‘Lovely feathery antennae,’ Rob smiled. ‘Good thing it went in bum first!’
This is all very well, Nell thought, but he can’t distract me as easily as he does Lottie. We do have to talk.
They walked along the coast path as far as the first stile, and Nell held Lottie as Rob lifted her pushchair over it. Then they set off again, Rob pushing and striding out.
‘The thing is,’ Nell was desperate to begin. ‘You see … I don’t love your children.’ She’d said it!
‘Why should you?’ Rob appeared unruffled. ‘I probably wouldn’t love anyone else’s either. But you do a very good job with them.’
‘You really mean that?’
‘Of course I do.’
Nell skipped to get in step with him, and took his arm. ‘I thought you’d be upset.’
‘No. I know it’s not easy,’ Rob squeezed her hand with his forearm. ‘You do your best, and it’s a very good best. But there’s something I should have done, and much earlier too.’
‘What?’
‘Well, the cottage is clearly unworkable as it is, and last night forced me to think about it properly. So I think we should build that extension, then Lottie can have her own room.’
‘Oh yes!’ Nell stopped in her tracks and turned to him.
‘And, if you agree, I’d like an office too, so that I can work from home again. What d’you think?’
‘Why not? I’d like that.’
‘There’s more.’
‘What?’
‘We need to upgrade our river defences, so I thought we could strengthen the wall and make it go right round the garden, and maybe rebuild the jetty and get ourselves a dinghy.’
‘I’ve always wanted a boat!’
‘So you think it’s a good idea?’
‘I think it’s terrific.’
‘Listen!’ Rob put up a hand. Above them, carrying distinctly through the clear air, came a strange rippling titter of a cry, repeated several times. Rob searched the sky with his binoculars and then pointed out half a dozen birds with slightly down-curved beaks, flying purposefully overhead. ‘Whimbrel,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘on passage.’ He looked at Nell and smiled.
‘Seven whistlers, Lottie,’ Nell said, bending down to the child in the pushchair. ‘Up there, look! We usually see a few at this time of year, but they never seem to stop.’
‘Reminds me of an old proverb,’ Rob said. ‘Persian in origin, I believe.’
‘Tell me.’
‘You can’t stop the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from nesting in your hair,’ Rob quoted. ‘I realise now that I should have spent more time helping you to shoo them away. I will in future.’
That night, when they went to bed they lay there, talking.
‘I’ve decided we ought to make sure you have a studio too in this extension of ours,’ Rob said, ‘so that you can paint again. You’ve got such talent, and it’s a horrible waste not to use it.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ Nell said. ‘I never realised you thought that much of my painting.’
‘I suppose I never said.’
‘True.’
‘Well, I do. I’m very proud of you altogether. It’s not the sort of thing I’m good at expressing, but I promise to try harder.’ Nell reached to kiss him, and he rolled over to face her. ‘I love you,’ he said.
‘So do I,’ Nell said, ‘love you. It’s really very painless to say, isn’t it?’
‘After the first time, yes. I can’t think why it took me so long.’
‘Maybe you’re a late starter.’
‘But not an early finisher, I hope.’ He rolled on top of her and began kissing her neck. Nell put both arms around him and ran her hands down his back to the little furry bit at the base of his spine that she specially cherished.
Sometime later, she realised with satisfaction that she hadn’t had to say ‘Up a bit’ or ‘Down a bit’ once. They lay silently on their backs, apart again, hot and drowsy and utterly contented. Lottie was quietly asleep in the next room. The river was flowing steadily past their garden wall. The night air was motionless and fragrant in an anticyclonic calm. All was peaceful. Nell, on the verge of sleep, fancied she could hear something hopeful – maybe from somewhere in the future. She closed her eyes, the better to concentrate, and there it was again: the faint, hesitant sound of a pig – singing.
For MATT and BEN
who turned out so well
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London
WC1B 3DP
Copyright © Maggie Makepeace 1999
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You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication
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ISBN: 9781448207619
eISBN: 9781448207305
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