by Rosie Thomas
When Jessie arrived, her muddy boot prints tracking Amos into the cottage, Katherine led her into the kitchen and Jessie sat down, looking at her with frank curiosity. Amos had told her that his wife had left home, so it was obviously intriguing to find the same wife ensconced here. Katherine gave her tea and Christmas cake.
‘I am so sorry about your dog.’
The girl looked straight back at her. Whatever Amos’s intentions might be, it was evident on Jessie’s part that she wasn’t going to be one of his acquisitions.
‘Thanks,’ Jessie said. Her expression indicated that the quaint marital arrangements of old people were a legitimate focus for speculation, but her own losses were private.
Katherine was amused. She could see why Amos was interested. She chatted to the girl about Meddlett and her job at the Griffin, and Jessie made a noticeable effort to respond with questions of her own, recognizing that a polite conversational code was being observed.
‘Do you like it in Meddlett? I mean, it must be a real pain, not being able to get your house built, with the princess being dug up and all that?’
Amos had opted for whisky rather than tea. He broke in now.
‘Katherine’s ambivalent. She likes Meddlett all right, but she’s decided she doesn’t want to have the new house built, or to live in this one with me. So it’s a bit of a conundrum.’
‘Yeah?’ was all Jessie said. She gave Amos the briefest glance and it was Katherine’s impression that her husband subsided.
She continued to Katherine, ‘What kind of dinner is this going to be? It’s very kind of you to ask me, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not sure what I’m doing here, really.’ Then she grinned. ‘Curiosity, I expect you’re thinking.’
Katherine smiled back at her. Self-reliant Jessie made a sort of counterpoint to Nic, not that Nic wasn’t strong in her own way, and the Davies girls were like the other two corners of a square. It was going to be an interesting evening.
‘You’re very welcome. Ours might seem an odd set-up, but people, families, make allowances at Christmas, don’t they?’
Jessie raised her eyebrows a fraction, suggesting that her own standards were more exacting.
‘There’ll be nobody you won’t recognize. We were all in the Griffin on Christmas Eve. There’s my two sons…’
‘Our two sons,’ Amos corrected.
‘…Polly and Selwyn’s three children with Ben’s ex-girlfriend Nicola, who is pregnant, and of course Miranda, and Colin, and Miranda’s mother.’
‘Quite a big party. Will I be OK like this?’ Jessie hitched a couple of layers of clothing over her shoulders.
Katherine considered. In fact Jessie looked rather as if she’d dug the dog’s grave without a spade. ‘You are welcome to have a bath, if you’d like to,’ she said tactfully.
Jessie put back her head and laughed heartily. Amos gave Katherine a surprised, admiring look.
‘Barbara.’
Selwyn’s voice was urgent and Miranda thought he must have been lying in ambush, poised like a statue amongst the coats in the passage. This comical image started up a snort of laughter, but his hand covered her mouth. His other arm circled her waist and dragged her into the folds of gardening clothes. In the darkness a row of Wellington boots toppled over like dominoes. It was in this corridor, in exactly this spot, that he had kissed her on the night they all arrived at Mead. Miranda wriggled and tried to break free. The house was full of lights and music and people, just as she wished it to be. Someone might come crashing through here at any minute.
She twisted her head, murmuring, ‘Let me go.’
‘Kiss me.’
‘Sel, stop it.’ But she did kiss him. Her hands cupped his face, drawing him closer even as she struggled to get away from him – one kiss representing all the contradictions of their love affair. She felt the fast pulse that beat beneath his jawbone.
‘Barb, I want you to know. Tomorrow I’m going to tell Polly that I’m leaving her. I’m going to do it while the children are all here, no misunderstandings, no contradictions.’
She stepped back. A coat fell off a peg and flopped over her feet.
‘Don’t do that.’
Her voice was sharp and much too loud.
‘Shhh. You won’t make me change my mind. I can’t live like this, with you and without you.’
‘Don’t be so selfish.’
‘Call it whatever you like.’ She could see the breadth of his smile, reckless, certain.
‘If you leave her you are on your own. Don’t think you can count on me.’
It was his turn to laugh.
‘But I have always counted on you, Barbara Huggett.’
Nic washed and set Joyce’s hair. She teased out the thin white curls, covering up the naked pink scalp as best she could.
‘Where’s my daughter?’ Joyce wanted to know.
Nic explained again that Miranda was downstairs with Colin finishing off the last preparations for the party. Conversations with Joyce could be quite soothing if you ruled out the expectation that they might lead anywhere or cover any new ground.
‘What’s your name, again? I keep forgetting it.’
‘Nic. Short for Nicola.’
‘I’d have guessed that bit. No more frizzing out, please. You’ll have me looking like a golliwog.’
‘I’ll do your make-up, then. There’s this nice coral lipstick. It’ll suit you.’
When they were both ready they surveyed themselves in the wardrobe mirror. Nic turned sideways and examined her distended silhouette.
‘Look at me. I’m so fat. I used to look, you know, quite all right, and now I’m gross.’
Joyce shifted her upper set of teeth with the side of her tongue in the probing gesture she always made when she was about to deliver a rebuke.
‘I never heard such rubbish. I only wish I was your age, back before Barbara was born. If I had my time again, I can tell you. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, my girl.’
‘Can you remember it? Being young, I mean. I don’t mean to be rude,’ she added hastily, not wanting to suggest that it was a long time ago or that Joyce was in any way forgetful.
Joyce’s face unexpectedly softened and brightened. ‘Oh yes, I do remember,’ she insisted. ‘We had some lovely times. I was a machinist, we used to make all our own clothes. Full skirts, yards of material if you could get hold of it, proper corsetry underneath, not like women nowadays who seem always to be sagging in trousers and no support at all. We’d go dancing on a Saturday night, and you’d be as happy as a queen if you got a man who was a good dancer.’
‘That sounds wonderful.’
Nic tucked Joyce’s arm under hers and they descended the stairs. The old oak boards creaked underfoot, and the Christmas tree shimmered in the dimness. There was restrained jazz playing in the drawing room, obviously chosen by Colin. A sharp blast of cold air indicated that the back door was standing open, then Miranda hurried out from the recess behind the stairs just as Omie appeared from the other direction. Omie was wearing very high strappy heels and a tiny skirt.
‘Look at you,’ Miranda called.
‘She’ll catch her death,’ Joyce observed.
They gathered in the drawing room. Everyone was dressed up, Polly noted. She had ironed a shirt for Selwyn, and pulled her own best blue dress out of the storage box where it had languished for months. Selwyn had headed across from the barn before she was ready, muttering about helping Colin with the drink, but he was nowhere to be seen when she arrived in the twins’ wake. There was plenty of laughter rising above the music, and more congratulations for the runners, but she also sensed a prickle of unease in the air. Miranda herself spun at the centre of the room, laughing and welcoming them all as though she could hold them to her ideal of Mead by the force of willpower alone.
But the wilting fir boughs were a reminder that the Christmas interlude was almost over. Tomorrow people would start spinning off on their separate trajectories. Except
for Joyce, they were all talking faster and louder, as if they knew they were being swept along on a tumbling current. Polly became increasingly aware of pressure, a sensation as difficult to ignore as an imbalance in the inner ear, except that she couldn’t swallow or yawn it away. She took a glass of champagne and drank it quickly, telling herself to lighten up. It was the year’s end, that was all, a time that demanded both summings up and looking ahead.
Apart from Selwyn, Amos and Katherine were the last to appear, shepherding Jessie with them. The girl’s eyes travelled over the room, taking in the folds of velvet and heavy gilded picture frames. She was welcomed by everyone, particularly warmly by Sam and Toby. She had taken off one or two of the outer layers of garments, and the upper tendrils of her tattoo were enticingly visible. Colin gave her a quick nod of welcome and reassurance.
‘Hi, I’m Ben,’ Ben called, bounding up to her like a huge dog looking for a pat on the head.
‘Hi.’ Jessie’s lips didn’t move.
Omie and Alph moved to her side. Polly was pleased to see their natural friendliness. They were brimming with sympathy for Jessie.
‘Are you all right? We didn’t know what to do. It was so awful, you poor thing.’
‘That driver ought to go to prison. Will you be able to find out who it was?’
Colin was threading between the groups, a bottle of champagne in hand. Polly slid past Jessie and the twins to reach Miranda’s side. Miranda’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were very bright.
‘You look lovely, Poll.’
‘So do you.’
They were both watching the door as Selwyn came in.
Omie was still talking to Jessie, but she caught her father’s hand as he passed.
‘Hey, my dad,’ she said fondly, and kissed his cheek.
‘It’s Raff’s company I miss,’ Jessie was saying. ‘Dogs are mostly nicer than people, aren’t they?’
Joyce had been standing near the fire, supporting some of her weight on the back of an armchair. Now she made an unsteady turn and looked straight at Selwyn.
‘Here you are. Where have you been all this time?’
Polly saw how his gaze slid straight to Miranda. She was sure that he tried not to, but he simply couldn’t stop himself. That’s where he had been, with Miranda. She had to swallow hard and keep the smile pinned to her face.
Joyce didn’t wait for an answer.
‘Barbara, here’s your husband at last,’ she called.
Miranda said in a bright voice quite unlike her usual one, ‘He’s not my husband, Mum. Jake’s dead. Selwyn is married to Polly, you know that.’
Joyce completed her rotation. Her best shoes were firmly planted on the scarred rug, her backdrop was now the cheery log fire and fir branches. Her face clouded and she frowned.
‘But I saw you. What were you doing?’
The various conversations faltered one by one. Joyce’s words dropped like a pebble into a pond of silence. Polly sensed that Alph and Omie were gazing towards her, their bright faces shadowed with dismay.
Miranda’s lips moved but she didn’t produce any words. Logs crackling and the mellow trickles of jazz were the only sounds. Polly took three steps to reach Selwyn’s side. Her legs were shaking and it seemed a long way to travel.
‘Joyce is confused,’ Polly murmured to him. ‘Tell her again who’s who.’
Selwyn said too loudly, too jovially, ‘Joyce, I’m not Jake, am I? I’m just Barb’s old friend. And you know Polly, we’ve been together for twenty-something years.’
Joyce took exception to his words. Maybe Selwyn spoke too slowly, as if to a child. Maybe she clutched at the certainties she did have, suspecting how fugitive they were. Her mouth narrowed to a thin line and a spark of cunning defiance glinted in her eyes. She was enjoying the attention of the whole room.
‘That’s not what I saw,’ she almost shouted.
Polly knew with absolute certainty that whatever it was that Joyce had seen, she must under no circumstances be allowed to describe it. But she was frozen to the spot. Speech, movement, any attempt at damage containment – all were beyond her.
But mercifully, as if they had been choreographed, Miranda and Colin and Katherine flowed into action. Miranda went to her mother and took her hand, murmuring reassurance and drawing her to a chair. Katherine picked up a dish of canapés and offered them around the group. Colin took a place beside Polly as Selwyn abruptly peeled away.
‘Is it me, or is it hot in here?’ Polly asked him. The lower half of her face was still smiling but it felt stiff, like a mask.
‘It’s hot,’ he said.
Omie and Alph set up a counter-diversion, demanding that the music be changed for something decent. Ben said he would put on the compilation mix that he had made for Nic’s Christmas present. Nic and Jessie were left to exchange the baffled glance of outsiders to a group who knew something awkward had just happened but couldn’t define what it was.
Selwyn was left isolated by all this activity. He shook his head, perhaps to clear it. Then he gathered himself up, standing upright as if he had come to a decision. He walked to the middle of the room, looking for a place where everyone would see and hear him.
Polly followed him with her eyes, inwardly crying No.
Amos came to the rescue now. He planted himself in front of Selwyn, cutting him off from the rest of the gathering and murmuring something in his ear.
Ben’s choice of music, Jay-Z, blared out of the speakers.
‘Ben, that’s bloody awful,’ yelled Toby.
Joyce began telling Nic and whoever else would listen that music had been music in her day, nothing like this racket. Miranda and Polly were only five feet apart.
Selwyn and Amos might have been squaring up to each other, just like in the old days, but Selwyn’s shoulders sagged and he turned aside.
He looked suddenly tired and old.
Alph and Omie gamely drew Katherine’s attention to the bangle they had given Polly for Christmas, and Miranda leaned over to admire it too. Shock and rising anxiety competed in the pit of Polly’s stomach, making her wonder if she might be sick. She stretched out her arm, the slippery blue sleeve falling back from her elbow.
‘Isn’t it pretty?’ she managed to say.
Katherine fingered her gold necklace from Amos. The women talked about jewellery until Colin announced that dinner was ready.
Gratefully they surged across the hall to the dining room. It was lit only by candles, and the gentle glow hid the worn patches in the rugs and tattered slits in the curtains. Reflections of the points of flame were multiplied by the age-spotted mirrors, the polished table and sideboard gleamed with silver, each place setting had its platoon of glasses and triple rank of cutlery. Colin and Miranda had spent a happy afternoon opening cupboards and bringing out what passed for finery at Mead. None of it was precious, but it had the harmony of belonging to this place.
Catching sight of Jessie’s face, Amos winked at her.
She muttered out of the corner of her mouth as she passed by him, ‘Oi feel a proper yokel, oi du.’
Sam Knight drew out her chair for her, indicating the place cards. Instead of names Colin had drawn passable cartoons of everyone, but he had hurriedly done Jessie’s from memory as Miranda was laying the extra setting. It was flattering and inaccurate, making her look both sweet and simple.
‘Is this actually what I’m like?’ Jessie muttered to Colin. She had already downed three glasses of champagne.
‘Not really,’ he grinned.
Polly found her seat. Colin’s cartoon made her appear benign, like a beaming earth mother. She still felt slightly sick and the nape of her neck prickled with sweat. She made herself breathe evenly as she looked down the avenue of faces.
Miranda was at the head of the table, Colin at the other end.
This was the Christmas celebration Miranda had planned, the emblem of the Mead renewal, with old friends and families and welcome guests gathered together under one roof. P
olly knew Miranda wasn’t going to let it all fly apart, tonight or in the future.
But Joyce’s words still hammered in her head. But I saw you.
What had she seen?
Selwyn was placed towards Colin’s end of the table. He pointed a cracker at Jessie and she grabbed it and pulled. The contents scattered over the cloth. Miranda picked up her fork and tapped it against her glass. Thirteen pairs of eyes immediately turned to her. Polly had to admire her sheer determination to make a success of the party. And then she thought, but I can pursue what I want just as energetically. I want to stay with Selwyn, I want to research the book.
I want Miranda’s vision for Mead, therefore, almost as much as she does.
Miranda was saying, ‘I’m so pleased and happy that we’re all here tonight. I want to make the first toast, too. I think we should drink to…’
She paused, theatrically.
‘…Jessie. Because if she hadn’t been brave enough to join us, I’ve just realized we would have been thirteen at table tonight.’
She smiled through the candlelight and raised her glass, and everyone else followed suit.
Jessie actually blushed.
‘Cheers,’ she mumbled.
It was a good dinner. Selwyn collected himself, summoning up a great burst of energy and manic humour. To all of them who had known him in the old days, not just Polly, the original Selwyn magically reappeared at the table. As he always had done, he dominated their circle and there were hoots of laughter as he retold and embroidered familiar stories.
He pointed another cracker like a magic wand, conjuring up their shared memories.
‘Remember, Col?’
Colin’s thin face was bright with amusement. ‘Remember what? If I could, I probably wasn’t there.’
‘The bridge?’
Long ago when they were students, Miranda and Polly, Selwyn and Colin and Amos had all got drunk and stoned. That wasn’t remarkable, but on this particular night they had jumped one by one off a high bridge into the river. In spite of his denial, even at this distance Colin could indeed remember the sensation of being in the air, not falling but flying. The shouts and splashes all around him belonged to another dimension, unrelated to his flawless trajectory. He had felt utterly calm and perfectly certain of himself, and it was so unlike his normal state of mind that he had never forgotten it. Then he had hit the water and, a millisecond later, the river bed.