Freeing Grace (44 page)

‘I don’t want a final visit.’ Matt looked ready to punch someone. ‘It might upset Grace.’ I didn’t believe for one moment that it was Grace he was afraid of upsetting.

‘It’s your only chance, Matt,’ urged Imogen. ‘There’s no more contact after this.’

‘Come on, Matt. I’ll go with you.’ Deborah rubbed his shoulder. ‘We
must
say goodbye.’

‘Um, Imogen.’ Matt forced a hand into his jacket pocket—which had been bulging a bit, come to think of it—and pulled out something lumpy and yellow and ragged. He held it against his chest. ‘This was mine. Give it to her, will you?’

Imogen stared dumbly at the young father and then down at the object he was clutching. It was that goofy lion.

‘Name’s Frederick,’ said Matt. ‘I brought it along, just in case.’

Deborah pressed a hand to her mouth and shut her eyes. Imogen still didn’t move.

‘
Take
it, for God’s sake,’ Matt snarled, forcing the moth-eaten thing into her hands.

Words seemed to fail Imogen for a second or two, and I don’t imagine that’s happened very often.

‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this. But I was there,’ she whispered finally. ‘At Grace’s birth.’

Matt stared. ‘You were there?’

Imogen nodded, sucking her lower lip and cradling Frederick. Matt watched her dumbly, processing the information.

‘Cherie was so brave,’ said Imogen. ‘I wish I had half her courage.’

‘Did she hold Grace?’ asked Deborah, and there was a wobble in her voice.

‘Oh, yes, she held her. Wept over her. Loved her,’ declared Imogen, shaking her head for emphasis. ‘But she was overwhelmed, and she knew it.’

‘I wonder what she’d think of me now,’ said Matt quietly. He shifted his feet. ‘Giving up. Breaking my promise.’

‘She’d understand, Matt.’ Imogen took a step closer to him. ‘Cherie wanted the best future for her child, better than her own, and so do you. Right now, she’ll be cheering you on.’ She grabbed poor Matt and started hugging him like a grisly bear. I don’t imagine
that’s
happened very often, either.

I felt like an intruder. I told Matt and Deborah I’d collect the car and meet them at the main doors.

Out on the darkening street, another little commotion was bubbling up with much revving of engines and tooting of horns. Someone had parked a car slap in the middle of a bus stop on the main road. It was a green Renault, bit of a rust bucket really, and the poor thing was stuck at a crazy angle with one wheel up the kerb. Rush-hour traffic was heaving around it, like sheep in a race.

A yellow tow truck had arrived. Its driver had already attached a winch to the car’s back end. And hopping about in front of him, arguing vehemently, was the woman in the kilt. Leila. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

‘For pity’s sake,’ she was yelling, waving her hands around. ‘I’m begging you. Just give me a parking ticket. I don’t have
time
for this.’

‘Sorry.’ The tow-truck driver seemed cheerful, happy in his work.

‘More than my job’s worth, love. You can follow me, if you like, and collect your vehicle from the pound.’

‘How the bloody hell can I follow you when you’ve taken my car?’

He began to whistle a merry tune. For a moment I thought she was going to slap him, but then she started wrestling with the zip on her handbag. ‘I’ve got a credit card,’ she said. ‘I can pay now. Or a cheque. How much?’

He shook his head, still whistling. ‘You’ll have to do it down at the pound. That was a shocking piece of parking, love. Shocking.’

I found myself standing beside her. ‘Cash?’ I asked, fishing out my wallet. ‘You wouldn’t refuse cash, would you?’

Leila’s head came round, and she stared at my wallet. She looked disorientated. The tow-truck man broke off his whistling and examined me suspiciously.

‘Well now,’ he said slowly, ‘I can take cash. Not a bribe, mind you, it’s all accounted for.’

‘Of
course
it’s not a bribe!’ I tried to look scandalised. ‘How much?’

Everyone has their price. His was pretty steep, actually.

When he’d gone, Leila reached into her rust bucket and then turned to me, clutching a chequebook.

‘Thanks.’ She produced a biro. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, but thanks. I’ll write you a . . .’ She leaned against the bonnet and began to scribble. ‘I’ve left your name blank. It might bounce first time,’ she warned, handing it over, ‘but keep trying.’

I thanked her and crumpled the rubber cheque into my pocket, knowing I’d never bank it. In fact, I planned on destroying it as soon as possible. It gave away far too much information about where Grace was going, and that wasn’t good for anyone.

Glancing up, I saw Matt and Deborah outside the revolving doors of the court building. I waved, and they spotted me and started down the steps. Leila saw them too. She muttered something about being in a rush.

‘Don’t go.’ I put a hand on her arm. ‘Please. Wait.’

Deborah’s pace quickened as she approached. ‘Ah, you’re still here,’ she said, looking at Leila. She sounded fraught but determined. ‘That’s wonderful.’

Leila made a disgusted face. ‘It’s not wonderful at
all
, actually. This isn’t a social event.’

‘I agree.’ Deborah looked searchingly at her and then her lips twitched. ‘You got a phone on you?’

‘Er, I think so . . . yes, I have.’ Leila began peering into that useless handbag.

‘Well, I’d keep it switched on if I were you,’ advised Deborah. ‘I suspect you’ll be getting a rather interesting call, any minute now.’

Leila finally found her phone and tugged it out, looking puzzled. She switched it on, and it came to life with a small flurry of notes.

Deborah watched her and then rested a hand on her arm. ‘Drive carefully, Leila,’ she said soberly. ‘Please. We need you. And I think you should tell your husband what you did today. He’ll forgive you. You are a truly remarkable person.’

Leila didn’t pull away; she just stood there, gazing at Deborah in bewilderment.

Matt had been pacing round and round in little circles, muttering to himself and scrunching up his hair. Now he stepped right up to Leila, very close. He was about twice her weight, I’d say, but she stood her ground.

‘You take good care of her,’ he growled, looking her square in the eye. She must have thought we were all completely off our heads. Then he suddenly grabbed her arm and tugged it wildly up and down, like the handle of an old water pump. ‘
Bloody
good care! She’s priceless.’

‘Come on, Matt,’ said Deborah. ‘Let her go. She’s got a long drive ahead of her.’

So we left Leila Edmunds standing there in the deepening twilight, gaping after us as though we had just spoken to her in Martian.

As we crossed the road, dodging between two murderous juggernauts, we heard the unmistakeable electronic tinkle of a mobile telephone, playing ‘Jingle Bells’.

Chapter Thirty-six

David tried to ignore the silence. It was different today; there was a profound emptiness in the house that he had never felt before.

Evening was winning the battle outside, and the corridor beyond his study door had faded into shadow, but Leila wasn’t back. Well, he had no right to miss her. He could hardly expect her to lighten his darkness. It was just that he wished she was there.

He’d tried to call her this morning, once Christopher had left; and again at lunch time, but she must have nipped out for a sandwich because there was no answer. When he’d tried yet again, the phone was turned off. Perhaps the battery was flat. Yes, that would be it. Happened all the time.

He’d had to go out again, in the afternoon, to see a schoolboy in the hospice. It had been a difficult visit. Awful, really. The young man, exhausted by suffering, had reached some kind of acceptance. He was ready to let go. Perhaps he’d walked alongside death for so long that it had lost its terror. But his parents were in agony. David had felt himself the lucky one, being childless.

He’d anxiously checked the answer machine when he came back, but there was nothing from Leila. Two from Marjorie Patterson, two from the church office, and a recent one from Linda Hooper. The social worker sounded businesslike, ready to confirm the bad news.

Hello, it’s Linda Hooper here. I’ll try your mobile.

David called her back, but her line was engaged. Well, not much point, really.

Now he sat chewing the skin around his thumbnail until it began to bleed. He was supposed to be writing a sermon, but it was going nowhere. On the wall around the window frame he could see cheerful primrose brush strokes, lurid from their days of hope. The ragged lines told their own story. When he’d made
that
one, they’d been happy.
That
long, joyously untidy sweep, right along the sill, had been made while Leila was answering the telephone. It was the cut-off point.

On an impulse, he lifted the receiver and dialled Leila’s work, hearing the studiedly languid tones of Jodie’s telephone voice. ‘Kirkaldie’s, New Street branch. How may I help you?’

‘Hello, Jodie. It’s David Edmunds here. Could I have a word with Leila?’

There was a long pause. Then, ‘Leila’s not here, Mr Edmunds.’

‘She’s knocked off early? Isn’t there a staff meeting?’

Jodie muffled the receiver for a moment, as though whispering to someone. He waited, watching Leila glittering in her white lace on their wedding day.

Jodie was back. ‘Um, Mr Edmunds . . . Leila never came in today. She phoned and said she had a migraine.’

David’s stomach abruptly, spontaneously, filled with ice. Dread—he did not want to analyse it, face it—pumped through his veins. He looked at his watch and then up at the window. His own reflection stared back at him from the inky glass.

‘No problem,’ he stammered. ‘Thanks, Jodie.’

Never came in
. . . ?

For a bewildered whirl of time he struggled to think rationally, mechanically lacerating his bleeding thumb. Panic flickered in his brain, threatening to shut it down
.
Where would she have gone? Perhaps she’d left him, in the misguided belief that he would be better off without her.

I shouldn’t go
.
But I have to.

Perhaps—no, surely not—she’d made a terrible choice, driven by despair. Heaven forbid.
It’ll all be over by tonight
, she’d said, and now the words took on a horrible significance. She had seemed so anxious, so tender.

No. He was overreacting. She would never do such a thing . . . Yet in spite of himself his mind filled with unbearable images: Leila’s broken beauty on the railway line, solemn policemen knocking at the door.

It’ll all be over by tonight.

Oh God, oh God, where should he start looking? The hospitals? The police? He was breathing fast. Sweating. Eight hours, she’d been missing. A frightening expanse of time.

‘Leila,’ he cried into his hands. ‘Where are you?’

The phone rang. It seemed to bore through his brain like a dentist’s drill. He’d snatched it up before it had time to draw breath.

‘Hello?’ He could hear the desperation in his own voice and shut his eyes, praying silently.

Whoever was at the other end of the line, they were in trouble. He heard a series of choking gasps.

‘Who is it?’ he demanded, his words sharp with anxiety. ‘Leila?’

‘David.’ Her voice was overflowing, singing with emotion.

He clutched the receiver with both hands, breathlessly relieved. Of course. It was all perfectly obvious. Linda Hooper must have called the mobile, confirmed the bad news, and poor Leila had hidden herself somewhere to grieve in peace.

‘It’s all right, my lovely. Where are you, Leila? Come home.

I need you.’

There was another gasp, and a sob that he recognised, this time, as laughter.

‘I’m in Suffolk.’

David actually shot out of his chair, one hand raking distractedly at his hair. ‘You’re
where
?’

‘Suffolk. Woodbury, actually. I’m out of petrol.’

‘I don’t . . . What the hell are you doing in Suffolk? For God’s sake, stop playing games. This isn’t funny.’

‘I went to court.’

There was a prolonged, slow-motion heartbeat as this statement sank in. And then, at last, David erupted. It was too much. ‘Bloody
hell
! How could you be so
stupid
?’

‘David.’

Livid, he ignored the interruption. ‘Do you realise I thought you were—I can’t believe you could be so deceitful and irresponsible and—’

‘David. Shut up for a moment and listen.’

But his fury had flared out of all control. ‘No, Leila—
you
listen!’

‘We’ve got a baby.’

His mouth hung open, like a cartoon character. He was silenced, the white heat of his anger entirely vapourised. Leila’s voice pressed on, sweet and melodic now, delight bubbling through it.

‘Did you hear me? We’ve got a baby. The court made a placement order. She’s to be our child.’

‘Our . . . ?’ David sank slowly back onto his desk chair. ‘How did you do it?’

‘You won’t approve.’

‘Probably not.’

‘I’ll tell you the whole story when I get home. There’s a petrol station just along the road. I’m going to put some fuel in both myself and the car, then set off. I should be home by about nine.’

David closed his eyes. Took a breath. ‘When will she . . . ?’

Leila’s words seemed to shiver. ‘Next week. They want to meet us, tidy up their paper trail. They’ll gradually introduce us. And then we bring her home. What do you say now? Stupid, deceitful and . . . what was it?’

‘After all this time,’ said David. He felt overwhelmed, suddenly, by the long years of waiting. It was as though these years must be confronted and acknowledged before they could be left behind. His mind throbbed as the accumulated sludge of misery was stirred by a powerful tide of joy. It threatened to drown him. His mouth moved, soundlessly.

Leila’s voice again. ‘I can’t hear you. Hang on, I’ll just . . . Hello? Are you still there?’

Pathetic
, thought David furiously, as he rubbed his sleeve across his eyes. Absolutely pathetic. A grown man, crying.

‘David?’

‘I’m here,’ he whispered at last. ‘I haven’t gone anywhere.’ He heard her soft laughter.