by Rebecca Shaw
‘You make it sound like they’re possessions to be traded rather than two grieving children,’ Myra snapped, then moderated her tone – she didn’t want Delphine to see how much she had riled her. ‘But we’re doing very well indeed, thanks. They’re a pleasure to have in the house.’
Delphine, her head on one side and a sceptical look on her face, studied Myra. ‘I bet. Whose leg do you think you’re pulling?’
Myra could have killed her on the spot. What was someone like her doing being so astute? She’d prove she was coping. ‘You’d better come in then, you can see for yourself.’ She wanted Delphine to see Oliver’s collage on the wall, Piers’ card in pride of place.
She ushered her into the sitting room, relieved to find that Piers was nowhere to be seen. She sensed rather than saw that he was hiding behind the sofa. ‘Like I said, Piers is resting. I’ll make us a coffee, it’ll warm you up.’
Delphine followed and sat herself down on a kitchen chair without so much as a by-your-leave, but didn’t move to take off her coat or rather ridiculous hat. ‘Has probate been granted yet?’
Ah, thought Myra, so that’s it. ‘No, these things always take time.’
‘In the meanwhile a person could starve to death. Though I can see from your house that won’t be happening here. What is it your Graham does? I’ve forgotten.’
‘He’s in charge of waste for the county. It’s a fascinating job. Milk? Sugar?’
‘Yes. Both. Two teaspoons. I can imagine that, interesting work if you like that kind of thing.’
The slight sneer on Delphne’s face angered Myra, but she couldn’t think of a cutting reply.
‘You’re obviously well off and no doubt you’re used to your creature comforts, six weeks’ holiday a year. Having the boys will clip your wings a bit.’
‘Frankly, that’s none of your business. Here’s your coffee.’ She handed Delphine her mug and deliberately refrained from telling her it was very hot.
‘Are you sure Piers is all right? Maybe we should go and look in on him.’
‘I’d best go see. Won’t be a moment.’ Myra went to the sitting room and peered straight behind the sofa and she was right, he was hiding. He looked panic-stricken when he saw he’d been discovered. Piers put his finger to his lips and as he did she recognised his fear.
Myra hesitated for a moment and then mimicked him and also smiled. She gave him a thumbs up too to tell him his secret was safe with her and gestured for him to sneak up to his bedroom. She went back to the kitchen, shutting the door so Delphine wouldn’t spot Piers. Essentially a truthful person – often too truthful as Graham had found to his cost – she found lying difficult, but persuaded herself that there were times when it was justified.
‘He’s fast asleep laid on his bed, so I’m sorry I’m not prepared to disturb him not for anybody, he hasn’t slept properly since the accident.’
‘How did it happen? On the pedestrian refuge it said in the paper.’
‘That’s immaterial. It happened and we’re very upset, but he’s being brave. Now, how are you getting along?’ Myra almost added ‘without John’s money every week?’
‘Well, that was what I was hoping to ask about. Graham said he’d pay me my expenses, the ones that came up after John went into the hospice, so I’ve brought a list. It comes to quite a bit.’
Myra’s eyes widened when she saw the total. Two thousand, three hundred and twenty-one pounds thirty-five pence! She was horrified. A lot of it had to be lies. She tried to think what Graham would do and thought . . . receipts! They’d be needed. ‘If you give me the receipts I’ll put them with this list . . .’
‘John never asked for receipts, he never bothered.’
‘Well, you see,’ said Myra making it up as she went along, ‘the money isn’t Graham’s, the solicitor will have to pay this bill. Send the receipts in the post to Graham when you get home, it shouldn’t be long now before everything’s settled. They’ve got a buyer for the house.’
Delphine looked uncomfortable. ‘Do you keep all your receipts?’
‘No, but then I’m not asking someone else to pay me for what I’ve done or what I’ve bought. You’ve got to provide the evidence, solicitors don’t pay money out willy nilly.’
‘I see. After all I’ve done for the boys over the years . . .’
Myra’s anger finally got the better of her. ‘By the way, if you’re wanting that stick back, Graham’s broken it into little pieces and put it in the bin.’
Delphine lurched to her feet. ‘What stick? I don’t know anything about a stick.’ She jerked her head back and her dreadful hat almost fell off.
‘Don’t pretend you can’t remember! The one you hit Oliver with every night? For what you did to that boy, you don’t deserve a penny of this money.’ Myra banged her fist down on Delphine’s list where it lay on the table.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I never used a stick on Oliver, it’s all lies. Boys never tell the truth at that age – they make things up to suit them.’
‘So how did he get those stripes on the palm of his hand? Answer me that.’
‘He’s fibbing. I never did.’ She stood there stabbing the air with her finger looking threatening. But Myra just sat there in silence, letting Delphine dig herself into a hole. ‘Wait till you’re reduced to hitting him because he won’t do as he’s told, just you wait and see.’
‘It’ll never come to that. Hitting him to make him good! You should be taken to court for it, it’s abuse that is.’
For a second, Myra could see the panic in Delphine’s eyes. Something in her seemed to collapse but she soon gathered herself together. She defiantly declared she wasn’t putting up with this and why should she when it was all lies. She prodded the list with a moth-eaten fur-trimmed glove. ‘Remember this. I’m owed it and I shall sue, just you wait and see.’
Myra could see Delphine’s bluster was an utter sham. She’d never dream of taking them to court – not when she was the one that should be prosecuted for what she’d done to Oliver.
‘Anyway, if Piers is still asleep I’ll be off.’’
Myra stood up to hasten her departure.
Relieved the dreadful woman had gone Myra went to find Piers. He had come downstairs when he heard Myra shut the door behind Delphine.
‘I don’t like Delphine. Don’t want to see her ever again, you won’t make me will you?’
‘Not if you don’t want to. How about a hot drink and a biscuit?’
Piers nodded and they went to the kitchen.
‘Oliver forgot to see to Pete this morning, he was running late so I’ve fed him. Would you like to have him in the kitchen for a while? To play with. Only the kitchen, he’s not house-trained yet so I don’t want him on the carpets. Or perhaps he could go in the hall on the wood floor I suppose.’
‘Do you mind?’
Myra didn’t let on he’d been in the kitchen almost every day. ‘No, we’ll try him out shall we?’
Piers was delighted, then he hestitated. ‘But I shouldn’t carry him when I can only hold him with one arm, he wriggles such a lot.’
‘Never mind, I can do it.’
So Myra carried Pete in, making sure she kissed the top of his head when Piers couldn’t see her. She was getting ridiculously attached to this rabbit, she didn’t know why, but he was such a sweetie and never threatened to bite her, as she assumed all such creatures would.
To Piers’ surprise Pete ran about the kitchen perfectly happily. ‘Just look! You’d think he’d been in here before, wouldn’t you? He likes it.’ He looked up at Myra, his expression happier than she’d ever seen him, and for a moment her heart rejoiced.
‘To be honest he’s been in once or twice before when I’ve been on my own.’
Piers laughed so happily Myra almost clutched him to her for a hug, but she didn’t, because Myra Butler didn’t make gestures of that kind, but briefly she wished she did. The idea came to her that perhaps she could begin with Piers. After a
ll, she’d managed some sort of embrace when he was so sad the previous week. Maybe she could learn how to do it without flinching and tensing – it seemed to come so naturally to most people.
The two of them spent half an hour playing with Pete in the hall and round the kitchen, back and forth until Piers was exhausted by the pain from his bruised body when he moved and he had to lie down.
Myra covered him with his rug, gave him a painkiller, switched the TV on, took Pete back outside and came in to try out a little idea that had been growing in her mind. She would make a chocolate cake. She hadn’t made Graham a cake for years; they had shop-bought eccles cakes sometimes if she remembered to buy them, but she would never normally think to bake something herself for the two of them. Of course it wasn’t for them, she thought, she was making it for Piers and Oliver.
She had everything ready to start, but before she switched the mixer on she went to see if Piers was happy. He lay fast asleep, the rug had fallen off, those angelic blue eyes of his were closed, his mouth was open and he was snoring slightly. It made her smile. Poor little chap. Guilt crept over her all over again, if only she’d listened to Viv. But she hadn’t, had she and she hadn’t seen her since. She’d found the mug Viv had taken with her clean washed on the front doorstep the next morning, a silent reminder of her foolishness.
When the cake was in the oven and everything washed and put away, Myra decided it was time to try something else she never normally did: offering an olive branch. She put the kettle on and rang Viv. ‘Coffee? Viv?’ There was a slight hesitation and then Viv replied ‘Yes. Why not. I’ll be over right away.’
Viv came in through the back door calling out ‘It’s me. There’s a lovely smell in here!’
‘It’s a chocolate cake I’ve just put in the oven.’
‘And who are you making a chocolate cake for?’
Myra didn’t answer her question, instead she replied, ‘I should have listened to you, Viv, I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t profess to be the all-time, top-of-the-shop advisor on children, but you must admit I do have some experience. In fact, raising kids is about the only thing I do know! When you think about it, Myra, that little lad is in the most appalling position, his safety net has completely gone in a flash and he’s not quite ten yet, so he’s bound to feel desperately afraid. What child wouldn’t, and Oliver too. They’ve no one but Graham. And you.’ Viv sensed there’d been a sea change in Myra and decided her lecture should cease immediately before she got Myra’s back up. ‘Thanks for inviting me for coffee, I did so want to know how Piers was getting on.’
They sat down at the table with their mugs of coffee and it felt like old times.
‘Well, he has a lot of pain simply because he is so badly bruised all over, his arm doesn’t hurt now it’s in plaster, only a kind of general ache, and he’s been playing with Little Pete in here . . .’
Viv thought she must have misunderstood. ‘In the garden you mean?’
‘No, not in this cold weather, he runs about in the kitchen.’
‘He does? You amaze me,’ Viv stuttered.
‘Well, I don’t allow him on the carpets, that’s asking too much. But like you’ve always said, he’s a dear little thing, and I think he even quite likes it when I pick him up. But the effort of playing with him made Piers so tired he’s asleep on the sofa. He’s being so brave.’
Viv didn’t answer for a moment and then said, ‘The cake, Myra, is it all right?
‘Oh! I’d forgotten.’
It was absolutely splendid, beautifully risen and a serious dark chocolate colour. Soon it stood on the cooling tray on the worktop looking proud of itself.
‘That looks wonderful. Is it for something special?’
‘Not particularly. I just felt like making one. After all, have you ever met a boy who doesn’t like chocolate cake!’
Curious, Viv asked, ‘How’s Graham coping with it all?’
Before Myra could answer, they heard Piers calling out.
‘Can I see him?’ asked Viv.
‘Of course.’
He was still laid on the sofa, the rug pulled round his shoulders just as Myra had left him.
‘Can I have a drink of water, Myra, I’m so thirsty?’
‘Of course you can. Viv’s come to see you.’
‘Hello! Piers. How are you feeling?’
‘Better thanks, but it hurts to move about.’
‘Of course it will. You take your painkillers like a good chap, make you feel better.’
‘Yes. I will.’
Viv leaned closer. ‘Don’t let on you know but your Auntie Myra has made the most beautiful chocolate cake!’
Piers’ eyes lit up.
‘I suspect it’s for supper. I wish I could look forward to a slice of it.’
Piers grinned. ‘Good. The food’s not half bad here.’
‘I’m glad. Just what you need to get you better, before you know where you are you’ll be wanting to go back to school, and they’ll all be asking to sign your plaster.’
‘I’m all right at home.’
Myra came in with his glass of water.
Viv was glad to hear Piers saying it was all right at home. It seemed like a good omen and she thought to herself, though of course she wouldn’t dare say it to Myra, that Myra was perhaps making a better job of being a mother than she, Viv, had ever expected. Nor had Myra ever expected either. And it wasn’t just the boys that she seemed to be warming to – letting the rabbit in the house, she could barely believe it. Maybe Myra was finally thawing.
‘Well, Piers, I’ll let you get some more sleep, you look as though your eyes are ready for closing. Sleep’s the best thing for healing. Bye, darling. Any time you fancy a change come across and see me, I’d enjoy that.’
‘Thank you. I will.’
Myra walked to the door with Viv who, just as she was leaving turned back to say, ‘I meant what I said to Piers – any time you feel in need of a break send Piers across to me for an hour. I’d enjoy his company.’ Myra closed the door behind her and went to see if Piers had had enough of his glass of water.
Halfway through finishing it Piers broke off to speak. He burst out with, ‘Why can’t everyone be lovely, like Viv? I hate Delphine, she’s horrid. I hope she never comes here again. She gave us soya milk and cream crackers with no cheese and no butter, said they’d do us good but she knew we didn’t like them and Oliver told her but she took no notice. In the winter it was always so cold in her house. She said she couldn’t afford to heat it properly, but Dad gave her lots of money I used to watch him give it to her. Notes and notes and notes. Piles of them. Every week.’
‘Well, now look here, Piers,’ then, as though she was two quite separate people she heard herself telling him that he’d no need to fear, she wanted him and Oliver to live with their Uncle Graham and he’d no need to worry about Delphine, he was absolutely safe. But how could she say those words when in her heart of hearts she still wanted them to go? She longed for the peace the silent empty house gave her, so what on earth had she said that for? She was lying all over again. Didn’t she know any longer what honesty was when she’d prided herself all her life that she always spoke the truth. Into her mind sprang that feeling of needing to avoid Graham when he’d bent down to kiss her goodnight; for one single second just as she pressed back into her pillows to escape him, she’d wanted his kiss more than anything in the world. There again she was two persons. One the old, controlled, safe Myra and the other a new Myra that had emerged unbeckoned. She’d have to put a stop to this new person as of now.
Chapter 10
That afternoon, Myra decorated the cake helped by Piers who sat on a chair supervising and offering suggestions. Between them they covered it in vanilla butter icing, stroked the top with the back of a big fork to make a kind of basket work pattern on the top, put big fat whole glacé cherries right round the edge and flakes of chocolate all over the top.
‘You are good at doing cakes, Myra. Do you
enjoy making them?’
‘I haven’t made one for ages, could even be years, in fact I think it is. Uncle Graham likes to keep slim you see and chocolate cake like this has no respect for slimness.’
‘I think a cake like this is loving.’
Myra clattered the bowl and the grater and the spoons and the palette knife into the sink and turned to ask him what he meant.
‘It’s all covered in love, that’s why you did it, for love.’
Myra had never equated love with cake, in fact she no longer equated love with anything at all. ‘I don’t know, perhaps you’re right.’
‘It’s two weeks to my birthday. A cake like this with candles on would be amazing. I’ve only ever had shop cakes for my birthday, you see.’
The new Myra emerged again. ‘In that case then Piers Butler shall have a cake like this for his tenth birthday. And that’s a promise.’
Piers went to the kitchen door. Did she really, really mean it, or was she saying that just to please him. He so hoped she did mean it.
‘Thank you very much. I’m going to get bumper cars out now, will you have a go with me?’
‘Of course, you set it up while I wash these things. Are you sure you feel up to it?’
‘For a while anyway.’
So when Oliver came home from school dispirited after a day when everything he did seemed to go wrong, he found Myra on her knees playing bumper cars, and for some unknown reason his spirits lifted. They lifted even more when Piers took him in the kitchen to see the cake he’d helped to decorate. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’
‘Is it for tonight Myra?’
‘It certainly is, Oliver.’ He stood lost in admiration and then unwittingly made a similar remark to Piers’ own comment.
‘It’s beautiful. The best cake ever. I bet you two have loved making it haven’t you? There’s love in that fancy icing.’
Myra flushed red, and she had to turn away so they couldn’t see. When had she ever been praised like this before? Graham used to do it, but she snapped at him so often for it he gave up. These two boys were so sensitive. They’d get that from their dad, John had always been careful about feelings.
