The House on the Water's Edge

by CE Rose

  I reeled from the shock. I was stupid after all. ‘That’ was my mental health, a horrible and debilitating blip in my life he’d seen fit to discuss with bloody Julia. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d been shagging her as Joe developed from a dot to a golf ball, from a soft ball to a football and finally a rugby ball in my womb. My chest smarted; he hadn’t just betrayed me, but his son as well.

  He topped up his glass and continued in a petulant tone. ‘Look, I tried to end it after Joe was born but…’

  Certain the rest would be along the lines of ‘but your mother died and you neglected me again,’ I scraped back my chair and left through the back door.

  Inhaling the cool night air, I paced around the dewy grass and tried to organise my thoughts. Though stunned and hurt, it was almost a relief to hear the truth. I’d been ignorant and blind, but not without culpability. Cold fish Ali had had it coming, hadn’t she? She’d married a needy man; she knew this. She’d paid the price for taking her eyes off the prize.

  Wiping a tear from my cheek, I sighed deeply. Miles and I had promised ‘for better or for worse’ when we married. Most couples would take a little neglect on the chin when the going got tough, rather than running to someone else, wouldn’t they? But I had a better understanding of human frailty these days, not only my own, but my mother’s. Like Miles, Mum hadn’t coped with the loneliness and lack of attention; like Miles, she’d been unfaithful. She’d ultimately taken the easy option by staying with Dad, but it had been cemented by deep love, I knew that for certain.

  I returned to the kitchen and took my seat. The pettishness had gone from Miles’s face, replaced with charming apprehension, and I almost relented. But I took a deep breath of resolve. The cement had to be there.

  ‘I’m sorry Miles, but this situation isn’t something we can ignore or fix.’

  As though I was joking, he stared, then his features crumpled. ‘For God’s sake Ali, it didn’t mean anything. You’re sorry… You don’t mean you want to separate, do you? That’s just ridiculous.’ He knelt by my chair. ‘Look, I was stupid and weak and… hurt, I suppose, but there’s only ever been you. Julia knows this. I love you, Ali; I’ll only ever be in love with one person and that’s you.’

  Sorrow burned in my throat. In love; that was the rub. I’d never been in love with this man. ‘Oh Miles, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way. I love you too, but not like I should. I think you knew it sooner than I did.’

  Tears falling, he nodded and turned away. He spent some time at the sink, looking out to the black night, but eventually he returned, poured more wine and talked quietly about this and that, the news and the weather. I liked and admired him more than I had for many weeks; he was being brave, far braver than he wanted to be.

  Taking his hand, I smiled. ‘You’re an amazing guy, Miles, a really good catch. You’ll have women queueing around the block… And you can do so much better than Julia bloody Lambert.’

  His lips briefly twitched before the frown. The conversation had cut to the chase. ‘What about you? Will you be looking for someone else? Another dad for Joe?’

  ‘You’re Joe’s dad, Miles. He doesn’t need another. And no, I’m not.’

  For a moment I floated on Ruby Jane. Saw George’s smile, his sincere look of love outside The Swan. Then I inwardly groaned. My brother; our brother. At some point soon, I’d have to tell Laura.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  My husband and I spent a companionable long weekend concentrating on Joe. Miles slept in the spare room, but if anyone had watched us stroll with our son in his pram or feast on glossy pork pies and traditional lemonade at Tatton Park, they wouldn’t have known anything was amiss. I hadn’t changed my mind about us parting, but without a catalyst there was nothing to force it. From time to time I heard Miles on his mobile. Julia, I supposed, but his tone was hostile.

  On Tuesday I drove him to Stockport station. We were silent on the journey, but when I pulled up at the cab rank, he didn’t climb out. He turned with a breath. ‘Look, Ali. I’ve been a complete buffoon, an incredibly stupid, selfish idiot and I’m so, so sorry. I promise it won’t ever happen again. You and Joe are my world. Let’s start afresh. Please. We can turn a clean page when I’m back from London…’

  His handsome face was endearing. I was tempted, very tempted. Motherhood was so much easier – yesterday I’d attended my belated postnatal check-up and all was good ‘down under’, breastfeeding had become routine and Joe slept through much of the night. Hell, I even showered and applied a hint of make-up every day. Most importantly, Joe needed a dad, the stability of a full-time father who lived with us day in and day out. But that didn’t mean it was the right thing to do. It had taken a trip on the River Bure to discover that I’d never really fallen for Miles; the raw passion, that innate pull, had never been there. And what about the next time I took my eyes off the prize? If I went back to work, holidayed with friends, climbed a mountain in Tibet or had another child?

  The long beep of an annoyed taxi driver roused me. Picturing George’s mother, I focused on the cruel-to-be-kind certainty in her eyes. ‘No, sorry Miles. I don’t love you in the way you need me to. You deserve someone who does. Let’s talk at the weekend and work everything out when we have proper time. You’ll miss your train if—’

  But he’d already scrambled out. ‘Fine. Whatever. Your loss,’ he muttered before slamming the door.

  Breath caught in my chest as I watched him stalk to the terminal. He didn’t wave or glance back; he hadn’t even said goodbye to Joe. The reality of my situation punched me. What the hell had I just done? I’d always had that ridiculous fear of being abandoned, yet I was making it happen. I had no parents and I’d pushed away my flawed but loving husband. A shrill beep from behind came again. My feet finding the pedals, I put the car into gear and trundled down the hill on autopilot.

  As I waited at the lights, a frost enveloped my whole being. Bloody hell; what was wrong with me? I was more alone, more an orphan now than after Mum died. But the word abruptly brought a smile. I had a sister; I still had my Laura. Though she’d messaged me with loads of photos, she wanted me to meet her fiancé in person, and there was nothing here to hold me back.

  Swerving to the curb, I peered at the time. It was too early to call her, but I could start the ball rolling, so I pulled out my mobile and quickly composed a text:

  Tell me when Joe and I can inspect Shelby close up. The sooner the better!

  Job done, I rejoined the carriageway and negotiated the lunchtime traffic towards home. The surge of adrenaline had buoyed me and I now had a plan. Or at least the start of one. I looked at my son through the mirror and smiled.

  ‘Something to look forward to, Joe.’

  Perhaps my life was on an upturn at last.

  * * *

  Finally by the Marie Louise Gardens, I waited for several cars to negotiate the road humps before turning into our avenue. I glanced at my house, then looked again. What the…? A car was parked outside – not just a car but a gleaming silver Rolls-Royce. As I drove alongside, I took in the dent at the front of the bonnet. It could only belong to one person. I dragged my eyes to the driver’s seat and it was. Tom Hague was at the wheel.

  My heart thumped. Oh God; George. Something dreadful had happened to him. My legs insubstantial, I climbed out of my car. Tom did the same, donning his jacket, then straightening his slacks.

  ‘Hello, Alice, love,’ he said when he finally looked up. ‘Have you got five minutes for an old man?’ he asked, as though a Manchester visit was perfectly normal. He smiled with those teeth. ‘Shall I fetch the littl’un out?’

  Too winded to answer, I peered at the Roller’s tinted windows. Where was Joan?

  He followed my gaze. ‘She wanted to go home,’ he said. ‘She’s asleep.’

  Confused, I gaped. Bureside was two hundred and fifty miles away. ‘Home?’

  ‘Walkley, of course. Our Sheffield. That’s really home. As much as we loved Horning, it
always was.’ He deftly unbuckled Joe’s seat and followed me into the house. ‘I drove over the picturesque way. Ladybower reservoir’s low. If we’re not careful we’ll see the ruins and some think that’s bad luck. They used to say you could still hear the church bell on a stormy night.’

  As Mum would have said, I felt someone walk over my grave. I tried to smile away the shiver. The alarm too; but even Tom wouldn’t be so chirpy if there was bad news to impart. ‘That’s just folklore, isn’t it? Didn’t the bell get rehoused in another church?’

  He took off his cap. ‘Aye, it did eventually. But they exhumed the graveyard when the village was flooded. I don’t suppose those dead folk were happy being moved from their rest.’

  Thankful it was bright daylight, I turned to close the door, but my neighbour was approaching. ‘Hi, Melissa, how’s it going?’ I asked. ‘Are you coming in for a coffee?’

  She handed me an envelope. ‘No thanks, I’m not stopping. Party invitation for you. Twenty-five years of hard labour! Silver, like your grandad’s fab car.’ She gazed at the polished vehicle and chuckled. ‘Can you imagine if that turned up on my drive for our anniversary? Then I’d know he’d been up to no good for twenty-four years of them.’ She lifted her hand as she walked away. ‘September the thirtieth. Hope you and Miles can make it.’

  Me and Miles, oh God. But here was Tom Hague, of all people. What on earth did he want? Willing my heartbeat to slow, I took a steadying breath and found him in the kitchen with Joe, looking out of the window. ‘Cat,’ he was saying, nuzzling his cheek. ‘Say cat, Joe!’

  Oh hell, Mum’s moggies. Was someone looking after them? And when I looked to where Tom was pointing, there was no animal, just the patch of daisies which had grown over my Charlie’s grave.

  Taking Joe from Tom’s arms, I shook away the disquiet. He was just a kindly old man, a friend of my parents’. ‘Tea or coffee?’ I asked brightly. ‘No baking today, I’m afraid, but I have cake from the weekend or I can make you a sandwich.’

  Still gazing through the glass, Tom didn’t reply.

  I slipped Joe into his high chair. ‘The cat got dug up the night we buried it. A fox, I suppose,’ I commented, though God knows why. ‘Miles had to dig a much deeper hole.’

  Tom turned then, and I noticed for the first time his papery skin, wrapped like a single white layer over his bony hands and face. Had he always been this thin? But his eyes were bright behind his spectacles. ‘Aye. Your mum said that Charlie had died. She was sad that you were sad.’ He seemed to shake himself. ‘Yes, tea would be grand. See if your Lancashire water is up to the mark.’

  Unsettled by that old feeling of who’d-said-what-to-whom, I busied myself with the drinks, finally offering him a mug. ‘I can’t vouch for the water, but it’s Yorkshire tea, so…’

  He removed his tweed jacket, put his cap on the table and pulled out a chair. ‘We spoke every day, your mum and me. Either on the phone or she’d visit us, or we’d pop in on the way to the village. I do miss her very much.’ Though the tea was piping hot, he slurped his. ‘We’d been great friends for years, especially me and your dad.’

  I nodded. Of course, I knew this already. Indeed he’d mentioned it to me very recently. Had he forgotten our chats? Or my deluge of tears on Sylvette?

  As though imparting a secret, he leaned forward. ‘I was a policeman, you know, a bobby.’

  Yes, I was aware of that too. And could I detected the faint aroma of Chanel perfume? It was unsettling, though I couldn’t say why.

  ‘I liked the beat, the people, the community,’ he continued. ‘Not ambitious, not one bit. I didn’t want to be pushing paper around a desk and telling folk what to do.’ He leaned back and scratched his chin. ‘But at some point I came into money, so I made an appointment to see your dad. His office was in Walkley back then. He’d set up on his own and there was just him and a typewriter in a tiny front room. Always smiling, he still looked like a teenager, but he’d married your mum and Laura was on the way. Long story short, he got me together with a local builder who needed investment. We entered what your dad called a “joint venture” and it came up trumps. Advised by your clever dad, I fell into the property business. We became firm friends, Doug and me.’

  As though he wasn’t used to talking for so long, his jaw began to click. I made to offer another drink, but he carried on without stopping. ‘Your mum and him… Well, it was a difficult time. First bairns always are. You know that from having Joe, don’t you, love? Challenging in all sorts of ways. But I was someone he could talk to, to get things off his chest. A father figure, I suppose, without the usual paternal judgments.’

  He stopped then and peered at me, his eyes sharp through his lenses. ‘Your mum’s gardener, George…’

  Oh God, here it was, the reason for his visit. He couldn’t possibly know George was my brother, but he was well aware I was married. I thought back to those nighttime headlights through the windows at The Lodge. Had I caught a glimpse of silver as the car drove away? Could it have been Tom’s Rolls-Royce? I’d done nothing wrong, but he didn’t know that. Or could it be something worse? Had George done something stupid? My heart thrashing, I braced myself for something I didn’t want to hear.

  Tom cleared his throat. ‘Your dad told me about the baby Eve had given away, love. That was the root of their unhappiness. I think they hoped little Laura would heal the wound, but she didn’t. And when they tried again for another bairn, nothing happened, so your Mum had a lot of time on her hands to dwell…’ He coughed. ‘But I didn’t twig, not until last week. Eve didn’t say a word to me or Joan…’ A spot of pink appeared on both his cheeks. ‘Now, I know it’s not ethical for a solicitor to breach client confidentiality and I’m sorry, but Roger was concerned you’d made an unusual request, asking him to transfer the legal title of The Lodge to a man called Oliver Newman, also known as George…’

  My mobile beeped loudly and I jumped. But I was glad of the opportunity to let out the breath I’d been holding.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, scooping it up.

  The message was from Laura:

  Brilliant. Don’t expect me to be around too much as I can’t take time off work. Need to save it for our wedding! So whenever suits you.

  It was followed by another.

  So excited for you to meet Shelby! He’ll look after you both. Agreed; the sooner the better. There might be some standby flights. Talk later.

  ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, slipping it back in my pocket. ‘It was from Laura.’

  Feeling nauseous, I went back to the conversation at hand. What exactly was Tom trying to tell me? He knew Mum had given away baby Oliver; he’d worked out who it was. What else did he know? Steeling myself for a glare of disgust or condemnation, I dragged my gaze from the table top, but Tom had stood up and was feeling the pockets of his flannel trousers. Ready to leave, I assumed.

  ‘These old bones,’ he said, pulling out a handkerchief and polishing his glasses. Without them his eyes seemed lost in his face. ‘Shall we have another cuppa and get more comfortable on the settee?’ he asked, his voice emerging with a whistle. ‘I’ve got a long story to tell you.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  A bad penny… Proper Mum and Dad… Lost without you… Beautiful girl… A baby needs her real mummy… The key wasn’t under the mat… An unmistakable smell… Matted with congealed blood… Whimpering, struggling…

  God knows how I managed to get Tom out of the house. Even before his words had sunk in, my body reacted with a will of its own and I had an overpowering need to vomit. When he’d finally gone, I returned to the sofa, curled up like a baby and tried to breathe through the sheer nausea, the disorientating images which were flashing in my head like strobe lights: the white face of a stranger, the glint of metal, my dad swinging at the end of a rope. Physical sensations too: the stench of geraniums, the busy hum of tiny insects, the marble feel of cold flesh. And hunger, darkness, claustrophobia, fear.

  Desperate to block out the trauma, I
must have fallen asleep, as I jerked back to consciousness after what seemed like moments. A searing pain gripped my chest and my heart was battering so badly I knew it would rupture any moment. When I tried to inhale, I couldn’t suck in the air. I was having a heart attack. If I didn’t do something, I would die.

  Joe? Where was Joe? On the floor in his bouncy chair, thank God.

  I was dying. Was I dying? A metallic taste in my mouth; my tongue thick… A crack of reason flitted in. It was deep, deep anxiety from shock, that was all. I had to stay calm.

  Willing myself to inhale and exhale slowly, I focused on my son. But the old grief, that huge black hole was now surrounding me, and sucking me in. I couldn’t do it alone this time; I needed help and there was only one person who could give it.

  With shaking hands, I pulled out my mobile and scrolled for the number. It was answered after one ring.

  ‘Madeleine,’ I managed. ‘I need you.’

  * * *

  Pacing the lounge, I looked down at my grumbling son in my arms. I shouldn’t have taken him out of his chair. I should have left him on the floor where he was safe. But he’d started to cry and I’d instinctively done it. Should I put him back? Try to fumble with the clasps? Or sit down and feed him? I just didn’t know; my mind wouldn’t stop jumping and leaping from one thought to the next. All I knew for sure was that I had to keep moving; if I stopped, the utter panic would return and overwhelm me forever.

  The doorbell finally rang, as Madeleine arrived.

  ‘What’s happened, Alison?’ she asked.