Out Of Control

“Why is she resisting?”

“Well, I’d have to ask her, wouldn’t I? Which I would if she’d answer her bloody phone. I’ve lost count of the messages I’ve left. Ignored every one of them. Apparently she lives in a wooden cabin on the outskirts of town and keeps goats.”

“Goats?”

“Hires them out to homeowners who live in the hills.” He’d learned this from Martin, who had called earlier to check on his progress. “The goats eat the brush, which works to keep the fire danger down. That’s how Truman died. Burned to death in his home.”

“How ghastly. Maybe that’s why the daughter doesn’t want to talk. Maybe it’s all too painful for her.”

Nick considered. “It’s been fourteen years.”

“It was her father, Nick,” Valerie said reprovingly.

He sneezed again and blew his nose. He felt like hell.

“Would it be better if I booked to San Diego?” Valerie was asking.

“Sorry?”

“When I come over. Would it be better if I book into L.A. or San Diego?”

“I thought you were talking about going to your sister’s in Kent.”

“Which sister?”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Two. Neither of them lives in Kent.” She sighed. “Do you ever listen to anything I say?”

“I heard you say you needed to get away.”

“You said I needed to get away. That was your suggestion.”

“My suggestion?”

“Nick, have you been drinking? You sound…odd.”

“I’m unwell.” The television was showing pictures of orange flame rolling like molten lava down a hillside. The sight momentarily distracted him. “You should see this,” he told Valerie. “Houses burning all over the place, sheets of flame shooting up into the sky. It’s incredible. They’re showing someone leading horses down a hillside, and the fires look as though they’re just a few feet away.”

“That happens in California, doesn’t it?” Valerie asked. “It seems there’s always one disaster or another. The price of living in paradise, I suppose.” She paused. “Still, at least it’s warm. And it’s not raining, is it? There’s a lot to be said for nice weather. What are the beaches like?”

“Covered in ash.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

“Look Val,” he said. “I told Bella she couldn’t come because I needed to work, and I’m telling you the same thing. I’m trying not to be superstitious, but I get here on the day Truman’s widow lands in hospital, so obviously I can’t talk to her for a while. Then the daughter, who’s central to the whole book, is proving difficult…..” He sneezed. “Excuse me. Let’s talk about something else, all right?”

But there wasn’t much else that Valerie wanted to talk about, and after they’d said their goodbyes Nick picked up the phone and punched in Daisy’s number again.

“My mom?” a young girl asked. “Sorry, she’s not here.”

Of course she isn’t. “I’ve left several messages,” he said. “She must be very busy.”

“Yeah, she is, kind of.”

“You must be…”

“Emily. Except everyone calls me Emmy.”

“And you’ve attained the ripe old age of fourteen.”

A beat of silence. “How d’you know that?”

“I’m omniscient,” he said. “It just came to me in a flash of lavender-colored smoke.”

“Seriously.”

“I’m a biographer. I snoop for a living.”

She laughed. “I’ll tell my mom you called.”

“Thank you, Emily. I enjoyed our little chat.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Bye.”

Nick was smiling as he hung up. He called Bella but got her mother.

“She’s next door at her friend’s,” Avril said.

“Isn’t it past her bedtime?”

“Not for a couple of hours. Anything else about your daughter I can fill you in on?”

Ran out of mood stabilizers, did you? “Just tell her I called, please. I’ll try again tomorrow, or she can call me here.”

“Actually, while I have you on the phone, Bella’s in love with this little cottage in Devon. We took the train down there last week just to get away from the city for a bit and—well, her disappointment about you know what—and lo and behold, there it was. A sweet cottage that we could use on weekends and school holidays…I did put in an offer, but now I’m having second thoughts. I haven’t broken the news to Bella yet, she’ll be devastated.”

Nick’s left eye had started to itch uncontrollably. He sneezed. Now his right eye was tearing. “Why are you having second thoughts?”

“It’s rather a stretch financially, I’m not sure—”

“Go ahead,” he said impulsively. “I’ll make up whatever you need.”

“Nick. My God, are you absolutely sure?”

“I got a decent advance for the Truman book,” he said.

“Bella will be over the moon. She was terribly disappointed about the Laguna thing—”