Tiffany turned, the perfect face frozen. Frozen – then slipped – then puckered before finally,finallygiving itself up to tears. And at last Pat was able to hold the girl. At last, she saw that face, open and honest, blotchy and damp with the degradations wrought by tears.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, patting her back as she used to do with Liam.
‘It’snotall right!’ The strength of Tiffany’s reaction shook them both.
Pat stepped back. ‘Is something …’How to find the words?‘Is something not … right?’ she said tentatively, ‘I mean with the baby?’
‘No.’ The word came out as a weary exhalation. ‘No, the baby’s fine – at least it was last check-up …’
‘And Justin?’ Again, that tentative tone in Pat’s voice. The baby wasJustin’s surely? ‘He’s all right with it?’
‘Justy’s fine. I mean, surprised and very overprotective – but yeah, he’s really pleased – and so am I …’
‘But?’
‘But we’ve nowhere to live – nowhere near enough money!’ Tiffany’s voice was almost shrill with panic.
‘Stop right there.’ Gently Pat led the girl to sit down at the kitchen table. ‘Now listen,’ she said firmly. ‘You and Justin and the baby can live here –livenot stay here – as long as you need to. Justin’s got a job; he’s looking for another—’
‘I can’t work though,’ said Tiffany in anguished tones, looking forlornly at the green plate. ‘At least not influencing. It’s taking all my headspace to do just one or two photos … and even then …’ Her voice tailed off as she queasily eyed the bottles of balsamic vinegar. ‘But if I do step back, even for a couple of months, there’s a hundred other influencers out there just waiting to step into my shoes—’
‘We’ll manage.’ Pat stemmed the flow with the firmness and certainty that six decades of life and all its trials had afforded her.
‘But it’s not what I planned!’ said Tiffany with a wail.
‘Newsflash, love,’ said Pat with a faint smile, ‘life seldom is.’
Tiffany smiled back, an uncertain, watery smile.
‘Tiffany, listen to me.’ Pat took both her hands. ‘This is wonderful,wonderfulnews!’
The younger woman’s eyes met hers and for the first time Pat thought she detected a faint light of hope in them.
She’d think of what to say to Rod later.
The heat came as an unwelcome blast after the relative cool dimness of indoors. Liz shaded her eyes as, with a mighty clatter, Ffion hoisted up the garage door of the Old Barn. Following her inside, inhaling those garage fumes of chemicals and oil, Liz stopped dead.There was none of Ffion’s equine detritus here. Without being told, she knew instantly that this was as much Neville’s domain as his study had been. The space was nothing less than a love letter to order and organisation. Shelves were stacked with plastic boxes, a shelf of red, of blue, of yellow – each bearing a printed, laminated label: cross-headed screws, LED bulbs, misc. hinges. On the wall hung a dizzying array of tools clipped on a templated background. It was beyond tidy, beyond organised, it was so many things but the one overwhelming thing it was, thought Liz looking at the array of tools and labels – was heartbreaking.Oh, Neville Hilton …
‘Here,’ said Ffion urgently, indicating a jar on the lower shelf. ‘Look.’
Liz frowned at the jar, feeling a familiar prickle growing on the back of her neck. ‘Did Neville not leave this here?’ she asked.
‘No!’ Ffion’s cry was explosive, almost passionate. ‘No! That’s just it! Nev would never ever leave anything like that! He used to play pop with me if I ever did! You might as well chuck that straight in the bin – that’s what he’d say.’
‘Do you have any idea when this appeared?’ said Liz, knees creaking as she bent down for a better look.
Ffion shook her head. ‘I hardly come in here,’ she said. ‘DIY and stuff – that was all Nev’s department.’ She hugged herself, staring at the object on the bottom shelf. ‘It was when I was thinking about setting up that CCTV; I came in here and it was the smell that got my attention.’
Liz nodded; indeed, the smell of white spirit was pretty strong in the stuffy dim space.
‘All along I reckoned it must’ve been Nev doing that weird decorating – what other reason could there be? But then I found this!’ She looked at Liz. ‘He’d nevereverhave left it like that.’
Liz nodded and looked at that jar half full of a cloudy liquid in which a paintbrush was soaking. The liquid was a cloudy yellow, the colour of butter.
The colour of a certain line on a certain wall.
* * *
When Liz arrived back from Hollinby Quernhow, she felt a bit nervous about facing Jacob. Was he still angry with her for eating those wretched Vegan Moments? Derek clearly knew this as he was waiting for her. ‘He’s in the sitting room,’ he said quietly. ‘The storm has abated and I rather think he wants to talk to you; he’s kept on asking when you’d be back.’ He squeezed her shoulder in a gesture of solidarity and Liz nodded.Talk to me – or shout at me again?
