‘Listen here, Robin Polly, you great tree trunk! No daughter to me, you ain’t, sending the cops in to drag me out of the home I made for myself. What harm was I doing no one in that cellar? Done with you is what I am. You keep your rotten fangs off your poor old dad, or I’ll be the one putting the law on you.’ He turned his unshaven, bleary-eyed face to Sarah and Oliver. ‘That’s what I see when I take a look – fangs in that greasy slop.’
‘Do you mean her soup, Mr Watkins?’ Oliver asked as if this were a quite ordinary conversation.
‘Greasy slop’s what it was.’ Willie turned away as if losing interest; either that or he was tired, because he flopped back on his blanket and pillow and several moments passed before he muttered anything else. ‘Never rated Robin as a cook – too cheap to buy her old dad a steak. Stuck to her story I couldn’t chew it.’ Oliver wondered if seeing him would be a wakeup call for Gerard. His eyes closed as Grandpa’s opened – followed by a smile.
‘Dreaming you were here,’ his tremulous hand shifted sideways, ‘both of you. Chairs . . . bring cl-close . . . been wai . . . waiting.’
Oliver kissed his cheek and Sarah did the same before they drew two chairs up to the bed. ‘Love you, Grandpa, always and forever.’
‘Know. You’ve been ev-every thing . . . man could ask of . . . grandson and . . . more. Same as your moth . . . mother.’ The devotion was visible in every worn, weary line of the immeasurably dear face. ‘Couldn’t rest,’ his eyes went to Sarah, ‘af-afraid . . . leaving him with . . . out those who’ll love him like he des . . . erves.’ He went silent, re-gathering his strength. ‘Twyla worried about her age, but says best thi . . . this way. Trust her judge . . . ment. Good woman. Gr-great friend. Certain you and . . . your gentleman friend . . . liked him, like you – kind faces, will do right by our boy.’
Sarah laid her hand over his blue-veined hand. ‘We love him more than can be fully expressed.’ Her voice broke. ‘You have my solemn word Evan and I will let nothing stop us from being an ongoing presence – more if possible – in his life.’
‘They’re who I want to be with, Grandpa,’ Oliver choked up, fighting back the tears. ‘They know I’ll want Twyla to be part of us.’
‘Trust. God is g-good. Not true that busin . . . ess about blood thick . . . er than water.’ The obviously tiring eyes returned to Sarah. ‘Adop . . . ted Clare. Blessing till last for her mo . . . ther and me. Know she and Max smi . . . ling.’ His eyelids flickered and closed.
Oliver sat with his hand in Sarah’s. They stayed by the bed another half hour, not just in case Grandpa woke, but from the need to be near him. It was there for Sarah too, and Oliver was aware that the bond between them was being forged into one that was sacred. He knew, without any of the doubts that had come about whether or not Nat was real, that his Mom and Dad and Grandma Olive were in that room.
On the drive home neither he nor Sarah spoke about what had been said. Not only was it unnecessary, it would have taken away from what had been. He searched for the word and heard it in Grandpa’s own voice – ‘transcendent.’ She did tell him when they neared Bramble Cottage that the next day she was going to meet up with her friend in Portland, the one whose wedding had first brought her to Maine, but would return by evening. The cell phone in her purse rang just as they entered the front door. It was Evan, and she talked to him while Oliver went in search of Dusk and found her snuggled down on the bed in his room. When he came downstairs with the cat in his arms, Sarah was in the kitchen and held out the phone to him.
‘Hi, Oliver,’ said Evan’s voice in his ear, ‘I’ve been hoping you and Sarah could come to Boston this weekend to take a look at my condo so you can decide together whether to keep it for weekends and vacations when I move to Sea Glass, but I agree with her that might be pushing things with your aunt and uncle.’
‘Right.’ Oliver would have loved to have gone, but saw the wisdom of not risking putting Gerard’s and Elizabeth’s backs up. ‘We can do it another time, can’t we?’
‘Of course. It’s a must. Another reason I was eager to get you down here is my Aunt Alice; she is chomping at the bit to meet you both. So, how’s this for an alternative – I bring her with me when I come on Friday morning? Sarah’s all for it, but I have to keep to the rules.’ Evan’s laugh made everything better than all right. ‘It has to be a three-way decision.’
‘I’m chomping too. From all you’ve told us about her she sounds super nice.’
‘She likes to sail, so we could try renting a boat for the weekend and see how you take to it.’
‘Cool!’
‘There is one thing I should warn you about Aunt Alice.’
‘What?’
‘She spoiled me rotten as a kid and I’ve a nasty suspicion that half an hour in your presence will see her starting up her old tricks. Boys who read and love animals are a terrible weakness of hers. So beware!’
They continued talking for a little while before Oliver handed the phone back to Sarah. He tactfully went into the living room but even so he heard her say: ‘Let’s hope you and Aunt Alice get lucky at one of the galleries in the next few days. Maybe my going to Portland to show Anne that drawing is pointless, but I’m really interested in getting her opinion of it.’ A pause. ‘Thanks for believing we’re making progress. I do feel Willie Watkins may have narrowed the search with his talk about fangs.’ Oliver’s curiosity bubbled to the boiling point, but he wouldn’t have dreamed of asking Sarah what she and Evan had been discussing.
When he came back into the kitchen she asked him if he’d like to go to the five o’clock movie. There was a film on about a boy who befriended a stray dog that he’d mentioned he’d like to see, and afterward they could go for pizza, if getting back to the Cully Mansion around eight wouldn’t be too late. Oliver said he was sure it would be OK, especially since Elizabeth had said she might not be back from Boston until mid-evening and Gerard had said he could be gone as long as he liked. Even so, Sarah rang his uncle’s phone and, getting no answer, left a message on the answering machine.
The movie theater in Sea Glass was tiny. Walking into it Oliver and Sarah dubbed it the Elf Theatre. The film they were going to see was in the basement, making them feel like a pair of Hobbits, which got them laughing so much that Oliver spilled some of his popcorn. They both enjoyed the storyline. The dog who had been labeled savage became, through a boy’s love, the hero who saved the town from evildoers. Entirely satisfactory, Oliver and Sarah agreed while eating pizza afterward. It had been for him a very special day, making the thought of returning to the Cully Mansion even more unwelcome than usual. Sarah walked him up to the front door and saw him inside after a final hug. As soon as it closed behind him he was inexplicably seized by a sense of dread; it darkened the already dim hall, cast shadows where they shouldn’t have been. All this before Elizabeth appeared in the living-room doorway.
‘So you again grace us with your presence! Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed your outing!’ She hurled the words at him, eyes blazing, face so contorted he could have been looking at someone he’d never seen before. ‘It’s all about you, Oliver, isn’t it? And how hard done by you feel unless surrounded by those prepared to pander to your every whim. More the fools they are to be taken in!’
‘What have I done?’ He was bewildered, his legs about to crumble under him. He grabbed hold of a piece of furniture.
‘Done? Exactly nothing when it comes to showing an ounce of appreciation for Gerard’s and my attempts to make you happy. It’s been all about what we didn’t do. Didn’t get you a dog. Didn’t get you a cat. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t!’ Her hands were all over the place twitching, clutching, and slashing. He braced himself for her to come at him, but was too numb to shrink. ‘And now you’ve got even, haven’t you?’
‘How?’ The word squeezed itself out.
‘By killing the bird we gave you.’
‘Feathers?’ The shadows in the hall thickened and began to swirl.
‘I’m supposed
to be grateful you bothered to name it. A nice homecoming for me after my day out to walk in to find it dead in its cage. I imagine that accounts for your timing. Why should I get to escape for even a short while from this mausoleum? Let’s plan a surprise for her. You could count on Gerard not noticing. He’s always on some other planet.’
‘How am I supposed to have killed him?’ There was a drumbeat in Oliver’s ears.
‘Squeezed the life out of it, I suppose. It’s hard to imagine what sort of twisted mind could . . .’ Only her voice now . . . she had faded . . . everything was going dark. Somewhere from a long way off came the pounding roar of what might be Gerard’s voice.
‘For God’s sake, let him alone, Elizabeth.’
Oliver was spinning downward through the shadows into complete darkness.
What seemed like a long time later he woke to discover that he was in his room; a small lamp was on and someone was sitting beside him on the bed. He wished it could have been Nat, but it was Gerard.
‘Back with us. Good.’ He smoothed down his thinning dark hair. ‘Glad I was in time to catch you before you hit the floor. So sorry about Elizabeth losing it like that. Of course she doesn’t believe you killed that parakeet. It was probably just sickly from the start. What do these pet shops care what they palm off?’ He paused and on receiving no answer continued. ‘Something she won’t talk about must have happened today to set her off. I could tell the moment she walked in the door that she was working herself up to lashing out. I got some of it first.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Oliver felt nothing, not even the wish for him to go away. ‘Horrible for her, finding Feathers like that.’
‘Yes, well . . . that’s very kind and understanding of you. Is there anything I can get you, or would you like to go back to sleep?’
‘Sleep, please.’
Gerard stood looking down at him as if uncertain whether to make some physical gesture, before turning and going out the door. The clock on the bedside table with the lamp showed that only a half hour had passed since Oliver’s return to the house. He closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep, but the memory of Elizabeth’s hate-filled words clamored inside his head. They sped up, faster and faster, vibrating so savagely he was sure he was going to faint again. Maybe he did. Suddenly Nat was on the window seat, but he didn’t stay there; he came to stand at the foot of the bed. There was another difference from his previous visits. He appeared less substantial. Not quite, but almost, transparent. And older . . . quite a lot older . . . but still Nat.
‘You can’t see me clearly, Oliver,’ he said, ‘because of what you’ve just been through. Cruel, frightening and unjust. Gerard is lost in himself most of the time, but he was right in what he said to you just now. Feathers died because he wasn’t strong.’
‘I didn’t love him like I should have,’ Oliver answered drearily. ‘Knowing that is even harder to take than Elizabeth saying I killed him. I feel so guilty. Trying to pretend would be a lie to try and make myself feel better.’
‘I understand. You’d feel the worst kind of hypocrite. Often it is the people who have the least cause who reproach themselves most. But sometimes even the hardened have an awakening. Today Elizabeth saw herself for the first time in a long while for what she has become; that’s what caused her to lose control – the desperate need to make someone else, anyone but her, the enemy. I’ve grown very fond of you since you came here.’ Nat was fading until only his voice remained. ‘Take heart you’ll soon be where you belong with those who love you. Face the next and last hurdle; it will lead you where you need to go. You’ll want to resist, but don’t – the answer is there for you in Through the Looking-Glass. The time has come . . .’
‘Will I see you again?’
The thinnest of echoes. ‘Put a smile on Feather’s beak.’
‘What?’
There was no reply.
Oliver lay in bed without moving. The numbness he guessed was the result of shock had lifted sufficiently for him to wrestle wearily with what Nat had said about staying on a little longer at the Cully Mansion. Advice from a ghost who could come and go in the blink of an eye! Right! Oliver managed a tremulous smile. At the beginning, when Gerard and Elizabeth had brought him here, he’d been determined to make them dislike him so much they’d beg to get rid of him, but almost immediately he’d seen the distress this would cause Twyla whose focus had to be on Grandpa. So he had behaved, done his very best not to stir up any trouble. But now he had Sarah to go to, and after Elizabeth’s frightening outburst how could she or Gerard create a stink? They wouldn’t want the police involved. So all he had to do was wait till they went to bed and walk out. But Nat had told him to stay to face the next . . . and last hurdle. And he had to trust him in this, thought Oliver, feeling suddenly dreadfully tired. Not doing so would be telling himself that Nat wasn’t real, that nothing depended on taking his advice – when here was the chance to find out. The decision whether or not to leave tonight mattered because tomorrow Sarah would be gone all day in Portland. Perhaps if he slept for an hour or two he’d wake to the right answer.
He pulled the covers up but a thread of thought snagged him back as he was about to drift off. Evan and his Aunt Alice were on a mission, like sleuths in the sort of books he wrote, searching galleries in Boston for something Sarah had said Willie Watkins had helped narrow down, something about teeth. Mrs Poll’s teeth . . . Willie had talked about them . . . only he’d called them something else. Oliver couldn’t reach the word – it was floating away from him. He was muddled . . . had to be . . . because why would anyone go looking for Mrs Poll’s teeth?
He woke the next morning feeling anxious but accepting of Nat’s advice to stay put for the moment. He clung to the knowledge that Sarah would be back from Portland that evening. In the meantime he would see what the day brought. If there was trouble there wouldn’t be any question that going to Twyla was right thing to do, but he hoped for her sake he wouldn’t have to do that. He took his bath, a shower being far too modern an invention for the house, and got dressed in the first T-shirt and pair of shorts that came to hand. As always he removed Evan’s card from the top of the dresser and put it in his pocket. His dread of going downstairs increased when he stood at the top and saw Elizabeth in the hall below. When he reached her she was still standing in the same place, rubbing her hands up and down her folded arms. She looked as if she hadn’t gotten much, if any, sleep. There were dark shadows under her eyes, making her face look starkly pale.
‘Hi,’ he said in her general direction. He held his breath. Braced himself for whatever might be coming.
‘I came up to your room last night but you were asleep.’ Her voice was strained to a thin flat line. ‘I wanted to tell you how sorry I was for everything I said to you. It was inexcusable. I’m not sure what came over me, except that I hate driving long distances and panic that the stress will bring on one of my headaches.’ She pressed a hand to her forehead.
So she was making an excuse. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does. You must hate me.’
‘I don’t hate people.’ Oliver wondered which of them looked more wooden.
‘Gerard says you have every right.’
‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’
‘But we must. I don’t want you left with terrible memories about that bird’s death. Please let me do something to help lessen the damage I’ve done.’ There was now a look of desperate appeal in her eyes. ‘I buried him in the garden this morning. Gerard was too squeamish to do it.’
He would be. Oliver felt a flicker of sympathy for her. Gerard would always leave the difficult or unpleasant for her to handle.
Elizabeth said quickly, ‘But I thought if we were to have a little memorial service this evening, that might give you the chance to express your feelings about,’ she was clearly searching for the name, ‘about Feathers and what he meant to you – the hope perhaps that he’s now flying free, or something of the sort.
I’d like to think it may help put this unhappy episode, especially my part in it, behind you.’
Oliver stared at her, appalled. It would do the opposite – make the memory even worse. He was about to say he couldn’t, wouldn’t do it, when he remembered what Nat had said about a hurdle being faced – one that would lead him where he needed to go. And yes . . . a mention of Feathers. ‘OK, Elizabeth, if you think it a good idea.’
She visibly relaxed. ‘I’ve thought about who you’d want here. Twyla, of course . . .’ This had to be important to her if she were prepared to make this concession, but Oliver was only too ready to let her off the hook. He wasn’t going to put Twyla through watching his discomfort.
‘Afternoons and evenings are her hours for looking after Sonny. And,’ he added quickly, ‘asking Gwen to come wouldn’t be kind; she’s such an animal lover she’d find such a service upsetting.’
‘Yes, of course.’ The relief showed. ‘Sarah?’
‘She’ll be in Portland.’
‘Disappointing.’ Elizabeth twitched at her sleeves. ‘That would seem to leave your friend Brian. You’ve been wanting him to spend a night, haven’t you? What better time than this for the two of you to be together?’
The trapped feeling, one of being squeezed dry, vanished. Hope relit its candle. Here was an irresistible offering. Suddenly Oliver felt a surge of excitement; he was starting to get the riddle Nat had presented him with last night. The hurdle was the memorial service for Feathers and the place it would lead him to was the cellar, which he had promised only to visit with Brian. There was more to be unraveled; the reference to Through the Looking-Glass would at some point fit into place. His original interest in searching the cellar was to find a picture of Nat as a boy that would reassure him that his visitor’s appearances in the bedroom had not been imaginary, but something insistent was telling him that there was something down there of far greater importance.
‘Sorry, Elizabeth, I was thinking. It’s great of you about Brian – fingers crossed that he can come.’ Actually, there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in Oliver’s mind about this. Nat knew he would much prefer not to go down to the cellar at dead of night alone. ‘Shall I phone Brian now?’
Sea Glass Summer Page 32
