Redemption Song (37 page)

Saffron almost leapt with joy. Hope. ‘So your dad’s in touch with Joe?’

‘Not exactly.’ Ceri pulled a face. ‘Not at all. Hasn’t heard a peep. But he says Joe’s all right. And if Dad says he’s all right, then he must be.’

‘But he’s not here. He’s not here.’ Saffron punched at her forehead and howled. She was too late. It was over.

‘Only two days?’ Rain tried to hide her disappointment. It was so wonderful to have Saff home, nothing was going to get in the way of her enjoyment. Nothing. They sat at the kitchen table, cradling steaming mugs of hot chocolate, a plate of biscuits between them.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. It’s a flying visit, but the job’s unrelenting and I’ve not long started this one.’ Saffron leaned across the table and squeezed Rain’s hand.

‘Still enjoying it, though?’ Rain said.

‘Sure am. It’s hard work, but I knew that already, and doing Foundation 1 a second time means I have an advantage over many of the other students.’ She laughed. ‘It’s amazing how quickly it all came back. It’s what I was put on this earth to do.’

Was this small nod to Rain’s faith deliberate? Rain neither knew nor cared. It was lovely that her daughter could acknowledge her beliefs, even if she couldn’t share them.

It was clear Saff was content in her work, but Rain could see that she’d been crying. She was even paler than usual, her eyes were red, and it was more than the long hospital hours and interrupted sleep. Rain thought of Joe and then, in rapid succession, Eifion.

How he warmed her. God’s love was wonderful and beautiful, but life was richer with Eifion around. For a while, it had been a bit odd going out with Eifion. He was such a different animal to Stephen. Perhaps this helped? Who knew, and it didn’t matter. At first, they’d kept it ever so casual, but here they were, months later, and Rain’s feelings ran deeper than friendship and she suspected Eifion felt the same. Like Jesus, she would always love Stephen – for the life they’d led together, the future they’d built, the children they’d raised, but she allowed herself to be angry with him too, to remember his weaknesses, as well as his strengths. He was only human, after all. And she no longer had any regrets.

‘And what of friends? Have you met any others since starting at Wrexham?’ Rain asked.

Saff snorted. ‘Do you mean friends or boyfriends, Mum?’

‘Oh, I know it’s not possible to get over someone that quickly, I just meant …’ What did she mean? She had no idea. Eifion had told her that Joe had gone to London to search for Saff, and Rain knew he would never find her. She wasn’t there. She’d returned to her training here in Wales, but she’d sworn Rain to secrecy. No one else knew where she was.

Saffron smiled, a cheeky glint in her eye. ‘What I’d like to know is how things are going for you?’

‘Wonderful, wonderful. Church is hectic at the mo – of course – Christmas swiftly approaches and all that. Miss Shawcroft pops in regularly, Mr Roberts is still a pain in the arse –’

‘Not that stuff. Eif?’

Rain felt herself blushing. ‘It’s good.’

‘You really like him.’

‘Is that OK?’ Rain’s chest tightened.

‘Are you kidding? Of course it’s OK. It’s more than OK. At least one of us deserves happiness.’

‘Is it too early for wine?’

Saffron glanced over at the clock. ‘Nah.’

‘We could have a glass while we dress the tree. And I know it’s a bit early for decorations but I fancy some sparkle about the place!’

Chapter Thirty-six

Saffron half expected it to have snowed overnight. The floorboards were icy against her bare feet when she swung out of bed and yet the air felt a degree or two warmer than it had the night before. She flung open the window, shivered, and gazed over the fields, now empty of crops, the brown earth hardened in regular furrows. To her left was the chapel, the frost-shiny slates of the new roof caught her attention. For a moment, he was there, sitting on the ridge, as he’d been that day when they’d watched each other, spellbound. A gust of wind startled her and when she looked again, he was gone. A bird fluttered from the manse eaves to her right. Then another and another. Or was it a bird? It moved so quickly. She remembered Joe’s words after the fire: ‘The bats will take their young to a new home. A cave, a roof, a loft.’ It wasn’t fully light; a bronze sheen glazed the countryside. Even in her despair, she registered how beautiful it was. But the fields weren’t what she’d yearned for. She’d hungered for the sea. And Joe.

The house was quiet; Rain still slept after an evening of wrestling the silver tree from the cellar, untangling fairy lights, and rethreading baubles. They’d talked and drank into the small hours. Saffron picked clothes from the case on the floor. In the bathroom she splashed her face and brushed her teeth. After a mug of instant coffee, she wrapped up and headed to the beach.

Too early for the shops to open, there were few people around. Saffron was grateful. She looked forward to seeing familiar faces, but right now she needed to be alone, with her thoughts and her memories. Litter skittered along the promenade in front of her – a polystyrene burger box and a couple of crisp packets – no doubt pulled from an overfull bin by an enterprising gull. The tide was in and there was no beach to amble along. She leant against the railings, gripped the cold metal, and watched sea foam blowing into the sky. To the east was the pier, the charred remains of the ballroom skeletal against the pink sky. It appeared ghostly but, like a phoenix, the ballroom would rise again. It would breathe with new life, be beautiful and enjoyed once more. Drawn to it, she headed east.

Everything was closed. Shutters blinded the little huts, the lights of the Wurlitzer and merry-go-round were dull, their carriages shrouded with plastic covers. It looked tawdry and shabby, its magic gone, like a theatre set without the lights and music and expectation of the crowd. Her footsteps echoed on the boards as she headed towards the ballroom. Looking at it now it was hard to believe it could be repaired. Yellow tape sectioned off the area, a loose end flapped in the breeze, slapping against the morning air. A bird – not a gull, too small – flew out of a window, and Saffron wondered if the bats had come back after all. If they’d found another roost, if the young had flown the maternal nest, had found their own place in which to hibernate for the harsh months ahead, if they were fit and strong enough to survive till the spring when they would re-emerge and thrive.

She lifted the tape and crouched. A moment’s hesitation and then under she went. She crept towards the ballroom entrance, testing each board before she put her weight on it.

‘Be careful. It’s dangerous.’

She stopped, but couldn’t turn round.

‘It’s ugly now, but with care it’ll be beautiful.’

‘It looks ruined.’

‘Nothing’s ever ruined.’

Slowly, she turned to face him. Joe. Marcus.

He appeared unchanged, the same beautiful, extraordinary eyes of different colours, the dark hair, weightier on top, the square shoulders and broad chest. The same gentle, open expression she remembered after they’d made love for the first time on the living room floor of the cottage. Gazing at him, wondering why he was here, thinking on what she had to say and knowing that he might reject her, that it might be the last time she looked upon his face, was almost more than she could bear.

What’s in a name?

‘Some things are worth risking everything for,’ she said, sweeping a strand of hair from her face.

‘Sometimes we get it wrong.’ His lips were pale; she detected a tremble.

Does he mean me?

‘I’m sorry, Saffron. You deserved better.’

‘You deserved better too. Running away was pathetic.’ She shrugged, though her voice shook. ‘It’s a habit, I’m afraid.’ The wind threw her words out to sea. She went to repeat the words, shout them out. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

There was a creaking, a splintering, and a sensation of the ground moving beneath her, melting away and then, with one sharp jolt, disappearing altogether. Time did not slow down as everyone says it does, it happened in a blink. One moment she was standing, staring into the face of the man she loved more than anything else in the world, the next, the world was tumbling, her legs dangling beneath her, kicking against the empty air, arms above her head, shoulders almost wrenched from their sockets.

She clung on with her fingers. Knowing she should not, but unable to stop herself, she looked down. A swirling, shifting mass of grey water slapped up against the steel girders which bore the weight of the pier. The waves carried the shattered boards up and down on the swell. Sea spray hit her exposed ankles and cheeks like needles. She pressed her fingers harder, her fingernails digging into the wood, and tried to heave herself up. Her upper arm muscles trembled; she groaned with exertion. No good, she fell back down, elbows locking, her frozen, damp fingers losing purchase.

Is this it? Am I to fall into the angry, cold sea, be swallowed up with the weed and shingle and foam? Bounce off the iron girders, bones shattered? I want to live. Really live.

‘Saffron!’

She felt a hand grip her wrist, firm. She looked up: Joe, crouching, his other arm outstretched. She felt the weakened boards groan under the pressure of the extra weight.

‘Be careful,’ she screamed. ‘You can’t save me if you fall in.’

‘Grab hold,’ he yelled.

Terrified if she did not, she would fall; terrified if she did, she might pull him into the water with her, she hesitated.

‘Do it!’ he screamed, his voice laced with authority.

She took hold of his hand and he hefted, pulling, pulling her upwards. As she emerged above the parapet of the pier floor, he let go of her wrist and wrapped his hand under her armpit, heaving, tugging, pulling her over the charred boards and into the safety of his embrace.

Kneeling, they held on to each other, tight, as if they might never let go, before eventually loosening their hold and peering over the edge to the raging waters below.

‘Let’s get off the pier. We’ll be in so much trouble if anyone catches us,’ he said, at last. He stood and offered his hand once more. Grateful, her strength vanished, she took it, allowing him to lead her across the damaged floor to safety.

Back on the safe section of the pier, he let go of her hand and stopped.

‘Thank you. For rescuing me, yet again,’ she said, staring into his eyes, pressing her thumbs against the raw skin of her palms.

He loves me, doesn’t he? He’s risked so much. Right from the start, he jeopardised everything for me.

He smiled, soft lines fanning from eyes of green and brown. ‘I’ve a feeling that will be the last time anyone rescues you. I think you’re more than capable of saving yourself. You always have been; you’ve just not known it for a while.’

Huddled against each other, battened into their coats, they sat on the bench outside Eifion’s rock shop, arms entwined, and Joe told her his story. She sat silent, shocked, and saddened by what he’d had to endure. She’d been angry with him for lying to her, thought he was crazy to lie to the police, especially for a woman like Allegra. But above all she admired him. For accepting responsibility and his punishment, for learning from the experience and trying to be a better man. For caring about old buildings and bats. For being kind to her mother and Eifion. For loving her, with all her faults. There was so much to say that Saffron didn’t know where to begin, and she didn’t know if any of it needing saying after all. She loved him. He loved her. Nothing was insurmountable. It felt so good to be honest; one hundred per cent honest with each other.

‘Do I call you Joe or Marcus?’

‘Joe. Always Joe. Marcus was another person.’

‘How did you know I was here?’ Saffron said.

‘Eifion texted me. He’d called many times before, but I’d not returned any of them. I didn’t want to be reminded of Coed Mawr, you …’

Ceri. She’d told her dad that Saffron was back. Joe must have driven through the night.

‘What about your career? Medicine?’ said Joe. ‘Isn’t that in London?’

‘I’ve been here …’ She saw the confusion in his eyes. ‘Near here. I figured if you did look for me, you’d start in London, so I … You’re good at hiding, you know all the tricks. I took a foundation post in Wrexham, it was easy to switch. I’m going to specialise in health care for the elderly. And once I’ve completed my foundation years, I’ll stay somewhere close – there are loads of places.’ She glanced over to the seafront, the candy-coloured guest houses, care homes, and hotels framing the bay. She thought of Mair and Rain’s motley crew of chapelgoers. ‘I love it here and there are plenty of old folk. The young all leave.’

He cupped his hand at the back of her neck and drew her to him. Words blew against her lips, filling her lungs, her heart, a kiss of life. ‘Grow old, here, with me?’

‘Sure.’ She smiled and gazed towards the ballroom, the easterly wind unable to cool the warmth within her. She imagined exhibitions and events, Joe’s art, music, choirs, and dancers bathed in a golden light from coloured glass panels in the domed roof, sunlight reflected off the myriad mirrors adorning the walls. ‘But let’s do a lot of living first.’

Hands linked, they ran down the deserted pier towards the light of the town.

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