Carl had learned the art well, and he knew he was a caring, gentle lover. He knew it was his role to give pleasure as well as to take it. He knew when to be gentle and when not to be; he knew where to touch and where not to; he knew how to arouse and how to fulfil.
To Holly it felt like she had never been made love to before. This, she decided, was what they had all talked about, had all dreamed about, what all those songs were about, what magic was about. Graham had not cared about her feelings, and it had been many months since she had even pretended to enjoy sex. But this was different. This wasn’t ‘sex’ this was ‘love making’.
Afterwards they lay in the sunshine, both smiling.
“Thanks.”
“That’s an odd thing to say.”
“I mean it. Thanks.”
“Thank you too”
“No, I mean thanks for more than just the last, what?” she looked at her watch “20 minutes. Thanks for restoring my faith in men.”
“Is that the first time since...” He left the question unfinished, it should never have been started but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Yes. I was never unfaithful to Graham, God knows why, but I wasn’t. Christ!”
“What?” he asked in alarm as she had sat up sharply.
“I said his name without flinching! I’ve not been able to think of him or say his name without panicking and now I have.”
“Time, you know, it does work in the end.”
“And a good … well what we’ve just done!”
He pulled her down towards him and kissed her again.
“One more time then.”
An hour later they had rejoined the twins and were sitting under the shade of the tree in the hotel garden drinking tea and eating scones and jam.
“Did you two have a good walk?” Crispin had noticed the grass stains on the back of Carl’s shirt and couldn’t believe they would have done anything together.
“Terrific, it’s so beautiful down here. We went through the churchyard, sorry ‘Abbeyyard’, and down onto the water meadows, there’s miles of them. It was so cool.” Crispin was relieved, Holly didn’t seem embarrassed or secretive, they had, after all, just been for a walk and sat down on the grass to enjoy the countryside.
“We did a lot of talking, and I’ve decided it’s time I thought about not sponging on you two any longer.”
“We love you being here, don’t we Oliver?” Crispin tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He had been patient. Again.
He hadn’t tried anything before she went to university, then he had lost her to Graham. He had been waiting for her to get her divorce, he was giving her time to decide what she really wanted to do after her disastrous marriage. He hadn’t wanted to take advantage of her when she was low. Now he was losing her again.
“Of course. You know you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” Somehow Oliver’s invitation was less genuine than Crispin’s.
“Sooner or later I’ve got to face getting my life together. My divorce will be through soon and I’ll be free to be me again.”
Crispin wondered what had gone on down by the riverbank. What had Carl said, or done, to change Holly’s plans. This morning she hadn’t said anything about even thinking about leaving.
“The bank’s being paying the rent but I’m going to have to earn something soon or they won’t pay up any more. I reckon I must already be overdrawn. There’s probably loads of letters on the mat waiting to be opened. I hate not opening bills.”
“Come and work for us, there’s loads you could do at the workshop, there’s all the admin, I know we’re no good at that.” Crispin knew he was talking too much but it felt like he had this one last chance to make her change her mind.
“I’ve already got a job. I know I let them all down terribly in the Spring but I’m better now. I can cope now.”
“Why did you run away?” Crispin asked. He knew it was too late, he should have asked before. He didn’t really expect an answer now.
Holly couldn’t explain to these men who she knew so well, all the feelings of resentment and betrayal she had experienced when she had found out about her father. How she felt so let down by Charles, who she had thought she might have loved. She couldn’t explain any of it to these men who she cared for in such different ways, so she ignored the question.
“I will try to be more sensible, but it’s a risk!” she tried to laugh, but wasn’t entirely successful.
“We’ll miss you.” Oliver had been watching the three of them, as he often did, and probably saw more in Holly’s mood than his brother could.
“Only because you’ll have to do your own washing up.”
“Why else.”
“Anyway, now you two have woken up is it time for a drink? I’ll get them.”
“I’ll help you.” Crispin jumped up.
As they walked in towards the bar Holly put her hand inside the crook of Crispin’s arm and hugged him to her. “You know you and Olly have been great. I love you both so much for helping me out, but it really is time I took myself in hand.”
“You could have talked to me you know, anytime.” Crispin felt hurt. Even though he had almost persuaded himself that she and Carl had not been up to anything that afternoon he couldn’t help feeling jealous that she must have spoken about her life with Carl and not with him.
“I know, silly, but I didn’t did I?” She hugged his arm and leant up to give him a playful kiss on his cheek.
“I tried to talk to you, you know, the morning of your, you know, your wedding.” He was embarrassed and uncharacteristically diffident.
“I know. And you were absolutely right. I really wish I’d listened to you. I really do.”
“So do I.”
“But I didn’t and here I am ‘picking myself up, dusting myself down and starting all over again’ thanks to you.”
As they carried the large jug filled with ice, fruit and alcohol out into the garden Crispin told Holly that if she ever needed a friend to talk to he was always there, he’d always listen and try to help.
“I know.”
But he knew she would never call him.
She would only ever see him as Linda’s brother, almost her brother and he felt immeasurably depressed.
“Here you go boys,” Holly said rather too loudly as she filled their glasses. “Cheers”.
They all drank to a 30th Birthday that would be remembered for such different reasons.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When she opened the door to the flat Holly expected to be pushing a month’s worth of mail across the floor, but the door opened smoothly. She had expected to face the paint pots and stepladders she had left in the dining room, but there were none. The weather had been so hot for the month she had been away and she had expected to find the flat stifling with the stink of paint still lingering, but the air in the flat was fresh.
She was stunned when she walked into the living room. It was completely immaculate. There was a sofa and chairs, a table against the wall with a vase filled with fresh pink and white roses, there were pictures hanging on the fresh magnolia walls, lovely, slightly provocative prints of gypsy girls.
She went into her bedroom. It had been decorated too and completely refurnished although her father’s desk was still there. She tried the locks, they were secure; she found her key and opened it, relieved to find all the papers as she had left them.
In the bathroom everything had changed. Gone were the horrid green bath and basin, replaced with white and there was a shower. On the floor, instead of a dreadful black white and red lino she had hated, was a beige carpet. On the window ledge was another vase of roses.
The whole flat had been transformed.
As she went around the flat opening all the windows she wondered what had happened, and how…? And who…? She walked back down the short corridor to the new table where she had seen all her mail laid out in neat piles labelled BILLS, DIVORCE, BANK, LANDLORD, WORK, RUBBISH.
Turn
ing on the radio absent-mindedly she sat down, deciding to tackle the LANDLORD pile first.
There were three letters. She checked the postmarks and opened them in chronological order. It was the order in which they had been arranged anyway.
The earliest was a letter dated the day she had left, explaining that the Landlord was selling the building but that the tenants, which apart from Holly were two old people in the flat above and the two shops beneath, would all be safe from eviction. Their tenancies meant that they could not be thrown out immediately but the new Landlord wanted them to know that he had no intention of evicting anyone, nor increasing their rents.
The second letter was from Ted Mottram. The thought crossed Holly’s mind that this had been miss-filed by the mysterious organiser, this should be in the DIVORCE pile. But as she read the letter she realised that was simply a coincidence, his firm was acting for the new Landlord. The letter explained that essential refurbishments were to be made to the property and that, if she was not in to give access on a certain date they would have to force entry but would ensure the lock remained unchanged. It continued saying the Landlord believed that the change in ownership would serve only to improve the facilities and status of the building. There was no sign in Ted’s letter of the name of the new landlord but Holly didn’t care. It seemed that that explained the changes in the flat.
It was the third letter that explained the roses.
Dear Mrs Eccleston,
She was mildly surprised at the salutation. She had reverted to her maiden name as soon as she had left Graham but she was normally called ‘Miss’. She had always preferred ‘Mrs’ and had mentioned more than once to Charles and Linda that she wished the English worked as the Europeans did and people were given the title ‘Frau’ or ‘Madame’ or ‘Señora’ simply when they reached maturity without necessarily advertising their marital status.
It is with great pleasure that I inform you of my recent purchase of your building and hope that you approve the decoration and other improvements made to the property in your absence.
I want to assure you that all your belongings have been treated with the greatest respect through this refurbishment and have been stored in boxes that you will find in the spare bedroom.
If there is anything you wish to know about the ways in which the new ownership of your building may affect your tenancy please do not hesitate to contact me directly.
Yours faithfully,
Holly was completely unprepared for the signature and the handwritten note at the bottom.
Charles Donaldson
PS Welcome Home!
She held the letter at arms length knowing she could react in two ways.
She could feel her space had been invaded, she could feel that he was hounding her, taking over her life; she could resent him for the power he had over her and feel that there was no hiding place; she could hate him.
Or she could love him for what he had done.
She could appreciate the care and forethought that had gone into the transformation of the flat which had obviously been done with her in mind; the expense he had gone to so he could help her; she could understand it for what she realised it was meant to convey.
That he loved her.
She wasn’t sure how to react so she walked back into the living room. The photograph of her Mother was on the mantelpiece and looking at it made her want to trust Charles, made her want to believe that all this wasn’t to control her, it was to show how much he cared.
He hadn’t contacted her in the month she had been away, he hadn’t phoned or written, but she now knew he had been thinking of her all the time. He must have started this process well before she left. He couldn’t have done it all in one month. Why hadn’t he told her?
That letter, apart from the PS, was as formal as it could be.
Still, she allowed herself to think, he had left flowers all over the flat and the windows had obviously been opened every day through the continuing heat wave. So maybe he wasn’t being completely impersonal.
So many thoughts ran through her mind, trying to make sense of what had happened, and what she should do.
When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high
For much of the life that she could remember she had had to do things for herself. Her parents had had their own problems and, though they had rarely fought in front of her, she knew they had been unhappy together. She understood that even better since her own marriage.
At the end of the storm is a golden sky
They had fed her and educated her and probably loved her in their own ways, but she knew she had never been the most important person in either of their lives. When she had married Graham she had thought that perhaps now someone would do things for her, make her the centre of their world.
Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain
She had wanted to be loved and cared for. Perhaps she was being unrealistic; perhaps you could never be the only important person in someone’s life. Perhaps, even if you were, it would be too much of a responsibility.
But now, it seemed, she was. Charles had done so much, no one had ever gone to so much trouble for her.
Walk On, Walk On, With hope in your heart, and You’ll never walk alone.
She became aware of the song on the radio, she listened to the words, and, as every time she listened to that song, she felt the tears running down her cheeks.
She wanted to believe her mother was talking to her. She knew it was stupid, she knew she was tired and emotional, but that didn’t stop her wanting it not to be a coincidence.
You’ll never walk alone.
She took the photo from the mantelpiece and kissed it.
“Thanks Mom.”
It was getting late. There was still bright sunlight streaming through the windows but the sun was low and, looking at her watch, she realised it was after nine o’clock.
She went back to the kitchen and opened the new fridge. There was milk, butter, bread, water, oranges, some cheese, cold meat and salad and a note.
Just in case you don’t feel like shopping today. See you in the office Thursday morning? Please?
It was written in Linda’s easily recognisable, childishly round handwriting.
Holly poured a glass of the creamy milk.
The other piles of post would have to wait, she had some coming to terms with herself to do.
The next day, the last day in June, Holly unpacked all her belongings from the boxes in the spare room and made the flat her own. She phoned Crispin to say he wasn’t to worry, sorry she hadn’t phoned yesterday but it was late when she got back. They were on the phone for a long time, talking as though he didn’t love her and she didn’t know how he felt. She told him about the transformation in the flat and got the idea that he had already known; he told her how everyone at the pub was devastated that she had gone without saying goodbye, especially ‘some bloke with a wonderful black eye’.
“Bye Crispin, love to Olly.”
“Bye Holly, Good luck. We’re always…”
But she had hung up.
She faced the BILLS pile on the dining room table and found that there weren’t many. Perhaps she hadn’t been away so long after all, it just seemed that way. In the BANK pile was a statement that showed her that her salary had been paid in full for May and June. She’d have to talk to Linda about that. In the DIVORCE pile were several letters detailing dates and with various forms to sign. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. The final letter, with a hand written addition at the bottom, was from Ted.
Don’t worry, my dear, everything is going according to plan, Graham Tyler is being unusually co-operative. Please call me when you get home.
They were all so sure she’d come back.
Perhaps she had been the only one who had doubted it.
The RUBBISH pile appeared to be just one letter from Graham. She recognised the handwriting and saw from the postmark that she had only just missed getting it before she had le
ft for Oxford though she couldn’t make out the place it had been posted. She nearly didn’t open it. It was short and to the point.
I just heard about your father. Shame.
HE was a bit of a failure though wasn’t he?
Now, I suppose I’ll have to do the best I can on my own.
It occurred to Holly that many things had gone on in the background that she would never know about, that she didn’t want to know about, to get Graham off her back.
But this letter filled her with foreboding. She remembered her fears for her grandparents and for herself.
Perhaps he had not given up at all.
It was some time before she could turn to the letter in front of the WORK label.
Welcome home.
We hope you enjoyed your holiday. Now you have no excuses not to get down to some hard work. We have all missed you and you will notice some changes – hopefully for the better.
Can we just consider that you’ve had this year’s and next year’s holiday in advance? You’ll come back won’t you?
We need you!
It was signed by both Linda and Charles. Perhaps Graham couldn’t touch her after all.
There were people who cared about her, were looking after her, and would always look after her whatever stupid things she did.
Charles would protect her.
If only she would let him.
The next morning Holly got up very early and enjoyed the luxury of the shower. As she stood under the lukewarm water trying to cool down, for it was already over 75°, she thought of Charles. Very few people, drawing up the specifications for re-doing a bathroom, would have thought about a shower, unless they had wanted to please the person who would be using the bathroom.
She dressed more carefully than she had for weeks.
She had a calf length loose cotton skirt that she had bought in the market in Oxford. It was a mess of maroons blues and whites and she had loved it. It made her think that she was a 1960s hippy, carefree and facing the world as if it weren’t a frightening place. She had nearly worn it the previous weekend when she had gone down Dorchester with the twins. And Carl.
Walking Alone Page 28
