Honeysuckle House

by Christina Jones

  ‘Oh, Kizzy, you’re so lucky! Andrew’s just gorgeous …’

  Surrounded by her friends, Kizzy basked in being the centre of attention. Her announcement had become the main topic of conversation in the Sixth Form common room, even eclipsing the horrors of the looming exams.

  Her happiness fizzed inside her like a fountain of rainbows. She had no doubts at all. Doubts were for other people.

  Who dared to say they were too young when she’d known for three years that she and Andrew were always going to be together?

  She answered the questions with a beam. Of course she could always go to university later but her immediate future was to be working beside Andrew in his family’s market garden and turning it into a garden centre. They had such ambitious dreams and nothing anyone said could take them away.

  Miss Jenkins, the deputy head, frowned for a moment at the gaggle of giggling Sixth Formers, then smiled. She’d heard the gossip about Kizzy Brodie and had surprised herself by being secretly pleased for the girl.

  Obeying her own parents’ wishes, putting her career first, she had lost the only man she had ever loved, and now with a solitary retirement looming, she remembered only too well being young and in love and being loved in return. She still felt occasional pangs of regret in those lonely hours of waking just before dawn.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought any of you were so enamoured with school that you should still be lingering on the premises long after the bell has gone!’ Miss Jenkins resumed her authoritarian role. ‘Do you have no homes to go to?’

  Quickly the knot disintegrated, still chattering like a flock of starlings.

  ‘Kizzy.’ Miss Jenkins raised her voice. ‘May I have a word?’

  Kizzy’s heart sank. ‘My revision timetable is up to date,’ she began, ‘and I’ve nearly finished the Chaucer essay and –’

  ‘I have no doubts that it is and you have,’ Miss Jenkins interrupted. ‘You have always been a diligent pupil. Whatever plans you may have for the future, I know you’ll make a success of them.’

  Kizzy stared in surprise. Was this The Dragon’s way of saying she agreed with her marriage plans? Who’d have thought it? If only she had Mum and Dad’s support, too …

  ‘No,’ Miss Jenkins continued, ‘I merely wanted to enquire about Jamie. He had to be sent home after registration with another of those headaches and I wondered if he had seen the doctor?’

  Kizzy thought quickly. Jamie had seemed fine at breakfast this morning, when they’d fought over who was going to do the washing-up. In the end neither of them had had time and they’d run out of the house in their usual last-minute hurry. He hadn’t mentioned a headache. Not today or any other time.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She looked down at her feet. ‘I’ll – er – find out over the weekend.’

  ‘No doubt you have other things on your mind,’ Miss Jenkins said drily. ‘But Jamie is coming up to his GCSEs and he really can’t afford to keep missing school. Perhaps I should speak to your parents about it?’

  ‘No.’ Kizzy answered quickly. She didn’t know what exactly was going on at home, but she realised worrying over Jamie was something her parents couldn’t want just now. ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll do it. I’m sure he’ll be better by Monday.’

  ‘Good,’ Miss Jenkins nodded. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you …’

  Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Kizzy wandered towards Sea Road. In five days Andrew would be home from Edinburgh and then they could make all the preparations. She’d ask Mum to come with her to Dawley to choose her wedding dress and Dad could sort out the Nook for the reception.

  Andrew’s parents had already started to clear out the chalet in the grounds of the market garden. Maybe she could ask Steven Casey to keep his eye open for some bits and pieces of furniture …

  ‘Yes … over there, dear.’ The voice of her mother’s friend. Norma Beatty, floated over the hedge as Kizzy passed. ‘No, not there! Honestly, Paul, you may be an excellent bank manager but as a gardener you’re hopeless! You can’t tell a weed from a willow! Give me Rosie any day.’

  ‘Ah, Rosie.’ Kizzy heard Paul Beatty sigh and involuntarily slowed her step. ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘She called in yesterday, poor love. Leon’s got some hare-brained scheme to sell the Nook and move to Dawley. I told her to let it ride its course. Look, put those cuttings over there …’

  ‘Leon’s wonderful company and an amazing chef but I sometimes feel that he’s never really grown up. I think if it wasn’t for Rosie’s practical streak they’d have gone under years ago …’

  ‘Don’t gossip, dear.’ Paul straightened up with a groan. ‘Oh, give me a dozen overdrafts to deal with rather than this gardening lark! Rosie’s coming to see me on Monday. I wonder if it has anything to do with selling up?’

  ‘Now who’s gossiping?’ Norma teased. ‘But she told me Leon had been dealing with Brennan and Foulkes …’

  ‘Then it’s serious!’ Paul whistled. ‘Brennan and Foulkes don’t take prisoners! I should have to advise very strongly about getting into their clutches. Dear, dear – I simply can’t imagine Highcliffe without Rosie and Leon and the children …’

  Kizzy stood like a statue. This couldn’t be true! They couldn’t be selling up and moving away without telling her! The bubbling happiness of only moments before evaporated into a cold blackness inside. She had to get home and find out the truth.

  ‘You can’t keep running away from it, that’s for sure.’ Steven Casey raised his head from the boot of his ancient car and looked at Leon. ‘I think you’ve reached the point where choices have to be made, decisions taken. Here – make yourself useful. Take this lot inside for me.’

  Leon took the armful of dusty books and chipped and dirty china.

  ‘Just dump it anywhere out of sight.’

  Steven closed the boot. ‘I’ll price it later. I’d offer you the job but it’s nearly time for the evening session at the Nook, so no doubt you’ll be donning your whites and creating some culinary masterpieces while I’m defrosting a pizza …’

  ‘Not tonight,’ Leon deposited the bric-a-brac in a discreet corner. ‘William can run the restaurant tonight. I’m seeing Felicity … ‘

  Steven shook his head as they made their way upstairs to the flat. ‘Well, I suppose now Rosie knows who she is …’

  ‘She doesn’t,’ Leon dropped on to the sofa beside the cats. ‘But I’m sure she soon will. Oh, what a mess! If only Rosie had agreed to sell up we could have gone to the bank and I’d never have met Felicity …’

  ‘So it’s all Rosie’s fault, is it?’ Steven frowned. ‘For goodness’ sake, Leon! Look, I’m neither condoning nor condemning what’s going on, but it’s of your making. You can hardly blame Rosie … Now where are you going?’

  Leon had jerked to his feet. ‘Home. I’ll have to tell William I want him to work tonight, then try to talk to Rosie …’

  ‘Tell her you’re giving up Felicity and the whole crazy idea of the Four Seasons?’ Steven fondled the cats. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. I can’t. I can’t give up Felicity – and I won’t give up on turning the Old Granary into the Four Seasons.’

  ‘So instead you’ll go on hurting Rosie and the kids.’

  ‘Don’t.’ Leon shook his head. ‘I thought you were my friend …’

  ‘I am.’ Steven’s voice was weary. ‘But I’m Rosie’s friend, too. Look, Leon, I do understand how you feel about Felicity. These things happen. But don’t you think you really ought to move out, even if it’s just temporarily? Give Rosie some space – and you, too …’

  As soon as he’d uttered the words, Steven wished he could retract them. What demon had snatched at his tongue?

  ‘I don’t mean move in with Felicity or anything,’ he added quickly. ‘There’s always my sofa.’

  Leon clutched at the offer like a drowning man. ‘You’re a pal. I’ll talk it over with Rosie. Now.’

  That was the answer, Leon t
hought, driving his car along Steven’s shingle road. If he moved out of Honeysuckle House it wouldn’t be like finally leaving Rosie. His whole being jibbed at the thought of that. But it would make things so much easier. He could come to a decision without prejudice.

  The High Street was busy with early evening traffic, and Leon filtered into it carefully. He felt happier now. Rosie would understand, and agree, he was sure. After all, their arguments were getting them nowhere.

  And tonight he’d tell Felicity. He smiled. The thought of Felicity made him feel like a teenager again. He’d forgotten what a heady business love was …

  ‘Mum’s having a bath and Dad’s not home yet,’ Jamie announced from the depths of the sofa as Kizzy glowered in the doorway. ‘What’s so important, anyway?’ He pulled a face. ‘Has Andrew cancelled the wedding? I knew he’d see sense!’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with the wedding! My wedding is the only normal thing that’s happening to this family.’

  ‘Normal? Huh!’ Jamie sniggered. ‘It’ll be like something out of “The Munsters”.’

  ‘Brat!’ Kizzy hissed. ‘And if you knew what I know, you wouldn’t be laughing. How much longer is Mum going to be?’

  ‘Hours, I expect.’ Jamie turned back to the television. ‘You know what women are like. All that fussing over their hair and make-up and trying to make themselves beautiful when it’s all a waste of time.’ He grinned cheekily at his sister.

  Kizzy slid down on to the sofa and pinched her brother hard. ‘Listen, clever-clogs, I want you to clear out of the way when Dad comes home, OK? There are things I’ve got to talk to them about. In private.’

  ‘I’m watching telly.’

  ‘Well, you can watch it in your room!’ Kizzy snatched at a cushion and hit him hard.

  ‘Ow! Watch my head.’

  ‘That reminds me.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘How’s your headache?’

  Jamie wrinkled his nose. ‘What headache?’

  ‘Precisely. The Dragon was really worried. Said you’d had to go home again. She said she was going to talk to Mum and Dad …’

  ‘She didn’t?’ Jamie’s face was ashen. ‘She hasn’t, has she?’

  ‘Not yet, but I’m sure she will.’ Kizzy gazed at him appraisingly. ‘So what have you been up to? Cutting school, that much is obvious. But why?’

  ‘None of your business.’ Jamie still looked frightened. ‘Anyway, why should you care? You’ve got your precious Andrew and your soppy wedding. William’s got the Nook. Mum and Dad don’t listen to anything … What do any of you care?’ He jumped to his feet.

  ‘Jamie –’ Jamie was on the verge of tears, and despite their spats, Kizzy loved her brother dearly. ‘What is it? What have you been up to? Can I help?’

  ‘No!’ Jamie swallowed, his lips trembling treacherously. ‘No one can help! I’ll be in school on Monday and if you mention any of this to Mum and Dad, I’ll kill you!’

  ‘Jamie, wait!’ Kizzy raced from the sitting room in pursuit of her brother, but he’d thundered up the stairs and into his bedroom.

  Leon unlocked the front door just as Kizzy reached the hall. ‘Hold on, where’s the fire?’

  ‘What? Oh, that was Jamie. We – er, we were having an argument. Dad, we’ve got to talk.’

  Leon was shaking his head and laughing. ‘You and Jamie, still fighting – you’ll never grow up! Where’s your mother?’

  ‘In the bath. Dad, tell me it’s not true!’

  Leon had wanted to talk to Rosie alone, but there was no gainsaying Kizzy’s baleful glare. He looked at his pretty, flame-haired daughter.

  ‘Tell you what’s not true?’

  ‘That you’re selling the Nook and the house and moving to Dawley. It’s not true, Dad, is it?’

  Leon suddenly felt icy cold. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to take Kizzy’s hands in his.

  ‘Say something!’ she implored him. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘Yes, why don’t you do just that …’ Neither had noticed Rosie emerging from the bathroom. She reached the foot of the stairs, her dressing-gown cord trailing behind her, her hair wrapped in a towel. ‘Don’t you think Kizzy is owed an explanation, Leon?’

  ‘Then it is true!’ Kizzy’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at both her parents. ‘You were going to do it without even telling me – or William or Jamie! You can’t! You just can’t!’

  ‘Come through to the sitting room.’ Leon still held her hand. ‘We’ll talk in there.’ He looked at Rosie. ‘Won’t we, darling?’

  ‘Don’t, Leon,’ Rosie’s voice was no more than a whisper. ‘Not that.’ She turned to Kizzy and smiled shakily. ‘Dad’s right – and so are you. We do need to talk.’

  Leon and Kizzy sat on the sofa while Rosie perched on the chair opposite them.

  ‘So, what have you heard? And more to the point, who from?’ Leon asked.

  Ashamed to admit that she’d been eavesdropping, and terrified by her parents’ lack of denial, Kizzy twisted tendrils of hair tightly round her fingers.

  ‘It doesn’t matter where I heard it, does it? What matters is that other people know what’s going on in this family before I do. Why are you selling?’

  ‘We’re not,’ Rosie leaned forward, casting a quick glance at Leon, willing him to support her. ‘It’s not as straightforward as that. There may be changes in the future, but nothing’s decided yet. Kizzy, love, we’d never make any major changes without telling you – any of you.’

  ‘But there is something going on, isn’t there?’ Kizzy was still frightened and angry. ‘Are we bankrupt or something?’

  ‘Nothing like that, but as your mother says, there may be some changes in the future.’ Leon squeezed his daughter’s hand. ‘And yes, they may – just may – involve selling up the Nook and maybe moving out of this house to an even nicer one at Dawley. But I promise you that when we decide what we’re doing, we’ll involve you all in the discussions. All you need to do is concentrate on your exams, Kizzy, and not listen to gossip.’

  ‘Why not?’ Kizzy jerked her hand from her father’s grasp and jumped to her feet. ‘I don’t believe you! Jamie’s right – you don’t care about anything anymore! Well, I won’t be moving out of Highcliffe! When Andrew and I are married, we’re going to live in the chalet and I don’t care if you decide to move to the moon!’

  ‘Kizzy, don’t.’ Rosie’s own heart ached at her daughter’s anguish. ‘And we really must wait until Andrew comes home before we say any more about this wedding. I thought I’d made it clear that we both’ – again she shot a look at Leon – ‘want you to consider waiting.’

  ‘Never!’ Kizzy’s face flamed almost as red as her tumbling curls. ‘You can’t stop me! I’m eighteen, and as soon as I’ve taken my A-levels I’m going to marry Andrew whether you like it or not! Why should I wait when you’re planning to move away? I’m not going to let you ruin my one chance of being happy. I’m not going to let you ruin my life even if you want to ruin your own!’

  She ran from the room, across the tiled hall, and up the stairs, and a door banged distantly.

  Rosie had jumped to her feet, half angry at Kizzy’s rudeness, half understanding the pain behind it.

  ‘Let her go,’ Leon said quietly. ‘She’s had her say, and she’s very on edge with her exams coming up and her head filled with this wedding nonsense.’

  Rosie sank back into her chair. ‘Maybe, but now she’ll go barging into Jamie and give him some garbled version, which will have been further embellished by the time it reaches William. Leon, we’re going to have to be honest with them soon.’

  She swallowed the irritating, constant lump in her throat. ‘Honest, Leon. Do you remember honesty?’

  ‘I remember a lot of things,’ he said quietly. ‘Including times when we knew exactly what to say to each other, as well as our children.’

  Trembling, Rosie interrupted him. ‘I suppose the amazing Felicity Phelps would have handled it with kid gloves.’

  Leon�
�s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘How – who told you?’

  ‘She did.’ Rosie was again aware of the strange calm acceptance washing through her body. ‘This afternoon. When I visited Brennan and Foulkes.’

  ‘You did what?’ Leon had jumped to his feet. ‘What on earth possessed you to go there? What did you say to her?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask her.’ Rosie also stood up. ‘And meeting the gorgeous Miss Phelps was not intentional, I assure you. I had no idea who she was until I got there.’ She sighed. ‘But our very enlightening conversation has led me to one conclusion, Leon. This situation has to be resolved. And now. You can see what it’s doing to Kizzy – you’re not being fair to the children.’

  Leon’s silence spoke volumes and Rosie stared at him. With his hair flopping forward across his forehead, his eyes still seemingly kind and caring, he could easily have been the crazy young catering student she had fallen in love with. She wanted to cry.

  Leon moved his hands towards her then dropped them with a futile shrug. She was his wife and yet he could offer her no comfort. Rosie didn’t want his guilty caresses. She wanted all his love. And that was impossible now.

  ‘Where are you going?’ He watched as she tugged the towel from her hair. ‘Rosie, stay and talk. There are things I need to say.’

  ‘They’ll have to wait a little longer,’ Rosie rubbed at her hair. ‘I need some fresh air to clear my head. I need some space.’

  ‘So do I,’ Leon muttered to himself in the desolate twilight silence. ‘So do I …’

  The air of suspended reality took control again as Rosie walked slowly away from the early evening bustle of the High Street. It was the sort of inner strength she’d discovered after the death of her parents in a car crash when she was just nineteen.

  Leon loved Felicity Phelps; Felicity Phelps loved Leon equally.

  That left Rosie with three children and Honeysuckle House; along with a share of the income from Cookery Nook, and no skills to offer the outside world save those of housewife, mother, and gardener.

  ‘Face it,’ she spoke aloud. ‘Before long you’re going to have to take responsibility for bringing money into the home, and who on earth is going to employ you? So, Rosie Brodie, just what are you going to do?’