Lacybourne Manor (31 page)

Luckily, the organist had
stopped and was basking in her weak, distracted applause.

“Sibyl, is that you?” Mrs.
Griffith, sitting in her customary seat by the Day Centre doors,
shouted over the clapping from across the room.

Sibyl walked down the tables,
touching a few of the oldie’s shoulders lightly while she passed
and, when she arrived at the old lady’s side, she crouched down
beside Mrs. Griffith.

Mrs. Griffith was another of
her favourites (Sibyl had to admit, she had many favourites). She
was a crotchety old bird who complained about everything, could go
on for hours about her ill-health and disliked everyone.

Except Sibyl.

And she liked Sibyl for one
reason, because Sibyl had brought her animals with her from
America. Mrs. Griffith liked pets and once she heard Sibyl had not
left hers behind, that was it, Sibyl was on the (very) short list
written in Mrs. Griffith’s Good Book.

Mrs. Griffith had the habit of
grasping onto Sibyl’s hand in a death grip whenever Sibyl talked to
her.

This she did now.

“
I heard your new lad is
too busy to come visit us. This, Sibyl, is
not
a good sign,” Mrs.
Griffith announced in a dire tone.

Sibyl smiled despite the fact
that Colin seemed everywhere, even here, where he should not be and
replied, “Annie talks too much, Mrs. Griffith.”

“
Tell him he
must
come,” Mrs. Griffith demanded. “I want to have a look at
him. If I don’t like him, I’m writing a letter to your
mother.”

Mrs. Griffith often threatened
to write to Sibyl’s mother, but, as yet, (to Sibyl’s knowledge) had
not done so even though she’d demanded to have and received Mags’s
address.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she
promised her friend on an utter lie.

The last two words were drowned
out by Jemma who was now standing at the sliding doors that led
into the hall.

And as Sibyl straightened and
looked her way, it appeared Jem was making an announcement.

Sibyl vaguely noticed that the
door behind her opened and closed but she, as well as all the
oldies, were captivated by the usually very quiet Jemma Rashid
making any announcement.

“Ladies and gentleman, I’m
proud to present a sneak preview to Cadbury Community Centre’s
Talent Show. I give you, Flower, Katie, Emma and Cheryl, the Greasy
Girls!”

And that was when the girls
made their entrance wearing saddle shoes, bobby socks, poodle
skirts and fluffy pink sweaters with black scarves wrapped around
their necks. Their hair was pulled back in ponytails and they
looked adorable. They stood giggling and posing and Sibyl felt
pride sweep through her at the sight.

Sibyl, who could not sew,
bought all the clothes, shoes and socks and Jemma had made the
skirts from the fabric and other bits and bobs that Sibyl also
purchased.

And Sibyl stood, with Mrs.
Griffith still clutching her hand in a death grip, and smiled,
every bit of her pride showing.

All the oldies were shouting
their compliments as Sibyl gently disengaged her hand from Mrs.
Griffith and walked around the woman, clearing the tables and
standing several feet in front of the door.

And as she did she
clapped and shouted, “I love it! You girls look
great!
”

The girls noticed her and all
came rushing forward jumping around her with excitement.

“Do you love it, Miss Sibyl? Do
you think we look okay?” Katie asked.

“Oh Katie, you look fabulous.”
Sibyl bent over and kissed the top of girl’s head then straightened
and caught Katie’s chin in her hand. “I’m going to get you some
redder than red lipstick and some blue eye shadow and the pinkest
blusher I can find. It’ll be perfect!” she announced, thinking
Katie would go agog at the idea of makeup.

But Katie was no longer
listening to her or, for that matter, looking at her. Instead, the
girl was looking behind her.

Sibyl noticed belatedly that
the excitement had died to a very strange (for the Day Centre),
eerie quiet.

“
Who’s
he?
” Emma
breathed, also peering behind Sibyl.

Then Sibyl smelled it, a woodsy
scent liberally spiked with cedar.

She whirled and there stood
Colin, wearing a handsomely tailored dark suit and an expensive
looking deep lavender shirt opened at the collar. He looked like a
movie star who had come on a Make-a-Wish errand, standing, powerful
and strong and exuding all of his sex appeal in the drab and worn
(but cheerful) Day Centre.

“Colin!” she cried, her heart
skipping three beats before it began racing like a wild thing.

What on earth was he doing
here?

“Sibyl,” he replied calmly,
staring at her like… like, she didn’t know. She couldn’t put her
finger on it but whatever “it” was made her stomach go funny, her
knees go weak and her heart stop momentarily before bouncing around
in her chest, out-of-control.

There was no other way to put
it – it was a Royce Look, pure and simple.

“What are you doing here?” she
forced herself to voice her thought.

Before he could answer,
Marianne, the Centre’s bingo caller, shouted throatily from the
back, “Billie, is that your young man?” After voicing her question,
Marianne collapsed into a fit of smoker’s cough and, once she
finished, she sucked another drag off her ever-present
cigarette.

Everyone was looking at Colin,
at Sibyl, at both of them.

And Sibyl wanted to run. She
wanted to scream. She wanted to know what the hell he was doing
there.

This
was not a part of their bargain.
This
was
not to be touched by him. She needed
this
when he was gone,
not
memories of him here.

“Introduce him, Sibyl,” Mrs.
Griffith was demanding (loudly), twisting around in her chair to
get a better look. “Don’t keep us all waiting.”

“It’s about time he came to
call!” Annie shouted, apparently just being informed that Colin was
there.

Sibyl stood awkwardly, not
knowing what to do. She noticed Jemma watching her carefully; ready
to come to her aid should Sibyl make the slightest indication that
she needed it.

Which, of course, she could not
do. No one could ever know.

Kyle and Tina had come in from
the kitchen and were watching the unfolding drama with speculative
eyes.

Sibyl cleared her throat.
“Everyone,” she announced loudly, “this is Colin. Colin,” she
continued, feeling idiotic and throwing out her arm to encompass
the room, “this is everyone.”

A cacophony of greetings
emerged from the room.

“Are these your girls?” Colin
asked after he’d arrogantly inclined his head to the elderly
assemblage. His voice was quiet and his eyes were on the four girls
who were staring at him as if he’d just stepped out of a movie
screen.

“
Um…” she started
(bloody,
bloody
hell), “yes.”

“I’m Colin,” he introduced
himself to the quartet.

“I’m Katie.” Cheeky Katie
didn’t miss a trick and shot forward to shake his hand, a shake
which Colin returned solemnly.

“Cheryl,” Cheryl offered but
she was not nearly as bold, though she wasn’t going to be left out,
thus no hand shake.

“Emma,” definitely not bold,
Emma said her name in a timid squeak and kept her distance.

Flower, however, was staring at
Sibyl.

“Did you really call us ‘your
girls’ Miss Sibyl?” she asked breathlessly.

Sibyl looked at Flower who was
staring at Sibyl with her heart in her eyes and Sibyl’s own heart
melted.

She forgot Colin (or, at
least, ignored him) and crouched next to Flower. “You
are
my
girls so of course I did.”

Flower, who had no decent
woman-figure in her life, save Jemma and Sibyl, threw herself in
Sibyl’s arms for a quick, embarrassed hug and then ran from the
room.

The three other girls followed,
trailing giggles.

Sibyl watched them go and
wanted to take that opportunity to shove Colin out the door and
scream at him at the top of her lungs but her torture was not
complete.

“Come here, young man. I have a
few things to ask you,” Mrs. Griffith demanded imperiously.

“Don’t do it,” Sibyl hissed
under her breath, straightening, but Colin simply cocked his head,
regarding her with eyes filled with amusement and something warm
and tender, something she had never seen before. Something that
made her bones feel like jelly.

And then he totally ignored her
demand and strode toward Mrs. Griffith.

Sibyl counted to ten. Then she
went up to twenty for good measure.

“Yes?” he said to older woman,
looking down at her.

Mrs. Griffith looked up at
him.

“You’re tall,” Mrs. Griffith
announced, wanting him to crouch at her side but too proud to
ask.

He didn’t crouch and he also
didn’t reply. There was no need, she was stating the obvious.

Even though she didn’t get her
way, Mrs. Griffith persevered and she did this by snapping, “Do you
have a good job?”

“I believe so, yes,” Colin
answered without hesitation

“Do you have a healthy diet?”
Mrs. Griffith fired off and Sibyl’s eyes searched the ceiling,
praying for deliverance.

“Not really, no,” Colin
replied.

Mrs. Griffith gave a short
harrumph of displeasure at Colin’s answer.

“When you go out, who pays for
dinner, you or Sibyl?” she demanded to know.

“Me.”

“Always?” she went on.

“Of course.”

“Do you work hard?” Mrs.
Griffith carried on with her mini-interrogation, undaunted by his
short, uninformative answers.

“My mother thinks I do,” Colin
returned.

This was apparently a good
response and, lightning quick, Mrs. Griffith made up her mind and
turned to Sibyl saying, “He’ll do.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Griffith,”
Sibyl muttered, wanting a hole to open up in the floor and swallow
her.

Colin was smiling one of his
killer, white-flash smiles at Sibyl made all the worse by a hint of
smugness.

When Mrs. Griffith turned
back to him and caught his smile, she announced, “He’ll
definitely
do.”

And that was when Sibyl had had
enough. She grabbed Colin’s hand and started marching toward her
office.

Surprisingly, he followed.

The Mistress of Luck was not
smiling on her that day because as they passed Annie’s chair,
Annie’s hand shot out as if guided by a mystical tractor beam
because surely she couldn’t see them and she caught Colin’s
forearm.

“Sibyl’s my daughter,” she
announced in a very loud voice when Colin stopped and looked back
at her.

He turned fully to the
old lady, his brows rising. He was now holding Sibyl’s hand (rather
than the other way around, in other words, she couldn’t get away)
and he pulled her back to Annie.

“Is she?” Colin asked
politely.

Annie didn’t respond and Colin
stood patiently watching her.

“She’s mostly deaf,” Sibyl
whispered with a tug on his hand which he ignored.

“Is she?” Colin asked, in a
louder timbre but not exactly a loud voice.

“I’m Annie,” she told him.

“I’m Colin,” he returned.

“Children take care of you,”
Annie was on a roll but not making any sense whatsoever.

“Annie –” Sibyl began by
shouting her name.

“That’s why you’re my
daughter,” Annie said to some point over Sibyl’s shoulder. Then she
guesstimated (badly) where Colin might be and declared
dramatically, “I’m starting legal proceedings to adopt her.
Tomorrow, I think, I haven’t decided. She’s going to be my adopted
daughter because she takes care of me.”

Sibyl’s already racing heart
started its rocket thrusters. Colin didn’t need to know this. Colin
knew too much already.

Way too much.

“Oh Annie...” she murmured,
half with her heart in her throat, half horrified.

This time Colin crouched next
to Annie.

“What does she do?” Colin
asked, his voice still vibrating strongly enough for Annie to hear
and Sibyl wished she could pull him up and away, but she
couldn’t.

“She talks to me,” Annie
explained. “And she cleans my house and she gets me my favourite
kind of custard. Then, when she puts things in the refrigerator,
she always takes me there and puts my hand on everything so I’ll
know where to find it when I need something and I don’t knock it on
the floor, like I used to.”

Colin was still holding Sibyl’s
hand and his seemed to contract spasmodically then it gentled.

Annie wasn’t finished. “I never
had children but children are supposed to take care of you. That’s
why I’m going to adopt Sibyl. I can’t adopt Jemma because she
already has parents.” Then she leaned forward conspiratorially.
“Though I’d like to, she’s a very nice girl too.”

Tina came to the rescue by
announcing the minibus was going to be there in five minutes and
those who rode it would have to be ready.

Therefore Annie immediately
lost interest in Colin in her haste to get prepared. The minibus
driver didn’t dally and he had no patience (the screaming
jerk).

Sibyl took seized her
opportunity to drag Colin to her office and, once there, she closed
the door.

When she did, she whirled on
him only to find him staring around with an expression that could
only be described as extreme distaste.

“
You work
here?
” he
muttered, his voice mimicking his expression.