Touched again by his thoughtfulness, Clara said, ‘Ned seems pretty sure that he’s left Mermy at Mermaid House, so we’ll start our search there. If we draw a blank,’ she added, lowering her voice, not wanting to dash Ned’s hopes, ‘we’ll come back and have a look at the supermarket. Thanks for the offer of help, though.’
‘I’ll give the shop a good going-over as well, just in case. If I find it, I’ll put it somewhere safe for you. Anyway, I’d better be getting back.
Take care now. And thank you again for what you did for Bessie.’
It had stopped raining by the time they left the cafe and crossed the market square to where they had left Winnie. Through the window of Second Best, Clara could see Archie talking to an enormous young man with a pair of weight-lifter’s shoulders. As she started the engine, they both turned. In response to Archie’s wave, she waved back and pipped the horn.
‘Right,’ she said to Ned, ‘fingers crossed that Mermy is where you think she is.’ And fingers crossed, she thought, joining the flow of traffic, that Mr Liberty hasn’t done something unspeakable to her.
And there you go again, she told herself. She was badmouthing a man she scarcely knew. Perhaps she ought to stop and ask herself why he was such a misery? What had happened to him to make him so unlovable? Why had he lost his respect for and pleasure in the world around him? And why was he deliberately isolating himself from it and those who should have given him the most reward: his children?
Having experienced nothing but love and support from her own close-knit family, and been lucky enough to have such wonderful friends, Clara couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be so alone.
As for cutting herself off from Ned, she might just as well consider lopping off a limb.
Before she conceived Ned, she had never been one of those
naturally maternal women who go all gooey at the merest glimpse of a Mothercare catalogue. Not once had she been conscious of her biological clock ticking away its indubitable message that time waits for no woman who wants to start a family. Perhaps it was because she had always thought that she would get married before she had a child. And with her not being married, or in any hurry to be so, she had not felt the lack of a baby in her life.
But then she had met Todd and she began to think that marriage might be something she could entertain, maybe even children. Being in love had made her think and act quite differently. She had thrown caution to the wind and tripped headlong into a passionate affair with a man recently separated from his wife. If she had been at home, her friends and family would have told her she was mad to get involved with a man on the rebound. But she was not and she gave no thought to the consequences.
Todd Mason Angel was his name and he was as attractive as his name sounded. He was seven years older than her and had a smile that lit up his face and softened the lines around his mouth. He was from Wichita, Kansas, and had worked for Phoenix at their
headquarters in Wilmington since graduating from Harvard. He was ambitious and dedicated to his career, but he wasn’t ruthless and hard-nosed as his position within the company might have implied.
He was honest and up-front, and never hid the facts from her about his marriage, which had recently broken down, or the emotional tie he still felt to the woman he had been married to for nearly ten years, and who was the mother of the two daughters he adored. Clara had insisted they kept their affair secret at work because she didn’t wanted anyone to accuse her of getting on by sleeping with someone so senior. He had gone along with this, but she had always felt that it was less out of respect to her than because he hoped that one day he would be reconciled with his wife. To put it bluntly, she had known all along that she was playing with fire and that she would have no one to blame but herself should he end their relationship.
Ironically, the day of reconciliation came twenty-four hours after Clara discovered that she was pregnant. She and Todd had arranged to go away for a long weekend, during which she planned to tell him her news.
On the day they were due to set off, he had come into her office an hour before lunch, closed the door behind him, and told her that Gayle had phoned him to say that she wanted to give their marriage another try. Though he had tried his best to let Clara down gently, and to conceal his happiness, the thud with which her heart had hit the floor had rocked her world and she had known she could never tell him she was pregnant. She had smiled bravely and said she wished him well, that if there was a chance of his marriage being put back together, he had to take it: he owed it to himself and his children.
‘I’ll never forget what we had, Clara,’ he had said, rising from his chair, already wanting to get on with rebuilding his marriage. He added, ‘I’ve only ever loved two women, and you’re one of them. I just hope you don’t feel that I’ve used you, because I haven’t. I’m really not that kind of a man.’
With an airy wave of her hand, she had said, ‘Go on, get out of here. You’ve a family to get back to.’
‘No hard feelings, then?’
‘You know us Brits, stiff upper lip right to the finishing line.’
He had leaned over her desk and kissed her forehead. ‘I’m sorry, Clara. I wish we didn’t have to end it like this.’
Another shrug. ‘Hey, it was always going to have to end. We both knew that. And I’m really pleased about you and Gayle. Now, let me get on with some work.’ She had wanted him gone from her office. A moment longer, and her resolve would have been shattered. Much better to stay in control and nurse a shattered heart that no one could see.
Some might say that she had behaved heroically, but she saw it differently. Such was her love for Todd that she knew she had to sacrifice her own happiness for his by letting him go.
She had spent the rest of that day going through the motions at work, until eventually she gave up and went home early, claiming she was feeling sick. It was true. She did feel nauseous. For the next two months, her morning sickness was so bad the weight fell off her. A month later she returned home.
Louise was the first person she told and, predictably, she was horrified. But no amount of questioning would make Clara reveal who the father was. She tried lying to preserve Todd’s anonymity, but made a poor job of it. Louise said, ‘Don’t give me any of that “it was just a casual fling” business. I know better than anyone that you’re not into one-night stands, Clara Costello. This man must have meant something to you, or why would you want to keep his child?’
But Clara held firm. It was the one area in her friendship with Louise, and the rest of the gang, that remained a closed subject. Much as she loved Louise, Clara knew that she was a blabbermouth and would be sure to tell David, who would tell Guy, and before long, the whole of Phoenix Pharmaceuticals would know that Todd Mason Angel, the company’s newly appointed finance director, was the father of Clara Costello’s baby.
And every time Clara’s mother said that Ned had a smile straight from the angels, she had no idea how close to the truth she was.
Todd’s could warm the coldest heart and Ned had inherited it.
Now, as she drove over the cattle grid to Mermaid House, Clara hoped that Ned’s face would soon be its normal smiling self when he was reunited with his pride and joy.
Whether Mr Liberty would be smiling when he saw them again, was another matter altogether.
When Gabriel looked out of the kitchen window as he washed his hands at the sink and saw the campervan drive through the archway, his face broke into a wide, sardonic smile. So she was back, was she? The insolent little shrew had a price, after all. Well, now they were in for some fun.
He dried his hands on the back of his trousers and went to meet them. ‘Looks as if you can’t keep away from me, Miss Costello,’ he said, as she climbed down from the driver’s seat. ‘But I knew you’d reconsider, that it would come down to a simple act of bartering. So, what figure have you in mind?’
But his words went unanswered. Ned came barrelling up to him: ‘Mr Liberty, have you got my mermaid? Is she in the kitchen where I left her on the table?’
And then he understood why they were back: not to help him but to help themselves.
‘You’d better go and take a look,’ he said to the boy. ‘You know the way. But be careful not to touch or disturb anything of mine,’ he called after Ned as the little boy shot inside the house.
Embarrassed at his mistake, and staring down at the cracked leather of his shoes, he said, ‘It seems I’ve just made a colossal fool of myself, haven’t I?’ His voice was mute with despondency and his shoulders sagged.
Clara felt a pang of sadness for him. How hard he made life for himself, she thought. And what a contrast he was to Archie Merryman, who would go out of his way to help anyone. ‘Perhaps only a mild fool of yourself,’ she said softly. ‘But tell me, just as a matter of interest, when was the last time you bought anybody flowers?’
He raised his one-eyed gaze. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It’s a simple enough question. But what I’m really getting at is, when was the last time you made a spontaneous gesture of kindness to another person and felt good about it? Because if you did it more often, I’m sure you wouldn’t be in the position you are now bullying a stranger into helping you. If you were nicer, people would be queuing up with offers of help.’
‘Are you saying that if I was nicer you would want to help me?’
‘I was talking generally, about you being nice to your fellow man.’
‘I’m not interested in talking generally. And as for my fellow man—’
‘Don’t split hairs.’
‘Why not? You are.’
‘Look, Mr Liberty, stop being so quarrelsome. Be more gracious and see where it gets you. For instance, instead of blackmailing me this morning by saying I owed you a favour, you should have just asked me politely if I would help you. As it was, you got my back up.
I suspect that’s what you do to people all the time, isn’t it?’
‘A man should be allowed to be himself,’ he said stubbornly, drawing in his breath and pulling himself up to his full height.
T couldn’t agree more with you, but some common courtesy
wouldn’t go amiss.’
The sound of Ned’s voice made them both turn. ‘Mummy,’ he
cried, ‘I’ve found Mermy. She was on the table just where I left her.’
He came running towards them, and threw himself against Clara, who scooped him up and hugged him. You see, she wanted to say to Mr Liberty, it doesn’t take much to be happy, does it? Then a more dangerous thought occurred to her. What effort, what real effort on her part, would it take to make Mr Liberty happy? Why had it been so simple earlier today to help Archie Merryman’s mother in her hour of need but so difficult now to help this pugnacious old man?
Okay, his demands were on a different scale, and he might not seem such a worthy cause, but who was she to judge? Here she was lecturing him on how to be more gracious, so why wasn’t she leading by example?
Because she was on holiday! His problems were not hers.
But it would still be a holiday, she argued with herself. And Ned would enjoy himself just as much here as somewhere new. Besides, if she agreed to help him for a week, how big a hole in their schedule would that make? On the up-side, it would be a week of earning some money as well as landing themselves free lodging, and by then the Mermaid Cavern would be open. She thought of what Ron and Eileen had told her about their lifestyle, which they so enjoyed, about taking each day as it came, of rising to the myriad challenges that crossed their path and of always being the richer for having experienced them.
But it was a decision that couldn’t be made in isolation. Still holding Ned, whose legs were wrapped tightly around her hips, she whispered in his ear, ‘How do you feel about staying on here for a short while?’
‘Will we still go to see the mermaid in the cave?’ His lips tickled her ear.
‘Of course.’
He nodded and smiled.
She lowered him to the ground. ‘Mr Liberty, I’ll do you a deal. I’ll give you one week of my precious time, and in return you have to agree to certain conditions, the principal one being that you must promise me you will try to be less disagreeable, so that when Ned and I have gone, you will be enough of a human being to attract further offers of assistance. How does that sound?’
‘Sounds to me as though it’s a deal heavily weighted in your favour. What are the other conditions?’
She smiled archly. ‘We’ll sort those out as we go along. For now, though, I need to hook the van up to an electricity supply. For which, I’d like it made clear, you will not be charging me. I also need water.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. I want an up-to-date copy of the Yellow Pages.’
‘I’m not having any contract cleaners in. I told you that. You do the job, or no one does it.’
‘It’s a skip I’m after. My guess is you have a lifetime’s rubbish lying about this place and ditching it will be the only way forward. Well, don’t just stand there, let’s be about our business.’
‘I’m not going to regret this, am I?’
‘Let’s hope that neither of us does.’
It was raining again as Jonah drove home from school, the light already fading. Other than a stack of essays to mark on the rise of the Nazi Party. in the 1920s, he was looking forward to a quiet, uneventful evening. Supper and the pleasure of listening to the latest recording of Mahler’s Symphony No. 5 was all he had in mind.
Despite the dreary weather, he was in a relaxed and happy mood.
The day had been constructive and rewarding. With the exception of a couple of students, he was pleased with his GCSE students and had high hopes for them when they sat their exams next term. If he could keep them motivated, crank them up another gear, and make them believe that education was power, he reckoned he could get the best history results Dick High had had in years. Already a large number of his students were saying that they wanted to take the subject on into the sixth form and it was particularly gratifying to know that within his short time as head of the department, he had turned it round so dramatically. His predecessor had long since lost the plot: he’d grown tired of battling against cuts, damning league tables and hostile Ofsted recommendations. Worse than this, he had lost the will to cope with disaffected pupils who, once they knew they had the upper hand, could grind a vulnerable teacher into the ground faster than a pile-driver. Last autumn a group in year eleven had tried it on with Jonah during his first week. They had sat in the back row with their feet on the desks, their ties no more than a stubby two inches long. Passing round copies of Loaded and FHM they had pretended to ignore him as they shared with the rest of the class the details of the previous night’s excitement on the estate where they lived. Modern world history had as much relevance to them as the FTSE index to their future giro cheques, or so they thought.