The Frances Garrood Collection

by Frances Garrood

  ‘Oh dear.’ The woman totters through the puddles in her unsuitable shoes, looking embarrassed. ‘I did hope he wasn’t yours as we’ve rather fallen for him.’

  ‘But where did you find him?’ I push Mr. Darcy down, and he turns his attentions to Kent.

  ‘I think he must have come back with us in the car when we collected those chickens.’

  ‘But he’s been gone nearly a week!’

  ‘Yes. Well, we’ve only just realised what must have happened. We never saw him get into the car or get out of it. As far as we were concerned, he just turned up. We phoned the police —’

  ‘So did we!’

  ‘Well, they weren’t much help. Anyway, we thought he must be a stray. He was awfully hungry.’

  ‘Mr. Darcy is always hungry,’ I tell her. ‘But he definitely belongs here.’

  ‘Yes. I can see that. Oh dear. What shall I tell the children?’

  ‘You could buy them a puppy?’

  ‘That wouldn’t be the same at all. Tiger — we called him Tiger. Don’t you think it suits him? — is house-trained, you see, and has such lovely manners.’ Tiger? Lovely manners? Perhaps this is the wrong dog after all. But the little tear in his left ear, the lop-sided wag of the tail, the beetling eyebrows — these are all Mr. Darcy. He looks a little sheepish, as well he might, but there is no mistaking his identity.

  I briefly consider inviting our visitor in, but this is Kent’s day, and besides, at the moment I don’t think I can face another lot of explanations, plus the identical twin effect (this woman looks the susceptible type), so I wave her politely on her way.

  ‘Does he often go off with people like that?’ Kent asks.

  ‘He loves riding in cars, but he doesn’t usually hijack other people’s.’

  ‘Oh well. No harm done, and he’s home, which is the main thing.’

  Back in the kitchen, Mr. Darcy receives a rapturous welcome from my uncles. Even Blossom can’t hide her relief.

  ‘Decided to come back then, did you?’ she asks him, wiping mud off his paws with an old towel. ‘Dratted animal. Don’t know when you’re well off.’

  ‘We can have a double celebration!’ says Silas.

  ‘What double celebration?’ Blossom demands.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Silas turns to Eric.

  ‘She’ll have to know sooner or later.’

  ‘Yes. But know what, exactly?’

  ‘We’ve just discovered I’m a relation,’ Kent says. ‘Isn’t that good news?’

  ‘Son, more like,’ says Blossom.

  ‘Well, yes. Possibly.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s personal,’ says Eric quickly.

  ‘Yes. Personal,’ echoes Silas.

  ‘Personal, my backside.’ Blossom, sniffs. ‘Got a right to know,’ she adds.

  ‘No, Blossom. You haven’t. Not yet, anyway,’ Eric says. ‘This is a private family matter.’

  ‘Ruth know, does she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Humph.’

  ‘Ruth’s family,’ Silas tells her. ‘It’s only fair that she should be told.’

  Blossom gives me an evil look. While she seems to have little use for her own family, she hates to be reminded that she’s not a member of ours.

  ‘Oh come on, Blossom. Surely you understand,’ Eric says.

  ‘Only been here five minutes,’ Blossom says, presumably referring to me.

  ‘She’s still family,’ Eric says.

  ‘Been here years, I have,’ Blossom retorts.

  ‘That’s true. And we’re very grateful.’

  ‘Grateful!’ scoffs Blossom.

  ‘And you get paid,’ Silas reminds her.

  ‘Paid! Paid, indeed!’ Blossom slams out of the back door.

  I’ve no idea what Blossom means by this, but she is clearly not pleased. I dread to think what she’ll do next, for Blossom does an interesting line in revenge, and I don’t fancy the idea of anything like that being directed at me.

  ‘What will you tell Mum?’ I ask, after she’s gone.

  ‘That’s what we’ve been wondering,’ Silas says. ‘But we think it’ll have to be the truth.’

  ‘A version of the truth,’ Eric adds.

  ‘Yes. We’ve decided to tell her that Kent is Eric’s. That’ll be one shock less for her to cope with. I’ll be his uncle,’ he adds. ‘I’m quite happy to settle for uncle. In public, anyway.’

  ‘Good luck, then.’

  ‘Yes. I think we’re going to need it.’

  In the event, Mum takes the news pretty well, although she’s undoubtedly shocked. I think she has hitherto believed her brothers to be dedicated celibates, and to have incontrovertible evidence of a sexual liaison, however long ago that might have been, is going to take a bit of getting used to. But she does agree that Dad need not know, at least for the time being, and she seems quite pleased to have a nephew.

  Two days later, I come across Blossom in the hallway. She has a knowing glint in her eye, and I sense trouble.

  ‘Had a visitor,’ she tells me, switching off the vacuum cleaner and folding her arms.

  ‘Who, me?’

  ‘S’right.’

  ‘Well, who was it?’ I take off my coat (I have just returned from the clinic).

  ‘Big feller.’ Blossom is watching my reaction, eking out her news and enjoying every minute of it.

  ‘Yes?’ I feel a frisson of fear. I suspect that Blossom’s revenge has already taken place, and is going to be more wounding than even she could have anticipated.

  ‘Beard,’ says Blossom. ‘Trumpet thingy.’

  ‘Amos.’ I can’t believe it. I can’t bear it. Amos. So close, and now gone. ‘What did you tell him?’ I try to keep my voice even. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Told him I’d never heard of you. Told him you don’t live here.’ Blossom is actually smiling. ‘Went away.’

  ‘Blossom! How could you? How dare you? You had no right!’ I grab hold of the front of her pinafore and give her a little shake. ‘It was a wicked, wicked thing to do!’

  Blossom pulls herself free. ‘Don’t you touch me!’

  ‘When was this? How long ago?’

  ‘Two hours, about. Didn’t notice.’

  ‘Have you any idea what you’ve done?’

  Blossom shrugs.

  ‘You’ve turned away the father of my baby, that’s what you’ve done. I’ve been trying to trace him for months and now I may never find him!’

  ‘Not my problem.’

  ‘But why? Why did you do this? What have I ever done to you?’

  Blossom mutters something about my morals, and babies out of wedlock.

  ‘And what about lying?’ I counter. ‘That’s okay, is it? It’s all right to tell lies to a total stranger? Lies about something which is none of your business?’

  ‘Seems nothing’s my business nowadays,’ says Blossom mutinously.

  ‘Just because Eric and Silas don’t want you to know all about their private lives, you decide to take it out on me? That’s not fair, Blossom, and you know it.’

  ‘Done, now. Too late to do anything about it,’ says Blossom.

  ‘Did he leave a phone number? An address? Anything at all?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to ask anyone else? Eric or Silas? My mother?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘What, all of them?’

  Blossom smirks, and I can see that she’s lying, although I haven’t any proof.

  ‘Well, I think what you’ve done is unforgivable. I’ve tried to get on with you, Blossom. I’ve put up with your rudeness and your moods, and this is all the thanks I get.’

  ‘Your problem.’ Blossom switches on the vacuum cleaner again. ‘Nothing to do with me,’ she yells above the noise.

  ‘Quite. It was nothing to do with you.’ But of course, Blossom can no longer hear me.

  It would seem that our little chat is now over.

  Chapter Forty

 
; Kaz finds me weeping at the kitchen table.

  ‘Hey! What’s up? Bad news at the clinic?’ Kaz sits down and puts her arm round my shoulders.

  ‘No. Your bloody mother.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Kaz hands me a roll of kitchen towel.

  ‘Oh dear indeed.’ I blow my nose. ‘Sorry to talk about her to you like this, but she really is a cow of the first order.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Kaz sits down beside me. ‘So what’s she been up to this time?’

  ‘She’s been “up to” turning away Amos.’

  ‘Your bloke?’

  ‘Well, he never will be now, will he? Blossom told him no-one here had ever heard of me.’

  ‘Oops.’

  ‘He turned up — he actually came here looking for me. I left this address with my parents’ neighbours so that if he ever came looking for me, he’d know where to find me. I was out, and it had to be your mother who answered the door. Blossom never answers the door. Talk about sod’s law!’

  ‘God, I’m sorry Ruth. Didn’t he leave a message or anything?’

  ‘No. Because as far as he’s concerned, I don’t live here, do I? I suppose I’m lucky she didn’t tell him I was dead while she was about it.’

  ‘I knew she was upset with you all, but not that upset. Oh dear. I’m so sorry, Ruth. I really am.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ I tear off more kitchen roll and wipe my eyes. ‘But oh, Kaz! What am I going to do? Amos finding me here was my last chance, and now it’s gone. And so has he. He won’t come back here again.’

  ‘He mightn’t have been the right one for you. You said so yourself.’

  ‘Yes. But I wanted to decide. My decision. Not bloody bloody Blossom’s!’

  ‘I can see that.’ Kaz strokes my hair. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Not really. An itinerant trombone player ought to be easy to find, particularly that one, but apparently not. Amos seems to have this knack of disappearing.’

  ‘How was the clinic?’ Kaz changes the subject.

  ‘Oh, fine. The midwife said about ten days to go.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know, Kaz, I don’t really care. I’m so tired, there’s been so much going on, what with Silas’s illness and everything. I’ve hardly had time to think about babies.’

  ‘Ruth, you have to. It’s ridiculous to say you haven’t had time to think about the baby. The truth is that you don’t want to think about it.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’

  ‘Isn’t it? You’ve had nine months to think about it, and you hardly ever mention it. It’s almost as though there isn’t a baby at all. You decided to keep it. You’ve had all your scans and things. Now you have to start planning for it. Looking forward to it, even.’

  ‘You sound like my mother.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it? You need a bit of bossing about. You need someone to look after you.’

  ‘I need Amos.’ The tears start again. I imagine Amos’s big arms around me, Amos telling me everything’s going to be all right, Amos at my side while I give birth to our child, Amos bringing me flowers, and being proud. ‘I need him so much, Kaz. You’ve no idea how much.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Kaz pauses for a moment. ‘Well, we’ll just have to find him.’

  ‘How? How are we going to find him?’

  ‘Let’s start with your friends. We’ll phone them all up and see whether anyone has any idea of where he is.’

  ‘But I did that ages ago.’

  ‘Yes, but that was when he’d gone abroad. Now that he’s back, you’ve got more chance of finding him. He must be somewhere, for goodness’ sake! Someone must know where he is.’

  I fetch my address book, and together Kaz and I go through it. Of course, many of my friends don’t know Amos, but the musical world is a small one, and my friends from college and from the orchestra prove to be more help than I had anticipated. There have been several recent sightings of Amos, who has apparently been doing the rounds, looking up old friends. No-one seems to know where’s he’s living, or even to have his phone number, but Amos is apparently very much around, and looking for work in the London area.

  ‘That’s a start,’ says Kaz, when we call a halt for a cup of coffee.

  ‘London’s a big place,’ I remind her.

  ‘Yes. But it’s a lot nearer than Barbados, and you’ve left plenty of messages. I bet he’ll get in touch soon. Just you wait.’

  I am not good at waiting, although given the amount of practice I’ve had recently I certainly ought to be. But I have no choice. If Amos gets any of my messages, I’m pretty sure he’ll be in touch, but there’s no guarantee that it’ll be soon. As for the baby, Kaz and I discuss this at length and we both decide that it would be best that he shouldn’t know about it at this stage. As Kaz says, it might scare him off, and that’s the last thing I want to do.

  ‘Though I don’t think Amos is the kind of person to be scared off by a baby,’ I tell her. ‘Or anything else, come to that.’

  ‘Why take the risk?’ Kaz asks me.

  ‘Good point. He’ll have to know some time, but perhaps not yet.’

  Fortunately, at this point we are interrupted by several pilgrims who wish to adopt chickens, and since Lazzo is currently suffering from flu and Mum is out helping Dad choose kitchen units, the job falls to Kaz and me. Neither of us is good with Lazzo’s chicken-catching device, so it takes us an inordinate amount of time to trap three particularly scruffy specimens (it seems the fox chose all the better-looking ones).

  ‘But I wanted the ones with the little furry trousers,’ their putative owner objects. ‘These aren’t nearly so pretty.’

  ‘Little furry trousers are all very well,’ says Kaz, nursing some nasty scratches, ‘but they don’t lay well.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ The pilgrim/chicken-lover looks dubious.

  ‘Quite sure. Trust me. And these have all been blessed. By a bishop.’

  ‘Have they really?’ The woman looks impressed. I notice that she is carrying a rosary. Kaz says the religious ones are always the most gullible.

  ‘Of course. You’ve no idea what a difference it makes. Now, take them home and enjoy them.’

  ‘Kaz, really! You’re almost as bad as your mother,’ I tell her, as we return to the house. ‘Blessed, indeed!’

  ‘Well, I had to get rid of her somehow, and there’s no way I’m chasing little furry trousers all over the garden. Little furry trousers run very fast indeed. Only Lazzo can catch them, and I’m not even going to try.’

  ‘And is it true that they don’t lay well?’

  Kaz laughs. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  Today is not supposed to be a day for visits to the Virgin, but we receive three more lots of visitors before dark. Two are regulars, and know their own way around, and the third has brought a rather splendid pair of Rhode Island Reds.

  ‘My son gave me these for Christmas,’ he tells me. ‘My wife died in the summer, and the children think I’m lonely. But I’m not sure chickens will help.’

  I agree, wondering what kind of people could conceivably imagine that chickens would be an antidote to grief. A dog or cat might at least be company, but chickens?

  ‘I’m sure we’ll find them a good home,’ I tell him, and then, because I feel sorry for him, I invite him in for a cup of tea. By the time I’ve heard his story of long years of caring for a wife gradually disabled by dementia (‘the long good-bye, they call it,’ he tells me) I feel ashamed for feeling so sorry for myself earlier on. After all, I’m still fairly young, I’m fit, and as Kaz points out, no-one has died. I resolve to pull myself together and start being responsible, beginning with an inventory of the pitifully small collection of equipment which awaits the advent of the baby.

  ‘Two vests won’t be enough,’ says Kaz, watching me.

  ‘Then I shall buy more.’

  ‘And nappies. You’ve forgotten those.’

  ‘Nappies, too.’

>   ‘You’d better hurry up. Time is not on your side.’

  ‘Right. Tomorrow I shall go out and buy vests and nappies.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ says Kaz. ‘I’ll come with you. And we can go to that new little café that sells wonderful cream slices.’

  ‘Aren’t I big enough already?’ I ask her.

  ‘No-one,’ says Kaz, ‘is ever too big for a cream slice.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  But during the vest/nappy-buying expedition, Kaz appears to have preoccupations of her own.

  ‘Kaz? What’s up?’ I ask her, when we adjourn for coffee and cream slices. She looks pale, and she obviously hasn’t slept, and I suspect that the news isn’t good.

  ‘I’ve slept with someone.’

  ‘Kent. Yes. You said you were going to.’ My heart sinks. For if they’ve slept together, breaking up will be so much harder.

  ‘No. Someone else.’

  ‘Goodness.’ I put down my cup. ‘But why, Kaz? And who?’

  ‘An old friend.’ Kaz fiddles with her teaspoon.

  ‘Let me get this straight. You’re supposed to be having a — thing with Kent, but you’ve gone and slept with an old friend! What on earth were you thinking of?’

  ‘Long story.’

  ‘Good thing we’ve got plenty of time, then.’

  ‘You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?’

  ‘Nope.’ Though given Kent’s feelings about the future, this may be one solution.

  ‘I was — upset. Kent and I had this horrible row, and I needed cheering up.’

  ‘I see. So the cure for a lovers’ tiff is to dash out and find a replacement?’

  ‘Oh Ruth, it wasn’t like that at all.’

  ‘Well, what was it like?’

  ‘He’s got this thing about his age, and I don’t think it matters, and we had this argument, and it kind of — well, it got out of hand. I said some horrible things.’

  ‘And he did, too?’

  ‘No. Kent never does anything horrible. That’s the trouble. He’s so bloody nice all the time. He just goes all quiet and sad, and then I feel awful and make things even worse.’