Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Aunt Jen never let her illness get her down. Positive thinking was her motto, so Aunt Jen always put her own needs last. She had spent every waking hour with Uncle Lewis during his last days at Owl Heights. Everyone else was more important to her mind. Yet Jen never pried. She listened and she remembered; she remembered everything. All the news she saw on TV or read in the newspapers. All the comings and goings and doings of her family and friends, even the families of friends. She offered counsel when it was sought and she believed. She believed in us and she believed in God; it's what kept her going. But the worst was still to come.

Jen had finished her chemo and it had proved effective in keeping the fluid at bay. It had given her a chance to go out and about in the summer sun, but I was beginning to notice a change in her. The fluid was slowly returning; the cancer trying to reassert itself. Her face looked a little puffy, there was a faint yellowish caste to her skin and her asthma was troubling her again. But still she didn't complain.

I heard no word and saw no sign of Daniel that week. When I had called to see Aunt Jen on Monday morning, before work, the Lotus was still parked in the driveway, but the blinds were down in the house and the old Bonneville motorcycle was conspicuous by its absence. As I handed Jen some letters, which I had liberated from the post man, she handed me an envelope which bore a single letter, E. Daniel had left me a hastily scribbled note, 'Please feed Reggie for me. D'. For a man who used words for a living he didn't waste any in explanation. It was short and to the point; there was nothing else. No mention of the events of the previous evening, no suggestion of going on a date when he returned, whenever that would be. Just five little words.

So I had done as he requested, using my key to let myself in twice a day to attend to Reggie's every whim. I knew Daniel was busy on a new article for the Herald's events and entertainment page, but I had no idea where he was. I even logged on to Taylor Brock-Hart's Facebook page to find out what he was doing. From there I learned that our esteemed sporting celebrity was headed to Scotland to run in a half marathon the following weekend. Daniel must have gone along too.

Aunt Jen wanted to know why Daniel had seemed so down when he had called with the note.

“He just wasn't his usual self” she said. “He seems to have lost his sparkle.”

I didn't want to tell her what had caused the tension between us. She had enough to deal with right now.

On the shelf beside her chair stood a framed photograph of a viaduct with a complete rainbow arcing above. It had been taken at Yewell Country Park, but I had never seen it before.

“Daniel took me to the cafe after I visited the graveyard on our anniversary. It was a lovely afternoon. We had tea and cakes.”

Strange that Daniel had never mentioned it I thought. But I kept it to myself.

“Dolly would have taken you Aunt Jen” I said instead. “You know you only have to ask, he'll take you anywhere.”

“I doubt that I could get into Damien's rattletrap of a car” she retorted good naturedly, “never mind out of it again. It's enough to shake a body apart, or maybe gas them to death on fumes. It should be condemned.”

“Dolly loves 'The Mouse'!” I protested

“He does.”

“So you asked Daniel to drive you in his Lotus? That would be just as uncomfortable for you, I should think.”

“He came to visit me at Owl Heights one day. You had suggested he bring my Fiesta to give it a run. Don't you remember?”

I had completely forgotten. Now it made sense; Daniel hadn't mentioned it because an outing had been my idea in the first place.

“Emily, what's going on between you and Daniel?” Jen asked gently.

I brushed the question aside quickly.

“He's just busy with work; some important piece he's working on.”

However Jen wasn't convinced by my answer.

“Well, whatever it is I'm sure you'll work things out. I think he works too hard sometimes. You tell him from me to take a break after he's done with all the YCCS antics.”

“He probably won't listen.”

“You send him my way. I'll knock some sense into him.”

I smiled as the head-mistress in her surfaced once more.

Later that day I called into O'Neills Mini-Market on my way down to feed Reggie the cat. He had already eaten everything Daniel had left for him and I needed to restock. I had no idea how much the average cat should eat, but suspected the local Moggie Mafia were running midnight raids via the cat-flap. As I loaded up my basket with Tasty Moggie Morsels, I overheard Mrs O'Neill talking with her lady customer.

“D B Cooper's column is interesting this week, Mrs Allsop. I've already read it online”. She proffered the latest copy of 'The Herald', hot off the press. “He's written a lovely touching piece for the YCCS, all about a poor old lady with the Big C.”

Mrs Allsop remained non-committal. “He's a hands on reporter, you see; ran in that fun run just to give his column a little colour.”

“Don't trust no reporters” Mrs Allsop growled in response. “Made up all sorts of nonsense about my old dad, just because of his age and that other one being a mother on the school run.”

“You're not still harping on about his accident, are you?”

Mrs Allsop nodded.

“That reporter said he cut the corner and ploughed into her car; that Dad shouldn't be on the road. Never even spoke to him, mind. Never heard his side of it.”

“It wasn't his fault though, was it? He wasn't fined or anything.”

“No, he wasn't. But she tried to claim on his insurance. After admitting it was her fault she changed her story and blamed him. Lucky you saw it happen, Mrs O'Neill. Dad had to go to one of them claims things off the telly to get money

for his van.”

“Well it all worked out all right. You don't want a paper then?” Mrs O'Neill asked again, determined to make a sale.

Mrs Allsop shook her head and paid for her goods. “Cooper probably got up close and personal with that lady on purpose. That's what they do!”

As Mrs Allsop banged her way through the door I moved towards the counter. Yet more questions had risen in my turbulent mind. Daniel had talked about marriage only a few days ago. But what I had just overheard tore at the edges of my reasoning. I didn't want to believe the gossiping of a grumpy busybody such as Rosa Allsop, but the seeds of doubt were now firmly planted in my subconscious. I left the shop in confusion.

“Your change, Emily” Mrs O'Neill called out, “or a newspaper?” Just before the door clanged shut behind me she muttered. “Can't even give them away today.”