by kendra Smith
‘Quick, James, we have to get out of here.’
Debra was at the airport to meet them. Katie could see her as they went through the automatic doors. She waved, raised both hands in the air; ‘Yoo-hoo!’ Katie watched as Debra turned around and looked behind her. Getting near her, Debra gasped. ‘Oh, Katie, crikey! How are you? You look different. Are you ill?’
In the head, yes, it would appear, thought Katie, as she embraced her sister. But as far as I know they haven’t found a name yet for the trauma brought on by the heady cocktail of infidelity, jet lag, eyebrow malfunction, a marathon flight, plus orange juice cleavage from turbulence.
*
The now-alien scenery glided by in the car. A running silent movie from the windows as they headed along the motorways out of London. It’s so grey. Cloudy and grey with a touch of good old English drizzle. It was late September, with damp air and stretches of lush grass. As they headed beyond the motorways, Katie stared out at the fields. The green, green grass of what… home? She shut her eyes and pretended to sleep. The voices in her mind were too much.
The car was silent. After a while, Tom and Debra started talking about the weather on the drive to see Gramps. His condition had stabilised and Tom hadn’t wanted to waste any time in seeing him. Tom and Katie barely spoke. Debra told Katie that their mum was away again. ‘She’s not around, I’m afraid, didn’t know you were coming, is on a French cycling holiday – can you believe it? Mum? Anyway, she’s pedalling through the Île-de-France on the hunt for the best Brie!’
Katie managed a smile at her sister via the rear-view mirror. Debra looked at her and raised her eyebrows. Just then Andy let off a huge fart and he and James dissolved into giggles. Rory grinned in his car seat.
Arriving at the hospital, Tom balanced chocolate, grapes, two newspapers (Daily Telegraph, Daily Mail) and a bottle of Ribena in his arms while Katie clutched the boys’ hands with one hand, and tried to steer the buggy with the other. They were ushered into a ward with four other people in it. A nurse pulled back the curtain and told them to be quiet. Tom looked at Katie and rolled his eyes. She smiled.
They were led over to Gramps, who was sleeping. He had regained consciousness yesterday when they were in Bangkok, but he looked grey, his cheeks sunken. Katie studied him, his thinning silvery hair, carefully brushed back, his skin – the deep lines across the forehead, the crêpe-like folds along his cheek. She felt a pang of guilt. Maybe he should be with us? He’s so much older than Mum, so much more fragile. He’s really lost without Margaret… Should we take care of him? Then she shook her head as she realised it would be a ridiculous idea. Where would he live? In the heat of Australia? In Tom’s one-bedroom apartment in Brisbane?
Just then, Gramps let out a little cough. There was a drip attached to his arm, a needle embedded in his frail white skin, and he was wearing stripy pyjamas – he looks like a seventy-seven-year-old who’d stolen a five-year-old’s sleepwear, thought Katie. Will Tom look like this? Will I be with him when we’re both in our seventies? Or will I be long shot of him by then, fed up with his unfaithfulness? She shook her head, reminded herself that they were here to see Gramps, that he needed them, and she needed to leave her family issues behind.
James and Andy were clutching a huge card they’d made on the plane, covered in Pokémon and Nemo stickers. ‘Get Well Gramps’ it said on the front in blue sparkly glitter.
‘Will he wake up, Mummy?’ whispered Andy. He was clutching some Yu-Gi-Oh cards for Gramps.
‘Yes darling, maybe soon.’ She smiled.
James was holding his joke book; he desperately wanted to tell Gramps a joke. Was sure, he’d told Katie quite earnestly on the plane, that a good laugh was what Gramps needed to feel better.
They hadn’t agreed about taking the boys. Katie had wanted them to stay with Debra, had felt it would be too much for them.
‘But he’s their grandfather, Katie, that’s why we’re here,’ Tom had urged her at the motorway services. ‘It could be what he needs to get him better.’
She had looked at his beseeching eyes and given up. It was his dad, maybe he was right. ‘All right, I’m just worried it will upset them too much.’
Slowly, they watched as Gramps woke up, saw him narrow his eyes and then witnessed his whole face lighting up. He was beaming from ear to ear as he took in the scene and recognised his grandsons.
They rushed up to hug him. ‘Careful, boys, Gramps is very tired!’ Katie said gently, but he just winked at her and shook his head.
‘How are you?’ Katie went over and gave Gramps a hug and was enveloped in the familiar aroma of Old Spice.
‘Much better for seeing you lot. How are you, old girl?’
Katie managed a tight smile. ‘Fine.’
‘How was the flight?’ added Gramps, reaching for the papers. ‘Ah, thanks for these – what’s been going on in the world?’
Katie found herself laughing and shaking her head. Like father like son. She made up a jug of Ribena and handed everyone a glass. She and Tom exchanged glances and she smiled at him. She felt sorry for him. He looked a bit more like his dad today, she realised. Then, as she looked past Tom through the window to the view outside, she felt that peculiar sensation again. The rain had cleared and the sun had come out. She stared at the rolling hills of the South Downs spreading out before them like a great big fluffy green blanket, dotted with cows. A wave of emotion hit her: it was a mixture of seeing the familiarity of the countryside, homesickness for England, sadness about Tom – and a huge feeling of relief that Gramps was all right.
‘Gramps?’ said Andy.
‘Yes, son?’ Gramps held his wrist, pulled him closer to the bed with a frail hand.
Andy leant in closer. ‘Do you have two willies?’
And with that they all burst out laughing in a hospital room in rural Sussex. I’m glad we brought the boys, thought Katie, as she turned back towards the window, looked at the view and smiled.
43
You don’t find charming much in Sydney. I’ve forgotten what it looks like, Katie realised as she slowed the car down as they approached Lower Malbury. It was the quintessential English village – bathed in the watery sun of a late September day. Petunias were still spilling out of old beer barrels on the side of the road; there was a cricket green bearing perfect stripes, a newly mown pitch; a small post office had a blackboard outside advertising the local rag. A woman in wellies on the green was throwing a ball for her fluffy retriever, who barked, then chased after it. In the distance was a tiny children’s park with two swings and a climbing frame. The Dog and Duck Pub took pride of place in this rural scene boasting cider, bitter, and ‘home-cooked food’. No beach, seafront, men carrying surfboards under their arms, nor roadside cafés.
Another mile and the very clipped BBC newsreadery Nat Nav voice was telling Katie to bear left, 800 yards, turn right… Her voice was so, well, English. Katie had a peculiar feeling in her bones. Leaves swished against the car window. Suddenly she was aware of a horn as she nearly lost her right wing mirror in some bushes. Her car careered towards a hedge as she slammed on her brakes. She watched, mouth open, in her rear-view mirror as a muddy Land Rover drove off behind her, its filthy number plate disappearing down the country lane.
I’d forgotten how challenging it is to drive in rural England, fumed Katie. Have the roads in Britain become smaller? She noisily scrunched the gears into reverse, pushed on the accelerator and the car screeched out of the hedge.
The boys were in the back of the car bickering. She looked in her rear-view mirror then stared out at the wiggly English road ahead. It’s a cruel thing, getting older. Helen Mirren gets roles like the Queen, a broad in her eighties. George Clooney just gets sexier. And Tom? She closed her eyes briefly, then suddenly she flicked them open again, realising she was at the wheel. Where is Lucy’s house?
Tom was with his dad in hospital helping him pack up to leave. His vital signs were good, said the doctor, blood pressure down, but he wa
s going to have to be on one crutch for a while because of the fall and injury to his knee. But at least we’re here, thought Katie. Can be with him for the first few days so he can get straight. Make beds, get the shopping, all the things dear Margaret would have done…
She passed another bend in the road very cautiously, passing field after field of cows, watching songbirds dart from hedge to hedge. Another fifty yards and she was finally pulling into a gravel driveway. She caught a glimpse of the house. Lucy’s house. Lucy and Adam’s house. She hadn’t thought about Adam in months, she realised, relieved.
As she got out the car she took in the whole vista. Crikey. She felt like she’d stumbled onto the set of a Homes & Gardens shoot. She stared wide-eyed at the view. An L-shaped farmhouse was in front of her, with pale yellow roses arching over the doorway; hanging baskets of petunias were swinging by the garage door, blowing in the breeze. Clumps of French lavender flanked the front door. There was a stable block in the distance and beyond that a field of cows. This is a grown-up house, thought Katie, sighing. A perfect farmhouse, in a perfect English village. An odd sensation washed over her, which she couldn’t quite place. She put it down to envy.
‘Katie! Katie!’ Lucy was belting out the front door, crunching the gravel, with a chubby toddler in purple dungarees following her on wobbly legs, and with shiny hair clips and a cute smile. Lucy looked just the part in riding boots, Alice band and a denim shirt over white jeans. Her cheeks were ruddy and Katie couldn’t help noticing how huge her pregnant belly was. Her hair was immaculate, like a celebrity’s. That’s new, thought Katie. Close by her heels was a fluffy terrier puppy. So she did buy the dog. Had she hired teams of stylists from Homes & Gardens who were now hiding in the bushes? Katie smiled and shook her head in disbelief at the beauty of the place.
‘Hi, darling; hi, Luce, how are you?’ She wrapped her arms around her friend and they both laughed as Lucy’s tummy got in the way. It was such an odd sensation; so familiar to see Lucy, yet Katie also felt like she was a witness in this scene, watching herself from some helicopter above.
‘Hey, nice car!’ Lucy laughed, raising her eyebrows.
‘Oh, yes it’s…’ Katie’s voice became quiet as she realised it was a joke. Why was Lucy taking the mickey out of the rental car?
‘My goodness,’ Katie changed the subject. ‘Look at this.’ She waved her hands theatrically around the grounds as the boys chased the puppy in the driveway and it barked excitedly.
‘Oh isn’t it gorgeous? Calm down, Shortbread!’ Lucy shouted at the dog. Shortbread? ‘I’ll show you round the house and the orchard later. We’ve got fifteen acres! More than our neighbours.’
Is somebody counting?
‘Some of you have grown!’ She ruffled James’s hair as he backed away from her. ‘Bit taller, but otherwise you all look the same, thank goodness!’
‘What did you expect, silly – hats with corks!’ Katie laughed.
Lucy took them into the kitchen and Katie stopped in her tracks. A dark blue Aga took pride of place under a brickwork chimney; there were Italian flagstone floors, a wooden farmhouse table covered with sandwiches, a quiche, a bowl of freshly cut sweet peas in a suspiciously hand-made vase. Her old chocolate-brown leather sofa was in the corner with magenta velvet cushions. French doors led onto the back patio where rainbow-coloured flowers all tumbled out of pots. Katie couldn’t stop staring. This was her dream… She shook herself. ‘It’s wonderful, Lucy, well done.’ Lucy beamed and started making tea.
She plonked a sleeping Rory in his car seat next to the Aga and gazed at the nitty-gritty of domestic life – then her heart did a little lurch: a photo of Adam was on the fridge door from their garden party… the party when his feelings for her first emerged…There was a glass of wine in his hand and he was laughing, staring straight at the camera, straight at her… Doctor’s phone numbers, photographs of naked toddlers in a paddling pool in the garden, shopping lists, curled Post-it Notes. Underwear draped over the back of the radiator. I can’t put my finger on it, she thought: yes, that’s it, it’s all so British. Is this what I want?
‘Katie? Your tea?’ She looked at Katie enquiringly.
‘Sorry, miles away.’ Katie reached out for the mug Lucy was handing her and breathed in the floral scent of Earl Grey. She stared at Rory, watched as his tiny fingers clasped the edge of the blue blanket with the shiny satin trim.
‘Come outside, I want to find out how you are.’
Katie grabbed the car seat and followed Lucy outside and they both sat down on the garden chairs. They were immaculate. Green and white stripy cushions on white painted furniture. Picture-perfect.
‘So?’ Lucy leaned in towards Katie and touched her hand.
‘Well. Where do I start?’ Katie shrugged and leant back. ‘I’ve come with Tom because his father’s ill; thought it was the least I could do.’
‘It was good of you to come, you know, considering.’
‘Yes I know but he’s the children’s grandfather, and I didn’t know if… well, I just thought it might make him better if he saw them and, maybe, give Tom and I time to talk.’
‘And have you?’
‘Not really.’ Katie pulled a few petals off a daisy Andy had given her.
‘We’ll be staying at Gramps’s next week, might be a chance to talk. Haven’t really wanted to, up till now. We’ve both just been living our own lives, letting it sink in, but with the pregnancy – well, we need to talk.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ Lucy squeezed Katie’s shoulder. ‘You know, I know you might not like me for saying this…’
‘What?’
‘It does take two, Katie, you know. I mean, you need to ask yourself why he did go off with Ann.’ Lucy looked at her and frowned. It wasn’t like Lucy to be so direct. Katie stood up, was about to put Lucy firmly in her place, when she had a flash of Adam on the beach and the air left her lungs as she sat back down. She just stared at the tiny white petals that had fallen onto the patio. ‘I know that too, but for him to have fathered someone else’s baby, Lucy, that takes it to another level.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Lucy quietly, looking down.
Katie looked across the patio and stared at a pair of Adam’s shoes lying on the terrace next to Lucy’s. Adam… Yes, takes two, she thought. Lucy must never know… but then again, I stopped; I didn’t take it too far. She stared at the shoes, cosy next to each other, their life, their children. Adam came home to her at night. Came home to their bed, their unity. Hadn’t messed everything up… been… She shook her head, felt her shoulders slump. And what did she have? A husband who was miles away, in more ways than one.
‘C’mon, I want to show you the vegetable patch,’ said Lucy, holding Katie’s hand and dragging her up to standing. ‘I’m trying to grow Romaine lettuce!’
James came running up just then. ‘Mum, look at Lucy’s veggie patch, she’s got zucchini.’
‘Oh, you mean courgette, sweetheart?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Never mind.’ She smiled.
Lucy and Katie wandered around the garden, with one or two of the boys joining them off and on, showing off her various vegetables, where the boundary was for the property. Her London friend had become quite knowledgeable about horticulture, talked of green tomato chutney, bandying about terms like ‘white fly’ and ‘early harvest’ like she used to order a vodka and lime at the pub. Katie smiled to herself.
‘You’re quite the lady of the manor, now, in your pink polka dot wellies, Lucy!’ Lucy smiled at Katie, showed her the old stable block; explained that there were plans to turn it into an office so Adam could work from home more, so he could be at home more.
She pointed to a paddock, said they might get a horse for Rosie one day, that at the moment they rented it out.
Later that afternoon Lucy was stirring the cheesy sauce for the macaroni, whilst Shortbread came running in and out of the kitchen, chasing a butterfly. It was a gloriously warm afternoon and the su
n was filtering in through the windows.
‘So, how is rural life, Luce?’
‘Great, yes, fine.’ She absent-mindedly pushed up her sunglasses over her head and twisted some black pepper into the sauce. Katie noticed they were Prada. Luce in Prada? ‘The house is just what I’ve always wanted. I’m so lucky… the kitchen is to-die-for – finally.’ She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘It has taken ages. I’ve spoken to quite a few school mums about the best flooring and taken my time with the kitchen; it’s top of the range.’ She looked at Katie expectantly. Katie found her mind drifting away, but nodded, didn’t want to offend her friend. A kitchen was a kitchen, wasn’t it?
‘Katie?’
‘Sorry, yes?’
‘Said it’s been such a lot of red tape to go through with the planning department. Don’t worry, I’ll have all the advice for you when you come back about what you should and shouldn’t do!’
There was that odd sensation in Katie’s stomach again: the feeling was a cross between pre-exam nerves and food poisoning. She stared ahead.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh nothing, no, all fine.’
‘Anyway, where do you think you’ll come back to? Somewhere around here, so we can see each other!’ Lucy turned round from the Aga, looked enquiringly at Katie.
Katie stared out of the kitchen windows, watched the leaves on the weeping willow turn upside down and dance in the wind; she could hear the children screech at the bottom of the garden.
‘Katie? You listening?’ Lucy punched her in the shoulder playfully. ‘I said we’re starting on the treehouse next week!’
‘A treehouse! You do make me laugh – a treehouse! Rosie won’t even be able to use it for at least another year!’
Lucy shot her a sideways glance. ‘Yeah, I know, but I’ve needed something to keep me busy, been a lot of lonely nights out here on my own; overseeing the designs, adding tiny touches like the curtains. It’s been quite enjoyable, really… but… Oh yes, and I’m making my own jam. Blackberry… can you believe it! And anyway, everyone round here has one.’
