The Children's Hour

by Marcia Willett

  ‘Georgie was the catalyst,’ said Mina. ‘She played her part. And now you are going to sleep. You look exhausted and I’m not surprised at it. Drink your tea and then try to rest. All is well. The worst is over.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Mina leaned forward, kissed Nest’s cheek and stood up. ‘Take your tea and stop fretting. She knows. She sends her love to you. The worst is over.’ She hesitated, watching Nest sip her tea. ‘Just out of interest, how did it actually start? What made you suddenly decide to tell after all these years?’

  Nest frowned, thinking back. ‘We started talking about love, about how it was impossible just to switch it off, no matter what the person had done. And we went on to speak of parents and children and how awful the responsibility is when it comes to letting your children grow and be free. And, for some reason, I said that it was worse watching other people exercise those decisions over one’s own child. Lyddie jumped on it and it just went from there. The moment was right. That’s all I can say.’

  ‘I am very glad. I can see now that it’s the best way, to be open, and the time was exactly right for it. Now try to sleep.’

  Mina crossed the hall and went into the kitchen. There was no sign of Georgie but the teapot was empty and the kettle was boiling itself dry on top of the Esse. Mina snatched it up, cursing beneath her breath, and took it into the scullery to refill it. It sizzled as she took the lid off and poured in some cold water but she was too preoccupied to be cross with Georgie for long. She was thinking about Lyddie.

  ‘Everyone has a right to their own history.’

  Thoughtfully she set the kettle back on the Esse and went to find the dogs.

  Lyddie, travelling west, was crossing the Torridge Bridge at Bideford. She was driving automatically, only some small part of her mind concentrating on the traffic, until it suddenly occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the previous part of the journey at all. It had passed as if in a dream. She slowed down a little, glancing in her mirror, seeing the Bosun’s comfortable bulk as he leaned against the grille, staring out at the countryside as it fled away behind him.

  ‘This has been the worst week of my life,’ she told him – and he turned his head to look at her, listening with pricked ears to her voice.

  But was that true? she asked herself. Hadn’t it been worse – or at least as bad – when she’d heard the news that her parents had been killed in a car accident? The shock had been cataclysmic, unbearable, yet it was an unpalatable truth that time had eased the pain, removing the tragedy to a further point where it might be dwelt on at a distance, as it were, with sorrow but without that same agony that she’d experienced at the time. It made her feel guilty when she acknowledged this but ‘It must be so,’ Jack had said once, talking about the death of his own father. ‘How else could we function if we continued to bear that kind of loss every hour of our life?’ This had comforted her, made her feel less selfish and uncaring. There were poignant moments – her wedding had been one of them – when she needed them terribly, missed them unbearably, yet it was true that gradually she’d learned to live with the sadness and the loneliness.

  ‘And now?’ she murmured aloud. ‘And now – well, what? I can’t seem to think straight.’

  It seemed impossible not to think of Henrietta in any other light than as her mother: the nurturing and caring; the loving actions that make up a childhood: all this belonged to Henrietta. Yet Nest was her biological mother. The extraordinary thought ‘Does it matter?’ slipped into her weary mind and she felt a stab of guilt. Perhaps, because Henrietta had been dead for more than ten years, it was possible to let these two images juxtapose: Nest on the one hand; Henrietta on the other: both women who had loved and cherished her in their different ways.

  ‘Nest lost everything,’ Aunt Mina had said. ‘First she lost Connor – and you are able, now, Lyddie, to really understand what that means – and then she lost you. She had no choices. Mama was absolutely determined that you should be adopted and Connor pressed her hard. Naturally, neither Mama nor Henrietta had any idea that you were Connor’s child but you can imagine what it must have been like for Nest, beleaguered on every side. Connor wanted you desperately and yet what could he do? Should he leave his wife and child so as to support you and Nest? Either way it was an appalling decision to have to take. Someone had to lose and Nest drew the short straw. She paid very heavily for her one moment of need. She never stopped loving him, you know, and I believe that he loved both of them; that to Connor they were opposite sides of the same coin. And, to do Henrietta justice, she was delighted to help Nest by taking you as her own child and she was never less than generous in including Nest in your upbringing – as far as it was reasonable without harming you. There was only one occasion—’

  She’d stopped then, and Lyddie, still trying to assimilate all these things, had not pursued it, intent on another line of thought.

  ‘So Daddy wasn’t an unfaithful kind of man, not really?’

  ‘No,’ she’d answered readily. ‘Oh, there were plenty of opportunities but neither of them took them. Connor was not in any way a libertine. If he hadn’t been so scrupulous over the fact that Nest was ten years younger than he was, and still at school, it’s very likely that they would have married. Henrietta was the mature fulfilment of all that Nest promised and he was knocked sideways by her. He made his decision and stood by it. Nest never quite got over him, that was the tragedy. Oh, she made a pretty good fist of it but nobody else ever quite measured up to Connor.’

  Remembering, glancing away to the sea at Widemouth Bay, Lyddie felt another wave of sympathy for Nest. She could imagine all too clearly how hard it might be to recover from loving the one man you adored. How was it to be done? She found herself thinking about Rosie. In an odd way, she’d played Henrietta to Rosie’s Nest.

  ‘He was mine before he was ever yours,’ Rosie had cried – but Rosie was not prepared to back down: Rosie intended to make a fight of it. Had Liam ever really loved Rosie? Did he love her still? How cold, how sick she’d felt when she’d imagined her father being unfaithful; for a moment she’d thought of Liam and a sense of revulsion had swamped her as she’d imagined her father cheating and lying, betraying her mother.

  ‘I can’t imagine Nest as my mother,’ she’d said desperately. ‘It’s not . . . not possible. Mummy was my mother. It’s not that I don’t love Nest. I do, she’s been terrific to me, but I can’t do that.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Aunt Mina had answered firmly. ‘Nest won’t expect you to change how you feel about either her or Henrietta. Of course she won’t. It would be impossible. And unnecessary. She is Nest, a person in her own right, and she has her own relationship with you. It would be foolish to say that nothing will change now but the past is the past, unchangeable. All she will hope is that you can continue to go forward without hating her for the deception and for giving you such a shock.’

  ‘I could never hate Nest,’ she’d said after a moment – and had been surprisingly relieved to know that this was the truth. ‘She’s meant too much to me for that. But I don’t want to try to think about her in this new light. It’s . . . not right.’

  ‘I agree with you,’ Aunt Mina had said at once. ‘Henrietta was your mother in all ways except biologically. If that sounds odd then I think you know exactly what I mean. There is more to motherhood than simply producing the baby. Nest asks for nothing except that you shouldn’t condemn her or, more importantly in her eyes, your father. Why do you think she hasn’t told you before? After Henrietta died, for instance?’

  ‘So why now?’

  Aunt Mina had drawn a deep, deep breath, letting it out again with the characteristic ‘po-po-po’. ‘You might well ask. After all the years of silence it seems almost cruel that she should drop such a bombshell when you have already had an appalling shock. The simple truth is she was afraid someone else might tell you first.’

  ‘Who else knows?’ Lyddie had felt an unexpected sur
ge of real fear and anger. ‘Who . . .? Does Jack know?’

  ‘Nobody knows,’ her aunt had answered calmly. ‘I am certain of it. The trouble is that your Aunt Georgie has some inkling of one or two things that happened in the past and is making rather a thing out of it. Nest has become almost paranoid about it and has convinced herself that Georgie is going to blurt out some secret or other to you.’

  ‘And might Aunt Georgie know?’ Lyddie had suddenly realized how much she would hate others knowing whilst she did not.

  ‘I think it’s highly unlikely. You have to understand that your grandmother would have died rather than anyone beyond the immediate protagonists should know anything about it. Georgie and Josie and Timmie and their families were all abroad during that time. Timmie knew that Nest was pregnant – but not about Connor – and I had to know because Nest came here to be with us, but nobody else knew. Georgie was always a bit of a troublemaker; she liked to ruffle feathers and now, especially, she’s very confused. Nest has been carrying this secret for a long time and I think it’s simply that the strain had become too much for her.’

  ‘It must have been awful. Such a secret.’

  ‘Such a secret,’ her aunt had repeated with a sigh. ‘A terrible weight to carry, continually questioning which is the right course to take. If you are not harmed I must admit that I am delighted that the silence has been broken at last.’

  ‘I shall be OK,’ Lyddie had answered. ‘And I’m glad I know. Everyone has a right to their own history.’

  ‘There’s one last thing,’ Aunt Mina had said with an effort. ‘I think it’s important. Do you remember that Henrietta wanted you to join her in that boutique of hers when you left university?’

  ‘Oh, I certainly do. There was a frightful fuss about it. It was a crazy fad.’

  ‘Connor, most unwillingly, took out a big loan against the house to buy the lease and get the shop stocked and, when the business started to lose money, Henrietta was insistent that you should work with her so as to save on wages. Connor and Nest were absolutely against it. It was the first time Nest had ever interfered . . .’ She’d paused. ‘There’s this last thing that you should know. During that final car journey the three of them were arguing very strongly about it. Nest has always felt that if she hadn’t been so vociferous, so anxious that you should not be coerced into giving up your chosen career, Henrietta might have concentrated harder on her driving and the accident might never have happened.’

  Lyddie had stared at her. ‘But . . . that’s crazy.’

  ‘Possibly. She felt unbearably guilty that she survived and, in the pain and depression that followed, she got it out of all proportion. I mention it to you because you should know that her punishment ever since that day is that she has never once been down to the beach. More than ten years. She always loved the sea so much and she took this form of punishing herself.’

  ‘Poor Nest.’ Lyddie had been stricken with compassion. ‘Oh, poor, poor Nest. But it could have been anything that caused the accident. More likely Mummy was trying to light a cigarette. She was always a menace doing that and the car used to go all over the place.’

  ‘I felt you should know,’ Aunt Mina had repeated. ‘You need not mention it to her but if you can show that you forgive her for all the subterfuge, she might at last be able to forgive herself.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘We need to talk, Nest and I,’ said Lyddie at last, ‘but not just yet. I’d like a little time to digest all this very carefully and adjust to it. But I think I shall go back to Truro now, Aunt Mina. I think it would be a mistake to meet casually over lunch and I told Liam I’d be home by late afternoon. Give Nest my love, won’t you, and tell her I’ll be back soon?’

  ‘And Liam?’ Aunt Mina had asked gently. ‘Have you been able to come to a decision?’

  Lyddie had shaken her head rather desperately. ‘But I need to see him,’ she’d said. ‘Don’t forget to give Nest my message.’

  Her aunt had kissed her and hugged her tightly. ‘I shan’t forget,’ she’d promised.

  And now, here she was, driving back to Truro, wondering what Liam would say to her – and what she would say to him. Her heart contracted with fearful apprehension and, for a while, the thought of the approaching meeting thrust all other more recent revelations from her mind.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  He was waiting for her when she finally arrived; sitting at the table by the window, reading the newspaper. He must have heard the key in the lock, the dropping of her case in the hall, yet when she went in with the Bosun he made a show of continuing to read for a second before glancing up with a kind of pleased surprise.

  ‘Well, hello,’ he said to her – and, ‘Hello, you,’ in a different voice to the Bosun as he wagged across to greet him, demanding attention.

  ‘Hello.’ She stood rather awkwardly just inside the door. Liam could cover his awkwardness by ruffling the Bosun’s ears and playing with him but Lyddie had nothing to do. She looked about the room, and at him, and experienced her third shock. He was a stranger: handsome, sexy – but a stranger. Even the room looked changed. It seemed smaller and utterly unfamiliar. She frowned, trying to make sense of it, wondering if her mind was playing tricks. After all, it had been an extraordinary week and she was very tired.

  ‘Would you like some tea? Or something stronger?’ He was standing up now, watching her, but he made no move towards her. ‘You look bushed.’

  ‘I am tired,’ she admitted – and realized with another tiny jolt that it would be completely impossible to tell him about Nest’s revelation. It would be like exposing one’s deep, most private self to a kindly but indifferent acquaintance. She felt a sense of isolation accompanied by a feeble desire to burst into tears. ‘Thanks, some tea would be great.’

  It was important to be alone for a few moments so that she might get a grip on herself; she felt incapable even of ordinary conversation. He made no attempt to come in and out of the kitchen as he would have once – wandering to and fro, asking how the Aunts were, demanding her news, no detail too small – and she sat at the table in silence trying to cudgel her recalcitrant brain into intelligent thought. Deep down, though, a secret fear was growing.

  She listened as he talked to the Bosun, filling his bowl with cold fresh water whilst making the tea. There was the sound of noisy lapping and, presently, the Bosun shouldered out of the kitchen, went through to the hall and flung himself at full stretch upon the floor, groaning pleasurably. Liam put the mug before Lyddie on the table and went to sit down again. It occurred to her that they had not embraced; he had not even touched her shoulder or made any gesture towards physical affection. The fear grew a little stronger. She raised her head and looked at him across the table. He looked back at her, the pleasant, unmeaning smile playing round his mouth, his eyes bright and blank. As her look intensified he raised his eyebrows a little, a quizzical quirk as if questioning her interest. She was simply too tired, too emotionally unstrung to be subtle.

  ‘So you haven’t missed me, then,’ she said flatly – and picked up her mug.

  It was a statement rather than an enquiry and his eyes flew wide open in genuine surprise before the mask was dropped again. ‘And who told you that?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just guessing. How’s . . . everything?’

  ‘Everything,’ he emphasized the word almost mockingly, ‘is just fine.’

  ‘And everyone?’

  ‘Now, who would you be meaning by “everyone”? That’s a bit ambiguous.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ she cradled the mug in her hands, pretending to ponder. ‘Joe? Rosie? Zoë?’

  His smile slipped visibly and his eyes were unfriendly. ‘Could that be a leading question?’

  ‘I imagine you’ve seen them?’

  ‘I work with them, remember? It would be odd if I hadn’t.’

  ‘Has Rosie been given her job back, then?’

  His expression was hostile now. ‘She has not.’

  ‘
Ah. You haven’t seen Rosie, then?’ The pause was a shade too long. ‘I take it that means “yes”. Well, I guessed she wouldn’t miss an opportunity.’

  ‘It’s you who left,’ he reminded her. ‘You didn’t have to go.’

  She looked at him with a kind of smiling disbelief. ‘You’re saying that it’s all my fault?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not saying anything.’

  ‘But you saw Rosie.’

  He was losing his carefully controlled patience. ‘Yes, I saw Rosie. I’ve known her for a long time, remember. Long before you came on the scene.’

  ‘So she took pains to tell me. And I have this feeling, Liam, that you wish you’d stuck with her.’

  The silence was even longer and, this time, Lyddie did not break it. She sat watching him, the fear blossoming inside her.

  ‘She accepts me for what I am,’ he said at last, almost sullenly. ‘She takes the package.’

  Lyddie swallowed some tea and put the mug carefully on the small round mat. These coasters had been a wedding present: six different cartoons of a shaggy dog. She stared at it, remembering her wedding day, how she’d felt, and was suddenly overwhelmed by a devastating sense of loss.

  ‘I was thinking,’ she said, turning the mug round and round on its mat, not looking at him, ‘on my way down. Thinking about how it could be done. I’m not like Rosie, you see. I can’t just share you around. I can’t do that. But supposing we were to make a fresh start? Go somewhere new to both of us and you were to create another wine bar?’

  She looked at him at last and caught his stare of complete incredulity.

  ‘Mother of God,’ he said at last. ‘Are you crazy? And what about The Place, do I just walk away from it?’

  ‘Joe could take it over. You could do it again in another town. Why not? It happens all the time. Shops, bars, start with one and then two and then chains of things in the end.’ Suddenly she remembered their first conversation and how he’d answered when she asked why he’d called his wine bar The Place. ‘You could call it The Next Place or The Best Place.’