The River Home : A Novel (2020)

by Richell, Hannah

  Far below, she hears the sound of the back door opening then closing. Margot has returned. Minutes later, there comes the high beeping of a truck reversing up the driveway. Voices drift up through her open window, her daughter’s mingling with the deeper, rougher voices of the men from the marquee company. Footsteps crunch on the gravel path. There is the sound of truck doors sliding open. Kit wonders if she should go and help supervise but something holds her in place. She sits there, listening to the industry below, hiding behind her wall for just a little longer.

  17

  The men are fast and efficient. They drag the poles and white canvas down to the orchard and start to erect the tent frame between the trees. Margot watches them work, feeling helpless. She sends Eve and Lucy a photo from her phone as the bones of the marquee begin to take shape. ‘Too late to back out now!’ she jokes.

  She hears the sound of another vehicle on the driveway and moments later Tom appears in the orchard, wandering down through the trees in his work gear and muddy boots, aviator sunglasses masking his eyes. ‘I was checking on a conservation project nearby and thought I’d pop by to see if you lot needed a hand with anything.’

  ‘I think the guys have got it under control,’ says Margot. ‘But thanks.’ She casts about for something to say. ‘What’s the project?’

  ‘A bumblebee corridor.’

  ‘A what?’

  Tom smiles. ‘We’re working with farmers and land owners to create nectar-rich sites that help bees travel and pollinate. It’s important for their survival, and agriculture. A win for everyone.’

  Margot smiles. ‘I like that. A bee super-highway.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  They stand side by side watching as the workmen raise wooden posts and drive huge metal pegs into the earth with mallets.

  ‘It’s exciting,’ says Margot.

  ‘It is,’ says Tom, though something in his voice makes her turn.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, rearranging his face into a smile. ‘Everything’s great.’

  One of the men, wrestling with a corner of the white canvas, loses his grip. The fabric catches in the breeze and cracks like a whip, the sound echoing out across the valley. Tom heads across and helps to pull the fabric in place, before returning to Margot’s side. ‘Lucy’s dead chuffed that you came back for the wedding,’ he says.

  ‘Of course I came back,’ says Margot.

  ‘I realise you and I don’t know each other well, but I hope you trust I’ll always do my best to look after your sister.’

  Margot laughs. ‘To be honest, Lucy has never struck me as the kind of person who needs “looking after”.’

  ‘Well then, just know that I’ll always have her back.’

  Margot turns and studies Tom’s tanned face. She sees the earnest expression in his blue eyes. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to getting to know you a bit better over the next couple of days. You are coming to the dinner tomorrow?’

  Margot nods. Truthfully, she had been wondering whether she could make up an excuse and avoid the whole excruciating pre-wedding family line-up. With the buffer of more guests, she knows it will be far easier to avoid confrontation and conflict at the wedding. The intimacy of the family meal scares her.

  ‘Good,’ continues Tom, ‘because it means a lot to Lucy to have you there, and my folks are looking forward to meeting all of you.’

  ‘I hope you’ve warned them we’re a little—’

  Tom grins. ‘All the best families are, Margot.’

  She smiles at that.

  He clears his throat. ‘Lucy has pinned a lot on your return, Margot.’ Margot turns to him with a raised eyebrow. He holds up his hands. ‘I know she can sometimes be wildly unrealistic, but I want her to enjoy this weekend. I don’t want her distracted by family politics and fighting. I guess I’m just saying, if you could find a way to, well, keep things calm …’ He trails off, seeing the flare of indignation on her face.

  ‘She’s the one that called us all back together,’ Margot says, bristling at his suggestion. ‘I’m perfectly happy to let the past remain in the past, but I don’t suppose you’ve had this little chat with our mother?’

  He at least has the good grace to look guilty. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  Margot eyes him warily. ‘I don’t know what Lucy has told you, but trust me, you don’t know the full story.’

  Tom nods. ‘Sorry. Forget I said anything. Luce said to tell you that she will be over to help with the decorations. I’d best get back to work.’

  Margot watches Tom walk up towards the house, upset and more than a little irritated at his interference. When she turns back to the orchard, she sees that the men have performed a miracle. Where once there was only grass and trees, now stands a huge white tent. It rises and falls, the fabric breathing like a giant lung in the morning air. She studies it for a moment, watching its undulating movement. Yes, she thinks. Just breathe.

  18

  Lucy drops her bombshell as they are balancing on chairs in the marquee, a string of fairy lights between them. ‘I think Andrew’s having an affair.’

  ‘What?’ Margot nearly drops the lights, only just catching them in time. ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I wish I was.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I saw him with another woman. He was buying her jewellery. It didn’t look exactly … innocent.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  She shakes her head.

  ‘Fuck.’

  Lucy eyes Margot. Her sister has gone a furious red, the wire string of the lights wound tightly in her hands. ‘What’s wrong with him? What about Eve, the girls?’

  ‘I know,’ says Lucy. ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should tell her.’

  ‘Of course you should.’

  ‘She’ll be devastated. You know what she’s like, how in control of everything she has to be.’

  Margot sighs. ‘What a bastard.’

  ‘I should have confronted him when I saw them together. I was tempted. I could have wiped the smug smiles off their faces.’ Lucy imagines the conversation she has played out in her head a hundred times since her shopping trip. She could have pulled Andrew up there and then and reminded him of his responsibilities to his wife and kids.

  ‘I always thought those two were rock solid.’ Margot thinks for a moment. ‘She’s seemed pretty odd these past couple of days – so tense and cagey. Maybe she already knows?’

  ‘She would have said something, surely?’

  ‘Unless she didn’t want to burden you before your big day?’

  Lucy frowns.

  ‘Well, whether she knows or not, he’s still a complete bastard for cheating. Honestly, what is it with men? Why are they such untrustworthy, philandering bastards?’

  ‘Not all of them are like that.’

  Margot throws her a sour look. ‘Dad left Mum, didn’t he? Now Andrew’s fooling around behind Eve’s back. Men are weak, Luce. They just can’t keep it in their trousers.’

  ‘Er … you do realise that I’m marrying the love of my life on Saturday?’

  ‘I hope Tom’s different. I really do,’ says Margot quietly.

  ‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. Of course he’s different.’

  Margot doesn’t say anything and Lucy feels her indignation rise. ‘Are you OK? You seem a little … rattled.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Lucy leans up to attach the wire over the entrance to the tent, stretching to pin it to the corner. Her chair tilts slightly in the soft ground, making her wobble. ‘Shit,’ she says, reaching down to steady herself.

  ‘Here,’ says Margot, reaching across for the lights. ‘You get down. I’ll take it from here. Can’t have you injuring yourself before your big day, not in your—’

  ‘What?’ Lucy gives her a look.

  ‘Nope. I insist,’ says Margot, wrestling the lights from her hand
s. ‘Why don’t you fetch the bunting from the house? We’ll hang that next.’

  Lucy sighs but does as she is told. When she returns, she finds Eve has arrived and is helping Margot, the two of them untangling another string of lights between them. She eyes her elder sister, trying to read her face for signs that something might be off. Eve looks more tired than usual, perhaps a little less ‘put-together’ than she’d expect, with her brown hair scraped back in a messy bun and her shirt creased and untucked.

  ‘Thanks for coming to help,’ says Lucy carefully. She glances at Margot. ‘We weren’t expecting you.’

  ‘I wanted to check on the marquee and thought you might need an extra pair of hands.’

  Margot clears her throat. ‘Everything all right at home?’ she asks.

  Lucy throws her a frown but Eve is oblivious to Margot’s clumsy question. ‘Of course.’ She glances up from the lights. ‘This is a rare moment of quiet, with the girls at school and Andrew in the office.’

  ‘Great,’ says Margot, nodding. ‘That’s great.’

  Eve gives her a suspicious look. ‘Everything OK with you?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Everything’s wonderful. Isn’t it, Lucy?’

  Lucy shoots her another warning look. ‘Yes. Fine.’

  Margot shakes the tangled wires. ‘Ugh. This is a disaster. Why don’t we forget the lights and put candles everywhere. It would look lovely.’

  ‘We can’t,’ says Eve. ‘The hire company said it would be a fire risk. Can you even imagine? This whole place would go up in flames.’

  Margot’s hands, still fiddling with the string of lights, fall still. The three sisters look at each other, the same image hovering before their eyes at the same time. Lucy swallows. This is ridiculous. They have to talk about what happened. It’s the only way. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you gave Mum an apology, Margot?’

  Margot shoots her a steely look. ‘If you really want to know, I apologised the other night.’

  ‘Well, that’s good,’ says Eve brightly.

  ‘Not much good it seemed to do. She’s hell-bent on holding a grudge.’

  Lucy sighs. ‘You destroyed years of her work. A six-hundred page manuscript, up in smoke, like that.’ She clicks her fingers.

  Margot winces. ‘I know.’

  ‘Have you even tried to imagine what it must have felt like for her? Is it any wonder she hasn’t been able to finish the series, that final book?’ Lucy sees Margot scuff the grass underfoot, her face turned to the ground and feels a wave of anger. ‘You did that, Margot. You’re the one that paralysed her.’

  ‘Lucy,’ warns Eve. ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Yes. I know that,’ says Margot quietly. ‘Of course I know that.’

  ‘Have you considered counselling,’ she continues. ‘Tried talking to someone?’

  ‘What good would that do?’

  ‘How do you know if you don’t try?’

  Margot looks utterly dejected, her face still fixed on the ground. ‘It’s just words, isn’t it? It doesn’t change anything.’

  ‘Yes, Margot. Just words. Words that you need to stop bottling up and start sharing. This silence you shroud yourself in, it’s not healthy. You owe Mum. Not only a proper apology, but an explanation as to why you would do something so … hurtful.’

  Margot raises her head and rolls her eyes. ‘Would you listen to yourself? You act like we lived this idyllic childhood. As if Mum and Dad never put a foot wrong. The truth is that none of you know the real truth. Or perhaps it’s simply that none of you wanted to see it. Far easier to believe in a fantasy than accept the shitty reality, right?’

  Lucy throws Eve a confused glance. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘No. Tell us.’

  ‘What’s the point? There’s no coming back from this. I’m sorry but the fantasy of “happy reconciliation” that you hold is rubbish.’

  ‘You don’t know that. It’s obvious from how hurt and angry you and Mum are that you both care. There is still love between you, and where there is love, there is hope.’

  Margot shakes her head.

  ‘You won’t even try?’

  Margot still won’t look at her. ‘I get it, Lucy.’

  Lucy lets out a groan of frustration. ‘No. You don’t.’

  ‘What?’ Margot raises her head, a look of anger flashing across her face. ‘You think being the blushing bride this weekend gives you the right to do whatever you want? You think that having the perfect life, a great job, the ideal relationship, means you get to say whatever you want? You get to make your demands and trample over the rest of us?’

  ‘It’s not perfect, Margot. Nothing is. And no. I don’t think that. The only person who trampled over anything is you, Margot. I’m the only one in this family prepared to tell you how it is. What you did to Mum was awful. We all think so. There isn’t a teenage temper tantrum in the world that could justify it.’

  Eve puts a hand on Lucy’s arm. ‘Lucy, I know you’re all for straight-talking, but I don’t think now is the time—’

  ‘If not now, then when?’ She turns to Eve in frustration. ‘Now is the time, don’t you see? Now is all we have. We’ve spent far too long tiptoeing around each other. I think Margot needs to know—’

  ‘She knows, Lucy.’ Eve gestures to where Margot stands. ‘Look, she knows.’

  Lucy turns back to Margot and sees her standing crumpled in on herself. She is bent over with her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  ‘Margot?’

  She doesn’t answer.

  ‘Margot? Are you—?’

  But before she can say anything else, Margot has spun on her heel and fled the marquee.

  Eve throws Lucy a worried look. ‘Well done, Luce.’

  Lucy sighs and throws her hands up. ‘Somebody had to say it.’ She stares after Margot, at the light falling through the opening of the tent, wishing she could shine a light on the secrets her sister seems hell-bent on keeping. ‘What do you think she meant?’ she asks, turning back to Eve. ‘The real truth? What was she talking about? What didn’t we see?’

  Eve stares at Lucy for a long moment. ‘I have no idea.’

  THE PAST

  2009

  19

  The day Ted moved out of Windfalls happened to be the same day Margot auditioned for a part in the school production of Romeo and Juliet. There had been more student interest than usual in the casting of the play, thanks to the arrival of Mr Hudson, an enthusiastic new drama teacher who had joined the faculty and was proving popular with the pupils.

  The line for auditions had snaked through the school corridor but Margot, just shy of sixteen, thought she would try out. She was taking Drama GCSE and hoped she might continue on to theatre college, if her results proved good enough. Her audition, Juliet’s balcony monologue, was delivered to Mr Hudson and two self-important sixth-formers who had sat blank-faced at a table and, rather frustratingly, given nothing away. Margot was still replaying the speech in her head, trying to gauge how she might have been received, as she returned home to find Ted dragging two suitcases out to his car. ‘What’s going on?’

  Kit appeared at the back door, her arms folded across her chest. ‘Your father’s leaving.’

  Margot looked from Kit’s tight frown to Ted’s resigned face. Her father gave a small nod and Margot felt something heavy drop in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘I’m sorry, Margot. It’s better this way,’ Ted said. ‘I’m not going far. I’ll still see you all the time.’

  It was happening. That woman – the one they had all pretended he wasn’t carrying on with – was taking him away.

  ‘Your mother and I—’

  Kit didn’t allow him to finish his sentence. ‘Your father, at long last, has tired of sponging off me and my “shoddy bestsellers”. Now that you girls are grown up and his star is on the rise again, he doesn’t need us any more. He’s shacking up with that tart, across the valley.’

 
‘I’m sorry,’ Ted said, ignoring Kit’s barb and turning back to Margot. ‘I thought we might be able to live like this but it’s damaging all of us. I’ve found someone who makes me happy.’

  ‘We don’t make you happy?’ Margot frowned at him.

  Ted shook his head. ‘It’s not like that, darling. Of course you make me happy. I’m your father. I’ll always love you.’

  ‘But you’re choosing her?’

  ‘Yes,’ spat Kit. ‘He’s choosing her.’

  ‘Kit!’ said Ted, sharply. ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘Not fair? Not fair?’ her mother screeched. ‘Do you want to know what’s not fair? It’s not fair to live with a man who has spent the last four years carrying on with another woman, turning a blind eye in the hope that he would one day realise what was waiting for him at home. I never placed any demands on you. I never asked for a ring. I never asked for anything. I gave you your freedom. And it still wasn’t enough.’

  ‘Spin it any way you like, Kit, but we both know this is no way to live. Our relationship died years ago. Sibella sees me. She supports me, emotionally, in a way you long ago stopped doing. I should have left years ago.’

  ‘What about the “support” I gave you, all those years when you weren’t working? When I was having babies and writing books and doing everything I possibly could to allow you to reach your “creative potential”?’

  Ted’s face flushed an indignant red. ‘Artistic impulse isn’t something that can be turned on and off, Kit. I could have chosen an easier route, but I’m striving for more than commercial gain, something more than obvious cliché.’

  ‘Cliché?’ Kit reached down and seized the nearest object to hand. He ducked, just in time, as the muddy wellington boot flew past him and landed on the bonnet of his car.

  ‘Kit, stop,’ said Ted. ‘I want to be with Sibella. I love her. I’m going to marry her.’