Second Time Around

by Marcia Willett

  ‘I know it’s pushy,’ she said, ‘but I’m afraid that Will might be over-anxious. Helen’s such a strange girl and I’m terrified of anything going wrong. I know it sounds melodramatic …’

  ‘I quite understand,’ Bea had said. ‘You’ll be able to relax better. Don’t worry. I want to have another look at Tavistock. Pray for a cool day so that we can take Sidney.’

  ‘I can cope with Sidney if necessary,’ Isobel said, relieved that Bea wasn’t offended. ‘It’s just that I’m so uptight about this. Bless you for understanding, Bea.’

  Now she watched Bea encourage Sidney into the back of the hatchback whilst Will stowed the hamper on the back seat. Presently the sound of the engine died away and there was silence.

  Except, thought Isobel, as she drifted back into the living room and stood staring aimlessly out of the open window, that it’s never silent when you live this close to the sea.

  The tide was running out, the wet sand gleaming under the grey sky. The dark, opaque surface of the sea was splashed with pools of dazzling silver which showered down through breaks in the thick blanket of cloud. A seagull balanced on a newly exposed rock, one yellow leg drawn up as he watched the waters receding. The soothing, rhythmical shushing of waves calmed Isobel and she turned back into the room, feeling relaxed and able now to prepare herself for the coming meeting.

  It was just after eleven when she saw the car—Simon’s car—emerge from the track and hesitate. Controlling an impulse to run out, Isobel waited. She saw the car pull in beside the Morris and presently Helen climbed out and stood looking about her.

  She looks like I did at her age, thought Isobel, watching from the kitchen window. She took note of the dark hair cut in a short shining bob, the slim square shoulders beneath the baggy cotton shirt, the long legs in faded denim. She recognised the quick nervous gesture as Helen pushed back her hair and came on long, easy strides towards the cottage. With a deep breath Isobel went to meet her.

  ‘Hi.’ She stood looking down at her daughter who had paused at the bottom of the steps. ‘This is … wonderful. Come on in.’

  With the same anxious gesture, Helen ran her hand through her hair and climbed the steps.

  ‘What a terrific place.’ Nervousness sent her voice up the scale a little. ‘That’s some view.’

  ‘Pretty good, isn’t it?’ Isobel was determined that no hysteria should creep in. ‘It’s the light that gets me. Like living at the bottom of the sea. Although it’s a bit dull today … Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks. Got any decaff?’

  ‘I have.’ Isobel gave silent thanks for her foresight. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

  ‘No thanks. Just black.’ Helen looked around the kitchen. ‘Oh, you’ve still got the picture of Soot.’

  ‘Of course.’ Helen had drawn the sketch of the family cat when she was just fifteen but it was a very accurate and charming portrayal and Isobel had had it framed. It hung on the wall beside the dresser. Isobel made coffee, sensing that Helen was examining the photographs on the shelves beside the plates; photographs of Helen as a little girl, posed alone and with Simon. The silence lengthened but Isobel refused to blunder in with foolish observations. ‘Here.’ She passed Helen her mug. ‘Let’s go into the living room.’

  She led the way, sitting down at the table under the window and gesturing to Helen to sit opposite. She slid on to the chair, staring about the room, taking it all in. It gave Isobel the opportunity to study her more closely; to see the drawn look and the tiny frown between the dark level brows. Helen’s gaze came round to meet her own and they looked at each other for a long moment.

  ‘So,’ said Isobel lightly. ‘Where shall we start?’

  She had resolved that there should be no more apologies and explanations; that Helen must try to accept what had happened and be prepared to move forward. It was a pointless exercise to dig up the old bones of their relationship and chew on past grievances and recriminations. Nevertheless, she was not nearly so calm as she appeared and she sipped quickly at her coffee.

  ‘It’s difficult.’ Helen glanced away, out of the window. ‘I’m not sure I know where to start.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’ Relieved that the old antagonism was absent, Isobel relaxed a little. ‘You’ve changed so much. Grown up.’ She laughed a little. ‘Stupid thing to say. Of course you have.’ She became serious. ‘It really is very good to see you, Helen. Thank you for coming.’

  ‘I wanted to.’ She continued to stare out of the window. ‘I know that I behaved like a prig. I wanted to say sorry. I understand better now.’

  Isobel swallowed, crushing down a longing to explain all over again; justify her feelings, explain her actions. ‘I’m … glad,’ she said. ‘At least … I’m glad if it means we can be friends. Not so glad if you understand as a result of some problem of your own.’

  Helen looked at her, studying Isobel’s face, the frown more in evidence as she concentrated. Isobel met the scrutiny steadily, wondering if Helen would be candid with her. Suddenly the meeting had moved on to a much deeper plane and Isobel felt the stirrings of panic. Helen pushed her hair behind her ears and picked up her mug in both hands.

  ‘I couldn’t understand, you see,’ she said—and took a tiny sip of the black liquid. ‘It was terrible to have to believe that you loved that man more than you loved me. That you could leave me for him.’

  Isobel’s heart sank. So the bones were to be disinterred yet again; she prepared herself for battle. ‘I tried to explain—’ she began—but Helen shook her head.

  ‘I know you did. But it wasn’t that simple. Not then. I think it was something I had to experience for myself. I understand now what you meant when you said it was like an illness. It sort of possesses you and when it goes you can’t think what came over you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Isobel sadly. ‘That’s about it. And then it was too late. For me, that is. Not, I hope, for you.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Helen again. ‘Really sorry. About Dad and … Sally.’

  ‘Yes.’ Isobel bit her lip. ‘It was a shock. Are they … happy?’

  Helen nodded, watching her, and Isobel nodded back and tried to smile.

  ‘Do you still love him?’ she asked compassionately.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Isobel tried to sound matter-of-fact. ‘I always did. The other was just a kind of madness. A very cruel and expensive madness. So. How about you? It’s all over now, is it? Was he at university?’

  Helen nodded, staring at the Indian cloth. In the silence Isobel wondered how far she should go. She dreaded to pry or open old wounds but how could she help if she did not know the facts? Helen had said that it was finished; that she did not know what had come over her. If she no longer loved whoever-he-was then it shouldn’t be painful, unless …

  ‘Is he married?’

  Another nod; the frown deepened.

  ‘Well,’ said Isobel comfortingly, ‘being married never made anyone immune. Does his wife know?’

  A shake of the head; the lips were pressed tightly together. Isobel was puzzled. So what could be the problem? She guessed the answer at exactly the moment that Helen told her.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said—and began to weep.

  Instinctively Isobel pressed her hand to her lips; the next moment she was kneeling beside Helen, her arm around her. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’ She murmured the words over and over whilst Helen wept, her head buried in her arms. When she straightened up, Isobel hesitated for a moment and then went back to her chair. She felt she must leave Helen her space and her dignity.

  ‘I want to keep the baby,’ said Helen rapidly. ‘I can’t bear the thought of an abortion or adoption.’

  ‘No,’ said Isobel. ‘No … I see. Does he … the father know?’

  ‘No,’ she answered fiercely. ‘I don’t want him to know. It’s my baby. He has children. I don’t want to get rid of it.’

  She stared desperately at Isobel whose brain, behind her deceptively calm expression, was desperately seeking s
ome kind of solution.

  ‘But your job?’ she said. ‘Your job in Bristol? How will you manage? Oh, if only I could help you.’

  ‘Oh, Mum.’ The old familiar word slipped out and Isobel’s heart lurched with tenderness. ‘Would you help?’

  ‘But of course I will,’ said Isobel. ‘It’s just I don’t see quite how. I have to work myself, you know. I could try to help out with the baby.’ She frowned, wondering how this could be achieved. ‘Does Daddy know?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘No.’ Helen looked defiant. ‘I don’t want them to know yet. I can only handle telling you at the moment.’

  Isobel experienced another stab of tenderness but it was mixed with a less generous emotion. She felt a triumphant sense of pride that Helen had turned to her rather than to Simon and Sally. Helen was watching her anxiously and she smiled at her.

  ‘Let’s not panic,’ she said. ‘When is the baby due?’

  ‘December. At Christmas. I’ve been thinking about it,’ said Helen, ‘and I’ve thought of a way through. It’s an awful lot to ask, especially after … after what’s happened. I feel very badly but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t expect you to agree to it.’

  ‘Tell me,’ suggested Isobel, wondering if she was going to ask if she and the baby could come to the cove. How would they manage? She felt anxious and even frightened. ‘Tell me what your plan is?’

  Helen began to speak very quickly, her fingers pleating and repleating the cloth, her eyes on the sea. ‘When I knew for certain, I panicked a bit but after a while I began to think it all through. I spoke to the research department at Bristol University and they agreed to give me time off to have the baby, providing that I go back afterwards full time with no problems. There are all sorts of crèches and babyminding agencies so I told them that I’d got it all fixed. There were a couple of small flats that go with some of the university posts so I’ve taken one. It’s quite nice and it’s cheap …’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ asked Isobel gently, when Helen fell silent. ‘It sounds as if you’ve got it all sewn up. Do you want to come here to have the baby?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t want to stay round here with all my friends nudging each other and Dad and Sally fussing.’ Helen looked at her mother. ‘I’m moving in to the flat next month and I want you to be with me when I have the baby and to look after him when I start work. I don’t want to shove him into a crèche or with some baby-minder. How can I bear to leave my brand-new baby with strangers?’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you were with him.’

  ‘But … but how could I?’ Isobel sounded dazed. ‘I’d have to give up my job and …’ she looked around her as if seeing it for the first time, ‘and my home.’

  ‘I know.’ Helen wiped her tears on the back of her hand. ‘That’s why it’s such a lot to ask. It’s just that I’m not sure that I can cope with it all. A baby and a new job. I know that it’s all my fault and I have no right to ask anyone for help but I feel so terribly alone.’

  ‘Oh, darling.’ Isobel stretched her hand across the table and Helen took it and gripped it tightly. ‘Of course I’ll help. I’ll do everything I can. It’s just … It’s just such a shock.’

  ‘I know,’ said Helen miserably. ‘It’s been awful, trying to concentrate on exams with all this hanging over me. But it was my fault, you see. I pestered him and wouldn’t let him alone. I was sure I could make him happy. I had all these silly fantasies. And then one night we were both at a party. He was on his own. We drank a bit and then we … You know.’ She frowned, smoothing out the cloth. ‘I can’t explain but after that I felt differently. It was all gone. All the excitement and the feverishness. I didn’t even like him much. And then when I realised …’ She shook her head and lifted her hands in despair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Isobel inadequately. ‘I understand as far as anyone can understand another person’s predicament.’

  ‘I knew you would.’ Helen pushed the cold coffee aside with a sigh. ‘And I know how selfish I’m being. I’m asking you to give everything up for my stupidity. Other people manage alone in these situations, why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t want you to manage alone,’ Isobel told her, but her heart was heavy. ‘We must think it through carefully. Don’t worry. You won’t be alone. I’m going to make us some more coffee.’

  Leaving Helen sitting slumped at the table, she went into the kitchen and rinsed the mugs. As the kettle boiled, she stood staring out at the familiar and much-loved view. Her heart ached for her daughter but a small corner of her mind was rebelling. How could she bear to uproot herself from the cove and go to Bristol to live in a small flat with Helen and a baby and how would they survive financially? Would she ever be free again to take up the threads of her old life; would they still be there, waiting for her? Isobel felt a sickening panic as she stood, gripping the edge of the sink, her eyes on the water. She could not bear to leave Will and Bea; to give up her job in the bookshop; part with her cottage. Why should she? Helen had refused to see her for five years. She had ignored her and hurt her and now expected her mother to sacrifice herself for her own mistakes. Her resentment faded and guilt seized Isobel’s heart. If she had not abandoned Helen when she met Mike it was possible that none of this might have happened. Was it the shock of seeing her father absorbed with Sally that had turned Helen’s love towards an older man? It was impossible to know the truth but Isobel had a cold feeling that it was time to try to make amends for her own selfish actions.

  As she turned away from the window, Isobel heard a muffled sound. She paused, her hand on the kettle’s handle. It was the despairing sound of Helen weeping. Isobel took a deep breath, imagining her daughter’s unhappiness and her loneliness. What a terrible way to start her young life! Bleakly Isobel recognised the fact that there were no choices here; she could not abandon Helen a second time. If she wished to rebuild the love and friendship between them then, somehow, they must manage this together. Isobel made the coffee and, summoning every ounce of courage and optimism, she picked up the mugs and went back to her daughter.

  Thirty

  SEBASTIAN STOOD AT THE bar of the Skylark at Clearbrook buying drinks. He’d managed to wangle a few hours’ leave from the ship but his time was limited and he’d hardly been five minutes at Kate’s house at Whitchurch before he’d suggested that he and Tessa should go out for a drink. Sebastian hunched his shoulders and jingled the coins in his pockets as he watched the beer frothing up the glass. Tessa had not realised that this invitation was because, at the sight of her standing at the door, he had completely lost his nerve. As he’d driven out towards Tavistock he had made up his mind to be absolutely honest with her but, when he saw her small figure waiting for him, his courage had deserted him. How could he let her down? He remembered the tragic events which surrounded her younger life and the brave way that she had taken opportunities and carved out a life for herself. He also remembered her unwavering devotion to him and the occasions when he had taken advantage of it.

  She’d smiled as he climbed out of the car and approached her but there was an odd expression in her eyes, almost as if she had guessed his cowardly intentions. Desperately he tried to resurrect the feelings he’d had when he’d seen her wandering ethereally in Freddie’s meadow but all he could see was the old, familiar Tessa in jeans and sweatshirt, a younger sister of whom he was very fond. He knew from past experience that, when he’d had a beer or two, a certain amount of the magic would return, after all she was a very attractive girl, but being permanently inebriated was not quite how he wished to spend his married life.

  Well, it was rather too late to think of that now. The damage was done. Sebastian took a pull at his beer as he waited for his change. He knew now that he was not capable of dealing the blow that would break the engagement. He comforted himself with the knowledge that it could be a great deal worse; she was pretty and very sweet and she loved him. It would simply have to be enough.

  From her table i
n the corner Tessa watched him with a sense of despair. Each time she saw him she was reminded of the past; of all those weekends and holidays when the Andersons had taken pity on her and welcomed her into their home. She remembered how she had first seen him and fallen in love with him and, from that moment, had idealised him. She knew now that the real Sebastian was far removed from those fantasies but how could she possibly explain that to him? His voice on the telephone had been almost curt and, for one glorious moment, she had hoped that he might be coming to tell her that he’d changed his mind. When he arrived, however, he had hugged her in the old friendly way and since then had been chatting perfectly normally. Certainly the new passion he had shown on that night at Freddie’s was not apparent, he was much more like his old self, but this was a flying visit and he was probably preoccupied with the ship and her coming sea trials.

  Whilst she’d waited for him to drive out from Plymouth she had steeled herself to tell him the truth. She rehearsed what she would say to him, how she would explain her feelings, but, the moment she saw his tall figure, she was swept back into the past with all its memories and obligations and she knew that she would never be able to hurt him or his family. She told herself that he would be away a great deal and that he was kind and good-looking but, when she thought about Giles, she felt as though her heart were being squeezed to death. Her only hope was that, whilst Sebastian was in America, he might meet someone else or change his mind.

  She smiled as he set the drinks down and tried to think of something to say. ‘Thanks. Well, this is a nice surprise. Here’s to the trials.’