What girl?’

‘The
girl
, Mum – the girl who does your nails.’

‘The girl. Who does my nails.’ Mary looked at her hands and then looked out to sea, her lips moving over silent words like the little bibbling waves that lap tirelessly at the shoreline. ‘I don't know. Miss Someone or Other.’

‘Tess?’

‘Tess who?’

‘The girl who does your nails?’

‘I don't know if she is called Tess,’ Mary shook her head the way a child might. ‘I don't know what her name is, actually. But I do know she brings her little girl with her. Dear little thing. And I do know that
her
name is Emmeline.’

Joe sat for a moment longer. ‘I have to go.’

Mary looked up. Even frail and puckered, he knew that face off by heart but he could see there wasn't a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Not today.

‘Goodbye.’

‘Well, goodbye, love. Thank you for your visit.’ Mary turned to one of the other residents – a lady Joe didn't recall – whose hair was like candyfloss but whose skin was peppered with cruel brown tags.

‘Ellen, dear – you can have him back now. So kind of him to spend time with me. He's a canny lad, your boy.’

Joe sat himself down on one of the cliff benches just over the road to collect his thoughts. He wanted to rant, bloody little bitch. Conniving cow. But that wasn't right. Tess was none of those things. He wanted to spit, stupid old bag. But he couldn't bring himself to talk of his mother like that.

Why did Tess go there? Of all the bloody old-age homes in this sleepy old town, why choose Swallows? She knew how he felt – they'd had that one, solitary confrontation about it. So why betray him? What was so bloody compelling about Swallows?

‘What's she hoping to gain that would be worth losing what we have?’

Laura was walking by, for her afternoon shift.

‘Joe! This is a surprise.’

‘Isn't it just.’

His response took her aback. Charming Joe Saunders? Whose visits were fleeting and sporadic but whose phone calls were regular? Sat there, on a bench, with a cob-on? Laura did what Laura did best, she sat herself down next to him, with a cheery huff of how that hill was going to kill her, the hotter the summer became.

‘Is everything all right, then? Is Mum not so good today?’

‘Oh, she's fine – she's off being someone else today.’

Well, then, thought Laura, why is Joe not content – he's usually far happier to find her like that than her
compos mentis
narky self.

‘I hope you noticed her nails.’

‘Of course I noticed her nails.’

Laura did not have Joe down as the snappish type. It just made her want to try harder to lift his mood.

‘That's your Tess, of course – she's brought a lot more than just fancy polish to Swallows.’

Joe turned to face her. She couldn't read his expression so she turned her gaze to the sea as she prattled.

‘She's a lovely girl – but of course it's Em who's star of the show.’

‘She doesn't talk about it.’

‘Who? Em?’ Laura laughed. Then she tapped Joe's knee. ‘Well, that's Tess for you, isn't it? Bet she hasn't told you how we offered to pay? We'd still be happy to – but she's insisting on there being no charge, like. And using all her own lovely creams too! She won't let us even cover the costs of those. And do you know, Joe, just yesterday when she came – well, she'd run out of organic whatever-she-called-it, that she'd use on the feet. Something special it was – smelt gorgeous – all minty. Anyway, it's finished – she'd used up her last tube on the ladies. No more available. So you know what she did? She turns up with a bloody great big pot of Vaseline and a roll of clingfilm and she says to the ladies – she says, “This is just as good as any of the fancy stuff you can buy.” And they had such a giggle as she slathered their feet with Vas, wrapped them in clingfilm like chicken about to go in the fridge. Then she plonked their feet, all swaddled up like that, in tubs of warm water. They all sat there in a semicircle – they did look a picture. But what do you know, Joe – there's a lot of nice soft tootsies at Swallows now.’