The Little House

by Philippa Gregory

  ‘I don’t know the jargon!’

  ‘No,’ Clare agreed.

  ‘I’m saying she’s unstable!’

  ‘If you mean neurotic – she’s not that either.’

  ‘She needs help,’ Patrick insisted.

  ‘I think she is getting help,’ Clare said mildly. ‘Regular therapeutic help.’

  ‘She needs more than that,’ Patrick said. ‘She needs supervision. I want you to tell her that she would be best looked after at home with our family.’

  ‘No,’ Clare said decidedly. ‘I cannot tell her any such thing.’

  ‘But I just explained …’

  ‘You explained why you think she should be looked after at home by your family. But I don’t have enough facts to judge.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Indeed, on what I have seen of your wife, and on what you have told me, I think she would do better to live in her own house.’

  Patrick felt his temper flare. ‘I have told you she would do better to stay where she is! But you won’t listen!’

  There was a complete silence.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Patrick said. ‘I’m under terrible stress. I must ask you to overlook that. I can’t tell you how worried and unhappy I have been about her … and it has been months of worry.’

  ‘Of course,’ Clare said pleasantly.

  ‘I just want to know that she and the baby are safe,’ Patrick said in his gentlest, most engaging voice, ‘while I am at work and cannot keep an eye on them.’

  ‘I am certain that she is perfectly safe with the baby,’ Clare said. ‘I am convinced that she can look after him perfectly well. And if there were to be any trouble at all, then you would have plenty of warning, and time to devise strategies for coping with any emerging problem.’

  ‘I would feel easier if she were being cared for by my mother,’ Patrick said.

  Clare nodded. ‘Perhaps you would,’ she said. ‘But that is not the issue, as I understand it.’

  ‘I would prefer it if she stayed with my parents,’ Patrick said again, as if emphasis could achieve his wishes.

  ‘I think you should follow her preference in this,’ Clare said levelly. ‘Has she said what she would like to do?’

  ‘No,’ Patrick lied quickly. ‘No. Not at all.’

  Clare heard the lie at once. ‘Then I suggest you ask her,’ she said simply.

  ‘Will you advise her to stay with my parents, if she asks you tomorrow?’

  ‘No,’ Clare said firmly. ‘I will advise her to do what she wants to do. I think her best interests lie in determining her own life.’

  ‘Thank you for talking to me then, Ms Leesome,’ Patrick said. He emphasized the ‘Ms’ slightly; it made him feel better. It named her as an eccentric, as a feminist, as a troublemaker. ‘I assume that this conversation has all been in confidence?’

  ‘Very well,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Patrick said. ‘Good-bye.’ He waited until he heard the click of the telephone before he crashed the handset down into the receiver. ‘Snotty bitch,’ he said aloud. ‘Snotty know-all bitch.’

  Thirteen

  DAVID WAS LATE at the Black Bull pub, and when he arrived Ruth was sitting at a corner table with a mineral water before her. He waved to her, bought himself a pint of lager, and then threaded his way through the tables, which were busy with shoppers and businessmen eating sandwiches.

  ‘You look fabulous!’ he said. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.’ He sat down beside her and scanned her face. ‘Lost weight,’ he commented. ‘Pink cheeks, bright eyes – looks like a good place, your clinic.’

  ‘Health farm,’ Ruth said promptly. ‘Cold showers and cucumber face masks. Actually, that’s what they’re telling everyone.’

  David looked puzzled. ‘What?’

  ‘Patrick’s family – well, his mother mostly – when anyone asked after me she told them I had gone to a health farm to recuperate from the effort of childbirth. Just as well for her that I’ve come back looking well.’

  ‘Why does she tell people that?’

  Ruth giggled, and it was her old reckless giggle. ‘The shame, darling! She seems to think that I was completely bonkers and we must make sure the neighbours don’t know.’

  David nodded. ‘The stigma of mental illness,’ he said pompously. ‘I shall do a programme on it.’

  ‘It’s a real problem for her,’ Ruth said more seriously. ‘And it’s funny because she was the one to see that things were going badly, and she did the most to help. But when it comes to naming names she’d rather look the other way. According to her I was overtired, and now I am nicely rested.’

  David nodded. ‘She was really concerned about you when I met her.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘She is nice,’ she said. ‘And she’s all-of-a-piece, you know? In the way that modern women aren’t. She knows her job – which is home and support and child care – and she does it really well. She has no ideas about feminism or freedom or career or any of that stuff. And it makes her very powerful. The home is completely hers, and it is run without a hitch. She aims at perfection and she gets very close.’

  David nodded. ‘The sort of woman a successful man needs to have behind him. Would she marry me?’

  She took a sip and shook her head. ‘Oh, no! Women like her are very careful with their choices. They know that they are choosing a career as well as a husband. They choose a successful man, and then they get behind him. I can’t see you getting the gold-spoon treatment in the same way.’

  ‘And what about her husband? Your father-in-law?’

  Ruth smiled. ‘He’s rather a sweetie,’ she said. ‘He’s very quiet compared to her. But he’s solid, you know? He’s dependable. I could tell you what he thinks about every single thing. You know where you are with him.’

  ‘And where are you with him?’

  A shadow crossed her face. ‘Well, I was Patrick’s girlfriend, which made me a pretty young thing …’ almost unconsciously she had mimicked Frederick’s staccato speech. David grinned, hearing it. ‘And then I was his wife, so I became the daughter-in-law, outside comment, above reproach. And then I had Thomas, so I was a lovely girl, and a wonderful mother. And then I had my breakdown, so I was a jolly poor show. And now I’m better, and I think I’m becoming a plucky little thing.’

  David laughed aloud. ‘A plucky little thing?’

  She grinned at him. ‘Yes. But you can see why I like him so much. You don’t have to do much to earn his approval. You just have to stay inside a boundary of good behaviour – and it’s quite a wide boundary.’

  ‘But what if you crossed it?’ David asked curiously. ‘What if you did drugs, or had an affair, or abandoned the baby and Patrick? What would happen then?’

  ‘Oh I’d drop off the edge of the world!’ she said gaily. ‘I’d become a jolly poor show, and he’d never talk about me ever again.’

  David nodded. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘It’s a world I know nothing about. My family don’t have that sort of confidence.’ He thought for a moment and then he smiled. ‘And we bear grudges,’ he said. ‘Nobody drops out of our world for bad behaviour; we resurrect them every Christmas and have the quarrel all over again.’

  She chuckled. A waiter came to the table and they ordered two rounds of sandwiches.

  ‘So what are you doing today, without Thomas and all?’ David asked.

  ‘I see a therapist on Thursdays,’ Ruth said. He liked how she told him without hesitation. She had caught none of her mother-in-law’s shame. ‘She’s just round the corner from here.’

  ‘What d’you do?’

  ‘Nothing really. From the outside it looks completely boring. I talk, and she listens, and every now and then she says something. And it’s completely illuminating, and I see things in a quite different way.’

  He shifted uneasily. ‘I’d hate you to change.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m changing already,’ she said. ‘There were always two of me – the confident one at work, and the dependent baby-me
at home.’

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ he said. ‘I only knew the one at work. I like her.’

  ‘You may not have seen the baby one, but you saw the consequences,’ she said swiftly. ‘You saw how I wouldn’t stand up to Patrick, how whatever he wanted – we did. You saw me lose my job without a fight and move house and even have Thomas because that was what Patrick wanted.’

  David felt a quiver of apprehension at her plain speaking. ‘Are you saying you didn’t want any of that?’

  ‘You know I didn’t,’ she said simply.

  ‘How could he make you do it?’

  She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t bear to contradict him, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I wanted him to love me more than anything else. I couldn’t ever make myself stand up to him.’ She glanced at him and laughed aloud. ‘You look astounded,’ she said.

  He took a gulp of beer. ‘I am astounded! I did see a lot of that, and I couldn’t quite understand how at work you could be so – I don’t know – assertive –’

  ‘Bossy,’ she interpolated.

  ‘Bossy,’ he agreed. ‘Bossy in the newsroom, and then rush home at six o’clock frightened that you’d be late in cooking supper for him.’

  She nodded. ‘I think a lot of women are like that anyway,’ she said fairly. ‘And I did think he was rather a catch, you know. I did think I was lucky to get him, and that I’d better make an effort to hold on to him. And also … I was completely besotted with him. I would have done anything for him. I felt completely grateful and delighted that he loved me. And I loved it when he was pleased with me.’ She stopped and gave a little laugh. ‘It sounds absurd now,’ she said. ‘But I felt like I was a not very attractive kid, and that if I tried really hard, he might let me tag along.’

  David made a face of distaste, and took another swallow of beer. ‘I see,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘A bit pitiful, wasn’t it? If I’d had parents who loved me I’d never have been so dependent. Or if I’d been older when I first met him …’ she shrugged. ‘Anyway, that’s how it was. I met him when I was very young and very alone, and very impressionable. And when he loved me I was tremendously grateful.’

  ‘And now?’ David asked.

  To his relief she looked suddenly radiant. ‘Now we start all over again!’ she said. ‘Now we have to make a marriage between equals, rather than between the wonderful Patrick and the little drip: me. It’s a real opportunity. It’s a real challenge!’

  He took up his sandwich and bit into it. ‘I thought you might leave him,’ he said bluntly.

  She shook her head. She was very certain. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Because none of it is his fault. I love him, and he’s my husband, and the father of my son … and he’s done nothing wrong. He accepted the relationship I offered, and when it all went wrong for me he did the very best he could to get it right again. You can’t fault him.’

  David thought for a moment of Patrick’s charming selfishness. ‘I wouldn’t call him exactly faultless. It suited him too,’ he observed.

  She was eating, and she nodded with her mouth full. She swallowed and said, ‘Yes, but he didn’t force me into anything. He made it clear it was what he wanted, and then I went along with everything. As soon as I have the strength to make my own choices, we’ll have to share the decision making. We’ll be equal.’

  David was quiet for a moment – wondering how far he could go. Then he decided to speak out. ‘No, you won’t,’ he said finally. ‘You’ll never be equal.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the set-up is weighted against you. He’s got a good career and you have a baby. He earns money, and gives you some of it. He controls an office with a budget and half a dozen staff, and you control a little house. He’s a man, and you’re a woman, and most of all – when you count his family on your doorstep – there are three of them and only one of you.’

  He was afraid that he had said too much because the brightness had drained from her face, and she pushed her plate to one side. She nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m a big mouth. Sorry, Ruth. I spoke out of turn.’

  She put her hand out to him and touched the back of his hand. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘It’s OK. And anyway … you’re right.’ She took her glass and sipped her water. ‘I’ll have to take it slowly,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And I have to get it right this time.’

  ‘And what did Ms Leesome have to say today?’ Patrick demanded at dinner that night.

  ‘Why d’you call her that?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ms Leesome. She’s single. You can call her Miss. Or you can call her Clare.’

  ‘I thought that was how she was to be addressed.’

  ‘Absolute nonsense,’ Frederick said loyally from the foot of the table. ‘Much better to do it as they do in France. If you’re under thirty, you’re Mademoiselle; if you’re over, you’re Madame. Then everyone knows where they are. I can’t bear this Ms Ms business.’

  ‘It is a very ugly sound,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘Like the word miserable. Patrick used to say it when he was ill, when he was a little boy. He used to say: “I feel a bit mis.”’

  Ruth smiled. ‘Did he?’

  ‘All right,’ Patrick said. ‘How was Miss, Mrs, or Clare Leesome today?’

  ‘She was fine,’ Ruth said. ‘I did ask her about whether we should stay here, and she said it was completely my decision. I asked her whether she thought I would be OK on my own with Thomas while you were out at work, and she said that only I could be the judge of that and that it must be our decision: yours and mine.’

  ‘Oh,’ Patrick said. ‘Did she express no opinion at all?’

  ‘She said it should be our own decision,’ Ruth said.

  ‘And so it should,’ Frederick said fairly. ‘Provided the medics are happy, you two can do as you wish.’ He nodded kindly at Ruth. ‘But you’re always welcome here, my dear, for as long as you like.’

  ‘I would rather stay a little longer,’ Patrick said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve got rather a busy time coming up, and the little house is so cold and dark in winter.’

  ‘Certainly,’ his mother said. ‘Ruth, do keep us company for another week or two, and you and I can go down and get your house ready for you to move back. You could go back over Christmas, when Patrick has some time off.’

  ‘But it’s only 8 December now,’ Ruth protested. ‘And we were supposed to go home last weekend.’

  ‘Let me sort out the Christmas holiday time,’ Patrick offered. ‘I’ll take some extra days off and we can go down to the house together, get everything ready, and move together over the Christmas holiday.’

  ‘There’s hardly anything to do,’ Ruth protested.

  ‘Oh, there’s all Thomas’s toys, and most of his clothes. There’s all Patrick’s clothes and books and a lot of your things,’ Elizabeth protested. ‘And I think the chimneys need sweeping, and it would be nice to have the windows cleaned outside and in before you go back. Why don’t we take the opportunity for a little spring cleaning, and then you can go back and make a fresh start?’

  ‘I just thought we could put the heating on, and go back,’ Ruth protested.

  Frederick smiled at her and put his warm hand over her own. ‘I think you’re outnumbered,’ he said gently. ‘Retreat gracefully, that’s my advice, little Ruth! Live to fight another day.’

  For a moment she did not think of the kindness of his advice or the roguish smile on his face. She thought of her situation as she had described it to David, and his certainty that she would never win against the Cleary family because it would always be three against one.

  ‘I’ll retreat then,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘But we are agreed – aren’t we – that we’ll be home for Christmas?’

  ‘It’s a promise,’ Patrick said easily, and smiled at his mother.

  They were not. When Ruth and Elizabeth left Thomas with Frederick and went down the drive to the little house to put on the heating and check that the
chimneys had been properly swept, the place was icy cold, the heating had not come on. There was a problem with the thermostat. Elizabeth telephoned the heating contractor, while Ruth prowled unhappily around the cold bedrooms, but it was the week before Christmas and he was very busy.

  ‘You would have spent Christmas Day with us anyway,’ Elizabeth said consolingly as Ruth came slowly downstairs. ‘So it’s only an extra couple of nights.’

  Ruth looked so disappointed Elizabeth thought she might cry.

  ‘Don’t look so desolate, darling!’

  ‘But I wanted to put up decorations in my own home. I wanted Thomas in his nursery on Christmas morning!’

  Elizabeth’s smile was understanding. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And it’s such a shame that it hasn’t worked out like that. But perhaps you’ll do our decorations at home? I have a wonderful box of things, some bells and scarves from India, and some from Africa. I have a whole box of Victorian decorations from my mother. You might like to look through them, and you can pick out what you like and take them home with you for next year. This year you can be with us, and next year we can come to you. You’ve got a lot of Christmases ahead of you, Ruth dear. It’s not just this one.’

  ‘I wanted to spend Christmas here,’ Ruth said stubbornly.

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘Next year,’ she assured her. ‘And anyway, you wouldn’t have anything prepared for this year, surely?’

  Ruth did not understand her. ‘Prepared?’

  ‘Your Christmas pudding? Your Christmas cake? Your dried flowers?’

  Ruth looked completely blank.

  ‘Don’t you make your own?’ Elizabeth asked.

  Ruth thought back to all the Christmases she had spent with the Cleary family since her marriage. The pudding was the pinnacle of a delicious dinner. She had never thought whether it was homemade or bought, she merely registered that it tasted better than anything she had ever had before.

  ‘I make it in September,’ Elizabeth said. ‘So that it has time to mature. And I make my Christmas cake in November, and ice it in December. And when my hydrangeas flower in summer, I pick them and dry them for the Christmas decorations. When the holly berries come out in November, I put bags over them to stop the birds getting them so they are fresh and red for the table decorations and the hall. I buy a crate of Cox’s Pippins in October, when they’re just in season and store them in the spare garage and then polish them and put them in the apple pyramid in the hall in the middle of December. And I freeze a summer fruit pudding in July for us to have on Boxing Day. Surely you remember!’