The Corrigan legacy (6 page)

'So that's it. I'm inconvenient when I'm like this, so you need to get rid of me.' Anger pounded through her. 'Well, good riddance to you, too, Joe Carvalli. I'll be better off without you.'

'Kate—'

She pushed him away then collapsed on the bed, sobbing.

Her mother came in and murmured something. Joe left the room.

'I'll do the packing for you, love. Joe says he'll clear your household bits and pieces out for you when he moves and send them up to Callabine.'

'He's ditching me, Mum,' she whispered. 'Going to Melbourne.'

'Yes. He told us about it when he phoned. That's what trouble does, real trouble. It either brings you closer or it tears you apart. Better to know the truth about what he's like now, don't you think, than after marrying him?'

It didn't feel better, Kate thought. Definitely not. She couldn't think what to say and was glad when her mother didn't dwell on Joe's defection.

'Let's get on with this, then, love. No need to prolong the pain.'

Kate tried to think what else she should take with her, but the grey fog that had plagued her almost from the start of this illness was expanding inside her head, blotting out the capacity to think clearly, and all she could do was subside on the bed and let her mother finish packing her clothes, make-up, books and computer.

When they went back into the lounge, Joe came towards her. 'Kate, I—'

She stepped back to avoid him. 'You're a shit!' Then she tried to push past him.

'Look, wait - I found this in a bookshop. It might help.'

Kate thrust the book to one side as she passed.

Her father glanced at the title Chronic Fatigue Syndrome: A Hidden Epidemic? and took it from him.

'I'm sorry, Kate,' Joe called after her. 'I can't cope with an invalid. I don't have the - the stamina, whatever you call it. But I am sorry.'

She didn't even turn her head.

Cars are strung like coloured beads on an abacus all along the motorways. They dodge in and out, now speeding up, now slowing down, as their numbers add to and subtract from the grand vehicular total.

Judith didn't sleep well on her last night at the hotel, then fell into a heavy sleep in the small hours of the morning, not waking till eight o'clock. By the time she'd had breakfast and paid her hotel bill, it was past ten o'clock, a chilly morning but fine at least.

She took the M40 out of London, finding traffic moderately heavy. When she turned on to the M5, traffic was much heavier and everything began to slow right down as she approached the junction between the M5 and the M6. She spent well over an hour driving a mere couple of miles. By then her knee was aching, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Her thoughts skipped here and there as she drove a hundred yards, waited, drove a little further, stopped and waited again. Her mind couldn't seem to settle on anything for long and she felt utterly disoriented, suspended between her old life and her new. Well, at least she had her Auntie May's house to go to, a place where Des had never even set foot. That seemed important now.

A few months ago, when he'd started working secretly to regain the original Corrigan's from his sister, Judith had begun to think that if things went seriously wrong between them she might need a refuge. She'd shied away from that thought for a while, then faced it squarely and contacted the agency who managed her house, asking them to keep the tenant on one month's notice from then on.

After her accident she'd asked the agents to give the tenant notice and make sure the power and phones were connected in her name. There was some furniture in the house, left over from her aunt's day, but she'd no doubt need to buy more, as well as doing a lot of re-organizing and decorating. That would keep her nicely busy for the first few weeks. Then she realized she wouldn't be able to afford it, not till the settlement came through and she knew where she stood financially. Damn you, Des! she thought. You're only delaying things to get back at me.

She stopped at the next services but didn't fancy anything to eat, so bought a cup of coffee and took it back to the car. She didn't want to be surrounded by people, not today.

When she set off again, traffic was moving slightly faster and soon she was circling Manchester on the ring road, getting closer and closer to her destination. She felt exhausted now after her sedentary life of the past few weeks.

In Rochdale, the town centre had changed so much she had to stop to ask the way out to the village of Blackfold. The accent of the woman who offered directions, the way she called Judith 'flower', brought back vivid childhood memories. Her aunt had spoken in the same way. Judith's father, however, had been ashamed of his accent and had modified it to what he considered 'better English'. But his sister had laughed at the way he spoke and continued-to use her long slow vowels and dialect words with relish, exaggerating it when her brother and his family visited her -which wasn't often.

He'd died at fifty, Judith's father. So young. Why, she was less than ten years from fifty herself! That thought made her shiver.

She arrived at Blackfold around four in the afternoon. Since she hadn't been here for some time, she parked near the centre and studied the amenities - a minimart, a few small shabby shops and three pubs. It pleased her that nothing had changed much since her last visit and she smiled as she drove slowly along the main street. She remembered it so well from her childhood visits.

The house stood on an acre of land at the far end of the long, narrow village, backing on to fields that were bright with the promise of spring. The moors were only a hop and a skip beyond them, within easy walking distance of her new home. The Gatehouse, it was called, no one knew why, because it had never guarded the gates to anywhere. The house itself looked unchanged, but the front garden was untidy and unloved, as it had never been in her aunt's day.

The Gatehouse was built of local stone, once golden, blackened now by two hundred years of exposure to the elements. It was a solid, square building, looking as if it'd put down deep roots and intended to stand there until the last trump sounded. It was three storeys high, with weaver's windows along back and front of the top floor, a whole row of them to let in as much light as possible. They'd be the devil to clean with all those small leaded panes, but Judith remembered how lovely they looked from inside, fracturing the light on sunny days and sending it shimmering round the walls. Maybe she could make herself a studio up there? Even if you weren't good enough to earn a living from your painting, you could still enjoy it, couldn't you?

The house had been built long before garages were needed, so she parked the car on the gravelled space in front and stood for a few moments looking up at the moors then back along the main street. The fresh, damp air felt so invigorating after the car fumes on the motorway and she breathed deeply in appreciation.

There were some outbuildings at the back of the house: long, low buildings, quite substantial and appearing to be in a reasonable state of repair. She'd look round those tomorrow. They'd been full of junk when she was a child, but who knew what they'd contain now? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps even more junk.

When she had trouble opening the front door, she frowned and examined the keys again, but she was definitely using the right one - it even had a label attached to it saying Front Door in ornate italic script. Only the key didn't fit the hole at all and when she studied the lock, she realized that it was brand new.

She went round to the back, getting the heavy, old-fashioned key ready - but again there was a new lock and she couldn't get in.

Bewildered, she went all round the house, checking whether there was a window open. There wasn't. Why had the estate agent not told her he'd changed the locks? Why hadn't he sent her the new keys?

She got back into the car and called him on her mobile.

'We haven't changed any locks, Ms Horrocks. We paid a security firm to drive past every day or two and check that the house was all right, as you asked, and of course someone from the office went out there regularly to check the inside. Perhaps you've been sent the wrong keys? I'll drive over straight away with the correct ones. I do apologize profoundly. I'll set off immediately and be there in about half an hour.'

When he arrived, they both stared at the keys in bewilderment because the sets were identical. He tried to open the doors with his keys, but they wouldn't go into the holes. 'The locks must have been changed. I can't understand why, though. We definitely didn't authorize this and when someone checked the house only two weeks ago, she had no trouble getting in, so it's quite recent.'

She knew then who'd done this and a shiver ran down her spine. Des, of course. Who else could it be? And who else had keys to these new locks? She didn't feel comfortable about moving in now, which was just what he'd intended, of course. 'It can only be my ex, trying to make trouble for me.'

The estate agent stared at her in shock. 'Surely not?' 

'I'm afraid so. He can be very - spiteful.'

Even when the locksmith came and put in new and very secure locks, unease was still skittering up and down her spine about staying here alone. Damn you, Des!

By the time the locksmith had finished, it was dark and she was ravenously hungry, so she drove into the village to buy some food at the minimart, enough to tide her over for a day or two.

'Staying in Blackfold, are you?' the lady behind the counter asked.

'Yes. I'm May Horrocks' niece.'

'Ah, you'll be living at the old Gatehouse, then. Nice place, that. Lovely outbuildings too. There was a man wanted to buy the outbuildings and land at the back and do a barn conversion on them, only your aunt would never sell. Nice fellow, he was, became quite friendly with her.'

It was amazing how much the woman knew, Judith thought, and would no doubt be spreading the word about her arrival.

When she got back, she found the gates closed, which worried her. Had Des sent someone else to hassle her? She opened them, looking round her all the time, but could see no sign of anyone. Still filled with trepidation, she drove her car into the driveway, hesitated, then left the gates open in case she had to drive away quickly.

The front door opened easily with the new key and she hastily carried the shopping inside. Suddenly the fact that the house had three storeys worried her and she knew she'd have to have a security system installed if she was to sleep soundly at night.

Heart pounding she made her way up to the attics and searched the whole house from top to bottom, leaving no cupboard, no wardrobe out. There was no one there, of course, no sign of disturbances, but she'd needed to be sure of that. When she got down to the kitchen she felt more comfortable.

She looked out of the window and for a moment thought she saw a glimmer of light down at the end of the garden, but decided she must have been mistaken because when she blinked and looked again, there was only darkness. After eating a sandwich, she opened a bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a glass, then spent a pleasant hour reading the novel she'd bought at the minimart. Eventually a gigantic yawn interrupted her reading and when she looked at her watch, it was nearly eleven o'clock.

As she was about to switch on the light in her bedroom she caught sight of what looked like a light further down the garden, and this time it didn't go away when she blinked. She walked across to the window without putting her own light on and stared out. Surely that was - yes, the big shed at the end of her garden was definitely lit up! Was Des playing some other nasty trick on her? She got her mobile out to call for the police, then anger surged through her. Whatever it was, whoever it was, she was going to deal with it herself. Des was not going to spook her.

Besides, of one thing she could be certain. He didn't intend to kill or physically hurt her. He'd far rather keep her alive and make her suffer. But just to be sure she was able to defend herself, she went downstairs and picked up the living-room poker, a solid piece of iron with a brass handle. Then she went into the kitchen, switched off the light and opened the outside door quietly. Step by careful step she crept down the garden towards the shed.

That evening Mitch picked up the phone and listened for a moment, before calling to his grandmother, 'It's Dad, for you.'

She came out of the kitchen pulling a face and thrust a spoon into Mitch's hand, whispering, 'Keep stirring the sauce.'

Des's voice boomed in her ear. 'Well, Ma-in-law, I've just concluded a rather nifty deal and since I no longer have a wife to celebrate with, I'd like to take you and my son out for dinner.'

'Oh, dear! I've already cooked something and we're just about to eat.'

'Save it for another time. I'll be round to pick you up in half an hour.'

She stared at the buzzing phone, then slammed it down and went back into the kitchen. 'Oh, he's such an infuriating man! Sorry, Mitch. I tried to fend him off but he's insisting on taking us out to dinner. Says it's to celebrate some business deal.'

'That's a new one. Since when does Dad need us to do his celebrating with? I've told him I can't afford late nights. Doesn't he ever think of anyone else?'

She spread her hands helplessly. 'I'll ring back and suggest he eats here with us. I can get out a bottle of wine.'

Mitch hesitated, then shook his head. 'No, don't. You know how he loves lavish meals in restaurants. It'll put him in a bad mood.'

'Let it.'

'I'd rather not. He can get a bit shitty if you stop him doing something he's set his mind on.'

She stared at him. 'Are you by any chance frightened of your father, Mitch?'

He was tracing patterns on the vinyl flooring with his toe. 'Not exactly - well, I wasn't before, but since he thumped Mum, I've realized how strong he is physically. You should have seen the expression on his face when he hit her, Gran. Sheer fury. And you and I both saw what he'd done to that door at the hotel. So I'd rather not cross him just now. I'm not as strong as he is and well, I'm dependent on him. I'll need financing for university next year.'

Which made her thoughtful, because she too was dependent on Des and would live a very meagre life without his help. She'd told Judith that didn't matter, but it did really. When you were over sixty, you valued your comforts and being able to afford outings with friends. So if she could keep Des happy without betraying her daughter, she would. But if push came to shove, it was Judith who mattered most - and Mitch.

With a sigh she switched off the cooker and began to put the food away, planning what to wear. If Judith rang to say she'd arrived safely, as she'd promised to do, she'd find only the answer phone.

That evening Des was so expansive and talkative that Hilary began to wonder if he was taking some sort of drug. He hardly glanced at her but he looked at Mitch a lot, and gloatingly too. He also seemed to be nursing some secret amusement. What was he up to now?

But he didn't raise any objections when they insisted they had to get home early so that Mitch wouldn't be too tired to study the next day.

'Ambitious little sod, aren't you?' he said to his son, his speech just the tiniest bit slurred because he'd drunk most of the bottle of expensive wine he'd ordered, plus a double cognac afterwards.

'I want to get a good degree, Dad. That sort of thing matters these days.'

'Yeah, well, you go for it, lad. I'll put up the money for the university fees. And she's out of the picture now, so you'll not be messed around any more.'

Mitch and his grandmother both went to peer out of the dining-room window as Des sauntered back to the car. The chauffeur hopped out smartly and opened the door, then it purred off down the street.

Hilary gave her grandson a hug. 'Well, that wasn't too bad. Look, there's a message on the answer phone.' She pressed the button and her daughter's voice echoed round the room. Mitch came across to listen with her.