The Wishing Well Page 4

  Laura explained in quick, terse sentences.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. Your father not only named her the beneficiary for his life insurance without telling me - he let me write the cheque for the premium.” That really rankled.

  “I don’t believe Daddy would do that to you,” Deb said, scowling at her. “You’ve got it all wrong. He used to laugh at the way you made mistakes with the finances all the time and needed his help.”

  Ryan tugged at her arm. “Deb, stop that!”

  “Why should I? It’s true.”

  As if from a distance, Laura heard herself say, “He was exaggerating. I simply wasn’t as quick as he was - but then I didn’t train as an accountant. Couples usually split the family jobs between them, you know. It was logical for him to do that one.”

  Ryan shook his head at his sister and gave her a warning look.

  Laura bit back more angry words. “Go and see the insurance company if you don’t believe me, Deb, or better still, go and see Caitlin. She’ll confirm that nearly everything is coming to her. You’ll want to wish her well with the baby, too.”

  Deb clearly didn’t know about this either. She goggled at her mother, then looked at Ryan.

  “Caitlin’s expecting Dad’s child,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to tell you till you were calmer.”

  Deb’s mouth formed a “No!” but no sound came out.

  Laura didn’t pursue that point, just finished what she had to say. “Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. I’m going to England as quickly as I can. I have to sell this house to pay you two off and I’ll be selling the furniture as well, so if you’d let me know whether there’s anything you particularly want by teatime tomorrow, I’ll summon the estate agents and get the place to display stage as quickly as I can. And if you want to ring your grandfather, well, I think he’d welcome your support. He sounded very upset.”

  “I’ll ring him tomorrow once I’ve got my head together,” Deb muttered, standing up and slinging her tote bag across one shoulder. She looked across at her mother. “You should have split up with Dad years ago, you know. You’d both have been happier.”

  “I didn’t know about his other women until quite recently or I would have done.” Laura walked towards the front door, holding on to her self-control - just.

  Deb walked out with the merest nod.

  Ryan followed, pausing to say, “She’s upset about Dad. She isn’t usually so unkind.”

  “She is, you know. With me, anyway.” And it always hurt.

  “Oh, Mum!” He hugged her. “I’ll be round tomorrow night to go through Dad’s things for you.”

  When Laura closed the door, she sagged against it for a moment, tears welling in her eyes. Then she sniffed and reminded herself of how her poor father must be feeling. How did you face the slow disintegration of someone you loved? At least she’d no longer loved Craig, hadn’t for quite a while if she was honest with herself. And he’d gone quickly.

  On the principle that work is the best way to stop yourself brooding, she went round the house figuring out how to make it look its best and taking notes, a task that always gave her great satisfaction. Even Craig had trusted her artistic judgement and her practical flair for decorating.

  But thinking of him, she had to stop and swallow hard. Why had he implied that she was incompetent with money? She wasn’t - was she?

  Perhaps she was, though not in the way he meant. Perhaps someone more astute would have prevented Craig from taking everything away from her.

  * * * *

  Kit waited impatiently for his brother to pick him up from the Rehabilitation Centre just outside Manchester. He’d had a gutful of hospitals over the past few months and all he wanted now was to live in a real house again and pull his life together.

  He glanced at his watch then clicked his tongue in exasperation. Trust Joe to be late. His brother had a very relaxed idea of time.

  Almost quarter of an hour later he saw an ancient red Sierra rattle through the gates and come to a halt at the other side of the car park. Kit stared at it in disgust. Could Joe really not afford a better car than that? He was amazed it got through its MOT check every year.

  He greeted his brother with, “I thought we said eleven o’clock?”

  “Sorry. Got delayed. Had to take a relief class for another teacher.” Joe glanced at his watch. “As it is, I’ve just time to get you home then I must dash back to school. Is this all your luggage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Looks like you’ve got more books than clothes.”

  “Probably. Careful with the laptop.” Kit swung his crutches into position and followed Joe out of the front door, grimacing as one of the crutches twisted on the uneven surface and he lurched into the wall. “Damn!”

  “Should we have got you a wheel chair?”

  “No, we bloody well shouldn’t. I’m slow but I can manage.” He hated the ignominy of wheel chairs. The minute you sat in one people treated you as if you were brain dead. Crutches were marginally better, though not much. And as for his left leg, it disgusted him, all bumps and hollows and scars.

  He was sure any normal woman would shy away from being made love to by a man with that leg. If he ever gave them the chance.

  He reached the car, slapped Joe’s hovering hand away and manoeuvred himself carefully into the front passenger seat, slanting the crutches alongside him. “What are you grinning about?”

  “You’re still an independent devil.”

  Kit scowled down at his leg. “As much as I can be.”

  Joe’s voice grew more gentle. “Look, I’ve got a studio couch, so you can sleep in the front room downstairs if you want. Trouble is, the bathroom’s upstairs, but I could probably borrow a camp toilet from school and - ”

  “I’ll sleep in a bedroom, thank you very much, and get myself to the toilet like everyone else does.”

  “But that leg - ”

  “Is getting better. Final operation over, pins removed. Just have to take it easy now and wait for everything to mend and the muscle build up, then I can get rid of these damned crutches. Besides, I can go up and down the stairs on my arse, if that’s all you’re worrying about.”

  “But the doctor said you should - ”

  “Sod the doctor.”

  Joe pressed his lips together and looked disapproving.

  Kit felt marginally better for winning that round. But it wasn’t going to do any good to either of them to argue or score points. It was going to be hard enough for two such different people to live together, no need to make it worse. The trouble was, as Kit was only too well aware, he couldn’t manage on his own yet. And besides, he had nowhere else to go. Joe was his only close relative now.

  He’d been living in a tiny furnished flat in London at the time of the accident, a place he’d rented to store his gear and camp out in between projects. Once he found out he was going to be in and out of rehabilitation centres and hospitals for months and could stay in special hostels nearby, he’d asked an old friend to shut down the flat and put his possessions into storage.

  He trusted Jules, though he hadn’t seen her for a while. Once they’d been close, but that hadn’t lasted. They were still good friends, however, and she’d done what he wanted with no fuss. He owed her one for that.

  He’d chosen to be treated in the north, near his brother. Perhaps he’d settle here permanently now. Who knew? He hadn’t got his head round all that yet. But as Joe still lived here in Rochdale, the town where they’d been born and raised, Kit had decided to accept his offer to stay with him for a while. They really should get to know one another better. Joe was seven years younger than he was, has been little more than a child when Kit left home, so he didn’t even feel they knew one another well. Which was a shame when they were the only two left.

  But these temporary arrangements were just until he could cope physically. Definitely. “Sorry, bro. I shouldn’t take out my irritation on you.”

 
“It’s all right, Kit. It must be very frustrating for someone as active as you to be disabled.”

  He gritted his teeth and said nothing. He hated people using that word about him, absolutely hated it.

  “The doctors say you’re doing really well, though, far better than they’d expected.”

  “Yeah, I have an extremely elegant limp.”

  “A limp isn’t the end of the world,” Joe said quietly.

  Kit knew that intellectually, but emotionally it felt like the end of the world sometimes, when your leg ached if you were on it for more than half an hour, or you woke up feeling like a long run in the peaceful world of dawn - then suddenly remembered you’d never run again. Damn! He hadn’t meant to let his bitterness show. He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t complain to anyone, not even to himself. He’d have to work on that.

  “When’s your first physio appointment?”

  “Friday.”

  Joe’s face fell. “Oh, dear. I’ve got lessons all day and it’s a bit hard to take time off twice in one week.”

  “Look, you don’t have to ferry me around. I can get taxis and - ”

  “That’ll cost too much. No, I’ll rustle up a lift.”

  Kit held himself together with an effort. “Thank you for the thought, but I’d rather take taxis. I’m not short of a bob or two, you know.”

  There was silence then Joe said quietly, “You should let people help you. We all need help now and then.”

  “I’m coming to stay with you, aren’t I? If that’s not accepting help, what is?” He waited a minute and added quietly, “Look, we’ll see how things go. All right?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  They reached Joe’s house and stopped outside. It was near the middle of a long straight terrace built in the 1850s for workers at the local mill. The latter was now a craft centre and the houses had been sold off.

  All of them were identical: twelve feet wide, with two rooms upstairs, two down, and minuscule bathrooms squeezed in over the stairs in the 1960s and ’70s with government modernisation grants. Joe had lived here with his wife till she left him and now he lived here alone. Their divorce had surprised Kit, as had the fact that they hadn’t had any children, but his brother had refused to talk about it or explain what had gone wrong, just saying it was an amicable split and for the best.

  Ten minutes later Joe went back to work and for the first time in four months Kit was alone, truly alone. Silence washed around him, wonderful in its lightness. No burden of keeping alert or hiding your pain from others. He leaned back on the tired old settee and closed his eyes. He was only staying here until he was well enough to manage without help. He needed his own space. Desperately.

  Chalk and cheese, he and Joe, and always had been, so how they’d get on living together, he didn’t know. They didn’t even look alike because Joe favoured their mother’s side of the family. He was a shambling bear of a man, a phys ed teacher, muscular and radiating good health. Kit was like their father’s side, of just over medium height, wiry at the best of times, thin to the point of emaciation now. He stared down at the bony legs outlined by his jeans. Heaven only knew how much of his former strength and energy he’d get back. He’d never play squash again, that was certain.

  Don’t think about that. Don’t!

  He closed his eyes for a moment and woke an hour later unable to remember where he was. Then it all came back to him and he heaved himself to his feet, stumbling and nearly falling because he tried to move too quickly. A cup of coffee would do him good. Not hospital coffee, which tasted remarkably similar to hospital tea - and both were close cousins to dishwater.

  In the kitchen he stared round in distaste. Couldn’t Joe at least decorate and get rid of all this fussy wallpaper? The accent tiles above the scarred green working surface had alternating carrots and apples and tomatoes, and were going to drive him mad.

  Everything here would drive him mad.

  Tears welled in his eyes and he blinked furiously, then snorted and let them fall. Who said real men didn’t cry? He’d wept a few times since his accident, though only in the stillness of the night when no one else could see. But he was going to get his damned leg functioning better. He was not going to go through life limping like a badly-engineered robot! He might never run again, but he’d find a way to walk normally, at least. He’d promised himself that

  The doctors said low spirits were quite natural and had suggested putting him on anti-depressants, but no one was going to dope him up, thank you very much. They’d also wanted him to have some counselling, but he wasn’t baring his soul to any bloody do-gooder of a psychologist. No way!

  He’d get through this as he’d got through everything else in his adult life - on his own. He hadn’t done too badly and things could only get better from now on. He’d make sure of that.

  Chapter 5

  Laura went to see her new lawyer. His office décor was what she called ‘spiky modern’ and the chairs felt even more uncomfortable than they looked. Knowing that lawyers billed by time spent with the client, she outlined the situation crisply and waited impatiently for his reply.

  “Were you joint tenants or tenants in common?”

  “I’m not sure. Does it matter?”

  “Very much.”

  She fumbled among the papers for those connected with the house and pushed them across to him.

  “Tenants in common,” he said a few moments later. “That’s not good. If you were joint tenants, you’d automatically inherit the house. As it is, you own your half and that’s all.”

  “You mean - I can’t contest the will?” Her voice came out squeaky with indignation. Well, she had a right to be upset.

  “You can, but there’s no way of predicting the outcome because there are so many factors to be taken into consideration. That’s a risk you’d have to consider. Mind you, I think you’d have a good case for keeping most of the shares, as long as you can prove they were intended for superannuation - though the judge would still have to take the other woman’s child into consideration. You could ask for DNA tests after it’s born, though.”

  If she did all that, this man would be earning nice fat fees from her with the money she recouped, she thought sourly. “Look, I need to get to England as soon as possible. My mother’s terminally ill and I have to be there for Dad. I just want to get this settled. Do what you can for me but sort it out as quickly as possible, please.”

  “How about arbitration? Will Ms Sheedy accept that?”

  “She might. She said she wants to get through this without acrimony because she’s pregnant. I have her details here.” She pushed a piece of paper across the empty desk. It looked scruffy, curled at one edge where she’d stuffed it in her handbag. She felt the same, dog-eared, worn, past her use-by date. Realising the lawyer was speaking again, she forced herself to concentrate.

  “Depending on how the will’s phrased, there might have to be a share for the baby if Ms Sheedy can prove it’s his.” He looked at the photocopied sheets and pointed. “There. It just says ‘my children’.” He shook his head as if he didn’t approve. “Until things are settled, how are you off for money?”

  “I have some savings of my own. Not much unfortunately because they’ve frozen our joint bank account.” She hadn’t told Craig about her savings, but what difference did a few thousand dollars make when the house was going to be shared among three, no four, others! She could understand now why people ran amok. She had felt like screaming and hitting out several times recently.

  “If there are bills outstanding, you should be able to get those paid by the estate. Don’t spend a cent more of your own money on anything except maintaining the services like electricity - and keep all the records of payment. I’ll contact the mistress re arbitration and get back to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  That evening Ryan came round and started on his father’s remaining possessions, clothes, various oddments, golf clubs - heavens it wa
s years since Craig had played! Ryan worked quickly then insisted on taking his mother out for a late meal because for once she hadn’t prepared anything for them.

  Laura sat in the café trying to eat enough to please him.

  “You’ve lost weight, Mum,” he said softly. “And you’ve hardly eaten anything tonight.”

  “I’m not very hungry these days.”

  He leaned back, holding his glass of red wine up to the light and staring at it. “It’s a real mess, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you miss Dad at all?”

  “We hadn’t been close for a while. Mainly I feel angry with him - very angry.”

  “I miss him.”

  “Yes. I realise that. He was a loving father.”

  “He didn’t ill-treat you, at least,” Ryan said.

  “Isn’t it ill-treating to tell your children lies about you and put you down all the time about your weight? It’s only now that I’m beginning to realise how subtly he did that and how stupidly docile I was.” She hesitated, then said what she’d been thinking for the past few days, “I think he was determined to come first with you two.”

  Ryan stared down at his plate, brow furrowed as if thinking about this.

  Once started she had to let the rest out. “Craig was not only unfaithful to me, Ryan, he cheated me out of money I was owed morally. I’ve been checking the deeds for the various houses we’ve owned.” She’d had to break open the locked drawer of Craig’s desk to find them, had been surprised he’d left them behind, but perhaps he’d been so eager to go to his mistress he’d forgotten the previous years’ records.

  “Your father deliberately changed the terms on this house contract from joint tenants to tenants in common, and without explaining the difference to me. I trusted him and signed without reading it, even though we weren’t getting on very well. How stupid can you get?” She felt very stupid, had done since she found out what Craig had done to her. “He was planning to keep money from me, Ryan, even before he shacked up with this female.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  “Yes. I can show you, if you like.”