The Girl From Barefoot House (53 page)

‘We’re not married and you want to continue as we are.
Ergo
, you don’t want to marry me.’

‘What does
ergo
mean? We didn’t do Latin at St Joseph’s junior and infants school.’

‘It means therefore, and don’t be so sarcastic.’

‘Then don’t argue with me in Latin,’ she said furiously. She had been looking forward to a relaxing evening watching television, and wasn’t in the mood for a fight. ‘Things are fine as they are. Why change them? Why rock the boat?’

‘As far as I’m concerned, things will never be fine until you’re my wife.’ He folded his arms stubbornly.

‘Too bad, Ben.’ There was something about his face, the way his lips were drawn in an angry line, almost prim, that brought back memories of the only other row they’d had. ‘You know what this reminds me of? That time I wanted to go to Haylands and you decided to put your foot down for some reason I never understood. Just because I wasn’t prepared to do your bidding on one, small, unimportant thing, you were equally prepared to ruin everything. Any minute now you’ll threaten to leave if I don’t marry you, and ruin everything again.’ He was easygoing to a fault, but seemed to find it necessary once in a while to put up a hoop for her to jump through. She hadn’t jumped the last time, and she had no intention of jumping now.

‘Darling!’ Suddenly, he was on his knees in front of her, holding her hands. ‘I want you to be
mine
. I’m terrified you’ll meet someone else during one of the times you go flitting off all over the country. I want you to have my ring on your finger when you take strange men to lunch. I want you to be Mrs Kavanagh, not Coltrane.’ His voice broke, and he sounded just like the
young man who’d pleaded with her on a bench in the fairy glen. ‘I love you, Josie. I love you so very much.’

‘Oh, Ben.’ She put her cheek against his. He was so sweet, so nice, comfortable to live with, a truly decent man, entitled to some happiness. If they married, the comfortable life would continue. She imagined the years stretching ahead, serene and contented, as they no doubt would have passed had she married him in the first place. ‘All right,’ she said in a small voice. ‘We’ll get married.’ She had jumped through the hoop after all.

His face broke into a delighted smile. ‘When?’ he demanded. ‘I know, let’s do it on your birthday.’

‘Not quite so soon,’ she said quickly. She was about to say, ‘Let’s leave it till next year,’ but remembered it was what she’d once said to Francie because she’d felt so uncertain. ‘In a few months,’ she said to Ben. ‘I’d like time to get used to the idea.’

‘We’ll announce it at the dinner,’ Ben said jubilantly. ‘I’ll buy you an engagement ring instead.’

It was three days before her birthday. Ben was down in London at a conference and was coming back tomorrow. The caterers would be arriving at six o’clock on the day and would take over the kitchen. Dinner would be served at half seven. Josie had wasted a lot of time deciding which floral centrepiece she preferred. Dorothy Venables was coming up from London and would stay for two days. The obvious person to make up twelve guests was Lynne Goode, another friend, though she’d been asked not to breathe a word to Cathy Connors who might feel hurt at being left out.

Daisy and Manos were already in Liverpool, and looking forward to the evening. Francie still hadn’t decided which of his women to bring. ‘If
you
can’t be me
partner, Jose, then I’m bloody stuck.’ Josie hadn’t told him about the engagement, knowing he’d laugh like a drain. In bed that night, she sighed wistfully and wished he were bringing Lily. She’d have hurt everyone’s feelings, but she’d sooner Lily were coming than anyone.

She was fast asleep when the telephone rang, and immediately felt fearful. It wasn’t quite three o’clock, and a call at such an unearthly hour could only be bad news. She gingerly picked up the receiver. ‘Hello.’

‘Josie, it’s Val Morrissey. Sorry, I’ve just realised it’s some ungodly hour in the morning over there. I’m a bit drunk, if the truth be known. I should have left it till tomorrow.’

‘Val!’ Josie was wide awake, knowing there could be only one reason why he should call at such a time. She swung her legs on to the floor, and sat tensely on the edge of the bed.

‘I’ve found him, Josie. I’ve found Jack Coltrane. Me and a few guys were watching this video after office hours. I’ll leave you to guess what sort. His name was on the credits. I rang the film company. He’s still works for them, and they gave me the name of his hotel. The manager confirmed he’s a permanent guest.’

‘Where is this hotel?’ She could hardly speak.

‘Miami. I’m not sure what to do, Josie. I don’t want to go down there, scare him off.’

‘Don’t do anything, Val.
I’ll
go. I’ll go tomorrow – today. As soon as there’s a flight.’

‘Not by yourself, Josie. Not Miami. Look, when you arrive, check in the Hotel Inter-Continental. It’s in downtown Miami, not far from Jack’s place. I’ll reserve two rooms. Try and let me know your schedule, and we’ll meet up there. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘See you, Val. And thanks.’

She dialled Directory Enquiries for the number of Manchester airport, then called and made a reservation. She would have to change planes at Orlando, Florida, she was told. Her hand shook as she wrote down the times. A taxi – she needed to book a taxi for six o’clock in order to check in on time. There was the number of a reliable firm in the telephone book downstairs. She went down in her nightie, made the booking, put the kettle on, waited for it to boil, remembered her birthday dinner, remembered Ben!

The kettle boiled. Josie took the tea into the living room, opened the bureau and quickly scribbled letters of apology to all her dinner guests. It had had to be cancelled due to ‘unforeseen circumstances’, she wrote, and worried that the words sounded too stiff and formal. She put the letters in Esther’s tray in Reception with a note asking her to have them sent by first-class post the minute she came in.

Now Ben! What on earth should she tell him? Even if she didn’t find Jack, she knew it was over between her and Ben. She had forgotten him too quickly when the call had come from Val. What did you say to someone whose heart you were about to break a second time?

‘My dearest Ben,’ she wrote, then paused and chewed the pen. Time was getting on. She needed to get dressed, pack a few things. Her eyes lighted on the little blue box in a pigeonhole of the bureau. The engagement ring Ben had bought that she’d intended to wear for the first time at the dinner! She’d never had one before. She opened the box, and the diamond solitaire winked back at her. Oh, Ben! She wanted to weep for the little boy, wrestling on the floor with his brother, scarlet with embarrassment as he carried her satchel home from school. The young man she’d sat with in restaurants all
over Liverpool while they’d argued about politics with Lily and Francie. She’d missed him so much when she’d gone to Haylands, but had quickly been distracted by Griff.

Josie could think of nothing to put in the letter that didn’t sound cruel. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she wrote, ‘but I’ve gone to Miami to meet Jack Coltrane.’ She had to get across to him that it was over, just in case he was there when she came back, hurt, disillusioned, but still living in hope that they had a future together. ‘I’ve always loved you, Ben, but never enough,’ she added. How to finish? After gnawing her lip for several seconds, she signed the letter simply, ‘Josie.’

It was hot in Miami. The streets reminded her of New York, choked with impatiently honking traffic, pavements teaming with people. She caught a taxi from the airport to the hotel, and sat numbly in the back, feeling as if she wasn’t really there. Her body felt as heavy as lead, her head like a balloon. She ached for a long, cold drink, then a lie-down, somewhere cool and quiet. She stared through the window, scarcely taking in the colourful sights, and wondered why she’d come. To see a man who had shown no interest in seeing her, a man who had gone out of his way to avoid her, who had advised her to marry someone else? She must be mad.

This is the last time, she vowed. I’ll never do it again. If Jack tells me to get lost, I’ll put him out of me mind for ever, get on with me life. I’m fifty today, or it might be tomorrow. It could have been yesterday. She had flown through several time zones and had no idea what day it was.

The foyer of the Hotel Inter-Continental contained a huge sculpture by Henry Moore. Josie checked in at reception, and was told she was in room 33 on the third floor. ‘A Mr Morrissey in thirty-two has asked to be
advised when you arrive. Is it okay to tell him you’re here?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Val Morrissey was waiting when she got out of the lift. He tipped the bell-hop and took her bag. ‘You look shattered. It’s nice to meet you after all this time, but I wish the circumstances were different.’

‘So do I.’

They kissed affectionately. Their relationship had been conducted entirely by phone, but she looked upon him as a friend. He seemed less brash and sure of himself in the flesh. He showed her to her room. ‘It’s lovely,’ she remarked. It was large, airy, very modern. The bed looked inviting. Josie looked at her watch – a quarter to nine. ‘You’ll think me stupid, but I don’t know if it’s night or morning. It never seemed to get dark on the plane.’

‘It’s morning. Jack will be at the studios by now. I went round to his hotel yesterday. The manager said he’s been there two years, and he really likes the guy. The only trouble he has is getting rid of the bottles.’

‘Nothing much has changed, then?’

Val shrugged. ‘Doesn’t seem like it.’

‘This film company he works for …’ She struggled for words. ‘You know, I can’t see Jack getting involved in porn.’

‘It’s only soft porn, Josie,’ Val said quickly. ‘The sort you can rent in any video store. There’s nothing illegal about it. Me and the guys in the office wouldn’t know where to get the hard stuff. I drove out to the studios yesterday, managed to get talking to a guy in reception. Jack does the scripts, helps with the sound system. He’s popular there, too. Rumour is he used to be a well-known playwright till he hit the sauce.’

‘He had a play produced off-Broadway,’ Josie said proudly. ‘It got wonderful reviews. And he wrote one of the best crime series ever seen on British television.’ She sat on the bed, and Val regarded her worriedly.

‘You look all in. Why don’t you rest? I’ll do some sightseeing, buy Jessie Mae and Melanie gifts from Miami.’

‘How are Jessie Mae and Melanie?’ she asked politely.

‘I told you Jess was pregnant again, didn’t I? We’re hoping for a boy this time. She’s fine. Having Melanie did her the world of good. She smiles a lot these days.’ He made a rueful face. ‘She didn’t smile all that much when we first got married.’

‘I’m glad she’s so much happier.’

‘We’re both happy, Josie, and it’s all due to you.’

She hoped he would be returning the favour. He had found Jack, but whether there would be a happy ending was yet to be seen.

He came into the hotel lobby, only slightly unsteady on his feet. The cream linen suit looked like the same one he’d worn in Liverpool, and the T-shirt underneath was white, unironed but clean. He badly needed a shave. There were streaks of grey in the black hair that hung over his eyes. He looked ill, very ill, with dull eyes and a face ravaged by deep, craggy lines.

Josie and Val Morrissey had been waiting for almost an hour in the lobby, sitting side by side on a shabby settee. She got to her feet, and felt the same thrilling sensation course through her veins as the night thirty years before when she’d first seen him in a New York coffee-bar. She went to meet him, stopping a few paces away. ‘Hello, Jack.’

‘Sweetheart.’ He said it without surprise, as if they’d
only seen each other yesterday. Then he smiled the smile that would never cease to charm her. ‘I knew you’d find me, Jose. I guessed one day you’d track me down.’

‘Did you want to be found, darling?’

‘I think so.’ His head drooped. ‘I’m awfully tired, Jose.’

‘Then come home with me.’

She bought a house in Mosely Drive, a four-bedroomed bungalow overlooking Sefton Park, not far from the fairy glen. It had belonged to a retired colonel who had called it ‘The Last Post’. Josie thought it a silly name and took the sign down. The house had a number, it didn’t need a name, though over the years circulars continued to arrive addressed to ‘The Occupier, The Last Post’. The decoration inside was ultra-conventional – cream paint everywhere, anaemic flowered wallpaper. She had the walls stripped and painted dusky jewelled colours – deep rose pink, turquoise, amethyst, garnet red, topaz – with curtains to match made from lustrous silks. Much of the furniture was bought from a warehouse in London that imported from all over the world – a wicker bedroom suite, a cane three-piece, an Indian carved table and matching chairs, embroidered rugs and wall hangings. Japanese lanterns hung in every room, and there was always a joss stick burning somewhere, so that the house smelled of musk, orange blossom, sandalwood.

The lounge was at the back, with French windows opening on to the large, somewhat bizarre garden, filled by the retired colonel with statues and tubs, trellises and arches, a fountain and a fish pond, and steps up and down to various levels. It was a cross between a jungle and a maze, with strange plants with curious blooms and prickly leaves that emitted sweet, heady scents.

As the house was painted and furnished, Lily’s voice was constantly in her ear. ‘Why on earth d’you want to buy
that
, Jose? I couldn’t live in the same house with such a peculiar colour/picture/chair.’

It
was
unusual, she had to admit, like one of those Arabian palaces in the Sinbad and Aladdin films she’d seen with Ben when she was little. Jack’s study was a restful green, with the latest word processor installed on the desk and a comfortable settee to rest on while he waited for the Muse to strike.

‘It’s lovely, sweetheart,’ he said when everything was done and she showed him round for the first time. ‘Exotic, that’s the word.’