The Heart Whisperer (27 page)

Ray had been right. It was going to be a long afternoon, but he was beginning to enjoy it.

Claire did great first-sex nerves. She'd been doing them for years and had perfected them at this stage. There was the underwear dilemma. Sexy, which meant she had to live up to it, or virginal, which meant that she wasn't up for it. The amount of alcohol she should consume – just enough to relax her but not enough to make her pass out. The lighting conundrum – energy-saving bulbs brought out the blue in her pale skin and made her look like a corpse but candlelight was a bit stagey and there were other downsides, too. Once, when she was in bed with Declan, they'd knocked over a nightlight. He'd mistaken her screams of alarm for passion and, by the time she managed to explain to him what was happening, the rug had caught light.

She usually managed to work herself into a frenzy of anxiety for days before the actual sex itself, but, with Richard, she didn't get the chance.

He had asked her to go for a hike in Glendalough the Saturday after he got back from Scotland. Nothing Claire owned was hike-appropriate so she drove herself to 53 Degrees North in the zippy little yellow Yaris that Richard had organised. He had talked his own car insurance company into lending it to her until Mossy was fixed.

Claire missed Mossy but the Yaris had its upsides. Central locking and electric windows and heat that worked without filling the car with smoke and the smell of grilled mackerel.

She went mad in 53 Degrees North and bought waterproof trousers, a bobble hat, a polar fleece, a shiny down jacket and a pair of walking boots that could, the assistant said, take her up K2.

She handed over her credit card without the familiar lump of
dread in her throat. Vitalustre had paid Lorcan and, even after he'd taken his commission, Claire had nearly nine thousand euros in her account.

She had arranged to pick Richard up at his apartment. It was raining when she coaxed Dog into the Yaris but she didn't care. She was wearing waterproof mascara and rain-proof clothes. She had wipers. She had hair that made her look like Julianne Moore and walking boots, she realised looking down at them, that made her look like Inspector Plod.

Richard's apartment block was in a new development off Booterstown Avenue. There was a cheery ‘For Sale' hoarding showing a woman in a black lace slip and a judge's wig smiling suggestively under a headline that said, ‘I'll see you in Dromoland Court.' It was all a bit close to the bone, Claire thought, given that the developer who'd built the apartments had just declared himself bankrupt in the UK.

She texted Richard to say she was outside and he texted back. ‘Come up for a sec. Rx.' She opened the window a crack for Dog then took the lift to the fourth floor. Afterwards she wondered if she'd misread Richard's text and what it had really said was ‘Come up for sex, Rx', because that, when she was least expecting it and dressed for a polar expedition, was what had happened.

Richard opened the door wearing a grey towelling dressing gown and a grin.

‘Oh,' Claire said, ‘am I early?' The hall had at least twenty clocks, but before Claire had a chance to check the time, he smiled, took her hand and led her down the hall and into the bedroom.

‘Wow!' She looked around at the dark wooden floor, the big window, the shelf of family photographs. ‘This is nice.'

He kissed her.

‘Are we … ?' she said through the kiss. ‘Is this … ?'

Richard unzipped her anorak and pulled her down on the bed. Then he took off his dressing gown and it most definitely was it.

The blind was open. Anyone in the block opposite could have seen them – the naked man and the woman dressed like Sir Ernest Shackleton rolling around Richard's king-sized sleigh bed.

‘Well,' Richard said, afterwards, smiling down at Claire and taking off her bobble hat.

‘Well,' Claire's blood was coursing with feel-good chemicals, ‘that was unexpected.'

‘Not really.'

‘You planned this?' Claire stared up at him.

‘We were heading there so I thought I'd take the pressure off.'

‘But I bought boots!'

‘Well, put them back on again and let's get out there.'

It was still cold but the rain had stopped and they strolled arm in arm through the forest with Dog trailing behind on his extending lead, stopping to sniff every fern and tree trunk. She should take Dog more places, Claire thought. It would take his mind off her dad.

Most of the other walkers were neatly paired. Young, good looking, with children or without. All wearing performance clothes and Inspector Plod boots. This was what other people her age had been doing on Saturday afternoons, Claire realised, while she'd been hanging out with Ray drinking margaritas and eating party packs of Manhattan popcorn and watching
Mad Men
.

Ahead of them, Claire saw the lake spreading out, grey and silver, beyond the trees, and she felt her stomach tighten with fear. She held on to Richard's arm and kept her eyes on the path so she didn't have to look at the water. She didn't want that old darkness to be part of today.

‘Ever been lake-swimming?'

Claire couldn't swim.

‘There's a lovely lake a few miles from my parents' place. And the sea's pretty close. I'll take you there the next time you're down.'

‘Maybe,' Claire said vaguely, taking a fork in the path that led back up into the forest. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

‘You look cute in all that outdoor stuff,' Richard said when it was getting dark and they were walking back to the car. He took a photograph of them on his phone and handed it to her.

The flash had turned the trees behind them to monochrome, picking up the gold lights in Claire's red hair and the pale blue of Richard's eyes. They looked good together. They looked like a couple.

In the car park, a man with a little girl riding on his shoulders stopped to admire Dog. ‘Can my daughter say hello?'

‘Sure,' Richard said, yanking the lead to reel Dog in. ‘What's your name?'

‘Britney-Rose,' the girl said. Her dad leaned down so she could pat Dog's head. He sniffed her hand, his whiskers quivering with excitement. He liked kids, Claire thought, nearly as much as he liked men.

‘His beard tickles. What's his name?' the little girl asked.

‘Dog,' Richard said.

‘That's a very stupid name!' She giggled.

People in glass houses, Claire thought, looking at Britney-Rose, shouldn't throw names.

Willow was watching the swan on the pond while a redhead doing warm-up stretches by the playground was watching Ray. He opened Willow's book and frowned down at it, as if it were
A Guide to Top-Down Cosmology and not The Werepuppy.

Ash had rung to say that Willow wanted to see him again. He wondered if this was just another cover-up to get a free babysitter but he was between jingle jobs and having Willow took his mind off his misery about the Horses. Plus it might give him an excuse to accidentally bump into Claire. He hadn't realised, till he'd seen her the other night, how much he'd missed her.

Willow had brought
Toy Story 2
in her rabbit backpack and he'd put it on then sat near the window in case Claire went out into the garden. He was laughing so much at the out-takes in the credits he didn't hear the back door opening and, when he looked out, she was disappearing into the laneway with the dog.

It had taken ages to get Willow back into her coat and her backpack and, by the time they got downstairs, Claire was gone. Ray had stationed himself by the gate in the park but so far there was no sign of her.

‘You're Ray Devine, aren't you?' A shadow fell over the book.
The redhead was in her late twenties and pretty. At another time, Ray might have been interested, but not when he had a six-year-old chaperone.

‘Yeah,' he began, ‘but—'

‘Is that your little girl?' She pointed at the pond. Ray nodded. ‘Is she OK?'

He twisted around to look. Willow was squatting at the edge of the pond in her red coat holding out a crust of bread for the swan. Ray dropped the book and ran across the grass. He grabbed Willow just as the swan lunged at the bread, beak snapping.

‘Jesus!' He put her down carefully. ‘What were you doing?'

‘I was trying to speak swan,' Willow whispered. ‘But he didn't understand me.' Her bottom lip was trembling. She looked as if she was going to cry.

‘I know a lobster,' Ray said breathlessly, trying to distract her, ‘who lives in that pond.'

‘Really?' Willow said.

‘His name is Rocky and he only has one claw.'

‘You dropped your book.' The redhead was waiting at the bench when they got back. ‘That swan is dangerous. Someone should lock him up,' she said and jogged away.

Ray brushed some breadcrumbs off Willow's coat.

‘I didn't think he would eat me,' Willow said, ‘because swans are vegetarians.'

‘I got a fright.'

‘Me too.' Willow was pale.

‘You know what we need?' She shook her head. ‘A Perfect Day.'

They had apple juice with cut-up bits of banana and apple instead of sangria. Ray wanted to feed an apple to the elephant in the zoo but Willow wouldn't let him because there was a sign saying ‘Don't Feed The Animals.' So they watched the keeper feed a giraffe some straw instead. Then they went home and watched
Toy Story 2
again.

‘We had a perfect day, Mummy,' Ray heard Willow telling Ash in her polite little English-girl voice as she bunny-hopped down
the steps. They had. It was just like Lou said. She had made Ray forget himself. He'd thought he was someone else, someone good.

Cooking wasn't Claire's strong point so she'd just defrosted a couple of portions of Eilish's tarragon chicken and served it with some fancy salad leaves.

Richard put down his fork. ‘Is there anything you're not good at? Except for all the practical stuff.'

‘I'm practical!' Claire protested.

‘You're creative, like my mother. You shouldn't have to worry about fixing locks and taps and computers.' Richard had fitted new washers on all Claire's taps and his IT guy had sorted her letter ‘P'. ‘Anyone can do that stuff. Though I'm not sure,' Richard folded his napkin, ‘if anyone can fix that decrepit car of yours.'

‘Oh!' The thrill of the Yaris was wearing off and Claire missed Mossy.

‘The mechanic is working on an estimate but I wouldn't hold your breath.' He saw her face. ‘It's only a car, Claire.'

Claire twisted a strand of her hair. ‘He was my mother's car.' Every time she put her hands on the wheel she felt connected to her mum.

‘Come here.' Richard took her hand and pulled her on to his lap. ‘You miss your mother, don't you? Was she sick for long before she …'

Claire shook her head. She didn't want to talk about the accident. She still regretted telling Shane about it. What had come over her? Why had she confided in a complete stranger? Her face burned just thinking about it. She had seen him on the set of
The Spaniard
a week ago and he'd blanked her completely.

‘Hey.' Richard tilted her chin with his finger. ‘Would it cheer you up if we took your dad out for a pint some evening? I'd love to meet him.'

‘He's not well. He had a fall and broke his hip.'

Richard massaged her shoulders. ‘We could go round to him then.'

Claire sighed. She hadn't been to see her dad since the day she had taken Dog over. ‘He doesn't want to see anyone. I'm not even
sure I'll be able to spend Christmas with him this year. I don't know what I'm going to do.'

‘Come to Wexford with me.'

‘I couldn't. We've only known one another a few weeks and your family is so close.'

‘When are you going to get how special you are? How am I going to get that into your head?' He knocked on her temple, lightly, with his knuckle. ‘My mum is already asking if you'll come skiing with us at Easter.'

Claire laughed. ‘I'm not sure I'd last thirty seconds on skis.'

‘Skiing is acting. It's all about confidence. You have that, you can do anything.'

Claire had just drifted off to sleep when the squealing began.

‘Christ!' Richard sat up. ‘What's that?'

‘It's the tank refilling. Did you have a shower?'

‘A quick one after you fell asleep.'

There was baleful howl from the kitchen as Dog joined in with the pipes.

‘You know what you need?'

‘A plumber?' Claire had to shout to be heard over a high-pitched shriek.

‘Someone to take care of you.'

‘I can take care of myself!'

He shook his head. ‘You're such a girl.'

‘I'm a woman!' Claire hit him with her pillow.

He ducked and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Well, I'm not,' he grinned, ‘going to argue with that.'

Claire must have fallen asleep again because she was woken by a blood-curdling shout and hissing. Her eyes snapped open. Richard was standing in the middle of her tiny bedroom, naked, wielding her rainstick like a samurai sword.

Claire sat up. ‘What?'

He pointed at the door. ‘Noises in the hall. I thought we were being burgled.'

Dog was cringing by the door, his head low, his ears flat, looking at the rainstick with terror in his eyes.

‘Oh, come on!' Claire sat up and pulled the sheet around her. ‘Nobody's ever done anything to you with a rainstick.'

‘What?' Richard put the rainstick down.

‘I was talking to Dog.' Claire swung her legs over the bed. ‘I think he needs to go.'

Richard shook his head. ‘That's such a relief. I didn't want to say anything but I'm not a dog person.'

Claire bit her lip. ‘I mean he needs to go out into the garden for a pee.'