‘But you said she hadn’t really found what she wanted to do yet?’
Callie was surprised he’d remembered. ‘She hasn’t.’
‘So there might be a chance she’ll move away, for work maybe or to study somewhere.’
‘I suppose.’ Callie was startled. ‘I’d never really thought of it being a possibility. Suppose I’ve spent so long, nose down, working and stuff, I haven’t given any thought to her moving away.’
‘Would you mind if she did?’
Callie was beginning to see what a good journalist Johnny was. His questioning technique was gentle but probing. ‘Oh, Johnny, I don’t know. It’s been her and me for so long, the team of two, that I can’t imagine her not being there.’ She wrinkled her nose, thinking hard. Who was she kidding? Frida,although some might say was an immature twenty-three, was a fully grown adult. She may well want a different sort of life than her current one in a small Victorian terraced house in a Midlands city. There was a whole world out there. Was that what was behind this sudden decision to go to Ibiza instead of accompanying her to Dorset? Callie conceded Dorset might be considered tame by comparison. She vowed to sit Frida down on her return and have a heart-to-heart. She hated the idea that Frida might be putting her ambitions on hold so as not to leave her mother alone. And, after all, wasn’t it a sign of love and good parenting that you knew when to let your children fly free? Realising Johnny was waiting patiently for her to expand her reply, she muttered, ‘As I’ve said, I wish Frida could find her passion in life.’
‘What are her strengths?’
‘She writes. Has done evening classes in creative writing. She’s a good listener. She’s an amazing friend. Kind, thoughtful. She’s working in an office at the moment in an engineering firm but it’s a bit dead-end.’
‘She writes? Maybe she could pursue that?’
Callie pulled a face. ‘Can you make a living being a writer? It’s like me trying to exist on art.’
Johnny smiled. ‘I’ve made a fairly good fist out of it.’
‘A journalist?’ Callie huffed. ‘I don’t think she’s hard-bitten enough.’
The smile widened. ‘You think I’m hard-bitten?’
‘Sorry, no I don’t.’Whoops.‘But you were very young when you covered some major stories, weren’t you? It must have had an effect.’ Callie felt the heat rise again. She was digging the hole even deeper.
Why did you blurt that out, Mum? Cool it,said Frida’s voice in her head. ‘Might as well come clean. I’m so sorry, I looked youup. Wanted to know who I was sharing a house with. You must think I’m awful.’
‘It’s the last thing I think about you, Calliope. I completely understand you wanted to check up on the stranger who had barged in on your holiday. And yes, I was one of the youngest correspondents in Iraq and yes, what I saw and had to report on affected me deeply.’ He looked down and rubbed the S carved into the stone pillar. A little of the mortar came away and he crumbled it into dust. ‘The longer I was in the job… what was making more of an impact was,’ he paused and swallowed a breath. ‘I’m not making much sense.’
‘You are,’ Callie urged. ‘Go on.’
‘I suppose what I’m trying to say was I wasstoppingcaring, rather than caring too much. I’d seen so much, had written about so many awful, tragic things, met people who were at the very edge of existence, out of all hope, that I was becoming numb. And it terrified me. I knew I had to get out before I lost my humanity.’
Callie gazed at him, sympathetic. ‘Isn’t that self-protection though?’ She shuddered. ‘I can imagine it’s a way of getting yourself through it. You have to remain somewhat apart otherwise you’d go loopy.’
Johnny laughed, a sour sound. ‘And a lot do go loopy. Or drink too much, or womanise, or burn themselves out and become embittered old men.’
‘I know it’s not remotely the same, but I understand.’ She hesitated, questioning if what she was about to say was too crass a comparison. ‘It’s sort of the same with teaching. In a far milder way, of course. I’ve learned to stay dispassionate. If I get too emotionally involved I can’t focus enough to do the job properly. Obviously there are a few pupils that get to you but you soon realise there’s a limit to what you can actually do. You’re a tinycog in that young person’s life, and a mostly ineffective one.’ She blew out a breath and paused, deliberating what to say next.
‘You can’t do a great deal about the dad who alternates between spells in prison and being at home and walloping his son,’ she continued, ‘or the mother who sees little point in letting her incredibly bright daughter go on to university because it “isn’t for the likes of us”. I try my best, but I’ve learned the hard way not to bring my work home with me, the emotional baggage that is. There are enough other stresses in the job.’
Johnny nodded. ‘You’re right, it is similar. You’re very wise, Calliope. I’ve hopefully got out of the job in time and I’m working on some issues. The earthquake I covered in Turkey has left some… scars. But at least I got out. Thousands didn’t. The death toll was horrific. I’m investigating having counselling. Might help. And at least I have that luxury, those poor bastards are still there.’
His voice was calm and quiet but Callie sensed the pain. ‘You always call me Calliope.’
He smiled at her again. ‘It’s a beautiful name. Like you.’ Reaching out, he touched her hair, curling a lock around his finger.
Callie ducked away, embarrassed. ‘Red hair and freckles!’
‘Your hair’s like fire. You’d be a superstar attraction in China. Red hair is so unusual there. And why shouldn’t I use your full name? Calliope, beautiful of voice and muse to epic poetry. It’s a wonderful name.’
Callie felt her face become scarlet yet again. No one had complimented her like this for years. Actually, forever. She had no earthly idea how to handle it. Smoothing down the hair she’d always hated – it was far too like her mother’s for comfort – she wondered if Johnny had had more than one whisky while he waited for her and it was the alcohol talking. Luckily, she was rescued.
‘Big bro, Callie!’ Jessica clambered out of a taxi which had pulled up outside the public garden gates. ‘Marvellous. We can all go in together. Callie, could I ask you a favour? Connor’s got the sprog but could you carry the bag with the baby stuff? It seems I can go nowhere without lumbering along with at least three bags. My once spontaneous and glamorous life is no more. Come on, bro, you can help too. About time you learned what being a parent involves.’
Callie crossed the road, took the baby bag, said hello to a tall thin man she assumed was Jessica’s husband and went to stand back by Sandy Vista’s pillar. She’d grown rather fond of it during the last twenty minutes.
