by Thorne Moore
I could see a skull and crossed bones on one yellow label, where Michael’s thumb had smudged away the dust. ‘Christian’s gone,’ I reminded him.
‘For today.’ Michael lifted the crate and carried it to the car. ‘How long do you think he’ll stay away?’
‘He can’t come back if you won’t let him.’
‘What do you expect me to do?’ He dropped the tail shut and gave me a sad smile. ‘You want me to tell Sylvia she can’t see her own son?’
‘She agrees with you.’
‘Her head agrees. Sylvia isn’t a head person.’
‘No. She’s making tea. Won’t you come and join us?’
‘Later. First, I’m getting rid of this lot.’ He opened the driver’s door, then paused. ‘Sorry things are such a mess, Kate. This wasn’t what you came for, was it?’
‘I’ve known Christian longer than you, Mike. I never had any illusions about the devastation he can wreak. We mustn’t let him win.’
‘No.’ He smiled, more warmly. ‘We won’t. Tell Sylvia I’ll bring a bottle back, and something for dinner. She can light the sandalwood candles.’
Sylvia nodded at the message, and almost smiled. ‘I’ve made the tea for everyone else.’
I looked at the tray of mugs. It was understood that I took the tea to the Hall. What was I to do, with Peter hovering? I made no move.
Sylvia gave us a bright unconvincing smile. ‘I’ll take these over, leave you two to talk.’
‘Right.’
‘She’s almost her old self,’ said Peter.
‘No she isn’t, but she will be. Mike will bring her round. He’ll relax, once he’s disposed of all that lethal stuff.’
‘It should have been locked up. Especially with Chris around.’
‘The gun was locked up. That didn’t stop him.’ I sipped my tea. ‘To hell with Chris. Let’s not talk about him anymore.’
‘How do you fancy dining out tonight?’
‘Us two?’
‘I think maybe Sylvia and Michael would benefit from a quiet dinner on their own.’
‘Yes, of course they would.’
‘And it’s been a long time since I took you out to dinner.’
‘You won’t find anywhere. They’ll all be fully booked.’
‘If I find somewhere, will you come?’
‘Yes – yes, of course.’
He did find somewhere, eventually: a restaurant fifteen miles away. I retreated to my room, to survey my wardrobe. What should one wear for a romantic dinner with an estranged husband?
I dragged out a forgotten designer dress and held it up, to see myself in the mirror, ready to be shocked. No, not the scarlet woman I’d expected. Just puzzled. Worried. So I should be. Not long ago, I’d been nursing desperate disappointment that Al was thinking of leaving, plotting to keep him here indefinitely. And now here I was, feeling a frisson of pleasure at the thought of a date with Peter. If he really wanted us to start again, adults, knowing our strengths and weaknesses…
There were words for women like me.
I decided that I might as well enjoy it. As Peter escorted me gallantly to the car, Michael was in the kitchen, a composer surveying his orchestra, as he arranged the contents of a dozen delicatessen bags, while Sylvia happily toyed with a breadstick and a glass of wine. ‘Be good, children.’
‘And you.’ We all laughed. As if the shadows had been dispelled.
*
‘How are you, this morning?’ Sylvia looked radiant, presiding over croissants and toast, like her old joyous self.
‘I am just fine.’ I helped her lay the breakfast table.
‘I didn’t hear you come in. Were you very late?’
‘I suppose so. We went for a moonlit walk on the beach.’
‘And did you…?’ Sylvia was all benign curiosity. ‘Peter and you, you know. Have you got back together?’
I laughed. ‘Do you mean, are we back together for keeps? We’re thinking about it. In a mature and sensible manner.’
‘Oh that’s wonderful. I did wonder. I mean, I was never sure how things were, what with, you know, you and Al.’ She caught my wince and immediately sympathised. ‘They’re both lovely men of course.’
‘I know, it’s so difficult to choose. Peter has such an agreeable bank balance, but then Al is so good with a screwdriver.’
‘Kate! Really. Be serious.’
‘All right.’ I gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Don’t rush me. I take it all is well with you and Mike?’
She beamed. ‘We had an early night.’
‘You need your sleep at your age.’
‘Good morning!’ Peter came in, fresh from his shower. ‘Just ready for a good hearty breakfast.’
‘Would you like egg and bacon?’ proposed Sylvia.
‘Sausage, tomato, mushrooms, fried bread,’ enthused Peter. ‘Hash browns—what else? Black pudding!’
‘Shut up and have a croissant,’ I said.
‘But if he’d like—’ began Sylvia.
‘No he wouldn’t. It will take more than a walk on the beach just to burn off that meal last night. I’ll have to book him into a gym, if you start giving him full English fry-ups.’
Peter pouted. ‘It was the beach that gave me an appetite. Walking – or something. Let’s go back there. See it in the pearly light of dawn.’
‘Dawn was hours ago. But—’ I ignored Sylvia, egging me on. ‘We could take another stroll on the sands.’
‘Yes, do go,’ said Sylvia. ‘It’s such beautiful weather.’
Peter found room for three croissants and a bacon roll. Then, at Sylvia’s insistence, we left her with the washing up. Peter picked up his jacket, abandoned in the drawing room. As a matter of course, he checked his phone in the pocket.
‘Text from Jill. She wants me to phone, urgent.’
‘They can’t do without you. Go on, make your phone call. The beach will still be there in half an hour. I’ll go and help Sylvia.’
I left him to it and returned to the kitchen to wipe while Sylvia washed. ‘He’s probably missing a deadline, by being here. Isn’t it annoying, when work gets in the way of life?’
‘Aren’t we lucky to have our work here? Carmen said she was very keen on one of the workshops, so you see, our little craft centre could be a reality soon.’
‘That’s encouraging.’ I heard Peter dash upstairs, two at a time. ‘I’ll start sniffing around and see if there are any grants available.’
‘We’ll need to get the shop going too, won’t we?’
We discussed business until the kitchen was clear. Still no sign of Peter, so I strolled over to the archaeology camp to check that all was well. No Hannah warding me off for once, but another student, actually enthusiastic about his subject, showed me a burnt bone, a spindle whorl and a photo of a dark smudge that he explained was a hearth. I strove to be impressed.
When I returned, Sylvia had gone to her pottery. Peter must surely be off the phone by now.
I found him in the drawing room.
I had spent much of the preceding night wondering if I would agree to start again with him. I’d told myself I still needed to think it all through, but as I walked into the room and saw Peter’s face, I knew there was no doubt. I would have said yes. I knew it, the moment it was too late. Peter’s face told me it was too late, though I didn’t yet know why. It was finished.
‘Kate—’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Jill – she asked me to call.’
‘I know. What’s happened?’
‘She thought I should know.’ He was pacing the room, looking everywhere except at me. ‘She’s a friend of – Gabrielle. They met up at the weekend. Gabrielle is – It seems that Gab is—’
‘Pregnant.’
‘Yes. How did you know?’ He met my eyes for the first time. ‘Jill only found out—’
‘An inspired guess,’ I said. ‘Yours, I assume?’
He spread his hands helplessly.
�
��How very careless of you.’
‘It must have been that last—’
‘Spare me the precise details!’
‘I’m so sorry, Kate.’ He was, too. There was no feigning his pain.
‘Well.’ I sat down, primly. ‘A bit of a shock for you. But I can’t see Gabrielle demanding a shotgun wedding. Does she even want you involved?’
‘No. She’s not asking me to marry her. Anything but. She’s debating whether to have an abortion.’
I felt the knife twisting in my gut. His distress, writhing in me. Another child. His child. About to die. ‘And you want to dissuade her?’
‘She won’t talk to me on the phone.’
‘No. So you’d better go.’
‘I’ve got to.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘If she – I mean, you and I, if—’
‘You and I are over, Peter. We have to be. You know that. You want to persuade her to keep your child, marry you, make a family. You can’t do that if you’re keeping other commitments in your back packet. You go prepared to give it your all, or you don’t go.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ he repeated.
‘I know.’ I smiled. ‘So do it properly.’
*
He left. If Gabrielle had decided on an abortion, she’d probably already made the arrangements. I told him not to waste time on goodbyes. Less painful for both of us. His anguish was evident, but so was his determination. Could I seriously ask him to stay, to lose the child he’d always wanted? The child I hadn’t been able to give him?
I watched his silver Peugeot disappear through the lodge gates, from my bedroom window. Our first separation had been a tear, a nagging ache. This was a sharp, swift amputation. Finished.
A baby. The perfect surgical knife. I stared at myself in my mirror as I gulped down a couple of Migraleve. How strange that sunlight surrounded me. I ought to live in perpetual darkness. That was all I was. Maybe I didn’t kill, not physically, but I was doomed to murder all relationships. I was as Michael had portrayed me. Empty, desolate, meaningless.
Forget this stupid idea of learning to embrace life. Cold and callous, that was the only way to be.
*
‘So your husband’s gone again?’ Al smiled, a smile of quizzical sympathy.
‘Yup. For good this time.’ How good was I at playing it cool?
‘What happened to the turtle doves?’
‘Someone shot them, put them in a pie.’
‘Sylvia’s wringing her hands over you.’
‘We make a good pair, don’t we? The drama queen and the frigid princess.’
‘Hardly that. If he really—’
‘Al, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s over. I just want to think about something else.’
‘I could offer you consolation. Or would that be the pinnacle of insensitivity, at the moment?’
I laughed, bitterly. ‘Insensitive is exactly what I need. How’s the work going?’
‘Just fine. The gallery’s coming along. Timbers all in place. Thor’s working on replacement stonework for the oriel window.’
‘Good. That’s good. Michael did speak to the planners about the round house, you know. And Fran Garrick.’
‘Yes, he told us. Didn’t get anywhere.’
‘No. Not yet. Fran was happy to pull strings for her brother’s dig—’
‘But not for a bunch of travellers.’
‘No, well – Michael hasn’t given up. There’s the Assembly, M.P – he knows other people. He’s so reasonable and surely they can’t hold out on a petty point of principle?’
Al laughed. ‘You haven’t dealt with many planning departments, have you?’
‘Not personally. I’m trying to be optimistic. Hoping that you won’t just vanish with the first rains of autumn.’
‘Nothing’s ever fixed in my life.’
I got on with my work and with my free and easy life, faintly disgusted with myself. I hadn’t imagined myself capable of falling straight into Al’s arms, with Peter barely out of the door, but it was what I did. A means of slamming the vault shut. If I were another person, watching, I would have been appalled and amused in equal measure, but charging brazenly forward seemed the only thing to do.
Chapter 19
The world moved on. Llys y Garn was gearing itself for another changeover weekend. Michael arranged a formal meeting with planning officers. Sylvia met Dewi in the post office and he nodded a greeting, the hostility fading. He wasn’t the same. I saw him on the hills, diminished without his dog; a little old man, mournfully trudging among his sheep. Perhaps he would accept compensation now, ease our guilt a little. In the Cemaes Arms, the locals stopped treating us like lepers. Brian the landlord asked if the Fayre would be an annual event.
The weekend arrived with predicable bustle but no major crisis. The happy Waterstons from Hertfordshire moved out of the lodge, Sylvia and I zoomed over it with our buckets and mops, and the Pretty family from Kent moved in, with a trailer of surf boards and wet suits. Minibuses ferried Ronnie’s students away and returned with the third battalion, most of whom headed straight for the bog, in hope of the odd arm or leg. Michael collected Tamsin from the station, with a golden tan, a bag of bizarre presents and plenty to say.
Sylvia hugged her for the twentieth time. ‘I suppose I had better ask, how’s your father?’
‘Dad? Oh, you know. Have there been any more bodies at the dig? That was so cool. I’d scream if I’d missed him, like I missed the bride. Have there been any more?’
‘No more,’ I said. ‘But you missed our Fayre.’
‘Yeah? How did it go?’
‘It was wonderful, darling,’ said Sylvia. ‘Such fun. You’d have loved it. We were in the paper and we got a mention on the local radio.’
‘Cool. Did I tell you, Ben’s putting my Bertie pictures on his Goth site?’
‘And you missed Christian,’ added Sylvia.
Tamsin’s expression curdled. ‘Big deal.’
‘I know, darling, I could have killed him for what he did, but he did say he was very sorry.’
Tamsin shrugged. ‘Yeah, whatever.’
Michael and I exchanged forced smiles. Clearly, nothing negative was to be mentioned.
‘She smothers Tam with motherly love,’ I said, as Al and I walked in the cool of the evening. ‘Compensation for the child she’s lost, I suppose.’
‘She hasn’t lost Christian. Kim saw them in Cardigan on Friday. Having coffee together.’
‘Sylvia! She’s hopeless. It will only make him think he’s winning.’
‘He probably is. Kim said Sylvia was giving him money.’
‘Aagh!’ I glanced at Al, taking in what, to my mind, was the secondary import of his revelation. ‘Did he see Kim?’
‘I guess so. When I ask, she bites my throat. Says I don’t trust her.’
‘Why can’t he just go away? Better Cardigan than here at Llys y Garn, but it’s still too close for comfort.’
‘Oh he’s closer than that. Staying at a B&B in Pen-y-bont.’ The next village along the valley. ‘They wouldn’t have him at the Cemaes, or he’d be there.’
‘What’s he doing?’
‘What do you think? He’s probably established a customer base, and where else could he irritate so many people with so little effort?’
‘He doesn’t still think he can squeeze money out of Sylvia and Mike, can he? If she’s buying him coffee and slipping him used fivers, he’s already laid the groundwork. Oh, Sylvia!’
*
I received a card from Peter. The single word ‘Sorry.’ More than enough. I dreaded a fuller explanation, riddled with apologies and obstetrics. Whatever he was negotiating with the fecund Gabrielle, I didn’t want to hear about it.
To put it out of my mind, I paid my regular visit to Ronnie. He wasn’t at No.1 but Hannah, inevitably, was. Too much to hope she’d left with the second contingent.
She was hovering just outside, looking more demented than ev
er.
‘Hello,’ I said, resolutely cheerful. ‘Is Ronnie up in the fields?’
‘Professor Pryce-Roberts is inspecting the dig, yes.’ She turned her back on me, then swivelled to face me. ‘Someone’s been stealing my things!’
‘Oh dear. I don’t like the sound of that. What’s missing?’
‘My brush! And someone used my toothpaste.’
‘Right.’
The cottage door opened and a woman emerged, slight and sprightly, but ancient by student standards. ‘Would you be Mrs Lawrence? I’m Vicky Ives. How do you do.’ She shook hands warmly. ‘Hannah, dear, I’m sure the professor will look into it as soon as he comes down.’
‘He said I could speak to him this morning.’
‘Well, yes, I don’t think he’ll be long. Why don’t you come in and wait?’
‘No! I’m not allowed in!’ Hannah was taut with distress.
‘Now that’s not what he meant, dear,’ said Vicky, but Hannah stormed off.
‘You’d best let her go,’ I said, as Vicky seemed in half a mind to follow her. ‘This is how Hannah always is.’
‘So I’ve heard.’ Vicky looked guilty. ‘Oh dear. This is my fault, I’m afraid.’
I laughed. ‘I doubt it. What does she think you’ve done?’
She ushered me into the cottage. ‘I’m not as young as most of the others, you see. RPR thought I ought to have a bed here. I understand Hannah’s been staying here from the start. I really didn’t want her to be asked to move out. I’m fine under canvas - go every year with the grandchildren. If it weren’t for my arthritic knees. RPR insisted.’
I tried not to smile. Of course Ronnie insisted. Anything to get Hannah out of his thinning hair. ‘Quite right too. It won’t hurt Hannah to slum it with the other students for another couple of weeks.’
‘But I don’t think she’s really suited to camping. She’s having to share a tent, you see, and she obviously had the idea she was going to have a room here for the whole of the summer.’
‘Please. Don’t try and fathom Hannah’s paranoia. The truth, if you ask me, is that she’s smitten with the Prof.’
Vicky beamed. ‘I did wonder. Poor girl, I think he’s terrified of her. Now, would you like a cup of tea while you’re here?’ She already had the kettle on. ‘I expect you’d like to inspect things, make sure we’re not creating too much havoc. It must be quite a nuisance, having all us students on your doorstep.’