Fly in the Ointment Page 15

  I thought back to the dozens of times I’d wanted to slap her. The times I’d caught her teasing Larry for things he couldn’t do, or couldn’t quite get out in words. The time she found him lying like a starfish on the floor and said to him, ‘Dead, are you? Good! Now I can flush you down the toilet where you belong!’ The times she caught him wriggling with excitement and cooled his spirits with a sharp ‘Grubs in your bum?’

  And yet again the needle of the compass of my feelings spun, making me dizzy. I felt like weeping. What sort of childhood leaves a young woman like Janie Gay with nothing to console her but her own spite? What sort of empty days were these that could be turned by a few pretty lights into a wonderland?

  Poor girl. She’d more excuses for all her pitiful stabs at escape than ever Malachy could have claimed. She’d probably done her best. In future, I would be kinder – renew my efforts to take this pitiful and needy child, as well as Larry, under my wing. The first thing to do was find her some decent sheets, a better pillowcase, a warmer, prettier bedspread. I looked round the room more closely. If I could make some changes in Janie Gay’s life, maybe it would be easier to—

  That’s when I noticed it: a little run of pencil marks along the grimy paintwork as if, when the phone rang, she’d had no paper near and thought it so important not to miss the number she was being told that she had written it on the wall.

  And there beside it was a larger scribble.

  I bent to take a closer look. No, not a scribble. One small tell-tale letter, carelessly written.

  W.

  So. Wilbur again.

  25

  EARLY NEXT MORNING, as I sat in my dressing gown putting in a couple of hours’ work, I heard footsteps outside and looked up to see a man’s face in the window. My curious visitor was even more startled to notice me than I’d been to see him. Panicking, he pushed his hair back. He was a nice-looking man, my age or a little younger. ‘God! I’m so sorry! I must have scared you half to death.’

  I opened the window further. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘This is so rude of me. But, honestly, the only reason that I’m sneaking round like this is that I thought it was far too early to ring the doorbell.’

  I glanced at the clock. It was three minutes to seven. ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Far, far too early.’

  He grinned. And, since I couldn’t help it, I smiled back. The penny dropped. ‘You must be one of the old man’s sons.’ I gave him a good long stare, trying to guess if he was the generous brother who’d bought the house for his father, or the unscrupulous schemer who’d held up the division of the spoils till he had wangled a share. But his embarrassed look could have stemmed equally from modesty or guilt, and so I broke the silence. ‘Come to look at your inheritance?’

  I could tell from his face that he hoped I was teasing. So. Probably the schemer. He took a moment to rally. ‘It’s not as if I haven’t seen the place before. But this house holds a lot of memories.’

  ‘Do you want to come in and look around?’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  We introduced ourselves. While George was wandering about, I made some coffee. Even before he joined me in the kitchen, he was shouting his patronizing praises from each room in turn. ‘I like what you’ve done here, Lois! . . . This is a whole lot brighter than I remember it.’

  Suddenly from the back bedroom came an apparently sincere, ‘My gosh, that tree has grown!’

  No cherry tree shoots up that fast. So he was almost certainly the more neglectful son. When he came down, this cheerful prodigal took it upon himself to push down the plunger and pour out the coffee even before I had offered it. ‘I wonder why my parents never thought of moving into the bedroom that overlooks the garden.’

  I didn’t see why I should let the fellow get off scot-free. ‘Your father did end up there. But that was only because of the shocking damp. By the time I moved in, that front room was a shambles.’

  He gave a little boyish grin as if the message it sent – ‘All right, you’ve got my number. I wasn’t the most caring son’ – would charm me out of any disapproval. He’d picked the wrong morning for that. After my secret tour of Larry’s home, I wasn’t in the mood to let off those who didn’t shoulder their responsibilities. I simply stared, and in the end he shifted uneasily and tried to defend himself. ‘Dad wasn’t easy to help. He’d hide the fact things needed doing for as long as possible.’

  ‘He couldn’t possibly have hidden that damp.’

  George blinked, then bolstered his defence with details I could only suspect him of gleaning from his more generous-spirited brother. ‘He hated having workmen in the house. He’d lead you into thinking repairs were in hand. “I’ve someone coming in early next week.” “They say they’re waiting for a dry spell.” That sort of thing is hard to argue against with an old person.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said drily. ‘It’s never easy to deal with people who twist the facts round just to suit themselves.’

  Again, that boyish and seductive ‘so spank me’ grin. And suddenly I realized that this man fancied me. Admittedly, I looked my very best. Hoping to keep Trevor sweet on our arrangement, I’d slid into the habit of making more of an effort with my hair on days I thought I might find time to call in at the office. And since my visitor had shown up early, he’d caught me floating round in the silk robe I’d bought for my Italian holiday. He couldn’t work me out, though, that was obvious. The question bothering him might have been written in huge black letters right across his face. Why is this woman stubbornly resisting my confidence and charm? Twice before, when he’d walked past the table, he’d raised an eyebrow at the piles of files. Now, shifting the spotlight off himself till he felt safer, he asked me outright. ‘So, Lois. What’s all this?’

  ‘Tax files. I’m an accountant.’

  ‘Accountant? What, a real one?’

  ‘Any other sort?’

  ‘What I mean is—’

  I knew exactly what he meant. Why had a woman with a proper salary chosen to rent this house? I took a mischievous pleasure in giving the honest answer: ‘I’ve a close relative along the street who needs a good deal of care.’

  Astonishingly, instead of looking mortified at yet another dig at his own failings, he took this as a chance to crank up the flirting. ‘Oh, God, Lois! Don’t tell me that. Now I shall feel so terrible you’re having to move that I’ll have to offer you dinner.’

  I left him to get out of this as best he could. But he persisted. ‘Oh, come on. I’m around till Wednesday. How about tonight?’

  ‘Sorry. Salsa class,’ I lied as coolly as he’d lied to me.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Advanced Italian.’

  ‘God, Lois! You don’t make things easy.’ But he was giving me a smile that would have made a sphinx grin back. ‘Look.’ He reached in his jacket pocket. ‘Here’s my card. You phone me any time and I’ll drop all my other plans.’

  ‘I’ll certainly give it some thought.’

  He shook my hand in that warm, intimate, double-clasped way. ‘And thanks so much for letting me look round the old house.’

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ I said.

  Because it had been. Watching this smug, complacent stranger oozing out charm had done the best job of reminding me of all the things I truly valued and the sort of man I could respect. And my good-looking visitor had done even more than that. Like one of those bright dancing rainbows tossed out by Malachy’s prism, he’d scattered cheering reminders of a freer life. A life I wouldn’t have again for quite a while but that might be, must be, on its way.

  ‘No, really,’ I told George again. ‘It was a pleasure. I’m really glad you came. You were a good start to the day.’

  Better than what came after. As I was getting in my car I heard the howls begin, and Janie Gay’s attack. ‘Foul little jerk! You did that on purpose, just so I’d have to clean you up. Well, I’m not going to bother. You can just sit in your own disgusting mess
all day. Filthy, stupid boy!’

  The door slammed shut behind him. He didn’t dare sit on the step and spread whatever was in his pants, so he just stood. His cheeks were pink with distress. He’d thrown up a chubby arm to hide his streaming eyes and it was squashing his pretty little nose flat as a button mushroom. I could have folded my arms over the steering wheel, laid down my head and wept. For this was not my job. I wasn’t paid to save the children of the world from their inadequate mothers. Oh, Mrs Kuperschmidt could spout the official line – imply that things had to be truly terrible before it was right for her and her sort to step in and intervene. But a mere forkful of brain could tell you this was a policy born only of empty coffers. Not enough money in the pot? Then not enough care. For all the dozens of phone calls that filtered in from people worried about the way that things were going in the house next door, how many children ended up with close attention? Four, maybe? Five at the most. So, if the rest of us were not prepared to harden our hearts and keep on pretending, like Mrs Kuperschmidt, that things were ‘not quite bad enough’, then the problems of children like Larry would forever remain problems for people like me. Look at the mite now, standing utterly abandoned on his own doorstep. A little accident. A bit of mess in his pants. Big deal! You’d think from the demented shrieks that had accompanied his ousting that Larry had at the very least smothered a baby, or spread kerosene all round the house and then set fire to it. What was the matter with the woman? Why did she have to go into hysterics over the slightest thing?

  The child had still not moved. And I was paralysed as well. While he was standing there, feeling so trapped and forlorn, I couldn’t drive away. All right, I finally snapped at myself. Do something else. Get out of the car, go back inside the house and give it one more try. Phone Mrs Kuperschmidt.

  But, really, what would be the point? Already I could hear the conversation we would have. ‘So, Lois, you don’t think the boy’s in any actual danger?’ ‘Not by your standards, I suppose.’ ‘Nobody’s beating him?’ ‘I suppose not.’ ‘And he gets regular meals?’ ‘Thanks to my efforts.’ ‘I take it the house is not in any state we could term “squalid”?’ ‘No. Not quite squalid enough for your lot. Pity about that.’ ‘And it does seem he’s doing fine in all his clinic check-ups.’ ‘No thanks to Janie Gay.’

  But that was not the point, of course. What does it matter who looks after a child? The only thing that counts is how that child turns out. And Larry was turning out all right – perhaps not quite the confident, happy child he could have been, but still all right.

  The problem was that I was turning too. Turning resentful. Just those few minutes with George had brought back such a flash of the old Lois. The Lois who had so successfully climbed out of the box of her marriage and built a new life. The Lois, indeed, who had spent hours cheerily flirting with her own reflection in hesitant Italian. The Lois who’d spun through her salsa classes with a will, and wept with laughter when her lump of clay shot off the potter’s wheel into her neighbour’s lap. That laid-aside, but not-forgotten Lois.

  The trouble is, you act a part too long and you will almost certainly become that person. George might have come across me with freshly washed hair not yet twisted up in a roll, wearing the bright loose gown I’d bought so cheerfully in another life. But if I looked at myself with more dispassion, I could see that two years of exile in Limmerton Road had turned me into someone else entirely – someone so dull and dependable and middle-aged. A doormat of a woman.

  Sighing, I climbed out of the car and called to Larry. The poor lamb didn’t even pull his arm from his face as he stumbled blindly towards me.

  ‘Hi, Buster. Time for a change?’ I asked him gently.

  He was hiccuping back his sobs so violently he couldn’t answer. What did it matter? As I led him up the path I realized it was to myself that I had posed the question.

  Time for a change?

  26

  A POINT BROUGHT home when trevor caught me next day coming into the hall. ‘Ah, Lois . . .’

  Just from the way he said my name I knew he’d come to some decision. I thought fast. ‘Oh, good! You’re here! I wanted you to be the first to hear that I’ll be back. Very soon.’

  I’d really hoped to fob him off with this half-promise, but he still looked anxious. ‘Very soon?’

  Better face facts. ‘Has something come up?’

  He pawed the ground. ‘The thing is, Lois, that what with Dana going into hospital next month –’

  News to me. But rather than remind him of just how detached from the office I’d become, I simply nodded.

  ‘And the fact that she’ll be gone for quite a while—’

  I kept the act up. ‘Well, it’s quite a business.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘The thing is, Lois . . .’ Waving me backwards into the privacy of his small room, he picked up more confidently. ‘I’m not sure she’ll be wanting to come back. And even if she does, it’ll be weeks.’

  The way he said ‘weeks’ made it clear that he meant months. He turned towards the window. ‘I’ll be blunt, Lois. As you’ll have realized, we’re getting busier all the time. So much work’s coming in and we’ve been barely stumbling through for long enough.’ He turned to face me. ‘Dad never likes to change things, but I’ve decided.’

  ‘Decided?’

  ‘We need a proper office manager. I wanted you. If you’d been—’ He picked his words with care. ‘If you’d been fully available, I would have offered you the job. Audrey’s not up to it. She would admit that herself.’ He spread his hands. ‘But as things are, I fear I’m going to have to bring in someone from outside, and Dad is not at all sure –’

  Hugely embarrassed, he stared at the floor as once again he searched for the most delicate way of putting the problem. ‘Not sure they’re going to feel as happy as we do dealing with someone who has to spend quite so much time out of the office.’

  So that was it. Come back at once, or face the sack.

  I made the decision instantly. ‘Early next month, you say?’

  His head shot up. ‘So, when you told me “soon” . . .?’

  ‘Yes. I meant that soon.’ I forced myself to sound entirely confident. ‘Things are more settled on the home front. We’ve had to take a lot of big decisions. It’s all taken time. But I think things are set up nicely now.’

  He clearly hadn’t forgotten Janie Gay. ‘Really? You honestly believe that poor child will be able to manage without you there?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I think so.’ I beamed. ‘And if I’m honest, Trevor, I’ve really missed the office. You. And your father. I shall be so delighted to be back, and if, as you say, you’re looking for someone to take on a few special duties –’

  ‘No, it’s a proper step up, Lois. Office manager.’

  ‘I think I’m up for it.’

  ‘Dad and I agreed you would be excellent.’ He gave me one last worried frown. ‘So when could we expect you back full-time?’

  What had he said? That Dana was going into hospital early next month?

  ‘Well,’ I said briskly. ‘Obviously Dana and I will need a couple of days at least for a smooth handover. So how about a week on Monday?’

  His face lit up. ‘You’re sure? I can tell Dad?’

  I nodded. I could almost smell my bridges burning behind me, but I still nodded. Then I was in a bear hug. I do believe that, if I’d given Trevor half a chance, the dear man would have kissed me simply from his delight at slipping out of the responsibility of sending me packing. I can’t imagine how on earth I thought I might keep my promise. Perhaps in the back of my mind I thought it possible I might persuade some other neighbour with an ounce of heart to take on Larry. Guy didn’t come to mind till I was driving home. But once that idea hatched, it seemed to me there was no other possibility. I couldn’t wait to get to the petting zoo and track my victim down.

  We were in luck. It was Larry who spotted him tipping some grainy grey foodstuff out of a sack into the llamas’ trough. I c
alled, and Guy turned, pushing back his mop of hair.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I told him.

  Did he look guilty? Certainly he couldn’t turn back to the llamas fast enough. ‘I’ll meet you up there,’ he said in such a shifty way I almost expected to sit in the cafeteria for an hour or so, and then come out to find he’d vanished. In fact, he joined us only a few minutes later. But you could tell his mind was somewhere else as he went through the old routine of sharing his cake with Larry (‘You get this crumb, and I get all the rest. Right?’ ‘Not fair!’), and he was obviously relieved when I suggested we should take a walk down to the turkeys so Larry could once again show us how brave he had become near those unpleasant birds.

  As Larry charged ahead, Guy finally made his confession. ‘Lois, I have to tell you. I’ve applied for a job.’

  ‘A real job?’

  ‘Yes.’

  So much for the idea of him becoming Larry’s saviour. My heart sank. ‘What, with proper horses? Like you had before?’

  ‘That’s right. At Todmore.’

  ‘The racing stables?’ That at least was a relief. It wasn’t back down south. But it was still no use to me.

  Guy saw my face. ‘I’m sorry, Lois. I wasn’t out there looking. But somebody here happened to mention me to one of the people there – you know, about my old job. And then this phone call came in just a couple of hours ago – Can I get there by three? – and I thought, it’s what I always wanted. So why not?’ The guilty and distracted look was back in force. ‘Except, of course, it’s going to be a whole lot harder to—’

  He tipped his head towards Larry.

  I’d only just chosen my own job over the welfare of the child. How could I try to make this boy feel bad? ‘No, no. You must do what is right for you.’

  He kicked morosely at the gravel path. ‘They probably won’t want me anyway.’

  ‘Well, we must hope they do,’ I told him virtuously, and kept the show up all through the visit to the turkeys, writing his current address down ‘just in case’, encouraging and praising until the moment when he had to leave. As he strode off towards the gates, I even told him again, ‘I really hope that it works out and you get the job.’ But after that I couldn’t wait to leave. It took a while to drag an excited Larry away from the pen that held the newborn baby chicks, but it could not have been more than a quarter of an hour before, crossing the car park, I noticed Guy at the bus stop, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.