Part 30 (1/2)

28.

August 2009 Grant moved out of Tide House with the five hundred pounds in his pocket and the promise of wages, into one of the letting rooms above the Golden Hind. Living in the pub suited him and Jesse perfectly.

Grant had settled into his job on the fish market too. He did it well enough, even with a hangover, and over the next few weeks he stopped mithering Jesse about a bigger, better position in the company. At the moment he couldn't really face the extra responsibilities a higher position would entail; he was sure he would take his rightful place at the top of the tree in due course. 'I'm in clover,' he said to himself. 'Living in a pub, all the beer I can drink and a job that I can't be sacked from. Grant, lad, you landed on your a.r.s.e in b.u.t.ter all right.'

For his part, Jesse was relieved that Grant had apparently settled for his lot. Yes, he drank too much and was sometimes late for work or didn't turn up at all but, all in all, it was the best of a bad situation.

Greer had been very upset by Grant's reappearance, and Jesse's weakness in dealing with him. She had sanitised the house from top to bottom. 'This room needs fumigating,' she said, stomping around the beautiful lit bateau bed in the spare room that Grant had slept in.

'He's only been here a night,' said Jesse testily.

'But where was he the previous nights? Eh?' she'd demanded, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and stripping the duvet and mattress protector off.

'He was in hospital.'

'Yes, and we all know how filthy hospitals are nowadays, don't we?' She handed Jesse a black bin liner. 'Open that and hold it while I put this bedding in.' Jesse did as he was told. He watched Greer as she moved around the room picking up the towels that Grant had left in a damp heap on the beautiful suede chair by the window; finding three empty tins of Skinner's Wink behind the curtains, and curling her lips as she saw a pair of very dirty, rather stiff socks spread out on the radiator. Greer had been a good wife to him and a great mother to Freddie. When they had lost Louisa, he had made a promise to himself that he would be the best husband and father Greer and Freddie could hope for. And he'd held to that promise.

If there had been any vestige of longing for Loveday, he made sure he'd killed it. Smothering the thoughts till there was no breath left in them. He loved Greer in his own way and he knew she loved him.

'I do love you, Greer,' he said suddenly.

She stopped fussing with the clean sheets and looked at him. 'Don't try to get round me.'

'I'm not.' He put the stuffed bin liner down and came towards her. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her into him. 'I'm sorry about Grant. He won't come back here again.'

She tried to wriggle out of his embrace, saying, 'Too right he won't be coming back here again,' but he held her tighter. He kissed her neck the way she used to like it and he felt her relax just a little.

'What are you doing?' she asked quietly.

'What do you think?' He nibbled her ear.

'I haven't got time for this,' she said after a pause. 'I've got to get this room sorted, then I'm meeting a client over in Liskeard after lunch.'

He persisted with the nibbling. 'We've got plenty of time.'

Greer weighed up all she had to do, versus having s.e.x with her husband. 'OK. But we'll have to be quick.'

The summer turned slowly into autumn and Jesse was feeling confident that life was back under his control. Grant was behaving himself. Greer had secured a very lucrative job doing up a huge country house just outside Liskeard. Freddie was back at school and on track to do well in his GCSEs. And the business had just had its best summer profits for three years.

So nothing could have prepared him for the entrance, one afternoon, of Loveday into his office. Her face was blotched and her make-up dislodged by tears.

'What's happened?' he asked, getting up and closing the office door behind her. He glimpsed Lauren looking curiously at him. 'It's OK, Lauren.' He smiled.

'Would you like a tea? Coffee?' Lauren asked, desperate to know what was going on.

'I'll let you know.' He smiled again and closed the door firmly.

He turned to Loveday, his smile replaced with concern. 'What's happened? Is it Mickey? The kids?'

'It's Grant.' She was shaking.

Jesse sat Loveday on one of the comfy chairs by the coffee table. 'What's he done?'

'Nothing ... n-not yet ... It's what he's been saying.'

'Tell me.' Jesse was feeling the old dread in his stomach.

'He was overheard in the Hind last night, saying ...' Loveday's voice broke and she wiped at her tears angrily, '... saying that Hal's not Mickey's son. He said that he had a good idea who the father is.'

'Did he give a name?'

Loveday looked at Jesse coldly, 'Of course not. There's no other b.l.o.o.d.y name but Mickey's.'

Jesse bit his lip. 'Loveday, I don't want to get you cross but ... are you sure you know that Hal is Mickey's?'

She jumped up, looking as if he'd slapped her. 'I've told you. You are nothing to do with Hal.' She was shouting now. 'Get that into your thick bleddy head, will you?'

'All right. All right. Come and sit back down.' He spoke calmly and she returned to her seat. 'So why have you come to tell me this?' he asked gently.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. 'Because Grant's your brother and you need to shut him up before Mickey hears anything.'

'OK,' he said slowly. 'Who was he talking to in the pub?'

'Peter the landlord. A few of the boat crews and some of the lads who work downstairs. I heard it from Johnny. He said no one believed a word of it and it was all a load of s.h.i.+t, but he thought I should know.'

'Oh s.h.i.+t,' said Jesse.

'Yeah,' replied a crumpled Loveday.

On the upstairs landing of the Hind, Jesse peered at the nameplates on each of the four letting rooms. He walked past Francis Drake, The Armada Room and The Good Queen Bess Suite. When he got to The Pelican he stopped, took a deep breath and knocked with what he hoped was authority.

He heard a shuffling and the creak of a bedspring. He knocked again.

'p.i.s.s off,' came Grant's voice.

'It's me. Jesse. Let me in.'

'If it's about me not coming in to work today, I've got the flu. See you tomorrow.'

'It's not that. Let me in.'

Jesse heard a few muttered curses then the sound of approaching feet. The bolt was drawn back and the door opened. Grant looked terrible and smelt as ripe as a whisky distillery.