Caught in the Act (17 page)

Raf had been working in the garden when the phone rang. Jake came out carrying the handset with a paw clamped over the earpiece. ‘It's some woman. Says she needs you.'

Raf laughed. ‘That I should be so lucky.'

Jake pulled a face.

‘I've got more than enough on my hands with your mother—and on your way back can you pick up another beer?'

Jake lifted an eyebrow; he had his mother's eyes. ‘I'm doing my homework.'

‘Very noble. Get yourself one if it helps,' and then into the phone he said, ‘Hi.'

‘Oh, hello. This is Diana. I'm a friend of Carol's. We met a few weeks ago—'

‘Of course. How are you?' Raf said, cutting her short. ‘And how's it going?'

‘You remember me?'

Raf laughed. ‘I was a wee bit tipsy, I have
to admit, but thank God it's not affected me memory. You were her best friend at school. Married to the vicar, chief re-union organiser and card sharp. Is that yourself?'

Diana laughed. ‘The very woman.'

‘How can I help?' asked Raf.

Diana's tone subtly changed. ‘I rang to ask you a favour but I also think I need to talk to you.'

Something about her voice made Raf stop what he was doing and sit down. ‘Not a problem. What's the matter; is everything all right down there?' he asked, with a sense of trepidation.

‘Yes and no,' said Diana, ‘and it is difficult to know where to begin.'

‘Why don't we try the beginning?' said Raf gently.

Diana cleared her throat and then began to speak slowly, as if she was weighing every word. ‘Well, when this group was on tour before—when we were all at school—Carol was going out with someone called Gareth Howard.'

‘Ah,' said Raf softly, ‘Golden Boy? She didn't mention him by name but I knew that there was someone special that she was hoping to
see again. Is that the problem? Is he the problem?'

Diana sighed. ‘I'm not sure golden boy is the description I'd use, but the thing is that Gareth is married—and he's just walked out on his wife and children and she wants someone to bring her down so that she can talk to him.' Diana paused.

‘I'm with you so far; and presumably you're hoping that this someone might be me?' said Raf cautiously.

‘Well, yes. I know it's a bit of a cheek and also it's probably going to be messier than it sounds,' said Diana.

Jake handed Raf a beer. Raf nodded his thanks. ‘Is that why I feel all sorts of complications coming on?' he asked, taking a pull on the bottle.

Diana sighed. ‘Yes and no. It isn't just Gareth's ex-wife I'm concerned about. I think Carol might be getting herself in trouble.' She paused, out of words.

‘Tell me,' said Raf softly.

‘Well, I know Carol's a big girl but…' Diana began all over again and Raf listened carefully and sipped his beer, not saying another word until she had finished.

‘Oh, you've got a re ally lovely house, haven't you?' said Jasmine, stepping into Leonora's hall and making a great show of wiping her feet. Jasmine was slightly built, with pale waxy skin and dark hair drawn back off her face and dragged into a severe ponytail. She was wearing a short denim skirt and a skimpy little white top that barely covered her midriff or her ample cleavage, and was all wrapped around with a long black fluffy cardigan. Leonora smiled darkly to herself—given time, no doubt Gareth would make his views on comfortable cardigans known to her—or had he abandoned Jasmine as well?

Jasmine looked unwell, large nervous darkrimmed eyes peering out of too thin a face, but then Leonora remembered only too well the rigours of morning sickness and a system running alive with maverick hormones.

The girl, who looked as if she was barely out of her teens but who was probably in her mid-twenties, bit her lip. ‘The thing is, he hasn't rung me or texted me or anything since I spoke to you. It's not like him. I know he said not to ring him here but I didn't know what else to do. You didn't mind me coming round, did you?'

It was a question without any answer. ‘I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't want you to come,' said Leonora as evenly as she could manage, waving her into the house.

Maisie was asleep in a pram in the hall; Jasmine peered at her in passing. ‘She's lovely. She looks just like you, doesn't she?'

Leonora smiled. ‘Only when she is asleep. She has her daddy's eyes.' Leonora didn't add that Maisie bore an uncanny resemblance to Gareth when she was awake. Patrick too. Maybe it was a good thing that both of them were taking a nap.

‘She looks so content. How old is she?' said Jasmine, stroking a finger across one tiny downy cheek.

‘She's nearly five months and Patrick is two and a bit—and a real handful at the moment. Fortunately he's asleep in his cot at the moment too, so hopefully we can get a little peace and the chance to talk. Do you want to come through into the kitchen?' Leonora indicated the way with an open hand.

Jasmine nodded, following her closely while all the while looking around as if she was in a stately home. ‘You've got some amazing things in here,' she said, looking at the old photos and
cut-glass wall lights and the stuffed bear that dominated the space just under the stairs and who was decked with hats and coats and all manner of things hung between his threadbare outspread arms.

‘I'm a bit of a hoarder,' said Leonora, leading the way. ‘And I like unusual things.'

The girl nodded.

Leonora had wondered exactly how she was going to start this conversation; whichever route she tried there was no easy way in and certainly no way to sugar the pill.

She put the kettle on. Jasmine settled herself down at the table. The room was littered with the fallout of family life: toys on the floor, a baby bouncer with a mobile hanging over it by the washing machine, nappies and baby wipes on the dresser, toy cars and a dummy in amongst the washing-up.

‘It's a great house for kids to grow up in,' Jasmine said, and then indicated the back door. ‘You've got a garden too?'

‘Yes, although it's not very big. That was why we moved out here. It's not a brilliant area but we got a lot more for our money. Well, my money actually. I bought the house with the money my grandparents left me.'

Jasmine looked impressed. ‘Wow, that's cool, and what about your husband?'

Yes, thought Leonora, the thought as heavy as rock, what about my husband? The kettle clicked off the boil. ‘How do you take your tea?'

‘Milk and two sugars, please.'

Leonora concentrated her attention on making the tea and then set a mug in front of Jasmine. It was time to begin. ‘I'm glad you came round, Jasmine. I was wondering how much you know about Gareth.'

The girl reddened, her body language defensive. ‘Well, not very much, re ally. I've been thinking about that a lot this week. I don't know anything about him, not who he is, what he actually does for a job or anything, re ally. I know it sounds daft, but it only struck me when he didn't show up on Friday that there's a whole bit of his life that I've got no idea about. And he's been acting a bit odd for the last few days. He usually rings or texts me every day but I've only heard from him once or twice this week and then he's only talked for a couple of minutes and sounded as if he wasn't quite there. You know what I mean? Like as if he's got something else on
his mind—and he's not been round to see me at all.'

Leonora nodded but said nothing, encouraging Jasmine to go on, which after a few more seconds she did. ‘I met him about, I dunno, about five or six months ago, maybe a bit more. He was different to everyone else I hang around with. He's quite a bit older than the kind of guys who usually ask me out. But I quite liked that. He seemed more together, more sophisticated, and he was re ally keen. He asked me to live with him after about a month—and then he said that maybe we ought to wait for a bit longer. He was a bit worried in case I got caught up in his divorce. He said it might get messy and he didn't want me getting mixed up with it. You know, like it wasn't fair.'

Leonora tried very hard to hold her expression in neutral. ‘Did he tell you anything about his wife?' she asked softly.

Jasmine wriggled uncomfortably ‘A bit. I mean, you must know her, must have met her, so you must know what she's like.'

Again Leonora said nothing—it wasn't easy—while behind the silence her heart was screaming. Jasmine, uneasy with the empty air, began to fill it with a flood of words. ‘He told
me he met her while he was working for a theatre company, some computer thing they needed for a show. She's an artist, apparently, and there was a gallery there I think, joined on to the theatre. Anyway, she worked there and they got on quite well, him and her. They went out a few times and then he said he felt a bit of a fool re ally. They'd been seeing each other a couple of months, maybe three, when she told him she was pregnant and, as he said, he's a decent bloke—what could he do? He's a bit old-fashioned that way, so they got married.'

Leonora stared at her. She felt a great rush of pain and raw white heat careering through her like a volley of gunfire. Quietly, struggling to swallow down the bitter taste in her mouth she got to her feet and walked over to the dresser. She could feel Jasmine's wide-eyed gaze following her but Leonora waved her on. ‘Don't mind me,' she said. ‘Carry on.'

‘So I says to him, “Are you saying that the baby wasn't yours?” and he kind of shrugged and said he wasn't saying that. He was saying he re ally had no way of knowing and then he was kind of embarrassed and said that he shouldn't be telling me any of this, that it's not the kind of thing he made a habit of talking
about—and that I wasn't to get him wrong—that his wife is a beautiful, beautiful person but very complicated—artistic, creative, highly strung. You know, a bit unstable at times, and then he laughed and said quite a lot unstable at times. He said he stayed for as long as he could, but it was impossible, like him being there was doing more harm than good—and then I asked him about the kids and he said he sees them as often as he can. Don't get me wrong, he says, she was a great mother, but sometimes him going to pick them up causes more problems than it solves.

‘It must have been hard for him. So, I said he needn't worry about me, I was solid as a rock. My mum and dad are real hard-working people and they taught me to be the same. They bought me and my brother the shop as an investment. OK, so it's hard work but at least I've got a future. We do fruit and veg and I do the flowers.' She grinned and for the first time Leonora caught a glimpse of what it was that Gareth had seen in her and her heart ached.

‘I know I'm not the brightest bulb in the marquee but I came top in my year in Floristry at college and we've got a man to do the books and it's going re ally well. Anyway, Gareth said
when he met his wife she was sharing a house with God knows how many others, mostly artists and musicians and she was well, you know, exciting. Different.'

Jasmine stopped as if she had finally run out of steam. ‘Actually, I've never said this to him but she sounds nice—complicated, I suppose, but interesting. I keep wondering why Gareth would want someone ordinary like me when he can have someone exciting like her.'

Leonora came back to the kitchen table, carrying a large green leather-bound book and set it down amongst the mugs and the breakfast dishes.

Jasmine's face visibly brightened. ‘Oh, what have you got there, baby pictures?' she said, taking a long pull on her tea.

Leonora slid out a chair and sat down. ‘No, actually it's my wedding album,' she said, and opened it up to the first page.

‘Oh, brilliant,' said Jasmine. ‘I like a good wedding, me. I cry like a baby. I dunno what me and Gareth will have. I suppose it'll have to be a registry office do once his divorce comes through, only I'd re ally like a church blessing—you know, for my mum and dad's sake. You
know what parents can be like—my mum'll want to wear a big hat.'

Jasmine moved closer so that she could see the pictures more clearly, and then Leonora heard the breath catch in her throat, saw a hand fly to the girl's mouth.

‘Oh my God,' she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

‘There was no easy way to tell you,' said Leonora gently. ‘But you had to know. I'm so sorry.'

The girl looked at her, her eyes bright with fury but as quickly as it flared it faded, to be replaced with a great wave of panic and then pain. ‘Oh my God,' she said again, tears beginning to trickle down her face. ‘It's me who should be sorry, isn't it? Oh my God, I didn't know, I'd no idea, no idea at all. Do you mind if I have a cigarette? I've been trying to give up but—'

‘It's fine,' said Leonora, waving the words away; Leonora, who had never smoked in her life but who at that moment re ally wished she did. ‘I'll find you a saucer you can use as an ashtray.'

The photo album lay open to the first page and showed a beautiful eight-by-ten shot of the
bride and groom, standing hand in hand at the lich-gate of the parish church in the village where Leonora grew up. She was dressed in a wine-coloured crushed velvet, silk and lace dress, designed by one of her friends from the theatre. The corseted outfit was a romantic homage to a medieval maiden, Leonora looking for all the world like something from a Rossetti painting, her long dark red-gold and brown hair topped by a circlet of twisted twigs and orange blossom. Long buttoned sleeves and tiny pleats emphasised her slender body, while alongside her, Gareth Howard—dressed in a dark green frock coat—looked back at the camera with a broad smile and an air of total self-assurance. They made a very handsome couple.

‘I think I'm going to be sick,' said Jasmine suddenly.

Leonora knew exactly how she felt.

‘God, that was fan-tas-tic,' said Adie, emphasising every syllable as he leaped through the French windows, sword in one hand, Eccles cake in the other, and did a great sweeping stroke with the curved plastic blade through the late afternoon air. ‘Take that and that, you varlet.'

They were all taking a break, and he was right—the afternoon had gone incredibly well so far.

Despite finding herself dragged back down memory lane every few minutes, Carol had managed to persuade Macbeth to kill the king and go nicely mad before they broke for refreshments—all that and she hadn't dropped her script once. It was a personal triumph. The cakes were pretty good too.

They were all sitting around on a wall just outside the French windows that led into the dining room, although Adie couldn't keep still because he was far too excited. So, dressed in his cloak and a nifty little crown affair, he was leaping around, swiping and parrying and lunging forward enthusiastically across the neatly clipped lawn. Carol smiled; he had turned out so gorgeous and so golden brown, it was a shame that he hadn't bothered to grow up at the same time.

‘Take that, you bounder,' Adie snarled at his imaginary aggressor, and then turning to his audience. ‘God, you know I think I was made for swashing and buckling,' he said with genuine delight. Carol laughed. In his efforts to eat and play, Adie, a.k.a. Macduff, had managed to smudge powdered sugar all over his face.

Netty, busy sucking the jam out of a doughnut, laughed. ‘Boys, eh? What can you say?' she snorted, and looked heavenwards. ‘Sit down, Adie, and have your tea, for goodness sake; you'll choke.'

Jan just rolled her eyes.

Gareth, who had been watching him, pulled the sword out of his belt and said, ‘If
Bearman is going to try and put the play up on its feet, we need the practice.' He did a few practice thrusts in Adie's direction, pushing his hair back out of his eyes before leaping forward in a sword fighter's pose, hand up behind him to a round of applause and wild cheering from the lighting crew. He looked wonderful—in fact, they both looked wonderful.

Carol tried hard not to drool. Gareth was a lot thicker-set than Adie, broad-shouldered and taller by a head. He slipped his jacket off and threw it to Carol. As she caught it he did a deep-dipping chivalrous bow and then turned back to face Adie, while the rest of the gang groaned and made vomiting noises.

‘Very nice,' Adie said, eyeing Gareth up as he adopted a fighting stance opposite him.

Gareth laughed. ‘Sorry, Adie. You're just not my type.'

‘Shame,' said Adie, eyes alight with mischief.

‘How about we try and choreograph something for the last scene?' said Gareth as they began to shuffle backwards and forwards, sizing each other up.

Adie nodded and, with a twirl of his sword, said, ‘Great idea. Lay on, Macbeth,' and
instantly pressed forward with a great rangy thrust.

Carol's eyes moved from one face to the other in the gang who were watching them. Netty shrugged and lit up another cigarette ‘Don't look at me. I never did understand men,' she said. ‘You'd think that by our age we'd get it, wouldn't you?'

At the far end of the wall, Fiona—who was in a mood because no one wanted to listen to the story about the time she triumphed in Stratford—wasn't speaking to any of them but was sitting close enough to ensure that nobody missed out on being ignored. Jan was also a little subdued, despite the witches' scenes going like a dream.

Only Diana nodded and said. ‘It does sound like a re ally good idea. Rehearsing will keep them both out of mischief.' She paused, glancing back at the wild swings and thrusts. ‘Probably.'

A little further along the guys playing Duncan and Banquo, who had been drinking tea up until that point, pulled out their swords and leaped over the wall to join Adie and Gareth. It was stunning to see four middle-aged men playing soldiers, complete with whoops
and gasps and a lot of overacting as they parried and thrust and stabbed, every action well larded with sound effects and blood-curdling yells. Five minutes later, and anyone who had a sword, and several who hadn't, had joined in.

Carol laughed, wondering what on earth the lay preachers, who were sharing their weekend at Burbeck—and who at the moment were conspicuous by their absence—must think of the goings-on, at which moment Gareth lunged forward, taking Adie by surprise. Adie, trying to escape, stepped backwards onto the hem of his cloak, staggered, stumbled and then fell over flat on his back in a great ungainly heap on the grass.

‘Bugger,' he snorted, all embarrassed and self-conscious, red-faced and breathing hard, trying to hold on to some last shred of dignity while Gareth reared up over him and mimed a final nasty mortal thrust.

‘Hang on a minute,' protested Adie, struggling to get back to his feet. ‘I'm supposed to kill you, you bastard.'

It took Jasmine quite a while to compose herself. Leonora made them both more tea and gave her a box of tissues as the shock sank in and
tears ran unchecked down her tiny pale face. Owl-eyed and silent, Jasmine watched while Leonora gave Patrick his tea and then fed Maisie. It was almost as if the girl was too tired, too stunned to move or leave or say anything—not that Leonora made any attempt to send her on her way. After all, give or take a detail or two, they were both in the same boat, and somehow, however strange it might be, Leonora found it comforting to have Jasmine there.

‘What the hell am I going to do?' Jasmine said at long last, sniffing miserably. Leonora had settled Patrick in front of his favourite video and had Maisie nestled in the crook of her arm. Awake, but happy to be carried, she curled tight against Leonora's body.

Leonora sighed. She felt very old and tired and was already way, way beyond the place where tears would help. ‘I don't know,' she said softly. ‘But it'll be all right, don't worry.' Even as she said it Leonora realised it was a stupid thing to say. It wouldn't be all right at all. What possible way back was there for any of them?

‘How can you be so calm? He lied to you too,' said Jasmine, in case there was some possibility that Leonora may have missed it. ‘Aren't you angry?'

Leonora shook her head. Anger wasn't her natural ground; she couldn't sustain it for long. But she did feel hurt that someone who once upon a time had said he loved her could behave so very badly. Perhaps anger would be more productive, more useful. ‘I'm re ally hurt that he's betrayed us.'

‘Bastard,' spat Jasmine suddenly. ‘All those bloody lies he told me. All that crap he told me about you—about everything.' Her voice crackled with loss and hurt and fury, and her hand settled protectively onto the little rounded swell of her belly which, if Leonora hadn't known better, could so easily have been puppy fat. ‘How could he do this to me? How could he do this to either of us—to his kids? What a bastard.'

Jasmine's thoughts echoed Leonora's own. ‘I know, but please try not to get too upset. The baby—' she began, but it was too late.

‘I can't believe this is happening,' Jasmine sobbed. ‘My mum and dad are so excited about the baby and so pleased for me. They keep talking about being a grandma and granddad for the first time and about me being settled. What am I going to tell them now? What can I say? How can I explain all this?' Jasmine
looked around, her eyes working over Leonora, the house, Patrick and Maisie. ‘It's like some bloody daytime phone-in programme or a soap opera. How could he do this? How could he?' She squared her shoulders, all outrage and indignation, puffing herself up like a kitten taking on a Rottweiler. ‘We've got to find him; we have got to talk to him.'

Leonora nodded. How very quickly the two of them had become ‘we'.

‘Have you got a car?' asked Leonora, wondering as she did just how much to tell Jasmine about Gareth's whereabouts.

‘Yes. Why?'

‘I do know where he is at the moment,' Leonora said, each word as heavy as lead. ‘But after tomorrow he'll leave there and then he could go anywhere.'

Jasmine visibly brightened. ‘Well, we could go and see him then, sort all this out. I've only got a van at the moment—you know, what with the shop and that it's more convenient than a car. But it's not a problem—I could take you and me…' and she then looked at Maisie and her voice faded. ‘There are only two seats.'

Leonora hesitated, then said, ‘There's no one
to look after the children and I'm still feeding Maisie.'

‘I could go on my own,' Jasmine said quickly. ‘We can't just let him get away with this.'

There was a little weighty silence while Leonora considered the idea. What possible good would Jasmine do on her own? Leonora needed to be there too. They both needed to be there. And then, as if on cue, the phone rang. The two women looked at each other. It rang again, neither of them moved. Maisie stirred, eyes moving left and right, trying to track down the sound.

‘Do you think that's him?' whispered Jasmine, staring at the receiver as if it was a snake.

Leonora shrugged, but she knew that she had to find out. She picked up the receiver and almost immediately a smooth Irish voice, said, ‘Hello, you don't know me but my name is Raf O'Connell. Diana—the woman who organised the Belvedere High School reunion asked me to ring you. She said that you needed a lift down to Burbeck House.'

Leonora felt all the tension ebb out of her shoulders. ‘Diana phoned you?'

‘Yes. That's right. A friend of mine is taking
part in the drama reunion this weekend too—she's playing Lady Macbeth—and Diana mentioned that you needed a lift. She said you'd got little ones. I've got a people carrier—so it won't be a problem if you'd like me to come over and pick you up. I'm going anyway.'

If he'd been there Leonora would have kissed him. ‘Are you sure you don't mind?' she said.

‘Not at all.'

Across the table Jasmine was watching her expectantly. Leonora took a deep breath. Their rescuer needed to know what he was getting himself into.

‘Did Diana explain what was going on?' Leonora asked. ‘I mean, it might not be as simple as a straight lift down there and back.' She didn't like to dwell on what else it might be.

Raf O'Connell sighed. ‘She did tell me a little bit but not much. I can understand that you need to talk to your man. And any help I can be…' He paused to let the offer sink in.

‘Thank you,' whispered Leonora. ‘I just need to get down to Burbeck House. I can't tell you how grateful I am for this.'

‘Don't mention it. Now whereabouts do you
live? I can pick you up first thing tomorrow morning, if you like.'

‘That's wonderful,' said Leonora. She looked across the kitchen; Jasmine was craning forward, hanging on her every word. ‘Before I give you the directions I was wondering if you've got room for another passenger,' Leonora asked.

‘Sure, of course, that's not a problem.' She could hear the warmth in his voice. ‘And I can understand that you're in need of a little moral support. I can't say as I blame you.'

‘Actually it's my husband's girlfriend,' she said, trying hard not to choke on the words.

‘Ah…' said Raf slowly.

‘She's pregnant,' added Leonora softly, as she struggled to keep her tone neutral.

‘Right, well, sounds to me as if you've got enough on your plate without having to worry about the transport side of things,' said the voice at the end of the phone. ‘Don't fret, I'll get you all there safe and sound. It's going to be a rough day for you and her, and an interesting day for your husband, although I can't say I'm overcome with sympathy for your man.'

‘No, me neither,' said Leonora, ‘but I did think you ought to know what you're letting
yourself in for.' She waited for him to bale out and when he didn't she continued, ‘if you've got a pen I'll give you my address, Mr O'Connell.'

‘Call me Raf,' he said.

Back on his feet, all dusted down and with his dignity restored, Adie, followed by Gareth and the rest of the crew, headed back into the hall to continue the last of the day's rehearsal. Carol—whose death would be no more than a nasty scream in act five, scene five, and which had always been done on tour by the boy who worked the curtains, hung back with Diana.

Diana—a woman on a mission—was heading off towards the far end of the hall and when she got there she pulled out yet another enormous cardboard box hidden under a table. Behind the table was a hessian pinboard.

‘What on earth have you got in there?' said Carol in astonishment as Diana struggled to move it. ‘Did you drive down here in a truck?'

Laughing Diana shook her head. ‘No, just the Volvo. I was planning to do a bit of a display on this wall; lots of people have sent me photos and brought things in from the original production. Although I was wondering if maybe I
should wait until tomorrow, you know, until after the disco tonight. I don't want any of the stuff defaced or lost or anything.'

‘You mean nicked?' said Carol, helping her to lift the box up onto the table.

Diana nodded. ‘Well, I didn't like to say that, but you know what people can be like after they've had a few beers. The crew were talking about getting a barrel of bitter up from the pub.'

‘I bet you don't get this with the Brownies,' said Carol, lifting out a pile of photos. ‘How about we get the pictures photocopied—they are bound to have a copier in the office.'

‘Good plan.' Diana started sorting the other things in the box into piles.

Carol picked up a large-scale map and unfolded it.

‘I was thinking we could use that as a centrepiece,' said Diana. ‘It shows all the performances from the original flyer and the side trips we did. I've marked them on, and I've got some little glass pins as well.'

Carol shook the map out and stared at it. ‘I'd forgotten all about these places. Look at this. It was one helluva trek, wasn't it? As kids you tend not to realise. Oh, and all the dates
are on here too. It seemed liked such a huge adventure—can you remember some of those hostels?'