The Cornish Guest House (35 page)

Liz hadn’t checked her mobile all day and when she looked now, there was a message from her daughter:
‘I’ve got a rehearsal. Back around six. Luv u XX.’

Liz frowned. She seemed to have seen so little of her daughter since Loveday had vanished and, today of all days, she wanted her close. She was glad that Rosie had the play to take her mind off what was happening, but the director would understand if she left early, given what was going on at home. It had been bleak out there in the fields and frightening, not knowing what they might find, and Liz needed a hug. Besides, no one could accuse Rosie of lacking commitment; she’d been to every single run-through; she hadn’t missed one.

Liz rang Rosie’s number but of course the phone was switched off. Hopefully, though, the school could pass on a message. Liz strolled into the kitchen, picked up the landline and after two or three rings a grumpy woman answered, ‘Marymount Academy, can I help you?’

It was the end of the day and she must be keen to go home, so Liz kept it brief. ‘Do you know which room they’re in? Would you mind going to find her?’

There was a pause while the woman consulted a colleague, before coming back on the line.

‘We don’t know anything about that play here. I’ll try the drama department.’

Liz waited, tapping her fingers impatiently on the work surface, until at last the voice returned. It seemed that the head of drama hadn’t heard about the production and couldn’t help either.

‘One of the sixth formers is directing,’ Liz persisted, thinking there must be some mistake. ‘I assumed they’d be rehearsing at school but maybe it’s in a pupil’s house. If you can tell me the director’s name I can probably find a phone number.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said the receptionist briskly. ‘It’s got nothing to do with us.’

Liz hesitated, feeling confused. ‘But lots of children are involved. Someone must know something.’

‘You’ll have to keep trying her,’ the receptionist went on, increasingly impatient. ‘She’s probably gone somewhere with her friends.’

Liz was stung. ‘She’d never do that without telling me.’

But she was met with a sceptical silence that made her blood boil, and it crossed her mind that she might have strangled the woman if they’d been in the same room. There was no point discussing it with her further, though, so she hung up and took a deep breath, trying to control the anxious drumming in her chest before she called Rosie again. No luck.

Still telling herself that there’d been a slip-up and for some reason the school wasn’t in the loop, she scrolled down her list of contacts to find Rosie’s friend, Mandy, who was watching TV. You could hear it in the background.

‘I thought she went home?’ the girl asked, surprised. ‘She was at the bus stop. She should be back by now.’

‘She’s at a rehearsal,’ Liz said uncertainly. ‘For
Alice in Wonderland
. Do you know whose house she went to?’

‘
Alice
?’ said Mandy. ‘What’s that?’

Liz felt dizzy, as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down. ‘One of the sixth formers is putting it on.’

‘I wonder who. No one’s told me about it.’

At that moment the penny dropped, and Liz knew for certain that there was no
Alice
and there had been no rehearsals. Rosie had made it all up. Liz’s mind began playing tricks, planting lurid images in her head and conjuring frightening scenarios. She raced into the kitchen, the phone still in her hand, and grabbed the class list that they’d all been given at the start of term. Mandy was waiting.

‘Is she still friends with Tim?’ Liz asked and Mandy said, yes, they were very close. Then, in a small voice, ‘I think they see each other outside school sometimes. She might be there now.’

Liz jumped back in the car, her palms sweaty as she switched on the ignition and pulled out of the space in which she’d parked only fifteen minutes or so before. One minute she felt angry and bewildered, scarcely able to believe that Rosie would lie to her, the next, frightened. Tears sprang to her eyes so that she could hardly see the road ahead. She’d thought that she and Rosie told each other everything. How wrong you could be! And why would her daughter lie, when she surely knew that there was no subject on earth they couldn’t discuss?

There again… Liz remembered how quick she’d been to condemn Tim and cursed herself for dealing with the situation badly, but she’d only been protecting her daughter and doing what she felt was right. In any case, none of this mattered, so long as Rosie was well. Once back in Liz’s arms, she thought that they could work through anything.

She hurtled down the country lanes, passing Barbara, Esme and Jean at the centre contact point en route, but they didn’t notice her, and within twenty minutes she’d reached the small town that was separated from neighbouring Devon by a stretch of river. She wove her way through the narrow, dingy streets and on reaching her destination parked a little way up before doubling back on foot via a row of down-at-heel terraced houses. Number 24 was smarter than the rest; neat and well cared for, with a newly painted pink front door and white roller blinds in the bay window.

Liz rang the bell, realising that she hadn’t worked out what to say, but there was no time to ponder because soon, a slim, attractive woman with a dark brown bob came to the door, wearing a flowery apron. Tim’s mother? A welcoming smell wafted from the house and Liz’s tummy rumbled, despite herself; she hadn’t eaten for hours.

The woman, of about forty, wiped her hands on her apron and smiled. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Is Rosie here?’ Liz blurted then, ashamed of her rudeness, ‘I’m her mother, Liz.’

The woman held out a hand. ‘Come in! Rosie’s told me so much about you!’ A shadow crossed her features. ‘Your husband’s niece? Have they…?’

‘No. Nothing like that.’

Relieved, the woman broke into another smile. ‘Thank goodness. For a moment I thought—’ She stopped herself again, mid-flow. ‘I would have joined the search but I couldn’t swap my shift. I only got back from work an hour ago. I can do tomorrow morning, though. I don’t start till two.’

Liz followed her down the hall, noticing the carefully arranged family photographs in matching white frames on the cream-coloured walls. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this, and it was hard to equate what she could see with Loveday’s description of the family.

‘I’m Debbie, by the way,’ the woman said, ‘It’s nice to meet you at last.’ Then she paused at the bottom of the stairs and shouted, ‘Rosie, love! Your mum’s here!’

Liz, who’d been mentally preparing for a confrontation with Tim, his brother, the mother and Rosie herself, perhaps, felt as if she’d been pricked like a balloon, all her fighting spirit gone. Upstairs there was a scuffling, the sound of a chair being scraped back, whispers – and silence.

‘They’re so busy, bless them.’ Debbie laughed. ‘Have you time for a quick cuppa while they finish off? I’ve just baked a Victoria sponge.’

She guided Liz into the small, white kitchen at the back of the house and indicated for her to sit at the pine table in one corner, while she put on the kettle. A window above the sink looked out on to a small, paved garden that was little more than a backyard, really, with ivy climbing up the walls and assorted ferns in pots. It didn’t feel like the home of a hopeless alcoholic with a criminal son.

‘Me and the boys have been here almost three years now,’ Debbie explained, popping two teabags into mugs. A large, golden cake covered in white icing was cooling on a rack by the cooker. ‘I’m divorced, you see. I expect Rosie told you.’

Liz felt her face heat up and said nothing.

‘My ex got bored and went off with someone else,’ Debbie went on, raising her eyebrows. ‘The boys took it badly, especially Mark, he’s my oldest. He missed his dad and went a bit wild for a time. Teenagers, you know? But he’s over it now.’ She passed Liz a mug. ‘I was pretty shaken up, too, to be honest, but I’m OK now, too. Moving here was the best thing for all of us.’

She cast her eyes around. ‘There’s still lots of work to do. The kitchen’s all right but the bathroom needs replacing. It’ll be an expensive job, though. You’ve moved quite recently, haven’t you? Just up the road from where you were, Rosie said?’

Liz nodded, aware that she must seem odd and unforthcoming, but it was hard to know how to reply. Should she admit that Rosie had fibbed and that she, Liz, hadn’t even known she was here? And how could she explain away the fact that she’d banned her daughter from seeing Tim out of school? It was all very awkward.

‘Will you have some cake?’ Debbie asked, while her visitor sat there, feeling stupid and dumbstruck. ‘The icing’s not set yet but I think it’s best when it’s warm.’

She cut two large slices, one for herself and one for Liz, and settled down on the opposite side of the table. The sleeves of her pale blue sweater were pushed up, revealing strong white arms.

‘I gather you’ve a baby on the way.’ She nibbled on a corner of cake. If she was surprised by Liz’s lack of conversation, she didn’t show it. ‘Rosie’s very excited.’

Liz took a bite herself, but the cake got stuck and she spluttered, making tears run down her cheeks.

‘Lord!’ said Debbie, springing up and slapping her on the back, ‘Are you OK?’

Liz coughed once more, the cake dislodged and she swallowed it down, indicating that she was all right. It was only when she’d had a few sips of tea, though, that she managed to compose herself enough to speak at last.

‘What is it they’re doing up there?’ She attempted a nonchalant smile.

Debbie gave her a funny look. ‘Working on the website. It’s such a great idea, isn’t it?’

‘Er, website?’ Liz stared at her fingernails, feeling even more of a fool.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ Debbie sounded thoroughly confused.

They were rescued by Rosie and Tim, who entered the kitchen and hovered by the cooker. Tim was staring at his feet and at the sight of her mother Rosie looked ready to throw up with nerves.

‘We’re doing a website for school kids with disabilities in Cornwall,’ she blurted, pulling at the sleeve of her jumper. ‘It’s called
You’re Special
, spelled U-R-Special, and it’s aimed at anyone under fourteen. Mark’s friend – that’s Tim’s brother, Mark – showed us what to do. It’s got useful links and people post their problems and we get back to them. If we can’t help because we don’t know enough, we try to find people who can.’

Tim shuffled miserably from one foot to another. ‘We wanted to h-help children like us,’ he stuttered. ‘Not just kids with cer-cerebral palsy or s-s- stammers.’

Debbie came to his aid. ‘Mark and I monitor it very carefully, to make sure there’s no nastiness. Tim and Rosie felt there was too little out there for young people, you see. There are plenty of organisations, but at times you just want to chat to someone going through the same thing. Most of the questions are about bullying, but there’s also stuff about siblings or parents. One boy was even complaining about his hamster!’

Liz glanced at Rosie, who was twisting the hem of her navy school sweater round and round a finger. Her thick fair hair was pulled back in a ponytail and wisps had escaped around her pale face. She looked thin beside the more robust Tim, and very anxious. Liz’s heart melted.

‘What a fantastic idea!’ she said. ‘I’m proud of you both.’

Rosie’s relief was almost palpable and she clasped her hands against her chest.

‘Do you think so? Do you really? I would have told you, only—’

‘That’s all right,’ Liz interrupted, keen not to reveal any more than she had already. ‘I’d love to see the website, but it’ll have to wait. We need to get home.’

She finished her tea and cake quickly and told Rosie to fetch her things, before thanking Debbie for all she’d done.

‘Maybe Tim can come to ours one evening and I’ll make supper?’

Debbie smiled. ‘I’m sure he’d like that, wouldn’t you, love?’ The boy nodded shyly. ‘But there’s no hurry. We enjoy having Rosie here. She knows she’s welcome any time.’

Liz and Rosie were silent for a while as they drove home, watching the rain pitter-patter on the windscreen and the wipers creak from side to side. Liz guessed that her daughter was expecting fireworks, but she was in no mood for recriminations; she needed time to reflect. She’d learned something new about herself today and didn’t like what she’d discovered. It was as if someone had held a mirror to her face and a mean, prejudiced person had stared back.

No doubt Tim’s brother Mark had got into trouble at one stage, and Debbie herself might have gone through a bad patch. However, Liz hadn’t bothered to question why, and was angry with herself for having been so quick to accept gossip as fact and condemn without evidence. What’s more, she’d failed to listen to her daughter, who’d turned out to be a better judge of character than she was.

She remembered how it had been when she’d arrived in Tremarnock all those years ago, wounded after her break-up with Rosie’s father. She must have seemed so shy, brittle and defensive, dodging questions about her past, eager not to give too much away. Locals might have kept their distance but, instead, they’d accepted her for what she was and taken her to their hearts, yet Liz had failed to show the same warmth and generosity of spirit. She was ashamed of herself.

Now, she understood perfectly why Rosie had felt the need to lie; in fact, Liz had pushed her into it. Rosie believed in her website, she knew it was a good idea and that Liz was wrong to ban her from seeing her friend.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said suddenly. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about Tim’s family. Loveday only showed me a fraction of the picture. I should have looked at the whole canvas.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Rosie, ‘I know you were concerned—’

‘That’s no excuse.’ A painful lump lodged in Liz’s throat and she tried to swallow it down.

‘Don’t be upset.’ Rosie put a hand on her knee, which only made her want to cry more. ‘I shouldn’t have made up that story about the play. I’m sorry too.’

‘You were very convincing, I’ll give you that. Maybe you should consider a career as an actress after all.’