Authors: Mairi Wilson
But it did. Ursula’s letters, Ursula’s fears. Blood buzzed in her ears. She grabbed at the edge of the table, pushed herself back to stand, the chair legs scraping on flagstone as it fell behind her.
Jenny darted round the table, righted the chair and pushed Helen back down into it.
“No, no, Gran, don’t you worry yourself. I’ll do that, shall I? Put the kettle on?” Jenny plucked the kettle lid out of Helen’s hands, picked the drum up from the floor at her feet. “Nice cup of tea should see us right. After all, we’ve a fair bit of catching up to do, haven’t we?”
Danny watched from the window until Lexy’s car disappeared over the ridge. He really wished she’d let him go with her. But as usual, he’d given in to her. And he could understand why she felt Helen might not take kindly to an audience when Lexy confronted her. He just hoped Lexy would keep her temper in check. It worried him to see her so tense, so brittle. Ready to go off on one at the slightest thing, ready to break down into tiny pieces. He was glad he’d come. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, he knew she was glad he had too. But he was no fool. He knew this didn’t mean she’d have him back. Whatever happened, though, he had to make sure she was okay.
He lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, but his body could still feel the juddering of the steering wheel as he’d driven at speed on motorways, more cautiously on single tracks, thumping over potholes there was no room to swerve and avoid, his eyes straining against the darkness and, later, the mist that had tumbled down off the hills rising up to either side of him as he’d neared his destination and a green-tinged sun had risen slowly behind him. And now his mind itself was still running on at a hundred miles an hour.
Was Lexy right? Was she really related to this odd woman and her retarded son, to some corporate fat cat in Malawi? Was she really an heiress to a fortune? It was so far-fetched, she might as well have claimed to have won the lottery.
Everything she’d said, every outrageous twist in her story just put her further out of his reach. And into the arms of that man Robert, no doubt, no matter what she said.
It was no good. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Too much to think about, too unused to the barbs of jealousy snagging at his thoughts every way he turned. The flask of black coffee he’d used to fuel him during the night drive probably hadn’t helped either. The light, dull and grey though it was, filtered through the thin curtains and kept reminding his overactive brain that it was day. Not sleeping time. Lexy laughed at him, called him a creature of habit, was irritated by his love of ritual and routine. And here it was again. Couldn’t sleep if it was day; couldn’t stay awake if it was night.
He wondered how Lexy was doing. He picked up his phone, wondered if he should call her. She’d probably only be annoyed with him, but even so … He tapped the screen, watched the light snap on, the screensaver resolve.
It wasn’t his phone.
The cuddling kittens screensaver told him it was Lexy’s. She must have taken his by mistake because he’d definitely seen her drop a phone into her bag. Typical. Never paid enough attention. Fine, he’d phone himself then.
His finger hovered over the phone icon as he hesitated, looking at the red circle protruding from another icon at the top of the screen. The green message icon. Three unopened texts. He tapped. Three unopened texts from Robert.
He dropped the phone, steepled his hands and pressed them against his lips. It took every ounce of his integrity not to read them. But what good would that do? And Lexy was right. It was none of his business any more. He stepped backwards, away from the phone to stop himself picking it up again and scrolling through it. Would there be voicemails? Emails from him? God, this was unbearable.
As if to taunt him further, the phone buzzed; the opening bars of something new, tribal, African, played loud in the quiet room as the phone danced and span on the bedspread, telling him who it would be before the name appeared on the screen spinning round to face him: Robert.
He picked up.
“Hello? Lexy? Why haven’t you answered my messages?” The voice was deep, strong, clearly irritated. Danny felt a nip of smugness: not just his messages she ignored, then.
“Lexy?” The voice was getting sharper. “There’s been a … development. And … and Gran, she’s … Lexy? Lexy!”
“She isn’t here.”
There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end. “Who the hell are you? Where is she?”
“I’m Danny, her—”
“Her ex. I know. Put her on the phone. I have to talk to her.”
“She isn’t here.” Danny didn’t feel inclined to be helpful.
“I haven’t time to mess around. This is serious. Let me speak to her.”
“She isn’t here.”
“Then why have you got her phone and where the hell is she?”
Danny was taken aback by the other man’s anger.
“She’s gone to see …” The unhelpful inclination returned, swept in on a wave of Danny’s own anger. “It’s none of your damn business, actually. I’ll give her a message for you, but that’s it. She’ll tell you anything she wants you to know herself.”
“For Christ’s sake, man, this is serious. I know she’s looking for Helen, her grand … I’ve got David Buchanan here with me and he’s just had a call from the chief of police… Hugh Pendleton was arrested for defaulting on his gambling debt to Richard Chakanaya—”
“Who?”
“—and tried to get out of it by making some pretty wild accusations. But the upshot is he’s been working for Jenny Kennedy.”
“What? Slow down, man.”
“Jesus. Where to start? He’d been spying on Lexy, trying to scare her into leaving. He even … It was him, the schoolroom and snake and—”
“The
snake
? What the—”
“Just trust me, okay? She’s in real danger. I know she’s looking for Helen Buchanan. But if she finds her … You
have
to stop her! Someone else is looking for Helen too, and she’s dangerous, armed, we think, and she’s—”
“Senga,” Danny cut in. “Senga Munro.”
“Not Senga, her daughter … But how the hell … Do you know who she is? Danny, she’s really dangerous. You have to get to Lexy. If she’s gone to Helen’s, get her out of there!”
*
Lexy’s hand rubbed the smooth head of the ceramic honeybird in her pocket like it was a talisman, patted her bag where the other one, in pieces, was wrapped in a polythene bag. Helen couldn’t deny her now. She’d have to acknowledge her. Lexy fleetingly wished she had the third honeybird from Ursula’s flat. But it didn’t matter. Two had to be, surely would be, enough to break down Helen’s denials.
Lexy took a deep breath, exhaled, rolled her head and shoulders like a prize fighter about to go into the ring, which wasn’t too far from how she felt. She banged on the croft door; her ears pricked, listening for sounds from within. She’d seen Helen’s old car at the back of the house as she’d driven down the track, and she’d peered into the workshop window to check, but no one was in there. So they had to be in the house. The absence of smoke from the chimney concerned her, but it was a milder day today so perhaps there was no need of a fire.
Or perhaps there was no one there.
No, there would be, there had to be. She banged again, more heavily and with more determination. Then she tried the handle and was amazed to find it turned, but before she could push open the door it was pulled back a few grudging inches and Helen’s face appeared in the crack.
“You! Go away. I told you, you’re not welcome,” she hissed, eyes flicking back and forth between Lexy’s face and the shadows of the croft’s hallway over her shoulder.
Lexy put a hand on the door to stop Helen closing it. “I’ve come to return something of yours. Something I know is important to you.”
“You can’t have anything of mine. Just go. Keep whatever it is, but just go.”
“It’s something Ross gave me.”
“Ross.” Helen laughed bitterly. “You’ve done enough harm there.”
“Has something happened to Ross?” Lexy was surprised at the concern that swept through her.
Helen’s head jerked round as if she’d heard something behind her.
“What’s the matter, Helen? Can I help?”
Helen snapped her head back, her voice now no more than a hoarse whisper. “You have to leave.
Please.
Just go aw—”
Helen stopped as she saw the honeybird Lexy had pulled from her pocket, nestling in the younger woman’s palm. What little colour was in the thin cheeks drained away.
“Where did you get that? I told you yester—”
“Ross gave it to me.”
“And I took it back. Did you
steal
it?”
“No. He left it on my car for me. After you’d thrown me out. Why do you think he did that?”
“I’ve no idea.” Helen drew her breath in sharply as she snatched a glance behind her again. “Keep it, but for God’s sake just get out of—”
“I’ve got another one.” Lexy held up the transparent bag containing the broken pieces of her mother’s honeybird, let it dangle in front of Helen’s eyes like a hypnotist’s pocket watch. “I know where there’s a third one too. And most importantly, I know what’s inside.”
“Please. You must leave!” Helen’s voice was pleading now and Lexy felt a sudden shiver of premonition. This wasn’t the controlled, arrogant woman she’d met yesterday. This Helen seemed frightened, as if there was more to her insistence that Lexy leave than—
“Let her in.”
The words came from the dark hallway. Helen jerked upright as if she’d been nudged by a cattle prod. She looked at Lexy with something unspoken in her eyes, then took a step back as if in surrender.
Lexy felt adrenalin prick her skin. There was something wrong here. Very wrong, but she couldn’t quite—
“I said let her in.” It was the voice. It was familiar, and yet not.
A hand reached for Helen’s shoulder, pulled the old woman back into the hall, and the owner of the voice stepped forward.
“Hello, Lexy. I was hoping you’d drop by.”
“Jenny?” Lexy struggled to work out what Ursula’s carer was doing in Helen’s house. “What … how did you—?”
“Yes, puzzling isn’t it?” Jenny laughed coldly. “But don’t stand there on the doorstep. Come on in. This is turning out to be just the reunion I’d hoped for.”
There was none of the garrulous warmth of Jenny the carer now and Lexy realised what it was that had made her uncomfortable with Jenny in Ursula’s flat. She’d been acting. Playing the part of the cheery home help. But
why
?
Stunned into uncustomary silence, mute obedience, Lexy stepped into the hall, saw Helen standing beside Ross, who was sniffling, heard the door shut heavily behind her.
“In the parlour, I think,” Jenny was saying as she pushed open the door to the cold room. “Fewer utensils and stuff. Don’t want anyone falling on a knife or anything like that, do we?”
Like automatons, they all followed Jenny into the small room, took the seats she indicated for them.
“Ross, you beside me.” Jenny pulled the bemused man down next to her on the sofa. “Isn’t this cosy?” Jenny took Ross’s hand and squeezed it, hard, smiling again when Ross yelped. “Oh dear, did that hurt? Best just sit still then, hadn’t you?”
“Leave him alone.” Helen seemed to have recovered a little of her spirit, sat forward on the edge of her seat. “Whatever you want, it’s nothing to do with him.”
“No, you’re right. He’s no use to me. Other than as a little incentive for you to cooperate. Now, Lexy, have you worked it out yet? Why I’m here?”
Lexy shook her head. She sat clutching the honeybirds and her bag in her lap, a parody of a confused little old lady.
“Oh, and there’s me thinking you were a bright one. Just goes to show a fancy expensive education isn’t everything. Perhaps Gran will explain. Lord knows our poor dear uncle can’t, can you, eh, Ross?” Another squeeze, another yelp, panic evident in the simple face.
Jenny smiled at them all, clearly enjoying herself. All Lexy could hear in the silence was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, the slight metallic ring to it like the echo of a percussion triangle. She looked at Helen.
“What’s going on? I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know who you are.” Helen stood, raised her hand to stop Jenny interrupting, walked over to the window. “Oh, I know who you claim to be. But there’s no proof, is there? Not a shred of evidence that you’re anything but a fantasist.” Helen turned to look at Jenny. “And that’s exactly what you are.”
“Oh, Gran, how hurtful.” Jenny threw her arm around Ross’s neck. “And here we are getting on so well, uncle and me. As for the lack of evidence, I think we all know that’s bullshit. You did what you could to destroy your traces, although it was a bit sloppy not seeing to the paperwork at the Mission, and then Cameron and that man Richard had their own reasons to bribe and bully their way to ensuring their version of events became official record. But you couldn’t see it through, could you, Helen? You couldn’t resist leaving a little bit behind. So sentimental for a woman who just abandons her children left, right and centre. And now look, Lexy here has done the legwork and brought your little mementoes home to us. Tell us what you found in the honeybirds, Lexy, why don’t you?”
“I …” Lexy was still holding the small ceramic bird in her hand, the plastic bag of broken pieces on her lap with her bag.
“Don’t be shy, Lexy. You’ve found proof, haven’t you? What, some kind of confession, signed statement … What? What is it?”
“No, I …”
“For fuck’s sake, you stupid cow!” The force of Jenny’s anger shook them all. Ross began to whimper; Helen stepped forward to comfort him. “Back off, Gran. Don’t want your firstborn to … Birth certificates.” She looked pleased as she saw the slightest twitch of alarm in Helen’s face. “Of course. That’s what you found in the birds, wasn’t it, Lexy?”
‘Yes.” Lexy’s voice was low.
“Well, of
course
. Honeybirds. Very clever, Gran. And to think I wasted all that time running after you to Malawi, Lexy, searching your room while Hugh kept you entertained and then had to hightail it back to London to do your flat.”