I felt such profound relief that I was out of the frame I could barely stand up. Victory was surely all over my sister. In her eyes, her hair, even down to the battle scars on her scruffy trousers. Any minute now she’d burst into her very own St Crispin’s Day speech. I turned away so she wouldn’t see my face and she followed me eagerly into the house.
More than anything in the world I wanted to be alone. To lick my wounds, to look at my trembling hands, recall Eliza’s contempt and pain in private. Recoil from it on my own. But Ginnie wanted to share. To tell me everything. She’d been fighting hard and she’d had a major coup. Dispatches would necessarily follow. As I put the kettle on it made me realize how alone we all are. I hadn’t given Ginnie a thought for days. She hadn’t me. No one really considered each other, did they? No one was truly sensitive to each other’s needs. Fleetingly, of course. Guiltily, if we knew there was distress in their lives. But we were all so parcelled up in our own, we became distracted. Yet this was my parents she was talking about. I forced myself to listen, to concentrate as I opened the boot-room door and greeted the howling dogs. Ottoline would have walked and fed them, but I needed their unconditional, uncomplicated noses in my hand right now, their crooning whimpers of delight. And then again, I thought as I straightened up, maybe Ginnie was also what I needed right now? Someone to prattle on, someone who was pleased with themselves, so wrapped up in themselves, they wouldn’t give me a second thought?
‘She resisted, of course. Oh, boy, did she resist.’ Ginnie was saying as I gave Ladyboy some grain in a saucer. Even as she talked, I realized I wasn’t listening. I was outside the Ashmolean. Talented, clever children, Eliza had said. Were they? I knew Henrietta struggled. Ludo had told me she was borderline Special Needs. I never quite knew what that meant. ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Ludo had said with a sad smile when I’d voiced it, tentatively. Mine had never struggled, so I’d naturally found other things to worry about. Tabitha’s lack of confidence about how she looked – much better now, since she’d lost some weight. Josh’s sharp tongue, which got him into trouble at school. But maybe I should concentrate more on the things they could do? Paint? Act? Always come near the top of the class? But it came so easily to them, like flopping down horizontal on a sofa, which they were so good at too, but … why didn’t I celebrate success more? Sebastian didn’t either, I knew. Just took it for granted. Josh was obviously clever and sharp, precocious, even, for his age, but Ginnie had nearly fallen off her kitchen stool at Tabitha’s straight A stars in the GCSEs she’d taken early. Why hadn’t I told her, she kept saying, almost petulantly.
‘Told you what?’
‘That she’s so clever!’
‘I – I don’t know,’ I’d faltered, confused. Should I have done? Was I surprised myself? No, not really. Tabs had always had pretty good reports, though they said she could speak up more in class, be more confident. But I hadn’t thought it was so important. Not as important as other things. But I wondered how all-consuming it would be if my child had special needs? Like Eliza’s? Severe dyslexia? It also occurred to me that she, Eliza, must have known I’d lost my own children this morning. She’d seen me take them to their father’s. She wasn’t to know it was permanent, of course, although if she’d stuck her nose round the college gates she’d have seen us unloading a laden car. But if she had thought it a big day for my children, might she also have thought: ‘So what? Hers can take it. They’re robust, clever. Mine can’t.’ Own worlds again. Tabitha would give all the A stars in the world to have a boyfriend, like Chloe, Ludo’s youngest, who was so pretty. Yes, perhaps that’s what Eliza had thought.
‘Picture the scene, OK, Ella.’ Ginnie was planted firmly on a chair at my kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, knees apart. ‘She comes to the door, like some fishwife, cigarette in mouth, those wretched slippers, and says, “Yes?” In an imperious way. Like I’m a bloody tradesman!’
‘Oh. She didn’t look like that,’ I said absently, handing her a coffee.
‘Well, OK, she might have said hello first,’ admitted Ginnie, never one to let the truth stand in the way of a good story. ‘But she was jolly abrupt. So I gave her the good news. Told her who I was. That rocked her back a bit, I can tell you.’
‘I can imagine.’ One could almost feel sorry for Maureen, who had, after all, lifted Dad’s spirits considerably, I thought. I recalled how I’d gone to the Old Rectory and they’d been cycling together, making biscuits. But I hadn’t liked the B&B idea. ‘And where was Dad?’
‘At the rally – you rang and told me, remember? This was a few days ago – I’m just filling you in. So, anyway, she wouldn’t let me in, said she didn’t like my tone. So we had some argy-bargy on the doorstep with me telling her exactly what I thought of her tone, and of her making money out of my parents’ house. The place is full of dogs, incidentally, let alone lodgers.’
‘I know. She’s a dog psychologist, remember?’
She snorted. ‘Or some such bollocks. Anyway, I warned her I was going to take legal action and I clearly put the wind up her because, when I went back today, there’d been some progress. The lodgers had gone – there were only three, but at least their ghastly bicycles and rucksacks had gone from the hall – and she was there on her own.’
‘Where was Dad?’ I asked again.
‘He’s been staying with Peggy and Peter.’
How like my father, I thought. To run a mile. To leave it to someone more capable to sort out. As, perhaps, I would, too.
‘Anyway, Hugo and Frankie were with me.’
I jumped. ‘Oh?’ Even in my sorry, shell-shocked state I could raise some interest at this. ‘Really? You’ve seen his hair, then? His tattoo? Piercings?’
‘Oh, yes, but it’s all superficial, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
‘And he’s so much better now he’s working with horses. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that.’
Yet again I’d underestimated her. Yet again. Big strong Ginnie. I looked at her as I sat down across the table from her with … yes. Love. Loving her gumption, which could always be relied upon, and could be deployed in all manner of ways.
‘They came to help. Hugo’s been worried about his grandpa; the whole village has, apparently. Daddy’s just been completely taken over by this woman. And, actually, I didn’t have to say anything, Ella. I mean, I tried to, but Hugo told me to leave it to him. We went inside – just me and Hugo, Frankie decided it was none of her business – and went to sit in the drawing room. And Hugo – well, he was obviously much nicer to her than I would have been. And every time I tried to interrupt and have my two pennyworth he’d say: “Mum, hang on.” Quietly. But he told her – this Maureen – how Daddy had felt compelled to move out because he couldn’t handle the situation. And that although Maureen had been a terrific friend to Daddy, he was a bit out of his depth now. There’s something about Hugo, Ella.’ Her eyes shone with admiration. ‘A depth. A sincerity. People listen to him. Something to do with his gentleness, which certainly doesn’t come from me.’ Certainly, I thought fervently. ‘And, somehow, that shaved head, the piercing, it really doesn’t matter: almost helps.’ She struggled to explain. ‘Like – some sort of hair shirt. It was such a shock, of course, when I saw him, but it’s still the intelligent face, the same soft brown eyes.’
I nodded. I could see Hugo handling it brilliantly. Sensitively.
‘He talked a bit about how he’d recently lost his own way. I couldn’t believe he needed to tell this woman all this, but he did. And how he was pleased he hadn’t lost touch with the person he was meant be.’ I didn’t look at my sister at this. Could see this was hard for her. ‘And how he hadn’t, in the end, become the person everyone expected him to be. He said he’d liked Maureen when she’d taken up with Grandpa, played cribbage with him in the pub, but he didn’t want to watch her become someone she wasn’t. Someone defensive and defiant, just because she’d made a mistake with the lodgers. Just because she’d gone a step too f
ar. “Hang on, Mum,” he kept saying, as I kept trying to butt in and point out that, in my opinion, she’d gone a lot more than a step too far. He made me go to the kitchen, put the kettle on. But I didn’t, I loitered in the hall. Heard him saying it would be so easy for a witch hunt to ensue, especially in a village like this. How Maureen could become vilified, which would be wrong, because, in fact, she was a very nice person. At which point Maureen burst into tears.’
‘Oh!’
‘And Hugo was brilliant. Let her cry a bit, then went to sit next to her on the sofa. Patted her hand. I did go and make some tea at that point. Felt a lump in my own throat. Felt a bit of a heel, too, if I’m honest. But while the kettle was boiling I crept back to the hall and I heard Maureen say that it had all just got out of hand. That what had seemed a good idea – one lodger – had escalated, and she’d got carried away, but she never meant any harm. She had made a bit of money from it, but not much, and she’d been washing sheets and serving breakfast like nobody’s business. I have to say the house was very tidy, despite the desperate pong of whatever it is she spreads about. Anyway, I was quietly hoping Hugo would cut to the chase and politely show her the door, but he just said that with his grandpa staying down the road, he could see how she’d got herself backed into a corner. That he’d made it even harder for her, by not publicly supporting her, and would she like to stay on a while and think things through?
‘Maureen looked up at him – I was peering round the door at this point – and she dabbed her eyes with a tissue and said: “No, thank you, Hugo.” Quite sort of … proudly. She said this might be the nicest house she’d ever stayed in and was ever likely to stay in, but she had a little house of her own and she’d go back to it. She said she wished Angus had come back and been as nice as Hugo had, and if he had she might have listened to him, instead of which she’d dug her heels in in defiance: adopted a sort of siege mentality, which wasn’t her at all. She said she hadn’t recognized herself these past few days; but that cometh the hour, people divided into two categories, didn’t they? Fight or flight. And she was a fighter. Unlike Angus, who had chosen flight. At this point I felt compelled to come back into the room, minus the tea, and say that, actually, I was a fighter too, and I sort of understood.’
‘Good for you, Ginnie,’ I said quietly.
‘Could sort of see how she’d got herself into this pickle. But I did say “sort of” a lot.’ I smiled. ‘There were an awful lot of ghastly teddies around to temper my sympathy. On Mummy’s walnut desk, for heaven’s sake! A huge pink one!’
‘But you had some sympathy,’ I urged, bringing her back.
‘Yes. A bit. Anyway, Hugo and I finally left and went to the pub and Frankie joined us. She’s lovely, incidentally. So funny and quick and Hugo just lights up at the sight of her. It’s heaven to see. Like he used to when he’d hit a six, or went up for a prize at speech day, remember?’
‘Yes.’ I smiled. I privately thought Frankie was his real prize. First prize. Ginnie looked so much happier, too.
‘And we chatted for ages in the pub. A lot about Maureen, about how she’d backed herself into a corner, but also about what he, Hugo, wanted to do. I didn’t suggest anything, I swear to God, Ella.’
‘You know about Cambridge?’
‘Of course. In my bones, if I’m honest, I knew months ago.’ She swallowed. ‘Was just in denial. I knew he wouldn’t stay. But we didn’t discuss that. He just talked about the horses down at Peter Mortimer’s, and how much he was enjoying it. He’s got quite a lot of responsibility there, you know. Peter still owns the yard, obviously, and all the livestock, but Hugo’s very much acting as manager. There’s a string of fifteen hunters and eventers.’
‘But Hugo can cope with that.’
‘Oh, God, yes, with his eyes shut,’ she said, with a flash of the old mother courage. ‘But what I mean is, it could be a proper business.’
‘In time,’ I said gently.
‘Yes, I know. In time. And actually Frankie was the one putting the brakes on. Saying he shouldn’t increase the yard just yet, should keep it the way it is for a year or two. Work his way in. Just as she puts the brakes on the wedding.’
‘Oh?’
‘Not that she doesn’t want to get married. She does. But she told me quietly, when he’d gone to the loo, that she’s persuaded him to wait at least three years.’
‘Oh, that’s good.’
‘Exactly.’ Ginnie’s eyes shone. ‘By which time he’ll be twenty-four and she’ll be twenty-one. The same as Richard and I were. She’s a jolly sensible girl, actually, Ella. Adores him, but doesn’t want him to feel pressured into marrying just because he’s asked her. He gave her a ring but she wears it on a long chain round her neck, under her clothes.’
‘Sweet!’
‘Yes, she is,’ Ginnie said gratefully. ‘He’s very lucky to have her.’ She gulped. ‘And I … sort of, told her that.’
‘Did you?’ I felt my eyes well up.
‘I did. I think even you might have been proud of me, Ella.’
She looked at me tentatively. Almost nervously. And so many years rolled back: years of being very different sisters. It was like the tide shrinking away to reveal a beach of gnarled, distorted pebbles, each with their own history. Each pebble a fight, or a sulk, or a slammed door. So many injustices felt, because we couldn’t understand one another. Couldn’t fathom each other out. But, at this moment, I felt we did. In my eyes she’d always been a bit of a bully. Whereas she probably felt I was a coward. That she was strong and I was weak. But perhaps we were neither, except when pushed to take up positions. Like Maureen. And Eliza. So that the small streaks became broad strokes. Perhaps, at heart, we were a lot more marginal and blurred.
We each took a very deep breath. Let it out simultaneously with a sigh – and then laughed. These two middle-aged women, slightly careworn – more than slightly – very much frayed at the edges, but still drinking coffee together, as we had done for many years, in each other’s kitchen.
‘Maureen said she’d be going in a day or two, but in fact, when we emerged from the Rose and Crown, she was packing her car in the front drive.’
‘No sign of Dad, of course?’
‘Of course not. He’ll wait till the coast is very clear.’ But Ginnie didn’t say it bitterly, as she might usually. Or add: ‘Leaving someone else to do his dirty work.’ She just ran her hands through her hair. Tried, unsuccessfully, to smooth it down a bit. She smiled. ‘And meanwhile I gather Mummy’s had a date?’
‘One or two,’ I told her. ‘With the not-so-short-sighted Charles.’
‘Ah. Not a blind date, then.’
We giggled.
Ginnie sighed. ‘Well, I know you always support Daddy, but, you have to admit – good for her, in a way.’
‘Oh, I agree.’
She looked surprised. ‘Good.’ She pulled a face. ‘Apparently, there’s a chauffeur and Mummy and Charles look like royalty in the back.’
‘They do. You’ve seen them?’
‘No, Eliza said she saw them driving into town the other day. Anyway, enough of our blasted parents and my blasted kids, what about you? I haven’t asked you a thing about your life, Ella. How are you?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’d already risen quickly at the mention of her name. Gone to the sink, ostensibly to rinse my mug, but in reality to hide my face.
‘Me? Oh, I’m fine.’
‘Sure?’ Ginnie got up to join me. Rinsed her own cup. Then peered right round to inspect me properly. ‘You look – well, you’ve gone a bit ashen, actually. Like you’ve seen a ghost.’
I shook my head dismissively. ‘I took the children to Sebastian this morning, Ginnie. Feel a bit – you know. Bereft.’
It was true: I missed them more than ever now. Wanted to draw my clan round me after that ghastly scene at the Ashmolean, say: Well, these are mine. But I was being disingenuous, too. It was the content of the scene that had sent me flying. I wondered if
I should tell Ginnie? Before Eliza did? But then … I had a feeling Eliza wouldn’t. Even though I told Lottie pretty much everything. Pretty much. Not the whole lot. I turned to dry my hands on a tea towel.
‘Ginnie, you couldn’t give me Eliza’s mobile number, could you?’ I said in what I hoped was a reasonably normal voice. ‘Only I bumped into her in town today and she mentioned an exhibition she was going to. I can’t remember where it was and I thought I’d get out a bit more now that … you know. Empty house and all that.’
‘Sure!’ She whipped her BlackBerry out, pleased. With lightning reflexes she began to tap her friend’s phone number into mine. I had a vague idea it was in my phone already, since she’d rung me, but I wouldn’t know how to retrieve it; I’d only just grasped predictive texting – Ludo had shown me – but Ginnie had been at the cutting edge of technology for years. Sebastian, of course, didn’t even have a mobile, I thought fondly. Far too fondly. Don’t think of him standing there looking expectant as he awaited his children, hair short and clean, pink shirt pressed, like a small boy at boarding school awaiting his parents’ first visit, and then looking completely thrilled and open-faced as we rounded the corner, as he could occasionally. On our wedding day. At the births of both his children: standing by, gripping my hand. Bounding up five flights of stairs in London with Diblet in his coat. Don’t think. I shut my eyes. Hoped I wasn’t going to faint. Wondered why I’d been such a fool. But I knew why. I opened them again. Ginnie was happily still engrossed in her textual transaction so didn’t see my face and I’d rearranged it by the time she looked up.
‘There. Good idea, Ella. And there’s a fantastic new play on at the Playhouse, apparently, Millie Saunders told me. Richard won’t be interested because it’s a musical, not his cup of tea at all, but maybe we could go? I know about the bereft thing, incidentally.’ She added, her face momentarily saddened. ‘With Hugo.’
My Husband Next Door Page 36