The Keeper of Lost Things(56)
Eunice sat back down, intrigued. Baby Jane, who was sitting on the sofa next to Bomber, crawled onto his lap, as though to lend moral support.
“Right-ho. Here goes.” Grace squeezed her son’s hand and gave it a little shake.
“Darling, I’ve always known since you were a little boy that you were never going to be the sort of chap who got married and provided me with any grandchildren. I think that, secretly, your father knew that too, but of course we never spoke about it. Now I want you to know that I don’t give a jot about any of that. I’ve always been proud to have you as my son, and as long as you’re happy and leading a decent life, well, that’s all that matters.”
Bomber’s cheeks were growing very pink, although whether it was his tears or Grace’s words that were to blame Eunice couldn’t tell. She was deeply moved by Grace’s sentiments, but fighting a fit of the giggles at her peculiarly British way of trying to say something without actually saying it.
“Last week, Jocelyn took me to the cinema. It was supposed to be a little treat, to take my mind off your father for a bit.” There was the tiniest catch in Grace’s voice, but she swallowed hard and carried on.
“We didn’t pay too much attention to what was on; just bought the tickets and some mint imperials and went and sat down.”
Baby Jane wriggled in Bomber’s lap to get comfortable. This was taking a little longer than she had expected.
“The film was Philadelphia with that nice Tom Hanks, Paul Newman’s wife, and that Spanish fellow.”
She thought carefully about her next words and finally settled upon:
“It wasn’t very cheerful.”
She paused, hoping perhaps that she had said enough, but the puzzled expression on Bomber’s face forced her to continue. She sighed.
“I just want you to promise me that you’ll be careful. If you find a ‘special friend’ or”—the thought just occurring to her—“you have one already, just promise me that you won’t get Hives.”
Eunice bit down hard on her lip, but Bomber couldn’t hold back a smile.
“It’s HIV, Ma.”
But Grace wasn’t listening. She just wanted to hear him promise.
“I couldn’t bear to lose you as well.”
Bomber promised.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
CHAPTER 36
“It wasn’t me, I promise,” said Sunshine.
They had come into the study to put some more things onto the website, and had found Anthony’s treasured fountain pen lying in a pool of black ink in the middle of the table. It was a handsome Conway Stewart and Sunshine had admired it many times, lovingly stroking its shiny scarlet-and-black surface before reluctantly returning it to its drawer.
Laura saw the worried look on Sunshine’s serious face and gave her a reassuring hug.
“I know it wasn’t, sweetheart.”
She asked Sunshine to rinse the pen carefully under the tap and then put it back where it belonged while she cleaned up the mess on the table. When Laura returned to the study after washing her ink-stained hands, Sunshine was busy choosing more things from the shelves.
“It was the Lady of the Flowers, wasn’t it?” she asked Laura.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Laura bluffed. “Perhaps I left it there and forgot about it, and somehow it leaked.”
She knew how unlikely it sounded, and the expression on Sunshine’s face confirmed that she was completely unconvinced. Laura had been thinking about what Freddy had said, and the more she thought about it, the more concerned she became. If all these things were Therese’s doing, and a physical demonstration of her pain at still being apart from Anthony, then surely the longer it went on, the worse it would get? She remembered Robert Quinlan’s description of Therese as “having a wild streak, and a fiery temper when roused.” Good God, at this rate she’d soon be setting fires and smashing up the place, and Laura was already a little tired of clearing up after a grumpy ghost.
“We should try and help her,” said Sunshine.
Laura sighed, slightly shamed by Sunshine’s generosity of spirit.
“I agree. But how on earth do we do that?”
Sunshine shrugged her shoulders, her face crumpling into a perplexed frown.
“Why don’t we ask her?” she eventually suggested.
Laura didn’t want to be unkind, but it was hardly a practical suggestion. She wasn’t about to hold a séance or buy a Ouija board on eBay. They spent the rest of the morning adding things to the website while Carrot snored contentedly in front of the fire.
After lunch, Sunshine and Freddy took Carrot for a walk, but Laura stayed behind. She was thoroughly unsettled. Normally the task of entering data onto the website was a therapeutic distraction, but not today. She could only think about Therese. Like a creature whose fur has been brushed against the nap, her skin prickled and her thoughts skimmed and zigzagged like a water boatman across the surface of a pond. She needed to do something about Therese. There had to be what Jerry Springer and his fellow reality-TV ringmasters called “an intervention.” If only she knew what the hell it ought to be.
Outside, gauzy sunlight seeped through clear patches in a gray marbled sky. Laura took her jacket from the hall and went out into the garden for some air. In the shed, she found Freddy’s “secret” packet of cigarettes and helped herself to one. She was only a high days and holidays smoker really, but today she thought it might help. She wondered if Therese had smoked.