I take Helena’s hand again and hold it tightly in my own. ‘If I fetch Dad, it will mean I have to own up, not just to him but to Joanna too. That won’t be easy. Joanna likes…,’ I pause, and cannot bring myself to speak ill of her. Helena is her mother after all. ‘She’ll be angry,’ I say. ‘Confused I think.’
‘That’s not surprising. I have a lot of bridges to build.’
‘But can you do that yet? Are you strong enough?’
Helena turns her head away and stares up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, ‘but I have to try.’
I lean in and kiss her gently on the forehead. ‘Ok. I’ll phone Dad. I’ll ask him to come.’
Thirty-Eight
In the coffee shop, Francine bought coffee and a pastry for breakfast and sent a text to Evie. Stirring her cappuccino, she wondered at the sudden shift in her horizons. Two weeks ago she’d been on the bakery floor with Simon, now she was here, flung into this shut-down world of shuffling bodies, of sickness and a long-ago past. She was also thrown back into childcare.
This morning she’d heard Edward first around three, faint mewling that only trained ears can detect. It took a while to work out what it was. She’d fed and changed him; the window offering a thin shaft of light, enough for her to manage these mechanical night tasks. It had been a while since she’d fumbled in the dark with a sleep suit. Joanna would wake sometimes with a wet bed or a room full of horrors. Now and then, Evie would slide into their bed and curl up next to William if the wind howled too loudly over the Fens. Yet her own experience of parenthood had never encompassed the suffocating need other mothers had spoken of, and which, she assumed, was how her own mother had felt. Evie had set the boundaries, Francine simply respected them. Now here she was, summoned, honoured, and entrusted with Evie’s own child, whose advent had triggered such distress. She thought of Helena, the ghost wife, and the anguish that had caused her to leave her husband and children.
Edward sat propped up in the pram. He had Evie’s pale colouring, yet in spite of his early arrival, there was a robustness about him that could only come from Mark. He was spending more time awake, she noticed how he watched as she moved about the hotel room tidying, pacing. These past weeks had been all about pacing: deflecting William’s gentle inquisition, avoiding Simon too. She and Evie both hidden away, each in their own world of secret meetings, juggling joy and guilt. Now those worlds had collided, this tenuous sweet link with Evie, precious and unexpected. Above all, unexpected.
Francine tried the pastry in front of her. It was as tasteless as she’d feared, but the coffee was good and much needed. It was now Saturday morning and she’d barely slept since Wednesday. Half way though the meal, her phone pinged.
Just off to see Helena-are you ok with Edward? Mark’s gone to find a decent breakfast
Nothing to suggest they had, or hadn’t sorted anything out. She sent a text back: all ok here, see you in the coffee shop
Moments later her phone pinged again. This time it was Simon.
Realise you’re ignoring me – no doubt with good reason but thought you might want to know Emily’s just quit. Exam time and she’s overloaded apparently. Any chance you have a spare Saturday person I could contact?
Francine sighed deeply and placed her phone down on the table next to her. Unfaithful to William, unfair to Simon – at the very least they still had a business to run. She should feel wretched, but she lacked any sense of urgency. All that mattered was seeing Evie though this. She started to write a detailed explanation of recent events, then deleted it. Instead she sent: sorry, back in England, a lot going on – will explain.
Sooner or later this would all erupt, a backwash gathering speed, bringing wreckage to her feet. This morning she would phone William and tell him about Helena, then she would sit tight, stay with Evie, and wait for the storm to pass.
Evie arrived later, breathless and anxious but there was no sign of Mark.
‘How is she?’ Francine asked, pulling out a chair for her.
Evie slumped down, put her head in her hands. ‘There’s no change really. Things are stable but she needs another scan and it’s Saturday so they only take urgent cases.’
‘Isn’t your mother an urgent case?’
‘Apparently not. I suppose that’s a good sign. But there’s something else.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘She wants to see Dad.’
This came as no surprise. Neither did Francine doubt that William would come – would simply drop everything to be here. The little he’d talked about his life with Helena spoke volumes. Francine had accepted her status as second best – a convenient replacement – and been more than willing to step in and pick up the pieces. It had suited her too. William was kind and generous, she’d seen a future filled with promise, far from her claustrophobic roots, but the package had come at a cost and she’d traded her freedom too soon.
‘Will you let him know?’ she said.
‘I’ll phone him in a bit. It’ll be a shock – he doesn’t even know I’ve been in touch with her.’
Francine sipped her coffee, ‘I could speak to him, if you like – if it would help?’
‘Would you? I’m not sure I can deal with Dad just yet.’
Francine wasn’t sure she could either. ‘And Joanna?’
Evie’s head snapped up, ‘What about Joanna?’
Francine put a hand on Evie’s arm. ‘I know you don’t want to tell her yet but she needs to know. You can’t contain it all, not after what’s happened.’ She cast an eye around the coffee shop, at the sealed world they currently shared. She wanted to remain cloistered too, tucked away with Evie needing her, connected at last, but it was not to be. This second-hand life she’d inherited intruded even now. Or was she, in fact, still the intruder? Was the old order regrouping, finding its own level? Had the impression she’d left on this family been no more than a hand pulled from a bowl of water?
‘Evie, why don’t you go and see Joanna? Let her know now, before she hears something in the wind.’
Evie stared at her. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Not yet anyway. She won’t understand. Besides,’ Evie looked down at her hands, ‘I need to be here. Mark’s only just arrived and we need to sort our stuff out first. I can’t do both.’
‘I understand that, but why not take Mark with you? He could drive you, it would give him something to do. He’s quite…’
‘Wired?’
‘Yes, but it’s more than that. He needs you, though he’ll probably never say so. Think about it, but please, somehow or other, talk to Joanna. You owe her that at least.’
They sat silent for a while, Evie fiddling with a sachet of sugar. Then she said, ‘Did you get on with my grandmother?’
‘Grandma Rhona? Yes, most of the time. We never had much to do with one another. Not long after your Dad and I got together, his father became ill, he needed a lot of care and Rhona kept away after that. Why do you ask?’
‘Just something Helena said. It made me wonder what went on, what really happened. I understand why she had to go away but I never understood why she didn’t come back later, why she never tried to see us. Now I’m wondering whether it had something to do with Grandma Rhona.’
‘In what way?’
‘I’m not sure, but it wasn’t the Dark Ages, she could have kept in touch, come to see us. Something stopped her.’
‘You haven’t asked?’
Evie shook her head, ‘I tried but it didn’t seem right. Not so soon after finding her again. I was afraid I’d scare her off if I tried to dig too deep.’
‘And she didn’t offer anything?’
‘She said something about not being allowed to. Maybe she’d have said more, in time. But now…’ Evie lifted her hands, ‘I’ve no idea. It’s obvious she wants to deal with things, to get some perspective, otherwise why ask to see Dad?’
Why indeed. Francine f
inished her coffee and pushed her cup away. Two days ago, she’d arrived at the hospital, Evie’s hand reaching across the breach, the years, at long last inviting her in. Only now, the delicate structure she’d married into was falling apart and the promise of a meaningful future with Evie left dangling in the balance. If she were ever to find out about Simon, it wouldn’t take long for the ground they had covered to be sucked back into the steep undertow. Another secret. How soon would Evie’s loyalty switch if her father’s trust was in jeopardy?
Mark appeared at the entrance to the coffee shop, greeted them with a nod and pulled out his wallet. ‘Coffee anyone?’
Francine noted the relief on Evie’s face, the slight smile, the spark. Then she stood and picked up her coat. ‘No thanks, I’ll leave you in peace. But think about what I said, Evie. I’ll look after Edward if you like, but you need to go and see Joanna.’
Neither Evie nor Mark spoke. Francine left them in a pool of silence and headed out once more into the damp morning.
Thirty-Nine
William shut his laptop, leaned back in his chair and eased the ache from his shoulders. It was early morning, barely light. A lone chaffinch chip-chipped in the sycamore. With his talk for the History Society finished, he had started another paper on the early life of James Brindley, his transition from wheelwright to canal builder. He had to admit to feeling rather pleased with himself, encouraged by the way in which his subject flowed from him, a reassuring constant, like the waterways themselves. Some things at least had not changed, his knowledge base remained intact, despite so much else that did not.
He’d had no word from Francine for days. He’d phoned a couple of times without success but hadn’t wanted to leave a message. She would, in any case, have seen the missed calls – there was nowhere to hide these days; technology revealed all.
But as he went downstairs to fetch more tea, the phone rang, a shrill echo in the silent hall. He took the receiver into the kitchen before answering. ‘Hello? William Gardner.’
‘William, it’s me.’
William’s hand began to shake. ‘Francine?’
‘Were you asleep? Did I wake you?’
‘No, I’ve been awake a while. Working. How… how are things?’
Francine didn’t answer. There was a long pause before she said, ‘William, there’s something I have to tell you. You’d better sit down.’
His knees buckled and he sank onto a chair. His chest gave another irregular thump. He waited.
‘It’s about your… it’s about Helena.’
William closed his eyes. Again, his heart flipped. ‘What about her?’
‘She’s had an accident – a car crash – and she’s in hospital. In London. Evie’s there now – with Mark and the baby. She asked if I’d let you know.’
William could think of nothing to say. His small world seemed suddenly to be imploding, a card house tumbling inwards – each card dropping one by one onto the table. Soon it would all be gathered up and swept away.
‘I see,’ he said, though he very much didn’t. ‘And Helena? Is it bad?’
‘There’ll be more news later – when Evie’s been to see her again.’
‘Is she critical?’
‘She’s in intensive care but Evie seems to think there’s no immediate danger. Not now, anyway.’
Francine didn’t seem very certain. It all struck him as immensely odd. ‘How do you know this? Why is Evie there? I don’t quite understand.’
‘I think you need to talk to Evie. It’s a long story.’
William jumped up from his chair, knocking it backwards with a clatter.
‘How long has she been in touch? With her mother, I mean?’
‘Please William, you must let Evie tell you about it. It’s not my place to.’
‘Why didn’t she say anything?’ he said, more loudly than was comfortable. ‘Does Joanna know? How long have you known?’
‘Evie phoned me late on Wednesday night. I came over the next morning – Thursday it must have been. It all happened very quickly.’
‘And you knew nothing about this until then? About Helena?’
Francine was silent. William could hear her breathing at the other end of the line. ‘Francine?’
‘I heard you William. Please, talk to Evie about it.’
‘And Evie said she’d phone later?’
‘Yes, when they’ve been to see Helena this morning.’
Another thought struck William, more bizarre still. ‘Have you seen her? Did you visit her too?’
‘No William, I haven’t been to visit. It wouldn’t be right, would it?’
William ran a hand over his face. ‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘Will you be staying there?’
‘For the time being. It helps – with visiting and so on.’
‘I see,’ he said, his mind now racing. ‘Perhaps I should come down too – to the hospital?’
There was a pause before Francine replied, ‘It might be better to wait till we know more. Or until you’ve spoken to Evie.’
‘And what about Joanna? Doesn’t she deserve to know what’s going on?’
‘I’ll speak to her later. Or Evie will.’
William didn’t respond. He righted his chair and sat down again, a fierce pain growing in his temple. Then, surprised at the pitch of his own voice he said,
‘I don’t think that’s your choice to make – or Evie’s either for that matter. You had no right to keep this from Joanna – or from me! Helena was Joanna’s mother too – and my wife.’
Francine was silent, then said quietly,
‘Yes, William. Do you think I haven’t been well aware of that for the past thirty years?’
The line went dead. William put the phone down and sat stunned, resting his forearms on the table. His feet were cold, the house was cold, but his anger boiled. He hated losing his temper, anger had never sat well with him. Growing up, his brother had been the tempestuous one, the one with the force, the drive that had so bewitched their mother. To William, rage was like taking your clothes off in public.
He went to pour himself more tea, banging around in the kitchen attempting to engage with something routine, something normal. But he scalded his hand taking the lid off the kettle and smashed a milk bottle on the tiled floor, where it spread out, its glass fragments like icebergs in a sea of white.
‘Bugger! Hell, and damnation!’ William yelled at the ceiling. Fury overwhelmed him, leaving him ragged, defiled, exposed. He stomped back upstairs to the bathroom but cut himself shaving. He pulled on his clothes, the same ones he’d worn yesterday, and went down to clear up the milk. Then he sat down again and buried his face in his hands. He shouldn’t have spoken that way to Francine, nor let her see how all this distressed him. Why did it anyway, after so much time?
The rain had stopped; frail sunshine struggled through thinning clouds. William went into the garden, hoping to distract himself with activity. He found a spade and shoved it into the straggling, overgrown border. For over an hour he worked steadily, turning and pulling, grabbing the elder roots lying like intestines in the dark earth. It had once been a herb garden, but without Evie’s attention, little had flourished apart from mint and a few leggy shoots of parsley. He cleared a small patch close to the house then leaning on his spade, he stood up and stretched his back. The damp richness of the ground soothed him and calmed the gristle wedged in his chest.
He was in the shed, putting his tools away when the phone rang again. Brushing dirt from his hands, he hurried into the house.
‘Dad, it’s me.’
‘Evie?’
‘Are you okay? You sound puffed.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, trying to control his breathing. ‘Just been out in the garden.’
‘You’ve spoken to Francine?’
‘Yes. She phoned earlier.’
‘She told me, yes.’
‘I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And, is there any change?’ He was aware how formal he sounded. He wasn’t sure how else he could be.
‘She’s hanging on.’ William heard Evie’s voice catch. ‘She’s still very drowsy.’
‘Can she have visitors?’
‘Only one at a time.’
William pondered this. ‘And where are you now?’
‘Back at the hotel – down the road from the hospital.’
‘You’re staying there, are you?’
‘For the time being, yes.’
‘And Francine’s with you?’
‘Yes, she’s been…,’ Evie paused, ‘quite surprising really. Mark’s here too. Francine fetched him yesterday.’
William’s anger threatened to rise again, ‘Evie why didn’t you tell me? About meeting your mother – about Helena?’
Silence now from Evie’s end.
‘Why didn’t you say something before? Did you think I wouldn’t want to know?’
Another pause, then, ‘I don’t know what I thought – I suppose I just wanted her to myself for a bit. I knew what would happen when Joanna found out. She’d be all over it. You know how she is.’
William knew only too well, but said nothing. He wanted to end the conversation, go back into the garden and work out what, if anything, he was going to do.
‘Dad? Are you still there?’
Where the hell else would I be? ‘Yes, dear. I’m still here. I need to think about this. It’s all been a bit of a shock.’
‘I know. And I’m sorry but there’s something else – something I have to ask you.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘She wants to see you.’
‘Who does?’
‘Helena. She asked if you’d come.’
‘I see,’ he said, a final gust sweeping his cards from the table. Now that visiting was an option, it didn’t seem like such a good idea. ‘I’m not sure. Is that wise?’
The Place Where Love Should Be Page 18
