by Debbie Rix
Afterwards, wrapped in a bathrobe, she went downstairs and made some scrambled eggs.
She was just finishing eating when she heard someone in the hall. Within minutes Hamish appeared in the kitchen.
‘I thought I said I didn’t want to see you,’ Sophie said, curtly, running her plate under the tap.
‘I know. But I need some clothes and I wanted to explain.’
‘You did that last night… there’s no need to go through it all again. If I recall correctly, you said something along the lines of: you didn’t mean it. That woman in her slinky nightwear meant nothing – is that right?’
He blushed, and stood awkwardly, nervously fiddling with the back of a kitchen chair.
‘How much did you see?’ he asked, anxiously.
‘Enough… I saw you together in the kitchen. I was going for a walk. I was worried about you – about why you were so late. As I passed the vicarage, I saw your car parked in the drive. I came to look for you.’ At the memory, Sophie’s eyes filled with tears. She heard her voice wavering.
Hamish took a step towards her.
‘Sophie…’
‘No… stay there… I went round the side of the house – and there you were. She was practically screwing you in the kitchen.
Hamish winced and looked away in shame.
‘God, Hamish… If you think that’s no-strings-attached sex then you’re more of a fool than I thought,’ Sophie said angrily, drying her eyes on the sleeve of her dressing gown. She was annoyed with herself for crying. ‘Flora is not the sort of woman to let you go easily.’
Hamish pulled the chair out and sat down heavily at the table and put his head in his hands. The cat jumped onto his lap and circled proprietorially, before finally settling down, his paws tucked neatly beneath him, purring loudly.
‘At least the ugly cat likes me,’ said Hamish quietly.
‘I LIKE you… you idiot. I loved you – do love you, I think…’ Sophie was sobbing now. ‘Just because I want a child, doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Why can’t you see that?’
Hamish began to cry. ‘I don’t know. I’m an idiot. I was… jealous. Jealous of the passion you seem to have for this unknown person, this child that doesn’t even exist yet.’
‘What, and so you thought… I know, I’ll go and find someone of my own to feel passionate about… someone who loves only me. Except she doesn’t, does she, Hamish? She has four children, who she does a poor job of loving, and a husband who she doesn’t seem too fond of either. So don’t hold your breath for true love there, Hamish. She’s simply not capable of it.’
‘You’re right – I know. I know exactly what sort of person Flora is. She’s pretty hard-bitten. I’m so sorry.’
He looked so pathetic sitting at the table, she felt her anger dissipating, slightly.
‘She was just fun, Sophie,’ he continued, ‘it didn’t mean anything.’
The glibness of this comment enraged her.
‘How long has it been going on?’ she asked, suddenly alert to the possibility that he had been deceiving her for quite a while.
‘Just a few weeks.’
‘A few weeks! How long, exactly?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I bumped into her in Cheltenham one day; she was shopping, or something. We had lunch. We kissed.’
Any hope Hamish might have had that she could forgive him, evaporated.
‘So you had no time to come to the clinic with me while I had my eggs harvested,’ Sophie said with barely concealed fury, ‘but you had time for lunch and kissing in the car park, or wherever it was… How many times have you slept with her? I want the truth…’
‘Four… five… Five,’ he decided, finally. ‘Definitely only five.’
‘Only! Only five! Oh well, that’s OK then. That’s fine. If you had said six it might have been a different matter. But five is just fine. Why don’t you just leave, Hamish? Go. Get your shirts or whatever you want and just go.’
‘Can’t we talk about this?’
‘We did. We’ve finished.’
The pain in her abdomen began a week later. It was just a little pain – nothing too bad. But she drove to the clinic with a heavy heart and asked them to test her. The results came back just as she’d feared. She was no longer pregnant with twins. Two more lentil babies had been washed away. When she got home, she rang her mother.
‘Oh darling…’ said Angela. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’ll come and see you. I can be there in a few hours.’
‘No… it’s OK.’
‘Are you sure? You don’t sound OK. What does Hamish say?’
‘He doesn’t know yet.’
‘You shouldn’t be alone,’ her mother protested.
‘I’ve got to go now…’ said Sophie. The thought of explaining what had happened between her and Hamish seemed overwhelming. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I just need to sleep.’
‘I’ll call you later,’ her mother said, her voice filled with concern.
Was this the end? Sophie thought, as she sat at the kitchen table in the gathering gloom. The end of her journey towards children? Was it the end of her marriage?
The cat, lying on her lap, purred loudly, licking her hand with his rough tongue.
There were so many questions, she thought, and no answers. She just knew that she was very, very tired.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
London
January 1961
As the plane touched down at Heathrow, Rachael breathed a sigh of relief – grateful they had arrived safely. Given what had happened to Chuck, Rachael had understandably wrestled with her nerves as they waited to board the plane in New York. Settling the children in their seats, tightening their seat belts and listening to the safety announcements, she tried desperately to stay calm. As the plane taxied down the runway, the engines got louder and louder; when the pilot released the brakes, the plane leapt forward down the runway, causing the passengers to be thrown back into their seats. Once it had lifted off the ground, Rachael was determined not to look out of the window, but the plane banked sharply before turning east. The whole of Brooklyn was laid out below her. She could see the rooftops, the chimney stacks, the tiny squares of garden.
Was this Chuck’s last view of New York? What had gone through her husband’s mind, as the pilot struggled to keep control? Since his death, she had often wondered what his last thoughts had been. She hoped it was something comforting – perhaps of her and the children? But now, as their plane juddered and roared its way to thirty thousand feet, she understood that his final thoughts would have been fear and it was almost more than she could bear. Once the plane was truly airborne, the children became fractious and irritable. Tom had an ear infection and screamed as the plane gained altitude, clutching the side of his face. The air stewardess, in an attempt to comfort him, gave him a sweet to suck, but he was clearly in so much pain, he finally spat the sweet out, rubbing his ear frantically, his little cheeks scarlet with the added discomfort of teething. He finally fell asleep half an hour or so before they landed.
Back on terra firma, as the plane taxied to its parking bay, Rachael felt a combination of exhaustion and relief mingled with a sense of anticlimax – that her time in America, her great happy adventure with wonderful Chuck, was over.
It was drizzling, and the sky was a dense, dull grey. Fog hovered at the edges of the airfield, as Rachael walked unsteadily down the plane’s steps, carrying Tom, who was fast asleep and a dead weight. The stewardess followed behind, holding Angela’s hand. It was all so different to the last time they had descended aeroplane steps.
Once she had collected her luggage, she walked into the arrivals hall. It was a consolation to see her father standing at the barrier with Mrs Roper.
‘Papa,’ she said, bursting into tears of relief. Angela, recognising Mrs Roper, ran ahead and threw herself at the older woman, who picked her up and twirled her around.
George put his arms around his daughter and his sleeping grandson. He kissed the t
op of the boy’s head.
‘Come, darling… Let’s go home.’
Installed in the taxi, Rachael slumped into her seat, almost catatonic with tiredness.
Angela chattered constantly to Mrs Roper, who was clearly delighted to have the little girl back with her again.
‘I came on an aeroplane,’ the child said, excitedly. ‘It was high in the sky and we flew right round the world.’
‘Yes, you did, you clever girl.’
‘My daddy says we can go on our holiday on an aeroplane. Am I on a holiday now, Mommy?’
‘Yes, darling,’ said Rachael flatly.
George, who had taken the sleeping Thomas on his lap, smiled at his daughter and squeezed her hand, encouragingly.
When they arrived at the house in Willow Road, Angela ran towards the kitchen.
‘Angela… come upstairs, darling,’ said Rachael.
‘No, I want to do some cooking with Mrs Roper.’
‘Not now, darling. Later maybe.’
‘Do as Mummy says,’ said Mrs Roper, watching Rachael anxiously from the hall, as she pulled herself laboriously up the stairs, holding onto the handrail. She looked like an old woman, Mrs Roper thought. She caught George’s eye and smiled sympathetically. ‘We can cook later,’ Mrs Roper said to Angela, who was dancing energetically around the hall.
Mrs Roper had reorganised her guests so that Rachael and George could have their old configuration back.
‘I hope Rachael will be able to squeeze both the children into that little box room,’ Mrs Roper fretted to George. ‘We might need another room for them. As soon as one becomes available, I’ll keep it for you.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Roper, you’re very kind. Perhaps we ought to find somewhere of our own,’ George suggested.
‘Oh, you don’t want to do that. Not when I can look after you all so well here. No, don’t worry.’
‘I fear we’re becoming an imposition,’ said George, his eyes following his daughter as she trudged slowly up the stairs.
‘Professor…’ Mrs Roper held the old man firmly by the arms and looked intently into his grey eyes. ‘You could never be an imposition. You are like family to me.’
Rachael opened the door to the attic. It was just as she had left it. The green desk stood in the window, her bed up against the wall. The crystal glasses and a half-drunk bottle of sherry still stood on the little table. She knelt down next to the record player Chuck had bought and lifted the lid. ‘True Love’ was still on the turntable. She broke down, sobbing, her head in her hands.
The children, who had been exploring their grandfather’s room downstairs, burst excitedly into the attic. Rachael got hurriedly to her feet and wiped her eyes.
Angela ran around the room, pointing to things she remembered.
‘This is my bed, this is Mama’s desk, this is our sofa…’
Tom, of course, had no memories of the house in Hampstead at all. The only home he had known was three thousand miles away. But he was happy, the pain in his ear had subsided, and as far as he was concerned, home was where his mother was. He happily followed Angela around, shuffling behind her on his backside and giggling.
George, who had followed them in, tried to calm them down.
‘Come on, darlings,’ he said, taking Angela’s hand. ‘Let’s go to your bedroom, take off your coats and have a little lie-down. You must be tired.’
‘I’m not tired,’ said Angela defiantly. ‘I’m going to do some cooking with Mrs Roper.’
‘Not yet, Angela,’ said George, firmly. ‘Nap first, cooking later.’
The children reluctantly lay down and finally fell asleep.
Rachael was herself lying down when George emerged from the children’s room.
‘Shall I stay with you?’ he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘No… thank you, Papa. I’m tired too. I need to try to sleep. I’ll come down in a little while and we’ll talk.’
George kissed her and reluctantly left her alone.
Rachael thought back to the day she had danced with Chuck in the attic. How he had proposed to her, accepted her for who she was. How he had loved their children – how he had loved her. The record he had played that day, ‘True Love’, had been prophetic. That’s what he had given her – she knew that now. As exhaustion mingled with pain, her eyes fluttered closed and she was enveloped, at last, by sleep.
The following morning, she woke as the sun, coming up over the heath, cast its cool, wintry light around the room. She had fallen asleep wearing her coat and, throwing off the eiderdown, took the coat off and hung it behind the door. She opened her suitcase, removing her washbag, which she put back in its familiar place by the washbasin. Silently she opened the door to the children’s room. They both lay still fast asleep, their eyelashes fluttering mid-dream.
She closed the door quietly and went downstairs to her father’s room and knocked on the door.
‘Papa, Papa…’ she whispered through the door.
‘Yes…’ he responded. ‘Come in.’
His bed had been positioned along one wall and faced the window. He woke to a view of a tall horse chestnut that towered over the back garden. She sat on his bed and then, exhausted suddenly, lay down next to him. He wrapped his arms around her.
‘My poor child,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘I don’t know what to say. It seems so unfair.’
‘I really loved him, you know, Papa. You were right. You said I would learn to love him and I did. Chuck was such… fun – so optimistic, so positive, and so kind. I can’t believe what has happened. How could someone so alive, so vibrant, just be… snuffed out like that.’
‘How did his parents take it?’
‘Ah… my parents-in-law…’ She turned her tear-stained to face him.
‘They must be devastated,’ continued George.
‘Yes, of course. But… you know… they were not kind to me…’
‘Tell me.’
‘They shut me out of the funeral arrangements – it was as if we had never been married. Various people stood up and spoke about him. One of his old university friends, a work colleague, even someone he had been at school with. But there was no mention of me, or the children. Before I left, they told me that they always had suspicions that Tom was not their grandson. I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t have the energy to fight.’
‘Poor Rachael. Were you tempted to stay in New York?’
‘Yes… at first. I loved New York – I felt at home there. But the apartment we had was expensive and Chuck’s parents made it clear that they wouldn’t pay for it.’
‘I could have sent you money,’ said George.
‘No… that wouldn’t have been fair. You told me a long time ago that I needed to work, to be independent. You were right. If I’d had a job, maybe I could have stayed, paid the rent. But what could I do – with two small children to look after?’
‘Had you no friends who could help you?’
‘One or two friends, but no one I could ask for money. An old lady, in my building – Violet… was very kind. She wanted to help, and tried to me persuade to stay. “I’ll introduce you to some people,” she told me a few days after the funeral. “I know everyone… darling… everyone.” But I had no strength left… you know? The idea of meeting new people, of starting again, seemed impossible. Besides, I missed you so much. I wanted to come home.’
‘Well… I’m glad you did. I’ve missed you so much.’ He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair that always reminded him of his beloved wife. ‘I think you were right to come home, and Mrs Roper was delighted – not about Chuck, you understand, but at the prospect of seeing you and the children; she has been counting the days.’
‘She’s so kind… but maybe we should think of finding a little house of our own? We can’t stay here forever.’
‘Give it time, darling. You need to recover.’
Later that evening, after supper, when the children were in bed, Rachael sat at he
r desk in the window. She pulled down the front flap of the bureau and took out the key from beneath the pile of writing paper in the little drawer. She opened the cupboard in the centre and removed the panel at the back. She found the envelope easily enough. Inside, beside the byssus bracelet he had given her on that final day, was the photograph of Tommaso. He stood smiling, leaning so casually against the boat. She tied the bracelet around her wrist and examined the brown threads woven intricately together. It looked like nothing really, and yet, when she held it up to the light, it still glistened like gold – it hadn’t lost its sheen. Tommaso had said it was a talisman… a good luck charm. Perhaps if she had taken it with her to America she might have had better luck.
She looked again at Tommaso’s picture. She wondered if he had married the woman he was promised to. Had he learned to love again, just as Rachael had learned to love Chuck? She hoped so… And yet there was a little pang of regret. Maybe, if she had stayed in Sardinia, she would be married to Tommaso now, living in the cottage, bringing up her children in the sunshine…
‘No!’ she said to herself, out loud. ‘Don’t think that. It’s over… you can never go back.’
She replaced the picture and the bracelet in the envelope, returned them to their hiding place and locked the cupboard. She undressed, put on her nightgown and went into the children’s room to check they were asleep. They lay, facing one another, on either side of the little room. Angela – her hair a mass of golden curls, her thumb in her mouth. And Tom – his thick dark hair damp with sweat. She removed the quilt from his bed, tidying the sheet. He stirred, opening his dark brown eyes briefly, before turning over. She stepped back, anxious not to disturb them, but stood drinking in the physical presence of her beautiful children. They had been her good luck. Yes, she had known grief – unimaginable grief – but through it all, she had been given these two wonderful gifts, her children, both born of love and affection. And Chuck had loved them both, as if they were his own. Yes… she had known real love and good luck. She had been blessed and somehow she would find a way of being happy again – for them, for her father and for herself. She silently closed their door, crept into her own single bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.