The Fix Up, page 10
It looked like Moss.
With the same copper curls and about the right height, the guy had on a battered leather jacket that could have been the twin of the one Moss owned.
Why would he be there?
Calm down. No doubt so do thousands of other guys, especially if they ride motorbikes or are of a certain age. Didn’t they say everyone had a double somewhere? This was more than likely Moss’.
Or was it?
Surely it couldn’t be him? He had said he was busy until later, when he would head to her house. Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder, and on the spur of the moment decided to get closer for a better look.
Arietta dodged three women deciding—or, it seemed, unable to decide—on earrings, and a lady with a dog in a tie-dyed jacket who blocked the walkway between stalls. Manoeuvred around a couple choosing tomatoes who disagreed loudly over firm or ripe, Green Beefsteak, whatever they were, or Roma, and tried to follow the man in question without showing she was.
She knocked into a boy on a skateboard who wobbled, grabbed her arm to steady himself, accidentally brushed the side of her boob and blushed the colour of the tomatoes she’d just passed. It was a close-run thing who was the most apologetic. At least half a dozen people turned to see what had happened, and Arietta decided she could never be an undercover agent.
The bloke didn’t pay any attention, though, thank goodness—she’d hate to be caught staring at a stranger. He ignored the chatter and mayhem behind him and headed for the water’s edge, where he joined a young girl of around thirteen or fourteen who wore a jacket similar to his and leant on the railings as she idly threw bread into the water. He said something and the girl nodded, flung her arms around his neck then slid one arm into his and urged him towards an ice cream stall, talking and gesticulating as she did. He laughed, nodded and walked away with her, totally at ease, as he said something and the girl’s reply of “Daad,” was heard clearly across the intervening yards.
Daad? Arietta’s head spun and she grabbed onto the nearest thing she could find—a tall woman in a waxed jacket, who looked at her in concern. “I say, are you all right? You’ve gone grey and you look as if you can’t see very well. Should I call a doctor?”
Oh, Lord. That was the last thing she needed. “No, sorry I forgot to eat breakfast and I need food, I just went a bit lightheaded,” Arietta improvised rapidly. “I’m off to get another coffee and a big sticky bun. But thank you, and I’m sorry I grabbed you like that. You must have wondered what the hell was going on.”
The woman smiled. “I did wonder if it was a novel way of pickpocketing for a sec. Then I worried you were going to die on me.”
“Oh glory, sorry again.” How mortifying. “I hope no dying in my immediate future. It’s my fault for not remembering the market was on and rushing out when I did. I’ll make a note not to be so daft in the future.”
“Good idea.” The woman glanced at her watch and yelped. “Almost time to get Tamara and Ronan from nursery. Glad you’re okay.” They nodded to each other and went off in different directions, the lady almost running, Arietta at a more leisurely pace.
As she reached the queue for the cake stall, she saw the guy and the teen again as they stood next to a stall of scarves and accessories. She half turned away, but not so much that she couldn’t study them clearly. The guy so did look like Moss. Even though she’d already had the double take you never knew where or when you’d meet your doppelganger moment, Arietta was taken aback. Seriously. Enough already. Just mention it to Moss when I see him, and we can laugh about it.
As long as it wasn’t him.
The young girl pointed to a scarf. Her voice rang out clearly. “Don’t you think that would suit Mum?”
He nodded. “Matches her eyes.”
It was red and gold.
“Daad.” The teen giggled. “Bet you wouldn’t say that to her face.” They moved so the side of the stall was between them and Arietta.
“Lord, no.”
Due to the depth of feeling he put into the word, Arietta could imagine the shiver or eye-rolling that accompanied it.
“I bet not. Come on, Dad, should I buy it? We did promise Mum we wouldn’t be too late back.”
“Yes, buy it, and we’ll head home, and be in your mum’s good books. Do you have enough money?”
Arietta had got to the head of the queue, and by the time she’d made her purchases, paid for them and turned away, the other two had gone.
Judging by the conversation she’d overheard, it wasn’t Moss she’d noticed. Nevertheless, the incident left her unsettled. She had it bad if she saw him everywhere.
Somewhere nearby a clock chimed a half hour. Arietta glanced at her watch and decided it was time to collect the rest of her purchases and head home.
* * * *
Of course there was a tailback to get out of the car park. It was just her luck. However, there was no point in getting antsy so Arietta turned on the radio, drummed her fingers in time with the music and sat patiently as three lanes of traffic from different directions filtered into one line that led to the road proper. She never could understand why people got so worked up about stuff like that. It didn’t make the queue move any faster and just got you all hot and bothered for no reason. Plus it probably did nothing for your blood pressure. She slipped a mint into her mouth and happily crunched it.
The car in front of her reached the head of their string of traffic and moved off. Arietta waited as a car from each of the other lanes left then edged forward. Just as she manoeuvred into position to be the next to leave, she caught a glimpse of a red Ferrari out of the corner of her eye.
Nice.
She had to hope whoever drove it had parked well away from idiots. It was the sort of car that shouted ‘scrape me’! The sort of car she was unlikely ever to drive in, let alone own, even if she won the lottery. She’d had a list of must-do and must-have with that imaginary winnings, and a car that ate money via the petrol pumps wasn’t on it. A lovely car, but not a lot of use on the lanes and narrow, twisting roads near to her cottage. It would bottom out on the lumps and bumps.
Halfway home the Ferrari overtook her with a throaty roar and as it got to the next T-junction headed down the road that led to the nearest town. Arietta turned in the opposite direction.
* * * *
An hour later, the curry was all ready to be reheated, the rice waiting next to the rice cooker ready to be switched on and everything else under control. She’d unpacked her purchases, put them where she wanted them for now, though no doubt that would alter, changed her going-out trousers and smartish blouse for a floaty skirt and a T-shirt and headed outside. The sky had cleared and the sun was out. It wasn’t hot, but a good warm temperature where, with little or no wind, you could sit outside and enjoy it before the midges took over. As much as Arietta enjoyed summer—when they actually had weather that was at all summerlike, not a given in Scotland—she longed for September, when the midges began to go and you could enjoy walking by the river in an evening without being bitten. For now, though, she’d enjoy the chance to sit outside as she waited for Moss.
It was unusual that Moss hadn’t texted or phoned to see if she needed anything, but she reasoned she had said she was going to cook and everything was under control. She didn’t need anything, except him there. The wine was chilling, she had beer in the fridge and lemon and ice cubes for the gin, or fizzy water. All options covered.
Conscious of the fact that for some unknown reason she was antsy, Arietta deadheaded a few roses, watered some pots and wondered what next. She headed inside, picked up the daily paper, went back out again and began to tackle the crossword to take her mind off Moss’ non-appearance. As ever, once she got started she was oblivious to most things and another half an hour had passed before she realised she was stuck on the last four clues, Moss still hadn’t turned up, and it was a lot later than his usual arrival time.
Arietta put the paper down in disgust. There was a new crossword compiler and she hadn’t sussed out his way of thinking yet. She’d read a book instead.
Her tummy rumbled and she put her hand over it. Should she eat her dinner and save his or just have a snack?
A delve into the fridge decided her. She’d snack, because if for any reason he didn’t turn up, the curry would save. Armed with some homemade pâté and just a couple of crackers, Arietta made herself a small gin and tonic and, feeling slightly fraudulent—she rarely drank gin alone—headed back to her favourite garden chair. With a bit of luck, she would get another forty or so minutes outside before the midges drove her in. She left the paper on the table and picked up a book by a new-to-her author in the hope it would engage her interest.
It didn’t.
The characters were one-dimensional, the author appeared to have a love of certain words and started almost every sentence of dialogue with ‘so’, and as far as she could tell she had a good idea who the murderer was by page ten, with no inclination to read on to discover if she was correct. It was destined for the charity shop. She might not like it but that wasn’t to say someone else wouldn’t.
Ten minutes later, just as she finished her snack, there was a throaty, grumbling roar in the lane.
A bit like the sound of the Ferrari she’d noticed earlier. Arietta imagined whoever was driving it had mistaken the lane for the road they wanted. Hopefully they were well-insured, had navigated around the potholes and hadn’t lost too much paint or half of their exhaust on the way from the village. She expected to hear it drive past then five minutes later return as it had discovered the lane ended a few fields down. Therefore she was surprised to hear it stop and two doors slam.
Damn and blast. Now she’d need to dredge up her local knowledge or hunt out a map on her phone. Why did people ignore the no-through road sign? It wasn’t there for fun or to fool you.
Arietta dusted the crumbs from her lap and stood up, ready to head inside and to the front door. Where had she put the key?
She didn’t have to worry. Footsteps sounded on the gravel path that edged the house. Someone who understood that very often people in the countryside ignored front doors as they were inconveniently placed for the everyday movements indoors? When Arietta was a child the room at the front of the house—the lounge—was only occupied on a Sunday afternoon or when the vicar came to call. Everyday living took place in the kitchen or a smaller room next to it. And these days the vicar rarely called and would use the back door anyway. As Doug, who had an ordained cousin, said, the back door was usually nearer the kettle and the cake tin. Gregory, his relative, put on two stones in his first year as a parish priest.
She would swear the guy and the young girl she’d noticed at the market came into view, hand in hand and with different expressions.
He looked worried. She appeared sceptical.
Both looked nervous.
It was Moss.
‘Dad’?
She felt sick. Dad? Moss was Dad.
Chapter Seven
“You weren’t answering your phone. I’ve left several messages, including one about dinner.”
What? “Ah…” Where was it? “I plugged it in to charge a couple of hours or so ago, it was with me until then,” Arietta said shortly. The last thing she wanted to do was get involved in small talk or feel wrong-footed. Why did she ever listen to men or let them into her life? Because it seemed as soon as she did, they hurt her. Lied and prevaricated and did the dirty.
Hell, she felt dirty. Dirty and betrayed. It didn’t matter the relationship was all a pretence, she’d been beginning to warm to him. Trust him. And now this.
Moss narrowed his eyes as if he could read her thoughts. “I’m certain I tried before that.”
“Doesn’t seem like it and I’ve no idea where I put it, sorry. I wasn’t expecting calls.” Hoping, though. What am I like, I need a pouch and a lanyard for it. Which sounded most uncomfortable. “I didn’t hear it ring once I was home, sorry.” Stop saying sorry.
“Or your landline,” Moss added flatly. “I was worried. I couldn’t get in touch with you.”
“Fault on the line,” Arietta said shortly. His blame-her attitude was beginning to irritate her. “Due to be fixed next week.” Oh how she’d have liked to have added, ‘So why were you only going to ring last hour or so? What was wrong with earlier?’ However, after a swift glance to the enthralled teen next to him, she decided against it. Whatever their dirty linen was going to be, she had no intention of airing it in public, even if the said public was obviously related to one of them.
“I needed to speak with you,” Moss said. Had he been going to tell her before they turned up that he had someone with him and who it was? Arietta wondered uneasily. Would it have made the situation any better? Probably not. It was a bit late in the day to say ‘oh by the way, I forgot to mention it, but…’ She was conscious she was hurt by his lack of openness.
“Dad was worried,” the teen added. “So we came to see if you were okay.”
Dad… Yeah… What was she supposed to say or do? Arietta did her best not to act as if the bottom had fallen out of her world at his duplicity. No significant other indeed. Did an ex or not an ex—that was somewhat unclear—whatever and a daughter not count? Instead, she did her utmost to achieve a non-accusing, subtly enquiring and non-threatening expression. She wasn’t sure she achieved it. By the expression on Moss’ face, he didn’t think she had either.
Moss cleared his throat. The teen had a faintly worried expression, as if she was certain that whatever would be said would bear little resemblance to the truth.
Well, it seemed it hadn’t in the past so why should it now? Damn her phone. I wonder where I’ve put it? She glanced enquiringly at Moss, her hands clenched and hidden in her pockets. What next?
“What did you want to speak about?” she asked in as pleasant a tone as she could muster. “I’m all ears.”
His expression showed he doubted that.
“Ah, Arietta, this is Audie.” Moss paused, and when Arietta didn’t respond, he sighed. “My daughter. Audie, this is Arietta. The lady your mother is certain does not exist.”
What? Whatever she had expected to hear, it wasn’t that. What had she got to do with Audie’s mother and why did it matter if she existed or not? What part did the mother play in Moss’ life? So many questions and not a one answered. Arietta opened her mouth to ask, however good manners came to the fore instead and she held her hand out. “Hello.” ‘Pleased to meet you’ stuck in her throat and she left it unsaid. “Why does your mother think I don’t exist?” Who is your mother? Are your parents still involved in a more than share-a-daughter way? Why didn’t I know any of this?
Audie shrugged. “She reckoned Dad made you up so he didn’t look like a Billy No-Mates or find an excuse not to go to her wedding. She’s finally decided to take the plunge and wants Dad there to show there’s no ill feeling. Which there’s no reason for there to be. Though why she prefers her husband-to-be over Dad I have no idea, but then I’m not Mum.”
What wedding am I going to and no one has told me about? Hold on, her wedding, not Moss’ and her wedding? Or are they retaking their vows and he’s here to say hi and goodbye? No, that doesn’t make sense. Actually, none of it does. Argh, enough already. The little bubble of doubt and worry began to grow. Now she wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but not in front of his daughter. Arietta’s temper began to simmer and she had to fight the urge not to tap her foot. Not a good sign.
“Audie, language,” Moss warned. “I’ve got nothing to do with it. I’m your dad, no more, no less. Anyway, I thought you liked him?”
Well that partly sorts that question out. One down and a million to go.
“Well, duh, I do, what’s not to like? But honestly, Dad, he’s so…so wet, you know that. A right numpty. He doesn’t even like watching golf, let alone playing it. As for swimming or tennis or—”
It was Moss’ turn to roll his eyes. “Enough, hon. Nor do a lot of people. He’s…okay,” Moss finished.
“But wet? A numpty? Okay a nice one but…” The teen rolled her eyes. “Honest, he so is. And before you say anything, Dad, I know he loves Mum, and she loves him and they’re loved-up and you know they don’t exclude me and all that, but he’s still wet.”
“I plead the fifth, or anything which won’t incriminate me. Now, no more, or I might start using your full name.” He grinned and ruffled Audie’s hair. “Should I?”
“No.” Audie giggled. “Daad, my hair… First it got all blown about and now you’ve messed it up again. Gah, men. You have no idea, do you?”
Moss looked quizzical then grinned. “Poor useless creatures we are, says the man who conquered a ponytail when you were three and plaits two years later.”
“Neither of which I have now,” Audie pointed out. “Irrelevant.” She put her hands on Moss’ sides and began to tickle him.
He laughed. “Enough, you hoyden. Or I’ll say M—”
“Noooooooo.” Audie shook her head and dropped her hands to cuddle him around the waist instead. “I’ll be good.” She wrinkled her nose as Moss raised his eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll try to be good,” she amended. “Can’t promise, though.”
“Try works.”
Arietta could sense and see how close father and daughter were. One point in his favour, versus a hell of a lot against. Sadly, the one point for didn’t help the way she felt betrayed.
“As for my name,” Audie went on, “do not even think about it. Not unless you want me to tell everyone about the time you got your toe stuck up—”
Stuck up? Arietta’s mind boggled. Stuck up where? Or what to? Or… Stop it now.
Moss put his hand over his daughter’s mouth and she giggled behind his palm. “Okay, truce,” he said as he grinned at her. “Right, so now you’ve seen Arietta exists we’d better get you back to your mum.” He turned to Arietta. “I’ll be back when I can. Sorry about supper and so on. Hope you can do something with it?”
