Family Divided

by Allen, Anne

  ‘Charlotte! What on earth are you doing here?’

  Her mother’s tone was not encouraging. Charlotte had parked at the front of the house and been welcomed

  by the butler, Phillips, with a smile and raised eyebrows. After unloading her case he walked ahead to the sitting

  room to announce her arrival to her ladyship.

  ‘I came to see you, Mother. What else?’ Charlotte replied, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Her mother

  responded with a glare fierce enough to stop most people in their tracks.

  ‘There was no need to come haring down, as I said quite plainly yesterday. But as you are here, I expect you

  would like some tea. If you could bring us some, please, Phillips.’

  ‘Very good, Madam.’

  Once the butler had left, softly closing the old oak door behind him, the two women faced each other.

  ‘I know the truth, Mother. I phoned Dr Rowlands and he explained about the cancer and…and it’s not good

  news. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Charlotte sat opposite her mother, noting the dark circles under her eyes and a pinched look that wasn’t

  there last time they met. And she had most certainly lost weight. Normally a generous size sixteen, she looked

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  more like a size twelve. At her words, her mother’s face seemed to collapse; changing from the initial angry,

  defiant glare to the sagging softness of defeat.

  ‘He had no right to tell you!’ For a moment there was a spark of anger before she continued, more quietly, ‘It

  was a shock, as you can imagine. I was convinced as was apparently Dr Rowlands, it was nothing serious and

  when he told me…I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. The last thing I needed after leaving the clinic was to

  explain everything to you. I neither want nor need your pity, Charlotte,’ she said, her mouth tight.

  Charlotte knew she should offer a hug, but the words stopped her. She sensed the brick wall her mother had

  built around herself was now further fortified and was at a loss as to how to breach it. It had been so different

  when her father was taken ill. Not one to make a fuss, nevertheless, he had explained the seriousness of his

  illness and his days might be numbered and he intended to make the most of the time left. They had gone on

  trips, seen plays and films and generally had a great time full of laughter till the end. Annette had not always

  joined them and it seemed to Charlotte she was burying her head in the sand. As she appeared to be doing now.

  ‘Mother, I–’ before she could continue, Phillips knocked on the door and entered with a tray bearing the

  accoutrements for tea.

  ‘Leave it on the table, Phillips, my daughter will do the honours.’

  The butler bowed and left.

  Charlotte poured tea for them both and offered her mother the plate of dainty sandwiches, which she

  refused, saying she wasn’t hungry. Helping herself to a couple, she sat down again.

  ‘You started to say something?’ her mother said, her face having regained a shuttered look.

  ‘I was only going to ask if you would consider spending a week or so at the natural health centre in Guernsey.

  They offer fantastic treatments and might be able to offer an alternative therapy for – your illness.’ She couldn’t

  quite bring herself to say cancer.

  Annette pursed her lips. ‘I can’t see any reason for me to do anything other than take the medication Dr

  Rowlands has prescribed. Surely if drugs are not sufficient to prolong my life then nothing else will help?’

  ‘It might and you could continue with the chemo as well. I’ve spoken to Paul, the manager at La Folie, who’s

  experienced in Eastern medicine which might be worth considering. Also, I know a medical doctor who

  specialises in natural approaches and she is willing to talk to you. As Gillian lives in Richmond it would be easy

  to meet up. She’s a close friend of the owner of the health centre in Guernsey.’ Charlotte held her breath. Would

  her mother be prepared to try unconventional treatment?

  Her mother’s face remained closed but she noticed a slight twitch under the left eye. She must be so

  frightened. Her heart went out to her.

  ‘Harumph. I’ll think about it. I don’t see any point in prolonging the inevitable and if it’s my time to go, then so

  be it,’ she said, bleakly.

  Charlotte was relieved. ‘Thank you. It might be possible to…to gain you more time, Mother, as well as make

  you more comfortable,’ she said, reaching over to touch Annette’s arm. Her mother recoiled as if burnt and

  Charlotte drew back, biting her lips. The woman was impossible!

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  ‘If it’s all right with you, Mother, I thought I’d stay a night or two.’

  Her mother simply nodded and Charlotte stood up and made towards the door. As she opened it, she turned

  around and saw tears trickle down her mother’s averted face. She left quickly before Annette became aware.

  Once in the hall Charlotte gripped her hands into fists, tension making its way across her shoulders and down

  into her arms. What could she do? Her mother pushed her away even now and she could hardly force her to

  accept help. Any normal mother would be glad of a daughter’s concern but not her mother. Lady Annette

  Townsend was a law unto herself and Charlotte was strongly tempted to leave – now. But it would put her in the

  wrong and she couldn’t do it. She owed it to her father to at least try to help. As she stood in the vast panelled

  hall, surrounded by his lovingly collected paintings, Charlotte ached to be in his arms again. ‘Oh, Daddy, what

  shall I do?’ she whispered, looking around as if he might suddenly appear. She jumped as a door opened, but it

  was only Phillips.

  ‘I’ve taken the case up to your room, Miss Charlotte, and cook has been advised there will be two for dinner.

  Lady Townsend eats in the breakfast room at seven these days. Is there anything else you need?’

  ‘No, that’s fine, thank you.’

  He gave a slight bow and she ran up the ornately carved staircase, keen to reach her room and desperate for

  someone to talk to. She remembered Andy had offered to come over with her so perhaps he’d make a good

  listener.

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  chapter nineteen

  Andy answered immediately and Charlotte found herself hesitant, realising she was about to expose her inner

  frustration and worry to someone she hardly knew. His sympathetic and consoling manner, telling her to let it

  out, broke through her reserve and she poured out her feelings, becoming tearful in the process.

  ‘Please don’t cry, I’m sure your mother will realise you’re only trying to help and be more grateful. She

  sounds like the proverbial tough old boot who doesn’t want to admit to any weakness. How did she react when

  she first had cancer?’

  ‘Oh, she was worse! It was shortly after Daddy died and she buried herself away, not wanting to see me or

  anyone else. I only discovered she had cancer when I found a letter from her oncologist she had accidentally left

  in my house,’ Charlotte said, pacing up and down her room. The sound of Andy’s voice helped her to calm down

  a little and she was glad she had phoned him, in spite of not having any right to involve him in her problems.

  ‘Mothers can’t be seen to be weak; my own was the same when she was seriously ill a few years back. Just be

  patient and be there for her. That’s all you can do.’ His voice softened. �
��I miss you, Charlotte. Are you sure you

  don’t want me to come over?’

  She felt her insides melt. It was so tempting.

  ‘No, much as it would be lovely to see you, it’s better if I handle this alone. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I

  promise. I…I miss you too.’ Saying the words made her realise they were true.

  She asked him how his latest project was going and they talked for about twenty minutes before she

  reluctantly ended the call, promising to ring him the next day. Sitting still, she recognised their relationship had

  become closer. Anxiety about her mother had precipitated emotions to the surface, including her growing

  attraction to Andy. And he had made plain his willingness to help her through this awful time.

  After unpacking her case she had time for a quick freshen up before going down to dinner. Assailed by the

  aroma of chicken cooked in wine, Charlotte anticipated an enjoyable meal until Phillips said her mother was too

  tired to eat downstairs and a tray had been taken to her room, where she was not to be disturbed.

  For a moment Charlotte felt a flash of anger, sensing her mother was deliberately avoiding her. Then common

  sense prevailed; her mother had looked ill and it was natural if she preferred to stay in her room. Sighing, she

  sat down and allowed the butler to serve the food which, as usual, was delicious and accompanied by one of her

  favourite wines. Smiling at Phillips for his thoughtfulness, she raised her glass in a salute to her mother.

  Hopefully she would be willing to talk in the morning and they could agree on possible alternative treatments. If

  they didn’t then the future for her mother looked bleak.

  The next morning when Charlotte walked into the breakfast room she was relieved to see her mother already

  sitting at the table, albeit pushing food around her plate.

  ‘Good morning, Mother. Do you feel better today?’ she asked, taking a seat next to her.

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  ‘A little, thank you.’ Her mother had dark rings around her eyes and her usually immaculate hair looked

  unwashed.

  Charlotte helped herself to the hot buffet laid out on a side table and Phillips arrived with a fresh pot of tea.

  Lapsang – her favourite.

  Once seated she concentrated on her food, unsure how to approach the subject uppermost in her mind.

  Annette continued playing with her food, taking the occasional mouthful.

  ‘You don’t seem to have much of an appetite, Mother. Is it because of your illness?’

  ‘Yes, I find it hard to swallow and don’t enjoy my food,’ her mother replied, sucking in her gaunt cheeks.

  ‘I see. Will the chemo help?’

  ‘Apparently. I’ve been booked into the clinic on Monday and will stay until Wednesday while I undergo

  treatment.’

  ‘In which case I’ll stay in London until you leave, Mother.’

  ‘There’s no need–’ her mother waved her hand.

  ‘There’s every need. I want to be near so I can visit and bring anything you require. Just as I did last time you

  had treatment.’ Her mind raced. It was so soon…

  ‘Have you given any thought to my suggestion about talking to Gillian, the doctor I mentioned? Perhaps you

  could see her before entering the clinic?’

  Her mother shrugged.

  ‘Not particularly. I’m not sure there’s any point.’

  ‘I can’t see any harm in talking to her and she might be able to suggest something to make the chemo more

  bearable. Remember how ill it made you last time? She did also say she’s helped patients go into remission,

  Mother, and at the very least it should be possible to provide a tolerable treatment which might prolong your–’

  ‘What, my life?’ Annette snorted. ‘And what makes you think I want to live longer? In pain and not able to do

  the things I enjoy. What would be the point?’ She glared at Charlotte, eyes blazing and lips stretched tight.

  She reeled back, shocked at her mother’s words.

  ‘But…but you’re a fighter, not a quitter! You always taught me only cowards gave up. And you’re no coward,

  Mother! Surely, if we could find an approach which gave you a chance to beat this disease, or at least become

  pain-free and able to enjoy life again, it would be worth taking?’ Charlotte said, leaning forward.

  Annette’s eyes opened wide.

  ‘I’m surprised you care. We hardly have a close relationship after all. It’s my life we’re discussing here and I

  can make my own choices, thank you.’

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  Charlotte re-filled her cup of tea, her hands shaking. Her mother was so pig-headed! Taking a deep breath,

  she tried again, her voice calm. ‘Of course it’s your choice, Mother. But what have you got to lose by talking to

  someone who’s willing to help? At the very least we might be able to make your last months, possibly years,

  more comfortable and fulfilling. And for the record, I do care, you just make it clear you…you’ve never loved me.’

  Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks and she brushed them away.

  Annette gasped, and her jaw dropped.

  ‘What nonsense! I do love you, Charlotte, I’m just not one of those huggy people who fuss over their children.

  Your father was more like that and when you two were together I couldn’t get a look in.’ She sniffed, reaching for

  a handkerchief in her cardigan pocket. ‘I do miss him, you know. I’ve been quite lost without him and now…’ She

  blew her nose, turning her head away.

  Charlotte felt her stomach tighten and she risked touching her mother’s hand. This time she did not recoil,

  but left it on the table. Charlotte gripped it, feeling the cold thinness of the fingers. Leaning forward, she put her

  arms around her mother’s shoulders and they remained locked in an alien, but somewhat comforting embrace.

  They quickly drew apart when Phillips knocked on the door, asking if they needed anything else. On being told

  they did not, he left.

  An awkward silence followed. Charlotte sensed the shift in their relationship and did not want to push her

  mother too far. She could almost hear the eggshells crackling under her feet.

  Her mother coughed.

  ‘Well, it would seem we both have learnt something this morning.’ She smiled faintly, her eyes glistening with

  unshed tears. ‘I do appreciate your concern, Charlotte, and you’re right to say I have nothing to lose. My life

  already hangs in the balance, so what harm can it do to seek help?’ She dabbed at her eyes, and straightened her

  shoulders. ‘If you would be so kind as to give me Gillian’s number, I will phone to arrange an appointment, if

  possible before I enter the clinic.’

  Charlotte felt a rush of relief.

  ‘I’ll fetch it now. I’m sure she will be able to see you soon as she’s semi-retired and I’m happy to take you to

  London once you’ve arranged a time. You need to be there before Monday, anyway.’

  Annette nodded and Charlotte ran upstairs for her phone, praying Gillian would be free at such short notice.

  Once she had passed on the number she left her mother to make the call and went off to the kitchen to chat to

  the cook. Mrs Combe, a rotund, cheerful woman who had been the family cook for as long as Charlotte

  remembered, gave her a big hug, saying she looked thin and needed fattening up.

  She laughed. ‘No, I don’t, Mrs C. I lost weight deliberately and feel so much better for it. But I did enjoy my

  dinner last night, thank you. You haven’t l
ost your touch,’ she said.

  Mrs Combe grunted. ‘I wish Lady Townsend agreed with you. She hardly touches anything I make these days

  and it’s worried me, it has.’ She gave Charlotte a keen look. ‘Is there anything wrong, Miss Charlotte? Your

  mother always loved her food, she did.’

  Charlotte was torn. She did not want to discuss her mother’s illness, knowing she would be mortified, but…

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  ‘She’s not been well, Mrs C, but the doctor’s sorting her out and I’m sure her appetite will return soon. Please

  don’t say anything to her. You know what a private person my mother is.’

  Mrs Combe tapped her nose.

  ‘I won’t be saying anything, Miss Charlotte. I’m just glad to hear whatever was wrong is getting put right.

  Now, how are things with you? I heard you were spending a lot of time in Guernsey lately and wondered what

  the attraction was?’ she said, her head tilted to one side.

  Charlotte felt herself flush. ‘Oh, I’ve been staying at a fabulous health centre and made friends with some of

  the locals. It’s been good to get away from London,’ she said, flicking her hair.

  ‘Good. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to actually live in London, myself. So busy and noisy and

  everyone in such a hurry! Give me the countryside, anytime, I say,’ Mrs Combe said, hands resting on her

  stomach. For a moment Charlotte found the image of the cook hurrying about the streets of the city quite

  incongruous and suppressed a smile.

  Saying she must get back to her mother, Charlotte left the kitchen and returned to the breakfast room where

  she found her mother looking out of the French windows at the rose garden, her pride and joy. She felt a lump in

  her throat as she tried to imagine her mother’s thoughts. Annette turned round and Charlotte caught a hint of

  sadness around her mouth, quickly replaced with a tight smile.

  ‘I had a long conversation with Gillian Henderson and she’s kindly agreed to see me tomorrow afternoon in

  Richmond,’ Annette said in her usual brisk tone.