by Maria Hoey
“And Grace looked after you as regards lunch and all that, I hope?” said Robbie and I was recalled to the moment.
“She looked after me beautifully,” I said. “But I feel like a fraud – I barely saw Rosemary today. She went out to lunch with Violet-May and to do some shopping, Grace said. I intended to go down much earlier than this and spend some time with the kids but I just got stuck in and forgot about everything else. I suppose they’re both in bed now?”
“They are, but that’s OK,” said Robbie. “The girls are back now. Actually we’ll be having a drink before dinner in half an hour or so – if you’d like to join us?”
I said I would and Robbie went away just as my phone began to ring. It was Dominic again and I decided to get it over with and see what he had to say.
“Kay?”
“What do you want, Dominic?”
“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
“Maybe I have nothing to say to you. Why are you calling me?”
“Where are you, Kay?”
“I’m at my dad’s. What’s it to you?”
The door to the study opened and Robbie put his head round the door.
“Sorry, Dominic, I have to go,” I said and hung up.
“I beg your pardon, I didn’t realise you were on the phone,” said Robbie.
“It doesn’t matter, it wasn’t anyone important.”
“OK. I only wanted to give you my mobile number and, if you don’t mind, perhaps get yours. I have to leave for the airport early tomorrow morning and, as you know, I’ll be away for five days. If you don’t mind I’ll check in with you just to make sure all is well here.”
I said I didn’t mind and we exchanged numbers. Shortly after Robbie left, Dominic phoned once more but I let it ring out and he did not leave a voicemail.
Dinner was more relaxed than on the previous evening, or perhaps it was that I felt more relaxed. I was happy with the work I had done that day and, perhaps as a result of their long lunch and shopping expedition, Violet-May and Rosemary-June seemed in better spirits too.
Before I went up to bed, Robbie drew me aside and said goodbye. Then he kissed me lightly on the cheek and said, “I’ll see you when I get back, Kay. It will make me a lot happier to know you’ll be here.”
And I went upstairs feeling happy that I was the cause of making him happy.
Chapter 20
After Robbie left that first time, life in the Duff house settled into a kind of rhythm. Every evening just before the children’s bedtime, he would ring the house and, by prior arrangement, Caroline was allowed to answer. Hearing Robbie’s voice her eyes would light up and I enjoyed watching her listening attentively to whatever it was her uncle was saying and hearing her whispered responses. Afterwards, the phone was held up to Oliver’s ear and we all urged him with one voice to say hello to his Uncle Robbie. I think he may have obliged once but mostly he just grabbed at the phone and proceeded to strike at the air with it as though it was a hammer.
Robbie then spoke to whichever of his sisters happened to be there at the time. He would then presumably ask after me in some casual way because Rosemary or Violet-May would pass on a “Robbie says hello, Kay”. But later each evening he would ring me on my mobile, check if I could talk, by which I assumed he was asking if I was alone. As soon as I confirmed that I could indeed talk he would ask, a little anxiously it always seemed to me, if I was still comfortable with being at the house, then he would ask how my writing was going and only then, almost as though it were an afterthought, enquire casually, “So, everything OK there? Kids alright?”
As soon as I had reassured him that everything was OK and the kids were absolutely fine he would audibly relax and begin to tell me about his day, making me laugh at some small thing that someone had done or said and I would lose track of time listening to him and always feel surprised and sorry when he finally said, “Well, I suppose I had better go, then, Kay.”
I always wished he wouldn’t let me go.
And it was not quite true that I was entirely comfortable at the Duff house. I cannot pretend that it did not feel a little odd to suddenly find myself living there with Violet-May and Rosemary. The truth was that I hardly knew them and, although Violet-May did make some attempt at friendliness, I sensed a weariness about her, as though she were making an effort to be bright and vivacious. I thought too that I detected a guardedness in her manner to me and, once or twice as we sat there catching up, I caught her watching me with an inscrutable expression in her eyes.
But that aside, I found that I liked the feeling of being surrounded by people. I also enjoyed the children very much. I had never lived in a house with small children before and I delighted in the slightly chaotic nature of life with them around. I would have liked to do more with them but it seemed to me that Grace almost resented allowing me to share in their care. Robbie had apparently arranged for her to come in each morning to give them their breakfast, with the idea of allowing Rosemary the option of a lie-in when the mood took her and it appeared the mood took her every morning. I offered to take over this morning duty but Grace wouldn’t hear of it. But, quite aside from the children, there was a pleasing thrill to living at the Duff house. I had always loved it and finding myself alone there one day, having seen Violet-May and Rosemary drive off, followed shortly afterward by Grace and the two children setting out for a walk, I gave in to my essentially nosy nature and allowed myself a tour. I wandered the corridors at my ease and peeped into remembered rooms like bathrooms and what had once been Mr Duff’s study. Opening the door to the playroom, I saw that it too had been spruced up; there were bright rugs on the floor and new paint on the walls. The bars were still on the windows but although I looked about me for the old rocking horse, it was no longer there – no doubt it had been binned many years ago. In fact there were few toys about, only some beautiful old children’s classics on a large but half-empty bookshelf. I reminded myself that Caroline and Oliver did not live in this house, were here simply on a brief stay. But looking about me, I could not help feeling that this was a room waiting for children to bring it back to life. I knew I was being fanciful but I could not help hoping it would not have to wait too long, until it suddenly dawned on me that those children would be Robbie’s children and then I turned my back quickly and closed the door on the silent, waiting room.
It was that same evening I witnessed a scene which made me realise it was not only the Duff house which hadn’t changed a lot since I had last seen it. Some of the people hadn’t changed a great deal either. Grace had taken the children to a playground and when she returned Oliver was out of sorts, hot and fractious. She tried to put him down in his cot but, she told me, he had clung to her and would not let go, so in the end she brought him back down and settled him on one of the big sofas in the drawing room, where he fell asleep with her next to him. Eventually, admitting she had things to do elsewhere in the house, she accepted my offer to stay with Oliver and I was left alone with the sleeping child and his sister. I remember the peace of that big bright room, flooded with the September sunshine, and how I sat next to Oliver and watched him sleep. I remember the small nasal sounds he made and the quiet chatter of Caroline as she alternately scolded and praised her dolls. I remember too how rudely the quiet was shattered by the whoosh of tyres on pebbles, the double slam of doors, the crunching of feet and the banging of the heavy hall door.
I walked to the window and saw that it was Rosemary’s car that had just pulled up.
Then behind me the sisters erupted into the drawing room, Violet-May first, face flushed, oversized sunglasses riding on top of her head. Something about the glazed expression in her eyes and her brittle smile made me think she had been drinking.
She crossed the room to the sofa where Oliver was sleeping, curled up in a corner. Its back was to the door and so she was in the act of throwing herself down before she saw him there.
“Is this the nursery now?” she said, rather nastily I thought.
“He’s not well,” I said, and then as I noticed Oliver stir, I automatically put my finger to my lips. “Do you want to sit somewhere else?”
“No, I want to sit here,” said Violet-May with the petulance of a little girl. And she sat.
She dropped her phone noisily onto the coffee table then plumped her handbag down on the sofa next to Oliver with what I thought was unnecessary force. The bag fell open and I saw Oliver give a little jerk and raise his head slightly.
“Hello, sleepy guy,” said Violet May, none too sweetly, as Oliver pushed himself into a sitting position. “Shouldn’t you be in your own bed?”
Oliver gazed at her, rubbed both hands over his eyes and then looked around the room in sleepy bewilderment. At the sight of his mother, who had settled herself on the far sofa and was smiling down at Caroline sprawled on the floor with her dolls, he gave a watery smile and stuck out his arms.
“Mammma!” he said plaintively and pathetically, and I waited for Rosemary to go to him.
She did look up briefly. “In a moment, Oliver,” she said, then she went back to smiling at Caroline.
“Can’t somebody put him to bed?” said Violet-May. “And where is Ms Primark when we need her?”
I remember I flinched at the small and unnecessary spite. I glanced at Rosemary for her reaction but, although it was impossible she hadn’t heard, she was still smiling serenely at her daughter. At that moment the door opened and Grace came in. I felt mortified at the idea that she might have overheard.
Violet-May turned, saw her standing just inside the door and said sharply, “So there you are, you’re needed here.”
“Oliver’s awake,” I said quietly to Grace. I glanced at the little boy who had got himself to his knees and was toying with the bright gold charm which dangled from a strap of Violet-May’s bag. His face was very pink, and he was still making the little snuffling sounds he had made in his sleep. “I still don’t think he’s very –” I began, but Violet-May cut across me.
“He needs to be put down in his own room, which is where he should have been in the first place,” she said.
I waited for Grace to defend herself but all she said was, “I’ll take him.”
“He’s here because he was too upset to be left alone upstairs.” I was too annoyed at the way she had spoken to and about Grace to keep my mouth shut. “Grace did right to put him down where we could all keep an eye on him.”
“Who are you, her lawyer?” said Violet-May.
She was not looking at me when she said it, she was watching Grace who had come around in front of the sofa, arms outstretched to take the little boy. I saw the unguarded look in Violet-May’s eyes and I remember thinking with a stab of surprise – oh, she really doesn’t like Grace. But at that moment, Oliver suddenly lowered his head and was sick into the open handbag. Violet-May leapt up with a shriek.
“Olber is sick,” said Caroline calmly.
That and the look of pure horror on Violet-May’s face made me want to laugh. But then she began yelling at Oliver.
“Oh no, look what you’ve done, look what you’ve done to my bag! You absolute little wretch!”
As he gazed at her, eyes huge and terrified, she turned her fury on Grace, “Just look what he’s done to my bag!”
She picked up the bag by one strap between a finger and thumb as though it might infect her and held it up for inspection. It was a mid-sized tote of dark navy blue, the leather soft and buttery-looking, and I could well believe it had been expensive.
Then Oliver wailed and Grace leaned in and swiped the child up and held him to her, making softly muttered comforting little noises into his hair.
“He couldn’t help it,” she said. “Poor little mite, he’s been poorly all day and it’s only a handbag at the end of the day.”
“Only a handbag, only a handbag?” shrilled Violet May. “Do you have any idea how much this cost? Do you? Actually scrap that, of course you don’t, how could you?”
“Violet-May,” I said, “do you have to be so bloody rude?”
After all, as Grace had rightly said, it was still just a bag and we were talking about a sick little child who also happened to be Violet-May’s own nephew.
Violet-May rounded on me. “Oh, that’s right, everybody turn on me! I have an extremely expensive bag I happened to love, ruined, absolutely ruined, and I’m the one who gets told off!”
“I’m sure the bag can be cleaned,” I said in an attempt to appease her.
“Oh great,” said Violet-May, turning once more on Grace. “And have it stink for ever more of vomit! I don’t want it cleaned. And my things are in there, my wallet, my phone –”
“Your phone is on the table,” I said. “And I’m sure the bag can be properly cleaned.”
“I’ll pay to have it done,” said Grace quietly.
“I said I don’t want it cleaned!” Violet-May all but screamed. “Can’t you see it’s ruined, you stupid, stupid, woman? It’s fit for nothing but the bin!”
I watched in something like disbelief then, as she flung the bag on the floor, deliberately stood on it with both feet and began jumping on it. Her face was red with anger and I could almost swear I saw tears of temper in her eyes.
“Ruined, ruined, ruined!” she chanted furiously as she pounded the bag underfoot. Her hands which were bunched into fists moved up and down in synch with her feet. Watching her I had a sudden strange and unsettling feeling that I was looking not at Violet-May the woman but Violet-May the child.
Then Oliver began to scream and behind me I heard Caroline say plaintively, “Mummy?”
“Rosemary,” I appealed, turning to her.
She was sitting there with all the appearance of someone who thought it had nothing in the world to do with her. She sighed, got up slowly, took Caroline by the hand and walked across to Grace.
“Give him to me,” she said.
In response Grace appeared to clutch the child tighter and for a moment I thought she was going to refuse to let him go, but then she handed him to his mother who took him and left the room without another word, followed by a visibly upset Caroline.
Grace followed Rosemary from the room almost immediately and I was left with just Violet-May. As soon as the door shut behind her, she stopped her ridiculous dance, glanced up and around the room, saw that I was her only audience and burst into tears.
“For God’s sake, Violet-May,” I said helplessly.
“Don’t talk to me,” sobbed Violet-May. “Don’t, just don’t.”
I shut up and watched as she bent down, picked up the bag and carried it once again between finger and thumb to the door. “It’s fit for the bin!” she sobbed. “It’s fit for the bin and that’s where it’s going!”
After she had gone I sank down on the window seat and pressed my head against the glass. I felt drained and bewildered and almost tearful myself. I thought about ringing Robbie – was this the kind of thing he wanted to be told about? Then I thought about just packing my things and going and telling nobody. But going where? I had no home that was available to me right then and nobody was waiting for me. At that thought I actually did cry a little.
“You’re still here,” said Rosemary.
It was some time later, I wasn’t sure exactly how long. I had moved from the window seat to an armchair and was almost dozing when she came in and startled me with her comment.
“I’ve been sent down to get her phone,” she said.
I saw that she was grinning and I felt annoyed that she was making light of that disgraceful scene.
“Have you?” I said drily. “Well, if Violet-May wants her wallet you’ll have to rummage in the bin for it. Last time I saw her, she was heading that way with the polluted handbag.”
Rosemary laughed. “I think you’ll find that Grace has already fished it out and done the needful there.”
“Then more fool her,” I said.
Rosemary put her head on one side. “You don’t like scenes very much, do yo
u, Kay?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t imagine most people do,” I said coolly. I straightened up in the chair and realised that I was stiff from sitting there so long in a strained position.
“And I don’t like rudeness either,” I said. “Yes, it was a pity about the bag but the way she spoke to Grace, there’s no excuse for it.”
“You don’t really think it was about the bag?” said Rosemary incredulously as she picked up Violet-May’s phone from the coffee table.
“Then what was it about?”
Rosemary waved the phone at me. “He won’t take her calls,” she said. “Violet-May’s boyfriend. She’d been trying to reach him all through lunch and afterwards. She isn’t getting what she wants. Surely you remember, Kay, what happens when Violet May doesn’t get what she wants?”
After a moment she turned and went out and I was alone in the room once more. I thought about what she had just said and how, watching Violet-May dancing on her handbag, I had felt I was witnessing not a woman fast approaching forty but a spoiled out-of-control and spiteful brat raging because a dog had eaten her party shoe.
I said aloud, “They’re all mad, they’re all stark staring mad.”
Chapter 21
