The Cornish Guest House (25 page)

‘Could you ask him to change it, when he’s calmed down, I mean? Swap it for something you prefer?’

Oscar whacked his plastic spoon on the tray, sending bits of cheese and potato flying, and she stooped to pick them up.

‘You don’t see, why would you?’ said Tabitha, fiddling with the hem of her sweater, picking at an imaginary piece of fluff. ‘I’ve no idea where he gets the money.’

Loveday threw the food in the silver swing bin by the sink and almost laughed. This was easy to solve! ‘But his company’s doing brilliantly, he told me. He could probably buy six of those cars if he wanted.’

‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it again, sorry.’

They switched subjects and Loveday made her boss smile at last, but when she asked as she was leaving what time Luke would be home, the corners of Tabitha’s mouth drooped, her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head.

As Loveday walked swiftly back to the flat at around 6 p.m., she found herself thinking for the first time that perhaps it had been a mistake to leave A Winkle In Time. The job might have been boring, but at least she had been safe there and surrounded by friends. She could hand in her notice, but was one nasty scene between the boss and his wife enough of a reason to throw it all in? Tabitha and Oscar would miss her and, besides, she had an uneasy feeling that Luke wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

*

At around half past midnight, Liz yawned and snapped off the TV, too tired to watch any longer. It wasn’t unheard of for Robert to be late back from the restaurant and he didn’t know that she was waiting up for him but, still, she’d hoped to catch him, because something was preying on her mind.

Pat had rung at around three thirty, just after Liz had put down the phone on Rosie, who’d been brimming with excitement, having just heard the news that she’d got the part of one of the Playing Cards in
Alice
, and there was a rehearsal after school that very day. Pat, meanwhile, had sounded so het up that at first Liz couldn’t understand what she’d been on about, until she’d heard the names ‘Loveday’ and ‘Luke’ so often that she’d managed to pick up the thread.

‘I reckon Loveday’s had her head turned,’ Pat had said breathlessly. ‘It’s Luke this, Luke that, and she wasn’t very nice about Jesse neither. What’s she doing at that office? That’s what I want to know. Why can’t she talk about it? And where does his money come from for that posh car? It seems fishy to me.’

Liz didn’t give two hoots about the car, but she did care about Robert’s niece. She’d played devil’s advocate on the phone for a while, trying to persuade Pat that all was well, but knew that she hadn’t done a very convincing job.

‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ Pat had muttered ominously when Liz had tried to hang up. ‘You talk to that husband of yours and see what he thinks.’

The last of the embers on the log fire had died and Liz shivered, feeling suddenly chilly. She rose, picking up the remains of a packet of dry biscuits that she’d been nibbling on, and was about to turn out the lights when she heard Robert banging on the door and shouting through their letterbox, ‘I can’t find my key!’

When she opened up she was met with a boozy blast and her husband staring down at her with a sheepish grin on his face. ‘Shorry, Lizzie, musht’ve left them at work.’

She stood back while he entered the house, almost tripping on the step, and watched him sway down the hallway and into the front room.

‘Luke came by and we had a few drinks to toasht the baby,’ he hiccupped, plonking on the sofa and gazing at her blearily. ‘I think I’m going to regret it in the morning.’

It wasn’t the right time for a discussion, but hearing Luke’s name once more was too much for Liz and, against her better judgement, she sat beside her husband and recounted the conversation with Pat.

‘What do you think?’ she asked at last, prodding Robert in the ribs to make sure that he was still awake. ‘Pat’s pretty sharp, she wouldn’t have spoken without good reason.’

Robert clumsily took her hand, and traced the thin blue veins that threaded along the back of her wrist with a forefinger.

‘You worry too much. He’s a good bloke.’

‘But do you really believe all this top-secret stuff? It sounds so implausible.’

Robert shook his head several times, rather harder than necessary.

‘You don’t understand. Loveday’s young, she exaggerates everything. You know what she’s like. Luke’s in finance, that’s his real job. It just happens he’s helping the government because they asked him to.’ He had difficulty with ‘government’ especially, over-emphasising each syllable like a child testing out a brand-new word. ‘Apparently it’s normal for them to get in outside help when they need it. He can’t discuss it but it’s all above board.’

Then he closed his eyes, worn out with the effort.

Liz sighed. It had been a mistake to raise the matter now, and she tried, without success, to heave him up from sitting. She’d never seen him quite like this before; it must have been some celebration. He looked ready to nod off on the sofa, but he’d only wake up cold and stiff. ‘I can’t carry you, you’re too heavy.’

At last he got the message, groaned, and she heard him stagger upstairs, while she fetched him a large glass of water from the kitchen. He was going to need it. Later, when he’d crashed into bed fully clothed and she’d had to help him off with his shirt and trousers, she lay awake listening to his heavy breathing. She thought he’d passed out, but he must have sensed her brain whirring.

‘I’m shorry about tonight,’ he mumbled. ‘Shouldn’t have stayed so long. Luke really rates Loveday, y’know. He knows she’s had a difficult time. He wants to help.’

Liz swallowed, wondering whether to speak. She couldn’t stop herself.

‘If he’s such a saint then how come Tabitha’s so miserable?’

Robert paused, before letting out a strange sound, somewhere between a yelp and a grumble. ‘Look, Liz, maybe she’s just not a very happy person.’ He seemed to have sobered up a little and sounded sharp, like a sting. ‘Loveday’s finally found a job she’s good at and enjoys. For heaven’s sake, don’t go and poke your nose in and spoil it for her.’

‘He’s still furious with me about the car, Moll. He stormed off and I don’t know where he’s gone.’

Tabitha was lying on her bed, propped up against a pile of cushions. It was the early hours of the morning but she was wide awake, every sense on alert.

She heard Molly take a sip of something. Wine? Water? How would she know, when her friend was so far away? She’d been trying to contact Molly all evening, but she’d been out having fun. Tabitha didn’t know the meaning of the word.

‘He’ll be back,’ Molly said calmly, ‘He’s probably driving round the countryside, letting off steam.’

Tabitha scarcely heard. Her mind was jumping all over the place. ‘I should’ve pretended I liked it, I’m a fool. I can’t bear to think where the money’s come from.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to drive round in a big, fuck-off car, I want to blend into the background.’

‘Not easy with your looks,’ Molly remarked drily, ‘but don’t worry about the cash, that’s the least of your concerns. As long as you don’t know anything about it, you’re not involved, right? Anyway, it might be legit.’

Tabitha glanced instinctively at the window, even though it was dark outside and the blinds were drawn. ‘It’s not, I’m sure.’ She shivered. ‘God knows what he’s up to. I just wish he wasn’t using Loveday, I don’t want her getting into trouble.’

‘If only I could help,’ Molly sighed, and at that moment Tabitha missed her so much it was like a physical pain.

‘Don’t ever leave me, Moll.’

‘You know I won’t.’

Afterwards, Tabitha sat in the gloom, too tired to read, too anxious to rest. There were four guests staying, two couples who complimented her on everything, from the cooked breakfasts that Shelley helped her prepare to the carefully designed bedrooms, but it was unlikely they’d hear if Carl broke in, and would they know what to do anyway? Luke would, she’d give him that.

She padded over to the cream-coloured armchair, pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms round her shins, staring into the shadows, feeling her aloneness like the slow movement of the hands of a clock, the empty space between stars.

Looking back, she thought she’d been such an obvious target for Carl – young, isolated and vulnerable. Pretty, too; she supposed that was a factor, and she’d been putty in his hands.

He’d used a set routine on her, she recognised that now, winning her trust, then worming his way into her heart so that she’d come to believe she was in love and couldn’t exist without him. Later, he’d offered her drugs, crack cocaine mainly, and taken away her pub earnings so that she’d had to ask him for cash. Finally, after months of grooming when all she’d really cared about had been her next fix, he’d brought in the punters. It had been so well planned.

She could remember the first time as if it were yesterday. She’d tried to protest, struggling from Carl’s grip and shouting that this was her red line, but he’d hit her with enough force to ensure that she’d never forget. Before long, there had been men every other night and she’d stopped complaining, believing it when Carl had said that she was worthless and deserved it.

Molly had tried to save her, but it had been no use. It must have been heartbreaking, watching her friend’s downward spiral, deaf to all advice, bullying and pleading. But she’d stuck by Tabitha and had somehow managed to get her to their gigs, once a fortnight or so, in a fit enough state to sing. By then, the band had been performing in pubs around Liverpool, Manchester, Hull and Leeds. It would have looked odd if their main vocalist hadn’t been there. Besides, Carl had liked the money, though he’d had nothing but contempt for the music.

Tabitha rested her cheek on her drawn-up knees, recalling how every so often she’d have glimpses of what she’d become. It had been then that her mother’s final words to her would ring in her ears: ‘“Remove the wicked person from amongst yourselves.”’ At the time it had seemed deeply unjust, though she’d never have dared argue back. Now, filled with self-loathing, she’d have killed herself if only she’d had the guts.

When she’d first set eyes on Luke, he’d been standing by himself in the middle of the tightly packed room at the back of the pub in Manchester’s Oldham Street. Even then, he’d stood out from the grungy students in their jeans, faded T-shirts and shabby trainers. He had been so tall and elegantly dressed, in a crisp blue and white striped shirt, his fair hair swept back, his face smooth. And those blue eyes, fixed on her the entire night, so that when she’d sung, she’d felt as if it was for him alone.

She’d covered up her bruises with make-up but couldn’t imagine that he liked her, not really. Somehow, though, she’d suspected when she left the pub that he’d be waiting for her. She’d already made up her mind to say she couldn’t talk, that she had a boyfriend, only Carl had noticed the stranger, too, and hadn’t liked what he’d seen.

‘Fucking slag,’ he’d said, jumping out of the shadows at her, grabbing her hair and pulling her into the dark alleyway beside the pub. There had been no time to cry out, because he’d punched her so hard that her head had flown back and smashed into the wall behind. ‘Think you’re something, do you? Well, you know what? You’re a piece of shit.’

It had been some weeks before she’d seen Luke again, but she hadn’t forgotten him. He’d stood right up front, his eyes boring into her so that she’d felt almost as if she were naked. Her heart had sunk and her hands had trembled, because she’d known that Carl would be watching and she’d hurried from the building at the end so there was no way he could say she’d led him on. Even so, her teeth jangled and her nerves were shot to pieces as she’d waited at the corner of the dark street, well away from the crowds.

Carl hadn’t taken long. She’d felt a sharp pain on the left side of her face and staggered a few paces. ‘Bitch,’ he said, and she’d closed her eyes, anticipating another blow. It had never come, though, because Luke had appeared, smashing Carl hard in the head with his fists so that he’d fallen to the ground, groaning. Gone was the slim, suave man who’d been making eyes at her in the pub. Now he was all muscle and brute strength. A wild animal.

He’d kicked Carl again and again, until she’d screamed at him to stop because she’d thought he’d finish him off. Then he’d knelt beside his victim, whispering, ‘If you go anywhere near her again, I’ll rip you to pieces.’

While Carl had whimpered, Luke had calmly taken a business card out of the wallet in his trouser pocket and tucked it in his fist, crunching the broken fingers round it tightly.

‘Remember my name,’ he’d said quietly, before adjusting his pale grey jacket and taking Tabitha’s hand.

‘Come,’ he’d said, leading her towards the shiny silver car parked a few metres up the road, and she’d been too shocked and dazed to resist.

After her poky place in Liverpool, his Manchester flat was breath-taking: a posh, bachelor pad at the top of a brand-new, high-rise block with giant windows and an amazing view. She’d had a bath, put on the white towelling dressing gown that he’d given her and allowed him to examine the painful swelling on her temple, rubbing in some arnica that he’d found in his bathroom cabinet.

She’d been amazed when he’d given her the double bed and taken the sofa next door for himself, and when she’d woken the next morning, he’d brought her tea and gone to work, telling her to rest, make herself at home and help herself to anything she fancied from the fridge.

‘We’ll go for dinner later,’ he’d said, ‘if you’re feeling up to it. There’s a great little restaurant nearby.’

All morning she’d wandered around the flat, opening drawers and cupboards, eager to find out as much about him as she could, but there was precious little to go on: no letters or photographs, nothing to indicate if he was married, or had been, who his parents were or where he was from.

His clothes were neatly pressed and tidied away, his bathroom contained just one brand of shower gel, shampoo and soap, a single toothbrush, some plasters and painkillers, arnica and two bottles of upmarket aftershave. The place felt more like a hotel suite than a home, but his fridge was well stocked with foods, some of which she’d never tasted before – French cheeses, wholemeal bread, cured meats, olives, smoked salmon and freshly squeezed fruit juice. She’d been hungry, not having eaten for hours, and had tried a little of everything.