Redemption Song (36 page)

You won a genetic lottery and time has been kind to you.

She dipped her chin, put her hands on her hips, her weight on one leg, and thrust out her breasts, in a pastiche of an underwear model in a cheap catalogue, before bursting out laughing.

God forgive you, Rain de Lacy! What are you thinking? Get your clothes on!

She returned the spotty frock to its hanger and dragged out one of her old favourites. Sitting in front of her dresser, she ran a wide-toothed comb through her still-damp hair and applied some mascara and red lipstick with care. She was about to leave when she spotted the fabric flower behind a ramshackle collection of creams and perfumes. Securing it with a clip, she pinned the poppy above her left ear before drifting downstairs to fill bowls with nibbles, which she would serve with the wine and beer chilling in the fridge.

‘Is this OK for you?’ Rain gestured to the open kitchen window, out of which music poured. Saff had said Rain would like the album. Rain didn’t enjoy much of what Saff played – far too heavy for her more populist taste – but her daughter had been spot on with this band.

‘They’re brilliant, aren’t they? What else do you like to listen to?’ Eifion asked, sipping at the Kir Rain had presented him with on arrival.

‘What do you think?’ Rain said, sure he’d wrinkled his nose.

‘It’s sweet.’

‘I could add more wine, sharpen it up for you?’

Eifion shook his head. ‘It’s fine, really. Good to try new things, push yourself out of your comfort zone. Wouldn’t you agree?’

‘My tastes are pretty eclectic. I still love all those Britpop bands from my twenties, though I didn’t get to gigs or dances and clubs. Too busy with the kids. Bloody nuisances!’

‘Nothing to stop you now, of course.’

‘No.’ Rain looked out over the garden, towards the west and the horizon. She couldn’t actually see the horizon; she’d stretched the truth about that. Eifion was right. What was to stop her going to concerts and all sorts? Certainly, what was on offer here in Coed Mawr was more limited than London, but there was a cultural life, and she’d never taken advantage of all London had to offer anyway. She’d found the choice overwhelming, and Stephen didn’t like crowds or dancing.

I’m still young. There’s an undiscovered world out there.

She turned to Eifion. ‘Do you like concerts? Discos?’

He smiled that lovely, warm smile of his and said, ‘Yes, though I don’t go much. Last time I went was with Ceri to see one of those bloody awful boy bands. Only one there over twenty-five. I felt like the oldest swinger in town.’

‘How is Ceri? Still childminding?’

‘OK. She’s applied to go back to college, an access course, she called it. Says she wants to be a primary school teacher; she’s loved working with those kids. Found her vocation, at last, and some ambition and drive. Got that from your Saff, I suspect.’

At the mention of Saffron, Rain’s heart clenched. She took a gulp of Kir and shuddered as it hit the back of her throat. ‘Saff’s tougher than she looks. Medicine is so competitive.’

‘How is she?’

Rain rocked her head from side to side, like a puppet. ‘Oh, you know …’ She wondered how much Eifion knew. He worked with Joe; he must have seen him most days at the hotel, unless the contract had come to an end. It had been a week and a day since Joe’d come creeping round the manse garden in the dead of night, shouting for Saffron. He’d called and called her since. Rain had watched the missed call alerts piling up on Saffron’s phone screen.

‘He’s a good man,’ Eifion said suddenly, colour rising on his sunburnt cheeks. ‘Sorry. I didn’t come here to fight Joe’s corner. He’s more than capable of doing that himself.’

You are a good man, Rain thought. Loyal, sensitive, kind.

She felt slightly woozy; wine on an almost-empty stomach. The crisps and nuts and crudités had gone nowhere. ‘I’ve not seen him since Sunday. He came here. Did you know that?’

‘He must see her. To explain. He deserves that. It’s killing him.’

‘It’s too late; she’s down in London, looking for somewhere to stay, a job. She didn’t even take her phone.’ The Saffron-sized hole in Rain’s life was larger than she could have imagined. It wasn’t as if they had lived in each other’s pockets. Days would go by without them seeing one another for more than a couple of minutes at a time, especially of late when Saffy was out such a lot. When they’d first arrived in Coed Mawr, Saffron holed herself up in her room, but lately she’d become immersed in the life of the town. And, of course, Joe. Marcus. ‘She was going to apply at a hospital locally … but not any more.’

Eifion sighed. ‘Joe’s not the only one who’ll miss her.’

Rain couldn’t pretend to understand her daughter’s actions. Saffron was so black and white. To not even want to hear his side of the story. It was inconceivable. Everyone deserves a second chance. Rain thought about Stephen. The alacrity with which her pent-up rage had dissipated shocked Rain. She knew there might be, and she expected, further eruptions of anger, but the overriding emotion was a calm, deep sadness. They had been denied the chance to try and work things out. She accepted that might have been impossible but she had wanted to understand, to hear Stephen’s story. She didn’t want him cast in the role of heartless adulterer, her in the role of victim, abandoned wife. With some space between them, more time to talk, she might have understood. Why he did it. Where they went wrong. To understand is to forgive.

‘Tell me Joe’s story,’ she said.

They sat talking until the bottle of wine was empty. After Eifion recounted Joe’s story, Rain had wanted to say she would tell Saffron, explain it all, but she couldn’t. It had to come from Joe.

‘He’d have preferred Saffron to be the first to hear it. He only told me because I was there. He was desperate. Fit to burst. He’s ashamed and regretful, but he doesn’t want it to define him.’

‘And he’s laid aside all thoughts of revenge?’ Rain said.

‘I believe so.’

‘Only the weak never forgive.’

‘You’re one of the strongest women I know.’ He stood up. ‘Right, I should leave you in peace. It’s been a lovely evening, thank you.’

Rain thanked him, for coming, for sharing Joe’s past, for not judging Saffron.

At the front door, he said, ‘We should do this again sometime.’

Rain laughed, unsteady on her feet. ‘Let’s stick with a walk. Not sure my liver can take it.’

‘Whichever,’ he said, offering his hand.

She took it and placed her left hand over their interlocked fingers. ‘We might even dance in the ballroom once it’s restored.
If
it’s restored. I so hope it is.’

‘Me too. And if it is, who knows … I might hold you to that offer.’ He paused. ‘Was it an offer?’

‘It was.’

She stood, leaned against the doorframe, and watched him weaving down the path and out on to the street. His movements were fluid and graceful. He waved before he disappeared from sight and she imagined him a good dancer.

‘You’ll lose your job if you disappear for days,’ Eifion said.

Joe was pushing a lid back onto a tin of paint. ‘Might be longer. Do I look like I care?’

Eifion smiled and stepped onto the balcony to help Joe clear his workspace. ‘What if you bump into Freddy?’

It was Joe’s turn to laugh. ‘London’s a big place, Eif. What are the chances? Anyway, it’ll be all right even if I do. I’m OK with all that. This is going to sound funny, but there’s good come out of Allegra showing up. It forced me to confront everything, and it’s made me realise that I don’t hate them, that I can really move on.’ He sounded positive, more positive than he felt.

It wasn’t that Joe didn’t mean what he’d said, he did, but the sense of desperation he felt at the possibility of not finding Saff, or of finding her and being rejected, threatened to stymie him. He needed to act, and act fast, without thinking too much. He stepped out of his overalls, grabbed his phone and shook Eifion’s hand.

‘Will we see you again?’ Eifion said.

Joe shrugged.

‘There’ll be the pier job at some point. I’ll keep my ears open just in case, yes?’

Joe nodded. He didn’t want to give voice to the possibility that he would come back, alone.

‘We’ll miss you,’ Eifion said, as Joe stepped from the balcony into the hotel room.

Joe turned back to Eifion. ‘I’ll miss you too. I like it here. A lot. It feels like home. More than anywhere I’ve lived.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Let’s hope the Landy’s up to the journey.’

Joe checked his watch. It was still early; he could be in London by teatime. A surge of energy flooded his veins. Back to the cottage to gather the essentials and then he’d be off.

Chapter Thirty-five

Fumes caught in Saffron’s throat and she choked as she stepped out onto the platform. She watched the train pull out of the station, disappear into the black hole of the tunnel, before lifting her head to sky and sucking clean air into her lungs.

Outside the station, she waited for a cab. An old woman wandered past. ‘
Noswaith dda
,’ she said.

‘
Noswaith dda
,’ Saffron replied without thinking. She’d been away over five months, though it had seemed much, much longer.

She paid the driver at the bottom of the lane. She didn’t care that it was almost dark, that her case was cumbersome, that the wheels would struggle on the rough, icy ground of the cottage path. She wanted to walk, to gather herself, to feel the familiar earth beneath her feet. She wanted to surprise him.

Even Rain didn’t know Saffron was back. If she had she would have insisted on meeting Saff at the station, or coming to collect her, taking her home to the manse, feeding her, before allowing her some space. Rain wouldn’t have been able to help herself. And Saff needed to see Joe, Marcus, before anyone.

It was icy and still; the darkening sky weighted with cloud. A bird, or rodent, scrabbled in the undergrowth, the sound broken only occasionally by the squall of a lone seagull. Toes already stinging, she turned on the torch on her phone, took hold of her case, and began to walk; the echo of her footsteps and the wheels navigating the stones magnified by the quiet.

There was no sign of life at the cottage, though Saffron had deliberately not pitched up till after four, when Joe commonly returned from work during the short winter days. She knocked at the front door a number of times before peering through the small, grimy window. She left her case by the door and crept round to the back, grateful for the lack of fencing or bordering of any kind. There were no lights on at the rear either. The skeletons of the trees loomed over the garden, branches bare and spiky, trunks strangled by ivy. Though Joe had never been big on gardening, preferring a natural look, it was clear nothing had been touched for months. The grass was dusted with frost, long, and hunched over on itself.

A half-finished sculpture glossy with moss stood near where they’d sat and watched the fire burn out. It was hard to tell what it would become.

Saffron pushed her face against the kitchen window and held up her phone. A cup and plate rested on the side, next to the range. A good sign. She knocked at the back door – from habit more than anything – before trying the latch. Joe rarely locked it. Only locals knew of the cottages and many assumed they were derelict. The door creaked open. A huff of stale air assaulted her. She called out his name; there came no reply. She stepped over the threshold and picked up the mug. Spores of mould covered the interior. He’d left in a hurry, it seemed. How long had he been gone?

She wandered through the cottage. Nothing had altered. Aside from the layer of dust, silence, and cold, it was exactly as she remembered it. His books on artists, bats, and Welsh history were stacked up neatly, next to a lean selection of games. Upstairs, the bed was unmade and an open drawer in the chest revealed that he’d not bothered to take all his clothes.

She would never find him. She wouldn’t even know where or how to begin looking. She didn’t even know what he was calling himself these days.

Saffron slumped on the bed and cried.

In an attempt to compose herself before seeing Rain, rather than calling a cab, Saffron walked to the manse, dragging her case behind her. She could no longer feel the cold. She was almost at the manse when a scream forced her to look up from the ground. She wiped the end of her wet nose, and looked down the street. It was Ceri, jumping up and down, running on the spot, fists clenched. Before Saffron could acknowledge her with a wave, Ceri hurtled towards her, still screaming, and threw her arms about Saffron’s neck, almost knocking her over.

‘Oh my God, it’s so good to see you! I thought I was seeing things. Only came up this part of town for that special chocolate shop. Mum’s birthday and I figured I’d better get her something special as I’m not paying no rent. I’m a student now, at college. You’re not the only one with a career, you bitch!’

‘It’s good to see you too.’ And it was.

Ceri paused and held Saffron by the shoulders. ‘You been crying, girl?’

Saffron nodded. ‘I’ve been to the cottage.’

‘He’s gone. You both disappeared off the face of the earth. No one’s seen or heard from him in months. Not even Dad. He called him a few times, left messages. Nothing. He went looking for you in London.’

‘Shit.’ Saffron felt as if her insides had been torn out. The air felt colder still, creeping into her veins, freezing the blood which ran through them. ‘I’ve messed up, Ceri. I’m an expert at it. I should have heard him out, when I had the chance. I’ve missed him, this place, you, Mum, the people. Everything. But especially him. I thought I would get over him. Get on with my life. Get my career back on track. But I can’t get him out of my head, and I can’t help feeling that I got it wrong. It’s been eating away at me. That he isn’t the sort of bloke to string someone along. And as time’s gone on this feeling that he was telling the truth has grown and grown.’

A woman with a buggy came to halt before them. They muttered apologies and stepped aside to let her pass.

‘He loved you, Saff. That was, like, mega obvious. Dad’s not telling me everything. Says it’s none of my business – which drives me bananas because it is my business because you’re my mate and I love you. Even if you did piss off without a word. Dad says you need to hear it first, which is total bollocks because he knows.’