He threw back the duvet and sat up, feeling giddy and sick. He shuffled into the en-suite bathroom, feeling like an old man – his joints stiff and slow as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He peed, then turned on the shower as hot as it would go, scalding his skin as he stepped under it. He washed feverishly and then came back into the bedroom wearing a towel around his waist, dripping all over the carpet. He flung back the curtains and opened the window to take away the stench.
He dried himself, dressed, then began to pull the duvet cover off the bed, knocking all the bangles onto the floor. He collected them up and put them in his back pocket. He would dispose of them later. But then he stopped. He would never normally change the bed. That was Claire’s job. There was a cup of half-finished coffee on his bedside table. He vaguely remembered bringing it upstairs when he came to bed last night. He’d been so drunk. He took the mug and sloshed the curdled remains over his side of the bedding and the mattress. Then he set to mopping it up, making sure a stain was left, before stripping the bed.
With the washing churning in the machine, Callum sat at the kitchen table. The house was quiet. His nail tracked the grain on the wood as he stared into nowhere, his forehead resting against his fist.
‘Dad, have you seen Rain?’ Callum glanced up. Marcus stood in the doorway, bleary-eyed and bare-chested– his skinny, white and virtually hairless body a contrast to his bright pyjama bottoms. ‘She went off in a strop last night.’
Callum shook his head and Marcus went back upstairs, leaving Callum cradling his head in his arms. He had absolutely no idea what to do.
* * *
Nick couldn’t resist phoning Trevor for an update, even though it was Sunday. He came down to join the others for breakfast feeling pleased that the renovations were going well. Trevor was polite but had clearly wanted to keep the call short on his day off.
‘Morning all,’ he said brightly. His meal last night had been a success and, despite Patrick’s accident, they’d all had a good evening reminiscing and chatting, digging up stories they’d long forgotten.
But he couldn’t fail to notice the worried expression on Claire’s face as she passed him a plate of food. ‘Thanks,’ he said, hoping to catch her eye. He wanted to gently take hold of her hand, sit her down, ask her what was wrong. But he wouldn’t do that with everyone present. ‘I thought of another one,’ he said instead, instantly regretting it. The cold light of day suddenly didn’t seem the right time to bring it up, but he wanted to catch Claire’s attention.
‘Another what?’ Maggie’s pained voice betrayed her hangover.
‘Oh dear, Mags,’ Nick said. ‘One too many?’
‘Don’t rub it in,’ she replied, popping a couple of pills.
‘Another story about Lenni?’ Claire asked, sitting down next to Nick with her food.
He paused, knowing he’d have to continue now. They’d been sharing happy memories about Lenni the night before and Claire hadn’t seemed to mind; in fact, it was as though she’d wanted to talk about her sister.
‘Yes, I remembered it in a dream last night, actually.’ He didn’t let on that it was Claire who’d featured in his dream, that it had simply reminded him of this other story on waking. ‘I’d been to pick Lenni up from school. Your parents asked me to help when you had chicken pox, Claire. I think we were about fourteen. Shona was busy looking after you.’
‘We were fifteen,’ Claire said. ‘I was stuck in bed for days. I thought I was going to die.’
‘Lenni was about nine, maybe ten. I was waiting outside the school and all the kids started coming out to their mothers, but there was no Lenni. When the playground was deserted, I went inside. I found her in the cloakroom sitting on a great big central heating pipe and kicking at the floor with bare feet. She just stared up at me with those big eyes of hers.’ Nick drank some coffee. Everyone was riveted, as if he was about to reveal what happened the day she went missing.
‘Turns out some mean kids had stolen her shoes,’ he said, opting for the short version. ‘She didn’t want to tell on them, so I gave her a piggyback all the way home.’ Nick felt the sweat break out on his forehead. The memory burned inside his mind. ‘Lenni kept saying “Mummy told me never to go off with anyone except her or Daddy or Claire or Jason.” But despite her protests, she was very willing to go off with me.’ Nick remembered how she’d bumped along on his back, her breath hot in his ear as she clung around his neck. ‘“It’s OK because you know me, Len,” I told her on the way back. “It’s not as if I’m kidnapping you.”’
Everyone stared at him, but no one spoke. He wiped the sweat from his top lip and carried on eating. From now on, he would have to be more careful with what he said.
Chapter Thirty
Claire dashed back up to the Old Stables to change, relieved that Angus had found Patrick still in the hospital grounds. He hadn’t seemed particularly disorientated or lost. Just determined and stubborn.
‘He’s at home now but refusing to rest,’ she told Callum. ‘Cal, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?’ She closed the wardrobe doors and lay down on the bed next to him. He’d come up for a lie-down, clearly feeling a bit worse for wear like Maggie.
‘Sorry, yes, I’m listening. I’m glad Patrick’s OK.’
‘Why did you change the sheets?’ she asked, running her hand over the fresh bedding. ‘I only did them on Friday. You never change the sheets.’ Claire was puzzled, but smiling. Perhaps he’d finally realised how much she did around here.
‘I spilt my drink and didn’t want you to have to deal with it. There’s a coffee stain on the mattress, I’m afraid. Sorry.’ Callum stared out of the window as he spoke.
‘Not to worry, love.’ She wound her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest. ‘It was fun last night, wasn’t it, even if poor Dad couldn’t join in?’ A good end to a stressful first day, she thought.
Callum remained silent, even when Claire squeezed his hand.
* * *
Angus offered to look after Patrick’s follow-up care and medication, leaving the others free to go for a walk up to the old primary school. But when Patrick heard of their plans, he insisted on going along too, rebuffing Shona’s suggestion to lie down. He refused to miss out on the beach picnic afterwards either.
‘Don’t think I don’t know what Claire’s up to,’ he’d said to Shona as she followed him about the house while he searched for his sun hat. ‘She’s done all this for me, you know.’ He almost sounded annoyed, but Shona could tell by the twinkle in his eye as he scoured the cloakroom, knew by the raised tone of his voice that he was touched. She hoped, in some small way, that it would help.
‘Found it!’ Patrick waved the hat in the air. It was hanging by the back door, where he always kept it.
* * *
Claire lay on the rug and stared up at the clear blue sky. The sand was warm under her back.
‘It was kind of those people at the old school house to let us nose around their home, wasn’t it?’ she said to Jason. ‘Jeff handled the sale about five years ago before it was converted. They’ve done a really good job.’
‘They have,’ Jason said. He was massaging Greta’s feet as she sat in the deck chair. She didn’t think she’d ever get up again if she sat on the sand.
‘I reckon it would sell really quickly if they wanted to move.’ Claire was conscious that Jason had hardly spoken since Shona and Patrick had arrived at the beach a short while after them. Neither of the men had acknowledged each other.
‘No one’s taking my home off me, they’re not,’ Patrick mumbled to himself. He was sitting a few feet away in a deck chair, tuning in and out of what Claire was saying.