Chapter Nine

‘How is he?’ Andrea asked when David came into the lounge, after several failed attempts to communicate with his son through the closed door.

‘Still in his room.’ David ran his hand over his neck, looking exasperated. ‘Won’t come out. Won’t let me in.’

Ryan glanced up from The Simpsons on TV. ‘Do you want me to have a go?’ he asked. ‘See if I can get him to talk?’

David glanced at him. Hopefully, Andrea noticed. Also noticing how totally exhausted the man looked. As if he hadn’t slept properly in months. Yes, and given what he’d just confided, he possibly didn’t deserve to.

The man had obviously been with someone else. That’s what Jake’s anger was all about. But then, as unpalatable as it seemed, it was hardly a hanging offence, Andrea supposed. And, as much as some background information might be helpful in regard to Jake, the details really were none of her business. Andrea cautioned herself not to poke her nose in where it wasn’t wanted and turned her attention away from David, who seemed to look more dejected by the second, to Ryan. ‘Do you think he might talk to you?’

‘Dunno. Might. I could offer to take him into town now, if you like, rather than later? Do man stuff, you know?’

‘Boy stuff, you mean,’ Sophie muttered, from where she sat curled up in the armchair, fiddling idly with her hair.

‘Thanks, Ryan.’ David smiled, visibly relieved. ‘That’d be great.’

‘’S’no big deal,’ Ryan said as if it were indeed no big deal, which of course it was. Trawling the town centre with a ‘kid’ in tow could seriously curtail Ryan’s ‘pulling’ power. Not that Andrea had seen much evidence his pulling endeavours had succeeded thus far.

‘’Course, I might need some dosh,’ Ryan suggested nonchalantly as he got to his feet.

‘No problem. How much?’ David asked, reaching into his pocket before Andrea had time to protest.

Ryan shrugged his shoulders under his ‘Undercover Genius’ T-shirt. ‘Dunno. Thought we might get a PlayStation game appropriate to his age.’ He eyed David interestedly.

‘Get a couple.’ David plucked at least fifty pounds in notes from his wallet.

Ryan held out his hand, delighted. ‘Cool.’

‘No wait.’ David stuffed the notes back. Ryan looked less delighted.

‘Take my card.’ David handed Ryan a bank card instead. ‘Get whatever you need from the cash machine. You’ll need a change of clothes, while you’re there.’

‘Stunning.’ Ryan nodded approvingly. ‘Do I get the number?’

‘1515. Memorise it and then eat it.’

Andrea opened her mouth to say something when David stopped her.

‘Not conscience money,’ David said, turning to Andrea as Ryan popped the bank card hilariously between his teeth and scooted for the door. ‘Necessary purchases,’ he pointed out. ‘Particularly if it means Jake will talk to Ryan. We can settle our differences later. Yes?’

Andrea heaved Chloe higher in her arms and studied him. She wasn’t sure they had any differences, other than those on the subject of doling out money so readily. She should object, out of earshot of Miss Moody-Spikey, but the look in David’s eyes was one of quiet desperation just then. Whatever he’d done in the past, he was trying to do right by his son, Andrea was now sure of that. He might have challenged her to dislike him, but she doubted she could dislike him as much as he seemed to dislike himself.

She nodded, albeit reluctantly. He was right. Clothes were necessary purchases. She needed to get Ryan and Sophie back to college and school and Chloe to nursery as soon as possible. They needed normality right now. And she needed some space to sort herself out. Speak to the insurance company for a start, if only she could remember who they were insured with. Insurance had always been Jonathan’s department, him being ‘in the business’. Andrea chose not to dwell on why Jonathan wasn’t here to damn well deal with it. She’d think about that when she had time to think. She’d just have to pay David back as soon as she could. And if the computer game could ignite a spark of enthusiasm in Jake …

‘Oi!’ Sophie shouted after Ryan, cutting Andrea’s thoughts short. ‘Bring the remote back, muppet!’

‘I’ll just, er …’ Possibly to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, David nodded and headed towards the hall as Ryan wandered back in.

‘Thought you said The Simpsons was for kids.’ Ryan tossed Sophie the remote, then sauntered back out with a smirk.

‘It is,’ Sophie informed him, notching up the volume. ‘Gran wants to watch it.’

Andrea winced at the mention of Dee. She’d forgotten she’d got a mum. ‘Kitchen. Defrosting the oven,’ Sophie supplied, then dutifully obliged as Andrea handed her Chloe.

Defrosting the what? Andrea dashed for the door, then stopped. ‘Sophie?’

‘Huh?’

‘Sorry about being a bit snappy. It’s just—’

‘— not PMS. It’s you?’ Sophie finished, glancing sideways at her. ‘’S’okay,’ she offered grudgingly. ‘Shit happens.’

Definitely. Andrea shook her head, deciding to ignore the bad language in favour of not berating her daughter, yet again, and skidded to the kitchen, where Dee was floating about in her nightie looking quite at home.

Andrea waited while she filled up an ovenproof dish with boiling water. ‘Um, Mum,’ she started hesitantly as Dee parked the kettle and plucked up the oven gloves, ‘why are you defrosting the oven?’

‘The oven?’ Dee glanced at her, puzzled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, darling, the oven’s self-cleaning,’ she informed her despairingly. ‘I’m defrosting the freezer before we all get semolina.’

Andrea held her breath until Dee got the dish safely in place in the freezer, which did look like the North Pole after a blizzard, Andrea had to admit. ‘Salmonella, Mum,’ she corrected her as Dee turned back, looking pleased with herself.

‘No, thank you, darling. I like a bit of cod, but salmon gets under my palate,’ Dee said sweetly, then boomed, ‘Do you mind? I’ve just cleaned that!’ as David stepped into the kitchen.

David froze mid-step and glanced at Andrea, obviously baffled.

‘The floor.’ Andrea nodded towards his feet, which Dee was making evil eyes at.

‘Oh, right.’ David scratched his head and stepped back. ‘Great. Thanks. I think.’

Lord, at this rate the man would be checking himself into a hotel, or a mental institution very soon.

‘Mum’s very house-proud,’ Andrea offered by way of explanation for her mother’s preoccupation with cleaning his house.

‘Bit of dirt never hurt anyone,’ Dee imparted, bustling over to yank the dishwasher door open. ‘Germs, however, do.’ She threw the tea towel into the dishwasher, banged the door closed, then turned to give David a meaningful stare.

David looked as if he didn’t know which way to turn. ‘Sorry,’ he offered embarrassedly. ‘I rented the house furnished. I haven’t had much time yet to—’

‘Now,’ Dee said over him, dusting off her hands, ‘have you cleaned your skirting boards lately?’

‘Er, no,’ David admitted, looking shamefaced. ‘I’m not sure if someone cleaned the house before we moved in. I’ve organised a cleaner but she—’

‘Well, they ought to be sacked,’ Dee huffed, and then strutted across the kitchen to run a finger along the skirting board. ‘I think you’d better show the young lady to me when she arrives,’ she suggested, offering the evidence of the servant’s slovenly ways for David to see.

David sighed melodramatically. ‘Unbelievable. You just can’t get good staff nowadays, can you?’

‘Precisely.’ Dee looked at David for the first time with the merest hint of approval and then strode purposefully past him into the hall.

Andrea smiled, realising that he was indulging her mother, rather than despairing of her or making fun of her, as Jonathan might.

David eyed the ceiling good-naturedly and then smiled back at her, but still there was an immense sadness about him.

Andrea held his gaze, feeling for him, though she wasn’t sure why.

‘Do you think she’s noticed the cobwebs yet?’ David’s gaze travelled worriedly upwards again, after a second.

Andrea laughed. ‘Oh, dear, she can be a bit much, can’t she? Sorry about that. Mum gets a bit confused. It can be quite amusing, but …’ She paused, wondering how much to say. How he’d react. Would Doctor Adams be of the opinion she should put her mother out to grass for the sake of the people around her and for her own sake?

‘A bit of a handful, as well, sometimes?’ David finished astutely.

Andrea felt her shoulders physically droop. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, with a tired nod. ‘She tends to get a bit muddled. Wanders off occasionally, too, and then gets lost, you know?’

‘Trying to find her way home?’ David suggested.

Andrea thought about it. ‘Yes,’ she conceded, realising that Dee’s wanderings often did take her in the direction of the canal. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but the riverside cottage might well be where her mother was headed. The place Dee still thought of as home even though Andrea had explained to her many times that it had been sold. She dearly hoped she didn’t wander too far that way – a fresh worry surfaced – now that it was actually under renovation.

‘It’s symptomatic,’ David said sympathetically. ‘Dementia is an unkind condition, short-term memory loss, meaning the past is more real than the present, inertia, mood swings. The cruellest part though, I imagine, are the periods of absolute lucidity.’

Andrea closed her eyes and pulled in a breath. ‘She is aware, a lot of the time,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s not muddled up Dee. She’s my mum, there for me, like she’s always been. Do you see? And then we’ll talk, and laugh, and—’ Andrea stopped, wishing people could understand. There might come a time when she couldn’t cope, she knew that. But, for now, she could. More importantly, she wanted to.

‘At least she can laugh,’ David offered reassuringly. ‘And you can laugh with her. Can’t be all bad.’

Andrea smiled.

David did too. ‘She seems happy enough.’

‘Yes.’ Andrea’s smile broadened. ‘Yes, she is,’ she said, comforted by the fact that this near stranger seemed to understand that for as long as she could, Andrea wanted to grab every bit of happiness for her mother, not rob of her of what dignity she had left.

‘And I think I can live with my shortcomings in the housework department being pointed out.’ Again, David rolled his eyes affably.

Andrea scrunched her eyes closed. ‘Sorry,’ she said, peeling one eye open. ‘She does get a bit carried away sometimes. Misses her own little cottage much more than I imagined she would.’

David nodded. ‘Just bricks and mortar to some, but a lifetime’s memories for her.’

‘Yes.’ Andrea studied him curiously, wondering why he’d worked so hard at appearing to be obnoxious initially.

David glanced down, then back. ‘I do have a cleaner, starting next week hopefully, but it’s not a problem if your mother wants to go wild with the duster meanwhile,’ he said, with an unconcerned shrug. ‘The place could do with a good spring clean anyway.’

‘It’ll be more like a cat lick and a whisper.’

David looked at her, confused.

‘One of Mum’s sayings, meaning: a quick surface clean rather than getting down to the nitty-gritty. She’s a bit hit-and-miss, I’m afraid, but I don’t like to take jobs off her. She finds that patronising, you know?’

David obviously got the gist. ‘Fine by me. She can clean away as hit-and-miss as she likes, as long as she doesn’t look under the chairs in the lounge.’

Andrea shuddered. ‘Oh dear. Make yourself scarce, if she does.’

‘I’m on my starting blocks.’ David laughed, and there was a definite twinkle in his eye this time, making him more human and accessible.

Andrea studied him, trying to work out what circumstances had brought him here, a widower obviously torturing himself with his past.

David looked away first, glancing down again and then towards the hall, relieved probably, that he’d been saved from further scrutiny by the doorbell.

‘You’re staring,’ Nita informed David, who was looking at his callers bemused.

It was more likely to be Eva than Nita who had flummoxed him though, Andrea suspected. Eva was standing behind Nita’s wheelchair brandishing a huge courgette. The woman beside her, draped in faux fur and with a bunch of aubergines pressed to her fulsome breast, was also rather alarming.

‘Are you waiting for us to die of hypothermia, or are you going to invite us in?’ the woman asked bluntly.

‘Er?’ David glanced over his shoulder at Andrea, who shrugged apologetically. Nita, who only worked Monday to Thursdays on her work placement, had obviously wanted to check Andrea was okay, which was kind.

‘Yes, of course,’ David said, smiling uncertainly and standing aside.

‘Well?’ said the woman.

‘Sorry?’ David now looked extremely confused.

‘Are you going to help her in, or leave her on the doorstep?’ the woman went on curtly.

‘By her she means me,’ Nita clarified, with a roll of her eyes. ‘And she obviously thinks you’re a weightlifter. What do you want him to do, Mum?’ she craned her neck over her shoulder to eyeball the woman. ‘Carry me over it?’

Ah, so this was Nita’s mother. No wonder Nita was looking so pained. Andrea tried not to laugh as the woman proceeded to look David up and down as if he were a prime cut of beef. ‘Hmm?’ she said interestedly, her eyes pinging wide.

Nita sighed exasperatedly. ‘Mum, no.’

‘I don’t suppose you’re single, are you, by any chance?’ the woman asked, predictably, judging by Nita’s now mortified expression.

‘Oooh, Mum, will you just stop with the fishing expeditions.’ Nita scowled. ‘I’m seventeen years old! I’m probably only half his age.’

‘What? I’m not.’ The woman stood ramrod straight, her chin tucked in indignantly. ‘I only asked him if he was single. I wasn’t necessarily trying to net him for you, Nita.’ With which, she gave David another lingering perusal, beamed him a smile, then waltzed on in, leaving her daughter on the doorstep.

‘Meet my mother, Dorothea. Thea for short. Greek translation for gift of God,’ Nita offered in her wake.

‘I’d rather not,’ David mumbled.

‘Ditto,’ said Nita. ‘Don’t suppose you fancy sweeping me off my feet, despite Mother having first dibs on you, do you?’

‘No problem.’ David mustered up a smile. Then, as if it were second nature, he bent down to allow Nita to wrap her arms around his neck and lifted her into his own arms – which had Andrea, once again, quite unable to reconcile this obviously caring man with the uncaring one he’d insisted on presenting.

She wished she knew more about his circumstances. Jake clearly needed someone to talk to, but she couldn’t help thinking David Adams needed to confide in someone too. Chance would be a fine thing, she sighed, stepping down to help Eva in with Nita’s wheelchair.

‘I can manage,’ Eva assured her, already having competently tipped it back and aimed it at the doorstep.

Andrea didn’t doubt it. ‘I know. I just …’ A cold shudder running through her, Andrea paused, glancing past Eva to the blackened ruins of her house, the ashes of her life.

‘Quite fancy running in the other direction?’ Eva finished, parking the chair in the hall. ‘I don’t blame you. Doctor Adams is probably contemplating bolting out of the back door. Come on,’ she said, turning to wrap an arm around Andrea’s shoulders and steer her around, ‘one day at a time, my dear. You’ll get through this. We women do, you know. Meanwhile, we have a man in our midst whom I suspect may need rescuing.’

She nodded up the hall and Andrea couldn’t help but smile as Nita’s tones drifted back. ‘Just don’t let your eyes linger anywhere near my boobs,’ she heard her warn David, as the two negotiated the lounge door. ‘She’ll be knitting baby boots and booking the font before you can blink.’

Oh dear. Andrea laughed out loud as Eva manoeuvred the chair after them, looking like a land girl about to till the soil in her dungarees. ‘We’re making moussaka,’ she informed Andrea enthusiastically over her shoulder. ‘Thea’s idea. Rather a splendid one, I thought. Community spirit and whatnot, what ho?’

Andrea knitted her brow and trailed after her. ‘Um, Eva, it’s really very kind of you, but we’re homeless, not starving,’ she pointed out.

‘Yet,’ added Thea as Andrea went into the lounge, from which Sophie swiftly exited, a horrified expression on her face and Chloe safely in her arms.

‘You’ve moved in with a man, darling,’ Thea went on as if it were perfectly obvious what she was talking about. ‘Clearly you’ll be needing a good square meal inside you.’ With which Thea deposited her aubergines on the coffee table. ‘Look at you, nothing but skin and bone,’ she observed, looking Andrea over.

Andrea smiled wanly, torn between being flattered and hugely embarrassed.

‘Moussaka,’ Thea added decisively, following the aubergines with onions and tomatoes produced from her handbag. ‘Building bricks of life, my late husband always said, may he rest in peace.’

‘Finally,’ Nita muttered as David lowered her onto the sofa, a smile playing at his mouth.

‘From my own mother’s traditional Greek recipe, of course.’

Andrea looked doubtfully at the courgettes and carrots Eva added to the pile.

‘Bit of home-cooked will soon put the roses back in your cheeks,’ Thea said, bustling across to tweak Andrea’s apparently pale cheek. ‘Give you strength to rebuild your broken home, you poor girl.’

Andrea, wincing from the rather over-affectionate tweak, didn’t like to point out that she wasn’t actually thinking of rebuilding her home personally, with or without moussaka-shaped building bricks.

‘We’re all pitching in,’ Eva pitched in. ‘We’re going to be with you every step of the way. There’s a collection going on door-to-door as we speak.’

‘Oh.’ Andrea was now extremely doubtful. She didn’t want her neighbours feeling obliged to hand money over on her behalf. She’d have the insurance, eventually, if she ever had time to contact them.

‘Don’t look so worried, my dear,’ Eva said, patting her forearm. ‘We’re only asking for clothes. I don’t suppose there’ll be much in the way of vintage, but we’ll think about re-stocking for the shop when we’ve sorted out the essentials.’

‘No.’ Andrea sighed inwardly, thinking about the stock she’d lost, the 1920s Japanese silk kimono, a late 1960s gold brocade trouser suit, the 1960s Radley Moss crepe mini-dress Sally had found in a charity shop, along with the 1950s Eriko thee-quarter length coat. The ’70s Gucci bags. The ’80s silver sequined jackets … All unique. All irreplaceable. All gone, along with her Second Chance Designer dream. She hadn’t even got a home, she reminded herself, fear and dread for the future twisting inside her. Stock for the shop was way down on her list of priorities, but still it hurt to have her dreams ended in a puff of smoke.

‘Meanwhile,’ Eva went on as Andrea swallowed back a hard lump in her throat, ‘we’re selecting the best of the cast-offs for you to sift through for your family, and the rest is going towards a grand jumble sale to start up a bit of a kitty to help refurnish your house.’

‘Oh.’ Andrea blinked at her, taken aback. ‘Thank you, Eva,’ she said, overwhelmed, in every sense of the word.

‘That’s what neighbours are for, my dear,’ Eva assured her, giving Andrea’s arm another comforting little pat, then striding purposefully back towards the hall. ‘I’ll just go and get the éclairs and then we can all settle down and discuss our plan of action.’

‘Eclairs?’ Andrea arched an eyebrow at Nita, who only yesterday was bemoaning the size of her bum.

Nita shrugged blamelessly. ‘What’s a girl supposed to do?’

Andrea shook her head, feeling as bewildered as David looked. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed as he walked towards her to the hall, looking ever so slightly cross-eyed.

‘No problem,’ David repeated his stock phrase. ‘I’ll just go and prescribe myself some Prozac.’