Older Man

by Bright, Laurey;

  Marian was silent for a moment. “Yes. I suppose you are. But Rennie, do think before you—well, before you do anything. You're such an impetuous soul."

  "What's Dad been saying?"

  Marian laughed. “This isn't only Dad talking. It's me, too.” She stood up. “I have to go back to work. Let us know if you need anything else. And darling, take care."

  "My mother's not worried,” she told Grant now. “And my father—well, he worries about everything."

  "Not without reason where you're concerned, I should think."

  She made a face. “You make me sound like some kind of juvenile delinquent."

  He laughed. “Sometimes I wonder."

  She tried to be angry, but instead she heard herself say, “That's the first time I've heard you laugh properly since—"

  "There hasn't been much to laugh about lately."

  "No. Ellen is getting more confident, though. Today she played outside for half an hour with the little girl from over the road, and never even looked for me."

  "That's good."

  "Yes. But we'll have to take it slowly. I don't think I should try to leave her just yet."

  "Well ... if you're happy to work Victorian hours ... though heaven knows what any trade union would have to say."

  "I won't tell them if you don't,” Rennie promised.

  In the event, she went home for a short while, but with Grant and the children along. Ellen, coaxed to say where she would like to go for an outing, stated a firm preference for “Rennie's place", and although Grant tried to change her mind, she was immovable.

  "It's okay,” Rennie assured him. “You did want me to go home, after all."

  "Not dragging us all behind you like Little Bo Peep with her sheep,” he protested. “I thought you'd like to get away from the Morrisons for a while."

  "Well, I wouldn't. And I keep telling you my family likes having visitors. Besides, Ellen feels safe there."

  "Yes, I suppose she does. But there must be other places."

  "Give her time,” Rennie said.

  Toby ran for the tree hut after greeting Rennie's parents. Ellen followed, but without letting go of Grant's hand until they reached the ladder and he helped her up it.

  Marian brought out a tray for the children, and said to them casually, “You two will be all right while the grown-ups have a drink inside, won't you? You know where to find us if you need us."

  Rennie held her breath. Toby said, “Yeah. Thank you, Mrs Langwell. Say thank you, Ellen!"

  "Thank you, Mrs Langwell."

  Marian came back to Rennie and Grant. “Okay?” she murmured.

  Grant nodded, and took Rennie's arm. The two children remained in the tree hut, their voices happy and unworried.

  Later they came inside and with Rennie's permission Ellen dragged her brother off to play again with the doll's house. Exchanging a glance with Grant, Rennie waited a few minutes before casually following them. Grant silently got up and came along.

  By tacit consent they stopped just short of the bedroom door, listening.

  Evidently Ellen was enacting the part of the baby doll, giving a high, convincing wail. Then she became the mother, soothing, “There there, don't cry, baby. Mummy loves you."

  "Daddy loves you, too,” Toby's deepened voice said.

  "And Rennie,” Ellen added. “Everybody loves you!"

  Rennie and Grant exchanged a smiling glance and tiptoed back to the other room.

  Listening to Ellen chattering away in the back seat on the way home, Grant turned to Rennie and smiled.

  She smiled back triumphantly. “I told you,” she said quietly. “She'll be fine, soon."

  "I almost dare to believe you. There's some magic about your home. Perhaps because it's so obviously a happy one."

  "Don't you come from a happy home?” she asked before she thought.

  She wondered if he wasn't going to answer. Then he said, “Not particularly. And I didn't manage to make one for my children, either. Or my wife,” he added in a low voice."

  "I'm sure it wasn't your fault!"

  His glance at her held an exasperated cynicism. “Your faith in me is touchingly naÏve, Rennie, but totally misplaced. You know nothing about the complications of an adult relationship."

  Rennie flushed and turned away, clamping her lips together.

  After a moment, he put out his hand and momentarily clasped hers. “I shouldn't snarl at you. It's damned ungracious, considering all you're doing for me."

  Childishly, she snatched her hand away. “I'm doing it for the children."

  He put his hand back on the wheel. “Yes, of course,” he agreed. “And I'm—"

  "If you tell me once more that you're grateful,” she flashed, “I'll probably scream!"

  "Then I won't. Ellen couldn't stand the competition."

  Rennie smiled reluctantly. “It's a job,” she said. “You are paying me, after all."

  "Yes,” he agreed. “Maybe we should both remember that."

  Did that mean he thought she'd been presumptuous? Rennie sat stiffly, trying not to feel hurt, until Grant slid the car into the garage, turned to the children and said, “Right, you can undo your safety belts now."

  He came round to open the door for Rennie, but she was already scrambling out, ignoring the hand he offered to help her. Grant stepped back without comment, but the look he slanted at her was a trifle ironic. Rennie pretended not to notice.

  * * * *

  Later that evening he said, “I feel like a small celebratory drink, in honour of Ellen's first outing. How about you?"

  Wondering if it was a peace offering, she answered, “If you think I'm old enough. Thank you."

  Ignoring the taunt, he said, “There isn't a great deal of choice. Still white or sparkling? Or whisky, if you like."

  "Let's open the bubbly,” she suggested. “Unless you prefer whisky?"

  He shook his head. “The occasion deserves something special. Stay there. I'll get it."

  He came back with two wine glasses and the opened bottle, still with a wisp of vapour escaping from its top. “I haven't any champagne flutes here,” he said. “These will have to do."

  Sitting on the sofa, he poured the wine, and stood up to pass one to her.

  "Here's to Ellen's first step into freedom from fear,” he said, raising his glass to her.

  Rennie lowered her bare feet to the floor, and got up, too. “To Ellen,” she said solemnly, and touched her glass to his before sipping at it.

  "Thank goodness Toby's all right."

  Rennie looked up quickly, then down again at her glass. But Grant had seen her glance.

  "What?” he said softly, resignedly.

  He had enough worries on his plate, Rennie decided. She shook her head. “Nothing. Toby's fine."

  "But...?” Grant persisted.

  "He's fine,” Rennie reiterated. “He isn't quoting his mother nearly so often. That's a good sign isn't it? We don't want him to forget her, exactly, but he's accepting that she isn't around to—correct him any more."

  "Jean didn't beat them, you know. She didn't believe in hitting kids, as a matter of fact. That was something we did agree on."

  He had never mentioned anything that they thoroughly disagreed on, Rennie realised.

  Rennie nodded soberly. “Toby's a very good boy,” she said.

  "Yes, thank heaven."

  "Was he always?” Rennie asked carefully.

  "Of course not. He's got the normal amount of mischief in him. He isn't a little angel."

  "He has been lately,” Rennie said tentatively. “He never does anything wrong deliberately, and if he does so accidentally he gets very worried about it."

  Grant sighed, looking harassed. “Are you trying to tell me something?"

  "I'm not a child psychologist,” Rennie said. “But I just wondered if while we've been sorting out Ellen's problems, which are obvious, Toby's quietly struggling with his own. I think it might be a good idea if you took some time to e
xplain to him that his mother's death wasn't their fault either."

  Grant looked appalled. “He can't think that!"

  "I don't know,” Rennie said. “He's quiet and polite, and doesn't give much away. He's like you in lots of ways."

  Grant looked faintly quizzical, but didn't say anything. He drained his cup and stood up restlessly, shoving a hand through his hair, took a couple of steps towards the window, then turned and leaned against the wall. “I thought you considered me rather rude."

  Rennie looked up. “Not rude. Insulting in a polite kind of way."

  "I never intended to be insulting."

  "Well, heaven preserve me when you do intend it, then!” Rennie said.

  He laughed. “Should I apologise?"

  "That isn't necessary.” She couldn't help smiling at him. He had taken off his tie, and the top of his shirt was open his sleeves rolled up since he had helped the children with their baths. She was suddenly conscious that he was a very attractive man, and to hide her expression she buried her nose in her glass and drank deeply. “You can pour me some more wine instead,” she said, holding out the half empty glass.

  "Slow down,” he advised, even as he obeyed. “At this rate I'll be carrying you off to bed!"

  Her eyes flew to his, and she saw him realise what he had said. He removed the bottle just before the glass overflowed. “Strike that from the record,” he added as he straightened. “An unfortunate turn of phrase."

  Rennie watched him position the bottle on the table, then go to sit down again on the sofa. “Or a Freudian slip,” she said recklessly.

  "Very possibly.” His tone was equable, his expression quite urbane. Perhaps she was imagining the tension she could feel emanating from him. He finished the wine in his glass, put it down and said, “Well, I brought some work home. I'm going to commandeer the kitchen table."

  She watched him as he left the room without a backward glance, and a little later glimpsed him going into the kitchen with a briefcase in his hand. Thoughtfully she poured the rest of the wine into her glass, and finished it slowly. The kitchen light was still on when she decided to go to bed.

  Coming out of the bathroom, pulling on a pink terry cloth robe, she met him in the narrow passageway. She'd had a hot shower and her face was free of makeup, her feet bare.

  Clutching her sponge bag, she stopped in front of him. He surveyed her from the slipping topknot of red hair to her toes, and his mouth quirked.

  "Don't say it!” she warned him, guessing at his thoughts.

  He raised his brows. “You know what I was going to say?"

  "Something along the lines of: ‘You look about Ellen's age!'” Rennie hazarded.

  "Well...” he drawled.

  "I'm not!” she told him quite fiercely. “And don't you forget it!"

  Suddenly austere, the teasing light disappearing from his eyes, he said, “I'm not likely to. Goodnight, Rennie."

  He stepped aside rather pointedly, and she marched past him, closed her bedroom door ostentatiously and threw the sponge bag on the bed, muttering an extremely rude word under her breath.

  At breakfast Toby asked if he might bring a friend home after school.

  Grant shrugged in answer to Rennie's enquiring glance. “It's up to you."

  "If your friend's mother doesn't mind,” she said immediately, “it's fine with me. Should I phone her?” she queried Grant.

  "Mummy always did,” Toby told her. “I know where the number is."

  The friend turned out to be a lively little boy, and as it was raining she couldn't turn the two of them outdoors. The children's room was soon transformed into the flight deck of a space ship, the beds pushed together and piled with an assortment of cushions, stools and upended boxes from which the toys had been emptied onto the floor. Ellen showed her displeasure by howling loudly when an accidental shove sent her sprawling on the carpet, and complaining indignantly to Rennie that the boys wouldn't let her join in their game.

  Rennie offered stories, and Ellen sat a row of dolls and stuffed toys along the sofa to listen in. When she got bored with books, Rennie fetched the crayons and showed her how to make a paper bag monster mask with large pointed teeth and red-rimmed eyes. Ellen donned it and demanded Rennie's help to make a ‘den’ in the lounge, pulling the sofa cushions off to make walls, and draping a blanket over the whole. After a while, tired of frightening the dolls and toys, she trotted off to frighten the boys, her little hands clawed and her voice raised in a high-pitched attempt at a roar.

  Enchanted, both of them demanded the wherewithal for masks of their own. Then Ellen insisted on making one for Rennie, too. Determinedly fighting off the boys’ advice and attempts to help, she completed another mask in shades of violent purple and yellow. Rennie obligingly donned it, and the three children backed off with squeals of mock terror. Snarling convincingly, Rennie followed, pursuing them all over the house.

  After a while she allowed them to turn the tables, confining her to Ellen's den in the lounge.

  "You're a naughty monster!” Ellen shouted at the top of her voice while the two boys patrolled in front of the sofa on all fours, looking as fearsome as they could. “You stay there now and be quiet!"

  Rennie poked her masked head out from under the blanket with a couple of indignant snarls. Ellen backed away, shrieking, while the two boys increased the volume of their menacing roars and rushed towards her. Rennie reared up and gave an impressive howl, just as Grant appeared in the doorway.

  "What the hell is going on?” His voice cut through the racket like a cold knife.

  For an instant Rennie was glad of the mask, because it hid the sudden flush on her cheeks. She scrambled to her feet, pulling the paper bag off and pushing her tumbled hair away from her face. The two boys stood suddenly quiet, side by side. And Ellen hurled herself at her father, shouting, “I'm a monster, and I'm going to eat you up!"

  Grant's eyes left Rennie's and lighted on his daughter, rushing towards him and clawing at his trouser leg. “Is that so?” he said calmly.

  "Yes!” Ellen cried, and sank her teeth into his thigh.

  "Ow!” Grant grabbed at her shoulders, pushing her away. “You little—"

  Rennie said sharply, “Don't!"

  "—monster,” Grant finished, getting down on his haunches to confront his daughter. “That hurt, Ellen!"

  "Sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean it."

  She put her arms out, and he hugged her. “I know sweetheart, you were just playing.” He straightened, looking at Rennie. “Got a bit carried away, did you?"

  "We didn't expect you until—” Rennie said.

  He raised his brows, and she looked at her watch. “Oh, I didn't realise—I've done nothing about dinner."

  "Having too much fun?” he enquired in a silky tone. He ran a glance over her, a deliberate reminder that only last night she had asked him to remember she wasn't four years old.

  The doorbell rang, and Rennie said, “That'll be Timmy's Mum."

  Grant let her in, and Rennie gave the woman a brief greeting, accepted her and Timmy's polite thanks and fled to the kitchen as Grant saw them out.

  "I'm sorry,” she said when he came into the room while she was hastily pouring rice into boiling water. “I'll have something ready soon."

  "No hurry. Toby's hungry, he tells me, but I suggested they tidy up the place before eating. It'll take a while, I should say,” he added dryly.

  Remembering that he'd expressed a preference for not living in a pigsty, she flushed again. “I know it looks messy, but there's no dirt and no damage."

  "I wouldn't say that,” he argued, and as she turned with indignant trepidation, wondering what had got broken, he ruefully rubbed at his thigh. “My daughter has razor sharp teeth."

  "She got a bit over-excited,” Rennie admitted. “I'm sorry."

  "You didn't bite me,” he pointed out. “You don't need to keep apologising, Rennie."

  She turned away from him to take some meat from the freezer compartment o
f the refrigerator. Do you like Chinese?” she asked distractedly.

  "What?"

  "Do you like Chinese food?” she asked. “Not the real thing, but you know, rice and pan fried. It's healthy.” She was sure Jean had always planned the evening meal in the morning and had it perfectly cooked on the table at the same time every evening. She put the meat into the microwave oven to thaw and looked about for the cutting board, then remembered that Ellen had used it for her play dough.

  "That's fine,” Grant said. “Anything. What's the matter, Rennie?"

  Crossly, she said, “Nothing. If you'd just get out of the kitchen and leave me alone I could get this meal cooked!"

  There was a small silence, while she realised what she'd said, and looked up to see an oddly rigid expression on his face. “I'm sorry!” she gulped. “It's your house and I had no right to—"

  He walked over to her, took her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle little shake. “Rennie, do stop apologising! Is this all because you're a bit late getting a meal ready? It's not like you to be flustered over a little thing like that!"

  "You're not annoyed?"

  "No! What is it about me,” he asked somewhat plaintively, “that makes all of you imagine I'm some kind of ogre?"

  "We don't!” she assured him, forgetting to be annoyed at being lumped in again with the children. “Only I know you hate to live in a mess, you told me, and I thought it would be cleared up by the time you got home, and I should have started cooking sooner, but—"

  "Rennie, stop!” He reinforced the command with a sudden quick kiss on her mouth that stopped her in mid-sentence, her lips parted in surprise.

  "It's all right,” he said. “It was all good clean fun, the kids were obviously having a whale of a time and so were you. It was just a bit of a shock at first to walk in to Ellen screaming in apparent terror, amid some fairly sinister animal sounds. I didn't know at first what was happening."

  "Oh, Grant!” She put her hands on his chest, slid them up to his shoulders. “I didn't realise!"

  She felt his hands tighten, and tilted her head, her eyes questioning. “Grant?” she breathed, and with a little beat of gladness in her heart, moved closer to him, hooking her hands about his neck, lifting her face.