You Owe Me Five Farthings
Page 29
“His mother doesn’t drive,” Chris explained. “So she couldn’t bring him all the way to Oxford without going miles and miles on a bus.”
“And he’s going to really miss us,” added Bethan. “Because we’re his friends.”
“You two aren’t leaving here until the end of next term,” Liz reminded them. “You’ve got plenty of time for sleepovers when I’m not here.”
“Oh, Mum!” they chorused in indignation.
“You know Dad won’t cope with our having sleepovers.”
“He’ll be too busy doing all the parish stuff.”
“And trying to manage everything without you.”
Liz looked at them suspiciously. They were plotting something, she was sure, but she couldn’t remotely think of a plot that could involve a sleepover with Robert. It made no sense. On the other hand, they were clearly very determined about it. Probably it wasn’t worth trying to convince them that Lorna and Mike would be helping Dad––and in Mike’s case, it wasn’t even true with his exams coming up. She felt quite guilty about that, when she thought about it. A lot of extra work would fall on Lorna during the week, too, so perhaps it wasn’t very sensible to suggest they could deal with sleepovers for the twins as well.
“It’s much better for Robert to come this week than next,” Chris pointed out, sensing she was weakening. “Next week you’re going to be even busier than you are this week.”
“And you were going to use the spare bedroom to keep your suitcases in, while you pack them,” added Bethan. “So he can’t come next week because there’ll be nowhere for him to stay.”
“Although he’d be willing to sleep on the floor in my bedroom if he had to,” Chris amended quickly.
What a double act they were, their mother reflected with amusement. “I see what you mean,” she said, giving in. “Does it matter which day?”
There was a brief consultation on this. “Before Friday,” Chris told her. “Thursday night at the latest.”
“Mmm. What are you up to, I wonder?”
The twins looked back at her blandly, an unlikely innocence written upon both their faces.
“I can see you’re not going to tell me,” she said, feeling unequal just at that moment to the task of winkling it out of them. “I want your promise that it isn’t anything wrong, though, both of you. I may be too busy to argue, but I don’t want you to land me in anything troublesome just at the moment. I haven’t the time to deal with it.”
“Honestly, Mum. We’re just trying to help Robert,” Bethan assured her, and looked her full in the eye. That was a relief. Bethan was generally truthful, though Liz still wasn’t quite sure that on this occasion she was telling her mother everything.
“Good Samaritans, that’s us,” Chris told her triumphantly, seeing victory within their grasp.
“Okay. But you’ll have to help by keeping your bedrooms and the playroom as tidy as you can. I’ll keep my suitcases in our bedroom until Friday when Robert’s gone home.”
The twins beamed. “Thanks, Mum,” they chorused.
“You’re the best,” added Bethan.
~ * ~
Simon packed the last crate of his books and secured the lid firmly. The cottage no longer looked like a place to live in, more like a temporary camp. Book crates were stacked neatly in one corner, but other open crates stood about waiting to receive curtains, linen and breakable objects of all kinds. He had exchanged contracts with a buyer in a hurry last week, and two days hence, on Friday morning, the removal firm would be arriving to move his effects out of the cottage. By Friday evening, he would be unpacking everything in the little house he was renting in central Oxford. In the end he would buy a house, he hoped―perhaps another cottage in a village, if he could afford it. But Oxford property, both in and out of the city, was horrendously expensive, and the housing market had begun to turn down. He had a better chance of getting a bargain if he waited a few months and entered the market as a buyer with nothing to sell.
He needed time, too, to settle into a new workplace and a new life situation. He had been glad when Mike had told him, sworn to secrecy, that the Swansons were also moving to Oxford. Perhaps his embryonic friendship with Jeremy could grow there, providing a link with the past, with Rose. He would never forget her, for she had warmed his life and awakened new emotions in his reclusive heart. If his mother’s death had thrown him into an emotional coma, Rose had brought him the antidote. In the reverse of the classic fairy tale, he had been the sleeping prince who had been brought back to life and love by her kiss. Even in the state of deep hurt brought about by her rejection, he would always feel the richer for having known her. He could not regret his involvement with her or desire her to be other than she was. He could even wish her well in her commitment to her son and through him to her husband, though he could not believe her marriage would ever bring her joy. It was her right to choose, and she had made her choice. They must both live with the consequences.
The words of the poet Michael Drayton wandered through his mind: “Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part. Nay, I have done. You get no more of me.” That was what he had done with Rose and had tried to be glad of it. Yet in the context of the poem, love clearly lingered on, longing to be revived. He sighed. Poetry carried all kinds of emotional baggage with it, not all of it comfortable. He had not tried to write about his feelings for Rose. They were too raw, too painful. Besides, he was better at irony, and he had yet to see the humour in the wreck of their love for each other.
He looked at his watch. It was nearly time to drive up to St Martin’s for his last ringing practice. He wasn’t looking forward to it particularly, especially the social gathering promised by Geoff for the rest of the evening. It was a traditional postscript to ringing practices, the shared round of drinks in the local pub, and one to which he had no objection as a rule; but tonight he was not in the mood. At least he knew Rose wouldn’t be there, and he wouldn’t have to deal with the emotions her presence could arouse, even when their farewells had been made and there was nothing left to say.
When he had seen her for the last time on Sunday, part of him had still wanted to try once more to persuade her to change her decision, seeing that Robert was recovered―how good it had been to see the boy bouncing enthusiastically around with his friends! He smiled at the recollection. That was one good ending from all this heartache, that Robert was happy. But he knew, deep down, that he couldn’t go to her and beg. Not again. She knew how he felt about her. He had said it plainly when they talked in the churchyard at East Knoyle on the ringing outing, weeks ago, and she must have seen it in his eyes across the tower last Sunday. But she hadn’t spoken to him, and when their eyes met, she had looked away. Whatever she felt, her decision was clearly unchanged, and he must respect that. Not for anything did he want to distress her by importunities. She had had enough trouble without that.
He waited till the disc on the CD player finished playing and switched the machine off. He had surrounded himself with music recently, as though fearing the silence. He thought wryly of Duke Orsino in Twelfth Night.
If music be the food of love, play on.
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
A wonderful piece of writing. I wish I could write poetry like that. He shrugged the inconsequential thought aside. It was like crying for the moon. No one but Shakespeare could write poetry like that––no one ever had. Shakespeare was unique. He picked up his car keys and closed the door of the cottage behind him.
The ringing practice was well attended. Geoff had spread the word among the local towers that Simon was leaving, and although he was a relative newcomer to the band, he was respected in the district and several of the more proficient ringers had turned up to say goodbye to him. Their presence meant that the band was able to ring some of the trickier methods, which in spite of his underlying depression, Simon enjoyed. It was a treat to ring a touch of Kent Treble Bob and anot
her of Stedman.
Janice, who had come mainly to watch, she said, since she wasn’t good enough to ring any of what she called “these clever methods”―a statement with which, Simon noticed, no one disagreed―asked them to ring a Surprise method.
“Oxford or Cambridge,” she suggested. “Oxford Surprise would be a good one, Simon, as that’s where you’re off to―and it is a surprise, too!”
Simon looked away from her, trying not to show his irritation at this inanity.
“Oxford is a Treble Bob, not a Surprise method,” Geoff corrected her, before any of the more senior district members present could take umbrage at her ignorance.
Her eyes widened. “Is it? Well, what’s the difference then?”
Geoff looked at Simon, but it was clear that he wasn’t about to explain anything to Janice.
“Surprise methods don’t follow a regular pattern, the way ordinary methods do,” Geoff told her, trying to keep the explanation simple. “In Oxford Treble Bob, the treble dodges at the front, in the middle and at the back, and the others work round it in a regular way. I’ll show you before we ring it,” he offered, looking for the Methods book on the shelf behind him. “You’ll see what I mean if you look at the blue line.”
“No thanks,” said Janice hastily. “I’ll just watch you experts.”
So they rang Oxford Treble Bob Minor, with Lesley on the treble, Simon on the tenor, and the District Ringing Master and his cohort filling in between. Simon thought about Oxford ringing, and the many opportunities there would be for him in that city of bells. It was one of campanology’s centres of excellence, and there would be Surprise methods galore to ring. He might even learn some new ones. His heart lifted a little at the thought.
They made the visit to the pub afterwards into a little farewell party for Simon as Geoff had planned, and although he would have preferred them not to do so, he couldn’t help being touched by the friendliness that had prompted it. He even felt a little more cheerful after a couple of pints of ale and smiled with at least a semblance of enjoyment at the jokes and banter thrown about between the others. It was only after the district ringers had left and the nucleus of St Martin’s tower members were collecting their jackets to go home that Janice ruined it all.
“Sad not to see Rose here tonight,” she observed with dubious sincerity. “Clive’s left her, did you hear?”
She made the observation to the group in general, but Simon felt his heart jolt, and saw the others look at him. Geoff laid an avuncular hand on his shoulder and passed him his jacket from the pile flung over the bench, to give him a chance to recover.
“Poor Rose!” exclaimed Lesley, to whom this item of gossip was clearly news. “When did he leave?”
“Last week,” answered Janice. “I reckon their marriage has been disintegrating for ages, though.” She looked at Simon, as though seeking confirmation. Simon wondered just how much she knew, or suspected, about his involvement in Rose’s affairs. Not from Rose, that was certain. “Just before Easter, too. No wonder she wasn’t in church on Sunday.”
Simon remembered Rose taking the rectory children home to play with Robert. He had even hoped for a moment that she had decided not to stay for the service in order to speak to him, though he had soon been disabused of that idea. Now that omission seemed even more significant. Clive had left her, but she had neither told him about it, nor given him any indication that Clive’s defection changed anything between them.
His temporary elevation of mood disintegrated abruptly, and he pulled his jacket on roughly, trying to hide his confusion, especially from Janice, who he felt sure had dropped her bombshell maliciously, and especially for his benefit. However well he and Rose had hidden their feelings on earlier occasions, he feared that on Sunday he at least had given himself away. And Janice had been there, and her sharp eyes had seen what he had meant to keep hidden. In the wake of the break-up of her marriage, Rose would be vulnerable to gossip and innuendo, along with everything else. And there was nothing he could do about it.
He said a muted goodbye to Geoff and Ken outside the pub, allowed Lesley to give him a farewell kiss, and got into his car, ignoring Janice. He could not bring himself to speak to her. She would probably, and correctly, interpret his silence as confirmation that she had touched a sensitive spot, but that couldn’t be helped. He pulled out on to Church Lane and drove along slowly, debating whether to stop at Sundials and confront Rose.
What are you planning to say to her? he asked himself with frustration. Ask if the gossip is true? Demand to know why she hasn’t told you herself? Or are you going to pour out your feelings like some revolting gigolo and ask her to reconsider? Again. When she’s already told you her decision, months ago. When you’ve already said goodbye. When she knows how you feel anyway, because she saw it for herself on Sunday. And she let you go without saying a word.
In the end, it was only pride that stopped him. He had to make a new life for himself and in order to do that he had to retain some self-respect. His stillborn, aborted relationship with Rose was over, and it ought to be buried decently and left alone, not continually dug up and pawed over as though that would somehow bring it to life again.
Thirty-four
After her uncomfortable encounter with Clive, Rose decided it was time to banish his presence from her and Robert’s lives as completely as possible. She cleared his clothes out of the wardrobe and put them in a suitcase to go to one of the charity shops in Winchester. She contacted the local golf club to find a buyer for his clubs, as he himself had suggested when he left. In a chest of drawers, she found all kinds of oddments including his grandfather’s ancient pocket watch and a gold Victorian locket that had belonged to his grandmother. She kept the watch for Robert and put the locket on one side to ask whether Sarah would like it. She suspected it would not appeal to her daughter, in which case it could be sold. The whole exercise felt, bizarrely, like sorting through the possessions of someone who had recently died. She remembered assisting Clive with just such a melancholy task after his mother’s death. The same anger mixed with grief seemed to permeate the proceedings, but her indignation at his attempt to return kept her determination fully charged.
But there were happier tasks, too, ones in which she could companionably involve Robert: tidying and cleaning the kitchen cupboards, turning over the spring soil in the garden flowerbeds, and guessing the names of the flowering bulbs that blossomed there (much more fun than weeding), and sorting out and discarding those of Robert’s clothes that were no longer big enough for his growing body. Buying replacements could wait until the start of term, Rose decided. Robert didn’t enjoy shopping even when the recipient was himself, and she didn’t have the emotional energy to do battle with him about it at the moment. He seemed happy pottering about at home with her, although once or twice he showed signs of tension, asking her, in particular, whether she was happy.
“I’m fine, Robert,” she would assert stoutly in reply. On two occasions, she thought he was going to explain the reason for his anxiety, but each time he seemed to change his mind, and she hesitated to pursue it. Best just to reassure him, she thought, and wait for him to talk to her when he was ready, although it made her wonder whether he had heard his father quarrelling with her on Easter Sunday, in spite of her efforts to prevent it.
On Thursday, just after lunch, she was surprised to receive a phone call from Liz to invite Robert for a sleepover with the twins.
“This evening, if that’s possible, Rose.”
“I think that’s okay,” Rose replied, picking up the calendar to check.
“We’re all at sixes and sevens here,” Liz explained. “But that doesn’t matter. Chris particularly asked if Robert could come this week―I’m not sure why. He seemed to think it was important. I’m sorry about the short notice. I almost forgot.”
Rose looked at the calendar to make sure there were no appointments for the next morning. She knew Robert was due for a dental check-up during the Easter holiday
s, and he needed his hair cut, too. Their calendar was, however, very bare now that Clive had left, and she saw Robert’s appointment with the dentist was written in for the following week.
“I’m sure he’d love to come, Liz. Just let me know when you want him picked up in the morning. And thanks so much for asking.”
Robert was thrilled at the invitation―indeed, Rose had the impression he had been expecting the phone call and had almost given up hope of its materialising. He set about packing his overnight bag at once, but since he had no sooner made a selection of pyjamas and change of underwear and packed them than he changed his mind and threw them all out onto his bedroom floor again, this process took quite a while. By the time the Althorpes walked down Church Lane towards the school and the rectory beyond, the sun was getting low in the sky.
As they walked through the lengthening shadows, Rose couldn’t help remembering the October evening nearly six months ago, when she and Robert had walked along this same lane on their way home from school in the autumn dusk. Her rather dull, uneventful life at that time seemed separated from today by an enormous abyss full of cataclysms.
“Mr Hellyer is leaving tomorrow, Chris says,” Robert told her as they passed the school and turned up the rectory drive. He looked up at her to see how she had reacted to this piece of information, but Rose’s thoughts were with Simon and his new job in Oxford.
“That’s made Mike very happy, anyway,” Robert went on.
“Has it?” she asked absently.
“The Swansons are going to Oxford, too,” Robert burbled on in explanation. “Mr Hellyer is going to teach at the school Mike will go to, Chris says. That’s why Mike is happy.”
“Oh.” Rose found her mouth gaping foolishly and closed it quickly. “I didn’t know the Swansons were going to Oxford.”
“Mrs Swanson is going to teach at a college there,” he explained. “I think it’s only just been arranged.”