The bedroom, situated at the back of the house, looked onto the river. Skimming her eyes across the still water, her gaze rested on the distant rise of the Yorkshire Wolds where a tiny strand of blue sky caught her eye, lifting her spirits a notch. She moved away from the window and went along the landing to the bathroom where she managed to coax a temperamental flow of warm water from the antiquated shower fittings. The plumbing in the whole house needed updating. Her list of things to do was growing daily. At some stage, she would have to discuss with Will about finances for necessary improvements to the house, though, for now, the cleaning blitz would have to do. If her stay was to be permanent, maybe she would redecorate her dingy bedroom.
The bedroom Isabel had occupied overlooked the front of the house and was in reasonable condition, but it would have to be totally refurbished. But then, her sister might return with Michael (a thought forever on Fran’s mind) so it would be left in abeyance. Michael’s room was now devoid of any personal touches, except for marks on the walls left from hanging pictures and posters. Sometimes, she wandered into the room hoping for the feel of his presence; often, she would stand in the centre of the room with her eyes closed, conjuring up his smiling face. But nothing in the room reached out to her. It was as if he’d never been here.
Mentally, she shook herself as she stepped from the shower. She must try to stop dwelling on the past and think positively. She felt guilty about Nancy who had been caught up in this tangled web. Until the phone call the previous night, Fran hadn’t realised the woman’s loyalty to her. Suffering a pulled muscle, which affected her shoulder and arm, Nancy’s sole concern was not to let Fran down. So, she had recruited a replacement, Tina, her young lodger. Though, Fran got the feeling that Tina disapproved of Nancy working so hard and Fran had to agree with her.
Dressing in comfortable slacks and a short-sleeved blouse, Fran went downstairs to the kitchen where she made a breakfast of tea and toast for her and Will. Neither of them spoke much. She sat alone at the table while Will sat in his chair staring, as usual, into the fire. Cleaning out the grate and making the fire each day was Will’s only contribution to household tasks. Fran looked away from her father and sighed, her words forming, unsaid, Yes, Dad, I miss Michael too.
A knock on the door interrupted Fran’s sad thoughts. ‘That will probably be Tina,’ she said to Will, but he didn’t give any sign of acknowledgement. She composed her face, she hoped, into a welcoming smile and went to open the door. Tina was not what she expected, though she had no preconceived idea. But the sight of this petite young woman with spiky, bright-red hair, dressed in a black skirt and a daffodil yellow jumper, warmed Fran’s heart. She was like a splash of welcome sunlight on this miserable grey day. ‘You must be Tina,’ she greeted her. ‘I’m Fran. Come in.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Tina, stepping over the threshold, surprised. She had expected to see a much older woman, not one looking so slim with shoulder-length blonde hair. There were dark smudges under her sad looking eyes and Tina couldn’t guess her age, maybe younger than she appeared. Nancy had warned her that Fran was a work-alcoholic. Better jump to it. ‘Right, where do you want me to start?’
Taken aback by the girl’s eagerness, Fran laughed spontaneously. ‘You’re keen.’
Tina laughed in response. ‘You’d better make the most of me while I’m here.’
At the sound of their laughter, Will turned in his chair and stared at Tina. Then he blurted out, ‘What have you done to your hair?’
Tina and Fran both jolted into silence gaped at him.
Will became agitated, cheeks flushed, his gaze still fixed on Tina. He spoke again, this time in a much louder, harsher voice. ‘I said, Frances, what have you done to your hair?’
Fran frowned at Will’s confusion and, standing slightly behind Tina, felt the girl tremble. Will’s flush grew redder, spreading to his whole face and down to his scrawny neck.
Fran hurried to Will’s side. ‘Dad, what’s the matter with you?’ she said, resting calming hands on his arm, not sure what had caused his outburst.
His eyes wandered from Tina to Fran, bewilderment etching his face. Now, his voice barely audible, he said, ‘But she’s you. I don’t understand.’
Fran put a cool hand on Will’s forehead. He was burning to her touch. ‘Come and have a lie down, Dad,’ she said, soothingly. She helped him to his feet and said to Tina, who had not moved or uttered a word, ‘I’m sorry about this. I won’t be long.’
Fran sat by Will’s bedside, listening to his laboured breathing and wishing he would give up smoking. Michael’s departure had hit Will harder than he realised. She felt ashamed for being so wrapped up in her misery and self-pity that she failed to see her father’s unhappiness. But what had caused his sudden flare-up, she had no idea. He seemed confused, mistaking Tina for her.
She glanced at the gilt-framed photograph of her mother on the bedside table, a young beautiful Agnes with flowing auburn hair, laughing green eyes and smiling. She could see why her father and married her, but beneath that loveliness had been a hard heart. Fran stared at the photo, she had never really known her mother, never understood her hateful attitude. How could she love one daughter and not the other? These questions had never been answered. Will moved restlessly in his sleep and Fran wondered if he knew the answers.
Agnes, who said she had no living relatives, came from the Yorkshire Dales to work as housekeeper for Will and his aged father. Before the year was out, they had married and a year later Isabel was born. Then, eleven years later, Fran was born. ‘You were a mistake!’ Agnes would often yell at her when angry. Fran would seek refuge in Will’s arms, but he could never explain why she was a mistake, only saying, ‘You must make allowance for your mother.’ But she never knew what he meant.
Fran went down stairs and telephoned the surgery and then went back into the kitchen. Tina had washed and dried the breakfast dishes and tidied up the kitchen, and was now sorting through a pile of old newspapers.
‘I could take the unwanted ones to the scout hut,’ Tina offered, not meeting Fran’s eye.
Sensing the girl’s uneasiness, Fran replied, calmly, ‘That is kind of you, Tina, maybe later. First, I’ll put the kettle on and we’ll have a coffee. You’ll find the biscuit tin in the dresser.’
Fran placed two mugs of steaming coffee on the kitchen table and sat opposite Tina, who had taken the lid off the biscuit tin. ‘My, you’ve got a good selection,’ she said, cheerfully.
‘Help yourself.’ Fran smiled, liking the girl. ‘Tina,’ Fran said, tentatively.
‘Yes.’ She didn’t look up but studied the intricate pattern of a custard cream biscuit.
‘I’m sorry about my father’s behaviour. I’m afraid he’s not himself. He’s missing his grandson very much. He’s not really thinking what he’s saying, hence the confusion.’ Fran took a sip of the hot, revitalising liquid and said, ‘As for your hair …’
‘I’m not changing it,’ Tina interrupted, biting on the biscuit.
Fran laughed, feeling the tension slip from her wound-up body. ‘That’s just it. I like your hair the way it is.’ She nearly added, ‘it’s decorative’, but that would be patronising.
Tina nearly choked on the biscuit. Then, thinking how much Nancy needed this job, she cleared her throat, took a gulp of coffee, then said, ‘I’m sorry, I was rude.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get on just fine. Now, seeing that Dad is out of the kitchen, for the morning at least, we’ll make a start in here.’ Fran glanced around the room at the dull-green-painted walls and the wooden dresser in two shades of cream that had yellowed to burnt umber over the years. The bare window over the sink begged for some form of embellishment, perhaps curtains or a practical blind? She closed her eyes for a second and wondered, fleetingly, why Isabel had not maintained the house properly. Opening them, she found Tina looking quizzically at her. ‘The paint work,’ Fran offered. ‘It’s in a terrible state.’
Tina glanced a
round the kitchen, nodded in agreement and suggested, ‘Have you thought of stencilling? It would brighten it up a bit. Me and my boyfriend are going to do my bedroom. He’s gone stencil barmy.’ She didn’t add that Joe stayed with her when Nancy helped here. He had stencilled her back as she lay asleep in bed and she remembered the fun they’d had in the bath, scrubbing it off.
‘That’s an idea, but we’ll save it for another day. Today, we will concentrate on turning out the cupboards and the dresser.’ They worked in companionable silence.
Later on that morning, the doctor visited and examined Will, testing his blood pressure, he said, reassuringly, ‘It is slightly high, but the tablets already prescribed will control it. Are you in any pain or discomfort, Mr Bewholme?’ He knew of Isabel and Michael’s departure.
‘Can you mend a broken heart?’ Will replied, dryly.
‘No, but I can prescribe medication to help.’
‘I take enough pills, thank you.’
‘I think you are wise to rest today, but you need to have plenty of fluids and a light diet.’ The doctor, a serious, caring man, sat down on the chair by Will. ‘You need to take care of your health and top up your energy. I would like you to come into the surgery where I can give you a fuller examination.’ Will just grunted.
Fran followed the doctor from the room and said, quietly, ‘I’m worried about him.’
The doctor touched her arm, reassuringly. ‘There’s no cause for alarm. Let him rest for a few days then bring him into the surgery. And you take care of your own health. You look as though you’ve not been sleeping too well.’ The doctor departed and Fran returned to the kitchen.
‘Is he all right?’ asked Tina. She closed the cupboard door, dusting her hands on her skirt.
‘He just needs to rest and take his mind off things. I’ve got to think of a distraction.’
‘Distraction? What for?’ replied a slightly bemused Tina. ‘The mind boggles.’
‘Something to hold his interest to help to stop him missing his grandson, but I don’t know what.’ Sighing with despair, she sat down at the table, wondering just what she had let herself in for. She hadn’t expected a rosy view – caring for her father was never going to be easy – but she hadn’t expected this damned depression. Missing Michael was becoming a catching disease.
Then, Tina’s clear, young voice cut into her thoughts. ‘How about I make a bite to eat? There are tins of soup and bread rolls in the cupboard.’ Fran nodded her agreement. ‘Then, when we’ve eaten, I could teach your dad a card trick or two,’ Tina offered. She bustled around the kitchen, mimicking Nancy’s ways because she didn’t know what to do for this sad woman. There was something about her Tina couldn’t quite fathom. Still, it was none of her business. Some people led such funny, mixed-up lives.
Soon, the smell of tomato and vegetable soup, and warm bread rolls filled the kitchen. ‘I’d better take Dad’s up to him first,’ said Fran.
‘No!’ commanded Tina. Fran stilled, surprised by the tone of the girl’s voice.
‘What I mean is …’ Tina faltered. She was getting it all wrong. She swore under her breath. ‘I’ll start again. I’ll take your dad’s up, and stay and have a chat with him, while you take a break. But we’ll have ours first. Is that okay?’
Fran sat back down with a bump. ‘You’re certainly an amazing girl.’
Tina served the meal and then sat opposite Fran. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m bossy, but things happened in my life and I’ve sort of got a second chance.’ She shrugged, embarrassed at baring herself to a woman who was a stranger to her.
Fran studied the girl’s serious face, seeing a faraway look in her eyes. Intrigued, she asked, ‘How come?’
‘I had a lovely mother, Maggie. She died …’ Tina’s violet-blue eyes misted. ‘I just didn’t appreciate her. She did everything for me and it wasn’t until she went that I realised how fantastic she was …’ Tina trailed off, her bottom lip quivering.
‘She must have loved you very much.’
‘Do you think so?’ Tina asked, anxious to rid herself of the guilty feeling that swamped her.
‘I’m sure. Now, tell me about your second chance.’
‘It’s Nancy. She’s not exactly a second mother, but she’s near enough.’
A lump rose in Fran’s throat and her voice was a mere whisper. ‘You’re lucky – two women to love and care for you. A rare gift.’ She thought of her own troubled relationship with her mother.
Suddenly, a thudding from above interrupted further conversation. ‘That’s Father,’ said Fran.
Tina jumped up to prepare the tray and went up to Will. Fran tidied the table and was stacking the dishes on the draining board when a sudden wave of tiredness swept over her, sapping her energy. Tumbling into the easy chair by the fireside, she closed her eyes and dozed.
Fran woke up as Tina entered the kitchen. Stifling a yawn, she glanced at wall clock and sat up with a jerk. ‘I’ve been asleep for over an hour.’
Tina shrugged. ‘It’s no sweat. Me and Will get on just great. He was telling me about his joinery business and, when he’s feeling better, he’s going to show me around.’
Fran stretched and sat up. ‘So, we haven’t driven you away? You’re coming back?’
‘Yes.’ Tina didn’t mention that Will kept calling her Frances. Glancing about the tidy kitchen, she asked, ‘Anything else you want me to do?’ She’d stay if needed, for Nancy’s sake, but she’d had enough of this house for one day.
Fran took in the flush of the girl’s cheeks and the way she lowered her eyes to stare at the floor. ‘Thanks, Tina, you’ve been a great help, especially with Father, but I think you’ve done enough for today. I appreciate you coming.’
‘You mean it?’ Tina looked up, startled.
‘Of course I do. Come again, I can always do with extra help. And who knows, I might take up that offer of yours to teach me the art of stencilling.’
When Tina had gone, the house was quiet, empty. Fran stood in the centre of the large kitchen, already missing the sunshine mood Tina had brought into this house. Once, Fran reflected, she too had been a carefree spirit. Maybe that was why Will, in his confusion, had mistaken Tina for her.
Chapter Twenty
A few days later at the surgery, the doctor gave Will a thorough examination. Then he called Fran into the consulting room. ‘Take a seat, Mrs Meredith,’ said Doctor Lawson. She glanced at her father, but he didn’t look at her. He continued staring down at his feet. She feared the worst. A terminal illness? She sat on the edge of the chair, her heart filled with anguish and concern for her father. The doctor was saying, ‘I will arrange for Mr Bewholme to see an optician.’
She stared at him in disbelief, steeling herself to ask, ‘Is Dad going blind?’
At this point the doctor noticed her pale, anxious face and replied kindly, ‘No, my dear. But Mr Bewholme needs to wear spectacles.’
‘Spectacles.’ She almost laughed. ‘I never thought – so simple.’ Fran sighed with relief and reached out to clasp Will’s hand. He lifted his head to look at her. ‘I – Dad – we thought it might be something serious.’ Will, his face etched deep with emotion, just nodded.
Outside, Fran tucked her arm in her father’s. Slowly, they walked down the tree-lined avenue toward the town square. She could feel Will trembling and, as they approached a wooden bench seat, Fran suggested, ‘Dad, we’ll rest here awhile and you can have a smoke.’ Although she didn’t approve of his smoking, in this instance it would help Will to settle his nerves.
Later that afternoon, while Will was resting comfortably on his bed, she decided to go for a walk. She slipped on a waterproof jacket, because the weather was so changeable of late, and pulled on a pair of stout shoes. Stepping out, she breathed in the air, fresh after a shower of rain. Not wanting to go too far from the house, she stood for a moment, searching her memories of familiar walks of her youth for a short, circular route. Seeking solitude, she headed in the direction of th
e riverbank, remembering after a mile she could cross the field and return via the lane. By then, she would be back in time for Will’s afternoon tea. The grassy bank was wet, quite sodden in parts, and she trod carefully to avoid slipping. Away from the drone of the distant tractor, the sound of the river was soothing and calming, filling her with simple pleasure. Further upstream, she came across an old upturned boat, long deemed unusable. Here, the river began to bend and she stopped to shade her eyes. Up river, just inland, hidden from view by overhanging trees and bushes of the pond, was a bird sanctuary. But today she didn’t have time to rediscover it; instead, she turned and followed a footpath running parallel with a field, passing high hedges, rough scrub and a ditch where she had once fallen in as a child. She had been chasing one of their dogs at the time – or had the dog been chasing her? Enjoying the blissful, peaceful countryside, she meandered. This is how she remembered it, in often created pictures in her mind while she was exiled from home.
Suddenly, without warning, her foot caught in the bare root of a hawthorn bush and, unable to stop, she hurtled forward. She hit the ground hard on her knees, her arms spread-eagled, and her hands clutching at clumps of rough grass.
‘Let me help,’ said a masculine voice. Strong arms hoisted her up. Feeling shaken and dizzy, she leant against the taut chest muscles of the man who held her so securely in his arms. Within moments, the giddiness passed and then embarrassment filled her as she tried to disentangle herself from the man. But he held her firmly. ‘It’s Fran, isn’t it?’
Surprised at the mention of her name, she found herself looking into the anxious brown eyes of Nick Saunders, Rufus’s brother, whom she had first met on the train to Beverley.
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