That Still andWhispering Place

by Kathy Shuker

  ‘Do you ever do anything? Draw maybe? Something else creative?’

  She shook her head. ‘A bit of craftwork sometimes. But it took me years before I’d even look at paintings or illustrations. Sad, aren’t I? That’s what Neil said anyway.’

  ‘Seems a bit harsh.’ Adam didn’t want to get involved in this: matrimonial rows and disputes weren’t his thing. He’d never thought of marriage as the answer, thought it created too many pressures on a relationship. But just now his thoughts on relationships weren’t worth a bean anyway.

  ‘You could take it up again now though. Have you got any of your work here?’ He flicked an expectant glance round the room.

  ‘No. And it’s not that easy to pick it up again. I never had any formal training, you see. No qualifications. But I was always drawing and painting. When I was seventeen I won a competition to illustrate a scene from a children’s book. Everything snow-balled after that. But I haven’t got an agent any more.’ She shrugged. ‘And I’m out-of-date anyway now. Too much new technology I know nothing about.’

  Adam nodded but didn’t respond. It sounded like an excuse but this didn’t feel like a good moment to argue the point. Maybe she didn’t want to do it any more.

  Slowly he managed to work his way through a whole slice of toast. His stomach felt a little easier. He picked up the mug of tea and sat cradling it. His brain had begun to function more clearly and he glanced round again. There were few decorations up but a scattering of Christmas cards stood on the mantelpiece.

  ‘Are you spending Christmas here or going away?’

  ‘I’m staying here. Laura, my eldest daughter’s coming to stay.’ She pointed to a framed photograph on the sideboard. ‘She’s eighteen and has just finished her first term at university. And you? Are you staying in the village for Christmas?’

  ‘Yes. My mother died and my father remarried. He lives in Scotland now. His wife doesn’t like me much.’ He grinned. ‘It’s mutual.’

  ‘So you’ll be alone? Do you think there’s a chance of Zoe coming back?’

  The grin faded. He looked at her, wanted to tell her it was none of her damn business and he didn’t want to talk about it. But he bit it back. She didn’t look so much curious as concerned - and she had bothered to take care of him.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged, finished his tea, put the mug down and got to his feet. ‘You were very kind to rescue me - from myself.’ He forced a smile then found himself drawn to look at the sideboard again. He took a step closer, examining the photograph of Laura and automatically switching to study the second photograph: a younger girl with blonde curls. So this was the child who’d disappeared.

  He reached out a hand, wanted to pick it up so he could look at it properly, but felt Claire’s eyes on him and let his hand fall.

  ‘And this is your other daughter, I assume,’ he said carefully. ‘I heard what happened. I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Yes…Thanks.’

  Claire moved closer, picked up the photograph and gave it to him.

  ‘This is Gilly,’ she said. ‘That was taken on her ninth birthday.’

  He studied it. ‘She looks full of fun and life.’

  ‘She was.’

  He noted the past tense.

  ‘And you’ve never had any kind of clue as to what happened to her?’

  Claire shook her head, face set. ‘It was May. The village was crawling with visitors. There was no trace of her. Nothing. It was assumed that she’d been taken by one of them.’

  He heard a ‘but’ in her voice and waited but she didn’t elaborate.

  ‘But you don’t think so?’ he prompted.

  She stared at him dully. ‘I don’t know what to think. See, this is what happens when you have children: you’re responsible for them…forever. There’s a lot of anguish. Maybe you’re wise not to go that way.’

  Adam replaced the photograph on the sideboard. ‘Are you telling me you wish you’d never had your daughters?’

  ‘God, no, of course not. I’d never say that. There’s a lot of joy too.’ She hesitated. ‘I was never particularly broody but Neil wanted children and I was OK with that. Then when they came I loved them in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible, completely, whole-heartedly. I don’t regret them for a moment - whatever’s happened since but they are a commitment.’ She frowned, looking directly into his face. ‘You sound like you’re putting Zoe off with excuses. Perhaps you should be more honest with her and make a decision, one-way or the other. And if she means that much to you, perhaps moving from here and having children is what you’ll have to do to keep her. It’s a balancing act, isn’t it - you know, a compromise.’

  He laughed contemptuously. ‘Do you really think it’s that simple?’ He felt all his frustration and confusion bubble up inside him. He was nearly shouting. ‘You think I should leave now? I’ve never worked as well anywhere as I have since we’ve been here. Never. Everything’s just come together. I can’t go now. Before, living in suburbia, I was… Christ, woman. You have no idea.’

  ‘Calm down, Adam. There’s no need to take it out on me. I’m just saying. It’s up to you. If you want Zoe back, you might have to change. She obviously wants something different to what you want. At the end of the day it’s your choice, isn’t it?’

  His lip curled. ‘And did you decide it wasn’t worth making an effort to stay with Nigel?’

  Her expression froze.

  Adam frowned. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’ He reached out a hand towards her. ‘That was out of line. I just…I don’t feel ready to talk about it. Look, it’s late. I’d better go.’

  She saw him to the door.

  ‘Thanks for taking care of me,’ he said.

  Claire looked out stonily into the night. ‘His name’s Neil,’ she said. ‘Not Nigel. And you’re right.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. I’m in no position to give relationship advice.’

  She turned back to look at him and their eyes met.

  ‘Well, thanks again,’ he said. ‘See you.’

  She had closed the door almost before he’d started down the path. He set off up the lane back to the village, his thoughts returning inevitably to Zoe. If you want Zoe back you might have to change. The thought settled on him like a cloud all the way home.

  Chapter 7

  On Christmas Eve Laura came to stay and, seeing her for the first time in weeks, Claire registered her daughter with fresh eyes. Or perhaps that term away from home, being independent, had already changed her. She looked so grown up - and so pretty. As a child she had taken after Claire’s side of the family: she’d had fair wavy hair and her mother’s slightly ungainly limbs. But with the passing years she had become more like her father. Her hair had gradually darkened and hung more sleekly and her eyes had an expression Claire had often seen in Neil’s: self-contained, guarded even. And she had filled out a little too, become curvier. She was no longer a girl.

  Claire had put the hair slide away and was trying to put the issue out of her mind for the holiday. In the previous few days, she had thoroughly cleaned and tidied, had bought cheap paper festoons and draped them along the walls. She had searched the old familiar places where holly grew wild and cut sprigs for the house. Having brought a few old Christmas decorations up from Kent, she carefully unwrapped the Santa Claus candle holder - Laura’s childhood favourite - and put it in prime position on the mantelpiece. And she bought a small fir tree and covered it in baubles, tinsel and chocolate decorations.

  It was Neil who had picked Laura up from Surrey and driven her down. He had arranged it with his daughter directly - had given Claire no say in it - and had delivered her to the door where Claire felt obliged to ask him in and offer him a drink. She found herself feeling jealous of the time he had already spent with Laura, hearing her news, and perhaps seeming the more caring parent. She was ashamed of herself and wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on: them both constantly vying for their daughter’s attention, competing to be her preferred c
ompany, her confidant. It was childish and she knew it demeaned her, though it didn’t make the feeling any less intense.

  Neil refused the offered drink, dumping Laura’s bags inside the door then standing on the doorstep, neither going nor staying. Claire eyed him suspiciously, waiting to close the door.

  ‘Mum says you’re coming up to the house tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Probably. Laura won’t want to go alone.’ She hesitated. ‘What about Samantha?’

  ‘She hasn’t come.’ Still he stood. ‘It wasn’t a serious relationship, Claire. Not like… Well, you know.’ He shrugged. ‘It was just reaction, I think.’ He watched her face. When she didn’t reply he abruptly turned away. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he called, over his shoulder.

  Claire went back into the room in time to see Laura standing, staring at the photograph of Gilly on the sideboard. Hearing the door close, she spun round as if caught in something illicit, and quickly came across to give her mother a brief, fierce hug. It was a rare physical show of affection.

  *

  To Claire, Christmas dinner at The White House felt like a scene from a film she had slipped into by mistake, an old and familiar, much watched film, trotted out every year because it was traditional. It was smooth, so seemingly well-rehearsed, but then it always had been. Claire had not attended one for five years but she had been to countless such dinners before and little had changed. The people were older, of course, and the children had grown. And, though a cousin of Eve’s was there and a nephew of Eve’s late husband Gerald too, there were now people missing: Gerald himself, of course, and Claire’s father who had been a regular guest after Claire and Neil were married. Those first few Christmases had been exciting. Claire had been young and unused to large family gatherings and it had felt warm and embracing. Then, as the years rolled by, she began to find it suffocating, started to experience the first choking constraints of belonging to the Pennymans and their apparently endless expectations.

  But sitting at the dinner table now, exchanging polite conversation, hearing Timothy - with alcohol-fuelled expansiveness - recount amusing stories of his vineyard tours from the summer, listening to Julia gently prompt Laura to talk about Oxford, she was reminded just how charming they could all be. Cynically, she thought they put on an effort for Christmas Day, pretending to be one big happy family and carefully papering over the cracks. Or perhaps, she thought with greater honesty, the problem was with herself because she had never fitted in. She didn’t want to ‘belong’. She couldn’t get obsessed with wine production and had always wanted to plough her own furrow, keep her own job and not be subsumed by the vineyard. Had that been wrong? It was hard to be so certain these days.

  ‘Do you think it’s changed much then, the village?’

  It was Phil asking the question and it brought Claire quickly back to the present. He was sitting next to her but had spoken little until then. His fair hair was rapidly thinning leaving only a few wispy tufts to defend the crown of his head but he seemed uncaring: there had been no attempt to comb them down or mask the fact. Over the years, Neil and Timothy had often teased him about both the way he looked and the way he dressed but, if it had bothered him, it had certainly never changed him.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Not much. There’s that new estate of houses out on the Penmarna road. I gather Tom Merriton sold up the farm?’

  ‘It’s a struggle to make a living out of farming these days,’ Phil grunted, then paused, his dark eyes examining her, probing. ‘Didn’t expect you to come back. Any particular reason?’

  ‘No, not especially.’

  ‘Really?’ He sounded doubtful. ‘Couldn’t stay away?’ He didn’t quite smile.

  ‘Something like that.’

  He let it go and now Eve was making a point of asking about the Craft Yard and how it was going, including Claire reluctantly in the sweep of her piercing gaze.

  ‘There always seems to be activity over there,’ she added. ‘And it certainly brings people to the restaurant, doesn’t it Timothy?’

  So the conversation turned back to the vineyard, as it generally did.

  After dinner they played parlour games. Laura looked embarrassed; Danny escaped to his room. Afternoon stretched into evening and Claire made their excuses and left. Neil walked them to the door and gave Laura the pile of Christmas presents he had left in the hall. While Laura took them out to the car, he gave Claire one too and she was dismayed.

  ‘You shouldn’t have,’ she exclaimed. Wanting to avoid awkwardness, she had brought gifts for the household: chocolates and a bottle of port, and a bouquet of flowers for Eve. ‘I don’t have one for you. I didn’t think we’d do this any more.’

  ‘I didn’t expect one. But I wanted to.’

  Why? she thought. She frowned down at the gift. ‘You shouldn’t have,’ she repeated. ‘It’s weird.’

  ‘Weird?’ He laughed, embarrassed perhaps. ‘I don’t see why.’ He fingered a curl of her hair. ‘You’re looking so pretty tonight,’ he said softly. ‘How could I have forgotten just how lovely you are?’ He flicked a glance up at the mistletoe, leant forward, and gave her a brief, sweet, warm kiss on the lips, then pulled away. ‘Happy Christmas, Claire.’

  She frowned at him, resisting the temptation to touch her lips like some lovesick teenager, then hurried away to join Laura at the car. Still she was aware of him standing in the lighted doorway, watching, as they drove back down the hill.

  *

  ‘It’s been a real struggle these last years, Neil. You must know that.’ Eve’s voice was soft and low. ‘We’ve managed, of course. We’ve even done quite well. But it hasn’t been easy. And I wonder how long we can keep it up without more help. And your help would be the best help of all. You know there’s a future for you here? You do realise that?’

  Julia had been fighting sleep but these last sentences brought her round. She’d drunk quite a lot of wine - far more than usual - and the world around her had a soft-edged glow; she was struggling to focus. But this was important.

  It was well after seven in the evening and the last of the guests had gone leaving a slipping lethargy to settle on the household. Phil was fast asleep in an armchair some distance away; Danny was in his room, watching some film or other; and Timothy had taken a tray of dishes out to the kitchen, muttering something about putting the dish-washer on. Eve and Neil were sitting conspiratorially side by side on the sofa on the other side of the huge square coffee table.

  Through half-closed eyelids, Julia noticed Neil occasionally glance her way. She feigned sleep.

  ‘Do the others agree?’ said Neil.

  ‘I wanted to know what you thought. You’ve had a lot of change in your life recently. I was waiting till it settled down for you. Then when I saw you here today, I thought how content you looked. You looked at home. And even having Claire here didn’t seem to bother you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. It does feel strange to be back here.’

  ‘Of course, it will. But you’ll soon pick up where you left off. And I don’t think Claire will want to stay so that awkwardness won’t be for long.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ said Neil sharply.

  ‘Oh, just a feeling. She doesn’t look happy and, now her father’s gone… Well, we’ll see. But that doesn’t matter either way, does it?’

  There was a pause. Julia twitched her eyelids open a crack wider. Eve was giving Neil one of her coy, entreating looks. Neil barely seemed to notice. He was frowning, looking up reflectively into some imaginary future.

  ‘Of course it’s tempting, mum,’ he said slowly. ‘I love Bohenna, despite what happened here. But I’ve got a good job, you know? And I’ve got friends in Kent; that’s where my life is these days.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not Claire who’s putting you off? Because I could arrange for her to go.’

  ‘No. No.’ Neil twisted in his seat. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘I know the woman who owns that house she’s renting. I
know I could persuade her to terminate the contract, find some excuse. You know, say that Claire’s damaging the place or annoying the neighbours, that sort of thing.’ Eve sounded triumphant. She sounded like she was willing Neil to give her an excuse to do this.

  ‘No,’ said Neil firmly. ‘I don’t want Claire hounded out of Bohenna. If she wants to live here, she’s entitled.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, that’s not the problem and really, mum, I’m surprised at you.’

  Eve put one gnarled hand on his knee.

  ‘I just want what’s best for you,’ she said. ‘And for all of us. But if you don’t mind her being here, then…fine. She can stay. But you will think about it, won’t you? We need you. We need your particular talents here. We’ve missed them.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  Timothy walked back into the room and poured himself another coffee from the pot on the table. He stood with his back to the fire and looked enquiringly between Neil and his mother in turn. Julia wondered what he would make of it. But he and Neil had always been close and it was Tim who had been obliged to take on most of the marketing that Neil had done before he left. Tim didn’t like it. He was naturally a quieter person, more reflective. Speaking informally to the small groups touring the vineyards was fine - he even seemed to enjoy it - but he didn’t like travelling to conferences or speaking at seminars; he didn’t like ‘selling’ the vineyard. He was a home bird.

  Julia slipped her gaze sideways towards Phil. He was still asleep. He wasn’t going to like this.

  She let her eyelids droop again. Maybe it wouldn’t happen - though an extra worker, especially one skilled in the ways of the business, would certainly be a help. But they had adapted and there was an equilibrium to the way the vineyard worked now and she wasn’t sure she wanted it changed. There would be another salary to pay for a start. And Neil could be domineering; he always thought he knew better.

  Either way, Eve wouldn’t ask her opinion. She was old-fashioned and thought a man should be the driving force in a business. And she thought the sun shone out of Neil, always had.