Chapter 8
The following day, I went to Manchester for my appointment with HitSquad. Compared to my dressing-down from Nonna, the interview itself was a cinch. I’d secretly hoped to be offered the job on the spot so that I could arrive back in Barnaby triumphant but that wasn’t to be. However, as I stepped off the Manchester train at Chesterfield and hopped on a bus back to the village, I thought I’d acquitted myself reasonably well considering I’d barely slept a wink all night.
The look on Nonna’s face still haunted me; I’d never seen her so angry. She must be aware that the accounts were in a terrible state? Perhaps her behaviour was simply defensive, fuelled by fear? But it was the envelope marked privato with the photographs and document in it that had seemed to really fire her up and I couldn’t help wondering who was in the pictures. I would love to see pictures of my Italian family and I know Mum would too. But if they were simply family snaps why be so prickly about them? Why the big secret?
Whatever it was, I thought with a sigh, gazing out of the bus window, she’d made it very clear it was none of my business, so the sooner I could move on with my life and get a new job sorted out the better.
My interview at HitSquad had been quite a shock after spending a month in sleepy Barnaby. It was one of the trendiest buildings I’d ever been in: an open-plan glass box with squishy sofas, loud music at one end and a chill-out zone at the other. The whole thing was a world away from the saggy armchairs and tinkle of teaspoons at the Lemon Tree Café.
The weather in Manchester had been relentlessly wet, making the pavements slippery and turning the concrete charcoal grey but as the bus trundled over the hills towards Barnaby, the clouds parted and huge beams of sunlight skimmed the tops of the Peak District, painting them gold.
I’ll miss all this, I thought with a pang. I’d miss the bright yellow fields and the acres of green trees, the glint of the river running through the valley, the blossom in the hedgerows and the fat lambs headbutting each other playfully. But there’d be people in Manchester, I consoled myself; lots of people and shops and no grumpy old women.
I stepped off the bus at the village green, steadfastly not looking in the direction of the café. I’d go home and email Michael and tell him how much I wanted the job and then perhaps head off towards the river for a run. I stepped off the pavement and immediately leapt back as Lia’s car screeched to a halt in front of me.
I waved to her.
‘Fancy coming back to mine for a coffee?’ I yelled through the window, before spotting that her face was red and her eyes were like saucers. ‘I can tell you all about my interview!’
She wound down the window and shook her head.
‘Oh, Rosie, I’m so glad you’re here,’ she panted. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Get in!’
She looked so panic-stricken that I didn’t argue.
‘What is it?’ I said, diving in through the passenger door.
She bit her lip. ‘I’m not entirely sure.’
My heart missed a beat as I glanced at Arlo asleep in his car seat. ‘He’s not ill, is he?’
‘No. It’s Dad,’ she said grimly. ‘I think he’s up to something.’
‘Such as?’ I blinked at her.
‘From where I was standing, it looked distinctly like he was meeting another woman.’
‘Dad?’ I gasped. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yeah. Belt up. This could be a bumpy ride.’
Good God, I thought, as Lia crunched through the gears, there was certainly never a dull moment in our family …
We sped off out of the village while she filled me in on the details.
‘We were having a walk along the tow path just past the little marina and I saw him. He turned into the car park of the Riverside Hotel. I waved but he didn’t spot me so I crossed the path towards the hotel thinking we could see if he had time for a drink.
‘I got to the entrance of the car park just as another car turned in. And this is where things turn nasty. This second car parked in the space next to Dad’s and a woman got out. So I hid myself and the pushchair round the corner of the hotel where I could spy on them. She was much younger than him: very thin and wearing a dress and boots and her hair was tied in a ponytail. Then Dad got out and they laughed and joked and he reached into the car and pulled out a denim jacket. A denim jacket, Rosie!’
The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and I shivered.
Last night I’d been round to Mum and Dad’s to tell them that I’d been sacked from the café; they’d known already, of course. Ken from the Mini Mart had told Dad when he called in for a Scotch egg on his way home. Ken’s wife had told him, who in turn had had a visit from Stella Derry. I shouldn’t imagine there was anyone left in Barnaby who didn’t know. Anyway, while I was there, Mum asked Dad if he’d like to take her for that lunch he’d been talking about for ages. Dad went bright red and said he couldn’t because he had a meeting that he couldn’t get out of. The question was: what sort of meeting was it?
‘Did you see them – you know – do anything?’ I swallowed, not sure I wanted to know the answer.
Lia shook her head. ‘They walked into the hotel together and when they reached the door, Dad held it open for her and put his hand on the small of her back.’
‘When was this?’
‘About half an hour ago. I’ve had to run back with the pushchair, fetch the car and transfer Arlo to his car seat. I haven’t moved so fast in years.’
Dad had a wardrobe full of tweed and wool. He was not a denim man. Or maybe he was. What did I know? Last week Mum had caught him eyeing up frilly underwear and then there was the unexplained red lipstick. I was beginning to think I didn’t know my father at all.
‘Oh hell,’ I muttered. ‘Mum said he was behaving oddly.’
I filled her in on the online lingerie ogling and the lipstick mark on his shirt and his claims of being busy today. There was also that other comment he made ages ago about fanning the flames of his smouldering passion. It was all making sense now, but oh, please let it not be true …
‘Oh God, that’s it, then; he’s definitely being unfaithful.’ Lia blinked away tears and the car tugged to one side as she rubbed her arm over her cheeks. ‘And why did Mum confide in you and not me? I’m only two years younger than you, not twenty.’
I gaped at her. ‘I was just there; it was circumstance, that’s all.’
Lia harrumphed as she turned into the car park of the Riverside Hotel.
There weren’t many cars here at this time in the afternoon, half a dozen maybe plus Dad’s and the mystery woman’s, which was a small blue Nissan. Lia slowed the car right down and we drove past Dad’s Volvo and into the far corner between a battered white van advertising French polishing and the hotel’s big green recycling bins where we were less conspicuous.
I turned to face her. ‘Whatever we find out could change the family for ever … Let’s face it together, put on a united front?’
Lia let out a long breath and turned off the engine. ‘You’re right. So. What are we going to do?’
‘Let’s go into reception, see if we can spot him and take it from there.’ I looked at her, trying to smile bravely. ‘There’s probably some perfectly innocent explanation and we’ll all end up laughing about this in years to come.’
Lia slid her eyes to me doubtfully. ‘I hope so.’
‘Me too.’
I got out of the car and Lia reached into the back to lift out Arlo.
He opened his eyes, blinked at his mum, then rubbed his face on her shoulder and went back to sleep.
My legs were trembling as we marched to the front door. I held the door open for Lia and the handle was sticky to the touch. I hadn’t been to the Riverside Hotel for ages. It had been the ‘in’ place to go when I was a teenager but it was a bit rundown these days. It all felt a bit sleazy and I was seized with sadness that my father, who I’d worshipped since I was small, might be inside with another woman.
‘Why come here,’ Lia murmured, ‘when the chance of discovery is so great?’
‘Why would Dad have an affair in the first place?’ I replied. ‘I thought he was devoted to Mum.’
Lia shrugged.
It all seemed so unlikely, but then in my experience, men were unpredictable, unreliable creatures so perhaps we shouldn’t have been surprised at all.
Just then one of the doors further down the corridor opened and Dad appeared from it. Lia and I pressed ourselves up against the wall like the worst private detectives ever. He was tapping an envelope into the palm of his other hand and humming a song that even at this distance I recognized as ‘Jolene’, one of his favourite Dolly Parton numbers. He crossed the corridor without looking in our direction and went through another door.
‘Oh my God,’ I spluttered, ‘look how pleased with himself he is. I’m going to find out what’s going on.’
‘Rosie! Wait,’ Lia cried, catching hold of my sleeve. ‘What are you going to say?’
But I shook her off and ran down the corridor with Lia scurrying behind me.
The sudden movement woke Arlo up and he began to build himself up to cry.
‘Oi,’ I yelled, barging my way through the door I’d seen Dad go through. ‘Alec Featherstone, come out here now and explain yourself.’
‘Rosie, that’s the Gents,’ Lia hissed, yanking me out.
‘Oops, sorry, sorry,’ I muttered, instantly going into reverse.
We hurriedly backed out of the men’s toilets but not before I’d seen two men, one of them Dad, hunched over the urinal, desperately trying to zip up their trousers.
We turned our heads away just as a man scurried out of the toilets hiding a wet patch on his crotch and Arlo let out a full-on wail.
Lia jiggled him up and down to comfort him but he didn’t stop.
‘Look,’ she said, nodding towards the entrance doors as a slim woman with high-heeled boots and a swinging ponytail pushed through them and exited to the car park. ‘That’s her!’
‘Come on. Let’s find out who she is.’ I lunged in the direction of the doors but Dad appeared from the Gents and I froze, rooted to the spot, my heart thumping against my ribs.
‘Hello, girls?’ said Dad, with a confused sort of smile.
Lia simply sucked her cheeks in and raised her eyebrows.
I stared at the man I’d loved more than any other all my life. Please, Dad, please let this be a big misunderstanding …
My throat tightened and I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to speak. I’d never had grandfathers: even Dad’s own father had died before I’d got the chance to know him. Dad had been my only male role model. I’d put him on a pedestal ever since I was a little girl. I could feel a bubble of anger building up; for Mum but also for myself. How could he let us down?
‘Good grief, young man,’ said Dad, wiggling Arlo’s foot. ‘That’s a racket and a half.’
Arlo stopped crying and launched himself at Dad who took him from Lia.
‘What are you doing here?’ Lia asked.
‘Besides trying to have a private wee, you mean?’ he said with a half-laugh.
‘Dad.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose. ‘We’ve got to know. Are you or are you not having an affair with that woman, owner of a Nissan Note?’
I jabbed a finger in the direction of the doors.
Dad stared down the corridor, his mouth opening and closing twice before he managed to splutter a reply. ‘I won’t dignify that with an answer.’
‘Ha! Bridget Jones,’ I said triumphantly. ‘Caught red-handed.’
‘What?’ He frowned from Lia to me.
‘It’s a line from one of the Bridget Jones films,’ she explained and then looked at me. ‘It looks like we were right to fear the worst.’
Dad ran his spare hand through his fine blond hair, sending it into fluffy peaks. ‘You’ve totally lost me.’
‘It’s what Mark Darcy says to Bridget Jones when she asks him if he’s having an affair with Rebecca. Her friends tell her that if Mark says “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer”, then it proves he is.’ I folded my arms and looked at Lia. She was trying to look brave but failing, her bottom lip was doing that wobbly thing, which was a dead giveaway.
‘So now we know,’ I said, tilting my chin up.
Lia leaned to whisper in my ear. ‘Only Mark Darcy actually wasn’t having an affair with Rebecca, was he? So in theory …’
‘Shh.’ I gave her a sharp look, although she did have a point.
‘Does Mum know who you’re meeting?’ Lia asked, tilting her chin up too.
‘No.’ He looked shifty and tried to change the subject by murmuring to Arlo.
I wrapped my arm round Lia’s shoulder. Like we were comrades in arms. ‘You must admit, Dad, it does look a bit weird. You being here. In a hotel. With a woman.’
‘In a denim jacket,’ Lia added. ‘I didn’t think you were a denim-jacket man.’
‘Well, it might look weird,’ Dad went red and then pulled himself up tall, ‘but despite everything you know about me, the conclusion my own daughters come to is that I’m having an affair. Well, thanks. Thanks a bunch.’
‘So enlighten us!’ I said, holding my palms out.
‘I will not,’ he said, rolling his shoulders back and jutting out his chin.
‘I think that tells us everything we need to know. Kindly hand me my nephew,’ I fumed.
Dad kissed Arlo tenderly, handed him back to me and took a few paces towards the exit. Then he turned slowly and sighed.
‘Girls, have faith in your old dad, OK? Just for a week. One week. I beg you.’
The pained expression on his face broke my heart and I felt my anger beginning to melt.
Lia looked at me, chewing her lip, waiting for me to respond.
‘OK.’ I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow my racing pulse. ‘Deal. But this had better be good.’
Dad’s mouth lifted into a smile and he planted shy kisses on both our foreheads.
‘I can’t promise that exactly,’ he said wryly. ‘But I do think it’ll be a surprise.’
He pushed through the doors to the car park and the two of us let out a breath.
‘Do you believe him?’ asked Lia, leaning her head against mine.
‘I want to,’ I murmured, watching the doors swing closed. ‘Because if our parents can’t make marriage work, then I don’t know who the hell can.’