by Penny Kline
The kitchen was at the back of the house, a room large enough to eat in, with an antique dresser and farmhouse-style table. A double sink, split level cooker and supersize fridge took up most of one wall and, on another, six blue and white plates, with pictures of woodland animals, had been balanced on a narrow shelf. Erin remembered Maeve telling her how one of them had fallen onto the tiled floor and broken and her mum had been upset but her dad had found a replacement.
‘Nice clock.’ Erin pointed at the mantelpiece. ‘I like it when they have a loud tick.’
Diana smiled. She had a small gap between her front teeth. ‘It belonged to my mother. Maeve think it’s too noisy, and Jonathan says the horse brasses make the place look like a pub.’
‘Typical.’ Erin laughed, regretting her choice of the word since it made it sound as though she knew Jon far better than she actually did. ‘Typical of a man, I mean. Where did you find the Welsh dresser?’
‘We were swindled. By the man who sold it to us. After we bought it, I discovered it had been repaired and the doors are not the original ones.’
‘Oh, well, you’d never know.’
‘Do sit down.’ Diana pulled out two chairs, giving Maeve a playful punch when she tried to sit on one of them.
‘I was hoping I’d meet you,’ Erin said, ‘so I could tell you what good progress Maeve is making. Drawing’s the difficult part and she works really hard. I expect you’ve noticed how much she’s improved.’
Diana was silent and Erin was afraid she had overdone her praise, but the next time she spoke her words surprised her.
‘Jonathan worries in case the after-school lessons are too much for her, but I think she’s more than up to it. After all, she’s not interested in sport or ballet dancing. Personally, I’m just pleased she’s learning a new skill. It will help her in all kinds of ways.’
Jon worries? Why had he never mentioned it? Why did he always make out Diana was the worrier? Erin turned to Maeve. ‘I expect you are quite tired after school.’
‘No, I’m not,’ she said fiercely. ‘When did Dad say that? Now Erin will think I don’t want to go to her house.’
‘Shh.’ Diana stretched out an arm but Maeve dodged out of reach.
‘Dad thinks I’m delicate, like the boy in The Secret Garden. It’s not fair. Just ‘cos I used to get bad chests and I’m no good at games.’
‘Oh, come on, Maeve.’ Erin had never seen her look so cross. ‘I’m sure your dad only meant it was quite a long day for you.’
Her drawing of fruit had been pinned up, next to a leaflet with the health centre times, and the number to call if you smelled gas. ‘Your picture of a banana and an apple.’ Erin turned to Diana. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’
‘And an orange.’ Maeve still sounded grumpy. ‘The apple’s not right. She was standing by the French doors that led to the garden. Then, all of a sudden, she stood on one leg, spinning round until she lost her balance and collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles.
‘Maeve,’ Diana warned, ‘just because Erin paid you a compliment.’
On a shelf, next to the pin board, a large number of recipe books had been propped up between bookends in the shape of West Highland terriers. Clearly, Diana was a keen cook as well as good at knitting. She followed Erin’s gaze and began explaining how she liked to try out new recipes and she used plenty of herbs and spices. ‘I expect you do too. Maeve won’t eat fish, silly girl, but apart from that she’s not a faddy eater, are you, darling?
‘I don’t like beetroot. Or aubergines. Do you like aubergines, Erin? I think they smell like cat’s—’
‘Yes, I do actually.’ Erin came in quickly, afraid Diana would think Maeve had been picking up four-letter words. Not that Diana gave the impression she was easily shocked. It was Jon who had created the picture of a strait-laced, prudish person. ‘I’m afraid my cooking arrangements are fairly primitive, but when I’m more settled . . .’
‘Yes, of course.’ She looked away, embarrassed. A brain dead, pregnant sister. No one knew what to say.
‘Mum’s made a special herb garden.’ Maeve was hopping about again. ‘She knows everything about herbs and we’ve got a greenhouse, shall I show you, Erin?’
‘If that’s all right with your mum.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Diana’s face lit up. ‘We won’t get cold if we have a quick look.’ She opened the French doors and led Erin onto a patio with pots of winter-flowering pansies, and down some steps to an immaculate lawn. Even in winter, the wide herbaceous border looked attractive, with its tall grasses and seed heads, and a sprinkling of creamy coloured flowers. It put Claudia’s scruffy garden to shame, and Erin was thinking how one day she might ask Diana’s advice about easy-to-grow plants. One day . . .
Under a tall tree – Erin thought it was a beech – the grass was interspersed with yellow and purple crocuses. Two rustic seats, made of logs, had been placed, side by side, and Erin pictured Jon and Diana, when the weather was warmer, sitting together, unwinding after a busy day and drinking glasses of wine, while Maeve played on the grass. An idyllic family scene that contrasted with her own solitary life.
Smoke drifted across from next door’s garden, and Maeve frowned. ‘I don’t think people are supposed to have bonfires, are they, Mum?’
‘It’s only wood smoke. Rather a nice smell I always think.’
‘Me too.’ Erin bent to look at a large, feathery herb.
‘That’s fennel.’ Maeve touched the plant and held her fingers to her nose. ‘I don’t like the smell but it goes with fish. And that’s . . . what’s that one called, Mum?’
‘Lemon thyme. And that’s sage. And the one in the pot is a dwarf basil. Coriander’s good for indigestion and fennel is good for nerves. This plant has rather outgrown itself. Fennel has a habit of doing that. I could give you some if you like, Erin. Oh, I didn’t mean you suffered from . . .’
‘Don’t worry, you’re right, my nerves aren’t that great. I have to spend quite a lot of time at the hospital and—’
‘Yes, of course. The baby. No, don’t talk about it if you don’t want to.’
‘It’s all right. The baby’s doing quite well. I mean, I think it is.’
‘Oh, good.’ Diana’s tone made it clear she was not going to ask any more questions. And Maeve’s attempts to turn a cartwheel had provided a diversion. ‘Honestly, darling, Erin doesn’t want to see your knickers.’
‘Erin doesn’t mind, do you, Erin? There are more herbs in the greenhouse. One has purple flowers. Bees like purple, don’t they, Mum?’ She opened the greenhouse door but Diana put out a restraining arm.
‘I expect Erin could do with a cup of tea. I usually have peppermint but there are plenty of other flavours.’
‘Peppermint would be fine.’ Erin was enjoying herself, wished she had come round sooner, but she had not forgotten the real purpose of her visit, to try to discover what Jon was keeping from her. Would Diana tell her? Did she know? And if she did, had she been sworn to secrecy? Since she was so unlike his description of her, Erin was beginning to doubt everything Jon had told her so far.
Back in the kitchen, Maeve grudgingly agreed to hang out the washing, and it became clear Diana wanted an opportunity to tell her about Maeve’s birth.
‘You know when something’s . . . when they’re not telling you. They thought it was a syndrome but that only means a collection of symptoms and in any case they changed their minds. She can be a little clumsy and she suffers from one or two allergies – we both do – but we see a herbalist called Fergal. He’s a wonderful person, properly trained, not one of those charlatans. It’s quite a long training. You have to pass exams.’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Erin was not a great admirer of alternative medicine, but herbalists were different, their treatments made sense.
‘I do worry about the germs she picks up at school,’ Diana was saying, ‘but Jonathan thinks I’m irrational. He says it’s important to build up immunity.’
‘Plenty
of things are irrational.’ Erin sipped the peppermint tea, it would not have been her first choice, but was bearable. ‘I have this irrational fear of dead animals. I expect Maeve’s told you how a cat from down the road sometimes pays me a visit.’
‘And brings in birds?’
‘Mainly half-eaten mice’
‘Horrible. I dislike heights, cliff tops and high bridges.’
‘Oh, me too, but I think that’s perfectly rational, don’t you? I wanted to ask you, Diana, you’ve met Ollie, haven’t you? Only I wondered if you could think of anywhere he might be staying. I need to talk to him, about the baby, and I’ve an idea Jon, sorry, Jonathan, may be protecting him.’
She had taken a risk, accused Jon of lying to her, but the question seemed to excite Diana. ‘I’ve thought that too. He thinks it’s best to leave him alone, but, as you say, what about the baby? And why should you have to cope with everything on your own. I don’t know Ollie well, but he has a Japanese friend.’
‘Hoshi? You mean Hoshi?’
‘Oh, you’ve met him?’
‘No, but people keep mentioning his name. Perhaps I should try and get in touch. The trouble is,’ Erin made a snap decision, ‘I don’t want to think badly of my sister, but I’ve started wondering if Ollie really is the baby’s father.’
She expected Diana to look shocked but it was clear she and Jon had discussed this possibility already. ‘The awful thing is, you may never know the truth.’
‘I’ll know if it’s Hoshi’s.’
Diana smiled. ‘Well, yes, I suppose you will.’
‘I’m sorry to keep asking you all these questions, but did you know my sister?’
‘I only met her once. It was at a neighbour’s house. Jennie and Ben. I expect you know them. Ben’s quite a character, isn’t he? All those jokes and funny stories. He and your sister . . .’
Maeve was returning with an empty basket, and Diana put a finger to her lips. ‘She has a talent for overhearing other people’s conversations.’
‘She’s such a sweet girl, so kind and appreciative. You must be very proud of her.’
‘Thank you.’ Diana leaned across to squeeze her hand, just as Maeve clumped in with the empty laundry basket.
‘I know you’re talking about me,’ she said. ‘Anyway, the washing won’t dry. There’s hardly any wind. Mum?’
‘Now what?’
‘You know red hair?’
‘What about it?’
‘Why’s it called red when it’s really orangey-brown? Actually, some people dye their hair a real red colour, or purple. I’d like a purple streak in mine.’ Maeve was attempting to walk like a crab. ‘You can buy stuff you spray—’
‘Not a chance.’ Diana bent to tickle her. ‘Actually we were talking about Jennie and Ben.’
‘Jennie’s got streaks in her hair.’
‘They had a barbecue the summer before last and your dad and I were invited. No, not you, you were tucked up in bed with a babysitter. Claudia wanted to know about my herb garden, Erin. I suppose Jonathan must have told her.’
‘She wasn’t a great gardener.’ Erin had decided it was time to leave. ‘She said she was going to have it landscaped, then she lost interest. That’s the trouble with gardening programmes on TV. They make it look so easy. I’ve been doing some cutting back, but it’s not much fun in the winter.’
‘If you need any help? Later on, perhaps, in the spring.’
‘Thank you. I might take you up on that.’ After the baby’s been born. No, don’t look ahead, don’t make any plans. Claudia’s condition could deteriorate in a matter of hours. Andrea always tried to be reassuring, but Erin was well aware of all the things that could go wrong.
Maeve was watching her mother closely and Erin hoped she was not going to tell her about their recent conversation about contraceptives. Maeve had asked why people in some countries had lots and lots of babies, even though it was difficult to get enough food.
As it turned out, she was still thinking about the barbecue. ‘Was it late when you went to Jennie and Ben’s house?’
‘Too late for someone your age.’ Diana imitated the face Maeve had pulled. ‘I don’t know about you, Erin, but I’m not much of a party-goer. I can never think what to say to people, but I remember how your sister put me at ease, telling me about her jewellery-making and how the beads sometimes slid off the thread and rolled all over the floor. I meant to visit her stall in the market. I do wish I had.’
Erin stood up. ‘Thank you for the tea, and I’m glad we’ve met at last. Oh, and you’re welcome to come round to the house when Maeve has one of her lessons. If you’d like to.’
‘Thank you.’ Diana ruffled Maeve’s hair. ‘Except you’ve grown rather fond of Erin, haven’t you, darling, and I’ve a feeling you like keeping her to yourself.’
Chapter 19
The nurse was one she had not met before and, each time Erin asked a question, she kept her head down, referring to Claudia’s notes. ‘Did you want to speak to a doctor?’
‘Only if there’s something I need to know.’
‘The patient’s being treated for hypotension.’
‘In that case, I’d like to speak to her, or him,’ she added, hoping it was the Scottish one. The last week in January and the baby had reached twenty-seven and a half weeks. Every week mattered. Every day.
The nurse lifted a phone and, from her response, Erin guessed the doctor was busy and there would be a long delay.
‘I’ll go to the waiting room,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could let me know when he comes back.’
‘Right you are.’ The nurse was so casual, Erin wanted to hit her. She was overreacting, but God knows, if anyone had good reason to overreact, it was her. She had been hoping Andrea would be on duty and the contrast between Andrea and this unfeeling nurse was hard to take.
As she walked down the corridor, her trainers squeaked on the grey linoleum. An empty trolley passed, wheeled by a porter, whistling under his breath, followed by two junior doctors with stethoscopes round their necks. By now, she ought to be used to hospital smells, but they still produced a feeling of dread. For the staff, the patients, Claudia included, were just bodies in beds, all in a day’s work, or was she being unfair? Andrea seemed to care.
She wanted to tell Claudia there was no need to worry, she would look after the baby, and tell her about her real mother and how, if things had been different, she would have played with her, and taken her to the zoo, and loved her. For the first time – was it actually the first time? – she missed Claudia’s loud voice and extravagant gestures. Once, alone in the loft, she had picked up her phone, thinking she would call her to tell her what was happening. Only a split second, like when you wake, thinking the dead person you were dreaming about is still alive. It had been like that when their parents were killed.
The waiting room was empty, apart from a man with the red-eyed look of someone who had cried himself dry. He offered to make her a cup of coffee, said he was making one for himself, but she declined the offer, picking up a magazine to make it clear she had no wish to talk. Perhaps he needed someone who would listen. But she was so worried about the baby and angry with the nurse.
Someone had made an effort to make the waiting room comfortable and reasonably cheerful, with the obligatory prints on the wall. There was no disguising the condensation on the windows, the collection of dog-eared magazines, or the sink with its draining board piled high with unwashed mugs and teaspoons, and the remains of a packet of stale digestive biscuits. Erin disliked digestive biscuits, but they always gave her a pang because they had been her father’s favourites. When you thought about the dead, it filled you with regret. I wish I’d eaten one of the biscuits Dad offered me. I wish I’d been more grateful when Mum knitted me a sweater that was far too big and baggy. I wish I’d asked Claudia how she made her rings and pendants and bracelets.
Prepared for a long wait, she barely had time to flick through the dispiriting pages of celebs – a feat
ure about girls with fantastic breasts but thick ankles – when the nurse returned.
‘The doctor will speak to you now.’
Hurrying along the corridor, she caught up with the nurse in the small space she had come to know so well, where they both rubbed antiseptic gel on their hands, and dried them on paper towels. This nurse was not so bad. Erin told herself not to be so critical, and not to compare everyone with Andrea. She had turned Andrea into someone who could do no wrong. Just as she had done with Declan. And look where that had got her.
When she reached Claudia’s bed, the doctor – it was her bête noir – was waiting impatiently, but when she saw Erin she smiled, a kind smile that almost brought tears to Erin’s eyes. The first time they met she could have been on duty for twelve hours, or more. Today, she was different, more relaxed.
‘My sister,’ Erin began.
‘Have a seat, Erin. It is Erin, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Look, I’m sorry about last time but—’
The doctor waved aside her apology. ‘It’s a very stressful time for you, but there’s nothing to worry about at present.’
At present. The kind of throw-away remark that returns to haunt you when you lie awake, sleepless with anxiety. ‘The nurse said something about hypotension.’
‘Low blood pressure, but Claudia is responding well.’
She was talking as though Claudia was going to recover. But what else could she do? It was better than describing her, like a case study Erin had read online, as “the maternal organism”.
‘It’s possible delivery may have to take place a little sooner than we would have liked. A decision will be made in a day or two. As I said before, the foetus is a surprisingly good size for the number of weeks of gestation.’
‘I wonder if you could explain a few terms,’ Erin said. ‘There’s something called olig . . .’ She took a slip of paper from her jeans. ‘Oligohydramnios.’
