Precious Time (54 page)

Passing him a lollipop from her apron pocket, Shirley said, ‘You’re the politest little boy I know.’ Then, in a more serious tone, she said to Clara, ‘Have you heard about Archie’s mother?’

‘Yes, I have. How’s he getting on? They were very close, weren’t they?’

‘Cut up something rotten but, like he always does, he’s putting a brave face on it. It was the same when that stuck-up grabby wife of his left him. It was ages before he let on that she’d gone. If you want my opinion, he’s better off without her. It was what everyone told me when my old man left me. Thing is, you don’t believe it at the time.

But I’ll tell you this for nothing, she was a snooty whatsit, always looked down her nose at the rest of us.’ She paused to let a customer squeeze past, then continued, ‘The funeral’s the day after tomorrow.

I thought I’d get an hour off and go along. Moral support and all that. Did you know he’s sold his house? He’s moving into the square, above Joe’s bookshop. I thought I’d get him a house-warming present. Something small. Just a token. No point in being flash when discreet will do.’

Goodness, thought Clara, when Shirley left them to serve a middle aged couple dressed in shorts and walking boots, what a lot Shirley has to say about Archie. And how highly she regards him. She wondered if Archie realised what a devoted friend he had in Shirley.

Clara paid for their meal and they left the cafe. Standing on the step outside, waiting for a young mother with a pushchair to trundle by, Clara felt a pang of sadness: Ned and she had probably eaten at the Mermaid cafe for the last time. It was going to be even more of a wrench leaving than she had anticipated. ‘Shall we go and see Archie?’ she said forcing brightness in to her voice.

The bell tinkled as she pushed the door of Second Best. It was a cheerful sound that had to be odds with how the owner of the shop was feeling. There was no one about, so she called Archie’s name.

She heard the scrape of a drawer being pushed in and Archie’s head appeared from behind a pine veneer wardrobe. ‘Hello there,’ he said, ‘and what a sight for sore eyes you two are.’

‘How’s things, Archie? I heard about Bessie.’

He pushed his hands into his pockets, jangled the loose change in them, rocked on his feet. ‘Oh. Not brilliant. Funeral’s the day after tomorrow.’

She nodded sympathetically. ‘I know, Shirley’s just told me. I’m so sorry, Archie.’ He seemed lost for words, so she said, ‘Shirley also said you were moving into the square. It’s all change for you, isn’t it?’

‘It’s probably for the best. Nothing like a shake-up. Fancy a brew?

I was just about to make one.’

Clara was awash with tea from Shirley’s generous administrations, but she said, ‘That would be nice. Thank you.’

Turning to Ned, Archie said, ‘Have a good old forage in that box over there. If you’re lucky, you might find a couple of jigsaws.’

Clara went through to the back of the shop with Archie, to a tiny kitchen area where there was only just room for the two of them. He filled the kettle at the sink where a bowl of used mugs lay waiting to be washed. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, catching her glance. ‘It’s always the same, the moment I leave Samson in charge …’ His voice trailed off. ‘Hang on a minute, that sounds like the door.’

By the time he had joined her again, she had made their tea and given the kitchen a blitz.

‘Here, there was no need for that.’

She smiled and flicked the tea-towel at him. ‘Drink your tea and be quiet, Archie Merryman.’

Leaning against the sink, he relaxed visibly. ‘That’s what I like about you, you always cheer me up. So what’s new at Mermaid House? Apart from you having had flu. You look as if you’ve recovered well. Fresh as a daisy, I’d say.’

‘And you can save the flattery for the punters.’

‘Just speaking as I find. One look at you and I feel made up. Now, did Mr Liberty take good care of you? I bet he terrorised you into getting well, didn’t he?’

‘I’ve told you before, he’s a poppet.’ She went on to explain about his daughter. ‘I think her death coming out of the blue has hit him very hard.’

‘Oh, God, the poor man. To have lost two wives and now a

daughter.’ He lowered his eyes and delved into his pocket for a handkerchief. ‘Life, eh? If we had any idea how tough it would be we’d give it up as a bad job.’

Clara’s heart went out to him. What he needed was a great big hug.

She was still hugging him when a crisp voice said, ‘If I’m interrupting, I’ll come back later. Or maybe it would be better if I didn’t bother.’

Neither of them had heard the shop bell, or the sound of footsteps, and they sprang apart, which made an innocent embrace seem altogether more furtive.

‘Stella, what - what are you doing here?’ Archie’s voice shook with alarm. He fumbled with his handkerchief, pushed it back into his pocket.

‘I heard about your mother and came to offer my condolences.’

The brittle formality of her words was as flinty as the look she gave Clara, which left no one in any doubt of what she thought had been going on.

Clara decided to make a tactful exit. She didn’t like the look of Stella. Too much makeup. Too much jewellery. And way too high and mighty. Shirley had been right. Picking up her bag to go, she said, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Archie. Excuse me, please,’ she added, when Stella made no attempt to let her pass.

‘And you are— ?’

‘Clara is a friend of mine, Stella,’ Archie said gamely, ‘but I think you gave up the right to know who I mix with the day you left me.

Thanks for the condolences. Was there anything else?’

Good for you, Clara applauded him silently. And, even better, the horrible woman took the hint and departed as quickly as she had arrived, slamming the door behind her and making the bell jangle long after she’d gone.

They watched her through the window as she crossed the road to the square until she became lost in the crowd of shoppers and tourists. Archie looked anxious. ‘Do you think I was too hard on her?’

Clara smiled. ‘Given the circumstances, you played it just right.’

He laughed. ‘And just think, she now imagines that her boring soon-to-be-ex-husband is capable of pulling a woman as young as you.’ He laughed so hard the tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘What a joke! What a huge joke!’

His mirth didn’t ring out with pure happiness though. There was a strained false note to it that Clara knew echoed the emptiness of his new life. Watching him wipe his eyes with the back of his hands, she said, ‘Archie, how’s your social life these days?’

He shrugged. ‘About as good as an agoraphobic hermit’s. Why?’

‘In that case, I think it’s time you did something about it.’

He smiled. ‘You asking me out on a date?’

‘Oh, dang! You’ve rumbled me.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, I had Shirley in mind. Why don’t you ask her out? I’ve a feeling she’s quite fond of you. And just think of the great perks on offer. More fry-up breakfasts and Bakewell tart than you can shake a stick at.’

He rubbed his jaw, unconvinced. ‘You think she’d say yes? I mean … well, we’ve been friends for a long time, but this … this would be different.’

‘Oh, come on, Archie, try listening to me. The woman’s mad about you.’ Clara wasn’t sure that this was strictly true but, hey, what the heck? If she was going to start flinging Cupid’s arrow about, she might just as well make a proper job of it and aim for a bull’s-eye.

Besides, Shirley wouldn’t have gone on and on about Archie in the way she had, if she wasn’t just a little bit sweet on him.

They stayed with Archie until Ned had chosen three boxes of jigsaw puzzles - having tried them all out - and Clara had explained that they would be leaving the next day.

‘Is this the last I’ll see of you both?’

‘Who knows?’ she said evasively. ‘When the wind changes Ned and I might just roll into town again.’

He gave her a final hug goodbye. ‘You’re a regular Mary Poppins, you are. Not got a carpet bag and an umbrella with a parrot’s head on it, have you?’

She was almost out of the door, when she was struck by what she thought was her second great idea of the day. She turned back. ‘I know this is a lot to ask of you, Archie, but I don’t suppose you’d do me a favour, would you?’

‘For you, sweetheart, anything. Just name it.’ But when Archie had waved them goodbye and shut the door, he wasn’t so sure he would be able to carry out her request.

Unlike Clara Costello, he wasn’t a miracle worker.

Before leaving the next day, and with Ned’s help, Clara prepared Mermaid House for the days ahead. Intuition told her that Jonah would suggest that Caspar stay with their father while their sister’s funeral was organised. Caspar had been adamant on the phone with Jonah the other night that Damson was to be buried in the

churchyard in Deaconsbridge, where their mother was buried. Clara had never thought of it before, but Jonah lived next door not just to his mother’s grave but his stepmother’s. It was a weird thought.

She changed the sheets on the beds and, working on the

assumption that Caspar would be staying, she made up the bed in his old room. She cleaned the bathroom, and even did her best with the guest bathroom, which hadn’t been used in years - the massive iron bath had more than a dozen rust spots scarring its interior and a dripping tap had left an ugly stain. She put some flowers from the garden on the table in the kitchen, and left a note for Gabriel saying that she had been to the supermarket and had stocked up on easy cook meals for them. She also promised him that she would be in touch soon. Lastly, she added a postscript:

This is obviously a time for you and your family to be alone. But I want you to know that I’ll be thinking of you often.

All my love,

Clara

She wrote a separate note for Jonah, put it into an envelope, and stuck it down. That was definitely not for Gabriel’s eyes.

She locked the door, slipped the key through the letterbox, and turned her back on Mermaid House, wondering whether she would ever see it again. She wanted to say that she would. That she would make it happen. But she knew as well as the next person that life was full of unexpected twists and turns.

The silence in the car lay over the three of them like a shroud. On the back seat, his father slept, and in the front, next to Jonah, Caspar was sitting with his head resting against the window. His eyes were closed but Jonah knew he wasn’t asleep.

Never before had Jonah seen such a change in a person. Normally fastidious about his appearance - to the point of obsession - Caspar was unshaven, his hair unkempt, his clothes rumpled, and his face sallow and ravaged through lack of sleep. He was almost unrecognisable.

His grief was so tangible it shocked Jonah almost more than the death of their sister.

When they had arrived at Rosewood Manor, yesterday lunchtime, Roland Hall had been waiting for them. Jonah had approved of him instantly, grateful for his quiet, reflective manner, though his father had been less impressed. He had demanded to know what kind of a healing centre had allowed his daughter to become so ill that she had died without proper medical care. Roland had explained that Damson had chosen the care she wanted and that she had been seen regularly by an excellent doctor.

Next, he had taken them to Caspar. He was in Damson’s room, sorting through the few belongings she had brought with her to Rosewood Manor. Quietly shutting the door behind him, Roland had left them alone. For what seemed for ever, they had stood in awkward silence not knowing what to do. Nothing had prepared them for this moment.

Seeing a framed photograph by the side of the bed, Jonah went over to it. It was of Damson and Caspar when they were teenagers.

Dressed in matching velvet flared trousers and cheesecloth shirts, they looked wildly attractive and were undeniably brother and sister: they had the same long straight nose, the challenging flashing eyes and high cheekbones that gave them an air of lofty grandeur.

‘Please don’t touch it,’ Caspar murmured from the other side of the bed, where he stood hunched like an old man sheltering from the rain. In his hands he held a silk scarf, which he was twisting around his fingers. ‘Don’t touch anything.’

Jonah and Gabriel exchanged glances. ‘So what can we do to help?’ their father asked gruffly.

Caspar stared at him blankly. ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I don’t know why you’ve come. I didn’t ask you to.’ There was no cruelty to his voice, just painful detachment.

‘We’re here because we care.’

The blank stare swivelled round to Jonah. ‘Well, as you can see, your care has come too late.’ There was a trace of blame in his tone.

Gabriel moved slowly across the room and, with his big, rough old hands, he gently removed the scarf from Caspar’s whitening fingers.

‘I know how you feel, son. Believe me, I do. I lost someone who meant the world to me. But don’t make the same mistake that I did.

Let people help you.’

Jonah had never admired or loved his father more than he did then. What courage had it taken for him to lay down the past and reach out to Caspar in the way that he had?

Raising his head, Caspar looked his father in the eye, but there was no clue in his face as to how he was going to react. From his back pocket, he slowly pulled out a piece of paper. ‘The letter you wrote to her … I… I…’ He swallowed. ‘I read it to her yesterday morning … She said it came just at the right time.’

Gabriel closed his eyes. ‘Too late,’ he groaned. ‘Too bloody late. I should have done it years ago.’ His body sagged. Worried, Jonah shot across the room and, with Caspar’s help, manoeuvred him into the nearest chair. Gabriel sobbed openly. ‘My poor girl,’ he wailed.

‘What have I done?’

‘What have we all done?’ murmured Caspar, the colour gone from his face.

There had been a lot to organise, and with Caspar and Gabriel in no fit state to do it, Jonah had dealt with everything. Damson’s body had already been taken to a chapel of rest by a local firm of undertakers, who were delivering it to Deaconsbridge for the funeral later that week. There was endless paperwork and phone calls to get through, but with Roland Hall’s help, Jonah got it all done. Roland wanted to attend the funeral, so he offered to drive Caspar’s car down to Deaconsbridge and catch the train home afterwards.