Tread Softly (43 page)

She pushed past him, although his taunting voice pursued her along the lane. ‘And what about Ralph? You'll never cope with the guilt. Think you can swan off to The Cedars while he hasn't so much as a roof over his head?'

She clamped her hands across her chest. The Monster always sussed out her weak spots: she did feel crushing guilt on Ralph's account. ‘I … I'll give him the money from the sale of Agnes's house – every penny of it. Then he can buy a flat.'

‘Don't be stupid – he's too proud to take your money. Anyway, you'll need it yourself when you get the sack. You can't honestly believe they'll keep you on at The Cedars. Or in any job, come to that. You only survived in Astro-Sport because Ralph was holding your hand. Without him you're unemployable.'

‘In that case why did he say he wanted me back and how brilliant I was at the business?'

‘He'll change his tune once Olu's been round demanding money with menaces. All hell will break loose.'

Her heart was hammering in her chest. The very thought of Olu made her sweat.

‘You won't stand a chance in the divorce court when they hear you jumped into bed with the first available male at Oakfield.'

Desperate to escape, she ducked into the pub. ‘Please …' she panted, practically throwing herself on the bar, ‘could I use your phone?'

‘Help yourself.' The barman jabbed a thumb over his left shoulder. ‘It's in the corner.'

It was some minutes before she was calm enough to dial. ‘Kathy? It's Lorna.'

‘Where are you, for heaven's sake?'

‘In the wilds of Sussex.'

‘What on earth are you doing there? I rang you at Clare's to wish you happy birthday and she said you'd –'

‘Look, never mind that. I'm phoning to see if the job's still open. I know the deadline was Friday, but –'

‘Well, actually Chris is in Paris this weekend with her boyfriend, so I don't imagine she's interviewing staff!'

‘I could still apply then?' She was nearly deafened by the Monster's bray of contempt.

‘Honestly, Lorna' – Kathy let out an impatient sigh – ‘that's what I've been begging you to do for weeks. Thank God you've come to your senses at last. What made you decide?'

‘My father,' Lorna murmured to herself. ‘Kathy, I'm sorry, I can't talk for long. I'm down to my last two coins.'

‘Wait! What about your birthday? You can't spend it on your own. Are you coming back tonight?'

‘Oh yes.'

‘And have you something planned?'

‘Only a nice long soak in the bath!'

‘Let me take you out to dinner then. I'll book a table at Gianni's.'

‘But, Kathy, it's terribly expensive …'

‘The food's great, though. And after all it's a double celebration. Would seven thirty suit you?'

‘Perfect. See you there.'

As she put the phone down she realized how loudly she'd been talking, in an effort to drown the Monster. The pub wasn't crowded, fortunately, but half a dozen locals were staring at her with interest. Apart from her shouted conversation, she must look a sight, with dirty hands and grass-stained clothes. She was tempted to leave, but it would be rude just to walk out without buying a drink.

And she
wanted
a drink – something fizzy and sparkling. This morning she had woken with a leaden weight on her shoulders – forty, and nothing to show for it. No job, no home, no husband or child. But now the weight had disappeared and she felt as light and effervescent as the bubbles in champagne. At last she had made a decision; at last left the past behind. Even the Monster had vanished – for once she'd got the better of him. He'd be back, of course, but she'd show him who was boss. Like Agnes, she must forget her own fear and concentrate on those in her care: the residents at The Cedars.

At the bar she waited her turn behind a doddery old man fumbling for change and slopping beer from his glass. The average age of the customers must be seventy at least.
She
was in her prime and about to embark on a new life.

‘Yes, Miss, what can I get you?'

She was amused by the Miss, though in reality she
was
Miss – in Kathy's words, free and unencumbered. ‘Mm, I'm not sure …' She scanned the various drinks, her eye lighting on a row of small bulbous bottles the colour of a sunburst, with enticing gold-foil tops. ‘One of those, please,' she said, unfolding a £5 note. Then, with a flash of inspiration, she put it back and took out a twenty instead. ‘Drinks all round,' she smiled at the barman. ‘It's my birthday.'

Re-birth-day.

‘Hi, Lorna! Come and join us.'

Lorna put her tray on the table and sat down next to Rowan. ‘Gosh, I'm glad to take the weight off my feet! Have you two finished lunch?'

‘Yeah,' said Rowan. ‘We only had salad.'

‘Salad, in this weather?' With an exaggerated shiver, Lorna eyed the frenzy of snowflakes that obscured the view from the window. ‘Is it ever going to stop?'

‘It better had,' said Julie, ‘or I won't get home tonight. Michael and me are going clubbing.'

‘I don't know how you have the energy on top of a long day.' Lorna forked in a mouthful of Stroganoff.

‘Oh, the music wakes you up. You forget everything. It's fantastic.'

‘You're lucky,' said Rowan. ‘Rob's always down the pub with his mates.'

‘Give him the push then.'

Julie was nothing if not forthright, even though she'd only just turned eighteen. Her looks – frail figure, delicate features and wispy ash-blonde hair – belied her acerbic character. Rowan was dark and chubby and gentle.

‘Do you think I ought to, Lorna?'

‘Goodness, what a question! I suppose it depends on what you want.'

‘A big white wedding and twins.'

Lorna laughed. ‘And what does Rob want?'

‘No commitments. And an Audi TT.'

‘In that case Julie's probably right.'

‘Lady Tate used to drive a sports car,' Julie said. ‘She was telling me about it yesterday. And she never took a driving-test. Apparently in them days you didn't have to.'

‘She's a game old bird, isn't she?' Rowan said to Lorna.

Lorna flushed. Any mention of Lady Tate made her instantly self-conscious. James Tate, the youngest son, had been chatting her up for the last month. They had been out once or twice, but although he was a good-looking thirty-seven (and seriously rich) somehow the spark had failed to ignite – on her side, anyway. He was still pursuing her, and every time he visited his mother he came to seek her out. Had Rowan noticed? she wondered. The care assistants didn't miss much.

‘Do you want a coffee, Lorna?' Julie asked.

‘No thanks. I've got to dash.'

‘But you haven't finished your lunch.'

‘I'm expecting a call.' Lorna glanced at her watch. Today she was filling in as activities organizer on top of all her other jobs. ‘Don't worry. I'll grab a mince pie later.'

On the way back to her office she paused for a second to look out at the grounds. Despite the disruption the snow had caused – blocked roads, cancelled trains and general Christmas chaos – she couldn't help admiring the beauty of the scene. The plump yew-bushes sat like a row of Christmas cakes covered with white frosting, the stone lions sported ermine muffs, and the dead heads on the hydrangeas had become luxuriant white flowers. The sun sparkled on the white lawns, between slate-blue shadows cast by the four cedars.

The phone was ringing when she reached the office. ‘Lorna Pearson … Oh, hello, Neil … You
can
come? Marvellous … I'd say about an hour in all … Mainly popular music. They like the old tunes, really – songs from the musicals, that sort of thing … Yes, sounds great. See you Boxing Day.'

She sat down at her computer, hoping to catch up on some invoicing. There had been various interruptions during the morning – the vicar on a social visit, the woman running the carol concert apologizing about depleted numbers, a long phone-call from Anne Spencer-Armitage (bewailing her own worsening condition and her new consultant's ‘criminal negligence') and two or three of the residents, worried about the weather or just wanting a chat.

And now another shrill from the phone. ‘Lorna Pearson. May I help you? … Oh,
Clare
– lovely! How are you?'

‘Stranded! In Portmadoc. And if we don't have a thaw soon I'll be stuck here for New Year as well as Christmas.'

‘Oh dear. Poor you. I am sorry. And we were going to that play. I've already booked the tickets.'

‘Well, I'll move heaven and earth to get back. But if not you'll have to go without me. Why not take James instead?'

‘No fear! I'm trying to extricate myself.' Was it a sign of failure that she had planned to spend New Year's Eve with a woman friend? During the last six months there had been overtures from several men but sadly none she was inclined to encourage. Her thoughts still occasionally strayed to Oshoba, veering from lust to hurt to fear to indignation. She'd half hoped he might contact her again, if only to apologize, but it was obvious he'd just used her.

‘You used
him
, you mean! And don't think you're out of the woods yet. If he decides to tell Kathy that you seduced a poor, defenceless care assistant then your job's on the line, no question.'

‘Down!' she ordered, and grudgingly the Monster came to heel. It was little short of a miracle that she now had him on a collar and lead, and that for the most part he obeyed her commands.

Clare laughed suddenly. ‘Well, whatever you end up doing, my love, it couldn't be worse than last year.'

True. And recalling last year she was immensely cheered by the contrast – she had dispensed with her crutches in all senses. ‘So, Clare, is your mother behaving herself? Or is she still insisting –? Damn! There's somebody at the door. Can I ring you back this evening? … Eight o'clock's fine.' She replaced the receiver and called, ‘Come in.'

This time it was Kathy, carrying a large, red Father Christmas sack and a dozen rolls of gift-wrap. ‘I know you're up to your eyes already, but could you be an angel and wrap this lot? Rita was meant to do it, but I've had to send her home.'

‘Flu?'

‘Need you ask! That makes it ten off sick. Still, the agency staff are doing reasonably well for a change.'

‘I should hope so at the price they're charging.'

Kathy shrugged. ‘That's Chris's headache, not ours. We've got quite enough to cope with as it is. Did you know that Mr Palmer had a fall this morning and broke his wrist? We're waiting for the ambulance. I'm just praying it'll get through. I've left Vanessa with him, but I must get back and see that he's all right. Sure you don't mind about the presents?'

‘'Course not.'

‘Winifred's offered to help. It'll be good for her to have something to do. Her son phoned half an hour ago to say he can't come. They're snowed up, apparently.'

‘Yes, and Doreen's upset because she can't get to her daughter's. She popped in earlier.'

‘With so many disappointments we'll just have to make Christmas extra special for them. I've had a word with Marco and he's going to pull out all the stops. He's concocting a rather ritzy stuffing for the turkey, with truffles and
foie gras
and goodness knows what else.'

‘Doreen won't approve!'

Kathy grinned. ‘Don't worry, we'll make sure she gets her rabbit food. Must dash – Ah, Winifred, hello. It's so kind of you to help – Lorna's pleased to have an extra pair of hands.'

‘Well, you know I hate to be idle.'

‘We certainly do.' Kathy relieved Winifred of her walking-frame and helped her into a chair. ‘It's a pity you're retired, otherwise I'd rope you in to do some nursing! Anyway, I'll leave the pair of you to it. I'm needed upstairs.'

Lorna placed a small table beside Winifred and laid out scissors, labels, Sellotape.

‘I may be rather slow, my dear.' Winifred held up her arthritic fingers, even more distorted and swollen than Agnes's.

‘Don't worry. There's no rush.' Lorna piled the presents on the desk. She and Kathy had gone to a lot of trouble finding more interesting gifts for the residents than the usual toiletries or boxes of biscuits – small framed prints of Victorian Weybridge, indoor-garden kits, aromatherapy oils, books on the old masters for members of the art class.

‘Beautiful paper, isn't it?' Winifred was unrolling a length. ‘It seems a shame to cut it up.'

A sentiment Agnes would have shared. Lorna often seemed to hear her voice, and in some strange way felt that her aunt was keeping a benevolent eye on her – protecting her from flu, for instance, when a virtual epidemic was raging across the country. Chris and Jeremy were laid low, as well as the maintenance man, both the gardeners and thirteen of the residents.

Winifred cut a strip of Sellotape, with difficulty. ‘Are you working tomorrow, Lorna?'

‘Well, I wasn't really meant to be, but it's all hands on deck at the moment. I've been doing a weird mixture of jobs. Yesterday I was peeling potatoes, would you believe! It made me realize how spoilt I am here, never having to cook.'

‘Yes, I feel the same.' Winifred reached for another present to wrap, a glass paperweight housing a real dandelion clock. ‘Good gracious! Look at this. I wonder how they got it inside?'

‘You mean without it all blowing away?'

Winifred nodded. ‘When I was little I used to love dandelion clocks.' She pursed her lips and blew. ‘Three o'clock, four o' clock, five o'clock – that's how quickly time goes now. One puff and an hour's gone. Another puff and a year's gone.'