by Tyler, Anne
Richard looked concerned. “Anna, can I make you a cup of tea? Or perhaps a hot chocolate? I know my way around the kitchen, I think. Would you like that? You must have had a terrible fright tonight.”
“Yes. Yes, I have. Thanks, Richard. That would be really kind of you.”
Then she burst into tears.
The blue station wagon pulled up in front of the motel.
“Thanks, Daniel,” Carrie said from the front passenger seat beside him.
“Yes. Thanks, Daniel,” Bett said from the back.
“I was happy to do it. You’re both okay from here?”
“We’re fine, thanks,” Bett managed to get in first.
“And will you tell Lola I was asking after her?”
“Of course.” Bett hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was the opportunity to speak to Daniel. She had to mention something about their night together, or the tension at work would be too much. But she couldn’t do it now. Not with Carrie in earshot. Her sister already seemed to be taking what seemed like hours to undo her seat belt and get out of the front.
They finally got out at the same time, standing side by side to wave as Daniel drove off. There was a long, awkward silence. Bett felt uncomfortable. Did she ask Carrie to stay for a cup of tea? Give her the chance to talk over the night? Surely she was feeling as shocked as Bett was?
Carrie took the decision away from her, reaching into her bag for her car keys. “Anna’s turned off the lights, I see, so I’ll leave you to it.” Her voice was very brisk.
“Oh. Okay. Good night, then.”
“Yes. See you tomorrow.”
Bett walked to her room. Carrie walked to her car. Neither of them turned around, or noticed that the light was still on in the kitchen.
Chapter Twelve
Fusspot.”
Anna grinned. “Lola, I’m not a fusspot. I’m doing what the doctor told us to do, checking on you all the time.”
“Much ado about nothing, if you ask me.”
“Taming of the shrew, more like it.”
Anna stood by Lola’s bed, looking down at her grandmother, sitting up against the pillows, her arm in a sling made from a wildly patterned silk scarf. Her bed jacket was a bright yellow satin. There were bunches of flowers all over the room—they’d been arriving all day as word got around that Lola was out of hospital and back at the motel. She was wearing full makeup, the foundation applied around the bandage on her forehead. Anna could see she’d missed her mark slightly, a smear of blusher heavier on one cheek than the other, the lipstick wobbly. Lola had been keeping up a brave front since the accident, although her doctor had called Anna aside and told her to keep an eye out for delayed shock. So far there’d been no sign of it, though. Lola had spent the afternoon reading to Ellen and would still be at it if Anna hadn’t prized them apart and put Ellen to bed.
Anna gently tucked the sheet in around her grandmother. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything before I go to rehearsals?”
“I’m fine, darling. Stop looking at me as if I’m some museum specimen.”
Anna sat down beside her and took her hand. “You frightened us, you know.”
“I frightened myself.”
“Don’t die, Lola. We wouldn’t like it.”
“All right, darling, I promise I won’t. Now, off you go to those rehearsals and make your poor sick grandmother proud of you.”
Anna had been gone only a minute or two before Carrie knocked lightly on the door and came in. “Is everything all right, Lola? Do you need anything?”
“I couldn’t be happier, darling. I should have done this months ago. All this spoiling, it’s marvelous.” She patted the bed. “Now, enough about me. Let me interrogate you for a quick minute. Are you coping with all the motel business while your parents are away? Do you need any extra help?”
“Everything’s fine. No problems at all.” Carrie was enjoying it, in fact. It was giving her the opportunity to try out a few of her own ways of doing things.
“And how are things with Matthew?”
“They’re fine,” she lied smoothly, picking up one of the Get Well cards on Lola’s bedside table, concentrating fiercely on the greeting inside. It was from the ladies in the charity shop, wishing her a speedy recovery. Beside the cards was a large basket filled with fruit, chocolate, and crossword puzzle books. Jim and Geraldine had sent it. “He sends his love. Says he would have brought you a bunch of grapes if he’d been here.”
“If he’d been allowed to be here, you mean. Carrie, I’ve been thinking about the ban, and I’ve decided it can be lifted. I think it would be all right now if he visited here again. In fact, I think Bett would like to see him.”
Carrie’s head shot up. “Has she said that to you?”
“No, but she doesn’t need to. I know her. Has Matthew said anything?”
“He said he’d like to see Bett again, too.” The words tasted awful in her mouth.
“Good. I’d hoped as much. I’ll leave it up to you to arrange it. The sooner the better, I think.”
Carrie turned away before Lola saw her expression.
Lola had just gone back to her crossword after Carrie’s departure when there was another knock. A dark curly head poked around the door. “Lola? Are you okay?”
Lola smiled at her. “Bett, darling, shouldn’t you be at the rehearsal, too?”
“I’m on my way. I got delayed with a late arrival at reception. I just wanted to check if you needed anything or if you wanted to come up and watch.”
“I couldn’t bear the pain.”
“Oh, you poor thing. Shall I move one of the big armchairs in from the bar? You could rest your arm on that, if you liked.”
“Not the pain in my arm, the pain of seeing you all massacre my masterpiece.”
Bett relaxed. “Very funny. You might be surprised. We’ve actually got a pretty good cast lined up.” Anna had spent the day after Lola’s accident on the phone, handing out the parts as well as reporting on Lola’s condition.
“Lola couldn’t have timed it better if she tried,” she’d confided to Bett. “People didn’t dare say no to any of the parts, not knowing it was Lola’s life’s work. You don’t suppose she did it deliberately?”
For once, Bett was sure she hadn’t. She’d seen real pain and shock in Lola’s eyes that night.
Anna had gone on. “I asked that Daniel Hilder if he wanted to come and audition again, but he said no, unfortunately his circumstances had changed. Shame, he’d have been about the right age for that Jack-the-Lad character.”
“Yes, that is a shame,” Bett had said casually, relief flooding through her.
Lola was leaning back against her pillows, content. “I can hardly wait until opening night. Tell me, Bett, are you ready to see Matthew yet?”
“You’re asking me just like that? Haven’t you got a little bell you can ring to warn me you’re bringing up something personal?”
“Do you want to see him? I think you should. Get it over and done with. It will clear the air between you and Carrie.”
“Carrie and I are fine. All things considered.” They weren’t, actually. Things may have been thawing between her and Anna, but they were definitely still covered in snow with Carrie.
“No, you’re not. Not yet. Think about it, Bett. Remember my two rules.”
“Face your fears and tell the truth. Yes, I remember.” She leaned down and kissed her grandmother. “You know, you’re lucky I love you so much, or I’d call you an interfering meddle-some old bag.”
Lola laughed and returned to her crossword.
Anna smiled at everyone in the function room. There were fifteen people sitting in a circle of chairs all around her. Carrie was on one end. Bett sat nearby, at the piano, the sheet music piled beside her.
“So you’ve all got your scripts now? Good. And you’re sure which parts you’re playing? Yes? No more confusion over who’s playing the General MacArthur role?” Two of the men studiously avoided looking at
each other. “Terrific. To get in the mood, I’d like you all to call each other by your characters’ names while we’re in rehearsals, okay? So we’ll start today with a read-through of the opening scene with you, Mrs. MacArthur, and your son Arthur beside you.”
Mrs. MacArthur, formerly known as Len the butcher’s daughter Kaylene, smiled broadly at everyone. The thirteen-year-old boy playing the part of the four-year-old Arthur didn’t look quite so happy. But a part was a part, and he needed all the experience he could get if he eventually wanted to go to drama school. Or so his mother had told him.
Anna moved her chair to face them. “As it says in the script, you are with your husband and father, General MacArthur, in a plane flying from the war in the Philippines on your way to Australia. A storm is raging all around you. There’ll be the sound of gunfire as well as thunder and lightning, so it will be very dramatic.” She hoped it would be, anyway. Her first meeting with Len about the stage set hadn’t filled her with confidence. She’d had to gently explain to him they would need more than clashing saucepan lids and glass jars filled with rice to make the storm effects.
“So, Mrs. MacArthur, your young son hasn’t been well and is feeling frightened, so to ease his terrors, you start singing ‘My Favorite Things’ to him. Would you like to try that scene?”
Mrs. MacArthur cleared her throat and looked down at the page.
“Poor-Arthur-you-must-be-scared-of-that-noise-don’t-worry-I-know-how-to-put-a-smile-back-on-your-face.”
Anna had heard more animation from the speaking clock. “That’s a great start. But perhaps it would help if I could talk through some of the motivation with you.” She paused, thinking hard. “Imagine the scene. You’ve been traveling with your husband and ill son for weeks, bombarded by war, homesickness, longing for the familiar, feeling cut off from everything you know and love—your home, your family.”
She stood up and started pacing the room, drawing on her own experiences as she’d been taught at drama school, thinking back to the latest angry phone call with Glenn. “Is this what you wanted when you first got married, you ask yourself? Did you go into it with your eyes wide open? Or were you seduced by the thought of glamour and travel and social standing and allowed that to take over? Has your marriage become a shell? Your friends abandoned you because they are sick of the two of you fighting all the time? Is your child suffering?”
“Anna?”
“Do you cry yourself to sleep some nights through loneliness and fear and the pain of broken hopes and dreams?”
“Anna?”
Anna came to as Bett said her name even louder. The group was looking at her in some alarm. She steadied herself and briskly tapped the script. “Or another simpler way of looking at it would be a mother singing her scared son to sleep. Bett, when you’re ready. ‘My Favorite Things’ from the top.”
At the break, Bett brought a glass of water over to her sister. “Anna, are you okay?”
“Fine. Couldn’t be better.”
Bett hesitated. There had been some uncomfortable echoes in Anna’s words about Mrs. MacArthur. Echoes from the big fight the night she had found out about Carrie and Matthew, when she had turned on Anna, and said terrible things about Glenn, about Glenn and Anna’s marriage. Some of it almost word for word what Anna had said. Ever since Lola’s accident she’d had an urge to talk about it all. To bring everything out in the open. To stop all this stepping around each other. “It’s just … what you were saying about Mrs. MacArthur …”
Anna waited.
“Was it only about Mrs. MacArthur?”
“Of course.” She gave a light laugh. “My directors were always telling me off for going overboard with my motivation exercises.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Anna busied herself making notes on her script.
Say it, Bett, say it. “You weren’t talking about you and Glenn? It’s just some of what you said …” She trailed off as she saw Anna visibly sit up straighter and her chin lift.
Bett backed off immediately. “Never mind. I’ll leave you to it.”
That night, Carrie was in the office when she heard a knock at the door. It was Bett. Carrie was surprised. So far they had done their best to avoid being alone together. “Is everything all right? Lola’s okay?”
“She’s fine. Watching TV, complaining that her gin and tonic levels are way down and that she’s going to have to get drunk for a week to bring them up again.” Bett hesitated. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.”
“Oh. Okay. Come in.”
Bett took a seat and tried to choose the right words. Perhaps that was where she’d gone wrong with Anna earlier. She’d said it too bluntly. She tried to feel her way now. “It’s about Matthew.”
Carrie stiffened.
Bett couldn’t help noticing. “Carrie, I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I need to see him.”
“What do you mean ‘need’?”
“I think the three of us need to get together. Maybe Lola was right at the start to ask you to keep him away, but I’m staying on, and, with the musical and everything, I think it’s important.”
“You’ve been talking to Lola, haven’t you?”
“Yes. But it’s what I want, too.” Couldn’t Carrie even meet her halfway on this?
“He’s away for work,” Carrie said shortly.
“Then when he’s back on the weekend.”
“He doesn’t come back every weekend.”
“Well, on the weekend he does come back.”
Carrie was looking down at her paperwork again. “I’ll think about it.”
I don’t get it,” Bett whispered to Anna several minutes later. On the way back to her room, Bett had seen Anna’s light on, and on the spur of the moment knocked gently on her door. Anna had seemed surprised, but beckoned her in, her finger on her lips. Ellen was asleep in the single bed. A book lay open on Anna’s bed. “What does she think I’m going to do, hurl myself at him when I see him? Manacle myself to his legs?”
“That would make sheep crutching a little tricky for him. You dragging around in the dust at his feet,” Anna whispered back.
“So much for Lola’s advice,” Bett said, her voice still low. “It’s all very well to say face your fears, but what if your fears don’t want to be faced? I actually thought Carrie would want to get it over and done with, too. But it’s like she doesn’t want me anywhere near him, in case I burst into tears and try to steal him back or something.”
“And you wouldn’t, would you?”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Try to steal him back.”
“Sorry?”
“You wouldn’t want him back, would you?”
Bett tensed. “I don’t know.” A pause. “I’m not sure how I’ll react until I see him.”
“Still avoiding the truth after all these years, Bett?” Anna’s tone was joking, but her eyes were serious.
Bett looked away. She didn’t want to spoil this new fragile friendship with Anna. “I mean it. That’s why I need to see him.” She rushed to change the subject. “So how did Ellie enjoy school today?” The little girl had started at the local school that week. They had all gathered to see her go off in her school uniform the first day, waving as if she was their own daughter.
Anna hesitated, then accepted the change of topic. “Fine. She hasn’t said much yet. It takes time to settle in, though. You remember what it’s like, arriving at a new school in the middle of term.”
Bett nodded. The tension was definitely back between them. What did she do now? Try to break through it again? Ask about Glenn, when he was one of the main reasons she and Anna hadn’t spoken in three years? She imagined Lola in the corner of the room, urging her on. “How’s Glenn, Anna?” The words came out sounding half chewed.
“He’s fine,” Anna answered.
Bett knew her well enough to know that was the most Anna would say about it tonight. She watched as Anna went to the fridge, took out a bo
ttle of wine, and reached for the corkscrew. She didn’t look like the mother of a seven-year-old, Bett thought. She looked amazing, in fact—the sleek straight hair, the perfect makeup, the thin, tanned body, not an ounce of extra flesh on her at all. And that cool poise she had, the keep-your-distance kind of elegance that Bett knew she could never have, not in a million years. It suddenly seemed important to Bett to compliment Anna, to let her know how great she looked, to be the first to start building bridges. As Anna came over to the bed with the opened bottle and two glasses, she smiled up at her. “Anna, you really are amazing.”
Anna’s brow creased. “Pardon me?”
“You look incredible. The perfect figure, perfect clothes, perfect hair, perfect skin, the perfect marriage, gorgeous little daughter, all so effortlessly.” Bett laughed, pleased with how it was all sounding. “I’m sure the day will come when we’re reading about the Anna Quinlan range of home and beauty products. Martha Stewart, watch out.”
To Bett’s amazement, Anna wasn’t amused. And she certainly didn’t take it as a compliment. “You think it comes easily? Effortlessly?” Her voice was still low, but her eyes were furious. “You think I am skinny by accident? No, Bett. It’s called discipline, and sometimes it’s called starvation. Think my hair looks like this naturally? No, it costs a fortune once a month. And my perfect marriage?” Anna took a breath, ready to tell all—wanting to tell all, sick of the charade. “Oh, yes, Bett, it is so perfect that I am—”
“Mummy?”
They both turned to see Ellen tossing around under her sheet, talking in her sleep or having a nightmare, Bett wasn’t sure which. Anna put down the wine and moved swiftly over to her daughter, talking gently, stroking her forehead until she settled again. When all was quiet, she moved silently back.
Bett stood up, her voice almost a whisper. “I’ll go. I’m sorry to interrupt—”
“Bett, stay, please.” Anna looked very tired all of a sudden. “She’ll be fine. Please, don’t go yet.”
They sat awkwardly for a moment, neither of them speaking. Bett shifted on the bed, wanting to apologize. She had been silly to assume things would fall into place so quickly. Two steps forward, one step back. She took a breath. “Anna, I’m sorry for what I said about the way you look. It wasn’t a dig, I promise. I know you work hard at it. I meant it as a compliment, really. It just came out wrong.” She seemed to have chosen exactly the right words for once. In front of her eyes, tension slipped out of Anna’s body, the tight look around her mouth disappeared.