by Penny Feeny
She did remember. They’d been in the converted barn, across the courtyard from the farmhouse, far enough from their hosts for raised voices not to travel. Leo had been drinking – too much cheap red wine, from a flagon on the bench – and when their row escalated, he had tried to patch it up, as in the old days, but his caress had been clumsy and inept. She had shaken off his touch at once, saying bitterly, ‘You can’t even look after your own feckless daughter. Thank God Matt’s prepared to take her in.’ There was more, but she had chosen to blank it out.
A glimmer of pain passed across Leo’s features and his left arm twitched. ‘God,’ he said. ‘It’s unbearable sometimes, the throbbing, the monstrous urge to itch. I want to rip off these bloody dressings and—’
‘Don’t,’ said Julia.
‘Doctor knows best,’ he mocked. He sank into the window seat and patted the space beside him as if inviting her to sit. She refused, preferring to lean against the wall; she liked being taller.
Leo said, ‘Of course I never got the full story because we ended up…’
‘I know how we ended up,’ said Julia. ‘With you accusing me of favouritism.’
‘Because I thought you were taking it out on Bel for being my kid. Not… his.’
‘Which simply isn’t true.’ For all his faults – those lost hours either spent carousing or staring at the ceiling in search of inspiration – she hadn’t loved Leo any less than William. But he had the disadvantage of still being around to aggravate and make demands. ‘Please don’t turn everything into a competition. I try very hard to be even-handed with Matt and Bel. It’s just that she tends to attract trouble more often…’
‘Like me I suppose?’
This was hard to deny. ‘Well look at you! How can I help but worry about you?’
‘Is that all?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t feel anything else for me?’
‘Stop fishing, Leo. We had twenty sometimes terrific years together but we’ve gone way beyond sentiment now. I told you before, I have faith in your work, but – let’s be honest – I’ve had quite enough of being a long-suffering wife.’
He gave her the lopsided grin which, despite herself, she still found endearing. ‘I do miss you, you know. Couldn’t you hack being a man’s long-suffering friend?’
‘I thought that’s what we’d already agreed.’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t keep your part of the bargain.’
‘I didn’t?’ She stopped short; she shouldn’t let him goad her. ‘Sorry, what I meant to say was—’
‘How about a truce?’
She smiled. ‘Yes. Exactly.’
He saw her glance at his bag leaning against the chest of drawers, a small holdall because he’d expected his visit to be brief. ‘So,’ he said. ‘I’m off tomorrow.’
‘And Bel’s going with you?’
‘She needs a place to stay. I need someone who can wield bottle opener and corkscrew so we should get along fine.’
‘You mean she’s going to be taking care of you this time?’
‘No doubt she’ll make a better fist of it than I did with her. And I’ve managed to set up a few things, interviews, meetings and so forth. You know what they say about publicity and I’m going to milk this, Julia, for all it’s worth. Till I can pick up a brush again. What about you?’
‘Me?’ They stretched in front of her: the weeks, months and years to spend exactly as she pleased. But first there was Nathan Carter to deal with. ‘Ah, well, I have a few phone calls to make, some casework that needs tidying up. I might do more consultancy actually. There are too many Nathans out there, falling through the cracks. And then of course there are the grandchildren. I want to be able to help out when the next one arrives. And enjoy it.’
As she spoke, a cry floated up through the warm still air, entering the open window. ‘Danny! Where are you?’
Looking down, they saw Rachael stumble into the garden, closely followed by Matt. Bel was outside, leaning against the trunk of the pear tree, petals dusting her shoulders like confetti.
‘Have you seen Dan?’ they heard Rachael say. ‘I thought he was with Matt in the study, but he’s lost him.’
‘I didn’t lose him,’ Matt protested. ‘He wanted another ride on his bike and I told him he’d have to wait so he went dashing off…’
‘His bike’s there,’ said Bel, pointing towards the hedge. ‘So he can’t have gone out on it.’ There was a mischievous gurgle at the back of her throat, which Julia noticed at once.
Leo nudged her arm. ‘Look.’ The leaves shivered in the tree. ‘Clever little bugger,’ he said. ‘He’s been wanting to get up there all week, though I reckon Bel must have given him a helping hand.’
Six feet off the ground, a small pair of trainers were just visible, also two round knees gripping the thick branch as if astride a horse.
‘Darling…’ said Rachael faintly. Matt clapped.
Danny’s face, framed by blossom, was a picture of delight.
36
The Letter
4th June 2010
Dear Bel,
I am enclosing a letter from Clemmie. She says she would like to see you again and as you are in London, I expect something can be arranged. You say you are in touch with her father’s family through his brother. You will understand the difficulty I have in trusting Tom, but if her grandmother chooses to make the journey from Ireland, I wouldn’t stop them meeting. Clemmie is very precious to me as you can imagine and I want her to be happy.
Yours truly,
Monique Beaumont
Dear Bel,
Thank you for sending me the story about the volcano. I reely liked it. Will you send me anuver one? My granny on the farm sent me sum nitted ducks. They are cool. She mite cum to see me. It wud be reely nice to see you and unkle Keeron too.
I hope you are well.
Love from
Clementine Alice Beaumont xxxx
Acknowledgements:
I am deeply indebted to my agent, Laura Longrigg, for her guidance in the initial shaping of this book; to my editors, Lucy Gilmour and Laura Palmer, for insight into character development and polishing the final draft; and to the team at Aria for their commitment and attention to detail. This is a story about families, so many thanks are also due to the families I know best: Cross, Brovender, Carmody, Ryan and, of course, all the Feenys.
About the Author:
Penny Feeny grew up in Cambridge, but has been settled in Liverpool for most of her adult life. She has worked in a gallery in Rome and in publishing in London, and has been an arts administrator, editor and radio presenter. She is married with two sons and three daughters. Her short fiction has been widely published and broadcast and won several awards. She is the author of three previous novels and her debut, That Summer in Ischia, was one of the summer of 2011's bestselling titles.
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