She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t even stop to get her coat.
‘Just take the curtains up to the bedroom. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
She flew out of the door and down the high street. She didn’t stop until she reached the Old Bakery, where she banged on the door.
Fitch answered. He looked ashen. He hadn’t shaved that morning. His hair was tousled, the sleeves of his shirt undone.
‘Fitch. I’ve just heard . . .’
Words seemed superfluous. What on earth could she say? Instead, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled her to him. Instinctively his arms went round her, and she held him tight, all the sorrow and sympathy she could muster implicit in her embrace.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she murmured into his neck. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he replied. ‘Well . . . relatively speaking. It’s a nightmare, to be honest.’
‘I just wanted to say I’m so sorry. I won’t interfere. I’ll let you get on . . .’
‘No. Come on in. Please.’
Slightly reluctantly, not wanting to intrude, she followed him into the kitchen.
Jade and Amber were sitting at the table.
‘Mummy died,’ said Jade.
‘We’re having pancakes,’ said Amber.
Charlotte went over and gave each of them a hug. They looked a little bewildered by this demonstration of affection, but didn’t object.
‘Tea?’ asked Fitch.
‘Let me,’ replied Charlotte.
‘It’s OK,’ Fitch reassured her. ‘I’d prefer to have something to do.’
The phone rang. Fitch rolled his eyes.
‘It hasn’t stopped ringing all morning.’
‘Do you want me to get it?’
‘No. It’ll be me they want.’
He went off into the hall to answer it. Charlotte looked over at Jade and Amber. She picked up the whisk in the bowl of pancake mix and gave it a stir.
‘Right,’ she said brightly. ‘Who wants to give me a hand?’
A few minutes later, Fitch came back into the room.
‘It was the undertaker,’ he said quietly. ‘They’re going to fetch . . .’
He couldn’t say the words. Charlotte just nodded her understanding. The body would be brought back home today.
She watched as a knob of butter melted in the saucepan, then poured in a dollop of batter.
‘Not too much,’ said Jade. ‘We like them thin.’
Charlotte looked up and caught Fitch’s eye. She realised he was looking at her oddly.
‘Were you planning on getting dressed today?’ he asked.
She looked down and realised she was still in her spotty pink pyjama bottoms and a white granddad shirt. And wellies.
‘Um . . .’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘You never know, it might catch on.’
Charlotte offered to stay with the girls while Fitch went up to the farm to see Hayley’s parents.
‘I don’t want to take the girls with me,’ he explained. ‘They’re pretty cut up. It’s going to be harrowing.’
‘Listen,’ said Charlotte, ‘I’ve got nothing important going on. Consider me at your disposal. Whatever you want me to do, just ask.’
‘Thanks.’ Fitch rubbed his stubbly face. ‘I’m just so knackered. I hardly slept.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘There’s so much to do. So much to think about . . .’
He was already being asked questions that he didn’t have a clue about. And he had a strong suspicion that the rest of the Poltimore clan weren’t going to be much help. It was with a heavy heart that he went up to the farm.
It was lucky that he managed to hold it together, because the Poltimores fell apart before his very eyes. They simply had no idea how to deal with Hayley’s death on either a practical or an emotional level. Her mother was distraught, verging on hysterical. Penny’s medication had clearly worn off. Her father just retreated even further into himself. It became impossible to get a word out of him. The brothers were angry, and fought and swore among themselves. Fitch felt like the only adult in the middle of a nightmare situation.
In the end, he had to be firm.
‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘We’ve got to get through this. We’ve got important decisions to make.’
But they seemed incapable of making any decision whatsoever, arguing and disagreeing among themselves over the most trivial matter. Fitch tried to keep calm. He supposed it was grief making them behave like this, but it didn’t make things any easier.
Eventually, he decided to leave them to it and sort things out for himself. He made his way back home. It was such a relief to see Charlotte. She was so calm and non-judgemental. A voice of reason among the chaos.
‘How are the girls?’ he asked anxiously.
‘They’ve been fine,’ she reassured him. ‘Jade’s been a bit weepy, but then they just go off and play.’
‘I’m really grateful to you,’ he told her.
‘Hey,’ she said lightly. ‘That’s what friends are for.’
On her way home, Charlotte decided to pop into Withybrook Hall to see Sebastian. She couldn’t face going back to an empty house. It had been a difficult day. Not that the girls had been any trouble, but she had felt so protective of them, had shadowed them round the house anxiously to make sure they were all right. As for Fitch. Poor Fitch. She felt drained.
Sebastian greeted her at the door, wide-eyed. He’d heard the news in the post office that afternoon.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said. ‘It’s so awful. She seemed so great at their party. She was the life and soul. I really thought they’d sorted it.’
He led her into the kitchen and poured her a brandy. She drank it down in one gratefully.
‘I don’t think Fitch knows where he is,’ Charlotte told him. ‘One minute his wife’s there. Then she’s left him. Then she’s dead.’
‘You just never know, do you?’ Sebastian agreed. ‘What’s round the corner. God, what a cliché . . .’ He laughed at himself.
Charlotte looked down into her glass.
There was something she wanted to ask him, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.
Was she wrong, to be helping Fitch the way she was? Because she couldn’t deny that she had feelings for him. Was she taking advantage of the situation? Or was she doing what any friend would do in the circumstances?
Of course she was, she told herself finally. She would do exactly the same for Sebastian if it happened to him.
When Charlotte had gone, Sebastian phoned Catkin to tell her the news. He remembered Hayley and Catkin at the party dancing together, beautiful the two of them, hands high in the air, partying like girls should.
‘Oh my God!’ Catkin’s voice was high with shock.
‘Catkin . . .’ said Sebastian. ‘It’s made me think. It’s kind of put it all into perspective. Let’s have a baby.’
There was silence at the end of the phone.
‘It’s what this house needs,’ he went on. ‘It’s what we need. Let’s forget all this career nonsense. We need a family.’
Catkin laughed for a second, then stopped.
‘But I’m about to film a pilot. I’ll be filming a series . . .’
‘So what?’ he said dismissively. ‘You can still do it with a bun in the oven. And you can bring out your own range of maternity clothes. Think outside the box, Catkin . . .’
Fitch fell into bed that night, exhausted.
He tried not to think about the image of Hayley lying in the undertaker’s in Comberton. The body had been brought down from Watford that afternoon. He couldn’t imagine it. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it.
He was desperately trying to come to terms with his feelings. Mostly, he felt numb, because his emotions about his wife were so confused. He wanted to grieve, but he wasn’t sure at what level to pitch his grief. Had he still loved her when she died? He couldn’t answer that question. He’d certainly
loved the girl he married, but there had become a point where she had become someone else, and he had to admit that he wasn’t so enamoured of the new Hayley. But he had never lost hope of getting the old one back, of rekindling the passion they had once shared. He felt dazed by the whole thing, operating on automatic pilot, becoming very calm and businesslike and organised. It was his default mechanism. No doubt the shock would hit him before long.
Sleep evaded him. Five times he got up in the night to check on Jade and Amber, but they were sleeping peacefully. He prayed that they would come out of this unscathed. Their short little lives had already seen such disruption and upset. Maybe when all this was over he could restore a sense of calm, give them a routine and some stability. He could give them all of that. He knew he could. He could manage on his own . . .
Twenty One
By Wednesday, the girls were begging to go to school. Fitch reeled at the idea at first. But when he thought about it, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. What was the point of them staying at home with him, when he had so much to arrange, so many calls, so many decisions to make? School might provide the normality and security they needed. So he picked up the phone to the headmistress, who was always at her desk an hour before school began.
‘I think it’s probably best to keep their routine as familiar as possible,’ she told him. ‘The staff have all been appraised of the situation, and we’ve prepared the rest of the children for Jade and Amber’s arrival. Children are surprisingly resilient, you know,’ she added kindly.
So he dropped them off, and the headmistress assured him that she would ring him if they showed any signs of distress. Walking back through the playground, he was stopped by an endless stream of other parents, all offering their condolences, as well as offering to have Jade and Amber if he wanted.
As he walked back home, Norman shot out of the Speckled Trout. He grabbed him by the hand.
‘Mate, I am so sorry.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And listen - if you want the Trout for the do after, just say the word. I’ll lay it all on for you. You won’t have to worry about a thing.’
Fitch considered his offer. The Trout probably was the most appropriate venue. The pub had been such an integral part of Hayley’s life, and it meant that those who wanted to stay on and get plastered after the formalities were over could do so. The alternative was the Poltimore farm or his own house, neither of which struck Fitch as suitable. The Poltimores simply weren’t capable of pulling it together, and he didn’t want his home tainted with the memory of such a traumatic event. He wanted the cottage to remain a haven for the girls.
‘Thanks, Norman,’ he said. ‘That would be great.’
‘Just leave it all to me: the catering, the booze. And don’t worry about the bill. We can sort that out when the time’s right,’ Norman told him, and Fitch was touched.
All in all, the whole village had been incredibly supportive. There was a sort of reverent hush wherever you went, out of respect for his bereavement, but people certainly weren’t afraid to come and give their condolences. Time and again they offered their help. Casseroles had turned up on the doorstep, and tins of homemade biscuits. Letters and cards poured through the letterbox. Darren and Bradley had turned up, subdued, and offered to take him to the pub, the only cure they knew for sorrow.
And Charlotte. Charlotte had been a pillar of strength. She’d taken over, really - sorting out the washing and ironing, the cleaning. Going through his correspondence and putting it into neat piles. Keeping the girls entertained while he was yet again on the phone.
‘Tell me to fuck off if you think I’m interfering,’ she’d said.
‘You’re not interfering,’ he assured her. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
She’d even taken some of the surplus food they’d been given up to Hayley’s parents, and spent an hour talking to her mother. Which was more than Fitch could face. He found his in-laws a strain. They were making a distressing experience even more harrowing.
The only thing he was grateful for was that Kirk hadn’t decided to put his oar in. He had had the good sense not to make himself known in any way. Fitch prayed he wouldn’t want to come to the funeral. It seemed entirely inappropriate, even though no doubt he had had feelings for Hayley. Even though he had been the bad guy in all of this, it can’t have been easy for him, especially when he’d been involved in the accident.
Charlotte told him sharply not to lose any sleep over Kirk’s feelings.
‘If it wasn’t for him, none of it would have happened,’ she pointed out, but Fitch didn’t necessarily subscribe to that point of view. How the hell could you apportion blame? Where did you start and where did you stop?
In the end, he decided he would have to take each day at a time, and just get through the funeral. He sat in the kitchen, surrounded by paperwork.
‘I can’t believe all the decisions I have to make. It’s such a bloody responsibility. I mean, how am I supposed to know what hymns Hayley would have wanted? And what coffin do I go for?’ Fitch put up his hands in mock despair. ‘I mean, it would be funny if it wasn’t so . . . not funny. Hayley would have wanted the designer range, lined with red silk. But it does seem a waste. Not that I’m trying to economise,’ he added hastily. ‘Shit, I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear all this. It’s morbid.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s fine. It’s probably good to get someone else’s input.’
He sat down on a bar stool and began to tap a pen against the pad he’d been writing on. Charlotte could see his nerves were jangling, that he was stretched to the limit. ‘My biggest worry at the moment is whether the girls should go to the funeral or not. It just seems like such a terrible thing to put them through.’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘I don’t think you should. It’s not the place for children. Everyone will be upset; they won’t understand.’
‘That’s what I think. But the family are putting me under pressure. My mother-in-law wants them there.’
Charlotte put a hand on his shoulder.
‘They’re your children. You should do what you think is right. But for my money, I think you should wait until after the burial. Then go to the grave, just the three of you. You’ll be able to give them your undivided attention and explain it all to them.’
Fitch gave her a wintry but grateful smile.
‘You’re so right,’ he said. ‘Of course that’s what I should do.’ His face screwed up again with worry. ‘But what do I do with them? I can’t just send them to school while their mother’s being buried. It doesn’t seem right.’
Charlotte thought about it for a moment.
‘I’ll look after them,’ she offered. ‘I’ll come here.’
‘Would you really do that? Would you really do that for me? Because I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with them.’
‘Of course I’d do that for you, Fitch,’ said Charlotte. ‘Anything.’ There was a small silence. Fitch looked down at the floor, not sure how to express his gratitude. He ran his hand across his stubbly chin.
‘Christ,’ he said. ‘I must look a mess.’
‘Well,’ said Charlotte, tipping her head to one side as she surveyed him. ‘You do quite suit the dishevelled look. But if you want to go and have a shower, I’ll make some supper.’
Fitch looked at her.
‘Thanks for all your help,’ he said softly. ‘I couldn’t manage without you.’
Charlotte went to open the fridge. She didn’t want Fitch to see that her cheeks were a tiny bit pink. ‘Omelette?’ she asked. ‘Or scrambled eggs?’
Twenty Two
The day of the funeral was appropriately grey, with a fine mizzle that set in after breakfast and showed no sign of letting up. In some ways, Fitch was grateful. It would have been strange laying Hayley to rest in bright sunshine. He spent the morning looking for an umbrella, and came to the conclusion that he didn’t own one. It wasn’t his sort of thing. A spot of rain had never
bothered him in the past. But somehow he didn’t feel he could stand at his wife’s graveside and let rain pour down on him.
Charlotte had two. A typical banker’s umbrella, large and black, and a pink flowery one. It didn’t take him long to choose.
Marriage and Other Games Page 35
