Читать книгу Coming Home - Melanie Rose - Страница 15

Vincent and I walked back across the snowy front lawn, our arms linked together as we staggered rather unsteadily through the slippery snow towards his front door. As my boots sought a sound foothold I wondered quite how much wine I’d actually drunk and how much bearing it had had on what I had just experienced.

‘The lights are out here too.’ Vincent frowned as we approached the shadowy darkness of his front door, our breath clouding the air. ‘We left the porch light on, didn’t we?’

I nodded, waiting while he groped for the key. I wasn’t sure how much of his fumbling was due to the lack of light and the cold, and how much to the quantity of good Italian wine he’d consumed, but he soon had the door open and I entered the dark house behind him with trepidation.

‘Tara?’ he called softly. ‘Tara, we’re back.’

There was a red flickering light coming from the dying embers of the fire and in that light a shadowy shape loomed up from the sofa, making me step closer to Vincent in fright as I remembered Maria’s talk of ghosts.

‘You’re back then?’ Tara’s voice cut through the gloom.

‘I wish we’d never gone,’ Vincent mumbled as he made his way unsteadily to the sofa.

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ Tara picked up a small candle and a box of matches from the coffee table, lit the candle and handed them to me. ‘You know what Maria’s like. She’s been trying to get you over there since her husband left. Now you’ve fallen straight into her clutches.’ She smirked quietly to herself, obviously pleased she’d been right about the inadvisability of us going next door.

‘Maria is a good cook, but she did seem to have some sort of agenda,’ I admitted.

‘I don’t doubt it for a moment. That woman’s agenda has been obvious for some time.’ Tara shot a glance towards Vincent. ‘I’d suggest a nightcap but I expect you’ve had enough for one evening.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a stiff brandy as it happens,’ Vincent said, peeling off his coat and throwing it over the back of the sofa.

I looked at him as he flopped down wearily onto the couch. Maybe it was the glow from the dying fire or the shadows thrown by my flickering candle, but he looked tired and drawn. Tara obviously thought so too, because she quickly poured and handed him a glass of brandy without further comment.

‘Well, I’m off to bed.’ Her teasing tone had been swiftly replaced by quiet concern. ‘I’ll see you in the morning; hopefully the electricity will be on again by then.’

‘I’ll come up too,’ I said hastily. ‘It’ll be easier to see the way with both of our candles.’ I didn’t want to admit it was because my nerves were still jangling and I didn’t want to go upstairs alone in the still unfamiliar house in the dark.

Vincent continued to stare moodily into the fire’s embers as Tara and I mounted the stairs side by side. I was worried about leaving him down there to brood, and obviously so was Tara because when we reached the dark landing she turned to face me.

‘He misses his wife and daughter terribly,’ she confided. ‘He never says anything, but I’m sure that’s why he makes himself scarce whenever he can. Work is just an excuse to run away without actually leaving us.’

I noticed her use of the word ‘us’ with a sinking heart. It reminded me that I had no business feeling anything other than gratitude towards Vincent. ‘Do you think he’ll ever be able to move on?’

‘I don’t know.’ Tara wiped a hand over her tired eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have said he was the sort of man to brood, but grief does funny things to people.’

We walked down the corridor together, paused outside Jadie’s room to check that she was sleeping soundly and said good night outside my room. Holding the candle in front of me, I pushed open the door and slipped inside.

It didn’t take me long to jump between the icy sheets. Once in bed I blew out the flame and stared into the pitch-darkness, going over the evening in my mind. First there had been the episode in the shower…had I really just fainted and dreamed the near drowning? And what had happened between Vincent and Maria next door? Had Maria really been suggesting that Vincent had somehow been to blame for his wife’s sudden departure? Or had I merely been responding to the unsettling timing of the power cut, the effects of quite a large quantity of good wine and the heady incense-filled atmosphere?

As I closed my eyes and drifted into sleep I really wasn’t quite sure.

It was still dark when I awoke. And try as I might I couldn’t get back to sleep. My mind seemed filled with images of people and places I didn’t recognise, and I had no idea if the hazy figures that came and went in my mind’s eye were characters from my real life or whether I was conjuring imaginary pictures of Cheryl and Amber in my head. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning I decided to go downstairs for a glass of milk. Pulling on the borrowed dressing gown, I groped for the matches and lit the candle again. Then I made my way out onto the landing, checking first that the light switch on the wall still wasn’t responding, and down the dark stairs.

The kitchen was of course in blackness. The squat candle provided only a small circle of light in my immediate vicinity and as I rested it down on the kitchen table to free up my hands for the fridge door, I had the eerie feeling that someone was in the room with me. I peered into the darkness without moving a muscle. I began to wonder if I had imagined it, but then the sound of someone’s steady breathing caused an involuntarily squeal to erupt from my throat. The sound must have startled the breather because a male voice swore in fright and a figure leaped to his feet. Suddenly Vincent and I were staring at one another in the candlelight.

‘Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack…I thought you were a ghost!’

‘Vincent?’

‘Kate? What are you doing down here?’ He turned to the table and switched on a torch, shining it in my face. Blinking, I pushed the torch away from me so that the beam swung out across the table and struck the opposite wall. All I could make out was his dark form standing before me, but where the torchlight illuminated the table I could see a photo album lying open.

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ I murmured

‘What time is it? I must have nodded off.’

‘It’s just past two.’

I glanced across at the album again and shivered. ‘It’s freezing in here.’

‘I know; the boiler is out. I just hope Tara put enough covers on Jadie’s bed.’

‘I’m sure she will have done.’ I pulled the dressing gown more tightly round me. ‘She seems very protective of her.’

‘Tara’s a saint,’ Vincent agreed. ‘We couldn’t have managed without her.’

He fell silent and I yawned, rubbing my eyes. ‘I came down to get a glass of milk. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not.’ He opened the fridge door and took out a milk carton, handing the torch to me so he could use both hands to fetch a couple of glasses from the cupboard. I sat down at the table, playing the torch over the album so I could see the pictures of a pretty dark-headed woman holding a toddler. I recognised Vincent in one or two of the photos—a younger more carefree Vincent with his arm round the woman’s shoulders, his eyes beaming down at the child with pride.

He reached across and snapped the album shut, and as I looked at him in the torch beam I thought again how handsome he was, but shook the thought away, trying to concentrate on keeping my heart from pounding.

‘I did love my wife, you know,’ he said softly as he cupped his hands round his glass. ‘Maria made it sound as if I’d been a bad husband, and maybe I worked too hard and stayed away from Cheryl too much after finding out that Amber was so sick, but I always loved her, right up until the end.’

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I wondered if it was more that Jadie was suddenly talking again and that Amber’s name had at last been openly mentioned, rather than Maria’s digs that had jolted him to begin this soul searching. Maybe it had pierced the protective wall he had built round himself and made him think…what if?

I peered tentatively into his face through the gloom. ‘Have you seen a counsellor or anyone since you lost Amber?’

He shook his head, suddenly angry. ‘What good could a counsellor do? He couldn’t bring them back, could he?’

‘Them?’ I queried, puzzled until I realised he must be referring to his wife’s abandonment as well as to Amber’s death.

He seemed rattled. ‘I meant Amber. No one can bring her back, can they, so what’s the point in seeing some dogooder who didn’t know her?’ He raised his voice to a loud hiss. ‘No one knows what it’s like, waking up every morning and just for the briefest fraction of a second thinking everything is as it was: your child is safely asleep in her bed, your wife is lying next to you; that the world hasn’t turned upside down and shat all over you.’ Even in the dim torchlight I could see the anger and hurt in his eyes. ‘I was supposed to be able to take care of them, for God’s sake! I was the father, the husband, I was meant to make everything all right again and I couldn’t do anything to help them.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know for sure if I even have a child or a husband somewhere myself…’ The thought caused me a moment of panic, ‘…but I do know that you can’t cope with that sort of loss on your own. You need professional help.’

‘You sound just like Tara,’ he sighed, the anger evaporating as quickly as it had come. ‘She tried to get us to see that brother of hers when Amber…you know. He’s some sort of psychoanalyst, but Cheryl just shut everyone out and then when it all became too much, she left me too. I need to ask them to forgive me.’ Judging by the tremor in his voice I realised he was close to losing the tenuous grip he’d kept on his emotions for the past two years. ‘I wish with all my heart that I could have Amber back for just a moment to tell her how sorry I am that I couldn’t keep her safe.’

He fell silent but I judged from his ragged breathing that he was still battling to keep his emotions in check.

‘When Maria asked me if I had ever felt the presence of a ghost in this house of ours I admit I did consider the possibility of the property being haunted. I found myself wondering—hoping even—that Maria had sensed the spirit of my little girl.’ He uttered the words so quietly I could barely hear him.

I was surprised and a little uneasy at his strange admission. Up until then I’d thought of Vincent as a bit of a pragmatist.

Leaning forward, I found my hand resting lightly against his as it now lay by his glass on the table. All at once I felt Vincent’s fingers encircling mine and he lifted my hand to his face so that my knuckles rested against his lips. Closing his eyes, he pressed his mouth to my hand.

‘I need forgiveness, Kate,’ he mumbled. ‘I wasn’t there for my daughter when she needed me most and I can’t bear the fact that it is too late to do anything to change that.’

‘Maybe it’s too late for Amber,’ I whispered, holding my hand very still, ‘but you’ve been given another chance with Jadie. You still have your other little girl.’

He raised tortured eyes to mine and gazed at me for a long moment. Then, as if registering for the first time that he was touching me, he released my hand abruptly and gave a curt nod. Before I could say anything else he had picked up the torch and walked quietly from the room, leaving me sitting alone in a stranger’s kitchen in virtual darkness in the middle of a snowy night.