‘No,’ he swallowed. Didn't meet my gaze. Kept his firmly on the duvet. ‘Not just keep an eye. Really look after her. For ever. With us.’
I stared.
‘To live here with us. To bring her up – what's left of her upbringing – here, in Oxford. I'm her father, Evie. And I haven't been much of a father so far. She needs me. Bella asked me. And I said yes.’
My heart thudded. Which is all it took. A heart beat. I'm ashamed it took that long.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes,’ I repeated.
He looked at me. I glimpsed fear vanishing from his eyes. Then they filled up. ‘Oh, Evie.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, his eyes screwed tight. I'd never seen him cry. Not even after Neville. It only lasted a moment. He unbuckled his face and let out a breathy sigh.
‘What did you think I'd say?’
‘I didn't know. I'm really appalled to say, I didn't know. But I should have known. But…’ he struggled, ‘she's mine, after all, not yours. And Anna's too, of course, and we thought—’
‘Anna thought I'd say no, too?’
I remembered her face in the car: challenging, defensive, gold earrings glistening aggressively.
‘She came back from town that day with Stacey and you'd gone, so she assumed you'd flounced off home, couldn't hack it. You told me not to tell her about Hector so—’
‘Oh, Ant, use your judgement! I didn't know the girl was dying!’
‘Well, quite. Perhaps I should have,’ he licked his lips nervously, ‘perhaps I should have said. But then later, when she found out about Bella – well, she assumed you'd say… well, it's a big ask.’
I was shocked. They both thought I'd say no. That I wouldn't welcome Stacey into our family. Wouldn't bring up someone else's child. And actually, if he'd asked me in the beginning, when he'd first got the letter, yes, I might well have said forget it. A big ask. Was it? I supposed it was. But it didn't feel like it now. What – that shy, sweet, seventeen-year-old girl? With no mother? Oh, no. She had to come here. Did they think I was a witch?
‘Evie,’ he took my hands, reading me, ‘what you fail to realize is that an awful lot of women, regardless of how nice Stacey is, would not want their husband's child in the house, let alone living with them.’
I gave this some thought. Put like that…
‘And what you don't realize,’ I said slowly, ‘in the spirit of full disclosure, is what I thought was going on. That in my darkest moments, I thought I'd lost you. Give a child a home? Oh, Ant, there's no comparison.’
We sat facing each other on the bed. After a moment, I lay my head on his shoulder. He drew me in close. We sat there huddled in silence. Eventually I sat back.
‘I know you don't know exactly, but… weeks? Months?’
‘Months. Maybe weeks. She doesn't want to suffer, or make Stacey suffer too long. She's in and out of the hospice. She'd like it all to be over by Christmas.’
My eyes widened. ‘Like Ali MacGraw.’
‘What?’
‘In Love Story.’ A lump rose in my throat. ‘When Ryan O'Neal goes to the hospital, she say she wants the troops home by Christmas.’
‘Oh.’ He looked blank, his knowledge of romantic movies less encyclopaedic than mine.
‘Ryan O'Neal gets on the bed, to hold her.’ My eyes swam as I remembered, even though it was the only scene I wasn't terribly comfortable with: all those tubes, blood bags… ‘And the father – the father's waiting in the corridor, trying not to cry. Oh – Ted!’
‘I know.’ Ant nodded, swallowing. ‘Ted's not good. Not good at all. Stacey's being unbelievable, but Ted—’
‘But surely Stacey might have gone there?’
‘Well, of course, he was the obvious choice. And he would have had her like a shot. Wanted to have her. But he could see… well, we all talked about it—’
‘Did you?’
‘Oh, yes, round the kitchen table the next day. Ted came back. Bella rang him to say she'd told us. So Ted, Bella, Stacey, Anna and I discussed it.’
Blimey. Anna. What a very grown-up conversation. No wonder she looked older.
‘And Bella was very firm. Ted's a tremendous grandfather, always will be, but she wanted a proper family for Stacey. A young family, and when Stacey got the interview at Oxford—’
I inhaled sharply. ‘It was a no-brainer.’
‘Exactly. They knew I was here. So that's when they wrote. Bella said they agonized for ages, thinking it wasn't fair on me, on you, knowing we had another child, knowing it was like dropping a bomb, that it was going to cause chaos, maybe even break up a family, that we might say bugger off, but knowing too, at the end of the day…’
‘She had to do the best for her child.’
‘Quite.’
‘Nothing else in the world matters.’
‘No.’
‘She did the right thing.’
‘I'm so glad you think so, Evie.’ He couldn't mask his relief. His hand closed over mine and he squeezed it, summoning up something else. ‘And I'm so, so glad I'm married to you.’
I couldn't help but smile. That was huge, coming from Ant. We sat there on the bed together, exchanging sad little smiles: a much emotionally travelled, middle-aged, married couple, holding hands. At length, I exhaled the deepest sigh. It seemed to unfold from the pit of my stomach. I stood up, tightening my dressing gown cord around me. Then I found my slippers and went to the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To ring Bella.’
‘It's the middle of the night.’
‘She'll still be awake. And she'll be waiting for me to call.’
28
The following morning I drove to watch Anna in the final day of her pony competition. You couldn't have scripted the day. It was one of those hazy golden ones with just a faint breeze, which the calendar swore blind was late October, but the soft blue sky and diffused sunshine could lull one to believe might just as well be August. As I turned into Ed Pallister's farm, just down the lane from ours, and joined the line of parked cars abandoned by other Pony Club mothers in his front yard, it occurred to me that Bella Edgeworth wouldn't wake up to too many more mornings like these. Something Margaret Thatcher said the morning after the Brighton bombings about not being meant to see a similar day sprang to mind. I locked the car and made my way, head down and thoughtful, towards a farflung field, full of circling ponies in the distance, reaching in my bag for my sunglasses in defence of the low sunshine and much else.
We'd talked at length last night, Bella and I. And when I'd finally come back up the stairs to bed, my knees cramped from sitting on the stairs in one position for so long, I'd repeated it all pretty much verbatim to Ant. I was tired – wrung out too – but he needed to be brought up to speed while it was still fresh in my head. I told him about the medication she'd been offered at vast expense, but which the NHS didn't pay for and which would only prolong her life for a couple of months in any case, and how she'd rather leave the money to Stacey. About the white mice treatment she'd plumped for instead.
‘White mice?’ Ant propped himself up on one elbow as I kicked away my slippers and shrugged my dressing gown off.
‘It's early days research stuff. The sort of thing Bella says they give to white mice.’ I gave him a wry smile as I got into bed. ‘She's volunteered to give it a go, since it's too late for conventional medicine. It makes her pretty sick, though.’
‘Oh.’ His eyes widened slightly at me. ‘I didn't know that.’
‘Didn't you ask what she was on?’
‘Well…’
‘What about Ted?’ I plumped my pillow, trying to hide my impatience. ‘Didn't you talk to Ted about it?’
‘I tried but he got so upset. He's very emotional, Ted,’ my husband informed me gravely, as if perhaps I didn't know. ‘Blew his nose a lot.’
I smiled. ‘I'll talk to him. He'll have to come and stay often, c
ertainly at the beginning, so that Stacey's got an ally, a friend. Bella agreed. Long weekends, that sort of thing. I thought he might even come on holiday with us.’ I turned to switch the bedside light off.
‘Right.’ I heard Ant say faintly.
We carried on talking quietly in the dark, or I did. He listened. Familiar roles. I told him about Stacey's reservations about contacting us in the first place, how it had been her mother's idea and how, initially, Stacey had resisted. How she'd said she'd like to live with her granddad, stay up north with her friends, cling to what she knew, maybe not even go to Oxford at all, or any university come to that; how, under the circumstances, it all seemed stupid and irrelevant. They'd argued. Stacey had talked of getting a job, doing a secretarial course. Bella had had to push.
‘She's scared,’ I'd said to her mother on the phone. ‘Terrified of being without you.’
‘Of course she is, but the thing is, Evie, Dad would just give in to her. He's a complete softie, he'd let her have her way, say – whatever makes you happy, luv – and that would be such a waste. And I'm running out of time here. I'm having to edge her on all the time, persuade her.’ A note of panic had crept into her voice.
‘But her reservations are understandable. We're strangers, effectively.’
‘Of course you are, and she loves her granddad very much, and doesn't want to leave him alone with his grief either, and I understand all of that, and there's an element of me that says – oh, let her be, Bella. Let her have a year off at least, she's so young after all. She could apply next year, or even the year after, but an even bigger bit of me knows she wouldn't.’
‘What, wouldn't reapply?’
‘Not without me there to push her, no. If she spent a year up here, she'd spend another. Start a job and sink without trace. She'd still be in Russell & Bromley in three years' time with her friend Jordan. She's clever, but she's not brave. Not remotely.’
‘Like Ant,’ I said suddenly.
‘Oh?’ She snagged on that bit of information like it was barbed wire.
‘Yes. I mean… well. It just sounded a bit familiar. Go on.’
‘I just need to know she's on track before I die,’ she said with an air of desperation but not a hint of martyrdom. ‘Is that so selfish of me?’
It occurred to me to wonder how anyone could think this remarkable woman selfish. ‘Not at all,’ I said slowly, ‘and you're the best judge. You know her better than anyone. Presumably you're equally certain once she starts her degree she'd enjoy that too?’
‘Oh, she'd love it, that's entirely my point. She'd never look back. She'd be away.’ I was dimly aware of history not being allowed to repeat itself, either, courtesy of a quiet determination; a very steely core.
‘OK, so now that she's met us, how does she feel? About coming?’
‘Much happier. As long as she knows you're all happy, that's her biggest angst. She keeps saying – but, Mum, why would they want me? They might say they do, but why would they really? She doesn't want to impose.’
‘She won't be imposing. Ant would love to have her. Anna would love to have her. I'd love to have her,’ I said, with a truthfulness that surprised me. ‘But she does need to be handled very carefully, I can see that. It all has to be done softly-softly.’
‘Otherwise she'll feel bamboozled, I know. I'm so worried she'll get the next train back and I won't be there to stop her.’
‘I'll stop her.’
I heard her swallow. ‘Oh, Evie…’ she managed.
‘And anyway, she won't do that,’ I rushed on, saving us both. ‘As long as everything's done sensitively, with patience—’
‘Endless patience, which is a lot to put on you, a lot of pressure. She's going to be desperately grief-stricken, she's got no idea. It really has just been the two of us all these years, and it's going to hit her like a truck.’ Her speech was coming rapidly now, as if she really were running out of time. ‘I know she hasn't properly got her head round that. It'll be awful for her, and pretty grim for you too, picking up the pieces, walking on eggshells when she's down, depressed, which she can be, occasionally, even at the best of times, let alone when—’
‘No, it won't be grim,’ I interrupted firmly. ‘It'll be fine.’
I'd heard her wobble over the last few minutes as I sensed she hadn't wobbled very publicly before. By adopting a position of strength, assuming the role of pillar, I'd allowed her to lean. I'd offered her that brief luxury, invited her to be weak for a moment. And I understood all too clearly that most of the time she was being strong for Stacey, and for Ted, holding it all together for them, greasing the way so they could glide on without her; resolutely persuading them this was the best course of action, when, in reality, she had doubts. Of course she did. Real reservations about uprooting her child at such a cataclysmic time. She knew it would be hard.
And as I informed Ant now, in bed, of the reality of what it would really be like, which Bella hadn't burdened him with either, he blinked rapidly.
‘It's not going to be easy,’ he said, and I saw a hint of misgiving flit across his eyes.
‘No, it's not. But it's not going to be impossible either. Trust me, Ant. It'll be fine.’
Which is what I'd said to Bella. Trust me. Odd, wasn't it, I thought as I turned over on my side and bunched up my pillow, endeavouring to find a cool spot on it, how I had no fear about this. No fear at all. Ask me to take an exam, or indeed put pen to paper about anything – even thank-you letters were a trial – and I'd come out in a muck sweat, but help an emotionally insecure teenager who's recently lost her mother? Integrate her into our family on a permanent basis? Cope with her grief, the fallout when Bella had gone? I'm not saying it would be a walk in the park but I'd roll up my sleeves without trepidation. And I needed a challenge. Except… my eyes widened slowly to the wall in the dark… I already had one. Shit. I sat up suddenly.
‘I've got a job,’ I announced to no one in particular, but presumably my husband beside me.
Ant sat up too. Sighed. ‘Macbeth does surely murder sleep tonight. We may as well give in gracefully. What d'you mean?’
I told him about the shop.
‘Right.’
‘D'you mind?’
‘Of course I don't mind. I'm delighted. But it's slightly come out of left field, hasn't it?’
‘Isn't that where everything's coming from at the moment?’
We sat a moment in silence. Then: ‘Did you enjoy it? I mean, the few days you've done there?’
‘I absolutely loved it.’ The passion in my response surprised even me.
‘Well, good,’ he said shortly. Although I could tell he was faintly hurt. ‘Why didn't you tell me?’
‘I was… going to surprise you.’
Not quite true. It was my insurance policy. Something to do with Bella Edgeworth. Which of course, I didn't need now. But I did love it. Loved being useful. Except now that Stacey was coming I'd be useful in my more familiar, maternal way: my supportive role. The one I still felt was instinctive, biological. I hesitated.
‘Don't even think about it,’ he said, lying down again. ‘If you love it, do it. You'll need a distraction. Something for you. Don't even think about chucking it, Evie.’
I lay down quietly impressed. Quite forceful, for Ant.
I went on through the fields following the post-and-rail fence that bordered our farm, past the cottage Maroulla and Mario had once had, now occupied by Tim's farm worker, Phil, and his girlfriend, Carly. Glancing in I saw that the sentimental print of a gypsy girl with a tear in her eye that had once hung over the fireplace and I'd thought the height of sophistication, had been replaced with a mirror. I remembered plates of pasta in front of that fire – in front of the telly too, if Maroulla was in a good mood.
Carefully skirting piles of manure I achieved the gate to the main horse arena. It had a bossy notice on it: ‘Shut firmly behind you.’ I did as I was told. Vast horseboxes and lorries, which, by virtue of their cargo, were allowed to p
rogress here whilst lesser pilgrims like me had to stop short in the yard, were parked in neat lines just proud of the collecting ring, which was cordoned off with white tape. Every so often a harassed mother in wellingtons would run past in that middle-aged, shuffle bottom way, shouting, ‘Kick on, Clarissa!’ or ‘Shorten your reins!’ as a tearful, red-faced child on a pony yelled back, ‘I'm trying!’ Lots of fat little girls on thin ponies, and lots of thin little girls on fat ponies. Apparently Norman Thelwell's house had backed on to just such a field, and he'd stood at his garden fence with his sketchpad and pencil, and smiled at his good fortune.
Despite the numbers, and the frenetic activity, almost the first person I saw was Anna. She'd tied Hector to a fence post where he was munching a hay net, and was sitting cross-legged on the grass beside him, iPod in her ears, texting away on her phone. She looked up as I approached. Her face, which a moment ago had been a blank, teenage canvas, suddenly became watchful, apprehensive. I gave her a broad smile. Then a little nod.
I watched relief flood her face. She got up with just the merest tinge of uncertainty, pulled her earplugs out and came towards me tentatively, eyes searching my face.
‘Really? Have you talked to Daddy? Have you – did you—’
‘Yes, yes and yes. What a lot of doubting Thomases I've got. Did you really think I wouldn't?’
She flew the last few steps into my arms. I gathered her to me. Her eyes were damp when she pulled back.
‘Well, you might have said no, why shouldn't you?’ she demanded, brushing her eyes roughly with her sleeve. ‘She's not yours, after all.’
‘No, but she's yours. And Daddy's. And that's good enough for me.’
We laughed and she hugged me again.
‘You and Bob Geldof,’ she said suddenly, drawing back.
‘What?’
‘Bob Geldof took on Tiger Lily after Mike Hutchence and then Paula Yates died. She wasn't his, but she was Peaches and the other sisters'.’
I blinked. ‘Right.’ I wasn't quite as au fait with the pages of OK! as my daughter these days. I had a vague idea what she was talking about, though.
The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton Page 34