Honeysuckle House

by Christina Jones

  Waiting until she had closed the front door behind her, Steven started the car and drove thoughtfully back to his flat – and Leon. He laughed at the irony.

  Rosie closed the door and leaned against it, at last allowing the private tears to fall unchecked. Tonight, the house seemed large and empty. Tonight and all the other nights, because Leon, with his laughter and his bluster and his mercurial moods, had gone.

  Upstairs, Jamie heard the door close and moved away from his bedroom window, his thoughts racing. Kizzy had told him that they might have to sell up and now he knew why. Mum was having an affair with Steven Casey!

  He jabbed at his eyes with an anguished movement. He remembered Robert Walker in his class last year. His mum had left his dad. The other boys had laughed at him when they’d caught him crying in the changing rooms …

  Jamie swallowed. He hated everybody! His mum. Kizzy. But most of all he hated Steven Casey! Pulling the duvet over his face he cried until his throat ached and his head was swimming.

  Leaving her own room, Kizzy heard the muffled noise and paused outside her brother’s door, her hand on the latch. Then, thinking better of it, she moved away and padded downstairs to the sitting room.

  ‘Mum? Why are you sitting in the dark? I couldn’t concentrate on my revision. I rang Andrew. He said I should apologise to you.’

  She switched on the light and looked in horror at Rosie’s puffy face and unchecked tears. ‘Oh, Mum! What’s happened?’

  Rosie scrubbed at her eyes, blew her nose and held out her arms to Kizzy. She held her daughter closely, trying to regain some control of her emotions.

  ‘What Dad and I told you earlier, about selling the house and the Nook, wasn’t strictly the truth, Kizzy. We won’t be moving away from Highcliffe – not from this house, nor from the Nook. But Dad will. He’s – he’s left, Kizzy.’

  ‘What do you mean, left?’ The girl’s voice was high with panic.

  ‘I mean that your father has moved out.’ Rosie stroked her daughter’s glorious hair. ‘He’s staying with Steven for a while. Things – things haven’t been right for ages and – oh, there are lots of reasons. But we both felt that we needed breathing space.’

  ‘But you can’t separate! Other people’s parents separate – not you and Dad! You’ve always laughed and been happy together.’

  ‘Long ago, Kizzy, if you think about it. A very long time. Dad isn’t happy. It’s nothing to do with you or the boys – he just isn’t happy.’

  ‘Is he –’ Kizzy shook her head in disbelief. ‘Is there someone else?’

  Rosie said nothing, just cuddled Kizzy against her as she had when she was a baby, drawing comfort from her closeness.

  ‘There is!’ Kizzy was crying now. ‘Oh, how could he? How could he?’

  They cried together then, mother and daughter. Rosie had no thoughts, only a numbing blackness in her head, but Kizzy’s brain was reeling.

  As the only girl, she knew that she had a special place in her father’s heart and she idolised him in return. It was because of him she’d been so sure about Andrew. Andrew reminded her of Leon. Honest, open, good-natured, a gentle man with a head full of dreams …

  ‘Who?’ She croaked the word. ‘Do I know her?’

  ‘No.’ Rosie wiped her daughter’s tears. ‘No, you don’t. And neither did I until today. She’s young and beautiful and clever – and she’s encouraging your father to sell up and open some leisure complex in Dawley. That’s how they met.

  ‘Look, Kizzy, there are two sides, always. I’ve no doubt his will sound different.’

  ‘I’ll never listen to his side!’ Kizzy sat up, scraping her hair away from her damp face. ‘If he can turn his back on you – on us – then he can stay away for ever. But don’t worry, Mum. I’ll look after you …’

  Rosie looked on in surprise as Kizzy uncurled herself from the sofa and padded towards the kitchen. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m going to make some hot chocolate and find that spiced rum and make two hot-water bottles and then we’re going to bed.’ Kizzy tried to make her voice sound normal but it was difficult when her heart was breaking. ‘And no arguing.’

  Kizzy sipped her hot chocolate, curled on her parents’ bed. Only it wasn’t any more, she reminded herself – it was Mum’s. Treacherous thoughts started to steal into her mind, of long-ago Christmas mornings when she and William and Jamie had staggered into this room, weighed down by pillow-cases bulging with exciting parcels. There had been so much laughter and happiness.

  Determinedly she slid her feet to the floor and pattered to the window where Rosie was staring out over the blackness.

  ‘Even the sea is angry.’ She turned to Kizzy. ‘Thanks for the drink and the hot-water bottle, love. It helps …’

  ‘I know.’ Kizzy squeezed her mother’s arm. ‘It’s what you used to do for me, remember? Remember when I had that stupid crush on Ben Taylor? And then he asked Stephanie to go to the pictures? I thought my life was over! But you gave me a hot-water bottle and chocolate and a cuddle and told me that one day I wouldn’t even remember what he looked like.’

  ‘And you think it will be that easy with Dad, do you?’ Rosie smiled sadly.

  ‘Of course not.’ Kizzy shook her head. ‘But then, it’s not the same thing, is it? Dad will come back to you.’

  Maybe, Rosie thought, hugging the hot-water bottle, but will I want him back? Am I strong enough to forgive him for this? Even supposing he does tire of Felicity, do I love him enough to be able to rebuild our marriage?

  ‘What are you going to tell Jamie?’ Kizzy broke into her thoughts.

  ‘The truth.’ Rosie sighed. ‘He’s old enough to understand. But there’s no way I want any of you taking my side against your father’s. You’ll still see him – he’ll still be welcome here.’

  ‘Not by me he won’t!’ Kizzy asserted.

  ‘Jamie and William must do what they want. Boys see things differently. We women feel the pain.’

  We women. Rosie looked at her daughter with new eyes. Kizzy had grown up in a few short hours. Not once had she complained about Leon’s defection ruining her life, her plans. Her thoughts and sympathies had been all for Rosie.

  ‘Kizzy,’ she began. ‘I’m very proud of you …’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Kizzy hugged Rosie. ‘You’re my mum and my best friend. You’ll find out you’ve got loads of friends. Everyone loves you.’

  Steven? Rosie thought suddenly. Did Steven love her, too? Was that what he was telling her? Maybe it was like Kizzy and Ben and Stephanie all those years ago. Everyone loving the wrong person.

  Jamie was thinking of Steven, too, but not with love. He listened to the rise and fall of the voices from Rosie’s bedroom with increasing anger. Stupid Kizzy with her head full of soppy weddings. Always reading love stories and crying at soft films on TV. She would think Mum and Steven kissing and cuddling was OK. She wouldn’t give a thought to Dad!

  But if Dad wasn’t going to be around any more, then neither was he. Pulling on jeans and sweatshirt, and sliding his feet into his trainers, he opened his bedroom door.

  Rosie and Kizzy, lost in their own world, heard nothing as Jamie pulled open the front door, shivered slightly in the blustering gust from the sea, then stepped outside into the darkness.

  Nowhere To Turn

  ‘I’m so sorry about last night.’ Leon stood up and took Felicity’s hands in his. ‘I really did want to see you.’

  ‘I missed you, too.’ Felicity smiled, kissing his cheek. ‘But these things happen – and at least you phoned. Didn’t William show up at all?’

  ‘Not a word from him.’ Leon waited until she had sat down before resuming his own seat. ‘I was up to my eyes in brochette of monkfish and linguini until midnight!’

  ‘Sounds fascinating.’ Felicity laughed. ‘And after midnight?’

  ‘I crashed out on Steven’s sofa. It’s for the best. Rosie understands …’

  ‘Maybe.’ Felicity sighed deeply. �
�But I still feel guilty, I can’t help it.’

  ‘Do you want me to go back to her?’ Leon stared into the big green eyes. ‘If so, just say, “it was nice while it lasted but you’re a married man and I’m not prepared to wreck your marriage”.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Felicity turned her head away from him. ‘You know I can’t end this anymore than you can.’

  They were silent for a moment, sharing the turbulent emotions of love and guilt.

  The quayside cafe at Dawley was practically empty at this time of day, the early morning shoppers just beginning to arrive at the car park, and the late holidaymakers still enjoying their breakfasts in numerous establishments along the sea front.

  ‘Full English breakfast?’ Leon asked over the top of the menu. ‘Or continental?’

  ‘Just coffee and rolls.’ Felicity smiled again. ‘I can never eat first thing.’

  ‘I can.’ Leon caught the waitress’s eye. ‘Especially at weekends. Rosie always does a full fry-up.’

  ‘Good,’ Felicity said tersely. ‘Cooking is not my forte, as you well know, so that’s one thing your wife and I don’t have in common. Don’t expect breakfasts liberally drenched in cholesterol from me.’

  ‘Is that an invitation?’

  ‘No, just a warning.’

  They were smiling at each other again, and the tension had passed.

  Leon watched Felicity as he was aware all the other men in the cafe were watching her. She was stunningly attractive – and all the more so because she was unaware of it. Yet it wasn’t her looks he was in love with. Had it been that shallow, maybe extricating himself would have been easy.

  No, Leon admitted to himself, he loved Felicity Phelps because she was the other half of him. Whatever Steven said and Rosie thought, this was no last-ditch grab at his youth. This was the love he had wanted all his life. A love that he had never expected to find and certainly hadn’t looked for.

  He’d loved Rosie – he still did – but not in this way.

  Unselfconsciously they held hands across the table as they sipped their coffee, watching the growing bustle along the quayside through the cafe windows and making plans for the rest of their day.

  Opposite the cafe, the amusement arcade was already screaming with garish life. Leon watched the youngsters crowding through its gaudy portals and wondered sadly how his own children had reacted when Rosie had told them the news. He’d go round tonight and make sure they were OK, that they understood. He knew they would. It wasn’t as if they were babies.

  And he was only at Steven’s – he threw a glance at Felicity and was warmed by her smile – at least for just now …

  Shivering despite the sun, Jamie stood in the doorway of the arcade, his back to the road, drawn by the lights and the noise. The spectrum of brilliant colours offered sanctuary and oblivion. The machines with their rhythmic music, their hypnotic flashing illuminations, their perpetual promise, lured him like sirens. He stepped inside, unable to resist.

  He had almost ten pounds in his pocket. A fortune. Enough to feed the machines for ages. What else was there to do? He certainly wasn’t going home – not with Mum and Mr Casey behaving like Kizzy and Andrew. And he couldn’t find Dad until the Nook opened …

  As he fed his first coin into the slot, his fingers itching to punch out the sequence that spelled success, he wondered if they’d missed him yet.

  He was good at these games. Better than most. Here was something he excelled at. Something he could be proud of. He’d become something of an expert and a lot of people stopped to watch him as his fingers worked with the same rapidity as his brain.

  Lulled by the repetitive sound and motion, he let his mind wander. He wondered if Mr and Mrs Beatty would find out that he’d slept in their summerhouse last night. When he’d beaten this machine he might ring them. He might tell Norma Beatty about Mum and Steven. Then she’d let him stay with her. Mrs Beatty was kind and she loved him, Jamie was sure of that. So did Dad.

  Brilliant! He’d done it! People were clapping and patting him on the back. This was happiness. He’d tell Dad when he went to the Nook …

  Then he turned – and saw them. They came out of the cafe, their arms round each other, laughing. He’d seen them together before. His dad and that blonde woman who looked like a film star.

  He felt violently sick. The shivering started again. The noise and the lights and the arcade seemed very far away.

  They didn’t see him. Jamie watched his father and the stranger as they crossed the road towards the town centre, still laughing.

  Slowly he stepped outside, not knowing where to go next. He couldn’t go home. Home meant Mum and Dad – and they didn’t even want each other …

  Norma Beatty? He thought longingly of the cosiness of the Beattys’ large shabby house and the comfort of Mrs Beatty’s plump arms, then shook his head. The Beattys were in Highcliffe and Highcliffe was home. He was never going home again …

  His fingers closed around the ten-pound note folded in his pocket. It crinkled reassuringly. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, he wandered towards the sea-front. It was still early. Mum wouldn’t even know he hadn’t been at home last night. He wondered what she’d say when she opened his bedroom door.

  The sea was sprinkled with white foam flecks, and there were already people on the sand; people walking with dogs and children. Families.

  Jamie leaned his elbows on the rails, his eyes skimming the scene. Angrily he scuffed at the scattered sand beneath his trainers, telling himself it was the sea spray making his eyes sting and his throat ache.

  Blinking hard, he turned his concentration to a big black dog darting in and out of the waves, chasing seagulls, barking at the breakers. Even dogs have families, he thought, watching the tall, blond-haired man calling to the dog, and the girl with the dark hair blowing about her face pushing a pram bumpily towards him, laughing. Everybody laughing …

  ‘William!’ In his surprise, Jamie said the name out loud. He couldn’t believe it. What was his brother doing here?

  ‘Jamie?’ William squinted towards the promenade. Then louder, ‘Jamie!’

  Jamie had turned, started to run. William, with his longer legs and faster stride, tore across the beach and up the uneven steps two at a time. He had to find out why Jamie was in Dawley this early. And, more importantly, why his little brother was running away from him.

  With a final sprint, he stretched out his hand and grabbed Jamie’s shoulder.

  ‘Let me go!’ Jamie squirmed in his brother’s grasp. ‘Leave me alone! You can’t make me go back!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ William panted, tightening his grip. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘You know!’ Jamie shouted. ‘You know! And you probably think it’s all right! But I don’t!’ His temper fragmented into tears and he lashed out again.

  ‘Hey!’ William side-stepped his brother’s flailing arms and legs. ‘Jamie, what on earth is the matter?’

  ‘Ask them!’ Jamie yelled through his tears. ‘Ask Mum and Dad! Just let me go!’

  Aware that a little crowd had gathered, William gritted his teeth. ‘Steady, Jamie, just calm down. ’His quiet tone had its effect and Jamie stopped kicking.

  ‘Now, tell me – what’s happened with Mum and Dad?’

  Hanging on to Otis’s collar, Lisa brought the pram to a halt beside them.

  ‘Who’s she?’ Jamie glared at William. ‘You’re just the same as them! Secrets! Everyone’s keeping secrets!’

  ‘I – I work at the Nook.’ Lisa looked at Jamie with sympathy. ‘Are you Jamie?’

  He turned angrily on William. ‘See! She knows about me but I don’t know anything about her!’

  Wriggling again, he broke free and stood still for a moment, his face contorted. ‘Mum is going out with Steven Casey!’ he spat through white lips. ‘And Dad’s got a girlfriend! And you’ve got her!’ He jabbed a trembling finger at Lisa. ‘I hate you! All of you!’

  This time
William wasn’t quick enough to stop him as he ducked away along the promenade. He sped after him, calling: ‘Jamie! Jamie!’ But his voice was caught by the mocking wind and tossed back to him.

  Finally, out of breath, he panted to a halt. The boy had run towards the town centre, and he’d lost him in the twisting maze of streets and alleys.

  He shook his head. What on earth had Jamie been talking about? Mum and Steven? Dad and another woman? It couldn’t be true. He’d have known, wouldn’t he? Or had he been too wrapped up in his own affairs to give more than a passing thought to the problems at home?

  ‘William?’ Lisa reached him again, having bulldozed her way along the crowded promenade with the pram and Otis. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I wish I knew!’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘The poor kid is obviously frantic about something! All that rubbish about Mum and Dad. Goodness knows where he’s hared off to now! We’ve got to find him.’

  ‘Poor Jamie.’ Lisa bit her lip. ‘Look, I’ll go that way through the precinct and you take the back road across the Market Square. We’ll meet up here in about half an hour.’ She paused and grinned. ‘What a way to begin my introduction to your family!’

  ‘You’d better get used to it.’ William managed to smile. ‘Lewis will be a teenager one day and –’

  ‘William!’ Lisa grabbed his arm. ‘Look!’

  They stared in disbelief as a London express coach moved slowly past them. Jamie, ashen-faced, was slumped in the back seat.

  ‘I’m not so sure the spiced rum was a good idea.’ Rosie winced as she unloaded the washing-machine. ‘I think I’ve got a hangover.’

  ‘It served its purpose, though.’ Kizzy paused in making two mugs of coffee. ‘You slept all night.’

  ‘It was lovely, honestly.’ Rosie straightened up and looked gratefully at her daughter. ‘Being tucked up in bed with the hot-water bottle, listening to the wind and drifting off feeling all warm without a care in the world.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a pity it was all still there when I woke up …

  ‘Positive thinking,’ Kizzy admonished sternly, placing the two mugs on the scrubbed kitchen table. ‘That’s what we decided last night.’