Between You and Me

by Margaret Scott

  I braced myself for an onslaught of abuse, but it didn’t come.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he muttered.

  “You’re not asking me. I’m offering. Let’s face it, I’m not going to be able for much else on two hours’ sleep, am I?”

  He nodded and turned his head to look at me, the devastation on his face heartbreaking.

  So I continued. “And when the stuff is gone, it might be easier for you to consider the idea of a few minor modifications. It would be a lovely room for the kids, and you’d get your TV room back. Imagine,no more Lego embedded in the soles of your feet!”

  At that he smiled, and I heaved a sigh of relief. The moment had passed. He wasn’t going to cry.

  “You know, I’vegot a load of empty cardboard boxes at the surgery,” he said, visibly cheering up. “If you could mind the kids for ten minutes I could fly and get them?”

  “Perfect.You’ve loads of time. I’ll have Amber dressed when you get back. In fact, I’ll pack a few things and why don’t you go down and visit your mother? Show her the improvement in Amber. I bet she’ll be amazed.”

  He nodded again and, taking his keys off the hook, he turned to me and said, “Thanks, Holly.”

  “No problem.”

  “I mean it. Thanks, you’ve no idea how –”

  “Go!” I said.

  After all, the last thing I wanted was to cry myself.

  Chapter 34

  As soon as they were all gone, I braced myself, took the key down from over the door and unlocked the sitting room.

  Or, sorry, the study.

  I’m not sure what I was expecting really, but at first it just looked like any ordinary room. Except it was dusty, and very, very dark. Of course the fact that the walls were painted in deep aubergine didn’t help. Nor did the closed curtains.

  I went over to the window and dragged across the heavy brocade material. Then I stood back and looked around. I was going to need every one of the boxes Mark had brought back.

  Sorry, that Mark and Tara had brought back. It still amused me that the level of vitriol that poor girl brought out in me was so strong.

  Because she was actually really nice. She was helpful, sweet, and didn’t seem to have a bad word to say about anyone.

  Maybe that was the problem.

  Very hard to like someone you’d nothing in common with . . .

  Anyhow, I’d no time to be worrying about her now. I was just realising what a mammoth task I’d set myself.

  One wall was completely taken up with bookshelves, and there was a large desk in the corner. Against the other wall was a small couch, though it was covered under a mountain of what seemed to be clothes.

  Emma’s clothes, I realised with a start.

  Oh God, what had I let myself in for?

  Not sure I could either emotionally, let alone physically, do this on my own, I took my phone out and scrolled down to Harry’s number.

  He sounded sleepy when he answered.

  “Holly, it’s ten o’clock on a Saturday morning,” he groaned.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still in bed?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not!” he answered.

  “I need a favour. Actually, no, your brother needs a favour.”

  “No to both of you.”

  “Harry! Come on, pleeease!”

  “Speak.” He sighed. “You have three sentences to persuade me.”

  And that had been an hour ago.

  For a moment I’d stood in that dusty room, not really knowing where to start.

  Eventually I decided to tackle the clothes first. It soon became apparent that they had literally been lifted from a wardrobe in a hurry and draped on the couch. Each item was even still on a hanger. I lifted a garment carefully and held it up. A long, flowing dress. She’d obviously been a lot taller than me and, surprisingly, thinner.

  The whole pile consisted of flowing skirts, scarves and pretty lace tops. Every time I touched a garment, to my horror, the scent of her perfume wafted towards me and the goose-bumps rose on my arms.

  Oh Harry, hurry up, I pleaded, but I knew there was nothing for it but to continue. I tried to use my judgement but in the end I was afraid to throw anything out. So I just packed all the clothes neatly into boxes, all the time trying not to inhale.

  I moved the packed boxes and bags into the hall with relief, and turned to the desk. Oh God, but I felt like such an intruder. She was obviously some kind of writer. There were what appeared to be two unfinished manuscripts and several large yellow notebooks full of notes. Funnily enough, there was no sign of a computer and everything was written in the same flowing style of handwriting, beautifully consistent, on every page.

  There was handwritten poetry too, again in yellow notebooks. I couldn’t resist flicking through. Most were about the autumn winds or the spring frosts, but one in particular stood out.

  It read:

  With every kick, gurgle, hiccup,

  That rides high between my ribs,

  Or weighs down upon my hips,

  I thank God,

  That you are safe,

  Where I still know

  How to protect you.

  That was dated almost six years ago. It must have been written for Jamie. A lump rose in my throat. The poor, poor woman! Little did she know that she would only have a few short years with her beautiful children.

  The masochist in me made me keep reading. More nature poems, a few about childhood memories, and then another that stood out, mostly because it was the only one where the beautiful steady handwriting wavered.

  Alone

  The house is quiet.

  And I wait, and I wish

  That he’d change his mind,

  And go elsewhere.

  Because I’ve run out of

  Strength.

  And I know that when he knocks,

  There’ll be nothing for it,

  But to open the door.

  And let the death of a thousand cuts

  Claim me for his own.

  I read the last two lines again.

  What could she possibly mean?

  “Eh, hello? Are we working or reading?”

  I leapt with fright, dropping the notebook with a crash.

  “Harry! For God’ssake – what are you trying to do to me?”

  “Sorry!” he laughed. “Did you think I was a ghost?”

  “Yes!I should never have started this. She’s just so – here!” I shivered.

  “Yes, Emma always had a certain ‘presence’,” he said, looking around him. “I can’t believe Mark hasn’t been in this room since the accident.”

  “He must have been – all her clothes were in here.”

  “That wasn’t him – that was Fenton’s wife, Marian. He was deranged at the time, couldn’t have even contemplated doing anything like that.” He looked around. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “Well, those boxes of clothes have to go up into the little attic. I’ve marked clearly what’s in each box though I doubt they’ll be opened again anytime soon.”

  “Right. I’ll get started. Now, don’t let me catch you dossing again!”

  “Okay, okay!” I closed the notebook and put it with the other notes. I then boxed them all carefully, hoping that someday Amber might like to see them.

  It was then time to start on the bookshelves. She must have been a voracious reader. I was presuming the books were all hers as I doubted Mark ever had the time to pick up anything other than a veterinary journal. All the classics were there nestled alongside creative-writing books and a selection of plays. Harry was definitely going to put out his back hefting these up into the attic, I thought, as I lifted each book carefully down and into a box.

  And then there was only one book left, on the top shelf, on top of a large box. I reached up and carefully took both down.

  Ah, Wuthering Heights. I knew this one. I’d studied it at school. I opened it to see how much I remembered and saw that the
re was an inscription on the inside cover.

  To my darling Mark, my Heathcliff,

  “Now, my bonny lad, you are mine! And we’ll see if one tree won’t grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!”

  From your ever loving Emma

  Wow, I thought. Dreamy, romantic Kelly’d have a field day with this kind of stuff. The emotions were so powerful – they must have been so in love . . .

  I then opened the box that the book had been sitting on. Inside was a large leather-bound book nestled on top of a pile of photographs. The fact that the photographs were all in frames led me to think that they’d probably been on the walls at the time of the accident.

  Hands shaking, I sat down on the couch. I opened the leather-bound book, knowing before I did so that it was their wedding album.

  Taking a deep breath, I turned to the first page.

  Smiling back at me was possibly the handsomest couple I had ever seen. It took me a second to realise that the man was actually Mark, so fresh-faced and gorgeous did he look. And there was Harry, who looked about fourteen in the photograph even though he had to have been much older. And a nice-looking woman who must surely be their mother.

  And Emma.

  Ethereal, pre-Raphaelite Emma. Long golden hair flowing over her shoulders, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with happiness.

  It was no wonder really that Mark never wanted to see these pictures again.

  “Are you slacking offagain?” Harry asked on re-entering the room.

  “I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” I couldn’t take my eyes away.

  “She was pretty gorgeous, alright.” Harry sat down beside me. “Good God, look at the state of me in those pictures! Put that album away, for God’s sake!”

  “Where did they get married?”

  “That little church on St Stephen’s Green. It wasn’t a big wedding – they hadn’t really been going out that long at the time.”

  I closed the album reluctantly. Harry picked up some of the pictures that were underneath it.

  “My God, how young does Mark look in these!” he laughed.

  He was right, Mark was unrecognisable. But it was more than just looking younger, he looked so much happier. There was no sign of the constant frown, or the stony glare.

  I mean, I could have fancied this Mark.

  Harry held up another picture of Mark and Emma. This time Mark was in a tuxedo, and Emma was wearing the most beautiful pale-blue chiffon gown, looking for all the world like a young Grace Kelly.

  “I think that was Mark’s graduation. I remember that dress. That’s the night they got engaged.”

  “Oh, wow! How long after that did they get married?”

  “Only a couple of months. Mark got the job down here, you see, and, well, Fenton could be a funny fish about stuff like ‘living in sin’ so Mark wouldn’t move Emma down until he’d made an honest woman of her. To tell the truth, I’d say he actually wanted to get a ring on her finger quickly before she changed her mind!”

  “But she must have been crazy about him too though.” I thought of the inscription on the Wuthering Heights book.

  “I don’t doubt she was, but they were a crazy couple.”

  “Mark – crazy? Can’t see that!”

  “Trust me, I’m not talking crazy-good. Emma was a real free spirit. She’d studied English Literature and was always working on some epic novel or play. They were like chalk and cheese really, you know – he could have chosen better vet’s-wifematerial.”

  “And they met through you, you were saying?”

  “They did. She hung around with friends of mine and we all ended up out for my birthday one night. Funny thing was, Mark never usually went out with us. But he did that night andboom! He was smitten and that was the end of that.”

  “Obviously opposites attract. Oh look! Baby pictures!”

  And so there were. Lots of pictures, mostly of Jamie and Emma. I guessed that was normal. Loads of pictures of first baby, not so many of the second.

  “So what about Emma’s family?” I asked, suddenly thinking it strange that there’d been no mention of other grandparents or aunties and uncles.

  “There’s only her mum. She was adopted and her dad is dead. Her mother, well, she’s not well. Suffers a lot with her nerves apparently, and of course the accident nearly finished her off altogether.”

  “How sad,” I sighed, looking back at the photographs. “I wonder would Mark mind if I kept a few of these down here for the children?”

  “Mmm . . .” Harry looked at the photos. “He’s funny about stuff like that. Maybe just a few and put them away for a little while. The right time will come along sometime.”

  I packed the album, the novel and most of the photos away, hiding the rest in an envelope. There was a sideboard in the TV room that I could put them in for now.

  “Right, so these books up to the attic and that’s nearly it?” Harry looked around the almost empty room.

  “Yes. Then you have to take me to buy paint!”

  “Oh come on – are you serious?”

  I nodded. The room definitely needed to look as different as possible. I was even going to take down the curtains. The blinds that were there would do fine, and the room without that huge, heavy brocade pattern could only look brighter. Luckily the floor was already wooden, so all I needed was Harry to help me take out the giant mat.

  “I’m notpainting! So don’t even think about it!” Harry warned me as he almost buckled under the weight of the first of the book boxes.

  “No,you’re not,” I agreed.“I’m going to paint and you’re going to put together the shelves we’re going to buy. Now get a move on with those boxes!”

  Chapter 35

  “Oh Harry, I’m so pleased! I never thought we’d get it all done!”

  It was six o’clock and I was standing at the new playroom door, surveying our work. It did look pretty good. The walls were bright yellow and, as I’d expected, the absence of the heavy curtains allowed the light to flood in. The furniture was all washed and waiting in the hall to go back in and I’dtaken a bright green throw from one of the bedrooms for the couch. I knew Kelly had recently brought out a bright range of throws specifically for children – I made a mental note to ask her to send me one.

  “Me neither.” Harry came to stand beside me, trying to sound grumpy, but I knew he was secretly pleased. “Remind me never to answer the phone to you again.”

  “Ah, but what would I do without you!” I put one arm around his neck and pulled him in for a hug. “My lifesaver!”

  “Well, isn’t this cosy?” Mark had arrived through the open front door and was staring at us with a quizzical but definitely stony look, a tired-looking child on either side.

  “Oh, you’re home early!” I said, remembering too late the row we’d had the last time I’d uttered those words.

  If he remembered, it wasn’t obvious as he sidestepped the furniture piled up in the hall and walked towards us. I couldn’t help looking behind him to see if the lovely Tara was with him. But she wasn’t.

  “Uncle Harry!” Jamie hurtled himself towards Harry when he saw him.

  “Ungo Howeee!” Next on top of him was Amber.

  Harry scooped them both up and swung them around.

  “Well, how are my favourite niece and nephew today?”

  “We’re good,” Jamie answered. “We were at Nana’s today.”

  “Nana – cake!” said Amber.

  “Shh, Amber! That’s a secret!” Jamie looked horrified at Amber’s indiscretion.

  “They were only allowed it after they’d eaten their dinner!” Mark said, looking at me defensively.

  “That’s okay,” I smiled. “I wouldn’t be telling any nana that she couldn’t give her two favourite grandchildren cake! Have they had their tea?”

  “Well, no, we thought . . .” He stopped, suddenly looking sheepish.

  “We’re going to bring you to a restaurant!” cr
ied Jamie.

  “Yaaay!” said Amber.

  I looked at Mark who was now looking more than a little embarrassed.

  “Oh!” Harry winked at me. “I’llget out of the way so!”

  “No, Harry, wait!” I looked at Mark. “Why don’t we get takeaway for us all tonight, and maybe we could go to the restaurant another night? I kind of wanted to get this finished today.”

  “Believe me, I’m happy to go back to town,” said Harry.

  “No, Uncle Harry, stay!” Jamie looked tearful at the thought of his playful uncle going already.

  “Holly’s right,” said Mark. “It would be great to get this finished today. We’ll get a takeaway in a while.”

  “Yippee!” shouted Jamie, “Uncle Harry, you have to stay until the bedtime story!”

  “I will.” Harry ruffled his hair. “But only as long as I can tell a really, really scary one.”

  “No way, Harry!” said both Mark and I at exactly the same time.

  “Now, guys, go in and take off your coats and hats and I’ll be with you in a tick,” said Mark, before turning to Harry. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to be here,” Harry answered.

  I realised with dismay that getting Harry to help with such a delicate mission might have been a mistake.

  “I asked him to come, Mark. I hope that’s okay. It’s just that I didn’t want this job to go on for days.”

  Mark looked at me and then at Harry, and sighed. “Of course it’s okay. Thanks, Harry. Though, actually, maybe I should inspect your work first before I thank you.”

  “No!” I squealed. “It’s not finished! We have to move the furniture back in!”

  Now Harry put his arm around me and, giving me a squeeze, said, “Holly, darling. If you think that I am going to refuse help from a grown man and let you make me move all this stuff again on my own, you have another think coming.”

  “But the surprise will be ruined!” I said dismally – but I couldn’t deny that he had a point.

  Stepping back from the door, I let Mark look in.

  He was silent for a second then his shoulders visibly loosened as he said, “It’s great. Looks so different.”