by Jo Verity
Tom held her. ‘Poor Frank. Poor Dorothy.’ It was a relief to hear these few words of compassion after Steven’s cold-heartedness and she let the tears come.
When her mother had died, she’d been unable to cry. Crying had seemed a self-indulgence, a pathetic response to the enormity of what had happened. Everyone had warned her that she was storing up trouble for herself. ‘Have a good cry. It’ll do you good,’ they bullied. Once or twice she’d gone to the bathroom and locked herself in, trying to squeeze out those mystical tears, guaranteed to avert disaster. None came. But today she wept for Dorothy and all the old ladies who had slipped away without any fuss.
The rest of the household began to stir. Maddy was singing to the baby as she fed her. Arthur came hopping into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in mousey tussocks. He attached himself to Tom and helped put the breakfast things out.
‘Did you sleep well,’ Tom asked him.
‘Dad snores.’
That should answer Tom’s unvoiced question about where the visitors had slept.
Taliesin arrived next, unshaven and in the same clothes that he’d been wearing the previous evening. So, he hadn’t been expecting to stay overnight. They told him what the early phone call had been about and, as they ate, they discussed what they should do.
‘I’ll have to go down today. Dad mustn’t be on his own. I get the impression Steven’s not going to be much help.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Tom.
‘What about Maddy?’
‘There are plenty of people around.’
‘We could stay and keep her company, if that would be helpful,’ said Taliesin. ‘I could pop home and fetch a few things. It only takes an hour or so from here. It would be up to Maddy to decide, of course.’
Before they made their final plans, Anna phoned her father. He sounded tired but more communicative than he had been of late. ‘Steven’s gone to work and I’m tidying up a bit. They were very helpful at the hospital. They’ve given me a list of what has to be done.’
‘Tom and I will be there sometime this afternoon.’
‘Drive carefully. It’ll be good to see you both.’
She went to tell Maddy. ‘Poor Grandpa. He must feel like The Ancient Mariner, surviving all the people he loves.’
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘He married Dorothy knowing that this would happen. Maybe he wasn’t expecting it to be quite this soon. It sounds as if he’d like us to go down today. How would you feel about that?’
‘I’ll be absolutely fine.’ She talked while she deftly changed the baby. ‘No third degree about Taliesin?’
‘Not if you don’t want to talk about it.’
‘He’s still just a friend, Mum. I was afraid I’d ruined it, coming back to see Brendan, but we had a long talk last night and we’re friends again. Where is he now?’
‘Finishing breakfast.’
‘And Dad…?’
‘Don’t worry. They’re getting on fine. Arthur’s completely won your father over. He is an amazing little boy. And I’d better warn you, Taliesin’s offering to stay and keep you company.’
‘You sound disapproving.’
‘Not at all. But I don’t think you should raise his hopes…’
‘Hopes of what? He’s not in love with me, Mum. He’ll never get over Sarah.’
She cuddled the baby while Madeleine showered and dressed. Seren’s shock of black hair gave her a gypsy look. Her eyes, open and watchful, were the colour of wet slate. Anna rested her cheek against the warm, sweet-smelling face. ‘How can I bear to leave you?’ she murmured.
Madeleine was determined to stay on her own.
‘Ring if you change your mind.’ Taliesin extracted her promise. ‘Dad’s more or less given me the car, so we can be here in a flash.’
They waved as the car slipped off down the lane, Arthur’s serious little face peering out from the back window. This time, Tom had sent the child off with a gift. It was a tiny toffee-hammer which had always lived at the back of the ‘useful’ drawer. It was just the right size and weight for him and he was delighted. ‘I’m going to make something for Seren,’ he said.
Anna let Celia and Jenny know that Maddy was going to be on her own for a day or two and they both assured her that they would be around. Then she packed their overnight bag and made a list of things that Maddy might need to know. ‘Get whatever vegetables you want from the garden. There’s plenty of meat in the freezer. Can you try Flora again? I don’t want her to feel left out. Oh, and Len likes a chocolate biscuit with his coffee. Have I forgotten anything?’
‘Give Grandpa my love. Tell him I’ll see him soon. And don’t worry. We’ll be fine.’ Maddy stood on the doorstep, the baby asleep in her arms.
As they left, Anna noticed Prosser, sitting on the wall near the Redwoods’ back door. He must have been listening as she shouted instructions to Maddy.
Frank Hill had done his best. He’d set the kitchen table with cutlery and crockery. He’d even found a tablecloth, albeit slightly creased. ‘I don’t know what you want to eat,’ he said.
‘D’you fancy fish and chips, Dad? Tom’ll fetch them.’
‘That sounds nice.’ He ran his hand back and forth over the orange and red nasturtiums that Nancy Hill had embroidered on the cloth, when they were newly-weds.
Her father had accomplished an amazing amount since she had spoken to him. He’d collected the death certificate from the Registrar, and arranged for an undertaker to call next morning. Undertaker. For most of her life she’d assumed that undertakers were so called because they took people under the ground. The true explanation, which she only learned when her mother died – that they undertook to perform certain duties for the bereaved – wasn’t nearly as satisfying and she preferred her original interpretation.
‘Is there anyone we should notify?’
Frank pointed to a sheet of blue notepaper, pinned to the cork-board near the phone. ‘She wrote everything down. Funeral arrangements. What to do with her things. She was determined not to cause me any problems.’
The list, in Dorothy’s neat, school-girlish writing, brought her up sharp. What a determined woman she must have been, to bother with all of this when she had so little time left. It was a shame that they’d not had a chance to get to know each other. She’d left the names and addresses of a cousin in Bournemouth and a nephew up in Scotland. ‘Who’s this Richard Holton, Dad. In Canada.’
‘Her son.’
‘Her son. I didn’t think…’
‘They fell out when her husband died. He took all the money out of the family business and buggered off. She tried to contact him, when she knew how ill she was. He never replied. I expect he’ll show up for the will reading and he’ll get all her money. Unfortunately I gave my word that I’d be civil to him.’
‘Poor Dad.’ She held his restless hand. ‘She was very lucky to find you.’
‘And I, her. I think your mother would have liked her. Down to earth. Intelligent. Didn’t dye her hair.’
Tom returned with hot, greasy packages. It would have been the perfect evening to eat outside but she didn’t want to undermine her father’s efforts. She watched him clear his plate, tucking in as if he hadn’t eaten for a week. When they’d finished, Frank and Tom went into the garden to cool off and she phoned Maddy. Nothing had happened in the short time they’d been away. Celia had called and Jenny had phoned. ‘I got through to Flora. I think she’s planning to come over and see you this evening.’
While the men were talking, she went upstairs, wandering from room to room. She left her parents’ room (it would always be that) until last. Everything had been cleared away and the bed stripped. On the bed itself were four bulging items of luggage, ranging from a holdall to a huge suitcase, the mattress sagging beneath their weight. Dorothy’s belongings.
She opened the wardrobe. Her father’s clothes hung in the left-hand side, as they had always done, his shoes lined up along the shelf beneath. The other side was emp
ty, apart from a bunch of lavender looped over a cup hook. The bedside table and the chest of drawers were empty too. It shocked her. He must have packed everything away that afternoon, because surely he wouldn’t have done it while Dorothy was still alive.
She ran her finger over the top of the chest, inspecting the skim of dust that obliterated the whorls of her fingerprint. How much skin did a human being shed in a lifetime? It was one of those spectacular statistics that regularly cropped up in articles about asthma and allergies, and was immediately forgotten. On her fingertip, there was sure to be a speck or two of Dorothy. Probably enough to provide the DNA sequence which had made her different from any other human being.
‘I’ll pass those to her son, if he turns up.’ Her father pointed at the cases. He was wearing his slippers and she hadn’t heard his soft steps on the stairs. ‘It’s everything she brought to this house. Up to him what he does with it.’
She stood with her finger extended, not knowing what to do with the specks of the dead woman. It was unthinkable to wipe them off with a tissue. ‘I’ve just got to tell Tom something.’ She ran downstairs, out into the back garden and across to the far corner, where her mother had planted the scented roses. There, beneath the pale fragrance of ‘Madame Carrière’, she plunged her dusty finger into the warm soil and laid the motes of Dorothy to rest.
While she was still crouching, Tom and Flora came round the corner.
‘What are you doing, Mum?’
‘Nothing. Weeding.’
‘Where’s Grandpa? Is he OK? I don’t know what to say to him.’
‘He’s fine. Remember, it’s not like when Grandma died. Just go and give him a big hug. He’s in the bedroom.’
Flora left them and Tom and Anna discussed what they might usefully do. The funeral would probably not be until the middle of the following week. ‘Let’s try and sort everything out in the next few days, then go back home for the weekend. We’ll take your Dad with us, if he’ll come. I’m sure Steven could cope at this end for a few days. Does that sound reasonable?’
‘Mmm. We’re seeing the undertaker tomorrow and I can’t think that there’s going to be anything complicated about it. It would be nice to get back to Maddy. I don’t like leaving her for too long.’
Although Frank looked tired, he was in good spirits and far more responsive than he had been for a long time. Before she returned to Bristol, he held Flora’s hand and talked at length about his first wife, telling stories about their courtship and the early years of their marriage. ‘Steven did as he was told but your mother wasn’t always an easy child. She’d stand there, as nice as pie, then go off and do exactly what she wanted. And she was very stubborn. She’d rather stay in her room for a week than apologise. We had a few battles, didn’t we, Anna?’
Flora squealed with delight. ‘Really? I can’t imagine Mum being stroppy. So that’s where Maddy gets it from.’
Had she been a difficult child? If so, when had all that awkwardness metamorphosed to compliance? ‘Nonsense.’
Anna and Tom walked Flora to her car. It was still light and two children leaned out of the window in the house opposite, too hot to sleep. The nicotiana plants, scruffy and unimpressive by day, gave off their spectacular evening scent.
‘I know this probably isn’t the time to discuss it, but remember you suggested we might have an engagement party? Well, Luke and I think it would be fun. Maybe we could make it more of a general knees-up, for everyone. What d’you think? We’ve never had enough room for a proper ‘do’ before and, if people brought tents, it needn’t cause too much disruption in the house. It’s up to you two.’ They agreed that, if they held it in the middle of September, it could double as a celebration of their first year at Pen Craig.
By the time they returned to the house, Frank had gone to bed. He’d been using Anna’s old bedroom, leaving the guest-room for them.
‘I’ll phone Madeleine before we go to bed. Let her know our plans.’
The phone rang and rang, until Anna heard her own voice announce that no one was available to take the call.
24
The funeral was to take place the following Wednesday, a week to the day after Dorothy’s death. In truth, there hadn’t been a great deal to do once they’d collected the death certificate from the Registrar and engaged the services of Mr Tunley, an obsequious man who seemed able to move around without disturbing the air.
‘He gives me the creeps, mincing about with that pseudo-sympathetic look on his face. He must be delighted to hear that “our loved one” has “passed on”. The more the merrier as far as he’s concerned,’ said Anna.
‘He can hardly start cracking jokes, love. Be fair,’ said Tom.
Seeing the man again, in his morning suit, with his slicked down hair and manicured nails, brought it all back. He’d asked the same questions of them, in the same hushed tones, six years ago. Admittedly, it was completely different this time. Apart from being, more or less, a stranger, Dorothy had left complete instructions with everything clearly spelled out. ‘Cremation; “All things bright and beautiful”; cheapest coffin available. NO FUSS.’ Everything Anna would want for herself. Now they’d set events in motion, Steven would be on hand, to deal with any queries.
Frank, although he’d been quiet, did not seem to be unhappy. He’d slept for hours on end, placing his deckchair in a shady spot in the garden. A couple of days in the garden and he was as brown as a berry. Peace had settled on him and she recognised how tense and crabby he’d been for quite a long time. ‘And I’ve never seen him eat so much,’ she said to Tom, when they went to the supermarket on a cupboard-stocking mission. It delighted her to see him clear his plate, then push it towards her for ‘a smidgen more.’
The traffic wasn’t too bad and they were home by late morning. The heat had pushed the silver thread of the wall thermometer well over the eighty-degree mark, nevertheless the back door was shut.
‘We’re back,’ shouted Anna, dumping her bag on the cool flagstones of the utility room. ‘Maddy?’
While Tom unpacked the car and ushered Frank Hill into the house, she went in search of Madeleine and found her, in the sitting room, feeding the baby. Seren had fallen asleep at her breast, flushed with contentment and the breathless heat. Maddy laid her gently in the carrycot and fastened the substantial nursing bra.
Anna looked down at her granddaughter. ‘I’m sure she’s grown. Is that silly?’
‘You’ve only been gone three days, Mum.’
‘She looks different somehow.’ She ran the back of her index finger across the baby’s cheek, but Seren was submerged in milky sleep and didn’t twitch.
‘Everything OK here?’
The pause was fractionally too long before Madeleine replied, ‘Of course.’
‘What happened? Something happened, didn’t it?’
‘Nothing… I don’t know.’ Tears flooded Maddy’s eyes. ‘Oh, Mum, I was so scared.’
Anna’s heart thudded. ‘What? What scared you?’
Between sobs, and with stuttering phrases, Maddy explained. On Thursday, the day after they had gone to Bath, she had put Seren’s carrycot, cat-net securely in place, on the wall outside the back door, in the shade of the house. While the baby slept, she washed the kitchen floor. ‘I wanted it to be tidy and clean when you came home. After I finished, I put the mop outside. It was awful, Mum.’
Anna held her breath.
‘The net was off. Gone. We looked everywhere. Uncle Bill, Auntie Jenny, all of us. It wasn’t in the carrycot. Not on the floor. Nowhere.’
She had a vivid picture of the unprotected cot. ‘Could the wind…?’
‘It was absolutely still. Not a breath of wind. You do understand what I’m saying? It wasn’t there.’
‘But Seren was alright?’
‘Yes. But what if I hadn’t gone out? What if Auntie Celia’s cat…? She was crying again now.
Nothing had happened. A piece of net had gone missing and nothing had happened to a sleepin
g baby. Relieved laughter rose in Anna’s throat.
But it wasn’t just any old sleeping baby. It was Seren. Their baby. Maddy was taking deep breaths, expelling the air slowly. ‘I’m getting more and more scared every day. I don’t think I can do this. It’s too much responsibility. I daren’t take my eyes off her, in case something goes wrong. In case she stops breathing or someone steals her. Why didn’t you warn me it would be like this?’
Anna had warned her of course, time and time again. It was implicit in all those exhortations. ‘Look both ways,’ ‘Don’t take sweets,’ ‘Stay with the others,’ ‘Be home before dark.’ She had suffered from the day Flora was born and, since that moment, the world had grown more and more threatening.
‘Auntie Celia was really sweet. I stayed with them on Thursday and Friday nights. She said they didn’t mind the broken sleep.’
So this was why her calls had gone unanswered. The very time she should have been concerned, she’d assumed that Maddy was in the bath or fast asleep, not taking refuge in a neighbour’s house. But why had her daughter been so terrified? She wasn’t one to get hysterical.
Maddy shuddered and shook herself, sloughing off the clinging menace. ‘How’s Grandpa Frank?’ Her voice rang with false brightness.
‘Oh, God. I’d forgotten all about him.’
Leaving Maddy with a promise to return shortly, she went in search of Tom. It was likely that he’d gone to check the garden or open his mail – anywhere to escape the pressure to make small-talk with her father. Frank was standing, stoically, in the middle of the kitchen, holdall at his feet, like a refugee in a flickering old newsreel. ‘Tea, Dad?’
‘Just a glass of water, please. Then I may go and take a stroll around ‘the estate’, if that’s alright with you..’ He took the tumbler she offered and drank it slowly, making little gulping noises. ‘Adam’s ale. That’s what my father used to call it.’