The Doris Day Vintage Film Club. Fiona Harper

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ air conditioning and I can give you door-to-door service.’

      Maggs adjusted the light cardigan she’d slung over her shoulder. ‘I suppose I can keep you company, if you want. There’s something I need to talk to you about, anyway.’

      ‘Club business?’ Claire asked absent-mindedly as she flicked off the lights and they both exited onto the landing.

      ‘Not exactly,’ Maggs muttered as she followed behind.

      *

      Given the fact she had something to say, Maggs was very quiet on the drive home. She didn’t speak until they were almost there. ‘I had a letter from your father,’ she announced suddenly, staring straight ahead, looking for all the world as if she’d just told Claire she had a hairdressing appointment in the morning.

      Claire didn’t decide to brake hard – she just did – causing both her and Maggs to fly forward until their seat belts engaged, digging into their chests then flinging them back into their seats again. She turned to stare at Maggs, only half aware her fingers were making dents in the steering wheel.

      ‘What …? I mean, how …?’ She shook her head, kept on shaking it. ‘How did he know your address?’

      Maggs shrugged and glanced at her. Now that Claire was looking at her more carefully, she could see that Maggs wasn’t as blasé about the whole thing as she’d first thought. There was a tension around her mouth, as if someone had pulled a drawstring round it, crinkling its edges.

      ‘To be honest, I have no idea, but he wrote to me anyway.’

      Claire realised that her little Fiat was blocking the narrow Victorian street, lined with parked cars on both sides. It was only a matter of time before some other motorist started honking their horn or swearing at her. She slid the car into gear and eased away slowly. ‘What did he want?’

      ‘To see you.’

      The urge to brake hard again was strong, but Claire managed to beat it. Instead, she concentrated on indicating left and turning into Maggs’s road. ‘Why now?’ she whispered, more to herself than her passenger.

      Maggs sighed. ‘He didn’t say.’

      Claire’s brows lowered and pinched the skin at the top of her nose. Of course he hadn’t said. Her father had never felt the need to explain anything he did, had only saw fit to issue orders. She stewed on that thought as she performed a perfect parallel park outside Maggs’s house.

      ‘But reading between the lines,’ Maggs continued as the car came to a halt, ‘I’d say he’s ill.’

      Claire realised she was squeezing the life out of her steering wheel again and deliberately peeled her fingers from its warm surface. ‘I don’t care,’ she said. She could feel Maggs looking at her, and Maggs kept looking until Claire gave in and twisted her head to stare back at her. ‘I don’t.’

      ‘He’s your father,’ Maggs said simply.

      She nodded. She knew that.

      ‘If anyone knows the pain of not taking an opportunity to make things right while you can, it’s me.’

      Claire sighed. There was a difference. Maggs had had a silly quarrel with Sid the day before he’d died and the following morning she’d been monosyllabic with him at breakfast. He’d told her she was being childish then went out to fetch a pint of milk from the corner shop. She’d never seen him again. Not until she’d had to identify his body. Heart attack. No one had seen it coming, not even Sid, who’d declared himself as fit as an ox until the day his body had so unceremoniously contradicted him.

      ‘It’s not the same,’ Claire mumbled. She hadn’t seen her father since she was eleven. But she’d never been sad she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye properly; she’d been glad. Glad he’d never come back. Glad she didn’t have to go and spend weekends and half the school holidays with him. Glad her mother slowly stopped being the quiet, shrunken woman he’d turned her into.

      Maggs made a noise of grudging agreement, then she delved into her ever-present patent black leather handbag and pulled out a crumpled envelope and held it out to her.

      Claire stared at it. She didn’t even want to touch it.

      When she refused to respond, Maggs folded the envelope in two and tucked it into Claire’s handbag, which was nestled in the passenger footwell. ‘Never say never,’ she said quietly before she kissed Claire on the cheek, then reached for the door handle. ‘Because never is a very long time,’ she added, as she gently unclipped her seatbelt and got out of the car.

      Claire tried to look cheerful, but it felt wrong, as if her smile was sitting wonky on her face. She waved her farewell and, when Maggs had disappeared inside, she put the car in gear and drove away.

Chapter Four

       I Can Do Without You

      Claire slid her key into the bottom lock of her front door, only half aware of what she was doing. An image of her father, stern and disapproving as he sat in his favourite armchair, would not be dislodged from her head. She hated that it was lingering in her brain like a squatter almost as much as she’d hated being summoned to see him all those years ago.

      Her mother had always kept a nice house, had taken pains to make it feel welcoming and homey. They’d had yellow walls in the hallway and lounge, so it would always feel like the sun was shining even when it wasn’t, her mother had said. But Claire couldn’t picture that when she remembered standing there, frozen with fear, outside the living room door.

      Her memories were bleached, making the light weak and pale blue, like the morning after a snowfall. Even now the thought of that cold light made her shiver.

      The longer she’d stood there hesitating, the more the image of her father behind the door had grown in her mind, large and imposing, like one of those statues of Lenin she’d seen in a history book, until he and his stupid armchair had filled the room.

      Eventually, she’d pushed the door open with her fingertips, secretly hoping it would stick, but it had always swung open; he’d been fastidious about DIY. Getting the walk and the expression on her face just right had been of the utmost importance. Too bright and bouncy and he’d think she was being flippant. Too dour and slow and he’d say she looked guilty.

      She closed her eyes and shook her head as she dealt with the top lock. He wasn’t there any more. Not in that house where she’d grown up. Certainly not in her life. He really shouldn’t still be here, deep inside her skull. A rush of warmth tingled from her fingers up to her face. She was angry with him for making her think of him when she’d erased him from her consciousness so completely. Angry with him for contacting her. For pretending for even the tiniest millisecond that he cared.

      Anyway, festering about the past was not the way she’d chosen to live her life. She’d learned that much from Doris Day at least.

      She pushed her glossy black front door open and moved to step inside, but it bounced back and smashed her in the face.

      Ow.

      She СКАЧАТЬ