Redemption Song (28 page)

‘That’s unfair. I told you about Allegra.’ He held on to her arm, refusing to let her go, pressing his fingers into her flesh. It didn’t hurt but there was force.

‘Only because you had to.’ She poked his chest with her free hand, hard, nail first. ‘I found the photo, remember? And while we’re at it, I don’t think for one minute that was the whole story either.’

He winced and loosened his hold, releasing her. ‘Where’s all this come from, Saffron? Why so angry? What have I done?’ He sounded hurt and confused and surprised.

Where was this rage coming from? She felt herself crack, splintering.

Chapter Twenty-five

Joe understood what it was like to have your illusions shattered, to discover that the mirror you’d held in front of someone was distorted, like those in fairgrounds which made tall people short and thin people wide.

‘It’s horrible to realise someone you thought was honest, isn’t. I get that. I really do,’ he said, reaching out for her hand.

Horrible. Not the best description for feelings which rip you to shreds.

‘My dad’s not dishonest. Wasn’t. He was weak. There are worse crimes.’

Instead of appeasing her, he’d made her angrier still. He wanted to kick himself. How could he possibly understand? Saffron’s discovery of the truth about her parent’s marriage was different to his discovery of the truth about his life. From what she’d said, she didn’t idealise her father; she’d left that to Rain. Poor Rain. What an awful thing to have to go through. Her sense of bewilderment, grief, all shot to pieces. No wonder she was all over the place. She’d denied herself true grief, when she needed to grieve twice over. For her marriage, the man she’d known, and the man himself, the loss of the man as he was then.

Saffron raged on, stomping up the hill, ‘And we’ll never know if he really would have gone. I can’t stop myself from believing that he’d have changed his mind, before or after. That he’d have come back to us, in the end. To Mum.’ She stopped, lifted her hands in supplication. ‘Me! Pinning everything on some vague hope. I don’t do faith.’ She walked on again, her sentences punctuated by huffs of exertion. ‘But we never got the chance to find out. How can Mum believe in a God, a Jesus, who allows such totally shit things to happen to nice, decent people. People who do good and pray for world peace, the poor, the barmy, and every other bleeding heart that drops by. And bad people get away with all sorts. It’s not fair. Not fair at all.’ Quite breathless, she paused, hands resting on her thighs.

He stepped in front of her. ‘No, it isn’t. Sometimes, being crapped on isn’t personal. It’s indiscriminate. Like getting hit by pigeon,’ he looked to the sky, ‘or seagull shit. They’re not aiming for you, they’re just flying about. You happened to be underneath.’ He reached for her hands again and this time, she let him hold them. He rubbed his thumbs across her palms. ‘What happened to you and Rain wasn’t fair, wasn’t fair at all. You didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Neither did you. She left you.’

He looked at the floor. It wasn’t true that he’d done no wrong, but Saffron wasn’t to know.

Tell her. Tell her. Now is the time.

He let go of her, took off his cap and ran fingers through his hair, stopping at the crown, holding onto a chunk of hair. He scratched. ‘Saffron –’

The slap of liquid on concrete made both of them jump. ‘Jesus Christ!’ Joe shouted, as guano splashed from the pavement and onto their jeans.

Through groans of disgust, Saffron started to laugh, to howl. ‘Oh my God. You couldn’t make that up. The timing. It’s like yoghurt. A pot full. I’ve never seen so much seagull shit in all my life.’

A middle-aged man, incongruous in the early evening sun in a cagoule and wellies, walked by. ‘Now there’s luck for you!’

‘Lucky if you’ve got a tissue?’ Saffron said, still laughing.

‘As it happens.’ The man pulled out a packet of Kleenex. ‘There’s a storm on the way,’ he added, nodding at the sky before continuing on his journey. It was cloudless as far as Joe could see.

They wiped themselves as clean as possible, Saffron alternately giggling and groaning. Perhaps there is such a thing as divine intervention, Joe thought, as Saffron linked her arm in his and urged them on to the meeting, her mood light once more, all thought of what he was about to say forgotten.

The church hall was rammed when they arrived. With young and old alike. Joe was impressed. Rain had done a good job of rallying the troops and Joe hoped supporters appreciated her efforts, unconventional though they might have been for the more senior members. Whether or not it would translate to increased engagement with church activities would remain to be seen. He hoped so. Rain needed a bit of luck right now.

Ceri pushed her way through the throng, three bottles of Pilsner in a vice-like grip. She passed Joe and Saffron a bottle each and swept her gaze round the room. ‘Looks like the offer of free beer did the trick, eh?’

‘The news?’ Saffron said.

Ceri beamed. ‘The best. Your mam’s going to make an announcement soon. Dad’s rushed off to buy fizz.’

Saffron raised her eyebrows and Ceri laughed. ‘I know. Pushing the boat out, eh? Always took him for a mean old bastard, but he likes your mam.’

Joe glanced at Saffron who smiled and said, ‘She likes him.’ There was no malice or rancour and he felt an urge to whisper in her ear: I love you. Love you. Instead, he leant over and placed a kiss on her cheek.

The crackle of a microphone silenced most of the crowd. Rain appeared on the small stage and made a brief, impassioned thank you for the work everyone had done raising support in the town and putting pressure on the council. ‘The pier ballroom will be restored to its former glory. It will be a focal point for the people of Coed Mawr to use and enjoy, and it will have the added benefit of attracting more visitors to our beautiful resort! Our prayers have been answered.’ It was the only reference to faith and once again, Joe found himself admiring Rain’s approach. Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey. Wasn’t that the expression?

‘Think this’ll get more people in chapel?’ he said to Saffron as the crowd clapped and cheered. The cheers more than likely the result of a few bottles of strong lager.

‘Doubt it. But it doesn’t matter. The goodwill of the town is enough, along with the recruitment of a couple of wealthy ex-members.’ Saffron nodded at a well-turned out couple to the right of the stage. ‘They fell out with the last pastor. Paid a large chunk of his stipend. They love Mum now, apparently. They run a development company, specialising in restoration. They’re after the ballroom contract. Who’d have thought faith could be so fickle, huh?’

Joe nodded. ‘Let’s go. I’ll make supper. You said you wanted to talk,’ he said, desperate to have her to himself.

‘What you got in?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, with an apologetic sigh.

‘Co-op on the way up then.’ She took his hand and led him out of the hall.

Unable to sleep for the second night in a row, Joe rose shortly before dawn. It was pointless lying in bed staring at the warped beams of his bedroom ceiling, and dawn was his favourite time of day. Bats were at their most social, so it was the best time to catch them. No one was around, unlike at dusk. He needed a distraction from his troubled thoughts. He couldn’t take his mind off the conversation he’d had with Saffron; the conversation in which he had remained silent. In which he should have come clean.

She was considering applying to a hospital nearby to complete her training. Well, at least nearer than King’s where she’d done the earlier years of her training. She had asked him what he thought, which meant, he presumed, that this change of plan was connected to him and their relationship. She’d not used that precise word, relationship – she’d fudged it in much the same way he would have done – but that’s what she meant and that’s what it was.

At first he’d excused it as a few dates, something to ease the loneliness and boredom of his existence. But it was so much more than that now; it had been almost from the start. He’d been in denial. He loved her. He wasn’t infatuated, he wasn’t obsessed; he was in love. Genuine, you-are-my-soulmate love. He knew this, but he hadn’t told her. Initially, he’d kept schtum because he couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure of his feelings. After all, he was one screwed-up bloke. But now he held his silence because he was frightened. Frightened she might not reciprocate his love, frightened of being let down again, frightened to trust.

She isn’t Allegra. She is nothing like Allegra. She is everything Allegra isn’t.

He padded downstairs and filled the kettle, shivering as he peered through the kitchen window at the garden. He waited for the water to boil. Mist rose from the dew-laden grass, the longer stalks bowing to the earth under the weight. After the torrent of rain the night before a beautiful day beckoned. The strange man in the wellies had been right, there’d been a terrific storm shortly before midnight. He’d recently got round to buying a kettle, finally, and it had boiled before he’d had the chance to tip coffee and sugar into his mug. He couldn’t get used to the speed of electricity compared to the range.

Hugging the mug he wandered outside, bare feet sinking into the peaty, sodden ground. What was he to do? To say? She mustn’t apply to Bangor or Wrexham on his behalf; he might have to move on at a moment’s notice. If she did, it must be for Rain, not him. But he couldn’t explain this to her without revealing the truth and telling her might mean the end of everything.

But you have to tell her. Any love she may or may not feel for you will be based on a lie if you don’t.

He gulped down the coffee and went inside for another cup, his bones aching from lack of sleep. After another drink, and a shower followed by tea and toast, it was barely six o’clock.

With hours to kill before he was due at the hotel, Joe did what he always did when troubled: he walked. As he spent so much time on the waterfront he chose to ramble up the hillside, sweeping behind the tall trees. Once out of the shade of the tree canopy, the soft ground became harder and rockier as he progressed upwards. It was such a glorious morning, for a time, he forgot about his dilemma and gave in to the sheer joy of being alive. At the peak of the rise, exhausted, he threw himself on the ground and stretched out, like a starfish, eyes closed. He toyed with the idea of falling asleep here on top of the mountain, but it was too breezy, too cool, he had too much on his mind. A wisp of dark smoke trailed across the sky. Who lit a fire in this weather, or burnt garden rubbish at this hour? He pushed himself into a sitting position, imagining himself gazing over the town spotting the home of the early-rising stoker. But there was no need to search. Granite-coloured smoke snaked from the sea into the clear blue sky, smudging it like charcoal. It came from the end of the pier. The ballroom was on fire and judging by the plumes of smoke, it wouldn’t be long before flames lashed at its already delicate structure.

Joe’s first thought wasn’t the threat to a once exquisite art nouveau building, a building that was to be preserved and restored to its full glory, but which could only be restored if something, however frayed, existed. That was his second thought. His first was the threat the fire posed to the bats. The place where they were raising their young. It was their home.

He leapt to his feet, without taking his eyes off the pier. He couldn’t believe it. How had the ballroom caught fire? He recalled the empty cans and cigarette butts he’d found on the dance floor when he’d tiptoed in with Saffron, Ceri and Eifion. But they’d not been added to, or removed, when he’d gone back to check on the bats, to follow his hunch that the ballroom was a maternity roost. The conditions were good: south-facing, warm, free from human interference and predators, plenty of nooks and crannies to settle in. The bats would have scattered at the first whiff of smoke, carrying their pups with them. But where would they go? It would leave them so vulnerable.

And the ballroom. The beautiful ballroom.

C
all Eifion, he’s close to the seafront. Eifion? The Fire Brigade, you bloody idiot! Call 999.

He slapped at his back pocket for his phone. Damn. He’d forgotten it. He never went anywhere without his phone. Sleep deprivation, it played havoc with everything. As he raced down the hillside, he cursed his forgetfulness, his rashness in deciding to go for a walk, before realising that if he’d not taken a stroll, he’d never have seen the smoke. By some miracle, for which he thanked the universe, he did not fall or even stumble as he flew back to the cottage. There in minutes, he dialled 999, followed by Eifion, who he roused from sleep.

Joe charged outside and jumped into the Land Rover, hoping it would start first time. It had been temperamental of late. As if understanding the importance of the mission the Landy fired immediately. ‘Atta girl,’ he roared, as he sped down the lane, sending flinty stones spinning into the air.

Joe was first on the pier. Without the whir of sirens, Joe didn’t know the fire brigade had arrived until he felt heavy footsteps reverberating on the wooden planks behind him as he charged towards the ballroom. Without stopping, he turned around, only slowing his pace enough to ensure he didn’t fall over. Firefighters waved and yelled at him to go no further. He saw the figures in full fire-fighting clobber. They stampeded towards him, some with hoses looped over their arms. There weren’t enough of them, he was sure. Alarmed, the blood thundered in his head, blinding him. He turned back and charged onwards. The air thickened with fumes as he drew nearer to the ballroom.

Even with the best will in the world, plus strong thighs and healthy lungs, Joe ran out of steam. The firefighters might have been weighed down by their protective clothing, but they’d not walked up a hill and sprinted back down on less than two hours’ sleep. Joe’s legs buckled. Two of them were on him in seconds.

‘Are you mad, man? You’ll get yourself killed,’ one screamed.

‘Will your hoses reach? Are more coming?’ Joe croaked. ‘We can’t let it be destroyed.’

Tapping into strength reserves he thought were depleted, he pushed them off and staggered on, the acrid smell of burning filling the air.