The Songbird

by Marcia Willett

  He shuffles back to allow Tim to go past and he enters the big, sunny room with an exclamation of pleasure. With its book-lined walls and the big desk, this is just the kind of room he’s always wanted for himself.

  ‘What a splendid eyrie, sir,’ he says. ‘And what a view.’

  ‘It’s mainly for the view that I commandeered it,’ Francis admitted. ‘My wife would have liked it for our bedroom but I considered it a waste. Better things to do in a bedroom, I told her, than stand looking out of windows.’

  Tim gives a crack of laughter and looks at the old man with amused surprise. ‘I have to agree with that.’

  ‘Of course you do and I wish you’d call me “Francis”. Pour the coffee, will you? My hands shake too much these days. I like mine black.’

  There is a comfortable armchair on each side of the little rosewood table and Francis lowers himself into one of them while Tim deals with the coffee pot. He’s surprised how much at ease he feels.

  ‘So you’ve settled in?’ the old man continues. ‘You’re happy here?’

  ‘I love it here,’ Tim answers. ‘It feels like home.’

  ‘That’s a great compliment.’ Francis accepts the pretty bone-china cup and saucer that Tim pushes towards him. ‘I was born here. I’ve lived here all my life. My children were born here.’

  ‘I envy you,’ Tim says, looking around him. ‘It must be wonderful to have a place of your very own in the world. To be stable and rooted. You are very lucky.’

  The old man watches him over the rim of his cup and Tim looks back at him. There is something here, some kind of recognition between them, that he can’t quite define.

  ‘I have been lucky,’ Francis admits. ‘Much luckier than I deserve. But I’ve been very selfish, too.’

  Tim hardly knows how to answer.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says inadequately. ‘We’re all selfish, though, aren’t we?’

  ‘Probably. It’s that sense of guilt we struggle with that can be so destructive, don’t you find?’

  Tim frowns. It’s almost as if Francis knows about his own secret, but how can he? The old man is watching him and Tim feels an overwhelming desire to tell him the truth but still he resists.

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ he says rather lamely, trying for a lighter note, ‘that you’ve ever been capable of real treachery.’

  ‘Ah, but I have,’ says Francis sadly. ‘I betrayed my wife. I was unfaithful to her with a much younger woman who bore my illegitimate child. I have never acknowledged him as my son and I made his mother swear that she would never tell another soul that I was his father. I was afraid for my career, you see. And for my pride, of course, though I pretended that it was for my wife’s sake, and for my legitimate sons. And even now, I can’t quite admit it, though Nell and Liz are dead and it no longer matters. I can’t face the thought of what my sons would think of me.’

  Tim stares at him, shocked. ‘God,’ he says, ‘that’s hard. For all of you.’

  Francis nods. A little pause. ‘I see you walking in the woods. Have you found Pan?’

  Tim is relieved at the change of subject. ‘I have,’ he says. ‘And there’s someone who garlands him with flowers. Are there children locally who go there and into the dogs’ graveyard?’

  ‘So you’ve found the graveyard, too. It’s a long while since I’ve been there. I can’t walk so far these days.’

  ‘So it isn’t you who puts flowers on Brack’s grave?’

  Francis gives a great sigh; he smiles reminiscently. ‘Ah, dear old Brack. Short for Bracken. What a fellow he was. A cairn. Cheerful, cheeky. You know the breed?’

  Tim sets down his coffee cup carefully in its saucer. ‘I had a cairn like Brack when I was a child. I called him Ban.’

  His breath comes quickly. The day with Mattie has breached his defences and suddenly he feels weak and tired. Francis is watching him with that same compassion and he has a great longing to tell it all at last.

  ‘What happened to Ban?’

  ‘I opened the garden gate, though I’d been warned not to. I didn’t mean to. It had always been too stiff before. But that morning the catch clicked open and gate swung enough for Ban to get out. My mother was just across the road coming back from shopping. Ban ran out to meet her and I followed him. My mother ran forward to stop me dashing into the road and was hit by a car. I killed her.’

  Francis is silent for a moment. ‘It was an accident. A terrible accident.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tim stares at his cup. ‘I know that really but somehow it doesn’t help. My father couldn’t bear it and simply left. Disappeared.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I went to live with my grandmother. My mother’s mother. She looked after us. Me and Ban.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Four. Nearly five.’

  ‘How terrible,’ Francis says. ‘How very terrible.’

  ‘So many people ask, you see. When you’re little, I mean. “Where’s your mummy?” and you have to explain that she died in an accident. Even when you’re older and you make friends people want to know, don’t they? About your family. You can never get away from it. Anyway, why should I? It was my fault she died but I’ve never told anyone the whole truth before.’

  He feels empty and exhausted. He’s kept this secret for so long that now – suddenly dragged into the light – it almost seems unimportant. He rubs his forehead with his fingers, drinks some coffee.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Tim,’ Francis says. ‘Please forgive me. I had a feeling that there was something weighing on your mind and I wondered if it might help to talk. I had no business to interfere. I was completely out of order.’

  Tim shakes his head. ‘You weren’t interfering. You were trying to help me. I’ve never told anyone before. It’s too . . . well, just impossible, really. Is that why you told me about your secret? To encourage me?’

  ‘Something like that. We’re all damaged, aren’t we? We all have weaknesses, fears, secrets we keep hidden. Sometimes it’s good to unburden ourselves. Forgive me, Tim.’

  Tim is silent. He wants to tell Francis the rest of it but he can’t do it. He already feels too emotional – and, anyway, it’s not fair on the poor old man who looks so frail and vulnerable.

  ‘It’s wonderful being here,’ Tim says at last. ‘It’s been the best thing in my life. There’s nothing to forgive, Francis. And I’m glad I told you. And thank you for telling me. For trusting me.’ He hesitates. ‘So who is it that puts flowers on Brack’s grave and brings posies to Pan?’

  He smiles, trying to bring a lighter touch, but this time it is Francis who hesitates, shakes his head.

  ‘There’s a footpath across the field to the hamlet,’ he says. ‘Anyone might come that way.’

  Tim watches him; he feels that Francis is withholding something. His expression is inward, remote and immensely sad.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ Tim asks. ‘I know you have people to help you but is there anywhere I could take you in the car? Just for an outing, perhaps?’

  Francis looks up at him. ‘Yes,’ he says quickly. ‘Yes, there is. Only you’d have to be able to deal with my wheelchair.’

  ‘I expect I could manage that,’ Tim says. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘I’d like to go to Mass,’ Francis says unexpectedly.

  ‘To Mass?’

  ‘Yes. At Buckfast Abbey. I prefer to go to one of the weekday services when it’s quieter, and I haven’t been for a long while. Do you think you could manage it?’

  ‘I’m sure I can. I imagine that Bank Holiday Monday will probably be pretty busy at the Abbey so shall we say Tuesday?’

  ‘You know the Abbey? You’re not by any chance a Catholic?’

  Tim shakes his head. ‘No, though I’ve visited the Abbey a couple of times. But Gran made sure we went to church on Sundays so I’m not a raw beginner.’

  They both laugh, tension eases. They drink their coffee and make a plan for Tuesday.


  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE RETURN TO the courtyard begins with William’s arrival from Exeter. He’s in very high spirits, energized as always by the singing and meeting with his friends. Added to that is the text from Fiona suggesting that she might come down the following weekend. Ever since the barbecue there has been a little flurry of texts between them and he’s enjoying the contact.

  He wonders if it would be foolish to attempt to re-create the party spirit with another barbecue. It’s a good way to be all-inclusive. He knows that Charlotte won’t come to his cottage in the evening, leaving Oliver unattended, which means any other kind of party has to be in her cottage, which is a bit tough on her. The barbecue was such a success that he’s tempted to repeat it. Perhaps even Cousin Francis will be able to attend if he’s feeling better.

  He decides that he’ll pass the idea in front of Kat before he makes a decision, and wonders how she got on with Jerry in Bristol.

  ‘Staying the night together?’ he repeated, looking at her with admiration. ‘What a quick worker you are.’

  ‘Seems rather crazy to travel back late at night.’ She gave a little shrug and then grinned at him. ‘Don’t worry, darling. Separate rooms.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m impressed. Jerry is a really nice bloke but I would have said that he’s just a tad conventional.’

  ‘Oh, he is,’ she said at once. ‘But I’m working on it. He needs liberating.’

  ‘From what?’ William asked suspiciously. ‘Or should I be asking “from whom”?’

  ‘From a frumpy friend,’ she answered with a burst of laughter. ‘That’s Fiona’s phrase, by the way, so don’t blame me.’

  ‘I’m intrigued,’ he said. ‘Lucky old Jerry, is all I can say, to have two women vying for his attentions.’

  Kat became serious. ‘He’s very sweet,’ she said reflectively. ‘Very genuine. He doesn’t like to hurt people.’

  ‘Sounds like me,’ William said, only half joking, expecting a compliment.

  But Kat was silent for a moment. ‘You’re much more single-minded,’ she said at last. ‘Look at the way you stood up to Fiona when she wanted you to give up all you’d worked for to go to London. Jerry would have gone.’

  He was almost shocked by her reply. ‘Do you think I should have gone?’ he asked, after a moment.

  ‘No,’ she answered at once. ‘No, I don’t. Everything you’d worked for was here. This was your life. But I can see her side of it, too. It’s hard to be offered such a chance and have to turn it down.’

  ‘It was such a pity that we couldn’t make weekending work,’ he said sadly.

  Kat smiled at him almost pityingly. ‘It wasn’t just that, though, was it? It was Sam. He threw her totally off balance. He was outside her experience and, on top of the new job, she lost her head.’

  ‘You sound as if you feel sorry for her,’ he said.

  ‘I do a bit,’ Kat replied. ‘It’s odd but during that barbecue weekend I slightly saw it all in a different light. To begin with I was just so angry on your behalf, so partisan, that I hadn’t really stopped to think how it must have been for her. I’m not excusing her, I’m just saying that I feel a bit more tolerant.’

  Now, as he switches off the engine and gets out of the car, William remembers how he felt pleased rather than upset by Kat’s admission. In his new mood, this sense of happiness with Fiona, he wants everyone else to feel the same way: to be more friendly towards her.

  He sees that Kat is not yet back and he isn’t expecting Charlotte, who is staying the weekend with her parents in Tavistock. Tim is here, however, and at this moment his door opens and Wooster hurries out, giving a welcoming bark or two, followed by Tim.

  ‘Welcome home,’ he says. ‘Though it seems a bit odd, me welcoming you back.’

  ‘Why?’ asks William. ‘It’s your home, too.’

  ‘We missed everyone, didn’t we, Wooster?’ says Tim. ‘So, was it good?’

  ‘It was very good. We joined with several choirs to sing Fauré’s Requiem. I think it went well. How have you been?’

  ‘Fine,’ says Tim. ‘I had coffee with Francis yesterday. He seems much better. I’m taking him to the Abbey on Tuesday.’

  ‘Are you?’ William is surprised; pleased. ‘That’s very kind. He likes to go to Mass but it’s difficult for him now he no longer drives. Stella takes him sometimes but the wheelchair causes a bit of a problem in her car and he hates to be a nuisance. And how has this fellow been?’

  He stoops to embrace Wooster, who licks his face obligingly.

  Tim laughs. ‘I’ve loved having him. He was good company. I’m just going to give him his supper and then take him for a walk. Want to come?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ William says. He’s still on a high and suddenly he feels it would be a bit anticlimactic to be alone. ‘Tell you what, let’s take him down by the river and then go to the pub for a pint.’

  ‘OK,’ says Tim. ‘I’ll feed him and then I’ll give you a shout. We’ll take my car. It’s got his rug and stuff in the back.’

  William swings his bag out of the car; as he strides across the courtyard he begins to sing.

  When Kat arrives home she finds William and Tim sharing a pizza in the kitchen. Wooster is fast asleep by the garden door. In truth she is pleased to see them. The visit to Bristol has been such fun that she was very slightly put out to find that, on their return, Jerry was engaged to go to a supper party.

  He was quick to point out that this had been in his diary long before the arrangement to go to Bristol and it hadn’t occurred to him that it would in any way interfere with the plan.

  To be fair, Kat has to admit to herself, it didn’t: they were back in plenty of time. Nevertheless she feels just the least bit miffed that he didn’t seize an opportunity to extend her stay with him; that he took her at her word that they’d have lunch in Bristol, catch the train home, and that would be that. She’d left her car at his flat and her options open and so she was surprised when, having made them both tea, he told her – looking rather sheepish – that he was going out later. She wondered if it would be with Sandra but she kept her cool, smiled as if it were perfectly natural, finished her tea and drove home.

  ‘Thank God,’ she told herself, ‘that I didn’t take my overnight case in. I’d have looked an absolute fool.’

  Jerry was a good companion: amusing, interesting and attentive. They enjoyed the train journey but she could see, on their arrival at the hotel, that he was slightly ill at ease checking in at the desk, despite their having booked separate rooms. Having arrived, Jerry seemed unable to take control of the situation and it was left to Kat to orchestrate the evening: a walk around the waterfront, a light early supper before arriving at the theatre, arranging for sandwiches and a bottle of wine to be left in her room for later, after the performance.

  He thoroughly enjoyed the ballet. She knew a few people in the company and afterwards she took Jerry backstage to introduce him. She could see he was impressed by her reception, delighted to be with her, and they walked back to the hotel arm in arm and talking happily. When she invited him into her room for a drink she was aware of his slight hesitation, quickly hidden, of his glance along the corridor. She wondered, amused, whom he thought might be watching: did he think perhaps one of his family might be staying here? She saw his delight at the little supper laid out, followed almost immediately by a tightening of the lips, which indicated an irritation that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

  Immediately Kat began on an amusing anecdote involving one of the dancers he’d just met, poured him a glass of wine, and smoothed their way through this slightly awkward moment. Making love was easier: she simply took her clothes off and held out her arms to him. The lovemaking was good, but the single bed was uncomfortable, and before too long he slid out, got dressed, and vanished away to his own room.

  She lay for a while, her arms folded behind her head, missing him. She was used to men who were careless of the conventions, indifferent to wha
t other people might think about them, and Jerry’s diffidence was rather touching. It was clear that he loved being with her but that her fame was causing an imbalance in the relationship.

  In the morning she went down to breakfast to find him already sitting at a table with a newspaper.

  ‘I didn’t want to disturb you,’ he said, standing up to pull out her chair.

  ‘I had rather the same idea,’ she said.

  He seemed a little more at ease, as though the most demanding part of the weekend had been accomplished, though she saw that he still glanced at each newcomer to the breakfast-room.

  ‘Expecting somebody?’ she asked lightly at last.

  He flushed. ‘No, no, of course not.’

  But she wondered if he was slightly on the qui vive lest one of his friends might also be spending the weekend in Bristol and he was anxious about how he would deal with the situation.

  Now, as she gets out of the car and goes into the cottage, she can’t help wondering if Jerry is regaling Sandra with the more glamorous moments of the weekend and it’s a relief to see Tim and William sitting at the table eating pizza, drinking ale and evidently enjoying themselves. They pull out a chair for her, cut her a slice of pizza, and ask her about the visit.

  Kat describes the performance, tells a few stories about the dancers, but of Jerry she says nothing at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHARLOTTE AND OLIVER are the last to return to Brockscombe. She is surprised at how pleased she is to be back on her own patch. It’s good to go to Tavistock and see everyone, it makes a change to have help with Oliver and a bit of a rest, but she doesn’t like him to get out of his routine and it’s difficult to lay down the law, what with Mum spoiling him and Dad making jokes about her having more rules and regs than the navy.

  Mattie was looking radiant, talking about the prospect of a job at Exeter Uni and getting the dogs overexcited. Later, she said that on her way down she’d had lunch with Tim at the Two Bridges Hotel and, just for a moment, Charlotte was a bit hurt that they hadn’t invited her and Oliver along, given that she had to pass the hotel on her way to Tavistock.