Family Divided

by Allen, Anne

  her own. If it ever happened she would definitely not be like her mother, who showed a distinct lack of maternal

  instinct. Telling herself it was all academic, as unless she found a partner there could be no children, her mind

  veered to the one potential candidate in her life. Andy.

  She was attracted to him and might have ended up in bed if it hadn’t been for his father but…would they be

  able to overcome their differences, including the stretch of water? Not allowing herself to go down that route,

  she swung her legs out of bed and stood up. Time to get a move on, she told herself. In more ways than one.

  Later the same morning, Charlotte received two phone calls. The first was from Martin Kite, the rector of St

  Martins.

  ‘Good morning, Charlotte. How did you get on with Mrs Vaudin? She told me you’d been round.’

  ‘Morning. Yes, it went well, she gave me a clear picture of events from her perspective. I’m beginning to agree

  with you about older people like nothing better than to talk about the past, particularly if it was later viewed as

  important. Do you have any more candidates for me?’

  ‘Yes, which is why I called. It’s a housebound lady who doesn’t get the chance to meet people much now and I

  think gets lonely, even though her husband is still alive. He’s a…difficult man and is very controlling so the lady

  has asked me to arrange any visit for when he’s out. Apparently, he plays euchre several times a week so it

  shouldn’t be difficult to find a mutually convenient time.’

  ‘Euchre? What’s that?’

  ‘Oh, a card game, extremely popular here, particularly with the older locals, and her husband plays on

  Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons. I wondered if this Wednesday would suit? Mrs Batiste has a

  chiropodist appointment this afternoon.’

  Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. Surely it couldn’t be?

  ‘Wednesday’s fine by me, Martin. And…and where does Mrs Batiste live?

  ‘In a big old farmhouse off La Route de Jerbourg. You can’t miss it, it’s called La Vielle Manoire. I’ll give you

  directions, but if you get lost just ask anyone where Harold and Maud Batiste live…’

  Charlotte felt lightheaded as she made a note of the address and how to find it. Not that she needed to write it

  down as no doubt Andy knew it off by heart. She was being handed the chance to enter the lion’s den itself. And

  all thanks to his unsuspecting wife.

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  She stood for a moment after disconnecting the call as first doubt and then fear crept in. Could she be stirring

  up the proverbial hornets’ nest? If Harold found her there, how would he react? Charlotte paced around the

  kitchen, her thoughts flying around, scattergun fashion. The ringing of the phone brought her to a halt.

  ‘Hi, Charlotte. It’s me. I just wondered how you are,’ Andy’s welcome voice echoed down the line.

  ‘I’m fine, but you’ll never guess what’s happened…’ she told him about the rector’s call.

  ‘Wow! What a turn up for the book. If you’ll excuse the pun,’ he said, sounding excited. ‘Fancy Aunt Maud

  offering to talk about the war. I didn’t realise she was compos mentis, to be honest. I did know she was pretty

  much housebound and her sight’s going. Haven’t seen her since I was a kid and that was only by accident when

  Dad and I were walking at Jerbourg one time. We were never invited round to their house, of course.’

  ‘I know it’s an absolutely brilliant opportunity, but do you think it’s safe? I don’t want to raise the alarm in

  Harold’s mind.’

  ‘Why should you? He’s not going to be there and even if he did meet you, he doesn’t know you’re connected

  to me in any way. As long as you mention Jeanne’s name it should be all right. In fact, I’d better call and bring her

  up to speed in case the rector or anyone else gets in touch.’

  Charlotte thought it over. ‘You could be right. I’ve built up this big bogeyman image of Harold in my mind and

  the thought of entering his personal space and talking to his wife seemed a bit unnerving. Silly, really, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, whatever Harold has or hasn’t done in the past, he’s not likely to present much of a threat now at 84.

  Come on, Charlotte, don’t be a wimp!’

  For a moment she saw red. ‘Hey, it’s not you who has to walk into the proverbial lion’s den! He may be 84 but

  apparently he’s still a big man. Remember I don’t have to do this. I’m not part of your…your family,’ she said

  sharply.

  His voice softened. ‘I’m sorry, Charlotte. That was crass of me. I wouldn’t dream of letting you put yourself at

  risk. From anyone or anything. But I genuinely think you’ll be quite safe. And there’s bound to be someone else

  there if Maud’s housebound. A carer or something. Please, Charlotte, this is such a great opportunity.’

  She let the anger melt away. Perhaps she had overreacted. And he was right, it was too good a chance to miss.

  ‘Oh, all right I’ll do it. I am intrigued by Maud and it will be fascinating to talk to someone who’s been married to

  a man everyone seems to dislike. But I’d still rather not meet him,’ she said, calm again. ‘I forgot to ask about

  your father. How is he?’

  ‘Better, thanks, though still in bed. He phoned to say Louisa is calling round later to do some manipulation on

  his spine, which is good of her. Look, once you’ve seen old Maud, you will phone me, won’t you? I’ll be on

  tenterhooks until you do. Can’t wait to hear what she’s got to say! Sorry, must go, a client’s arriving in a minute,

  will speak later. Bye.’

  Charlotte was left wondering if Andy’s interest in her might be more because of the valuable information she

  had fed him than her attraction as a woman. The unhappy thought deflated her earlier excitement and, too

  hyped up to settle, she threw on a jacket and walked to nearby Cambridge Park.

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  The grass was barely visible under a thick carpet of golden brown leaves turning crisp in the autumn air. She

  kicked through them as she had loved doing as a child. Slowly her head cleared and she decided, whatever was

  going on in Andy’s head – and heart – it was great luck Maud, of all people, had offered to talk to her. And she

  would not miss it for the world.

  By Tuesday Charlotte was on edge again. Not because of Maud, but because of her mother. Annette was due to

  hear the test results that morning and it had been agreed between them Charlotte would ring her at lunchtime.

  It was all very well her mother saying there was nothing to worry about, but she would not be much of a

  daughter if she didn’t. Settling down with a paperback, Charlotte managed to lose herself in the story for a

  couple of hours. She made a cup of coffee before phoning her mother, heart pounding a rapid tattoo in her chest.

  ‘Hello, Mother, how did it go with Dr Rowlands?’

  ‘Oh, hello, Charlotte. He didn’t say a great deal, except I’ll need to take some new medication and I should feel

  better soon. Nothing much to worry about, as I said.’ Her mother sounded flat, deflated. Charlotte wasn’t

  satisfied.

  ‘Did he say what the drugs were for? What’s the problem?’ She kept her voice light, neutral.

  ‘Well, you know what doctors are like, they come out with their long words and you don’t want to look as if

  you don’t understand. Something about my liver, but not serious,’ her mother replied in the same fla
t voice.

  Then she added briskly, ‘It was good of you to phone, Charlotte, but I simply must go now. Goodbye.’

  She stared at the phone long after her mother had clicked off. Something wasn’t right and she meant to find

  out what. When her mother had first been diagnosed with breast cancer she had researched the possibilities of

  it spreading. The liver was mentioned and it hadn’t been good. Worried now, she phoned Dr Rowland’s clinic.

  Eventually, after the usual hanging on, he answered.

  ‘Charlotte, my dear. I take it you’ve spoken to your mother? I’m sorry it was such bad news–’

  ‘Bad news? But she said it wasn’t serious! What exactly is wrong with her, Doctor?’ She felt her palms become

  clammy as she gripped the phone.

  He coughed. ‘I did explain it quite clearly to Lady Townsend and hoped she would tell you herself. But the

  truth is your mother has developed a particularly aggressive form of secondary liver cancer and the prognosis is

  not…good. We can treat the symptoms to an extent, but there’s no cure, I’m afraid.’

  Charlotte found herself losing her balance and sat down quickly.

  ‘Do you mean it’s…it’s terminal?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I think your mother has about a year to live. With luck.’

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  chapter eighteen

  Charlotte’s immediate instinct was to phone her mother and she started punching in the number. Before

  pressing the call button, she hesitated. Would it be better to simply turn up unannounced? Her mother would

  have to be honest with her face to face. Slumped in the chair, she felt the energy drain out of her body, leaving

  her frozen in inaction. She had asked Dr Rowlands if there was any chance of error in the diagnosis and he had

  said, in a kinder voice than usual, there was not. It appeared the cancer had been eating away for months,

  unnoticed. Or at least unreported by her mother. Making a big effort, Charlotte roused herself enough to make

  the necessary phone calls. After booking a flight to London, she rang Andy and explained about her mother.

  He sounded genuinely upset for her. ‘I’m so sorry, Charlotte. What a dreadful thing to happen. I had no idea

  your mother had been treated for cancer. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I’d hoped it was cured so there was no point mentioning it. You’ve enough on your plate as it is. But you do

  realise I need to go and see her? I’ve booked my flight for tomorrow morning. There’s not much I can actually do

  when I’m over there but I’d like to try and persuade Mother to consider alternative treatments. By the sound of

  it she has nothing to lose,’ her voice caught on a sob and she grabbed a tissue.

  ‘Of course you must see her and alternative treatments might be worth considering. Do you know someone in

  particular?’

  ‘I was wondering about Gillian, Malcolm’s girlfriend. She’s a qualified doctor but specialised in naturopathic

  and herbal medicine and Mother might be prepared to listen to her. There’s also Paul and his concoctions. If I

  can persuade her…’ she trailed off, painfully aware of how difficult it might prove.

  ‘Look, I know you’ll have a lot to do today, so can I take you to the airport tomorrow? It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, I’d appreciate it. If you could pick me up at ten, please.’

  After saying goodbye Charlotte rang the rector to say she couldn’t meet Mrs Batiste because she had to fly to

  England urgently for family reasons. He agreed to let the old lady know and would re-arrange a time on her

  return. Charlotte hoped this would be by the end of the week but…She then rang La Folie, asking to speak to

  either Louisa or Paul. Louisa was busy and she was put through to Paul. She told him what had happened and

  asked if he thought he could help.

  ‘To be honest, Charlotte, I’ve not worked specifically with cancer patients, but I know people who have. I

  don’t think anyone would make any promises but it could be worth a try. Let me look into it and I’ll get back to

  you. Are you going to suggest your mother comes to La Folie? If so I can check if we have a spare room.’

  ‘Ideally I’d like her to come, yes. If you could check, please.’

  The line went quiet for a minute.

  ‘We could fit her in either next week or the following. Or both, of course. I’ll hold them for you if you could

  confirm one way or another within 48 hours.’

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  ‘Brilliant. Thanks, Paul. I'll get back to you.’ She then rang Malcolm, explaining about her mother and asking if

  he thought Gillian might be willing to help. After expressing his shock about her mother’s illness, he said he

  would talk to Gillian and get back to her.

  The phone calls left her feeling a little less helpless. She was doing what she could and everyone was so kind

  and willing to help, surely it was a good omen. And now it was time to pack.

  It was a relief to Charlotte to finally board the plane on Wednesday morning. The process of talking to different

  people and repeating the same story had prompted an emotional breakdown and Charlotte had cried herself to

  sleep the previous night. It occurred to her she had been initially too shocked to grasp the full implications of

  what Dr Rowlands had said but it sank in over the repeated tellings. Her mother was going to die, probably in

  less than a year, unless there was a miracle.

  Gillian had called during the evening and had been both supportive and helpful. She was willing to help in any

  way, but offered no guarantees.

  ‘There are some brilliant natural treatments we can use and I’ve known patients go into long-term remission.

  A lot depends on your mother’s general state of health and how much she’s prepared to help herself, including a

  change of diet. But it might be we can only offer palliative care and prolong her life for a year or two,’ Gillian said

  gently. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be more definite until I’ve examined her.’

  Charlotte had thanked her, her heart feeling like a lump of lead filling her chest.

  Now, with the plane taxiing along the tarmac towards the runway, she acknowledged the fear she might, in a

  matter of months, be truly alone. An orphan, without a partner for emotional support. Closing her eyes, she

  allowed herself the one tiny ray of hope – Gillian’s treatments. And Andy’s goodbye kiss had been so passionate

  at the time, everything else had fled from her mind and all that mattered was being in his arms. The image was

  firmly imprinted like a photograph in her mind’s eye and she hugged it to herself during the flight. To her

  surprise and delight he had offered to fly over to join her if needed, but Charlotte knew it was better if she

  handled her mother alone.

  After arriving in Gatwick she headed to her home in Bloomsbury, keen to catch up with the housekeeper, Mrs

  Thomas, and to collect some clothes. She had phoned ahead to explain why she would be in London and Mrs

  Thomas proved to be a brick, fussing over Charlotte and insisting she take a long, soothing bath while lunch was

  prepared. Happy to agree she felt renewed by the time she was dressed and downstairs again.

  Mrs Thomas had set out a mixed salad and plate of crusty bread in the breakfast room and brought in a fresh

  pot of tea.

  ‘Lady Townsend arrived on Sunday, without any warning as usual, Madam, not mentioning why she was in

  London. I did think she looked a bit peaky and made sure she had a good breakfast
before she left, although she

  only picked at it. Your mother did ask when you were expected home and I said I didn’t know.’

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  Charlotte sighed. ‘Thank you for looking after her, Mrs Thomas. I know Mother still thinks of this house as her

  own London residence, which of course it was when Daddy was alive. I don’t think she’s likely to change now.

  This looks lovely, by the way. While I’m eating I’d be grateful if you’d pack the clothes I’ve left out on my bed as I

  plan to drive up after lunch.’

  ‘Certainly, Madam. Do you know when you might be returning?’

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘It depends on Mother. I’ll ring you.’

  Mrs Thomas left and Charlotte ate her lunch, enjoying the stillness of the sunny room which had always been

  her favourite. Designed to catch the morning sun, it was more intimate than the formal dining room on the next

  floor, now rarely used. Sitting at the round mahogany table she could see out to the garden, the autumn

  sunshine creating shades of light and dark. A man came in regularly to keep it in shape and she noted, with

  approval, how neat the lawn and shrubs were. The garden was generous for London but small by comparison

  with the family’s country home and Lady Townsend had insisted it be maintained to her own high standards,

  taking a particular interest in the rose bushes, always her favourites. Charlotte guessed her mother would have

  been on a tour of inspection while here, passing on to Mrs Thomas any instructions for the gardener. It was

  bittersweet to think her mother might not be laying claim to the house for much longer. With this thought she

  finished eating and checked on Mrs Thomas.

  Her case was packed as neatly and efficiently as ever and Mrs Thomas had called the garage to bring the car

  around. In this part of town, the houses did not have their own garages and Charlotte’s car was kept in

  commercial garaging when she was away. An arrangement set up by her father. Once the boot of the Jaguar was

  loaded she headed out of London to pick up the M3 to Frome, feeling anything but keen to arrive.