B07F6HL2NB

by Frances Garrood

  ‘They’re playing that tune again. Greensleeves, isn’t it? You’d know it, Ruth ... oh, here we go. “This call may be recorded for training purposes”. Whatever for? They presumably know what they’re saying, and I haven’t said anything yet. My call is very important to them. Well, I should hope so. “If you know the extension, then dial the number now”. Well, I don’t know the extension; why should I? Are these people stupid? Now I’ve forgotten what I’m supposed to press next. I’ll have to go back to the beginning.’ And more change rattles into the pot.

  My parents seem to have slipped back into their marriage as though it had never been disrupted, but maybe this can be explained by the fact that neither of them has had to step down or lose face in any way. My father had to have somewhere to live, and this was the obvious place, and Mum hasn’t moved at all. She is still here with me and Eric and Silas. So perhaps this has satisfied both parties. They are kept busy, travelling back and forth between Applegarth and home in an attempt to rescue such belongings as they can from the ruins of the house. I accompany them on one of these forays, but my room is so badly damaged that all I can find among the still-smoking rubble are the remains of a very singed teddy bear, half a dolls’ house and a rusty horse shoe. They are not much to remember my childhood home by but better than nothing, and I put them tenderly in a cardboard box to take back with me. I have no idea what I’m going to do with them, and for once, my parents don’t ask. Perhaps the three of us, briefly united in our loss, are prepared to make allowances for such small shows of sentiment.

  Otherwise, Mum keeps busy with her domestic chores and Dad with his negotiations over matters of insurance and house repairs. They attend Mum’s new church together, and seem surprisingly comfortable with one another. I know that Dad is uneasy about Silas’s taxidermy activities, and thinks that it’s all ‘most unhygienic’, but since this isn’t his house, he can’t really say much. As for Eric and his Ark, Dad avoids this entirely, although I can see that Eric is longing to update him with his progress. There is more than an element of mischief in this, because Eric, armed with his dossiers of what he considers to be irrefutable facts, senses victory (he has a lot to learn about my father) and hankers after a little taste of it now. But Dad isn’t going to fall into that trap, so the Ark has joined the baby and become another no-go area. As for the Virgin of the hen house, no-one mentions that. No doubt Dad will find out about it, but I think we all hope it will be later rather than sooner.

  Meanwhile, Mikey calls in with news of Amos. I am enormously excited.

  ‘Tell me! Tell me, Mikey! Where is he? What’s he doing?’

  ‘Hold on. Not so fast. The news isn’t all good,’ Mikey warns me.

  ‘Why? What’s happened? He’s not had an accident, has he?’

  ‘No. As far as I know, he’s fine. I tracked him down to a cruise in the Caribbean, but apparently he’s had a row with the conductor and disembarked on Barbados. No-one’s heard from him since.’

  ‘A row? What sort of row?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. They’re pretty pissed off with him, though, so I didn’t like to ask too many questions.’

  ‘Oh, Amos! How could he!’ I’m very close to tears.

  ‘Well, he didn’t know did he? About the baby, I mean. As far as he’s concerned, he’s his own man. He can do what he likes.’

  ‘But I need him. I need him now. Not in six months or a year or whenever it is he’s planning on coming home.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Mikey soothes.

  ‘And now it could be ages before he appears again.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ Mikey agrees. ‘But he’s bound to come back to England pretty soon, isn’t he? There can’t be that many jobs on Barbados for itinerant trombone players, and presumably he has a living to make.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You’ve decided that you do love him, then?’ he asks me, after a moment.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t really know until I see him, and even then, he mightn’t love me.’

  ‘Of course he’ll love you,’ Mikey says. ‘If I were straight, I’d certainly love you.’

  ‘Oh, Mikey. What am I going to do?’ I wail.

  ‘You’ll just have to be patient. You’ll still got — how many months?’

  ‘About three.’

  ‘Three more months to find him. A lot can happen in three months. And I’ll carry on looking. I’ve got a friend who’s got a brother in Barbados.’

  ‘How big is Barbados?’ I ask him.

  ‘I’ve no idea. It doesn’t sound big, does it?’

  I agree that Barbados doesn’t sound that big. Quite small, really. And Amos is very hard to miss.

  ‘What a nice young man,’ my father remarks, when Mikey has gone (they met for just three minutes). ‘Now, that’s the kind of young man you want, Ruth. Steady and sensible. Yes. Just what you need. Better than that bearded fellow.’

  Oh, Dad. If only you knew. But I decide not to tell him about Mikey’s sexual preferences as I think he’s had enough shocks for the time being. And it’s no good reminding him that Amos is the father of my child. Dad remembers what he wants to remember, and he certainly doesn’t want to remember that. Mikey apparently has assets which Amos doesn’t have, and my father has never trusted beards.

  The house, which was so tranquil when I arrived, is beginning to feel rather full. It’s not that my parents take up much room; it’s more that everyone is suddenly having to be awfully careful how they behave. It wasn’t so bad when it was just Mum; she was becoming relatively relaxed and was even learning to fit in. But with the advent of my father, things are more difficult. My uncles have the patience of saints. They put up with Grace before meals, temper their language, and try to conceal the more earthy aspects of life at Applegarth. But I feel the strain on their behalf, and I also feel responsible. Had I not been here in the first place, my parents would no doubt have found somewhere else to stay — after all, don’t insurance companies pay for hotel accommodation in circumstances such as this? — and Eric and Silas would have been able to carry on their untroubled existence without interference.

  But if the house feels full, it is about to become more so.

  Exactly ten days after my father’s arrival, Kaz falls out with Blossom. No-one manages to get to the bottom of what exactly happened (although a man called Angus and a fifty-pound note come into it somewhere), but there it is. Another crisis, and yet another homeless person.

  You would think it was impossible to fall out with Blossom, since no-one is ever, as it were, in with her. But apparently the fragile relationship between mother and daughter, having reached breaking point, has finally snapped, and Blossom has turned Kaz out of the house.

  ‘It won’t be for long.’ Kaz stands on the front doorstep at midnight in the pouring rain, her car parked in the mud behind her. ‘But at this time of night ... I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.’

  ‘Have you no friends who could put you up?’ I ask her (being the only one still up, I answer the door).

  ‘Not really.’ Kaz heaves a rather large suitcase into the hallway. ‘Most of my friends are dancers like me, living in digs or with their parents. They haven’t got room.’ She grins at me from under her dripping fringe through eyes sooty with rain and mascara, and I wonder yet again how, whatever the circumstance, Kaz always manages to look ravishing. ‘Any chance of a drink?’

  ‘Whatever have you got in that case?’ I ask her some minutes later, as we sit in the kitchen drinking (sloe gin for Kaz. Tea for me).

  ‘Oh, you know. Clothes, make-up. Stuff for work. Don’t worry, Ruth.’ She pours herself another drink. ‘I’ll make it okay with the boys —’ this is Kaz’s preferred name for Eric and Silas — ‘and I’ll even do extra hen house duty. In this weather you should be glad of me.’

  ‘My father’s here, too,’ I remind her.

  ‘You leave him to me,’ Kaz says. ‘Trust me. He’ll be a pushover.’

  Sure enough, when
Dad meets Kaz at the breakfast table the next morning, after the initial surprise, he appears completely won over. She does what I think of as her class act; not exactly flirting, but demure and deferential, with just a little touch of the Princess Diana thing she does with her eyelashes. She listens with rapt attention to everything he has to say, and is most sympathetic about the insurance people.

  ‘You’re so right,’ I hear her say. ‘These people have got you just where they want you, haven’t they? I’ve no time for them at all.’ (I am pretty sure that Kaz knows nothing at all about house insurance, and cares even less).

  ‘What an — interesting girl,’ says Dad, when Kaz goes out to help with the animals. ‘In spite of all those rings and things; a most interesting girl. And so sympathetic, too. I have to hand it to you, Ruth. You’ve made some very nice friends since you’ve been here.’

  Eric and Silas don’t appear quite so pleased at the sudden appearance of their new guest, but they take the news stoically.

  ‘Oh well. She can always sleep in the attic,’ says Eric. ‘So long as she doesn’t intend to entertain any gentleman friends.’

  When I relay this information to Kaz, she laughs.

  ‘He needn’t worry. My boyfriends wouldn’t touch this place with a bargepole,’ she tells me. I’ve met one or two of them, and they tend to be of the posh, moneyed variety; wealthy young men who spice up their dull lives by paying to watch girls like Kaz.

  ‘You don’t sound very grateful.’

  ‘Of course I’m grateful. I’ve a lot of time for the boys, bless them. But would you want a romantic liaison in this tip of a place? I think not.’

  I can imagine nothing I’d like better, but Kaz wouldn’t understand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  With the onset of winter, interest in the Virgin of the hen house begins to ease off a little, and I think we are all relieved. For while she has been less trouble than we anticipated, hen house duty on dark wet afternoons is something we can all do without, and while we have restricted the number of afternoons to two, it is still a commitment.

  ‘Couldn’t we pack the whole thing in for the winter?’ I suggest to Blossom. ‘After all, there aren’t that many visitors now, and the weather’s awful.’

  ‘Nope.’ Blossom gives me one of her looks.

  ‘Just for a couple of months?’ I can’t believe I’m begging favours from someone who, when it comes down to it, is just a hired hand. But this hired hand is in a very powerful position, and she knows it, for without her, Eric and Silas would find it almost impossible to cope.

  ‘Nope.’ The look becomes dangerous. Blossom is preparing to make trouble.

  ‘Blossom, we’ve got a lot on. Whoever’s looking after things, it’s always a disruption. Silas still isn’t a hundred percent. He needs a bit of peace and quiet. And Mum and Dad don’t approve —’

  ‘Not my problem.’

  ‘No. Maybe not. But you don’t have to live here.’

  ‘Wouldn’t if you paid me.’

  The idea of paying Blossom to live with us is laughable, but I’m in no mood for humour. I decide to try another tack.

  ‘Well, just until the new year, then. How would that be?’

  Blossom pauses, as though to consider.

  ‘Think about it,’ she concedes.

  ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Let you know Thursday.’

  I’m too relieved to enquire as to the significance of Thursday. The prospect of even a few weeks without the tramping of strangers past the garden is too good for me to wish to endanger it by pushing my luck any further.

  But I shall never know whether Thursday would have brought the anticipated reprieve, for I am not the only one who has been making plans.

  The very next day we receive an unexpected visit from Mikey and Gavin. This is not unusual, as Mikey frequently calls in on his travels, and I’m always pleased to see him. But he doesn’t often bring Gavin with him, and has never before brought Gavin in a wheelchair.

  ‘Oh, dear. What’s happened? Have you broken something, Gavin?’ I ask, when Gavin and his wheelchair have been unloaded from the back of Mikey’s car.

  ‘We’ve come to visit your Virgin,’ Mikey tells me.

  ‘What are you two up to?’

  ‘We’re not up to anything. It’s just that Gavin’s decided to return to the Catholic Church and he wants to see it again.’

  ‘But what’s wrong with him? Is there something the matter with his legs?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  It’s a relatively warm Saturday afternoon, the first sunshine we have seen for a couple of weeks, and there is a good gathering of pilgrims admiring the Virgin, praying and taking photographs. They draw back respectfully when they see the wheelchair, and Mikey parks his charge in front of the Virgin, where he and Gavin bow their heads apparently in prayer.

  I am puzzled. Hitherto, Mikey has shown little interest in our Virgin, but perhaps Gavin, in returning to his faith, has managed to take Mikey with him. After all, it’s quite possible. I’m sure that Mikey would dance barefoot on hot coals if Gavin asked him to, he is so besotted. On the other hand, why haven’t they explained the wheelchair? Surely Gavin hasn’t suddenly been struck down by some grave and unmentionable disease? Mikey and I have never had any secrets from each other. I would hate to think that he didn’t feel he could trust me after all these years.

  Meanwhile, people gather round the wheelchair, asking questions. What’s wrong with Gavin? Has he always been unable to walk? If he’s looking for a miracle, maybe he should try Lourdes. Someone’s aunt came back from Lourdes cured of a tumour. People exchange views and experiences of Lourdes, and the gathering becomes something of a party.

  Then quite suddenly, Gavin leaps from his wheelchair, flinging out his arms as though about to embrace some invisible giant.

  ‘A miracle! It’s a miracle! I can walk!’ he cries, hugging Mikey and turning to the other visitors. ‘Look, everyone! Oh, praise the Lord! I can walk!’

  ‘Crippled from birth —’ it is now Mikey’s turn — ‘and will you look at him now? Just look at him! He’s walking with the best of us. We came looking for a miracle, and here it is. A miracle! Much better than Lourdes,’ he adds tactlessly (I’m pretty sure that Mikey knows nothing at all about Lourdes).

  Together, they pirouette round the wheelchair, while their fellow-pilgrims give little cries of astonishment and joy. A couple fall to their knees in thanksgiving, someone murmurs Hail Marys, while the rest gather round and ply Gavin with questions. What does it feel like? Has he really lived his life in a wheelchair? Did he have any kind of vision? Did the Virgin move? Did she speak to him?

  But the performance is over. Gavin and Mikey reward their audience with radiant smiles and handshakes all round, before running off toward the house murmuring about having to make phone calls and letting Gavin’s dear mother know the good news (Gavin’s dear mother, I know for a fact, died when he was eleven).

  ‘How could you, Mikey? How could you?’ I demand, when we get back to the house. ‘That was in the most appallingly bad taste.’

  ‘It was fun, though, wasn’t it? You have to admit, Ruth, it was a laugh.’ Mikey tries to put his arm round me.

  ‘It was not a laugh.’ I push him away. ‘It wasn’t fun, either. Not for anybody else. What about all those poor people? They think they’ve just seen a miracle, and it was just you two making fools of yourselves. And of them. It was an unforgivable thing to do.’

  ‘Oh, get a life, Ruth. Whatever’s happened to your sense of humour?’

  ‘My sense of humour is perfectly intact, thank you. I just don’t happen to think it’s amusing to play tricks on vulnerable people.’

  ‘We’re sorry,’ says the newly-healed and now subdued Gavin. ‘We really didn’t mean any harm.’

  ‘Oh, don’t apologise to her, Gav. We haven’t done anything wrong.’ Mikey is unrepentant. ‘Ruth’s just in a bad mood.’

  There are few things more
infuriating than being told you’re in a bad mood when, basically, you are not. It comes second only to being told that ‘it must be the wrong time of the month’ (at least he can’t say that to me at the moment).

  ‘Right. That’s it. Go.’ I point to the door. ‘Just go.’

  ‘What? No cup of tea?’ Mikey looks astonished.

  ‘No cup of tea. No cup of anything. Remember, I’m in a bad mood. You said so yourself.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean —’

  ‘Just go, Mikey, would you? And take that bloody wheelchair with you.’

  After they have gone, I find that I am shaking; shaking with anger, but also with disappointment and hurt. I thought I knew Mikey better. It’s true that he has always enjoyed the odd practical joke, but he has never to my knowledge done anything so lacking in consideration for other people’s feelings. But apparently I have misjudged him. It’s tempting to blame the Gavin effect, but at least Gavin had the grace to apologise. I have to conclude that the whole thing was Mikey’s idea.

  My parents have been out for the afternoon with Eric and Silas, bonding over an ancient stone circle (this has been a pleasing development, as hitherto there has been little socialising between them), and they return just as Mikey and Gavin leave.

  ‘Couldn’t they stay?’ Eric asks (Eric is fond of Mikey, who is always interested in Ark-related developments).

  ‘No. They had to go.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame.’

  ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

  When I finally get Eric and Silas on their own, I tell them about the “miracle”, but they are disappointingly unperturbed.

  ‘Oh well. No harm done,’ says Silas, examining a dead frog (frogs are a new departure; advanced stuff, so I’m told, and in short supply in the winter, so Silas is pleased).

  ‘You think so?’ I ask him.

  How little my uncles know about the power of miracles! For word spreads rapidly, and before we know it, we are inundated with visitors, with and without tickets. They come at all times of the day, and occasionally even at night, carrying torches. Thursday, the day of Blossom’s decision, comes and goes unnoticed, for there is now no question of closing the hen house; more, the problem of how to manage what is rapidly becoming a crisis.