by Maria Hoey
“What about your mother,” I said. “Did what happened affect your relationship?”
“You mean, did she blame me for what happened to Alexander? If she did, she never once let me see it and, honestly, I believe my mother blamed nobody but herself. She thought it was a punishment for something she’d done wrong in the past. An old sin, she called it.” She gave a short mirthless laugh. “It was a while before I found out just what that old sin was exactly.”
I quickly steered her away from the subject of Grace.
“So when did you begin to worry about Rosemary again – when the children came along, I presume?”
Violet-May nodded. “Even before Caroline was born I began to worry. I flew back so I could keep an eye on Rosemary. I asked Mummy to find a nanny.” Her face hardened. “Well, you know all about that fiasco. But then Caroline was born and everything seemed fine. Rosemary didn’t exactly dote on her, but she seemed to quite enjoy her. I stuck around until I was satisfied that I’d been worrying unnecessarily and then I went home again. I told myself that what had happened to Alexander was firmly in the past – a terrible tragedy to be put down to a moment of unthinking childish pique or jealousy or something. You have no idea how much I wanted to believe that and I almost did until Oliver came along.”
“What happened?”
“I just knew from the start that we were in trouble. I could see it in her eyes when she looked at him. And when she’d mix up the names, call him Alexander instead of Oliver, it made me shiver.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Do you think your mother ever suspected the truth?” I asked. I tried to keep my voice casual.
“You mean about Alexander, that it wasn’t an accident?”
“Or about Rosemary trying to harm Oliver,” I said.
Violet-May’s eyes widened in surprise, “No, why would she?”
“Well, I just wondered if maybe some maternal instinct might have meant your mother guessed more than you knew.”
“Well, she didn’t, and for that at least I’m grateful,” said Violet-May. “And I’m glad she isn’t here right now, that she’s been spared all of this.”
I knew then that I would never tell her or Robbie either what I had learned about their mother’s death. It was, I realised, yet another lie in a family almost destroyed by lies and perhaps I was wrong to add yet another layer of deceit, but Violet-May and Robbie had suffered and would continue to suffer and I knew I would never be able to add to the sum of their pain.
And so when the two Guards came and stood by my bedside and asked me for my version of the story the two boys had already given them, I made light of their tale, insisting that I had fallen into the river and that Rosemary, far from trying to drown me, had tried valiantly to save me.
Rosemary was trying to save me – every time I said those words I forced myself to think of Caroline and Oliver and, like a little sugar, it helped me to swallow the bitter medicine.
The following morning they discharged me from the hospital. I had already decided that I would not return to the Duff house. It was a house in mourning and I felt I had no place there. I had the driver stop and wait outside my father’s house while I went in. I was half thinking of camping out in the living room but, much as I wanted to convince myself otherwise, I could see that that was impossible. Most of the upstairs furniture had been piled up there for a start and it was also clear that I would only be in the way of the builders. Another week or so, they assured me, and I could move back in. Somehow I doubted it. I picked up the things I needed and left and had the taxi drop me at a local B&B where I took a room.
Chapter 32
It was four days before I saw Robbie again. We had spoken only once since the day that Rosemary died, and that was by phone when he realised I was not returning to the Duff house. He had not tried to talk me out of my decision and had promised to get my laptop and other belongings to me as soon as he could. For my part, I had assured him that writing was the last thing on my mind, and that me and my things should be the last on his. When he hung up I felt cold and curiously hollow.
Now he had come as promised, my bag in one hand, my laptop case hanging from his shoulder. I brought him through to the guests’ lounge and I sat on the sofa and he sat in an armchair opposite.
He asked me how I was and I said I was fine. He asked me if I was comfortable there and I said I was. He looked about him and said it looked quite comfortable, then we sat for a while and said nothing at all.
I was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to speak again when he suddenly said, “We’re taking Rosemary back to England. The funeral will take place there and she’ll be buried there.”
“Not with your mother?” It was an instinctive reaction and my voice was sharper than I had intended.
Robbie looked at me. “You mean because of Alexander? But Mummy never knew what Rosemary had done to Alexander – thankfully she was at least spared that.”
“Thankfully,” I said, and wished with all my heart that it were true.
“Still, I take your point,” said Robbie. “In any case Rosemary will be buried with Justin. It seems the right thing to do – after all, he worshipped the ground she walked on.”
“Then I’m glad.” I did not say what I was glad about, in truth I don’t think I knew myself.
“How are the children?” I asked. “And Grace, how is Grace? Rosemary was Grace’s sister too.”
“She’s sad and shocked and concerned for you but also fiercely loyal, even about Rosemary. And I might be imagining it, but I think I see a beginning of a thaw in Violet-May’s attitude toward her.”
“I’m glad.” After all, I was thinking, Grace is the only sister Violet-May has now.
“As for the children,” said Robbie, “Oliver is too young to really know what he’s lost. Caroline is a bigger problem – she misses Rosemary of course. I’ve tried to explain, you know, all that she’s gone to sleep stuff – sometimes I think she’s accepted it then she asks when Mummy is coming back. I mean, how do you explain death to a three-year-old?”
“You don’t. I mean you can’t, not really – all you can do is your best and keep on loving her.”
Robbie smiled briefly. “Well, at least that part is not hard to do.”
“No, not hard to do at all,” I agreed. “So what will happen to them? Will they stay with you or what?”
“They’ll stay with me,” said Robbie. “They have no-one else, except an elderly grandfather who couldn’t possibly look after them, and a middle-aged bachelor uncle with no interest in raising children. So of course they’ll stay here with me.”
“I thought you might say that,” I said. “Try not to worry. The children are going to be alright, just as long as they have you in their lives. Just give it time. I know it’s the most infuriating platitude in the world, but time really does fix most things.”
“Do you really believe that, Kay?”
I looked at him then, really looked at him and I saw that even in the space of time since I had last seen him, a change had come over his face. There were lines there around the eyes and mouth that I was almost certain had not been there before and his eyes, those swimming blue eyes which were still as beautiful as ever, had so much sadness in them I wondered if any amount of time would be enough to dilute it.
Before I could answer him, Robbie got up and began to move about the long narrow room, his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Actually Caroline is taking a big interest in a cat that’s turned up out of nowhere and seems intent on hanging around the house. I suppose that’s a good sign, except that she wants to keep it.”
“I hope you said yes?”
“Of course I said yes,” said Robbie. “I just worry it will run away again – it’s obviously a stray.”
“They say if you put butter on a cat’s paw, they won’t run away.”
“I’ve heard that,” said Robbie. “I suppose it’s worth a try. Perhaps I should have put butte
r on your paws, Kay, to stop you running away.”
He turned and looked at me.
“Caroline misses you too, Kay. She asked me only this morning when you were coming back. She grew very fond of you very quickly.”
“I miss her, and Oliver too, but they hardly know me – it won’t take them long to forget about me.”
My voice sounded brusque, hard almost, and when Robbie spoke again I heard the note of surprise.
“Do you think so?” he said. “Some people you don’t forget as quickly as others.”
“What about Violet-May?” I said. “Wouldn’t she think of staying and helping out? She’s quite good with the children when she wants to be.”
“Violet-May is going back to America,” said Robbie. “Her English actor has dropped her – seems the thrill of the chase was more attractive than the flesh-and-blood woman. She’s hurting but she’s putting a brave face on it. And I think she’s decided it’s better to be the adored, if bored, wife of a rich man than a discarded plaything.”
“Perhaps she’s right,” I said. “It’s always best to know where you stand with people, wouldn’t you agree?”
Robbie bowed his head. “You mean me, don’t you? You believe I used you when I asked you to move into the house. I’m sorry if it seems that way to you, Kay, but ask yourself if you wouldn’t have done the same thing, in my shoes. Wouldn’t you do anything in your power if you had the slightest suspicion that the life of a child was at stake?” He raised his head and looked at me.
It sounded like another accusation – after all, I hadn’t done all I could.
“You’re thinking again about what you said to me in the hospital, aren’t you? You’re thinking that I should have told you what I knew about what happened on Bone Bridge?”
“I had no right to say that, Kay,” said Robbie. “I had no right in the world to judge you. I’m sorry for what I said. I hope you can believe me.”
“I do believe you,” I said.
Robbie studied me in silence for a moment. He said, “You believe me but you can’t forgive me, is that it, Kay?”
“That’s not true,” I said. “I do forgive you. I really do.”
“But you’re still angry with me, I can see that you are. Please don’t deny it, Kay.”
He was right, I was angry with him, I was very angry with him. But I had told the truth when I’d said that I forgave him. I did forgive him, I accepted his apology, his reasons for having acted as he did. I could even, as he had asked me to, put myself in his shoes and understand why he had done what he had. So why was I still angry with him?
“What is it, Kay? Please tell me.” He came toward me, sat next to me and reached out and took both my hands in his.
I looked down at them, my fingers pale against his sun-browned skin. I said, “If I am angry, it isn’t because ... I mean, it has nothing to do with ...”
“Oh, just spit it out, Kay!” said Robbie in exasperation.
I pulled my hands free of his. “All right then,” I snapped. “You want to know why I’m angry so I’ll tell you why. You come here and tell me you’re sorry, that it was never your intention to lie to me or to use me, but you’re still doing it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Robbie. “What am I still doing?”
“Using me, you’re still using me, Robbie. You’ve come here today and you’re saying all the right things, making me feel sorry for you, making me feel guilty, saying that stuff about Caroline missing me – and all because you need me again. The next thing I know, you’ll be asking me to move back into the house because you have to go away again and you need someone like me, someone safe and ordinary to come and look after the children. And it isn’t fair, it isn’t, because I adore Caroline and Oliver, I do, I really do, but the answer is no, Robbie because the truth is ...”
Robbie got to his feet abruptly and stood looking down at me. “You really think that’s what this is about?”
He had spoken very quietly but there was something in his tone and something in his eyes too that cut through my rant and made me fall silent.
“What else is it about then?” I said.
“Not to make you take pity on me,” said Robbie. “And not to use the children to make you feel sad and guilty, and not because I needed someone – what was it you said, safe and ordinary?”
“I didn’t say that,” I snapped. “You said that. You told me to my face that I was ordinary.”
Robbie shook his head as though I were some sort of human puzzle. “You’ve lost me, Kay,” he said. “When did I ever say any such thing?”
“That day in Malahide. You told me I was, and I quote, ‘someone down-to-earth and ordinary and uncomplicated’.”
Robbie’s eyes widened. “I said that, to you?”
“Yes, you said that to me.”
He put a hand to his head and closed his eyes and opened them again. “Then by the thrice-beshitten shroud of Lazarus, I have no memory of saying it.”
I almost smiled. I too had read the book and at any other time I would probably have asked him if he had enjoyed it as much as I had.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it, it really doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” said Robbie. “If I said that, it was unforgivable of me. I’ve hurt you, Kay, and that is unforgivable.”
He sat down next to me once more and I saw the stricken look on his face.
“No, it isn’t,” I said. “It doesn’t even matter really. With all that’s happened it’s just not important. I’m not important and I don’t want you thinking about me or worrying that you might have hurt my feelings.”
“Listen to me, Kay Kelly,” said Robbie fiercely. “There is nothing unimportant about you, do you hear me? Whatever I said that day, clearly I made the most god-awful dog’s dinner of it, but what I was actually trying to say was that I wanted you around precisely because you are so extraordinary, because you are everything my sisters are not. Because you are, and always have been, a breath of fresh air, and because you are kind and lovely and sane, so beautifully fucking sane. But ordinary? You could never be ordinary, Kay.”
I remember thinking: Robbie Duff just sworn. I had never heard him swear before. Robbie Duff had sworn and he had said that I was lovely. He had said other things too – fresh and kind – a fresh breath of kind air, or something like that anyway. But mostly I was lovely, not ordinary, lovely.
“And that day in Malahide you’ve just been talking about,” said Robbie, “that was the day I came close to telling you how I felt, only I never did, because I was scared of frightening you off. I’m always scared of frightening you off, Kay.”
“What did you almost tell me?” I demanded.
“You asked me if I’d ever come close to marrying,” said Robbie. “Well, the truth is I did come close once or twice – but I never did. And do you want to know why? It was because of a snapshot I had somewhere in my head, a snapshot of a frowning girl with brown hair and very grey eyes, who was only short of stamping her foot at me every time I called her ‘Little Kay Kelly’.”
“You remembered me?” I said.
“I never forgot you, Kay. And I know how I feel about you, but if you don’t feel the same way then just say so and put me out of my misery.”
I put him out of his misery.
We went together to see Violet-May off when she flew back to LA.
“You probably think I’m a selfish bitch, don’t you?” she said. “You think I should stay and do my bit for my sister’s children.”
“No, I don’t think that at all,” I said.
“Well, I do,” said Violet-May. “I know I should stay, and I know I should want to stay, but the truth is I don’t. And it isn’t because I don’t love them, and when they’re older I’ll be more than happy to have them come stay. I’ll be the exciting American auntie who flies them out and shows them the Hollywood Hills and takes them to San Francisco and New York and all that sexy s
tuff. But that’s not what they need right now, is it, Kay?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t suppose it is.”
“What they need right now is someone to run around after them, see that they eat the right foods and take their naps and have their baths but I wouldn’t be any good at all that stuff, I simply wasn’t cut out for it. Besides which I’m much too selfish. But you, Kay, you’ll be good at it, and what’s more you’ll enjoy doing it.”
“I think I will too,” I said.
“I know you will,” said Violet-May. “And you have no idea how relieved I am that it’s so. I’d have gone back to the States either way – I won’t pretend I wouldn’t have. But it’s so much nicer to be able to do what you want to do without having to feel too guilty about it.”