by Kate Ryder
Fortunately, the music from the band was loud and only a couple of nearby diners looked up. Astonishment registered on their faces.
‘Right, that’s it! I will not have you causing a scene in my restaurant.’ Brian grabbed Becky by the shoulders.
She struggled and tried to break free but, with a firm grip, he frog-marched her towards the bar. Mark trotted behind. However, before disappearing through the archway, Becky looked back over her shoulder at me.
‘I’m watching you!’ she shouted threateningly.
Fingers of ice reached up from the pit of my stomach.
Janet, having caught the tail end of the skirmish, rushed over. ‘Are you all right?’
I nodded and rubbed my wrist. It smarted badly. A red weal encircled it and I saw the beginnings of a purple bruise. Where Becky’s nails had dug in, she’d drawn blood.
‘You’re right, Janet. She is a bully.’
25
On the last Friday in March I handed Storm over to Mrs Tomkins’ care, packed a weekend bag and headed up to London. I’d not been back to the capital since moving west and was unsure how I’d feel. Would this visit make me yearn for a return to my previous way of life?
I left Walditch around mid-afternoon. It was an easy journey and the traffic wasn’t too bad. The nearer I got to London I noticed that most of the cars were heading in the opposite direction, escaping the city. I arrived early evening. Caro and John welcomed me warmly into their home: a handsome, three-storey Victorian house on the edge of Clapham Common. I’d enjoyed many a party there. The couple didn’t have children and on every occasion I’d visited, their home was orderly and tidy.
‘Oh God, Maddie, I’ve got so much clearing to do!’ Caro exclaimed, as she opened the front door. She hugged me affectionately. ‘You’ll have to excuse the mess.’
‘Looks fine to me,’ I said, following her down the hallway and noting how neat it all was. A delicious smell wafted from the kitchen.
‘Paella,’ she said, over her shoulder. ‘Hope that’s acceptable?’
‘Fantastic.’
At a marble-topped breakfast bar, John sat with an open bottle of wine and a half-filled glass. He jumped up and hugged me warmly.
‘Hi, Maddie. You look well. Country air obviously agrees with you.’
I kissed him fondly on the cheek.
‘Here, pull up a chair. White OK?’ He held up the bottle.
‘Very!’
He selected a glass from a glass-fronted wall cabinet and poured the wine. Caro, standing at a huge stainless steel range, checked the sizzling contents of a large shallow pan.
‘I invited Dan to supper tonight but he says he’s otherwise engaged. He sends his apologies.’ She gave the paella a stir. ‘However, he is coming to the theatre with us tomorrow.’
‘With Lucy?’
‘No, she’s going to Bristol for some reason. I guess that’s why he’s allowed out on a Saturday night.’
‘You make him sound like a puppy dog,’ John admonished his wife.
‘Well, she’s got him on such a short leash that’s what he’s fast becoming.’
We had a quiet meal in, just the three of us, and they talked excitedly about their forthcoming move to Newcastle. John was already living there in hotel accommodation for part of the week and he’d brought back a selection of property sales particulars to consider. We spent the evening discussing the various merits of each one, putting them into different piles: ‘definites’, ‘possibles’, and ‘absolute nots’. Caro and John were charming, intelligent, easy company and I realised I missed this aspect of my old London life.
After supper we withdrew to the sitting room and relaxed in comfortable, oversized settees. It was a grand room with a high ceiling – the central ceiling rose and ornate cornicing still intact – and an original marble fireplace, above which hung a large gilt-framed mirror. The mantelpiece was crammed with framed photos of various nieces, nephews and godchildren and in the centre stood a fancy carriage clock. During the previous summer, Caro had employed professional decorators to paint the house in fashionably neutral colours and original oil paintings adorned the walls. It was a stylish home; one that reflected its owners’ good taste.
‘So, Maddie, Caro tells me you’re writing these days,’ John said, as he handed me a brandy.
‘Yes, regularly for a couple of mags, ad hoc for others. I can’t tell you how excited I was when I received my first freelance payment.’ I laughed, recalling how little it was compared to my usual monthly salary from Hawkstone.
‘Well, good for you,’ he said genuinely. He smiled at his wife and I had the strongest impression he was trying to reassure her in some way. ‘I know it’s not easy,’ he continued. ‘Do you think you’ll make a living from it?’
‘Early days, John, but I hope so.’
‘Bet you meet some interesting people,’ commented Caro.
I told them about Charles Bosworth and how charming he was, and caught Caro’s meaningful look in John’s direction. He pretended not to notice.
I laughed out loud. ‘Caro!’
‘Well, I’m just concerned that you’re down there in the depths of the countryside all on your own,’ she said sincerely.
If only she knew…
‘Thanks for your concern but I’m happy on my own, at the moment.’
Knowing this was far from true, I coloured slightly.
‘Better for Maddie to be on her own than with someone who won’t let her out of their sight,’ said John. ‘I’d stick with the occasional charming dinner date if I were you. Far healthier.’
Caro sighed.
‘Is it no better for Dan then?’ I asked.
‘If anything, it’s worse,’ she said. ‘We never see him these days. He’s only coming tomorrow because you’re here and he wants to see you. Lucy doesn’t know, by the way. He said if she did she’d cancel her trip to Bristol.’
How could he stand living with such a jealous and controlling person?
‘It will be nice to see him too,’ I said genuinely. ‘Now, Caro, tell me about this PR launch of yours.’
*
The following day, Caro and I spent a girlie day shopping in Covent Garden. We had lunch at a wine bar I used to frequent when I worked at Hawkstone Media and bumped into some of the old crew. It was good to see them again. Eagerly, they told me how my replacement wasn’t fitting in and Ken Hawkstone constantly bemoaned the day I’d handed in my notice. I wasn’t sure this was true, but it massaged my ego. We joined them at their table, polished off a bottle of wine and I caught up on all the gossip. Around mid-afternoon, Caro and I returned to Clapham, heavily laden with our purchases. Dan arrived sometime after five. In all the years I’d known him he’d always verged on the lean, but I was staggered to see him looking so gaunt.
‘Maddie.’ He hugged me hard. ‘So good to see you.’
‘Likewise, Dan. But, you know, we do live in the twenty-first century. There are such things as mobile phones.’
He looked sheepish. ‘I know, I know. Don’t start!’
He didn’t look at all well. His hair was long and lank and his skin had a grey tinge, as if he hadn’t seen the light of day for some time. Dark circles surrounded strained eyes. We walked into the sitting room where John was quietly reading a newspaper. He immediately put it to one side and rose from his chair.
‘Dan, my man. Long time no see.’ Brusquely, he hugged his brother-in-law and slapped him on the back.
‘Yeah, too long,’ Dan said, quickly extricating himself from the display of male bonding. ‘Congrats on your promotion, by the way.’
‘Thanks. It’s a good move up the old career ladder.’
There was a sudden noisy commotion at the door and Caro rushed into the room. ‘Come here, baby brother.’ Standing on tiptoe, she hugged him and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek.
‘Hi, big sis!’ With his arms encircling her waist, Dan easily lifted her off the floor.
Caro smiled happily.
> How unlike brother and sister they were: one tall and often ungainly; the other so petite and self-contained.
‘Oh, it’s so good, the four of us together again,’ she cried enthusiastically, as her feet touched the ground.
I noticed a shadow pass across Dan’s eyes.
‘But you’re so skinny,’ she exclaimed, standing back and critically assessing her brother.
He flinched under his sister’s scrutiny.
‘Your jeans are falling off. There’s nothing of you! Doesn’t she feed you?’
‘We eat well, Caro. Don’t fuss,’ he said irritably.
The even-tempered Dan I knew had certainly departed.
John, sensing disquiet, glanced at the clock. ‘We’d better get our skates on if we’re to arrive in time for the performance. You know what the Underground can be like on a Saturday evening.’
We found our coats and departed for the theatre. Dan stayed close to me throughout the journey and, as the minutes ticked by, the strain lifted from his face.
Somehow, Caro had managed to obtain tickets for the latest musical, which had opened to sell-out audiences and rave reviews. It was a great show. The cast were young and energetic and the songs memorable, and I savoured the theatrical environment once again. Afterwards, we ate at a restaurant not far from the theatre. It felt good to be part of London’s bustling nightlife. It was as if I’d been away on a long journey and had returned to a comfortable, familiar environment. However, in my heart I knew I’d moved on and this was but a fleeting visit to a seemingly easier, earlier life.
The tube was packed on the return journey to Clapham Common and there was only one vacant seat. I insisted Caro took it. The men and I stood crushed together; Dan and John holding the overhead bar, while I held on to Dan. With every jolt he moved closer. Caro’s smile did not go unnoticed but, curiously, I felt swamped by her brother’s presence.
As we emerged from the tube station she commented how cold it was, immediately linked arms with her husband and walked him smartly up the road towards their house. It was cold, but I knew she was deliberately putting some distance between us. I smiled wryly. I had no intention of rekindling a relationship with Dan, but her heart was in the right place. As we followed in their wake, he put his arm around me. I did likewise, casually placing my arm around his waist. As Caro had noted, there was nothing of him.
‘It’s good to see you, Mads. I miss our times together.’
‘How is it with you?’ I asked.
‘Oh you know. Much as before.’
I stopped and stepped away from him. ‘You don’t mean Lucy’s “ex” is still on the scene?’ I asked incredulously.
‘I don’t ask. It’s easier that way,’ he said, shaking his head.
Where was his self-esteem?
‘Don’t look at me like that, Mads.’
He placed his arm around my shoulders again and we continued up the street.
‘But, would you do anything about it if you found out she was still seeing her “ex”?’
‘Probably not, Mads. I’m trapped.’ He sounded so despondent.
‘No one is trapped, Dan. Only you can choose how you want to spend your life.’
Thinking of my own situation, I didn’t truly believe these sentiments.
He grunted but said nothing and we walked on in silence. Dan held me close, only releasing me once we reached the house. Through the open front door I saw John busy in the kitchen.
‘Anyone for tea or coffee?’ he called out.
We said ‘yes’ to coffee, hung our coats in the hallway and entered the sitting room. Dan sat down on the nearest settee. In order to distance myself from his attentions, I sat opposite. It was quiet and peaceful and I noticed how much more relaxed he was compared to earlier in the evening. Here, before me, was some semblance of the man I’d known and cared about for all those years.
Suddenly Caro appeared at the door. ‘I’m bushed,’ she announced. ‘If you two don’t mind, I’m going to bed.’
She came into the room and gave Dan a hug. ‘Please look after yourself, brother. Promise to see us at least one more time before we depart for Newcastle?’
He said he would. She kissed him on the cheek and wished me a comfortable night’s sleep. As she left the room, I saw her glance towards the kitchen and knew she and her husband were sharing a meaningful communication. A few minutes later, John came through with the coffee.
‘I’m knackered so I’ll say goodnight. Please switch off the lights when you come up, Maddie.’ He smiled at us both and then followed his wife upstairs.
Dan and I were alone in the sitting room once more. I looked across at him and burst out laughing.
‘Well, that wasn’t very obvious. Your sister!’
He smiled thinly. ‘We did have good times didn’t we, Mads?’
‘Yes we did.’ Helping myself to a cup of coffee, I thought back to the many occasions we’d shared.
Suddenly, Dan crossed the room and sat down beside me. ‘Do you ever wonder what might have been?’
Careful! Dangerous territory.
‘I don’t think like that,’ I said cautiously. ‘I like to look forward in life.’
He nodded. Taking the cup from me, he placed it on the coffee table and then his large hands encompassed mine. ‘But if you did, would you wonder?’ His eyes searched my face.
‘No, Dan,’ I said quietly. ‘We had plenty of time to sort things out and we didn’t.’
He looked so forlorn. ‘I’m not happy, Mads.’
‘Then do something about it.’
‘I can’t. I don’t know what to do. I need a way out.’
And that’s not going to be me…
‘Just tell her to go.’ I removed my hands from his.
He shook his head miserably. ‘Can’t do that.’
There was that awkward distance between us again.
‘Are you happy, Mads?’
Loaded question. Where do I start? We’d known each other so well; it was hard not to be honest with him.
‘Sort of, Dan,’ I replied.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well…’ I hesitated, and then ploughed on. ‘I’m not sure I can stay in Dorset.’
‘Why?’
I sighed. It was a long story, which had yet to play its course.
‘I don’t think there’s a life for me there.’
‘But, Mads, you gave up a bloody good career to move there!’ he said angrily. ‘I distinctly remember you saying you were going home, although I never understood it.’
‘I was. Going home, I mean. But now I’m there it’s not that simple.’
He didn’t say anything and the silence hung heavily in the air.
‘It is… was my home,’ I said quietly.
He looked at me uncomprehendingly.
‘I have something to do, Dan, and then I’ll move on.’
It was the first time I had formulated my thoughts out loud.
‘Where will you go? Will you come back to London?’
I caught the hope in his voice, even though I’d told him there was no going back.
‘No, not London. I’ve done that. I might go to Dublin,’ I said, surprising myself.
‘Back to the fold,’ he muttered.
‘Well, yes, for a while. Perhaps reassess everything and then move on from there.’
Until that moment, I hadn’t considered returning to my city of birth. As I toyed with the thought, it seemed not such a bad idea.
‘Wherever you go, you will keep in touch won’t you, Mads?’
‘Bloody hell, Daniel, I’ve tried,’ I said, rather too loudly. ‘You never answer your damn phone!’
‘I know, I know. But if you moved away for good I would die.’
‘Don’t be daft, Dan.’
‘You know what I mean. It would be final. Knowing you’re in Dorset doesn’t seem final somehow. Promise me?’
He looked so defeated. Suddenly he leant forward and kissed me. It was a sad,
lingering, goodbye of a kiss; full of the memories of happier times.
‘Sorry, Mads. Just had to do that one last time. I miss you so.’
*
The spring sunshine the following morning was surprisingly warm after the cold snap of the previous night. Caro, John and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast at one of the many cafés in the neighbourhood and then, amidst promises to visit in Newcastle, I wished them a successful move north and headed west once more.
As the suburban roads gave way to open countryside, I felt tendrils of invisible ivy pulling me back to Dorset. Even though I’d enjoyed my visit to London and it had tugged at my heartstrings, I knew it was no longer what I wanted. I arrived back in Walditch with a renewed, unwavering determination to get to the bottom of whatever The Olde Smithy needed me to resolve.
26
It was late afternoon and I drove home to Walditch, following another successful visit to ‘Strippers’. Amongst all the salvage, I’d found a wrought-iron gate for the front garden and was pleased with my purchase. As I drew up alongside the village green I glanced over at The Olde Smithy and saw a young girl running around the corner of the cottage.
I liked children but it was certainly time to fit a gate; anyone could just wander in. I climbed out of the car, crossed the green and walked up the garden path with the intention of asking the girl why she was in my garden, but when I rounded the corner into the courtyard I stopped dead in my tracks. A faint curtain of mist hung in the air and, through it, I saw Nat with a very young Francis in his arms while Elisabeth, aged about five, ran circles around them. They were all laughing and so happy. Immediately, I thought of the wood sculpture at Nick’s workshop and some deeper understanding told me he had captured Nat’s family in that piece. I remembered his words, ‘When I first started work on the yew I had no idea what I was creating; it seemed to me that the piece had a life of its own.’
I delighted in the scene before me – all such dearly beloved people – but suddenly they began to fade from sight. Instantly, I was bereft.
‘Oh, please don’t go!’ I called out.
Nat looked questioningly in my direction, but the next minute the figures vanished into thin air. The courtyard was, once again, clear of mist, quiet and empty. I had no control over ‘the happenings’ – it was like sand running through open fingers.
