A Very Big House in the Country

by Claire Sandy

  ‘Brown felt ordinary, realistic,’ said Paula. Once they’d reached London, the capital proved expensive. They lived on Jon’s savings, but ‘I wouldn’t let him use a hole-in-the-wall. I made him drive miles to obscure branches to take out bundles of cash.’ Money was just one of the number-less hurdles. ‘We had to convince our landlord that we’d lost our papers in a fire, in order to lease our tiny flat.’ They weren’t registered with a doctor or a dentist: ‘too many forms to fill in’. They kept their heads down, lived as simply as possible. ‘The girls know better than to ask for treats.’ Paula glanced at Amber, still as close to Mabel as a Siamese twin.

  ‘My income’s erratic,’ said Jon. ‘I’m not cut out to be a cab driver.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock.’ Shen’s head was back, her eyes closed.

  ‘I am – was – a lecturer.’ Jon couldn’t take a position in academia: one Google search and Clive would be upon them.

  Evie said, ‘No wonder you’re a bit paranoid, Paula.’

  ‘A bit?’ Paula hinted at a dormant GSOH, as Scarlett would call it.

  From the window seat came Scarlett’s hopeful voice. ‘Jon, you can go back to your job, right? Now it’s over?’

  ‘I burned my bridges, walking out like that. Leaving my students in the lurch. It doesn’t really matter.’

  Everybody heard how much it mattered.

  ‘How did Carl find you?’ asked Mike. ‘Out here, in the back of beyond?’

  ‘My fault. Again,’ said Jon. ‘According to the officers last night, Carl fed my name into the PNC, the Police National Computer. When I broke the speed limit last week and showed my driving licence to the local police: ping!’

  ‘You need a good reason to use police computers,’ protested Evie, clinging to a belief that the world was run by the good guys. ‘He’d lose his job for that, surely?’

  ‘You scratch my back,’ said Clive, confusing Evie for a moment, who really didn’t want to scratch his back, ‘and I’ll scratch yours. He probably bent the rules for one of his colleagues, and they did the same for him. It’s how everything works.’

  ‘Carl’s been at Wellcome Manor,’ said Paula, ‘since the very beginning.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Evie. ‘Your missing wedding ring?’

  ‘Typical Carl. To move something, so I thought I’d lost it, then replace it and tell me I was a lunatic.’ Paula was sad, horribly sad, as she said, ‘This was no holiday for me.’

  Shen said, ‘He laid the breakfast table and put those flowers in a vase.’

  ‘Did he,’ asked Mike, ‘drink the last of the milk?’

  ‘That was one of his favourite tricks,’ said Paula. ‘Nothing’s too petty for Carl. That’s why I assumed the worst, about the pebbles spelling out my name.’

  ‘What was his plan?’ asked Clive.’ Did he even have a plan?’

  ‘Don’t underestimate Carl,’ said Paula.

  ‘You sound proud, Mum,’ scoffed Tillie.

  ‘Sweetheart, no,’ said Paula, tenderly. ‘I’ve learned not to underestimate him.’ The police had found Carl’s well-equipped camp beyond the walls. He’d come and gone as he pleased, using the foliage as cover in the sunshine, stealing audaciously near at night. He’d kept everybody under surveillance, all the while intimidating Paula in their personal language. ‘That’s how he gets his kicks, knowing I couldn’t convince a rational person that all these innocuous incidents were threats.’ He was letting her know he could strike when he chose.

  ‘I’m puzzled,’ said Clive. ‘He could hardly pounce on you in a house full of people. If Mike hadn’t forced his hand by illuminating the garden, what would he have done?’

  ‘S’obvious.’ Tillie spoke when her mother seemed too uneasy to answer. ‘He meant to get you on your own and kill you, Mum. He hates you. He hates me as well, and her.’ She motioned, with an offhand gesture, to her little sister. ‘He hates everything and everyone. You were right to escape, Mum. You’re my heroine.’

  ‘Am I?’ Paula’s hand went to her mouth. When she began to cry, something broke in the room. One by one they stood and wrapped their arms around her, until she was invisible in a rugby scrum of goodwill, and her tears had become slightly claustrophobic giggles.

  He was on ‘their’ bench. Evie had never seen Clive as animated as he was now, playing with Fang.

  ‘No cigar?’ she queried.

  ‘The little lady doesn’t like it.’ He widened his eyes at his daughter. ‘Do you, Fangy? Do-you-do-you?’

  Fang squealed and shook all over with the fun of life.

  ‘She’s her old self again.’

  ‘In the nick of time.’ Clive carried on pulling faces for Fang’s benefit. ‘Social workers were ready to swoop.’

  They were both exuberantly friendly, ever so normal. Evie guessed a switch had been thrown; Clive would not mention his declaration again.

  Slowly Shen approached them.

  Evie said, ‘You were astounding last night, girlfriend.’

  ‘Was I?’ Shen sounded bored, as if she was no fan of compliments, and that was one of the most tedious she’d heard.

  ‘I was so proud when you flattened that brute. None of the men had a hope, but you—’

  ‘Clive!’ snapped Shen. ‘How many times? Suncream!’

  ‘Ahem.’ Pinkie cocked, Clive held up a tube.

  Disconcerted that he was in the right, Shen pointed at Fang’s sippy cup. ‘That better be—’

  ‘Sugar-free. But of course.’ Clive put his head to one side. With Fang on his knee, he looked like a music-hall ventriloquist. ‘We’ve established that you’re the best in the family at disarming intruders, darling, but clearly I win at childcare.’

  ‘It’s not a contest.’ Shen stepped back from Evie, who’d closed in on her. ‘What are you doing? Get off!’

  ‘I’m hugging you,’ said Evie, doing just that. ‘It’s what we earthlings do, when one of us is being a prat and refusing to accept gratitude for bravery that may have saved more than one life.’ It was like embracing an ironing board. A really pissed-off ironing board. But Evie persisted. ‘You illustrated the real meaning of girl-power to our daughters.’

  Why, wondered Evie, isn’t Shen relaxing, giving in? This was a common enough scenario between them, and Shen always capitulated, squeezing Evie back.

  ‘May I go now?’

  Evie sighed and pulled away. ‘Yes, you can go now.’

  Shen went to the gym in the stable, to run and box and spin away the envy that nibbled her soul. What’s the point, she asked herself, programming a Himalayan route into the running machine, of being able to slay giants, if you can’t nurture your own baby?

  ‘Ooh, lovely!’ Evie, her arms in the sink – even in paradise, there is washing-up to be done – felt Scarlett’s arms tight about her. ‘This hasn’t happened in a while.’

  ‘Remember I used to jump in and snuggle you in bed all the time?’

  ‘Remember? It’s half your lifetime ago, but to me it’s the blink of an eye.’

  ‘Mum, I have to tell you something.’

  Evie turned, drying her hands.

  ‘I knew.’ Scarlett wound a lock of hair round and round the nibbled skin beneath her nibbled fingernail with its remnants of blue varnish. ‘Tillie told me about her dad. Are you angry with me?’

  ‘About what, darling?’

  ‘For not saying anything. I mean, that was proper dangerous last night. When Dad disappeared, I . . .’

  The memory jabbed at Evie’s beleaguered innards. ‘Scarlett, I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Really?’ Scarlett squirmed with pleasure. ‘Why?’ she asked, with that naked need for affirmation that children only show their parents.

  ‘You’re a good friend. Being a friend is a skill, and you have it.’ Evie kissed Scarlett’s forehead and gave her a damned good cuddle. ‘Tillie’s lucky.’

  Boundaries were being relaid. Scarlett was moving her tepee and pitching it elsewhere. Close by, but not within reach of Evie’s arms. Such
change was wholesome and right, but oh, it was hard. Evie prolonged the cuddle.

  She’d got so much wrong this holiday, misinterpreted so many signals. She thought she’d made a friend in Clive. She thought her body was ticking over. She swallowed the Browns’ cock-and-bull story. And now she was, somehow, estranged from Shen. Scarlett began to pull away. ‘A few seconds more, please.’

  ‘I have to get back,’ said Scarlett, ‘We’re taking special care of Tills today.’ She was gone.

  Same pool. Same personnel. But much had changed. No longer grumpy dad of two, Jon was now heroic martyr. Paula, returning from the police station, was a domestic-abuse survivor.

  ‘How did it go?’ Evie tugged self-consciously at her swimsuit gusset. Were there outward signs on her body of its betrayal? She missed the compliments that she’d come to rely on from Clive.

  ‘Fine,’ said Paula. ‘If you like that kind of thing!’

  Maybe, thought Evie, the real Paula is witty. ‘Thank goodness it’s over.’

  ‘It’ll never be over,’ said Paula.

  ‘Mummy!’ Mabel sprinted out of the undergrowth. ‘Come and see! It’s really funny! Pru is trying to give Patch a piggyback!’

  Wincing at the orgasmic grunts emerging from the greenery, Evie held onto her daughter. ‘Let them . . . um . . . play on their own for a while.’ Patch and Pru seemed to think they were in a Carry On film, taking every opportunity for rumpy-pumpy. I’ll have a word with him later, laughed Evie to herself. Make sure he’s treating Pru right. Calling when he says he will.

  When Jon rose, saying it was his turn to make a formal statement, Evie asked him to wait for her. The man beside her, as they walked to the house, was a stranger; for a fortnight she’d believed him to be a sadistic cheat.

  ‘We were a very unconvincing married couple,’ said Jon. ‘Always rowing.’

  ‘That was the most convincing part,’ said Evie. ‘It was more what you didn’t do.’

  ‘Was I,’ he asked, ‘a horrible husband?’

  ‘You went – wham! – from bachelor to family man. Just add water. Whatever kind of husband you were, you’re an amazing brother.’

  It was hard to tell, but Jon seemed moved. ‘I learned a lot about having children.’

  ‘Mainly that you don’t want to have children?’

  Relieved to hear such heresy, Jon laughed. ‘I adore those girls, but, ye gods, sometimes we couldn’t get out of the front door because Amber was having hysterics about the colour of her knickers.’

  ‘Welcome to my world,’ said Evie. ‘I’ve been unable to leave the house without incident since Take That were in the charts first time around.’

  ‘All parents deserve medals.’ Jon rubbed the back of his head. ‘You saw how often I lost my temper. I’m not proud of it.’

  ‘Oh, come on! You were under intense pressure, living a lie.’ Evie felt honesty was the best policy. It generally was. For other people, that is; for herself and Mike, avoidance seemed to be the best policy. ‘A saint would lose their temper with Paula.’

  ‘When she was younger, she was cheerful and sweet and . . . well, happy.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what attracted Carl. Some people see a bright light and want to snuff it out.’

  ‘The worst of it is she constantly tries to please me. Knotting a scarf around my neck, triple-checking the food’s to my liking. Like a demented geisha. Paula became Carl’s creation, a colourless drudge too timid to air an opinion. I want my sister back.’

  ‘That process has started. She insisted on driving herself to the police station.’

  ‘The trial will . . .’ Jon let out a long, tired sigh. ‘It’ll take over our lives. Paula will have to give evidence. If she’s up to it.’

  ‘She’ll be up to it.’ Evie felt sure of that.

  ‘One hears tales of deals, of sentences being commuted. Carl might be out in a year. Then what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Evie. ‘But something had to give. Your fantasy family was coming apart at the seams.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Jon, in a confessional tone, ‘I should have taken Paula’s fears about the ogre in the bushes seriously, but lately I’ve taken my eye off the ball.’

  ‘You fell in love,’ said Evie as they reached the back doors.

  Jon was silent for a moment, as if he hadn’t been sure that she’d bring this up and didn’t quite know how to proceed now that she had. ‘Jane’s mortified you saw her. She usually waited by the gates until I could get away, but curiosity got the better of her. It was lonely in her bed-and-breakfast. This hasn’t been the nicest summer holiday she’s ever had.’

  ‘I’m loving your understatement, Jon. Has she known from the start, about you and Paula?’

  ‘Not right from the start. We had quick chats when I dropped off the girls. Mundane stuff, really.’

  ‘But you liked her,’ said Evie, keen to get to the good stuff.

  ‘She’s so interesting,’ said Jon. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about her. But how could I ask her out? I was a dad.’

  ‘Some dads would do so,’ said Evie.

  ‘It’s tricky communicating complex emotional information over the heads of eight-year-olds hitting each other with lunch boxes, but one morning I suggested a coffee and I said,“It’s not what you think; please say Yes” or something like that. She assumed I wanted to discuss Amber’s dyslexia. I blurted it all out in Starbucks. Foolhardy, but I sensed I could trust her.’ With easy, natural gallantry, Jon let Evie go out through the front door first. ‘It’s been tough. We behave as if we’re adulterers. She walks a hundred yards ahead of me.’ He sighed. ‘It was Jane’s idea to come to the village. I knew there’d be trouble. When you found her, lurking like a spy, she was trying to steal ten minutes alone with me. Madness!’

  ‘She must like you, Jon,’ said Evie, ‘to go through all that for you.’

  ‘She does,’ said Jon, with a smile shocked out of him. ‘She likes me.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Oh, I love her,’ said Jon, as if it was general knowledge, like the capital of France. ‘That’s why I’ve been so distracted. And Paula paid the price.’

  ‘Love’s supposed to distract you. That’s love’s job. And if you’ll permit me to stick my big nose in, go to her. No, run to her.’

  ‘Can’t,’ said Jon simply. They’d reached his car and he climbed in. ‘Paula and the girls need me.’

  Watching the car bump away, Evie waved after a fine example of a dying breed: the English gentleman.

  As befitted a day with no rules, lunch was a sprawling open-air affair, at the point where striped lawn gave way to wild flowers.

  Half a Dairylea sandwich mashed and visible in his mouth, Dan shouted, ‘Who’s this?’ He bunched up his shoulders and bellowed.

  ‘Carl!’ Mabel, overcome by Dan’s comic genius, jumped up and joined in, until they collapsed, laughing, onto Patch, who was so engrossed in waiting for an escapee Scotch egg to roll his way that he barely noticed.

  Segueing seamlessly into a cancan, Mabel yelled, ‘Wait till I tell everyone the baddie was tied up with my skipping rope!’

  The Year Four What I Did in My Holidays essays would be interesting this September. Mike joined Evie and Paula, who were conspiring on a crumpled rug.

  ‘Howdy, gals.’

  They ignored him. ‘Agreed?’ said Evie.

  ‘Agreed.’ Paula heaved herself up. ‘There’s no time like the present.’ She left the Herreras together.

  ‘What’s going on with you two?’ said Mike.

  ‘Nothing.’ Evie fluttered her eyelashes.

  ‘And us?’ he asked, as The Eights rolled in the remains of the picnic. ‘What’s going on with us?’

  ‘We’re the same,’ said Evie, ‘as we always are.’

  Shen heard the lunch posse return before she saw them, trailing blankets, whooping at the dogs. She returned to the lentil and butternut squash she’d blitzed to a fragrant mush. ‘Ooh, yum!’ she said to Fang. ‘Delic
ious!’

  Fang bought the hype and reached out for more. Mush, her demeanour suggested, is where it’s at, dude.

  Footsteps passed the open doors. Screams and sudden eruptions of childhood. Lower, wary tones of adults. All at a remove. All out there.

  Accustomed to the spotlight, Shen found it chilly in the wings. And lonely.

  She had always felt different from the people around her; not better, even when it came across that way. Just different.

  Well . . . maybe a little better.

  She’d defended the tribe. And she’d do it again. (Hopefully she wouldn’t have to; her shoulder throbbed.) That didn’t mean she felt comfortable, or accepted – one of them.

  Evie made it look easy. She saw the good in people, and liked them all the more for their shortcomings and quirks.

  Had Evie seen the good in Clive? Was that why he had engineered those humiliating tête-à-têtes he thought Shen didn’t notice?

  After nine years together, she thought, Clive should know I notice everything about him.

  Perhaps he did know and he didn’t care.

  With perfect comic timing, Fang stuck her finger up Shen’s nose. Even while she laughed – hard not to – Shen saw the gesture as proof of her lack of power. I don’t even have dominion over my own nostrils.

  To make matters worser (as Miles would say), Clive had proved to be a pro at Fang-handling. I’m not a proper woman, Shen rebuked herself. No wonder Clive looked elsewhere.

  Yuk! Shen’s eyes watered at a familiar perfume, even more pungent than the one Evie had bought her for Christmas. Fang needed changing. Again. One more mind-less task can’t hurt. She was a robot now, with no desires of her own. She lived to serve.

  ‘Come on, you, let’s sort out that nappy,’ she whispered to Fang, whose head nodded heavily against Shen’s chest as she hoisted her out of the high chair. Breathing through her mouth, she let out a small exclamation at Fang’s productivity. She removed the nappy, bagged it, threw it away, wiped her daughter’s bottom, fastened up a fresh nappy and swung the little girl into the air. ‘Who’s my best girl?’ she asked.