‘Over my dead body!’
‘Over your dead body? I’m the one who’s nearly died!’
‘And don’t we all know it!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means,’ says Eric, peeling his gloves off hands which are blue with cold, ‘that I’ve had enough of your illness. It means that there are other people in this house besides you. Ruth, for instance —’ oh, please don’t bring me into it! — ‘who’s exhausted; Rosie, who’s been working her socks off; Lazzo and Kaz. Blossom, too. Brian, who’s had a nasty accident. And Kent. You are not the only person who needs looking after.’
‘I never asked to be looked after! I’m up and about, doing my bit ’ —
‘You’re up and about interfering, and quoting that bloody book at everyone —’
‘You gave me that bloody book, as you call it.’
‘And you asked for it!’
Mum, Kent and I listen in astonishment. I have never heard my uncles exchange so much as a cross word, but it would seem that when they get going, they can argue with the best of us.
‘I think I’ll be going.’ Kent edges towards the door.
‘Me too. I’ve got the chickens to feed.’ Mum joins him.
‘That’s right! Abandon us, why don’t you?’ shouts Silas.
‘Well, I don’t think you need us at the moment,’ Mum tells him. ‘You seem quite capable of fighting without any help from anyone else.’
‘WE ARE NOT FIGHTING!’
We leave them to it. There is no point in trying to intervene, and although it can’t be good for either of them, we should have seen something like this coming. Eric and Silas have been under considerable strain, not helped by a houseful of people. Accustomed to a peaceful life on their own, the past few months must have taken their toll, and I can’t help feeling partly responsible.
‘Still arguing, are they?’ Blossom who has been hovering outside the kitchen door, looks pleased.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Sounds like it.’
‘Well, if it bothers you, you can always do a spot of vacuuming. That should drown them out.’
‘Telling me my job, are you?’ Blossom bridles.
‘I wouldn’t dare,’ I assure her.
The argument rages for some time, and is followed by a sulk. I thought I knew a bit about sulking, having been something of an expert when I was in my teens, but my sulks were nothing compared to that of Eric and Silas. The sulk hangs over all of us like a malevolent grey blanket, rendering the atmosphere indoors even more depressing than the cold and the mud outside.
‘They used to do this as children,’ Mum tells me. ‘They could keep it up for days.’
‘But they’re usually so close.’ I find their behaviour puzzling.
‘It’s because they’re so close. They know exactly how to annoy each other.’
‘But how can they annoy each other if they’re not saying anything?’
‘I’ve no idea. But it seems to work.’
‘How did — does it end?’
‘One of them apologises.’
‘That doesn’t look very likely at the moment.’
‘You’ll see.’
Eric is researching water buffaloes, and Silas is looking something up in his bible. They are both pretending to be happily occupied, but even I can see that they’re miserable.
But in the event, the row between Eric and Silas is overtaken by a bigger and more serious altercation when two days later, Dad and Eric fall out over Eric’s Ark.
To be fair, Dad has done his best to avoid the issue, aware, presumably, that it would be bad manners to pick a quarrel with someone who has been such a generous host. But Eric, still sore from his argument with Silas, finally gives in to the temptation to taunt Dad with his findings, and Dad, who is having serious problems with a recalcitrant electrician, falls into the trap.
‘For a start, there’s the weight of water,’ I hear Eric saying, as I come into the sitting room.
‘What do you mean, the weight of water? What’s the weight of water got to do with it?’ Dad asks.
‘The weight of the rainwater; enough water, remember, to reach the top of Everest. It would sink the Ark before it had even started.’
‘But it says in the Bible —’
‘Never mind what it says in the Bible. The Bible story is a myth.’
‘It most certainly is not!’
‘It has to be. Because the whole story is nonsense.’
‘How dare you —’
‘Quite easily, actually.’
‘If the whole story is nonsense, how come you’re spending so much time going into it all? You tell me that!’
‘I’m doing it to prove how much nonsense it is. I’ve given it the best possible chance; I’ve spent hours doing research. You ask Ruth. She’s been helping me —’ thank you, Eric — ‘and I can tell you, there never was an Ark. There couldn’t have been. Some kind of boat, perhaps, with some chickens, a goat, a few bits and bobs. Enough to keep a family going for a while. But not a whopping great Ark full of animals. It’s a preposterous idea.’
‘They found the remains on Mount Ararat. How do you explain that?’
‘They found the remains of something, but it’s by no means clear it was an Ark.’
‘Of course it was the Ark! The Bible says —’
‘No, no, no!’ Eric is almost hopping with frustration. ‘You can’t keep saying that. It’s a cop out! Think, man. Think. Question it, think round it, use your common sense!’
‘Well, really. I didn’t come here to be insulted!’
‘No. You came here because you burnt your house down.’ Oh dear. ‘And when I try to explain to you the extensive research I’ve been doing, you completely dismiss it.’
‘Well you’re dismissing the Bible. The word of God.’
‘The story of God, more like. Take the water buffalo.’ Eric ploughs on, regardless of my father’s indignation.
‘Take what?’
‘The water buffalo. It’s just one example. How do you expect that to survive on the Ark? You tell me that.’
‘I don’t know anything about water buffaloes.’
‘Exactly! And I don’t suppose you know anything about lemurs, or wildebeest, or humming birds or spiders —’
‘I don’t have to know all about these things to believe what the Bible says.’
‘So if the Bible says black is white, you’d believe that?’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
‘No. You’re being ridiculous. You can’t just abandon your common sense and your reasoning because of what the Bible says. Work it out. Think about it. Like I have.’
‘Well, I think all this — work you’ve been doing is simply destructive. You’re trampling all over beliefs people have held dear for generations. You have no right —’
‘I have every right. I’m a scientist —’ steady on, Eric — ‘and I look at things logically.’
‘Well you seem to have spent an awful lot of time trying to prove what you think you already know.’ Dad indicates Eric’s charts and notes. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t got more important things to do.’
‘I’m doing it because I want to show not just that the whole thing is ridiculous but just how ridiculous it is. I’m not just telling you you’re wrong; I’m proving it.’
‘Well you haven’t proved anything to me.’
‘That’s because you’re not listening. You’ve decided what you want to believe, and you refuse to look at what’s staring you in the face. It’s rubbish. All of it. Rubbish. The Ark, the animals, the Noah family — just eight people, remember, to look after all those hundreds of creatures. That in itself is a bit far-fetched, and they had to catch them all in the first place — whichever way you look at it, it’s a logistical impossibility.’
‘You’re enjoying, this, aren’t you?’ says Dad, after a moment.
‘Of course I am. It’s fascinating. I shall be quite sorry
when I’ve finished.’
‘I mean the argument. You’re enjoying arguing with me, questioning my beliefs.’
‘Well —’
‘There! I told you! You’re just doing this to annoy me. Admit it.’
‘Of course I’m not. Do you really think I would spend months on a project just in order to annoy you? But to prove you wrong — now that’s a different matter. I would certainly do it to prove you wrong. You and anyone else who takes the Bible literally. When we had that — discussion last year, I decided that I’d go into the whole Ark business, and I’m grateful to you, I really am. It’s been fascinating.’
‘Don’t you patronise me,’ says Dad, clambering back onto the high horse from which Eric has just about managed to dislodge him.
‘Oh, don’t be so pompous, Brian. It doesn’t suit you.’ It does, but I’ve got enough sense not to intervene. ‘Come and have a drink. We’ve just opened some rather nice turnip wine. You must try it.’
‘You know I don’t drink.’
‘Silly me,’ mutters Eric.
‘You said it,’ counters Dad, and drawing himself up to his full but not very substantial height, he takes himself off to bed.
‘Wasn’t that a bit naughty, Eric?’ I ask him, when Dad has left the room.
‘Probably.’ Eric grins. ‘But he’s so easy to wind up. And we were going to have this discussion sooner or later, weren’t we?’
‘You call that a discussion?’
‘Oh, come on, Ruth. Don’t you go all disapproving on me. Come and have a little taste of the turnip wine. I’m sure just a little taste won’t hurt the baby, and I hate drinking alone.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The following morning, all rows and sulks are forgotten, for Kent has received the result of his DNA test.
‘Well, that’s it,’ he says, looking rather stunned.
‘Yes? What did they say? What’s the result?’ Silas asks him. ‘Come on. Don’t keep us in suspense.’
Kent folds his letter and replaces it carefully in its envelope. ‘It’s — positive.’
‘Wonderful! That’s wonderful isn’t it, Eric?’
‘Wonderful.’
‘Wonderful,’ echoes Kent, studying his letter.
‘Well, aren’t you pleased?’ Eric asks him.
‘Yes, of course. Of course I’m pleased. It’s just that it’s a bit of a shock. I knew it was possible, otherwise I wouldn’t have come here in the first place, but after all this time it seemed such a long shot, and I’d prepared myself for disappointment.’
I think I understand what Kent must feel. I too always expect the worst, and try to prepare myself for it. The down side of that is that I’m not ready for the good news when it comes. Kent apparently feels the same.
‘I’d already been wondering what to do if the answer was no,’ he continues. ‘After all, you wouldn’t have wanted me hanging around here if I wasn’t your — if I wasn’t related, would you?’
‘Yes we would!’ my uncles speak together.
‘A “no” result wouldn’t have made you a different person, and we’ve loved having you around,’ Silas adds. ‘In a way, this doesn’t change anything, does it?’
‘It does for me,’ Kent says. ‘It gives me a whole new view of who I am. It takes a bit of getting used to.’
‘Come and feed the pigs with me,’ I suggest, sensing Kent’s mixture of feelings. ‘A breath of fresh air is what you need.’
‘That is one seriously nasty animal,’ Kent says, five minutes later, as we lean over the door of Sarah’s shed.
‘Isn’t she? But I’m fond of her in a funny way. She’s certainly a character.’
The character looks up at us, her jaws slobbering swill, giving us the evil eye as only Sarah can.
‘What’s to be fond of?’ Kent asks. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Not a lot.’ I laugh. ‘I suppose it’s because she’s part of Applegarth, and believe it or not, she’s a wonderful mother.’
‘I can think of mothers I’d rather have.’
‘Speaking of mothers...’
‘Yes.’ Kent sighs. ‘Well, mine was a character, too. She was a pretty good mother on the whole, but she put herself about a bit, too.’
‘Just as well for you that she did,’ I remind him.
‘True. I suppose in a way she couldn’t help herself. She was so pretty. Even in old age, she had these amazing blue eyes, and a nice pair of legs, and a kind of twinkle. She was giving the milkman the glad eye right up until the day she died. Everyone loved her.’
‘Do you miss her?’ I ask, after a moment.
‘Oh, yes. Of course I do. For years, there were just the two of us. She never had a live-in lover. She said it was because of me, but I think she wanted to keep her options open.’
‘Or maybe she just didn’t find the right man to live in with.’
‘That’s possible, too.’
‘And now, this.’ I bring the conversation back to the matter in hand.
‘And now this,’ Kent agrees. ‘I know I must seem ungracious. Ungrateful even. It’s just that I really had prepared myself not to be their son — doesn’t that sound odd? Their son? — and was already making plans. And now — well, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. There’s so much I want to ask them. Family things, personal things. Things I haven’t dared to ask before. Up until now, I’ve tried to keep a bit of a distance. I didn’t want to get too attached to them and — all this. Now, they’re family, and everything’s different.’
‘And you’ve got a cousin.’
Kent squeezes my shoulder and smiles; Eric’s (or is it Silas’s?) smile.
‘I’ve got a cousin,’ he agrees. ‘And a rather lovely one at that.’
‘Thank you, kind sir.’ With my enormous bulk it’s a very long time since I felt lovely, and although I’m sure Kent’s just being kind, I can’t help feeling pleased.
‘Not at all. I’ve always wanted a cousin. Mum was an only child, so I was a bit short on family.’
‘Me too.’ I hesitate. ‘Kent — I’m really pleased about, well, about you and Kaz.’
‘She’s told you, has she? I didn’t think anyone knew.’
‘I’m a woman, Kent. Women notice these things.’
‘And — the others?’
‘No-one’s said anything, so I don’t think so. But you both look so happy it’s a bit hard to miss!’
‘I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,’ Kent confides. ‘But — and you mustn’t tell Kaz I said this — I’ve thought long and hard, and I’ve decided there can’t be a future for us.’
‘What? Why ever not? You’re not already married, are you?’ Because if Kent has a secret wife hidden away somewhere, I’m going to be seriously angry with him.
‘No. Nothing like that. It’s — our ages. I’m too old for her, Ruth. I’m nearly twice her age. It wouldn’t be fair.’
‘Isn’t that for her to decide?’
‘She says it’s not a problem, but while it’s fine now, what about the future?’
‘In my experience, the future rarely turns out the way you expect it to. Just look at me! Besides, Kaz is a big girl. She knows what she’s doing.’
‘And I know what I’m doing,’ Kent says sadly. ‘And it’s not right, Ruth. It’s not fair. But please don’t say anything to her. It’s up to me to break it off. And I will, when the time’s right.’
‘Then is it fair to — to keep on with the relationship at all if you’re going to end it?’
‘Probably not. I suppose at first I thought it would run its course, and things would sort themselves out. But now it’s getting serious, and I don’t know how to stop it.’ He sighs. ‘I’ll have to tell her soon, but, well…’
‘Not yet?’
‘Not quite yet.’
‘Well, it’s up to you of course, but it’ll break her heart.’
‘I know. Oh Ruth, what have I got myself into?’ He leans his elbows on the door of the sty and rubs hi
s face in a way that is so reminiscent of Silas that I wonder that we ever needed that DNA test at all.
We stand for a few minutes watching Sarah wolf down the last of her breakfast and snuffle round her trough for the remaining fragments.
‘She goes free range when the weather’s okay,’ I tell him, thinking it’s time we changed the subject.
‘What a terrifying thought!’
‘No, actually she’s all right when she’s out. She just hates being cooped up.’
‘I can imagine.’
We turn back towards the house.
‘May I ask you something?’ I have a burning question, but am not sure whether or not it’s the right moment.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Do you mind — I mean, does it matter to you which one is your father?’
‘Funnily enough, no it doesn’t. They are so much two of a kind, even if I knew, I think I’d see them both in the same light. It might be a little awkward when it comes to my introducing them to people — and I’m longing for them to meet some of my friends — but no. I honestly don’t mind not knowing. In a way, it makes it all more interesting.’
‘What’s going to be really interesting is telling Mum,’ I tell him.
‘She must suspect something like this.’
‘Oh, yes. But Mum is a great one for burying her head in the sand. If something is hurtful or distasteful, or if it doesn’t come up to her exacting standards, she tries to ignore it. Mum doesn’t do confrontation. Dad, on the other hand, weighs right in and tells everyone what he thinks. There’s nothing reticent about my father.’
‘I’ve noticed.’
‘And I don’t think he suspects anything because, apart from anything else, he’s terribly unobservant. He won’t have noticed how like Eric and Silas you are.’
‘Am I really?’
‘Oh yes! Can’t you see it?’
‘I think I’ve been trying not to. But yes. A bit. I can see I’m a bit like them, but probably more like Mum.’
We have just reached the house when a very smart car creeps cautiously up the drive, and a very familiar dog jumps out. He is wearing a new posh collar, and there is a well-dressed woman following him and carrying a matching lead.
‘Mr. Darcy!’ I hold out my arms, and Mr. Darcy leaps into them, licking my face and covering me with mud. His feet may be muddy but his fur is clean and fluffy, and he smells sweetly of lemons. Someone has given Mr. Darcy a bath. ‘Where have you been, you bad dog? We’ve been so worried!’
The Frances Garrood Collection Page 84
