‘What a gift to have this sunshine.’ Sister Emily appears at the door and beams up at them. ‘This is a proper St Luke’s little summer.’
‘Why is it?’ asks Jakey, eyeing the picnic with professional approval. ‘What is St Luke’s little summer?’
‘It’s when we have unusually warm weather in October. St Luke’s special day is next week, you see.’ She beams at Janna. ‘A lovely Feast Day.’
Janna shakes her head. ‘She’s a terrible lady for her food,’ she says to Jakey.
He scrambles up onto the little moquette-covered bench, not really understanding but simply happy to be with these two people, reaching for a scone.
‘Oh!’ He puts his hand over his mouth. ‘I’ve forgotten Stripey Bunny. He’s still in the tlee.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ Janna says. ‘He can watch over the apples while we have our picnic.’
Jakey hesitates, considering, then shakes his head. ‘He needs some tea too,’ he says, and climbs down, squeezing past Sister Emily and running out into the orchard.
Sister Emily nods approvingly. ‘He is faithful to his friends,’ she says.
Janna puts milk into the Peter Rabbit mug and stands it by Jakey’s plate. Sister Emily sits down gratefully; she loves apple-picking but it is hard work.
‘Clem’ll be along in a minute,’ Janna says. ‘He can do some picking and carry the baskets. It’s a really good crop. Obviously your apple trees like nice wet summers.’
Jakey reappears, clutching Stripey Bunny, and wriggles up beside Sister Emily.
‘He’s been stung by a wasp,’ he announces, holding him up for inspection, checking to make sure that they are properly horrified. ‘On his poor leg. Look.’
He holds out the long stripey leg, while Janna and Sister Emily cluck and commiserate, and then he seizes the Peter Rabbit mug.
‘He needs some tea,’ he says, putting the stripey arms around the mug, pretending that Stripey Bunny is holding it himself; but somehow it slips between the knitted paws, bounces on the table and falls to the floor, spilling the milk and cracking the handle from the mug.
There is a horrified silence. Jakey stares from the broken mug and the spilled milk to Janna’s startled face, his eyes wide with shock. Sister Emily waits, holding her breath.
‘It’s bloken,’ Jakey says miserably. ‘The Peter Labbit mug. I’ve bloken it.’
There is one brief, silent second before Janna slides out of her seat; her concern is for Jakey: ‘You couldn’t help it, my lover,’ she says gently. ‘’Twas an accident.’
He looks at her tearfully, his cheeks scarlet. ‘It was your best mug,’ he says.
She shakes her head, touches his cheek. ‘Not any more,’ she says. ‘’Twas once but not now. Not for a while. Let’s get that milk cleared up.’
He picks up the mug and the handle, trying to fit them together. ‘Daddy could mend it,’ he suggests hopefully. ‘He mended my mug when it got bloken.’
‘Of course he can,’ says Janna cheerfully. ‘Mind your feet now while I wipe up. Sit up by Sister Emily, that’s a good boy, and have a bit of scone.’
He wriggles back onto the seat, looking at Sister Emily anxiously. ‘Stripey Bunny’s very sad about it,’ he says. ‘He didn’t mean to do it. He liked the Peter Labbit mug too.’
‘We all liked it,’ she says soothingly. ‘But, in the end, it is only a mug. Janna has many other precious things now. Things that won’t break so easily or vanish in the face of reality.’
Janna, crouching by the table, looks up at her questioningly, almost fearfully; Sister Emily looks back at her challengingly. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, Janna bursts out laughing.
‘Don’t overdo the sympathy,’ she says.
‘A much overrated reaction, I always think,’ says Sister Emily calmly. ‘Rather disabling, especially in large doses.’
And Jakey, feeling relieved by this odd exchange, reaches for a scone and is happy again.
‘We were wondering,’ Mo is saying, ‘whether you and Natasha and the girls would be coming down for Pa’s birthday. Dossie’s planning a bit of a gathering, just a few friends. I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago, if you remember, and you said that you might manage it. We thought tea, because of Jakey being able to come to it, but we’ll have a family supper later, of course, if you—’
‘Hang on,’ Adam says. ‘Just a sec.’ He puts down the phone and shouts, ‘Turn that music down!’ The music ceases suddenly and there is a burst of mocking laughter. He picks up the phone again. ‘Sorry. Yes, I remember you mentioning it, and I did talk about it to Tasha, but it’s a bit tricky, actually. One of the girls has got something on that weekend. You know how it is. Makes it a bit difficult, but I’m sure Pa will understand. I mean, it’s not a big one, is it?’
‘How,’ asks his mother, ‘do you define “a big one”? Anything after one’s three score years and ten is a big one, I suppose. Especially if you’ve had a stroke. Pa will be seventy-three.’
‘Well, of course, I didn’t mean …’ He feels irritated. She’s just trying to put him in the wrong. ‘I was thinking if it was his seventy-fifth, for instance …’
‘Oh, I see. That’s “a big one”, is it? Well, perhaps you could pencil in his seventy-fifth so as to be sure you get down for it.’
‘Come on, Mo. No need to be like that. It’s difficult juggling everybody’s needs …’ His voice heavy with irritation and self-pity, he reminds her that he and Natasha both work full time, and the girls have lives too, and that it is unfair to make him feel guilty …
‘I do understand,’ she breaks in. Suddenly her voice is warm, friendly. ‘Of course I do. And it doesn’t matter a bit. Goodness, it’s only a little birthday party. Now, I must hurry away. Wait, though. Did we tell you that we’re starting up the bed and breakfast again in the spring? So much to do and lots of bookings pouring in. It’s so exciting. Pa’s got a second lease of life but then don’t they say that seventy is the new fifty? Well, then …’
‘Hang on; hang on!’ He’s almost shouting. ‘When did all this happen? You haven’t said anything to me about this. It sounds like utter bloody madness. How can you possibly cope with all that again?’
‘Well, it’s Dossie who will be doing most of the coping, and she says that cooking breakfast for six or eight people is a doddle after catering for dinner parties and weddings. She’s really excited about it and so are we. It’ll be so good to see all the old faces again and so many of them are keen to come back. It’s rather touching. Of course, the house is still virtually all set up for it so there’s hardly anything to do but take the bookings.’
‘I just can’t believe this,’ he says quietly. ‘One minute we’re talking downsizing—’
‘No, no,’ she interrupts him. ‘You were talking downsizing, Adam. We never were. This is our home and we love it. Because of Dossie we’re able to stay in it and so is she. For as long as she needs to. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Wait,’ he says, as though he is speaking to a fractious child. ‘Now just wait. First you imply that Pa is getting old and we ought to be coming down for his birthday because, having had a stroke, he might keel over at any minute, and the next minute you say that you’re opening up The Court for business again. Isn’t this a bit irrational? Can’t you see the strain it’ll be on you and Pa? Never mind that Dossie’s cooking the breakfasts, just having people there, coming and going all the time, is enough to give anyone another stroke.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Mo says. ‘You never have. We love having people here. Pa adores having someone to chat to, to have a drink with; and we’ve known some of these friends for more than thirty years. It’s not a stress for us, especially with Dossie doing the real hard work. It’s giving us something to look forward to and to plan for and enjoy. Can you try to understand that, Adam?’
‘I think it’s a terrible mistake,’ he says stubbornly. ‘It’s like trying to regain your lost youth; it’s simply bound to end in disappointment. I k
now that Natasha will agree with me.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ Mo says affably. ‘As long as someone does. Now, I really must go. Sorry we shan’t see you at the party but we quite understand. ’Bye, darling.’
She puts the receiver down and he waits for a moment and then slams the phone on the table.
‘What is it?’ Natasha has come into the room. ‘What’s going on?’
The girls are close behind her and he wonders if it will ever be possible to have a conversation without these two listening in; watching; giggling in corners.
‘You’ll be glad to know,’ he says vindictively, ‘that your behaviour has finally done the trick. Because of your refusal to go to Pa’s party you and your children have done me out of my inheritance once and for all.’
‘Oh, honestly.’ Whatever next? She is getting really, really tired with these silly dramas. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that because you never ever do anything you don’t want to do they’ve given up on me. They’ve decided to go back to doing bed and breakfast with Dossie in control, and I suspect that this will be the end of it.’
Natasha frowns incredulously, and then laughs; the girls move closer to stand one each side of her.
‘Are you seriously telling me that because we can’t go down for your father’s birthday he’s disinheriting you? You must be joking.’
‘No. I’m not joking, and it isn’t just that and you know it.’
‘You didn’t want to go either,’ says one of the girls. ‘It wasn’t just Mum.’
‘It’s no good trying to blame us,’ says the other.
He loses his temper. ‘I’m not talking to you,’ he shouts. ‘For God’s sake just clear out, will you?’
The girls move closer to their mother, as if they are afraid of him, and she puts an arm around each of them. She has made her decision, she’s known for quite a while that she and Adam don’t have a future together, and now he has played into her hands. She and the girls can manage very well without him.
‘If there’s any clearing out I think you’ll be doing it,’ says Natasha calmly. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten that this is my house and these are my children. Since you seem to imagine that we are rotting up the brilliant relationship with your wonderful family then I suggest you clear out now.’
The girls stare at him. Their eyes are bright with malice and triumph as he storms past them, out of the room and up the stairs.
Through the window she can see Wolfie playing on the lawn whilst John the Baptist watches him. She sees that Wolfie has got old Jonno’s bone and he is racing round in circles with it, dropping it temptingly, and then seizing it again before Jonno can grab it, and dashing away with it.
Dossie comes in behind her. ‘So what did he say?’
‘They can’t make it.’ Mo doesn’t turn round. ‘He’s cross about the B and B-ing.’
‘Well, that’s hardly a surprise.’ Dossie stands beside her. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing else. He thinks we’re crazy trying to regain our lost youth.’
Dossie laughs. ‘He simply doesn’t get it, does he? But then he never did. I simply don’t know where he came from. Weird, isn’t it?’
Mo nods. ‘Weird, and very sad. We love him; he’s our son. And he’s a complete stranger. It seems impossible to connect and I can’t see what we did wrong.’
‘Why do you think you did anything wrong? It’s just a genetic cock-up, that’s all. There’s nothing any of us can do about it. Look, we still speak, we stay in touch and he can come down any time he likes. We simply have to accept that it’s all we’re going to have.’
‘But try to imagine how you would feel if it were Clem. Or even Jakey. That you’d given birth to someone you can’t recognize, and who doesn’t understand you, and yet you still love him terribly even if you don’t like him very much.’
‘Sorry.’ Dossie puts her arm round Mo’s shoulders and gives her a hug. ‘I didn’t mean to be clever about it. Really I didn’t. It would break my heart, of course it would. It’s just that he makes me cross and I hate it for you.’
They stand together watching the dogs. John the Baptist has made an attempt to retrieve his bone from Wolfie and the two of them are rolling together, play-fighting, barking with excitement.
‘I must go and rescue poor old Jonno,’ says Mo. ‘That will be doing his arthritis no good at all, though he seems to be enjoying himself. Perhaps he’s trying to regain his lost youth, too.’
Dossie watches Mo as she crosses the lawn, shouting to get the dogs’ attention. She persuades Wolfie to give up the bone, drops it into a bag and disappears out of view with both dogs at her heels. Dossie continues to stand at the window, staring at the empty lawn, wondering how Rupert will get on with Mo and Pa. She spent ages planning just how to raise the subject with them and in the end she did it rather clumsily, standing up from breakfast and saying: ‘Oh, by the way, I thought I’d bring one of my Fill the Freezer clients to your birthday bash, Pa. He’s rather nice. Recently widowed. I think you’ll both like him.’
They both looked up, Pa from the Sudoku and Ma from a letter she was writing, and stared at her. She knew at once that only rigid discipline was preventing them from nodding at one another and saying: ‘I told you so.’ There was no surprise; she detected only a certain amount of relief in their reaction.
‘Well, good, that’s good,’ Pa said vaguely, whilst Ma smiled and said: ‘We’ll look forward to that. What’s his name?’
She felt rather foolish, as though she were a teenager again, and mumbled an answer and then said she must go up and check emails. Neither of them has mentioned it since.
Dossie can’t decide whether she is pleased that her announcement has been received with such a startling lack of interest or whether she’d rather there were a few animated questions: ‘So where did you meet? Where are his holiday cottages?’ or, ‘So what is he like and how old is he?’
The truth is, she guesses, they’ve suspected that there is someone in the background – it’s a bit naïve to think otherwise – and they are simply relieved that they’re going to meet him at last and that he isn’t married. She is sure that they would like him – how could they not? – but much more to the point is how he and Clem will get along. She hasn’t yet mustered up the courage to tell Clem about Rupert; she can’t quite find the words to explain their relationship. And this is a real problem because she doesn’t quite know how to define it even to herself. For instance, they aren’t an item; neither takes the other for granted or assumes that a date or plan can be made without consultation. There remains a slight formality between them that she’s been unable to break down. One of the difficulties is that she has no place of her own where she can invite him for supper or for a barbecue, or any casual date. They have the cottage, of course, but it means it’s always his call. At least she’s made the big step of inviting him to meet Pa and Mo – and he’s perfectly happy about it.
Rupert is on the phone to Kitty.
‘… And I know you can’t get home this weekend,’ she is saying, ‘but I’ve got the next one planned round Mummy’s birthday on the Sunday. She’s really thrilled about it. Of course we all know it’s going to be the last one so it’s got to be special …’
She chatters on but he isn’t listening. Leaning forward to look at his diary he’s just seen that next Saturday is Pa’s birthday and he’s promised he’ll be at The Court for tea. He’s been dreading it, wondering how he’ll handle it but now it looks as if he’ll have to cry off. He can’t cancel a second weekend with Kitty, and though a part of him is deeply grateful for this excuse he has no idea what he will say to Dossie. She still thinks he has a mother in Bristol and he’ll use her as the excuse. After all, it’s not too far from the truth …
Kitty, sensing his distraction, is asking him if he is OK; whether something has turned up.
‘Just looking at the diary,’ he says. ‘I was supposed to pick up some stuff this morning in Bod
min and I’d completely forgotten it. Look, I’d better dash, sweetie. I’ll call you later. ’Bye.’
He lays his mobile down and curses below his breath. He can’t disappoint Kitty or her mother, but he needs some very good excuse to get out of this one. Dossie is going to be upset. It’s getting difficult, trying to keep his two worlds separate, but he’s reluctant to give up on either. Dossie has become important to him; she’s the perfect companion just now and he sees no reason why this particular boat should be rocked. He’ll have to be careful, though, to keep an important date with his ‘mother’ at the root of his excuse. He’s learned that it’s always best to have a seed of truth in the middle of a lie. And anyway, dear old Mummy has indeed been like a mother to him since his own died, so it’s a kind of truth. He’ll have to box clever, though. After all, he’d hardly forget the date of his mother’s birthday. No, it needs to be some other kind of celebration; some kind of family event involving his sister, perhaps. He’ll think of something – and meanwhile he has to tell Dossie.
Sister Ruth gives the flowers a last twitch and glances round the small West Room. Guests are being asked to bring their own sheets and towels these days, but there are one or two exceptions that include elderly visitors of very long-standing. This is one of those cases and so the bed has been made up and towels hung beside the basin, and the little room looks clean and fresh and inviting.
She’s picked the last of the sweet peas and some purple hebe for the green pottery vase that stands on the well-polished table, and is pleased with the effect. It is good to be hospitable, though she can never quite let herself go as Sister Emily does, and Mother Magda, welcoming their guests with hugs and kisses. She was taught to be restrained and self-effacing and she’s never been able to be demonstrative. Only very occasionally with Sister Nichola can she relax a little and give her the good-night kiss that the elderly Sister expects and looks for, or to hold her hand sometimes when they sit quietly together. Caresses and overt affection have never come naturally to her as they do, for instance, to Janna with Jakey.
The Christmas Angel Page 21