The House By Princes Park

by Maureen Lee

  ‘Can you?’ It seemed a marvellous idea. Ellie decided to see the doctor first thing in the morning.

  ‘Would you like us to make you some cocoa?’

  ‘Please. Can I have a biscuit too? I’m starving.’

  By the time her cousin came back, Brendan was halfway through his mother’s second breast.

  ‘What does it feel like?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘It either hurts or tickles, one or the other.’

  ‘Me and Clint are going to have loads of children.’

  ‘Are you now! Is that Clint’s idea or yours?’ Ellie suspected Clint was keeping well out of her way. They hadn’t come face to face since she’d got back.

  ‘Mine, I suppose. You know Clint, how shy he is. He doesn’t like talking about certain things.’

  Having babies being one of them, Ellie thought cynically. ‘Are you two still getting married?’

  ‘Yes, a year next January, 1979. You can be a bridesmaid with your Moira if you like,’ Daisy offered generously.

  ‘That’d be nice, ta.’ Ellie looked at Daisy’s innocent, wholesome face. She’d changed a lot in the last year, was far more confident, and had loads of friends, though was as dumpy and plain as she’d always been. The friends were artists, Moira said, and considered Daisy to be a fantastic painter. They’d held an exhibition and some of Daisy’s paintings had actually been sold.

  ‘You mean people gave money for them?’ Ellie gasped.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it amazing?’

  ‘Truly amazing.’

  Brendan detached himself and smacked his lips with satisfaction. Ellie hoisted him on to her shoulder to bring up his wind.

  ‘Shall I do that while you have your cocoa and biscuit?’

  ‘Thanks, Daise.’ Ellie gratefully handed her son across.

  ‘I like the feel of him, the way he fits against me like the piece of a jigsaw puzzle.’ She began gently to pat Brendan’s back. ‘He’s a very masculine baby. He doesn’t suit nightgowns. Do you mind if I buy him one of those all-in-one stretchy things?’

  ‘I don’t mind a bit.’

  ‘I’ll get one in Mothercare tomorrow.’

  It was rather nice, leaning against the pillows, sipping the cocoa, and watching someone else burp her child.

  ‘Were you pleased about your A levels?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘I did much better than expected.’ Ellie had been astonished to find she’d done so well considering she hadn’t revised a single subject.

  ‘Are you going to look for a job?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it. What about Brendan?’

  ‘Gran will look after him, won’t she? She looked after us when your mum was ill and mine went to work.’

  ‘I suppose she would,’ Ellie said thoughtfully. After Daisy had gone and Brendan was back in his cot, snoring softly, Ellie snuggled under the clothes and considered what had just been said. She didn’t want an ordinary job, like in an office or a bank, but fancied working in a nightclub or an advertising agency, becoming a model or an actress, travelling the world. She’d thought having Brendan had put a stop to these dreams, but if Gran was prepared to have Brendan while she went to work, she might be prepared to have him if she went away!

  Only might! Ellie had a feeling that if she put this proposal to her grandmother, she would object. After all, looking after a baby for a few hours a day wasn’t the same as looking after one the whole time. And Gran might insist Brendan needed his mother, even if it was only at night.

  In that case, Ellie would just have to leave the way she’d left before, the way she’d left Felix and Fern Hall, without telling a soul, knowing her son was in safe hands. This time, she wouldn’t even say anything to Moira who’d only disapprove.

  And so it was that, two months later, in the middle of September, when Ruby crept into the room to collect Brendan and give him his bottle, Ellie’s bed was empty. She wasn’t in the bathroom, either, nor downstairs. A few hours later, when there was still no sign, Ruby came to the inevitable conclusion that, not for the first time, her granddaughter had run away.

  Chapter 17

  So much money, enough to buy all the clothes she wanted, anything for the house, yet Greta felt bored. And it was such a beautiful house, mock Tudor, with five bedrooms, living, dining and breakfast rooms, and a kitchen with every conceivable modern device. The garden was a picture, neatly perfect, and a man came twice a week to weed and prune and cut the grass.

  Matthew had had the place redecorated from top to bottom; new carpets everywhere. She had rarely enjoyed herself so much, choosing the colours, the curtains, wandering around the most expensive shops picking any item of furniture that took her fancy.

  Now it was all done, the limewood wardrobe and the matching chests of drawers were full of new clothes, and suddenly there was nothing else to do. They had a cleaner as well as a gardener, and all Greta did was put the washing in the automatic machine, transfer it to the dryer, and make an evening meal for Matthew.

  She wondered if she should have kept her job, but it hadn’t seemed right, being married to a hugely successful businessman, living in such an impressive house, yet working as a shorthand-typist. If she’d had a profession, like Heather, it would have been different. Anyroad, she’d never liked work. Mam always said she was lazy, that she preferred her bed, which Greta had to concede was true.

  It was upsetting that neither of her girls had wanted to live with her – four of the five bedrooms hadn’t been used. It didn’t matter that Moira was at university or Ellie had taken it into her head to run away again. At least she could have got their rooms ready for when they came back, furnished them in a way she knew they would have liked.

  Matthew worked harder now that the company belonged to someone else. Some nights, it was ten o’clock by the time he got home and the meal was spoilt. Greta felt lonely on her own, which was ironic in a way, as she’d only married him so she wouldn’t feel lonely. More and more, she found herself going round to see Mam. She hadn’t realised when she’d lived there just how shabby and run down Mam’s house was, and it made her more cross that the twins hadn’t wanted to leave. It was Mam, not her, talking about Moira coming home from university for Christmas.

  Now Heather was studying for a law degree through the Open University, getting up at unearthly hours of the morning to watch programmes on television. Evenings, when Greta went into her old room and sat on her old bed wanting to chat to her sister, Heather was usually studying or writing essays and made it obvious she didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

  During the day, Mam was usually busy with Brendan, nearly eight months old, a delightful baby, but a terrible handful. Poor Mam was up to her eyes with work, what with Brendan, three students, and Heather and Daisy to look after.

  ‘Why don’t I take Brendan off your hands?’ Greta suggested one afternoon when Brendan was being given his tea and turning it into a game, holding the food in his mouth for ages, before slyly letting it dribble out so that Mam had to catch it with the spoon and put it back. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and he kept slamming the tray on his high chair with his big hands and thumping it with his fat knees at the same time. He was a handsome child, perfectly built, with Liam Conway’s eyes and hair a lovely golden red. Brendan would keep her busy during the day and she was sure Matthew would love a baby. They could get an au pair to look after him during the night and do things like change his nappies.

  ‘I don’t need him taking off my hands, love,’ Ruby said mildly.

  ‘But you’ve so much to do, Mam!’

  ‘If you feel like helping, Greta, you can make the students’ tea.’

  Greta pouted. It wasn’t the same. After all, Brendan was Ellie’s son and Ellie was her daughter, which made her Brendan’s Grandma. She had far more right to him than Mam. ‘But that’s not fair,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a much nicer house, a lovely garden. We could buy him far more things, toys and stuff, clothes.’ Brendan’s stretchy suit was so small, the feet had
been cut off to accommodate his legs and he was wearing a pair of frilly girl’s socks that she remembered had belonged to one of the twins.

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ Ruby said, very slowly and deliberately, but when you said you’d take him off my hands, did you mean permanently?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And why, all of a sudden, do you want a baby? Is it because you’re bored all day in your much nicer house?’

  ‘Yes, no. No, of course not,’ Greta stammered, and all of a sudden she and Mam were having a terrible row, which they’d never done before. At least Greta was having a row, Mam didn’t say much. She accused her mother of having stolen her children so that she’d hardly seen anything of them when they were little, and now she was stealing her grandson. She ended up storming out, screaming something about going to court, getting her grandson back, when she’d never had him in the first place.

  When she got home, the house was in darkness and felt cold. She turned up the central heating, threw herself on to the bed, and burst into tears. Why wasn’t she happy? She’d always been happy apart from the few years after Larry died, and she’d thought she’d be happier still in a smart house with pots of money. Although it hadn’t been her intention to go one up on her sister, nevertheless she’d thought Heather would be envious of her new position in life, but nowadays Heather appeared serenely contented as she studied for her law degree.

  Matthew didn’t help much, though it wasn’t deliberate. He was incredibly kind and thoughtful, took her out at weekends, was buying her a fur coat for Christmas, and complimented her on her cooking. Making love was oddly thrilling. Matthew had been part of her life for almost as long as she could remember and although she’d always considered him attractive, she’d never remotely thought of him as a lover. But now he was her husband, she went to bed with him every night, and felt instantly aroused by his touch, yet sensed that Matthew was only doing what was expected of him, that he was detached from the whole thing. Sometimes, even when he was being his kindest, she felt as if he was detached from the marriage itself.

  Ruby was still shaking when her other daughter came home. She’d burnt the students’ tea, but fortunately she’d taken boys again and they didn’t seem to care what the food was like as long as it arrived in heaps – girls, she’d decided, were far too much trouble, always complaining about something or other.

  ‘Where’s Brendan?’ Heather enquired.

  ‘Asleep, for once. Look, love, d’you mind having an omelette? There’s nothing else ready. I’m way behind today.’

  ‘An omelette’s fine. What’s the matter, Mam?’ Heather had noticed her mother’s trembling hands.

  Ruby sat down, close to tears. ‘I had a terrible row with our Greta.’ She explained what had happened. ‘I don’t know what’s got into her. She’s not been the same since she got married.’

  Heather reached for her mother’s hands. ‘I’m sorry, Mam, but none of us really know what our Greta’s like. Oh, she’s as nice as pie while she’s being spoilt and made a fuss of, loved by one and all, but she’s got a selfish streak. She’s always put herself first – it’s what she was doing today, no matter how much it upset you. It’s obvious she’s not happy in that big house on her own and she sees Brendan as a way of filling the time, making her feel as if she’s somebody again.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t hold with all this psychological claptrap, Heather. Beth’s always coming out with stuff like that.’

  ‘Can you think of another reason why Greta behaved the way she did?’

  ‘No,’ Ruby sighed after a few moments’ pause.

  ‘Ellie’s the same,’ Heather continued. ‘She does her own thing and to hell with the consequences.’

  ‘Your dad was a bit like that. He had no conscience. He’d sooner walk away than face up to things.’ Ruby frowned. ‘I hope Matthew’s being all right with our Greta.’

  ‘I’m sure Matthew’s being fine, but he’s not there all the time, is he? He’s got other things to think of, and Greta’s not the centre of the universe any more, like she was here – with you and me, at least.’

  ‘Perhaps I should go and see her.’

  ‘No,’ Heather said in a hard voice. ‘Let her stew in her own juice for a while, she’ll soon be back. You see, Mam, Greta needs us far more than we need her.’

  ‘That only seems more reason why I should go and see her.’

  ‘She’s forty-one, Mam. She’s got to learn to stand on her own two feet. You’ve got enough to do with Brendan.’

  A week later, Greta returned, by which time Moira was home and the Christmas decorations were up. She felt a twinge when she saw the worn paper chains, the balls and bells that opened and closed like concertinas, the elderly fairy on top of the tree, things she’d helped put up in the past, but this time it had been done without her.

  Moira was lying on the living room floor playing with Brendan, teaching him how to put one block on top of another, but he clearly preferred flinging them as far as they’d go.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ Moira sang, but didn’t get up and kiss her.

  Greta had come all set to apologise to her mother, but felt annoyed at the signs that life was continuing smoothly without her in the place she still regarded as home. She found Ruby in the kitchen emptying flour into a plastic bowl.

  ‘Oh, hello, love.’ She smiled, as if their last meeting had never happened. ‘Does that look like a pound to you? I thought I’d make the mince pies early for a change, rather than in a rush on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Mam. I thought you were supposed to weigh it first.’

  ‘I usually do, but Brendan’s broken the scales.’

  ‘Actually, Mam,’ Greta said on an impulse. ‘Me and Matthew thought you’d like to come to us for Christmas dinner. We’ve bought this huge turkey,’ she lied, and imagined herself the star of the show, everyone saying what a wonderful job she’d done, admiring the house which they’d hardly seen.

  ‘Greta, love, it’s a bit late to ask now. I was expecting you and Matthew to come to us. Clint’s coming, and I’ve already invited his mum and dad, and Jonathan will be here.’

  ‘Who’s Jonathan?’

  ‘One of the students. He’s from India, Karachi. It’s too far for him to go home, so he’s staying here.’

  ‘Why is he called Jonathan if he’s Indian?’

  ‘Because he’s a Christian. He’ll be coming with us to Midnight Mass.’

  ‘Matthew and I can’t come to dinner on Christmas Day,’ Greta said bluntly.

  Her mother looked perplexed. ‘But you just asked us!’

  ‘If me family can’t come, we’ll go somewhere else. We’ve been asked to loads of places for dinner.’ Greta knew she was cutting off her nose to spite her face, but felt deeply hurt that her invitation had been refused, unreasonable though it was at such a late date. She felt as if she didn’t matter any more.

  The dining room in the house in Calderstones had never been used since they moved in. She and Matthew usually ate in the little breakfast room which was much cosier. Perhaps it was a mistake to serve dinner on the vast table on Christmas Day, just the two of them, Matthew clearly puzzled that they hadn’t been asked home.

  They didn’t say much during the meal. Afterwards, Greta cleared the table and watched the portable television in the kitchen, and Matthew watched the one in the lounge. It stayed that way until six o’clock, when it was time to get ready for the party in Southport being held by one of the executives from Medallion, the company who’d taken over Doyle Construction.

  Greta put on a red crêpe frock with shoelace straps and a frilly hem, a bit like the sort Spanish dancers wore. Without Heather there to advise her, she painted her lips bright red to go with the frock and applied a little too much rouge and mascara. Matthew looked a bit surprised when she appeared, but didn’t say anything, just helped her on with her new fur coat which was sealskin with a mink collar and cuffs, terribly glamorous.

  At the party, quite a few men wa
nted to talk to her, tell her what a stunner she was, how much she suited red and, Greta, always used to being the centre of attention, felt like a star after all. She even gave one chap, an American whose name was Charlie Mayhew, her telephone number, and he promised to call and take her to lunch. She was sure Matthew wouldn’t mind, but didn’t tell him.

  ‘She seemed such a sweet little thing,’ Matthew muttered.

  ‘Are you saying she isn’t?’ snapped Ruby.

  ‘Not any more,’ said Matthew.

  It was two weeks after Christmas, and Matthew Doyle had appeared unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon. Moira had gone for a walk with Brendan in his pram, and Ruby had taken the opportunity to wash the students’ bedding. They were due back in a few days and she hadn’t had the chance before.

  ‘We’ve only been married six months and I’ve a horrible feeling it’s already a failure,’ Matthew said miserably.

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ She wondered why she sounded so abrupt when she was so pleased to see him, even if the news he’d brought was distressing. Her heart had turned a somersault when she’d opened the door and found him outside.

  ‘Because I’ve got to talk to someone and you’re the only one I can.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d ask.’ He sat his long body on a kitchen chair, shoulders drooping.

  Ruby ran water in the kettle and gave the washing machine a kick when it stopped. It was on its last legs and needed encouragement. ‘What’s wrong, Matthew?’ she asked, kinder now.

  ‘I dunno, Rube.’ She felt warmed by the ‘Rube’. It meant they were at least friends again. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I don’t know what’s right any more. She’s moody all the time, bad-tempered, bored. There was a time when I couldn’t have visualised Greta being bad-tempered, but I’ve witnessed it quite a few times lately.’

  ‘I’ve witnessed it myself. It shook me too.’