She said, “I'm glad you asked. Give me the address."
The house was a large, modern brick bungalow with a small lawn in front on which an abandoned tricycle and a sand-pit in one corner proclaimed the presence of children. When Grant opened the door to her he looked paler than usual, and his cheekbones seemed more prominent. He hadn't shaved, and he wore a shirt that was only partly buttoned. She wanted to put her arms about him but felt strangely shy.
"Thanks for coming.” He held the door open for her, and she stepped into a wide hallway.
"Am I too early?"
"No.” He touched the stubble on his chin. “Sorry, I was hoping to make myself decent before the kids needed their breakfast, but they couldn't wait. They're in the kitchen."
"I'll go and say hello, shall I?"
He came with her. Toby and Ellen, seated at a cluttered table in a sunny window corner of the yellow and white kitchen, accepted her presence with obvious pleasure. There was cereal and sugar spilled on the table and a puddle of milk on the floor. Ellen greeted her with a tight hug about her thighs, clutching at her skirt.
"Ellen, wipe your hands—” Grant suggested, too late. He cast an apologetic glance at Rennie.
"It's washable,” she assured him. Ignoring the sticky smears on the blue cotton, she bent to give Ellen a quick hug. Looking up at him over the child's fair head, she said, “You go and get tidied up if you like."
When he came back, shaved and with a tie on and his hair smoothly combed, she was supervising Ellen's buttering of a piece of toast and arbitrating over whose turn it was to have the picture card in the cereal box.
"Have you had breakfast?” she asked Grant.
"Don't worry about me. Get yourself anything you like, though."
"I had something at home. We'll be fine, if you want to leave us."
"Daddy?” Toby said. “Do I have to go to school today?"
"Not today, son. Maybe you could help Rennie look after your little sister. I have to go out for a while."
"To work?"
"Yes, but not all day. I'll be back soon after lunch, okay?"
He turned to Rennie. “If you can stay that long?"
"No problem. Take as much time as you need.” She noticed Ellen was looking dubious, and said, “Ellen, how about we make your daddy a cake for his tea? Do you know how to make chocolate cake?"
Ellen shook her head.
"Mummy says chocolate's bad for you,” Toby said.
There was a small silence. “Well, there are other kinds of cake,” Rennie said. “How about carrot cake? Maybe your mummy wouldn't mind us making that, if you have some carrots. Do you know where there are some recipe books?"
"In the cupboard,” Toby told her. “We're not allowed to touch them."
Ellen said, “Are you coming back for tea, Daddy?"
"Definitely. Before that. And I'll look forward to a nice big piece of cake. So don't you let Toby eat it all before I get here, okay?"
Toby chuckled, and Grant ruffled his hair, casting Rennie a grateful look over his head before he kissed both the children goodbye.
When he returned in the afternoon, Ellen was having a nap and Rennie and Toby were crawling round on the lounge floor. A wayward and apparently random construction of wooden building blocks and plastic railway lines covered most of the carpet.
Toby saw Grant first, giving him a tentative smile.
"Looks like you've been having fun,” his father said.
"We'll put it all away before bedtime,” Toby promised.
Rennie scrambled to her feet and said, “Did you get everything done?"
"Not everything.” He saw her looking at the suitcase in his hand and said, “I called at my flat and collected some more clothes. I'll go and unpack them."
When he came out of the bedroom she had the kettle on. “Tea or coffee?” she asked him. “If Jean kept anything stronger, I can't find it. Perhaps you'd know—"
"No, there wouldn't be,” he said. “Coffee's fine. But you shouldn't be waiting on me."
"You look as though you need it. Sit down. Black?” she confirmed.
He nodded, stirring in a spoonful of sugar from the bowl she placed on the table, shifting a couple of colouring books and some crayons out of the way. “Are you going to join me?"
"In a minute.” She picked up one of the crayons that had rolled onto the floor and dropped it on the table with the others. “I won't give you carrot cake, because Ellen would want to be here when it's cut. But have you eaten? You didn't have breakfast, did you?"
"Didn't I? No, I suppose not. I had a couple of sandwiches at lunch time. Someone ordered them for me. Everyone's very kind."
"I could make you something—"
"No. Sit here with me. Please."
She poured coffee for herself and sat opposite him. “If there's anything I can do—"
He smiled at her. “You're doing it. Who made the children's beds?” Someone obviously had, although not with a lot of expertise.
Rennie grinned back at him. “They helped. Toby's quite good at his, and Ellen was—enthusiastic."
"I didn't mean to leave them for you, but I seemed to run out of time. I can't tell you how grateful I am for this."
"You needn't be. I want to do it."
"There wasn't anyone else I could think of. My father's dead, and my mother's heart isn't good. When I take the children to visit her we can't stay very long, she gets too tired."
"You don't have brothers and sisters?"
"One brother. He lives in Australia. And Jean's family are all in the South Island, though they'll be here for the funeral, of course. One of my partner's wives volunteered, but the children have never met her. At least you're someone they know. They've talked about you a lot, and the day they spent at your place. Wanted me to take them there again—"
"Why didn't you?"
He was silent for a moment. “Perhaps I would have."
"Do. When this is all over."
"Maybe. Thanks. You'll be wanting to get home."
"There's no hurry. Have your coffee before it gets cold."
He smiled faintly and lifted the cup.
"When will the funeral be?” Rennie asked him.
"Day after tomorrow. To give Jean's family time to get here."
"Did she come from a large family?"
"Two sisters and a brother. Her mother died years ago, her father's living with one of the sisters now. She wasn't particularly close to them. They've seen the children maybe four times since Toby was born."
"Are the children going to the funeral?"
"Some people have told me I should take them. Said they need to accept that their mother's dead, and attending the service helps. I don't know. What do you think?"
Rennie shook her head. “I'm no expert. And I don't know Toby and Ellen that well. I think ... what's right for one child may not be right for another. You're their father."
He ran a hand into his hair. “Yes, but I hardly know them either. A few hours every second weekend. I'm just beginning to realise how little time I actually spent with them. Well, it's all got to change now. They're my responsibility."
"Daddy!"
They hadn't heard her, but Ellen had woken from her nap, and was barefoot in the doorway. She ran across the floor and flung herself into her father's lap, nearly spilling his coffee before he managed to put it down. “Daddy!” She wound her arms about his neck, holding on tight.
"Hello, moppet,” he said. Then his arms went about her, and he hugged her to him, dropping his cheek against her hair, his eyes tightly closed.
Watching, Rennie felt tears sting her eyes. She got up and took her cup to the sink so that he shouldn't see.
CHAPTER SIX
Rennie spent part of the next day with the children, but Grant sent her home soon after lunch.
Next morning he phoned, early. “I'll take the children with me to the funeral. Toby wants to come. Ellen, poor little scrap, doesn't understand what's happening, although I
tried to explain. Says she wants Mummy to come home. Tomorrow's the weekend, and I'll stay home for the first couple of days next week to get some permanent arrangement sorted out. Thanks for your help, Rennie."
She felt a little let down as she replaced the receiver. He didn't need her any more. She didn't feel she should attend the funeral, but she couldn't help wondering how he and Toby were going to feel, and her heart went out to the little boy. And Ellen, who wanted her mother back home and didn't understand what death meant.
When her parents had left for work and Shane for school, she washed her hair and sat in the sun drying it, did a bit of desultory housework and tried to read a book. The telephone shrilled she flew to answer it, with a premonition that it was Grant.
"Rennie?” he said. “Look, I'm awfully sorry to do this. Can you possibly come here after all? Ellen's hysterical. She won't let me take her out of the house. If you have other plans—"
"No. I'll be right over. I'll get a taxi."
By the time she got there, and was let in by a solemn-faced Toby, Grant had calmed Ellen, who was sitting on his knee. There were traces of tears on her flushed cheeks, and she had a thumb in her mouth.
"Hello, Ellen,” Rennie said quietly, sitting down on the sofa beside them.
Ellen turned her head to her father's shoulder, giving a little hiccup. Grant gave Rennie a look of harassed apology. “Ellen, say hello to Rennie,” he ordered.
"No, it's all right. Maybe she'll talk to me later, when she feels better."
Toby said, “She's not supposed to suck her thumb."
"Just for today,” Rennie said. “Sometimes people need something for comfort."
Toby blinked rapidly. “I don't suck my thumb."
"No, you're older, aren't you? But you know, even grown-ups need comfort when they're sad. A hug or a cuddle is nice."
Toby looked slightly suspicious. “I don't want a hug,” he stated firmly.
"That's okay."
"Sometimes I do,” he conceded. “But not today."
"That's fine. I want them sometimes too."
Ellen lifted her head and turned to look at Rennie. Then she wriggled round and flung her arms about Rennie's neck.
"Thank you, Ellen,” Rennie said. “That's a lovely hug."
When Grant murmured, “Toby and I have to go,” Ellen became tearful again, but after repeated assurances that he would be back in time for tea, in the end reluctantly released him.
Rennie managed to keep her fairly well occupied and reasonably happy, although now and then her mouth would droop and her eyes take on a puzzled and saddened expression, but she asked no questions. Rennie dispensed hugs and stories, and invented games, and hoped that she was doing the right things.
In a corner of the lounge a table had been set up with cups and saucers, and some biscuits and cakes covered by a cloth. Obviously Grant was expecting people to come back after the funeral.
When he arrived, three or four other cars drew up behind his. Ellen ran to the door to meet him as he opened it, wound her arms about his legs and clung. Toby, looking pale and red-eyed, stood stolidly at his father's side, and Rennie smiled at him and moved forward to take his hand and draw him into the house as Grant picked the little girl up.
"I'll put on the kettle if you like,” she told Grant.
"Thanks."
"Want to come and help, Toby?” she asked.
He nodded.
A couple of women came into the kitchen almost immediately. Rennie gathered that they were neighbours. They efficiently poured tea and coffee, and Toby was pressed into service handing round plates of biscuits. “Better to keep him busy, poor mite,” one of the women said practically. Rennie was relieved to see the colour coming back into his cheeks.
Another woman asked Rennie, as she placed a sugar bowl on a tray, “Have you had much experience with children?"
"I've done a lot of baby-sitting,” Rennie said. “Ellen and Toby are very good."
"Yes, Jean did a fine job. Never raised her voice. And yet the house always looked spotless—well, relatively, anyway. Made me feel like a total slob, and a harridan."
Rennie smiled. “You were friends?"
"I suppose,” the woman said rather doubtfully. “We got on, and she was always willing to help if I got sick or anything. There aren't many of us stay-at-home mums left, and we have to stick together. I admired her. It can't have been easy after her husband left her."
"Wasn't it a mutual decision?” Rennie asked involuntarily.
The woman shrugged. “It was before we came to live here. She never said much, but I got the impression that he was a bit of a cold fish. Well, I suppose she was disillusioned. He seems nice enough. Oh,” she added guiltily. “I shouldn't be gossiping about him to you."
Rennie stayed in the kitchen as much possible, not wanting to intrude on the grief of people who had known Jean. But she had to emerge eventually, and Grant, still holding Ellen in his arms, introduced her to a number of people before she unobtrusively edged her way out of the room and returned to the kitchen with some cups to wash.
When the visitors had all left, Grant came in holding Ellen's hand. “Thanks a lot, Rennie,” he said. “I'll run you home in the car."
He couldn't leave the children, he would have to bring them as well. Ellen looked sleepy, Toby had already been subjected to a stressful day, and Grant himself was showing signs of strain about his eyes and mouth.
"No,” she said. “I can find my own way home. But I don't need to go yet, if there's something more I can do."
He smiled wearily. “That's kind, but we've imposed enough. You needn't stay any longer."
"Why can't Rennie stay, Daddy?” Toby came into the room, his feet dragging a little with weariness.
"Because she has to go home sometime, Toby. We mustn't keep her too long."
"Can't she stay for tea?” Ellen asked.
Grant looked at her, and she said swiftly, “Yes, of course I can. I'll help you feed the children and put them to bed."
When that was accomplished, and the children had dropped almost immediately off to sleep, Grant and Rennie had coffee in the kitchen.
"I'll call you a taxi,” Grant said. “You must let me pay your fare for this morning, too."
It wouldn't be any use arguing, she knew. “There's no hurry."
"Do your people know where you are?” Grant asked her suddenly.
"Yes, of course. I left a message."
"Good. I don't know what I'd have done without you. The last few days have been a nightmare. On top of everything else, getting those two settled for the night has taken me hours. Making sure they wash behind their ears and clean their teeth, and finding the right pyjamas. And the first night I scoured the house for Ellen's rabbit while she screamed till she was blue—” He shook his head wearily. “Jean had a point when she used to tell me I didn't know what it was like."
"I'm glad I could help."
He said, looking at her with tired eyes, “Yes. I think you are. There are good people in the world."
"You sound as though it surprises you."
He shrugged. “Sometimes one forgets."
"More coffee?” she asked as he emptied his cup.
He stared at it for a moment. “No, thanks. It's been a strange sort of day."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head and got up. “I can't ask you to listen while I unload all my guilts and hang-ups.” He took his cup to the sink and stood with his back to her, staring out the window at the slowly dying sunlight on the garden.
"You can if you want,” Rennie said, pushing back her own chair and going to stand beside him. “If it would help."
Almost as if talking to himself, he said, “Jean had a—relationship with a man. I never knew him, though I'd gathered there was someone. He was there today. No one had told him. He read about it in the paper. That's a hell of a way to find out."
"Yes. But it's not your fault. Did he—imply that it was?"
"Did you mind?” Rennie asked softly. “That he was there?"
"No. He had a right. More than I did, perhaps. But he had no—status. It was awkward for him. He didn't want to come back here. Understandably."
"It must have been difficult for both of you."
"I wasn't married to Jean any more. We hadn't been close since before Ellen was born. But today I felt very close to her. As though I could—talk to her. Tell her—"
Rennie waited a moment. He was standing with his hands clenched, staring out at the sunset.
"Tell her what?"
"How sorry I was,” he said. “That things had gone wrong for us. That I'd failed her, not made the sort of life for her that she pictured when she married me. That all the bright promise had gone to ashes in the end."
"I'm sure she knows."
He turned to face her. “Do you believe in life after death?"
"Don't you?"
"I don't know."
"Did Jean?"
"I don't think we ever discussed it. There were a lot of things we never discussed. Maybe that was the trouble."
"What did you say to the children about that?"
"That when people die they can't be with us any more, that I don't know where they go, though some people say they go to heaven, which is a very beautiful place where everyone's happy and there's no pain and no sickness. And that wherever she is, I'm sure she's thinking about them and still loves them.” He paused. “It felt very inadequate."
"Honesty can't be inadequate, surely,” Rennie said. “They're bound to grieve, but they have you."
"Yes, and I'm all they have, for what it's worth.” He said abruptly, “I'm scared."
Automatically, Rennie moved closer to him and slid her arms about him. His own arms came up and held her, a long sigh escaping from him. “After the divorce,” he said, his voice muffled, “I tried to maintain contact. But I felt myself growing further and further away from them. Jean was sensitive about what she saw as interference with her childrearing methods. Which was understandable. She had the day-to-day care. If we had different ideas, I had to concede the decision to her, because obviously it was important that we be consistent in our treatment of the children, otherwise they'd only get confused."
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