Swallowing with relief and trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to erupt, Amy stood up and numbly made her way upstairs to the box room Sam and she shared, so they could fit two beds for the kids in the bigger bedroom.
Amy sat on the unmade bed and stared at the damp wall in front of her.
What had happened to the two of them in the past few years? Where had it all gone wrong?
She’d met Sam in the bar of The Swan in Southwold – she in her final year of art college and up from London for the wedding of a friend, he popping in for a quick drink on a Saturday night. His friend had been late and she’d needed a breather from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the nuptials. They had begun to chat, one thing had led to another and he’d called her in London, asking her up for a weekend at his family home just outside Southwold.
Amy remembered seeing Admiral House for the first time. It was so perfectly formed, almost doll’s-house-like in its prettiness, that she’d itched to paint it. Sam’s mother, Posy, had been so welcoming, her stay so relaxed that she had returned to her small flat in London and dreamed of going back to the space and peace of Suffolk.
Sam had just started his computer business and had wined and dined her with energy and imagination. She’d found his enthusiasm for life captivating, his family delightful and his bed warm and inviting.
When he’d asked her to marry him and move to Suffolk just after she’d finished her last term at art college, it had not been a hard decision to make. They’d rented a tiny terraced house in one of the quaint Southwold streets and settled down to married life. Amy began to take her easel along the sea front, painting the vistas and selling them to a local gallery for the tourists. But that work was only seasonal and when Sam’s computer business had gone under, she’d had to take the first job she’d been offered as a receptionist at The Feathers, a comfortable if old-fashioned hotel in the centre of town.
The past ten years had been a series of ups and downs, according to where Sam was with his businesses. When things were good, Sam would shower her with flowers and presents and take her out for dinner and Amy would remember the fun-loving person she’d married. When things were bad, life was very different . . .
And, if Amy was honest with herself, things had been bad for quite a long time. When his film business had folded, Sam had sunk into a morass of despair and had hardly left the house.
She had tried so hard not to make it any worse for him. Even though he was at home during the day, she rarely asked him to pick up the children from school or do the shopping whilst she worked. She knew Sam’s pride depended on him still thinking of himself as a businessman and she’d learnt from experience to leave him alone when he was in a downer.
‘But what about me?’
The words came out of Amy’s mouth before she could stop them. She was almost thirty and what had she achieved in her life so far? She had a husband who seemed to be permanently unemployed, they were broke and reduced to living in a rented hovel. Yes, she had two lovely children and a job, but it was hardly the glittering career as an artist that she’d dreamt of before she’d married Sam.
And as for his temper . . . she knew the aggression he showed her, especially after he’d had a few drinks, was getting worse. She only wished she had someone to talk to about it, but who would she tell?
Feeling horribly self-indulgent, Amy quickly put on her dark blue work suit and added some make-up to put some colour into her pale cheeks. She was just tired, that was all, and Sam did try to do his best. She left the house, deciding to buy something special for supper. It only made things worse when they fell out on top of all their other problems and, despite her gut feeling that this new venture was doomed to failure like the rest, Amy knew that she had no choice but to trust him.
As it was Friday, and the start of the Southwold Literary Festival, The Feathers Hotel was chaotic. The other receptionist had called in sick, which meant Amy had taken no lunch break and had been unable to do the weekend shopping. She’d dealt with one double booking, a blocked toilet and a watch that had gone missing, presumed stolen, until it had mysteriously turned up half an hour later. Glancing at her own watch, Amy saw she only had ten minutes before she had to collect the children from Josie, the childminder, and there was still no sign of Karen, the evening receptionist.
Mr Todd, the manager, was nowhere to be found and when she tried to call Sam on his mobile to see if he could pick the children up, there was no reply. She fumbled in her bag to find her address book, then realised she had left it on the kitchen table at home. On the verge of tears, Amy called directory enquiries, only to discover Josie’s number was ex-directory.
‘Is it completely impossible to get any kind of assistance round here?!’
The reception desk shook under the force of the fist being slammed onto it.
‘I’ve called down three times now for somebody to try and get hot water running through my bloody taps!’
‘I’m very sorry, sir, I have called maintenance and they promised to see to it as soon as they could.’ Amy knew her voice was wobbly because of the lump at the back of her throat.
‘I’ve been waiting two hours, for Chrissakes! It’s just not good enough and unless you sort it out within the next ten minutes, I’m checking out.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll get on to maintenance again now.’
Her hand shook as she reached for the receiver, tears now gathering in her eyes no matter how hard she swallowed. Before she could lift it, she saw Karen arrive through the front entrance.
‘Sorry I’m late, Amy. There’s an overturned lorry on the way into town.’ Karen made her way round the reception desk and took off her coat. ‘You okay?’
Amy could only shrug and wipe a hand across her eyes.
‘Go on, I’ll deal with this. Now, Mr Girault,’ Karen smiled brightly across the desk, ‘how can I help you?’
Amy fled into the back office, found an old tissue in her handbag and blew her nose hard. She shrugged herself into her jacket and, head down, walked fast towards the front entrance. As she stepped out gratefully into the cool night air, a large hand was placed on her shoulder.
‘I say, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I realise it’s not your fault.’
Amy turned round and saw the man she’d just encountered in reception looking down at her from his considerable height. In her earlier angst, she hadn’t really taken in his appearance, but now she registered the broad shoulders, wavy auburn hair, and the deep-set green eyes which were currently full of concern.
‘No please, don’t apologise. It wasn’t you, really. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m horribly late to pick up my kids.’
‘Of course,’ he nodded, ‘and I really am sorry.’
‘Thanks.’ Amy turned and hurried up off the road.
Arriving home with two disgruntled, exhausted children plus supermarket carrier bags, the sight of her mother-in-law standing by her front gate was almost enough to reduce Amy to tears again.
‘Hello, Posy.’ She forced a smile as she unlocked the front door.
‘Darling girl, you look beat. Here, let me help you.’ Posy tucked the tin she was holding under one arm and took some of the shopping bags with her free hand. Inside, she settled Sara and Jake at the kitchen table and told Amy to put on the kettle whilst she made toast and Marmite and warmed some tinned pasta for the children’s tea.
‘My goodness, it’s freezing in here.’ Posy shivered.
‘There’s no heating, I’m afraid,’ Amy replied. ‘It’s only meant to be used as a summer house.’
Posy glanced round at the tiny, dreary kitchen, the one light bulb that hung uncovered from the centre of the room showing up every smear of grime on the walls.
‘Not exactly a palace, is it?’
‘No,’ replied Amy, ‘but hopefully it’ll only be for a little while, until we get back on our feet financially.’
‘You know, I have told Sam you can all come and stay with me at Adm
iral House for as long as you like. It seems ridiculous that I have it to myself whilst you are all cooped up here.’
‘You know Sam’s pride will never let him do that.’
‘Well, my dear,’ said Posy, opening the tin and lifting out a perfect chocolate cake, ‘sometimes pride comes before a fall, and I almost can’t bear to think of you living here.’ She cut the cake into slices. ‘There, Granny’s best cake, for after you’ve finished your toast and pasta. Would you like some, Amy?’
‘No thanks.’ Amy reckoned she might choke on it.
Posy eyed her daughter-in-law. Although she was still beautiful, Amy’s skirt was hanging off her hips and her blue eyes were huge in her pale face. Her usually immaculate long blonde hair was fighting to escape from its ponytail and looked as if it needed a damned good wash.
‘You’re far too thin, dear girl. Are you eating enough?’
‘Yes, Posy, I’m fine really.’ Amy wiped Sara’s face. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to bathe the children and put them to bed.’
‘Of course. Can I help?’
Amy thought of Posy’s reaction to the squalid little downstairs bathroom, then shrugged. What did it matter? ‘If you’d like to.’
Posy made no comment as the two of them bathed the children. After they were dry and in their nightclothes, she said she’d light the woodburner in the sitting room whilst Amy read them a story before bed.
With the children finally asleep, Amy came downstairs and sank down gratefully into a dog-eared armchair. Posy arrived from the kitchen, a glass of wine in each hand.
‘Hope you don’t mind that I opened the bottle, but you look as though you need it.’
The wine had been a treat for her and Sam later, but Amy accepted the glass gratefully.
‘Where is Sam, by the way?’ Posy asked as she settled herself onto the old leather sofa.
Amy shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but there’s something brewing work-wise, so maybe he’s at a meeting.’
‘At half past seven on a Friday night?’ Posy raised an eyebrow. ‘I somehow doubt it.’
‘Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be home soon.’
‘Does he help you much with the children?’
‘Not during the week, but he’s very good at weekends,’ said Amy loyally.
‘Amy, my dear, Sam is my son, and although I love him dearly, I also know him very well. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.’
‘He does his best, really, Posy.’
‘Like tonight, you mean? If Sam isn’t working at the moment, then surely he must help you with the domestic situation? He should have at least been around to pick up the children at five o’clock for you, or do the shopping. You look completely done in, darling girl.’
‘I just need a good night’s sleep, that’s all. I’m fine, really.’ The last thing Amy felt capable of tolerating was a lecture on the failings of her errant husband, even if they were true. ‘So, how are things with you?’
‘I have received marvellous news!’ Posy clapped her hands together. ‘Nick telephoned me a few days ago to say he’s coming home!’
‘After all this time,’ Amy mused, smiling. ‘You must be thrilled.’
‘I am indeed. And ironically, I saw Evie Newman in town that same day. She’s back in Southwold too, with her little girl in tow.’
‘Isn’t Evie the one who used to help run Nick’s antiques shop?’
‘Yes.’ Posy sipped her wine. ‘I can’t remember; did you ever meet her?’
‘Yes, but by the time Sam and I got married and I was living here permanently, she’d left Southwold.’
‘It is rather a coincidence that Nick and Evie are returning within a few weeks of each other,’ mused Posy.
‘Yes. Do you know how long Nick is staying?’
‘No, and to be frank, I’m too scared to ask. I’ll take as much of him as I can get, and it will be wonderful to have him and his expertise at Admiral House. I was thinking only this week that the time has come to value its contents.’
‘Really? Are you thinking of selling them?’
‘Perhaps. Certainly if I decide to sell the house too.’
‘Oh Posy, surely you’re not serious?!’ Amy was horrified. ‘That house has been in your family for generations. I . . . it’s beautiful! You can’t.’
‘I know, my dear, but those generations had the capital – and the staff, I might add – to maintain it,’ Posy sighed. ‘Anyway, enough about me. How’s work?’
‘Hectic, as it always is the week of the literary festival. The hotel is fully booked.’
‘Rather nice to have lots of interesting authors on one’s doorstep. I’m going to hear Sebastian Girault speak about his book tomorrow. He sounds such an interesting man.’
‘Sebastian Girault?’ Amy repeated numbly.
‘Yes. His novel was shortlisted for the Booker Prize this year, and it sold heaps more than the actual winner. You must have heard of him, Amy.’
These days, she felt reading the headlines on the front of the daily tabloid without disturbances was an achievement, let alone a book from cover to cover. ‘No, I mean, I hadn’t heard of him until today. I met him this afternoon, actually. He’s staying at the hotel.’
‘Did you indeed? Lucky old you. Rather attractive, isn’t he? So tall and rugged,’ smiled Posy.
‘I really didn’t notice, to be honest. At the time he was screaming to me about the lack of hot water in his room.’
‘Oh dear, what a shame. I’d rather hoped he’d be as nice as he sounds on the radio. Mind you, he has had a difficult life. His wife died in childbirth a few years ago, taking the baby with her. Still, that’s no reason to behave rudely to others. That’s the trouble with all these celebrities, isn’t it? They have the arrogance of fame and it changes them.’ Posy looked at Amy, then clapped her hands together. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you come with me tomorrow? We could go for a spot of lunch at The Swan and on to the reading. It would do you good to get out.’
‘I can’t, Posy, I’ve no one to look after the children.’
‘Surely Sam can manage for a few hours? It is Saturday, after all.’
‘I . . .’ Before Amy could answer, she heard the front door open and Sam came in.
‘Darling.’ Posy stood up and kissed her son on both cheeks. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Out at a meeting.’
‘In the pub, was it?’ asked Posy, smelling his breath.
‘Don’t start, Mum, please.’
‘I won’t, but your poor wife has had the most appalling day and I was just saying how much she needs a break. So I’m taking her out for lunch tomorrow and then we’re going on to an event at the literary festival. You’ll be fine with the children for the afternoon, won’t you, Sam? I’ll be off now, leave you two to eat your supper in peace. So, I’ll be here to pick you up tomorrow at twelve thirty, Amy. Bye, both.’
‘Bye, Posy,’ said Amy, her face red from embarrassment.
The front door closed and Amy eyed her husband with trepidation, trying to gauge his mood. ‘I’m so sorry, Sam. You know when your mother has a bee in her bonnet, she won’t let it rest. I’ll phone her tomorrow morning and say I can’t make it.’
‘No, Mum’s right, you do need a break. I’ll be fine with the kids tomorrow afternoon. And listen, I’m sorry I lost my rag this morning.’
‘And I’m sorry I doubted you,’ Amy said, relief flooding through her at his apology.
‘That’s okay. I can understand why, but you just have to trust me.’
‘I do, Sam, really.’
‘Good. Now, what’s for supper and where’s the rest of that wine?’
Chapter 3
‘I don’t want to go, Mummy, please!’
‘Clemmie, Orwell Park is a wonderful school and it’s a fantastic opportunity for you.’
‘But I don’t care about that. I want to stay here with you, not go away. Please, Mummy, don’t make me.’
‘Come here.’ Evie Newman took her
daughter into her arms and gave her a hug. ‘Do you think I want you to go away?’
‘Dunno,’ Clemmie sniffed.
‘Well of course I don’t, but I have to think of your future. You’re very clever and Mummy has to try and give you the best opportunities she can.’
‘But I liked my old school in Leicester. Why can’t we go back there?’
‘Because we live here now, darling. And even if we were still living in Leicester, I’d still be wanting you to go to Orwell Park.’
‘I just want us to go home. I want things back to the way they used to be,’ sobbed Clemmie into Evie’s shoulder. ‘You need me to look after you, Mummy, you know you do.’
‘No I don’t, Clemmie,’ Evie said fiercely. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’
‘But if I go away to school, you’ll be all alone in this big house. What if . . .’
‘Clemmie, darling, I promise you I’m going to be absolutely fine.’ Evie stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘I feel very selfish that I’ve had you all to myself in the past few years. It’s time you had a life of your own and stopped worrying about me.’
‘I’ll never do that, Mummy. I like it the way it’s been; just you and me.’
‘I know, and so do I, but remember, you’ll be home every weekend and the holidays are far longer than at your old school. We’ll have plenty of time to be together, I promise.’
Clemmie pulled away roughly from Evie’s embrace and stood up. ‘You just want to get rid of me. Well, I’m not going and you can’t make me!’ She ran from the room and slammed the door behind her.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ Evie thumped the sofa hard. Sending her beloved daughter away was tearing her apart, and there was no doubt that secretly she was as dependent on her daughter as Clemmie was on her mother. With just the two of them living together in their small terraced house in Leicester, and everything that had happened whilst they were there, Clemmie had had to grow up far too quickly and shoulder responsibilities that an adult would have found stressful.
The Butterfly Room Page 6