Redemption Song (21 page)

Emotion choking her, Rain tried to convey this to her daughter, who sat silent and attentive.

‘How could you be sure it wasn’t infatuation?’ Saff said, blushing again.

‘I couldn’t. You can’t, I don’t believe. Perhaps it’s about reciprocation … true love travels both ways, infatuation doesn’t always. Who knows! I’ve only ever loved your father …’ Rain stopped and stared at Saff, whose colour deepened.

How had she missed it?

Saffy’s in love. With JJ.

The realisation winded her. She stabbed her fork at the gnocchi. She covered her mouth with her palm, took a sip of water, pretending the pasta was too hot.

It was so obvious there was no reason to doubt or question her instinct. The light within Saffron, the way she was around him. It could only be love.

Ha! What a foolish woman, you are. It was there, right from the start, when he came into the manse after rescuing her from Devil’s Rise. She wasn’t embarrassed about you – your role in the community (though that would be a first) – she was awkward because she didn’t understand what was going on. Didn’t understand her raging emotions.

JJ. A niggle of suspicion. She’d felt it before. Why? What was it about him she didn’t entirely trust? She’d mistakenly thought he was attracted to her, hoped he was, even. The silly insecurity of a middle-aged widow. She longed to warn her daughter. Be careful. Love is joy; love is pain; love is inescapable. But Saffron was radiant. So happy. How could she not be happy for her?

‘Do you think I’m a bad person, Mum? I grieve for Ben, just not in the way everyone thinks and not like I do Dad. I know it’s my own fault, keeping it secret and that.’

‘You sensed I needed you to feel the same as me.’

‘Perhaps. Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For listening. For understanding. For being so
nice
.’

They laughed.

‘Thought that drove you mad.’

‘It does. C’mon, let’s pay up. There’s ice cream in the freezer. We can eat the lot, from the tub, when we get home.’

‘You mean I can eat the lot.’

‘That’s going to change. A lot’s going to change from now on.’ Saff waved at the waiter who scurried over, and Rain wasn’t sure if she felt happy or sad.

Rain held her open Bible to her face and inhaled. It smelt of the church and pear drops and a lifetime of comfort, but she was struggling to find solace. She wasn’t angry with Saff; she felt afraid for her, and sad. All this time and she’d only just felt able to speak the truth.

What is it about me that makes it so difficult for Saffy to be honest? I’ve failed her in some way.

She wondered when, if, Saffron would tell her she was in love with JJ. Rain tried to be happy for her, but all she could feel was a deep, deep melancholy. Her daughter’s heart was about to be tested and Rain suspected it wasn’t as strong as it would need to be.

Chapter Nineteen

Joe hated Sundays. It was the longest day of the week without the distraction of work; the day he felt most alone. Whenever there was an opportunity to labour he took it. He suspected it was one of the reasons Derek liked him so much, though it wasn’t appropriate on this job, obviously. But this Sunday was different; he had an option, if only he was brave enough to follow through. He’d woken early, tense and excited.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and held his phone between his thumb and index finger and flipped it over and over on the mattress. He pulled it towards his face and dragged up his contacts. Contacts! He had so few: Simon, Derek, Tyson, Eifion, Rain and, now, Saffron. His thumb hovered over her details. Was it too early to call? She’d been out the night before with her mother. Rain had announced their plans when she’d brought Joe a mug of coffee on Saturday morning, as was her habit if she was about. No matter how many times Joe said he was fine with instant, she insisted on making real and she always took time to make conversation, no matter how busy she was. Joe knew it wasn’t all about being nice; she was trying to suss him out. He intrigued her and this made him nervous. She’d stopped inviting him to coffee mornings and the like weeks ago and realising that he would not come to her, she came out to him.

The phone screen went black. Decision made. He would not call Saffron yet. He clambered out of bed and ran a bath.

Shortly after ten thirty, when Rain would be inside the chapel preparing to meet her congregation and Saffron would be alone in the manse, Joe called. She didn’t pick up immediately and it occurred to him he might have misread her. Maybe she wasn’t as keen as she’d appeared. Maybe she’d changed her mind, had time to reflect and decided he wasn’t worth the bother after all. Maybe she’d spoken to Rain, told her about Ben, and Rain had persuaded her to play the grieving girlfriend until a decent amount of time had passed. However long that was supposed to be.

He was about to hang up, his throat tight, disappointment scratching the insides of his lungs, when a breathless voice stopped him.

‘Hello?’ She sounded as if she was walking; he could hear a whistling. Wind?

‘Saffron? Where are you?’

‘On top of the cliffs. It’s amazing up here; the view of the bay, the town, is amazing, the mountains in the background are awesome.’ She sounded full of joy.

‘Will you wait for me?’

‘What? You’ll have to speak up. The reception up here’s terrible.’

He bellowed into the phone, realising she might not have picked up instantly because she hadn’t heard it. She wasn’t playing hard to get. How could she? She couldn’t have been sure it was him. He blocked his number to everyone.

‘Yes, I’ll wait for you,’ she replied.

He was out of the cottage in seconds, carried by a lightness he’d almost forgotten was possible. He jumped into the Landy and roared down the lane.

His phone rang as he pulled into the visitor centre car park. Simon. He had to take it.

‘Yeah.’

‘Yo, man, how you doin’?’

‘Good. Look Simon, I’m in a bit of rush.’

‘On a Sunday? Yo. Sounds like the old days.’

‘Cut to the chase, Si. Please.’

‘Great news. The private dick’s headed west. Jumped a train to Holyhead – I sure as hell nearly pissed myself when I saw that booking – and then a boat to Ireland. Dublin. Way off, man. Way off.’

Today is going to be a very good day indeed
.

‘Brilliant. Si, can we talk in more detail tomorrow evening?’

‘Sure. Love to hear what you’ve got planned for those fuckers.’

‘OK. Tomorrow.’

Joe had nothing planned, that was the truth of it. Vague ideas, but nothing more. His head was full of the here and now. Saffron.

‘Joe?’ Simon said.

‘Thanks for this, Simon. I’m glad you called.’

Joe threw back his head and whooped. Thank God the car park was empty.

From the visitor centre he strode towards the cliff and the view over the sea, fighting against the wind as he went. It came from the south, warm, hinting at summer. He was glad it blew inland. Saffron might well have been blown over the edge. She was sitting on the grass, legs stretched out before her, looking at the turbines which spotted the horizon. He slid alongside her and she turned to greet him with a smile so welcoming the day got even better. He felt impossibly happy and leant over and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi.’ Nothing else needed saying. He rested on his arms, elbows straight, mimicking her, hands grazing hers on the damp ground and they gazed over the landscape without speaking.

A cable car groaned into action and rocked down the hillside to the bay.

‘Ever ridden one?’ he asked.

‘Nope.’

‘Want to?’

‘Not particularly. Shall we go somewhere? Out of Coed Mawr. Exploring. I’ve been here over six months and I know little of the surrounding area.’

‘It’s a national park. Meant to be beautiful.’ He’d not ventured far either.

‘Only one way to find out.’ She got to her feet and, wiping her palms over her backside, turned towards the car park. ‘Race you to the Land Rover.’ And with that, she was gone, pelting down the slope, arms and legs flailing, skipping more than running, long hair flying over her head. She was no athlete, so he watched for a few seconds, to give her a head start, and then he broke into a sprint, charging after her.

I’d run for miles to catch you. Miles and miles.

Without a map or any idea where they were heading, he followed the road which cut into mountains draped with wispy clouds. The road grew narrower and narrower, jagged rocks the colour of pewter spiked from the heather-dusted, coarse grass. As the Landy rolled slowly past, the odd grazing sheep lifted a head to regard the intruders, bemused and nonchalant. Such staring unnerved Joe somewhat. Those blank, yellow eyes.

After an hour, they stopped at a village deep in the heart of the mountains, popular with walkers and climbers judging by the shops lining the higgledy-piggledy streets. A noisy river bisected the centre and after buying pasties and drinks from a bakery they followed it until they reached a waterfall. They sat on a slate wall and devoured the pies, the crashing water making conversation almost impossible.

Joe watched Saffron as she drank from the can. Her legs dangled over the wall, the dark water pooled below her. ‘This OK?’ he yelled. ‘Not exactly romantic.’

She turned her head so that she faced him, her blue eyes unnerving, as well as transparent. ‘I disagree. It’s one of the most romantic places, ever.’

They leant forward, their mouths meeting in a kiss. Joe felt the caress of the splashing water from the falls brushing his cheek and though he didn’t say so, he agreed with her.

‘You going to finish that?’ he asked, nodding at the half-eaten pasty sitting on the paper bag by her side.

‘Yes. I’m ravenous,’ she said, ramming it into her mouth.

From the village they drove further into the mountains until they reached an expanse of water. ‘Is this Bala Lake?’ Saffron said, ‘I read about it somewhere. We could hire a boat. Might be fun?’

Joe shook his head. ‘Can’t be, we’re too westerly.’ Something about it looked man-made. ‘Let’s stop anyway. Sun’s out.’

He pulled over and they jumped out. Saffron bounded over to a sign, while he collected his sunglasses.

‘A reservoir,’ she announced, as he approached. ‘Says something about Liverpool City Council here. That’s weird.’

‘I wonder if it’s the place Eifion was telling me about. They destroyed a village to build it. Moved everyone out and the water wasn’t even to supply Wales. There was an outcry, protests. Led to an increase in support for Plaid Cymru.’

‘What?’

‘Welsh Nationalist Party. My pronunciation is probably horrible. It was one of many things which helped the move for devolution.’

‘Wow. You certainly have some random conversations. How come you got talking about this?’

‘The pier really. And Tyson’s a Liverpudlian.’

‘You’ve lost me. The Tyson bit I get. The pier?’ Her brows furrowed.

‘Eifion has a shop on the pier. One of the developers fighting for the contract is English apparently. They want to pull the ballroom down. Insult to injury. If they win, that is.’

‘I love piers. I remember the one at Brighton best. Never went as a kid, but when I was at med school we used to go down for the odd weekend. Just for the hell of it. They’re so tacky, they’re sick.’ There it was again, that child-like joy, excitement.

He pointed ahead, to some kind of monument, and they followed the road which bordered the reservoir. The sun beat down, warm for early April.

‘Do you remember the West Pier? Before it burnt down? Before it was nothing more than a skeleton?’

‘Not really.’ She stopped, closed her eyes and tilted her face at the sun.

So she isn’t a child of the night, despite her Gothic style.

They strolled on, leisurely and comfortable. ‘I took a tour of it, the West Pier. When it was dilapidated rather than ruined, when they were still arguing about whether to restore or develop. Though it had been badly treated, and ignored, and was covered in pigeon shit,’ he screwed up his face at the memory, ‘you could still see what it had been once. Its splendour. I loved it. I wanted to restore it, make it better.’ He checked himself; he was about to reveal too much.

‘It’s hard to disguise what we are completely and the same is true of objects. I mean, I’ve seen people ravaged by disease and age, but you can still tell what someone might have been like in their youth, whether they were beautiful or not, before the cancer or dementia got to them. Do you know what I mean? That was always an attraction with medicine. I could help make people better, get them back to what they really were, and not what they had become. Most of the time. And if not, I could care. Treat them with respect, dignity.’

He wasn’t sure he agreed with everything she said. Some people were expert at hiding their true nature. ‘Maybe.’

‘We should get involved in the pier campaign. Mum’s heavily into it now.’

‘Maybe.’
No way, too public. Even if that PI has gone to Ireland.

She stopped. ‘I’m ashamed to admit this but I’ve never been on the pier at Coed Mawr.’

‘So you don’t love them that much,’ he teased, reminding her of her earlier comment.

She kicked at the grass, head down. ‘I’ve not really given Coed Mawr a chance. Always seen it as a prison, somewhere to escape from as soon as I can, even though I came to escape the memories.’ She glanced up and smiled, ruefully, before returning to kicking the ground. ‘And take care of Mum. Keep an eye on her.’

‘Let’s go back. Walk along the pier, buy some chips, sit on a bench and see if we can keep the scrounging gulls off our food. Or we can just wander along it for a bit, and I can take you out to dinner. Somewhere decent.’

‘I’d love that. Chips on the pier. Forget the fancy restaurant.’

Caught behind a tractor and then stuck in a traffic jam, it took almost two hours to get back to Coed Mawr. Saffron was surprised by the number of cars on the road until she remembered the schools had broken up for Easter. Wynne’s was selling chocolate eggs and Mrs Evans had instructed Saffron to be more vigilant now that the children were on holiday. ‘There’ll be hordes of them in here. And they’ll as soon have them eggs as look at you. Same every year. Thieving beggars. I don’t know why Mr Wynne insists on letting them in so many at a time. “Restrict the numbers,” I say. “Other shops do it.” But he won’t listen. Silly old fool. Don’t know why he made me manager if he won’t let me implement ideas, I don’t.’