by Jo Verity
She smiled when she saw Anna coming across the yard. ‘Good drying weather, Mrs Wren, isn’t it? Still a bit nippy, though.’
‘You make me feel lazy, Mrs Prosser.’ Anna wasn’t sure how to be with cleaning ladies. The possibility of not doing the household chores was very appealing but the idea of paying someone to do them made her feel uneasy. They chatted about the weather and the garden and Anna enquired after her husband, intrigued by the partnership of this bustling, cheery little woman and the gloomy Postmaster.
‘He’s up and down, you know. He was very close to his Mam.’
From this she assumed that Prosser’s mother had died recently but couldn’t remember Jenny mentioning it. It might explain why he was so morose. She nodded sympathetically. ‘Did she live locally?’
‘She was a Roberts,’ Mrs Prosser replied, as if that made everything clear. She nodded towards the house. ‘I see you’ve got visitors.’
How did she know this? There was no strange car parked in the yard and no sign of anyone in the garden. ‘Yes. My daughter and her … some friends. I’m on duty, so I’d better get back.’
The door to the outhouse was open. The sun hadn’t yet had a chance to warm it and was chilly inside. A mug half full of hot tea stood on the windowsill. Tom couldn’t be far away. She went through to the garden beyond, walking on tip-toe, but her socks were soon damp through her thin shoes. Low sun was catching the droplets of dew on the grass, creating a carpet of tiny rainbows.
Tom was in the summerhouse, cleaning out the stove. She scraped her feet noisily on the plastic matting, ridding them of the dew and strands of grass and warning him that she was there.
He turned. ‘I thought you could do with a lie in.’
The room smelled of wood smoke and motes of dust hung in the shafts of sunlight. While he continued with his task, she wandered around, plumping cushions and tidying the books which they’d all donated to start the Pen Craig library.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ said Tom.
‘Me too. We were both tired. And it was a weird evening.’
‘Can I take you up on your offer some time?’
Over the years, Anna and Tom had developed their own system of communication. If she sensed that he was anxious, she would hold him and stroke him, like an animal. If he felt her disapproval, he would be extra considerate. It meant that they had become lazy about talking things through and sometimes the silent process failed. When it did, the hurts they inflicted upon each other accumulated like layers of dust on top of a wardrobe.
Tom had breakfasted with Taliesin and Arthur. ‘Funny little boy.’ He had nothing to say about his father.
‘Where are they now?’ she asked.
‘I left them in the kitchen.’
He went to get on with work on the paving and she returned to the house to prepare a breakfast tray for Madeleine.
The bedroom door was still shut and she stood outside, listening for signs of life. A muffled ‘Come in, Mum,’ answered her gentle knock.
‘How did you know it was me?’
Maddy pulled herself up from beneath the quilt. ‘Well, Dad wouldn’t come to see me in bed and Taliesin wouldn’t knock. It’s a novelty having doors, actually.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Don’t worry, Mum. It’s fine. Benders are really cosy. You’d love it. Nothing to dust or hoover.’ She looked at the tray. ‘Breakfast in bed. Wow. It’s not even my birthday.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Pretty good. I’m over the sickness. I just feel like I’m going around in slow motion. And by nine o’clock I’m ready for bed. Pathetic.’
‘Nature’s way of telling you to slow down.’
‘That’s what Tal says.’
There were so many things that she wanted to ask her daughter but she knew she must proceed carefully, gathering bits of information as best she could.
‘Have you seen Tal and Art this morning, Mum?’
Anna explained that they must have gone out before she got up.
Maddy nodded. ‘I think he’s leaving us on our own, so we can have a chat. He’s brilliant like that.’
‘He seems very nice.’
‘Mmmm. Too nice sometimes.’
‘And he’s marvellous with the little boy.’
Maddy patted the bed, inviting her mother to sit down. ‘I know it’s not really fair, asking you to be piggy-in-the-middle, but Dad flies off the handle so easily. He’s so uptight.’
Maddy, knees pulled up to her chin, began talking. They wanted to stay for a couple of days, then they planned to visit Taliesin’s father. ‘He’s a writer. Lives near Brecon.’ She mentioned his name and Anna was taken aback. The man was a celebrity and had written several successful books, at least one of which had been made into a film. ‘It’s different, isn’t it, now you know his father’s rich and famous?’
It was true. Taliesin with a pedigree presented a very different proposition.
‘You haven’t asked about Art. Aren’t you dying to know?’ Maddy paused to ensure maximum impact. ‘Tal and Sarah were together for a long time. Ten years, I think. When Arthur was born, they were living in Spain. She wasn’t Spanish. Anyway, they came back to this country. Then, about two years ago she was killed. Hit and run as she was walking back from the shop.’
Anna pictured a broken body lying on the roadside, Arthur standing crying beside his mother, and shuddered. But dreadful as it was, Madeleine must be her priority. She needed to talk to her about money, antenatal care and where the baby would be born. Where did her daughter see herself in five years time? But today things were going so well. Maybe she would leave it for a while before rocking the boat.
While Maddy finished her breakfast, Anna gave her the latest news of family and friends. Maddy was intrigued to hear that her grandfather planned to remarry. ‘It must be weird for you, but it’s not as if he’s trying to replace Grandma Nancy. He and Grandma were one person. When she died, he had to become another person or he couldn’t have gone on.’ She reached her arm around her mother’s shoulder. ‘You have to let him get on with it, Mum. Anyway, do you like her?’
‘I don’t know. We were being very polite with each other when we met. I was surprised that she was quite so old. But I liked her clothes.’
‘That’s a start. And I think it’s good that she’s old. It rules out all that money stuff. It’ll be different when you meet her next time. You’ll be able to see whether she really cares about him.’
Maddy got out of bed and Anna could see, through the thin nightdress, that her waistline had disappeared and there was a heaviness about her breasts. Her little girl’s beautiful body was about to inflate and distort and she felt a little of Tom’s regret.
With visitors in the house, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing. Tom, visitors or no, carried on with the floor. There was no sign of Taliesin or Arthur. Maddy was enjoying the luxury of a bathroom. It left her in limbo. Obliged to hang around, in case she was required to cook something or fetch something or entertain someone, she decided to do some baking and was up to her elbows in flour when Taliesin and Arthur returned from their walk. The boy was carrying a posy of bluebells and primroses. He held them out to her. ‘It’s nice here. Thank you for having us.’
It was the first chance she’d had to look at him. The night before he’d been slumped over his father’s shoulder or buried beneath a quilt.
Arthur resembled a miniature adult. Gangling and lean, like his father, without a trace of chubbiness, he had the face of a grown-up. But whereas Taliesin might be mistaken for an Italian, Arthur had mousey brown hair and a pale face. His bright eyes, green and fringed with dark lashes, redeemed his plainness.
‘We only picked a few.’ He laid the flowers gently on the worktop.
She rinsed the flour from her hands and took a purplish-blue vase, the same colour as the bluebells, from the cupboard. She had made the pot thirty years ago and had used it whenever the girls brought her their
offerings of violets or snowdrops. ‘I’ll put them here,’ she said, placing them on the windowsill next to the sink. ‘They’ll cheer me up when I’m doing the dishes.’
She finished making the pie and chatted to them about their walk. There was a small piece of pastry left when she trimmed the pie and she offered it to Arthur. ‘Would you like to make something?’
‘Jam tarts?’ he suggested and, without instruction, set about rolling and cutting out the pastry.
‘I can see you’ve done this before.’
He smiled and nodded. ‘We share the cooking.’
She knew nothing of Maddy’s life with these people but this phrase conjured up an Indian encampment. Benders in place of tepees. Communal meals around the campfire. ‘Do you go to school, Arthur?’
‘Art. I prefer Art. No, but I learn lots of things.’
Taliesin let his son explain how the adults in the group taught the children whatever skills they needed, when they needed them. ‘And what does Dad teach you?’ she asked, glancing up to see if she was overstepping the mark.
‘How to mend things and make things. And the Latin names for plants and animals.’ He handed her the tray of jam tarts. ‘And Maddy teaches us about the stars.’
‘And what else?’ Madeleine came into the kitchen, dressed in tie-dyed dungarees, her hair twisted in a towel. She looked younger than her twenty years. ‘Not only about the stars. We do a bit of reading too, don’t we?’
‘Reading is jolly useful,’ said Anna, wanting to encourage the child. He looked at her and said nothing, making her feel that she was the five-year-old.
‘I’ve been keeping out of the way, so you could talk about me,’ said Madeleine. ‘Where’s Dad? Can we have cheese on toast for lunch?’
Anna wanted to get Tom on his own and fill him in on what she had gleaned from the morning’s chats. Before she reached the other side of the yard, she sensed that someone was watching her. It was Prosser. He was sitting on the wall outside the Redwoods’ house, presumably waiting for his wife. Occasionally she had seen him collecting her in his battered white van after she’d finished her cleaning stint at ‘High Trees’. She waved in his direction and shouted an overly cheery ‘good morning’. He nodded but did not smile.
By the time she found Tom and they returned to the house, Prosser had disappeared. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s OK,’ said Tom. ‘I bet he thinks we’re the nutters.’
In the few minutes that she had been out of the house, Steven had phoned. Maddy had taken the call. ‘He’s been to see Grandpa.’ She held up her hands, watching panic flash across her mother’s face. ‘No problems. He’ll ring again tonight.’
They ate lunch and had Art’s jam tarts for pudding. He carried the plate proudly around the table, enjoying the plaudits. During the meal the boy had entranced them with visions of the world through a child’s eye, whilst his father seemed content to take a back seat. She watched Tom to see whether he, too, was falling under Arthur’s spell.
They talked, again, about family and friends. Madeleine was always interested to hear news of Flora. ‘I wasn’t sure how she’d be about the baby but she was really nice when I phoned her yesterday. Really mellow. I think there must be a new man in her life.’
They moved to ongoing projects at Pen Craig. At Christmas there had been much talk of a wind-generator, sheep, hens and, of course, the swimming pool. ‘The trouble is, everyone’s too busy working,’ said Anna. ‘Ridiculous, considering we came here to wind down.’
‘So, are you in gainful employment?’ Tom asked Taliesin. The ceasefire had been too good to last.
‘Dad, don’t.’
‘It’s OK. It’s a fair question,’ said Taliesin, laying a hand on Madeleine’s arm.
‘D’you think this is an appropriate time?’ Anna nodded towards Arthur.
‘Art, could you go outside and play for a while? We’ve got grown up stuff to discuss,’ Taliesin said quietly. The boy nodded and they waited until he was out of earshot.
‘I don’t take handouts from the state, if that’s what you’re hinting at. Neither do I have what you would probably term a ‘proper job’. But I’ve managed fine for fifteen years and I can’t see any reason to change.’
‘Isn’t this baby a reason?’ asked Tom. ‘It costs a lot to rear a child. Children need security and certainty. Are you intending to stick around?’
‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’ Madeleine jumped up, her chair crashing over onto the flagstones.
‘It’s OK. It’s OK,’ said Taliesin.
Anna felt sick. It was happening again. Tom was digging in and Maddy was storming out.
‘Yes, I do plan to stick around, as it happens. And I don’t mean to be impolite, but I think Maddy’s the one I have to convince.’ He joined Maddy, who was standing by the door. ‘Go and lie down for a bit. Stress is the last thing you need.’
Maddy ran upstairs and they heard a door slam at the top of the house. Tom shook his head and hurried out. Anna didn’t know which of them to go after.
Taliesin picked up the chair and checked that it hadn’t been damaged. She wanted to kick him for being so calm. Outside the back door, Arthur was singing to himself. ‘London’s burning, London’s burning. Fetch the engine…’
She wished she were five years old again, when the very worst thing that happened was being forced, every Sunday, to drink cold cabbage water.
10
Arthur was playing with the Webbers’ cat, Blackie, a stupid animal without charm or character. How typical of Celia to choose the undistinguished kitten from the litter and then to give it an equally undistinguished name.
If she stayed talking to Taliesin, she would be seen as disloyal by Tom and prying by Madeleine. Displaced from the kitchen, Anna needed something to occupy her.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ she asked the boy.
‘Yep. I’d better tell Dad and put my wellies on.’
She would have preferred to leave without explanations but the child was right. While he went to find his father, she took two apples and some chocolate biscuits from the larder, then followed his example and pulled on her boots.
The cat shadowed them for a while, then gave up and sat on the wall, watching them climb up the fields to the wood. At first she walked quickly. Arthur didn’t complain but was forced to trot to keep pace with her. She slowed when the incline steepened, a ‘stitch’ jabbing under her ribcage. When they reached the fallen tree, they stopped to catch their breath.
‘This is where Dad and I came.’
His voice surprised her. Caught up in her own resentments, she’d forgotten he was there. None of this muddle was his fault and she tried to make amends. ‘You can be the navigator and decide which way we go. How does that sound?’
They climbed over the wall, into the wood. ‘This way.’ He pointed up the track towards the ridge, then ran ahead to make sure that the way was safe.
The trees up here were mainly ash, hazel and oak, spindly or bent where they crowded each other and strained up to the light. An ash tree, blown down by the winter gales, leaned against its neighbours, inching its way down to rot on the woodland floor. The sun permeated the leafless branches, falling on the matted grass. A few tangled holly bushes without a single berry formed dense, dark clumps. The ground was soft with season upon season of decaying leaves and it gave slightly, like a padded insole, beneath her boots.
It was ages since she’d spent time with a small child. At first she played the part of teacher on a nature ramble, but she soon discovered that he knew as much as she did about woodland matters. He lived in a wood, for goodness’ sake. He could distinguish between a crow and a jackdaw. He could name the early wild flowers. He pointed out a badger’s sett, showing her the tufts of brown hair caught on a snarl of brambles. ‘It’s called meles meles in Latin,’ he announced and she knew he was right.
The breeze stirred the treetops as they climbed higher, sounding like running water coursing between the upper branche
s. They sang as they went, songs that she’d sung with Flora and Madeleine when they needed encouragement on a long walk. ‘If you’re happy and you know it…’. Their clapping hands sounded like the snap of Christmas crackers.
Then the path emerged from the wood and they were on a rough stone road, wide enough to take a car. She and Tom had walked up here, once or twice, but had always looped back down to Cwm Bont. Arthur found a sturdy stick. He used it to point along the track. ‘This way.’
‘Aren’t you tired? We’ve come quite a long way.’
‘Nope. I’m skinny but Dad says it’s all muscle.’ He held out his arm for her to feel his soft bicep.
They came to a fallen oak, much bigger than the others they had passed. It lay a little way off the path, the tangle of its root ball poking crazily into the air, like a massive tooth pulled from its socket by a giant dentist. She took the biscuits and apples from her pocket and they found a place on its ridged trunk to perch and eat their snack. The sun was warming and Arthur took off his fleece, tying it around his shoulders like a cloak. He stood on the stump and held his stick aloft.
‘You’re King Arthur with Excalibur,’ she said. ‘D’you know that story?’
‘Of course I do. That’s why I’m called Arthur.’
‘What are they thinking of calling the new baby?’ She felt guilty but it was a chance she couldn’t miss.
‘Don’t know.’
‘Your Dad’s got an unusual name. Taliesin. Is it a family name?’
‘It’s not his real name. His real name’s Rupert.’ The boy thought for a moment then took a deep breath ‘His great, great, great, grandfather was called Taliesin. It’s Welsh.’
They resumed their walk, Arthur skipping along swiping at the dead bracken with Excalibur. Rupert Leighton, son of Charles Leighton. It started to make sense. He wouldn’t be the first son who felt the need to shrug off a famous father. It would make things much simpler, though, if Maddy would just tell them all this. She shouldn’t have to prise the facts from a child.
