The House in the Clouds

by Connelly, Victoria

  He heard his father swear from the bed. So, he hadn’t killed himself with the drink yet then, Edward couldn’t help thinking. But it was on the cards for some time soon.

  ‘Dad?’ he said. ‘You awake?’

  His father mumbled something that wasn’t very clear, but sounded awfully like a curse to Edward, but he was used to that.

  ‘Have you eaten today?’ Edward asked. Silly question. His father’s kitchen wasn’t a place to cook or eat – it was merely used as a store for his alcohol. His fridge hadn’t seen anything approaching food since Linda had died.

  There was another groan from the bed. Edward stared down at the sorry state of the man who’d given him life.

  ‘I’ll make you something to eat if I can find any actual food in your kitchen,’ Edward said now, backing out of the room and returning downstairs.

  Edward made his way to the kitchen and grimaced at the state of it. He opened the fridge and, just as he’d thought, there was nothing but a stack of beer cans, bottles of wine and some mouldy cheese. He sighed and started looking in the cupboards. He found a box of eggs that wasn’t yet out of date and there was a plastic container of home-grown tomatoes on the kitchen table, possibly a gift from the kind neighbour who kept an eye on Derek. Tomato omelette it was then. But first, he’d do a bit of tidying up.

  Rolling his sleeves up, he tackled the stacks of dishes that lay in the sink and on the draining board and table. It was clear his father hadn’t washed up for days. Edward had once paid for a home help to clean and shop for him, but the company he’d used had rung him up to complain that his father had been verbally abusive and that their services would no longer be available to him. When Edward had confronted his father about it, he’d got some of the same abuse. He hadn’t really been surprised as he’d grown up with it, and yet it still had the power to shock him because he always hoped that, somehow, his father would change – that, one day, he’d wake up and miraculously see all the damage he’d done. Edward gave a hollow laugh as he thought about that now. His father was never going to change. His behaviour was entrenched.

  Even when he’d been sober, Derek Townsend had not been the best of fathers. He was too wrapped up in himself to care much for others and yet he had adored his wife. In his own way. Edward could still hear their arguments. They used to wake him up from his childhood dreams. You never forgot the sound of your mother crying, did you? Or the sound of glass breaking when a bottle was thrown across the room and the harsh words his father would scream whether he’d been drinking or not.

  There wasn’t a single trace of his mother left in the house anymore. His father had hired one of those house clearance companies shortly after she’d died – the sort that paid you a pittance to come and take all of a person’s things away. His so-called love of Linda had been eclipsed by his need for money for alcohol. Edward remembered seeing him take his mother’s jewellery out to sell. He’d been appalled when he realised what was happening and had gone into the room after his father had left the house. There on the dressing table, Edward had found a hair slide. It was just a cheap thing which glittered with paste stones, but he remembered how fond his mother had been of it and had pocketed it, keeping it safe from the ministrations of his father. He still had it, tucked away in a drawer.

  His father had been devastated by Linda’s passing. Edward hadn’t quite realised how very dependent he’d been on her, but she had run the house, making sure everything was neat, tidy and clean and that there was never a shortage of fresh, wholesome food. They might not have had much money, but she made the very best of what they had, even growing a bit of fruit and veg herself in the tiny back garden. Of course, the garden had been neglected since her passing and was now a wasteland of grasses and rubbish bags that hadn’t found their way to the bin. Edward went outside and dealt with a few of them now, wondering how his father could bear to live in such a tip.

  It pained him that he couldn’t talk to his father, but how could you have a relationship with a man who’d never showed you any compassion? You couldn’t just switch it on in yourself the moment that they needed you, not if you’d never had anything from them in the past. But Edward did try and help.

  Tossing as many bin bags as he could from the garden into the plastic dustbin and wheeling it round the front of the house, he returned inside to tackle the mess there. He found a bin bag under the sink and got to work in the front room, clearing the floor of debris and setting the table upright. He wasn’t sure why he was bothering really – it would only return to this same state in a few days’ time.

  Once that was done, he washed his hands and made the omelette for his father, taking it upstairs with a glass of water. His father was sitting up on the bed now, a dazed look on his pale face.

  ‘I’ve brought you something to eat,’ Edward said. ‘It’s not much. I couldn’t find a lot in the way of food in the house.’

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ his father growled, swinging his legs out of bed. He was wearing a long stained T-shirt and socks and his thin, pale legs looked both pitiful and menacing.

  ‘You should eat,’ Edward told him, glancing away, as if he shouldn’t be looking at his father’s partial nakedness.

  ‘What do you care?’

  It was on the tip of Edward’s tongue to say that he didn’t, but the last thing he wanted to do was antagonise the old man. He looked around the room for a clear surface on which to put the plate and glass, but couldn’t find one.

  ‘I’ll put these in the kitchen.’

  ‘You can put them in the bin for all I care.’

  Edward sighed. He’d done his best and it wasn’t good enough, and now it was time to go. He walked down the stairs, each step sending him deeper and deeper into himself. He hated how he felt when he was around his father and he tried to switch those feelings off by chanting to himself.

  I’m leaving now. I’m leaving now. I’m leaving now.

  That thought kept him sane. He could leave. He was no longer trapped there as he had been when he was a boy. He had his own life now and it was a good life, and yet this old one kept dragging him back, forcing memories to resurface and making him feel as if he’d regressed to that anxious boy who’d felt so helpless when living there.

  ‘You worry too much,’ his mother had once told him when he’d asked if she was okay. ‘Your father just has a bit of a temper, but he’s got a good soul.’

  Well, Edward had never seen any evidence of this good soul and, as he’d grown older, he’d begun to think that his mother was delusional – she had a severe blind spot when it came to his father. But Edward wasn’t under any illusions. His father was a mean man when sober and an even meaner one when drunk, and that was all there was to it.

  It was with great relief that he left the house. He’d done his bit as best as he could and now it was time to return home. He breathed a few great lungfuls of fresh air as he drove away with his windows open, trying to dispel the expression of sheer hatred on his father’s face when he’d offered him something to eat. Why had he let Oscar convince him to go over? Was it fear that had driven Edward to do it? Fear of his father crashed out on the floor, helpless? Or was it humanity – his compassion for a man who’d never shown him any? Edward didn’t want to analyse it. All he knew was that he felt deeply unsettled whenever he had to have anything to do with the old man and it wasn’t just because of the way his father treated him, but the way he’d treated his mother during her lifetime.

  Linda Townsend had once told Edward that she remembered the first time she’d seen Derek. He’d been propping up a bar. Of course he had. But he’d had this twinkle in his eye, this certain magical charisma that drew her to him. It was unstoppable, she’d said, and it had engulfed her completely and, although she came to learn that he had his faults, she loved him with an affection that made the soul weep to see because he was no good for her. Edward had been a witness to it growing up, and it had made him ache. He couldn’t understand how she could put up with his father’
s behaviour – the drinking, the swearing, the violence, the inability to hold down a job. Instead, she accepted him for what he was, defended him when others went on the attack, and she made do with her lot, taking two jobs on at once in order to bring in the money that the household needed. And she learned to hide any money she had because she knew what would happen to it if her husband got hold of it.

  There was a part of Edward that had admired his mother for how she’d borne things, but he’d also wished that she’d made her escape. He wouldn’t even have minded if she hadn’t taken him and his brother with her – as long as she’d got away to lead a better life somewhere. But running had always been the last thing on her mind.

  ‘I chose him,’ she’d once told Edward. ‘This is my life.’

  Was that loyalty or foolishness? Edward had never really decided, but he thought about it now on the short drive back to Winfield where he saw that Oscar was waiting for him. There was no escaping his family today it seemed.

  ‘I tried calling you,’ Oscar said as soon as Edward got out of the car.

  ‘My phone was off.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘He was upright when I left him.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said, “What do you care?”’

  Oscar frowned. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘There were some other disparaging remarks, but we didn’t have a full-blown conversation if that’s what you mean. I went in, made sure he was okay, tidied up, made him a meal which he didn’t eat and left.’

  ‘And he’d been drinking?’

  ‘What do you think? Of course he’d been drinking!’

  ‘All right! No need to get shirty with me.’

  Edward sighed. ‘I’m not getting shirty. I’m just frustrated that this is still going on.’

  ‘You think he’s going to change?’ Oscar said incredulously.

  ‘No, I don’t. That’s what’s so frustrating. And you could learn a thing or two as well,’ Edward told his brother.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your drinking.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s pretty out of hand.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘What was that, then – the other night?’

  ‘I’d had a few to celebrate you moving back home.’

  Edward didn’t like Winfield being referred to as “home” – not in the way Oscar meant it. Yes, Edward might well have returned to the county of his childhood, and Winfield might be in the village adjacent to his old stomping ground, but it was a million miles away in terms of feeling.

  ‘You’re becoming like him, you know,’ Edward said in a low voice.

  ‘Me? Like Dad?’

  Edward nodded. It was a little unfortunate that, growing up, Derek had been a bit of a role model for young Oscar. Where Edward had instinctively felt that his father’s behaviour was wrong, Oscar had idolised him and they’d soon become drinking buddies, laughing and poking fun at Edward who always refused to join in. Now, Oscar was more reliant on alcohol than he cared to admit and Edward had seen the very worst of it.

  ‘What can I say? I like a drink,’ Oscar said with a little laugh, ‘but I know how to handle it. I don’t go overboard like Dad.’

  Edward could have said all manner of things to that, but he chose not to. He didn’t want to fight. He already felt emotionally drained from having been in his father’s company for so brief a time.

  ‘So, are you going to give me a tour?’ Oscar asked, gazing up at the golden facade of Winfield.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Oscar sounded genuinely shocked. ‘Why not? I want to see your new place. I’ve only seen the entrance hall.’

  ‘I’ve got to work. And shouldn’t you be at work too?’

  ‘God, you’re always bloody working!’ Oscar said, not answering Edward’s question as to why he wasn’t at work. ‘Dad was right.’

  ‘What do you mean? What’s he said?’ Edward really didn’t want to know, but felt compelled to find out.

  ‘He said you’re uptight and boring and haven’t any time for fun in your life. You’re always working.’

  Edward sighed inwardly. ‘And what would Dad know about work? I can’t remember a single year when he didn’t give up on some job or was fired from one.’

  ‘Yeah, but at least he knew how to have a good time.’

  ‘You call it a good time now? Have you seen the state of his house?’

  ‘Of course I have. I see it more than you do.’

  Edward caught his brother’s barb.

  ‘You should try clearing up after him when he’s had an all-nighter,’ Oscar went on. ‘I can only stomach it if I’ve had one or two myself.’

  Edward silently cursed. At least, he thought it was silent.

  ‘What did you say?’ Oscar caught Edward’s arm.

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘Yes you did. You said something about me drinking, didn’t you?’

  Edward started walking towards the front door, but Oscar blocked his path.

  ‘What is your problem?’

  ‘Seriously? You want to know what my problem is?’ Edward said, disbelief in his voice that his brother didn’t realise.

  ‘Yes, I want to know.’

  They stood staring at each other for a heated moment. Oscar was the first to speak.

  ‘If you’re not going to invite me in, why don’t we go out somewhere – have a couple of drinks and chill out.’

  ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  Oscar looked wounded by this which was typical of him. ‘No, I’m not kidding.’

  ‘Haven’t you done enough damage?’ Edward asked him, but Oscar didn’t have time to answer because it was then that Abi appeared from the walled garden, a basket full of flowers over her arm. She was heading towards her car when she saw them.

  ‘Hello,’ she said with a wave.

  Edward watched as Oscar ran a hand through his sandy hair and waved back at Abi, casually walking towards her.

  ‘How are you, Abigail?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m very well. How are you?’

  ‘All the better for seeing you,’ Oscar said.

  Edward rolled his eyes and hoped Abi had the good sense not to be taken in by his brother’s charm. Unfortunately, he’d inherited that dubious charm from their father and Oscar knew exactly how to reel women in.

  ‘Edward giving you a tour?’ Abi asked him.

  Oscar laughed out loud, causing Abi to frown. ‘Something like that,’ he said. Edward willed Oscar not to mention their father. Not to mention anything.

  ‘Well, I’ve got to get on,’ Abi said and Edward sighed in relief.

  ‘See you later maybe?’ Oscar said, hope in his voice.

  Edward watched as Abi left and then Oscar turned towards him.

  ‘So, do I get to see this place or yours then?’

  ‘Not today,’ Edward said and made his way inside, firmly closing the door between him and his brother.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As Abi drove away from Winfield, she couldn’t help thinking about the little scene she’d walked into between Edward and Oscar, and why Oscar had laughed so maniacally when she’d asked if Edward was giving him a tour. It all seemed rather odd, but who was she to judge? If Edward ever stumbled upon her having one of her family discussions with her sister, goodness only knew what he’d make of it, and so she did her best to put it to the back of her mind. It was none of her business. Anyway, she had other things to think about that day because she was on her way to see her new friend.

  Arriving in the little village at the foot of the downs, Abi took a moment to settle her thoughts. Ever since Ronnie had dropped her off at Winfield after her little incident, she’d wanted to thank him for his kindness. So she’d picked a few flowers from her garden, trying to choose blooms that she couldn’t remember seeing in his own.

  She parked on the unmetalled road outside Ronnie’s cottage, marvelling at the heat of the af
ternoon as she got out of the car with her basket in one hand and a sun hat in the other.

  As she entered the garden, she saw a woman sitting at one of the tables, a yellow Labrador by her side. The dog was looking up at its owner patiently, its head tilted hopefully.

  ‘Boo, you’ve already had half of my scone when I dropped it!’ she said.

  The dog’s attention didn’t waver and the woman chuckled, breaking off some more of the scone she’d been attempting to enjoy herself and feeding it to her companion. Abi smiled at the scene and then went in search of Ronnie.

  Of course, Ronnie was in the garden. Where else would he be on such a beautiful day?

  ‘Abi! How are you?’ he said, a huge smile dividing his face in two when he saw her as he emerged from the greenhouse, a pair of terracotta pots in his dusty hands.

  ‘I’m well,’ she said as she walked up the path towards him. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Can’t complain. Had a flurry of activity this morning – a walking group came along. Kept me on my toes.’

  She smiled. It was good to see his friendly teddy bear face again.

  ‘I know you don’t need any flowers, but I wanted to bring you something from Winfield to say thank you for the other day.’

  ‘You didn’t need to do that,’ he told her, putting his pots down and taking the flowers she gave to him, ‘but I’m kind of glad you did. Come on inside while I put them in some water.’

  She followed him into the house, the warm scent of potted geraniums filling the air.

  ‘Have a seat,’ he said and Abi sat on the chair she’d occupied last time, by the window overlooking the garden. Once again, the window was open.

  ‘I’m afraid they’ve wilted a little,’ Abi said.

  ‘When did you pick them?’

  ‘Just before leaving.’

  ‘Ah, you see the best time to pick them is first thing in the morning or last thing at night, when the day is cooler and the stems are full of water.’

  ‘Oh, dear. Have I failed at the first hurdle in growing flowers?’ Abi asked.