Chapter 4
The shower was tepid, but Grace’s conversation with Clara had put her First World problems into perspective. She’d got straight on the phone to her mam after she’d hung up on her friend, and Nora Kelly had confirmed that in all her years, she’d never known rain like it, Nan agreeing in the background. The school was underwater, the new desktop computers the villagers had fundraised for destroyed along with everything else, thanks to blocked drains, but the main thing was that everyone in the village and its surrounds was safe. Things could be replaced, her mam had said, but people couldn’t. Grace had agreed then pressed her for information on Shannon and James’s cottage, sighing with relief upon hearing it had fared well, all things considered. Ryan, Imogen’s fella, who was also Shannon and James’s builder, had made sure the cottage was watertight when he’d heard heavy rain was forecast and had apparently been out since dawn checking on other villagers’ houses.
So it was her mind was buzzing with her conversation with Clara and her mam as she made herself presentable before heading downstairs. Food and a cup of tea were needed, and not even the sight of Ulla’s lipstick-stained mug left on the counter for someone else to wash could irk her.
She went through the motions of pouring cereal into a bowl and boiling water onto a teabag robotically. Then she carried her tea and Shredded Wheat into the front room, trying to ignore the smell of last night’s kebab. The sun was streaming in through the windows, and the warmth of those rays on her back as she settled onto the sofa was soothing. Something wasn’t right, though, and Grace paused, spoon midway to her mouth, trying to figure out what it was.
There wasn’t a sound to be heard other than the dull thrum of traffic in the distance, and that’s when it came to her.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. She’d heard the door earlier, signalling Chris and Ulla had headed out, but even the noisy neighbours on the left, who could always be counted on for a bit of banging about, were quiet this morning. She suddenly missed Binky, who belonged to the people in the end house. Their tabby cat believed in spreading the love, and Grace wished she was in her customary corner of the sofa, purring loudly, but even she was apparently otherwise engaged.
There was nothing else for it but to put the tele on, she decided, and picked up the remote. Her shoulders slowly unknotted as squeaky high-pitched voices bounced off the walls and neon-bright children’s cartoon colours filled the screen. That was better.
Being on her own wasn’t one of Grace’s strong points. It was the biggest difference between her and Ava. Her introvert twin craved alone time, whereas Grace felt lost if left in her own company for too long. It had been a source of irritation between them when they were younger, with Grace running to their mam to say Ava wouldn’t play with her and Ava biting back that Grace wouldn’t leave her alone. These days, they accepted their differences, because, like yin and yang, they fitted.
She chewed through the rest of her cereal and picked up her phone to check the time, but it was still too early to call Ava and talk over her conversation with Clara, so she tossed it back down on the sofa with a sigh. This time-difference business was very annoying.
It was then that her peripheral vision caught a shadowy movement in the doorway too large to be Binky. Fear spiked as she clutched her spoon like a weapon and spun in her seat to face the door.
‘Aaargh!’ Grace’s scream as she registered the male figure framed in the doorway was ear-piercing. It took her a second to swallow it, even when she registered it was Chris standing there.
‘Jaysus, Grace, I know I’m a singer in a band, but I’m hardly the frontman for The Beatles now, am I? There’s no need for the screaming, and what were you going to do with that spoon – whack me over the knuckles?’ Chris held his hands up in mock surrender, a cheeky smile twitching.
Grace’s hand was resting on her chest, and she could feel her heart banging beneath it as the adrenaline pumped through her body. ‘I thought I was the only one home. I heard the door go earlier and assumed you and Ulla had gone out.’ She shot back accusatorily, lowering the spoon she was still clasping in her right hand.
‘I was upstairs. I fell asleep again, to be honest. It’s the late nights. They catch up eventually. It would have been Ulla you heard going out. She left earlier for a modelling job. The photos are being taken someplace they can only access on a Saturday.’
Grace reined in her bully for her comment on the tip of her tongue. Her heart rate was slowly returning to normal, and she was annoyed that no one in the neighbourhood had banged on their front door to see what the screaming was about. So much for the Neighbourhood Watch stickers in all their windows!
‘I’m sorry I startled you, but I can’t believe you didn’t hear me coming down the stairs.’
He had a fair point. The stairs squeaked, and he was lead-footed when ascending and descending them. She could testify to this, because he often woke her up thudding up them after a late-night gig.
‘I was miles away.’
‘Engrossed in your show there?’ Chris still gave her that half grin as he dipped his head toward the children’s programme.
‘No. And, for your information, I don’t watch cartoons as a rule, but I needed some background noise. It helps me think.’ Grace reached for the remote and turned the TV down.
Chris cocked an eyebrow at that. ‘Anything you want to share? You can tell me to mind my own business if you want.’ He filled the doorway, leaning against the frame.
Grace momentarily visualised him shirtless but with a cowboy hat on – her favourite fantasy – those piercing blue eyes peering out from under the brim at her. The image made her avert her eyes. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. ‘I was speaking to Clara earlier—’
‘Is she OK?’ he asked, his voice laced with concern as he edged into the room. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s Alfie.’
‘No. It’s not Alfie, thank goodness. He’s fine.’
Grace knew Chris had a soft spot for Clara, as she did him. Her friend had been really touched when he’d gone to see Alfie in the children’s hospital. That was several years ago now, and Alfie was into the last year of his three-year treatment plan, which involved monthly visits up to the hospital in Crumlin and daily medication at home. He was doing well; Clara was confident he was going to be fine. Only now he might wind up homeless. It wasn’t fair, Grace thought with a hiccup as her vision blurred. She felt so useless sitting here in Tottenham!
Chris shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and shifted from foot to foot in a manner that suggested he wasn’t used to girls tearing up on him. She doubted Ulla had ever cried, not even as a baby. ‘What then?’
‘They’ve had torrential rain in Emerald Bay.’
‘So?’
Grace blinked hard. Tears wouldn’t help.
Chris frowned, lifting his broad shoulders up then letting them fall back down. ‘What’s new? I mean, that’s hardly breaking news.’
‘No.’ Grace shook her head furiously. ‘Not just rain. Really, really bad rain. Houses damaged sort of rain. The school’s flooded too. They’ve lost all sorts of equipment.’
Chris’s slouchy demeanour became rigid. ‘Feck. Not good. Clara’s cottage is damaged then?’
Grace dipped her head. She wanted to tell him about Clara’s lack of insurance but worried she’d be breaking her friend’s confidence. She chose her words carefully. ‘The roof collapsed over her front room, and the house got flooded. Clara and Alfie are at her parents’, and I’d say they will be for a while, too.’
‘Ah well, no one was hurt. Is that it then?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Tears seem a little extreme, that’s all. I mean, things can be replaced. Buildings can be fixed.’
‘You sound like my mam, and I wasn’t crying, for your information. I had something caught in my throat.’
‘And your eyes.’
‘Have you not got somewhere else to be?’ Grace so wasn’t in the mood for flippancy.
‘I’m meeting up with the lads but not till later.’ Chris flopped down on the sofa next to her. ‘Come on then – what else is going on?’
‘Nothing.’ But Grace’s usual propensity for being unable to keep a secret had her squirming in her seat as Chris’s intense gaze fell upon her. He might as well be shining a bright light in her eyes and telling her to confess. Mind, Clara hadn’t said her predicament was a secret, and besides, Chris was her friend too, which was why she blurted, ‘Clara’s after letting her house insurance lapse, because she was strapped for cash at Christmas and she didn’t want Alfie to miss out given everything he’s been through. So she’s uninsured when it comes to the repair work the house’ll need. And the school did all sorts of fundraising to get their new computers, and they’re all ruined. And-and’ – her voice was wobbling dangerously – ‘I’m sitting here eating breakfast and watching cartoons!’
Chris stared at her with disbelief. ‘Clara let her insurance go?’
Grace nodded.
He shook his head slowly. ‘What a stupid, dumb—’
‘Eejitty thing to do. She knows that, but it’s done now.’
‘What about her parents? They’ll help her out, won’t they?’
‘I’m sure they would, but Clara says she won’t let them, because they’ve bailed her out enough over the years. They’re saving to go and see her brother in Australia. You know yourself how proud she is. She’s got this thing about needing to stand on her own two feet and Alfie being her responsibility, no one else’s. But isn’t that what family is all about? Helping each other in times of need?’
‘It is, but life’s not always black and white. Clara told me once how judged she felt for Alfie not having a dad on the scene and how it made her feel she had to be twice the mam everyone else is.’
‘But it’s not fair. Especially after everything she’s gone through with Alfie. And don’t you dare say life isn’t fair. I know that already. I knew that from the moment Clara told me Alfie was sick.’
Chris nodded, his arm reaching out to her, but he quickly snatched it back.
What had he been about to do? Grace wished that whatever it was, he’d gone ahead and done it. The moment had been and gone, however.
‘How bad is it then? The damage I mean.’ Chris’s gaze was fixed on the ugly flowers in the Axminster carpet now.
‘Bad.’
‘What are we talking? Hundreds? Thousands?’
‘Thousands.’
Chris raised his gaze to look at her then.
‘I’d help her out if I could, but I’m strapped.’ Grace added a silent permanently to the end of her sentence.
‘I don’t have that sort of money either.’
‘It wouldn’t matter if either of us did. She was already twittering on about not taking charity.’
They lapsed into silence, both staring at the hideous carpet now as if it would provide them with solutions. Then Chris swivelled to face Grace once more.
‘We fundraise.’
‘What?’
‘We fundraise. Not just for Clara’s house. For the school too, like. She can’t get on her high horse then.’
His eagerness sparked excitement in Grace. It spluttered and danced then petered away, because other than door-knocking with a white bucket asking for donations, she didn’t know how to go about something like that. Besides, they’d already had the conversation about Clara not accepting charity.
‘What about a music festival?’
‘Huh?’ Grace stared at him blankly.
‘A music festival,’ Chris repeated.
‘Like Glastonbury or All Points East?’
‘Yeah, only in Emerald Bay. That way people are getting something in return for their money. It’s not charity per se.’
Grace side-eyed him incredulously. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘Yeah, why not? I mean, not on the scale of those big ones, obviously – more of a day event. I’ve got a mate who organised one in Scotland last year. I can pick his brains, and I know the lads would get behind it when they know it’s for a good cause. I’m sure I could get other bands on board too.’
By lads, Grace assumed he meant The Shamrockers, and his growing enthusiasm for the idea as he began drumming his fingers on the sofa arm was sort of contagious, because she hadn’t come up with anything better.
But when Chris fixed those denim-blue eyes on her and said, ‘I’m serious, Grace. We could do this,’ she was sold.
It was the ‘we’ that did it.