The Sweetest Thing

by Susan Sallis

  She said, ‘He’s just going to the bathroom and he’ll need help getting out.’

  He looked up. ‘I was just getting going!’ he said accusingly.

  She said, ‘Oh good. But don’t forget he’s up there. I have to go. Good luck with the massage woman.’

  He had no idea what she was talking about and forgot about Harry until he heard him banging on the ancient radiator in the bathroom. When he leaped upstairs to find him sitting in cold water, Matthew blamed it all on Lucy. His mother used to say, ‘Better leave a job undone rather than half done.’ And he saw now exactly what she had meant.

  That afternoon, Lucy and Margaret had two hours on the allotment. They were putting it to bed for the winter, collecting slugs from around the sprouts, cutting some of the Jerusalem artichokes, tying bean and pea sticks into neat bundles, putting seaweed around the roots of the currant bushes. They planned to bring all four girls with them during the weekend to create some kind of framework to contain weeds and old stalks for compost. The first frost was forecast for tonight.

  Margaret said, ‘I’m working on Marvin to stay put for Christmas. It’s a real long way to go for only two weeks.’

  Lucy was almost afraid to show how much it would mean to her to have Margaret’s company over the Christmas holiday. It might be ‘only two weeks’ to the Trips; it seemed a lifetime to Lucy. She said carefully, ‘Ellie would love that. Barbara and Denny too. D’you think Marvin will go along with it?’

  ‘Not sure. He can be an awkward cuss at times. I’ll have to pay for it.’ She laughed. Lucy was startled, then embarrassed. Some of the women at the club said things that were a bit near the bone but Margaret was not like that. She bent over the plastic sack of seaweed, lifted out a bundle of odorous bladderwrack and arranged it around a gooseberry bush.

  Margaret was similarly embarrassed but brazened it out. ‘Can’t you take a little joke, Luce?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘It’s what my father used to say. That’s all over and done with now.’

  Margaret said nothing. But Lucy was unsurprised when she announced two days later that Marvin wouldn’t ‘play ball’ and they were flying over the pond earlier than last year. ‘Gus will have to miss a coupla days of school, which Miss Harkin will not like, but it can’t be helped.’

  ‘Gus is well ahead of everyone else in her class,’ Lucy said consolingly. ‘More important to see her family.’

  ‘Sure is.’

  Neither Ellie nor Gus saw anything odd about the earlier flight. They marched off to school, Ellie holding Denny’s mittened hand and Gus linking arms with Barbara, who was in her first year at the Laurels. Margaret had gone into Falmouth with Marvin to get presents for home. Lucy stood on the step and watched the girls go off and felt the day stretching ahead of her endlessly. She went back in, opened her own notebook and dialled the operator for an Exeter number. When Avis answered she said, ‘This is Mrs Lucy Pardoe from Truro. I am driving to Exeter today and will call on you at midday.’ She paused, waiting for Avis to respond. Avis did so in no uncertain manner.

  ‘You certainly will not! I have no wish to see any of you lot from Cornwall ever again.’ She replaced her receiver vehemently.

  Lucy stood there, nibbling her lower lip. She did not want to drive over a hundred miles and not be able to talk to the woman. On the other hand this opportunity seemed heaven-sent. She looked at her watch. It was not quite eight thirty. She dialled again.

  She said directly, ‘Do you know that the man you are living with is married?’

  Avis’s voice was icy. ‘I do. He is married to me.’

  ‘Your divorce is not yet through. And he cannot get one because his wife is Roman Catholic. You are both committing adultery.’

  Avis had remembered people speaking of Lucy Pardoe as a simple person scraping a living from the sandy soil and bringing up her children in what sounded like a shack. She blustered angrily, ‘We might not have any certificate to prove it but we are married in the eyes of God!’

  ‘I understand that exactly. However, there is no real security in such a marriage and the fact is he threw your legal husband out without a penny. Since then Mr Membury has worked for board and lodging. There was an accident and he is now staying at the rectory—’

  ‘I know all this, you stupid woman! Do you think you are the only woman in the world he pesters? I get letters asking me about the girls. They are much better off without him but he can’t believe it. Tell him if he so much as shows his face here, Ted will put him in hospital again.’

  Lucy stared at the humming, empty receiver. She replaced it gently and sat down. Poor Harry. Nobody wanted him. For some reason she felt like crying.

  The phone rang and she snatched it up. ‘Yes? Is it you, Avis?’

  A voice she recognized said, ‘No. It is William Mather, Mrs Pardoe. I am glad you have had a phone put in. Good morning. How are you?’

  That did it. She felt tears fill her eyes. ‘I’m well, thank you. How are you?’

  ‘Very well. We are all extremely well. We have a new baby, a little girl we have called May. She sleeps all day and cries all night. Is that unusual?’

  Surely he wasn’t phoning for advice of that kind? She said, ‘Egg and Ellie went through the nights. But Barbara and Denny didn’t give us any peace for a year.’

  He laughed. ‘The voice of experience. Lucy – may I call you Lucy? We know each other fairly well, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course. Yes.’

  ‘Good. Thank you. I want to talk to you about the farm, Lucy. I have had some correspondence with your father’s solicitors and as there is no will it now belongs to you. You need to sign some papers and then Mr Trumble of Trumble and Trumble in St Austell will hand over the deeds and the keys.’

  ‘I have my own keys, Mr Mather.’

  ‘Your father’s keys will be handed over officially once we have seen Mr Trumble. He also holds the deeds.’

  She levered herself up from the chair, then held the receiver with both hands and stared at the front door. Margaret had asked about the farm and made wild suggestions for selling it to the Flower People. Lucy had told her soberly that the cows had already gone to Home Farm and she would sell off any equipment left and just let the building be taken by the sands. Standing there holding the phone, she knew she could not do that. It had been her mother’s home.

  William Mather’s voice said gently, ‘Are you all right? It’s just one of those legal things. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Will you – can you – come with me?’ She sounded like a frightened child. One of the cats brushed against her legs and she lifted him on to her shoulder and put her face into his side. He purred loudly.

  ‘Lucy, I have spoken to your doctor. John Carthew. He has given me some background information. I am really sorry. But he tells me you are doing very well in Truro and all the past is . . . in the past.’ He paused long enough for her to wonder what past he was meaning. Then he said, ‘Yes, I will be with you. I wondered whether I might come down today – or is that too soon?’

  ‘It would be a good day for it.’ She sat on the hall chair again and let Mark slide into her lap. Whatever was inside her, coiled so tightly, began to relax. William Mather was coming to see her.

  ‘That’s good. I can be with you for one o’clock probably. Take you to lunch in St Austell and on to see the Trumble.’ He made it sound funny and she laughed. He said, ‘That’s better. I realize the farm has no happy memories for you so we can talk about a sale perhaps.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to sell it, Mr Mather.’

  ‘William. Call me William, Lucy. It’s only fair and we are friends.’

  ‘We are. Yes, we are.’ If she was losing Margaret for some reason, then she was gaining William Mather.

  ‘Shall we talk about all of it over a late lunch?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She put the phone down and cuddled Mark hard and he struggled furiously. She was so pleased she was not seeing
Harry this morning and that Avis Membury had rejected her so vehemently. It did not matter that Mr Mather – William – was married to that girl either. She need never see her. She could forget she even existed. William was her friend. He was a friend worth having.

  She flew around getting ready. A note to Margaret, which she pushed through her door. Another for Ellie. Potatoes to be peeled . . . saucepan on the hob . . . stew in the old-fashioned stockpot which had belonged to Daniel’s mother . . . cats fed. She went upstairs for the real luxury this house provided: a hot bath. Then spent some time looking at the clothes she had bought since her move. In the end she went back to her usual outfit, a jumper and skirt with some new shoes that looked like slippers and were red. She was sitting in the kitchen with outstretched legs, admiring the red shoes, when the door bell rang and her insides tightened. For a moment she was appalled at herself. All this dressing up for a young man who was nothing to do with her personally. And yet . . . was.

  She opened the door, red-faced but smiling. And there he was, unchanged from the man who had brought that girl to apologize to her and then helped her so much. She said, ‘Mr Mather.’

  ‘William,’ he corrected.

  ‘William. You must have had a good journey. It’s only just gone one.’

  He noted her voice. Softer. More precise . . . probably for his benefit.

  He said, ‘I was already in Bristol on some other business and there was hardly any traffic. Christmas rush hasn’t started probably . . . Lucy. You look very well. It must be well over a year since we exchanged contracts on this house. How has it worked out?’

  She was ushering him in as they spoke. He remembered the cats, even their names – he admired the living room – she was aware that he was aware of every small thing she had done in this house. She settled him on the sofa and fetched coffee. The sort of coffee Margaret had taught her to make. He was very appreciative.

  ‘This room reminds me of my own house . . . When I was a boy I could smell Christmas coming throughout the house. I get that same sense of anticipation as I sit here.’

  She swallowed. How could she have been so low about Margaret’s departure when Christmas was waiting less than a month away. Already in this room, it seemed.

  She said hoarsely, ‘I’ll just go upstairs and . . .’ She cleared her throat. ‘I am very glad to see you.’ She smiled and said his name. ‘William.’

  They had lunch in St Austell’s old coaching inn. The appointment with Mr Trumble was for three o’clock and as his office was just across the square they lingered over coffee until the last minute. She was very taken with the pudding she had just enjoyed, especially its name.

  ‘It sounds like one of those playground rhymes,’ she said. ‘I don’t think boys had them, did they? We could have skipped to this one . . .’ She smiled widely and chanted, ‘Syllabub, syllabub . . . dub, dub, dub!’

  He threw back his head, laughing, and she noticed his throat, the Adam’s apple, the strong sinews either side. He said, ‘We had them all right. I went to a little private school when I was four and I well remember –’ he too chanted ‘– “The big ship sails on the alley alley oh, on the twenty-fifth of September!”’

  She said, excited, ‘We had that one too and you weaved in and out of arches made by the other children! How – how strange. That we were playing the same sort of games all those years ago and all those miles away.’ She shook her head at her own foolishness. ‘Not strange at all really. Children are children the world over.’

  ‘Better than strange, isn’t it? It’s another link. Our lives are so different, Lucy. Yet we are linked in all kinds of ways.’ He grinned. ‘I think I will be teaching Frankie and May to sing the syllabub song – make sure the link continues.’

  ‘But that is one I made up. You must teach them about the big ship sailing on the twenty-fifth of September. Michaelmas Day.’

  ‘I will. Quarter days are important in my life still. But syllabub will link them to you. A personal link.’

  ‘Oh William.’ She did not know what to say. He was part of Egg’s death; one of the many kind and gentle parts, Josh and Harry and William. Sent by Egg to give her support even when she rejected it.

  He said, ‘It’s nearly three, Lucy. Do you need to powder your nose before we go?’

  She did not. He dealt with the bill and helped her on with her winter coat and they left.

  She quite liked Mr Trumble in spite of his rather obsequious manner. She wondered, as she sat down opposite him at the enormous leather-covered desk, how William could be just as polite – use the same words probably – and not sound in the least servile. She was very relieved William was with her; she could see that without him she could have been here listening to explanations and adjurations for an hour. William had it ‘tidied up’, as he put it, in twenty minutes and they were all smiling and shaking hands at three thirty and walking out again into the November dusk.

  ‘There. That didn’t hurt, did it?’ He tied his scarf so that his ears were covered. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea before we go home?’

  ‘I’d rather go straight back. I asked my friend to pick up the little ones from school but I don’t want her to have to look after them until Ellie gets in. Not really.’

  ‘That’s fine. I’d like to see them before I leave.’

  He tucked her gloved hand into his arm and they strode out to the car park and settled themselves with expressions of relief. He said, ‘It’s going to be a really cold night.’ And she said, ‘Probably a lovely day tomorrow. Could you stay overnight? As you can see, we have plenty of room now.’

  He concentrated on getting the car on to the main road; they paused and he switched on the heater then swung into the line of traffic.

  ‘I thought I’d mentioned to you, Lucy, I am staying with Dr Carthew tonight. I could not impose on you and the girls, it wouldn’t be fair.’ Her silence was full of disappointment and he said, ‘Actually, I did wonder . . . if it really is a good day tomorrow, may I pick you up? I would really like to see your farm. I don’t have to start back until midday.’

  She was all smiles. ‘I can do my usual thing. Get Harry’s breakfast and sort him out and then pick you up. Will you mind?’

  ‘I’ll thoroughly enjoy it.’

  The girls were in the kitchen, hats and coats still on. Barbara was reading the note her mother had left for Ellie.

  ‘Margaret didn’t meet us,’ she greeted William and Lucy as they came in, stamping and blowing. ‘We came home by ourselves and found the key stuck on the shoe scraper and we were going to get tea ready for you and Mr Mather.’ She waved the piece of paper. ‘Only we didn’t know he was here till we read Ellie’s note.’

  ‘Goodness!’ It was the best she could manage as she filled the kettle and reached for the tea tray. Margaret’s non-appearance was completely unexpected. But, of course, it was all too easy to get waylaid by Christmas shopping and she and Marvin knew nothing about William’s precipitate arrival. The girls bombarded William with questions about his new baby. Lucy wondered about resurrecting the fire in the living room; it might need some wood to start it off again. Then she put the tray on the kitchen table simply because the three of them were sitting around it and Barbara was telling William he just had to teach baby May to do French knitting and Denny was earnestly drawing an abstract of a threaded bobbin. She found biscuits in a tin and with her other hand reached down Barbara’s bobbin and put it on the table. Barbara flew upstairs to find wool. Denny moved over on to William’s lap. Gus and Ellie came in discussing last night’s Z-Cars: apparently Gus was the driver with the Irish accent and Ellie was the snappy DI Barlow. They dissolved into giggles at their own impressions and then stopped as they saw William. Just for a moment all was bedlam.

  Ellie was delighted. She introduced him to Gus. ‘Mr William Mather,’ she said importantly. ‘Our family solicitor.’

  And he reached around Denny’s dark curls and held out his hand. ‘Augusta. What a lovely name.’


  Gus grinned. ‘You gotta have something pretty important to go with Trip. My dad is called Marvin for the same reason.’

  He laughed and shook her hand thoroughly then said, ‘Americans are so much better at handshakes than we are. They mean something very special.’

  ‘Gee, I like you,’ Gus announced and even the girls laughed because Mr Mather blinked and looked shy.

  They all settled down and spoke in turn. William looked from one to the other, smiling slightly, obeying Barbara’s instructions for threading the bobbin, nodding thanks as Lucy slid a mug of tea across the table, accepting a biscuit bite by bite from Denny. He smiled at Lucy, swallowed the last crumb and said, ‘This will be happening for Connie and me soon.’

  Ellie said, ‘I wish you had brought them all with you! Your wife was so pretty. And so nice. It was all dreadful for her but she was brave. Like Ma.’ She turned her shining face to Lucy, expecting a smile and a nod. Neither was forthcoming. She went on, stumbling a little, not understanding something. ‘And now she has two babies – almost twins – it – it’s a sort of miracle, isn’t it?’

  Lucy passed the biscuits to Gus. William said, ‘That’s exactly it, Ellie.’ He did not look at Lucy. ‘Every time I look at them I know it. And now, looking at you in your new home with your friend and – and – the cats – and your mother driving a Hillman Minx!’ He spread his hands and Denny almost fell off his lap and he grabbed her and laughed and at last Lucy smiled.

  Lucy had told Harry what was happening and he had asked her to let him know how ‘the old place’ was looking. Sometimes he amazed her; the whole business of being pushed down those rotten steps and nearly dying on the floor of the cellar did not appear to haunt him as Egg’s terrible drowning haunted him. During their conversations when she looked after him that autumn, she had tried to ‘explain’ her father. She found it impossible. But he had nodded and said, ‘When the mind has gone, Lucy, nothing is logical any more. Nothing at all. That space – where the mind was – fills with something else. In your father’s case it was a terrible sense of injustice at first, then it was hatred.’