Doubler beamed, quite happy to allow his neglect to be mistaken for good intention, if these little visitors with their splashes of red and yellow were the end result.
‘Charming!’ Olive continued. ‘Charming indeed. You know that a group of goldfinches is called a “charm”, Doubler?’
‘It is?’
‘And there’s nothing more charming than a large flock of them, performing their aeronautics together low across the land and gathering with a flash of red and gold as they settle on a fence-line. It’s a joy to behold.’
Doubler continued to study the bird as it raced to gather fuel, its bright head swivelling constantly, alert to danger.
‘A charm of goldfinches. But it’s not a “charm” if it’s just the one, presumably?’
‘No, there’s not much that’s charming about a singleton. There’s not much point being charming without someone to show off to, is there?’
‘But she’s a beauty, nevertheless, even with no others to charm.’ Doubler reappraised Olive. ‘So what went wrong?’ he continued. ‘You don’t seem to be involved in the shelter at all now.’
‘I don’t know. It started off as I had imagined, but I think very early on, Maxwell must have caught me on a bad day. I have these days, you know. Days where just being alive is a painful process. It’s hard to describe and I’ve never really tried to. If I say I feel sad, it doesn’t do it justice. I feel desperate. But when I get one of these spells, nothing has really changed from the day before – there’s no trigger or event. I just wake up with the absolute complete certainty that I can’t cope. Or worse, I don’t even want to try to cope.’
Doubler nodded, recognizing that feeling. ‘I’ve been there myself – or somewhere similar. Mine had a root cause, though, so perhaps was not as debilitating as yours.’
Olive looked so sad at the thought – of her sadness or his, Doubler wasn’t quite sure.
‘They call it a depression, I think,’ she said, still looking out of the window a little wistfully. ‘But that’s a woefully inadequate word. When I think of the word “depression”, all I can picture is a shallow dip or a low indentation. The mark a finger would leave in dough before it popped itself back into shape. But what I get isn’t that. It’s jagged and cruel, and I’m so busy trying to throttle it before it throttles me that I often think I’ll die trying.’
Doubler nodded in understanding, recognizing the jagged edges of her sadness. ‘So Maxwell caught you when you were down? In the chasm, I call it. How did that change things at the shelter?’
Olive leapt on the word ‘chasm’. ‘A chasm is better, oh so much better than a depression! Thank you for that! Yes, Maxwell caught me when I was distraught and I imagine I sent him away with a flea in his ear. I tend to do that when I consider myself unfit for company. He took me at my word. He set about telling everybody that they were not to disturb me, and now they all leave me well alone. At the very beginning, the shelter staff used my dining room as their headquarters. I loved the company. It made the house feel busy and appreciated. But quite soon after that incident, he announced that he was installing the Portakabin so I could have a bit more space. Of course, it was all quite, quite unnecessary. He told me he didn’t want to get under my feet or be beholden. Again, he was so persuasive, I didn’t really seem to have a say. And now I just hear a bit of your comings and goings. It’s not at all what I had hoped for.’
While Doubler’s initial reaction was outrage, it was quickly replaced by relief as he saw how easy it would be to correct the imbalance and bring joy and noise back into Olive’s life. ‘Well, that’s so easy to fix, Olive! We can get this sorted out in a heartbeat. Of course you must be involved. It’s your land, your stables and your home, for goodness’ sake. You can’t be our host and benefactor and not feel purposeful. There’s no greater purpose, is there?’
‘But what about Maxwell?’ worried Olive. ‘I get the impression he’d actually rather I kept myself to myself. He makes absolutely no attempt to befriend me. In fact, he goes out of his way to avoid me.’
‘I’m sure that can’t be the case. He’s a bit bombastic, it’s true, and he’s probably a bit of a bully, but underneath it all, I expect he is decent.’
‘I don’t know. It is only that nice young Derek who always makes sure I’m invited to the get-togethers. He insisted I should come to Mirth Farm for tea. Maxwell kept saying I wouldn’t enjoy it, that I might find it too much, with me standing right there!’
Doubler smiled in recognition. ‘A very wise woman has explained Maxwell to me. He has what she calls a leader-in-crisis syndrome – he can’t quite believe he isn’t very important anymore so he likes to exert power over everyone.’
‘I am certain that is the case.’ Olive laughed delightedly and then leant forward to conspire with Doubler. ‘Do you know, I once heard him barking out instructions and thought he might be bullying the student volunteers, so I raced out. But he was talking to the cats! Telling them to wait their turn and expecting them to form an orderly queue! As if you can make a cat do anything it doesn’t want to do!’
Olive and Doubler laughed companionably together and Doubler marvelled at his good fortune. He had not sought this sudden intrusion into his solitude, but his life now felt boundless.
Doubler allowed the laughter to reach its conclusion. He considered the Colonel quietly before adding, more seriously now, ‘He’s an army man, of course, and a bit old-fashioned. I expect he isn’t used to dealing with anyone expressing an emotion. When he caught you on a bad day, he was probably scared out of his wits that he might have to find the right words to comfort you, so he ran a mile.’ Doubler assessed Olive, who looked so relieved to have spoken up. Her eyes were sparkling and she looked less hunched with fear.
‘I’m so glad I bake!’ Doubler exclaimed. ‘You’re just like that bird – it wouldn’t have bothered to stop and investigate the windowsill if I hadn’t left some food for it. And if I hadn’t kept my pantry full of the promise of cake and scones, you wouldn’t have visited me either.’ Doubler looked wistful. ‘I had to wait a while for that goldfinch.’
Doubler asked Olive, ‘Did you ever have a family? I can’t imagine you’ve always rattled around in that big old place on your own.’
‘Oh no, we were a large family. I have three grown-up children, two daughters and a son, and they’re my pride and joy. The next generation is growing at a rate of knots. Five children between the three of them and more to come, I expect.’
‘Oh, but that’s wonderful, three children you’re proud of!’ Doubler was relieved. After hearing Maddie’s story and knowing his own, he didn’t want to contemplate more isolation on his doorstep. ‘And grandchildren to watch grow. I assumed you were alone in the way I’m alone. That’s a delight!’
‘Oh, I love them to bits. And they grow so fast!’ Olive smiled, but Doubler detected an insincerity.
‘But . . . you’re not telling me something. You’re not being honest with yourself or me. You’re lying to one of us, Olive.’
‘I am not lying. I couldn’t be prouder. They’re beautiful children. The light of my life, and the grandchildren, they’re just like them. A whole new generation of talented, beautiful people.’
Doubler spotted the inconsistency and voiced it. ‘But, Olive, you’re not baking anymore. You have an empty house.’
‘They’re not near enough to pop in for tea. That’s the truth of it,’ she said, a little too firmly.
‘But you do see them? They come and visit? You visit them?’ Doubler was grasping for his earlier hopefulness, but he could feel it evaporating rapidly.
Olive confirmed his fears. ‘My elder daughter lives in San Francisco, my son lives in Sydney, and my younger daughter lives in Melbourne.’
‘Oh,’ said Doubler, his optimism crashing down around him.
‘Exactly. Not really visiting distance,’ said Olive, understating the issue gracefully.
‘The ends of the earth,’ said Doubler, shaking his head s
adly.
Olive felt the accusation and rushed to defend her children and the choices they had made. ‘They went with my blessing. The world is so small for that generation. They can up sticks and take root wherever they want, whenever they want. It seemed churlish to hold them back when they all grew up with this overwhelming wanderlust.’
‘But the other end of the earth? What were they thinking, leaving you here?’ asked Doubler, his incredulity failing to swallow any attempt at sensitivity.
‘It’s complex. My husband was alive when they left, and at that time we were quite a self-contained unit of two. We had our retirement mapped out. We planned to visit them – perhaps we’d spend as much as half the year travelling, visiting our growing family. But he died quite unexpectedly almost as soon as he retired. And it turned out that I very much liked travelling with him as a companion, but I’m just not so keen on it on my own. I wasn’t to know that, was I?’
‘Of course not. None of us can prepare for the people we might become. So how often do you go to see them?’ he asked, trying to bring the conversation round to something with a more positive note.
‘I haven’t been,’ Olive admitted timidly.
‘Never?’
‘No. Never.’ She looked him in the eye, refusing to be ashamed, but Doubler found her expression impossible to interpret.
‘And how often do they visit you?’
‘It’s hard for them – they have their careers and their families and friends, and they don’t get much holiday leave,’ she justified, with a flippant wave of her hand. ‘Coming here would be an enormous upheaval with their young families.’
‘But they do visit?’ Doubler prompted.
Olive hesitated. ‘Not yet. But they will. Things will get much easier when the kids get older.’
‘But you must miss them horribly!’ Doubler exclaimed.
‘Yes, of course. But without exception they all miss me horribly, too. I know that. They beg me to sell up and move out to be with them. My daughter in San Francisco has plenty of room and sounds really very keen on having me near. And with two children building their lives and their families in Australia . . .’
‘You’re tempted.’
‘They try to tempt me. They promise me a better standard of living, a better climate, better healthcare. They are always telling me how much better life would be for me if I were to join them.’ She paused before steeling herself to continue. ‘But this is my home. I’m not unadventurous – I did my fair share of travel as a young woman, and I did plenty of travelling with my husband – but now I’m getting tired. I want to live here and I want to die here. I just want to be with my husband.’
Doubler studied Olive’s face, expecting it to crumple with tears, but she was fiercely resolute. ‘But your husband is dead and you’re alive,’ he said gently, looking at this strong woman who had many years, perhaps decades, ahead of her.
‘But I’ll be dead soon enough,’ she said stoically. She shrugged. ‘Anyway, they think it would work if I move over there to be with them, but they’d quickly come to resent me. I could lend a hand with the kids perhaps, but I’d almost certainly be a burden. And the older I became and the less I could do, the harder it would be for me to come back here alone. I can’t see it working in practical terms. Besides, it does the young good to build their own nests, to find their own style of living. I craved that freedom in my youth, so I have to extend it to them, too, or I’d feel awfully selfish. I left home when I was practically a child. I was married at eighteen.’
Doubler tried to hear the words she wasn’t quite saying beneath her blithe dismissal of her plight. He pressed her a little further. ‘You might have sought your freedom, but I doubt that involved travelling to the other end of the earth.’
‘Will you stop saying that? You’re making me feel worse, not better,’ Olive joked, but her eyes were full of panic.
Doubler hadn’t considered that his role was to make her feel better. In his regular exchanges with Mrs Millwood, they had simply traded stories, taking it in turns to tell each other what was going on or comment on the issues of the day about which they felt most strongly. But he had always taken comfort from their ongoing dialogue, hadn’t he? So perhaps that’s what Mrs Millwood had been doing all this time: she’d been making him feel better.
‘Do you know Mrs Mitchell?’ Doubler asked, changing the subject swiftly.
‘Of course. Well, certainly by reputation at any rate,’ said Olive, relieved the moment of inspection had passed.
‘What do you know of her?’
‘Mad as a box of snakes, they say,’ said Olive gleefully.
Doubler considered this. ‘I’m not sure she is any madder than you or me, if truth be told. The three of us – you, Mrs Mitchell and me – we are all in exactly the same boat. We’re tied to the land one way or another; our bodies are made of flesh, blood and soil. And our hearts are the same, too. We’ve all been made lonely by the careless abandonment of our partners – not exactly self-inflicted loneliness, but we haven’t made it easy for ourselves, either.’
‘Your wife died too?’ asked Olive, who had been itching to ask this question since she’d first visited Mirth Farm.
‘All our stories are a little different. Mrs Mitchell’s husband is still alive, but she rather wishes he wasn’t. Your husband died at the most inconvenient time. My wife . . . well, she had her reasons. But the long and the short of it is that the very thing that makes us happy is also the thing that separates us from our families.’ He thought about Julian and his contempt for Doubler and his lifestyle. ‘I think we are rather lucky to have each other, quite frankly. Meeting you and hearing that you have children who you cherish but can’t see . . . That is far worse than my plight. I don’t particularly care for my son, and my daughter is very disappointed in me, so not seeing them too often suits me just fine.’ Doubler smiled at Olive to show that he harboured no bitterness within this statement.
‘So was Tennyson right? I’ve often wondered. Is it really better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all?’
Doubler thought about this. ‘Mrs Mitchell loves her children, I think, but they’ve let her down awfully, so she’s very upset with them. All she wants is for her husband to come home. But she loved her husband very, very much and had a long and happy marriage. I don’t think she would change a day.’
‘You’re very good at turning the attention onto other folk, Mr Doubler. But what about you? What about your children? Do they look after you, as they should?’
Doubler stood and looked out of the window, away from Olive. ‘As they should? I don’t know if they should look after me or not. It’s true they don’t look after me, but I’ve never asked them to, so I don’t think they’ve let me down in that respect.’
‘But you don’t get on with them?’
‘I find it difficult to get on with them.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Not really. I’m not ashamed. I’m not embarrassed. It is what it is. But my children made a choice many years ago. After my wife went. They decided I was to blame. Perhaps I was; perhaps I wasn’t. But the point was, I was here. I didn’t leave them. I didn’t desert them. I didn’t decide they weren’t the life I deserved. I was here for them if they needed me. But they decided to favour the love of an absent mother over the inadequate love of a present father. That’s fine – I don’t mind in the least – but it was their choice.’
‘But they must have been in a lot of pain.’
‘Must they?’ Doubler turned to face Olive, genuinely curious.
‘Of course they must. I expect they were devastated, weren’t they?’
‘I don’t know. I find it hard to understand what people think. I would prefer it if they just said, instead. That’s why I value the friendship of Mrs Millwood so greatly. She never asks me to try to work it out. Which is just as well really because most of the time I don’t seem to have a clue what’s going on.’ Doubler laughed at him
self, realizing he understood very little without Mrs Millwood’s valuable assessment and interpretation.
‘I knew Gracie Millwood cleaned for you, but I didn’t know she was your friend. I was so very sorry to hear about her, Doubler. I gather things aren’t looking very good for her. She was such a kind woman.’
Doubler looked sharply at Olive. ‘Was kind? Is kind, I think you mean. And she’s got plenty of kindness left in her, thank you very much. Mrs Millwood is on the mend,’ Doubler said firmly, with no room for further discussion.
Olive looked appalled at her mistake and stammered her reply. ‘I’m very glad to hear that, Doubler. I’d listened to some gossip and must have misinterpreted it. But of course you must be closer to the truth. Forgive me. Where were we? We were talking about your children, weren’t we?’
Doubler, relieved not to pursue the conversation about Mrs Millwood, tried to explain his situation to Olive as best as he could, knowing he was probably saying much of this for the very first time. ‘All I know is that after Marie went, Julian became very cold with me, very distant. And Camilla? What could I possibly do with Camilla? She needed her mother or some answers and I wasn’t capable of delivering either. And she was so, so hard to love. She still is.’
‘Because she was cold like Julian?’
‘No, because I disappointed her, just like I disappointed her mother. And I still do. Each time I look at her, I see it in her eyes. She wants me to be a different kind of father and I don’t know how to be that person. I don’t know where she got the idea that the father of her dreams was a possibility. He never existed.’
‘But you worked through the most difficult time with them, I assume? Did they eventually come around to you? Time is so often the best healer.’
‘No,’ said Doubler pragmatically. ‘I decided I didn’t need them. Their mother didn’t need me. They needed their mother. I didn’t see a role for me in all of that unholy mess she left. I just let them go and build their own lives.’
Mr Doubler Begins Again Page 22
