Rachel's Secret
Page 30
Tom is still the boy he was when we married, just as I am still that girl, but we have both taken our places as the older generation. Dad died very soon after taking possession of Hermione’s Cottage. He had a full summer there when he harvested raspberries, rhubarb, Victoria plums and runner beans, just as he had done when Mum and he had lived together. That winter he had caught a cold which developed into pneumonia. He knew it was the end and told me he didn’t mind. ‘It’s so lucky that I had a second go at life,’ he said, one word to each outward breath. That was it, but that was enough.
So Tom and I grew up at last. And I suppose Meriel did too, though I find it hard to believe when I see her damming up Twyver’s Brook with Georgie and Eliza, making a hole for the sticklebacks to go through . . . she comes home every summer. I must regress in the same way; Tom produced a snap the other day where I am almost waist deep in water on the full side of the dam as I try to shore up a break in the twiggy wall. Daisy is shouting something at me from the bank and I remember Vicky saying, ‘It’s more like a beaver’s den than a dam!’
Stories like this usually end with a death, but though we lost our fathers and one other, life went on, obviously. It continues to be rich and eventful. But all journals have to end somewhere and Meriel probably deserves to have the last word.
October l973, Orion
Darling, I know you will be grieving for me today but please do not. You only met Aunt Mabe two or three times, but know her through me as well as I do myself, so you must know that like your dear father, she was ready to ‘lay down her arms’. It was the last joke she made, and she put her gnarled hands high above her head and then let her arms collapse on to the pillows.
Strange, isn’t it, that my own mother gave me away, my dear foster mother only really had eyes for my father and Rex’s mother became so dear to me and died so soon? And then in surged Aunt Mabe, and did the job properly. I had four mothers, and she had no children until she found me. She made my inadequacies into strengths, she taught me so much, Rache. I think I’ve come to love all my mothers, but Aunt Mabe I loved best. I will miss her. Of course I will miss her. But how thankful I am that I knew her, loved her and – best of all – told her so.
During these past few weeks we have talked about everything: the children, Rex; Ellie and Jack, then Jack and Joan; you and Tom and the girls; and Tom’s father finding such ecstasy in a place that had almost killed him. And she said something I found startlingly true: it was simply that people have to learn to love unconditionally. Did we do that, Rache? I think you might have done. I remember being pretty scathing about Eve. And no one could have loved her mother, surely? But the Wingco . . . loving his sister . . . how unconditional was that? Eve is so wonderfully normal; I know that Gus still grieves that she refused to have children herself. He still calls her a mother-in-waiting. But she is also a scientist, and said to me one day, ‘It has to stop somewhere. And my family is now enormous.’ She was talking about the kids at the foundation. She’s quite right, they all love her.
Anyway, darling, I am rambling. These few days in beautiful Orion, waiting for the funeral, have encouraged an unusual nostalgia in me. I can remember so well tearing along to the subway under the railway lines, skidding around into the Barton, picking up the scent of our own – our very own – spy, and never guessing what consequences would follow. We would have done it anyway, Rache. Nothing could have stopped us then. I’m ashamed of what I did afterwards. How I encouraged Dad to complain to Rex’s CO so that he got a dressing-down, making that an excuse to see him and apologize oh-so-prettily, inveigling Rex into . . . well, you know all that. I was determined to get away from Dad and all his shenanigans, only to find I am just like him. Conniving, using sex as a weapon. God, it’s horrible, Rache. That’s why I had to keep trying to make it work like a proper marriage; to make Rex happy, and stop him looking for another Dawn. I don’t know whether I’ve succeeded totally. When I phoned him about Aunt Mabe he started up with the excuses – too busy to come for the funeral, that sort of thing. I told him OK, if he felt like that it was the end for us, then I slammed down the phone. He came next day. It was the first time I’d cried for her. He held out his arms, and I went into them and cried. Marriage is such a strange thing, Rache. But I believe in it. I don’t regret Vicky leaving Ralph, I shall most definitely regret it if it has put her off marriage. I don’t think it has. That boy of Daphne’s is over here for a couple of months. We’ll see. She is very keen for all of us to come home for Christmas. She wants a repeat of the Coronation year. Perhaps she and Roland plan to get married then. It’s a bit soon after Ralph, but she knows what she’s doing. How about it, Rache? Gilbert and Maxine and Miss Hardwicke and my mothers. Maybe I could talk Eve and Gus into joining us. Too cold to make dams, but we could show them how The Song Birds sing carols – remember The Song Birds, Rache? And we could take Eliza to the whispering gallery. And have a treasure hunt. And look at Hermione’s Cottage.
Darling, I expect you know that Tom has been sending Georgie comic strips he draws of what you are all doing. They’re superb. So simple and accessible. One of Gilbert and Maxine going for a walk with Frou-frou Number Four and falling into some mud. Another of you writing up a cake recipe and then mixing it in with the cake. And what Tom calls the Throstle orchestra – all of you with saucepans and kazoos playing Beethoven’s Fifth . . . that is definitely Georgie’s favourite.
Bless you, my child. Until Christmas 1973 . . . I wonder what will happen next?
With love and anticipation, your bestest friend in all the world, Meriel Nightingale-Robinson.
About the Author
Susan Sallis is the author of over twenty novels, many of which are set in the West Country. She was born in Gloucestershire and now lives in Somerset with her family.
Also by Susan Sallis
RISING SEQUENCE:
A SCATTERING OF DAISIES
THE DAFFODILS OF NEWENT
BLUEBELL WINDOWS
ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE
SUMMER VISITORS
BY SUN AND CANDLELIGHT
AN ORDINARY WOMAN
DAUGHTERS OF THE MOON
SWEETER THAN WINE
WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE
TOUCHED BY ANGELS
CHOICES
COME RAIN OR SHINE
THE KEYS TO THE GARDEN
THE APPLE BARREL
SEA OF DREAMS
TIME OF ARRIVAL
LYDIA FIELDING
FIVE FARTHINGS
THE PUMPKIN COACH
AFTER MIDNIGHT
NO MAN’S ISLAND
SEARCHING FOR TILLY
and published by Corgi
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First published in Great Britain
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a division of Transworld Publishers
Corgi edition published 2008
Copyright © Susan Sallis 2008
Susan Sallis has asserted her right under the Copyright,
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This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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