Heart's Ease

by Sarah Harrison

  Instead: ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed, ‘this is terrific.’

  ‘I think so. And I’m really glad you do.’

  ‘I really do. It’s a little gem, and the sea view makes it.’

  They dumped their loads on the floor and Honor opened the long window. ‘I could have a window box.’

  ‘You definitely could – you must.’

  Honor laughed, and Charity laughed too, not because anything was funny but because Honor’s laughter was a rare thing and her lightheartedness made her look prettier. I hardly know her, she thought. My little sister is an independent woman with a demanding job, a job not many people could do, and she has chosen this nice flat – but we’re no more than familiar strangers.

  This train of thought made her gruff. ‘You won’t be doing much cat-swinging – where are you going to put everything?’

  ‘There’s storage under the bed, and this dresser Ma and Pa bought for me.’

  ‘I suppose …’ Charity thought of the two cars, their boots still full of stuff.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Honor, ‘I’ll get rid of stuff if I need to, this is where I want to be.’

  When everything was in they did, in fact, manage to stow about two-thirds of it, and the rest they piled against the wall just inside the door.

  ‘You need bookshelves,’ said Charity. ‘Maybe I could give you some of those – housewarming present. I bet there are perfectly decent ones to be had in Barley’s yard.’ She mentioned the secondhand dealer so Honor would understand there would be no extravagance.

  ‘Maybe I could come with you,’ said Honor. ‘He has some good stuff.’

  They went the following morning and spent half an hour poking around happily. Ken Barley was a trusting soul who made a good enough living not to bother supervising when people were out in the yard. What were they going to do, scale the wall with a chest of drawers? And these were two of the nicest girls one could hope to meet. He hadn’t bargained with the haggling power of the taller one, who beat him down to forty quid on a good white wood bookcase. There again they hadn’t thought about whether it would fit in the car, he offered to drop it round that evening, and they were too well brought up not to offer something for that, so it all worked out in the end.

  The morning was nice enough that they sat by the open window. Honor had officially moved in now, this would be her first night here. The bookcase when it arrived would just fit to the right of the window, so although that half of the window wouldn’t be able to go right back, one of the shelves could double up as a bedside table.

  The sea glinted in the cold spring sunshine. The sentinel gull (Honor was sure it was always the same one) sat on his chimney pot. It was a moment of harmony between the sisters, so Charity saw no reason not to ask the question that was uppermost in her mind.

  ‘One drawback, you couldn’t have anyone to stay here.’

  ‘I shan’t mind that,’ said Honor. ‘I like my own company.’

  Charity kept her eyes on the gull. ‘How’s the social life?’

  ‘Quiet.’ Honor contained a smile. ‘Just as I like it.’

  ‘What about your Christmas guests?’

  ‘We had a good time.’

  Now Charity sent her sister a half-teasing, half-challenging look.

  ‘If you wanted to have them round again, they’d never make it up these stairs, would they?’

  ‘No. But I’ll see plenty of them.’

  Honor had in fact considered this, but the charm of the little flat had outweighed the inconvenience of the stairs. She loved her work and the special friends she’d made, but even she knew it would be unwise to run her life for their benefit. She took a quiet pride in that thanks to her, Mr Dawson and Avis had formed a friendship. She would go to them, as she always had, to see to their comfort and enjoy their company, but there were other things she wanted to do, things for herself. St Peter’s Salting was only a couple of hundred yards away, she would go there too, perhaps become involved. The little museum with its cafe, the bookshop, the masonic hall boasting shows and concerts – all were now within walking distance and she intended to make the most of them. She had taken charge of her future, and it opened out in front of her, busy and bright.

  ‘You’re sorted then. I’m pleased for you,’ said Charity. She was suddenly impelled to make this a fair exchange of information. ‘You know I was with a friend at Christmas too.’

  ‘I did hear something.’ Honor’s expression was sweet, attentive. ‘How did that go?’

  Charity cut to the chase. ‘He’s not much younger than your clients. Probably older than some of them.’

  ‘I bet that’s not the most important thing about him though,’ said Honor. ‘Is it?’

  The relief, and pleasure, of talking about Mac was so intense that Charity found it quite hard to stop, and had been going for about half an hour when she finally ran out of steam.

  ‘Sorry to bang on. Not like me.’

  ‘Not like you usually are,’ conceded Honor, ‘a different side of you, but this is all so wonderful! He sounds so lovely.’

  Charity wasn’t going to quibble about words. ‘He is.’

  ‘Are you what they call, you know, an item?’ Honor’s cheeks were a little pink, she thought she might have overstepped the mark, but Charity was past being coy.

  ‘We are, yes.’ She hadn’t mentioned what Mac did, his provenance – that could wait. But Honor was enraptured now.

  ‘If he’s not retired, what does he do?’

  She opted for the truth but not the whole truth. ‘He teaches.’

  Impulsively, Honor got up and leaned over her sister, putting her arms round her. The gentle hug was like the sunshine that poured through the window – natural, cheering, uplifting. Charity returned it cautiously.

  ‘Thanks … I ought to be going, and leave you to settle in.’

  ‘When do you go?’

  ‘Monday morning.’

  ‘Drop in if you want to, any time.’

  Driving back to Heart’s Ease, Charity considered that she might very well do that. And that in any case it was going to be nice to have Honor here to visit on future occasions. Not always to exchange confidences – she might have done too much of that already – but just to relax with. Charity was not good at relaxing, and hadn’t realized till now how easy her younger sister was to be with, what pleasant and undemanding company. Here there was no agenda. In her mind the little flat was already beginning to take on the aspect of a bolthole, a sanctuary.

  In the afternoon, after the roast which Marguerite cooked whenever there were more than just her and Hugh in the house, Charity walked with her father and Archie up to the Beacon. They walked in a companionable silence, their steps quiet on the pine needles and leaf mould. Once at the clifftop they sat down on the bench while the dog pottered and sniffed perilously close to the edge.

  ‘So,’ said Charity, ‘you and Ma are on your own at last.’

  ‘That’s how I see it,’ he said. ‘I’m not so sure about your mother.’

  ‘She’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Well of course she will, one gets used to anything in time. But she feels pretty bereft at the moment.’

  For the second time that day Charity thought what a blessing it was to have the sea in one’s sights – it gave you something to gaze at when broaching sensitive subjects.

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘We’re coming round to the idea’ – she felt her father huddle inside his coat, collecting himself – ‘that we’ll move.’

  She’d been half expecting this, had even perhaps provoked it, but it still came as a shock to hear the words. A shock that she stifled.

  ‘Have you discussed it? Covered all the angles?’

  ‘Pretty much. Your mother’s in favour in principle … She thinks it may be too soon.’

  ‘She may be right.’

  ‘I accept that, but the thing is’ – his tone became firmer – ‘we need to start moving in that direction, because rather
like the blue whale Daisy and I need plenty of time and space in which to turn ourselves round.’ He leaned forward and rose, catching Archie and clipping his lead.

  ‘I reckon by this time next year we’ll be somewhere else.’

  Twenty-Six

  One Saturday in late summer Bruno was with Sean in a wine bar in the Docklands. The wine bar was wittily named the Vino Veritas and was an improvement on their usual watering holes, if a touch poncey. They were sitting outside but under the awning, because the sun, unusually for a bank holiday weekend, was beating down. The place was buzzing, the decking walkways full of people, the Thames a-dazzle and alive with river traffic.

  Life was good for Bruno, and every swig of cold beer increased his sense of wellbeing. His friendship with Sean, put under strain by the living conditions last winter, had revived. Sean was a good bloke. Nobody made him give up his sofa, shit though it was, and now that he was out of there Bruno was properly grateful. They were able once again to have a few beers and some laughs.

  Fliss and Rob had been nothing short of epic. For the past seven months he’d been part of their household, and never a cross word. Sure, he’d been kept busy. The first thing Fliss had done was sit him down in the study so they could work out a schedule, taking into account his college timetable and study time. In between were his childminding duties. There was a moment back then when he thought it was all going to be too much, but he soon discovered that having his time strictly apportioned, combined with great living conditions, meant he was more effective. He decided to stop whingeing about the course and just get on with it. He kept up with the assignments, and was surprised how much he enjoyed his time with the kids. He didn’t drive, which might have been a drawback, but Fliss had taken that into consideration and joined the mums’ car pool, and he’d got used to the bus service between the schools and home. She told him she would be doing less of her charity work, so it was all pretty much of a shared operation. Rob had confessed himself over the moon about the whole thing, and confided as much one night at the pub.

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, nothing to do with you, but I was a bit worried. And I needn’t have been – I reckon she’s happier, much.’

  ‘She seems it,’ said Bruno, always mindful of overstepping the mark. His brother-in-law treated him as a mate, but one didn’t want to go too far.

  ‘My wife is a perfectionist …’ Rob was the tiniest bit pissed. ‘Everything has to be just so, you know? … and it usually is, you’ll have noticed. I thought she might break out in hives under this new regime, but well …’

  ‘It was her idea,’ Bruno reminded him.

  ‘Indeed!’ Robin slapped his shoulder. ‘Indeed it was … Another half?’

  The situation had changed, inevitably. Fliss had given up a little too much of the work, and if she wanted to take back even some of it she was going to need another full-time nanny. And with summer and the sap rising Bruno felt the need of a place of his own. He’d got a room in halls for September, so he’d be well placed to find something else local. For the time being he was still in Hampstead, showing the ropes to the new nanny Kirsten, a Scottish girl with a soft voice and firm views, less jolly than Ellie but perfect for the job. The children, especially Cissy, had made no bones about not wanting him to go, but Kirsten had taken all that in her stride and not been touchy.

  ‘We’ll shake down in no time, I’m no bad at football and I know more card games than you lot have had hot dinners. Do you like cooking, Cissy, have you ever made shortbread?’

  The idea of becoming cardsharps went some way towards mollifying the boys and although Cissy continued to follow Bruno around with spaniel eyes something told him she’d have no trouble transferring loyalties once he was gone. He’d hooked up with a girl called Isabella and a month later they still had plenty in common outside of the usual, so he was optimistic on all fronts. They were going to go Interrailing in the spring. He’d even mentioned her to Sean.

  He saw her now, swinging along towards them in her long skirt and biker boots, her pinkish-red hair in a bobbing cloud around her head.

  ‘Here she comes,’ he said. ‘That’s Izzie.’

  ‘That her?’ asked Sean. ‘Fuck me, you’re punching above your weight there, mate.’

  Felicity and Robin were having supper with the Lachelles. Unusually it was only Robin who’d known about the bit of local difficulty, he’d never mentioned it to Felicity and wasn’t even sure if Lilian had found out. Since then Anton had assured him it was over, forgotten, of no consequence! Well, maybe … He was glad if that was the case, because he’d been badly shaken. This evening a considerable amount of wine had been taken, so he and Fliss would be walking home, and the mood among the four friends was mellow. Anton leaned in to Robin.

  ‘Am I allowed to say that your wife is looking especially beautiful this evening?’

  ‘You already did. And no. Feel free.’

  Fliss exchanged a ‘what are they like?’ look with Lilian. They were at ease with each other and this was late in the evening.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll take that, especially today.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ said Lilian.

  ‘Because I feel like a bag of spanners,’ said Fliss. She’d heard the expression on the radio, and liked it, but it sounded so strange in her mouth that the others burst into fits of laughter.

  ‘What?’ She was baffled in the face of their hoots and snorts and gasps.

  ‘Oh Fliss …’ Lilian rose from her chair and swooped down to put her arms round her friend. ‘You can try all you like, you’ll never be one of the hoi polloi!’

  ‘What’s oyploy when it’s at home?’ asked Anton, and that started them all off again. When, after a further hour and another bottle, Fliss and Rob got out of the door and were strolling gently along, bumping against one another every other step, Rob said, ‘Anton was right, though.’ He began to sing, or rather to warble, ‘Darling, you look wonderful tonight …’

  ‘Well good. I just can’t imagine why.’

  Rob stopped, and when she stopped too, took both her hands. ‘I can.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  He studied her ardently, his lips pressed together like a child concentrating. Lifted her hands and lowered them again while she smiled back at him. The trouble was, she was always the most beautiful woman in any given company, but it was true that there was something – an added lustre, an inner glow, a sweet disorder … something along those lines …

  ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘scrub that. Words fail me.’

  They both began to laugh again, so that he found it quite difficult to kiss her, but succeeded in the end.

  Sex that night wasn’t a complete success, they were both a little too tired and a little too drunk. Rob came much too soon and Fliss not at all. But how sweet it was to fall asleep cosily spooned, snug as the petals of an artichoke. Each of them snored slightly, but the other didn’t notice. Kirsten heard as she went to get water from the bathroom, and noticed their door was wide open. Tutting pleasantly under her breath, she pulled the door to, discreetly, before going back to bed.

  The church fête was always on August bank holiday Monday, and the weather was traditionally bad. But this year the sun had beamed down from a cloudless blue sky all day long and it seemed as though everyone in the town was there. Honor had helped set up yesterday evening and early this morning, and manned the children’s tombola all afternoon. Her final contribution had been to act as Ken Barley’s ‘lovely assistant’ in the auction of produce for church funds.

  But she had loved every minute! Since living here in the town she had got to know so many people, and most of them had been here on the green today, so friendly and disposed to chat. Several of her clients were there, including Mr Dawson, pushed by Graham, and Avis on her walker, with a nice woman she described as ‘my oppo from the Essex days’. Honor was pleased to see that the four of them sat together in the tea tent, and that Graham appeared quite smiley and not at all obnoxious – perhaps he
was improving, or at least making an effort. Or it may have been Avis’s friend who in spite of being elderly herself was quite an eyeful, with spun-sugar hair and a twinkle in her eye.

  Honor’s life had opened up exponentially. These last months she had felt herself becoming a part of the lively Salting community. She’d joined things, gone to things, volunteered for things, and the various organisations were delighted to have someone young, energetic and personable on their team. The young man who ran the interactive events at the library had even asked her out for a drink, and she had gone! They were due to have a pub supper during the week, date to be decided – she supposed that this was in fact a date! But the thought didn’t fill her with anxiety as it might have done before. She had too much going on to be worried, fish and chips with Gerry just took its place in her busy calendar. Of course she had no idea how this new chapter affected her looks – how bright and pretty she appeared, as if she’d just shed a rather drab outer skin. She just knew she felt full of energy and enthusiasm and optimism.

  She didn’t get back to her flat until nearly eight o’clock. There was a message winking at her from the landline. Just for once she did hope it wasn’t a client needing her tonight at short notice, but just in case she didn’t (as she longed to) kick off her shoes before pressing the button. It was Charity.

  ‘Sis? Knowing the size of your flat, I imagine you’d have picked up if you were there. I just rang to tell you, we’ve done it. For further details phone back.’

  Once Charity and Mac had decided, they’d done it at once. It was frightening how quick and easy it was to get married. Afterwards they went to a pub opposite the register office. Mac said, ‘I don’t imagine we’re the first couple to sit here with this look on our faces.’

  ‘What look?’ she said, giving him his cue.