Thinking of You (30 page)

“Oh well, if you put it like that.” Bev's dark eyes danced as she kissed him on the nose. “I suppose I could always record
Last
of
the
Summer
Wine
.”

 

The postman had delivered a hat trick of envelopes together with a small recorded delivery parcel addressed to Laurel. Ginny carried them through to the kitchen and opened the first envelope.

Electricity bill, fabulous.

The second was water rates, great.

The third was a bank statement. As ever, Ginny fantasized that this would be the one containing an outrageously vast sum that had accidentally been credited to her account instead of somebody else's, but—and this was the best bit—the person who should have received the money was so rich that he never realized he hadn't. Like when Sting, eons ago, hadn't noticed several million pounds being fraudulently siphoned from his account. Imagine that. And who was to say that a completely innocent computer blip couldn't do the same for her?

Sadly a quick skim through the statement revealed that yet another month had passed and it hadn't happened.

Even more sadly, her balance was less than it should have been. Checking through more carefully, Ginny saw what was missing.

“Laurel?”

Laurel appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Your rent hasn't gone through yet. Could you have a word with Perry, see what's happened?”

“Oh.” Laurel shifted awkwardly, not meeting her gaze. “Um… he can't afford to pay it anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I meant to tell you.” Laurel's tone was defensive; she'd clearly known for a while.

“So who is going to be paying it?”

“I don't know.”

Ginny shook her head in disbelief. As if she didn't have enough to worry about. The past couple of weeks had seen Laurel slipping back into her old neurotic ways as the date of Kevin's birthday had approached. Laurel had for some reason convinced herself that Kevin would choose this date to come back to her. When it didn't happen, her misery had been of epic proportions. That had been a week ago and Ginny had done her best to sympathize, but now her patience was running out.

“Look, I have bills to pay.” The words came out clipped and irritated. “Jem isn't working anymore so I'm having to help her too. You can't expect me to say, ‘Oh well, never mind, maybe we'll have a lucky night at the Bingo.' If Perry's not paying your rent anymore, you'll have to pay it yourself.”

With her pale green eyes, Laurel had never looked more like Ophelia. “But I don't have any money.”

The knicker elastic of Ginny's patience finally snapped. “Then you'll just have to do what normal people do and get yourself a job!”

Laurel flinched as if she'd been slapped. “I can't.”

“You
can
,” Ginny shot back, “you just don't
want
to. And I'm sorry, but if you don't pay your rent, you aren't staying here. Because you aren't the only one with problems, OK? Things are pretty crap for me as well right now, but somehow or other I have to get on with it, because that's life.”

Laurel welled up. She glanced at the small parcel on the kitchen table.

“That's yours. It came just now.” Ginny eyed it jealously; how come Laurel got sent a parcel while all she got was stinking rotten bills?

“Thanks.”

“Open it, then.”

“Later.”

Oh, for heaven's sake, what was the great mystery? It wasn't big enough to be a vibrator. Too het up by this stage to even care that she was being unreasonable, Ginny barked, “Open the damn parcel!”

Miserably Laurel did as she was told. Her chin began to wobble as the wrappings came off.

Ginny's eyes widened. “Somebody's sent you a Gucci watch!”

“No.”

“You mean you bought it for yourself?” Bloody hell, how much did a Gucci watch cost?

“If you must know,” Laurel blurted out defensively, “I bought it for Kevin. I thought it would make him love me again. He's always wanted a Gucci watch.” She unfolded the accompanying note, scanned the few lines, and crumpled it in her hand. “But not from me. I can't believe he sent it back. Oh God, why can't I ever get
anything
right?”

Ginny's own hormones were jangling. “Look, I thought you'd stopped all this. It's crazy, Laurel. Kevin's never going to love you again. He's never going to come back. It's over and you have to accept that.” Before Laurel could start sobbing, she added hastily, “And look on the bright side. You can take the watch back to the shop and get a refund.”

And pay your rent with it hopefully.

“I can't.” Laurel sniffed and gazed mournfully down at the watch.

“You can! Unless it's a fake one.” Ginny peered more closely; actually, if it was a fake she wouldn't mind one for herself.

Laurel was outraged. “Of course it's not a fake! What kind of person do you think I am?”

Was she serious? “Well, obviously the kind of person who spends hundreds of pounds she doesn't have on someone who doesn't want anything from her. For crying out loud, just take it back to the shop and get a refund!”

“I told you, I can't. I bought the watch three weeks ago.” Laurel fiddled with the dangly, too-long sleeves of her sage-green cardigan. “They only give you your money back if you return it within fourteen days.”

God.
Exasperated, Ginny said, “Next time, go to a department store and buy him a pair of socks.”

“I'm sorry. I love him.” Tears were once more sliding down Laurel's colorless cheeks. “I just don't know what to do anymore.”

“Don't you?” It was knicker-snapping time again. With an embryo in her stomach and bills strewn across the kitchen table, Ginny felt the elastic go
twaannggg
. Her voice spiraling, she yelped, “Seriously, don't you? Because I can tell you. You have to forget Kevin and stop feeling so sorry for yourself. You need to sort out your life and start acting like an adult. And if you want to carry on living in this house, you have to get out there and find yourself a job.”

Ginny took a deep breath. Crikey, had she really just said all that? From the way Laurel stifled a horrified sob, ricocheted off the doorway, and stumbled out of the kitchen, it rather seemed as if she had.

***

Upstairs in Jem's bedroom, Ginny sat in front of the computer scrolling through images of embryos in the womb. Her own, she discovered, had by now developed fingers and toes and a face of sorts—albeit with huge alien eyes and low-slung ears. It also had a sense of smell (how could they
tell?
), a pituitary gland in its brain, and a tiny heart pumping away in its chest.

Oh God, she really was having a baby. One reckless moment and this was the life-changing result, how could she have been so—

“Um, hello?” A cautious tap was followed by Laurel pushing open the bedroom door. Ginny pounced on the mouse and fired frantically at the page-closer like a demented person on a rifle range, finally managing to clear the screen a millisecond before Laurel came into the room.

Prickling with adrenaline, she said, “
What?
”

Laurel flinched. “Sorry. Um, I'm just going out to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription. I wondered if there was anything you wanted while I was there.”

Well, let's see, how about some nipple cream and a tube of that stuff that stops you getting stretch marks on your stomach when it's the size of a beach ball? And how about a box of breast pads, a thousand packs of nappies, and some teething biscuits? Oh God, actually she quite fancied a couple of Farley's rusks…

“No thanks.”

“Oh. OK.” Pause. “I'm really sorry about… you know, the rent.”

Ginny steeled herself; Laurel knew she was a soft touch. Well, not this time. Stiffly she replied, “So you keep saying.”

Her ploy evidently thwarted, Laurel's face fell. “Anyway, I'll be back in half an hour.” She twisted the doorknob this way and that. “And I'm going to sort everything out. I promise.”

Talk about emotional blackmail. Ginny refused to give in. Turning back to the computer she said, “Good.”

***

Three hours later there was still no sign of Laurel. Ginny unloaded the washing from the tumble dryer and carried the basket of dry clothes upstairs. It was unlike Laurel to be gone for so long, but it hadn't been an ordinary day; maybe she'd gone into town to visit the Job Center or to see Perry.

By the time she'd finished sorting out the clothes, Laurel still hadn't returned. Her conscience by now beginning to prick, Ginny let herself into Laurel's bedroom in search of a clue as to where she might have gone.

The sunshine-yellow room was incredibly neat, like something out of a show home. Apart from the handbag on the bed, nothing was out of place. Laurel's handbag. Ginny frowned at the sight of it; surely when you left the house to go to the shops you took your handbag with you? Unless Laurel had decided to swap handbags for coordination purposes (which was, frankly, unlikely) and had emptied the contents of this one into another that went better with her sludge-brown dress and green cardigan?

But no, picking up the handbag, she discovered it was full of Laurel's things.
All
her things, including her purse and credit cards.

That was a bit weird, wasn't it?

Her heart beating a little faster, Ginny pulled open the drawers of the chest next to Laurel's bed. The first drawer contained underwear, ironed and folded and in no way resembling the tangle of bras and knickers that comprised Ginny's own collection. The second held tights and petticoats, again arranged as pristinely as if they were part of a shop display.

The bottom drawer contained several framed photographs of Kevin (who was so not worth all this angst and grief); the box containing the Gucci watch; an old, navy, man-sized lamb's wool sweater with holes in both elbows; and a pale gray leather-bound diary.

Ginny swallowed. Should she? Shouldn't she? She had sneaked a look at someone else's diary once before. It hadn't been a happy experience, learning that: “Mum thinks she's a good dancer but she's really embarrassing, all my friends were laughing at her at the school Christmas dance.” Followed by: “I wish Mum would buy proper name tapes for my school uniform; I'm the only one with my name in marker pen. Mrs. Hegarty (I hate her) was all sneery and said doesn't your mother know how to sew?”

Ginny prickled with shame at the memory. By the time she'd finished sewing on thirty-two Cash's name tapes and ended up with fingers like pincushions she had hated Mrs. Hegarty too.

And after the way she'd lost her temper with Laurel this morning, she was unlikely to read anything complimentary about herself now. More like: “Ginny Holland is a cold, selfish, money-obsessed bitch who never dusts her skirting boards or irons her knickers.”

Either way, this was Laurel's private diary, and she really shouldn't read it. Moving over to the bedroom window, Ginny peered out; nothing would make her happier than to see Laurel making her way down the street, heading home. Then she could put the diary back where she'd found it and avoid having to read uncomplimentary remarks about herself.

But the road was empty; there was still no sign of Laurel in her long dress and droopy cardigan.

She'd been gone for more than three hours. Without her handbag.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, Ginny opened the diary, flicking through dozens of densely written pages until she reached the most recent entry.

There were splodgy teardrops on the paper. Laurel had written:

Kevin sent back the watch with a letter telling me not to contact him again. Ginny found out about the rent not being paid and went mad. I know she doesn't want me here anymore. She said if I don't get a job I'll have to move out, but how can I get a job when I feel like this? She doesn't understand. No one does.

It's pointless. I can't carry on like this. I hate the person I've become. I know what I have to do and now's the time to do it.

Good-bye, Kevin, I loved you so much. Enjoy your life. And don't worry, I won't be bothering you again.

 

Ginny collapsed on the perfectly made bed, shaking. Her mouth was so dry she couldn't swallow and there was a loud drumming noise in her ears. Oh God, this was so much worse than she'd imagined. The tear stains on the page were dry; Laurel had written these words over three hours ago, before leaving the house empty-handed.

Her heart clattering against her rib cage, Ginny reread the words. There was no mistaking Laurel's intention. She could be dead already, floating in the sea or lying in a battered heap at the foot of the cliffs. Or she could have gone to the pharmacy to collect her prescription for antidepressants and be taking them right now, grimly swallowing every last tablet in the bottle…

God, how could she have shouted at someone who'd been prescribed antidepressants? Snatches of what had been said zip-zapped accusingly through her brain.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Sort out your life. Kevin's never going to come back. He doesn't
want
you. Next time go to a department store and buy a pair of socks.

And what had been Laurel's last words to her before miserably leaving the house?

“I'm going to sort everything out. I promise.”

Shakily, Ginny realized that she might as well have handed over the loaded gun herself. Laurel had come to her expecting sympathy and understanding, and had got yelled at by an over-hormonal harpy instead.

Ginny stood up, hyperventilating and feeling sicker than ever.

She knew what she had to do now.

***

Ner-ner-ner-ner-ner-ner-ner.

Come on.

Ner-ner-ner-ner-ner.

Oh please, please don't do this now. Just start, damn you.

Ner-ner-ner, ner-ner, ner-ner, ner-ner.

Ginny wiped a slick of perspiration from her upper lip and frenziedly pumped the accelerator, her stomach clenching as the rate of the ner-ners decreased.

Ner… ner… ner… ner…

Click.

Oh fuck. Fucking bloody thing. Panting, she leaped out onto the pavement and tried to figure out what to do next. But what else was there to do? She jumped back in and tried again, praying that her car would take pity on her and summon all its energy for one last go.

Click.

Bastard car. Ginny thumped the steering wheel and closed her eyes in despair.

A knock on the driver's window made her jump. Her heart plummeted when she saw who was standing next to the car.

“I've got a charger if you want to borrow it.”

“What?” The unexpectedness of the encounter had caused Ginny's brain to go temporarily blank.

“Your battery's flat,” said Carla. “You left your headlights on last night.”

“What?” Ginny stared at the switch on the dash and realized it was true. “You mean you
saw
my headlights were on and you did
nothing
?”

Carla stiffened. “You said you never wanted to speak to me again. I only came over here now because you look a bit agitated.”

A
bit
agitated? “Oh fine. So if you'd seen me being run over by a bus last night you'd have left me lying in the road? Thanks a lot. You knew I'd have a flat battery today but you just… just…” Ginny bashed the steering wheel again, unable to look at Carla with her swingy geometric bob, pink power suit, and flawless makeup.

“Look, I said I'd lend you my charger.”

“That's no good, that'll take hours. I need the car”—another thump—“
now
.”

“OK, if it's that urgent, I'll give you a lift. Where are you going?”

“I DON'T KNOW.” Ginny let out a bellow of panicky despair. “That's the thing: you can't give me a lift because I don't know where I'm going. I just know I've got to try and find her before… oh God, before it's too l-late…”

“Right, get out of the car.” Carla snatched the keys from the ignition, hauled Ginny out onto the pavement, and said briskly, “We'll go in mine and it doesn't matter how long it takes. Is she in Bristol?”

“What?” Ginny found herself being propelled across the road and into Carla's car; half of her didn't want this to be happening, while the other half acknowledged she didn't have a lot of choice. “Why would she be in Bristol?”

Carla looked at her. “Is this not Jem we're talking about?”

“No, no. It's Laurel.” Shaking her head, Ginny spilled out what had happened this morning.

Carla, having listened in silence, said, “Shouldn't you phone the police?”

“I did! But Laurel hadn't written ‘I am going to kill myself' so they just said wait and see if she turns up. You can't report an adult as missing until they've been gone for twenty-four hours. It's all right for them,” Ginny said with frustration, “but how do they think I feel? It's all my fault.”

“Don't blame yourself. If it's any comfort,” said Carla, “I'd have pushed her off a cliff months ago. So where to?”

She was all ready to begin the search. Helplessly Ginny said, “Anywhere. Everywhere. The pharmacy, I suppose. The doctor's office. The Job Center, maybe.”

“Tuh.” Carla snorted in disbelief as they set off down the road. “In your dreams.”

“Don't say that.” Oh God, what if Laurel was already dead? With a shudder Ginny went on, “We could drive up to the cliffs. Or try the beach, ask the lifeguards if they've seen her. She was wearing her brown dress when she left the house.”

“Long thin female, long red hair, long brown dress.”

“And I suppose we should check with Perry. She could be with him.” Ginny felt sick at the thought of explaining to Perry what had happened if Laurel wasn't there. Carla could do that.

“He's not living in Portsilver anymore. And he's changed his number.” Carla paused then said bluntly, “It's over between me and Perry. I haven't seen him for weeks.”

“You're kidding.” For a second Ginny forgot about Laurel. “Why, what happened?”

“It's just over, that's all. I'll tell you later.” Keeping her gaze fixed on the road ahead, Carla said, “For now let's just concentrate on finding Laurel.”

***

They didn't find her. The four hours she had been missing became five, and five stretched into six. No one had seen Laurel anywhere; she hadn't been to the pharmacy to collect her pills, and there had been no sightings of her either along the cliff top or on the beach.

“Well, that's good news,” said Carla, attempting to cheer Ginny up. “At least they haven't pulled any bodies out of the sea.”

But this was no consolation. Laurel was still missing and in a desperately vulnerable state. Having left a message on the kitchen table for Laurel to call her mobile the minute she got back, Ginny nevertheless punched in her home number for the hundredth time and listened to it ringing in an empty house. It was hideously selfish and she was ashamed of herself for even thinking about it, but if Laurel was dead and the police read what was written in her diary, would she be held partly to blame for the tragedy, possibly even charged with manslaughter?

“Do you need the loo?”

Ginny realized she had her hand resting on her stomach. Abruptly banishing the mental image of herself giving birth in prison—in handcuffs and without pain relief—she snatched it away. “No, I'm OK.”

“Where next?”

“Sadler's Cove, we haven't tried there yet.”

“Right,” Carla announced an hour later, “that's enough. I could have carried on longer, but not in these shoes.”

Her impeccable black leather high heels were dusty and scuffed from scrambling down the narrow stony path to Sadler's Cove. Clouds had obliterated the sun and everyone was now leaving the beach for the day. Hollow with fear, it occurred to Ginny that when they arrived back at the house, there could be somber-faced police officers on the doorstep waiting to break the worst possible news.

But when they finally reached home there was no police car outside. Instead, mystifyingly, Ginny gazed at the battered green van parked behind her own broken-down car and said, “That's Dan.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “New boyfriend?”

“Hardly. Dan the Van, he delivers to the restaurant. What's he doing here?” Even as she was scrambling out of the car, Ginny could see the van was empty. How bizarre. Was Dan here visiting one of her neighbors?

“Oooh, you gave me a fright!” Laurel clutched her bony chest as the kitchen door crashed open. “What's the matter? You look as if you've seen a ghost!”

Wild-eyed and panting, Ginny surveyed the scene. Laurel and Dan the Van were sitting cozily together at the kitchen table, drinking tea and making inroads into the orange drizzle cake Laurel had baked yesterday. Like a small boy, Dan guiltily brushed cake crumbs from his wispy beard and attempted to stand up.

“Sit
down
,” Ginny barked, causing him to hurriedly resume his seat. “What are you doing here?” Turning back to Laurel she said, “For God's sake, where have you
been
?”

Laurel looked alarmed. “Out. Why?” Then her expression changed as she saw Carla in the doorway. “What's
she
doing here?”

“I'm sorry.” Dan the Van was clearly terrified. “Maybe I should go—”

“No you will not,” Ginny and Laurel chorused.

“I'll tell you what I'm doing here.” Carla, her eyes flashing, advanced into the kitchen. “I've been helping Ginny to look for you. Or, more accurately, to help her look for your dead body. Oh yes,” she went on as Laurel blanched, “we've spent most of the day trawling the cliff tops and beaches, wrecking my shoes while we searched for your corpse. We called the police and spoke to the lifeguards and I've had to cancel three important appointments with clients, so God knows how much money you've cost me. It's just a shame you never learned to
read
.” Reaching across the table she snatched up the note Ginny had left and shook it in Laurel's horrified face. “Because Ginny's been frantic, going out of her mind with worry, and all you had to do was pick up the phone and tell her YOU WEREN'T DEAD.”

Ginny raked her fingers through her hair. “OK, let's all calm down.”

“Why would you think I was dead?” Laurel was perplexed.

Carla glared at her. “Because you wrote all that stuff in your diary about how you were going to end it all.”

“
What?
You mean you went up to my room and actually read my diary?” Laurel's voice rose. “My
private
diary? Well, thanks a
lot
!”

“You selfish, ungrateful
dimwit
,” Carla shot back. “You should be thankful Ginny bothered, because I'm telling you now, if you lived in my house, I'd—”

“Stop this, stop it.” Ginny held up her hands like a football referee because too much was happening at once and all this shouting wasn't getting them anywhere. To Laurel she said, “I'm sorry I looked in your diary, but you said you were only going out for half an hour. You were upset. You didn't even take your handbag with you. Once I saw what you'd written, I was worried sick. That's why I left the note asking you to call me as soon as you got home.”

“We only got back twenty minutes ago. I did try to ring you, but your phone was busy. I would have called again, but we were talking about… things. And then you burst in through the door like a tornado.”

Carla shook her head. “So you've been out all day.”

Mortified, Dan said, “It's all my fault.”

“No it isn't. I just jumped to the wrong conclusion.” Desperate for a cup of tea, Ginny filled the kettle and gestured for Carla to sit down. “Anyway, panic over. You can tell us what you've been doing. How did you meet Dan?”

Laurel looked blank. “Who's Dan?”

This was surreal. Surely Dan didn't have an identical twin brother. Ginny said, “Dan, help me out here. Am I going mad?”

Perplexed, Laurel turned to stare at Dan. “What does she mean? What's going on?”

He shrugged, embarrassed. “Everyone calls me Dan the Van because of my job. But it's just a joke. My real name's Hamish.”