The Love of a Family

by Rebecca Shaw

  ‘That will do boys. Thank you very much.’

  ‘It’s Oliver, Uncle Graham. Not me. He started it.’

  Oliver protested. ‘He won’t shut up talking. It’s driving me mad.’

  Piers shuddered as that familiar fear rose up from his stomach. Here it came roaring up his oesophagus and a great fountain of his bedtime hot chocolate poured out of his mouth all over the duvet before he had time to get to the bathroom. He froze. Froze solid. That beautiful image he’d had earlier of them being secure here at 12 Spring Gardens had vanished.

  He heard Auntie Myra arrive in their bedroom but couldn’t look at her. She’d see the mess he’d made all over her bed linen and that would be that. In his mind, he faced the children’s home as bravely as he could. But he wasn’t brave, not at all. He was shaking with fear. There would be punishment, above and beyond, he knew it.

  Uncle Graham took hold of him under his armpits and heaved him out of bed, and dragged off the disgusting mess that had been his duvet cover. Auntie Myra stripped his pyjamas off and quickly spirited a clean pair out of his pyjama drawer. She held on to him and calmed him down while Uncle Graham found a clean duvet cover and put it on. In what seemed like seconds Piers was back in bed. OK, the pillow case didn’t match the duvet but who cared, certainly not Piers.

  Auntie Myra suggested that maybe the time had come for separate bedrooms. ‘We’ll discuss it in the morning over breakfast. Not now. Would you like that, Piers, your own bedroom? You have a think about it. Right?’

  But he wasn’t thinking about bedrooms. He needed an immediate answer about children’s homes and such. ‘You’re not going to send me to a children’s home then?’

  ‘No. You have my absolute promise on that. You’re staying here. This is your home. Now, Piers Butler, bed and sleep and no more fighting.’ She kissed his cheek, gave him a hug, then another kiss, and tucked him into bed saying again, ‘No more fighting. Right?’

  Oliver apologised too because he knew more than anyone how terrified Piers was about children’s homes. Delphine used to threaten him with it whenever she felt like it, being well aware how frightened Piers was about the whole idea. Thank heavens they weren’t with her any more. If his dad had ever known what a scary woman Delphine could be he would never have left them with her. When his dad was there Delphine was charming, thoughtful and very obviously a caring person but when he wasn’t there – which was an awful lot of the time, especially in the school holidays – she was a shocker. Oliver never let on about her because what alternative did his father have? As the older brother, he shielded Piers as much as he could, but not always successfully.

  When Oliver knew Piers had at last fallen asleep he crept out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The sitting-room door was not quite closed so he tapped on it and then walked in. Both Myra and Graham were reading and they looked up surprised.

  ‘Sorry. I need to tell you something. It’s about Piers.’

  Graham closed his book, patted the space next to himself on the sofa and said, ‘Sit down, Oliver, and say whatever you want to say here right now, don’t keep anything back. Auntie Myra and me, we’re both tough and if we need to know, just say it. If it helps.’

  Oliver paused, wondering if he should go ahead.

  ‘Yes?’ prompted Myra. She closed her book and waited for him to speak.

  ‘He’s frightened about children’s homes because when Dad was in hospital, Delphine used to threaten to send him to one if he didn’t do exactly what she wanted. He dropped a jigsaw box once and all the pieces fell out on the carpet and she was furious, said that was it, she’d take him to one first thing the next morning, “and then you’ll see who looks after you the best. Me. Delphine. I do, and this is how you repay me. You won’t like it there. You won’t even have a jigsaw to drop. Nor top-of-the-shop computer games like you have now. Oh no! Nothing, because they can’t afford it.”’

  He got no immediate response from either Myra nor Graham so he decided to go back upstairs. He slowly began to turn to go but Myra stopped him.

  ‘We’d no idea she did things like that. Poor Piers. I’m shocked. Thank heavens you’ve told us. Did she threaten you with it too?’

  ‘Once or twice, but Piers was a better target because he took it so badly. She preferred the stick for me. Dad didn’t realise what she was really like but he had no choice, had he? People willing to take on two boys don’t come along often, Especially in the school holidays. All day, every day. Dad was glad she lived so close to us. And she always put on her best side whenever Dad was there.’

  Finally Graham spoke. ‘Thank you for telling us, Oliver. I appreciate you taking the time and explaining it so well. Myra and I will find the right moment and talk to Piers about it all and help him to rid himself of his demons. It was very wrong of her. He’s lucky to have such a caring older brother, it makes me very proud to be related to you. Would you like to sit down with us for a while in case there’s anything else you need to tell us that would help with Piers.’

  Oliver, glad for their company, stayed where he was, wishing so hard it almost broke his heart, wishing his real dad was there and that they’d never met Delphine. ‘The other thing is . . . I don‘t know if I should say . . .’

  Myra claimed that if what he wanted to say was the truth then he’d every right to say it, here and now.

  ‘I once saw her going through Mum’s jewellery and putting something in her pocket from out of the box. Dad kept it hidden in his bedroom and showed it to me once. I nearly told Dad but I daren’t because he’d have had to find someone else to care for us. Don’t tell her I told you, will you?’

  Graham, faced by yet another unpleasntry to do with Delphine, sighed loudly. In front of Oliver he did not say a word, but waited until the boy had returned to bed after they’d reassured him he’d done the right thing by telling them.

  Myra was furious. ‘How dare she, with her holier than thou attitude to us all.’ But before she could continue, Tyke made his presence felt. ‘Stop chewing my shoe, Tyke, if you please. Go away. You’re Graham’s dog too, so go chew his shoes.’

  With no more ado, that was exactly what Tyke decided to do. It seemed a very attractive activity to a five-month-old puppy. Myra began to giggle, Graham to protest, and the two of them rolled about laughing so much they became helpless with laughter. Myra got up to rescue Graham from his torturer, tripped in the struggle to reach Tyke and at the same time stop him deciding to chew her shoes again, and between the two of them she fell on top of Graham, which made them laugh louder still. Their completely uncontrollable laughter delighted Tyke who was enjoying the trouble he was causing by clamping his teeth on their shoes time and again, harder and harder.

  Oliver, halfway up the stairs, came back down again when he heard the fuss. But as he got back down the laughter stopped. He opened the door and for the first time, witnessed a real kiss between two adults related to him.

  And what a kiss! This must have been what it was like when his dad still had his mum, he thought. He would never understand why grown-ups behaved the way they did – he didn’t know whether to be mortified or amused. Best just to be glad they were happy, he thought. He quietly shut the door and tiptoed back upstairs to bed.

  Chapter 19

  Graham and Myra spent what was left of the evening drinking gin and tonic. Not three, but four glasses each. Just as before, Graham had to carry Myra upstairs. But this time she didn’t need help undressing, but she let him all the same. Tenderly he stripped her of her clothes and when he searched under the pillow for her pyjamas he found the black lacy clinging nightdress she’d bought. She smiled and slipped it on. But before she could appreciate the effect she was having on Graham, she’d fallen fast asleep. So Graham sat on the edge of her bed to admire her. Certainly the nightie was a wonderful choice and she looked heart-stoppingly wonderful wearing it. This was a completely different woman from the one he’d known for the last how many years?

  Tomorrow, he promised himsel
f he’d spend his lunch hour in that same shop buying her another nightgown for her birthday next week. Not a book token, nor two cinema tickets, nor a box of chocolates, nor new cushions for the sofa in the sitting room like in past years, nor a new kettle like last year, it would be one she would feel beautiful in and one he wanted to see her wearing. She turned over, opened her eyes and reached to kiss his lips. ‘Oh, Graham!’

  He bent his head and kissed her back but she’d already fallen asleep again. Maybe a bit less of the gin and more of the tonic next time and then perhaps ten years of ignoring each other’s needs might at last come to an end. The way they’d kissed, and laughed and kissed some more this evening made him feel like they were newlyweds again. She wanted him, and he certainly needed her with a passion he scarcely recognised.

  He’d choose turquoise tomorrow he thought, as Myra slid silkily across towards him and sleepily placed her hand in his. His hands smoothed her nightgown over her body, down over her hips, not quite as bony as of yore, but now much more tempting, down her thighs, then both thighs in unison, and felt her wriggle with pleasure. This was a much more sensuous Myra than he remembered from before but then ‘before’ was a long time ago. Graham enticed her to respond to his caresses by slowing down the pace, and at the same time closing the space between the two of them, lying closer, closer still, increasing the tremor of his hands, breathing deeply in the hollow of her neck so his hot breath mingled with her warmth and his heart beat fast and then faster still. ‘Myra. Myra. Myra’

  ‘Not so loud Graham! Hush. The boys! . . .’

  ‘Oh, God. Yes!’

  They broke apart, amazed as they were by their urgent desire for each other. It simply wasn’t them. Not them at all. It was as if they were two completely different people, not safe old Graham and Myra any more. But who? Who were they? In that moment, it no longer mattered to either of them. What mattered was the depth of their enjoyment, their deep sensuous pleasure in each other, their rediscovery.

  Chapter 20

  Driving home from work the following evening, more eager to get home than he’d been in years, Graham looked forward to the new rituals of family life. Dinner and shared stories of their day, maybe some help with homework. Oliver always had something he needed to look at on the internet. He paused – and wondered why Piers didn’t seem to want to be on his computer. In fact, it occurred to Graham that ever since Piers had lived in their house – what was, it three months now? – he’d never seen him using his computer. Now they each had their own bedrooms, where was Piers’ computer? He remembered how thrilled John had been with the speed at which Piers absorbed knowledge about computers even as a young child. Piers was obviously a natural, John had admitted and it seemed odd that he hadn’t asked for his computer to be set up. Was it still in the boxes in the garage? He’d ask as soon as he got home.

  Piers froze in response to Graham’s question. Oliver spoke up without being asked. ‘He’s gone off computers for the time being, thank you, Graham. He’ll get round to it soon, I expect.’ Oliver looked at Graham very directly with an expression that brooked no argument and Graham, becoming more of a real dad than he had ever hoped, took the hint.

  After Piers had gone to bed, Oliver asked if he could broach the subject of Piers’ computer.

  ‘Dad always sat with him when he used his computer. He said it was because he didn’t want him wasting his talent on silly games, but I think it was because he was proud of how good Piers was. I think he was wrong about games anyway, I think you can learn a lot from messing about with games.’ Oliver shrugged. ‘But now Dad’s not here he can’t bear even having a go on mine. It was one of his special things with Dad and now it makes him cry and he’s tired of crying but he can’t stop it. It just happens and he wishes it didn’t.’

  ‘I see. Well, I won’t push it – and I certainly don’t want Piers to think I’m trying to take his dad’s spot at his side, but I’ll have to make sure he knows that when he’s ready, it can be his job to bring me and Myra up to speed on computers and the internet. But there’s no rush. Time is a great healer. If you get a hint he’s feeling better about, it let me know.’

  Myra, overhearing this conversation while stacking a neat pile of freshly washed towels ready to go upstairs, decided that Oliver was the most grown-up, sensitive, thoroughly lovely boy she had ever come across. Then laughed at herself, for how many boys had she ever really known before Piers and Oliver came to live with them? None.

  What a change they’d made for her and for Graham. The two of them were rapidly becoming more relaxed with each other and she could tell the boys sensed it, too. In fact, as she placed the last of the towels on the neatly stacked pile, she knew she was definitely a different person to who she was the day they arrived. More understanding, more willing to adapt, more—. Myra listened. Was that Piers crying again? Should she go upstairs and hug him?

  No, she wouldn’t go in straight away. It was something she was learning – when to swoop in and when to give him space. This time she would let him get it out of his system a little and then casually amble upstairs with the towels and have a word. On the way she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror by the front door. Her new hairstyle, courtesy of an afternoon in the salon that day, really suited her. It was easier to keep looking smart compared to the overly long old-fashioned bun style she’d had for years. In fact she looked like someone who could buy clothes at the next New to You Sale the school was holding in the new year. She might very well go to that this time. Myra paused for a moment longer to admire her new warm silk shirt with the toning cashmere waistcoat she’d bought that morning.

  ‘Yes. You do look good in that outfit.’ Graham had sneaked up behind her. He had been so amazed at her new haircut when he’d got home, that he’d barely had a chance to appreciate the new clothes that skimmed her figure.

  Myra blushed at the thought of being caught admiring herself. She turned round to answer Graham just as the doorbell rang furiously. Myra carried on upstairs and left Graham to open the door. She glanced down from the landing and saw Betty from next door standing there on the step. She stood there apparently speechless with shock. Myra looked again and did a double-take. Dear God! In Betty’s hand was a carving knife copiously covered with blood. Not hers, though, one supposed. This did not look like a little accident carving the roast. Surely it wasn’t Roland’s blood? She hadn’t killed him . . . had she?

  `I’ve done it. I knew I would one day and I have. At last. Kept wanting to and now I have. Graham, will you ring the police?’ She calmly asked him again when he didn’t react. ‘I’m not afraid. Prison will be paradise after the years of hatred I’ve tolerated from Roland and his temper.’ Betty gestured with her hands to indicate she didn’t want to use them, covered in blood as they were. ‘He’s dead. He can’t beat me any more. Those days are gone for ever. Sorry for the mess, I’ll stay outside. Myra won’t want her carpet ruining, she’s very houseproud, I know.’

  Graham still hadn’t done what she’d asked of him. Ordinary people like Graham Butler didn’t do dramatic things like ringing the police and reporting a murder; a lost boy or a stray dog, but not murder. It felt like a long time before Myra came back down the stairs though it was only a handful of seconds. Graham kept his eyes fixed on her face as she came to stand by his side. He waited for her to collapse at his feet because that was what Myra did when things got too much for her: passed out and left it all to him.

  But Myra’s first words were for Betty. ‘I didn’t know he was hitting you. Hold tight to yourself, Betty, keep a clear head, the police will want to know how it all came about. Believe me, I’ve every sympathy with you Betty. Living with abuse day in day out. If only we’d realised. Keep steady.’

  The three of them stood silently for a moment, but when Myra became aware that Piers and Oliver had joined them she swung into action. ‘Boys! In the sitting room please, this minute. Graham, will you sit with them please and close the door. Right now. If you please. I’ll st
ay with Betty.’

  Graham looked again at Myra. How she had changed. At one time she would have fainted at the sight of much less blood than this, it was easing its way over the threshold as it dripped from Betty’s hands, and very soon it would be touching the pride of Myra’s heart, her lavender hall carpet. He mustn’t let it happen, he’d have to take action, else . . . but it was Myra who stepped forward.

  ‘I’ll ring the police for you, Betty.’

  The blood still dripped and puddled. The grandfather clock carried on ticking. Graham whisked the boys into the living room. Through the door, Myra could hear Piers using his inhaler and Oliver endeavouring to be the caring elder brother murmuring helpful words she couldn’t quite make out. She brought her focus back to the doorstep. Betty was endlessly talking. But now there was a tremor in her voice as though the realisation of what she’d done was inevitably dawning.

  ‘I always knew this would be the end of him, me polishing him off. Such a charmer he was, in his twenties. My mother told me not to marry him. She said “his eyes look cruel even when he smiles, don’t be too eager, let him be the ship that passes in the night”.’ Betty looked directly at Myra. ‘I’ll bring the train set round tomorrow. It’s still wrapped up like when you saw it last. Our Col would be glad for it to go to a good home. At least now I shall be able to see Col whenever I want to . . . ’

  Myra didn’t think it wise to point out that it was unlikely Betty would be at liberty to drop the train set round tomorrow or see Col easily – unless she was thinking about visiting hours on remand.

  ‘He won’t be upset about Roland,’ Betty continued. ‘Roland made his life a misery. Hell on earth.’ She bowed her head, the gory carving knife fell from her hand and lay on the doorstep of number 12 Spring Gardens, pointing ominously at Graham who had emerged again.