Precious Time (34 page)

It had been a week of hard slog, though: her aching back and sore hands were proof of that. But she would leave knowing that she had spent a week doing something positive and worthwhile. She wasn’t so sure of how long the benefits of her work would last. If left to his own devices Gabriel would probably let things slide back to how they had been. But she couldn’t do anything about that. Perhaps she could speak to Jonah before she left and impress upon him that his father needed a cleaner, or maybe a housekeeper.

But he knew that already. What would be the point?

In the back of her mind she heard Louise and the Gang telling her to leave well alone: ‘Stop trying to control what isn’t your concern.’

Sound advice.

Mercifully Caspar had stayed away from Mermaid House, and she hadn’t seen Jonah since Sunday. Apparently he had been away on a school history trip to northern France and Belgium. Having read some of Val’s diaries she could only marvel that any of the Liberty children had survived their childhood. She had alternated between being furious with Gabriel for ignoring the needs of his family and feeling desperately sorry for him. Clearly the death of his first wife had left him a broken man with no one to turn to. At various times in the week she had been tempted to ask him more about his family and the past, but the moment had never seemed right. Either Ned was around, or he and Gabriel were off on one of their adventures.

During the last few days the weather had picked up again and while she had been busy clearing out cupboards, polishing neglected furniture, arranging with Archie to pick up yet more junk, supervising the chimney sweep and the collection of the skip, Gabriel had taken Ned down to the river to play. Yesterday they had returned from one of their expeditions smelling of fresh air, their faces red from the wind, announcing that they were starving. ‘Lucky I picked up some scones and crumpets from the baker this morning,’ she had said, when they were kicking off their mud-caked boots and about to leave them in an untidy heap. One look from her and they were lining them up beneath their neatly hanging jackets.

But whatever Gabriel and his family had suffered in the past, it was really none of Clara’s business and she had no right to pry. Just as he had had no right to interrogate Ned about his father. She winced. Where did that leave her with Val’s diaries? Guiltily, she made a mental note to return them before she and Ned left.

Looking at Ned as he scraped up the last of his cereal, Clara knew that her priority that day was to keep him cheerful. She didn’t want him to be upset about leaving and the only trick she had up her sleeve to soften the blow for him was that once she had finished her work here today, they would be free to visit the Mermaid Cavern.

At Gabriel’s insistence they were to have lunch in town at the Mermaid cafe. ‘It’s one o’clock, and I declare you officially out of contract now,’ he said, when she appeared in the kitchen, expecting a sandwich - or a ‘shambly’, as Ned called them. Presenting her with an envelope, he added, ‘It’s your wages. You’ll find I’ve been more than generous.’

Without opening it, she slipped it into her pocket. ‘Fair enough, but I insist on driving. I’m not going anywhere in that death-trap of a Land Rover. At least two of the tyres are bald and I bet it hasn’t been anywhere near a garage for years.’

He put up a show of resistance that got him nowhere, and after she had changed out of her filthy work clothes, they set off.

‘Can I have chips, please, Mummy?’ Ned called from his rear seat as they turned into the market square. ‘And ketchup?’

‘It’s market day,’ Gabriel said. ‘You might have trouble parking.’

‘Beans would be nice.’

‘Of course, if you’d let me drive my death-trap, we’d be able to slip into any old space.’

‘Mm … and lots of vinegar, please. I like vinegar. I like it when my lips go white because I’ve had too much.’

‘Damn! You’ll have to go round again.’

‘Can we have a pudding as well?’

‘There! There’s a space. Quick!’

‘For goodness’ sake, Mr Liberty, calm down! You’ll give yourself a heart-attack at this rate.’

‘No chance. I’m saving that pleasure for when I’ve over-feasted on a coronary lunchtime special.’

They were met by Shirley and a raised eyebrow when she saw who they had with them. ‘We missed you last Friday, Mr Liberty,’ she said, handing them each a copy of the menu. ‘Thought perhaps you’d taken your business elsewhere?’

‘You mean you hoped I had.’

She smiled at Clara. ‘Shall I get you some drinks while you choose?’

Gabriel took off his cap and thwacked the table with it. ‘You make it sound as if you’re offering us something decent, like a glass of single malt whisky.’

‘Just give my sour friend a pint of your finest malt vinegar and ignore him,’ said Clara.

‘Don’t worry, I always do. So what’ll it be? How about a nice strawberry milkshake? We’ve just had a new machine installed and I’m itching to give it a whirl.’ This last remark was directed at Ned, who nodded enthusiastically.

It was Ned who brought up the subject of their leaving. Expertly dipping the end of a chip into the pool of ketchup on his plate, he said, ‘Will you miss us when we’ve gone, Mr Liberty? Will you be sad when you’re all alone again?’

Clara willed the old devil to say something nice. But not too nice.

‘That depends, doesn’t it?’ he said evasively, his gaze flickering over Clara.

‘Why?’ asked Ned.

‘If I thought I was never going to hear from you again, that might make me sad.’

They both looked at Clara. Expectation was etched over their faces. ‘You could send Mr Liberty the occasional postcard, Ned,’ she said, thinking fast, while hiding her surprise that Gabriel had said something so refreshingly agreeable and tactful. ‘That way he’ll know what we’re up to.’

Another chip went into the tomato sauce while Ned thought about this. ‘But how will we know what Mr Liberty is doing?’

‘You won’t, lad. No one ever knows what I’m up to. And that’s the way I intend to keep it.’

Ned’s frown showed that this wasn’t the answer he wanted.

‘Couldn’t we stay longer, Mummy? You could clean a bit more of Mr Liberty’s house for him.’

Clara smiled. ‘Mr Liberty’s house is like the Forth Bridge. I could go on cleaning it for ever and ever.’

Ned’s face brightened at the possibility. He turned to Gabriel, a chip dangling from his fork. ‘Would you like Mummy to clean your house for ever and ever?’

‘I’d like nothing better, but I suspect your mother wouldn’t. Now, are you going to eat the rest of those chips or watch them grow?’

Over pudding - the obligatory Bakewell tart and custard - Gabriel said, ‘Do you really have to rush off, Miss Costello? We came to an arrangement a week ago, couldn’t we do something similar again?’

‘And what about the holiday Ned and I are supposed to be

enjoying? I told you, I’m making this trip to spend more time with my son, not spend my every waking hour cleaning for you. Or anyone else for that matter.’

‘But wouldn’t you agree that your son has benefited from his time at Mermaid House?’

She looked at him sternly, kept her voice low. ‘Don’t play dirty, Mr Liberty, it doesn’t become you.’

‘In my experience, there’s no other way to play.’

Her patience was waning. ‘Look, Ned and I have been here for over a week and we still haven’t had so much as a glimpse of what we came to see. We want to see the sights. We want to be tourists.

We Want to laze around eating overpriced locally made fudge, and turn up our noses at tacky souvenirs and buy them all the same. We want to be day-trippers trudging round in the rain. We want to—’

‘Then stay on at Mermaid House for a few more days as my

guests, and you can do all the day-tripping you want to do in this area.’

She hesitated, and in that instant knew that she had lost the upper hand in the argument. Gabriel leaned in towards her. ‘Miss Costello, hear me out. I would very much like you to stay so that I can repay a little of your kindness.’

‘But you’ve done that already. You’ve paid me.’

‘It’s not always about money.’

She smiled. ‘Is this the same man who once said everything had a price, that everything was for sale?’

He shifted in his seat. ‘Well, maybe I’ve …’ His words petered out.

‘Maybe you’ve what?’

He drew his eyebrows together, screwed up his paper napkin, tossed it into his empty pudding bowl. ‘Changed,’ he mumbled.

It was difficult for her not to laugh at his discomfort. The poor man had come a long way in just one week. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘just so that we’re clear on a few points. If, and I say if, we were to stay, there would be no more scrubbing and polishing?’

‘Agreed.’

‘No more—’

‘I said as my guests. Don’t you ever listen?’

‘Only if I like the sound of what’s being suggested.’

‘And do you?’

‘In parts. But before I commit myself, I have to mull it over with the boss.’ She turned to her son. ‘Ned, what do you think we should do?’

His eager face was answer enough.

That’s all very well, thought Clara, getting up and reaching for her writing things from the overhead locker, but sometimes spontaneity had a habit of getting above itself. If it wasn’t too much of a paradox, spontaneity needed careful managing.

Putting these thoughts aside, she settled down to write a letter to her parents in Australia, with a separate page enclosed for her brother, Michael, and then she turned to the postcard she had bought in Deaconsbridge that afternoon. It showed a colourful selection of mermaid shop signs.

At bedtime that night, Clara knew it was important to put the brakes on Ned’s excitement by stressing that they would only be extending their stay by a few days. ‘We’ll be moving on first thing on Monday morning, Ned,’ she told him. ‘There’s so much more to see and do.

Who knows what’s round the corner for us?’ He nudged the book she was supposed to be reading to him. He hasn’t been listening, she thought, when she eventually turned out his light and gave him one last kiss. He thinks two more days will turn into three, then four, then goodness knows how many.

She sat at the narrow table with a glass of wine, a plate of crackers and a gooey wedge of Camembert, enjoying the peace and quiet of her own company, and wondered why she was so reluctant to hang around Mermaid House for much longer. It would still be a holiday for them, so what was the problem?

Because it hadn’t been part of her original plan.

She cut into the soft cheese, picked the sticky lump off the knife, slipped it into her mouth, and let its creamy smoothness melt on her tongue. Helping herself to another piece, she thought of her original plan, designed to make her and Ned feel like intrepid explorers. She had wanted to show Ned what an exciting world he lived in, so that he would grow up knowing that there were endless possibilities out there for him. Getting caught up in the lives of a handful of folk however interesting - had never been a part of it.

Once again, she heard Ron and Eileen extolling the virtues of their easy-come, easy-go lifestyle. ‘Oh, yes, we always start out with a plan,’ Ron had said, ‘we like to tease ourselves with a map of intent, but half the fun in life is changing your mind and abandoning the rule book. Spontaneity is the name of the game.’

Dear Louise

On the verge of leaving Deaconsbridge, having completed our missionary work - the natives are almost civilised now! We’re finally getting to see the local sights this weekend (the mermaids are a clue!) and then we’ll be moving on to who knows where.

Further north probably. I’ll give you a ring some time next week just to check all is well.

Lots of love,

Clara and Ned.

Now that she had put down their departure date in writing, it made their leaving on Monday seem more real, which pleased Clara.

And, as Louise would be the first to say, seldom did Clara Costello change her mind or go back on her word. U-turns, according to the Clara Costello School of Management, were for back-pedalling wimps.

She tidied away the remains of the cheese and crackers, put her writing things away in their allocated place, and made up her bed. As she pulled her duvet out of the cupboard beneath the seat, and caught sight of her filthy jeans hanging on the hook of the shower door, she remembered that Gabriel had offered her the use of his washing-machine before they left. She also remembered the envelope he had given her, and which she had stuffed into her back pocket.

Better remove it now before she forgot about it and threw it into the washing-machine tomorrow morning. Ripping open the envelope she extracted a slip of paper on which was written, ‘Don’t even think about turning this down!’ Paper-clipped to it was a cheque. When she saw the amount - he had doubled the agreed sum - she shook her head, partly with disbelief, but also with affection. ‘Silly old fool,’ she murmured. A rush of fondness for him brought tears to her eyes. She was deeply touched. ‘Silly, silly, silly man. I was right all along, more money than sense.’

The next morning Ned woke first. He got dressed without disturbing Clara, and she only realised he was up and about when he slipped under her duvet for a hug.

‘Shall we ask Mr Liberty to come with us today?’ he asked, when he surfaced from her embrace.

‘Do you think he’d want to? He’s probably seen the Mermaid Cavern hundreds of times.’

‘But not with us.’

‘True.’

He smiled and slid out of the bed. ‘Shall I go and ask him?’

‘How about some breakfast first?’ But he was already standing by the door, a hand working at the lock. ‘Oh, go on, then.’ She gave in.‘But don’t be surprised if he shouts at you for disturbing him.’

Yawning, she dragged herself reluctantly out of bed, wiped the condensation from the window above the table and watched Ned scamper across the courtyard. The back door opened before he reached it and she saw Gabriel staring down at his early-morning caller. She strongly approved of Ned’s suggestion and she hoped Gabriel would accept the invitation with good grace: it would be her way of thanking him for his more than generous cheque.