Thinking of You (27 page)

“Oh!” Expecting the postman and getting Finn instead came as something of a shock. Probably for Finn too, thought Ginny, clutching the front edges of her dressing gown together and praying her hair wasn't too scarily bed-heady.

Come to think of it, postmen had to be a hardy breed, trained not to flinch visibly at harrowing early-morning sights.

“Sorry. I was on my way into Portsilver and I wondered if you'd seen today's paper.”

“It's eight o'clock. I haven't seen the kettle yet. Why, what's in there?” Ginny reached out for the newspaper he was holding but Finn hesitated.

“Your daughter's friends in Bristol, Lucy and Davy. What's Davy's surname?”

Ginny searched her brain. “Um… Stokes.”

Finn looked relieved. “It is the right one then. I thought it must be.” He handed over the folded newspaper and added, “Bit of excitement up in Bristol. I thought it might give Jem the excuse she needs to ring her friends.”

The doorbell had evidently woken Jem too. Appearing on the stairs behind Ginny, she said evenly, “I haven't got any friends in Bristol.”

“No? Oh well then”—Finn retrieved the paper once more—“you won't be interested in seeing this.”

Jem looked truculent. “What's my mum been telling you?”

“That you've given up on university.”

She nodded at the newspaper. “What's Davy done?”

“If he's not your friend, why would you care?”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, give it to me!” Bursting with curiosity, Ginny snatched the folded paper. “I want to know!”

Finn said with amusement, “Don't show Jem.”

Ginny's jaw dropped as she found the piece on page seven. “Oh, good grief.”

“OK, OK,” grumbled Jem, peering over her shoulder. “I want to know too.”

Finn left them to it. Together Jem and Ginny devoured the article.

“Thank goodness he's all right,” said Ginny. “He could have been killed.”

“Mm.” Jem carefully stirred sugar into her tea.

“Sweetheart, Finn's right. You should give Davy a ring.”

“I can't.” Clearly emotional, Jem failed to control her wobbling lower lip. “There's no point.”

“There's every point. You can congratulate him!”

“I might not get the chance,” Jem said miserably. “He'd probably just put the phone down.”

It was no good; Ginny did her best to reassure her, but Jem was adamant, convinced that any attempt at contact with Davy or Lucy would be met with a snub.

“Can we change the subject, Mum? I don't want to talk about it anymore.”

Her unhappiness was so apparent, Ginny thought her own heart would break.

***

Twenty-six hours later and Ginny's forehead was taut with concentration. Famous for her feeble sense of direction, she was now testing it to the limit. It had been seven months since she'd last made the journey up the M5 to Bristol and that time she hadn't needed to pay attention to the first bit of the return journey because Davy had been sitting next to her in the passenger seat instructing her when to turn left and right.

Now she was on her own, attempting to retrace the route through Henbury on memory alone and it wasn't an easy task. Had they turned right at the Old Crow pub or gone straight over the roundabout? When they'd reached the junction past the petrol station, had they turned left? Oh God, this was hopeless; at this rate, come midnight, she'd still be driving around in circles.

It took a while—OK, another forty minutes of being lost—but finally Ginny turned into a street she dimly recognized. This was it, she was sure. And the one thing she did remember was the tidy, pocket-sized front garden and the royal-blue front door. Trundling along in second gear like a curb crawler, she passed brown doors, red doors, white doors, green doors…

Ooh, there it was.

At last.

Would Davy even be in?

If he was, would he close the door in her face?

And would Jem ever speak to her again when she found out what she'd done?

Oh well, Finn had given her the day off work and she'd driven all the way up to Bristol for a reason. It would be silly to turn around and go home now.

The front door was opened by an anxious-looking woman who clearly didn't welcome the interruption. Glancing at her watch, then up at Ginny, she said distractedly, “Yes?”

“Hi. Is Davy here?”

“Sorry, he's out. Are you another journalist?”

Ginny took a deep breath. “No, I'm Jem Holland's mum.”

“Oh, thank goodness! Come on in, Davy's about to be on the radio.”

Not thank goodness she was Jem's mum, Ginny realized as Davy's mother bundled her into the house, but thank goodness she didn't have to miss hearing her son being interviewed.

And who would blame her? She'd have done exactly the same. Together they sat in the kitchen and listened in silence to the old-fashioned wireless on the kitchen table. After fifteen minutes it was all over.

“Phew, sorry about that. I'm Rhona,” said Davy's mother. “Davy's never been on the radio before.” Overcome with emotion she wiped the corners of her eyes with a tissue. “Was that presenter having a bit of a dig, d'you think?”

Ginny knew at once what she meant. To begin with, it had all been about what a hero Davy was, but toward the end of the interview the presenter had said slyly, “And I gather you still live at home with your mother, which seems extraordinary to me. Does that not set you apart from your fellow students?”

Davy, of course, had roundly denied it, but the interviewer had been unconvinced. “You have to admit, though, it's an unusual situation. Most young people starting university can't wait to grasp their independence. Did your mother not want you to move out, did she put pressure on you to stay, or was it your own decision? Are you a bit of a mummy's boy at heart?”

Now, with the radio turned off, Ginny wondered what she was supposed to say. She shrugged. “Honestly? Yes, I suppose he was having a dig. But who cares what he thinks? If Davy wants to stay at home, that's his choice.”

Rhona nodded slowly, lost in thought. Then she looked over at her. “It was you who gave Davy a lift home once from Clifton, wasn't it? He told me you live in Cornwall. So you're up here visiting your daughter?”

“No. Jem's at home in Cornwall. She's broken up with her horrible boyfriend.”

“Rupert.” Rhona's lip curled. “I've heard all about him.”

“Jem's eighteen. She made a big mistake. And now she's paying the price,” said Ginny. “She wants to give up university, come back home, and live with me.”

“How wonderful. But you don't seem that thrilled. Don't you want her back?”

Rhona clearly didn't understand. Ginny exhaled and twisted the bracelet on her wrist. “Of course I do, more than anything. But I want what's right for Jem, not what's right for me.”

“Oh God,” said Rhona. “You're so brave.”

Ginny shrugged. “I don't feel it.”

They sat together in silence for a while. Finally Rhona announced, “I had a brain hemorrhage you know, four years ago. In British Home Stores.”

“You did?” Ginny was startled. “I didn't know that.”

“No? Well, I don't suppose you would. Davy doesn't feel it's anyone else's business why he chooses to stay at home. But that's the reason, even though I was one of the lucky ones. Made a good recovery.” Rhona tapped her left leg. “Apart from a bit of a limp. But it frightened the living daylights out of me, I can tell you. I've been terrified of it happening again and not having anyone around to help me. I get panicky in shops too, which isn't ideal. That's why Davy and Lucy were the ones queuing up to see Marcus McBride. Because I couldn't face it myself.”

“I'm not surprised,” exclaimed Ginny. “Oh, please,” she added as Rhona's eyes filled with tears. “You mustn't blame yourself for what happened to Davy.”

“I don't.” Rhona fished up her sleeve for a tissue. “Well, I do, but it's not that. I love having Davy at home with me, but it's not fair on him, is it? I'm not an invalid, after all. And he's a young lad with his own life to live.”

Ginny nodded in agreement. “He is.”

“I can't do it yet.” Rhona swallowed. “But I'll do it soon. I know it's nearly time to let him go.”

“It doesn't mean he's going to stop loving you,” said Ginny.

Rhona managed a watery smile. “He'd better not.”

Davy arrived home fifteen minutes later. Rhona, greeting him at the door, hugged him hard and exclaimed, “You were brilliant on the radio. I was so proud! It sounded just like you!”

Then she murmured something Ginny couldn't make out and sent him ahead into the kitchen where she was waiting for him.

“Hello, Davy.”

“Hello, Mrs. Holland.”

Mrs. Holland. So polite. Ginny said, “You're looking… smart.”

He rubbed a hand self-consciously over his head. “Lucy made me have my hair cut.”

“It suits you.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “Is Jem all right?”

Would Jem ever forgive her for being an interfering mother?

“No.” Ginny shook her head, a lump springing into her throat. “No, Davy, she's not.”

***

“Any good?” said Davy.

“Disaster.” Lucy flung down her pink jacket and a couple of shopping bags. Having replied to an advert in the
Evening
Post
for a fun-loving fourth person to share a large flat in Redland, she was just back from visiting it. “In fact, nightmare. The flat was a health hazard, the room they're letting is the size of a dog kennel, and the whole place smelled of socks. Two hairy physics students and a beard-and-sandals geography teacher.” She pulled a face. “Oh, and no music allowed in the flat because music distracts them from their studies.”

Privately relieved, Davy said, “Are they sure they want someone fun-loving?”

“Are you kidding? They think they're hilarious! They have an imaginary pet cat. And they play tricks on each other by putting joke plastic cat poo in their bowls of All Bran. I tell you, my sides nearly split. Anyway, get that T-shirt off.”

Davy's eyebrows went up. “Are you after my body?”

“I've bought you two new shirts.” Lucy reached for the bags. “Come on, try them on.”

“In a minute. We've got a visitor.” Leading her into the kitchen, Davy pointed through the open window to where his mother and Ginny were sitting out in the sunny back garden.

“Who's that?” Lucy frowned, puzzled. “Is it…?”

“Jem's mum.” He took the shopping bags from her, wincing as he saw that one of the shirts was an eyeball-searing shade of lime green. “She wants to talk to you.”

***

It was five o'clock on Saturday afternoon and Jem was alone in the house, having spent the day with her father. Poor Dad, he'd done his best to cheer her up and probably thought he'd succeeded, but lovely though it was to see him again, she'd been glad to get back to the sanctuary of her old bedroom, released from the pressure of smiling and pretending to be fine.

Mum was still working at the restaurant, Laurel had gone shopping in Newquay, and it was a relief to be on her own, although watching
Moulin
Rouge
on DVD probably hadn't been the best idea she'd ever had. Sprawled on the bed with a tin of Laurel's homemade biscuits, Jem's eyes brimmed at the thought of poor, gorgeous Ewan MacGregor and the heartbreak in store for him when Nicole Kidman finally died in his arms. Why couldn't she be adored by someone as wonderful as Ewan, who would never have had sex in the shower with an old girlfriend behind Nicole's back? How could she have been so stupid as to be taken in by Rupert's pseudo charms? Why,
why
hadn't she marched out of the flat with Lucy? She must have been out of her mind.

Tears slid down Jem's cheeks and dripped off her chin as she gazed blindly at the TV screen. Ewan and Nicole were singing “Come What May,” promising to be together until their dying day. Not long to wait there, then. Miserably helping herself to another biscuit, Jem wondered how many people apart from her family would be upset if she died. Nobody from Bristol, that was for sure.

Nicole was looking stunning while elegantly coughing up blood when the doorbell rang a while later. Without enthusiasm Jem brushed cookie crumbs off her T-shirt, hauled herself off the bed, and padded downstairs.

Lucy was on the doorstep.

Dumbstruck, Jem gazed at her. Past Lucy, perched on the front wall, was Davy wearing an extremely green shirt.

Jem's heart was pounding; she was hideously aware of her swollen, froggy eyes. At last she said, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Jem, look at the state of you. Why do you think we're here?” For a second it seemed as if Lucy might burst into tears as well. Holding out her arms and shaking her head she said, “We've come to take you back with us.”

“Really?” Jem's bottom lip began to tremble.

“Really.”

“Oh, Luce, I'm sorry. So sorry for everything.”

“I know. Come here.”

They hugged and laughed and cried a bit on the doorstep. Then Davy, ambling up the path, said, “I'm not really a huggy person,” and gave Jem's shoulder an awkward pat instead.

“I can't believe you came all the way to Cornwall.” Overwhelmed, Jem said, “How did you know this address? Did you catch the train?”

Lucy's dark eyes shone. “Your mum came to see us.”

“My
mum
? When?” Did Ginny have a time machine she didn't know about?

“Today,” said Davy.

“But she's working at the restaurant; they've got a wedding reception… oh…”

Lucy said gravely, “She lied.”

“She's just gone to the shop to pick up some food. We're staying for the night. You can invite us in if you like.” Davy rested his hand lightly on his chest. “It's not doing my terrible knife injury any good, you know, standing out here.”