by CE Rose
‘No! I think you’re wrong,’ I replied impulsively. Then trying to focus on facts, ‘Did the diary say anything? You know, nine months before your…’
He shook his head and sat down. ‘There wasn’t a great deal in it. Just the odd word or phrase. “Shopping.” “Pictures with Peggy.” Then “letter from Doug” most weeks. Was your dad working away?’
‘No.’ I smiled thinly. ‘He spent some time in hospital, so they wrote to each other. I think she… got together… with your father during that period. Maybe someone from work.’
‘Sheffield then?’
‘I guess so.’ Scanning the letters in my mind, I tapped the table top. Work… The office colleagues she’d mentioned. A week away on a course. The boarding house she stayed at… God, that was right:
Then there’s another bloke staying, a Mr Lang. He’s about thirty-five but very frightfully, frightfully. He’s very high up in the Post Office so not very likely to take any notice of me.
‘Did she mention someone called Mrs Dilworth in the diary?’
‘I can’t recall…’
‘Or a work course in Leeds?’
‘Just Leeds, I think.’
I passed over Joe, dashed to the bedroom and returned. Kicking his legs and smiling, Joe seemed to sense my excitement. I swapped him for the envelope. ‘Open it,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing bad and I could be wrong, but…’
I watched the emotions pass through George’s face as he read our mother’s letter. Yup, he could easily be the son of a ‘frightfully, frightfully man’ high up in the Post Office. Only Eve was beautiful and charming; Mr Lang clearly had more than just ‘noticed’ her.
‘Mr Lang,’ George said eventually. ‘The dates add up. And Leeds, again…’ He sighed deeply. ‘But that doesn’t mean he didn’t…’
I looked into his dark, troubled eyes. ‘I think you’re too gallant. That letter’s just one of many between my parents, and reading between the lines… Well, my dad wasn’t around, Mum was just twenty-one and I think she was bored, lonely and longing for romance.’ Not really wanting to dwell on the insular young Eve, I took a breath. ‘She said she made a mistake. My guess is that she was up for it as much as Mr Lang. Even instigated it. Crazy though it might seem, it has been heard of…’
George gave a droll smile. ‘I know. I’m not a caveman, Ali.’
I cringed; I was trying to lighten the atmosphere with my Laura-style quip, but it was too flaming close to the bone. I peered at Joe to hide my flushed cheeks.
‘Do you think you might try to trace him? Mr Lang from the Post Office?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Have I helped at all?’ I asked. I wanted him to smile; I longed to see some release in his features. But his head was down, his fingers absently rubbing the table top.
‘There’s something else bothering you. What is it?’
He sighed. ‘I thought it was all over. After Ben. I thought it was over.’
‘What was?’
He finally looked at me. His jaw was tight, his blue eyes burning. ‘I don’t know… Life. Living. The ability to laugh.’ Seeming to study his wedding ring, he spread his hands. ‘Feeling anything at all. Joy. Love. Happiness. Envy…’
He scraped back his fringe. ‘When I saw you and Miles in the pub, I tasted that rage again. The spite of life. I was jealous, Ali.’ He shook his head. ‘It isn’t supposed to be this way.’
Not sure what he meant, I stroked my son’s feathery hair and searched for something to say. Then Joe broke the silence with a raspberry noise and I couldn’t help laughing. That old levity was back: it was funny, it was nerves and Joe was bouncing with the pleasure of learning a new trick.
‘Sorry,’ I said. I glanced at George, who appeared more bemused than anything. ‘I’ve no idea what to say. And I’m sorry to be so insensitive at a time like this, but I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day. Can we get something to eat?’
He pulled back his chair. Had I messed up again? But he nodded as though he’d made a decision. ‘Food,’ he replied. ‘Yup, I can do that.’
Chapter Forty-Six
George asked if he could borrow my car. I anticipated fish and chips, but when he returned, I inhaled the undeniable smell of prawn crackers. A less overwhelming discovery than Friday, but a surprise nonetheless. The village had a Chinese take-out, apparently, hidden behind the primary school.
George lifted his eyebrows and nodded at my son. Joe’s eyes were drooping but he’d protested each time I’d tried to put him in his cot. Maybe he’d got wind of the noodles. I’d had a taste of his bland baby rice, so I didn’t blame him for making a last ditch effort to join us.
‘He’s on a dirty protest, so…’ I started, but George held out his arms.
He opened the side door and stepped outside. ‘No stealing all the spare ribs,’ he called over his shoulder.
I snapped on the oven and slipped in the cartons. Rather than wine and the associations it evoked, I put a couple of beers on the table. I was a rattle-bag of nerves, but everything was fine. Joe’s raspberry noise had helped George and me over an invisible hurdle and we were back to where we were before my indiscretion. Two people who got on. Friends. And maybe Mum had been pulling strings from above. But for my impetuous kiss and my subsequent realisation, George’s true identity might never have come out. He wouldn’t have been able to fill in some blanks about his conception, nor would he have faced his clearly agonising ‘father’ demons. Though I had no doubt the fears were still there, his whole being already seemed lighter. Maybe truth and honesty were the way after all. No good did ever come of secrets.
A breeze wafted in and I rubbed my arms. The shiver was from the cool night air, that was all, yet still the sudden peal of the telephone made me start. Though tempted not to answer, I made my way to the hall. Miles had been cross with me last time I’d ignored it, and rightly so.
‘Hello?’
There was no reply for a moment, then a voice, as though surprised. ‘Oh hello, Alice.’
‘Tom? Is that you?’ My stomach clenched. Though I couldn’t say why, the unexpected call unsettled me.
‘Yes, only me, love. I won’t keep you. I was just checking in on you and the littl’un.’
We’d spoken earlier, so the question seemed odd. ‘Yes we’re fine, thanks. Is everything—’
‘Good, very good. Then I’ll bid you good night.’
Still perplexed by the brief conversation with Tom, I almost leapt from my skin when the phone rang again. I snatched it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Bloody hell, Ali, that was a bit quick. Are you on guard or something? It’s me.’
‘Me’ was my big sister.
‘No. I just had a weird call from Tom Hague.’
Laura snorted. ‘Weird, hmm? No surprises there. How are things going with the rest of the Village of the Damned?’
I smiled; it was nice to be asked, even if it was a meek effort. Had Laura posed the same question three nights ago, I might have regaled her with a story about a tall, dark and handsome man I fancied. Thank God I hadn’t. And today an answer wasn’t required. Her quaver of excitement was palpable.
‘So what’s happened? Share with the class—’
‘Shelby’s proposed!’
‘Oh, Laura, fantastic! When and where? Tell me everything.’
‘I don’t know yet… he’s only just asked me and I wanted you to be the first to know…’
The surge of affection and joy was immense, not only at her news, but that she’d told me before anyone else. And I understood perfectly; she would have phoned Mum first and I was the next best thing.
‘You said you’d never get married…’ I said teasingly. ‘Good job Mum didn’t buy you that car.’
Laura laughed. ‘I know. But I had to make an exception for Shelby. He’s so lovely, Ali. You’ll really like him. Did I tell you he has virtually no hair, but I love him anyway?’
‘Perfect. Mum would be so happy for you—’
‘And
Dad.’
‘Absolutely.’
The line fell silent.
‘Laura? You still there?’
‘I let him down, Ali. That stupid incident with Dave-the-paedo.’ She sounded teary. ‘I was barely on speaking terms with him after that. Then a few days before he died…’
I knew what she was referring to; I remembered the argument clearly. ‘I wish you were both dead,’ she’d yelled to both our parents before slamming out of the house.
‘Don’t go there, Laura. Dad was seriously ill, you couldn’t have possibly known. And you were only a child.’ I thought of Madeleine and that slap. ‘I’ve done far worse as an adult. We all have regrets…’
Be kind to yourself, love. No one is perfect. We all make mistakes. No one knows that better than me. Yes, Mum too; the words finally made sense.
A thought occurred. Should I tell Laura about my discovery right now? I took a breath, but she spoke again.
‘So, I want you to meet Shelby. Or should I say my fiancé? We have to get together very soon. Is that Miles I can hear?’
George had walked past with Joe asleep in his arms. This was the perfect opportunity to say something, but where would I begin? And did I really want to? ‘No, it’s Mum’s gardener, actually.’
‘The gardener? What blinking time is it over there?’ She guffawed and I knew what was coming. ‘Shouldn’t one resist and send Mellors back to his coop and pheasant chicks? Though if he’s as sexy as Sean Bean…’
I brought the subject back to her own sexy man and chatted a while longer.
I found George in the dark, sitting next to Joe’s cot. ‘Ben?’ I asked quietly.
The sunset through the window partially lit his face. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t thought about him as much this week. I’ve been… busy.’
‘Straying cats and hysterical women?’
‘Something like that. A therapist would say it’s a good sign. Focusing on other things. Moving on, as they say…’
‘The bottomless black hole. After Dad, I thought it would never close, but it did.’
He nodded. ‘Time heals, or so they say. But it’s been painfully slow. Some days I make progress, then I see him in a crowded street or a busy park, on a bus or a boat passing by, and it devastates me again.’ He stood and stretched. ‘It’s not as though he’d be here, anyway. He’d never been to Norfolk. Stupid, really.’
‘It isn’t at all.’
I turned to Mum’s bedroom. Her spirit or her presence was only in my head, but the cushion of comfort had been there for me this time – and still was – buffeting me from grief, like those colourful fenders on the river boats.
* * *
When we were finally settled at the kitchen table, the conversation flowed as we ate. My fingers sticky with sauce, I asked George to talk me through his working week, the gardens he tendered, the routine repairs here and there.
‘Bureside on a Wednesday,’ he said.
‘Not the manicured lawn?’ I asked, smiling at the memory of Laura’s pink shins.
‘Yup. Painting the bridge and general handiwork.’
‘Polishing the enamel on Tom’s Roller?’
He laughed. ‘Not yet. I saw it earlier, actually.’
‘Oh right. Has it been repaired?’
‘Only caught a glimpse. I was too busy bribing Joe to go to sleep with my last fiver. Some work on Sylvette – I enjoy doing that.’
The mention of the Hagues’ boat brought on a warm spread of nostalgia. I hadn’t noticed her along the river cut on Tuesday, but I remembered Tom’s comment about Joan. Something about romance and freedom. ‘Ah, Sylvette,’ I replied. ‘Tom said they still sail her.’
‘Sometimes. He likes to keep her pristine inside and out.’
An old memory flashed. ‘Are the benches and furniture still upholstered in cream leather? The chintz drapes matching the bedspread in the double berth? Do they still have the teak bar and soda fountain?’
He nodded. ‘Pretty much. You remember it well.’
‘I do and I don’t. I guess memories are like that.’ I shook an uncomfortable shiver away. ‘So, who else might I know in the village? I need all the gossip so I’m prepared and don’t gape, open-mouthed, when Nancy tells me.’
My request was met with an amused rise of the eyebrow, and the conversation was cordial until we’d finished the meal. All of a sudden it felt as though we hadn’t jumped the hurdle as cleanly as I’d thought. Or at least I hadn’t. What now? I wondered. Were we siblings or friends? What had he meant about feeling jealousy when he saw me and Miles in the pub? ‘It isn’t supposed to be this way,’ he’d said. And in truth, wholly inappropriate though it was, I’d found my mind wandering as we ate – what might his broad torso look like beneath his T-shirt?
As though reading my mind, he suddenly looked at his watch and stood. ‘It’s late, I’ll get off,’ he said.
It was a huge relief. Any lingering symptoms of the GSA syndrome had to be eradicated. Anchoring the sibling thing was the answer.
‘That was Laura on the telephone earlier,’ I said. ‘Her boyfriend has proposed. He’s called…’ I couldn’t remember his proper name. ‘Shelby,’ I added.
‘That’s great news.’
‘It is. I’m really pleased.’ My heartbeat clattered in my ears. I didn’t want him to go, but I was afraid he might stay.
‘Night then,’ he said. He opened the side door and stepped out before turning. ‘Tomorrow’s my day off. Do you fancy an outing on the river? My small boat isn’t quite up to the standards you’re used to, but she’s still pretty special.’
Another surprise; I didn’t know he had one. ‘Yes please,’ I immediately answered. Then a little more measured, ‘Thanks, that sounds lovely.’
He lifted his arm. ‘Tomorrow then,’ he said. ‘I’ll text.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
Monday
The wind whistling through the tall trees woke me before Joe did. It took a while to work out where my life was up to. Was something traumatic hanging over me today? Did I need to prepare myself? Because that’s how each morning had felt for the past year. And, of course, during that period of high anxiety seven years ago when I’d ‘taken a little break from reality for a while’, as Madeleine had put it.
I sighed. In truth she’d been my rock, more there for me than my own mother because Mum had been here, many miles away from her real home. I never did get to the bottom of why she left Sheffield so abruptly. Was it connected to baby Oliver? Or something else?
Shelving that puzzle, I smiled. Today was a good day; after a twenty-five-year interlude, I’d been invited on a boat trip. Remembering George mentioning a text, I jumped from the bed and searched for my mobile. My lips twitched. The idea of an electronic communication felt a little comical; messaging by pigeon would’ve been less of a surprise. That was silly, of course, but everything in the village felt antiquated and this house was no exception. Like a time warp, the contents were pretty much the same as they had been when I was eight or nine, from the towels and bedding to the three-piece suite in the lounge, the pressure cooker and kitchen gadgets, the hostess trolley and electric typewriter. So state-of-the-art at the time and now so dated. But then again, they’d lasted, so perhaps Mum was right and ‘quality’ did count.
Feeling a little flustered, I waited for my mobile to load. The first message to appear was from George.
The boat trip, the text started. Oh hell; was he going to cancel? I’d gone to bed buzzing at the thought of a day on the broads.
How do you feel about leaving Joe with Joan or Nancy for a couple of hours? Outside the Petersfield at 10?
Without thinking too deeply, I took a quick breath and typed:
OK.
* * *
It was still only eight, so I put Joe in his carrier and headed for the village. Milk and fresh bread were on my list, so I didn’t need to venture further than the deli.
‘Morning!’ I said brightly to the woman behind th
e counter.
I expected the usual friendly chat, but she eyed me and grunted something I didn’t catch.
Heat swept my body. I’d agreed to meet George without the chaperone of Joe. Did she know something was going on? Not that it was. Not at all, on any level. Bloody hell, what was wrong with me? The poor woman was just tired or hungover. And even if there was tongue-wagging about the amount of time the gardener spent inside The Lodge, they couldn’t possibly know we were related.
Trudging back up the hill, I gave myself a good talking to. Everything was fine. I wasn’t doing anything bad, wrong or sordid. I was allowed a flaming day out, for God’s sake. Not even a day, but a couple of hours.
The mastiff outside the front door was the first clue that Denise had made an early start, the second was the hum of the Hoover. Nancy was in her usual place at the sink.
She was giving the plastic cartons a good scrub, so sniffing the air theatrically wasn’t necessary, but she did it anyway. ‘Someone had a take-out last night,’ she commented. ‘Chinese, I’d say. Was it with your handsome chap? We saw you all in the village on Saturday.’ She kissed Joe’s head. ‘I should’ve known your daddy was a blondie.’
Gossip, indeed! I had intended to ask her to mind Joe, but now decided against it. She already had the dog and she’d certainly ask questions about where I was going or simply just know. Instead, I found myself hiding in the guest bedroom to call Mrs Hague. Joan answered immediately, breathlessly thrilled at my request. ‘Oh love, I can’t think of a better way to spend the morning. I’m honoured you’ve asked. Give me half an hour and I’ll be there.’
* * *
Nancy, dog and daughter departed moments before a tap on the side door came. I glanced through the glass. It was Joan Hague, with twin-set and perfect timing.
