Winds of Change (3 page)

She came here sometimes for a bit of peace, snatching a few minutes to sit in the cool shade of a huge Moreton Bay fig tree.

Lou watched the woman walking towards him, thinking how sad she looked. He'd seen her a few times before and she never looked happy. Harried, yes, upset, yes, but never, ever happy. That intrigued him. Since he'd come out of hospital he'd been confined to a damned wheelchair, with only the short range of an electric mobility scooter when he went out.

He was a lot better now, though, and was planning how to reorganize his life to cope with his new disability. In the meantime he came here most days just to get out of his flat. He could only sit and watch others, for lack of energy to do more, but that was better than watching the wall. You could only spend so much time on a computer, after all.

The woman sat down on an empty bench, and brushed back her fair hair impatiently as she stared across the murky water of the small lake at the two black swans sailing majestically past.

When she wiped away a tear, he could bear it no longer. She was such a tiny, slender creature, surely not more than five foot tall, and had a vulnerable air. He moved his chair forward, stopping beside her bench. ‘Lovely, aren't they?'

She jumped in shock as he spoke, but no one was afraid of a man on a mobility scooter, and he watched her relax a little.

‘I've seen you here before,' he offered, hoping for some conversation.

‘I've seen you too. Just in the past few weeks. Have you recently moved to the area?'

‘Yes.' He held out one hand. ‘I'm Lou Rayne.'

‘Miranda Fox.'

‘Great name.'

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Do you really like it?'

‘I wouldn't say so if I didn't.'

‘My family call me Minnie. I hate that.'

‘Tell 'em not to.'

‘They refuse to change.'

Perhaps they were the ones who were putting the deep sadness into her face. ‘I can't resist asking: do you come here often?'

She smiled. ‘Yes. I love to watch the birds. And it's so peaceful.'

He moved his scooter slightly so that he was facing both her and the water. ‘You live in that big house on the corner a couple of streets away, don't you? I've seen you go in. I love the wrap-around verandas. They built much prettier houses a hundred years ago.'

‘It's not quite that old. It was built for my father and his first wife. He died yesterday, so I have to move out soon.'

‘I'm sorry. Both about your father and you having to leave.'

‘He was ninety-four and ready to go. I always knew I'd be leaving after he died. I've a half-sister and brother to share the inheritance with, you see.'

‘Chucking you out to sell it, are they?'

‘I wouldn't want to stay. The house is far too big for one person and the past few years haven't been easy, so the place doesn't hold very good memories for me. I'm looking forward to buying my own home. Where do you live?'

‘In that block of flats custom built for people with disabilities. Ugly place. The architect should be shot, and the sooner the better before he inflicts any other monstrosities on the world.'

‘Why did you move there, then?'

‘I was between houses when I fell ill. My niece bought the flat for me when I was in hospital. I wasn't in a state to protest at the time. It was touch and go whether I'd recover.'

‘But fortunately you did.' She stood up. ‘I'd better get back, I suppose.'

‘I'll keep you company as you walk, if you don't mind. I haven't heard a human voice all day.'

‘I don't mind at all. Would you like to come in for a coffee? We can sit on the veranda and— Oh! There are steps.'

‘I can manage steps if I take them slowly. I just can't walk far. That's why I have my trusty steed.' He patted the scooter affectionately.

Miranda set off, matching her pace to his. Impossible to be nervous of being alone with this man, not because he had some sort of disability, but because he had a friendly, open face – cheeky even, for all his hair was silver and very thin on top.

There was a book in the basket at the front of the scooter and she studied the title. ‘Dean Koontz. Do you like horror stories?'

He grinned, a surprisingly boyish grin for a man who must be at least ten years older than her. She couldn't help smiling back.

‘I love 'em,' he said. ‘Silly, I know.'

‘I couldn't sleep if I'd read something that frightened me.'

‘They don't frighten me. Most of them amuse me, though this chap writes better stories than most. I don't sleep much anyway, so it doesn't matter.'

He said that matter-of-factly, not in a self-pitying or angry tone. Her father had been very angry after his stroke and had let the whole world, which mainly meant her, know it.

She watched Lou climb painfully up the veranda steps, then settle in the big, upright chair her father had used. She went inside to make the coffee, bringing out a home-made cake as well. It was gratifying that he ate two large pieces.

‘I've not eaten anything as delicious for months!' he said as he pushed his plate away.

‘I can wrap you up a piece to take home.'

‘Yes, please!'

They didn't talk much or if they did, she didn't remember what they'd said. But time passed pleasantly and she was sorry when he said he'd have to get back.

‘I'm afraid I need a rest now.'

‘It must be hard coping on your own.'

He shrugged. ‘You get used to it. I have a carer come in every day to help me shower, and a cleaner three times a week. My niece brings me food, or I have it delivered.'

‘I'll walk back with you. I need something for tea from the deli.' She'd thought she wasn't hungry but now realized she was.

They stopped outside his block of flats and he scowled at it. ‘Ghastly, isn't it?'

‘More like an egg box. Did you have a stroke?' Miranda felt herself flushing. ‘Sorry. None of my business.'

‘It's cancer of the spine that's put me in a wheelchair. I had a minor heart attack and while I was in hospital they found the cancer. They operated a couple of times and now they've given up on me. I've got about six months to live.'

‘Oh, Lou, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have asked.'

‘I don't mind you asking. And I'm sorry too. I'd wanted to slay a few more dragons before I shuffled off this mortal coil. As soon as I've sorted a few things out, I'm moving into a house more to my taste, whatever my bossy niece says. These flats are designed for disabled people, with lifts, wooden floors and wide doorways, but they're pokey places and the building echoes like a damned cave. It drives me crazy.'

‘Your niece is probably trying to do her best for you.'

‘She doesn't listen to me, just tells me what I want.'

‘I can relate to that. Family can be . . . difficult!'

‘Tell me about it. Your brother sounds a real control freak.'

‘He is. And he's always so sure he's right. I can't wait to get a place of my own, I must admit.'

When she got back, she found she'd left the front door unlocked and got angry with herself for being so careless. Picking up the weekend papers, she took the property pages into the kitchen and indulged in some research and daydreaming as she ate a simple meal.

Nikki listened to her mother's parting instructions and waved goodbye from the window as the taxi pulled away from their smart town house. Not that her mother bothered to look up at her, she never did, was too busy rushing somewhere.

Rain was beating against the windows as she went to sit down, feeling wobbly. She'd been sick that morning, but had managed to hide it from her mother.

Two hours afterwards she woke, so late for school that she didn't even bother getting ready. She was feeling better so she had something to eat then worked on revision for a coming test.

When the doorbell rang she peered through the little spyhole. Her heart sank at the sight of Tim standing there, hunched up in a hooded anorak. She made no attempt to open the door, willing him to go away. But he didn't.

He rang again, then called out, ‘I know you're in there, Nikki, because there's nowhere else you could be in weather like this.'

The bell rang again and again, until in the end she flung the front door open and yelled, ‘Come in, why don't you? How lovely to see you. Not.'

She ran through into the living room, terrified of throwing herself into his arms, but he followed and pulled her close. She struggled half-heartedly for a minute or two, then gave into temptation and sagged against him, doing what she'd promised herself not to: bursting into tears.

He rocked her and made soothing sounds until the sobs stopped.

With her arms laced around his waist, she looked up at him. His face was bony and boyish still, but he'd be quite good-looking once he filled out a little. ‘Sorry, Tim. I didn't mean to do that to you.'

‘Doesn't matter. Come and sit down. You look terrible.'

She led him through to the kitchen. ‘I'll have a cup of peppermint tea. Can't stand coffee just now.'

‘So it's true.'

She closed her eyes, furious at herself for blurting that out, when she'd tried so hard to keep her news from him. She opened her eyes to find him gazing at her so seriously that for a moment he looked just like his father. Not that she minded that. Everyone should have a father like Mr Heyter. ‘How did you find out?'

‘I met your mother in town yesterday and she stopped me to say she thought it pretty bad of me to abandon you at a time like this, when we'd been an item for so long. When I said I didn't know what she meant, because
you
had dumped me, she looked surprised. She told me you're having a baby. Is that true?'

‘Mmm.'

‘It's got to be mine. You've not been with anyone else for over a year.'

She turned her back on him, not knowing what to say.

‘Nikki, why didn't you tell me?'

‘Because it was me who was careless, not you, so why should you be lumbered with a child? And because I don't know what I want to do. I need to work things out – only I can't seem to think straight.' She began to cry again and when he put his arm round her shoulders, she leaned against him with a tired sigh, not even aware they were moving across the room till he spoke.

‘Sit down, Nikki. Peppermint tea, you said?'

He made two cups and came to sit across the coffee table from her this time, not beside her like he usually did. ‘It doesn't matter who was careless. If it's my child, it's my responsibility too. What does your mother think?'

‘She wants me to have an abortion as soon as she gets back from Australia. Grandfather's just died and she's gone to the funeral.' She peeped at him over her cup and saw him go very still.

‘Do you want to do that, have an abortion, I mean?'

She took a sip, then another. When she looked up, he was still waiting. ‘I don't think so.'

Then he was the one who cried, silent tears that he tried to wipe away.

‘I don't want you to kill our child, Nikki. Promise me you won't do that.
Promise.
'

‘If I have it, I won't be able to go to university. If you and I raise it together, neither of us will be able to get a degree, or not for years and years. That seems stupid.'

He was silent for a minute or two, then gave her a wry smile. ‘I can't imagine you with a baby.'

She couldn't help smiling back. ‘Like, you're an expert on them.'

‘I've never even held one.'

They looked at one another.

‘It's scary.' Her voice wobbled.

‘I know. But don't do anything without me, Nikki love, especially not something so irrevocable.'

He moved across to sit beside her and she cuddled up to him with a sigh of relief.

His breath was warm on her cheek. ‘Are we back together?'

‘I suppose.'

‘Aren't you sure?'

‘It's Mum. You know what she's like. She says she's not having a baby here and I've got to have an abortion or get out. And . . . well, when she sets her mind to something, when she gets
that look
on her face, she's like, Bulldozers R Us. I've never been able to stand up to her.'

‘You've never been responsible for a baby's life before, either.'

She shivered.

‘Besides, you won't be alone. I'll be facing her with you.'

She didn't say it, because she appreciated the offer, but as if that'd make a difference to her mother!

The following morning Miranda felt at a loose end. Sebastian had instructed her to leave all the funeral arrangements to him and had already decreed whom they'd invite – just the family, a couple of long-term acquaintances and the lawyer, since all Father's friends were long dead. They'd gather at Sebastian's house for refreshments and the reading of the will afterwards.

There were one or two other people she'd have liked to invite, such as the community nurse who'd visited often and always cheered both her father and her up, but when she raised the idea tentatively, her brother was so sharply scornful she backed off. Again. She told herself she was saving her energy for a struggle that mattered, but knew she was being cowardly.

She was ashamed of how she still gave in to him and let him bully her, most ashamed of all that he still had the power to frighten her. ‘I'll do what I want in my own home at least,' she told the empty house and went to fetch some big rubbish bags. There were things she wanted to keep that were no business of the others, like photos of herself and her mother, so she'd make a start.

In the dining room she threw open the window to let in some of the fresh air her father had hated since he grew frail. When she took out the family photo albums, she couldn't resist leafing through them. Photos of her mother, who looked so young because she'd never had the chance to grow old, photos of herself as a child. These could be of no possible value
to the estate
.