Chapter Ten

‘Thought you’d want to know Ryan and Jake are off out,’ David said, coming into the kitchen where Andrea was making tea and wondering whether to invest in an urn.

‘Ryan managed to talk him out of his room, then?’

‘Yes, amazingly,’ David said, obviously relieved. ‘Not sure Jake’s going to be talking to me any time soon though.’

‘Catchya lata,’ Ryan interrupted, poking his head around the kitchen door. ‘By the way, you do realise there’s a Women’s Institute meeting in the lounge?’

Andrea swapped amused glances with David. ‘It’s the Save the Kellys Committee. Whatever you do, don’t get too close to the door or they’ll whip you in and knit you up a sweater.’

‘We’re outa here.’ Ryan retracted his head in a flash. ‘Come on, Jake,’ his wary tones drifted back from the hall, ‘let’s go catch the bus, before they start hugging us and ruffling our hair.’

‘Stick close to Ryan, Jake, and do as he says, okay?’ David called after them.

Jake didn’t answer, and David looked utterly crushed.

Andrea guessed why. Most children that age wouldn’t have let that comment pass without an ‘I’m not a kid’ retort. Some retort. Jake, it seemed, wasn’t talking to his father at all.

‘I take it he didn’t know?’ she asked quietly, pushing the kitchen door to, once the boys had left. ‘About your, um, indiscretion; assuming that’s what it was?’

David searched her eyes, seeming to debate, and then nodded tiredly. ‘Indiscretion,’ he repeated, his mouth curving into a sad smile, ‘quaint way of describing destroying three people’s lives. Four people’s.’

He stopped, tugging a sharp breath, as if the memory physically pained him. ‘I’m not sure. He, er … He knew something was wrong. Heard Michelle and me …’

‘Arguing?’

David nodded, glancing away. ‘Michelle … She was ill. Leukaemia. Lymphatic. I didn’t handle it very well. Her decision, I mean.’

Decision? Andrea’s heart lurched. ‘To?’ she gently urged him on.

David breathed out. ‘She … Michelle, she was pregnant. She decided against therapeutic abortion. And she insisted on delaying anti-leukaemic treatment until the third trimester for the baby’s sake. It wouldn’t have made a great deal of difference to her life expectancy in the long term, but in the short term …’

All this David said with his eyes fixed to the floor. ‘I wasn’t there for her,’ he went on tightly. ‘I should have been.’

He glanced up at last, such anguish in his eyes, Andrea felt utterly wretched for him. He’d lost his wife and his child?

‘I’d better go.’ He looked quickly away again. ‘I have some reading to catch up on. I’ll be in the study, if you or the Kelly Committee need anything.’

Feeling utterly devastated for him, Andrea watched David walk away, his hand going through his hair, visibly hurting. Of course he would be. Whatever he’d done, with or without details of where he had been when his wife needed him, Andrea realised she had no right to judge him. Because, no matter the abrasiveness she’d first encountered, it was obvious the man was carrying his guilt around like a lead weight.

It was too soon for him to consign it to history, undoubtedly, but David Adams needed to try to forgive himself in order to move on. As did his son. How could they do that when they’d both separately erected brick walls?

She’d take him some tea, Andrea decided. It probably wouldn’t help much, but it might send out the right signals, that she wasn’t about to despise him, no matter that he’d seemed to want her to. So he wasn’t perfect. Was anyone? Was she?

After a quick check on Chloe, who was napping in David’s bed, oblivious to the chaos all around, bless her mismatching pyjamas, and then Sophie, who was washing her hair, Andrea tapped on the door to the study. Then waited. Then wondered whether to go on in when David didn’t answer. She tapped again.

Still nothing. Andrea was about to step away from the door when he opened it. ‘I brought you a cure-all cuppa.’ She offered him a smile. ‘It’s got its work cut out I know, but, well, it’s warm and wet, anyhow.’

He looked at her, seemingly unseeing for a second and then gave her a short smile back. ‘Thanks,’ he said, reaching for the cup.

‘No problem.’ Andrea assured him, holding his eyes.

Eyes where dark shadows danced. Those of a man, Andrea realised with a jolt, who might actually have been crying? She stared at him, feeling the despair which seemed to emanate almost palpably from him now.

‘David, if you ever want to …’ she started, and then stopped as her mum’s not-so dulcet tones drifted up the hall.

‘Eva Bunting, get out of my kitchen immediately!’ Dee bellowed. ‘And take that furry fleabag with you!’

Referring to Thea and her faux fur, Andrea assumed, despairing.

David smiled bemusedly. ‘I think the Kelly Committee have taken over the kitchen.’

‘Lord help us.’ Andrea rolled her eyes and dashed off to referee.

‘Deirdre, my dear, don’t you think you might be getting a little paranoid?’ Eva asked Dee across the casserole pot they were fighting over. Eva had a hold of one handle, Dee hung onto the other and both, it seemed, were reluctant to let go.

‘Paranoid, pfffffff! Don’t try to distract me with your long words and privileged education, Eva Bunting, you great fat …’ Dee looked Eva up and down, taking in her dungarees distastefully. ‘… lesbian, you!’

I don’t believe this. Andrea turned back to her pan, whammed the flame up under it and threw another batch of aubergines in, careless of the instructions on Thea’s recipe to fry gently.

‘For your information, it wasn’t privileged, Deirdre,’ Eva supplied plummily. ‘Mummy scrimped and saved to put me through university, actually.’

‘Well, for your information …’ Dee tugged the casserole pot towards her. ‘… this mummy scrimped and saved to put her daughter through university, too.’

‘In which case, my dear …’ Eva gave the pot a tug back in her direction. ‘… we have something in common, don’t we?’

‘That’s as maybe, but not …’ Dee tugged the pot back again. ‘… my casserole pot!’

‘Girls, girls,’ Thea said, whisking egg yolks heartily, oblivious to the danger of the ingredients already in the casserole pot ending up all over the floor, ‘stop with the arguments, or you’ll spoil our lovely lunch.’

Our? Oh, no, please! Andrea’s eyes sprang wide. They weren’t intending to stay, were they? Uh-uh. Absolutely not. David would barricade himself in his study and stay there. And Andrea might blooming well join him.

‘All done!’ she trilled, turning the ‘darkly’ browned aubergines over and dousing the gas.

‘It is not,’ Eva declared.

‘Not what?’ Dee eyeballed her over the pot.

‘Not your pot. It’s the doctor’s.’

‘What doctor’s?’

‘Doctor Adams.’ Eva eyeballed Dee back. ‘This is the doctor’s house.’

‘Oh, no it isn’t,’ Dee huffed, giving the pot another tug.

‘Oh, yes, it is,’ Thea chipped in, coming across to pluck the lid off the pot. ‘He lives here,’ she announced as she scraped the aubergines in. ‘He’s upstairs in the shower, right now as we speak.’

Dee knitted her brow. ‘With Andrea?’ she asked, turning to blink mystified at Andrea.

‘No, dear.’ Eva sighed. ‘Andrea’s not in the shower, is she? She’s here.’

Dear Lord, please beam me up. Flushing down to her décolleté, Andrea opened her scrunched eyes to see Thea bustling back from the work surface with the sauce.

‘Uh-uh. Enough!’ Andrea shouted over Thea’s revelations that she wouldn’t mind sharing a shower with Doctor Adams. That sauce was hot. And those two dotty women were still clutching that pot.

‘Thea, thank you so much for all your help, we really appreciate it, but I think Mum and I can manage from here,’ Andrea suggested, her tone slightly more subdued, if a little demented.

‘Oh, it’s no bother.’ Thea waved away her concerns with the flap of an extravagantly bejewelled hand. ‘We only have to season it and then pop it in the oven and—’

‘It’s ever so kind of you, Thea, but I think we’d rather—’ Andrea started.

‘—then we can all put our feet up with a nice sherry and watch a DVD,’ Thea finished. ‘How does that sound?’

‘Um?’ Andrea opened her mouth and then closed it. And swallowed. The last thing she wanted to do was offend anyone, but … She glanced desperately from Thea to a still miffed Dee and then to Eva. Then quickly at the floor as a long overdue tear plopped down her cheek.

‘I think what Andrea’s trying to say, Thea, without wishing to sound ungrateful for your sterling efforts,’ Eva picked up shrewdly, ‘is that she’d quite like her mother to finish the job.’

Andrea glanced hopefully back up.

‘Deirdre’s a bit of a dab hand in the kitchen herself, after all, aren’t you, my dear?’ Eva offered Dee a short smile and finally allowed her the pot.

‘Thank you,’ Andrea mouthed, relieved.

Eva shot her a quick thumbs up, then rounded up Thea. ‘Come along, my dear,’ she said, marching her towards the door, ‘let’s collect the daughter you left on the doorstep before she dies of boredom in the lounge, then we’ll all scoot over to my place for a wee sherry, shall we?’

‘Oh, by the way, I’ve rung the investment company direct,’ Eva said, hanging behind as Andrea showed her self-invited guests out.

Andrea looked at her, puzzled.

‘About my withdrawal,’ Eva reminded her. ‘I was assuming Jonathan would be up to his eyes, running around trying to sort out your affairs and whatnot?’

Andrea nodded awkwardly. ‘Yes, most likely,’ she mumbled evasively.

Eva glanced at her askew, no doubt wondering about the vagueness of her answer. ‘They’re going to ring me back,’ she went on. ‘Apparently they’re having a spot of bother matching up my policy number with my investment, or some such nonsense. Computer glitch, so they say. Good old-fashioned cock-up, if you ask me. Do you know, they even had the cheek to ask me if I was quoting the correct policy number? Fortunately, I had my own list of investments in front of me so I gave them short shrift there, I can tell you.’

‘Oh, right. I’ll, um …’ Andrea searched for something to say other than actually Jonathan’s suffering a slight malfunction too. As in, forgotten I exist.

Eva held up a silencing hand. ‘No, no. Don’t trouble him, my dear. You both have more than enough to worry about, and I’m sure I’ll catch him around.’

Andrea wasn’t quite so sure she would. She nodded anyway and, with supreme effort, arranged her face into a smile. She’d been keeping the emotion in check, just. Speculation as to Jonathan’s whereabouts, though, might have her dissolving in a heap on the hall carpet. She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t allow herself the luxury of going to pieces, no matter how therapeutic David Adams thought tears might be. Not with the children to think about.

‘I’ll pop back later,’ Eva promised, stopping at the front door to give Andrea a reassuring, if rather firm, hug. ‘I’ve got something that might cheer you up. I’ll bring it with me.’

‘George Clooney? Wearing nothing but a smile and bearing a chocolate éclair?’

‘Ooh, how terribly naughty,’ Eva exclaimed delightedly. ‘But nice.’

She winked over her shoulder as she finally followed the rest of the Kelly Committee out.

Andrea closed the door behind her and turned to lean against it with a sigh as David came downstairs.

‘That sounds like a sigh of relief.’ He nodded past her to their departed guests and then looked Andrea over.

She was pale, he noticed. He wasn’t sure she was up to a constant stream of visitors. He didn’t doubt the neighbours’ kind intentions, but if they weren’t careful, the person they were trying to help might just keel over under the weight of their do-gooding.

She can’t have slept much. Concerned, he stopped to study her more closely. She looked weary. Pretty, even with telltale shadows under her eyes, but exhausted. She was strong. David had no doubt about that. He’d been watching her, looking for signs of shock: tears, debilitating flashbacks – something he knew about on a personal as well as professional level. There’d been none, other than long sighs and momentary lapses in concentration.

Even then, she seemed to pull herself up and get on with things for the sake of her kids. David knew all about that, too. Still though, with three children, including one barely out of nappies, no possessions and her house burnt to the ground, David thought she must have a rod of iron running through her spine to still be standing upright.

‘Is it safe to go in?’ he asked, nodding cautiously towards the lounge.

‘Safe-ish.’ Andrea laughed.

And David found himself smiling, again. How the hell did she do that? Laugh when her world had fallen apart? Andrea Kelly, he was beginning to realise, was a bit of an enigma. Despite the chaos she’d brought with her, she was a bright spark in what seemed to have been perpetual gloom lately.

‘As long as you don’t mind Sophie snarling at you because her spikes won’t stand up,’ she added.

David furrowed his brow, confused. Andrea pointed at her head. ‘No hairdryer.’

‘Ah, right.’ He nodded and took a breath. ‘There’s one upstairs,’ he offered. He hadn’t parted with anything of Michelle’s yet. The dryer, amongst other things, might as well go to good use here, though, he supposed. ‘It’s in the, er …’ Actually, he wasn’t quite sure where it was. ‘Tell you what, I’ll go and find it.’

David started back up the stairs and then stopped, turning to swap wary glances with Andrea as the doorbell went again. ‘Shall we duck?’ he suggested.

Andrea pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Shhhh,’ she hissed, another laugh escaping her nevertheless. Yes, David most definitely liked that about her, a laugh that was infectious. She should bottle that and sell it online. She’d make a fortune.

Andrea peeked over her shoulder at the opaque glass in the door. ‘Drat. I think we’ve been spotted.’

‘Damn.’ David emitted a melodramatic sigh. ‘Maybe we should get closed-circuit television out there. Then we can hide in advance?’

‘Or a moat?’ Andrea suggested.

‘With a drawbridge,’ David mused. ‘And a gun in the turret. What do you think?’

‘I think I should answer the door,’ Andrea informed him, a twinkle in her eye David hadn’t noticed before. This woman, he decided, was just what the doctor might order, a tonic, no doubt about it.

Sighing theatrically again, he saluted and turned back up the stairs. ‘You’re a braver man than I am. Good luck.’

‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re a little bit mad?’ Andrea called good-humouredly after him.

‘Frequently,’ David called back, still smiling. Mad was about right, giving houseroom to a whole other family when his own family was so fractured, but he had to concede he was feeling a little less lonely in the midst of the madness.

Careful not to let his eyes linger too long on anything else in the spare room, he retrieved the hairdryer from a box under the window and started back down, then … shit … faltered mid-stairs as he noticed Sally in the hall.

‘They cost me an arm and a leg when I bought them,’ Sally was saying, passing a bag to Andrea, ‘but your need is greater.’

‘You shouldn’t have, Sally, really …’ Andrea peered excitedly into the bag, her expression falling a bit flat as she extracted what looked like a baby-doll nightie ‘… you shouldn’t have.’

‘There’s some underwear too,’ Sally said, delving deeper and bringing out black lace lingerie that had David missing the last step.

‘Oops,’ Sally said, flashing him a coy smile as he righted himself in the hall. ‘They’re hardly worn,’ she went on, more to David than Andrea, a definite innuendo in her eye.

David noted the look and mentally kicked himself for not immediately telling Sally he just didn’t feel the way he suspected she needed him to. He liked the woman, what he knew of her, but he couldn’t envisage lying safe and satiated in her arms, talking late into the night of secrets and dreams. He doubted he’d ever want to smile quietly inside when she smiled. Laugh with her, like he had with Michelle, before the darkness crept into their lives. Like he felt he could with … He glanced quickly at Andrea, feeling peculiarly destabilised.

‘Aren’t they, David?’ Andrea was saying, asking a question David hadn’t heard.

‘Sorry? Oh, yes.’ He reined in his confused thoughts and tried to focus his attention back where it should be. Or possibly shouldn’t.

Bloody hell. He did a double take as he noticed the flimsy garment Andrea was now holding, bemused as to which bits might go where from the look on her face.

‘I’ve revamped my lingerie drawer for something a little bit more raunchy,’ Sally said, looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

More raunchy? A distinctly panicky feeling gripped David now. He risked another glance at Andrea. She met his gaze, a smile playing about her mouth.

‘The other bag has some clothes in it for Chloe.’ Sally looked from David to Andrea. ‘I rang the girl who runs the nursery and she put the word out to the mums, and, hey presto, Chloe’s going to be kitted out for the foreseeable future, as far as I can see.’

Andrea peered into that bag and pulled out a cotton-striped jacket that would certainly fit Chloe. There were pyjamas, a Dalmatian printed dressing gown, a little denim jacket, floral print dresses … ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She looked at Sally, astonished.

‘There’s loads more stuff still at the village hall for the jumble,’ Sally went on, obviously pleased. ‘It’s quite extraordinary, isn’t it, the camaraderie between mothers? When they’re not bitching about each other’s kids in the school playground, that is.’

‘Sally!’ Andrea shot her a mock-scowl.

‘What? They do.’ Sally shrugged innocently. ‘Okay, got to go and grab a quick sandwich before heading back to school. I’ll see you later, hon.’ She gave Andrea a hug and turned to the door. ‘Keep the chin up, yes?’

With which Sally departed, teetering down the path on heels which surely weren’t made for walking.

‘Oh, dear.’ Andrea chuckled as she closed the door.

‘What’s funny?’ David asked warily.

‘Sally. She’s wearing her man-killer shoes. I’d watch yourself, if I were you. I think she might be out on a manhunt.’

‘Er, right.’ David dragged a hand over his neck, now feeling definitely panicky.