The Homecoming

by Rosie Howard

  ‘Which he is,’ said Maddy, looking behind her and spotting him, along with Dennis, his obsequious and permanently present lapdog.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Helen, frustrated. ‘You know he’s going to bid up the amount,’ she said to Patrick. ‘It’s worth more than three hundred grand as a building plot. You need to …’ she stopped, shaking her head with irritation.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Maddy, looking from one of them to the other.

  Patrick looked mutinous and said nothing.

  ‘Patrick won’t let me join the community funding syndicate.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Maddy.

  ‘That’s hardly what your mother is referring to,’ said Patrick tetchily. ‘I wouldn’t mind if she was proposing chucking in a grand in return for voting rights, but that’s not what she’s talking about at all.’

  ‘Mum?’

  Helen looked away and tutted. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I have simply proposed that – if Patrick and I are seriously going to give our relationship a chance – I would dearly like to invest some money in the Havenbury Arms. I’d sell the house and put perhaps a hundred thousand pounds into it. But this man won’t contemplate having a useful extra hundred thousand to add to a potential bid – purely’ – here she shot him a furious look – ‘because it’s me doing it.’

  ‘I will not be a kept man,’ he muttered, crossing his arms and his legs with finality.

  ‘And that,’ she said, ‘is that. Apparently. So we had better hope the three hundred and twenty whatever-it-is thousand is enough, hadn’t we?’

  She turned away from Patrick and, like him, crossed her arms.

  Just as Maddy was wondering what on earth to do or say, the auctioneer bounded onto the stage and picked up the gavel.

  It turned out the young couple were after a renovation project. They bid bravely on a near-derelict three-bedroom cottage against a couple of hardbitten builders and were tearfully triumphant. Maddy silently wished them luck and hoped they hadn’t spent their entire budget on buying the property in the first place.

  Other lots, a flat above a chip shop, a row of garages and several shabby ex-council houses went swiftly under the hammer and then – before any time seemed to have elapsed at all – the Havenbury Arms was next up.

  Dennis, Maddy noticed, sat forward in his seat, licking his lips, as the auctioneer whizzed quickly through the details. He started the bidding at one hundred thousand pounds and Patrick jumped in strongly with the first bid. After that, others seemed reluctant to come forward and Maddy wondered – for a mad moment – whether it would go for that. Then the property developer raised his paddle and they were off. The bidding rose quickly to two hundred and seventy thousand pounds, rising in tens of thousands of pounds. At three hundred thousand, Patrick’s bidding became more hesitant and the auctioneer, responding, reduced the increments to five thousand. Maddy watched, on the edge of her seat as the price rose – three hundred and ten thousand, three hundred and fifteen thousand, three hundred and twenty … She looked at Patrick in despair. He, in turn, was staring desperately at the auctioneer. Behind him the property developer’s paddle was whisking up again and again, showing no sign of stopping. Just as Patrick, anguished, steeled himself to raise his paddle for what must be his final bid, the auctioneer’s eye was caught.

  ‘And we have a new bidder at the back of the room,’ he announced. ‘Do I hear three hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds?’

  There was a shuffling sound as everyone, including Maddy, turned to see the new bidder. Maddy twisted around just in time to see Jonno confirm the bid with a sharp nod. Ben sat, impassive, at his side. He didn’t look at Maddy or Patrick.

  She then watched, horrified, as Jonno and the property developer went head-to-head. The bidding raced to four hundred thousand … five hundred thousand … Maddy couldn’t even bring herself to look at Patrick and Helen as the final death knell of the bidding resolved, with the lot being eventually knocked down at five hundred and ninety-seven thousand pounds.

  To Jonno.

  Jonno and Ben, without looking at Patrick, immediately got up and went to seal the deal with the paperwork. Dennis’s face was contorted, Maddy noticed, as he simultaneously commiserated with the property developer – who was looking very cross indeed – and failing to wipe the smug, triumphant look off his face at the size of the final figure. He would probably get a fat bonus from Top Taverns for this. Didn’t Ben once say that the pub companies were just masquerading at pulling pints, being far more interested in playing the property market? Suddenly, the memory of her first meeting with him flooded back into her mind. He had been there, with Dennis, playing the part of someone who was interested in buying the pub. Or so he had told her.

  Maddy’s stomach churned and fierce tears at the betrayal sprang to her eyes.

  She faced front again. The auctioneer was well away with the next lot so they couldn’t even get up and leave. Patrick was rigid beside her, facing front, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Helen, on the other side of him, was bright pink, choking back tears.

  At last the next lot was knocked down and the three of them rose to leave. Thankfully Dennis had already gone but Ben was still outside, waiting.

  ‘How could you?’ said Maddy, furious that he was seeing her tears, which she dashed away angrily.

  ‘Maddy, I—’

  ‘It’s been that all along, hasn’t it?’ she asked. ‘You and your mate Jonno.’

  ‘No, listen … I’m sorry.’

  ‘All’s fair in love, war and business, I suppose,’ she observed bitterly. ‘Was the whole pretending to be interested in stopping Kevin thing just part of the plan? I suppose you were wanting to see whether the business could be profitable – sizing up whether it was worth Jonno buying it … I might have guessed …’

  ‘Maddy,’ said Ben firmly, grasping her upper arms, ‘you need to let me explain. We can talk on the way to the hospital.’

  For a moment Maddy wavered, then Helen’s voice pierced her concentration.

  ‘It’s not, you stupid man,’ she was shouting. ‘You just think it is, because you’re a stubborn, proud, reactionary old dinosaur. You always have been, and you always bloody will be. I don’t know why I bother …’

  Patrick replied, too low for Maddy and Ben to hear and then Helen’s voice rang out again.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, making a flinging motion with her arm. ‘The feeling is mutual.’

  ‘I have to go,’ said Maddy, pulling away from Ben and turning her back. ‘I have to help the people I can still trust.’ Her voice wobbled on the final words and she stalked away.

  ‘Go for it,’ Helen was saying. ‘Knock yourself out. Throw away everything that ever mattered.’

  ‘I’m not throwing anything away,’ said Patrick, beating his head in frustration. ‘The pub has been taken away. I have nothing to offer. Nothing to give you. I am not prepared to drag you into my problems, woman. Just go.’

  He stared at Helen fiercely. Helen stared back in exasperation and then she seemed to sag.

  ‘Get me out of here,’ she said to Maddy. ‘Please.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Not knowing what else to do, Maddy brought Helen back to Home Farm. She took her into the Grainstore and made her a cup of tea. Her mother was swinging wildly between fury and tears and Maddy sat, patiently, doling out tissues, wondering how Serena and Giles were getting on and who was looking after Harry. Presumably Flora was there with him. She should go and check. She imagined briefly how Ben must be at the hospital by now, holding Serena, offering comfort, doubtless bringing them up to date on his and Jonno’s triumph in taking the Havenbury Arms away from poor Patrick, thereby ruining his life and Helen’s. Thinking about it was too awful even for tears. She envied her mother’s ability to cry.

  ‘Even if he had accepted your money,’ Maddy offered at one point, ‘it still wouldn’t have been enough. Jonno’s paying nearly six hundred thousand for it, isn’t he? You could never have r
aised that.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean we couldn’t still be together,’ countered Helen. ‘We had options, even without the pub, but – of course – he refuses to be with me if he can’t support me. I mean how ridiculous is that in this day and age?’

  The conversation continued in a circular vein, with Helen apologising, quite unnecessarily, on Patrick’s behalf for being a deadbeat father and useless partner. ‘Thank goodness I haven’t wasted the last twenty-five years on him,’ was her constant defiant refrain, closely followed by heartbroken bouts of crying.

  After the third cup of tea, a near whole box of tissues and much repetition, Maddy excused herself to go and check on Harry. She discovered him and Flora holed up in the little television room, side by side in a nest of cushions and throws on the sofa with crisp packets scattered all around. They were binge-watching a box set of Breaking Bad, which Harry was hugely enjoying, mainly because he knew his mum would be horrified at all the swearing and violence.

  Having established that Flora would, eventually, feed him something slightly more nutritious for supper, Maddy returned to the Grainstore to discover her mother curled up, exhausted and asleep on the sofa. She covered Helen with a throw and chucked another log into the stove as quietly as she could. Then, deciding not to bother with food, although she’d eaten nothing all day, she went back to the farmhouse and occupied herself with plans for the London trade show, which she was clearly going to have to manage without Serena or Flora.

  Back in Serena’s kitchen, checking stock and ticking off the list was therapeutically absorbing. She was worried about the new challenge of getting everything into her car and sent a prayer of thanks for her foresight in having got the display boards produced in one-metre sections, which would stick together with Velcro. She and Serena had chosen just three photos from Keith’s portfolio and had them blown up huge. The impact should be brilliant.

  They had planned to bring some straw bales to display the samples and brochures on but that really wasn’t going to be feasible with just Maddy’s little car. She made herself a cup of tea on the Aga and leant against it thoughtfully. Hiring furniture from the exhibition organisers was a possibility, but the choice on the exhibitor website was pretty dire and even a couple of small tables or plinths were astonishingly expensive. She tapped her teeth. The cardboard boxes she was transporting the stock in weren’t a bad size and shape, as long as they were strong enough. She took a few, emptied them and experimented. Even empty, once they were taped shut they sat on top of each other pretty well. Grabbing a couple of the beautiful woven, vegetable-dyed woollen blankets, she draped and folded them to cover the boxes and stood back appraisingly. Not bad.

  ‘Harry?’ she called.

  She heard a faint reply and footsteps. ‘Yes,’ said Harry, coming into the kitchen and brushing his hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Darling, does Mummy have a sewing box at all? I need some pins …’

  ‘She’s not really a sewing sort of mummy,’ Harry admitted. ‘She does do my Cubs badges. She’s not very good. I think her stuff’s in the study.’

  Maddy smiled. ‘You need to do your sewing badge,’ she suggested. ‘Then you can do your own.’

  By dint of rummaging, she and Harry found a small stash of sewing materials in a desk drawer.

  ‘Eureka!’ said Maddy, spotting a clear plastic box of safety pins.

  After a bit more experimenting in the kitchen, folding and safety-pinning the blankets so they draped neatly and securely, she was happy enough.

  Rather than wait until the last minute, she got the car loaded, with Harry’s help, right down to the exhibitor pack, the brochures, Blu-tack, scissors, Sellotape, a book for visitors to give their contact details and a box for business cards. By the time they had got everything in and ticked it all off her list it was evening. With Flora having left to go back to Jez at last, it was clearly down to Maddy to sort out some supper for Harry and her mother.

  Deciding that sending a text to Serena would be less intrusive than calling, she reassured her that all was well with Harry and the organisation for the exhibition and that she need do nothing other than worry about Josh. She signed off with her love. She didn’t mention Ben and hoped Serena wouldn’t think it strange. Presumably Ben would have now told her that, thanks to him and his friend, everything was over for Patrick and – consequently – for Helen. She wondered whether Jonno intended to close the pub to kill the competition or perhaps keep running it. Maybe Ben was getting a kickback for his role. Chances are the knocking down and replacing with houses option was the most profitable, so she assumed that was what the two men were intending. Either way, she was pretty certain there was no role for Patrick in Jonno’s plans.

  Maddy had a rummage in Serena and Giles’s larder. Luckily Serena ran a pretty organised household and she had no trouble rustling up pasta with a tomato and olive sauce, along with a big salad and some garlic bread. Harry had huge amounts of grated cheddar cheese on his and ate masses. Even Helen, who Maddy had fetched from the Grainstore, was persuaded to eat and to polish off a large glass of red wine. She was calmer now, still tear-stained but far too stoic to cry in front of Harry. Instead, she chatted to him engagingly, telling him stories about the naughty things Maddy got up to at his age, many of them exaggerated, if not totally made up, much to Maddy’s pretend outrage.

  She gave her mum a smile and poured her another glass of wine.

  ‘Let me get this one to bed,’ she said. ‘And then we can relax.’

  Harry seemed to be bearing up pretty well. He was happy to choose a book to read to himself and to submit to lights out after fifteen minutes. The only wobble came when – again – he was checking he wouldn’t be alone.

  ‘Will you sleep there again?’ he said, pointing at Josh’s bed.

  ‘Would you like me to?’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘Then I will,’ said Maddy. ‘Actually I might go and put my pyjamas on before I go to bed tonight.’

  Downstairs, her mother had other plans.

  ‘I can sleep in Harry’s room, darling. You’ve got to get some proper rest tonight, if you’re going to get up at the crack of dawn to get to London. I’ll need to look after Harry tomorrow, anyhow. I may as well be in the farmhouse with him when he wakes up.’

  Maddy hadn’t thought of that. ‘It would be brilliant if you would, Mum,’ she said. ‘But …’ she hesitated. ‘What about Patrick?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Really?’ said Maddy. ‘Don’t you think you ought to go back? To the pub? You need to talk …’

  Helen sighed. ‘I’m not sure we do. It’s just impossible, darling. It was impossible twenty-five years ago and it’s impossible now.’

  She looked at Maddy and saw the bleak look in her daughter’s eyes.

  ‘This doesn’t stop you having a relationship with him,’ she said. ‘He’s your father, God help you. Now you know …’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  Helen thought. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘Always have. Probably always will. But look at us, for goodness’ sake. Before he pushed me away, supposedly for my own good, and now he swears he’s doing the same thing again. There’s no talking to him.’ She took a mouthful of wine and swilled it around thoughtfully before swallowing.

  ‘I’m going home,’ she said, ‘back to something solid. Something safe. So I know where I stand.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ implored Maddy. ‘Stay. Talk to him. You’ve got to try.’

  ‘No point.’

  ‘You’re both as bad as each other,’ snapped Maddy, frustrated. ‘Look,’ she went on, ‘stay at the Grainstore. Just for a few days. I’m in London tomorrow. After that …’

  ‘What?’ pressed her mother. ‘What about you and Ben?’

  ‘There is no “me and Ben”,’ protested Maddy. ‘There never was,’ she said. ‘And there definitely isn’t now.’

  ‘Will you stay?’

  ‘No,’ said Maddy. ‘Why would I?’
/>   Maddy found her mother some pyjamas and a spare toothbrush and then went back to the Grainstore alone.

  The first nightmare woke her at three in the morning. This one was about the pub; the shrieking laughter, the distorted faces and the panicky desire to get out and be alone. Staring out at the moonlit countryside she quelled her fear and waited for her heart rate to slow. Drifting off again the next nightmare woke her immediately. This was the old one about the dark, the fear and the pain.

  It took hours and all his diplomatic skills for Ben to persuade Patrick to sit down with Jonno and talk. By the time he felt he could safely leave them it was late and he still had to get up to London to sit with Serena and Giles at Josh’s bedside. Before he went, though, there was one more conversation he needed to have. Turning off the main road into the narrow track that lead to Home Farm he crossed his fingers that Maddy would have gone to bed and that he could get Helen on her own.

  Helen was making herself a cup of tea after making sure Harry was still sound asleep.

  ‘You’re the last person I want to see,’ she said, when Ben came in.

  ‘I understand that,’ said Ben. ‘Although I should have thought Patrick would be the very last person, surely?’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me,’ she snapped, glancing at the ceiling and consciously lowering her voice to a furious hiss. ‘You’ve betrayed my family, destroyed my relationship and God knows what you think you’re doing to my daughter. Doubtless there’s some Machiavellian plan to damage her too, you turncoat … over my dead body, by the way.’

  ‘What?’ said Ben, his diplomacy deserting him at last. ‘Me Machiavellian? That’s pretty rich coming from the woman who casually had an affair with a married man, whilst maintaining a relationship with someone else, with no thought of the consequences to his family.’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. Patrick’s not married and he never has been. I’m not surprised, mind you. I can’t imagine anyone who’d be stupid enough to marry him.’