High Tide (22 page)

The two girls looked at Vanessa. She was bright red with embarrassment. And horror. She’d had no idea Nathan had lost his job. She was mortified.

She went to the back of the shop and got her handbag.

‘I’ll be back later,’ she told the girls, who nodded, round-eyed. In all the time they had known her, Vanessa had never caused any scandal.

She drove as fast as she could, to the industrial estate where the undertaker’s office was. She remembered coming here to sort out the funeral arrangements. It seemed like a lifetime ago. She parked, jumped out of the car, and pushed open the door.

Malcolm Toogood was at his desk. He stood as she walked in.

‘Mrs Knight – how nice to see you.’ He was good with names and faces. You had to be, in his business.

She didn’t bother with niceties.

‘I need to talk to you. About Nathan Fisher.’

Malcolm Toogood blanched visibly and launched into a grovelling apology.

‘Mrs Knight, I am so sorry. He’s been disciplined. I can assure you. It’s absolutely not the sort of behaviour we expect at Toogood’s.’

Vanessa cut him short.

‘I’m not here to complain. Quite the reverse. I put him under rather a lot of pressure and I don’t want him to get into any trouble.’

‘Well, I’m afraid it’s too late. He was in breach of all our rules. We have a reputation to upkeep. I can’t have my staff running amok all over town.’

‘Please. Overlook it just this once. He took very good care of me. Very good care.’

For a moment she wanted to laugh as she remembered.

Mr Toogood breathed in through his nose.

‘I’m afraid Nathan has already been dismissed, so there’s nothing I can do.’

She could sense his disapproval not just of Nathan but of her. Sanctimonious fool.

Vanessa had learned a few tricks from her time with Spencer. She was going to employ one of them now.

She cleared her throat. ‘Mr Toogood, I think given your considerable bill, which I and my solicitor haven’t yet been through, the least you could do is turn a blind eye. I’m sure Nathan is usually an exemplary employee. Everyone is allowed one mistake.’

She was behaving in a way she had heard Spencer behave so many times, and she hated doing it. But it seemed to work.

‘Is that a threat, Mrs Knight?’

She paused for a moment. ‘Yes. I think it probably is.’

There was a long silence as she waited for his reaction. She could see him turning over the options in his mind. Eventually he nodded.

‘Very well. I’ll call him. And reinstate him. Assuming he hasn’t found employment elsewhere.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling sweetly. ‘And thank you again for a lovely funeral. I’ll be sure to recommend you to everyone I know.’

26

Elverscott was a couple of miles up the river from Pennfleet, the quaintest of fishing villages, no doubt also peopled by second-homers and incomers. There was a popular walk from Pennfleet to Elverscott along the river, which for most people culminated in lunch at the excellent thatched pub rumoured to be getting a Michelin star.

Kate drove around until she found the Jessops’ house, a handsome whitewashed cottage with a stunning view of the river that probably doubled its value.

She parked her car on the road outside and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. There had been no guidebook to consult on how to approach your mother’s possible paramour to tell him she had passed away. But she still felt that to keep it from Robin was wrong, although he may well stumble across the news at some point. She felt it was her duty to her mother to tell him herself. Would he be hostile, or welcoming?

She walked up the path to the front door. The garden was pretty and rambling, and she could imagine it in summertime, all honeysuckle and roses, smelling sweet, buzzing with fat bumblebees. It was, she told herself, the garden of a good person – it had clearly been cared for.

She told herself she wasn’t going to hesitate, although her stomach was in a tight knot. Before she could think about it too much, she knocked. Moments later, she heard footsteps and someone inside undoing a chain. It was too late to run off, but she wanted to.

The door opened.

Robin Jessop – presumably – was tall, slightly stooped, with kindly eyes and a full grey beard. He wore a fleece, and walker’s trousers with lots of zips and pockets.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I was expecting the postman.’

‘Mr Jessop?’ asked Kate, not feeling she could call him Robin.

‘Depends who is asking.’ He was teasing her. ‘You’re not from HMRC?’

‘No.’

‘Thank goodness.’ He looked at her, eyes bright with curiosity. ‘So who are you?’

‘Kate,’ said Kate. ‘Jackson.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Joy’s daughter.’

He paused for a moment, digested the information, then gave a sharp breath. ‘Of course you are. I can see it now. Your mother has shown me lots of photos.’

‘Can I come in?’

He stood to one side. ‘Of course.’

Kate walked past him, straight into the main room, which was large but cosy, with low beams and walls lined with books. By a far window, she could see a chair with a figure in it. A woman.

Robin came into the room behind her. She spoke in a low voice.

‘I’m so sorry to be the one to have to tell you. And I wasn’t sure whether I should. But I found your letter to Mum … in her handbag.’

Robin flinched. His face seemed to have fallen in on itself. ‘I take it this isn’t going to be good news.’

‘I’m afraid … my mother passed away. The funeral was on Friday. I’m sorry I didn’t know about you sooner. I didn’t find the letter until afterwards. I would have told you otherwise.’

‘What happened? Was she ill? Oh dear God …’ He put his hands up, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Kate told him, as sparing of the details as she could be. There was no way to break the news of a death in an uplifting fashion. Robin listened, and nodded, then put his hand on her shoulder. He seemed quite calm, once the news had been broken.

‘You poor girl. You must be devastated. I know how close you were. She spoke about you all the time.’ He was trying so hard, but as he spoke his voice broke. ‘I’m sorry …’

‘This is such a strange situation. And I don’t know what to do to help. And I don’t know what to say.’

A voice came from the chair in the corner. ‘What’s going on?’ It was a querulous, commanding tone.

‘It’s all right, darling. Just a neighbour.’ Robin smiled at Kate, then spoke in an undertone. ‘My wife, Nancy. You understand, of course? She suffers …’

‘Dementia. Yes, I understand. Like my father. I guess that’s how you met?’

‘The dementia centre.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Not the most glamorous of rendezvous. Not exactly the Ritz.’

Kate saw that underneath his efforts to remain calm, Robin was shaking.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘If you want to spend a few minutes alone, I can sit with your wife.’

Robin considered her reply.

‘That would be extraordinarily kind.’ He was struggling with the effort of putting on a brave face. ‘I’ll go and walk in the garden for a few moments.’

He hurried away, and Kate realised how upset he must be, and how awkward he felt. No one wanted to share fresh grief with a total stranger. She walked across the room and sat in the chair opposite Nancy, who was dressed smartly in a corduroy skirt and striped blouse, and still wore her jewellery and make-up. Kate would have had no idea there was anything wrong.

‘If you’re from the library,’ said Nancy, ‘that last one was atrocious.’

‘Well,’ said Kate. ‘We’ll have to see if we can do better for you next time.’

She knew there was no point in denying she had anything to do with the library. She could remember that from her father. Once they fixated on something, they would not be deterred. And maybe being from the library was safer than the truth.

‘What do you think you’d like to read next?’

Outside, she could see Robin walking down to the bottom of the garden; he stood with his hands behind his back and his head bowed. She could see his shoulders shake.

‘Not Jane Austen. Bloody tedious,’ said Nancy.

‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘I quite agree.’

The whole scenario was completely surreal. She wondered what her mother would think if she knew what she had done. It was the sort of situation Joy would have handled with great aplomb. Nothing rattled Joy: it was why she was so good at her job. So Kate owed it to her to manage it with grace and kindness.

‘Would you like me to read to you?’ she asked Nancy, who just stared at her blankly. So she picked up a copy of the
Radio Times
, and read an interview with James Nesbitt, complete with Northern Irish accent, which seemed to rivet her no end. So much so that at the end, Nancy clapped, just as Robin came back in. He looked a little pink around the eyes, but otherwise composed.

‘Thank you so much,’ Robin told Kate. ‘And before you go, I do just want to tell you how very proud your mother was of you.’

‘I feel so terrible that I wasn’t here to help her with Dad. This has brought it all back, what she must have had to go through.’

‘Ours is a very particular kind of purgatory. And there can only be one way for it to end. Which is, frankly, no great comfort.’ He managed a wry smile. ‘But you mustn’t feel guilty. Joy would have hated that.’

‘I know. Mum was one of the most selfless people on the planet. Which kind of makes it worse.’

‘She was wonderful.’ Robin’s face started to crumple. ‘Oh dear. I had hoped …’

He couldn’t really voice what he had hoped. He pulled out a large white handkerchief and blew his nose. But Kate knew what he meant. She waited quietly while he gathered himself together, wiping his eyes and folding the hanky up.

‘I feel very privileged to have known her,’ he said. ‘And I am so very grateful to you for coming to see me. It went beyond the call of duty.’

‘It was a very beautiful letter that you wrote.’

Pain flickered across his face. ‘I didn’t write it lightly. But I’m sure you understand. Nancy’s still my wife and there are – occasional – moments of lucidity. It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t fair on Joy. She needed someone unencumbered, who could give her the attention she deserved.’

Kate could think of nothing to say. All he needed was a hug. So she hugged him, and he cried a little bit more, while Nancy poked at him with the walking stick she kept beside her.

‘Don’t think I can’t see what you’re up to,’ she shouted.

Robin and Kate looked at each other. There was nothing to do but laugh.

‘You have to laugh,’ he said. ‘Or else …’

‘I’m going back to New York at the end of the week. But I’d very much like to keep in touch.’ She gave him her card. ‘Please. If you ever want to talk, just get in touch.’

He took it, and slipped it into the pocket of his shirt. He looked at her.

‘You are very like her, you know. You’ve left me with the same warm feeling.’

Kate caught her breath. It was such a wonderful thing to say.

‘I can never live up to her,’ she told him. ‘But I’m going to try.’

27

Nathan was lying in bed, toying with the idea of getting up – although he couldn’t quite see a reason for it, except the puppies would need sorting out – when his phone rang. He ignored it for a moment. There wasn’t anyone he could think of he wanted to speak to.

Curiosity got the better of him. He picked up his phone and saw it was Malcolm Toogood.

‘Hello?’ he said, cautious.

‘Nathan. It’s Malcolm.’

‘Yes.’

‘Look, I’ve had a chance to reflect on things.’ Malcolm liked to use words like ‘reflect’. Why couldn’t he just say ‘think’? ‘I was a bit harsh on you. I possibly overreacted. So, if you haven’t found any other gainful employment …’

Course he hadn’t. Where was he going to find gainful employment at this time of year?

‘… I’d like to offer you your position back. You’ve been exemplary over the years, apart from this one aberration. I’d be a fool to let you go because you’ve made one mistake.’

Part of Nathan wanted to tell Malcolm to stuff his job, because he had been hurt to be sacked so unceremoniously. But he didn’t, because it wasn’t in his nature, and because he wanted the job back. There was bugger all at the Job Centre. And he liked driving for Toogood’s. He liked the ceremony, and feeling he had been part of helping people through the ordeal of a funeral. It was strangely satisfying.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That’s cool. Great. Thank you.’

‘Actually, you don’t have me to thank,’ replied Malcolm. ‘Thank Mrs Knight. She insisted I reinstate you. She was very anxious you shouldn’t get into any trouble.’

‘Really?’

‘Widows. They’re dangerous things.’ Malcolm gave a long-suffering sigh, as if he spent his life batting them away. ‘There’s a funeral tomorrow afternoon. In Shoredown. If you’re free.’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Nathan.

He got himself up, showered, got dressed and sorted the dogs, then went down to see Sam and grab a coffee.

‘How’s tricks?’ asked Sam.

‘Complicated,’ replied Nathan. ‘But I’ve just got my job back.’

‘That’s good. Isn’t it?’

‘Turns out Vanessa had a word with the gaffer.’

Sam looked impressed.

‘Do you think I should thank her?’ asked Nathan. ‘Or just let it go?’

Sam thought for a moment.

‘Would you spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you didn’t? Would you spend sleepless nights, torturing yourself? Would you wander round, pale and listless, a shadow of your former self?’

Nathan laughed. ‘All of the above.’

‘Then yes. Go and see her. What’s the worst that can happen? What have you got to lose? And let’s be honest, everyone likes to be thanked. People don’t do enough of it.’

Nathan nodded. ‘That’s a point. It would be rude not to, right?’

‘
Very
rude.’

Sam handed Nathan his latte.

‘Listen, mate, have you still got those puppies?’

‘I’ve got two left,’ Nathan told him. ‘I had a woman come and reserve one yesterday. I’m keeping one for myself. Do you want one?’

Sam paused for a moment. ‘I must be mad,’ he said. ‘But yeah – I think I do.’

‘Come up and have a look tonight.’

‘I can’t tonight,’ said Sam. ‘I’m meeting my daughter’s boyfriend’s mother for a drink.’

‘Sounds complicated.’

‘She wants to introduce herself because the kids are going out together. It’ll make a change, I suppose.’

‘Any idea what she’s like?’

‘Well, Daisy seems to like her.’

‘Is she single?’

‘Ex-husband in prison.’ Sam made a face.

Nathan grimaced. ‘Dodgy. Come and see them on the way home if you want. It’ll give you an excuse to get out of it.’

‘I might take you up on that,’ said Sam. He wished he could find a way of getting out of it. The last thing he wanted was to make polite conversation with Oscar’s mother. He imagined some gangland moll, like something out of Lynda La Plante, all cleavage and Cockney rhyming slang. Wasn’t that what he’d come all the way here to get away from?

After leaving Sam’s, Nathan went up to the florist. Not the one that Malcolm used for funerals, which churned out hideously garish arrangements, but the trendy one at the top end of town that had opened earlier in the year. He spent a long time examining each bloom, breathing in their scent and stroking the glossy leaves. In the end, he decided on twenty cream roses, their petals tinged at the edge with bright green, mixed in with burnt-orange freesias.

The florist arranged them all in a loose bouquet tied in a cream organza ribbon edged with old gold.

‘She’s very lucky, whoever she is,’ she told him. ‘Do you want to write something to go with it?’

‘I suppose so, yes.’

She handed him a square card with a matching envelope, and a pen.

He chewed the end of the pen while he thought. The scent from the blooms was making him giddy, and he didn’t have a clue what to say. He wasn’t used to writing down his feelings. Eventually he managed a short message.

Thank you. You’ve saved my life! Thinking of you. Nathan.

He hoped it wasn’t too invasive or stalky. Just thoughtful. And open-ended. It was true, though. He had done nothing but think of her. It was strange how, up till now, he hadn’t really been aware of her, except as a vague presence who lived nearby, someone who people occasionally referenced. Now, she was all he could think of. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh, her scent, her touch, her mouth. Vanessa Knight. Her name was on repeat in his brain.

‘That’ll be sixty-four pounds.’ The florist interrupted his thoughts.

Nathan paled, then pulled out his wallet. He wasn’t going to argue. He’d never bought a bunch of flowers before, after all, so he had no idea if this was normal.

‘You have chosen the most expensive flowers,’ said the florist kindly. ‘But there’s no way she won’t love them. And they’ll smell wonderful for days.’

He held the bouquet carefully in his arms and walked back down the high street, hoping he wouldn’t bump into any of his mates. They wouldn’t stop until they found out who the flowers were for, and they would tease him endlessly.

He curved around the edge of the harbour and along the road to the entrance of Pennfleet House. He pushed open the gate, walked over the immaculate granite sett driveway and up to the front door. The knocker was in the shape of a dolphin. He used it to rap hard, three times. It sounded businesslike and assertive.

He could hardly breathe as he waited. He’d decided not to rehearse what he was going to say. He felt sure that the words would come easily, as soon as she saw him. It would be natural. It would be instinctive.

He could hear someone coming towards the door. His heart was juddering, like a car engine that was missing. He wasn’t sure whether to smile. It would seem hostile not to, but he didn’t want to look like a creepy stalker. The door opened just as he settled on a slightly sheepish grin.

There was a woman standing there. Slight, blonde, sixty-something.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said. ‘Those are beautiful.’

‘They’re for Vanessa,’ he said.

‘How kind. Shall I say who sent them?’

‘Um … Nathan.’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Nathan from … after the funeral.’

‘Nathan from after the funeral.’ As she smiled at him she gave him an expert look up and down. She must be Vanessa’s mother, he thought. There was something in the voice. And the eyes. Although her smile didn’t quite reach hers, the way Vanessa’s did. ‘You’re very sweet, Nathan. She will love them. Thank you.’

He was just about to pluck up the courage to ask if Vanessa was in. But before he could, the woman stretched out her arms, whisked the bouquet from him and shut the door.

‘Nathan from after the funeral?’ asked Squirrel meaningfully, holding out the bouquet to Vanessa, who was stirring some soup for their lunch.

Vanessa tried to look casual, but there was a definite pinkness to her cheeks as she read the card.

‘Oh, how gorgeous. Yes, um – he was very kind to me after the funeral. There was a bit of a misunderstanding with his boss, which I sorted out. I guess this is his way of saying thank you.’

She breathed in the scent, shutting her eyes.

‘He was very attractive,’ ventured Squirrel.

Vanessa nodded. ‘I know …’

She opened her eyes again, put the flowers down on the island and opened the cupboard to find a vase.

‘When you say kind …?’ Squirrel wasn’t going to stop until she found out the details.

Vanessa put the vase next to the flowers then began to unwrap the brown paper they were wrapped in.

‘We had a bit of a … skirmish. Nothing too outrageous. Just a …’ Vanessa started snipping the ends with a pair of scissors. There was a smile playing on her lips. ‘I kissed him.’

‘Vanessa!’ Squirrel was scandalised.

‘I know. It was really naughty. But I needed to do it. And he didn’t mind.’

Squirrel’s mouth was open in horrified delight.

‘That’s outrageous.’

‘I know!’ Vanessa filled the vase with water. ‘But please don’t have a go at me. I can’t take it at the moment.’

‘Have a go at you?’ asked Squirrel. ‘I applaud you.’

‘What?’

Vanessa looked at her mother in amazement. This wasn’t the reaction she was expecting.

‘But he’s almost half my age.’

‘So?’ shrugged Squirrel. ‘You were half Spencer’s. So what’s the problem?’

‘It’s different, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t see why it should be. If he makes you happy.’

‘Mum, it was nothing. It was just a … bit of a …’

‘Your eyes are sparkling. I haven’t seen you look like that …’ Squirrel thought about it. ‘Well, since before you were married.’

‘It’s not appropriate, though, is it? I’m old enough to be his mother, almost.’

‘So?’ said Squirrel. ‘You’re both grown-ups. And he’s definitely keen. His face fell like the guillotine when I answered the door.’

‘You don’t seriously think I should take it further?’

‘Why not? Darling, if he wasn’t hoping for something more, he wouldn’t have brought you these. They must have cost a fortune.’

‘Bless him,’ said Vanessa, looking at her handiwork. ‘I don’t suppose he could afford them.’

‘He’s keen.’

‘So what am I supposed to do?’

‘Thank him for the flowers. Ask him out.’

Vanessa shook her head.

‘Vanessa, you deserve some fun. You’ve been locked up here like Rapunzel. Let your hair down!’

Vanessa ruffled her hair and looked down at the floor, smiling.

‘I don’t think I’m ready for it.’

Squirrel tutted. ‘You’re mad. Go for it.’

Vanessa looked up. ‘You never did. After Dad.’

Squirrel, in her control-freak way, began to tweak Vanessa’s arrangement.

‘No. Well. That’s different. Anyway. That might change.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m going to go and find him.’

Vanessa put her hands on her hips. ‘My dad?’

‘Yes. I think it’s time. I’ve waited long enough.’ She pulled out a freesia and reinserted it towards the back of the arrangement.

‘But what if … he’s got someone else?’

‘Do you know, I don’t think there is. I’ve just got a feeling. And if there is, well, it’s not meant to be.’

Vanessa was alarmed. Squirrel was off on some fantasy mission. She couldn’t help feeling she was idealising her father’s memory. Couldn’t she remember the constant drama?

‘Mum. Don’t get hurt.’

‘Oh. Don’t you worry. I can look after myself. I’m going to drive back up to London tonight, sort out some things, then get the ferry tomorrow.’

Squirrel gave Vanessa a smile, and Vanessa thought she would like just one ounce of Squirrel’s bravery and confidence. Just one ounce.