by Georgia Hill
For once, the crowd silenced and watched as Jyoti and Kam pledged their lives to one another. It was very moving and more than Rachel could bear. She needed to escape. She realised, whatever the compromise, she wanted to tend to Gabe’s needs and be his true companion for life. How could she have been so selfish? God, she missed him.
When the usher tactfully suggested that it was time to go; that this part of the day was over and that the evening party was for family only, Rachel was only too thankful to leave. There hadn’t been a chance to say hello to Jyoti or wish her well, but they’d all catch up soon.
They took a taxi to Justin’s house. It seemed very quiet after the noise and buzz of the wedding.
‘Wine?’ At her assent, Tim poured two enormous glasses of Chablis and directed her to the cream leather sofa. ‘Sit,’ he commanded. ‘Drink and tell Uncle Timmy everything.’
Rachel was swept with an overwhelming sadness and more than a little self-pity. She sniffed a little. ‘I don’t think I do that compromise thing enough,’ she began. ‘Well, not at all, really.’
‘You never did, wonderling,’ Tim replied, only just hiding a grin. ‘You never did. But maybe, just maybe, now you’ve realised, perhaps you can start working on it.’
‘I think I might need some tips, Tim.’
He raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘A road to Damascus moment. Halleluiah!’ He slid on the sofa beside her. ‘Twelve-step plan?’ he said and Rachel managed an attempt at a smile.
Chapter 37
April 2001, Hereford
She shouldn’t be here, but Neil had caught her at a weak moment and she’d said yes. And, after all, why shouldn’t she spend an evening with a friend? She stifled the nagging feeling that she was in danger of leading Neil on.
Again.
The film had been good. It had been kicking around the West End for a few months now and, had she still been in London, she would have seen it ages ago. It had turned up at the Courtyard, as part of a rural film initiative and it seemed churlish not to support what the arts centre was trying to do.
Oh and it was so good to be out again doing something fun. When the horrible signs, with their stark letters proclaiming the village and its surroundings a foot and mouth zone, it had seemed indecent, certainly insensitive, to go out just to enjoy yourself. After shutting themselves away, like the plague victims of Eyam, people were daring to relax a little, straining for normality. Even so, they went about with blank faces, as if working their way through a nightmare. And it didn’t look as if the end was in sight any time soon.
A nagging feeling remained – and not just because of the foot and mouth crisis. Rachel hoped Neil would take it as it was – two friends on a casual outing.
Rachel enjoyed the film, although Neil fidgeted for the last half hour or so. She tried for charitable thoughts and wondered if the seat had failed to give him enough legroom.
Neil was subdued as they made their way to the bar for a post-film drink. He shook his head, ‘Can’t say I understood much of that, Rachel. Maybe I’m more of a blockbuster type of a guy –’
Then she saw him.
Gabe.
He was leaning against the bar with Dawn. Pregnant Dawn.
As if sensing her presence, Gabe turned as they approached. ‘Hello, Rachel.’
Her world revolved and disappeared in on itself. The chatter from the room hurt her ears. The lights dazzled and blurred her eyes. She felt dizzy.
‘Gabe.’ Rachel nodded, coolly. ‘Hello, Dawn. You both know Neil?’ She wanted to rush into Gabe’s arms. She wanted to bind him to her, as Jyoti and Kam had been bound. She simply wanted.
The silence was awkward.
Neil’s immaculate manners rescued the situation. ‘Gabriel, Dawn.’ He smiled, in a not-unfriendly way. Then he took Dawn to one side. ‘Excuse us,’ he said, as he took her further down the bar. ‘Dawn, I hear your mother is looking for a bungalow,’ they heard him say. ‘Might have just the thing for her. Just going on the market.’
‘Drink?’ Gabe gestured towards his pint of lager.
Rachel nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Wine?’ That he’d remembered what she drank almost brought her to tears. Striving for control, she said, ‘Just a small one please. I think Neil’s keen to go soon.’
Gabe gave her a neutral look and then glanced at Neil and Dawn, still deep in conversation. ‘We’re off to try that new club in a minute.’
‘Oh.’ Rachel didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t bring herself to say the thing she most wanted to. Come back to me, Gabe, she pleaded with her eyes, but he had already turned away and was busy ordering her drink.
Taking her wine from him, their fingers touched. The brief contact nearly undid her. But, instead of reaching up and kissing his dear face, she muttered, ‘Did you enjoy the film?’
Gabe grinned. ‘It was okay. I liked that cherry wood table. At the beginning. The one they made love on. Nice dovetail joints.’
Rachel spluttered into her wine. ‘Gabe,’ she reproached, ‘don’t make me laugh when I’m drinking!’ God, how had she forgotten the way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled. She felt as if she were seeing him for the first time. She must have been crazy to let this man slip through her fingers. She loved him so much. Her fingers, itching to touch him, gripped too hard around the stem of her wine glass.
‘Well, that sort of film was never my thing, we both know that.’ He shrugged, unabashed. ‘It was Dawn’s idea, she’s going off to do a fine arts degree in September.’
Fine Art? Dawn? And pregnant? ‘Good for her,’ Rachel said. ‘Where?’
Gabe finished his pint. Rachel found herself mesmerised by the sight of his long, strong throat muscles working as he drank. He put the empty glass down, frowning. ‘Manchester, I think.’
Manchester was a satisfyingly long way from Hereford. She gazed at Gabe, drinking him in. Ripped from the sun and warmth he was paler, his hair a shade darker. He was thinner in the face too. Less glamorous, but more real somehow. And definitely putting up a guard.
‘How’s your mum?’
He smiled and she saw a little of the old Gabe return. ‘Good.’ He fiddled with the edge of a bar towel. ‘She misses you, you know. Just because you and me…well, it didn’t work out, doesn’t mean you have to avoid her.’
‘No.’ Rachel was ashamed. ‘Tell her I’ll pop round. We’ll do a day at a garden centre or a big house and afternoon tea, maybe.’
‘She’d like that.’
They stared into each other’s eyes. ‘Gabe –’
Then, the moment broke. Neil, having secured another possible sale, returned to them. ‘Time to go Rachel,’ he said, briskly. ‘I’ve got a training session in the morning.’
‘You still doing those triathlons, Neil?’
‘Certainly am. Any time you want to join the training, Gabe, you just come along.’
Rachel winced. Neil was pompous sometimes.
Gabe grinned. ‘Bit too busy, mate.’ As they turned to go, he added, ‘See you both.’
Neil opened the door for Rachel and she couldn’t help glancing back. Dawn and Gabe’s heads were close together and they were laughing about something. The black mood descended again. She allowed Neil to take her arm and lead her to the car park, into the thin, blue April evening.
Rachel decided to celebrate a year in her cottage with a roaring fire, a quick cuddle with Piglet and time with Hetty’s embryonic book. It was coming along slowly. As it had been difficult to travel around freely, she’d used aeons of dial-up time researching the local area and had some great images of Delamere House to work from.
Her plans went awry. Although Piglet was happy to snore on the sofa (she’d given up trying to stop him) the fire, no matter how much she tried, refused to light. Remembering Mike telling her to call her anytime there was a problem, she picked up the phone. Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the door.
‘Oh, hello, it’s you. I was expecting your Dad.’
Gabe stood on her doorstep.
He gave an uncharacteristically weary grin. ‘He’s busy,’ he said, shortly. ‘You got me instead. What’s the problem?’
His abruptness flustered Rachel. ‘I tried to light a fire earlier, like Mike showed me, only it won’t take. It keeps going out,’ she added feeling foolish. ‘I’m really sorry to bother you, only Mike said I should get in touch. He said there might be a few teething problems as it hasn’t been lit for a long time.’ She trailed off.
‘No worries, it’s okay, I’ll take a look.’ Gabe passed by her to go to the sitting room and Rachel caught the familiar scent of him: soap and that expensive hair conditioner he liked.
‘Tea?’ she called, in a desperate attempt to distract her thoughts.
‘No, I’m good,’ came the muffled reply.
Rachel heard him being greeted by a rapturous puppy. Some guard dog Piglet was turning out to be.
It didn’t take Gabe long. All he did was rake out Rachel’s ineptly laid fire, poke around the chimney, relay it and it was soon catching the newspaper again.
‘You might want to get some firelighters and a bit of coal,’ he said, as he played with Piglet. ‘Firelighters will get the thing going a bit more easily and coal keeps it in.’ He picked the puppy up and held him like a baby, cooing. ‘Nice dog.’ Piglet’s tongue lolled out and his eyes rolled in ecstasy. Gabe looked at Rachel with a curious expression on his face. ‘Thought you’d be more of a cat person.’
Rachel pulled a wry face. ‘So people like to tell me.’
‘You’ve got a fireguard?’
She nodded, trying not to feel jealous of Piglet.
‘Well, don’t forget to put it in front before you go up tonight.’
He smiled and made Rachel feel about five. ‘Don’t want the Llewellyn building work going up in flames. All sorted now, probably the wind in the wrong direction or the cold air lying low or something. Not like switching on a radiator. Heating’s working alright, though?’
‘Oh yes,’ she nodded hastily, wanting to reassure him that the Llewellyn’s reputation on that front was secure. ‘It’s just that, well with just me here, it’s seems a bit extravagant to put it on this late in the year.’ Again she trailed off, the unspoken lying heavily between them, like the cold air outside.
Gabe handed Piglet back to her. The puppy whined disloyally.
‘Right, I’ll be off, then. Better get back. Mum’s not had a good day.’
‘Sheila’s been ill?’
Gabe looked away and took a deep breath. ‘Bit worse than that, Rach. She’s got cancer. You might as well know. Everyone else seems to.’
The heavy air fragmented and shattered.
A million images crowded into Rachel’s memory. The envelope on the Llewellyns’ kitchen table – the one with the hospital logo. The way Sheila had laughingly dismissed her tiredness that day at Delamere Hall. Mike’s unpredictable moods.
‘Oh, Gabe, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’ She clutched onto Piglet, making the puppy whimper at her tight hold.
He thrust his hands into his jeans pockets, but not before Rachel noticed how much they trembled. ‘Mum doesn’t…didn’t want anyone to know.’
Another memory flashed into Rachel’s head. Something Neil had said, ages ago, about it being a shame about Sheila. ‘But you said everyone does know.’
Gabe looked at her then. ‘I reckon everyone does and all. But Mum doesn’t want to know they know. And folks keep up the pretence.’
‘But why?’
‘You like everyone knowing your business, Rachel?’ Gabe gave a short laugh. ‘No, well neither does my mum. She doesn’t like it when dad has to take her all the way to Cheltenham and misses a day’s work, either.’
Rachel was confused. ‘Cheltenham? Why Cheltenham?’
Gabe sighed. ‘Because that’s where you have to go to get the treatment. Hereford doesn’t have the right equipment.’
‘Gabe, that’s miles away! It must take an hour easily.’ Piglet wriggled and Rachel put him down. The puppy made a beeline for the sofa.
‘Too right it does.’ Gabe ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘And by the time you’ve waited for the chemo and seen the consultant, it takes up the best part of the day.’ He gave her another odd look. ‘Another corner knocked off your rural idyll, Rachel? It’s pretty round here and I don’t think I could live anywhere else, but sometimes,’ he bit his lip, ‘sometimes it isn’t easy.’
He made for the hall and Rachel, still taking in his news about Sheila, didn’t realise he was going until he’d opened the front door and let in a blast of cold and wet air. ‘Gabe, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know.
He didn’t look back, but answered, on another bitter laugh, ‘We’ll let you know.’ And then was gone.
Rachel returned to the sitting room and curled up in front of the fire, now crackling merrily. She hugged a warm and sleepy Piglet to her.
All those months of knowing Gabe and never knowing about his mother. All those weeks of sleeping with him but never sharing his worries, his fears. She stared into the flames and despite the heat being generated, shivered. She’d never really known him at all.
Then she sat bolt upright. All the grief she’d given him about not being more ambitious, not taking his work further afield, not branching out away from his family. Of course he couldn’t. He’d had to stay to help look after his mother, to help out in the business.
It must be killing Gabe to stifle his creativity and spend his time putting expensive kitchens into rich people’s homes. And it explained the absences, of course. If Mike couldn’t get away to take Sheila, then Gabe would have to do it. And all the time she’d worried he was playing away. How could she get a person so wrong? How stupid and unseeing she’d been. Too much self-absorption and too much Hetty! Rachel shot a guilty look at the biscuit tin, still in its place on the shelf. She had been going to get it down again tonight to hunt through for another mention of Peter Innisford, but now she hadn’t the heart.
Walking to the drawing board, she stared, unseeing, into the growing dusk. She hugged her arms to herself and pondered on just how much she’d misjudged Gabriel Llewellyn.
Chapter 38
‘So, do you think Hetty lived on her own in this cottage for all those years?’ Rachel adjusted her deckchair and lifted her face to the sun.
She and Stan were sitting out on the first hot day of the spring. It had been a long, cold winter. And a difficult one. For some, life changing. Stan had just told her the Garths were selling up.
Rachel put a hand out to Piglet. He snuffled and wriggled to make himself comfortable on her lap, his long legs made for less room nowadays.
Stan grunted. He disapproved of how Piglet ruled the roost. ‘We’ll never know, will we? Although me and Eunice sometimes saw a man here.’
Rachel sat up, causing a disgruntled Piglet to slip off. ‘A man? Who?’
Stan shook his head. ‘Dunno.’
‘Well, what did he look like? Tall, short, young, old?’
Stan laughed. ‘Don’t get impatient with me. I don’t remember. Just that Hetty was less ornery after one of his visits.’
Ornery. A real Stan word. Rachel smiled. ‘He made her happy, then?’
‘Mebbe.’
‘I wish I knew. I wish I could fill in the gaps.’ She gave a heartfelt sigh.
‘Rach, don’t you think it’s time to let it go? Chances are, Hetty married this Richard of ‘ers and lived a long, happy life.’ Stan got his tobacco tin out and began the ritual of rolling a cigarette.
Rachel pouted. She knew she ought to move on, she certainly had enough material now to fill the short volume on Hetty’s younger years – the school log book had helped – but she needed to know the end. ‘Somehow, I just don’t think that’s what happened.’
‘Now, why do you think that, then?’
This time it was Rachel who shook her head. ‘I just know.’ She glanced back at the cottage, at a possible shadow at the window. Was it H
etty, waiting? Waiting for the right man? Just as she had done – and had lost him in the process.
‘Tried the church yet?’
‘The church? Why?’ Rachel looked up from where she was gently tugging the puppy’s soft ears.
Stan puffed on his roll-up. ‘Remember, I told you, there’s a memorial stone outside it. Got all the boys’ names on it, like. The ones that lost their lives. Mebbe this Richard died in the war?’
‘Maybe,’ Rachel frowned, but it didn’t feel right. ‘But Hetty wrote quite a lot in her diary during the war. You’d think she’d write about that?’ She pursed her lips, thoughtfully, ‘I haven’t found any mention of Richard’s death. He was gassed, I think, and came home, but Hetty said he recovered.’
Stan looked over his cigarette smoke towards the cottage door, his mind obviously drifting off-topic. ‘That ole clematis I put in is looking good.’
It was. The delicate blue flowers framed the front door and nodded in the spring breeze; Hetty would approve. Stan had been a godsend, working as hard as he could to get the garden into shape. This morning he’d been planting up potatoes and staking the tomato plants. He was an expert spider-catcher too. She glanced at him, resplendent in a new pair of shiny brown trousers, exactly the same as his old pair, grey chest hair springing through the gaps in his string vest. Rachel didn’t think she’d have got through the lonely winter without him.
Thinking about his suggestion, she decided it was about time she got to see the other end of the village. Going to see the church couldn’t hurt. ‘That’s a good idea, Stan. I’ll take Piglet down that way for his walk later.’
‘Well, make sure you ties him up proper. Can’t take him into the church itself, or the graveyard.’
‘I promise.’
Rachel hummed with excitement all day, until it was time for Piglet’s second walk of the day. With the puppy in tow, she marched down the track, trying to reign in her impatience when he wanted to stop and do a close inspection of every fascinating smell along the hedge. Still, the hours of daylight were stretching out, so Rachel figured she had plenty of time and forced herself to slow down to the puppy’s pace.
