No Longer Safe (2 page)

Alice is on board. I’ve done it! That’s
another major result under my belt.

I knew I was pushing my luck after all this time. As
soon as she realised the letter was from me, I thought she might rip it to
shreds, but no – she’s come good.

Surprising really – it was a pretty tall order to
expect her to head all the way to Scotland for two weeks, even though I did
offer to pay for the whole thing. I was expecting her to dismiss me for being
such a crap friend, but she said yes, straight away. She didn’t even suggest we
meet in London first – for a drink, say, to catch up and re-establish things
between us. She didn’t need any persuading whatsoever! She jumped at the chance
to go away together.

I should have trusted that her attachment to me went
deeper than I’d dared hope. She always thought highly of me – even put me on a
pedestal.

Only a few more loose ends to tie up and everything
will be in place. I can’t believe I’m this close.

It’ll be just like it used to be. Good old Alice! I
know I can depend on her. Let the party begin!

The very act of getting to the cottage turned out
to be a massive undertaking. I should have recognised that as an omen that our
little escapade was going to be far from plain sailing. I didn’t know
travelling from London to Fort William would take
eleven
hours – and by the time I’d tried to
make a booking on the overnight sleeper, all the cabins had gone. Even though I
caught the train at 5.00am, the day was almost over by the time I arrived.

Snow was on the way; I could smell it, feel the weight of it
in the air as I finally stood on the station forecourt waiting for a taxi for
the last leg of the journey. A few hardy types had alighted with me with
stuffed rucksacks, their trousers tucked into thick woollen socks, but no one
else. This place really was in the middle of nowhere.

What I noticed most was the severe drop in temperature.
London felt like it belonged to a different season, as if during the train
journey I must have crossed through an invisible curtain into another world.

After around fifteen minutes in the taxi, the cab driver
pulled off a main road into the grounds of Duncaird Castle, then into a side
road, then a track along the edge of a copse of dense trees. I watched the meter
whizz round with the speed of a one-armed bandit, whittling away half the money
I’d brought with me.

Eventually, the cabbie pulled up at the end of a track
beside a broken wooden gate. He touched his cap as I handed over a couple of
notes. He was keeping the change. Right. Fine.

He put the car into first gear and skidded away sending
clumps of mud over my new boots; the ones mum didn’t approve of. Heels too high
apparently.
You’ll end up with bunions
,
she’d warned when I’d brought them home from a trendy shop near Sloane Square.
In the old days, I’d have taken them straight back for a refund, but not now. I
loved them; they made me feel elegant (which is difficult at five feet two) and
they made me walk differently. Like a woman, not a child. Mum was grumpy for a
while, but she didn’t say anything else.

I’d brought hiking boots to the mountains too, of course,
but I wanted Karen’s first impression of me to be at my elegant best.

As I turned towards the cottage, I fought against the
tugging wind. It was like being blasted by a fire extinguisher. I grappled with
the toggles on my coat to force it to wrap across my body. My lovely shiny
boots were being sucked down into squelchy sludge with every step. Then there
was long grass, solid ground and several steps. Before I raised the knocker, I
heard a key clunk into the lock on the other side.

Karen opened the door. ‘Alice – it’s really you!’

She swamped me in a hug that nearly swept me off the ground.
The interminable journey, the savage weather was forgotten; I was home at last.

‘I’m so glad you could come – you can’t imagine,’ she said.
‘You look amazing!’ She looked down at the short denim skirt under my coat, my
trendy boots. ‘Look at you – all feminine and gorgeous. Your hair is longer now
– I love the shaggy fringe – my goodness, how grown up you look!’ My heart
flipped.

She looked radiant. Her long golden hair was glossy – a
field of corn in a midday sun – her skin tight with no blemishes in sight.

Before I could catch my breath, she’d reached down and
humped my suitcase and backpack into the hall.

I couldn’t hide how moved I was; half a decade of sadness,
hurt and grief at having lost her – and then the joy of finding her again – it
was suddenly too much for me.

She gently stroked a tear away from my cheek. ‘It’s been
such a long time,’ she said, fixing her gaze on me like I was the most
important person in the world. As if she’d been waiting a lifetime for this
moment. ‘Come and get warm. You must be frozen.’ She took my coat and gloves.
She peeled off my boots as I clung on to the newel post and left them on the
mat to dry. Then she led me by the hand through a door that resembled a wooden
gate into the sitting room.

‘Look – isn’t this place adorable?’ she exclaimed.

The cottage certainly had ‘rustic charm’, with its quaint
low beams decorated with horse brasses, a sturdy Welsh dresser in the corner
displaying willow-pattern plates and a crackling log fire. I knew it wasn’t
possible, but nevertheless it felt several degrees chillier inside than it did
outside.

‘I managed to get the log fire up and running,’ she said.

Chunks of fresh firewood were hissing and spitting in the
grate. I shivered and reached out towards the flames. ‘Listen – I made a
terrible mistake,’ she confessed. ‘Total idiot, I thought there’d be central
heating. But we can snuggle up in front of the fire. It’ll make things even
more cosy.’

‘I’ll warm up in a minute,’ I said, slapping my cheeks. I
knelt down on the hearthrug, the heat from the quivering flames making my skin
tingle.

She clapped her hands together. ‘Right. Next big thing. Mel
is in her highchair – you stay by the fire while I go and fetch her.’

Karen came back jiggling her daughter on one arm, pulling a
little trolley with the other. Fastened to it was an oxygen tank, the size of a
large bottle of Coke.

She didn’t give me time to react. ‘And here she is!’ she
said, stroking her daughter’s earlobe. Melanie had a tiny plastic mask over her
nose and mouth. ‘This is my wonderful friend from University – Alice,’ she
said, adjusting the tubes away from her clawing fingers.

I took hold of her plump little hand. ‘She’s gorgeous.’ She
had Karen’s alert silvery-blue eyes, but with darker, cropped hair the colour
of mahogany, under a pink crocheted hat.

Karen tapped the oxygen tank. ‘She has to have this for the
time being – about ten times a day – to make sure she’s breathing properly,
don’t you, sweetheart...?’ Karen planted a kiss on the child’s cheek and kept
her eyes shut, her forehead crumpling for a split second.

Melanie tried to pull the mask away from her face. ‘I know,
darling – it’s very annoying, isn’t it?’ Karen looked up at me. ‘She’s still
getting used to it. It’ll be fine.’

Karen’s voice was too light and airy; I could tell she was
bluffing, making everything seem hunky-dory, but I wasn’t convinced at all.

‘I was so thrilled to hear from you,’ I said, not wanting to
burst the bubble.

‘About time, eh?’ She tossed back her hair. ‘Anyway, I’m
being a terrible hostess. I must get you a drink. What do you fancy?’ She
didn’t wait for my reply and headed off into the kitchen. ‘Coffee with a splash
of milk?’

She came to the doorway. ‘Still one sugar?’

‘Spot on.’

‘I’ve bought some prunes and sultanas, specially,’ she called
out, as the door swung shut between us.

She’d remembered.

I cringed. I knew she’d had a penchant for After Eight mints
and now wished I’d thought to bring some. Then I caught myself; Karen wasn’t
the sort to have a favourite
anything
for very long.

I stood up to take a proper look around me and realised just
how basic the place was. No double-glazing, no television or DVD player. The
wallpaper was peeling away at the skirting boards and a sunken sofa stood
limply in front of the fireplace. I didn’t dare touch the curtains, they looked
like they might disintegrate, and the heavy musty smell reminded me of the
crypt at Dad’s church.

The latch on the bare wooden door, more at home on a garden
shed, clunked as I went through to join Karen. A smell of root vegetables and
apples, slightly buttery, hit me. I had a look around: no washing machine,
toaster or electric kettle.

Karen poured the hot drinks while I tried to look impressed
by the chipped earthenware terrines, dented copper pots and antiquated stove.

‘We got here a couple of hours ago,’ she said, nudging me
back towards the hearth with a mug. I pulled up a worn leather pouffe and
huddled into it, my hands reaching for the flames between sips of coffee.

‘I’ve brought loads of jumpers you can borrow and there are
spare blankets if you need them,’ she said. ‘I put a heater on in your room to
take the edge off and there’s a hot-water bottle on your bed.
Anything
you need, just say. Okay?’

She sat Melanie on the sofa alongside a floppy blue rabbit
that was wearing a mini version of her face mask – and disappeared for a
moment. When she returned, she knelt beside me holding a pair of fingerless
gloves. ‘I don’t know whether you brought any, but these are for you,’ she
said, pressing them over my hands. They were made of Icelandic wool with a
zigzag pattern on them. Exactly the kind I would have bought for myself if I’d
been more on the ball. I grabbed her arm as she sat back on her heels.

‘You’re amazing. Thank you.’

As if on cue, Melanie clapped her hands together and
squealed. She threw the rabbit on to the floor and Karen picked it up and made
it dance. Melanie gurgled something along the lines of, ‘Blaba nowa mowa…’ and
took a plastic block out of the bucket on the sofa and flung that on the floor,
too.

Karen and I looked at each other and laughed. ‘She’s changed
so much,’ she said, pressing her hand to her chest as if holding back a surge
of loss and joy, all in one.

‘I’ve missed watching her grow.’ She pulled the hat down
over Melanie’s ears.

She looked at me, then nipped her lips together and tipped
her head to one side. ‘Oh, Alice – it’s been so long. I was useless at keeping
in touch. I thought you’d have given up on me.’

‘No way,’ I whispered, barely able to speak.

‘We need to say a proper hello,’ she said, opening her arms.
I let myself fall against her and she caught me, wrapping me up and holding on
tight. It was awkward on the rug; we were in danger of toppling over, but I
noticed her skin smelt the same and the lemon-honey scent of her hair was just
as I’d remembered it.

‘I missed you,’ I whispered.

I wanted to tell her how desperately disappointed and upset
I’d been when she’d failed to reply to my cards and emails, how hurt I’d felt
when we’d drifted apart, but I didn’t want to moan.

She must have had her reasons.

I was certain it would all become clear during our stay.
Besides, as the holiday unfolded, I wanted Karen to see how much I’d moved on
and grown up. That’s where I wanted my focus to be, not on the way I’d felt so
snubbed.

I cleared my throat. ‘What exactly is this place?’

‘It’s a crofter’s cottage.’ She got to her feet and pointed
out of the window. ‘Glasgow is about ninety miles that way.’ She leant down and
tossed another log onto the fire. ‘Sorry it’s not The Ritz.’ She pulled an
impish face. ‘It was the only cottage the owner had left at short notice. She
was about to give it a complete makeover.’

‘Ah…I’m sure it’ll be fine…it’s such a lovely idea.’

She picked Melanie up and adjusted the mask. ‘What shall we
play with now Alice is here?’ Karen manoeuvred a box of toys towards me with
her foot. ‘We’ve got everything in here,’ she said.

Melanie chose a wooden train, so the three of us took up
positions on the floor and wheeled it back and forth. I had no experience with
babies, only older kids, but Karen seemed completely in control and at ease. It
didn’t surprise me. I don’t think I’d ever seen her flustered.

I looked from one to the other. ‘Can I take some pictures?’
I asked, thinking of the camera in my backpack.

Karen scrunched up her nose. ‘Not while she looks like this.
Wait a few days and she won’t need the oxygen so much – then you can get some
lovely shots.’

‘Of course.’

Melanie sat flapping her hands down onto the carpet. ‘Do you
want to hold her?’ Karen carefully passed her over, hooking the tubes around my
shoulder. The child bawled uncontrollably at the disruption, so I handed her
straight back.

‘She’s tired,’ said Karen, kissing her cheek.

‘How long was she...? How long has she been ill?’

‘It’s been awful,’ she admitted. ‘Mel nearly died soon after
she was born. She was at Great Ormond Street Hospital first, then they took her
to the specialist unit in Glasgow after she developed problems with her
breathing. She’s been in intensive care for months.’

‘I’m so sorry. You must have been desperately worried.’

‘It hasn’t been easy. I’m over the moon about bringing her
home – well, here first for a bit, to make sure she’s okay – then finally home,
to London.’

I went over to the tiny square window that looked out across
the front garden. It was almost dark by now, but when I cupped my hands against
the glass I could make out two bare apple trees near the centre and a cluster
of bushes within a tumbling stone wall. It looked like the place had once been
respectable, but it was now entirely overgrown.

‘The view from the track at the back is amazing,’ she said,
blowing a raspberry into Melanie’s cheek and making her laugh. ‘There’s a loch
nearby…oh…and a byre.’

‘A byre? What’s that?’

‘A sort of cowshed, by the look of it.’ She checked her
watch. ‘Right – time for a bath, then bed for this little one.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Maybe next time. She’s not used to new people and don’t
forget, I’m out of practice – I haven’t done this for a while.’ She laughed.

‘Of course – you’ve only just got her back.’

She put her arm round me. ‘I want you to be part of this,
though. Why don’t you unpack? I’ll show you upstairs.’

The stairs were located inside the narrow chilly hallway and
led to two bedrooms either side of a tiny bathroom, which had a freestanding
bath on clawed feet, a loo and basin. There was no shower and an electrical
water heater hung precariously on loose wires above the taps.

As I turned away from the bathroom, I noticed another set of
stairs at the far end of the landing.

‘More rooms?’ I said.

‘Just one – a dormer attic conversion.’