by Karen Clarke
‘He did?’ I remembered his presence in the kitchen while we’d been talking. ‘Do you think he understands what’s going on?’
‘I’m sure he does.’ Seth slowed down. ‘He doesn’t say a lot, but I think he takes everything in. Even though we’ve not spoken about my mother having custody in front of him, I’ve a feeling he gets the gist.’
‘You don’t think she might have talked to him behind your back?’
He looked stricken. ‘God, I hope not,’ he said. ‘But I think he would have said something if she had.’
‘And you haven’t spoken to him openly about it?’
Seth shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start, to be honest, and I don’t want to confuse him any more than he probably already is.’
‘But what if he’d like to stay with your parents?’
He stopped abruptly. ‘As long as I’ve breath in my body, I’ll fight to keep my son with me.’ His voice was low and urgent. ‘There’s no way he’s going to end up living with my mother.’
‘Now what are you two talking about?’ Felicity was in the doorway, her tone bristling with impatience. ‘Anything that needs to be discussed can surely be done where it’s warm?’
We looked at each other a moment longer, Seth’s face a determined mask, before turning as one and heading into the cottage. Inside, Felicity’s team of workmen were banging and hammering, and a smell of emulsion wafted from the nearest downstairs room. I sniffed appreciatively and Felicity gave me a funny look. At least, I assumed it was a funny look. It was hard to tell in the dingy hallway – though I guessed it wouldn’t be so dingy once her team had worked their magic.
After she’d removed her wellingtons, and Seth had taken my coat and hung it with his on the banister – to his mother’s narrow-eyed disapproval – she said, ‘Jack’s in the drawing… I mean, living room.’ She flapped her hand and tutted. ‘I can’t get used to this place not having a drawing room,’ she said, flicking the overhead light on and glowering at the bulb.
Seth rolled his eyes in such a teenage way, I had to hide a smile. ‘Most normal houses don’t have a drawing room, Mum.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you, when you had a… what did you call it?’ She puckered her cinnamon-lipsticked mouth. ‘A mezzanine floor at your place in Italy, not to mention a games room and a cinema.’ She directed a snooty gaze my way. ‘A mezzanine is a raised platform that creates additional space, dividing the floors—’
‘I know what a mezzanine is.’ I was about to add that I’d worked in a new-build in Vancouver with a mezzanine floor (one of the few projects I’d committed to while I was there) when I remembered I was supposed to be a nanny, not an interior designer. ‘It’s… quite a common word around here.’ It was clearly a ridiculous statement. No one would drop the word mezzanine into conversation unless they happened to have one, or to be building one.
Seth’s eyebrows rose and his lips clamped together, while Felicity studied me closely, perhaps trying to work out whether or not I was taking the mickey out of her.
‘Your place in Italy sounds amazing,’ I said to Seth, after a long stretch of silence broken only by one of the workmen whistling ‘Jingle Bells’ over and over. ‘Not at all the sort of place I’d expect a champion racing driver to live.’
To my surprise, Felicity picked up on what I’d intended to be a lightly teasing tone and gave a bark of laughter. ‘Everyone can see your playboy lifestyle for the shallow pool it was,’ she said to Seth.
‘Was being the operative word,’ he replied, and I realised with a lurch that I’d given the impression I was being sarcastic; looking down on him like Felicity was, and in much the same way that Bridget looked down at me. ‘This is my life now.’ He jabbed a finger at the floor. ‘Where I’m staying.’
‘But for how long?’ Felicity placed a well-manicured hand on the wall, as if to support herself. ‘That silly ex-girlfriend of yours called the landline while you were out. I expect you’ll be back in Italy with her soon.’
‘Dad?’ We turned to see Jack, framed in the doorway of the living room, in dark blue jeans and a top with a Star Wars ship on the front. Beneath his newly cut fringe, his face was pale and tense. ‘I don’t want you to go away,’ he said.
Chapter Sixteen
‘I’m not going anywhere, Jack.’ Seth gave his mother a hard stare. ‘Your grandmother was being silly.’
I willed him to go to Jack, get down on his level and say it again with conviction while looking his son in the eyes, but the moment had already passed. Jack returned to the living room, dragging his blue-socked feet.
‘Now see what you’ve done.’ Felicity returned Seth’s stare with added ferocity. ‘If you’d finished with that woman properly, she wouldn’t keep trying to get hold of you.’
‘I did end it properly, but she’s clearly not getting the message.’ Seth spoke with forced patience. ‘I’m not going to throw flames on the fire by responding.’
‘Then change the number.’
‘I shouldn’t have to change my number. I’ve already blocked her on my mobile.’
‘Which is why she’s calling you here.’
‘I’m not changing my number.’
‘No, because then the rest of your harem wouldn’t be able to get hold of you.’
‘I don’t know where you’ve got this idea that I have a harem.’ He shot me a look. ‘It’s not true.’
Felicity made a pah sound. ‘Anyway, I’m sure Miss Campbell doesn’t want to hear about her employer’s love life.’ I refrained from saying I was actually quite intrigued. And that Seth was not my employer. And from asking her to call me Tilly… again. ‘At least that’s one good thing about living here,’ she went on. ‘There aren’t any women.’ Catching my expression, she added, ‘Not my son’s type, I mean.’
I stole a glance at Seth, who appeared to be grinding his teeth. Bridget was undoubtedly different from his usual type – the thought of her appearing on America’s Next Top Model was hilarious, and although she was bad-tempered (around me) it was more British bulldog than fiery Italian – which meant that Felicity might approve of her. Then again, Bridget was a single mum so maybe it was as well Felicity would be gone before Seth’s date with my sister.
When he didn’t respond, Felicity said, ‘Perhaps you could make some tea, while Miss Campbell—’
‘It’s Tilly,’ I couldn’t stop myself saying.
‘While Miss Campbell attends to Jack,’ she continued, refastening her cardigan belt. The workman had stopped whistling and was now, to the tune of ‘Jingle Bells’, singing Rum-tum-tum, rum-tum-tum, rum-tum-tum-TUM-TUM, and Felicity directed an irritated look at the door. ‘In the meantime, I’ll go and have a word with Mr Berryman.’ She brushed past and vanished into the room, and on hearing her demand that Mr Berryman run through the itinerary for the rest of the week, Seth lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he said, with a helpless gesture at odds with his size and presence. ‘You must think you’ve landed on a totally bonkers planet.’
‘I said, go and make some tea!’ As Felicity’s tone rang out, Seth brought his eyes back to mine.
‘You can make a run for it, if you like,’ he murmured, raking a hand through his hair. ‘I wouldn’t blame you.’
‘Actually, I’m fine.’ I was surprised to find I meant it. It was an unorthodox set-up, and Felicity was clearly living in a different century, but it made a change from fending off questions from Gwen, or sparring with Bridget at home. And – I was loathe to admit it, even to myself – it was more relaxing than being with Rufus, trying to work out the rules of a ‘grown-up’ relationship. ‘I’ll go and chat to Jack while you make the tea.’
‘Thank you.’ Seth expelled a long breath. ‘I’m never going to be able to repay you for any of this.’ While he made his way to the kitchen with shoulders so hunched he gave the impression of being headless, I straightened my back and entered the living room.
Jack was on his
belly on the floor beside a snoozing Digby, looking at his ever-present iPad. The television was on with the sound turned down, cars whizzing around a circuit like noisy toys.
‘Do you like Formula One?’ I said, hovering by the sofa. It sounded horribly stilted, like something a distant auntie would say, and I couldn’t blame him for merely shrugging a shoulder in response. ‘What sports do you like to watch?’
‘I don’t like watching sports. It’s lame.’
‘What about playing them?’
‘I don’t like watching, or playing sports.’ He twisted his head. ‘Just because my dad used to be a racing driver doesn’t mean I have to like it too.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ I gripped the back of the sofa to steady myself against a rise of uncertainty. ‘I just… a lot of boys like football, that’s all.’
Both his shoulders lifted. ‘I don’t.’
‘Me neither.’
Silence.
Digby lifted his head and smiled at me. At least, that’s what it looked like.
‘Are you playing Minecraft?’
‘Trying to.’
Releasing my hold on the sofa, I moved slowly round it, wondering what Mary Poppins would say. ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’ probably, which wasn’t exactly helpful. ‘Did you enjoy swimming yesterday?’
Another shrug. ‘Dad went down the slide three times, after me.’
‘He did?’ I was inordinately pleased. ‘Did he like it?’
‘He went too fast the first time and his shorts came down.’
‘Yikes.’ I remembered the middle-aged women at the pool. They must have thought they’d died and gone to heaven. ‘I bet that was awkward.’ I edged further round and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Jack, while Digby rolled onto his back and displayed his tummy for rubbing. ‘That happened to my dad once, on holiday.’ I obligingly stroked the dog’s soft fur, and his tail brushed the floorboards. ‘He jumped off the diving board, and when he climbed out of the water everyone saw his bare bottom.’
To my relief, the edge of Jack’s mouth curved up. ‘Dad says we can go swimming again soon.’
‘That’s good.’ I battled for inspiration. ‘Did you get your new shoes?’
Eyes still fixed to his screen, Jack shook his head. ‘I said they were too tight, and Grandma gave up because there weren’t enough shoe shops in Kingsbridge.’ 1-0 to Jack. ‘We did Christmas shopping instead.’
‘You did?’
He nodded. ‘I got Dad a shirt without a collar and a book, and some socks for Granddad, and Grandma helped me wrap them up.’
I hid my surprise. ‘That was nice of her.’ It hit me that she and Seth’s dad had been taking care of Jack for the past three years, and obviously loved him very much. ‘Did you buy her something too?’
‘I got some chocolates that she likes, and she didn’t look while I paid for them, and Dad will help me wrap those.’
‘Good plan.’
‘She’s got lots of horses.’ His words were coming more easily, as if I’d broken through an invisible barrier. ‘She said I could learn to ride.’
‘Would you like that?’
‘I might fall off.’
‘I’m sure she wouldn’t let that happen.’
‘She said if Dad had learnt to ride a horse he could have played badminton.’ He darted me a look, brow furrowed. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘I think she meant he could have ridden a horse at Badminton,’ I explained, wondering whether Seth had deliberately chosen a sport with four wheels instead of four legs to annoy his mother. ‘It’s a place, and there’s a prestigious competition there for riders that lasts three days.’
‘What does prest… igious mean?’ He pronounced it carefully.
‘It means…’ ludicrously posh? ‘It’s the sort of event the royal family would go to, and only the very best horse riders from around the world can compete.’
‘Like the Grand Prix, where my dad won?’
‘Yeees,’ I said slowly, feeling on shaky ground. I had no idea whether Felicity – or Seth for that matter – had spoken to Jack about his dad’s former career, or what impression they’d given; whether the dangers of driving at speed had been highlighted, or disgust expressed (Felicity probably hadn’t held back) or whether Jack had been encouraged to be proud of his dad’s achievements.
‘I don’t think Dad likes horses very much.’
Feeling like I’d dodged a bullet, I said, ‘Do you?’
‘They’re a bit smelly and high up, but I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I like Grandma’s house, and Granddad lets me polish his car.’
Surprised at his show of faith, I said, ‘What about your other grandparents?’
‘They died before I was born,’ he said. ‘Dad told me they’re in heaven, with my mum.’ He slid me an anxious look. ‘If I’d drowned in the sea, would I be there too?’
My breathing stalled. Digby, tiring of me rubbing his tummy, stood up and shook himself. ‘It wasn’t time for you to go,’ I said. My voice sounded funny, as if I’d swallowed something hard. ‘Your mum wouldn’t have wanted you to. That’s why I was there, to help you.’
‘Like an angel?’
My eyelids heated up. ‘I’m not an angel,’ I said, wondering how we’d got here so quickly. I looked at the curve of his cheek and sweep of eyelashes, and felt an urge to fold him against me and stroke his shiny hair. Instead, I tried to remember what Mum had told me when Nanna Hopkins died. I must have been around Jack’s age, but hadn’t known her that well because she’d developed Alzheimer’s when I was three. Mum had said she was ‘at peace’ and I’d had a comforting image of her sleeping in a long white nightgown, surrounded by dancing butterflies.
Realising Jack’s iPad had powered down while he waited for a response, I said, ‘Like a friend,’ feeling the weight of the words settle on me as I spoke. I was in no position to counsel a boy who’d tragically lost his mother. What if I said the wrong thing? ‘You’ve got your whole life to live, Jack.’ Stop right now, Tilly. ‘That’s what your mum would have wanted, and it’s what your dad wants too, more than anything in the world.’
He nodded once, seeming to accept what I’d said, and touched his screen to bring it back to life. I felt light-headed and tearful, like I had when I was recovering from a flu virus during the summer, and ransacked the room with my eyes for a distraction.
‘Hey, shall we decorate the tree?’ I spotted a rather stumpy pine in a pot in the corner, with a cardboard box spilling decorations nearby.
‘Dad thought we should leave it until the paint’s dry in here.’
I noticed the walls were a pleasant buttery shade that complemented the dark oak floorboards. ‘I’m sure it’s dry by now, and I bet we can do it in…’ I looked at my watch. ‘Five minutes.’
‘Five minutes?’ Jack pushed himself to his knees and made to push his fringe away before remembering it had been cut. ‘Not possible,’ he said, folding his arms, but there was a spark in his eyes.
‘I bet it is.’
‘Can I help too?’ Seth came in with a tray of steaming mugs, followed by Felicity, and I wondered whether they’d overheard my conversation with Jack. Seth’s blandly smiling face gave nothing away, and Felicity wore what I was beginning to realise was her default expression of vague disapproval. I wondered whether she’d always looked like that – if so, Seth must have been relieved to escape to boarding school.
She came to rest on the arm of the sofa, as if it was against her nature to sit on it and get comfortable – perhaps put her feet up. I tried to imagine her cuddling Jack, or telling him a bedtime story like my parents used to – and like my grandparents had when they were still capable of travelling over from Canada – but could only picture her astride a stallion, ordering a stable hand to fetch her a whip.
‘Ready… steady… GO!’ said Seth, after settling the tea tray on the floor, and we hurtled towards the tree and began digging into the cardboard box. Digby clattered over and delicately stopp
ed a rolling bauble with his paw. Jack gave an infectious chuckle, and I met Seth’s gaze and smiled.
‘You really ought to buy some proper decorations, instead of using that old jumble you asked me to fetch from the attic at Oaklands,’ said Felicity. I guessed Oaklands was the family home. ‘I don’t even know why I kept it.’
‘Because Dad made you.’ Seth clumsily attached a one-eyed angel to one of the branches. ‘I guess he knew I’d want to use them, one day.’
I wound some lantern-style fairy lights around the tree, beginning at the bottom, close to the trunk and swiftly working upwards, wishing Felicity would join in instead of criticising.
‘Hey, you’ve done this before,’ said Seth, eyebrows gathered as he tried to hang two silver baubles simultaneously.
‘Every year,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve been helping decorate our tree since I was six.’ It had been Bridget’s job before that but, aged sixteen, she’d lost interest – plus I ‘had an eye for detail’ even then, according to Mum and Dad, who had photos to prove it and weren’t shy about showing them off. ‘Where’s the socket?’ Seth pointed and I pressed in the plug, watching Jack’s face as the lanterns lit up: red, blue, gold and green.
‘Wow,’ he breathed, his eyes reflecting the light, and watching Seth watching his son made my heart feel as though it had doubled in size.
‘Only two minutes left.’ I flashed my watch. ‘Quick, quick.’
Jack foraged some silver tinsel out and draped it over the lower branches, while Seth practically hurled assorted decorations at the tree, some missing and falling on the floor. Jack copied his movements – his iPad forgotten – and I hunkered down and joined in, resisting the urge to even things out and colour-coordinate, though I couldn’t resist moving some glittery baubles to the top of the tree as it was looking a bit bottom heavy.
‘I remember making this with Granddad Norman.’ Seth held out a wooden robin with a splodge of red paint on its chubby breast and an unnaturally long beak. ‘I clearly wasn’t destined to be a carpenter,’ he said, and I saw a spasm of emotion cross Felicity’s face before she leaned down to pick up her mug of tea.