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The Carer

Page 20

by Deborah Moggach


  Phoebe, however, was an outsider and thus uncontaminated. So her sketches were swept aside and replaced with files from Powys County Council. Robert was impressed. She even drove to Debenhams in Hereford and bought herself a suit. A suit.

  Robert shared this news with Connie, his new love. God, it was good to have a dog again. Spaniels were highly intelligent; Connie listened to him, head tilted, eyes bright, silky ears so seductive to his touch. She had instantly forgotten her previous master; she was now devoted to Robert and had become his one and only fan. When he sat at his laptop she pushed her head under the table and laid her chin on his knee, gazing at him as if he were Saul Bellow. It beat women any day.

  Phoebe

  Another weird thing was happening. Phoebe and her brother seemed to be swapping places. She now had a navy-blue suit and a solicitor boyfriend; it was Robert who was turning into an old hippie. Better late than never, she thought.

  He was certainly making up for lost time. His hair was longer and he’d grown a beard. He’d got a dog. He was still in his caravan; he’d given their father’s inheritance to his children, so they could survive in London. When he was not writing his novel – which might be unreadable, for all she knew – he sat on the step whittling wood. He was the happiest she’d ever known him.

  This might have been due to the pulling power of a man in a caravan, for her brother had become something of a pussy-magnet – his term, needless to say. What was it about confined spaces? No possessions, no memories, just the now. Huts, caravans, that tent where long ago she had one of the most intense experiences of her life. My little tent an every where.

  Robert seemed to be just as surprised as she was by the number of women making their way across his orchard. Only yesterday she’d seen a familiar car parked by the gate. It belonged to Pam, the quilt-maker.

  But at my back I always hear

  Times wingèd chariot hurrying near;

  And yonder all before us lie

  Deserts of vast eternity.

  Her father in the garden, reading aloud. Her mother, straightening up from her weeding and pushing the hair out of her face. That rare, dazzling smile. Just for him.

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