‘Wouldn’t you be better off on a proper site?’ was all Susannah could think of to add.
‘At this time of year? Don’t be daft.’ Paul poured more Glenfiddich into Frank’s glass and lavishly helped himself. ‘They’ll all be closed in winter, won’t they? I can’t think why you don’t book into a hotel, though, rather than camp outdoors. But I can see you’ve made up your mind, Jan, what you want to do, and far be it from me to argue. Would you like me to help you fix things up outside, Frank? Before it gets any colder?’
Jan sat back with relief. ‘Thank you, Paul, that would be lovely,’ she said on her husband’s behalf. She had thought she could count on Paul. She hadn’t expected an ecstatic welcome from Susannah, of course, and she certainly hadn’t got it, but Paul was always a perfect gentleman.
‘You still haven’t said why you’ve come,’ Katy felt compelled to point out. ‘I mean –’ she glanced doubtfully at her mother and father before confronting Jan once more – ‘you don’t often come to see us, do you?’
‘Katy …’ Paul felt uncomfortable enough at his daughter’s bald statement to rumble a parental warning. It was an accepted fact that Frank and Jan didn’t visit much, or expect to be visited in return – between them they barely marked the usual rites of passage – and everyone knew it was because Susannah wished it that way. But these things were not usually mentioned.
‘It’s OK,’ Jan was quick to assure him. ‘Katy has every right to ask. And we should have explained it all sooner.’ She looked to Frank again but he had just found something interesting at the bottom of his glass. ‘The fact is … we’ve had to give up on the farmhouse. We’ve tried – nobody knows how hard we tried – but …’ she shook her head with a kind of shudder … ‘we really had no choice. Yesterday – or was it the day before? I’ve lost track – we decided to call it a day and put it in the hands of an agent. Though if it ever gets sold, the way things are, I’ll eat my woolly hat.’
‘But why?’ Susannah was sufficiently intrigued to question her step-mother directly. ‘Why do you want to sell it? And why might it not be sold?’
Frank shrank lower into his chair; how he hated being reminded of his unbelievable failure, of his abysmal handling of the whole damned affair!
Jan looked into the fire. ‘It’s rather a long sad story. When we found the farmhouse it was just what we’d been looking for, although it needed a lot done to it, as you know. Well, we didn’t want to lose it but we hadn’t sold our house here in England, so the only way we could be sure of getting the property was by putting our life savings into it and purchasing it like that. We could then use the money from selling the house here, which we had no doubt we would do in no time, to replenish some of our savings and pay for the renovations.’
Simon was one jump ahead. ‘But the housing market crashed and you couldn’t sell the house for ages. And when you finally did you didn’t get as much as you were expecting?’
‘Exactly. Not nearly enough by half.’ She reached up to pat Simon on the cheek. ‘Having been in the business you would know all about that, dear, wouldn’t you?
‘But that’s only part of our troubles. We’ve been taken to the cleaners by shoddy workmen since then, and got involved in a legal wrangle about the land. We’ve had to pay a fortune to a solicitor who could be conning us hand over fist, for all we know, because we can’t understand a word he says. And the place turned out to be more derelict than we realised, too. Oh, I could go on and on about it all night, but I won’t. Our money’s just trickled away.’
‘So,’ Paul enquired of Frank, ‘that’s why you were so hopeful of inheriting from your brother?’
‘We could have finished the building work,’ Frank growled from the depths of his chair, ‘and taken in holidaymakers to try to recoup some of our losses.’
‘Not that we fancied that idea very much,’ Jan pointed out, ‘since we aren’t as young as we were. And to be honest it was all a big mistake anyway.’
‘A mistake?’
‘We were never truly happy there! We missed England, you see; missed it terribly. We’re both so glad to be back.’
‘The proceeds from selling Bert’s house could still solve a lot of problems, though,’ Frank said. ‘We’ve only got our pensions now; nothing to fall back on at all. No luck on that score, I suppose, Susie? You would have said by now, if there was.’
‘With – with the solicitor, you mean?’ Susannah had been dreading the question, and she hesitated while thinking what to say, but Paul took it upon himself to answer.
‘I don’t think you stand much chance of contesting the will,’ he told Frank soberly. ‘You would need to prove that your brother was incapable of rational judgement through mental illness, for example. Or you would need to have been a dependent of his, and of course you’re clearly not that. Or there would have to have been obvious errors or ambiguities in the wording of the instructions …’
He spread his hands as if to say there was little point in his going on, while Susannah sat motionless and stared at him. If he knew so much on the subject, she was wondering, then why the hell couldn’t he have told her about it, before she trudged up to London for nothing?
‘Is that what the solicitor told you?’ Frank was asking her now point blank.
‘Er – no, not exactly.’ She saw her father exchange a knowing look with Jan, and wondered at it. Did they discuss her weaknesses and foibles in private behind her back? ‘I – er – didn’t actually get to see the solicitor after all.’
Now it was Paul’s turn to stare – at his wife: a stare that said she must be losing her marbles. ‘But you went up to town just to see him!’ he protested. He couldn’t believe what she’d said.
‘Yes, I know, but I changed my mind.’ Trying to ignore Paul she turned to her father with a pained expression. ‘Well, I couldn’t bring myself to do it, you see. Not after calling on Dora Saxby.’
‘You – you went to see that woman?’
‘Yes, on the spur of the moment. I really didn’t intend to. I don’t know why I did. Maybe I was just plain nosey. I wanted to see what she was like.
‘And I recognised her, Dad, as soon as she opened the door. She was that old lady we saw at the funeral; the one I thought had got left behind by another funeral party.’
‘I didn’t even notice her.’
No, Susannah reflected, Dora wasn’t the sort to invite attention. Faded and weary in her threadbare clothes, she was hardly the scarlet woman one might have expected. During their short chat over tea and biscuits, Susannah had warmed to her immensely. A more gentle, caring and selfless person would be difficult to find. Small wonder that Bert had loved her. Perhaps she could discuss this with her father in private some time; right now she would stick to the facts.
‘Dora was very nice and invited me in. She looks after a sick old husband, and has done so for many years, which is why she never left him for Uncle Bert. She couldn’t. She’s poor, and a decent sort, and terribly unworldly in many ways; didn’t want to even think about her inheritance.
‘I think the thought of owning her own house scared her half to death. She didn’t know what to do about it. Well, to cut a long story short I persuaded her to consider letting it out or selling it, because she doesn’t want to move. She’ll need the money one day, for nursing costs and so on. I think she saw sense in the end. So after that …’
‘You couldn’t dream of going to see the solicitor,’ Jan said in full sympathy with Susannah, ‘and possibly making things more difficult for the poor old dear. I don’t think I could have done that either.’
‘If we can believe her story,’ was Paul’s aggrieved comment. Women could be so damned soft! ‘The “poor” woman’s story I mean, not Susannah’s. I wouldn’t put it past my hopelessly gullible wife to have –’
‘I think it’s time to sort out the caravan now, my dear,’ Jan butted in. She swiftly rose to her feet and put her hand on Frank’s shoulder, after darting glances at Susannah and Paul. Lit
tle escaped Jan’s antennae, and they had been doing overtime that evening.
There were definitely several undercurrents around, she decided, shoo-ing the men from the cosy cottage and out into the chilly night; but she didn’t know quite what to make of them.
CHAPTER 13
Jan was woken by a bird on the caravan roof – just one, hopping about and scratching with sharp little claws, but it was enough. She stared at the painted ceiling, wondering how a bird could make so much noise; she had forgotten what camping was like.
‘Not the most comfortable of mattresses,’ Frank grumbled, squinting in the half-light beside her. ‘Feels a bit damp to me, too.’
‘But at least we’re back in England.’ Jan struggled out of the sheets, grabbed her thick padded anorak, and began to make some tea, her heart swelling with pleasure at being home again at last. Let birds hop about on the roof if they wanted to. They were British birds, weren’t they? They were home!
But what had they actually come home to? A family in dire straits?
‘I don’t suppose you noticed, Frank,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘that things seemed not quite right?’
Frank watched her fill the kettle and plug it into the wall. Used as he was to picking up Jan’s scattered thoughts and gluing them into a coherent whole, this time he was struggling. ‘Come again?’ he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes and trying hard to concentrate.
‘The family. Got problems,’ she said slowly, as though he were deaf.
‘Families always have.’ He shrugged. ‘What business is it of ours?’
‘Well, of course it’s our business! It’s one of our reasons for coming back.’
‘Is it?’ Frank looked bemused.
‘Yes! Oh, come on, Frank; we missed not being involved, didn’t we? And that means going along with the good and the bad. Not that Susannah let us be all that involved, but still …’
‘Hmm. I suppose you’re right. So what’s wrong with our wonderful family then? They seemed all right to me.’
Jan tutted to herself; men were as blind as bats. ‘For a start, there’s poor little Katy. What’s to become of her I’ve no idea. And then there’s Simon and Natalie: something’s going on there. Simon couldn’t look me in the eye when he spoke about the girl. And why has she gone to live with a girl friend? For a young mother to go off and leave her baby with its father … But the most worrying thing of all is Susannah and Paul.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I could sense trouble between them, like a big black cloud. Trouble with a capital T. He was rather rude to her, I thought, which surprised me very much. I know he can’t be an angel all the time – how many men are? – but I’ve never known him to be discourteous to anyone, least of all to Susannah. And they obviously haven’t been communicating with each other … Oh dear, I didn’t expect this. It’s come as rather a shock.’
‘Are you sure you aren’t imagining things?’
‘Yes, Frank, I’m sure!’
As soon as she walked into the office Susannah became aware of an unusual atmosphere, but couldn’t immediately identify it. Could it simply be that she was late and therefore unused to everyone else being at their desks with nothing better to do than cast virtuous glances in her direction? No, there was more to it than that. These weren’t mere glances she was getting; there was something afoot, something to do with her, and she was the only one not in on the secret.
‘Go on,’ she whispered to Molly, trying to shrug off her uneasiness with a smile, ‘tell me my underwear’s showing, or whatever it is. I can’t stand the suspense any longer.’
But Molly wouldn’t even look her in the eye. ‘Rather late in the day,’ she commented, raising her head from her work and ducking it again. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming in.’
‘We are on flexi-time,’ Susannah reminded her. Something in Molly’s voice told her it might have been preferable if she hadn’t come in at all. What was going on?
She began to shed layers of clothes, throwing off her coat and her non-slip driving gloves, unzipping her fleece-lined boots, and unwinding three long loops of blue rib-knit scarf. But she couldn’t discard the feeling.
‘So what was it this time – an influx of visitors?’ Molly wanted to know, her nose in a batch of claims.
‘What?’
‘Well, your weekend hasn’t exactly rejuvenated you, has it?’
‘Thanks, Molly. I can always rely on you for the feel-good factor.’ Susannah sat down and located her pen; began clicking the end up and down. ‘It was visitors actually. Sort of.’
Molly’s head came up again. ‘Go on, spill the beans,’ she said, one hand poised for effect with a pen above a claim form, the other clipping in and out of a bag of crisps at regular intervals.
Susannah launched into her saga.
‘What?’ Molly exclaimed when she’d finished, ‘your father and Jan too? As well as Simon and the baby and Katy? Flipping ’eck! And doesn’t it seem a bit odd,’ she went on, ‘about Natalie not turning up, and going off on her own to her friend’s?’
‘Yes.’ Susannah sighed; that worry had been niggling her too. She had hoped that Paul might have learned something of Simon’s problems on their trip to the pub. Vain hope. From what she could gather they had discussed nothing more enlightening than where to go for the cheapest petrol, who would be the next Prime Minister, and Formula One racing.
Susannah had intended to have a quiet word with Simon herself, but there had been so little time over the weekend, and he’d been asleep when she’d left for work that morning.
Justin hadn’t been asleep though. He had woken her up at ten minutes to five. Not by hollering, but by snuffling and whimpering and thumping about in his cot. Even through the solid old floorboards of the cottage the sound had managed to penetrate. At least, it had beaten a path to her room; it apparently drew the line at Katy’s door. And why it hadn’t gone the other way and bored through the wall to his father in the next room remained a mystery.
At first Susannah had lain silent and motionless next to an equally oblivious Paul, fully expecting to hear stirring sounds from Simon so that, happy in the knowledge that all was under control, she could squeeze in a few more minutes of sleep. But it was soon clear that she might more realistically expect hell to freeze over: Simon was temporarily but thoroughly deaf – a comatose heap under two zipped-together sleeping bags.
In the end she had given in, creeping downstairs, tip-toeing past Simon in search of a jar of baby food, and noting with rising despair a collection of dirty crocks in the sink and that the cat had made an evil mess in its tray – or beside the tray to be precise; he’d not got the hang of it yet.
There was nothing ‘breakfasty’ in the baby bag but Justin didn’t care; he accepted each microwaved spoonful of creamed rice with a beam of gratitude and a clapping together of hands.
Thank goodness he was as eager to get it inside him as she was, she thought, wiping his hands and face afterwards with kitchen roll and trying to make it seem fun. Then she scouted in the fridge, poured milk into a saucer for Gazza who had kept up a dogged leg-weaving exercise for the past ten minutes, and gave Justin some in a bottle to hold for himself, though not without suffering pangs of guilt because all the baby books she’d ever read said it was wrong not to nurse a baby in your arms.
‘Bollocks to that,’ she muttered, chipping a block of lean mince out of the freezer, ‘I had more time to myself then. And I thought those days were the worst!’
Would she be expected to feed her father and Jan, she wondered, sizing up the meat. She tracked down another pack and left them both next to the sink to defrost.
There wasn’t much time for anything else after that. After a change of nappy Justin had been content to go back to his cot with a yellow plastic hammer, leaving Susannah free at last to take a shower. She had stepped into it seconds after Paul stepped out, and when she had rushed back downstairs, her hair still damp, her clothes slung on anyhow,
and her nerves stretched almost to breaking point, Paul was leaning over Justin’s cot looking spruce in his office suit.
‘No trouble at all,’ he was saying, ‘are you, little chap?’
And he’d not looked so happy in weeks.
‘Susannah –’ Molly broke in on her thoughts – ‘I didn’t want to have to tell you this but – well – Duffy came in this morning, just a few minutes before you arrived. Said he wanted you to see him as soon as you got in.’
The radiator in Mr Duffy’s room did not bring out the best in him. The atmosphere was laden with body odour; stale alcohol fumes tainted the air.
‘Ah,’ he said when he discovered who had come to see him. There was no politeness injected into the word as he glared at Susannah across the desk, and certainly no pleasure.
‘I won’t keep you long.’ He made no attempt to offer her a seat. ‘Perhaps you can throw some light on these.’
Swivelling a heap of papers so that the writing was Susannah’s way up, he peered up at her from under his grizzled brows. ‘I take it you know what they are?’
‘Of course,’ she replied as coolly as she could. ‘They’re forms ACS 6B. They’re – er – for manual payments.’
‘Quite so. I thought you’d be familiar with them. Been using quite a few of them recently, haven’t you?’
Susannah swallowed hard before launching into her explanation, but he swiftly cut her short.
‘It’s not your reason that interests me for the moment. It’s the signature at the bottom. I presume you recognise it?’
‘I ought to – she tilted her chin – ‘because it’s mine.’
‘Precisely. And do you know on which date these forms were signed?’
‘Not exactly …’
Puppies Are For Life Page 11
