Redemption Song (29 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

Saffron had never seen the beach and promenade so crowded. A safe distance away, everyone faced the pier, hands peaked over foreheads. High-vis jackets lined the beach like beacons, police holding the throng back. Orange flames licked the ballroom roof and black smoke billowed upwards, poisoning the sky. Two RNLI boats rose and fell with the swell on the waves below the ballroom. Arcs of water from hoses on the beach pumped towards the heart of the blaze. In the middle of the pier were more firefighters, hoses stretched to breaking point, aimed at the ballroom.

Beside Saffron, Rain gasped and clamped a hand across her mouth. Saffron took hold of her mum’s free hand. Rain whispered, choked, ‘How could this have happened?’

Unable to say anything sensible, and not wanting to tell Rain of her suspicions given that it would mean explaining why she’d been trespassing on the pier, Saffron pulled her mother along the promenade. ‘Let’s get closer,’ she said. Saffron remembered the signs of life on the dance floor and feared someone might have been caught unawares. It would have been easy for a tramp or homeless teenager to fall asleep with a cigarette between their fingers, smoke inhalation would prevent them from regaining consciousness. She’d dealt with that and minor burns before, but nothing too serious. Casualties here could be much, much worse. Her body on high alert, when she spotted the ambulance she knew she was ready to help and it felt good. So good.

She heard her name being called over the hubbub of the small crowd hovering near the pier entrance.

‘Saffron!’ There it was again: a female voice, familiar. It could only be Ceri.

She pushed her way through the throng, dragging Rain behind her, until they neared the ambulance. A police officer stopped her going any further, though there was no sign of activity around the ambulance itself.

‘Stay back now, Miss.’

She leant to one side, peering beyond the policeman. She couldn’t see anyone. ‘I’m a doctor,’ she said. ‘Almost a doctor. I might be able to help. Offer advice.’

‘Almost?’ the policeman said, eyebrows raised.

‘Saffron.’ Ceri appeared beside her. Her voice was high-pitched, quivering. ‘I saw you down the prom. Thank Christ we Welsh are midgets and you’re so bloody tall. We’ve been shouting for you. Knew you’d be down here somewhere and no chance of hearing your phone.’

‘It vibrates.’

Ceri slapped her forehead. ‘What a bloody idiot.’

‘Why? Why were you calling me?’ Saffron said.

‘Joe’s been hurt. He raised the alarm. First to see the fire. Bloody early it was, when he called. Thank God he did. Would be so much worse if he’d not been up –’

Saffron heard her mother gasp. She grasped Ceri by the shoulders, her fingers pushing into her friend’s pliant flesh. She resisted the impulse to shake Ceri. ‘Where is he? What happened? I have to see him.’ She looked again towards the ambulance, nauseous, legs wobbly, heart pounding. She felt Rain’s hand on her arm.

‘He’s gone to hospital in another ambulance. With Dad. Not serious, the paramedics reckon. More of a precaution really, they said. I wanted to go but they said only one. Never been in an ambulance. Been in a police car but never –’

‘Ceri, shut up. Which hospital. Tell me.’

Not serious, she said, not serious.

Her mind played Ceri’s words over and over in a loop. But what if Ceri was mistaken? Saffron didn’t think she could bear it. Was this to be her punishment? To lose a man she really did love?

‘County. Bloody hell, what a numpty. Fancy not telling you straight away,’ Ceri said.

Rain spoke and Saffron jumped, she’d forgotten her mother was there. ‘We’ll get a cab. Did you bring your phone? I forgot mine in the rush.’ Saffron pulled it out of her back pocket. ‘Of course you did. Surgically attached, isn’t it?’ Rain continued with forced lightness as she took the phone from Saffron. ‘Don’t worry, Saffy. As Ceri said: a precaution.’ Rain moved away, the phone at her ear. Saffron followed with Ceri in tow, still talking. She had no idea what Ceri was saying.

A&E was busy, people milling everywhere. Mothers with children, a workman cradling what looked like a broken arm, and a surprising number who appeared to be drunk. Rain was appalled; it was eight thirty on a weekday morning.

While Saffron and Ceri waited at reception, Rain scoured the room for seats. She felt somewhat dizzy. No breakfast, that would be it. And a terrible shock. Only days since their little victory and it seemed like all their efforts had been in vain. Eifion had sounded devastated when he’d called. He was apologetic for waking her but he felt that she would want to know as soon as possible. ‘There may even be people who’d welcome your presence down there, Reverend. Who might need to pray,’ he’d said, shyly. Despite the shock of the news, or perhaps because of it, she’d laughed, and said, ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. Perhaps only our developer friends,’ before ending the call, throwing on some clothes, and going to wake Saffron.

She looked around the room for Eifion but there was no sign of him. Perhaps he was in with JJ? Wherever JJ was. She sat on a free seat. Joe. She must call him Joe. She’d been misled all those months ago when Saff had said that everyone called him JJ. No one did. Mind you, few knew him by name or sight, full stop. Only Ceri, Eifion, that Tyson lad, and, of course, Saff. There must be others though, surely? At the hotel, a landlord, the congregation, and campaign crew? She’d misjudged him. What he’d done today was brave. Some might say a little foolish.

Bats! Who’d have thought he’d risk his life for a bunch of ugly mammals and an old pier?

As she thought on it, Rain warmed to Joe even more. Anyone who cared about those more vulnerable than themselves had to be nice. He was kind to animals. A good sign. He would be kind to Saff.

‘This taken?’

Jolted from her thoughts, Rain glanced up. A young man, a little younger than JJ – Joe – hovered over her, pointing at the empty seat next to her.

She looked towards reception. Saffron and Ceri were still waiting to be seen and the desk was empty, staff too busy dealing with medical emergencies, she imagined.

‘No. Do sit down.’

He plonked himself down and unhooked a bulky camera from around his neck with one hand. He nodded. ‘Twisted my wrist and I’m left-handed. Typical, huh?’

Rain wanted to suggest that he make an appointment with his GP and stop clogging up casualty with non-emergencies but refrained. He might be a visitor, not registered with a doctor, though he looked familiar. She was unable to place him. She was intrigued by his camera and longed for a distraction from her rumbling belly. The WI shop didn’t open till nine o’clock.

‘I wouldn’t have thought photography was a dangerous sport,’ she said, smiling.

From the blank expression on his face he didn’t get the joke.

Undeterred, she continued. ‘Is it a hobby, or work?’

This question he could answer, it seemed, and his relief was palpable. ‘Work.
The Herald
.’

There, she had him. He worked for the local newspaper. He’d taken her picture outside the church, not long after she’d first arrived in Coed Mawr and was trying to raise the profile of the chapel and the plight of its roof. He’d interviewed her too. Nice enough man, not the brightest but presumably that’s why he remained in local news and hadn’t hoofed it down to London and the nationals.

‘You took my photo,’ she said. ‘The chapel in Upper Coed Mawr.’

‘So I did.’ He smiled, though his tone conveyed a distinct lack of genuine interest. ‘What you in for?’ he asked, when she didn’t turn away.

Rain explained about JJ – Joe – and the race to the pier to stop the fire and save the bats and ballroom. In the telling of the tale, she got quite carried away and embellished a few of the facts, as far as she knew them. It was a great story and Joe was quite the hero, she realised. Why, without him raising the alarm, who knows what might have happened? People might have been killed (she wasn’t sure how, but the reporter didn’t challenge her and so she continued); the fire would certainly have taken a much stronger hold, and bats were a protected species, didn’t he know?

The reporter nodded, enraptured, and it was only when he asked if he might record some of the facts that Rain’s stomach churned from something other than hunger. Had she gone too far? She’d not lied. The bare bones were solid. She nodded back.

He took out his notebook and wrote down the details.

‘And he’s here, in the hospital, now?’ he said, looping the camera strap back around his neck.

Rain nodded again, mute.

He stood and she heard him whisper, ‘Fantastic,’ before he offered his hand – the good one – and said, ‘Thank you so much, Reverend. This is a story everyone should hear.’

She watched him approach reception as a member of staff returned. Bouldering his way through the queue he collared the woman, an administrator from the looks of her smart suit, and after a couple of seconds he trotted through a set of double doors with Saffron and Ceri scurrying after him. Rain pushed herself from her seat, stumbled between the tightly packed chairs, and hurried through the doors, ignoring the cries of the administrator. ‘You must speak with reception before going anywhere, please!’

On the other side of the double doors Rain turned left where she found another, smaller reception. Again, unstaffed. What on earth was happening to the NHS? Beyond that was a corridor with individual cubicles, all closed off.

There came a shouting from the far end and the reporter burst through the curtain which offered patients a degree of privacy, clutching his camera in front of him. He raced down the corridor towards Rain with Ceri in pursuit. Faster than Ceri, he swept past Rain, who, in the confusion, blocked Ceri’s path. The reporter disappeared back through the doors.

‘Heavens. What was that all about?’ Rain said.

‘Bloody bastard!’ Ceri yelled.

A nurse poked her head out from behind another curtain and scowled at them. ‘I’ll have you thrown out,’ she said.

‘I’ve got to go anyway,’ Ceri said, to no one in particular. ‘Duty calls. Kids are waiting for me. Good of them to give me a bit of slack.’ She looked at Rain. ‘Say good bye to Saff, will you? And Joe. Tell him if I see that slimy git, I’ll punch his lights out as well as busting his camera.’ And with that she too disappeared. The nurse popped her head out again and Rain squeaked, ‘It wasn’t me,’ before turning to the small reception where a member of staff now sat staring at a PC.

‘Can I help you?’ the girl said, calmly.

She must see things like this all the time, thought Rain, before asking which cubicle Joe Jones was in and might she pop up to say hello? She already knew, but it seemed polite to ask.

Joe was sitting up in bed when Rain peered round the curtain. Saff sat on the edge of the bed. There were no medics around.

‘I came to see how you were doing?’ She felt like an intruder, and she was troubled by something as yet unidentified. A heavy feeling in her stomach had taken care of her appetite at least.

It was Saffron who answered. ‘He was better before that reporter pitched up. What a rude bastard. Who does he think he is? Snapping away like that, without permission.’ She turned to Joe. ‘How did he know where you were?’ She held onto Joe’s hand. Rain envied him that. How lovely to have someone hold you in times of crises.

‘Where’s Eifion?’ she asked.

‘He left as soon as the nurse gave me the all-clear. Just waiting for official sign-off. Has to be a doc.’ He smiled at Saff. ‘Hotel manager’s a pig and it’s bad enough me not being there, let alone Eifion too.’

‘How are you, JJ? Joe.’

‘OK, thanks. I didn’t get close enough to get hurt. Lungs are fine. Clothes stink.’ He smiled and waved her in. ‘They got it under control yet?’

Rain remained where she was. ‘Getting there. We won’t know the extent of the damage for a while. I’m so glad you’re all right. Thank God.’

‘That’s what that reporter said.’ Saffron turned to face Rain.

Fixing on Joe, Rain said, ‘The reporter … it might have been my fault … I’m so sorry. He was here, in A&E, waiting to be seen, for a bad wrist,’ she held up her left hand. ‘We got talking … I had no idea he’d come storming in after you.’

‘Course you didn’t. They might not even print it. Not much of a story really and Ceri might have blocked the shot anyway. She’s fierce, that one,’ Joe said.

‘Oh, it is a story. I wonder how he took the shot. He had a sprained wrist, you know. I think you’re a hero.’

‘So do I,’ echoed Saffron, and she leant forward and kissed him.

Rain slipped away without saying goodbye. Joe was fine and that was good. He was good. She hoped he would be good to her daughter.

Chapter Twenty-seven

It was bad. A photograph, blurred, but if you knew who you were looking for, unmistakable; a big bold title; a half page article including his name, his profession, the fact that he’d worked on the chapel roof, that he’d supported the campaign to save the pier ballroom (an exaggeration, in truth), that he wasn’t a local, been in the area a year. Damn, damn, damn. Joe folded the newspaper and threw it onto the toilet floor. A colour photograph of the blazing ballroom stared back at him. At least the photograph of him wasn’t on the front page.

He shuffled on the toilet seat lid, sat back, resting against the cistern, arms folded. So it had come to this: hiding away in a hotel toilet reading the Saturday edition of a regional newspaper. It was possible they wouldn’t find it, that he would remain hidden, that he could stay here, stay with Saffron.

Saffron. His guts twisted at the thought of her, of leaving. What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t go.

You need to speak with Simon.

He lifted his backside from the seat and pulled his phone from his front pocket. It had been there too long; it was getting uncomfortable. He’d only moved it to sit down.

Sighing, he found Simon’s contact and hit call.

‘Yo. How goes it?’ Simon sounded buoyant.

‘Shite.’ He could almost hear Simon deflating as he explained. ‘Right, look, bro, here’s what we do.’ Joe didn’t bother reminding Simon they weren’t related in any way; it seemed petty under the circumstances. ‘Stay cool. Let me do the worrying. What’s to say they’ll have seen this rag? Her man’s snooping in Ireland, yeah? Totally the wrong trail, man. Totally. Give me till Monday. Not so easy at the weekend.’