The House By Princes Park

by Maureen Lee

  What did it mean? She’d often wondered. Perhaps that’s why she kept it there, in the hope that one day she would understand. A wobbly circle with six splodgy figures inside, one much bigger than the others. If you stared hard enough, the figures seemed to move.

  She went and made a cup of hot milk and returned to stare at the painting again. Six figures. Why six?

  Matthew Doyle had understood. ‘I can see what she’s getting at,’ he’d said. ‘You’re very lucky, all of you. I wish I were in Daisy’s painting, but there was never a chance of that.’

  Could the figures be herself, her daughters, and her granddaughters? Six people. Why were they lucky, these six people, sheltering with a circle, nothing touching them?

  And then Ruby understood. This was Daisy’s childhood world, the way she’d seen it before she married Clint and discovered how painful it could be. Greta, Ellie and Moira had also gone to experience the world outside for themselves. Soon Heather would also go and, of the six people, only Ruby would be left behind.

  No wonder she’d been so upset by the burglary. It had shattered the circle. She was the large figure in the painting, cosseting and caring for her family, protecting them from harm. Perhaps it was a relic of Foster Court, the need to keep her children, and their children, safe.

  ‘You created your own little world and crowned yourself its queen,’ Beth told her that time in Washington.

  But now Daisy’s circle had been broken and couldn’t be mended. Things would never be safe again. What’s more, Ruby would just have to get used to it, not stay cowering in the house, scared out of her wits.

  On impulse, she went into the hall and telephoned Beth. She spent most of her time in Washington these days, working for the Democratic Party. It was a long time since they’d spoken.

  ‘Beth Lefarge’s office,’ said a male voice, only young.

  ‘Is Beth there? It’s Ruby O’Hagan speaking, her friend from Liverpool.’

  ‘Hi, Ruby. Hold on, I’ll see if she’s free.’

  Beth came on almost immediately. ‘Ruby! It’s ages since we spoke.’

  ‘I was just thinking the same thing. Who’s the young man? Or do you have a male secretary these days?’

  ‘My secretary went home at five o’clock. Hank’s my grandson. We were just wondering how to get more black voters involved in the next election. How’s things, Rube?’

  ‘Up and down. I was thinking about going to Dublin before the school holidays are over. Ellie lives there, Brendan’s mother. It’s about time they got to know each other properly. I’ll see what Brendan has to say about it.’ An astonished Ruby had been thinking no such thing. The words had just come out, perhaps because they were the right words. Brendan would be far better off with his mother than a woman of sixty-six. He had to learn to love Ellie before it was too late, as it had been too late with Ruby’s own mother.

  ‘And our Heather’s got a job in London,’ she went on. ‘I’m not sure of the details, but she’ll be leaving soon. She’s been a good daughter, Heather, and I’m very pleased for her.’ As it was, she was holding Heather back, when she should be offering encouragement.

  ‘You’ll be left in that big house all on your own,’ Beth pointed out.

  ‘It will be a while before Brendan will come to realise he’d be happier with Ellie. When he does – well, we’ll just have to see.’

  By then, it would be time to leave the house by Princes Park for ever.

  The week in Dublin went unexpectedly well. Ellie was living in a pretty village, Craigmoss, several miles from the city. She already seemed less frenetic, more content, her turbulent brain at rest. Felix Conway was a lovely man, very kind, and a good influence on her wayward granddaughter. He brought out the best in her. Brendan had taken to him immediately and had seemed happy to stay with him and Ellie when Ruby had gone to Dublin for the day, a deliberate ploy on her part.

  She had felt lonely, wandering around the strange city on her own, wondering what the future had in store. So many times in the past she had wanted to do something, though she’d never known what. Very shortly, for the first time in her life, she would be free to do anything she wanted and she still didn’t know what.

  Late September, and Ruby was in the garden, sitting in a deckchair under a tree, watching the occasional bronze leaf float to the ground.

  ‘Catch a leaf and make a wish.’ The girls had done it in the convent, but Ruby couldn’t remember a single wish she’d made. What was she likely to have wished for in those days? Probably not to become a housemaid or a cook, in which case it hadn’t come true. She’d been cooking and doing housework all her life.

  A cloud drifted across the warm sun and she shivered. In a minute, she’d get on with her painting in case it rained. Daisy had left a load of hardboard pieces behind and some half-used tubes of paint and Ruby was painting a picture of the back of the house. It was a foolish idea that had come to her out of the blue. No one knew, not even Brendan who was at school. She was too embarrassed to let people know.

  At first, she’d got more paint on her clothes than on the board, but now the painting was almost finished. But she’d been thinking that for weeks. Every time she thought the picture was complete, she’d feel impelled to include another tiny figure; a disjointed, unrecognisable figure, sitting, lying, or standing on the grass. A figure playing with a ball or a skipping rope, or sitting on the back step with a dab of white paint that was supposed to be a cup in what was supposed to be a hand. After a while, Ruby had realised she was painting the story of the early years in the house. The figures were her children, Beth and Jake, Connie and Charles, Martha Quinlan, Max Hart, the kids she’d looked after during the war, like little ghosts amidst the trees. The person on the step was herself.

  There was one person missing from the painting and she wasn’t sure where to fit him in; right in the middle where he truly belonged, or on the periphery where he’d always been.

  She closed her eyes and saw the painting in her mind’s eye. Right in the middle, she decided. She’d put him beside herself, outside the back door. Over the last tumultuous weeks, she’d wished he’d been around, if only as a friend, someone to talk to. She’d always been able to talk to Matthew Doyle.

  When she opened her eyes, she became aware a man had come round the side of the house and was regarding her gravely. He was a striking man, very tall and very thin. His once black hair was almost completely grey and his face had been burnt deep golden brown by the sun. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in khaki cotton slacks and a green anorak.

  For a moment, Ruby felt totally disorientated. Had her painting come to life, her wish come true?

  ‘Matthew!’ she mumbled. She tried to struggle to her feet, but gave up when it appeared she’d lost the use of her limbs.

  He came towards her and sat on the grass, still grave. ‘I understand you left a message at the office for me to call.’

  ‘That was five years ago,’ she gasped.

  ‘Sorry about the delay, but I’ve been busy.’

  She patted her hair and realised it hadn’t been combed and she wasn’t wearing a scrap of make up to disguise the multitude of wrinkles. She had on the old jeans she wore to paint in. ‘Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I’d have got ready, properly dressed.’

  He smiled at last and her heart turned over. ‘The first time I saw you in this very house, you were covered in paint. It’s how I always think of you.’

  A little excited shiver ran down her spine, as it had done they day they’d met. ‘You suit grey hair,’ she said.

  ‘I think that’s the first compliment you’ve ever paid me.’ He looked pleased. Close up, she saw he had enough wrinkles of his own around his brown eyes. His cheeks were gaunt and heavily lined. She thought he didn’t look well.

  ‘Are you home for good?’ Ruby held her breath, waiting for the answer, and thinking what a silly way it was for an old woman to behave.

  ‘I’ve retired, so yes, I’m home for
good.’

  ‘Where are you going to live?’

  ‘That depends on you, Rube.’ He looked at her directly, his expression serious, then turned to watch a leaf detach itself from a tree and land softly on the grass. ‘Have you missed me?’

  ‘Yes, Matthew, I’ve missed you. I’ve always hoped you’d come back.’

  He nodded, satisfied. ‘How’s everyone?’

  ‘Fine. Even Ellie seems to have settled down.’ She told him about Greta’s baby, all the other babies, Brendan coming back from Manchester alone on the train, the burglary. ‘I thought I’d lost it for a while, but I managed to recover.’

  ‘You’re strong, that’s why.’

  Ruby shuddered. ‘I didn’t feel strong then. Would you like some tea, Matthew?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d ask.’

  She tried again to struggle out of the deckchair and he reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  They stayed holding hands as they strolled across the grass towards the house. It would be just like old times, him sprawled on a chair while she made the tea. Ruby felt a pang, thinking of what she’d missed because she’d ignored her true feelings.

  But, she thought impatiently, she’d never believed in dwelling on the past. The present was more important. All of a sudden, she saw with vivid clarity what the future had in store, what she would do.

  She would marry Matthew Doyle.

  Matthew

  Epilogue

  Millennium Eve

  They sat on a balcony overlooking the River Mersey, an elderly couple, warmly wrapped up against the cold. It had just gone half-past eleven. Only twenty-nine minutes remained of the twentieth century.

  Daisy and Moira were having parties, but it was impossible to go to both. To avoid hurt feelings, they had decided to spend Millennium Eve at home, just the two of them, together.

  ‘Are you warm enough, love?’ Ruby said anxiously. Matthew was very frail these days. He hadn’t known his lungs had been permanently damaged by the tuberculosis all those years ago until he found difficulty breathing.

  ‘I’m fine, Rube.’ His voice was slightly hoarse. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for anything.’

  The river stretched in front of them, a black, satin ribbon, reflecting the bright lights of Wallasey and Birkenhead. The lights wobbled slightly in the gentle waves. It was a spectacular sight. Matthew loved it. In the summer, he would sit on the balcony of their riverside flat until long after it had gone dark.

  The telephone rang for the umpteenth time – the sliding door had been left open so they could hear the phone and listen to the television. Ruby went to answer it. ‘That was Beth,’ she said when she came back. ‘She’s in Little Rock with the family. They’re having a big do, but it’s not midnight over there for hours yet. By the way, she’s invited us to stay in Washington next summer.’

  ‘I like Washington,’ Matthew said. They’d been several times before. ‘I’m already looking forward to it.’

  Ruby prayed with all her heart he’d be fit enough to travel when the time came. She sat beside him on the wrought-iron bench, feeling fidgety. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Ruby,’ he said irritably, ‘can’t you sit still a minute and look at the view?’

  ‘Nothing’s happening,’ she complained.

  ‘It will, soon, when the fireworks start.’

  ‘I’ll make myself a cup of tea in the meantime.’ Ruby got to her feet and gave a little shriek when a pain shot through her leg.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s my damn arthritis.’ She was eighty-one and hated growing old – all the mysterious pains that appeared from nowhere, then disappeared as quickly as they’d come when she thought she was about to die.

  She hobbled into the kitchen which couldn’t have been more different than the one in the house by Princes Park; all stainless steel, efficient, functional, and easy to clean, which was the way kitchens ought to be. The contrast between the two rarely crossed her mind nowadays, though had been a constant wonder when they’d first moved in. It was in 1988, when Brendan was eleven, that he’d gone to live in Dublin with Ellie and Felix, perhaps persuaded by the arrival of a baby sister and the need to belong to a proper family. Now he was managing the restaurant in Fern Hall that Ellie had started and which had proved such a great success. He had married an Irish girl, Katy, and would become a father very soon.

  The house had been sold and Ruby had never gone back. She had no idea who lived there now. Leaving the place had hurt more than she’d ever imagined. The old walls held many memories, most of them good, and she preferred not to rake over them, though there were times when they unexpectedly returned, without warning, tugging at her heartstrings. Tonight, for instance, when Beth had rung, she’d put a face to the voice with its slight transatlantic twang, and found herself talking to the pretty, dewy-eyed girl she’d met in Arthur Cummings’ house, not the gnarled old lady Beth was now.

  The phone rang again. It was Robert, Daisy’s son, on his mobile. ‘We’re on the Embankment, Bee.’ Brendan’s name for her had stuck with all the young people. ‘The television camera’s pointing straight at us. We’re waving like mad, can you see us?’

  ‘Just a minute, love. It’s on the wrong channel. Yes, I can see you,’ Ruby screamed, though without her glasses she could see only a crowd of blurred figures. ‘Is Harry with you?’

  ‘Yes, he’s calling Mum on his mobile. We’re going home as soon as the fireworks are over.’

  ‘Have a nice time. Be careful now, and give Harry my love.’

  ‘We’ll ring again later, Bee.’

  It would be nice, Ruby thought, when the camera moved to another location, to be on the banks of the Thames in the middle of all the excitement. Mind you, she could feel the excitement here. Buildings always seemed to know when something remarkable was about to happen. The air seemed to tingle.

  ‘Who was that?’ Matthew called.

  ‘Robert. He’s on the Embankment with Harry. I just saw them on television.’

  ‘I wondered what the screaming was about. What are you doing in there? I’m feeling lonely.’

  ‘Making myself a cup of tea, but I think I’ll have something stronger, a Martini, to toast the New Year – the new century. Would you like some whisky?’

  ‘Can’t, Rube,’ he answered gloomily. ‘Not while I’m taking those tablets. You have one for me.’

  ‘I’ll fetch orange juice, you can make a toast with that.’

  She’d hardly been on the balcony a minute, when the phone rang yet again. Matthew groaned. This time it was an ecstatic Ellie. ‘Katy’s just had the baby, Gran, by express delivery. It’s a little girl. Brendan asked me to ring you first. They’re going to call her Ruby.’

  ‘Tell Brendan I’m very flattered.’ Ruby sniffed. She quite fancied a little cry.

  ‘Now I’m a grandmother!’ Ellie sounded slightly shocked, as if she’d only just realised. ‘It makes me feel dead ancient.’

  ‘Wait till your grandchildren have grandchildren, Ellie. Then you’ll feel ancient.’

  ‘I’d better go now and give Mum a ring. She’s at our Moira’s. You’ll come and stay soon, won’t you, Gran, meet your namesake?’

  ‘As soon as we can, love.’ She was glad Greta was staying in Cambridge with Moira and Sam and their five children. New Year’s Eve wasn’t a good time for widows. Frank Fletcher had died five years ago and Saffron, their beloved little girl, now eighteen, had been in and out of a series of unstable relationships. She was at the moment living with a dodgy character who sold used cars – a distraught Greta suspected they were stolen.

  Life was so unpredictable. Just as one daughter had lost a husband, the other had acquired one. Heather, at the age of fifty-six, had married a fellow solicitor, and was living close to Daisy in Crouch End. The sisters, once so close, hardly saw each other nowadays.

  ‘Who was that?’ Matthew sounded cross.

  ‘Ellie. Katy’s just had
the baby, a little girl. They’re going to call her Ruby.’

  ‘Good. Are you coming out again?’

  ‘In a minute.’ Ruby was staring at Daisy’s painting which hung over the mantelpiece. It went perfectly in the ultra-modern high-ceilinged room that had once been the top floor of a grain warehouse. She and Matthew were the only residents over fifty in the development – she liked living in a place designed for young people.

  Visitors often admired Daisy’s painting. Some asked what the artist was trying to convey, but Ruby never told them.

  There were too many O’Hagans now to fit in the circle, too many for her to watch over, keep safe. She began to worry about Harry and Robert on the Embankment – things could get out of hand on a night like tonight.

  ‘Am I going to see the New Millennium in on me own?’ Matthew called plaintively.

  ‘Coming.’ She stepped out on to the balcony and closed the sliding door.

  ‘We won’t hear Big Ben.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s getting cold inside with it open. We’ll know when it’s twelve o’clock, don’t worry.’ She leant her head on his shoulder and he immediately put his arm around her.

  ‘I’m glad I’m with you,’ he whispered.

  ‘And I’m glad I’m with you.’

  ‘Honest?’

  Ruby sighed contentedly. ‘Honest.’

  They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the distant hum of the city, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. The past fifteen years with Matthew had been good years, almost perfect. They had travelled a lot, not only to Washington to see Beth, or to stay with relatives, but to places all over Europe. She had imagined this day, this very special New Year’s Eve, many times in the past, wondering if she would still be alive to see it, where she would be, who with, and there wasn’t a person in the world she’d sooner be with than Matthew. She said a prayer, thanking God for letting them both live long enough to welcome in the New Millennium, unlike the Donovans and the Whites, all dead now, along with Connie and Charles, and Daniel Lefarge, Beth’s husband.