We Are Family Page 32

  ‘Dad,’ she said, reaching up to hug him, a few minutes later. She wondered whether he could sense how tense she was. She felt as if she were approaching the top of another death bend in the roller coaster. ‘You’re here.’

  ‘Laurie,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘You look tanned.’

  She took one of his bags, dragging it on its wheels across the polished floor. She’d been dreading this moment, but as he started to talk about the Residents’ Association and the neighbours she barely knew and how the strawberries had flourished in the record-breaking English summer, she was taken aback by the normality of him. It made his visit so painfully real.

  ‘How’s the work been going?’ he asked, when he’d exhausted his round-up.

  ‘Oh, you know. Good. I’ve done about fifteen paintings in the last few months.’

  ‘Quite a collection. I can’t wait to see them.’

  Laurie hesitated by the revolving door. She begged him to see into her eyes, to read all the anxiety in her mind and to fix it all. Instead, he seemed to take her silence as his cue for an apology. He took off his glasses. She noticed how many wrinkles there were around his eyes.

  ‘I suppose we should clear the air, before we go any further,’ he said, with a sigh, as if she’d challenged him. ‘Now I know I overreacted a bit when we last saw each other, but you see, I was just so worried that you’d get involved with Rachel. But you’ve been such a sensible girl as always and got yourself out here and put some distance on the whole situation.’

  ‘Dad, I –’

  ‘I know you’re sorry, Laurie, you don’t have to say it. Inviting me here was enough. We should never have argued. It made me feel terrible. But there you go. And now I’m here and we can have a lovely break together.’

  Laurie opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

  ‘Come on,’ he continued, squeezing the top of her arm. ‘Let’s not say any more about it. I want you to show me this place you’ve been raving about.’

  And with that, he pushed her through the doorway into the blazing day.

  Chapter XX

  Stepmouth, 6.30 p.m., 15 August 1953

  Tony stared through the onslaught of rain, but there was still no sign of Rachel. He was standing pressed up against the blistered wooden doors of the garage on Lydgate Lane, sheltering beneath the lip of its corrugated-iron roof.

  Water spattered down over its edge and on to the toes of his best black leather boots. The moaning rise and fall of the wind came at him in blasts, howling wolfishly down the funnel of the street, forcing him to pull his cap down tight on his head.

  It had been a crazy day already and now Tony was worried that it was getting worse. He wasn’t superstitious, but even he had to admit that something wasn’t right. The air felt wrong: dense, heavy. His temples had been throbbing for hours and now his ears had started to ache.

  ‘Plain weird’ was how Emily had put it before he’d said goodbye to her two hours ago. ‘The sooner this day’s done with, the better.’

  He’d kissed her on the cheek when he’d said goodbye, something he’d never done before. She’d looked at him strangely, but whatever she might have guessed, she’d kept it to herself. She’d been a good friend. He’d nearly told her everything.

  Plain weird . . . Well, she’d been right enough about that. By ten this morning the sky had switched from blue to white to grey. It had grown so gloomy by noon that they’d needed to switch on the lights inside just to see. Then he and Emily had huddled by the kitchen window’s whitewashed sill, and watched in wonder as a vast cumulus nimbus cloud with a mauve-and-purple base had settled over the town, stretching up into the sky. It had been the shape of a hammer, balanced and ready to fall.

  He looked up now. But if the hammer cloud was still there, it was now hidden behind a greater mass of churning grey. Tony shivered. The quicker Rachel got here, the better for them both.

  The spring of apprehension inside him was tightening into alarm. What if something had happened? What if she was there at Vale Supplies right now with her mother and Bill? What if they were keeping her there? Or what if she’d changed her mind? Tony rubbed his freezing hands together. How much longer should he give her? Another five minutes? Less? And then what? Go there? To Vale Supplies? Go there and get her and bring her back?

  It was almost as if she’d heard his barrage of questions, because there she suddenly was, in a shining green raincoat and a waxed yellow sailor’s hat which he recognised from her room, lurching awkwardly towards him under the weight of the red carpetbag she was carrying.

  Waving, he charged towards her through the overflowing potholes and swelling puddles. Taking the bag from her, he led her back by the hand until they stood beneath the shelter of the garage roof. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her wet face, pressing his shivering body against hers.

  ‘No one saw?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m scared.’

  I’m scared, too, he wanted to answer. He was: more scared than he’d been in his life, frightened of the looming gap which their future had just become. But what would be the point of telling her that? It would only make her feel worse. Show doubt and, chances were, they’d both end up in a panic. He had to pretend to be strong. For them both. For all three of them, he thought, aware of her midriff pressed up against his, absurdly conscious of what it contained. They were a family now and they were under threat.

  ‘Did you get them?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘I still don’t know if this is a good idea . . .’

  ‘We’ve got no choice.’

  It was true. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, racking his brains for an alternative plan to the one they’d concocted after she’d told him she was going to have their child. But there was no other plan that would work. Rachel’s mother would never change her mind. About Tony or the baby. No choice: that’s what they’d been given. No choice for Rachel to stay behind. No choice for Tony to keep on working with Emily. No choice to do anything but run. Rachel knelt down and unzipped her carpetbag. She rummaged through it and produced a set of keys.

  ‘This is it, then,’ she said.

  Even in the gloom, he could see the sparkle in her eyes. What they were doing was frightening, all right. But it was exciting, too. He checked up and down the lane, but the only person he saw was the blurry figure of a man a good hundred feet away, darting between buildings for shelter. Tony turned and matched a key to the padlock on the heavy wooden garage doors. Within seconds, they were inside.

  It stood there in the centre of the room, as pristine as a newly minted coin, the Jowett Jupiter: Bill Vale’s pride and joy. Not for much longer, though, Tony thought, breathing in the warm oily air and hurrying over to the car.

  He unlocked it and slung in his bag, Rachel’s too, then climbed inside behind the steering wheel and looked over the controls. The set-up wasn’t so different from his stepfather’s Vauxhall in which he’d learnt to drive. He tried the key and the engine started first go.

  ‘He’s going to kill us when he finds out, you know,’ said Rachel, getting in next to him.

  ‘He’s going to have to find us first.’ Tony switched on the headlights.

  ‘We could still catch a bus . . .’ Rachel’s voice was now fluttering with panic. ‘There’ll be one leaving –’

  ‘No. The moment they realise we’ve run, they’ll think we’re on the bus and they’ll call ahead and have the police pick us up.’

  ‘But –’

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it hard. ‘We’ll take the quiet roads across the moor. Let them search the bus routes all they like. Bill won’t notice the car’s gone till morning and we’ll be long gone by then.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Tell me, Tony: everything is going to be OK, isn’t it?’

  He nodded and put the car into what he guessed was reverse. He looked over his shoulder and eased out the clutch. The car leapt forward and stalled.

  They looked down at the ge
arstick and then at each other. For the first time since Rachel had fought her mother the day before, they both burst out laughing.

  ‘Nothing like a smooth start,’ he joked, finding reverse for real this time and slowly backing out of the garage and into the lane.

  If anything, the rain seemed to have intensified since they’d been inside, rattling down now on the car roof, so that they had to shout at one another to be heard.

  ‘How long do you think it’s going to take us to get there?’ Rachel asked.

  To Scotland, she meant, of course. To Gretna Green. Because that was where he was taking her. To the one place in Great Britain where he could marry a seventeen-year-old woman like Rachel Vale without her parents’ permission. They were to elope, then. And make them and the baby safe. This was the plan they’d come up with. And after that? They could sell the car, perhaps. And he had the money he’d saved while working for Emily, which would last them for a while. Then they’d improvise. He’d make it work. He’d take care of his new wife and child like no man had ever done before.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered, staring ahead as the headlights cut a path through the swirling opaque rush of rain. Neither Tony nor Rachel had ever been out of the county before, let alone anywhere as distant as Scotland. He’d only thought as far as taking the car, and driving west across the moor to fool anyone following, before looping back round towards Bristol and the east. ‘A few days,’ he guessed. ‘We’ll need to pick up a map somewhere along the way.’

  They drove slowly, because they had no other option. Rain drenched the windscreen as quickly as the wipers cleared it off. At the end of Lydgate Lane, they turned right. The streets were empty, the same as they’d been a year ago when the TV mast across the Bristol Channel had started transmitting and brought television to the town for the very first time. He remembered huddling in the town hall that night, along with a couple of hundred other people, marvelling as the miracle arrived. He’d thought the world had changed that day. But it had nothing on now.

  He would have rather raced, of course, and got as much distance between him and the town as possible. But maybe it was better this way, crawling along past the white clapboard cottages of Granville Road which ran parallel with the high street. There was certainly less chance of drawing attention, which meant less chance of someone spotting them and calling the police. Already, he was breaking the law, running away like this. If they caught him, he’d be charged. Through the rain, the whole town looked smudged, like a charcoal drawing. Like it was disappearing into a fog.

  He fastened the top button of his old waxed poacher’s jacket which he’d gone back to his mother’s house to collect less than an hour before.

  She’d been leaning over the stove as he’d stepped in through the kitchen door, stirring a saucepan which he knew from the smell had contained the thick Scotch broth with which he’d grown up.

  ‘You look like you could do with a bowl’ was all she’d said when he’d cleared his throat and she’d turned round to see him standing there. ‘Don said you were doing a good job of looking after yourself, but you look thin to me.’

  ‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ he’d replied.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit late? You’ve been gone for five months.’

  ‘I mean for good.’

  ‘More trouble?’ she’d asked reproachfully.

  ‘Not the kind you think. No.’ He’d just got on and said it: ‘I’m going to be a father.’

  The colour had drained from her face. She’d stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Who is she?’ she’d then asked.

  ‘I can’t tell you yet.’ He’d decided against it already. It would have led to too much talk, and he hadn’t got the time. ‘But I will,’ he promised her. ‘I’ll write to you as soon as I can.’

  Tears had filled her eyes. ‘But you’re only a boy.’

  ‘No, Mum, I’m going to be a dad and I’m going to be a good one. I’m sorry . . .’ he said. ‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out for me the way you wanted . . .’

  As soon as he’d spoken the word ‘sorry’ her mouth had seemed to stretch downwards, like rubber. She’d covered her face with her hand and he’d walked over to her and held her like a parent would a child, as she’d sobbed into his arm.

  Now he followed the curve of the road round to where it terminated at a crossroads at the end of the high street. So far so good: they’d yet to see another vehicle, let alone a person. The high street ran to the left, its neat row of shops and houses backing on to the River Step, all the way to Harbour Bridge.

  Two doors down the high street was Vale Supplies. Silently, they both stared at its dimly lit, weeping windows.

  Tony rested his hand on Rachel’s leg. She was shaking.

  ‘Keep going,’ she said.

  Straight ahead over the crossroads was the great stone humpback of South Bridge, leading to the east side of town. But Tony turned right and they set off up the steep Barnstaple Road.

  Neither of them spoke until they reached the top of Summerglade Hill. A thin film of water covered the road, glistening like oil. Tony glanced in the rear-view mirror. A mile away, eight hundred feet below, was the town, its houses huddled together in the encroaching darkness and strangling rain. He wondered if he’d ever see it again.

  He thought of the twins, further along the road at Brookford. His mother would have tucked them up safe in bed by now, maybe even told them that he’d left town. They’d been out with Don when he’d called round. He’d write to them just as soon as he could. He’d write to them all to let them know that he was happy and safe.

  He thought about Keith, about writing to him as well. He’d have to tell him about Rachel. And he’d have to tell him to stay away. They were going to have a child and Tony could never tell that child what his brother had done.

  He turned off on to the coast road which ran along the moor.

  ‘Still scared?’ he asked Rachel.

  ‘Yes.’

  They were driving at forty miles an hour now, straddling the middle of the bumpy road. There wasn’t a chance, Tony reckoned, of encountering another car up here. The wind – suddenly heavy up here on the open ground – began violently buffeting the car.

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said, as a sudden sense of freedom burst inside him. He glanced across at her shadowed form. ‘This isn’t the end of anything,’ he told her. ‘It’s just the st—’

  The noise she made was soft, not a scream at all, in fact. More an expression of mild surprise. Automatically, he reached for the brake.

  As they hit it – whatever it was Rachel had seen on the road ahead of them – all Tony was aware of was his body twisting violently, before his world turned utterly black.

  Chapter XXI

  Mallorca, Present Day

  At Sa Costa, Rachel stood beneath the whirring wooden ceiling fan in her bedroom, feeling like a teenager again. She hadn’t felt this sick with nerves since . . . well, since the night of the flood. She could hardly breathe with the expectation of what was about to happen. Laurie was picking Bill up from the airport and bringing him back to her. Right now. She hardly knew what to do with herself.

  She was wearing her coolest summer outfit – the thin white muslin trousers and tunic top that she’d had handmade in Morocco and leather thong sandals – but even so, she was uncomfortably hot. And she loved the heat. She shook out her top, away from her body, the silver bauble on her necklace tinkling, along with the charm bracelet she was wearing for luck. Then she reclipped the stray hair that was flying in the draught from the fan into the large tortoiseshell clip at the nape of her neck.

  Once again, she couldn’t resist angling down the wooden slatted shutters on her window and looking out on to the driveway below, but it remained empty. Everything was still, not even a murmur of sea breeze in the trees. Even the birds seemed to be having an unusually quiet siesta. It felt as if the whole house and its surroundings were holding their breath. The only sound was from the sprinklers which were working ove
rtime in the gardens. She watched as some of the overspill hit the sparkling tarmac, the water evaporating immediately, like footprints in wet sand.

  Rachel turned away from the window. The shutters cut the bedroom into diagonal stripes of light and shade. She walked from the window to the French-made teak bed. The thin red silk quilt was folded back on itself to reveal a monogrammed linen sheet covered in some of the framed photographs she’d brought up from downstairs.

  She’d done so on Laurie’s suggestion, so that when Bill first came into the house he wouldn’t realise it was Rachel’s, until Laurie had had the chance to explain properly. Rachel picked up one of the framed photographs she’d taken from the kitchen wall and dusted its surface with her hand. She couldn’t remember who’d taken it, but it must have been either Christopher or Nick. It was of her and Tony a couple of years ago here at the villa. He had his arm around Rachel, pulling her in close and they were both laughing, their faces tanned. They looked like young lovers, not the grandparents they were. It had never crossed her mind back then to think that one day so soon she’d be left on her own.

  Rachel touched Tony’s smile. Was she really doing the right thing? she wondered, her nerve wavering. Tony had always been so adamant in his burial of the past. He’d been so confident with the decision he’d made to shut the door on that part of their lives and to move on. A decision he’d never once, to her knowledge, questioned. She was the one who’d always been peeping back through the keyhole, in secret.

  She knew that Tony would be furious with her for having such a point to prove, after all this time, but Rachel knew it was too important to obey Tony’s wishes any longer. Because even if Tony hadn’t cared about it while he was alive, it was important to her to show Bill that Tony had made a success out of his life. She wanted to prove to Bill that Tony hadn’t turned out like his brother.

  And for herself, she wanted Bill to see the success she’d achieved with Ararat. The amazing legacy she’d now handed over to Sam. For what? she wondered. Why did her brother’s opinion of her matter after all this time? Why did she seek his approval, when her success was affirmed to her every day?