by Jo Verity
Her mother, lying amongst bloodied sheets.
‘The doctors advised them against trying again, but your mother took it into her head that one child didn’t make for a proper family. And you’re the proof of her determination.’
Her mother? Determined?
‘Dad didn’t bully her into it?’
‘Absolutely not. As a matter of fact, he did his level best to dissuade her. You might find this hard to believe but your mother can – or could – be very stubborn. She fell pregnant again first time of trying and she sailed through the pregnancy despite having Danny to look after. Then, by all accounts, an easy delivery. And you were such a beautiful baby. It was a miracle. “Everything’s too perfect, Bea,” she used to say. “Something’s bound to go wrong.” And it did. Danny left.’
‘But they knew he’d go sooner or later. That’s how it works. I’ll be off before long.’
Her aunt nodded. ‘Of course. But there are right ways and wrong ways of leaving, and anything that causes that much pain can’t be right.’
Aunt Bea edged still closer until Miriam felt her warm breath on her cheek. ‘When Danny changed from that sweet boy to a cruel, selfish stranger, your mother was distraught. And then when he upped and went to America, it drove her right to the edge. If she didn’t have you…’
And there, in the lounge of the Angel Hotel, Miriam Edlin let Paul Crosby slip away.
Part V
23
Max was off school WITH a summer cold. Naomi took a couple of days leave but then something came up at work and she needed to go in.
‘Can’t David help out?’ Miriam said.
‘He’s in Sheffield, giving a big presentation. He’ll rack up masses of brownie points if he can swing the contract for his firm. Sod’s law, his parents are in Italy.’ She paused. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance…? I wouldn’t ask but there’s no one else.’
Hazel, bless her, said she could manage on her own for the rest of the week but Bing wasn’t keen on her going. They’d booked tickets for a concert in the cathedral and it meant her missing it. ‘It needn’t stop you going,’ she said. ‘You could take Hazel as a thank you for giving me the time off.’
He looked unimpressed. ‘No thanks. If you ask me, dropping everything and driving half across the country to look after a child with a bit of a sniffle is ridiculous. Can’t Naomi find someone local?’
‘Obviously not. And if Max is feeling ropey, I’d like to look after him. It’s what grandparents do.’
‘You more than do your bit. Besides, the kids will soon be old enough to look after themselves. There’ll be no need for you to go dashing back and forth. You’ve done enough of that.’
It was becoming apparent that she and Bing had conflicting attitudes to grandparenting. Finbar was well into his second year and Bing had been to see him only three times. He and Pascale Skyped once in a while (on the last occasion Miriam had managed to exchange a few polite, if strained, sentences with her) but a face on a screen was no substitute for the real thing. If Bing didn’t shape up, the poor mite would grow up thinking his grandfather was a TV presenter.
She set off before six and arrived at Naomi’s in time for breakfast. Max was feverish, his damp curls flattened against his head, eyes looking darker than ever against his wan cheeks. When he saw her, he raised a smile, reaching out his hand before falling back on the pillow in a fit of coughing. Rosa played up, saying she didn’t want to go to school, obviously reluctant to leave her and Max together. It took several promises from Miriam – ‘We’ll have pancakes for tea. And we’ll play that board game you like’ – and threats from Naomi – ‘No school today, no sleepover on Friday’ – to get her out of the door.
Max’s cough had kept him awake most of the night but, as so often happens, daylight and familiar sounds – passing cars, a lawn mower, the radio in the kitchen – proved soothing and before long he was asleep, his breathing slow and steady. Later, when she laid the back of her hand against his forehead, he felt cooler, and she remembered how a sick child had the power to twist the heart. How the slightest improvement lifted the spirits.
This house had been her home for a year. She’d grown accustomed to its smell and the noises it made. She knew where things were, and what needed doing, and as Max slept she busied herself, putting on a wash and tidying the kitchen. She pictured Bing, halfway through morning surgery, and sent him a text letting him know she’d arrived safely and that she loved him. She made a coffee and flipped through the local newspaper. There was a new show on at the gallery but she doubted she’d have time to fit in a visit. When she popped upstairs, Max was asleep, snuggled right down in his bed, his snot-encrusted nose pressed against his beloved teddy.
The room she’d occupied (and still thought of as hers) had, before that, been David’s office. When he moved out, he’d taken everything with him but she’d noticed his bits and pieces were creeping back. The bed had been pushed tight against the wall, and a desk and bookshelves had appeared. Today, there were more of his clothes in the wardrobe and his precious guitar was propped in the corner.
Max woke and announced he wanted to come downstairs. She made him comfortable on the sofa with his pillows and duvet, and persuaded him to drink a glass of water and eat a few mouthfuls of bread and honey. They watched a television programme about polar bears, Max holding her hand, occasionally touching it to his cheek. Remembering how difficult it was to concentrate on anything when your child is ill, she took a photograph of a smiling Max and sent it to Naomi as reassurance. She’d made the right decision in coming, whatever Bing thought.
Terry, who picked up the children from school and gave them tea at her house, brought Rosa straight home. She’d thought better of her morning strop and was making an effort to be nice to her brother, keeping him company and offering to fetch whatever he needed, even lending him her new felt tips. It heartened Miriam to see that, when it came to it, her wilful granddaughter could be so considerate.
Rosa was in her final term at primary school. After the holiday, she would be off to Richmond Grove. Unsurprisingly, the school, rated ‘outstanding’ after a recent Ofsted inspection, had been oversubscribed and hearing she’d been allocated a place there had been a relief. Not only was it a good school, it was within walking distance of the house, a huge plus in Miriam’s opinion. Not having to face a daily bus journey would make adjusting to her new environment that bit easier. Miriam was – used to be – acquainted with the members of the English department at Richmond Grove and, from what she’d heard, it was a happy school. Most importantly to Rosa, she would be going with her two best friends. She was impatient to begin her new adventure but everything about adolescence was touch-and-go and Miriam was already holding her breath for her granddaughter who, in Frankie’s opinion, had ‘a touch of the Scarlett O’Hara’s’ about her.
‘You look shattered,’ Miriam said when the children were settled and she and Naomi finally sat down together.
‘Max landed up in with me last night,’ Naomi said. ‘I didn’t get a wink of sleep what with the coughing and fidgeting. He seems a lot brighter today. I don’t know what you two have been up to but he tells me you have magic hands.’
Miriam smiled. ‘I said if stroked his back, I could make him better.’
‘Well, it’s working. He loves having you around, Mum. We all do. Thanks for coming. Traipsing over here must be a real chore.’
There had been times when she’d resented her role as child-carer. Now she could imagine nothing more rewarding than looking after these delightful children. She was no longer in a position to spend any length of time with them. This pained her more than she dared acknowledge. She wished she could find something to fill the hollow left by their absence. She despised ambition, yet she envied those who were driven. Nothing had ever possessed her and now she regretted that. She needed something to grab her. Stretch her. Was she being fanciful? Maybe all that stuff about self-fulfilment and ‘be whatever you want to be’ w
as piffle. Perhaps life was simply a matter of getting on with it.
‘It’s been a while since we’ve seen Paul,’ Naomi said. ‘I hope I’ve not offended him. He was rather offhand last time we came to see you.’
‘In what way offhand?’
‘I asked after his family. I said we should all meet in the school holiday. Get to know each other. He was – well – dismissive like he was the last time I suggested a get-together. Frankly, I find it weird.’ Naomi held her gaze. ‘You’d tell me if anything were wrong, wouldn’t you?’
There was something wrong but Miriam wasn’t sure what, or how serious, it was. It was hard to put into words, and she feared that were she to tug at the threads of her unease, everything would unravel.
‘He gets stressed,’ she said. ‘I don’t think people realise how relentless a GP’s job is. Every person who comes through the surgery door is ill – or imagines they are. He says he spends more time convincing well people that there’s nothing wrong with them than finding out what’s wrong with genuinely ill people. Doctors are supposed to be objective about life and death but that’s not easy, especially where children are involved. Some of his cases really get to him.’
‘I understand all that,’ Naomi said. ‘but wouldn’t his life be a bit less stressful if his family gets to know you? The kids and I met Paul on day one. We were involved from the word go and it’s been brilliant. You’ve met Leon once, and his daughters never.’ She sighed. ‘Let’s not beat about the bush, for some reason they’re cold-shouldering you and I can’t bear that. He must realise how hurtful that is.’
‘Our getting back together was bound to throw up a few issues,’ Miriam said.
‘So you keep telling me. He loves you to pieces, anyone can see that. Why is he letting them get away with it? It doesn’t stack up.’
‘I’m not sure what went on when he and Eloise separated. Perhaps they think being friendly with me would show disloyalty to their mother.’
‘Perhaps? God, Mum, after everything with Dad, you must know how important it is to share things with your partner.’
Naomi’s allegiance was gratifying but having her fall out with Bing was unthinkable. Risky too. Should the two of them get into a slanging match, he could easily let slip the circumstances of their split. Should Naomi discover that her beloved grandparents had blackmailed her into marrying a man of their choosing, the fallout didn’t bear thinking about.
By Thursday evening, Max was almost back to his old self but Naomi agreed that he would benefit more from spending the day in the fresh air than in a stuffy classroom. Miriam expected an ‘it’s not fair’ tantrum from Rosa but after school she was off to her friend’s for the long-awaited sleepover and she raised no objection. ‘We’re going to camp in the garden,’ she said, making sure her brother knew she was getting the better deal.
Miriam and Max spent an hour in the park, ‘collecting’. She’d devised this game when the children were younger, often reluctant to drag themselves away from whatever they were doing when it was time to go home. The quest for a leaf or a discarded bus ticket had been enough to lure them away from the sandpit or the swings. As they grew older, the rules were rewritten. ‘Finds’ had to be out-of-the-ordinary, or display a noteworthy characteristic. A bus ticket passed the test if the integers in its serial number added up to twenty-one. A leaf had to be an extraordinary colour – and then it must be pressed and mounted on card to prevent it curling. She’d rescued a small display cabinet from a skip, cleaned it up and repainted it, and the children had adopted it as their ‘museum of odds and ends’. A stag beetle (dead) was currently the star of the show.
Today Max was hunting for the perfect feather, combing every inch of grass around the pond. She’d never been keen on the geese which were waddling around looking particularly angry and she placed herself between him and the aggressive mob until he found a tiny iridescent feather which he judged worthy. They wandered on to the café where she made him scrub his hands – twice – before letting him choose an ice cream. A young woman appeared from the kitchen with a tray of glasses and Miriam sensed her watching them. Eventually she came over to their table. ‘It’s Miriam, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘That’s right.’ She looked at the girl. Ex-pupil? No. They called her ‘Miss’.
‘Caz,’ the girl said. ‘From the college. You sat for us.’
Miriam had a first-rate memory for pupils, especially the troublesome ones, but her relationship with the art students – well – she’d had no relationship with them. She’d been sitting, standing, lying on a dais, and they’d been a sea of faces. They’d exchanged the odd word but there had been no need to learn their names.
‘Caz. Of course. Gosh, that seems a long time ago. How are you?’
‘I’m good, thanks.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Reducing my overdraft. I fit this,’ she raised her tray, ‘around my college work.’
Max was folding a paper napkin in half, then in half again. He spent hours doing this, determined to prove that it was possible to fold a piece of paper more than seven times.
‘You moved away, didn’t you?’ Caz said.
‘That’s right. I’m back for a few of days to look after my grandson. He’s off school with a cold.’
Max, still intent on his napkin, gave a gluey sniff.
‘Still modelling?’ Caz said.
She shook her head. ‘I was only helping Callum out until he could find someone permanent.’
‘You did a great job. Everyone thought so.’
Max looked up from his mangled napkin, his eyebrows drawn down in a slight frown. ‘Were you making models, Gamma?’
She improvised. ‘Everyone was drawing and making things.’
‘Did you make a coil pot?’
‘I didn’t but I wish I had.’
‘Did you like it better than working in the bookshop?’ His trusting gaze held hers.
‘I think I did,’ she said.
Max tried to persuade her to stay an extra night, employing all his wheedling charms.
‘I have to go home, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I promised Paul. He gets lonely when I’m not there.’
Max wasn’t ready to give up. ‘But we get lonely when you’re not here, don’t we, Mum? And there’s three of us so that adds up to more loneliness.’
Naomi settled it by saying that of course they missed Gamma, but a promise was a promise and Gamma always kept her word.
‘Thanks again, Mum,’ Naomi said as she was putting her bag in the car. ‘Sorry we didn’t have time for a decent chat. I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you and I have a night away? A spa break. Or just a break. Away from snotty kids and needy men.’
‘That sounds wonderful.’
‘Good. Let’s do it.’
The traffic was light for a Friday evening and she allowed her thoughts to wander. A night in a swish hotel with Naomi might be fun. They’d not done anything like that in years. What did she say? ‘A decent chat.’ The reference to ‘needy men’ was obviously a dig at Bing (David was the least needy man Miriam had come across) and she guessed her daughter’s unqualified enthusiasm for him had taken a knock. She felt a hint of unease. A froideur between Bing and Naomi would spoil things.
He greeted her with roses and a box of her favourite marzipan chocolates. He’d re-stocked the fridge and the laundry basket was empty.
‘I’m impressed,’ she said. ‘Maybe I should go away more often,
He wrapped her in his arms. ‘Don’t say that. Not even in jest.’
24
Harold Edlin was obliged TO renew his driving licence every three years. This involved his answering questions on his health and the state of his eyesight. The decision as to whether his application was successful rested solely on his responses and, to Miriam’s surprise, required no input from his doctor. Although her father was deemed capable, she sensed that retaining his licence was more a point of honour than a desire to get behind the wheel
.
These days her parents used their car infrequently and, when they did, they travelled short distances and chose familiar routes. This was reassuring in one respect, yet troubling in another. Their world was shrinking, their perspective on it skewed by media scare stories. Once in a while, she and Bing took them out for a ‘spin’. A glimpse of life beyond their self-imposed boundaries bucked them up and freed them, if briefly, from the drip, drip, drip of doom and gloom. They didn’t venture too far afield, limiting travel time to an hour at most, choosing a National Trust property or beauty spot with benches and a view. There were plenty of places nearby that fitted the bill. Bing was so good, so patient with them, turning a deaf ear to her father’s incendiary opinions, winking at her when her mother got the wrong end of the stick. He pretended he enjoyed these jaunts but she knew he was doing it for her.
‘That was lovely,’ her mother said, when they returned from visiting a Georgian house, noted for its formal gardens. ‘I didn’t think we’d ever go there again, did you Harry?’ She gave a trill laugh. ‘Life’s still full of surprises, isn’t it?’
Miriam went to organise a cup of tea and by the time she got back her mother had fallen asleep in her armchair. Her father was in the garden, talking to Bing about his plan to grass over two flower beds. Her mother had given in some time ago and allowed her to organise a cleaner to come in for a few hours a week. Persuading her father to hire a gardener, proved more of a sticking point. She knew the problem wasn’t cost, rather the implication that he was no longer up to the task. Bing pointed out to him that the critical ingredient when creating a successful garden was the vision behind it. ‘Any fool can push a mower,’ he said. Her father had raised his eyebrows. ‘I may be old, young man, but I’m not gullible.’ But then, because he was ready to take advice from Bing where he refused it from anyone else, he added, ‘Perhaps I will if we can find the right man for the job.’