by Mona Marple
He would find out when he shared the news with her.
His stomach flipped at that thought.
“Are you listening?” Eliza’s brash voice brought him back to the present. He caught Connie peeking at him over the top of her book and clenched his teeth.
“Yes, mother, of course,” he lied. He didn’t need to listen to Eliza. Every time she opened her mouth, poison flew out. She hated everyone equally. It had always been that way.
“Your father wouldn’t have allowed it,” she shook her head and her loose, aged skin wobbled. She didn’t have extra weight as such, it was more that her skin was sagging its way down to the ground, ready for burial.
“Allowed what?” Christopher asked. He may have made his own way in the world, but he still had a pulse. If Eliza was moaning about one of his brothers, he wanted to know.
“Paying people to lounge around at home pretending to be ill!” Eliza erupted. Out of the corner of his eye, Christopher watched Connie scoop the babies up and carry them out of the room. Roo followed.
“He’s offering sick leave, you mean?” Christopher asked.
“Three days a year to stay at home with a cough, on my purse!” Eliza muttered. She shook her head. “Ivan would be turning in his grave.”
“Can’t you overrule him?” Christopher asked. He could barely keep his mouth straight as he asked. He could imagine the fireworks that it would cause if his mother stepped in and overruled Bobby’s decision.
“Of course I can,” Eliza said, as if he was stupid. Him, the corporate lawyer, stupid! “But I’d be there all day if I stepped in and made all of his mistakes right. I’ve got a better idea.”
Christopher feigned disinterest. Eliza was all about power. Information, money, it was all about power to her. If she had information that he wanted to know, she would laud that over him and never reveal it. He wandered away from her and glanced out of the window.
The sun was fading already, although it had never really grown light. Such a dark, miserable day. He spotted Lottie circling around the gravel by the entrance, her limber frame delicious in a pair of yoga pants and a big, men’s hoodie. His? He didn’t recognise it. She spotted him, startled for a moment, then opened her face to him with that smile he loved. He waved and she returned the gesture, then retreated indoors. He expected her to poke her head into the room, but she didn’t. Lottie was a popular woman, always busy with some conversation or another. She probably couldn’t make it from the doorway into the room without another person wanting a few moments of her brilliance. He heard soft footsteps on the staircase.
“He’s going to pay for their time off,” Eliza said. Her vitriol was unending.
“Yes, mother,” Christopher said.
“I mean it,” she emphasised. “Every time one of those lumps rings in sick, I’m taking their pay out of Bobby’s wage.”
Christopher couldn’t help the smile that danced at the corner of his mouth. It was really a stupid idea of Bobby’s. There was one thing in the world that Eliza loved, and that was money.
“Can he afford that?”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Of course not! He’s married to Dolly Daydream, never worked a day in her life since she sank her claws into him.”
That insult was particularly rich, since Eliza herself had never worked. She’d married and, once widowed, had inherited her husband’s business. She had little involvement in the company other than visiting occasionally and scolding everyone for sins such as drinking coffee on her dollar and looking scruffy. Christopher’s favourite was the story about the time she had spotted an employee returning from a toilet break and had told them never to pee or poop on her time again without taking a client folder in to read while there.
“He’ll realise pretty quick how stupid this idea is when he’s the one paying for it, not me,” Eliza said.
“Sounds fair, mother,” Christopher said. It was a dog eat dog world, and if she was furious with Bobby for half an hour, that was half an hour that she was less critical of him. He imagined that in a typical family, four brothers would compete for their mother’s love. In his family, it was about survival: competing to avoid her hate. “I’ll go and check on lunch. Are you hungry?”
Eliza had pulled her handbag on to her lap - she never allowed the darn thing out of her sight - and was searching through it. He had lost her attention.
He wandered out into the hallway and glanced left and right. Lottie was nowhere to be seen. Voices came from the kitchen and he followed them. In the kitchen, a hoard of people. Everyone, practically. But not his wife.
“Anyone seen Lottie?” He asked.
The men stood on one side of the island, the women on the other. As if they were ready for some kind of protest or dance-off.
Bobby, Taylor and Luke glanced at each other. Bobby shook his head, his ridiculous foppish hair dancing around. It was just like him to offer paid sick leave. He’d never had a head for numbers. He was a yes-man through and through.
“Cat got your tongue?” Christopher asked. He didn’t know why the sight of them all standing there had annoyed him so much. He could hardly blame them for abandoning Eliza in the other room, alone with her venom.
Bobby had the decency to allow his cheeks to flush at least. “Haven’t seen her, man.”
“Hmm,” Christopher said. “I’ll take a look around.”
“Don’t do that!” Bobby exclaimed. Christopher eyed him with suspicion. Bobby grinned. “Grace has made muffins and we’re at a stale mate about which is best. You can have the deciding vote. Grace, honey?”
Christopher pulled out a stool at the island as Grace presented a plate with three different types of muffin on. Savoury muffins, not what he expected. He liked the idea of being the deciding vote. He liked the idea so much that he didn’t even notice that the only other person not in the room was his brother, Zeb.
9
Lunch was a surprisingly sparse affair.
People ducked into the kitchen whenever hunger found them, and grabbed a muffin or two. They tried to hide their disappointment, but she saw it. Grace had never put together such a disappointing offering.
The reason was clear as soon as each person entered the kitchen. Grace was already working on the grand New Year’s Eve dinner that she would serve up in the evening.
She was stressed, as she always was. The Thompson family were impossible to please. They handed out compliments as if rationing was still in force, and yet they complained openly and generously about everything.
Not only that, but each person’s tastes seemed to change from one meal to the next. A person who had moaned that there was no fish served would then announce that they were avoiding the mercury contents when Grace served fish for them at the next meal.
Her own daughter added to the complications, of course, not that Grace would ever admit that out loud. Rose becoming a vegetarian - now, apparently a vegan! - had caused Grace to throw out whole meal plans. For that was what Grace did - she planned. She knew what the family would be eating three Tuesdays in the future. She knew when each bill was due to be paid and when her favourite clothes shops launched the next season’s collection. She knew how much a carton of milk cost and she knew the names of all of her granddaughter’s class mates.
Grace’s biggest achievement in the year just about to end was that she had convinced Roo’s school to copy her in to all of their communications. There was some nonsense about each child only having two points of contact, which should be their mother and father. That made no sense to Grace, not when mother and father lived in the same house. It infuriated Grace that the world was setting itself up to accommodate divorced families. Perhaps if society worked as hard on the institute of marriage as it did on encouraging happily blended families, the divorce rate would lower and highly involved grandmothers like her could be the second contact point at school! She had made the plea in a passionate presentation, along with a generous donation to the school, and they had relented. She could be the third p
oint of contact, as long as she didn’t tell other people. And so she received notification of every play, every school trip, every non-uniform day, every class project that her granddaughter was involved in. The success still made her a little giddy.
Dottie appeared in the doorway, pushing Eliza in in her wheelchair. Grace raised an eyebrow.
“I’m going to park her here for a bit,” Dottie said. “She wants to see what you’re doing.”
“Oh, no,” Grace argued. “I can’t work with her watching!”
Eliza’s deafness meant they could talk like that without her hearing.
“You’re not working,” Dottie said. “You’re chopping. I do need to go and work. I’ve got calls to make.”
“Dottie, I’m telling you no,” Grace insisted. She hoped her cheeks hadn’t flamed at the barbed comment about what counted as work. Dr Dottie might imagine that her profession was more important, but she’d be back in the kitchen as quick as anyone else when her stomach started to rumble. “Take her somewhere else.”
**
Connie had placed the twins down for a nap and had to admit that she’d spent longer than normal watching them sleep before heading back downstairs. There was a crackle of tension in the air and it troubled her.
She also had the distinct impression that it wasn’t only the living who were in Houndswood Manor, and the last thing she wanted was to come across a ghost while with Taylor’s family.
Eventually, her dry throat required that she leave the safety of the nursery room and go in search of refreshment.
Taylor had gone for a walk with his brothers and Luke, and so she would face the remaining members of his family alone. She wasn’t nervous about that. Not at all. If she told herself that often enough it might become true.
She creaked her way down the staircase and came across Eliza, parked in the hallway. Her head hung down against her chest and she snored quietly. It was the most peaceful she had ever seen the old woman, and before she realised what she was doing, she walked right up to her and rearranged the blanket that had fallen off her lap.
As she did so, she heard a voice come from the room next door and paused. She didn’t want to intrude on a private conversation, and she feared that any movement would make the ancient floor groan and announce her presence.
It was Dottie’s voice, muffled from behind the closed door. “How are you getting on?……… ready to file……” was as much as Connie could make out.
She braved a step away, then another, then dashed across the hall and into the kitchen.
Grace stood at the island surrounded by food.
“Just grabbing a drink,” Connie said.
“Good,” Grace snapped. “You get your drink and go out and relax. It’s nice to have a break where you don’t have to cook or clean, huh? I wouldn’t know.”
Connie took a breath. She felt as though she was being played in every conversation with Grace, but her good nature wouldn’t allow her to resist the trap. “Can I help?”
“It’s done now!” Grace snapped. “No good offering now!”
“Okay then,” Connie said with a smile that didn’t reach her heart. She reached into the fridge and grabbed a cold can of soda, then retreated. In the lounge she came across Lottie doing some kind of yoga.
Connie stood and watched her for a moment, taking in the sight of how slow and deliberate her body movements were. It was a sight to behold. After a few moments, Lottie appeared to bow and give silent thanks.
“That was amazing,” Connie said. She entered the room and lowered herself into one of the leather chairs.
Lottie turned to her and grinned. “It’s my version of religion. Do you practice?”
“Yoga? No,” Connie said. “I’m pretty sure I couldn’t do any of what you just did.”
“Nobody can when they start,” Lottie said with a shrug. “I’ve been doing this my whole life. Parents were real hippies, we did family yoga together every morning.”
“Wow,” Connie said. She added yoga to the mental list she had of things she was failing to do with her twins and wondered if every mother kept such a list.
“So, what do you think to all… this?” Lottie opened her hands wide as if she meant the Manor, but Connie knew she meant the family.
She let out a laugh. “It’s interesting, that’s for sure. You must be used to it all by now?”
“Yep,” she said, a little too quickly.
“You and Christopher,” Connie said. “There’s a big age difference? You must have been pretty young when you met him?”
Lottie stiffened a little and Connie regretted the direct question. What business was it of hers if there was an age gap.
“I was nineteen,” Lottie said. “And he was forty-one.”
Connie gave her a reassuring smile. “And you’ve been happy ever since. It’s wonderful. You must have been a really mature 19 year old. To be ready to settle down, I mean.”
Lottie shrugged. “More a case of thinking I knew everything and realising I knew nothing. You can do the math. I was pregnant with Pixie right away.”
“You trapped my son,” Eliza snarled from the doorway. Her presence made Connie jump.
“How did she -” Connie whispered.
“She can wheel herself, she just doesn’t like to,” Lottie said. “But she hates missing a chance to spew her venom even more, so here she is!”
“I’ll tell you what really happened,” Eliza addressed Connie. “My son had his head turned by this young harlot. He was a bloody fool and I’ve told him so. But it would have died out quick enough. Except she saw a chance to move up in the world. Next thing, she’s pregnant.”
“Eliza, I’m sure…” Connie began.
“She never even wanted kids!” Eliza shouted. “You’ve only got to see her with her own to realise that! Nannies, daycare, those kids were lumped off on anyone she could find!”
To Connie’s surprise, Lottie’s eyes filled with tears. Perhaps she wasn’t as used to her mother-in-law as she made out.
“How dare she?” Lottie seethed. “Someone needs to shut her up, for good!”
“Let’s just calm down,” Connie soothed.
Lottie gave a bitter laugh. “You know what? I’ve got a migraine. I’m going to bed.”
“Don’t,” Connie pleaded.
“I’ll be fine,” Lottie said. She jumped up and paced across the room to Eliza, then bent down and met the woman’s gaze. “You are an awful person, Eliza. But karma will take care of you. You’ll get what’s coming to you. Believe me, you will.”
10
The men returned from their walk with ruddy faces and windswept hair. The daylight had gone and the dinner was ready. They had barely a chance to take off their hiking boots before Grace began to panic about them being late.
“It’s fine,” Zeb said with a grin. “What have we missed?”
“All of the work, of course!” Grace called as she carried another steaming bowl of food on to the round table.
“Lottie’s gone to bed with a migraine,” Connie added.
“Should you check on her?” Zeb asked Christopher.
Christopher looked at the table and shook his head. “She’ll be sleeping. She’ll come down when she feels better.”
“Take your seats! Please.” Grace clapped her hands and everyone followed her command. The meal looked majestic. It was a Thanksgiving dinner, really, with three types of meat, mashed potatoes, candied parsnips and carrots, green beans, corn, dinner rolls and a huge jar of cranberry sauce. The last dish to make it to the table was a glorious pumpkin pie.
“This looks amazing,” Connie complimented.
“No ham?” Eliza barked from the head of the table. Taylor had wheeled her there and then sat next to Connie.
“Eat the turkey, mother,” Bobby suggested.
“You eat the turkey!” She called back at him. “Might be the last good meal you can afford.”
Connie noticed Christopher bury a smile behind his fist.
“It means that when your workforce all ring in sick next week and you’re paying their wages, you’ll be glad you had a good meal tonight.”
“It is a good meal,” Grace interrupted. “Thank you, Eliza.”
“Ugh,” Eliza rolled her eyes. “Who invited you out of the kitchen?”
“I’m not paying their wages,” Bobby said.
“Honey, can we keep work talk away from the table?” Grace gushed. Bobby shot her a glare.
“You’ll do as I say,” Eliza said. Her voice was cold, clinical, and sent a chill down Connie’s spine.
“Mother, it’s just the decent thing to do. All I’m saying is three days a year sick leave will be paid. Our workers shouldn’t have to worry about being unpaid if they catch a bug or something.”
“Please, Bobby, let’s enjoy dinner,” Grace repeated.
“Come on old man, listen to Grace,” Zeb called. He slouched in his chair and the pearly white of his teeth was barely visible through his facial hair.
“Old man?” Bobby challenged.
“Here we go,” Taylor whispered. He gave Connie’s hand a squeeze.
“Something you want to say to me, little brother?” Bobby called across at Zeb.
“Yes,” Zeb said. He stood up, reached across and served himself a portion of pumpkin pie. “Your wife’s an excellent cook and you should really stop whining and let us all enjoy this meal she’s made.”
Bobby’s eyes darted between his brother and his wife, and in the silence that followed, people around the table began to serve up food onto their plates. Connie noticed that the turkey looked a little dry and said a silent prayer that nobody would comment on it. Lottie’s spot next to Christopher sat empty as he served himself a giant mound of mashed potato.
Eliza’s plate remained empty. She batted away the bowls of food that Grace offered her.
“Will you tell her?” Grace hissed through clenched teeth.
“I’m not telling her anything,” Bobby said. He remained sullen.