‘Great,’ I lie. Then follow it up with a truth: ‘All the better for seeing you.’
‘That’s the spirit. So where’s the rest of this famous family, then? Couldn’t be arsed to come out and meet us?’
I glance over my shoulder. I had sort of assumed that at least one or two of the family might have made the effort, but the drive behind us is empty, and the courtyard as well. The entire Wattestone clan has stayed indoors, observing the interlopers from the safety of the shadows.
‘Probably killing the fatted calf as we speak,’ I joke, embarrassed. ‘They always keep one to hand for unexpected visitors.’
Dad has gone back to looking at the front wheel. ‘Well, it looks like we’re totally cactus here,’ he says.
‘We’ll bring the tractor up in the morning and pull it out.’ Rufus takes the lead at last. ‘If that’s OK,’ he adds to the chauffeur.
The chauffeur turns out to speak fluent cockernee. He opens his mouth and it’s like finding yourself flipped into the middle of an Ealing comedy. ‘Naah skin off my nose, myte,’ he says. ‘Dey got me for a wee’. Makes no odds ter me where vey want ter dump da’motah.’
Apples and Pears. Cup of Rosie Lee. Charlie Chester. Gareth Hunt. It’s a relief to hear someone speak like this at last. I’d been beginning to think Guy Ritchie was making it all up.
‘I’ll go down and get the Land Rover,’ says Rufus. ‘Then we can get your bags down to the house without too much grief.’
‘Yaya’s not so good on her legs,’ says Dad.
‘I’m not bloody dead yet, sonny,’ says Yaya. ‘Show some respect.’
‘Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind coming with me and bringing up one of the other cars,’ Rufus says to the driver.
‘Whoo, one of the other cars,’ says Mum. Don’t start, Ma. Not yet. You’ve got plenty of time to put the buggers in their place.
‘No’ me, myte,’ says the driver. ‘Ahnly errlaird ’er drive ver wum car. More’m my job’s wurf.’ We really are in an Ealing comedy.
‘I’ll go,’ offers Dad.
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ says Yaya. ‘I’ll just walk. Someone fetch my cane for me, wouldya? If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘I told you I was going, Ma,’ says Dad. ‘Keep your hair on.’
‘Making an old lady walk miles in the pouring rain,’ says Yaya. ‘No wonder I never go nowhere.’
She climbs back into the limo, behind the chauffeur, who has settled down in the driver’s seat, arms folded, with his cap pulled firmly down over his eyes. Mum and I watch Rufus and Dad descend the hill. They look relaxed together, Dad walking with his hands in his pockets, Rufus’s swinging loosely by his sides.
The moment they’re out of earshot, Mum sticks an arm through mine and says: ‘So how you doing, lovey? Really? It’s not like you to burst into tears.’
‘I’m fine, Ma. I’m fine. It was just the shock of seeing you, is all.’
‘It was a relief to see you,’ she says. ‘We weren’t so sure if we’d come to the right place at first. Tell you what. From a distance it looks like it’s practically derelict.’
‘Don’t let them hear you say that. Round here, that place down there is what they call heaven.’
‘But there’s a bloody great hole in the roof!’ she begins. ‘That and the bloody great hole in the road. If you left a house in that state back home …’
‘Different culture, Ma. You’ve got to give it five minutes. How was the trip?’
‘Qantas,’ says Yaya, as though this is an explanation in itself. ‘Tell you what, I’m bloody glad we can fly Business. I went out the back to stretch my legs and they had them packed in there like sheep in a slaughterhouse.’
‘Never again,’ says Mum. ‘Tell you what, I won’t even fly Economy internally these days. They don’t even give you enough legroom to read a magazine. Let your table down and you cut off the circulation to the bottom half of your body.’
Yaya’s voice drifts through the door. ‘These people. Do they know we here? Why they not come to meet us?’
I guess I know the answer, but something makes me protect them anyway. They’re my husband’s family, after all. It would slay me if my folks judged Rufus on the strength of his family’s manners.
‘I’m not sure,’ I reply. ‘It’s a big house. Maybe they don’t know you’re here yet …’
‘I seen t’ree people at that window there.’ A gnarly hand emerges from the limo and points at the first-floor drawing room. Her eyesight hasn’t deteriorated since I left home. ‘They were watching us.’
‘God, then they’re probably running around getting tidied up. I don’t know. They weren’t exactly expecting visitors.’
‘No need to go to trouble on our account.’ Mum pats the back of her barnet and shakes her Rolex. ‘I’m just wearing what I threw on out of a suitcase.’
Glancing in through the open limo door, I see that she’s brought her entire range of Vuittons: the portmanteau, the suit carrier, the midsize suitcase, the wheel-on cabin baggage, the shoe store, the vanity case; even the hat box.
She’s travelling light, then.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Could Do with a Dusting
By the time we reach the front door, they’ve pulled themselves together enough to form a welcoming party. To my surprise, it includes Hilary. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. We were supposed to be travelling down on the train together today so he could stay for Christmas, and he must have arrived while I was closeted with Beatrice. Doesn’t have a family of his own, of course. Or not one with a bloody great mansion on offer, anyway. Mary has managed, while we have been manhandling Yaya down the hill, to change into a dark green woollen dress topped off with a string of pearls and a pair of matching stud earrings. She has treated her hair to a comb and half a bottle of lacquer and slicked on another layer of her shell-pink lipstick and an application of powder. And sports a pair of high black court shoes which she must have carried down and put on just inside the front door, as she would have broken an ankle trying to walk in them on the uneven surfaces inside the house. She looks, as always, elegant.
Beside her, my mum looks dumpy in her Nikes and leisure wear. It doesn’t help that she has slung a bum bag around her hips that makes her look like she’s just stepped off a Disney cruise liner. Edmund hasn’t changed: is still in his customary uniform of twill trousies and a checked lawn shirt, but has definitely tidied his hair up, and Hilary looks, as usual, like a comedy cad.
They’ve turned the lights on in the hall. I glimpse Beatrice looking down from her bedroom window, Nessa silhouetted behind her.
The three of them stand in the doorway, Mary a step forward, one hand on the lintel, while her menfolk take up position, hands behind their backs, to her rear. I’m relieved to see that she is smiling.
‘Welcome!’ she cries, once we’re out of the Land Rover. ‘What a surprise! And what a treat!’ She totters gingerly out on to the flags in front of the door, extends a hand to my mother.
Edmund steps out after her, does the same to my dad. ‘Edmund Wattestone,’ he says. ‘How do you do?’
‘Mary,’ says Mary.
‘Great to meetcha, Mary,’ says my mum. ‘Colleen. I guess we’re related now, eh?’
Mary doesn’t turn a hair. ‘Lovely girl,’ she says. ‘And what a treat to be able to put faces to names at last.’
Mary has asked me precisely zero questions about my family in the past seven weeks.
‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ she says.
‘Likewise,’ lies my Mum right back at her. ‘So this is the old homestead, eh?’
‘For its sins,’ says Mary. ‘Come in. Please.’
There’s a pointed cough from behind us.
Oh God, sorry.
‘This is my grandmother,’ I say, ‘Penelope. Yaya, this is Mary, my mother-in-law, and Edmund, my father-in-law. And this is Hilary. An old family friend.’
‘That’s a chick’s name, isn’t it?�
� asks Dad.
Edmund steps forward gallantly, takes my Yaya’s hand and bows over it. he tells her.
‘What’d he say?’ asks Mum.
says Yaya.
says Edmund.
‘Well, I am,’ she says, getting what’s going on, ‘But I’m only seventy-five. Not four thousand.’
‘Ah. You speak English.’
‘I guess after thirty years in Australia I might have picked up a bit.’
Yaya turns to Dad and says:
I tell her.
Yaya looks at me, then at Rufus, then back at me.
Rufus flashes my yaya a flirtatious look. ‘Thank you. It’s all the riding.’
I find myself blushing. Yaya cackles.
‘Well,’ says Edmund, ‘come in. You must be exhausted. I should think you could do with a drink.’
‘You’re not kidding,’ says my mum. ‘I’m as dry as a nun’s nasty.’
There’s a moment’s silence in honour of this statement. ‘Well,’ says Mary faintly, ‘we’ll see what we can do …’
As we enter the hall, I hear Mum gasp. I know everyone else has heard it too. They, of course, will be thinking she’s impressed. I know, and Dad will know, that she’s thinking about the dirt. Mum has a bit of an allergy to housedust. It makes her angry.
‘Well, this is … interesting,’ says my mum.
‘It’s colder inside than out,’ says Yaya.
‘Hey!’ says Dad, advancing into the room. ‘That’s some weapons you got there!’
‘Do you like them?’ asks Edmund. ‘That one over the fireplace is the axe my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather used to behead witches with.’
‘Radical,’ says my dad.
‘Very advanced, of course,’ says Edmund. ‘Most of them were still tying them on to bonfires at the time.’
‘Hmm,’ says Dad, ‘nowadays we just send them to Queensland and call them politicians. You mind if I smoke?’
‘Not at all,’ says Edmund.
‘Want one?’
Edmund glances at his wife and declines.
‘Go on. I’ve got plenty. Havanas. I get them sent over by the case.’
‘No, really,’ says Edmund. ‘Under orders, I’m afraid.’
‘They’re really good,’ says Dad, and elbows Edmund in the ribs. ‘Rolled on a maiden’s thigh, you know what I mean?’
‘Adonis!’ barks Yaya. ‘You watch your mouth! You want to show us up in front of your daughter’s new family?’
Dad just lets out one of his emphysematous chortles and claps Edmund on the back.
Yaya turns to Tilly. ‘What joy you have beneath your dress,’ she says.
Tilly looks startled, glances down and remembers that she’s pregnant. ‘Yes, I – thank you.’
‘It will be any day now, I think,’ says Yaya.
‘Another few weeks, I’m afraid,’ says Tilly.
Yaya shakes her head firmly. ‘No. Next few days. And it will be a boy.’
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ says Mary, who seems to have recovered her composure.
‘I am always right,’ says Yaya. ‘In fifty years, I never been wrong.’
‘Well!’ says Mary. ‘At least that’s something to look forward to!’
‘You got to be strong to have children,’ says Yaya gloomily. Pats Tilly’s belly absentmindedly as though she were a passing moo-cow. ‘First they rip you apart when they come into the world, and then they rip your heart from your body when you are old. It’s no life, being a woman. A vale of tears.’
Rufus brings in the last of Mum’s bags. He’s looking a bit pink about the face. ‘I think that’s the lot,’ he says.
‘Oh, thank you. Now come into the light and let me have a proper look at you.’
Rufus looks sheepish, ducks his head and steps in front of her. Looks down at her. Something passes between them and they both smile. Then Mum stretches up and pinches him on the cheek like a little boy. ‘Not bad for a pommy.’
‘I’ve seen worse ockerinas.’
‘You’re going to look after my little girl, aren’t you?’
‘I shall cherish her like finest porcelain.’
Mum bellows with laughter. ‘Cheeky monkey.’
‘You’ve brought plenty of luggage,’ says Mary faintly.
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,’ says my dad. ‘She takes a suitcase on wheels when she goes out to lunch in case she feels like a change of outfit.’
‘Didn’t really know what to pack,’ adds Mum. ‘It’s kind of hard to believe that it’s really going to be cold in December. So I packed a bit of everything. And besides, you need the odd special gear for Christmas, don’t you? Plus, of course, the big trunk is gifts. You’ll have to wait for the big day to see what they are, though.’
Hilary finally finds his voice. ‘You’ve come for Christmas?’
‘Yeah. Only period Don can get the time off. As it is, we’ve had to leave Melody’s brother behind to look after the shop. But we couldn’t leave our little girl to fend for herself in a strange country over the festive season, eh?’ There’s a little pause as this information sinks in, then Mum, suddenly remembering her manners, adds: ‘If that’s OK, of course. If we’re not putting you out.’
‘No, no,’ says Mary.
‘Cause I’m sure we could still check into a hotel,’ says Ma unconvincingly.
‘I told you we should have given them some notice,’ says Yaya.
‘But that would have spoiled the surprise,’ says Edmund. ‘We’ve plenty of bedrooms.’
‘That’s good. Was wondering when we came down the hill if it wasn’t a lunatic asylum,’ says Mum. Hastily adds, when she sees how well this is going down: ‘I can give you a hand with the cooking.’
‘How kind …’ says Mary.
‘Or I’ll tell you what,’ offers Dad, ‘maybe there’s a hotel or a restaurant around here that does Christmas dinner? Maybe I could take us all out, eh? My shout.’
‘How kind …’ says Mary again. I think she’s gone on to automatic. I can see her gazing at my mum’s trainers, at the spectacles held round her neck by a white plastic chain (she’s got chains to go with all her outfits), at Dad’s bomber jacket, at Yaya’s old-Greek-lady black dress and furry boots. ‘So!’ she says brightly. ‘Let’s go up to the drawing room and get you a drink!’
‘Thought you’d never ask,’ says Mum drily.
‘We’ve some champagne in the cellar,’ says Mary.
‘Christ, no,’ says Mum, ‘hate the stuff. Gives me terrible wind. Have you got anything else?’
Chapter Forty
Delilah
The cellphone I insisted on going to buy in Bicester yesterday arvo while the olds napped off their jet lag wakes me, bimbling out the chorus of ‘Delilah’ in the dark, pulling me slowly out of sleep like a mosquito buzzing in my ear. Seems like I’m the only one to hear it. Rufus and Buster slumber on oblivious, tandem snores filling the room as I feel about the floor for my bag.
Eventually I track the phone down by the green light on top. Notice that the time display reads 06:24 before I answer.
It’s Mum.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Sorry. You’re going to have to come and get me.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I haven’t the foggiest. I came out looking for the dunny an hour ago and now I’m lost.’
‘But it’s only one door down from your room.’
‘Someone must’ve moved the doors,’ she says firmly.
My husband sighs in his sleep, mutters something about pheasants and buries his face in the pillow.
I sigh myself. ‘Tell me where you are.’
‘Well, if I knew that,’ she tells me with faultless logic, ‘I’d be able to find my way back, wouldn’t I?’
I manage to hold back a second sigh. ‘Look around you, and tell me what you see.’
‘Oh. OK. Well, I’m in a room …’
I wait.
‘It’s �
�� I dunno. Looks pretty much like all the rooms I’ve been in. Covered in dust, wallpaper hanging off, cobwebs in the corners, little piles of plaster flakes, drapes haven’t been cleaned in years …’
‘Is there anything at all that’s different from the other rooms? Have you got any idea which floor you’re on?’
‘None at all.’
‘Well, look around you, Ma. There must be something you can give me a clue with.’
‘I don’t know. Oh, yeah, OK: there’s a couple of statues.’
‘What do they look like?’
‘Naked chicks.’
Plenty of those about.
‘What are they doing?’
‘I dunno. Washing, I guess. That or stripping’
‘Does one of them have eight arms?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘OK. I’ll come and get you.’
She’s somehow found her way to the Indian gallery, two floors and a wing-and-a-half away from their quarters. I turn on the lamp to find some clothes – I’m not walking those dark and haunted corridors in just a nightie; I’ve seen Friday the 13th – and Rufus, disturbed, opens his eyes.
‘Hi. What’s up?’
I explain.
‘What time is it?’
‘Half six, quarter to seven.’
‘Ugh. God, I hate these dark mornings. Suppose I might as well get up now I’m awake.’
‘Naah. Stay in bed for a bit, doll. Place won’t fall down without you.’
My husband rubs his face, sleepily. ‘Wouldn’t be so sure of that.’
‘Mind if I take this sweater with me? She’s probably halfway to hypothermia by now.’
He raises the counterpane, sends Buster tumbling over on to my side of the bed. The dog barely reacts, just rearranges himself, smacks his chops and resumes his snoring. ‘Sure. Can I have my morning kiss, please?’
‘I’ve not brushed my teeth yet.’
‘Doesn’t matter.’
This is the stuff about marriage: the stuff I find surprising, the stuff that delights me. This intimacy, this no-need-to-impress, these small rituals that keep you warm on chilly mornings. I go to him and hold him as he comes awake. Stroke his hair and feel the comfort of his arms round my waist, the flex of his shoulders under my forearms. Rufus smells of bonfires and toffee this morning. I will never let him go.
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