Family
Matters
Gillian Villiers
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Gillian Villiers
Chapter One
‘I’ve got just the job for you,’ Aunt Susie said.
Susie Ashbury was Hope’s godmother, not an aunt, but after so many years Hope found it hard to get out of the habit of calling her that.
‘But I’m not looking for a job,’ said Hope, bemused.
‘It’s just what you need. You can’t do anything about the shop at the moment and you need to get away from Brighton. A complete change of scenery will do you the world of good.’
Hope remembered her mother used to say how bossy Susie was. This was the first time she had experienced it herself.
‘But … I need to be here. To sort things out with the accountant and the solicitor and … and everyone.’ Hope shuddered. The legal wrangling was just one of the awful things about having a business that went wrong. Her lovely, exciting, vibrant shop, that Aladdin’s cave of cottons and silks and lace, was no more.
‘I’m sure you don’t need to be on hand for that. You’ll be amazed how much can be sorted out by phone, or even by e-mail. Far better to get away and keep yourself busy with something completely different.’
Hope allowed herself the glimmer of optimism. It would be lovely to escape, even if only for a while. When she had heard Aunt Susie’s – Susie’s – voice on the phone, she had expected an invite to stay for a week or two. A job was completely unexpected.
‘What kind of job?’ she said. She couldn’t help herself. She was interested.
‘Do you remember old Mr Jackson at Kirkside House? The large red sandstone place down by the church?’
‘Not really.’ Hope realised it was years since she had visited her godmother. Whilst her mother had been alive Susie had mostly come to them, and somehow after her death this pattern had continued. Susie enjoyed the contrast the south coast of England gave to her life in a quiet Scottish village. She had, of course, invited Hope to visit but the timing had never seemed quite right.
‘It’s a wonderful old house. A bit run-down now, of course, the poor dear can’t take care of it the way he used to and he doesn’t like to admit he needs help. Which he needs more than ever. He had a nasty fall last week and smashed his hip. It was a good thing, actually, although you don’t like to say that, do you? He’d been refusing to go in for the op for years, but this time they had to do it. He’s still in hospital at the moment but they say he’ll need to go to a nursing home for convalescence. He’s refusing point blank. He’s determined to go back to his own home.’ Even when Susie had something important to say, it took her a while to get to the point. She was so interested in the details of other people’s lives.
Hope found herself smiling as she listened. It was a while since she had smiled.
Susie continued, ‘A few of the neighbours would be happy to rally around and lend a hand, but to begin with he’s going to need more looking after than we can manage. He really needs someone around twenty-four hours a day, and that’s where you come in.’
‘Me?’ Hope was genuinely alarmed. She had been wondering if Susie was setting her up for a little house-sitting. She could cope with that. But looking after an elderly man? Nursing? She didn’t think so.
‘Yes. You wouldn’t need to nurse him or anything,’ said Susie, as though reading her mind. ‘The district nurses will come in regularly to check on him, change his dressings and so on. You would just need to look after him.’
‘But Susie, I don’t know anything about doing that. You and Mum trained as nurses, not me.’
‘I know, but you’ve got the right attitude, and that’s what counts. You’ll be a carer, not a nurse, and you’ve always been a very caring girl, Hope. A good girl.’
Hope wasn’t sure about that but decided not to argue right now.
‘I don’t know …’ Getting away from the mess of her life in Brighton was attractive, but did she really want to go so far away and live in a large house with an elderly invalid? ‘What would I have to do?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Susie breezily. ‘Cook his meals, keep him company. In return he would provide you with accommodation and a small salary. Didn’t you say you were having to give up your flat?’
‘Yes,’ said Hope looking about sadly. The flat was tiny but it was hers. She had had such great plans for it. ‘It’s on the same lease as the shop. I need to be out by the end of the month.’
‘This is ideal, then. Mr Jackson won’t be discharged for another five to seven days: ample time for you to get yourself up here. You do what you need to do, then let us know when to expect you. Simon and I are so looking forward to seeing more of you.’
‘I’ll need to think about it,’ said Hope, but somehow she knew the decision had already been made.
As Hope turned off the busy motorway onto the winding roads approaching St Ann’s Bridge, she felt a quiver of excitement in the pit of her stomach. Such green hills, so many trees, so few houses. This place was very different to the bustling streets of Brighton. It was like entering another world, a beautiful, peaceful one. She wondered why it had taken her so long to come back.
She drove slowly, partly because the roads were narrow and partly because she wasn’t entirely sure of her way. But partly, too, for the sheer pleasure of being here.
To her surprise and relief she found Aunt Susie’s house without too much difficulty. It was a large 1930s bungalow near the centre of the village. When Susie’s husband Simon had been the local doctor, the surgery had been attached to the house. She remembered Susie saying a new health centre had been built not long before Simon retired and his old surgery had been made into a guest wing. ‘Plenty of room for you to stay,’ she had said, during one of her many attempts to entice Hope north. ‘The children come and visit and say it’s very comfortable, but they’re not here as often as we’d like. Not that I’m complaining.’ And Susie had launched happily into accounts of the life of her three offspring. Hope had heard so much about them she felt she knew them well, despite not having seen them for ten years or more.
She parked the car carefully in the driveway. Before she had opened her door, Susie was hurrying towards her, arms outstretched.
‘Hope, darling, it’s lovely to see you.’ She gave her a hug, engulfing her in the familiar perfume. She was tiny, at least a head shorter than Hope, but she seemed to encircle the younger woman. Hope felt safe.
Uncle Simon arrived more slowly. He had put on weight and lost more hair since Hope had seen him last, at her mother’s funeral, but he was still the same solid, dependable Uncle Simon. He shook her hand and offered to help with her cases.
‘Don’t worry about those now,’ said Susie, tucking her arm through Hope’s and leading her up the steps to the front door. ‘I’m sure Hope wants to freshen herself up and then have a nice cup of tea. And I want to hear all her news.’
‘Do remember not everyone has your stamina,’ said her
husband wryly. ‘Hope has had a long drive. Perhaps she’d like a rest before the inquisition?’
‘Of course she won’t. A young thing like her? Why, in the old days I’d drive all the way south on my own and after a quick meal we’d be straight out to the theatre. Do you remember, dear? Your mother knew I missed things like that living out in the sticks here. We had such fun on my visits, didn’t we?’
‘We did,’ agreed Hope, feeling a lump in her throat. It was easy to forget those happy times when things had been so difficult for her mother towards the end. And Hope hadn’t been there for her as she should have been.
She allowed Susie to usher her inside and turned her thoughts determinedly towards this new life ahead.
‘How do you think she is?’ Susie asked her husband that evening as they settled down with their usual nightcaps. Simon had a very small whisky and Susie had one of her lovely herbal teas. She had tried to persuade him to try them, so far without success.
‘She’s looking very well,’ said Simon cautiously. Of course, as a retired GP, it was Hope’s health he thought of first. ‘Tired, naturally. I’m glad she’s taken herself off to bed early. Just what she needed.’
‘Yes, she’s better than I thought,’ agreed Susie. ‘She sounded so low when I spoke to her. Not surprising, with her so-called friend letting her down like that. I got the impression Hope put her heart and soul into the shop.’
‘Not to mention a fair amount of money,’ said Simon. ‘I wish we had been more involved in the setting up of the business. A partnership can be very risky, especially when one partner proves to be so unreliable.’
‘That’s behind her now,’ said Susie firmly. ‘We can’t change the past but we can help her pick up the pieces and look to the future. This little job with Mr Jackson is a very useful first step. I’ve got definite plans for Hope.’
‘Now, now, you promised you wouldn’t meddle.’ Simon frowned across at his wife.
She smiled brightly back. ‘I don’t meddle, dear. I just like to give a helping hand. After all, she is my goddaughter. Now our three are settled and off our hands I can give her my full attention.’
Simon groaned.
‘The first thing is to get her to know her roots,’ continued Susie, ignoring him. ‘I always told her mother I didn’t agree with keeping Hope away from Scotland. Elspeth did a good job of bringing her up more or less on her own, but a person likes to know where they come from. It grounds them. Yes, definitely, I think we should start with Hope’s family.’
‘I thought the whole point was that she doesn’t have any family,’ said Simon, looking confused.
‘No relatives left alive,’ agreed his wife, wondering for the umpteenth time why men were so obtuse. ‘But she’s got an awful lot of dead ones buried down in the kirkyard. She knows lots about her father’s family, but as far as I can tell, she doesn’t know anything about these ones.’
Susie thought of the tall, slight girl she had eventually enticed back to St Ann’s Bridge. She was a pretty thing, with her delicate features and long brown hair. She looked nothing like her mother at the same age, in either appearance or style. Poor Elspeth had always had such a buttoned-up appearance: neat and tidy skirts and blouses, never seen in slacks. Hope, too, seemed to prefer skirts, but hers were long, floaty affairs, no doubt made by the girl herself, from brightly-coloured soft material. Susie thought her own daughter, Sarah, would call it ‘the layered look’. It suited Hope but would probably be a little unusual up here.
Susie smiled. That was a good thing. She wanted people to notice her guest.
‘Tomorrow I’ll take her to the hospital to meet Mr Jackson,’ she said.
‘Now that is a good idea,’ said Simon. ‘Much better than graveyards.’
Susie ignored the criticism. ‘I wonder how she feels about dogs. I forgot to ask her. Mr Jackson will want Lucy back as soon as he gets home.’
‘Who’s looking after her?’
‘The Mackenzies. They are a nice family. They offered to have Lucy straight away and with their farm being next door to Kirkside it was the least disruption for the poor old thing. Did I not tell you that young Robbie Mackenzie got special permission from the hospital to take Lucy in for a visit? Now wasn’t that kind of him?’
‘Goodness, how times change. Imagine allowing a dog in a hospital!’
‘Hospitals are much more accommodating than in our day.’ Susie was delighted about that. The visit from Mr Jackson’s bearded collie had done him more good than anything else she could think of.
She nodded to herself and took a last sip of the lemon and ginger. ‘Yes, I think things are going rather well. And you know what, it wouldn’t be a bad thing if I introduced Hope to that nice Robbie Mackenzie tomorrow as well.’
‘Susie,’ said her husband. ‘No meddling, remember?’
She patted his hand. ‘As if I would.’ There was no point in trying to explain. Simon had never been able to understand the difference between meddling and giving people a nudge in the right direction.
Chapter Two
‘Families! Who needs them?’ thought Robbie Mackenzie as he headed out for his early morning jog. He certainly didn’t. All they did was nag nag nag.
OK, so he could see that Lucy, their foster dog, needed a walk, but he could do that when he got back. His mum knew he went too far and too fast when he ran. She thought he was crazy to do it, but it was his choice, wasn’t it? He could easily take old Lucy out for a stroll later, although his mother would more than likely have done so already. And probably enjoyed herself in the process. But she just couldn’t resist trying to organize everyone in sight.
His mother was bad, but his father was worse. Far worse.
He’d started again last night with, ‘I thought now you were back home we’d see more of you around the place. I don’t know why you needed to go and find yourself a job miles away; there’s plenty to do here.’
That was the problem. There wasn’t plenty to do on the Holm Farm. Yes, at certain times of year they were frantically busy, but the reality of the farm was it hardly made enough money to support two men, let alone three. And with Luke about to get married he would need to take a reasonable salary from the place. His father must realize there would be nothing left for Robbie, even if he had wanted to work there.
‘I trained in countryside management because that’s what I want to do,’ he had replied, trying to keep his tone mild. It was a real bonus that a job had come up so close to home. He had thought his parents would be pleased, for goodness sake. They’d moaned enough when he was based in the far north.
‘It was always your grandfather’s dream that you boys would take over the farm between you. That’s why he struggled to take on the extra land, build it up to what it is today, one of the biggest holdings in the area.’
‘It’s great what Grandad did,’ Robbie had said through gritted teeth. ‘But there still isn’t enough work for more than two people. First Grandad and you, now you and Luke.’
‘There is always more work to do on a farm,’ said his father gloomily. His wind-reddened face looked tired and Robbie realized the ginger hair was already turning white.
‘I’m happy to help out when I can, but you have to admit it, Dad, there isn’t enough money to give me a proper income, no matter how much work I do.’
‘That’s the point, isn’t it? Money is the only thing that matters these days. Whatever happened to working for the joy of it? You young people want to clock off at five and go gallivanting to the pub, or playing that fancy music you’re so interested in. I don’t call that work.’
Robbie had managed to extricate himself after that, but the conversation had depressed him. Nothing he did was ever right as far as his father was concerned. The man must have been born critical. He didn’t know how his brother could put up with working with him day in and day out.
He sighed and decided to concentrate on the track ahead of him and not the family he had left behind.
When he
returned an hour later he was in much better spirits, which just went to prove he had been right to go for a run.
‘Any breakfast going begging?’ he asked as he entered the kitchen. He could smell bacon so he knew there was.
‘It’s in the warming oven,’ said his mother, trying but failing to look annoyed. ‘Your father and brother ate half an hour ago and they’re back out to the dairy. You know I haven’t got all day to wait around and cook for you.’
‘Of course you haven’t,’ agreed Robbie, wiping his face with a towel. ‘But you know you love to do it.’
‘Hmm.’
Robbie retrieved a plate from the bottom of the Rayburn and inhaled appreciatively. It was laden with eggs and bacon, cooked tomato and beans. ‘This looks brilliant. You deserve a hug.’
His mother waved him away. ‘Wait until you’ve cleaned yourself up.’
‘Where’s Lucy?’
‘Asleep on the rug in the sitting room. I took her around the near field and that was about all she could manage, poor old thing.’
‘We should get a dog of our own, then you could take it for proper walks.’
‘I don’t have the time,’ said his mother, pretending to be grumpy. ‘At least Lucy only needs short walks. Which reminds me, I’ve a hundred and one things to do in the office and I still haven’t seen to the hens, I’d better get on. And shouldn’t you be heading off to work?’
‘I start at ten today,’ said Robbie, digging in happily to his food.
‘It’s no wonder your father doesn’t consider it a real job …’ muttered his mother as she headed out.
Robbie sighed. His father didn’t consider anything other than farming a real job. But Robbie loved his work as a countryside ranger. For most of the time he was entirely on his own, and if he was rostered to do educational sessions in schools, or take groups out for walks, then he was the one in charge. It was ideal.
What he loved best of all was playing the fiddle, but, despite what his father thought, he was sensible enough to realize he couldn’t make a living from that. He did, however, have one or two ideas about doing a bit more with his music. He hadn’t played seriously since he left college. Now he was back home, it was time to start practicing again and take it from there.
Family Matters Page 1