‘Gran, can I tell you something?’ As Emily begins to speak, the phone rings. Julia rolls her eyes and goes to answer it.
‘Hello, Ida,’ she says, pulling a face and mouthing ‘Sorry’ to Emily.
Her granddaughter shrugs and heads for the stairs. ‘I’m going to have a bath. It can wait,’ she whispers.
Before too long, Emily comes downstairs and sits down at the table again. She’s wearing black trousers and a baggy white shirt. Her hair is loose and she’s put some lipstick and eye shadow on.
‘You look smart, darling,’ Julia says.
‘May reminded me about not letting myself go,’ says Emily. ‘I was feeling about a hundred and ten myself this morning.’
‘Were you, darling? Why? Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Let’s wait. I’ve got a bit of a stomach ache. I might go and lie on the bed for a little while.’
‘Really? I hope you haven’t caught a chill with all that wandering around on the beach. The summer’s not really got going properly yet, and it’s cold in the early mornings.’
‘I’m fine, Gran – don’t fret.’ Emily seems about to say something and then changes the subject. ‘You’re still busy with the letters, then? What are you reading about today?’
Julia picks up the next letter. ‘Oh, it’s babies all the way at the moment. I’m in 1964. This one’s talking about Kathryn having a bug, which turned out to be nothing of the kind.’
Emily doesn’t respond, and Julia looks up from the pile of blue paper. She’s alarmed to see that her granddaughter is clutching her stomach, face whiter than ever.
‘Darling, whatever’s the matter? You look dreadful. Do you feel sick?’
‘Pains,’ Emily murmurs, bending double over the table.
‘In your tummy? Come on, let’s get you up to bed. I’m going to ring Dr Clamp. You haven’t been right for days.’
‘I’m fine,’ says Emily feebly, but she allows herself to be helped to her feet, and the two of them make their way slowly up the stairs. Once in Emily’s bedroom, Julia undresses her like a child, slipping a giant-sized T-shirt over her head and turning back the covers.
‘Now, into bed with you, and I’ll go and make a hot drink,’ she says, but Emily can’t seem to move. She’s holding her stomach again, and as Julia watches, horrified, blood begins to trickle down her legs, making a pool on the varnished boards.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lying in bed in the daytime isn’t something Emily has made a habit of in recent years. She can hear clattering in the kitchen and the delicious smell of Gran’s special chicken and vegetable soup floats up the stairs, as comforting as a warm bath. Emily doesn’t feel sick any more, which is a great relief, but neither can she be pregnant, which is something she hardly dares to think about.
The last twenty-four hours have been a nightmare. She’s gone from being stunned at the very idea of a possible baby, through seeing Andy’s shock at the news, May and Tristram’s calm acceptance, and then feeling wave upon wave of hideous cramps engulf her and knowing that her body has taken over and is forcibly expelling whatever was lodged in her womb.
Dr Clamp, when she came by yesterday afternoon, was very practical, saying that as there had been no pregnancy test she could only assume that this was an early miscarriage and if so, it probably would be no worse than an unusually heavy period. Gran wanted Emily to go to hospital to be on the safe side, but the doctor had said there was no need. Nature would deal with this and Emily would be right as rain in a couple of days, if a bit tender.
Now, Emily lets herself think about this almost-baby at last. She closes her eyes and lets the tears trickle down her cheeks unchecked. Why is she feeling so desolate? The last thing she’d wanted was to be a mum, and the timing was awful.
She hears Julia coming upstairs and tries to stop crying but she’s unable to control the gasping sobs that are making her shake with grief.
‘Oh, my love – I knew you were being too brave. Let it all out. A good cry’s the best thing for you.’ Julia sits on the bed, hands Emily a wad of tissues and hugs her hard.
Emily wails out her sadness and confusion on her grandmother’s shoulder and after a while, the storm passes and she’s able to sit up and dry her eyes. The soft summer breeze blowing through the open window revives her and the scent of honeysuckle is blissful. She can hear the sea: the tide is coming in and the waves have reached the shingle bank.
‘I don’t know why I’m making such a fuss,’ she says. ‘It’s not as if I was planning a family with Max. He would have been horrified. And how would I have coped with a tiny baby, no husband to help out and me having to go out to work every day?’
‘It isn’t silly at all,’ says Julia, patting her arm. ‘Even if you were only just pregnant, your poor body would have been already flooded with hormones. Your brain isn’t your own when you’re having a baby. I used to howl at the least little thing.’
‘Did you never want more than one child, Gran?’ Emily’s never asked this before, but she’s suddenly fascinated with the subject.
‘After I had Felix, I was quite happy just to have the one,’ Julia says. ‘He wasn’t an easy baby. Or toddler. Or grown-up, come to that.’ She laughs. ‘Actually, I had one more pregnancy when he was about two years old, but it ended very much like yours. And I’m ashamed to say I wasn’t all that sorry. I’ve always said the Good Lord left out the maternal instinct when he made me.’
‘But you love my dad, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do, and I was besotted with you when you came along, but I’m not the sort of woman who coos over random infants in pushchairs or goes all gooey over other people’s tiny babies.’
‘I’m the same. But I can’t help being sad. I keep wondering what my baby would have looked like, if there really was one. What if I never have the chance to be a mum?’ Emily can feel the tears coming again. She sits up straighter and blows her nose noisily.
‘You’re bound to have those thoughts. I did too, even though I wasn’t keen on the idea of a second baby. Now, are you getting up for some soup and a nice cup of coffee or do you want it up here on a tray?’
Emily’s tummy rumbles and she leans forward to hug Julia. ‘It’s me that’s supposed to be here looking after you, not the other way round. Some of your stupendous soup is exactly what I need. It ought to be on prescription. Have I got time to freshen up a bit? I must look as if I’ve been run over by a truck.’
‘No you don’t, but there’s all the time in the world. I’ve got some crusty bread warming in the oven and an apple crumble with extra cinnamon and brown sugar for afterwards.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ Emily says, heading for the shower.
When Emily comes downstairs she’s still in her dressing gown. She flicks the switch on the kettle and gets the coffee beans and electric grinder out without much enthusiasm. Her grandfather always liked the performance of measuring out the fragrant beans, first taking a deep sniff of the tin to appreciate the full aroma and then tipping them into his ancient machine and noisily crushing them until they reached the exact texture he wanted. He had a silver and glass pot and a set of tiny coffee cups that he used regularly. Emily goes through the motions but her heart isn’t in it today.
‘You look how I feel, darling,’ says Julia. ‘Your great-grandmother would have said we need putting in a bag and shaking up.’
‘Yeah, not a bad idea. Oh, the phone’s ringing again – shall I get it?’
Julia’s there first and raises her eyebrows as the caller speaks. ‘It’s That Candice,’ she hisses, her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘She says she wants to talk to you.’
Emily raises her eyebrows and reaches for the handset. The shrill tones carry even across the room. Emily’s frown is deepening by the moment but when she answers, her voice is treacle-sweet.
‘It’s really good of you to call to see how I am, Candice,’ she says, ‘but I’m not sure how you know I’ve been ill? Yes, a tummy upset. I m
ust have picked it up from Tamsin the other night when I was over there.’
She listens for a minute or two longer. ‘You saw the doctor, did you? Fancy that. You must have great eyesight … Hang on, say that again, I don’t quite understand …’
Emily’s face is bright red now and her knuckles are white on the handset. ‘Well, thank you so much for filling me in, but whatever may or may not have happened between you and Andy in the past is none of my business. I suggest you find somewhere else to try and stir up trouble.’
She waits again, rolling her eyes in Julia’s direction. ‘Oh, really? Well, I hope you’ll both be very happy in that case. Bye now. I’ve got to go and dig out my handy travelling suit of armour ready for when the next person tries to STAB ME IN THE BACK.’
She disconnects forcibly and folds her arms, eyes blazing. ‘What a bitch,’ she says.
‘I’m guessing she was warning you off?’
‘In a big way. The witch. She says she and Andrew have got history, and it would be better for everybody if I kept out of the way from now on because it won’t be long before they announce that they’re an item. Apparently they’ve been keeping it under wraps out of respect for Allie’s memory. How long ago did you say it was that she died? Six years?’
‘Yes, just after Tamsin was born. That’s a load of rubbish, darling. Candice is very good at talking the talk. She’s had her claws into Andy ever since he lost Allie and it’s got her precisely nowhere so far.’
‘But what if there is something in it? And why would she suddenly decide to ring me today? You don’t suppose she knows about what’s happened to me, do you?’
‘Don’t be silly, how could she?’
‘I don’t know. But she’s always been very good at putting two and two together and making five. She’s one of life’s natural stirrers. Or then again, maybe she really is a witch.’
They grin at each other. Emily sits down at the table, coffee forgotten. Julia joins her and takes both her hands. They’re cold, so she rubs them gently to warm her up. ‘Look, you need to decide what YOU want before we go any further with this conversation. Has Andy said anything to you to make you think he’s ready to let go of the feeling that he’d be betraying Allie if he met someone else?’
‘Well, not in so many words. I thought he was pretty interested in me. Well, I know he is. But if he’s been playing around with Candice …’
‘Do you really think that’s likely?’
Emily doesn’t answer. Julia thinks her confidence must be at an all-time low.
‘So, if Andy was to ask you to stay here with him and have a proper relationship, what would you say, Em?’
There’s a loud knock on the back door and it opens to reveal the man himself clutching his daughter by the hand. Both look distraught but Tamsin has her lips clamped firmly together as if she’s determined not to cry.
‘What on earth’s the matter, dear?’ asks Julia, jumping to her feet.
‘It’s Stripey,’ says Andy. ‘She hardly ever goes out and leaves her kittens but she went into the lane early this morning and—’
‘She’s deaded!’ shouts Tamsin, finally bursting into noisy tears. ‘Her kittens have got no mummy now … like me …’ Her sobs are getting louder, and Julia makes a move towards her but Emily is there first, scooping the little girl up and bringing her back to her chair by the table. She points to the kitchen roll on the worktop and Julia passes her a handful.
After a minute or two, she kisses the top of Tamsin’s curly head. ‘Hey, that’s enough wailing, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘I’m not used to seeing you this upset. Who knows what could happen? My brain might explode.’
Tamsin stops crying for a moment to think about this. ‘Might it?’ she falters.
‘Yup. You need to be very careful.’ Emily makes a few Bang! Kerpow!-type noises.
Tamsin starts to giggle and the tears subside. She’s still gulping and shaking, but Emily dries her eyes and cuddles her closer.
The look of relief on Andy’s face is indescribable. He looks over at Julia and mimes, ‘Think it was probably a fox.’
‘Right …’ says Emily. ‘The main thing now is to make sure Stripey’s kittens are looked after properly.’
‘But they’ve got no mummy,’ repeats Tamsin, beginning to sniffle again.
‘No, but you haven’t either, and you’re fine, aren’t you?’
Julia winces. Surely this is way too brutal for a small person. But Tamsin’s head is on one side and she’s obviously giving this idea some thought.
‘I … s’pose.’
‘And why are you fine? Who takes care of you?’
‘My daddy.’
‘Spot on. So you and me and Dad and Aunty Jules will all be the kittens’ mummies and daddies, OK? We’ll need to give them warm milk lots of times every day but soon they’ll be big enough to drink from a saucer. And then they’ll have some Weetabix. And after that we’ll try them on some sloppy cat food.’
‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ says Andy huskily, smiling at Emily.
‘Can we tell May? I want to phone her,’ says Tamsin, looking at Julia hopefully.
‘Of course you can. Here you go, I’ll show you which buttons to press.’
‘I know how. Daddy showed me.’
Tamsin waits for May to answer, still leaning on Emily so confidingly that her heart melts even more than it has already.
‘Hello, May. I have got some very bad news,’ says Tamsin gravely. ‘Stripey is deaded … Yes, I know, it sucks. Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Anyway, can I come over for a hug?’
She listens for a moment, and Emily can hear the distant murmur of May’s voice.
‘OK, I’ll tell Dad,’ she says, looking up at Andy. ‘We can go now. May isn’t busy. Come on, Daddy. Bye, Em.’
Julia peers at her granddaughter as Emily releases the little girl and gives her another kiss. She moves closer.
‘Oh dear,’ she says.
‘What’s the matter?’ Emily looks up, and Andy gasps, seeing what Julia’s just noticed.
‘Em, I think you’ve got chickenpox,’ he says.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Emily lies in her bed yet again, too sticky and hot to be comfortable even in the cool of the night and so unbelievably itchy that the only way she can get any relief is to sit in a bath of salt water, and then get out and be daubed with calamine lotion by her patient grandmother. The days and nights creep slowly by, each one more boring and tortuous than the last.
Andy has wasted no time in going along to the next village to stock up on things that the invalid might appreciate. He brings ice cream, lemonade, a bag of ice, some throat sweets because the spots are even in her mouth and on the back of her tongue and a huge bar of chocolate for when she feels a bit better. There’s also a thick, glossy magazine and some flowers from his garden.
‘Don’t look at me,’ Emily moans, trying to cover her face with her pillow. ‘I’m hideous.’
He laughs. ‘Yep. But I’ve got quite used to the festering-boils look.’
‘Don’t joke. I’ll be scarred for life.’
‘No you won’t. I had it when I was ten with loads of blisters, and I haven’t got a single blemish now. Oh, except for the one on my bum. I’ll show you sometime if you play your cards right.’
‘Tempting.’
She closes her eyes and Andy leaves her to rest. It’s time to feed the kittens again.
Emily drifts in and out of sleep, having nightmarish, fevered dreams. She hears the phone ring every now and again and Julia chatting away, but she’s too ill to want to know who’s been calling. Andy drops in regularly and brings Tamsin just for a few minutes whenever he can. She brings Emily something different each time she drops in. Sometimes it’s a drawing, once she’s clutching some rather wilted flowers from the garden, and one afternoon Andy lets her show Emily some photos of the kittens on his phone.
‘I’m a good mummy,’ Tamsin says proudly. ‘The kittens drank all their m
ilk up today. They got it in their ears and it was all stuck to their whiskers.’
‘May’s been asking after you constantly,’ says Andy. ‘She wants to come over but we don’t think she should risk catching your germs. She can’t remember if she’s ever had chickenpox.’
It’s a relief not to have to see May, much as she loves her. Emily doesn’t want to talk about what’s happened and May will be bound to mention it.
On the fourth day, Emily wakes up to sunshine pouring through her window. She lies very still, watching the dust motes dance and trying to decide how she feels. After a moment, she sits up gingerly. Her head isn’t throbbing any more and the itching in her mouth and throat has almost gone.
Julia pops her head around the door. ‘Oh, you look a lot brighter today, darling,’ she says. ‘How about some scrambled eggs on toast?’
Emily tests out this idea and finds she’s ravenous. She nods enthusiastically and then lies listening as her grandmother potters around in the kitchen. It’s strange how much better Julia seems now. She’s more cheerful than she’s been since before Gramps died. What’s caused the shift in her mood, Emily wonders? And does this mean she should leave soon, to give Gran some space and let her begin to make a new life without Gramps? Every part of her wants to stay in Pengelly. These days and nights of tossing and turning have given Emily plenty of time to think.
At first, her thoughts go round and round in her head like furious wasps trying to get out. Gradually, though, she begins to get them into order. If Julia would actually benefit from Emily being close and not have her style cramped, Emily is seriously tempted to apply for a permanent transfer to the London office, with the condition that she works only part-time, but could they really live together on a permanent basis? The thought of going back to America is exhausting.
Glancing at her watch, Emily gets up quickly to save her gran bringing yet another tray upstairs. She shrugs on her dressing gown and goes downstairs barefoot before Julia can stop her. The shame of letting this much older lady wait on her washes over Emily but she couldn’t have done much else, the state she was in. She realises now that she’s been almost delirious for some of the time. Maybe she was just so low after the almost-baby and the break up with Max that the chickenpox zapped her harder than if she’d been as fit as usual.
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