Chapter 24

Painting the glossy, black feathers of a mynah bird was tricky. Hints of purple, blue and green. Beautiful birds, so it was no wonder that in their native home of India they were considered sacred. And their ability to talk was legendary.

When they were children, Erin and Claudia had been fond of the mynah bird that lived in the local pet shop. He was not for sale, but sat on a perch and imitated the jingly bell when someone opened the shop door. Then one day he disappeared and the owner of the pet shop said he was ill. Erin had cried, but Claudia was more practical. What’s wrong with him? And the pet shop people explained how someone had fed him fruit that was bad for mynah birds. Apples, bananas, pears and melons were good, but not avocados or rhubarb. Someone gave him rhubarb? Claudia’s horrified voice was imprinted on Erin’s memory.

Later, to everyone’s relief, the bird got better, but when the door opened, instead of imitating the bell, it now recited the phrase it had heard repeatedly while it was recovering. Ah, poor thing, poor thing.

Erin felt like a poor thing. Not that she was ill, but she slept badly, and worried continually – about the baby, about Ollie, and about the pressure on her to finish he illustrations. Even though, surprisingly, the illustrations were turning out rather well.

She ought to call round and ask Jennie if she was feeling any better. On the other hand, it might mean she dragged her out of bed. Go or stay? Her eyes were tired from painting tiny brush strokes. She needed a change of scene.

Ben answered the door, looking almost as rough as Jennie had done on her previous visit.

‘Oh dear, have you got it now?’

‘Sorry?’ He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Jennie’s out. No, come in. Actually, I was going to call round. Thought I saw Ollie.’

‘Where?’ Erin stepped inside the over-heated house. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Shopping centre. Ran after him but he must have gone into a shop. It was near that place that does piercings and tattoos.’

Erin started to leave but he caught hold of her arm. ‘No, he won’t be there now. Anyway, it probably wasn’t him. Have you got a minute?’ He guided her into Jennie’s office, lifted the lid on her laptop, and started tapping the keyboard with his two index fingers. ‘Something’s wrong.’

Wrong in what way? If she had gone out she must be feeling better. Ben liked to moan about his lack of work, and the lot of the poor actor, but it was the first time he had shown such undisguised anxiety.

‘I’ve been struggling with it ever since she went out, but I can’t find anything apart from her accounts for the student house. There’s a woman living in the basement flat.’

‘Yes, I’ve met her. Jennie asked me to deliver a microwave.’

‘She seems to think there’s some mystery about the woman. It’s all part of the crazy way her mind’s been working.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Search me.’

‘She didn’t say?’ Erin had visions of her walking in on them, and had no wish to be caught red-handed, checking her laptop. ‘Have you asked what’s bothering her?’

‘She denies there is anything. Is it possible to check which websites someone’s visited? Either she’s ill or she’s having an affair. She’s always accusing me of seeing someone else but it could be her guilty conscience.’

Erin leaned over and clicked “history”, but Jennie had wiped it clean.

Ben sighed. ‘You would tell me if she’d said something. She agonises about her health, laps up all that stuff on the news, what you should and shouldn’t eat, takes no notice when I point out how it changes from week to week.’

‘If she talks to me I’ll do what I can, but she must have friends she knows far better than me.’

‘And pass on anything she tells you.’

‘That I can’t promise.’ Erin wanted to leave but Ben was glued to Jennie’s chair. ‘Listen, are you sure you saw Ollie?’

He chewed his knuckle. ‘Thought I did.’

‘Come on, let’s get out of here. If Jennie comes back, this certainly won’t improve her mood.’

He switched off the laptop and Erin gave him her number and watched to make sure he put it in his phone. ‘In case you see Ollie again. Any work coming up?’

‘Small part in a radio play.’

‘What about the slimming ad?’

‘They decided I was too old. Too old, I ask you, imagine how that made me feel? Thank you, Mr Whatever Your Name Is, we’ll let you know. A couple of years ago I was offered a part in a panto. Thought it was a monkey but it turned out to be a flunky! A servant. Apparently they used to call them flunkies.’ His expression changed. ‘I’m worried, Erin, no, not about the lack of work. When it comes to the crunch, all that really matters is your health. I mean, Jennie’s. It could be depression. Does she strike you as being depressed? Oh, sorry, you’ve enough on your mind without involving yourself in our problems.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Thanks.’ As she let herself out of the house, he had returned to chewing his knuckle.

Saying he thought he had seen Ollie could well have been a way of luring her into the house. Even so, she felt compelled to go down to the shopping centre and check. Heavy rain was forecast but so far had not materialised. Just as well since she had left the house without an umbrella. The last time it poured – the time she had been to talk to Ava – she had arrived home with water down the back of her neck and squelching shoes.

As she passed the baby goods shop, she visualized herself putting the baby’s feet into the tiny shoes, talking to her, explaining about her real mother even though she was far too young to understand. Thinking about the future was becoming a way of keeping going. But it had to stop. Instead of picturing herself as a mother, she ought to be preparing for the worst. When a baby died, or was stillborn, people were given prints of its hands and feet, something to keep, put in a frame. She had never understood it before. Now she did.

The piercing and tattoo shop was closed. Not that Ollie would be there. He was not the type to have a tattoo although Erin had a vague memory of Claudia suggesting he have her name on his thigh. Only joking, Ol. Had he minded her jokes? He had loved her, and love tends to overlook minor irritations. Where was he? He could be miles away and have no intention of coming back – ever. But he would need a job and, if he applied to a different university, they would ask for a reference. If that happened, would Jon tell her, or would he keep it to himself?

Speak of the devil. As she turned away from the pictures of tattoos, she spotted Jon, standing outside a shop, and hurried over to ask if he had seen Ollie. But before she could speak, he was joined by Diana, and an excited Maeve.

‘Erin!’ Maeve ran towards her, swinging a bag. ‘Look.’ She pulled out a pair of black trainers with red flashes. ‘Mum wanted me to have lace-ups but I prefer Velcro.’

‘Very smart.’

‘My feet have grown a whole size.’

‘Calm down, Maeve.’ Diana was smiling and had linked arms with Jon. Her dark hair gleamed as glossy as the mynah bird’s feathers. ‘Hello, Erin.’

‘Ben thought he saw Ollie, but I doubt it was him.’

‘How are you? The baby . . . Do they think . . . ?’

‘Gestation has reached twenty-nine and a half weeks. Twenty-nine and three-quarters actually. Every day is important.’

‘I’m sure.’ Diana let go of Jon and gave her a brief, unexpected hug. ‘Such a worry for you, but they work miracles with premature babies these days.’

Maeve was playing hopscotch on the paving stones. ‘Ollie’s gone missing,’ she said, ‘like on TV. A man disappeared and his body was washed up on the beach.’

‘Maeve!’ Diana pulled her away from her game.

‘I didn’t mean Ollie was dead. You knew that, didn’t you, Erin? I think he’s staying with a friend.’ Maeve handed her new shoes to her mother. ‘He has a lot of friends, doesn’t he, Dad? I’m going to university. Oh no, I forgot, I’m going to Art College. If you want to go to Art College you have to have a portfolio with all your drawings and paintings.’

Diana gave Erin an apologetic smile. ‘Erin knows what a portfolio is, darling.’

‘Can I make one, Erin? No, I’m not good enough yet. I know, I could keep all my drawings and paintings and it would show if I was getting any better at it.’

‘Good idea.’ At the mention of Maeve’s drawings, Erin had expected Diana to flinch, but her face had remained impassive. That meant they had not spoken to her about the picture of a gravestone with MAEVE. RIP. In fact, Erin suspected Jon hadn’t even told Diana about it.

First thing on Monday morning, Erin’s editor phoned to inquire how the illustrations were progressing.

‘No pressure.’ Sara’s voice was edgy with expectation.

‘I’ll send you the pen and ink drawings.’

‘If you could.’ Erin had told her just enough of what was going on to make it hard for her to complain too vigorously. ‘How’s your sister?’

So she had forgotten. Or failed to take in what Erin had said. ‘She’s not going to get better. It’s a question of keeping her on life support until her baby can be born.’

The silence that followed was gratifying and she hoped Sara was feeling as guilty as hell. ‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised.’ But if Erin thought she was going to tell her not to worry about the illustrations, she was out of luck.

‘I’ll get back to you by the end of the week,’ Erin said.

‘If you could.’ And she rang off.

The painting she was working on was of Mrs Moffatt, who owned the pet shop. She had brought her little friend, possibly her granddaughter, to choose one of the guinea pigs for her birthday present. The double-page illustration showed the little girl crouching down to pick up the smallest one, whose nose was peeping out of its house.

Erin thought about Ollie, hiding away somewhere, terrified of responsibility and grief- stricken about Claudia. Was he grief stricken? With Ollie, it was so hard to tell. Had something happened before the accident, something she knew nothing about? Did Hoshi know what it was? Ava, Erin was beginning to suspect, knew nothing and simply enjoyed being enigmatic.

Miss Havisham was winding herself round Erin’s ankles. She had bought her some dry cat food but it was clear the cat preferred meat, and she had greeted the pellets with noisy wails. ‘Go away, you ungrateful creature.’ More loud wails were interrupted by the doorbell. Jehovah’s Witnesses? Mormons? But it could be Jennie so she would have to check.

It was Jon.

‘Can I come up?

‘All right, but I’m working flat out.’

He followed her up the two flights of stairs, past Claudia and Ollie’s bedroom, with its firmly closed door, and on to her garret in the attic – because that was how it was starting to feel.

‘I should have told you before.’

‘Should have told me what?’

‘You don’t know what . . . God, you’ve no idea how much I wanted to but . . . It’s so hard to know where to begin.’

Returning to her easel, she started painting Mrs Moffatt’s frizzy hair. Jon was still standing by the door, moving his weight from one foot to the other. Did he want to make a quick getaway? It was going to be something about Claudia, something he should have told her weeks ago.

‘It’s about Maeve.’

‘Go on.’

‘When she was born . . . I was worried, I could tell there was something wrong. No one said very much but . . . They took her away and . . .’

‘Get to the point.’ She sounded callous but she was determined that this time he was going to tell her the truth.

‘Oh, God.’ He sighed, and she turned away, pretending to be concentrating on her painting. ‘The doctor asked to see us and I thought she must have brain-damage.’

‘But she didn’t. Diana told me. I’m no expert, but I’d say her intelligence is above average.’

A spotlight she had fixed up the previous week illuminated the beads of sweat on Jon’s forehead, and when he spoke, his voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear. ‘I thought you might have guessed. No, how could you? When we met you down at the shopping centre . . . Oh, God, there’s no way to break it gently. Diana is my sister.’

‘What?’

‘No, let me explain.’

Her phone rang and she snatched it up, the familiar voice made her paintbrush drop from her hand. ‘What’s happened?’ Her heart was beating so loudly she could barely take in what Andrea was saying. ‘Yes, yes of course. Yes, straight away.’ She pushed past Jon. ‘It’s the baby.’

‘What’s happened? I’ll drive you there.’

‘No.’

‘I could come with you.’

‘Come with me? You’re just about the last person in the world I would want to.’