Letting You Go (11 page)

A
lex could feel a little spring in her step, dampened only by Jem’s conspicuous quietness. The distance between her and her dad seemed to have shortened. All right, just by the length of a ham and chutney sandwich but it was a start. A very promising start. The pup was prancing on her lead in front, Helen and Susannah had called to say they were staying on at the hospital with Blythe and that they’d even had lunch together in her room. The day was looking up. For a change, it was only Jem letting the side down.

‘How did the call to work go? Yell much?’ Alex didn’t really want to ask, Jem didn’t share anything until she was good and ready anyway but Alex felt bound by the rules of big sisterhood. She had some time to make up to Jem in that arena.

‘Do you ever feel backed into a corner, Alex?’

Alex remembered how Jem’s voice had sounded while she’d sat in the changing room cubicle.
Alex, you need to come home.
‘Sometimes. Everything all right? Hey, stop pulling, dog … Crikey, she’s strong.’

The pup seemed to know her way along the road into the
top end of town, yanking at the makeshift lead Alex had fashioned from a length of rope she’d found in Ted’s workshop back at the farmhouse.

Alex looked down on the view opening out before them. The townsfolk had erected more flagpoles along the route into town, so much fluttering red and gold in fact that the entire high street looked as if it was in motion.

Jem sighed. ‘There’s this situation, and … I don’t know how to handle it.’

Really?
Jem knew how to handle every situation. Jem was cool under fire. Jem was efficient and to the point. ‘Sounds important, Jem,’ said Alex. Jem was not a ditherer.

‘It is. There’s like this important … unveiling thing I suppose you could call it and …’

‘And?’

‘And I don’t want to rush what I’m doing, but there’s kind of a timing issue.’

Jem wasn’t known for being cryptic. Jem was bubbly or impassioned, or she was fiercely quiet, or standing up to little shits like Robbie Rushton. Those were Jem’s gears. Alex wasn’t used to hearing her ruffled.

‘So, like a deadline?’ asked Alex.

Jem pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. Well, no, I don’t know there is definitely a …
deadline
, but … there might be. You see, there’s this really important group of people who need to know … well, what I’m all about, I guess. But there’s a possibility now that one of them might be … moving on. Sooner than I’d thought.’
Jem’s voice sounded strained. ‘And if she does move on, before I’m ready to …’ Jem was nodding her head slowly, as if hoping she could tip the right words out of herself.

‘
Unveil
this thing?’ Alex helped.

Jem nodded again. ‘Then I might not …’ She trailed off.

‘You might not get another chance?’

Jem smiled weakly. ‘Something like that.’

Alex nearly tripped over the puppy then spotted a new attack of bunting stretching zigzags of colour all over the main road through town. She gave the town’s festival decorations budget a fleeting thought and then got back to Jem’s predicament. It all sounded like a lot of aggro for Jem’s line of work, didn’t it? Some sort of highly classified
unveiling
? Alex wondered if it was their Winter Collection that Jem was getting her knickers in a twist over. She loved checking in on Jem’s company website, feasting her eyes on the season’s new line of exquisite shiny things, the precious metals, diamonds and other twinkly items, knowing that Jem had a hand in them. But Alex had never realised Jem’s job caused her so much stress.

‘So I take it your boss is a bit keener than you are, to get a move on with the
big reveal
, I mean?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And he’s giving you a hard time?’

‘He?’ Jem questioned.

‘George, isn’t it?’

Jem kept her eyes fixed on the dog bobbing in front. ‘Yeah, George.’

Jem was maintaining a thick, foggy vagueness between them but Alex had the distinct impression she was breaking down barriers here, peeling back the layers of a personal matter Jem might actually be about to share with her big sister and – shock horror – maybe even seek her advice on. ‘So let me see if I’ve got this right, this George is putting pressure on you—’

‘Not pressure!’ Jem said defensively, ‘More of a …
firm nudge
.’

‘OK, a firm nudge then. But you’re not quite ready? To
unveil
what you need to before a deadline that … may or may not come? Is that right?’ Jem really was being vague.

‘Pretty much. And no. I don’t think that I’m ready. I
really
don’t. But I have a duty of care, morally.’ Alex watched as Jem began rattily twisting the silver bangle around her wrist.

Morally?
Alex’s forehead crinkled. ‘Are you going to tell me what you’re on about exactly, Jem? I might be able to give better advice?’

Jem’s bangle-twisting intensified. ‘I can’t.’

‘You
can’t
? You are still designing jewellery, right? You haven’t shifted to MI5 since Christmas?’ Jem threw Alex a half-hearted scowl. None of this made sense, the vagueness, the mithering … Jem was usually the brave one. ‘Can’t you just go for it, Jem? These people must have confidence in you. In what you’re about. What’s the worst they’re going to say?’

Jem knew what the worst was.
No thanks. That kind of
thing is
not
for us. Therefore
you
are not for us. You’re not the Jem Foster we thought you were, now get lost.

Jem tensed up. ‘They might reject what I come out with, Alex. It could be a really costly mistake. I’m talking irreparable damage to my relationship with them.’

Alex was still frowning. Maybe Jem was working for MI5. She’d be a brilliant female James Bond, Alex thought, secretive, resilient, excellent cheekbones. Still, Alex wanted to alleviate some of this awful pressure Jem had been under with work while worrying about their mum on top of it all.
Mum.
What would Mum say? She would be able to give Jem sterling advice.

‘You know what, Jem, you obviously don’t want to get into the details with me so I’ll just say this. I think you just need to trust your own instincts. Have a bit of faith in yourself.’ Blimey, that sounded a lot like Blythe. And did Jem’s shoulders just relax a fraction? Alex gave channelling their mum another go. ‘Presumably these people have worked with you before, right?’ asked Alex. Jem nodded. ‘And they value you, well they must do, you’re great.’ Jem shrugged, but Alex could see she was listening. Jem was actually listening to Alex’s excellent big sisterly advice! ‘Then everything will be fine, Jem. Even if they hate what you’re going to propose, they’d be mad to lose you over it. Maybe you should have a bit of faith in them too?’

But Jem had misplaced her faith before. Thought it was a good idea to go out on a limb and allow that part of herself she was always holding back to finally peek out into the
open. Jem felt a familiar tingle starting in the skin around her mouth. Great. Add a flare-up of a bloody skin condition to her worries. Alex was still smiling at her encouragingly, but Alex didn’t know she was being duped.
Unveiling.
Well that was one word for it. Jem smiled back. Another deception. Alex looked so open, so willing to be supportive. Jem opened her mouth to say it, she wanted to just say it. But the thoughts raced in like a S.W.A.T team, shutting her down.

You tried to let it out once before, Jem. You thought your friends would support you.
That mistake had only fast-tracked her to a child psychologist.

‘H
air cut! Hair cut!’ Two of the boys were chanting, the other standing watch.

Jem felt Carrie’s unease changing shape. It had started out as a silly misunderstanding. Jem putting her foot in it, Carrie’s catty response. Usual stuff. If the older boys hadn’t smelled the cooling cakes and wandered in to Home Ec, if they hadn’t started spectating, egging Carrie on …

‘Go on, Carrie. If you’re right, she doesn’t
want
long hair, do you, er …? What’s her name again?’

Jem tried to yank herself free but Sarah was sitting on her arm, Sarah’s upper body sprawled over Jem’s back, pinning her to the spot. It was all bluster at first, but Sarah had stopped giggling. She felt something coming too. Jem’s heart began trying to thump free of her chest. Jem hadn’t meant to offend her, she didn’t mean for Carrie to feel small. Carrie’s mum’s car was a classic, she’d said. Not an
old banger
, Jem had never said that.

‘Jem. Her name’s Jem,’ Carrie said vacantly. She sounded distant. Jem felt the atmosphere shift. She tried to reassure herself, this couldn’t get worse, could it? Carrie had already
told them the worst thing she could about her. Now they all knew. The whole school would know by home time.

‘Jem?’ one of the boys sniggered. ‘Oh yeah, you’re the cowboy mechanic’s daughter, aren’t ya? What kind of name’s
Jem
, anyway?’

‘Short for Jaime.’

‘
Jaime
? Ha, she’s even got a boy’s name. Go on, Carrie. Give her a haircut that matches, dare ya.’

More sniggering. Jem felt her face flush with adrenalin. Hot, horrible, adrenalin.
She won’t do it
, Jem told herself. They were messing around, Carrie wanted to be popular with the lads but she’d never go that far.

‘Hair cut, hair cut …’

Carrie crouched against Jem and Sarah. She leant down towards Jem’s face, still cheek down on the floor between the tables where they’d all baked Victoria sponges together last lesson. ‘I’ll just take a little bit off, Jem,’ Carrie whispered. Her voice sounded strange, apologetic. Like Carrie wished the older boys hadn’t come in either.

‘Don’t,’ Jem managed. But her voice sounded small and feeble. Carrie hesitated, then her grasp on Jem’s ponytail intensified. A few hairs pulled tight at the base of Jem’s neck. ‘Carrie, don’t.’

Carrie stopped pulling. The sharp tugs at the base of Jem’s neck ceased.

The chanting stopped.

‘Oh my God, Carrie! Are you mental? I thought you were kidding!’ Sarah skittered away as if it had only just
dawned on her that she’d been sitting on Jem the whole time.

‘Shit! She did it. That girl’s just scalped her mate!’ a boy’s voice said. ‘Carrie, you nutter!’

‘If she grasses, we were
not
here. I’m not being done for it, I’m already on a warning,’ somebody said.

‘Carrie?’ Sarah whimpered. ‘Isn’t this like, a
hate
crime or something? Won’t we get
expelled
?’

Jem pushed herself up from the wiry classroom carpet. There was jam on her sleeve where Sarah had pushed her into some of the morning’s mess. She put her hand to her head. Her hairband came away in her fingers.

Carrie looked pale. And then she managed a weak smile for her new friends.

‘She won’t grass,’ one of the other boys said.

‘How do you know?’

Jem ran her fingers over her crown, against the alien sensation of short, tufty hair.

‘Because then she’ll have to tell her old man why she looks like a bloke now. My mum used to take our car to his garage, reckons Foster’s already disowned one of his daughters.
Jaime
here ain’t going to tell him the truth, is she? And risk getting disowned too?’

S
usannah Finn’s B&B peeped into view, still open for business, still welcoming with its permanently open doors and thoughts of Susannah’s son immediately swamped Alex’s head again. Jem had been lost in thought for the last ten minutes of their trundle into town leaving Alex’s mind to roam too freely.
Maybe it couldn’t help itself
, Finn had said. Alex had blushed like a total buffoon when Finn had dealt with the winged demon. She had to stop that. Acting like an idiot whenever Finn put himself between her and bees or nettles or anything else with the potential to sting.

Alex read the sign swinging over the doorway she and Finn had walked through a thousand times together. ‘
The Longhouse
? When did Finn’s mum change the name of the B&B?’

Jem pushed her sunglasses onto her head so her fringe sat back from her face. ‘The same time the rest of the Falls started going history nuts. Mum said it’s the best thing Susannah ever did, she gets booked up now for most of the summer, not just Viking Fest weekend.’

‘That many people come?’

Jem shrugged. ‘Sure, Al. They hold traditional markets here now, living history weekends. Over there look, the terrace with the lights in the trees, that’s where they put the winner’s podium after the river race. The
Victorious Vikings
get to sit at the head table and have their photos taken with a big roast pig and the native maidens they’ve claimed from the riverbank, all kinds of stuff. The
Eilidh Mail
usually covers it.’

‘Native maidens? Claimed?’

‘Pillaging’s frowned upon in modern society, Al, so some bright spark came up with banners. Any invader who manages to make it all the way downriver without capsizing earns the right to offer his banners to a maiden on the riverbank.’

‘Politically correct pillaging?’

‘You get the gist.’

A group of men had commandeered part of the terrace. Their voices bubbled up and the puppy pulled the rope tighter around Alex’s hand. Alex felt another yank and then the lead loosen in her hand.

‘Hey! Dog! Bugger, Jem, call her.’

‘Call what? She needs a name, Alex!’

‘She needs a proper collar and lead.’ The puppy was skipping playfully around the group of men. ‘Jem. Look, there’s Mal, you could go have a word, find out what happened in the churchyard.’

Jem looked over. Officer Sinclair was leaning against someone’s car. ‘I think he’s busy, Al. Oh look, they’re building a raft for the boat race.’

Two of the men were binding old water bottles together with lengths of cord while Malcolm Sinclair and a bald chap sitting with his very wide back to the pavement watched. It had to be Hamish, 7
^th
place runner up at the 1988 World’s Strongest Man and landlord at The Cavern. Alex appraised the raft with interest. ‘Huh, from back there you can’t tell they’re making it out of—’

‘Crap.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t call it
crap
, Jem. It’s recycling.’

Jem craned her neck towards the puppy squatting next to Mal Sinclair’s driver’s door. ‘No,
crap.
Did you bring a baggy thingy?’

Alex groaned. ‘That thing never stops pooping and piddling!’ She rummaged in her back pocket. ‘I could only find sandwich bags at the house.’

The puppy finished and made a break for Hamish’s feet. No big surprise, really, Hamish smelled of pork scratchings and had done for the last twenty years. Mal saw Jem and Alex approach and stood bolt upright like a toy soldier.

‘At ease, Mal.’ Jem smiled brightly. Alex saw Jem’s face change, she had been forlorn all the walk down here but something had just flickered through her features the way it had when she’d stumbled across a full jar of peanut butter in the cupboard yesterday.

‘Hi, Mal. Long time no see,’ Alex said warmly.

‘Alex, it’s been a while.’ Mal gave Alex a stiff embrace then looked formal and fidgety again all at once. ‘Jem … How are things, y’know, with your mum?’

‘She’s doing OK, thanks to you, Mal. Baby steps.’

‘Yeah, thank you, Mal,’ Alex said. ‘We’re so grateful you were there. We don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t been.’

Jem nodded in agreement. ‘We were saying to Dad the other night, how Mum was so lucky that you happened to be passing and saw that she wasn’t feeling well.’

Mal scratched agitatedly at his beard. ‘Please, don’t thank me. Really … you don’t need to do that.’ He sounded apologetic to Alex.

‘Are you all right, Mal? You look pale?’ Jem asked.

‘Little Alexandra and Jem Foster!’ Hamish exploded in haughty exclamation. ‘Ted told me how you both look like your mother, thank goodness, preferable to that grumpy old bugger, but he didn’t say what a pair of beauties you’ve both turned into!’

‘Hamish!’ Jem teased. ‘You saw me last Saturday when I brought Mum to The Cavern for lunch.’

‘Not in that skirt I didn’t.’ Jem chortled while Mal pretended there was something behind him to look at. Hamish could be a little bit pervy but only ever with people who knew he was just being an old goat. ‘And what about you then, young Alex? It’s good to see you back in these parts, girl, if only they were under better circumstances, hey?’

‘Thanks, Hamish. You’re looking well.’

‘I know,’ he said, stoking his beard into a point. ‘You make sure you give your mother a kiss from me when you see her.’

‘I will, Hamish.’ Alex smiled. It was nigh on impossible not to be fond of old Hamish, he was something of an institution, a local hero even. It had been Hamish who’d freed a five year old Millie Fairbanks from Helen’s crumpled car when the construction wagon had taken the bridge too quickly. Hamish who’d brought Ted home, sober and lost, from the police station after Finn and Susannah said that they wouldn’t press charges. If there was a crisis afoot, Hamish was a good man to have around.

‘Well you’re all coming home to roost. You know who else is back in town, don’t you? That sweetheart of yours, young Alex. Susannah Finn’s lad.’

Alex felt her face go warm. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him any more. ‘Oh?’ Alex said aloofly.

Hamish winked at her and the warmth in her cheeks intensified. ‘This little critter belong to you?’ he asked, scooping the puppy up in his massive frame.

Alex watched the pup licking Hamish’s face. She hadn’t noticed in her peripheral vision that Mal had moved next to Jem. Alex turned and just caught Mal saying something into Jem’s ear and some unknown concern for Blythe clenched inside her. Alex pretended not to see.

‘Puppy! Mummy, look!’

A leggy blonde in a summer dress was crossing the terrace, a little boy pulling her by the hand. Millie Fairbanks had been Shirley-Temple-cute throughout her time at St Cuthbert’s Primary, even in callipers. She’d been drop dead gorgeous throughout her five years at Eilidh High. But
Millie
Sinclair
, as she was now called, was full-blown Amazon beautiful.

A little boy with a mess of Millie’s blonde hair was standing beside Alex, gazing up at the ball of fur in Hamish’s huge hands. ‘Please can I stroke the puppy, Hamish?’ he asked.

‘Of course you can, Alfie,’ Mal said leaning down and laying a kiss on the little boy’s head. Mal seemed to be in a different spot every time Alex looked at him. Mal turned and kissed his wife stiffly.

Millie giggled. ‘I wish you’d shave that thing off, Mal. I’m starting to get sore. Hello, Alex … Hi, Jem.’ Millie’s voice was light and warm.

Mal rubbed a hand over his new beard. Jem put the face on she used to use for church and family gatherings. ‘Hi, Millie. We meet the handsome little Alfred at last.’

‘He’s so soft!’ giggled Alfie rubbing chubby fingers through the puppy’s fur. He spun then to address Alex directly. ‘What’s his name?’

Alex took in Alfie’s pretty round face half hidden by a mop of blond hair. His eyes were inquisitive and hopeful but not the shocking hue of blue she’d been expecting for some reason. There was something about him Alex found both beautiful and haunting.

‘Actually, she hasn’t got a name yet, Alfie.’

‘You could call him Donatello. Or Raphael.’

‘Ninja Turtle fan?’ Alex asked. There had been a few come through the food bank. Alfie bounced his head.
‘Hmm, Donatello. Good call.’ Alex smiled. It didn’t sound a million miles from the usual names Blythe went for. They’d had an Isolde, Rodolfo and Figaro so far. Jem said Blythe had been holding out for Mimi this time but their dad had vetoed it.

‘I’m sorry to hear your mum’s unwell,’ Millie said to Jem. ‘Is she on the mend?’

‘Thanks, Millie. She’s got a few hurdles ahead of her but, you know Mum. Not one for staying down long,’ said Alex.

‘Good. That’s good to hear. Mum’s gone with Susannah to see her this morning, she was taking the WI photo albums in.’ Millie grimaced. ‘I was hoping Blythe might help me actually, when she’s better of course. After Mal’s dad passed away, we had a sort through his things. He’d started a family tree at some point, was
convinced
he had Viking blood, wasn’t he, Mal? I thought we might dig—’

‘No!’ Mal had been so quiet Alex jumped when he spoke. ‘I don’t think Blythe’s going to be up to wading through all our rubbish just yet, Mils.’

Millie looks startled. ‘Oh. All right. Well maybe I’ll make a start. There are a few families that have been here in the Falls so long, it makes you wonder if, well if you go back far enough, were there ever any crossovers? We’ve probably all got the same grandfather.’ Millie laughed.

‘You can’t put all your faith in birth certificates and paperwork anyway, Millie,’ Malcolm said brusquely. Millie looked at him as if he’d grown a third eye. ‘Sorry, honey, I just meant … how accurate are family records anyway?
They’re only as good as the word of the person who had them filled in, aren’t they?’

‘I don’t think you can trace back to Vikings anyway, Millie,’ Alex offered. ‘Mum said that records only go so far back, after that it’s just names and characteristics anyway.’

Millie went to reply but something had just caught her eye. ‘Sorry, would you excuse me? There’s Emma Parsons, Mal. I’m just going to try and catch her.’ Millie turned to Jem and Alex. ‘Her daughter’s in Alfie’s preschool class, Poppy. Poor family, Mr Parsons had a horrific accident, he was working under a car and the jack gave. The man has a broken sternum and no money coming in. I’m really worried about them. Emma will be walking all the way to the hospital again, I’ll bet. Of course, she can’t drive, it was their car Mr Parsons was fixing when it fell on him.’

Alex and Jem looked out onto the road as Millie nipped off to intercept the brunette they’d seen in the hospital gardens, stridently pushing her pram along the road while her little girl tried to keep pace. It was a good walk to Kerring General, no wonder her flip-flops had been so worn.

‘Grotty Feet,’ Jem whispered. Alex jabbed her softly with an elbow. Jem pouted and went back to checking her phone. ‘Come on, we have to go too, Al,’ she said taking the puppy from Hamish’s hands. ‘I’ve just missed another call. From George.’