by Georgia Hill
‘Christ, Ned, you nearly gave me a heart attack.’ Gabe picked up the cat and turned to the door, scratching it under its ears. Then he saw Rachel.
‘Fuck!’
At the oath, the cat protested loudly and jumped out of Gabe’s arms, sliding past Rachel and making good its escape. Rachel wished she could follow.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Your mum said –’
Gabe crossed his arms, defensively. ‘It’s okay. You just gave me a bit of a fright. Didn’t hear you come in.’
‘No, the, erm, the music.’ Rachel gestured to the radio, from which still blared pop.
Gabe rubbed a hand over his face, leaving a sawdust trail. ‘No, it’s tiredness really. Been up most of the night on a job, trying to get it finished. Dad’s just gone over now to fit the last bit.’ He crossed the workshop to the radio and turned it off.
‘A job?’
‘Oh a kitchen. On the house we’ve been working on. Owner changed her mind at the last minute and then wanted it done by yesterday.’ Gabe shrugged and Rachel could see how weary the gesture was.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean –’ Now she really felt like an intruder.
‘No worries, it’s okay.’ Gabe appeared to be recovering himself. His shoulders relaxed. ‘I was just having a look at this.’ He ran a hand lightly over the piece of wood. ‘Can’t beat a bit of English oak and this is a beaut. Was just having a look to see what to do with it.’
Rachel’s curiosity piqued. ‘What do you mean? For part of a kitchen?’
Gabe grinned broadly, his eyes shining through his tiredness. ‘Wouldn’t waste it on something practical, not this.’ He leaned against the workbench, obviously amused. ‘Don’t you ever get that feeling with a blank piece of paper? When it speaks to you. Wants you to do something really special with it?’
Rachel did. Often. She was amazed that Gabe felt the same about a piece of timber. She nodded.
‘Well, it’s exactly the same here. Only better, because with wood there’s already something there. Pattern, grain, shape, colour. A suggestion of something inside waiting for you to release it.’
Rachel couldn’t speak. A whole new Gabriel was opening out to her.
‘Sometimes I look at wood and see a piece of furniture, you know a chair, table. Sometimes, though, it wants me to make something more, something less useful, more…’ he shrugged as he struggled for the right word.
‘More purely aesthetic?’ Rachel whispered.
Gabe grimaced. ‘If you say so. I have to stop and take a good look. See what I can make of it. See what it promises, what it’s asking of me.’ He stopped, embarrassed. ‘God, that’s the sleepless night talking, I reckon. I’m bloody knackered.’ He grinned again, this time sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair, making it untidier than ever. ‘Good to have someone to rabbit on about these things to, though. No one else round here really gets it. But I knew you would. Thank you for listening.’
There was a beat. A complete understanding between them. A connection.
‘I do. I absolutely get it.’ Rachel said, eventually. A thought occurred and she stopped, embarrassed, not knowing how to phrase it. ‘But I thought you were just a –’
Gabe raised his eyebrows and let her suffer for a minute. ‘You thought I was just what?’
‘Erm …’ How could she tell him she’d had no idea he was this much of a craftsman, that he was so passionate about it. That she was so turned-on by the sight of the muscles in his back working that she felt faint? No, she couldn’t tell him that. She couldn’t even go there.
‘I thought you were just –’
‘A labourer?’ Gabe laughed. ‘Bit more to it all than that. Learned most of it on the job, and from Dad. I’ve qualifications too. But I’d love to do more of this sculptural sort of stuff,’ he gestured to the block of oak in the clamp, ‘but there’s never enough time. Too much paying work going on.’
‘Do you exhibit anywhere?’ Rachel’s heart was pounding. It was almost as if Gabe’s potential had yet to be unlocked, like his sculptures from the oak.
Gabe pursed his lips. ‘Just not the right time at the moment. I can’t dedicate enough hours to get the pieces together.’ He looked down and scuffed his already disreputable trainers. ‘Besides, Dad doesn’t think much of it all and while I’m living under his roof, it’s all a bit awkward.’
Rachel wondered why he didn’t follow his dream. It was a crime for him not to. What was stopping him? Fear? Idleness? She didn’t know how to respond, so remained silent, her mind racing in its search for some way to help.
He took pity on her and grinned, the smile chasing its way up to his eyes. ‘Come on, enough arty stuff. Mum’s promised coffee and bacon sandwiches when she gets back.’
Rachel followed his lead into the house, her perception of Gabe sliding all over the place, as were her feelings for him.
In contrast to the heady atmosphere that had built up in Gabe’s workshop, the kitchen was warm, light and full of Radio Two. Sheila stood at the Aga frying bacon and the smell reminded Rachel how long she’d been awake. Her mouth watered.
‘Go and get washed. Gabriel and I’ll get these on the table.’ Sheila turned and smiled at Rachel and pointed to a chair pulled up to the kitchen table. ‘Just move some of that junk aside and make room. If I’ve told Mike once about doing his paperwork in the kitchen, I’ve told him a million times.’
Rachel sat down and moved a pile of papers to one side. She could see the appeal of working here. She would want to as well; it was an inviting space. It was a big room, with a sofa covered in faded chintz at one end. Ned, the ginger cat, was now washing his paws and sitting in state on it.
The table dominated the space and was cluttered with the detritus of family life: envelopes, a letter with the local hospital’s logo on it, coffee cups, a plate with toast crumbs, car keys. It was very different to her parents’ stainless-steel and manicured beech kitchen. Rachel loved it – and itched to tidy it in equal measure.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m –’ she began to say to Sheila.
‘’Course not, lovely. It’s really nice to meet you. I told Mike and Gabriel to ask you down one day. You’re welcome any time. We don’t stand on ceremony, here. Didn’t like to think of you all on your own up there, either.’
And you were dying of curiosity to meet me, thought Rachel and, as the older woman looked at her, she had the strangest feeling Sheila knew exactly what she was thinking.
Gabe swept back into the room. He had brushed his hair and tied it back more neatly and had washed his face free of the sawdust. He went up behind his mother and put his arms around her waist. ‘God, I’m starving, Mum. Where’s my food?’
Sheila laughed. ‘If you’ll leave me be, Gabriel, it’ll be on the table. Sit down and stop making a fool of yourself.’
Gabe kissed his mother’s cheek, making exaggerated smacking noises and then pulled up a chair opposite Rachel. ‘Mum makes the best bacon sandwiches in the world.’ He picked up the letter with the hospital heading on it, frowned and tucked it under the pile of envelopes.
‘I didn’t mean for you to make … I didn’t expect…’ Rachel floundered. It was one thing to burst into someone’s home unannounced, but another thing entirely to expect them to cook her breakfast. Her own mother did not approve of unexpected guests. Paula’s mouth would thin at the very thought. Any visitor needed at least two weeks’ notice to ensure a full and proper preparation. She had never done spontaneous.
Gabe shrugged. ‘It’s no bother. We don’t mind one extra at breakfast do we, Ma?’
His mother smiled at her son and put down a plate with the biggest bacon sandwiches Rachel had ever seen. ‘Of course not. You tuck in, love. Looks like you could do with something inside you.’
Gabe bit into his sandwich, chewed with obvious pleasure and then asked, ‘So, what are you doing round here so early in the morning? Nothing wrong in the house? That rain didn’t cause you any problems.
Roof okay, is it?’
With a struggle Rachel concentrated her mind back onto Gabe the builder. She hadn’t given a thought to the still-to-be-repaired roof, so seduced was she by the stunning morning. ‘No, don’t think so. I didn’t look actually,’ she admitted, as she sipped at the mug of coffee put in front of her. She eyed the enormous sandwich, made from what looked to be homemade bread and oozing brown sauce and wondered how she was going to eat it without making a mess. ‘I’ve been for a walk. I went down the lane at the back of here. Racecourse Lane, is it? I saw a hare!’
Sheila joined them at the table and nodded. She wasn’t eating, Rachel noticed, but drank her coffee. ‘Always been hares there, that’s how it got its name. I saw a couple dancing round one another last week. So, Rachel, what have you done with the old place? And has Stan started work yet? Be the saving of him, that will be.’
Rachel paused in the act of cutting her sandwich in half to fit it into her mouth and explained.
‘Sounds like you’ve got big plans for the place, then. So you’ll keep that old kitchen, then, not put in new? And you’re getting central heating in? That’s wise, we’ve had some rare old winters lately. You’ll keep my boys busy, I’m sure.’ Sheila looked at her son with a smile. ‘It’ll do Mike good.’
Gabe snorted. ‘He’s never not busy, Mum.’
‘I know, but…’
Whatever she was about to say was drowned out by Mike himself bursting into the kitchen. He was swearing quietly and constantly under his breath. ‘Ruddy woman’s only gone and changed her mind again.’
‘Oh, that can’t be the delightful Mrs Sutherland-Harvey you’re talking about?’ Gabe winked at Rachel and mouthed, ‘Last night’s job,’ as his father swung himself down into a chair.
‘You know we moved them sockets for her?’
Gabe nodded, a little warily, Rachel thought.
‘The silly cow now wants ‘em back where we put ‘em in last week! That’s another week’s work. And she wants it done afore she moves in. We should have finished this job last month. The Hallidays’ll wonder what’s going on, they will.’
Sheila rose silently and went to pour another coffee. She put it in front of her husband and he caught her hand to his shoulder. ‘It’s her stupid money she’s wasting,’ she said. ‘The Hallidays will wait. No need to be getting het up. Bit of bacon, love?’
Mike nodded and leaned into her. There was silence for a moment, then he became aware of their guest. ‘Oh, hello, Rachel. What brings you here? Roof causing some bother?’
Rachel shook her head and felt in the way. The family dynamic was so very different to the one she had been brought up in. Both she and Gabe were only children, but his upbringing obviously had a warmth and a close companionship hers had lacked for too long. Perhaps had never been there. Never had she experienced the casual fooling around she’d witnessed happening between Gabe and his mother. Never had she seen her mother and father express their love and understanding in the way Sheila and Mike had just done. She suddenly felt very much alone and needed to escape.
She pushed her chair back and it screeched on the quarry tiles, the sound making her wince. ‘I really need to go.’
‘Oh, stay a while longer! You’ve hardly touched your butty.’ Sheila turned from the stove, where she was frying more bacon.
Rachel managed a smile. ‘Let Gabe have it. He looks more in need.’
‘You really don’t need to go so soon,’ Gabe added.
‘No, I really have to go. I don’t want to impose any more.’
Sheila came to her, a concerned look in her eyes. ‘It’s no imposition, lovely.’
‘Thank you, but I’ve really got lots of work to do.’ Rachel looked around at them, ‘Thank you again.’ And then, uncomfortable at being the centre of so much attention, fled.
How could she explain to them how empty their happy family made her feel? How could they possibly understand the sterility of her childhood, shunted off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough? That her parents had never once said how much they loved her, how proud they were? That instead, her mother never lost an opportunity to belittle ‘Rachel’s little arty hobby.’ She’d never been good enough for either of them. She was not the daughter they wanted. And never would be.
She took the direct route back, marching up the track as fast as she could, as punishment for indulging in the negative cycle of thoughts coming here was supposed to banish. She had to stop halfway up and made a promise, between gritted teeth, to get fitter.
As she leaned forward, hands on knees, trying to get her breath back, she forced herself to think of something else. Something other than being an unworthy offspring.
It was no less disquieting. How had she misjudged Gabe? She’d thought him little more than a casual labourer, someone who worked for his father because he had fallen easily into it and it saved having to think about what else to do. But, she could see from the way he’d handled the piece of wood in the workshop and from the way he talked, he was far more of a craftsman, a true artist. And they had so much in common! Rachel giggled in disbelief and then, just as quickly sobered, as the memory of him caressing the wood flickered across her vision. She wished it was just the steep climb that made her suddenly feel so warm.
Once back at the cottage, she tried to settle to some work. After a fruitless hour of twirling pencils between her fingers and staring blankly out at the view, she gave up. The only thing that was making her fingers twitch was the back view of Gabe. She made a few rudimentary sketches of his muscles, creating sexy lines under his t-shirt, and then stopped.
Irritated with herself, she threw the cover over her drawing board and went to make a pot of coffee. Banishing all thoughts of Gabe’s faded jeans stretched tightly over his behind, she reached for the old biscuit tin and, once more, sought refuge in Hetty’s life. Somehow, reading about her soothed and inspired in equal measure. To her delight, the little book she picked out of the tin turned out to be a diary.
Chapter 12
December 1907, Delamere House
So, Diary, I am to despoil your lovely white pages with my copperplate. Good, then, that it is exciting news. So exciting I can hardly breathe underneath my new, and very restrictive, corset.
We are to attend tea with the Parkers! Aunt Hester is to chaperone. How utterly glamorous it will be! The boys have been to the house many times, of course. Edward was at school with David and Richard often rides with Lawrie and Flora.
Ah, Flora Parker.
How I try to not dislike her, dear Diary, and how I fail!
She says all the right things, does not broach the subject of the scandalous old king, holds her teacup just so – and is utterly boring. I shall report in full, as requested by Papa. No detail shall escape!
Well, Diary, it was thus:
I wore my only best dress, a tired blue serge, which has become rather tight underneath the arms, but Aunt Hester put up my hair. I felt very grown up and really quite la-di-da. Sadly, this only lasted until I saw Breckington House. The house is a monster and really quite vulgar, but grand. The portico is a ridiculous size. I willed my courage to stand stern at the sight. I think I rather prefer dear old Delamere, even if one wing is falling to ruin.
Mrs Parker greeted us in the music room. There was a huge fire burning (I have never seen such an amount of coal at Delamere) and it was very hot. ‘It gets the afternoon light,’ she trilled. She has a serene countenance, alas not shared by her daughter. Mrs Parker had on a shimmery dress of some kind, festooned with lace at her neck and sleeves. Aunt Leonora would tut at the sight of silk so early in the day, but it must be the new fashion. I thanked the Lord for the lack of lace on the sleeves of my blue serge. Dangling into the teacup would not be countenanced. I ensured I sat next to Aunt Hester, as she has saved me from many such social grievances.
David and Lawrie Parker are handsome, but nothing to compare with Richard. Flora wore pink and simpered.
I have never before seen such foo
d. Dear Diary, I tried not to be greedy, but there were three kinds of cake and scones too. Richard sat in between Flora and Lawrie. He flirted with everyone. He even flirted with Mrs Parker! The boy is a disgrace. I spied Flora making eyes at Edward. My Edward!
After tea it was suggested we might like to dance. Aunt H took to the piano, Edward and David rolled back the rug. We had room enough to waltz. It was divine. I danced with each boy in turn, but they had to wait in between partners as they were outnumbered. I feared for their toes as my steps were not neatly executed. Then Mrs Parker took over at the piano and Aunt Hester danced. And, dear Diary, there was mistletoe! All the boys kissed me on the cheek. They had to kiss Flora too.
It was a gilded, golden time. A very happy afternoon, only spoiled by Richard muttering to me, while we danced together, that he intends to make Flora his sweetheart. Silly boy.
Dear Diary, how should I feel about this? I know everyone hopes for Edward and I to marry but, in truth, although he is very kind and solicitous (he made sure Aunt and I were wrapped in rugs in the Parkers’ carriage home) he is so much older. And I do not know him. Perhaps I should marry Richard instead? I wonder what Flora would make of that!
Rachel, reading the account with glee, laughed. Hetty was getting even more irrepressible. She continued to read.
December 1907, Delamere House
Dear Diary, I am in a state of confusion. I do not seem able to be comfortable within my own skin; I feel scratchy and raw, as if every emotion were on the outside and clear to everyone. It is perfectly horrid.
I find I can suddenly not bear to be with Edward. All the things he told me in the summer house keep returning. I make every effort not to be in a room with him. This is made easier as he is often ensconced with Father, investigating some horrid old insect or some such. I do not know how to be around him any more.
