by Susan Lewis
She was gazing fixedly, though absently, at the sideboard when Michelle came in, pausing at the door to watch her, knowing that her presence had been sensed, holding the silence for a few moments more.
She wasn’t surprised when Michelle said, ‘I know what you’re looking for, but I’m afraid it got broken in the move.’
Vivienne imagined the exquisite pyramid-shaped decanter, blazing with colours, that she’d brought back from Venice – Murano to be more precise – ten or more years ago, smashed into small pieces, no longer of any value, or of any use.
‘You can have mine if you like,’ Michelle offered. Michelle’s was different, more of a pear shape and all shades of blue. Their mothers had taken them to Venice for a girls’ break before their GCSEs, and had bought the decanters as mementos of a special time. Vivienne wouldn’t dream of taking Michelle’s, not only because she knew how much Michelle treasured it, but because she had no use at all for a decanter – and actually never had had.
‘Shall I tell you what I think would look good there?’ she said.
Michelle watched her, and her eyes began to widen with understanding as Vivi turned to her. After a beat Michelle asked, ‘Do you know where it is?’
Vivi shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen it for years. I don’t even know if she still has it.’
Michelle seemed anxious now, proving that she hadn’t forgotten the first time Vivienne had asked her mother about the bronze male dancer, nor any of the times since, and like Vivi she wouldn’t want any of the scenes repeated.
‘Is he my father?’ twelve-year-old Vivienne demanded hotly.
‘Is who your father?’ Gina’s voice was terse and dismissive.
Vivienne flushed.
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ her mother snapped.
‘I’m talking about the man that you keep in your drawer.’ Even as she said it Vivi felt miserably stupid. There couldn’t be a man in her mother’s drawer, so why had she said it? ‘The statue,’ she blurted, wishing she’d never started this now.
Her mother’s eyes darkened with anger and something that Vivienne didn’t understand. It frightened her, but made her defiant and determined to stand up for herself.
‘Have you been snooping about my room?’ her mother cried furiously. ‘That’s what horrible people do, I hope you know that. Horrible, sad, sneaky people go snooping about other people’s rooms.’
Vivienne was so hurt, and incensed, that she raged, ‘And horrible, nasty, sneaky mothers don’t deserve to be loved, so I don’t love you. I hate you, and I want my real dad to take me away, because I don’t want to be here and I know you don’t want me here.’
Her mother’s exasperation was almost as scary as the way she spoke, cold and mocking, still angry and forceful. ‘I wish to God you weren’t so fanciful,’ she snarled. ‘Gil’s your father. You love him and he loves you …’
‘He’s not my real father. He’s Mark’s, and I have a right to know who my real father is.’
Her mother stared at her in what looked like shock, or it might be fear, or fury, Vivienne couldn’t tell. She was desperate to get away, because she didn’t know how to argue with her when she was being like this.
‘Who told you,’ her mother asked, biting out the words, ‘that you have a right to know who your father is?’
The answer was Michelle, but Vivi was never going to admit that, especially when she had no idea who’d told Michelle, or even what a right actually was.
‘I hate you,’ Vivi blurted. ‘You’re always mean to me, and it’s not my fault that I don’t have a dad, it’s yours because you made him go away …’
‘You have Gil,’ her mother shouted angrily. ‘Think how he’d feel if he knew you were saying all this. You are the luckiest girl in the world to have a dad like him. So why are you doing this, Vivienne? Tell me why Gil, who loves you, suddenly isn’t good enough for you?’
Vivi hung her head in shame. She had no answer for that …
… And she didn’t have an answer for it now – she only knew how deeply her mother had hurt her that day, how wretched and wrong she’d made her feel for something that shouldn’t have been so complicated or fraught with emotion. She had a vague memory of four-year-old Mark coming to her room later and putting an arm around her as she cried. He’d said something about not minding sharing his dad, because he knew that his dad loved her very much and so did he.
For a long time after, Vivi had wondered if her mother secretly hated her, even wished she was dead. She became so worried about it and afraid that she’d ended up asking NanaBella if it were true, and the next thing she knew she was in her mother’s arms.
‘You’re my precious angel,’ her mother had wept, hugging her so hard it hurt. ‘You’re my little miracle who I nearly lost and I thank God every day that I didn’t.’
At the time it was all Vivi had needed to hear. She’d felt safe again and happy. She didn’t want to think any more about her real dad because it just upset everyone, and there was no point in that. So they hadn’t mentioned him again until the next showdown, a few years later, which had ended in much the same way.
‘She knows we have to have the conversation,’ Vivi said quietly to Michelle. ‘I’m not going to die without knowing who he is, and the sooner she understands that the sooner we can …’ She was going to say get on with our lives, but that phrase didn’t work so well for her any more.
Michelle was still looking worried. ‘Just as long,’ she said cautiously, ‘as it doesn’t turn into a repeat of what happened when you were eighteen, after Gil left, because frankly I’m not sure you could survive that again, not the way you are now.’
Vivi knew that was true. It had been terrible, wrenching, violent, even. Nevertheless, she insisted, ‘I need to know who he is. Do you understand that?’
Michelle’s eyes were tender as she nodded that of course she did.
‘It has nothing to do with Gil and not loving him, because I always have and I always will. I just have to know why my mother’s the way she is, because I’m sure it has something to do with my father …’ Her gaze went back to Michelle’s. ‘Is it wrong to want to know him, and for him to know me before it’s too late?’
Clearly as unsure of the answer as Vivi was, Michelle pulled her into an embrace. ‘Whatever you want to do,’ she said softly, ‘you know I’ll be there for you.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHELLEY
Autumn 1989
Many weeks had passed since Shelley had first experienced feelings of unease, and now they were back. She still wasn’t able to put a finger on what was bothering her, could only say that it was like a premonition trying to take hold, though of what she had no idea. It just didn’t feel good, and this morning as she crossed the cluttered farmyard to go and let out the sheep it was coming over her in waves, along with a damp, cloying mist rolling in from the fields. Dodgy was with her, as he always was first thing, but unusually for him he didn’t seem as interested in urging his flock on their way as he did in watching her.
‘What is it?’ she asked him, glancing over to the chicken coop as one of the cockerels erupted in a raucous late start. ‘Have you got a weird feeling too?’
Dodgy barked, turned a circle and put his muzzle into her hand.
She glanced over at the half-derelict barn, a great hiding place for man or beast if they were looking for one. Josh and Jack had installed a nesting box in its sturdier rafters and recently, to their great delight, a young kestrel had taken up residence. They’d waited, hidden, several nights in a row to watch it come and go, gliding silently, powerfully, past a vivid moon to and from the hunt, but there was no sign of it this morning.
Shelley felt a surge of love as she recalled Josh’s excitement when he’d first discovered the bird. (Jack had found it really, but he was more than happy for Josh to claim the fame.) There was no creature big or small, furry, woolly, quilled or feathered that their adorable dynamo of a son didn’t find endlessly fascinatin
g and in need of caring for or studying.
She looked around again.
Nothing moved. There wasn’t a sound or glimpse of movement that didn’t belong to nature. She looked back at the farmhouse, half expecting to see someone on the way out, or watching her from a window, but there was no one.
Shrugging, she carried on to the main barn, tugged open the doors and was instantly greeted by an onrush of bleated affection.
By the time the sun burned off the dawn mist it was past ten o’clock, and she’d forgotten all about the peculiar unease that had bothered her earlier. So apparently had Dodgy, since he’d long ago returned from escorting their much-increased flock into the meadows, eager for his breakfast before the main event of the day got under way.
Since Jack’s father, David, had decided to invest in Deerwood by more than doubling the number of their sheep – this was the good news Jack had finally broken following an intimate romp in the barn – the farm’s finances hadn’t exactly improved, it was still too early for that, but the potential for greater earnings had managed to raise their creditworthiness at the bank. Also, having so many more sheep meant that next year there could be three times as many lambs. A lot more work in the birthing sheds, of course, but with any luck it would result in some much-needed cash.
The first part of the process – impregnating the ewes – had yet to happen, and that little frenzy of animal passion was due to get underway today.
Shelley realized that for most other farms this was a natural, largely unremarkable part of the season, but Jack never had been able to resist turning an event into a celebration. It was what made being married to him so much fun, and living at Deerwood brought such a wealth of opportunities.
‘Mum,’ Zoe cried, coming up behind her as Shelley rinsed her hands under an outside tap, ‘are they here yet?’
Knowing she was referring to the rams Jack and Josh had gone to collect from neighbouring farms, Shelley said, ‘Should be any minute now.’
Their own rams, after being kept apart from the rest of the flock for the past few weeks, had already gone off to meet their servicing schedules (Shelley preferred euphemisms around the children), leaving only Pistol and Thunder, their teasers – vasectomized males – to strut and rut about the place to get the girls in the mood. This he-man stomp and romp that owed nothing at all to flirtation or finesse could be as hilarious to watch (for some, especially Jack and Nate) as it was effective in its purpose, for even the ewes that played hard to get by sitting on their plump woolly rumps at the moment of conquest couldn’t resist this dynamic duo in the end.
So now, with the real-deal team about to arrive, and the warm-up acts in a pen for safety, the ewes were behaving like teenagers on a night out in Ibiza. Meanwhile Dodgy showed off his sheepdog manoeuvres to Bluebell the goat, who might have done a better job of appearing star-struck if Hanna hadn’t just turned up to feed her.
As soon as Jack returned from his collection of ovine testosterone in the shape of two seriously macho rams, the whole family set about smothering the beasts’ undersides in different-coloured chalk. This was how they’d later be able to tell which male had mounted which female, and to make sure that all ewes were covered. Then they let the four-legged lads loose and gathered to watch the start of the show.
It was bedlam, with sheep of both genders running around all over the place, the females keen to lead a merry dance, the males apparently up for the chase and their audience cheering them on. For a while it wasn’t clear that anything of a reproductive nature was actually under way, but then one of the female Closewools emerged from the fray with a very definite grin on her face. (This was according to Jack, who insisted he could read all animal expressions – and it wasn’t unlike Shelley’s face when they’d … Shelley’s daggered look cut the comparison short.)
‘Yes!’ he cried, punching the air, as though his horse – or sheep – had just come in first, which Shelley had to concede it apparently had. ‘Let’s hear it for Conker the Bonker.’
As everyone laughed and groaned, Josh exclaimed, ‘That’s not his name.’
‘Dad, you’re so silly,’ Zoe declared, leaping onto his back and pretending to choke him.
After a few more shouts of ‘Yes!’, the cold started creeping through their wax jackets and scarves. Kat said, ‘Who’s for lunch at our place?’
As Perry was already taking off towards Tigger and Eeyore, his very own piglets who lived with Wonka and Bucket, it was a natural move to leave the very untantric sheep party to take its course and start back across the field.
‘We’re still going to see the pony this afternoon, aren’t we, Dad?’ Hanna reminded him in a voice that warned Jack woe betide him if he’d forgotten.
‘Yes, yes, we have to,’ Zoe cried, still riding on his back and hugging him hard enough to throttle him if he had made other plans. ‘You promised, and if we don’t buy him today someone else will.’
‘He’s going to be mine,’ Hanna told her crossly, ‘but you can help muck him out whenever you like. Will the stable be ready in time?’ she asked her father.
‘I want a donkey,’ Josh suddenly declared.
‘And me,’ Perry clamoured excitedly, because he loved Josh and wanted to do everything Josh did. ‘I had a ride on one when we went to the beach,’ he announced. ‘And you did, didn’t you, Josh? Dad, can we go and ride on one again? Please, please, please.’
‘I thought you wanted to see Dad’s great big red fire engine,’ Kat reminded him.
Shelley wasn’t sure why that sounded smutty, it just did, and so she sniggered.
Apparently catching the same silly wavelength, Kat stifled a laugh too.
‘What’s so funny?’ Hanna demanded, perplexed and annoyed because, as the eldest, she ought to understand even if the others didn’t.
‘Nothing,’ Shelley tried to say, but she choked on another laugh as Jack shot her a ludicrous Conker the Bonker sort of look.
‘They’re being naughty,’ Grandpa told them.
Hanna sighed, clearly bored by how childish everyone was. ‘Mum,’ she said, ‘when you go into town later can you rent a video for us to watch tonight?’
‘If we can agree on which one,’ Shelley replied.
‘And you should get some chocolate,’ Josh piped up. ‘We always have chocolate when we’re watching a film.’ This was often his favourite part, because having two older sisters meant his video choice usually went ignored.
The walk down the drive soon turned into a race, and as everyone disappeared around a curve in the track Shelley realized the eerie feeling she’d experienced that morning was stalking her again. She even turned around, as if someone might be there, someone she could snap at and order to go away. But whichever direction she looked in there was nothing to see but fields, hedgerows and cold blue sky.
After lunch everyone went their different ways – to look at a new pony for Hanna, or to dig a new vegetable patch, or visit the fire station. In Shelley and Kat’s case they drove into town to order Abba outfits from the fancy dress shop for the Christmas cabaret at the pub. The song they’d chosen was ‘Dancing Queen’. They could hardly wait to see Jack and Nate camping it up in all that fancy seventies gear, or the children beside themselves with embarrassment and hilarity.
Still laughing as they left the shop, they took off to the town hall for a secret meeting they deliberately hadn’t mentioned to their husbands. Provided all went to plan they wanted it to be a surprise.
Jemmie Bleasdale, who’d organized the gathering, gave them a wave as she busied about the place with her trusty WI lieutenants, and by the time the seminar was ready to begin the room was full of curious, sceptical, and even slightly nervous female faces.
Computers were already revolutionizing the world, they were informed by the guest speaker, as if they didn’t already know that. However, it was feared that women, especially those in rural areas, were going to be left behind if they didn’t jump on board now.
By the end of the
presentation Shelley and Kat had each ordered a home model, with colour monitors and a printer to share, and had also signed up for a six-week beginners’ course starting in January.
‘We’re calling this Christmas presents to ourselves,’ Shelley informed Jemmie Bleasdale when they went to thank her for arranging the talk. ‘Jack already knows how to use one, of course, because they have one at the surgery, but I can see how useful it would be to have one at the farm.’
Jemmie was clearly thrilled to have been of help. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ she said warmly, hugging Shelley, then Kat. ‘Us girls have to stay on top of things or those men will end up getting away with murder.’
‘Don’t they already?’ Kat commented drily.
Though the words reminded them all of the tent fracas back in the summer, Jemmie showed no discomfort at her sons’ unseemly behaviour, for her gentle face came alive with laughter, showing her almost childlike enthusiasm for everything, no matter what it was. It captivated everyone and made her most charities’ first choice for patron. ‘Oh, Bella dear, thanks for doing that,’ she said to a slender woman with neat fair hair and a pixieish face who’d begun stacking chairs. ‘Do you know Bella Shager?’ she asked Shelley and Kat. ‘She runs the tourist office here, and does a mighty good job of it, I can tell you.’
