Читать книгу Cecelia Ahern 2-Book Valentine Collection: PS I Love You, Where Rainbows End - Cecelia Ahern, Cecelia Ahern - Страница 20

‘Happy birthday, Holly! Or should I say Happy belated birthday?’ Richard laughed nervously. Holly’s mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of her older brother standing on her doorstep. This was a rare occurrence; in fact it may even have been a first. She opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, completely unsure what to say.

‘I brought you a potted mini phalaenopsis orchid,’ he said, handing her a plant. ‘They have been shipped fresh, budding and are ready to bloom.’ He sounded like an advertisement.

Holly was even more stunned. She fingered the tiny pink buds. ‘Gosh, Richard, orchids are my favourite!’

‘Well, you have a nice big garden here anyway, nice and …’ he cleared his throat, ‘green. Bit overgrown, though …’ he trailed off and began that annoying rocking thing he did with his feet.

‘Would you like to come in or are you just passing through?’ Please say no, please say no. Despite the thoughtful gift, Holly was in no mood for Richard’s company.

‘Well, yes, I’ll come in for a little while so.’ He wiped his feet for a good two minutes at the door before stepping into the house. He reminded Holly of her old maths teacher at school, dressed in a brown knitted cardigan with brown trousers that stopped just at the top of his neat little brown loafers. He hadn’t a hair on his head out of place and his fingernails were clean and perfectly manicured. Holly could imagine him measuring them with a little ruler every night to see that they didn’t outgrow the required European standard length for fingernails, if such a thing existed.

Richard never seemed comfortable in his own skin. He looked as if he was being choked to death by his tightly knotted (brown) tie, and he always walked as if he had a barge pole shoved up his backside. On the rare occasions that he smiled, the smile never quite managed to reach his eyes. He was the drill sergeant of his own body, screaming at it and punishing himself every time he lapsed into human mode. The sad thing was that he thought he was better off than everyone else for it. Holly led him into the living room and placed the ceramic pot on top of the TV for the time being.

‘No, no, Holly,’ Richard said, wagging a finger at her as though she was a naughty child, ‘you shouldn’t put it there. It needs to be in a cool, draught-free location away from harsh sunlight and heat vents.’

‘Oh, of course.’ Holly picked the pot back up and searched around the room in panic for a suitable place. What had he said? A draught-free, warm location? How did he always manage to make her feel like an incompetent little girl?

‘How about that little table in the centre? It should be safe there.’

Holly did as she was told and placed the pot on the table, half expecting him to say ‘good girl’. Thankfully he didn’t.

Richard took his favourite position at the fireplace and surveyed the room. ‘Your house is very clean,’ he commented.

‘Thank you. I just, eh … cleaned it.’

He nodded as if he already knew.

‘Can I get you a tea or a coffee?’ she asked, expecting him to say no.

‘Yes, great,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘Tea would be splendid. Just milk no sugar.’

Holly returned from the kitchen with two mugs of tea and placed them down on the coffee table. She hoped the steam rising from the mugs wouldn’t murder the poor plant. It being a heat vent and all.

‘You just need to water it regularly and feed it during the spring months.’ He was still talking about the plant. Holly nodded, knowing full well she would not do either of those things.

‘I didn’t know you had green fingers, Richard,’ she said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Only when I’m painting with the children,’ he laughed, cracking a rare joke.

‘Do you do much work in your garden?’ Holly was anxious to keep the conversation flowing; as the house was so quiet every silence was amplified.

‘Oh, yes, I love to work in the garden.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Saturdays are my garden days,’ he said, smiling into his mug of tea.

Holly felt as though a complete stranger was sitting beside her. She realised she knew very little about her brother and he equally knew very little about her. But that was the way Richard had always liked to keep things. He had distanced himself from the family even when they were younger. He never shared exciting news with them or even told them how his day went. He was just full of facts, facts and more facts. The first time the family had even heard of Meredith was the day they both came over for dinner to announce their engagement. Unfortunately, by that stage it was too late to convince him not to marry the flame-haired, green-eyed dragon. Not that he would have listened, anyway.

‘So,’ she announced far too loudly for the echoing room, ‘anything strange or startling?’ Like why are you here?

‘No, no, nothing strange. Everything is ticking over as normal.’ He took a sip of tea, then a while later added, ‘Nothing startling either, for that matter. I just thought I would pop in and say hello while I was in the area.’

‘Ah, right. It’s unusual for you to be over this side of the city,’ Holly laughed. ‘What brings you to the dark and dangerous world of the north side?’

‘Oh, you know, just a little business,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘But my car’s parked on the other side of the river, of course!’

Holly forced a smile.

‘Just joking,’ he added. ‘It’s just outside the house … It will be safe won’t it?’ he asked seriously.

‘I think it should be OK,’ Holly said. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone suspicious hanging around the cul-de-sac in broad daylight today.’ Her humour was lost on him. ‘How’s Emily and Timmy – sorry, I mean Timothy?’ An honest mistake for once.

Richard’s eyes lit up, ‘Oh, they’re good, Holly, very good. Worrying, though.’ He looked away and surveyed her living room.

‘What do you mean?’ Holly asked, thinking that perhaps Richard may open up to her.

‘Oh, there isn’t one thing in particular, Holly. Children are a worry in general.’ He pushed the rim of his glasses up his nose and looked her in the eye. ‘But I suppose you’re glad you will never have to worry about all this children nonsense,’ he said, laughing.

There was a silence.

Holly felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach.

‘So have you found a job yet?’ he continued on.

Holly sat frozen on her chair in shock. She couldn’t believe he had had the audacity to say that to her. She was insulted and hurt and she wanted him out of her house. She really wasn’t in the mood to be polite to him any more, and certainly couldn’t be bothered explaining to his narrow little mind that she hadn’t even begun looking for a job yet as she was still grieving the death of her spouse – ‘nonsense’ that he wouldn’t have to experience for another fifty years or so.

‘No,’ she spat out.

‘So what are you doing for money? Have you signed on the dole?’

‘No, Richard,’ she said, trying not to lose her temper. ‘I haven’t signed on the dole. I get widow’s allowance.’

‘Ah, that’s a great, handy thing, isn’t it?’

‘Handy is not quite the word I would use. Devastatingly depressing is more like it.’

The atmosphere was tense. Suddenly he slapped his leg with his hand, signalling the end of the conversation. ‘I better motor on so and get back to work,’ he announced, standing up and exaggerating a stretch as though he had been sitting down for hours.

‘OK then,’ Holly was relieved. ‘You better leave while your car is still there.’

Once again her humour was lost on him as he was peering out the window to check.

‘You’re right; it’s still there, thank God. Anyway, nice to see you and thank you for the tea.’

‘You’re welcome, and thank you for the orchid,’ Holly said through gritted teeth.

He marched down the garden path and stopped midway to look at the garden. He nodded his head disapprovingly and shouted to her, ‘You really must get someone to sort this mess out,’ and drove off in his brown family car.

Holly fumed as she watched him drive away, and banged the door shut. That man made her blood boil so much she felt like knocking him out. He just hadn’t a clue … about anything.