by Ruth Hay
Contents
Seven Days Back
About This Book
Other Books By Ruth Hay
Quote
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Seven Days Back
a There, Back & Beyond novel
by
Ruth Hay
www.ruthhay.com
SEVEN DAYS BACK
When women change, can their men adjust?
The week in the Lake District apartment is over. Valerie, Sandra, Corinne and Zoe have shared secret parts of their lives but now they all return home. There are men in their lives who must adjust to changes they are not expecting.
Book Two in the new There, Back & Beyond series from Ruth Hay! Books One and Three now available!
Ruth Hay writes women’s fiction
for discerning readers.
Discover her Prime Time and Seafarer books today!
Prime Time Series
Auld Acquaintance
Time Out of Mind
Now or Never
Sand in the Wind
With This Ring
The Seas Between Us
Seafarer Series
Sea Changes
Sea Tides
Be the heroine of your life, not the victim.
Nora Ephron.
One.
Arrivals.
Brian Westwood was looking for his mother.
The Toronto airport was crowded, as usual. Several planes must have arrived within minutes of each other. Passengers had been trailing into the main concourse in a neverending line. None of them looked happy to be home.
He glanced at his phone and saw twenty more minutes had passed since he last checked for messages. This delay was costing him money. Another line of weary travellers emerged from the doors and pushed their carts impatiently forward into the waiting throng.
Where was she? Had she missed the plane from England?
It was not like his mother to miss any deadline but there was always the chance she had become less organized after his father’s death. She was not getting any younger and such a long illness was bound to take its toll.
Victoria had mentioned something similar just the other day and his wife was a very observant person, as he knew very well. Little escaped her notice. He could never get out of the house without her scrutiny. No mismatched tie or frayed shirt collar or ill-fitting pants ever passed her standards of suitable business wear. She had speculated at dinner about the rationality of his mother’s decision to suddenly depart for a holiday in the Lake District. Was it reasonable or logical? What connections did Valerie have to the place? Why was she throwing away money on such an extravagant trip?
In truth, Brian could not answer any of his wife’s questions. He seldom took the detour to London to see his mother. While his father was ill, she had actively discouraged his visits, for which he was deeply grateful. Some people could stomach serious illness but he was not one of them. He preferred to remember his father as a younger, healthy man who was proud of his two sons and encouraged them to independently forge their own destinies.
Where the hell was the woman?
He scanned the latest volley of passengers but again saw no face he recognized.
“Brian, can you take one of these cases? I decided to carry them myself to save time. There were no carts left.”
“Mother! Where did you spring from? I’ve been watching for an hour.”
“Horribly busy in there! People with children were distraught at the customs delays. One elderly man fainted in the heat. It’s a disgrace.”
Brian picked up both cases, leaving his mother to carry a capacious purse and a duty-free bag with what he hoped was a bottle of whisky. As he did so, he noticed why he had not immediately recognized her.
There was something different about her. A new hair style? Brighter colour, possibly? And she looked more relaxed than he had seen in recent months. A quick thought passed through his mind. Could be, she was in a better mood now and she might reconsider the sale of the family home in Kilworth? In that case, this holiday could have done some good.
Victoria Westwood was watching out of the window for her husband’s car. She was annoyed because the food she had prepared was rapidly drying out in the oven. She had wanted to take Valerie out for a meal but Brian had vetoed that idea. “She’s been travelling all day, Vicky. She’ll want something simple then early to bed, I think.”
Brian’s ‘something simple’ was not all that easy to do. She always felt under scrutiny when her mother-in-law was visiting. A simple omelette, for example, sounded fast and basic but it must be done on the spot and plated while the guest was seated and ready to eat. Just as well she had rejected that solution. The casserole she had chosen in the end was suffering a dire fate and was unlikely to look appetizing by the time Valerie had a chance to wash up and possibly change her clothes. She would just have to make do. Adding more sauce might disguise the meal’s dried out ingredients ………
Ah, there they are at last!
Victoria hastened to the door of the townhouse to help her husband with the luggage. She blew an air kiss toward her mother-in-law and commiserated with her about traffic conditions in the city. She noticed at once Valerie’s new hair colour and cut. Much more flattering. The travel outfit was another surprise. Most people these days travelled in clothes that would not look out of place in the local gym but Valerie was wearing a smart suit of a material that had survived the long journey with little, to no, creasing. Expensive! Something had happened, she surmised. Something had changed since the funeral when Valerie Westwood had looked like an aged crone.
“How was your trip? Come right in! It’s cooler inside. I’ll have a drink for you in one minute. Still gin and tonic with lime?”
Valerie noticed Victoria still had the annoying habit of asking questions and not waiting for answers.
She shrugged off her jacket and gladly sank down on the white sectional in the living room. She would have appreciated a bench or footstool for her tired feet but one was not available in this ultra-smart, modern décor.
Still, it was good to arrive and stop travelling for a few hours. Brian had taken her cases upstairs.
Perhaps he would bring Lynn down with him. She wanted to see her grandchild before she headed back to London and the Kilworth house and the problems that were awaiting her there.
“Here’s your drink. I’ll just put a coaster down first. You must be tired, Valerie. I’m sorry supper is nothing special but Brian thought you would be glad to get off to bed early.”
“I am tired, Victoria, but I will happily stay awake long enough to see Lynn.”
“Oh, dear, Lynn is staying with a friend tonight. We were afraid a noisy four-year-old would wear you out after such a long journey.”
Valerie sipped her drink in an attempt to conceal her disappointment. Brian had persuaded her to stay here overnight. She would have preferred an airport hotel. She had only agreed because of Lynn. Victoria’s ill-concealed antagonism was nothing to look forward to but Lynn was a sweet child and she wanted to give her a Grandma gift. She had chosen a set of Beatrix Potter books in the original small, child-sized, format, hoping they could share one or two stories before bedtime.
Now that hope was shattered.
Suddenly, the pretense was more than she could manage.
“In that case, may I have a tray in my room, Victoria? It has been a long day and I am more tired than I thought.”
Without waiting for a response, Valerie stood and turned toward the stairs. She met Brian on his way down and said goodnight, gave him a hug, and whispered her thanks for th
e ride, saying they would catch up in the car tomorrow on the way to Woodstock.
“What happened, Vicky?”
“I have no idea. She just changed her mind all of a sudden and left the room. Are you sure she’s quite stable, Brian? You must admit her behaviour lately is unusual.”
Her husband shook his head. He was not going to get into an argument about his mother’s mental state while she was upstairs in his home. Just as well she had retired early. He had work to do this evening. The time spent in the airport had put him behind in his contacts and tomorrow’s drive would add to the delays.
“I’ll take her up some food and see what I can find out. Pour me a stiff drink of that whisky my Mum brought. I’ve a feeling I’ll need it.”
By the time, Victoria had prepared a tray and Brian had taken it up to her, he discovered his mother asleep in the spare room. She must be exhausted! Poor thing! It’s hard to travel on your own. Dad was the one who made all the travel plans years ago. It must be difficult for her now. I’ll let her sleep.
He put the tray down on a bedside table just in case she awoke during the night, then switched off the light and softly closed the door.
He was thinking, as he went downstairs to join his wife, how many times his mother had done the same for him, and for his brother, when they fell asleep studying for exams.
Two.
Sunday.
Valerie Westwood opened her eyes and wondered where on earth she was. Nothing seemed immediately familiar in the semi-dark. Where was the twin bed with Sandra sleeping peacefully, or her own big bed at home?
It took a moment or two to orient herself to this new reality. She was home; but not home. This was Brian and Victoria’s spare room in Toronto. She still had to face the 401 before she was truly home.
She lay there, letting her memories and thoughts wander.
Where was her true home these days?
Was it the home of her heart with its lovely memories refreshed in the recent English holiday?
Was Kilworth to be her home for the rest of her life, despite its sad memories imposed over much earlier good ones?
Was Jean Mackenzie’s wonderful offer of a place to stay in Vancouver a new possibility?
It was too much, and too early in the day to make such decisions even if she had an inkling which, if any, of these choices was feasible.
She turned her head to look at the clock. It was one of those with no numbers. Difficult to read. Victoria’s choice, no doubt.
She sat up to find her watch and almost knocked over the tray perched precariously on the bedside table. At once she was ravenously hungry. How long had it been since she ate a meal? She had only nibbled at the airline food. That Italian mess had almost turned her stomach with its strong smells and flavours. This tray must hold what should have been her supper last night.
She looked over the contents and grabbed a whole wheat roll and pat of butter. The congealed food on the plate was unappetizing so she pushed it away in favour of a slice of chocolate cake. A glass of milk helped the food go down and she felt reinvigorated enough to push back the bedcovers and set her feet on the floor. Now she could see her watch. It was just after three o’clock in the morning! Jet lag had thrown off her sleep patterns. She had fallen asleep much too early. And this was the result. Awake in the dark. Alone in a sleeping house.
Now, she remembered why. Lynn was not at home. Disappointment washed over her and she decided not to allow it to overwhelm her. She had an idea.
Quickly donning a robe she found hanging on the back of the door, she exited and tiptoed across the hall to the main washroom which was at the opposite end of the house from Brian’s master suite. Next, she looked for Lynn’s room and found it nearby, identified by the wooden sign hanging on the door.
If she was to be denied time with her granddaughter, she would not be denied the chance to explore the room where she slept and played.
Lynn’s room was a typical girl’s hangout in shades of pink with touches of purple. Valerie was glad to see Victoria had not succumbed to the fashion of draping a tiny girl’s bed in a canopy of pink tulle.
She found a huge toy box, disguised as a bench, at the foot of the bed and peeked inside. Very tidy for a four-year-old. Doubtless, Victoria would not permit her only child to throw things around in abandon. There were soft animals and baby dolls and some boxes of building blocks. Brian’s choice, surely. He had always loved such things as a boy. A brand-new jigsaw puzzle box was stuffed down the side, but no books were evident.
Valerie closed the lid and looked around for a bookshelf. She found one under a desk near the window. The top of the desk held a tablet, the latest thing for children’s entertainment. She felt a little sad that such technology had taken the place of cozy reading times and table-top games. The book shelf was small. She wondered where Victoria would place the Beatrix Potter collection she had brought with her.
On the desk lay a brightly-coloured notebook with Lynn’s drawings and writing attempts. Valerie carefully removed several blank pages then looked around for a pen or pencil. She found a blue pen in the desk drawer. She meant to leave a few printed notes around for Lynn to find. Little girls loved secrets and mysteries. Perhaps she would enjoy them enough to want to write back to her grandmother.
This task occupied a further thirty minutes. It was necessary to conceal the notes so that the child, rather than her mother, would discover them. One was placed behind a picture on the wall opposite Lynn’s bed with a corner sticking up. Another was folded and returned to the notebook and several more were inserted into books. The last note was rolled up and tucked into the hand of one of the dolls in the toy box.
With a smile on her face, Valerie left Lynn’s room and tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen where she made a pot of tea, toasted some bread, boiled an egg and watched television on the small set above the polished countertops. It was time to reorient herself to Canadian news and views.
She was conscious of how different was this morning to the clatter and chatter she had enjoyed with Corrine and Sandra in the Lakelands apartment. Was she going to be content with a solitary existence now she had experienced such comforting female companionship? Once more, such weighty decisions seemed premature so she poured another cup of tea and waited for dawn to come.
Brian Morton was wakened by his wife’s hand pushing against his shoulder.
“What? What’s up?” he asked, still groggy with sleep. He glanced at the clock; the first thing he did every morning, and blinked to confirm the hour. “It’s only five o’clock, Vicky. It’s Sunday. Let me sleep, for pity’s sake.”
“There’s someone in the house. I smell toast. Go and see who it is, Brian. It could be a burglar. There have been break-ins in this neighbourhood.”
He turned around enough to raise his head and look at his wife.
“Vicky! Have you forgotten my mother is here? She’s probably in the kitchen. If you want to know, go down and see for yourself.” With that, he groaned and slid back down pulling the covers up over his ears.
Victoria was embarrassed. She had been dreaming about a home invasion, probably brought on by the smells of cooking. How inconsiderate of her mother-in-law to waken the household so early. Just as well she had persuaded Brian to let Lynn go to her friend’s overnight. The child would have been impossible all day if she had been wakened at this hour.
She deliberated for a brief moment about the possibility of going downstairs to join Valerie but dismissed that idea swiftly. She felt too annoyed with the older woman; too annoyed to conceal her impatience. Brian was driving his mother to Woodstock later this morning. He had an appointment there and his mother would join the ground transport bus service the rest of the way to London. She would be rid of her soon. Let Brian deal with the fallout. She had enough to do with a full-time job, a child too young for full-time school, and this new townhouse to look after.
She took one look at her husband’s back firmly cocooned on the opposite side of th
e bed, and sighed. He would be back to normal once his mother had departed. She always had this unsettling effect on her son.
Victoria Westwood punched her pillow into submission and lay back down in bed. In five seconds she was fast asleep.
The day seemed endless to Valerie. Her own fault for getting up so early, of course, but at last she could relax. Brian was a good driver, as his father had taught him. She was enjoying this time alone with her son. At least she had, until he broached the subject of the house sale.
“Mum, you must admit it’s a sudden decision. Dad’s not even gone a year yet and you have many decades ahead of you. Why not stay where everything is familiar and comfortable? It’s a fine house and Kilworth is a lovely spot among trees and gardens.”
She wondered whether to laugh or cry in response. How oblivious the young are to their elders, she thought. How could he guess the loneliness of a house once filled with male voices, arguments, feet clattering on the stairs, and fridge door clanging shut every fifteen minutes? How could he guess the toll on her energy of all the dusting, cleaning, washing and repairing, required by a large home three stories in height from basement to bedrooms, and why did she need so much space at this time of her life?
As to the supposed decades ahead of her, who knew how many years of comparative health and strength were left? David had died prematurely at sixty-five. She could feel aches and pains now that were absent five years ago and her eyesight was not the same as it was. She was sure she was shrinking and none of that was as bad as the wrinkles that were setting up home on her face, with more joining in every year.
