by Liz Byrski
‘Shall I come and pick you up tomorrow and take you home?’ she offered.
Caro shook her head. ‘Mike’s not on duty till four o’clock so he’ll come.’
‘If you’re not working we could go shopping later in the week. I saw some gorgeous baby things in Pumpkin Patch the other day.’
‘S’pose,’ Caro said, ‘but I’ve probably got enough stuff already. We went out a couple of weeks ago and got clothes and nappies and stuff for the baby’s room.’
Fran watched the pair across the ward examining the matinee jacket. She had no idea how to break through Caro’s brittle exterior and no energy to attempt it. She was sick of trying to get it right and failing, sick of turning the other cheek, of trying to compensate for splitting up the family. She got up, reaching for her coat. It was time to go before she said something she’d regret. Caro picked up a copy of Marie Claire and began flicking through the pages.
‘By the way, Mum,’ she said, not looking up, ‘I told Des I’d go back full time two months after the baby’s born, but child care’s so expensive I thought I’d find a place for three days a week and you’d have it the other two.’
Fran froze, her arm halfway into her coat sleeve. ‘Just what do you want from me, Caro?’ she asked, in a voice so unlike her own that Caro looked up from the magazine in surprise.
‘Well, just two days a week, not every day.’
Fran stared at her daughter for a moment and then, swinging her bag over her shoulder, she walked to the end of the bed. ‘You don’t even know what I mean, do you? You don’t want to share the least little thing about your pregnancy or the birth with me, why would I give up my precious time to help you?’ she snapped. ‘Frankly, Caro, you’re a self-centred bitch, a complete pain in the arse and I don’t know why I’ve put up with it for so long.’ And she turned on her heel and marched out of the ward.
Irene thought the house felt different. On her return from previous holidays, Marjorie had always gone in the day before to air the bed, switch on the heating in winter and put basics in the fridge, but this time she returned to a house that breathed with life. She toured every room, stopping to sample the atmosphere, to ground herself in it again. Bonnie’s presence was everywhere and although Sylvia had left for her holiday in England a few days earlier, her influence was obvious too, not simply in the room she had occupied, but in the vases of flowers and beautiful quilted silk and velvet cushions she had made for the lounge. And Will’s laptop blinked away on the desk in what had once been Dennis’s study. The house had a feel of the old days when they had been a family, Simon and Bonnie’s friends coming and going, she and Dennis pursuing their shared and separate interests.
Sitting in her favourite chair, listening to a Schubert sonata and reading Bonnie’s Boatshed proposal again, Irene realised the weariness of the jetlag was easing and she was beginning to feel more like her old self. The phone rang and she decided to let the machine answer, but hearing Hamish’s voice she got up to intercept it.
‘I’ve got the tickets,’ he said. ‘Is tomorrow still all right for you?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’m feeling a lot better today. Emerging from the jetlag.’
‘Good, me too. I could pick you up at two and we can do the exhibition and then have afternoon tea at the Windsor.’
‘How elegant! It sounds positively pre-war.’
‘That’s me! My vintage,’ Hamish said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Have you told Bonnie yet?’
‘Not yet, I haven’t quite summoned up the courage. It seems odd just to sit her down and tell her outright. I’m sure she’ll be fine but I have to find the best moment.’
‘Hmm, I hope so,’ he said. ‘Not fair to keep her in the dark for too long. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow at two.’
Irene went back to her chair and sat, the proposal on her knee, her head resting on the back of the chair, and closed her eyes. How significantly her life had changed in the last few months, with Bonnie coming home and now this. Since their first night together, Irene’s feelings for Hamish had acquired more substantial form. Decades earlier her relationship with Dennis had begun with a hearty, energetic friendship forged in their mutual enjoyment of tennis, sailing and music. Their marriage had been lively and companionable. As Dennis neared retirement, Simon’s tragic death at forty-two had bonded them in terrible grief; but a couple of years later his own death from a heart attack had changed both the present and her vision of the future. Now she found herself in a new phase, loved once again in an intimate, even romantic way. In Greece their friends had happily adjusted to the new situation as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Even the formidable Marjorie had pronounced her blessings.
Out in the drive a car door slammed and Irene jerked her head up, opening her eyes as she heard Bonnie’s key in the front door. She glanced down at the proposal again. It was, she thought, a splendid plan. Both Dennis and Jeff would have been impressed by the scope and precision of Bonnie’s planning.
‘What do you think of it?’ Bonnie asked from the hallway, where she stood clutching plastic bags of shopping with both hands, her coat thrown over her shoulders. ‘I know you were too jetlagged to take it in yesterday.’
Irene got up, relieved her daughter of her coat and followed her through to the kitchen. ‘I think you’ve done a wonderful job. I can see you making a huge success of this.’
Bonnie smiled and started to unpack the shopping. ‘Thanks, Mum – you said I should get a life. I just wish Fran and Sylvia felt the same.’
‘They’ll be the losers if they don’t,’ Irene said, putting onions and lemons into a rack in the pantry. ‘This would be excellent for Fran. It builds on everything she’s done so far, gives her a context to work from.’
Bonnie crumpled the plastic bags. ‘At the moment she doesn’t see it that way. She – both of them are very uneasy about the whole idea. I think they’re torn between being interested and feeling that I’m offering them charity.’
Irene shrugged. ‘That’s not how the proposal reads but their own sensitivities would affect their reading of it. Of course, you can make it work without them but it would have distinct advantages for all three of you if they were involved. What does Will think?’
‘He thinks the plan is spot on, and he believes they’ll come around, given time. You know, Mum, it never occurred to me that having money could actually cause problems with friends. I must be a bit thick.’
Irene filled the kettle and got out the teapot. ‘Sylvia and Fran have both had to struggle financially. Money’s a nightmare when you haven’t got it and when you manage your way through crises there’s some pride that you’ve coped. You need to remember that.’
‘So I’m discovering, perhaps a little too late,’ Bonnie said. ‘Anyway, they’ve both promised to think about it. Fran’s got a lot on her plate at present, and Sylvia promised to think about it while she’s away. Meanwhile, there’s plenty I can be getting on with. By the way, did you know the French Impressionists exhibition is on at the gallery? Sylvia and I went a couple of weeks ago but I’d happily go again if you want to see it.’
Irene poured the tea and handed Bonnie a cup. ‘Thank you, dear, but I’ve arranged to go tomorrow with Hamish, and afterwards we’re having afternoon tea at the Windsor. I haven’t done that for years.’
Bonnie smiled, sipping her tea. ‘That sounds lovely. I hope it’s okay with you, I told Will he could bring a business acquaintance back here tomorrow evening.’
‘It’s fine,’ Irene said, her throat suddenly feeling a little dry. ‘I won’t be here, anyway; I’ll have supper and stay the night with Hamish.’
‘Oh, no need for that,’ Bonnie said. ‘If Hamish doesn’t like driving in the dark, just ring me when you’re ready to come home and I’ll come and pick you up. I know you’re not one for staying with other people.’
Irene took a deep breath. ‘Actually, dear, I do want to stay with Hamish and I’ll be doing so quite often fr
om now on. And Hamish will stay here sometimes. We had a lovely time together in Greece. In fact, according to Marjorie, who is always very up to date with the vernacular, Hamish and I are now what is known as an item.’
Although she didn’t actually see Bonnie drop her mug, she heard the smash as it hit the tiled floor.
EIGHTEEN
London was drenched in August sunshine. It glanced off the angles of recently cleaned buildings, and lit the darkest corners of narrow streets. Even the normally murky waters of the Thames appeared fresh and sparkling. From the front seat on the open-top bus, Sylvia gazed out over a very different city than the one she remembered. Both her previous visits had been in the dank, freezing darkness of February.
‘Look over there, Grandma,’ eight-year-old Charlotte cried, scrambling up in her seat. ‘That’s the Tower of London where they cut people’s heads off.’
‘Used to, darling,’ Kim said as Sylvia grabbed her granddaughter by the back of her denim jacket. ‘Please don’t lean over the rail like that, you might fall. They don’t cut people’s heads off anymore.’
‘They drown them in boiling oil,’ James said ghoulishly. Two years younger than his sister, he was a serious little boy whose slight squint was being corrected by glasses which, he told Sylvia, were just like Harry Potter’s.
‘Gruesome, aren’t they?’ Kim said. ‘I didn’t realise kids were quite so bloodthirsty.’
‘You used to like the most revolting stories,’ Sylvia said. ‘I remember one about an ugly dwarf being cut in half by a wizard and the two halves being thrown from the castle ramparts and turning into dragons as they hit the ground.’
‘Did I?’ Kim said in amazement. ‘I can’t remember that at all. Do you want to get out at the Tower or shall we stay on the bus? There seem to be queues everywhere.’
‘Stay on, I think,’ Sylvia said. ‘It’s so lovely up here, being able to see everything and not be caught up in the crowds.’ The crush of people in London had come as a surprise to her. The streets were packed with tourists, and she had felt quite claustrophobic as they’d emerged from the underground at Oxford Circus and been swept along by the crowd pouring out onto the street.
Sylvia had been in England a week and was slowly adjusting to the smallness of everything, particularly Kim and Brendan’s house. She had almost forgotten how cramped she had felt on the last visit, although by English standards it was a comfortable middle-class family home, one that they could never have afforded had Brendan not inherited it on the death of an aunt a year after he and Kim were married. Standing in its own quarter acre of garden in the Surrey commuter belt only twenty minutes by train from central London, it was now worth a small fortune in Australian dollars.
Kim had met Brendan at a party in St Kilda ten years earlier. He had been backpacking around Australia, but the travel came to an abrupt halt when they met and he stayed on in Melbourne until his visa expired. Six months later Kim went to join him in England and together they slipped out of London for the weekend and were married in a registry office in York. Charlotte was born eighteen months later, and Sylvia and Colin had paid their first visit. They were there again for James’s second birthday. Now the babies were children and as she clung to Charlotte, who still insisted on leaning as far as possible over the rail, Sylvia felt a pang of regret for the time she had missed with them.
The bus continued on the last section of its route, back past the Houses of Parliament and Horse Guards Parade, depositing them finally at Victoria Station. There they bought the children milkshakes and caught the train back to Croydon, where Kim had left the car.
‘Tea for you two and early bed,’ Kim said as they made their way back into the house. ‘It’s nearly six o’clock and we’ve been out for hours.’
‘I’m not in the least little bit tired at all,’ said Charlotte decisively, putting her pink plastic shoulder bag on the hall table. ‘I’m going to stay up for ages and teach Grandma how to play the witchy game.’
Sylvia put her hand on her heart. ‘Well, you may not be tired, Charlie, but I’m exhausted. Why don’t you and James go and see what’s on television, I’ll help Mummy with the tea and then you can have fun in the bath and I’ll read you both a story. You can teach me the witchy game tomorrow.’ Charlotte and James wandered off to switch on the television and Sylvia watched them fling themselves onto the sofa. ‘Wherever do they get their energy?’ she sighed, washing her hands in the sink.
‘God knows, but they’ll be out like lights quite soon, so we’ll feed them quickly and get them off to bed, then we can have a quiet evening. Bren’s got a meeting tonight so he’ll eat in town. Shall we have a sandwich now with the kids?’
Sylvia nodded. ‘Good idea. Shall I make that while you do theirs?’
They worked companionably side by side in the kitchen. During the long periods of separation Sylvia felt out of touch with her daughter’s adult life, often thinking of her still in terms of the teenager who had lived at home. Watching her now she could see the competent woman her daughter had become and she wished, albeit fleetingly, that Colin was there to share this pleasure in a way that only parents could.
‘You haven’t said much about Dad,’ Kim said later, handing her a glass of wine and settling down in a large armchair in the living room. The children were fed, bathed and in bed and the long summer evening was fading to darkness.
‘I thought I said enough the night I arrived,’ Sylvia said.
‘Yes, but since then hardly anything at all.’
Sylvia shrugged. ‘What more can I say? You know it all. I’m sad and shaken, but also relieved. I was furious with him at first, now I’m thankful that everything came to a head.’
‘So there really is no chance of you going back to him?’
Sylvia looked at her in amazement. ‘For heaven’s sake, Kim. Your father has left the ministry, lost his faith and is living with his girlfriend in a townhouse in Williamstown. No – I am not going back to him. I don’t want it and neither does he.’
‘Sorry, sorry, Mum … I just wanted to make sure. I mean, maybe you might have felt you wanted to try and make a go of it again.’
Sylvia realised what was happening. ‘Kim, darling, I can see where you’re coming from. But this is very different from what happened with you and Brendan. Your father and I … well, it was over long before the other woman came along. We both hung in there making each other quietly and inexorably miserable. It really is over. Some time in the future we’ll probably be friends again, but the dust will take a while to settle.’
Kim nodded, sipping her wine, looking out across the garden to the dovecote, where two pairs of fantailed pigeons were settling in for the night. ‘Dad said he might come over at Christmas.’
‘Really?’
‘He wants to bring her, this Jennifer person, bring her here, but I said no. I know she’s living with him but I don’t think that means I have to have her here in the house.’
Sylvia shrugged. ‘That’s your decision.’
‘But it affects you.’
‘Maybe, but it doesn’t horrify me. When a bit more time has passed you may feel you want to meet her and let her meet the children.’
‘Perhaps,’ Kim said, ‘but not yet. Anyway, it may not last. Perhaps she’s just some sort of replacement for God and eventually he won’t need her anymore.’
‘You sound very bitter,’ Sylvia said, curling her legs underneath her on the couch.
‘I am bitter. All my life God came first with Dad. He was never involved with me. There were so many things we didn’t do, so many times when he was too busy. You can’t argue or be jealous when it’s God who’s getting all the attention. Complaining about it seems shallow and selfish.’
‘That’s rather how I felt,’ Sylvia said.
‘Yes … so now he dumps God and gets himself a girlfriend who’s not much older than me.’
Sylvia saw the first tear slide down Kim’s cheek and she went over to her, perching on the arm of her ch
air and putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘It must feel awful, Kim. I’m so sorry we’ve hurt you so much. But your father and I are just very ordinary people who made a mess of things, and in the end we have to sort it out in our own way. And there is one other thing to remember: through all those years your father’s faith was rock solid. He really did believe in his vocation and that his duty to God must come before everything else.’
Kim nodded, drying her eyes on a tissue. ‘I know all that, but it’s sort of scary when your parents split up. You’re being very nice about him.’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘I wasn’t at first, I assure you. But what’s the point in bitterness? The only person it hurts is me. I have to recognise my own part in it, my collusion, resenting it for years but doing nothing while I felt I was dying inside. It’s not as though Colin is a bad person.’
They sat in silence for a moment while outside the doves cooed and shuffled and the evening star emerged from behind a wisp of cloud.
‘The thing is,’ Kim went on, ‘the thing I … Bren and I wanted to ask you is if there’s no chance of you getting back together, would you think of coming here?’
‘Here? To England? To live, do you mean?’
Kim nodded, and Sylvia got up from the arm of the chair and wandered over to the window. ‘You could get a place near here. We’d love it, and so would the kids.’
‘But what would I do, how would I live?’
‘You could get a little flat or something, maybe share a house with another woman,’ Kim said.
‘I doubt I could afford it. Australian dollars are worth nothing here. Back home I’ll probably be able to get a job, but here … anyway, people can’t just come and live in England, there’d be all the immigration problems.’
Kim seemed brighter now. ‘Bren thinks not,’ she said. ‘After all, you were born here, and even though you were two when Gran and Grandad moved to Australia, you still have the right to live here. Anyway, that’s what he thought – we could find out for sure.’