The Garden House

by Marcia Willett

  As they order coffee and choose cakes, he thinks about El. She needs either some kind of resolution to this mystery in her father’s life, or to be able to make the decision that it’s none of her business and to move on from it.

  As he looks across the table at her, at her pretty face with her red-brown curling hair piled high into a knot, her blue eyes bright at the prospect of their walk in the gardens, he feels that he would like to protect her from all these unknowns. He remembers how she was in the little building beside the Moulin Rouge, her distress and confusion, and he wants to say: ‘Look, why don’t we give all this up? Let’s just move on with our lives. Show me Dartmoor and all the places that you love, but let’s leave all this to them.’ But how can he do that?

  ‘OK,’ he says, smiling at her. ‘So where shall we start?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  In Tavistock, Kate and Angus are already in the Bedford when Tom and Cass arrive. Cass makes a face behind Tom’s back as he gives Kate a hug and she grins back at her old friend. The face indicates that Tom is in a grumpy mood and will need a bit of jollying along.

  ‘Plum’s down,’ Angus is telling them as they settle around a table. ‘She’ll be along in a minute. I think we’ll commandeer this next table and two more chairs or there won’t be room. Shall I get an order in?’

  ‘I’ll come and help,’ says Kate. ‘Isn’t the little Christmas tree pretty? Did you notice the big tree out in the hall, Tom?’

  Tom shakes his head: no, he hasn’t noticed the Christmas tree. Clearly he isn’t yet in Christmas mode. His mood is in direct contrast with Angus’s cheerfulness and Kate smiles at him as they wait to order at the bar. There’s something so comforting about Angus, so dependable.

  ‘I hope you’re coming to my party,’ he says to her. ‘No excuses. Drinks and bit of supper, then off to Midnight Mass. Plum and Ian and the girls will be down. And probably El. Now don’t tell me that you’re going to stay down on that old rock of yours with what’s-his-name.’

  ‘His name’s Bruno,’ says Kate, ‘as you know perfectly well. And yes, that’s probably exactly where I’ll be. Though I’m coming up for the party with all the kids on the Tamar on Boxing Day.’

  Angus shakes his head, guying profound disappointment. ‘Won’t be the same without you.’

  Kate reaches up to put an arm around his bony shoulders. ‘But think of all the fun we’ll have when everyone’s gone home and I come to stay with you, just the two of us together.’

  Angus gives a great shout of laughter, surprising Lynn behind the bar, and Kate has to remind him about the order.

  ‘What are you up to?’ asks Cass when Kate gets back to the table. ‘I saw you making up to Angus. Not getting fed up with Bruno, are you?’

  ‘You know what you always used to say to me,’ says Kate, sitting down beside her. ‘It’s always good to have a reserve. Where’s Tom gone?’

  ‘He’s in the loo,’ says Cass. ‘Do you mind if we come back to the cottage afterwards, Kate? He’d like to have another look. Maybe he’ll think it’s too small.’

  Kate notices the faint note of hope in Cass’s voice and shakes her head.

  ‘You know that you’ve got to do this, Cass. You’re just not managing there any more. Go while you’re ahead. You needn’t be at the cottage for long,’ she reminds her. ‘It’s just a resting place so you don’t have to be rushed into buying something. It’ll give you time to think without pressure. And think of all the lovely money you’ll be getting for the Rectory.’ Kate pauses. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I know this is making me sound heartless, but I’m not really. I’m trying to be realistic.’

  ‘I know that,’ says Cass. ‘And I’m coming round to it slowly, although it’s such a massive upheaval I simply dread the thought of it.’

  ‘The boys will help you,’ says Kate encouragingly. ‘Everyone will rally round.’

  ‘Here’s Plum,’ says Cass. ‘I’m so glad she and Ian and the girls are coming down for Christmas.’

  ‘Angus is like a schoolboy,’ says Kate affectionately. ‘He is just so happy.’

  She stands up to hug Plum, thinking of their conversation, and they pull up another chair. Tom joins them and greets Plum whilst Kate watches them, remembering all these friends when they were young and wondering where all the years have gone.

  She’s sipping her coffee, listening to Tom telling her a dit when she notices Plum straighten in her chair, her expression changing to an odd mixture of surprise and anxiety. Instinctively Kate glances round. Standing just inside the entrance to the bar is Issy.

  * * *

  Isla gives a little inward chuckle. Here they all are, as she suspected they might be. These are creatures of habit, seeking reassurance in the little routines of their lives. Plum’s old dad in his white Aran jersey and cord trousers, the couple whose names she is struggling to remember; pretty woman, and the man is one of those who still likes to be thought a bit of a rake, despite his age. Kate – she remembers Kate’s name. She has a tiny sensation of disquiet when she remembers Kate’s assessing look. And there is Plum: pretty, darling Plum. Her hair is pushed back behind her ears, just like she used to wear it at school, although back then she would have worn a velvet Alice band. Even as Isla looks at her, Plum sees her. Isla waves at her and crosses towards them all.

  ‘Hello,’ she cries brightly. ‘I just wondered if you might be here. I’ve been buying Christmas presents in the Pannier Market and I decided to take a chance and walk over to see if any of you were around.’

  She smiles round at them all, holding her big heavy bag, noting their reactions: Angus and the other man getting to their feet, the pretty woman smiling in a welcoming manner, Plum recovering from her surprise and getting up too. Only Kate remains still and watchful, with that odd expression that Isla mistrusts, though she doesn’t quite know why. She makes all the right noises as they shuffle around to fit her in and Angus goes to order coffee for her. ‘That’s so kind,’ she says to him, and, ‘Oh, thank you,’ to the other man, as he offers to relieve her of the heavy shopping bag, and then a kiss for Plum. She sits down beside her, asks about Ian and the girls, doing the old school chum act whilst glancing around so as to include them all. Angus comes back to the table and squeezes into the chair beside her so that she is able to start a conversation with him about Christmas, and in the talk that follows she is able to discover that the other couple are called Cass and Tom. When her coffee arrives, Isla raises the cup in a toast to them all, crying, ‘Happy Christmas. Only two weeks to go,’ and watches them all respond, smiling, happy, talking about their plans, and she wonders what they’d say if she said, ‘It all sounds great. How about if I were to come and join you?’

  She has to stifle a moment of bitterness as she imagines their expressions, how they would respond, which, she is pretty certain, would be in a very predictable and polite way whilst feeling dismayed inside. Instead she smiles at Plum, noticing that she hasn’t asked her dear old friend Issy what she’s doing for Christmas, and asks if she’s found anywhere to live yet.

  Plum looks slightly awkward and shakes her head. ‘I think we’ll just stay with Dad to begin with,’ she says. ‘Just to see how it goes.’

  Isla raises her eyebrows fractionally, as if she’s questioning whether this is wise, and Plum hurries in to explain that there’s the flat in London and the ship won’t be in that often, and Isla smiles at her. It always amuses her that people need to rush to justify their reasons, defend their choices. She listens to Plum’s explanations and nods understandingly.

  ‘What are you doing afterwards?’ she asks. ‘Could you manage lunch?’

  Plum hesitates, glancing around as if hoping someone will come to her rescue, but the others are talking together and she nods, though not very enthusiastically.

  ‘Great,’ Isla says. ‘I’m just going to dash to the loo. Shan’t be long.’

  She gets up and goes out of the bar, along the passage to the ladies’ lavatories. She’s washin
g her hands when Kate comes in behind her. They look at each other through the mirror over the basin and for a moment Isla stands quite still, allowing the water to trickle over her hands, staring at the older woman. Kate smiles at her.

  ‘She’s such a pretty girl, isn’t she?’ she asks.

  Isla’s stomach contracts and her heart speeds a little.

  ‘Plum,’ says Kate, as if in explanation. ‘I could see by the expression on your face when you first arrived how very … how shall we say, how very fond you are of her.’

  Isla knows that in some oblique way she is being threatened, that Kate has guessed her true feelings for Plum, and she might not keep her conjectures a secret. Kate nods, as if she knows what Isla is thinking, and then goes into one of the cubicles and locks the door. Isla grabs a tissue from the box and dries her hands and then she hurries out.

  * * *

  When Kate comes out of the loo, Issy has gone. Kate washes her hands and dries them, frowning to herself, wondering if she has judged the situation correctly, and if she has done enough. She walks back into the bar. Tom and Angus are at the bar, Cass and Plum are sitting together. Kate raises her eyebrows.

  ‘Where’s Issy?’

  ‘Well, it was a bit odd,’ Cass says. ‘She came back saying she’d had a text and had to rush. So she picked up her bag and fled away.’

  ‘What a pity,’ says Kate, glancing at Plum. ‘So you won’t be having lunch then?’

  ‘No,’ says Plum.

  She looks puzzled but relieved, and Kate sits down beside her. Cass has taken out her phone and is checking for messages.

  ‘So now you can have lunch with us,’ says Kate cheerfully. ‘Much nicer.’

  Cass puts away her phone and begins to ask Plum about Alice and how she’s enjoying working in a literary agency. Kate can see that Plum is distracted from her worries about Issy by this question and soon she is happily talking about her girls. Angus and Tom are coming back and Kate breathes a sigh of relief. For now, at least, the danger is over.

  * * *

  It’s been a magical day for Will. Several times he’s almost allowed himself to move away from the kind, reliable friend that he’s been since the funeral and to push the relationship forward. He knows that he’s well into being in love with El, that he’d like to make some sort of gesture to show her what he’s feeling. He’s inhibited by the precarious state of her emotions, doesn’t want to make a false move, but all the evidence is that she’s feeling the same. It shows in the way that she talks with him, sharing all her thoughts and feelings, the way she touches him so readily, putting her arm in his, grabbing his hand, leaning against him. After they left The Garden House she drove him to Meavy where they had a ploughman’s lunch in the Royal Oak, which, she told him, was her father’s favourite pub. Then they’d driven out to the cross, where they walked together before the short winter day drove them home to light the fire.

  It was a shock, when he mentioned the cross to El, to find that she knew about it, that Martin had a keen interest in all the moorland stones and crosses, and they walked there many times. El googled it and they were amazed to see that it was called Bennett’s Cross, that it was documented in 1702 as part of a boundary dispute, and re-erected in the late nineteenth century.

  ‘It says the initials W. B. are carved into it,’ she said, beginning to laugh. ‘They stand for Warren Bounds but apparently they’ve been blasted off by lightning.’

  ‘W. B.?’ Will could hardly believe it. ‘Will Bennett. Well, that settles it. I’ve got to take you to see it again.’

  Somehow with El beside him, the cross was simply a stone, a prehistoric menhir, perhaps, Christianized at a much later date. But it was good to stand there together, running their fingers over the rough granite, trying, without success, to find the initials W. B.

  Now, El is clearing up after supper and Will is piling plates together and trying to be helpful.

  ‘So I’m thinking of going to Angus’s drinks party and then to Midnight Mass afterwards. I did it last year with Pa. Angus enjoys a little party, and Plum and Ian were still in Washington then. Cass and Tom came as well. It will be fun with Plum and Ian and the girls home.’ She hesitates. ‘What do you usually do at Christmas?’

  Will pauses, half leaning, half sitting on the end of the table, trying to decipher her words. Are they an invitation or are they simply an enquiry about his Christmas in return?

  ‘It all depends on what my flying rota is,’ he says, deciding to answer her question pragmatically. ‘You won’t be going…?’

  He hesitates over the word ‘home’, which to El clearly means the Pig Pen, and doesn’t know quite how to phrase their joint family. The last thing he wants to do at the moment is to emphasize this ambivalent side of their relationship.

  She glances across at him. ‘I shan’t be going to Dorchester for Christmas,’ she says firmly. ‘Though I shall probably go at New Year. Freddie thinks he might be going then, which would be good.’

  Will nods, trying to imagine them all together, telling Felicity that he is in love with El. Instinctively he recoils from the conversation, knowing just how El’s mother will react: wincing inwardly as he remembers the disastrous New Year when he took Christian home to meet his family.

  ‘Are you sure you won’t have a drink?’ El is asking, holding up a bottle of white wine, pouring some more into her own glass.

  Will shakes his head. ‘I’m flying tomorrow,’ he says. ‘I never drink before I fly. I need to be up early.’

  She nods, smiles at him, and then suddenly looks puzzled, even sad. It’s such an odd expression, so bleak, and such a sudden change from her happy mood, that it tips him over the edge of caution. He steps forward, removes the bottle from her hand, stands it down and folds her into his arms. She stares up at him, taken by surprise, and he bends his head to kiss her and when she instinctively responds he holds her even more closely, really kissing her. Just for a moment, her mouth opens under his, her hands sliding around his waist, and then she’s fighting him, turning her head away.

  ‘No,’ she says, ‘no. What are you doing? Stop it, Will!’

  He lets her go, staring at her, shocked by this sudden rejection.

  She begins to weep inconsolably, then she pushes him aside, hurrying away down the stairs, and he hears her bedroom door slam. Hardly able to believe what has happened, Will stares after her. Then, because he must, he descends the stairs until he stands, one hand resting on the door handle, his forehead pressed to the smooth white wood of the door, listening to her weeping.

  ‘El,’ he calls. ‘El. Come out.’

  There is no response. And he waits, confused. He wonders if he should go to her: but how can he? How could he just open her door and walk in? He is hurt by her rejection, but even worse is his shame that he has tried to force her into something she isn’t ready for. He has completely misread the situation. He should have understood that she’s still emotionally on a roller coaster.

  Will goes into his room wondering what to do: nothing has prepared him for this. Clearly he can’t stay here. What should he do? Calmly finish clearing up the supper and go to bed? Make her a cup of tea? Will shakes his head. No way could he do that. He remembers that he is flying tomorrow, that he must make an early start. On an impulse he stuffs his belongings into his bag, glances round the room and the bathroom and checks his pocket for his phone. He pauses as he takes off Martin’s gilet, staring at it, wondering if his wearing it has triggered off memories for El. Then he hangs it on a peg in the hall and goes out, closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  El hears the powerful engine roaring into life, revving hard as the car accelerates away. She sits on the edge of her bed, her hands clasped tightly between her knees, physically preventing herself from leaping up. She wants to rush out, to call him back, although she knows that it’s much too late. She’s regretting her violent response but at the same time so many emotions jumble around in her mind that she needs time to separate
them and think clearly.

  One of her overriding feelings is shame: shame and embarrassment. She remembers going into Will’s room the night she had the bad dream, climbing on to his bed. She thinks of the easy way she’s behaved with him, and she cringes with horror that he might have thought that she was coming on to him. Whilst she can tell herself that she imagined that their odd relationship – and that Will is gay – was a protection against any suspicion on his part that she fancied him, in her heart she also knows that she is very attracted to him. She can recall his first morning, after he’d driven down from Bristol, when he fell asleep across his bed and she stood at his bedroom door looking at the long length of him lying across his bed and thought what a waste it was that he should be gay. She thinks of those weird stabs of jealousy when he bought the pottery for Christian, and she knows that it’s cheating to be angry with him for kissing her. The stepbrother and -sister relationship has been another part of the muddle, but now a deep instinct tells her that all these emotions have been a useful shield to protect her from her own reactions to him, and she feels utterly ashamed that she’s used that shield because she’s wanted him to be here with her, to help her through this awful time.

  But there was something much more than that. Just before that moment when Will kissed her she’d been prey to a sudden, terrible sense of guilt. She thought: Pa is dead and I am laughing. I’m having a great time with Will, behaving as if Pa’s life was some sort of game, and Will and I are replaying it for fun. Pa is dead and I am happy. And it was at that moment, as Will put his arms around her, she realized that he was still wearing Pa’s gilet. It was almost as if she were hugging Pa and it had taken her totally off guard. Will’s kiss had completed her confusion. And now what can she say to him? How can she possibly explain her reasons? What must he be thinking of her?