Going Home

by Harriet Evans

  I tried to call Jaden in LA, to ask him what the hell he’d been playing at, coming to my house and not telling me, but I couldn’t get hold of him so left an emotional message saying how great everything was and how I loved him, Sophia, Monumental, the world and the universe.

  We rang Mum at the surgery and told her what had happened, and she put a pin through Mrs Weedon’s band-age into her knee. Dad had several unpleasant conversations with Stuart Caldwell and his solicitor, then with Paul, our bank, our solicitor Rupert, and Monumental’s lawyers, but emerged looking happier and reassured.

  Sophia got the office to email the contracts they’d drawn up so that Dad could print them out and sign them.

  Some time during the afternoon as we were sitting at the long wooden table by the kitchen garden, my phone shook with a text message. I saw that it was from Miles, and my heart sank. I opened it. ‘Three messages and no answer. I’m starting to think you’ve died or you’ve dumped me. Are we still on for tonight? Have you been speaking to David? Please just let me know. I love you, love Miles.’

  I ran into the house to call him from the landline.

  ‘Miles, it’s me,’ I said, when he answered.

  ‘Hello.’ He sounded a bit cold.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday evening but –’

  ‘Or today,’ Miles interrupted.

  ‘– but something amazing’s happened. I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘What?’ said Miles.

  ‘It’s a long story. I know it’s not what you want to hear but you’ll be pleased. I thought it was all over. I’ll explain later.’

  ‘What?’ said Miles again. ‘You can’t – what? Tell me. Is it David? You’ve been speaking to him, haven’t you?’

  I was sitting on the rickety old table where we kept the phone. ‘What?’ I said. ‘David? No, why would I? What’s David got to do with anything?’

  ‘I thought…’ Miles trailed off, sounding miserable.

  ‘Miles, oh, my God, you’re mad. Of course I haven’t,’ I said. ‘Forget about David, OK? This is – God the house has been saved! We don’t have to move. I’ll explain it all later.’

  ‘What?’ said Miles.

  ‘We don’t have to move! It’s all OK!’

  ‘Well, that’s great,’ Miles said. ‘You can tell me about it tonight.’

  I’d forgotten about the Oak Grange, the fantastically expensive hotel Miles had booked us into for the weekend. It was our special treat – and it meant we could have some time to ourselves over the weekend. But suddenly I wanted to stay at home, to be with everyone here, on this legendary Walter weekend.

  ‘Lizzy?’ Miles said, as I was silent.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, pulling myself together. ‘What time are you picking me up? It’s been the most amazing morning! We don’t have to sell the house! We’re not moving! Hurrah!’

  ‘I know, darling,’ said Miles, his voice softening. ‘I can’t wait to hear all about it. I’ll pick you up at seven. Is that going to be OK? I don’t want to barge in or anything.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, (though cravenly I had already planned to myself that I’d listen out for him and dash out before he drew in, so he couldn’t get out of the car and have some massive Walter inquisition from my assembled relatives).

  I put the phone down and wandered through to the sitting room. On my way through the hall I passed the box Kate had been packing that morning. Resting on the top was the photograph of my grandparents on their wedding day in 1942. Grandmother was in a beautiful tailored white suit, with one of those hats that frothed and spilled over the side of her head. My great-uncle, Charles, was next to them, smiling broadly. It had been taken outside the church at Wareham – you could see the gate that led to the meadow and the path home in the corner of the picture. The next year Charles had died in France on D-Day.

  I lifted the photo, and put it back on the dresser next to the hall table, where it had always stood, then went into the sitting room. As I reached up to undo the bolt on the french windows, a shadow appeared on the other side. I yelped and jumped back.

  The prodigal son had returned. There, clutching the arm of his estranged wife in one hand and a battered old suitcase in the other, was Mike.

  ‘Well, look who’s here,’ I said, as we passed through the garden and reached the others.

  Mike and Rosalie’s arrival had the effect of pouring cold water over everyone. Dad jumped up. Gibbo and Chin stared at them. Tom and Jess narrowed their eyes and Kate froze, napkin in one hand, glass in the other. This vignette lasted only two seconds, and then en masse their instincts kicked in: they all smiled and jumped up.

  ‘Mike,’ Dad said. ‘Hello there.’ He did that hilarious mangreeting, shaking his hand and half hugging him. ‘And Rosalie. Hello, my dear, it’s so lovely to see you. We didn’t hear you arrive.’

  ‘No, we’ve been enjoying the sunshine, as you see,’ said Chin. ‘Hello, Mike, how lovely to see you.’ She kissed her brother as if she had seen him yesterday.

  ‘Ah, hello,’ Mike cleared his throat and shuffled along the table. ‘Bride-to-be looking…lovely. Hello, Jess, Tom – Gibbo.’

  I stole a glance at him. His head was bowed and his clothes hung off him. He looked much older. He kissed Jess, Tom too, shook Gibbo’s hand, was introduced to Mando, who’d been texting someone behind a tree, then stood rubbing his bald spot and gazing round him, blinking like a mole who’d just emerged into broad daylight after months underground.

  Rosalie, dazzling in acid green and huge black sunglasses, looked a bit shell-shocked, but she was nothing if not a pro at this kind of situation. She was making small-talk to Dad about the flight. It was Christmas all over again, I thought, wanting to bang my head slowly but hard on the table. And what was she doing here?

  Mando disappeared back into the marquee, taking Jess with him. I could hear them giggling as they retreated and wished I was with them.

  ‘Hello, Mike,’ said Kate, eventually, putting down the plates she’d been stacking and looking up at him.

  ‘Hello, Kate,’ said Mike. Then he pulled himself together. ‘Kate, my girl, how are you?’ He walked round the table. ‘Darling thing.’ He pulled her into his arms and gave her a hug, and that was stranger than anything else, because it was real emotion, pure and simple.

  As if embracing Kate had been symbolic of something, Mike turned to the rest of us, rejuvenated. ‘Suzy said there’d be a pie waiting for the hungry travellers. I brought some…Where is it?’ He rifled through his pockets. ‘Aha, here’s the fella. I picked up some Colman’s mustard on the way. Can’t have one of Suzy’s pies without la moutarde, oh, no. And here’s some chutney. Bought them on our way to the airport. Store downtown, sells English things. So let’s tuck in, shall we?’

  It was so like Mike to be carrying around in his coat a selection of condiments that any fool could buy in any corner shop but which he had selected at some overpriced deli in SoHo that I smiled. He put them on the table, and, despite myself, I felt a pang of affection for him.

  Kate went in to fetch the pie. Mike watched her go, then looked round at his surroundings. I followed his gaze, saw him take in the side of the house, the corner of the L where we were sitting, the lawn and the walled garden, which led up to the meadow at the back where the marquee stood at the top of the hill.

  Everyone sat down again, with Tom, Chin and Gibbo in a row, crossing their arms like a particularly unwelcoming audience at the Comedy Store.

  Rosalie swung a toned leg over the side of the bench and sat down next to Dad. Mike continued to stand, obviously working himself up to say something. In ordinary circumstances this would have been uncomfortable, but somehow, knowing what we all did, I think we wanted to make him suffer a bit longer. God knows, he deserved it.

  ‘Look,’ he mumbled indistinctly.

  ‘What was that, Mike?’ Chin said brightly.

  ‘I said look.’ He turned round. ‘I want to say sorry. I know
what I’ve done. I know you all hate me. If you don’t, you bloody should. I’ve caused you so much pain, a lot of misery, through my own stupidity. And I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’

  We all looked at him politely, as if he were apologizing for being a trifle late, or for breaking wind, not for lying to us all and trying to make his own family homeless. As climactic family moments go, it was a bit of a let-down, but in real life these things never happen the way you’ve imagined them. We don’t do long family confessionals. Even Mike’s was pretty out of character and that I am sure is because he’s been living in America for so long. All those TV movies finally got to him.

  Added to which there was the extra detail of Rosalie, never less than confusing. The only two things of which I was sure were that a) Mike was uncomfortable, and looking like he’d rather be in jail than here and b) Rosalie was gazing at him with a look of rapt adoration that showed, I am sorry to say, that she had learnt absolutely nothing from her brief marriage to him, the status of which was still as clear to me as a muddy puddle on a cloudy night. Dad and Chin looked at each other.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Dad said quickly. ‘I’ll explain why in a minute. But it really doesn’t. We’re just glad you’re here.’

  ‘And don’t do it again,’ Chin said quietly.

  Rosalie stood up. ‘I might just go and get our bags out of the car,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Mike, automatically. ‘Sit down, darling.’

  ‘Hey, do it after lunch,’ Gibbo said, waving his knife at him. ‘We’re celebrating and having some pie. Have a glass of wine.’

  Rosalie looked at Mike and raised her eyebrows in a mute question. He looked back at her. They nodded. Somehow, watching that one brief exchange, I knew they were back together. It wasn’t a declaration of love, or a new wedding ring, it was much tinier than that, but much more fundamental.

  Suddenly Sophia, the heroine of the day, appeared from the house. She’d been checking her emails in the study and speaking to the film’s location manager. She stood at the edge of the lawn, her hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun. ‘Hey, guys,’ she called. ‘There’s just a couple of things I need you to sign. Can we have a quick chat now, before you get stuck in?’

  Dad darted a look at Chin. ‘Sure. Can you give us a minute?’

  ‘This is my friend Sophia from school, Mike. D’you remember her?’ said Chin, waving her hand negligently at her brother. ‘Everything OK, Sophia?’

  ‘Absolutely fine,’ Sophia said, approaching us and smiling her perfect smile. ‘Hi, Mike. It’s nice to see you again.’

  ‘And you, Sophia,’ said Mike, twiddling his glass. ‘I curse the day I forgot your beautiful face, and now here it is in front of me again.’

  ‘You last saw her when she was thirteen, don’t be a perv,’ Tom pointed out.

  ‘I’ll be in the study,’ Sophia said.

  Dad stood up. ‘Come on, Chin,’ he said.

  ‘What? Oh, yes, of course,’ said Chin, kissing the top of Gibbo’s head. ‘We’ll be back in a few minutes. Mike, we need to have a chat with you before you get settled in. Can you come with us, please?’

  Her tone was businesslike. Mike leaped up. ‘Of course,’ he said uneasily. ‘Anything wrong?’

  Dad and Chin smiled, like a couple of schoolkids who have planned a devastating prank on their teacher.

  ‘No,’ said Dad. ‘You’ll like it. Come on.’

  They walked off in single file, Mike bringing up the rear.

  ‘Rosalie, a glass of wine?’ said Gibbo, patting her hand as she gazed after them.

  ‘What’s that?’ she said distractedly. ‘Yes. That’d be great. Thank you so much, Gibbo.’

  ‘You hungry?’ Gibbo asked.

  ‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘I haven’t had any breakfast – airplane food is so gross. And my dried apricots are in my suitcase.’

  ‘I’ll get you some pie,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you, Lizzy. Gosh, it’s nice to be back here. Sad day, though.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling. ‘But wait and see.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Rosalie.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, walking away. ‘Just wait and see.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’ve done a deal?’ Mike was saying in agitated tones as I walked past the sitting room.

  ‘We don’t have to sell the house,’ Dad said patiently. They were standing by the fireplace. Chin was in the armchair, hugging her knees. I stood still and listened.

  ‘John, I’ve got to have this money, you do understand that, don’t you?’ Mike said, pacing around the room. ‘’Scuse me,’ he said, brushing past me as he walked out on to the patio.

  Chin got up, and she and Dad followed him out.

  ‘We’ll have the money for you,’ Dad said. ‘Calm down. But we don’t have to sell the house. We’ll have to remort-gage – but I don’t mind that. With what the film company’s giving us, we’ll be fine. It’ll just be a couple of months before you get your money. That’s all.’

  As if the balance of power had shifted, Mike whirled round and hissed, ‘No, it’s not fine! For fuck’s sake, John, I need that money now. I told you – the penalty clause – it has to go out today or I’m screwed. I’m already late with it.’

  ‘And you will,’ Dad said soothingly. ‘That’s loads of time. Oh, Mike, I do wish you’d understand how good this is—’

  ‘You don’t know what these guys are like,’ Mike said.

  ‘Whoever they are,’ Dad said suddenly, showing a steeliness he usually kept hidden, ‘and believe me, I don’t want to know, they’re businessmen, aren’t they? They’d rather have the money than not. We’ve got the contract from Monumental and you can show it to them. They’re paying us almost immediately. It’s a delay of a week, no more.’

  ‘Who the hell is Sophia Gunning, anyway?’ Mike growled. ‘I’ve never met her before. How the fuck do you know she’s not pulling the wool over your eyes? Taking you for everything you’ve got?’

  ‘She’s not,’ Dad said. Chin still said nothing, but was standing there squinting up at her brother, the sun shining in her eyes.

  ‘But how do you know?’ Mike repeated. ‘I don’t like this, John. I’m not saying what I’ve done’s right but, as head of the family, I have the controlling share and you ought to have—’

  He got no further. With a scream like a steam train, Chin launched herself on him, pummelling him, slapping him, shouting at him so loudly that I could barely make out what she was saying.

  ‘You MONSTER! How DARE YOU? Have you seen what you’ve done? Have you been here to see it? No, you wanker! You’re there in New York fucking hiding from all your problems, breaking that poor woman’s heart, and then you fucking SWAN IN HERE the day before my – my wedding, and when we present you with the perfect solution to this total FUCK-UP of yours, what do you say? How DARE YOU? God, every day I ask myself…’ she came up close to him, still breathing heavily. I thought I’d misheard what she said, but I hadn’t. ‘Why did Tony have to die, and why is Mike still here? That’s what I ask myself every day. Every. Single. Day.’

  ‘Chin, that’s enough,’ said my father, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her away. She was shaking. ‘Don’t ever mention Tony like that again. It was a horrible thing to say.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ Chin said, sobbing now. ‘After everything I’ve done today, to be questioned like this by him – I don’t believe it.’

  Dad put his arms round her. ‘I know, darling,’ he said softly, into her hair. ‘But none of us could be prouder of you than we are now. It doesn’t matter about Mike. Don’t worry about him.’

  ‘You’re pathetic, Mike,’ Chin said, eyes ringed with mascara. ‘Pathetic. This dream you have that Keeper House is the magical happy place you remember when you were little Master Mike and you didn’t have to run away from it to preserve it in aspic, you can’t get over it, can you? You can’t move on. You’re like an antique.’ She hiccuped. ‘L
ike an antique Just William, pretending he’s still a boy, wanting everything to be the same as you remember it. Well, it wasn’t like that then, and it isn’t like that now. And you know why? Because of you. You’re the one who’s done this. Grow up.’

  Mike was still standing there, looking totally shell-shocked. I hurried through to the kitchen.

  ‘What’s all the yelling about?’ Rosalie called.

  ‘Practising speech-making for tomorrow,’ I muttered. ‘Loosening the vocal cords. Gavin the vicar told them to.’ Stupid woman, what did she think it would be about?

  ‘Right,’ said Rosalie.

  Sophia picked up her mobile phone.

  Rosalie looked at her, then at me. She swung herself off the bench and came over to the kitchen window, leaned on the window-sill and took off her glasses.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  ‘All OK?’ Rosalie asked. Her long nails beat a tattoo on the sill.

  ‘Yup, fine, thanks. You?’ I said.

  ‘I’m really well.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said, reminded of the scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen and Diane Keaton have one rather boring conversation and a separate conversation in subtitles beneath.

  ‘It’s great to be back,’ Rosalie said.

  I am not a crook.

  ‘Well, it’s fantastic you could come.’

  Are you and my uncle back together again?

  ‘Yes, I’m so glad I was able to get the time off.’

  Yes, I’m so glad I took him back. You see, I’m stupid.

  ‘How come?’

  Why on earth did you do that? What if he just breaks your heart again?

  ‘I finished one big project and I’ve got a few days before I start another. Isn’t that good luck?’

  It’s a risk I’m willing to take. And in any case he thinks he needs me more than I need him. It’s actually the other way round, you know, but don’t ever tell him that.

  ‘It is good luck.’

  I won’t. Trust me. I’ve enjoyed this little chat.