Picnics in Hyde Park

by Nikki Moore

  ‘Oh,’ she gulped, her mouthing going dry as she wrenched her eyes away from his bulging groin. ‘I’ll, uh, leave you to it then. Night.’ Bounding up, she snatched up her half-full wine glass and lit out of there like a pack of wolves was nipping at her heels.

  Racing through the house on light feet, she didn’t stop until she reached the top floor. Banging her glass down on the bedside unit, she hauled her top over her head, stripped her shorts, bra and knickers off, and walked into the massive double shower cubicle. Hitting the switch to start the water, she dropped the temperature to something so freezing it would probably cause frostbite.

  Resting her forehead against the wall, she recalled Matt’s confident hands on her body, his passionate kisses and the way he’d used his searching, clever mouth on her.

  What the fuck was she doing?

  11

  Zoe’s fingers clenched around the steering wheel as she swung the BMW onto her aunt’s driveway. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. The whole way here she’d had the windows down and music turned up high, a summer hits dance album filling the car as the breeze fluttered her hair around her face. Usually she’d find the taste of freedom relaxing, but two of the tracks had been by artists of Matt’s. There was just no getting away from him.

  She’d hidden like a coward on the top floor this morning, making a coffee in her lounge area with the small pod-based drinks machine. Waiting until Matt and the kids had left the house, unable to bear facing him just yet. She had slept like crap and there were dark circles under her eyes when she’d been brushing her teeth in front of the mirror. There was no doubt about it, she looked and felt fragile and should definitely be in a stronger frame of mind for the conversation ahead. However, she kept her commitments, so here she was.

  Grabbing her handbag and locking the car she smoothed down the navy dress with the flock of white birds dotting it and squared her shoulders. Gazing up at her aunt’s imposing three floor house with the black railings leading up to the open porch, she traced uneasy eyes over the dark, old-fashioned dormer windows in the roof and the twin curved towers at either end of the property. The place reminded her of the Bates Motel for some reason. There were other similar properties a few roads away that’d been converted into hotels or bed and breakfasts, but Ruth had always been steadfast that this was her home and she wasn’t letting people traipse through it and certainly wasn’t selling it to developers.

  The front door swung open. ‘Are you going to stand there all day, or were you planning to knock on the door at some point?’ her aunt asked.

  Zoe jumped, putting a hand to her chest. ‘Jeez, you scared me.’ Taking a deep breath and summoning all of her patience and courage, she walked forward and climbed the wooden stairs, stopping in front her. Ruth had aged over the past few years. Her pale skin looked sallow, new lines fanning out from her dark eyes. Zoe was shocked. The woman had always seemed so solid and unchanging. ‘Hello, Aunt Ruth. It’s good to see you.’

  ‘Zoe.’ She inclined her head and stepped back, holding the door open for her niece to pass. ‘Come in.’

  No response about it being nice to see her too, Zoe mused dryly as she ambled into the hallway and back into the past. Nothing had changed. The corridor was still dim, the skirting boards and high ceilings painted an immaculate but dull white, the carpet the same violent swirl of dark reds, the mahogany banister gleaming with polish. The scent of beeswax filled the air.

  ‘Through to the front room,’ Ruth directed behind her, and obediently Zoe swung to her left, pushing the glossed wooden door open and going into the lounge.

  ‘Is Mel here?’ she asked, taking a seat on the burgundy sofa and flickering her eyes over the glass fronted cabinet full of expensive china plates and Dresden figurines. Nothing had changed in here either.

  ‘She’s gone to London to see a friend,’ the older woman said abruptly, ‘Jemima, I think. Tea?’

  Zoe’s mouth dropped open. ‘But she knew I was coming. I was supposed to be taking her back with me to London tonight. We’re going out to dinner with Rayne and Frankie. Why would she do that?’ What the hell was going on with Mel at the moment? Was she avoiding her? The other day when they’d spoken on the phone her sister had been a little cooler than usual but for the most part Zoe thought Mel had forgiven her for the comments she’d made about Matt and the kids. After all, they’d only been made out of concern.

  ‘I think she said she would text you about where to meet.’

  ‘Right.’ Zoe set her lips in a firm line.

  ‘Don’t be cross with her.’ Ruth’s face softened. ‘She’s going through a difficult time at the moment. The break up has caused her a lot of distress.’

  What about my break up, Zoe wanted to scream. I was about to get married. But it wouldn’t make any difference to her aunt, who’d always seemed immune to her eldest niece’s feelings. Besides, Zoe wasn’t as devastated about her break up as Melody seemed to be about hers. But after what the other nannies had said about Stephen and her only glimpse of him that first day on Matt’s doorstep, Zoe wondered if Mel had also had a lucky escape.

  ‘Zoe?’ Ruth prompted, smoothing her hair back into its low grey bun, ‘Tea?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Sitting back as her aunt left the room, Zoe took in the familiar oppressive oil paintings on the walls, the lace doilies on the two round oak coffee tables, the same red carpet running in from the hallway. It was all very old-fashioned and proper. Very unsuited to the grieving but energetic and noisy girls who’d arrived on Ruth’s doorstep one winter’s day. The wind had blown so fiercely it’d made a whistling sound through the trees, sending rust brown leaves rushing into the hallway with Zoe and Melody as they’d stepped into their new guardian’s home. Really, Zoe thought, the house had been as unsuitable for her and her sister as the girls had been for her aunt. Of course Ruth had done her best, but there must have been a reason why she had never gotten married or had children of her own. Still, it didn’t explain why she’d always displayed a more tolerant and softer approach towards Melody than she had to Zoe. It was strange, and something Zoe had wondered about a lot of times over the years.

  ‘Here you are.’ Ruth had slipped back into the room while Zoe was lost in her thoughts. She placed a silver tray with a teapot, two cups on saucers, a jug of milk, a box of sugar and spoons down on the nearest table. Shortbread biscuits were arranged neatly on a small matching china plate. She sat down across from Zoe.

  ‘Thank you. Why didn’t you ever like me, Ruth?’ she blurted. Bugger, that wasn’t how she’d meant to start the conversation.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Ruth froze in the act of arranging her beige skirt across her knees.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about,’ Zoe said in a soft voice, deciding she may as well go with it now she’d started. ‘I’m not referring to what happened in the year before I left, I know that upset you. This is about when Mel and I were growing up, when we were young. I’m not blaming you or looking for an apology or an argument. I just want to understand. Why did you treat us differently?’

  ‘I thought we might do the polite chit-chat thing first, but apparently not,’ Ruth tucked her skirt around her legs. ‘So after five years, you’re finally ready to have a conversation instead of arguing, or running away?’

  Zoe felt her cheeks go red. Damn her fair skin. ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Her aunt’s dark eyes were cool. ‘All we did was argue.’

  ‘Mostly when I was a teenager,’ Zoe flashed, ‘and it takes two to argue.’

  To her surprise, Ruth let out a low laugh. ‘It does. You’re right. As for the running away, I’m not referring to when you were a teenager. I’m talking about America.’

  ‘I didn’t run away. I made a new life for myself.’

  ‘It didn’t have to be halfway across the world.’ She raised a hand, palm out. ‘Don’t respond, just think.’ Sighing. ‘You haven’t changed much, have you?’

  ‘Neither have you.’ Zoe shot ba
ck, before realising how childish she sounded. They couldn’t ride this merry-go-round again. Something had to change. Surely things could be different now that they didn’t have an ocean between them. Forcing herself to relax, ‘I know I wasn’t easy when I was younger,’ she conceded. ‘I answered back a lot.’

  ‘You were stubborn and obstinate like your father.’ There was something in her expression that made Zoe pause. A hint of pain, a tinge of regret. ‘But maybe we are both older and wiser now and can talk like adults.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Zoe twisted her fingers in the fabric of her dress. ‘That doesn’t sound like a good thing, what you said. I thought you liked Dad.’

  Ruth sighed, looking troubled. It was the most human expression Zoe had ever seen on her aunt’s face. Growing up, she’d been used to either cold disdain or stern anger. ‘Do you want the truth?’

  Zoe raised her chin, bracing herself for the blow. ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right.’ Staring across the room at the china cabinet, the older woman set her shoulders. ‘Do you know that when your mother and I were girls, we used to play with the figurines over there?’

  ‘Yes, they were your mum’s. Gran’s.’ Who had been a single mum when it was a mark of shame, and who’d died when Zoe was five. The only thing she remembered about her was a dark haired woman with a stony expression. ‘They’re worth a lot of money.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Ruth nodded. ‘I can still remember the way Susan used to take them out and sit on the floor running her fingers over them, holding them up to the light to study the curves and patterns.’

  ‘Mum liked pretty things,’ Zoe agreed, puzzled as to where the conversation was going. But it was the longest she and Ruth had ever talked without arguing so she let her aunt take the lead.

  ‘I loved your mum a lot. She was my little sister.’ It was a tiny smile, but it was there. Her eyes were misty. ‘I looked after her. I enjoyed it. She was the only one I felt comfortable with. There was only three years between us. We used to stay up late, talking for hours, sheets strung between our beds to make a den. We understood each other.’

  ‘I feel the same way about Mel,’ Zoe said, the thought of her sister taking a train to London rather than sharing a car with her piercing a small hole in her heart. As girls, they’d had a pink and yellow plastic Wendy house in the back garden of their parent’s house. Inside were quilted blankets and a table complete with tea set. Zoe had always played in it with her little sister, even when Mel was six and Zoe was a teen and too old for such things. But it had been worth it to see Melody’s toothy grin stretching her mouth wide, her outstretched hands holding out a brush and hair band for Zoe to plait her fair hair. She missed those girls, so full of happiness and hope.

  ‘I know,’ Ruth replied, leaning forward to pour the tea. ‘It’s the one thing you and I have always had in common. That we feel so strongly about taking care of our younger sisters. I’ve often thought it was the reason you became a nanny.’

  Zoe frowned. ‘I’ve never thought of it that way before. I’ve always loved kids so it was natural that I make a career of working with them. But I suppose it makes sense; I must have got my love of caring for children from somewhere. I’m not sure about Melody though.’

  ‘Melody loves you and wants you to be proud of her.’ She added milk and sugar to both cups while her niece tried to assimilate what she meant by that comment. ‘You know,’ she went on, ‘I never loved anybody as much as I loved your mum. Although I’m talking about two entirely different kinds of love, it’s part of the reason I never married. That, and the fact that I was petrified of being abandoned by a man, the way our father left our mother. The bastard.’

  Zoe’s fingers stilled. ‘I’ve never heard you swear before.’

  ‘Well, it’s not a good example to set to children under your care. But I think you and Melody are old enough now that an occasional swear word won’t matter. When I was a teenager you should have heard the words I used, until Mother washed my mouth out with soap. Your mum held my hand when I was sick afterwards.’ She fixed her eyes back on Zoe. ‘I was lost and resentful when Susan met your dad, but once I got to know him and saw how happy they were together, I was happy for her. We were still close, even after they moved in together and got married. I’m not sure you remember but I used to come round when you and Melody were small?’ Zoe shook her head. ‘Well, your mum and I used to sit in the postage-stamp sized back garden of the house on Sycamore Grove, drinking lemonade and chatting while you and Melody played in the paddling pool.’

  ‘No, I don’t remember that. So what happened?’

  ‘Your dad got home one night and heard me make a remark he disliked. It wasn’t meant that way but I was struggling to articulate a concern I had and he came in at the wrong time after a stressful day at work. We had a horrid argument,’ Ruth shook her head, picking up her tea and staring into the milky brownness, ‘it escalated rather badly and he ordered me out of the house. I tried to speak with him a number of times, and your mum tried too, but he wasn’t willing to listen. Which is why I made the stubborn and obstinate remark about you. With your father it worked against me, but it can be a strength when you’re defending the ones you love.’ She drank some of her tea. ‘For years your mum and I had to see each other in secret. She was worried it would upset your dad to know she’d seen me, and she loved him so much she didn’t want to hurt him. It was very hard. As you and Melody got older she couldn’t bring you along in case you told your dad. Which meant as you got older, Susan and I saw each other less and less, just talking on the phone when we could. Which is why you didn’t know me that well when you had to come and live here.’

  ‘It sounds awful,’ Zoe sympathised, not wanting to contemplate the idea of she and Mel not being able to be part of each other’s lives, or having their time together limited. She felt sorry for her aunt, being isolated from the one person she’d cared for more than anyone else. Lifting her tea, she drank a few mouthfuls. ‘What was the argument with Dad about? What did you say?’

  ‘They were planning to have another baby. I was worried, and suggested they should wait.’

  ‘They were?’ Zoe gaped. ‘And why were you worried?’

  ‘She had such an awful, dangerous birth with Melody I was worried it was too much of a risk to have another baby. The doctors told her it wasn’t a good idea. Your dad thought I was trying to interfere, to make your mum’s decision for her. He was worried she would be swayed by me instead of talking to him about it, who of course was the person she should make that decision with. I wasn’t trying to influence or persuade her, I was simply expressing a concern. I thought they should wait a bit longer. Melody was only one at the time.’

  ‘But you were just looking out for her!’ Zoe said, trying to reconcile the man her aunt was describing with the laughing, easy going dad she remembered.

  Ruth shrugged, tightening her grip on the fine china. ‘It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that for the last few years of my sister’s life I didn’t have the relationship with her that I’d had before. And I blamed your father. I also blamed him for your mother’s death.’

  ‘What?’ Zoe placed her cup on the saucer with trembling hands. ‘But it was an accident, right?’ She closed her eyes, fearing her aunt was about to rip her world all apart. That she was going to say her dad had been driving recklessly, or worse, drink driving. That it was his fault his daughters had been orphaned. She’d asked for the truth though, and would have to face it.

  ‘Yes,’ Ruth said, and Zoe’s eyes sprang open. ‘Yes, it was an accident. There was no fault found against your father. Except that the day they died he’d turned up here, having found out she’d come to see me because of something you said. He made her leave. I tried to apologise again, explain my comment from all those years before, but he was too angry at your mum for lying about where she was going to listen to me. The last time I saw her, she was looking at me through the window, mouthing that she’d call me later.’ Her face c
reased up with grief. ‘If only he hadn’t made her leave. If only they had stayed and had a cup of tea and talked it through.’

  ‘Something I said?’ Zoe screwed her face up, trying to remember the traumatic day her parents had died. She’d been thirteen, Melody seven. She’d been in year eight at school, and on the school newspaper. Staying behind to work in the library with other pupils on the second issue, she’d returned home just after five to find her mum gone and her dad sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper.

  ‘Good day at school?’ he asked as she shrugged out of her navy school blazer and went over to the fridge for a glass of milk. ‘Let me guess,’ his blue eyes crinkled and he pushed a hand through his black hair as she looked over her shoulder at him, ‘you learnt loads and got another grade A?’

  ‘Ha-ha,’ she answered, shutting the fridge and turning around. ‘But yeah, pretty much. Where’s Mel?’

  ‘At Mrs Briar’s until half past.’ The lady two doors down who picked her sister up from primary school three times a week so her mum could work at an upmarket clothes shop in town. ‘Do you know where your mum is? I called the shop and they said she left at four today.’

  ‘I overheard her talking on the phone last night when you were in the bath,’ she replied carelessly, sitting across from him and wiping a hand across her mouth to get rid of any milk moustache. She tightened her high ponytail where it had started slipping out. ‘I think she was going to visit a friend.’

  ‘Oh?’ he pushed the newspaper aside and there was a tension to his body language Zoe didn’t understand.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked as he stood up, reaching for his car keys off the kitchen counter. ‘Are you angry?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he reassured, although a vein was standing out on his forehead, ‘your mum’s allowed to have friends. I don’t suppose you know which one it was?’