Sunshine Over Wildflower Cottage (43 page)

Pilot moved away of his own accord and out into the yard, and Geraldine released a secret breath of relief.

‘Now, I haven’t thought this through,’ said Ian, rubbing his chin, ‘but the sooner we get out of here the better, I think, so up you get, Vonny.’

Geraldine started to lever herself up. Behind her the kettle was boiling now, puffing out steam into the air. Ian was talking but she was only half-listening because her focus had switched to the tiny mirrored tiles that formed a pattern of a cat on the wall. In them, she saw her jigsawed image couched in cloud and momentarily mistook herself for Isme, come to save her. The thought brought with it a surge of hope and gratitude – but mainly adrenalin. As Geraldine groped for purchase on the lip of the sink, her fingers fell on the handle of the copper-bottomed frying pan in the bowl.

‘Hello kitty-witty.’ Ian bent down to stroke the friendly black cat who was weaving in and out of his legs and Bub, presented with a rare opportunity for carnage, was determined not to waste it. Not only did he wrap his front paws around Ian’s arm, but brought the back legs into play as well: a gift of eighteen synchronised claws-worth of damage plus teeth. Ian was so fixated on shaking off the cat intent on puncturing his bone marrow that he wasn’t aware of the pan swinging in the direction of his face until his nose was busted by it. His pain receptors had just commenced screaming when the pan came full circle, landing on the back of his skull. He collapsed like a dynamited building.

‘If you think I’m going back to you after what I’ve got used to here, you’re very much mistaken, duck,’ said the fully reformed Geraldine Hartley.

Chapter 102

Viv sped along the drive to Wildflower Cottage to find Ian Robson’s car was parked halfway down. She guessed it was so Geraldine wouldn’t hear him coming. There was no presence of a police car, bloody incompetent cow. Viv picked up the hockey stick and was about to get out of the car when she saw her wonderful, dear Geraldine appear in the cottage doorway.

Viv couldn’t have run faster to her. Words tumbled out of her mouth:
Are you all right? It’s the same man as my mum’s been seeing. I was so worried about you.
And where was he?

‘Have the police got him?’ Viv took back everything she had thought about that operator.

‘Not yet,’ said Geraldine. ‘I’ve only just rung them. He’s on the floor. I’ve trussed him up with some of the birds’ training cord. Not bad considering I did most of it with one hand.’

Geraldine took Viv’s hand and pulled her into the kitchen. She stood over the groaning, pinioned man whose nose resembled a burst strawberry tart.

‘See that,’ said Geraldine, poking his leg with her medical sandal, ‘I wasted over ten years of my life on it. When the police have carted him off, we’ll have a cup of tea and a good chat. Sounds like we’ve a few things to talk about.’ She squeezed Viv’s fingers affectionately. ‘It’s so good to see you, duck. Heath’s been looking everywhere for you . . .’

They could hear a car in the distance. Geraldine limped over to the window.

‘It’s the police,’ she announced. ‘Maybe I should have rung for an ambulance as well.’

As Viv went to the door to meet them, she noticed the infamous mop bucket standing full of dirty water waiting to be emptied into the drainhole outside. There was just time, she reckoned. It might even bring him round. She quickly snatched it up and tipped it above Ian Robson’s sorry face.

‘And that’s from me and my mum,’ said Viv, rejoicing in his spluttering. If it was good enough for the Leightons, it was good enough for him.

*

The operator had sent a squad car straight round, as it happens, but it had been diverted to a high-priority incident in Hyde. Crime-wise, it had been a too-rich morning. The present team had had to come over from Fennybridge.

‘I thought hitting people with frying pans only ever happened in Laurel and Hardy films,’ said the younger of the two policemen. The older one held up his finger to admonish him for that remark.

Robson was in the back of the police car now, head down, concentrating on surviving the pain claiming his whole upper body.

‘We’ll be in touch,’ said the older policeman, stroking the big dog.

‘I’ll be here if you want me,’ said Geraldine. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Ever again,’ and she grinned because she felt bloody marvellous. She’d had a momentary bout of hysteria and seen a goddess rising from the mists come to save her; and it might have turned out to be a reflection of herself with a kettle boiling behind her, but still it had served to empower her enough to face her biggest demon and beat it.

The police car trundled off down the drive. Geraldine filled up the mop bucket with water and bleach to clean up the mess which Ian Robson had left. She smiled as she mopped and wrung, ridding the tiles of his every trace.

‘Whatever anyone says, I know more than ever, after the events of this week, that Isme is here in this place, Viv, looking after us all. Does that make me a mad woman?’

Viv thought of the pale-haired girl with the dog lead. ‘I don’t think it makes you mad at all, my dear Geraldine.’

‘As soon as I’ve done this, we’ll talk,’ beamed Geraldine. ‘There’s so much I have to say to you – and hear from you.’

‘I’m just going to ring to see if my mum is okay,’ said Viv. ‘My mobile is dead. Could I use the the office phone?’

‘Of course. You don’t need to ask,’ said Geraldine. ‘Tell her to come and visit. I can help her make sense of what I suspect he’s put her through.’

Viv went into the office for some privacy and rang the Admissions department in Barnsley Hospital and they transferred her to the relevant ward. They let Al take the call on the nurse’s station and he told her that Stel was a bit bruised and battered and though they were keeping her in for the night, she had nothing to worry about. Not now. And Viv told him briefly what had happened at her end and asked him to give her mum a kiss for her.

*

‘That was your Viv on the phone,’ said Al, taking hold of Stel’s hand in his big rough bear paw. ‘She said I’d to give you this.’ He leaned over and delivered a soft kiss to her cheek.

‘Ah, that was nice of her,’ smiled Stel, her voice a ragged croak.

‘They’ve got him, Stel. He went up to that place where your Viv worked and he tried attacking another lass. And she cracked him with a frying pan, bust his nose all over his face. She’d like to see you, and talk to you.’

‘I’m an idiot, Al,’ said Stel, tightening her grip on his fingers, drawing warmth and comfort from them.

‘You are where fellas are concerned, Stel Blackbird,’ Al replied. ‘Why aren’t you as good at picking them as you were at picking a daughter?’

‘I never have been. Anyway, I’m done with men,’ said Stel. ‘I’m going to get myself a wimple and become a nun.’

‘You could have had me, you know,’ Al said, head down, waiting for Stel to laugh at the thought. But she didn’t.

‘You never asked me, Al Thackray. And all them fish-finger sandwiches my mam cooked for you an’ all. She loved you.’

‘You were always out of my league, Stel.’

‘Me?’ The word came out as a squawk. ‘Are you kidding? I was never out of your league. I’m from Holton Road not bloody Beverly Hills. You’re the one swanning about on a Jim Davidson bike and moving to a big posh house . . . so I think you’ve got that the wrong way round, love.’

Stel didn’t want him to leave the street. It wouldn’t be the same without him next door to her.

Al studied Stel’s fingers and didn’t recognise them. She’d always had lovely nails, pointed and polished not bitten right down as they were now. He wanted to kill that piggy-eyed streak of piss.

‘I’ve still got loads of his stuff in my house,’ Stel said, closing her eyes against the thought of going back home and seeing all his belongings everywhere.

‘If you tell me what you want shifting, I’ll load it into my van and get my mate to store it. You don’t want to get done for criminal damage. He’s taken enough of your head space up.’

He stroked her hand, as if he were stroking the back of the guinea pig they had in their class at school. He’d been given a certificate by the teacher for being the boy who handled her the gentlest.

‘Will you come up and see my new house?’ asked Al. ‘Help me pick curtains and things like that?’

‘Course I will,’ replied Stel. ‘But you’re good at all that stuff yourself.’

‘You’re better.’

‘Thank you,’ said Stel and she smiled at him. ‘Not just for saying I’m better at choosing soft furnishings, I mean for being my friend.’

Al nodded, too choked up to reply. Stel’s face was swollen and dark with bruising but she was still gorgeous to him. He’d always loved Stel Blackbird. When all this was done with and she’d had time to herself, he hoped he could dredge up the way-overdue courage to ask her out. But if she said yes, he’d make sure they had the longest, slowest, courtship in bloody history.

Chapter 103

When Viv went back into the kitchen from the office, she found Heath was there sitting with Geraldine. He looked worn out and drawn but his green eyes sparked with light when they fell on her and though every sinew and muscle in her body screamed at her to run to him, she just couldn’t do it.

‘I’m going to have a nice bath,’ said Geraldine, doing a very unsubtle job of getting out of the way. Even Pilot followed her out of the room.

‘Viv, walk with me,’ asked Heath. ‘Please,’ and he got up from the table.

‘All right.’

She would let him say goodbye, then she would go.

They walked side by side, down past dear Bertie, Roger and Keith, Ray and Roy and Wonk nodding half-asleep in the sunshine. They stepped over the banks of blue-violet flowers and through the ghost-mist that hovered above the grass, until they came to the bench in the bird arena. Heath sat down. Viv followed his lead, leaving space between them.

He didn’t look at her as he spoke, but kept his eyes low, forward, focused on nothing. ‘Geraldine doesn’t know what I’m about to tell you, which is why she . . .’ He stopped, swallowed, took a breath, began again. ‘The best of people make mistakes, Viv.’

Why was she even here?
Whatever he said couldn’t put it right. ‘Heath, I’d hardly call what you did a mistake.’

‘Please, let me finish. I’m not talking about a mistake that
I
made.’

There was a long pause. Confused by what he had said, Viv nodded that he had her attention and he resumed.

‘When I married Sarah, I didn’t know her heart had been broken by someone else. I was the rebound boyfriend, part of her healing process. She married me to show someone that she didn’t care what he’d done to her, but she did. And she hadn’t stopped loving him.’

His lips were dry and cracked. And so was his voice as he spoke.

‘He realised he should never have let her go. They started an affair. I didn’t see it because I was busy looking after Dad; then he died. Sarah had known she was ill herself but she was terrified of doctors so she kept her symptoms secret, hoping they’d just go away. It was a very aggressive form . . . even if the doctors had discovered it earlier, there still wouldn’t have been anything they could have done.’

Viv saw his jaw clench as he fought hard against an onslaught of emotion. She hadn’t expected to hear any of this.

‘When she knew she was dying, she had to tell me about the other man and how much she loved him because she wanted to spend her last days with him, not me. But she felt so guilty because I’d just lost Dad. How could I deny her what she asked me for?’

His long fingers pushed his hair back from his drawn, tired face.

‘On the night she left, she begged me to tell her that I didn’t love her any more and that she should leave, so she could go to him with her conscience clear. So I said the words she wanted to hear, only so she could die being loved by him. I had no idea that Geraldine was worried by our raised voices; we didn’t know she could hear us . . . not that we were shouting exactly . . . it was just that the situation was so intense. She heard Sarah say that what she needed in her last weeks was to be with the person who loved her the most. She heard me say that I wished it could have been me but we both knew it wasn’t. She heard me asking Sarah to give me back her wedding ring and go. She didn’t know that Sarah’s lover was waiting for her up the drive in his car.’

Could all this be true? She wanted to believe him so much.

‘But why do her family hate you?’

‘Because I was the one who was married to Sarah. I should have stayed with her, they said. I shouldn’t have encouraged her to act like a slut. The Bernals are a fine, upstanding family, you see, Viv.’ There was a sneer to his lip. ‘They didn’t want it known that their daughter left me for a lover. So it was far better to twist the story.
Merlo is a man so bad that he abandoned his dying wife.
I could take it. I knew what I’d done was right for her.’

He felt Viv’s small warm fingers burrow into his hand.

‘But it’s so unfair.’

‘I think a lot of people now know there’s another version of the truth than the one the Bernals parade. It doesn’t matter to me anyway. What does matter to me is that Sarah died at peace with the only man she’d ever loved at her side.’

Viv knew he’d told her the truth. She felt it.
This is a good man, Viv Blackbird
, her heart was shouting inside her, and as he turned to her and her eyes locked onto his, every black doubt she’d had about him was blasted away by the honesty shining there.

Heath lifted his arm and wrapped it around her, pulling her close.

‘Will you stay?’ he asked. ‘I will now be able to supply a decent wage, plus a variety of eggs and unending tales of Isme and her bloody mists courtesy of Geraldine.’

‘Oooh,’ Viv sucked in a spaghetti string of air. ‘Tempting. Anything else to add to the mix?’

‘I can promise you as much hay and straw as you can shift with a pitchfork and the best compost heap in town.’

Viv pinched her fingers together. ‘Nearly there.’

‘I will never again laugh at names like Dancing Sunshine when you’re mixing your weird oils.’

She grimaced. ‘So, so close.’