Other People's Children

by Joanna Trollope

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘You do!’

  ‘I don’t doubt that your mother was a wonderful person and much loved. That’s not the point. The point is that she, tragically, is dead, and therefore, however fondly remembered, cannot influence how we, who are still living, choose to live our lives. When she lived here, this house was hers and she arranged it as she wished to. Now, it’s going to be mine and your father’s, and we will want to live in it rather differently.’

  Dale bent her head and put the back of one hand against her eyes. She was crying.

  ‘Oh Dale,’ Elizabeth said in some despair. ‘Oh Dale dear, do try and grow up a little. I’m not some intruder you have to make bargains with.’

  Dale whirled round and snatched several sheets of kitchen paper off a roll on a nearby worktop. She blew her nose fiercely.

  ‘You want to turn us out!’

  ‘I don’t,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It’s the last thing I want. All I want is for you to respect my privacy and independence as I respect yours.’

  Dale blew again.

  ‘You don’t respect my past!’

  ‘I do,’ Elizabeth said. She gripped a chairback and leaned on it. ‘All I have difficulty with is when you try and insist that the past has more importance and significance than the present or the future.’

  ‘You’ll learn,’ Dale said bitterly. She untied the strings of the scarlet apron, ducked her head out of the neckband and threw the apron on the table among the boxes and bottles.

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Dale was pulling on a jacket.

  ‘You can’t touch what we’ve got, what we’ve got because of what we’ve had—’

  ‘I know that—’

  ‘You don’t!’ Dale cried. ‘You don’t and you never will. You think you can come in here with your tidy Civil Service mind and file us all away neatly so there’s nothing messy left, nothing real and human and powerful. Well, you can’t. What we had, we’ll always have and you can’t touch it. You’ll never understand us because you can’t, because you can’t feel what we’ve felt, you can’t know what we know, you’ll never belong. You can try changing Dad outwardly, nobody can stop you doing that, but you’ll never change him inwardly because you don’t have it in you. He’s been where you’ll never go.’

  Elizabeth took her hands off the chairback and put them over her ears.

  ‘Stop it—’

  ‘I’m going,’ Dale said. She sounded out of breath. She was rummaging in her bag for her car keys. ‘I’m going, and I’ll be back. I’ll be back whenever I want to because this is my home, this is where I belong, this is where I come from and always will.’

  Elizabeth said nothing. She slid her hands round her head from covering her ears to covering her eyes. She heard Dale’s bag zip close.

  ‘It would be nice,’ Dale said, ‘if you didn’t tell Dad about this. But I expect you will. And if you do, then I will. I’ll have to.’ She paused and then said with emphasis, ‘Won’t I?’

  And then she went out of the kitchen and the front doors, slamming both behind her.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Tom said.

  He stood in the doorway of his bedroom, and peered into the half-dark. Elizabeth lay on the bed, as she had lain for several hours, with the curtains drawn. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘No.’

  He moved closer.

  ‘What is it, sweetheart?’

  Elizabeth said, without moving, ‘You saw.’

  ‘I saw a fair old muddle in the kitchen, certainly. And shopping all over the hall floor. Basil, needless to say, has found the butter. I thought perhaps you weren’t feeling too good—’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Tom lowered himself on to the side of the bed and put his hand on her forehead.

  ‘Headache?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What—’

  Elizabeth was lying on her side, still dressed, under a blanket. She said, looking straight ahead and not at Tom, ‘Dale came.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘She was here when I got back from shopping. She was in the process of turning out the kitchen cupboards.’

  Tom took his hand away from Elizabeth’s face.

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘We had a row,’ Elizabeth said. She rolled over on to her back and looked at Tom. ‘I told her she mustn’t just let herself into the house whenever she pleased any more, and the row began.’

  Tom wasn’t quite meeting Elizabeth’s eyes.

  ‘And how did it end?’

  ‘With Dale saying she would go on letting herself in whenever she wanted to because this was her home and always would be.’

  Tom got slowly off the bed and walked towards the window, pushing the curtains back to reveal quiet cloudy afternoon light.

  ‘Did Pauline come into it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Elizabeth said. She stared up at the ceiling. ‘She always does.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘About Pauline? That I couldn’t negotiate with a ghost. That Dale was too old to go on believing her mother was a saint.’

  ‘She wasn’t,’ Tom said. He had his back to Elizabeth. She turned her head to look at him, outlined against the window.

  ‘I’m relieved to hear you say it—’

  ‘She was very like Dale, in some ways, but with better self-control.’ He turned towards Elizabeth. ‘Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you been up here ever since she left?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Poor love. Poor Elizabeth.’

  Elizabeth struggled up into a half-sitting position, propping her shoulders against the bed’s padded headboard.

  ‘Tom.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  He came back to the bed and sat down beside Elizabeth.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  She closed her eyes.

  ‘That’s not the right way round.’

  ‘I don’t follow you—’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Elizabeth said, ‘a question of what I want you to do, it’s a question of what you want to do yourself, not just for my sake, but even more for our future sakes, jointly, for the sake of this marriage we’re embarking on.’

  ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic about it—’

  ‘It’s not lack of enthusiasm I feel,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It’s fear.’

  ‘Fear?’

  She picked up the edge of the blanket that covered her and began to pleat it between her fingers.

  ‘Fear of what?’ Tom said.

  ‘Dale.’

  Tom leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Can’t you imagine?’ Elizabeth said, fighting with sudden tears. ‘Can’t you imagine trying to be married here with both of us straining to catch the sound of her key in the lock?’

  ‘It wouldn’t be like that—’

  ‘It might!’ Elizabeth cried, sitting up and dropping the blanket. ‘If she got in a state about something, or jealous, or lonely, she might come in all the time, any time, demanding your attention, insisting on her right to come home, informing me, as she did today, that I’ll never belong here however hard I try, however much I love you, because I haven’t got what you’ve all got, what you’ve had, I just haven’t got what it takes to make you happy!’

  Tom took his hands away from his face and put his arms around Elizabeth. He said, in a fierce whisper against her hair, ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry—’

  Elizabeth said nothing. She turned her face so that their cheeks were touching, and then, after a few moments, she gently but firmly disengaged herself.

  ‘Help me,’ Tom said. ‘Help me to decide what to do.’

  Elizabeth began to extricate herself from the blanket, and to inch across the bed away from him.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ she said politely, ‘that it isn’t my decision.’

  ‘Eliza
beth—’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I can’t change the locks of this house against my own daughter!’

  Elizabeth reached the far side of the bed and stood up.

  ‘We don’t have keys to Dale’s flat. We never go there. We’re never asked there.’

  ‘But Dale was almost born in this house—’

  ‘I know. That’s one of the reasons why I wanted to sell it and move to another house, with no associations.’

  ‘But Rufus—’

  ‘I know about Rufus. I accept the Rufus argument.’

  Tom stood up, too. He said, ‘I’ll go downstairs and clear up. Why don’t you have a bath?’

  ‘I’d love a bath, but it won’t make me feel any differently.’

  ‘You want me to tell Dale—’

  ‘No!’ Elizabeth shouted. She raised her fists and beat herself lightly on the sides of her head. ‘No! Not what I want! What you want for us, for you and me, because you can see what will happen if things go on like this!’

  ‘But they won’t. These are teething troubles, the shock of the new. We have so much going for us, so much, we love each other, Rufus loves you, Lucas will love you, too, any minute. We mustn’t get things out of proportion. Dale’s just in a state while she gets used to the idea of you. I’m so sorry she’s upset you—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop talking. Stop mouthing all this stuff at me.’

  Tom said angrily, ‘I’m trying to explain—’

  ‘No, you’re not, you’re trying to talk yourself out of having to face what’s really the matter.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Elizabeth took a few steps towards the door. Then she took a breath.

  ‘That Dale is neurotically insecure and possessive, and that if you don’t do something about it now you’ll have her for life.’

  Tom said sharply, ‘You have your children for life anyway.’

  Elizabeth looked at him. Against the light, it was difficult to see his expression, but his stance looked determined, even defiant, as if he was challenging her to know better than he did about an area of life she had never experienced, and he had. She opened her mouth to ask if Tom’s pronouncement on children held good for third wives, too, and then felt, almost simultaneously, that pride would prevent her ever asking such a thing. So, instead, she closed her mouth again and walked, with as much dignity as she could muster, into the bathroom next door, closing the door behind her.

  ‘It’s really nice of you to see me,’ Amy said.

  ‘Not at all, it’s a pleasure—’

  ‘I haven’t been to London for ages, not for months, but then I got this interview and I thought that, while I was at it, if you didn’t mind—’

  ‘I don’t,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’m pleased to see you.’

  Amy looked round the sitting-room.

  ‘It’s a lovely flat. It’s huge.’

  ‘I thought I’d have parties here. But I haven’t—’

  ‘You could have your wedding reception here. Couldn’t you? It’d be a lovely room for that.’

  Elizabeth went past Amy and into the little kitchen that led off the sitting-room. She called from inside it, ‘White wine?’

  ‘I don’t drink much,’ Amy said.

  ‘Tea then, coffee—’

  ‘Tea, please,’ Amy said. ‘A bag in a mug. Lucas thinks it’s dead common but it’s how I like it.’ She came and peered through the kitchen doorway. ‘I’ve never seen you in a suit before.’

  ‘It’s my working mode.’

  ‘It suits you,’ Amy said. ‘You look really in command.’

  Elizabeth plugged the kettle in.

  ‘That’s exactly how I want to look. It hides a multitude of sins. What job were you interviewing for?’

  ‘A film,’ Amy said. ‘Some medieval thing. We have to plaster them in mud and keep them looking sexy at the same time. I don’t know if I’ll get it, but it’s worth a try.’

  ‘Aren’t you under contract to the TV station?’

  ‘Only for three months,’ Amy said. ‘Three months at a time. You can’t plan anything but that’s how they all work now.’

  Elizabeth took a half-bottle of white wine out of the fridge and peeled off the foil around the neck. She saw Amy looking at it.

  ‘I always buy half-bottles, I always have. My father teases me, he calls them Spinster’s Comforters. He ought to be glad they’re not gin.’

  ‘Don’t you like gin?’

  ‘Not much.’

  ‘It makes me gag,’ Amy said. ‘Lucas drinks vodka. He’s trying not to drink at all at the moment.’ She paused and then she said with a tiny edge of venom, ‘It wouldn’t hurt his sister to try not to either.’

  Elizabeth put a teabag in a mug and filled it with boiling water.

  ‘How strong?’

  ‘Very,’ Amy said. She moved into the kitchen and picked up a teaspoon to squash the teabag against the side of the mug. ‘Real builders’ tea.’

  ‘My father has it like that.’

  ‘Rufus liked your father,’ Amy said.

  Elizabeth poured her wine.

  ‘It was mutual.’

  She opened the fridge and offered Amy a carton of milk. ‘Sugar?’

  Amy shook her head. She poured milk into her mug and stirred vigorously. ‘Look at that. Perfect.’ She lifted out the teabag. ‘Where’s your wastebin?’

  ‘There—’

  ‘It’s so tidy in here. You must be such a tidy cook.’

  ‘I don’t cook much.’

  ‘Lucas cooks for us, mostly. He’s a better cook than I am, more sophisticated. Trouble is, he’s almost never home at the moment so I live on sandwiches at work and crisps at home.’

  Elizabeth moved past her, into the sitting-room, holding her glass of wine.

  ‘Bring your tea and come and sit down.’

  Amy perched on the edge of a sofa, holding her mug balanced on her knees. She was wearing a very short checked skirt and a black jacket and had subdued her hair under a band. She said, ‘I don’t really know why I’ve come. Well, I do, but now I’m here I don’t know how to start—’

  Elizabeth took a sip of wine.

  ‘Is it about Dale?’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I just guessed—’

  Amy leaned forward.

  ‘Do you like her? Do you like Dale?’

  Elizabeth said, ‘I wouldn’t have the first idea how to answer that question.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That she’s so overwhelming, so complicated, so big a personality, that liking or disliking her doesn’t really seem to come into it.’

  Amy stared into her tea.

  ‘I know what I think.’

  Elizabeth waited. She looked at Amy’s neat little legs in their smooth black tights, and her competent small hands folded round her tea mug.

  ‘We used to have such a good time, Lucas and me,’ Amy said. ‘Such fun. We were always laughing. I could tease him, I could tease him all day and he’d come back for more, he’d always come back. And it was OK when she had that boyfriend. He was a bit stuck up but he was clever, he could manage her. But since he went, it’s been awful. She won’t leave Lucas alone and he’s sorry for her; he says she’s his sister and she really battles with herself and that I ought to sympathize with her instead of bitching. But how can I sympathize, how can I when she’s hogging all Lucas’s attention? I’ve tried not saying anything but it didn’t get me anywhere because Lucas didn’t notice and I nearly killed myself with the effort.’ She stopped abruptly, took a mouthful of tea and then said, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it all to come out like that.’

  ‘It always does,’ Elizabeth said. She picked her wineglass up and put it down again. ‘Why have you come to me?’

  ‘Because you know,’ Amy said. ‘You’re coping.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve seen Dale in action. You’ve had her around, you
’ve seen the score. But you can manage, you can deal with it.’

  ‘Oh—’

  ‘Lucas told me that if you could manage I could. He said you’re just getting on with your life, Dale or no Dale, and why can’t I. He said I’m letting it get to me, and I needn’t let it, look at you, you’re not.’

  ‘Amy,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I wish it was that straightforward.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ Elizabeth said, carefully, ‘that it’s complicated all round just at the moment. That feelings seem to be running very high.’

  Amy leaned forward over her tea.

  ‘Have you had a row with Dale?’

  Elizabeth smoothed her skirt down towards her knees.

  ‘She has a key to Tom’s house. She lets herself in.’

  ‘Did you go for her?’

  ‘I asked her not to do it any more.’

  Amy let out a breath.

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I don’t want to seem stuffy about this, but I don’t feel I can talk about it much. Tom thinks—’ She stopped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He thinks as I imagine Lucas thinks. He thinks Dale is still upset by her love affair ending and that this has unluckily coincided with my coming on the scene, which has brought back a rush of memories of losing her mother and we’ve all got to be very patient and wait until enough time has passed for Dale to feel calm again.’

  ‘Oh,’ Amy said. She stood up, pulling her skirt down with one hand. ‘Will you go along with that?’

  Elizabeth hesitated. She remembered sitting at Tom’s kitchen table the evening after he had found her despairing in the bedroom, eating an admirable risotto he had made, and putting all the energy she had left into trying to understand, and believe, the explaining, reconciliatory things he was saying. She had so wanted to believe him; she had told herself that she owed it to him to believe him because he was so much in earnest himself and she had ended the evening by instructing herself severely in the bathroom mirror that the very least she could do – for Tom, for herself, for both of them – was to try. She looked at Amy now.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  When Amy had gone, to catch the National Express coach back to Bath, Elizabeth scrambled herself an egg and ate it out of the saucepan with the spoon she had used to stir it, standing up by the cooker. Then she ate an apple and a digestive biscuit and made herself a mug of instant coffee which she carried back into the sitting-room. Her wineglass, still almost full, stood beside the chair she had sat in when Amy came. Amy hadn’t really wanted to go. Elizabeth had seen in her face that she felt she was just getting somewhere, that she had just glimpsed gold unexpectedly, when she had realized she had to go, that Elizabeth wasn’t going to open up, tell her everything, spill the beans.