The House By Princes Park

by Maureen Lee

‘Have you?’ He didn’t look surprised. ‘She hasn’t a good word to say for you or Heather, or Moira come to that. She seems to think you’re all against her for some reason.’

  ‘We’re not.’ Ruby said fervently. ‘I’m worried sick about her. Heather seems to think she’ll come round in her own time. I don’t think Moira’s noticed anything amiss.’

  ‘She’s got a thing about Brendan. She wants him.’

  ‘Brendan’s not a parcel to be handed round at whim. He’s already had two different people looking after him.’

  ‘That’s what I more or less told her meself.’

  ‘Are you sorry you asked her to marry you?’

  ‘I didn’t ask her, Rube. She asked me.’

  ‘What!’ Ruby was pouring boiling water into the teapot. It splashed on to her hand and she gave a little scream. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Matthew leapt to his feet, grabbed her hand, and put it under the cold tap. ‘Does that feel better?’

  ‘Much better, thanks. Why did you accept?’ He was patting her hand gently with the teatowel. They were standing very close, touching. His breath was warm on her cheek.

  ‘Because I’m a soft lad, because I was flattered, because I was feeling particularly low and vulnerable at the time.’

  ‘Why were you feeling low and vulnerable?’

  ‘You know the answer to that, Ruby.’

  She turned away and faced the sink, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Matthew. I was stupid, rude. I was every horrible name you can think of. I’ve always been slow-witted. It didn’t enter my head what you were trying to say until I was on the phone. I called you, but you didn’t come back.’

  ‘I was too bloody mad to come back.’ There was a long pause during which both were very still. Then Matthew whispered softly, ‘What would you have said if I had?’

  ‘It’s too late for that now, Matthew.’ Ruby moved away. ‘You can see that, can’t you?’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not sure if I want to.’

  ‘Then you must,’ she said with a briskness she didn’t feel. She would have preferred to weep, throw herself into his arms, make up for the hurt she’d caused him, but he was her daughter’s husband, and it was much, much too late. Had he been married to anyone else, she would probably have felt pleased his marriage had failed. ‘Oh, this damn washing machine!’ It had stopped again. She gave it another kick. ‘I’ll never get this lot done in time.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Ruby, buy a new one.’ Matthew was himself again. The conversation they’d just had might never have occurred. He returned to the table and she gave him a mug of tea.

  Ruby laughed sardonically. ‘What with?’ Greta no longer contributed towards the household finances and Brendan was an extra expense, if a welcome one.

  ‘I’ll get you one for Christmas.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly accept such an expensive present. Anyway, you already gave me some scent.’

  ‘Climb down off your high horse, Rube. We’re family now. You’re my...’ He paused.

  ‘Mother-in-law?’

  ‘My mother-in-law.’ They grinned at each other and she was aware of an intimacy between them that had never been there before, though there was nothing sexual about it. ‘As such,’ Matthew went on, ‘I’d prefer you forgot about the rent for this place from now on. I mean it, Ruby,’ he said flatly when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘If you send a cheque, I’ll only tear it up.’

  ‘If you insist,’ Ruby said stiffly.

  ‘I do. Oh, and don’t thank me, Rube. I might have a heart attack.’

  ‘All right, I won’t.’

  The following afternoon, Ruby left Brendan with an adoring Moira, and went to see her daughter, but found no one in. She telephoned that night and was pleased when Greta sounded quite her old self again.

  ‘I was having lunch in town with a friend,’ she said. ‘Her name’s Shirley and she lives next door. We’re going again on Monday.’

  ‘I’m pleased you’ve made a friend, love. When can we expect to see you again?’

  ‘Oh, I dunno, Mam. Soon, I suppose.’

  Charlie had taken her through the Mersey tunnel in his red sports car, then deep into the Cheshire countryside, to a little thatched pub where they’d had scampi and chips and two bottles of wine. Medallion were planning to set up business in the States, he told her. He had already spent six months with the head office in London, and was staying another six in Liverpool, the latest jewel in the Medallion crown, familiarising himself with the way things were run.

  ‘And I’m sure you’ll make my stay very pleasant,’ he twinkled. He was very handsome, very charming, very sure of himself, with broad, athletic shoulders and an engaging smile.

  Greta felt drunk and giggled a lot. She liked being the object of Charlie’s undivided attention, which she never was with Matthew, whose mind always seemed to be elsewhere.

  On Monday, they returned to the same pub, had a different meal accompanied by the same amount of wine. Charlie leant over and played with a lock of her fair hair.

  ‘How about coming upstairs with me, gorgeous? All I have to do is book a room.’

  She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t ask her out again if she refused. It was what he’d been after all along. ‘A roll in the hay,’ Americans called it. Greta didn’t answer straight away. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she would have dreamt of doing once, but since she’d re-married, she no longer felt like her old self. Now she was bolder, more demanding, as if it had taken all this time to properly grow up. She enjoyed Charlie’s company, the way he made her feel extra-special. What’s more, she wanted them to make love as much as he did. Matthew would never know.

  ‘Why not?’ Greta giggled. And so Charlie booked a room and they went upstairs.

  In June, Moira came home, having completed her second year at university and Brendan celebrated his first year on earth. Daisy swapped her day off with someone else so she could be there for his birthday tea and Heather came home early from work. Greta had been invited, but Ruby saw her daughter only rarely these days, and wasn’t sure if she would come.

  Brendan ruled the roost in the house, with every single person there attentive to his slightest whim. Moira often rang up from Norwich solely to ask how her nephew was, and Daisy and Heather were his slaves. Clint thought the world of him and Matthew considered the sun shone out of his little fat behind.

  ‘He’s being spoilt rotten,’ Ruby would frequently cry, and although she loved him the most of all, she did her best to be firm with the little boy when he was naughty. But it was difficult – Brendan was even more adorable and funny and kissable when he was naughty than when he was good. Anyway, finding him on the floor with the shoe-cleaning box, having scrubbed himself all over with black polish, wasn’t exactly naughty. It showed the child was clever and was trying to clean himself, even if the result was the reverse. When Brendan planted the clothes pegs around the edge of the lawn, it was because he’d thought they’d grow, and merely another sign of how brilliant he was. He could walk at ten months and had a vocabulary of half a dozen words, of which ‘Bee’, his name for Ruby, had been the first.

  Ruby lived with the constant fear that he would be taken away. Greta’s threats had frightened her, though there’d been no repeat since. Say if Ellie came home and, quite reasonably, wanted her son back? Ruby couldn’t possibly refuse. She tried to prepare herself in advance for when this happened so it wouldn’t come as a devastating shock. It was hard to imagine that each day spent with Brendan might be the last, but it was what Ruby did. It made the time they spent together very precious.

  For his birthday, she had bought him denim overalls with red patches on the knees, a red T-shirt to go with the patches, and training shoes. Thus attired, Brendan presided over the table in his high chair, while the guests paid court and presented him with their gifts.

  Halfway through the meal, Clint appeared, panting slightly, bearing a giant beach ball. ‘I’ve got an hour o
ff. I’ll have to go back in a minute.’ He beamed at the little boy. ‘Happy birthday, Brendan.’

  Brendan decided he preferred to play with the ball rather than finish his tea and the party transferred to the garden, where Daisy had to chase him with the birthday cake and implore him to blow out the single blue candle, which eventually went out of its own accord.

  It was a fresh June day, slightly colder than it should have been, and the sun and the sky were exceptionally bright. The flowers in the garden were fully in bloom, the trees dressed with leaves of every possible shade of green.

  Ruby sat on the grass and wondered how many children’s parties there had been since she’d moved into the house. Then, Greta had only been three, Heather two, and Jake just a baby. She’d had birthday teas for the children she’d looked after during the war – Mollie, she remembered, had turned four only a few weeks before a bomb had demolished her house. The little girl had never had the chance to become five. The twins’ parties had always been chaotic affairs with loads of friends invited. Daisy had preferred to have just her family present – and Clint, of course.

  Clint was about to leave. He kissed Daisy chastely on the cheek. There wasn’t much passion between them. Perhaps they knew each other too well, like brother and sister. Neither had had a relationship with another member of the opposite sex. Ruby wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad.

  Just as Clint left, Matthew appeared carrying a tiny, three-wheeler bike. He waved to her, and Brendan immediately abandoned the ball and made for the bike. Matthew sat him on the seat and Moira and Daisy showed him how to turn the pedals with his feet. Heather shouted she was going to make some tea, and Matthew came and flopped down beside Ruby on the grass.

  ‘I thought you were madly busy,’ she said.

  ‘I am. I pretended I was going somewhere vital and came here instead. It’s too nice to be stuck in an office. These days, I spend too much time indoors. It goes with the job.’ He removed his dark jacket and loosened his tie. His white shirt was beautifully ironed. At first, she’d been impressed, thinking it was Greta’s work, but it turned out they went to the laundry. She asked if Greta was coming.

  ‘She didn’t mention it this morning, just that she was going to lunch with that friend of hers, Shirley.’

  ‘What’s she like, this Shirley?’

  ‘Dunno, Rube.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve never met her.’

  ‘I thought she only lived next door?’

  ‘No, Woolton somewhere. Greta met her in the hairdresser’s.’

  ‘But... oh, never mind. I must have got it wrong.’ She hadn’t though. Ruby distinctly remembered Greta saying that Shirley lived next door, but it wasn’t worth an argument. It was a relief to know that Greta was all right again, had been so for months, though it would have been nice to see more of her.

  ‘You look nice,’ Matthew remarked. ‘Is that a new frock?’

  ‘No, I bought it for Washington. There’s scarcely been an opportunity to wear it since.’ It was the turquoise Indian cotton with beads around the neck.

  He lay back on the grass and rested his head in his hands. ‘Have the students gone?’

  ‘The last one left at the weekend. It feels odd, knowing I won’t be having more. Normally, I’d be expecting the foreign students to arrive any minute.’ Months ago, they’d held a family conference and had decided the students could be dispensed with at the end of term now that the house was rent-free. On Monday, Moira was starting a summer job as a waitress so she could contribute towards her keep, and Daisy had reminded them she was getting married in less than a year and her contribution could only be relied on until Christmas – she and Clint were going to live in London, the only place for a person with a film career in mind.

  Brendan had hurt his foot on the pedals of his bike. He gave a little whimper and trotted over to Ruby who rubbed it until it was better. ‘Is that OK?’

  ‘Yeth, Bee.’ He returned to the bike, giving the ball a kick on the way as if to confirm the foot was in perfect condition.

  Heather came out with a tray of tea and chocolate biscuits and handed them around.

  ‘I wish you could do that to me, Rube,’ Matthew said gloomily.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Make me better.’

  She glanced at him sharply. ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘No, but I’m bloody fed up.’

  ‘What with?’ She hoped he wasn’t going to say, ‘Greta’.

  ‘Me job. It’s not my company any more. I’m just an employee like everyone else, responsible to those on high.’

  ‘You should be thanking your lucky stars, not complaining. Sit up and drink your tea.’

  He eased himself to a sitting position. ‘Thanks for the sympathy. I knew you’d understand.’

  ‘What is there to understand?’ Ruby said cuttingly. ‘Most people would give anything to be in your position.’

  ‘Yes, but Rube, it’s not exciting any more. I know exactly what I’ll be doing from one day to the next.’ He turned towards her, brown eyes wistful. ‘You know what I’d like? To start again, by meself, like I did before, except this time I’d have more than a few bob in me pocket.’

  ‘Why not do it, Matthew? There’s nothing stopping you.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’ His laugh came out like a bark. ‘D’you think Greta would be pleased if the money suddenly dried up? Her favourite occupation is shopping. She’s got enough clothes to sink a ship.’

  ‘I’d help,’ Ruby offered. ‘I could type letters for you.’

  ‘You can’t type.’

  ‘I can learn.’

  ‘Oh, Rube, I don’t half wish...’ He paused and said no more. Ruby didn’t ask what the wish was because she already knew. She wished the same herself.

  When Greta let herself in – she still had a key – the house appeared to be empty, but there were voices in the garden. Everyone had gone outside. Instead of joining them, she went into her old bedroom, sat on the bed, removed her sunglasses, and looked in the mirror at her red, swollen eyes. It was obvious she’d been crying and the tears had made little shiny rivulets on her powdered cheeks. Heather’s compact was on the dressing table. Greta picked it up and the shiny marks were quickly obliterated, but there was nothing she could do about her eyes. She’d have to keep the sunglasses on.

  An hour ago, she’d said goodbye to Charlie Mayhew for the last time. At that very moment, he was on his way to London. This time tomorrow he would be back in America. She would never see him again.

  Charlie had been as upset as she was. They’d grown fond of each other over the last six months – well, more than fond. They were a little bit in love, but he had a wife and three young children and she had a husband and twin daughters but, Greta thought darkly, she may well have been childless for all she saw of them.

  Making love for the final time had been bittersweet; both wonderful and terribly sad. She had sobbed in his arms that she didn’t want him to go and he had cried a little too.

  But he’d gone. He had to, and that Greta understood. It meant she had no choice but to return to her empty life. What was she to do with herself from now on? She lay on the bed, her head sinking into the soft pillow, and hoped someone would come in, ask what was the matter, make a fuss of her. She would say she didn’t feel well to account for the red eyes.

  No one came and there was laughter in the garden. She recognised Heather’s low-pitched chuckle. She must have stayed off work for Brendan’s party. Had Greta been living there, she would have stayed off too. They’d have had great fun getting everything ready. For the briefest of moments, Greta considered leaving Matthew and coming home. In no time at all, things would return to how they’d always been. The thought was tempting, except she’d have to go back to work and there’d only be the usual few pounds a week to spend. Greta felt torn between the idea of being a wealthy lady of leisure, albeit an unhappy one, and resuming her old, hard-up life, with Mam fighting a continual battle to make ends meet.

 
The lady of leisure easily won and Greta felt slightly better. She’d made a choice and it showed she had some control over her life. And it helped, knowing she could always come home if she felt too unhappy. Mam would welcome her with open arms.

  Greta sat up and combed her hair. Her eyes already looked better. She went into the kitchen, where the door was wide open, and the first person she saw was Matthew, lying on the grass beside her mother. When had he ever come home during the day for her? Never! And there was something familiar about the way the pair were chatting so easily, as if Mam was his wife, not her.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, Heather and Moira had their heads together, giggling helplessly over something. Her sister and her daughter, obviously the best of friends.

  Brendan must have been given a bike for his birthday and Daisy was following him around, arms stretched protectively over his head in case he fell off.

  Everyone was having a fine time without her, they probably hadn’t noticed she wasn’t there. She no longer meant anything to her family.

  She turned on her heel and left. No one had seen her come, no one had seen her go. She wouldn’t be missed.

  Chapter 18

  At Daisy’s request, it was the simplest of weddings. Her frock was cream jersey, calf length, without a single adornment, worn under a sky-blue velvet fitted jacket. For the first time, she wore lipstick, and carried a posy of white Christmas roses tied with blue ribbon. The only bridesmaid, Moira, carried a similar posy tied with pink to match her own plain frock. Clint had bought his first formal suit, dark grey, and throughout the ceremony, his handsome face was sombre.

  Matthew, the sole male member of the O’Hagan clan – not counting Brendan – gave the bride away. There were only twenty guests, including the young couple’s immediate families and a collection of friends.

  The January day was icy cold. Heavy grey clouds lumbered slowly across the dull sky and several people remarked it looked as if it might snow. The guests were dressed appropriately for a winter wedding. Ruby had treated herself to a new coat, bright scarlet, and was relieved it wasn’t the sort of wedding that required a hat, though neither Greta or the loathsome Pixie Shaw seemed to think so. Pixie’s great fur contraption looked as if it was designed to be worn on the Russian Steppes, and Greta’s face could hardly be seen behind a jungle of green feathers.