by Lis Howell
‘That’s hardly incest,’ Suzy said, glancing at Robert who was staring at the floor.
‘OK, OK, but you know what I mean.’ Rachel laughed louder. ‘If you say so, I’ll pass on the incest. But I think you’ll find this whole thing is a lot more about confusion than conspiracy. It always is.’ She grinned at them. ‘Still, at least it got you guys talking about a trip to the British Museum.’ She looked over her specs at Suzy and turned the full force of her smile on Robert.
‘The Lachish frieze,’ she said. ‘C’mon, how about it, Rob?’ Robert was still looking down. Rachel could be a bit too enthusiastic, Suzy thought. She hoped Robert hadn’t been scared off.
‘What do you think, Robert? D’you fancy a trip to London?’ Suzy asked, tentatively. She waited, aware Robert was taking a long time to answer. Then he downed his wine.
‘Why not?’ he said abruptly, as he had when she asked him to go on the walk to the Scar. ‘When do you have in mind?’
She said quickly, ‘Nigel’s supposed to be taking the kids again the first week of the summer holidays. He’s finally promised them a trip to Oasis.’ Molly had been campaigning to go to the theme park near Kendal for months.
‘That’s the last weekend in July, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Can you do it?’ She was sure he would have nothing else in his diary.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘you’re on.’ Suzy felt the red wine fire her up. This wasn’t just something to look forward to. It was a way of getting him out of Tarnfield, away from the nightmare of who might have hurt Phyllis, or pulled Yvonne off a ladder. As Rachel said, sometimes the cock-up theory made most sense. The flower arranger? It seemed like a crazy theory now.
‘And now,’ Rachel said, ‘let me tell you about my new idea for a documentary for Channel Four . . .’
Before long, she had Robert talking and the difficult time was over. Robert rarely had awkward moods, Suzy thought gratefully. After years of tiptoeing round Nigel’s ego, it was so relaxing to be with someone who didn’t make taking offence into an art form.
She tried to remember when Robert was ever less than easy-going. He could be a bit prickly whenever George Pattinson was mentioned. And he’d been uncomfortable when Rachel had been joking about incest — but then, it must be infuriating when townies came up with every cliché in the book about village life. But apart from those early days when she had talked about Yvonne’s inheritance, she couldn’t remember Robert getting impatient, not even when she had suggested that George and Mary were having an affair.
It was what she liked most about him. He never judged or blamed. He was equable. Best of all, he never indulged in the most masculine of traits, giving advice. It was a semantic problem, Suzy thought. Men thought ‘advice’ meant ‘instruction’. She laughed to herself. Robert wasn’t like that. And she hadn’t taken his advice! He was still convinced ‘the flower arranger’ was on the loose.
Whereas she just wanted to forget about it.
It was late when Robert left Tarn Acres. He had kept his car at home because he actively wanted to drink. He had felt the need to relax with Suzy, and he had been wary of her friend and needed some Dutch courage. He tried to remember the last time he had met someone new, never mind someone as different as Rachel Cohen. Urban, Jewish, working in TV, she was unlike anyone he came across in his everyday life.
He had been disarmed by her invitation to London and it had taken him a few minutes to decide what to do. It was years since he had been to the capital, or anywhere outside the county for that matter. So much of his life had been about preserving Mary’s security. Even after her death he had still been wary, nervous, always on edge in case anyone else had come near to the truth.
He shivered although it was June, and darkness had only just dropped like a chiffon scarf over the clear sky. Now, he had to take risks. It was either that or be marooned on the shores of old age waiting for the tide to take him away.
But Robert had discovered that he wanted to be back in the swim.
* * *
On Sunday, on a day of hazy sunshine, Suzy drove Rachel into the Lake District where she bought two cashmere sweaters, and they took a boat trip on Derwentwater, before Suzy dropped her back at the station. When Rachel had been waved off, Suzy went home in time to be there when the children came back from Nigel’s.
She sat on Jake’s bed and told him about Russell’s confession. He avoided her eyes.
‘Did you know why Matthew Bell wanted to go to the car wash?’ she asked.
Jake snuffled. ‘It was awful, Mum. I thought they’d killed someone or something. I helped Matthew, but then I felt sick. That’s why I made him drop me off.’
Jake had cried a little bit, like a child, and then told her he was getting up. She waited anxiously to see what he was going to do. She followed him downstairs and watched him delete something from the computer. It was an email from Matthew Bell.
When he was asleep, breathing noisily, she went to bed herself, exhausted at midnight. She fell straight to sleep, feeling better than she had done for a while. Then at two o’clock in the morning she sat bolt upright in bed.
She had been dreaming about the Lachish frieze again. The new dream had bumped around the old dream she had had months before about the dreadlocked Assyrians and the broken reed. But this time Yvonne Wait lay dead on the church floor surrounded by lilies. And out of her blue lips came the words with Rachel’s voice.
‘Mary’s insisting. Mary’s insist-ing. Mary’s incesting. Mary’s incest thing.’
Suzy felt panic rising and choked it back with her fist. Then she snapped on the light. Around her the room looked normal. But she knew that everything had changed.
38
The Monday after the first Sunday after Trinity
Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you.
From the Epistle for the Second Sunday after Trinity, 1 John 3:13
Suzy sat at the computer. It was five in the morning. She had to contact Robert but she didn’t know what to say. She got up and stood by the window. Dawn was breaking over the fields behind the house. In the distance the clock on All Saints’ tower chimed the hour. Birds were singing in Tarn Acres gardens. A pinkish sunlight polished the green fells in the distance; somewhere a delivery van hooted.
She reheated the kettle and poured fresh hot water on her coffee. Then she sat down again. Dear Robert, she put, I had a dream last night. It sounded over the top. I’ve heard that before: Martin Luther King.
Dear Robert, she started again, I understand now. But did she?
By six o’clock she had still failed to write anything she could send. Her relationship with Robert might be ruined by the wrong words. He seemed so even-tempered, but surely there’d be a point at which he would blow?
In half an hour Molly would wake up, and then the chance would be gone. Suzy put some bread in the toaster. It popped up, and she spread some butter on it. It tasted dry and scratchy. She looked back at the screen. It was hopeless.
Then she picked up the phone, looked at it for a second, and punched in the number for The Briars. It rang twice before Robert answered. He sounded terse and breathless.
‘Hello. Robert Clark.’
‘I’m sorry, Robert. It’s Suzy. I have to talk to you.’
‘The children?’ he said hoarsely. She was surprised but pleased at his reaction.
‘No. I mean, they’re fine. It’s something else. I’m sorry it’s so early but I couldn’t sleep.’
He sounded more relaxed. ‘Have you been worrying about the reed again? You agree with me now that the flower arranger really is on the loose?’ He was self-mocking. But he wasn’t mocking her.
‘No. It’s something else.’ She breathed deeply. ‘D’you remember when Yvonne Wait was talking to you in the hall at the Bells’? After Phyllis died? And I was on the landing?’
‘Yes . . .’ There was caution in his voice now.
‘Did she say something about incest?’
He didn’t rep
ly. Suzy waited, aware that in the nervous gap between them she was chewing the same bit of toast over and over, her jaws working. It’s nervousness which makes Daisy Arthur chew the cud all the time, she thought. I’m doing the same. I need to push him.
‘Robert, tell me. Please. The word Yvonne used wasn’t “insisting”, was it? It was “incest thing”, wasn’t it? Mary’s incest thing.’
The silence stretched like over-chewed gum, thick between the teeth. Then he said, ‘Yes. That’s what she said. And I suppose you want to know why?’
‘If you want to tell me?’
He paused forever. ‘Yes, I think I do. I nearly did once before. Let’s talk, but not here. I’d like to get out of this bloody village. Would you have supper with me?’
‘I’ll get Sharon to babysit. Or if she’s looking after her dad I’ll ask Daisy.’
‘Walk towards All Saints at seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.’
When Suzy put the phone down she was trembling. She had got it right. So what could he be going to say? That Mary was his mother? She laughed out loud. Then, to her own surprise her next thought was what to wear. She giggled, telling herself this wasn’t a date. But suddenly the coffee smelt fresh and the sunshine sparkled like soapsuds in the stainless-steel sink. When Molly came down, bumping Flowerbabe the doll on every stair, Suzy picked her up and danced a polka round the kitchen, rather than tuning to the news.
When she’d put out the cereal and juice, she powered the computer down. And then the reservations clicked in. What was Robert really going to tell her? She pulled her dressing gown around her, and turned back to Molly.
Breakfast dragged. Jake was infuriatingly full of beans, a new person. Suzy tried not to smother him, but even now her instinct was to cuddle him as if he was five years old and to quiz him all the time about why he’d fallen in with Matthew Bell. But she bit her tongue, and he went off on the school bus at eight thirty, wandering down the road with two or three other boys from the outlying farms that he’d recently discovered took the bus from Tarnfield to Norbridge. He was better now she wasn’t driving him everywhere.
It was no good working on the obesity brief. Instead, she got out the Good News Bible and turned to Isaiah. She started at the beginning. It was almost comical in places. Doom! You’re all doomed! The city which was faithful is now behaving like a whore! Sexist or what! At one time it was filled with righteous people, but now only murderers remain. It sounded like Tarnfield. Your leaders are rebels and friends of thieves, accepting gifts and bribes. Was there any truth in the rumours about Jeff Simpson and his lousy business ethics? Or Frank, with his surprisingly large, well-fitted house? It was easy to see how the Bible could be applied to anyone at any time. It was just about human nature, which stayed depressingly the same.
Yet that’s not true, she told herself. Education must make a difference. No one today would be influenced by this stuff, would they?
But Isaiah had to be significant for a reason. Why else would several writers have their work collected under the name of the original Isaiah of Jerusalem? And why was he so important to Christians? It seemed to her that Isaiah was the first person who instructed the Hebrews to behave not by rules but by conscience, telling them that being the earliest monotheists wasn’t enough. But didn’t Christ also introduce personal responsibility and the notion of goodness for its own sake into the cause-and-effect religion of the time? Just like Isaiah? It was certainly a vital link.
At midday she emailed Robert, asking him if he had any commentaries on Isaiah which he could lend her, and suggesting he brought them with him that evening. The message made her feel better. It made their meeting seem friendlier, less of a summit conference about Mary.
At seven o’clock, in a summer skirt and sandals for the first time that year, Suzy walked self-consciously towards the church. Robert’s car drew alongside and she got in feeling she was playing at being a secret agent. He looked different, in cord trousers and a sweatshirt — smarter but tenser.
‘I think we got away with that,’ he said, pulling away from the kerb.
‘Does it matter?’
‘It depends whether you want everyone having a view on what you do.’
The idea of people passing an opinion niggled. It was the downside of village life. But once they were on the M6 Suzy felt elated, as if they’d escaped on a holiday, or were having an illicit affair. She’d only done that once, in her twenties, with the film director who always hit her sore toe but nothing else, and it had ended in tears. She reminded herself that this time she was separated from her husband, and Robert was widowed. It didn’t matter what people thought.
But that wasn’t true. It always mattered what other people thought — if you were a normal human being.
Robert pulled up at a country pub on the road above Keswick. The mountains formed a fretsaw panel against the clear sky and the valley swooped below them. It smelt of summer. They sat in the garden with menus and ordered drinks. It was warm and quiet. A blackbird sang suddenly and almost painfully.
‘OK,’ Robert said. ‘This is it. Are you ready? I am.’ He had never expected to talk to anyone about all this. Suzy understood. She smiled and nodded, as if cueing him to talk in an interview. It was best if he kept it as factual as possible.
He started with himself. He was a northern grammar school boy who’d made it to university. Afterwards he’d done a teacher training course, but he’d always wanted to be a writer. He’d had the usual run of girlfriends; then he met Mary when she was secretary at the school where he worked in Liverpool. He liked strong women. She’d been a powerhouse. He’d admired her efficiency as well as her looks, but one day he had caught her crying softly after a problem with one of the more aggressive boys. Beneath her crispness there was massive insecurity. After a few months, he had prised the story out of her. Mary had been a clever girl, destined for college. But in her teens she had fallen in love. Her boyfriend said they should keep quiet about it because her parents might disapprove. He was from a poorer branch of the same family, and Mary’s parents would have nothing to do with his mother and father. So theirs had been a secret romance.
‘All this happened in Tarnfield?’ Suzy asked. Robert nodded.
Mary had committed everything to the relationship, seeing her boyfriend as her passport to the world. There had never been anyone else for her. Then she found she was pregnant. She waited months before facing the facts; then she told her father, whom she adored. His reaction was horror. Despite the extent of the pregnancy, he insisted that the relationship end and that Mary have an abortion. But his motive wasn’t snobbery. The real reason couldn’t be divulged, so Mary’s operation had to be secret. It was illegal and done locally, and it was botched. It was a late termination and Mary ended up with a scar which ran down her belly.
‘How terrible!’ Suzy said.
She meant it. But underneath she was thinking, how appealing to a knight errant! She stopped, feeling disgusted with herself. But she could see how someone like Robert would be drawn to Mary Pattinson, whose character was such a fascinating combination of the vulnerable with the tough.
‘And who was the boyfriend?’ she asked, as if she needed to.
‘It was the boy she thought was her second cousin. George Pattinson. But Mary’s father had had an affair with George’s mother years earlier, when she was barely out of her teens. George was the result. Mary’s grandfather had married the woman off to a distant, impoverished cousin so his precious son could go on to be a doctor. Mary and George were half brother and sister.’
‘That’s appalling — at least the bits I can follow are! But tell me the important things. What happened to Mary?’
‘She went to pieces. She lost her baby, her boyfriend and her confidence in her father, all at the same time.’
‘And George?’
‘Oh, he was OK. He took after his natural father, Mary’s dad. He was pretty bright. He went to Oxford. He became a teacher. And then some years later, he decided
to go into the Church. I suspect by that time he’d met Joan and that Mary was just a memory. But to her, he was still her one true love. She was completely broken by it all. Phyllis was her rock at that time. She helped her do a secretarial correspondence course and eventually encouraged her to get away to Liverpool. But Mary never had any real confidence ever again. Funnily enough she was hopeless outside Tarnfield.’
‘I can sort of understand that. It’s so unspeakably awful, to lose your virginity to your half-brother and to get pregnant too. You’d cling to whatever security you had, even if it was the father who’d got you into that mess. God, how awful.’
And they talk about dysfunctional families today, Suzy thought. The waitress came over and asked for their order, but they needed to look at the menus. It was hard to think about food, but Suzy was glad of the borrowed time. Poor, poor Mary, she thought. But she felt jealousy as well as sympathy. It was irrational and pointless but it hurt like hell.
‘And you mended it?’ she asked. He looked blankly at her. ‘You mended the broken heart?’
‘I’ve never thought of it that way. I just did everything I could to make her life better. She’d been through hell.’
‘And she couldn’t have kids after this?’
‘We never put it to the test. She didn’t want to.’
‘So why on earth did you move back to Tarnfield?’
He said that it had seemed the right idea at the time. Mary felt that the world despised her. Despite everything, Tarnfield was the centre of her life. She bore no resentment towards her father — how could she? She agreed that he had done the only thing possible in arranging the abortion. She had hero-worshipped him and she had grieved terribly when he died a few years afterwards and the family home was sold. She and Robert were still living in Liverpool at the time.
Then, a few years later Phyllis had phoned out of the blue to tell them that The Briars was on the market again. Mary had cried with relief. She wanted to go home, so Robert had ploughed in all their resources.
‘And we moved to Tarnfield only to find that George had just got the living as the vicar!’ Robert laughed a little grimly. Had he been taken for a mug? Suzy wondered.