“I’m glad I could help.”
He said, looking at her with tired eyes, “Yes. I think you are. There are good people in the world.”
“You sound as though it surprises you.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes one forgets.”
“More coffee?” she asked as he emptied his cup.
He stared at it for a moment. “No, thanks. It’s been a strange sort of day.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head and got up. “I can’t ask you to listen while I unload all my guilts and hang-ups.” He took his cup to the sink and stood with his back to her, staring out the window at the slowly dying sunlight on the garden.
“You can if you want,” Rennie said, pushing back her own chair and going to stand beside him. “If it would help.”
Almost as if talking to himself, he said, “Jean had a — relationship with a man. I never knew him, though I’d gathered there was someone. He was there today. No one had told him. He read about it in the paper. That’s a hell of a way to find out.”
“Yes. But it’s not your fault. Did he — imply that it was?”
“No, nothing like that. He didn’t even say that they’d been close. Toby recognised him as ‘Mummy’s special friend’. But I’d guessed already. I knew by the look on his face. That’s how I should have felt. She was my wife. Once.”
“Did you mind?” Rennie asked softly. “That he was there?”
“No. He had a right. More than I did, perhaps. But he had no — status. It was awkward for him. He didn’t want to come back here. Understandably.”
“It must have been difficult for both of you.”
“I wasn’t married to Jean any more. We hadn’t been close since before Ellen was born. But today I felt very close to her. As though I could — talk to her. Tell her — “
Rennie waited a moment. He was standing with his hands clenched, staring out at the sunset.
“Tell her what?”
“How sorry I was,” he said. “That things had gone wrong for us. That I’d failed her, not made the sort of life for her that she pictured when she married me. That all the bright promise had gone to ashes in the end.”
“I’m sure she knows.”
He turned to face her. “Do you believe in life after death?”
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Jean?”
“I don’t think we ever discussed it. There were a lot of things we never discussed. Maybe that was the trouble.”
“What did you say to the children about that?”
“That when people die they can’t be with us any more, that I don’t know where they go, though some people say they go to heaven, which is a very beautiful place where everyone’s happy and there’s no pain and no sickness. And that wherever she is, I’m sure she’s thinking about them and still loves them.” He paused. “It felt very inadequate.”
“Honesty can’t be inadequate, surely,” Rennie said. “They’re bound to grieve, but they have you.”
“Yes, and I’m all they have, for what it’s worth.” He said abruptly, “I’m scared.”
Automatically, Rennie moved closer to him and slid her arms about him. His own arms came up and held her, a long sigh escaping from him. “After the divorce,” he said, his voice muffled, “I tried to maintain contact. But I felt myself growing further and further away from them. Jean was sensitive about what she saw as interference with her childrearing methods. Which was understandable. She had the day-to-day care. If we had different ideas, I had to concede the decision to her, because obviously it was important that we be consistent in our treatment of the children, otherwise they’d only get confused.”
Rennie nodded. “It can’t have been easy for you, though. You must have felt they didn’t belong to you any more.”
“Yes. Increasingly, as time went on. They saw more of the neighbours than they did of me. And now I’m their only parent. I feel desperately inadequate.”
“You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “You’re great with them. Of course they’ll miss their mother, but you’ll make it up to them.”
“Rennie,” he said, rubbing his cheek against her hair. “I shouldn’t be burdening you like this. You’re too young.”
“Rubbish. I’m glad you felt you could talk to me.” In the last few days he had treated her like an equal, even asking for her advice.
“It was right, what you said to Toby about hugs. It’s just what I need, to be held close to someone.”
“I’m glad,” she said again.
“It’s been a long time…” He stopped, and she felt change in him, his arms holding her tightly, his breathing controlled, but there was a new tension in the air.
She looked up then, and caught a look in his eyes that she would not have seen in Toby’s. She looked back gravely, her lips slightly parted, her heart beginning a slow, heavy pounding.
After a while he sighed again, loosened his hold and said, “I’ll call that taxi for you.”
As he dropped his arms from her she said, “You don’t have to.”
“It’s the least I can do — I won’t send you home in a bus.”
“I meant,” Rennie said, “you don’t have to send me home. I could stay — if you like.”
He went very still, looking into her clear, steady gaze. His hand touched her shoulder, moved gently up the side of her neck, and then he laid it against her cheek. “Rennie,” he said. “You’re very generous, but it wouldn’t do. On a number of counts. But thank you.” He bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll get that cab.”
Rennie phoned at the end of the following week, in the evening when she hoped Grant would be home. “I don’t want to intrude,” she said, “but I wondered how you and the children were doing.”
“You’re not intruding. And we’re doing quite well. Toby’s shed a few tears and asked some searching questions that I’ve done my best to answer. They’re both a bit quiet, but the woman who’s caring for them in the daytime seems confident they’ll soon be back to normal.”
“Do they like her?”
“I think so. She produced some very good references, and has had children of her own, who’ve left home now. My two have to get used to her, of course. But they’re fairly adaptable kids.”
“I’d like to come and see them sometime, if I may.”
“Of course. I’ll tell Mrs Beddoe you may drop in. You haven’t got yourself a holiday job?”
“Not yet. I’ve been looking, but they’re not easy to get.”
“If I hear of anything that might suit, I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you. If I visit, may I take the children out for a little while? Perhaps to an ice cream parlour or something. Unless you don’t approve.”
“I don’t think an occasional treat will hurt them. You may have to talk Toby into it, though. He’s inclined to be a bit rigid about things that he thinks his mother wouldn’t have allowed them to do.”
“Was Jean very strict?”
“Not unreasonably. A little more than I was, and of course since the divorce she was the one who made the rules and had to enforce them. She was a good mother. I think it’s just Toby’s way of keeping her presence in his life. Understandable, but a bit wearing.”
But when Rennie called at the house and, after meeting the capable-looking woman who introduced herself as Mrs Beddoe, asked the children if they would care to go on a bus trip to a play-park and have some ice cream with her, it was Ellen who said, “No. I don’t want to go.”
“Perhaps there’s somewhere else you’d like to go?” Rennie suggested. “What about the Domain? Have you ever been there? There’s lots of room to play, and we could feed the ducks on the pond.”
“No,” Ellen said unequivocally.
Mrs Beddoe said, “Some of the children round about have asked her to come and play, the mothers have rung up to invite her, but she doesn’t want to. I thought I might take them to the zoo
the other day, but no. She’d rather stay home.”
“We’ve been to the zoo,” Toby said. “Lots of times.”
Maybe Grant wasn’t the only one who had been getting bored with the zoo. “Is there anywhere you’d like go?” Rennie asked Ellen.
The child shook her head, and put her thumb in her mouth.
“Don’t do that, Ellen,” her brother admonished, and grabbed her hand, pulling it away.
Ellen began to sob quietly, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“Mr Bossyboots,” Mrs Beddoe said, shaking her head. “Leave your sister alone, Toby.” She knelt down by Ellen, put an arm about her and began drying her eyes with a handkerchief. “Big girls don’t cry unless they’re hurt, or suck their thumbs.”
“She’s not allowed!” Toby said, red-faced.
“Not a big girl!” Ellen announced. “I’m only a little girl!” She sniffed, gave a final sob, and stared defiantly at them all.
Mrs Beddoe laughed and patted her, getting up. “Little girls need afternoon naps. Maybe you need one now?”
Ellen looked uncertain. “No,” she announced, and reached out to Rennie, taking firm hold of a handful of butter-yellow skirt. “I want to stay with Rennie.” She pushed her head against Rennie’s hip and looked at the other woman as though she was being threatened.
“They’ll be all right with me,” Rennie said, exchanging smiles with Mrs Beddoe, “if there’s anything you want to do.”
“I wouldn’t mind slipping out to the shops for a few things,” the woman confessed. “Some of the cupboards are bit bare, and Mr Morrison said get anything I thought was needed. I wanted to go earlier but Ellen made such a fuss, and you said when you rang you’d be taking them out, so I thought I’d leave it till this afternoon.”
When Mrs Beddoe arrived back in her small car, the three of them were sitting on the front steps in the sun, and Rennie was reading to them from The Paper Bag Princess. They got up to help Mrs Beddoe carry the groceries into the kitchen, and the two children willingly unpacked the bags while she and Rennie put the goods away.
“And for being so good, you deserve a chocolate biscuit each,” Mrs Beddoe said, removing two biscuits from their packet.
Rennie waited, and sure enough, “Chocolate’s bad for you. Mummy said so,” Toby declared.
Mrs Beddoe hesitated only a moment. “I’m sure Mummy was quite right,” she said. “Too much chocolate is certainly bad for anyone. And some people are allergic, which means even a little bit is bad for them. Did Mummy say you must never have chocolate?”
Toby thought, his eyes longingly on the biscuits in her hand. “Not never,” he admitted cautiously. “When she had her birthday, her special friend gave her a box full of chocolates, and she said he shouldn’t, but she ate one straight away, and she let us have some of them. But only one at a time. She said it was all right because it was a present.”
“Well, this is a present from me,” Mrs Beddoe said. “And you can only have one,” she added firmly as she handed them over. “You mustn’t spoil your tea. Go and eat them outside, so we don’t have to sweep up the crumbs.
“Whew!” she said comically to Rennie as the children trailed out the door.
Rennie laughed. “You handled that awfully well.”
“You get used to handling them — children. It comes with practice. Are you doing teacher training?”
Rennie shook her head. “No, but I like children.”
“That’s obvious. And these two like you. One of my daughters was a teacher. She has a little boy, and wants two more children, but she intends to go back to work once the youngest starts school.”
“I must go,” Rennie said, glancing at the clock. Grant had made it so obvious that he expected her visit to take place when he wasn’t here, she didn’t want him to find her hanging about as though waiting for him when he got home.
“Where do you live?” Mrs Beddoe asked her.
“Meadowbank.”
“Whereabouts?”
Rennie explained more fully, and she said, “Oh, I pass by there on my way home. I could drop you off if you like. Mr Morrison will be home soon. I’ll just get their tea ready for him to serve up.”
It was a perfect excuse. Rennie allowed herself to be persuaded, and when Grant walked in half an hour later she was grating cheese while Mrs Beddoe put the finishing touch to a salad and the children set the table, Ellen putting out the knives and forks and Toby the plates, carefully straightening the cutlery as he did so.
Grant seemed pleased to see her, Rennie thought with relief. Then he was picking up Ellen and greeting Toby, and asking Mrs Beddoe how their day had been.
“And Rennie came to visit,” Ellen told him, interrupting the reassuring answer Mrs Beddoe was giving. “And she played in the sand with us, and read us stories and helped Mrs Beddoe put the groceries away.”
“Did she, indeed. And did you go out with Rennie?”
“No.” Ellen wriggled, her face closing, and he put her down.
“Ellen didn’t want to,” Toby said.
“I see.” Grant’s glance went from her to the two women.
Rennie said, “Perhaps Ellen and Toby would like to visit me again sometime soon?” Looking at Ellen, she said, “You could play in the tree hut again.”
Toby said, “Yes, please. The tree hut, Ellen!”
Ellen was silent.
“Would you like that, Ellen?” her father asked.
Ellen’s thumb went into her mouth.
Grant crouched down to her level. “Wouldn’t you like to go and see Rennie?”
Without removing her thumb, Ellen shook her head.
Grant looked up at the two women. “It seems we’ve got a problem,” he said softly.
Mrs Beddoe nodded. “Don’t push it,” she advised. “It’s probably best to take things slowly. I have to be off, Mr Morrison. I’m giving Rennie a lift. There’s shepherd’s pie for your tea. Just put it in the microwave when you’re ready. You can brown the cheese under the grill if you like, but keep an eye on it or it’ll burn.”
On the way home Rennie said, “Grant probably won’t ask, but — Mrs Beddoe, without going behind his back exactly, will you let me know if there’s anything I can do?”
“Inviting the children to visit you was a good idea. They’ve obviously had a good time at your place before, and Toby wants to go. He might even bully Ellen into it. A nice lad, but he’s a little manager, isn’t he, and seems to feel responsible for his sister.”
“More so since they lost their mother, I think.”
“Quite likely. Everyone reacts differently to grief, even children. And Mr Morrison — “
“What about him?”
“I don’t know him well, of course. But it seems to me he’s a man who would push his own feelings aside instead of dealing with them, while he takes care of everyone else’s problems. He seems to be coping almost too well with his wife’s death. In my experience that’s sometimes not a good sign.”
“They were divorced,” Rennie said.
“Yes, he told me. He was frank about the family’s circumstances, because of the children. Said I needed to know. Still, she was their mother. And when two people have been married — divorce can’t change what they’ve already shared. Some people, of course, end up hating each other. That’s tragic.”
“He didn’t hate her,” Rennie said. He had spoken with respect and regret of his ex-wife.
“No,” Mrs Beddoe agreed thoughtfully. “He doesn’t seem to be a vindictive man. When he talks about her he sounds quite dispassionate. ‘Their mother,’ he calls her to me. Shows no emotion about her at all. But he must feel something for her.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grant phoned again one Sunday and asked Marian if he could bring the children over.
“Of course,” she told him. “Rennie told me about the problem with Ellen. I’m glad she’s decided to come.”
When they arrived, Toby barely asked for permission before making stra
ight for the tree hut, calling over his shoulder, “Come on, Ellen.”
But Ellen wouldn’t leave her father until he offered to take her into the garden. Once persuaded to climb into the hut and join her brother, she kept peeking out to make sure that Grant was still within calling distance.
Rennie joined him where he sat on a garden seat built around the trunk of an old tree.
He smiled at her. “It’s progress of a sort,” he said. “This is the first time I’ve been able to get Ellen to leave the house. Even at home she’s constantly checking where I am. And Toby. I guess she isn’t sure any more that anyone’s going to be around forever.”
“Mrs Beddoe said she’ll get over it.”
“I was lucky to find that woman. I’d hoped to get someone to live in, but the only applicants who were willing had children of their own. I felt that at this stage my two needed somebody’s undivided attention.”
“Daddy?” Ellen’s anxious face looked out of the tree hut doorway, and Grant gave her a reassuring wave.
“Looks like I’m stuck here for a while,” he said to Rennie. “I hope your parents don’t think me terribly rude.”
“Of course not. They understand.”
“If you want to go in…”
“No, I’m fine here.” It was a pleasantly warm day, and there was a bee buzzing among the daisies on the lawn, and a few tiny blue-grey moths teetered on blades of grass. Time Shane did some mowing. “I could bring you a drink if you’d like one.”
Grant shook his head. “I’m all right.”
Hesitantly she asked, “Do you remember what I told you, about the time they were playing with my doll’s house?”
He looked up tiredly. “Yes. I mentioned it to Jean. I thought maybe she might have inadvertently let some of her resentment against me show — “
“What did she say?”
“She was angry at the suggestion. And angry that someone else had picked up that the children were bothered. Just as I was,” he admitted, giving her a faint, apologetic smile. “But when we’d settled our own emotions, we talked to the children, together. I hope it got through. I don’t really know.”
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