It's Raining Men (36 page)

‘Thanks, but I don’t smoke.’

‘Neither do I. Well, I gave up.’

‘Looks like it.’

‘I find women like the taste of cigarettes and whisky on a man’s breath. Turns you on, doesn’t it?’

Clare hated whisky. The smell of it was enough to make her gag.

‘I’m not sure it would turn me on that much.’

Val grabbed her hair and kissed her firmly, just as a strong, dominant hero might do in a film. Clare felt strangely detached. All she could think of was how bloody awful he tasted.

‘Let’s play dare,’ Val said, suddenly pulling away from her. ‘You first. I dare you to take your top off.’

‘What? No.’

Val blew a perfect smoke ring above her head. ‘It’s your halo,’ he said, watching it float in the air. ‘Miss Goody Two-Shoes.’

Clare knew what was coming next: some comment about Colleen, no doubt. Well, she’d show him that she could be as earthy as her.

‘Okay.’ Clare began to slowly unbutton her shirt. Then, she tried to look much braver than she felt and eased her arms out of it, spun it around and let it fly onto the ground.

Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw an old couple carrying a picnic basket.

‘Oi. You shouldn’t be doing that here where children play,’ called the man as Clare scrabbled on the ground for her shirt and tried to hide behind Val whilst she put it back
on. ‘You should be arrested. Doris, don’t look. Filthy buggers.’

Clare couldn’t get her arms into the sleeves. ‘Help me,’ she hissed at Val but he was too busy being creased up in hysterics.

‘I’m phoning the police,’ called the man. ‘Doris. Get your mobile out of your handbag.’

‘I didn’t bring it, Jim,’ came the reply.

‘You can’t remember anything, can you?’

‘Let’s go home, Jim. It’s too cold.’

‘This is a bloody disaster.’

The old couple went off chuntering to each other. Val was crying with laughter, Clare was mortified. She wondered if any satellites had picked them up and someone in a space station was sitting
sniggering at her or blowing up her picture to hand over to the North Yorkshire police.

‘Oh, chillax,’ said Val, his green eyes ablaze with mischief. ‘They’ve gone. Talking of picnics, as they were, I’m peckish. I wish I’d brought something to
eat.’

‘We could, er, find a café.’

‘There’s a sandwich shop down the road.’

‘Oh, okay.’ Clare reached for the helmet.

‘I’ll go and pick up something. Wait here,’ he said.

‘I’m not waiting here. What if that man and his wife come back?’

‘There’s no chance of that, is there?’ Val nipped the tip of his cigarette between his fingers to kill it. ‘Promise, I’ll only be two minutes. Oh, haven’t got
any change, have you?’

‘I’ve only got this twenty-pound note.’ She pulled it from her pocket.

Val snatched it out of her hand. ‘That’ll do.’

‘You’re not going to leave me here, are you?’ said Clare as he revved up the engine.

‘Might do.’ He grinned and roared off.

After half an hour, Clare was beginning to panic. Plus, the wind was coming across the sea now, bringing with it spots of rain. She was frozen and she had no coat or money or
phone with her. How stupid was she, letting him leave without her? Her parents were right, after all: she really should learn to engage her brain more. That was their stock phrase for her when she
was growing up.

To her tremendous relief she heard the mosquito-type buzz of a bike engine getting closer and into her range of vision came the black rider on the black bike. When he lifted his helmet she could
smell beer on his breath.

‘You’ve been to a pub?’

‘Had to call in the Dog and Duck to get these.’ He took two packs of sandwiches out of his pocket. ‘The garage was shut.’

She didn’t believe him but neither did she want to make a fuss.

‘Cold?’ he said, watching her teeth chatter.

‘Very.’

Ludwig would have stripped his coat off at this point and hung it around her shoulders. Val Hathersage gave her first pick of the sandwiches. She picked the cheese and left him with the
tuna.

They sat down on the bench.

‘I used to come up here with Colleen,’ said Val, through a mouthful of bread.

‘I think you loved Colleen,’ said Clare, biting back her annoyance. ‘Why didn’t you marry her?’

‘Because she was already married,’ said Val. ‘To my brother.’

Joan feigned puppyish delight whenever they came across the name of Moody, and she scribbled down the details on her pad. There was page after page of entries: deaths seemed to
outweigh marriages, and births of boys outweighed those of girls. The pattern continued. At this rate, Ren Dullem would be a place totally populated by bachelors in ten years, thought Joan. Either
that or it would be a ghost town.

In 1969 saw the death of Seymour Elias Acaster, which she noted but read without comment. She carried on turning the pages. More boys born, more marriages, more deaths of the dwindling village
population but, she noticed, no expiry notice for Raine de la Mer. She
was
still living, then; that would explain why money from the estate was still being paid to her, although no other
widow was afforded the same courtesy. What was so special about Raine de la Mer? And, more to the point – was there a story in it that newspapers might be interested in? Joan’s mind was
always on the cash.

Clare stopped chewing.

‘She was married to your brother?’

Val laughed. ‘Yep.’

‘Gene?’

‘Gene.’

‘Did he know you were . . . ?’

‘Well, yes, seeing as he found us in Spice Wood together.’

‘When did all this happen?’

‘Last year. His divorce came through a few months ago. Understandably we don’t talk. Frank tried to be a mediator but Gene took the stance that if he wasn’t against me then he
was against him. Brotherly relations are not good.’ He smiled as if it were all a big joke.

So Gene Hathersage had been married to the wayward Colleen, then.
He
was the brother whose heart had been broken. That explained why he wasn’t exactly in line for any Smiler of
the Year award.

‘Did he hit you?’ Clare imagined Gene coming at him like a bull.

‘I thought he was going to, but he just turned and walked away.’

‘And what did Colleen do?’

‘She ran after him but he wouldn’t have anything to do with her. She went half mad trying to get him back – pleading, breaking into his house, crying, following him wherever he
went.’

‘Weren’t you upset?’

‘That she cried about him whilst she was in bed with me? It got annoying.’

‘She slept with you afterwards?’ Clare gasped.

‘Yeah,’ replied Val, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. ‘Colleen wanted a man who was made up from parts of me and parts of Gene, with Frank’s farm thrown
in. She always craved what she couldn’t have. She was more in love with Gene when he turned his back on her than she ever was when they were together. Well, as much as Colleen could
love.’

What a charmer, thought Clare. She couldn’t wait to go home and tell the others.

‘I ought to be getting back,’ she said as a large blob of rain landed on her hand. The sky had darkened by degrees in the last minute.

‘You eating that?’ Val pointed to the uneaten half of Clare’s sandwich. She handed it over to him and he stuffed it into his mouth before picking up his helmet. Clare climbed
on the bike behind him.

‘Let’s see what this little beauty can do,’ said Val, revving up the engine and speeding off at a crazy pace, with Clare hanging on tightly, her eyes squeezed shut and her
mouth crying protestations.

He stopped the bike at the bottom of the hill. Clare lifted off her helmet and was sick at the side of the road.

‘Whoops. You all right there?’ He sounded more amused than concerned.

‘You drove like a maniac. I asked you to slow down and you sped up.’ Her legs felt as insubstantial as marshmallows and about as capable of holding her up.

‘Lighten up, will you?’

‘You could have killed us, weaving in and out of traffic like that. I have no protective clothing on, if you hadn’t noticed.’

He sighed, bored. ‘You can walk the rest of the way, can’t you? Save me a bit of time. I’ve got to take the bike back.’

‘And I’ve lost a shoe,’ cried Clare crossly.

‘I wasn’t turning back for it on a busy A road.’ Val grinned inside his helmet. That grin was starting to get on Clare’s nerves. ‘I’ll meet you here tomorrow
at twelve if you like.’

‘I can’t. I’m busy.’
As if I want a repeat performance of that!

‘Suit yourself.’ Val treated her to another Harrison Ford lopsided grin, but Clare wasn’t in the least bit impressed by it any more. She was cold, wet, wind-blown, traumatized
and, she remembered, immediately after he drove off spraying her with earth, also £20 short.

Clare arrived back at Well Cottage shivering and embarrassed. More people than ever were on the road as she’d walked back, and she’d had to pass them whilst wearing only one shoe and
sporting hair like Ken Dodd’s. Lara and May exchanged puzzled glances when she walked in.

‘What the heck happened to you?’

‘Just don’t ask,’ said Clare, reaching for the hand towel that was hanging on a hook by the sink. ‘Don’t bloody ask.’

They asked. Why was she carrying a box of cleaning stuff and walking about with one shoe on?

Clare didn’t mention Val. She felt disgusted with herself, but at least the scales had been lifted from her eyes and she could see Val Hathersage for what he was: a knob. He wasn’t a
sexy man of mystery or a non-conformist spirit. He was Tianne Lee with designer stubble: shallow and self-serving, a tease, a game-player and, after what he had done to his brother, a total
shit.

She wished she were more like May and Lara who evidently found it cathartic to unburden themselves and talk things through. She, however, would rather just forget the Val Hathersage episode ever
happened. That way she might fool herself into thinking that it really hadn’t.

‘I’ve just come back from Raine’s house,’ she said finally.

‘How come you ended up wearing one shoe, though? Did it dissolve in your bleach?’ laughed May.

‘I threw it over the cliff,’ Clare said, reciting the story she had concocted on the walk back up the hill. ‘And before you ask, no, I didn’t mean to. I took my shoes off
to climb up and wash the windows and didn’t realize one of them had fallen in the bucket. And it’s really windy up there.’

Clare couldn’t believe they bought it. What they couldn’t believe was that she was spending a big chunk of her holiday doing housework.

‘She’s a lovely old lady,’ said Clare. ‘I wanted to help her out a bit. It’s odd but . . . I feel as if I’ve known her a lot longer than I have. I like her
company. And her cat.’ Then she was distracted by the crutch at Lara’s side. ‘Where did this come from?’

May was standing by the window, looking across at High Top through the blur of rain on the glass.

‘Why would anyone want to live up there? It looks as if the cliff might break off and take the house into the sea with it. Surely it must be risky?’

‘It’s the house she lived in with her husband,’ replied Clare. ‘She won’t be moved. Anyway, I’ll ask again: where did this crutch come from? Don’t tell
me that Gene Hathersage made it for you?’

Lara grunted by way of an answer.

‘Ooh. He has the hots for you, Lars.’

‘Get lost,’ replied Lara.

‘I heard something interesting about him . . . from Raine,’ Clare said and she told them what she had learned about the brothers Hathersage and Colleen Landers.

The storm was like a child’s tantrum. The sky stamped its feet and made a lot of noise but its energies were soon spent. The sun chased away the weakened grey clouds and
the wind stilled. Within half an hour the strange, puffy, fake clouds were back spoiling things again.

‘Anyone fancy a limp down to the pub?’ asked Lara at teatime. ‘We could have a bar meal and some very expensive drinks at offcumden prices.’

‘Will you manage?’ asked Clare.

‘I’ll find out,’ replied Lara, not ruling out the possibility that Gene Hathersage had designed the crutch to fall to pieces after forty paces so she’d fall and sprain
her other ankle. She immediately admonished herself for being so mean. After Clare had told them about his ex-wife, Colleen, she’d played his words back in her head and found that, as he had
claimed, he’d actually been a realist, not a sexist. He was right: women could be every bit as evil as men. Take Tianne Lee, for instance. A first-class bitch if ever there was one.

She hoped they wouldn’t bump into him down the hill, but a wish of this type was usually doomed, making the opposite come true. So she wasn’t at all surprised when they turned the
corner and there he was, walking up with a newspaper in his hand.

‘Oh, just great,’ said Lara.

‘Play nice,’ warned May.

‘Evening, ladies,’ said Gene, then he nodded to Lara. ‘And you.’

Lara felt her lip curl back from her teeth.

‘Right height for you, is it?’ He flicked his finger towards the crutch.

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘We’re going to the pub,’ said Clare, as Lara and Gene stood there, glowering each other to death.

‘Well, don’t let me keep you. Good night,’ Gene replied, bowing his head in their direction and carrying on up the hill.

‘Ge— Mr Hathersage?’

Lara’s sense of decency forced her to speak. He stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

‘Yeah?’

Lara limped up the hill and stood squarely in front of him.

‘I owe you an apology. I was much too opinionated the last time we spoke. I shouldn’t have said what I said. You were right. I was wrong.’

He nodded but didn’t move.

‘Ok-ay,’ said Lara. ‘Well . . . thanks for listening.’ She started to walk away from him, snarling under her breath.

‘I’m going to choose another dog in the morning. Would you like to come with me?’

Lara’s mouth dropped open, like the mouth of one of the fishes he carved on his pieces. She turned back to him. ‘Er . . . yeah, yeah. Why not?’