A Week in Winter: A Novel

by Willett, Marcia

  ‘That’s Melissa,’ he’d said at once, putting down the teapot, lifting the photograph and handing it to her. ‘Taken a few years ago, just after she’d graduated.’

  Posy had taken it, still frowning. ‘This is so bizarre,’ she’d said slowly, ‘but I feel I know her. Or perhaps she reminds me of someone.’

  ‘People say we’re alike,’ he’d offered diffidently. ‘Could it simply be a family resemblance?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She’d shaken her head. ‘It might be. I’ve felt the same with you once or twice. It’s like a kind of fleeting memory of something. I expect it will come back. She’s so beautiful.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. He took the photograph, looking at the bright, laughing face, the thick bronze-coloured hair, remembering that happy, triumphant day. ‘She was … lovely.’

  ‘Oh, Mike.’ Posy had stood up, putting an arm about him sympathetically, and suddenly they’d been in each other’s arms, everything else forgotten. It was Luke who had brought them back to the present, hammering on his tray, shouting for his tea, and they’d broken apart, laughing rather breathlessly.

  It was the next day, when the weekend was nearly over, that he’d talked to her about Rob, about being together, living at Moorgate—‘Oh, this is so amazing,’ Posy had cried, her eyes brilliant. ‘I can’t believe this can be happening!’—and had talked for hours about their feelings, their hopes.

  ‘I’m not easy to live with,’ he’d told her. ‘I get utterly absorbed with what I’m writing and you’ll probably feel neglected. The trouble is that most people think that writers are only at work when they have a pen in their hands or they’re sitting at a word processor but it isn’t true. It goes on and on in their minds and they become withdrawn and preoccupied and touchy if they’re distracted. Moorgate is rather isolated and I don’t want you to be lonely.’

  ‘I shan’t be lonely,’ she’d assured him. ‘I like my own company and there will be Luke. Perhaps I’ll get involved with the local playgroup when he starts going. Things like that. I shan’t sit about watching the grass grow.’

  ‘No,’ he’d said, ‘no, I’m sure you won’t. But it’s all happened rather quickly. What will your parents say?’

  She’d shrugged impatiently. ‘Who cares? It’s my life and I want to be with you. What’s the point of waiting?’

  ‘If you’re certain …’ He’d still sounded anxious and she’d grinned at him.

  ‘Trying to get rid of me before we’ve even started?’

  ‘Of course not. I just don’t want to be the cause of you missing out on anything. What will your grandmother say? She’s a daunting lady, if I’m a judge.’

  ‘Maudie? Maudie will want me to be happy. It’s Mum who’s the daunting one.’

  ‘Yes,’ he’d said uncomfortably. ‘So you keep saying. I’m not looking forward to meeting your mother.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ she’d agreed frankly. ‘But we can do it now that we’ve really made up our own minds. You have to be absolutely determined or she’ll undermine you. Look.’ Suddenly she’d become very serious. ‘We don’t want to waste time, do we? We know how precious it is and we know that you can’t take it for granted.’

  It was as if Melissa had materialised beside them, encouraging them, and his eyes had filled with tears.

  ‘No,’ he’d mumbled. ‘You can’t take it for granted.’

  Posy had held his hand tightly and, once he’d recovered, he’d begun to talk about his next visit to Moorgate.

  ‘I was wondering,’ he’d said, ‘about giving Rob a keepsake. Melissa didn’t want anything that might be a tie, if you know what I mean. Moorgate was something else but she didn’t want him surrounded by things which might prevent him from forming new relationships. She had no idea, of course, that she’d made such an imprint on the house itself as far as he’s concerned. Anyway, she couldn’t think of anything that might not, ultimately, be a kind of reproach, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘I think so.’ Posy had looked thoughtful. ‘I can understand how she felt. She’d had that wonderful week with him knowing that she had to leave him and she would have hated him feeling a kind of on-going allegiance. Things that would have constantly reminded him and tied him to her memory.’

  ‘Exactly.’ He’d been grateful for her insight. ‘But I think that when we’ve … dealt with the ashes, he might suddenly feel bereft. Moorgate gone. Melissa gone. Perhaps I’m being fanciful. Anyway, I’ve framed this photograph, a recent one of her, which is how he knew her. What do you think?’

  He’d taken the leather case out of the drawer and shown it to her. Her response had been electrifying.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ She’d clutched the case with one hand, the other pressed to her mouth. ‘I don’t believe it! I know her. I met her.’ She stared at him, her eyes almost wild with shock. ‘Oh, Mike. I met her.’

  ‘But where?’ He’d felt almost angry with the surprise of it. ‘Are you sure? Was it in London?’

  ‘No.’ Posy had stared down at the photograph and her eyes had filled with tears. ‘It was in Bovey.’

  ‘In Bovey?’

  ‘We had coffee in the Mill.’ She’d looked at him, her lips shaking. ‘We talked about the birds. She was so lovely. I remember thinking how elegant and confident she was and wishing that I was like her. I imagined that she was terribly successful and sought after. She said that she was on her way to look at a house in Cornwall and we talked …’

  Posy had lapsed into silence, sitting quite still, hearing Melissa saying, ‘Perhaps you want five children and a husband that writes nice things about you when you’re sixty.’ This recollection, her remembrance of an odd feeling of kinship, suddenly brought home the reality of Melissa’s death; it had made the loss personal, and very real, and the tears had poured down her cheeks.

  Mike had tried to comfort her, still trying to come to terms with this revelation.

  ‘We’ll go there together,’ Posy had said later, drying her tears. ‘I’ll show you. Oh, I simply can’t believe this …’

  Now, with the photograph and Melissa’s ashes in his bag, Mike let himself into Moorgate, dreading the ordeal that lay ahead.

  It was early evening, however, before either of them had the courage to take the small box and go out into the garden. After lunch, they’d gone for a walk across the moor, allowing the bleak majestic beauty to creep into their souls, preparing themselves. The exercise and the invigorating air had made them ready for an early supper although, after the first few mouthfuls, they’d suddenly lost their appetites. Each had struggled on, however, lest the other should be affected.

  At length conversation had begun to lag; silences stretched longer and the atmosphere grew heavy with suspense.

  ‘Come on,’ said Mike gently, at last. ‘Shall we go into the garden, Rob, and … do this last thing?’

  Rob nodded, pushing back his chair, his face grim, and Mike picked up the small casket from his bag and followed him outside. He was waiting on the lawn and Mike could see that the ground beneath the escallonia hedge had been freshly turned.

  ‘Where do you think?’ muttered Rob. ‘I thought that… it would be … safe there. But I don’t really know …’

  Mike held the casket tightly, staring down at the dark, peaty earth. He had an impression of Melissa, standing behind him, shivering, clasping her ruana tightly about her; heard her voice in the wind.

  ‘Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

  To thy high requiem become a sod.

  Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!’

  ‘No,’ he said desperately, with a kind of revulsion. ‘No. I can’t put her there. Not in the cold and wet. Not Melissa.’

  Rob stared at him. ‘Let her go where she likes,’ he said suddenly. ‘Let her be free. That’s how she was, wasn’t she? Not tied down and constrained.’

  On an impulse, Mike opened the lid, holding up the casket, letting the contents be taken by the wind which streamed, cold and cleansin
g, over the moor from the west. They stood together until the casket was quite empty and Rob took Mike’s arm.

  ‘What shall we do?’ he muttered. ‘We can’t just leave it like that.’ He was shuddering with reaction and Mike took a deep breath, steadying himself. The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, the garden was washed in the golden light of evening and, in the east, a star was twinkling. In his confused mind some lines from a prayer formed; the prayer which he and Melissa had said each evening at school, before bed. Slowly, haltingly he began to speak the lines.

  ‘O Lord, support us all the day long of this troublous life, until the shades lengthen, and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then, Lord, in thy mercy, grant us safe lodging, a holy rest, and peace at the last; through Jesus Christ our Lord.’

  Wrenchingly, Rob began to weep, almost doubling up, his body racked with sobs. Keeping control of his own reactions, Mike led him into the house and pushed him into a chair at the kitchen table. Without thinking he dragged a rug from his bag, Melissa’s rug, placing it round Rob’s shoulders.

  ‘There’s nothing left now,’ Rob said, raising his head to look pitifully at Mike. ‘Nothing at all. How shall I manage?’

  Mike took the photograph from his bag and placed it wordlessly before him, tucking the rug more closely over his shaking shoulders, before going to push the kettle on to the hotplate. Rob stared down at Melissa’s face, his hand unconsciously smoothing the soft, comforting wool. Presently, as if growing aware of his unconscious action, he glanced at the rug. His face changed as a thousand memories possessed him and he began to cry in earnest, allowing, at last, the agonising weight of grief to dissolve in healing tears.

  At the same hour, Posy was standing in the hall at Hyde Abbey Road talking to Selina.

  ‘I know it’s sudden,’ she was saying. ‘Of course it is. It’s a sudden sort of thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘But you’re talking about marrying this… Mike.’ Selina’s voice sounded strained. ‘That’s certainly sudden. I can imagine you falling in love with someone suddenly—I’m not quite stupid—but marrying them after … how long is it? And what about your own career?’

  ‘I’ll think about that later.’ In her anxiety Posy managed to sound cockily defiant. ‘After all, you were never terribly impressed by the thought of my having a career in the theatre, were you?’

  ‘That’s not the point.’ Selina wanted to burst into tears, to scream. She was tired, lonely, unhappy and she wanted to be made much of, to be cosseted and looked after. This was simply too much; she hadn’t the strength for it. ‘You’re only twenty-two, Posy, and did you say this man is divorced? With a child?’

  ‘I did say that.’ Posy was on the defensive. ‘So what? It’s not his fault that his wife became famous and chose a career instead of motherhood.’

  ‘Please, Posy.’ Selina, remembering long ago yoga classes, took a few deep, calming breaths. ‘Please can we discuss this sensibly? Must we do it on the telephone?’

  Various sarcastic answers presented themselves but, seized by an unexpected fit of maturity, Posy rejected them.

  ‘I can’t get home in the middle of the week,’ she said, quite reasonably, ‘and you’ve got Aunt Daphne staying the weekend, haven’t you? Not much point me coming home while she’s there. We wouldn’t be able to talk properly. I just wanted you to know about me and Mike getting really serious. I’ll come home the following weekend if you like.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Selina, with a gasp of relief. ‘Yes, do that…’

  ‘And I’ll bring Mike to meet you.’

  ‘Bring Mike?’ cried Selina, alarmed. ‘But isn’t that rather premature? Can’t we talk about this first, Posy?’

  ‘We’ve already talked about it.’ She paused, steeling herself. ‘There’s something else, Mum.’

  ‘Oh God, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?’ said Selina flatly. ‘I might have guessed. That’s what all this urgency is about, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ shouted Posy crossly. ‘No, it bloody isn’t. I’m not pregnant. I just wanted to tell you that Mike’s buying Moorgate. The man who bought it doesn’t want it any more because … well, it’s a long story and I’ll explain when I see you. But…’ She laughed almost hysterically. ‘Isn’t it amazing, Mum? I’ll be living at Moorgate. You’ll be able to come and stay with us. Aren’t you pleased?’

  ‘Buying Moorgate?’ Selina sounded as if she’d been temporarily stunned by a blunt instrument. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Mike’s buying Moorgate,’ explained Posy patiently. ‘He knows the man who bought it from Maudie. He was engaged to Mike’s sister but … well, she died. It’s really sad. Rob doesn’t want to be there without her so Mike’s buying it. Oh, Mum, I’m just so happy. Can’t you be pleased for me?’

  Selina sought for words; her brain reeled. For once the usual cutting remarks and cruel observations deserted her. She felt bone-tired, exhausted, beyond all rational thought.

  ‘Yes,’ she said faintly. ‘Yes, of course I’m pleased. We’ll talk later, next weekend. Bring Mike. I shall be pleased to see him if he’d like to come.’

  The line went dead and Posy stood for some time, eyebrows raised, staring at nothing in particular. After a moment she dialled another number and was eventually put through to Patrick.

  ‘Hello, love,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve had your letter. It’s great news, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ she said, gratefully. ‘Do you think so? You’re not… well, upset or anything?’

  ‘Upset?’ He sounded surprised. ‘Why should I be upset?’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?’

  ‘Falling in love is a sudden business,’ he answered. ‘What else would you expect?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, pulling herself together. ‘I mean I’m being stupid. I’ve just been talking to Mum.’

  ‘Ah.’ His voice was guarded. ‘Problems?’

  Posy began to laugh. ‘Not really. That’s the point. She took it quite well and invited Mike home to meet her the weekend after next. But she sounded a bit odd.’

  ‘In what way odd?’

  ‘Tired,’ said Posy after a moment’s thought. ‘Like she was too exhausted to care much, really. Dad?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I wish you were going to be there next weekend.’

  ‘Oh, Posy, so do I. Well, in a way. I’m sorry, darling.’

  ‘It’s OK. But I want you to meet him.’

  ‘So do I. Of course I do. Just tell me when he’s got some time spare and I’ll be there. He sounds a nice chap and a very interesting one. I’ve bought his book.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Posy was near to tears. ‘Thanks for … understanding.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget to let me know when we can all get together.’

  ‘Of course I will. Thanks, Dad.’

  She replaced the receiver, pushing back her hair, sighing with relief Climbing the stairs to her room, she wondered how Rob and Mike were coping at Moorgate.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Selina wandered round the house, checking for the twentieth time that all was in order for Daphne’s visit. So lonely was she that she was longing for the older woman’s arrival, despite her own bitterness at Daphne’s faithlessness. After ten days with Maudie it was only to be expected that Daphne knew all about Patrick and the situation which had led up to his departure. It was humiliating to think about it: Daphne and Maudie, sitting together, discussing her private life and, no doubt, enjoying themselves at her expense. Yet she needed company. It was so difficult being with her friends, keeping up appearances, pretending that Patrick was simply on a long course—she’d said that it was for a year, so as to give herself space—and acting as if nothing had changed.

  She’d heard nothing more from him after the postcard and she swung between hoping that he might suddenly telephone to say that he was coming home and deciding that she
must do something positive: get a job or sell the house. The problem was that these last initiatives needed energy, they required enthusiasm, and she was so tired. She slept the heavy, dreamless sleep of the depressed person, waking unrefreshed, dreading the prospect of another day ahead. Her stomach churned with terror for no apparent reason and she was beginning to feel the stirrings of panic at the least thing—the telephone ringing or the sight of the letters lying on the mat. It was a major task deciding what to wear and the ordinary household jobs were a dreary drudgery.

  She knew that she must make an effort to pull herself together, but she did not know how, and now Posy’s news was yet another anxiety for her to bear alone. She’d hardly been able to take it in and, after a while, her brain had refused to function properly. It was easier to give in and agree to meet this Mike; less effort to agree to it than to fight it. Nevertheless, it was another addition to her load; another terrible worry. Her only daughter thinking about marrying a divorced man with a small child! And what on earth did Posy mean when she said that he’d bought Moorgate? Surely the child was raving? Selina groaned aloud. She needed a drink. Since Patrick had gone, she tried not to start drinking before seven o’clock in the evening, but just lately it had been very hard to stick to her rule. She glanced hopefully at her watch and, as she did so, the doorbell rang.

  Hurrying out into the hall, she flung open the door and stood staring. In all the years she’d known her mother’s old friend, Daphne seemed hardly to have changed: tall, fair, pretty, she smiled at Selina as she’d smiled at her when she was a little girl, when Mummy was alive and Daddy had been there, handsome and strong and devoted.

  ‘Selina, darling,’ said Daphne, holding out her arms. ‘My very dear child. How are you?’

  Forgetting her accusations of duplicity, her fears of betrayal, Selina flung herself upon the tall figure and burst into a noisy fit of weeping. Taken by surprise, her own terrors temporarily put to one side, Daphne led the howling Selina inside and closed the door firmly on the surprised and interested looks of a passer-by. Her instinct leading her unerringly to the kitchen, Daphne dropped her bag on the floor, her other arm still about Selina, and saw the bottle waiting invitingly on the dresser.