Ninepins (20 page)

She picked up her gin, which she had barely touched, and swallowed a large mouthful, wincing as the burn hit her chest.

‘Look at it this way, Laura.' Across the table, Vince leaned forward in his chair. ‘Yes, she was found out, when lots of kids aren't. But that just makes it doubly certain she won't be doing it again. Now drink that one up, and let me fetch you another.'

This time it was his car they'd come in, so she could have said yes, but the warm candlelit bar felt claustrophobic all of a sudden.

‘No, thanks. Look, do you mind if we go outside? I'd really like some air.'

The inappropriateness of her proposal struck her, along with the icy air, as soon as they stepped beyond the airlock of the pub's porch. A fen night in early February, in the middle of a cold snap, was hardly the time or place for a social stroll. Nor could they harbour in the shelter of Elswell High Street. For tonight's rendezvous they had rejected the dubious comforts of the Fisherman's Arms for a smarter pub slightly further afield, with scrubbed pine tables and an adventurous menu designed to attract diners out from Cambridge. In summer it traded on its ‘riverside' billing, although an eight foot bank divided the outdoor dining terrace from a view of the water. In winter, it was a bleak and cheerless spot.

‘Along the river?' Vince suggested economically, from behind a swathe of scarf. The air furred at his escaping breath.

They mounted the bank together at the trot required to give them the impetus to climb its sharp sides. ‘River', in fact, might be deemed a misnomer, even though one title attached to this waterway was the Bedford New River. Its other name, the Hundred Foot Drain, was a more honest description. One hundred feet was its width from the top of one embankment to the other; the drain was a man-made cut-off of the river Great Ouse.

‘Goodness.' On reaching the path which topped the bank, Laura stood rooted. ‘Is that ice?'

They both peered down through the darkness at the surface of the drain. Even without adjustment of her vision to the night, she could make out the too-black glitter. She kept her head very still until she could be sure of it: there was no movement at all. The whorls and craters that she saw were frozen solid.

‘It's funny,' she said. ‘You expect ice to be smooth and flat, don't you? Not textured like that.' It was almost lumpy; as if the water had set fast in the middle of swirling motion.

Vince nodded, chin still buried in his scarf. ‘You'd wonder how it could freeze at all. So much of it, I mean – such a big body of water. And with a current, presumably.'

‘Yes. It runs up to Denver Sluice. It's even tidal, I think, further up. Not here, though, I don't suppose.' She shifted her feet, raising her toes away from the ground, which seemed to transmit cold even through the soles of her boots. ‘The lode at home has been frozen for the best part of a week. But that's much smaller, and has much less flow. I don't remember ever seeing the Hundred Foot iced over before.'

‘That's global warming for you.'

They both grinned, though there was nothing funny about it. Then they turned and began to walk along the embankment, away from the pub and the road and into the denser darkness beyond.

‘Shit.' Vince stumbled sideways, then stopped and flexed his foot, catching hold of her wrist for balance. ‘Ouch. Lump of wood or something. Should have brought a torch.'

‘My fault, sorry. You hardly expected to be dragged out for a moonlit ramble.'

‘No bloody moon, or it might be all right. Hey – your hands are as frozen as the river. Don't you have gloves?'

‘Forgot them. Stupid.'

‘Here.' He took off his own gloves as they walked along and she put them on without argument. They were square and leather, cotton-lined, warm from his blood.

‘There's something else you shouldn't forget,' he said, ‘about Beth. She cares a great deal for your feelings. She'll have seen how this has hurt you, her being in trouble. She won't want to be the cause of that again.'

They had reached a place where a fence rose to cross the bank, surmounted by a small stile. Laura stopped and stared out across the expanse of eerie, motionless water.

‘Thank you,' she said.

‘Come on.' He turned round. ‘Bollocks to this, if you'll excuse my French. It's like Siberia out here. Let's get back to the car. Unless you fancy that other drink?'

 

The heating in Vince's old, red saloon could best be described as temperamental. By the time they reached Ninepins they were both chilled to the core, so he came in for a coffee and a warm-up by the Rayburn.

‘I should get one of these,' he said, leaning back against it with his hands behind his haunches. ‘Except it would fill the entire kitchen in my flat. Might be room in the bedroom, though. That would be an idea.'

She laughed as she filled the kettle. ‘Handy for breakfast in bed.'

There was another thing, though, that she needed to talk to him about, a thing she'd put off until now. Pressing down the plunger on the cafetière, she took the plunge herself.

‘Vince, do you mind if I ask you something? It's about Willow.'

He looked across at her, hands now flat on the top of the Rayburn behind him. He didn't speak or nod, but his face was open, attentive.

‘It's probably nothing. Probably just me being foolish. And none of my business, either.'

His gaze was steady. ‘Go on.'

‘Well … does Willow smoke?'

‘Not as far as I'm aware, no. In fact, I'm pretty sure she doesn't.'

‘Right. I thought not.'

Now it came to the point, she felt how ridiculous it was going to sound.

‘The thing is, I sometimes find matches. Just piles of used matches, in her room and around the place. I expect you think it's odd – an odd thing to worry about, I mean. But, I don't know, I just can't help wondering – '

There she broke off. Willow was standing in the hall doorway, and with her, in pyjamas and dressing gown, was Beth.

‘Mum, your mobile was switched off.'

‘Oh. Was it?' She collected her thoughts. ‘I'm sorry, love, I didn't realise. Why – did you need me? Is everything all right?'

‘Fine.' Beth grinned at Willow. ‘We've been playing Ludo. But it's Dad. He was trying to reach you. Says could you call him tonight and to tell you it's urgent.'

Urgency was an everyday feature of her ex-husband's domestic life, so she saw Vince off before she lifted the phone, and then not with any great sense of apprehension.

‘Oh, Laura – fantastic. Thanks so much for calling back. Where were you? I couldn't reach your mobile.'

‘I must have had it switched off by mistake.'

‘Well, I've got you now, thank the Lord. Laura, you are my life-saver. My rescuing angel. What would I do without you?'

It was impossible not to smile. ‘And?'

‘I need to ask a desperate favour. It's quite beyond the call of duty – beyond all reasonable expectation. But you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't an emergency.' How many times, she wondered, had he used those words to her? ‘I wouldn't ask it of anyone but you.'

‘Go on.'

‘Thing is, I'm at the hospital.'

Her smile disappeared on the instant. Her heart tripped a beat.

‘Simon. What's happened? Is everyone – ?'

‘We're all right. Don't panic. Nobody died. It's really not too serious. It's Alfie.'

‘Alfie? Has he had an accident?' Alfie was always falling off things and crashing into things.

‘No, nothing like that. But they've got him under observation and it looks like he's going to need an operation. He's been having abdominal pain, and today it was a lot worse, suddenly. We came in this morning – been here all day. They've done dozens of tests. They've decided it's a problem with his kidneys.'

‘Oh, God. That doesn't sound good. Poor Alfie. How's he coping with it? Is he in a lot of distress?'

‘Well, they've been very good here. Marvellous, in fact. Everyone who's seen him has been great about explaining things, talking him through it. Even making him laugh. And they've got him on painkillers, on a drip, so at least that's under control. He's mainly just drowsy, now.'

‘Poor Alfie,' she said again. ‘So, what is it I can do for you? Is it Jack and Roly? I'd be happy to take them if you and Tessa need to stay with Alfie overnight.'

Happy was hardly the word. The boisterous four- and two-year-old, exhausting enough at the best of times, and then displaced, upset and missing their parents and brother: it would be, to be honest, a nightmare. But Beth loved the little boys; she would help. And she could scarcely do less for Simon.

‘No, that's OK. They're here with us. Tessa picked them up from nursery at three. We all want to be here with Alfie. Be together, you know.'

‘There in the ward?' She pictured the chaos: the bored, rampaging toddlers, the beleaguered nurses.

‘They've moved him to a little side room by himself now, so it's no problem. We've brought in a folding camp bed for the night, so Jack and Roly can share that. They do have some family rooms, actually, for parents staying over, but they're way over the other side of the site, and have no space for kids. We all want to be near Alfie. Tessa and I can sleep on the floor.'

‘And they're OK about it?'

‘Seem to be. With a little persuasion.'

Simon, no doubt giving the nurses his wounded puppy act.

‘So then, what's this favour? Do you need some things bringing over?'

‘Actually, Laura, I need someone to have Dougie.'

Dougie? For a second, her mind was a blank. Then she remembered. ‘The dog?'

‘I know. I wouldn't ask. But he's been on his own since this morning – except when Tessa dashed in and fed him after nursery when she picked up the overnight stuff for us and the boys. I really can't think who else could take him. And they said absolutely not, we're not allowed to have him here.'

Laura actually found herself wincing. ‘Simon. You didn't seriously ask if you could have a dog in the hospital?'

‘Worth a try.' She could almost see him grinning.

‘Well, yes. Of course I'll have him. But you know I know nothing about dogs. Is there food for him? And how much, and when? And where will I find it, and his lead and dog bowls and whatever it is he sleeps in? I shall need some instructions.'

‘Come here to the hospital. Children's surgical, G3. I can give you the house key and tell you what you need to know.'

‘OK.' She glanced at her watch. ‘I'll be straight over.'

‘And bring Beth. Dougie loves Beth.'

‘Right.'

‘Oh, and Laura?'

‘Yes?'

‘Thank you.'

 

It was late to be taking Beth out on a school night, urging her out of her pyjamas and into jeans and a jumper and coat. Not that she needed much persuasion. The excitement of the excursion and the hospital was allure enough – even without the dog.

‘Dougie! We're actually going to have Dougie here living with us.'

‘I don't know about living, exactly. It's only for a little while, until Alfie is better and can go home.'

‘How long? A week? Can we have him a whole week?'

‘I've no idea. Now, get your gloves and scarf on. It's freezing out there.'

As they were putting on their shoes, Willow appeared, also coated and gloved. ‘Can I come?'

‘Why not?' She might be grateful for any help on offer.

It was an odd sort of mercy dash, driving with slow circumspection on the icy lanes, and worrying about the mysteries of canine care when she should have been thinking about Alfie and his operation.

‘Does he have that dry food?' she asked, scanning her daughter's face in the mirror.

‘Oh, he'll eat anything. Vegetable lasagne's his favourite. And he just sleeps on people's beds.'

Oh, God
. Simon had never been much of a one for boundaries.

‘Can he sleep with me, Mum? Pleeease.'

‘What about your asthma? I'm not sure pet hair is – '

‘ 'S'OK, Dougie's no problem. He always sleeps on my bed at Dad's.'

It was eleven thirty by the time they arrived at the hospital, after midnight before they reached Simon's house. All the other residents were already home and in bed or watching TV, and finding a parking spot was a struggle. Eventually, they squeezed into a half-space two streets away.

‘Right, then. Let's go and find the hound.'

It never seemed quite so cold in Cambridge as out in the fens, but her fingers still tingled when she took off her gloves to fit the Yale in the lock. No excited barking greeted the sound of their entry, as it had on recent occasions when she had picked up Beth; no small flurry of hair and tongue launched itself at their ankles. The hall was silent and apparently deserted. Beth switched on the light – though not before Laura and Willow had both tangled painfully with a metal tricycle.

‘Dou-gie,' Beth called out. ‘It's only us. Where are you, Doug?'

They tried the sitting room, where Beth said he favoured the corner armchair, and the playroom at the back, where there were Duplo bricks to chew, both without success. That left the kitchen.

‘Dou-gie,' sang Laura, without much conviction. ‘Here, boy.'

The room bore evidence of Tessa having flung in and out again in a hurry with Jack and Roly on her way back to the hospital – though it was equally possible that the clutter on the table and floor was no more than the usual state of things. Laura picked up a carton of milk and put it back in the fridge. If it hadn't been late, and school in the morning, she might have done some washing up.

‘Can't see him anywhere,' she said. ‘Might he be upstairs?'

At least she could see the bag of dog food, and the two tin bowls, as Simon had described. And on the window ledge – she shuddered – the ‘poop scoop' and bags. At Ninepins he'd be out in the fields and they wouldn't have to bother with that.