I take a step back, cutting in, ‘You should go.’
Before he does the corners of Joe’s eyes crinkle with a sadness that wrenches my heart as he softly says, ‘Sometimes at night I would hear you gently whisper my name while you slept. You whisper other names now: Hope, Amina, Sheryl and Veronica.’
Seconds later there’s a swirl of cold air from the outside licking around my legs and then the soft click of the door closing. I stand there listening to Joe’s engine rev up and then him drive out of my life.
I sink on to the bottom step. My head bows forward as the tears fall.
CHAPTER 40
When Danny opens the door I throw myself at him, hug him tight and keep on crying. I’ve come straight from home where Joe left nearly an hour ago.
‘Eva? What on earth has happened?’ Danny’s clearly and quite rightly alarmed. He draws me inside. ‘Tell Daddy what’s happened.’
The time is half past one in the morning, well past the witching hour. It’s taken almost five minutes of me relentlessly using the buzzer to get him to open the automatic gates. Now we stand, father and daughter in the darkness; the only light is thrown by a lamp on the wall.
My tears are genuine.
‘I’m sorry.’ Sniffing, I frantically swipe the tears from my face. ‘I shouldn’t have come at this time of night or morning but’ – I gulp – ‘Joe’s walked out. I couldn’t stay in the house alone. I didn’t know what to do or where to go.’
Danny’s wearing pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, his arms exposed as if he doesn’t feel the cold. The lamplight lays a jaundice mask over his face. Before closing the door, he looks over my shoulder down the drive as if he suspects I’ve brought someone with me.
He pats my arm, sending me a sympathetic smile. ‘Let’s get a drink down you.’
He leads me down the hall, past his gallery of photos and his ‘operations room’ that holds all the material he’s gathered to look for my mother, although he hasn’t talked about looking for her for some time now. Its door is slightly open. He sweeps past taking me into his library, a magnificent circular room filled with tidy shelves of books and old maps and a ceiling with a round skylight. Danny puts on two wall lights that illuminate the wooden shelves and half-moon-shaped desk. He sits me down in a plush chair.
‘Whisky?’
‘I can’t, I’m driving.’
He fetches a decanter from the drinks cabinet anyway. ‘Don’t be silly, you’re not in a fit state to drive. Stay here until tomorrow. Obviously, you can stay here as long as you like.’ He pours me a drink and takes another chair nearby. ‘What did you argue with Joe about?’
I gulp the whisky, which makes me cough and splutter, and my eyes fill with tears again. Whatever this whisky is it’s some kind of firewater.
‘He’s angry with me because I won’t stop trying to understand what happened.’
‘You mean with your mother?’
‘Yes.’
He reaches over and takes my hand. ‘You’ve got to admit he’s got a point. At the same time, if you’ve lost a mother, at least you’ve found a father. Don’t upset yourself, Eva, everything will work out. He’s only looking out for your welfare. He’ll be back.’
We sit in silence for a while, in the half-light, until Danny says, ‘Why don’t you have a good night’s sleep in one of the guest rooms upstairs? We’ll talk more in the morning. Things will look different then.’
I leave the remainder of the whisky undrunk on a table.
I’ve been lying awake in the bed in Danny’s guest room for what must be half an hour. Danny’s still busy downstairs. What is he up to down there? Or is it obvious? My door is ajar so I can listen. There are spells when there’s silence below before another outburst of activity, doors closing and his feet shuffling along the hall. Finally, he pads his way softly upstairs. A light somewhere in the house throws his shadow through the crack in my door where he’s paused to listen. When he’s satisfied I’m asleep, Danny heads off down the landing to his room.
I give it fifteen minutes before quietly climbing out of bed and getting my kit out of my handbag: torch, gloves and a short crowbar. The same items I used inside the old, derelict block at the hospital. I shove them into my black trackie bottoms. I’m wearing a dark top too and a pair of Joe’s thick winter socks that I hope will muffle my footsteps.
I’m in a terrible state, tearful and on the edge. But I’m hoping my genuine upset has been enough to convince Danny that I’m here innocently.