Looking After Dad

‘Wait until you see my gear,’ he responded. ‘It’s nothing special and I may keep the best for myself and restrict you to the rag-bag end.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Are we nearly there?’ Harriet asked as they turned off the metalled road and onto a muddy track.

‘Soon. In about ten minutes, fishface,’ Lorcan told her. ‘The house is an old colonial bungalow,’ he continued, negotiating the Jeep through a deep water-filled pothole. ‘It backs onto fields and is close to the beach and a short walk from the village.’

‘I’m going to go to playschool in the village,’ Harriet said. She hesitated, and when Jess turned she saw that her lower lip was trembling. ‘I don’t think I’ll like it.’

‘It’ll be fun,’ she said encouragingly.

‘You’ll love it,’ Lorcan declared.

‘I might not,’ the little girl said, and put her thumb in her mouth and sucked earnestly.

A couple of miles later, the dirt track smoothed into a surfaced road again and shapes of buildings began to appear through the curtain of rain. Jess peered out. She saw flat-roofed breeze-block houses with ramshackle gardens where large cacti were strung with sodden washing, a Chinese restaurant, a jarring glass and chrome space-ago-style bar and a row of shops. The shops were shuttered, but so far as she could tell there was no dedicated clothing store.

A long bend took them out of the village. To the right, through casuarina trees, were glimpses of a grey swelling sea, while on the left woebegone goats munched in a water-logged meadow. At the end of the meadow was a lane. Turning into it, Lorcan sped up past more affluent houses until they reached two stately dripping palms which stood like sentinels at the entrance to a gravelled drive.

‘This is it,’ he said.

Beyond a circular lawn stood a wide double-fronted wooden bungalow with an all-round veranda. Painted Wedgwood blue, it had white window shutters and a pretty white decorative valence edging the roof. Even in the rain, which had slackened into a steady drizzle, it was a gracious building and would, Jess decided, be an ideal subject for a water colour.

Lorcan drew to a stop beside the short flight of steps which led up to the white-glossed front door. ‘Naseem promised to leave the keys under the plant pot,’ he said, indicating a terracotta tub which spilled with crimson bougainvillea.

‘She isn’t here?’ she asked.

‘No. I agreed she need only come in in the mornings until we arrived. Though as from tomorrow it’s all day.’

‘Naseem doesn’t live in?’ she said, frowning. ‘I realise you didn’t actually say, but—well, I assumed she did.’

‘Does it make a difference?’ he enquired.

Jess unbuckled her seat belt. ‘None.’

The bungalow had spacious lofty rooms, tall, slim windows and ceiling fans. A wide central hall divided it into two distinct areas, with what Lorcan showed her and Harriet were the living room, a study and eat-in kitchen to one side, while three bedrooms lay on the other.

‘I thought this could be yours,’ he said, opening the door onto a square room which overlooked the rain-sleeked greenery of a fenced and private back garden. ‘I’m opposite and Harriet is next to me.’

With white voile curtains, white cotton-twist rugs on the highly polished floorboards and a big old-fashioned wardrobe and dresser, the bedroom was simple but comfortable. Off it was an up-to-date yet period-flavour bathroom which included a glassed-in shower cubicle, huge claw-footed bath tub and basin with gleaming brass taps.

‘Fine,’ she agreed.

‘I don’t like this house,’ Harriet announced belligerently as they went back into the hall. ‘There’s no proper carpet and the furniture’s all old and stinky. Wommie doesn’t like it, either.’

‘The house is lovely,’ Lorcan said, his voice gentle. ‘You’ll think so in the morning after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.’

‘I’ll think it’s horrid!’

‘Who’s Wommie?’ Jess asked.

Pushing out her chin and her stomach, Harriet looked defiant. A pint-sized warrior. ‘My friend.’

‘Her pretend friend,’ Lorcan said, with a weary roll of his eyes. ‘How about a bowl of cornflakes before you go to bed?’ he asked his daughter. ‘I arranged for Naseem to buy some specially.’

The little girl nodded. Her rebellion seemed to have used up her last ounce of energy and all of a sudden she was exhausted.