She hadn’t seen either of her brothers that morning. She wondered if they’d been processing what she’d told them about Ethan’s predicament, whether they’d have any good advice.
Which was fine for a couple of minutes. But as the rain grew steadily heavier and harder, her clothes got wetter, and suddenly she wasn’t refreshed but shivering. She tilted her head down, and wondered whether the greenhouse was locked. It was closer than the house, and quieter. It wasn’t. She pushed open the door and went inside, just as the tempo of the rain went up a gear – ‘stair rods’ was what her parents would have said. The noise of the rain against the glass of the roof was nice. Inside it was warm, having held heat from the previous day, and it smelt musty and earthy – a scent that was unfamiliar but quite comforting. There were wide wooden benches on either side, cluttered with small terracotta and plastic pots, and gardening paraphernalia – balls of twine, secateurs, some seed packets. At the end, there was an old deckchair. Laura shook the sweatshirt she’d had around her shoulders and pulled it on, then curled herself into the deckchair, and listened to the rain’s almost hypnotic rhythm against the panes. She pushed her thumbs into her temples trying to rub away the headache, subsiding now but still keeping time with her pulse.
The door opening brought a blast of cooler air. ‘I seem destined to interrupt you in a reverie.’
Joe had a rain cape on – a vast billowing black affair with a hood.
‘You look like a Weather Superhero.’
He raised his arms in a Popeye stance. ‘At your service.’ He pulled the hood down and ran his fingers through the hair at the front, which was wet.
‘And I seem destined to be in your way. I’m an allotment crasher.’
He smirked. ‘Weather Superhero and the Allotment Crasher. It sounds like a really bad film!’
‘I’ve got a serious complaint to make – this is not the weather we ordered.’
‘I should take it to the management.’
‘I shall be writing a strongly worded letter, be assured. You cannot trap a disparate family group inside a country house for a whole day. God only knows what might happen!’
‘I see.’
‘I’m kidding. I haven’t actually seen anyone yet. Except my dad – just briefly and only to grunt at. I’m hiding out. Again.’ She pointed ruefully at her forehead. ‘Hangover.’
‘Was it worth it?’
‘It was Dad’s eightieth yesterday and we had a family party for him last night.’
‘Ah.’
He had a very earnest way of looking at you. It wasn’t quite a stare, but his gaze was more frank and curious than most people’s. He met your eye. Not everyone did, not all of the time. And his eyes were warmer than most, too. As if he was predisposed to like you. It was disarming. It wasn’t, she realized, how people looked at you in big towns and cities. Things were instantly easier, more comfortable between them than they had been the last time. She wasn’t sure why. But it was nice.
‘I should go.’ He turned and put his hand on the door.
She wanted to stop him. ‘Stay. Distract me.’ God, why had she said that? She felt a blush rise across her cheeks.
‘I’m actually running late.’
‘Oh … yes, sorry.’ She felt foolish.
‘No. No.’ He looked vaguely regretful.
‘Going somewhere inside, I hope?’
He smiled. ‘Yeah. Looks like it’s easing off already, though.’ It was. The quality of the light outside had changed, just in the time they’d both been in the greenhouse. Suddenly a rainbow appeared across the sky.
‘Wow!’
‘Must be a sign.’
‘A sign of what?’
He shrugged. ‘Guess that’s up to us.’
Definitely flirting? Laura didn’t know what to say.
‘I needed to grab this.’ He took a small bag off a shelf. It looked like a toolkit of some kind.
She smiled, in what she hoped was a nonchalant way. Who knew whether she’d pulled it off?
‘I don’t suppose …’ He started a thought, turned towards the door, then back to her. Droplets of water shot off the cape as he whirled indecisively. He seemed to make up his mind at last, and moved away from her. ‘No. No. Don’t worry.’ She wanted to ask him what he was going to say. But he’d opened the door.
‘I hope the day gets better.’
‘For you too.’
And then he was gone, leaving her feeling that it was a shame, that maybe talking to him in a dank greenhouse on a wet morning might have been exactly what she wanted to do. That talking to him, a virtual stranger, seemed easier than talking to almost anyone else right now. And then, almost immediately, that she was a complete idiot.
37
Nick knocked on Ethan’s door. He didn’t answer the first time, so he knocked again, a little more forcefully. This time, Ethan grunted, and he opened the door, a crack at first, then fully. Ethan was lying on his bed. The room looked like a jumble sale, discarded clothes flowing from every surface, and wet towels strewn on the floor. Nick laughed. ‘This is even worse than ours. Don’t let any of the women in here.’
‘Wasn’t planning on it.’ Ethan smiled grimly.
‘Looks like the rain is stopping.’
The boy shrugged a little, as if he couldn’t care less, and hadn’t even noticed it was raining.
Nick came into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Your mum says you’re having a shitter, Eth.’
Ethan eyed him suspiciously. ‘Has she sent you to talk to me?’
‘Not exactly. I know she thought it might help.’
Ethan didn’t speak. Nick sat on the other bed, pulling the pillows from the head to his back for support, and leant against them.
‘What did she tell you?’
‘That you’re in love.’ It seemed, to Nick, a good place to start.
‘And the rest?’
Nick nodded. ‘She told me what happened, yes. And for what it’s worth, mate, I think it stinks. What her dad said.’
The relief at not having to say out loud what had happened, the relief of his uncle’s immediate support, took all the suppressed rage out of Ethan. Without the anger to keep him upright, his shoulders rounded and he began, to his horror, to cry.
He was glad Nick didn’t move. He didn’t want to be held like a child. For a moment or two, Nick sat, and Ethan fought to get himself back under control. Then Nick took out a handkerchief, balled it into a missile and threw it across the room to him. Ethan rubbed his eyes, and snorted into it.
‘Keep it. Got loads. Done a bit of weeping and wailing myself lately, Eth.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Means you’re human.’
Ethan’s breathing was settling down, but he could still only stare at the carpet.
‘Tell me about her.’
‘Saskia?’
‘Yeah. If you want.’
Ethan smiled faintly. ‘She’s gorgeous.’
‘I bet. Got a picture?’
Ethan picked up his phone and scrolled back through his photos. He held it out, and Nick came over. ‘I like this one.’
It was a selfie. She must have taken it. She was looking straight at the camera, and Ethan was kissing her cheek. She was a good-looking girl, but it was Ethan’s ease and confidence that made the picture memorable. ‘Pretty. Really pretty.’
‘She is.’
Nick went back to the other side of the room, and waited.
‘Clever, too. Dead smart. Missed her help with revision, that’s for sure.’
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘She just got me. I got her. You know?’
Nick knew.
‘I probably sound stupid, you’ll probably tell me I’m too young, but I loved her, Nick.’ He corrected himself. ‘I love her, I mean.’
‘Why would I tell you you’re stupid, kid? Love is love, Eth. There’s no right age. You say you love her, what sort of twat would I be if I told you you couldn’t cos
you’re only sixteen?’
‘Dad said it.’
Point proven, Nick thought. ‘Well, the truth is, you’re the only one who knows what’s gone on between the two of you, right?’
‘And now, because of her dad, her parents and mine do. By now maybe the police do. It’s so bloody humiliating.’
‘I get that. It should have been private.’
Ethan looked at him gratefully.
‘I don’t think he’s going to take it any further, Eth. I’ll bet you.’
Ethan sighed. Sitting there, he looked younger than sixteen. Maybe even too young for sex.
‘Look. I’m a dad. I was also, once, a young boyfriend, so I can see both sides. He loves his daughter. He wants to keep her young. He hates the idea she’s having sex with someone. He hates the idea of being usurped in her affections. He hates her growing up. He’s lashed out, that’s all. He’s threatened you with stuff because he can. Not because he’s going to go through with it. It’s a kind of revenge. Besides, if he was going to do that, he’d have done it by now. He’d have done it the first day, while he was still fuming.’
‘I don’t even care about the police. It’s Mum and Dad who care about that. I don’t give a shit. I care that he’s split us up. He hasn’t let her come anywhere near me.’
Nick ignored the idiocy of that: it showed Ethan’s immaturity. If the police were involved, it would ruin him. But it wouldn’t help to say so. Nick believed what he’d said about the father – he bet the moment had passed. But you never knew, and God help Ethan if the man did go through with it. ‘He might relent on that too.’
Ethan snorted. ‘Someone said she’s going somewhere else for sixth form. Some boarding school. He’s a bloody nutter.’
‘I see.’
‘Yeah. So. I might never see her again.’ They were both aware of how melodramatic that sounded, but Ethan was past caring.
‘Oh, Ethan.’ Nick sighed.
Ethan looked directly at him. The tears had receded, and Nick could see that he was angry again. ‘So you can’t help me. Not really. Can you?’
‘I can listen, for what that’s worth. I can try to understand. I can keep you company if you want. Listen to Oasis with you …’
It had been Nick who’d got him into all the Britpop stuff. Ethan couldn’t remember listening to music with his father, and his mum was strictly Radio 4 and Classic FM. His uncle had always had a stereo and records. He’d got really excited when Ethan had expressed an interest a few years ago, pulling albums out of the shelf where they were alphabetized, in his front room at home, exclaiming that Ethan ‘had to hear’ this or that song. He’d once declared that Ethan was the only other person allowed to put records on his old decks, being the only person who truly appreciated them, and Ethan, at twelve or thirteen, had swelled with pride.
The evocation broke the tension. Ethan half laughed, and Nick winked at him, then stood up. ‘I can’t fix it, mate. This is it. Life. Shits on you from a great height sometimes. It does on everyone. But other people help. Trust me. They do, if you let them.’
He squeezed his nephew’s boyish shoulder, then left him alone.
38
By late afternoon, to everyone’s relief, the weather had staged a miraculous recovery. The rain had acted as a mood oppressor, making the kids mope a bit, and the adults scratchy. The house shrank, when the gardens were out of bounds and the pool unappealing. By unspoken agreement, they’d quietly fled to different rooms. Nick’s kids squabbled over Uno and waited for the downpour to pass. When it did, the August sun was strong enough to dry the stones on the terrace quickly, and its warmth seemed to make everyone unclench.
Laura didn’t realize she’d avoided being alone with Heather until she found herself alone with Heather, not quite quick enough to think of a reason not to be. She acknowledged that she was jealous of her brother and his new wife. Of their shiny, polished happiness. Of their obvious joy in each other’s company. Of Heather’s relentless cheerful energy. And now of her closeness with the others. When, and how, had that happened? Was she on a charm offensive? She’d seen several tender exchanges between Heather and her dad. Her dad. Even Nick’s kids, whom she’d known all their lives, seemed instantly fond of Heather.
Then again, why the hell wouldn’t they? Something Daphne used to say, about there being two kinds of people, drains and radiators, kept coming back to her. Unfortunately, she knew which one she was at the moment. And she knew which Heather was too. So it had seemed easier to avoid her, and the dark, twisty feelings she provoked. She’d turned down a game or three of tennis. But when she’d said yoga was more her thing, wouldn’t you know it, Heather loved yoga too, and if Laura gave her just a minute she’d change and perhaps they could do some together on the lawn. She’d brought a mat. Of course she had.
Laura had a series of poses written on an index card, given to her by the teacher of the class she went to at home. Out on the lawn, in a corner under the shade of a large willow tree where she couldn’t be seen clearly from the house, she unrolled her own mat and sat cross-legged, waiting for Heather, who appeared shortly thereafter, mat tucked under her arm, in perfectly co-ordinated peacock-blue leggings and a tight cropped top, with a racer back that showed off her golden, muscular shoulders and toned abs. Laura went through the poses on the card slowly and deliberately, trying to concentrate, Heather aping her moves. She was strong and supple, but Laura was too, she realized, and she felt proud of her ability to match her sister-in-law bend for stretch.
They ended in a child’s pose, resting their bums on their feet, their legs spread, their faces on the mats.
‘God.’ Heather groaned. ‘That feels good, doesn’t it?’
‘I love it.’ Laura rolled onto her back, her eyes closed against the sun. Heather copied that move too, and lay with her hands behind her head.
‘Thank God the rain didn’t last, huh?’
‘Mm.’ Yoga made Laura feel still. Still and quiet. Not Heather, apparently.
‘I’m happy we did this,’ Heather said, turning her head to one side to look at Laura. ‘You’ve been a bit wary of me.’
Oh, God, Laura thought. Directness. How terrifying. Her normal response would have been evasive, squirming denial. But, hey, when in Rome. ‘A bit, yeah.’
Heather laughed. ‘I’m so glad you admit it. Do you know why?’
‘Do you?’
‘Okay. If you like I can start. Maybe you thought I was a gold-digger. That your brother was a meal ticket. A rescue package for me and my two fatherless kids.’
‘Wow.’
‘Am I wrong?’
‘Was he?’
‘Do you answer every question with a question, Laura?’
Laura burst out laughing. ‘Only if I’m trying to buy time to think of an answer!’
Heather smirked. ‘He wasn’t. I can completely, honestly see why you guys might think so, but he wasn’t.’
Laura nodded.
‘In actual fact, I was sure – I mean totally, utterly sure – that I was going to be on my own at least until the girls were grown-up, gone. I thought that was what I wanted. I thought it was best for them, and I knew it would be best for me. Their dad – he wasn’t a good guy. I couldn’t have stood having a parade of inadequate, not-good-enough – for them or me – men parading through their childhood. I had quite a fierce independent kickass thing going for myself and for them.
‘In point of fact, I never had money. Didn’t grow up with it, didn’t marry it, first time round. Sure as hell didn’t make it. Never expected it. Do I like it? Hell, yes. Who doesn’t? I won’t apologize for that. I won’t say I’d have fallen in love with your brother if he’d been, I don’t know, a road-sweeper either. I won’t insult you. He’s who he is because of who he is. Your brother. My husband. He’s someone different from me, I know, but you must see what I see. Some, at least. He’s … he’s kind. And steady. Like a rock. Sounds dumb, maybe, but he’s honourable. He’s the best man I know. I’ve ever known
. The most decent. He’s never going to hurt me. He’s always going to put us first.
‘And I knew what you thought of me, when you met me, the first time, at my wedding. I always knew you were going to be the toughest nut to crack.’
She spoke fast, and quietly. Almost conspiratorially.
‘That’s quite a speech.’
‘I practise in front of the mirror,’ Heather deadpanned drily.
Laura couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not, until Heather winked at her.
‘Told myself I didn’t care what you thought of me. My head hits the pillow and I don’t wonder whether I’m a bad person. He’s happy, I’m happy. Why should I care? Turns out, though, I do care. Damn it. I do care what you think.’
‘Why?’
‘I like you.’ A shrug.
‘And you want everyone to like you back?’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing. But actually I’d settle for being understood.’
Laura sighed. ‘I don’t not like you.’
‘Wow. Gee. Thanks.’
‘Don’t like myself much.’ Laura felt herself hunch inwards.
‘Okay. Why?’ Heather had rolled onto her side now, and was resting her head on her hand. She had very, very pretty eyes, Laura thought. Even without makeup. She was very close. Laura didn’t answer. She closed her eyes again.
‘Because your husband turned out to be a schmuck who left you high and dry?’
It didn’t surprise Laura that Heather knew everything. Or was comfortable to refer to it. It did surprise her that she didn’t really mind. She’d been so private about it, so humiliated, for so long. ‘Something like that.’ She tried to straighten up.
‘And that’s your fault?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Bullshit.’
Laura didn’t reply.
‘Total bullshit. Only thing you did wrong was marry him in the first place. Scott says he was always bad news as far as he was concerned. But, hey, you were young. We’ve all screwed up. I hate, I mean, I hate when women blame themselves for men behaving badly. Men don’t leave you because you put on ten pounds or got grey hairs or didn’t want to screw him as often as you did before you had a kid. Men leave because they get bored and they leave because they can. And that’s all on them, not on you.’
The Family Holiday Page 19
