Like One of the Family (51 page)

Claire let herself into the apartment and went to lie down on the narrow divan in her shaded bedroom. After a while she heard Ruthie coming into the apartment. The little girl had suddenly tired of being away from her family and Ignacio, knowing that Claire was returning immediately after the funeral, had agreed to drop her over some time in the late afternoon. Ruthie wandered chattily in and out of her room, but when she got no response from Claire, soon grew bored and went to play with her kitten on the balcony.

Claire felt heavy and drugged as she lay there in the lazy heat of the afternoon. The hours were passing and still she had no energy or desire to get up and get dressed. The radio on the bedside table emitted soft strains of popular music and was strangely hypnotic. It grew dark outside and she struggled up to open a tin of spaghetti for Ruthie, and when she eventually went back to bed she slept at once.

The days and nights were running into each other and still Claire dozed away the hours. She dreamed that she and Elena were both in wheelchairs, being pushed down a corridor by nurses. Claire was holding Elena's hand and she felt very happy. And then the nurse who was steering Elena suddenly quickened her steps and Elena's hand was wrenched from Claire's grasp and contact cruelly broken. Claire began to weep piteously and her own choking sobs awoke her.

Claire lay shuddering, still in the grip of her dream. And then it seemed as though Elena was speaking directly to her and telling her how glad she was to be rid of her sickly body. ‘I am so happy to be out of it,' she was saying. ‘If you could only know what it's like you would be rejoicing too, dear Claire. Please don't grieve anymore for me for I am free at last.'

Claire felt amazingly soothed and scraps of conversation she had once had with Elena replayed in her mind. Elena had said just before she died that Fernando was in love with her. If he really did love her, Claire thought, maybe it was the way out of her present trouble. He was a kind and caring man and would make her happy. At the same time she felt a fastidious aversion to marrying someone under false pretences.

The telephone rang suddenly, sounding harsh and discordant in the lazy hush of the afternoon. It had rung on and off that day, but in her lethargic state Claire had let it ring. Now she struggled off the bed and padded into the lounge.

`Claire!' It was Sheena's voice, terse and nervously high. ‘Where have you been? I've been ringing and ringing and getting no answer.'

Claire swayed on her feet, the sudden exertion making her dizzy. She tried to think clearly. ‘Where are you, Sheena?'

‘I... I'm not sure...' Sheena sounded, hurried and scared, not at all like her usual bubbly self. ‘We left Gibraltar yesterday and drove for miles. I think we're heading back to Nerja.'

‘Don't you know?' Claire asked.

‘I've got to go.' Now there was no mistaking the terror in Sheena's voice. ‘I'll ring you again.'

‘But Shee...' The line went dead.

Claire stared at the phone. She heard a sound behind her and turned round. Ruthie stood in the doorway, the kitten clasped in her arms.

‘That was Sheena, wasn't it?' There was fear and doubt on the little girl's face.

Claire nodded.

`'Is she all right?'

‘Yes, of course.' Claire forced herself to nod and speak cheerfully. ‘She rang to say she's staying away a little longer.'

Some of the anxiety left Ruthie's expression. ‘I miss her,' she said forlornly. ‘I really miss her.'

Claire stared at her helplessly. ‘Why don't we go down to the beach,' she suggested, and was glad to see Ruthie's face brighten. ‘Give me time to shower.'

The shower helped to clear Claire's thoughts. She should have rung Jane days ago and now there was no time to waste. Clearly Sheena was in some kind of trouble and the sooner she was found the better. Claire had a sudden vision of herself and Jane searching the roads the summer of Ruthie's attack, and felt a shiver of apprehension

Sheena replaced the receiver and faced Miguel with a frightened expression. She exhibited none of her usual bravado as he hustled her out of the shop. Her face showed traces of recent tears and there was a cut on her cheek where his ring had struck her.

‘Why do you keep slipping away like this?' he demanded petulantly. ‘I told you I would return immediately.'

Miguel guarded her as closely as a gaoler, but she had taken her chance when it came and slipped out, using her last few coins to ring Claire. Now they went back up the street, closely linked. The sun had burned Sheena's face and arms the colour of dark honey and with her black hair and brown eyes, she and Miguel could have been taken for a Spaniard too.

Once back inside the building Miguel dropped his lover-like pose and shoved her before him into the room. Sheena staggered and turned to look at him, as he went out again, locking the door behind him. She sat down on the unmade bed and stared tearfully at the small window set high in the wall, golden beams of sunshine spilling through it. Her cage, she thought dully. She felt hunger rumble in her stomach and despaired of Miguel remembering to bring her anything to eat. Since he had taken to locking her in, she never knew when her next meal would be. She stretched out on the rumpled bed and, after a while, fell asleep.

Sheena was awakened by the sound of the key in the lock and sat up, feeling hot and parched. The sun had moved round from the window and the room was no longer bathed in light. It was a minute before she saw that Miguel was not on his own. He had a young man with him.

Sheena swung her legs off the bed and got up. She felt dizzy from heat and lack of food. She saw that Miguel carried a bottle and welcomed the thought of a drink, although she knew she would only feel thirstier after the cheap wine. She wondered vaguely about his companion.

Miguel was very hearty, talking rapidly in Spanish and laughing a lot. It was clear he had been drinking. Sheena accepted the glass he gave her and sipped thirstily. He made a great ceremony of filling another glass and giving it to the young Spaniard.

‘Feliz cumpleaños
,' he toasted him.

Sheena moved to make room as Miguel sat down on the bed.

‘Me permite usted?'
the boy asked, for he was no more than that, and sat at her other side.

Miguel filled their glasses again and left down the bottle. Before Sheena realised his intention he was gone out of the door, leaving her alone with the young Spaniard.

The boy looked at her then glanced shyly away. Conscious of her dishevelled appearance, Sheena ran her hands through her tangled mop and bit her lips to give them colour. They sat sipping the wine and not looking at each other. She asked him his name and his age in her schoolgirl Spanish, having gathered from Miguel's drunken toast that it was his birthday. It was evident that Pablo knew no English.

‘If you could have three wishes what would you ask for? No, don't tell me. Let me guess.' The wine after days of starvation was affecting Sheena strangely. She smiled and joked a lot, an edge of hysteria to her laughter. She was unaware she was speaking all the time now in English and that Pablo, though he laughed along with her, showed no sign of understanding.

They made love. In a way there was comfort in his smooth young flesh, his arms holding her close. When he admitted that it was his first time Sheena felt old beyond her years, vaguely sad too as she gently initiated him in the act of love. How long ago it seemed that she was young and free herself.

It was almost before it was begun, and he rolled away from her and stood up, modestly tugging down his shirt to cover his lean buttocks. Sheena struggled forward on to her knees and watched him reaching for his trousers. Maybe through him she could get word of her predicament to the others. She grew dizzy with hope.

‘Do you have paper.. a pencil?' Sheena began rummaging through the pockets of the boy's jacket and finding nothing, took the trousers out of his hands and hurriedly searched it too. After a moment's hesitation, the young Spaniard took a couple of crumpled notes from his shirt pocket and slowly held them out to her.

Sheena flushed hot with shame and despair. He thought she was looking for payment. With an inarticulate cry she turned away from him and threw herself sobbing on the bed. Through her tears she heard the sound of the door closing and she cried all the harder, with a bitter strength that drained her emotionally and left her exhausted, weeping for the loss of her self respect as much as her predicament.

Some time later Sheena was wakened out of a doze by the sound of murmuring voices. Her head ached from the cheap wine and her throat was dry. She sat up in bed, holding the sheet against her, and looked towards the door. Perhaps Pablo had understood after all and was coming back to help her?

She waited, her heart thumping hopefully as the door swung open. Then hope was replaced by fear as Sheena saw the two men coming towards her out of the gloom. As the door gently closed again and she heard the key turning in the lock, she suddenly understood the full significance of Miguel bringing the young Spaniard to her room earlier.

Terry spent the afternoon engaged in low tactical flying but his performance fell far below what it should have been for such precise and delicate manoeuvring.

In the early hours of the morning he had woken up out of the ‘bad dream' covered in sweat and with his heart pounding painfully. This time Sheena was reproaching him for not coming to help her. ‘I counted on you,' she kept saying. ‘Now it's too late.' Sweat was running down her face. He tried to reassure her but she turned her face away from him and lay so still he thought she was dead. He had woken up, feeling convinced that there was something terribly wrong.

Terry was so taken up with his gloomy thoughts that he almost turned the Dauphin right into some huge power lines. His instructor tapped him warningly on the arm. ‘Another booboo like that, McArdle, and you'll fry us.'

Terry felt his chest constrict at the near miss. He turned abruptly away and found himself heading into the forest.

The instructor took control and gently turned them away from the trees.

Terry felt shaken and ashamed. ‘Sorry. I've got it now.'

‘I hope so. This is infant's stuff after that bloody good mountain rescue you did the other night. Keep your mind on the job, McArdle, and stop thinking of your girlfriend.'

The mountain rescue had been spectacular. It would have been tricky enough in daylight, but at night with wind bouncing off the cliff-face the operation had been really hazardous. Terry had kept his nerve and the ship steady and afterwards the rescued climbers, two teenage girls, had thanked him effusively, tears streaming down their faces. ‘Any time,' Terry had told them with an embarrassed grin, “Go Mairidis Beo!” It was the Helicopter Squadron's motto - That Others May Live. At the same time he had been mighty pleased with himself, knowing how good the report would look on his record and might even earn him a citation for distinguished service. Remembering, he grimaced at the cretinous way he was behaving now.

With an effort, Terry put his anxieties about his twin out of his mind until they had landed and gone through the debriefing procedure. He was only minutes back on board ship when he was summoned to the telephone.

‘Call for you, McArdle,' the radio officer told him. ‘You can take it in here.'

‘Terry, I've just had a ring from Claire....' Jane sounded tense and anxious over the wire and what she had to say only confirmed Terry's own belief that Sheena was in some kind of trouble.

‘Terry, this is the strange part,' Jane went on worriedly, ‘Claire says that Sheena has been gone over a week.'

Terry was taken aback. ‘But why didn't Claire contact you earlier?' he demanded, thinking that it didn't sound at all like her. She was usually so conscientious. ‘I would have thought she would be on to you at once.'

‘So would I, but it appears she was away herself for few days - Elena Gonzalez has been very ill and died recently. Claire was with the family at the time.'

With that smooth Spaniard, Terry thought jealously.

‘‘I can't leave the clinic for at least another week,' Jane was saying. ‘I really don't know what to do.' She sounded tired and harassed.

‘Perhaps I could get leave,' Terry suggested.

‘That would be great.' Jane sounded relieved. ‘Let me know and I'll book your ticket.'

When Terry approached his CO and presented his case, he found him sympathetic. ‘Your mother is a widow and she needs you. Very well, McArdle. Normally we don't like the training programme interrupted, but in view of the circumstances you may take a week's compassionate leave.'

‘Thank you very much, sir.' Terry saluted and wheeled about. An hour later his bag was packed and he was waiting at the station for a train to take him to Dublin. He felt a sudden glow of excitement at the prospect of going to Spain, and even his anxiety about Sheena dimmed at the thought of seeing Claire again.

Claire sat on the hard, damp sand near the water's edge, watching Ruthie paddling in the sea. At first she had been conscious of great relief at having telephoned Jane and passed on the burden, but as the afternoon wore on, her relief quickly turned to anxiety and guilt that she had not stood by her friend as she should have.

‘Come into the water,' Ruthie cried, interrupting her melancholy thoughts. ‘It's lovely and cool.'

Claire obediently joined her in the sea. Since her figure had grown fuller she was conscious of how skimpy and revealing her swimsuit was and had got into the habit of wearing a T-shirt instead. Floating lazily on her back she felt cool at last. She squinted up at the hot blue heavens then let her eyes wander to the women and children resting under the canvas awnings, and higher again to where the boats were drawn up on the beach. Perhaps Fernando he could help find Sheena. She knew that he had returned from leaving his brother back to his military academy in Cadiz because he had called to the apartment the previous evening with a sheaf of roses for her. Ruthie had woken her and she had gone out sleepily to speak to him. He had not stayed long, having only come, he said, to thank her for all she had done for Elena.