One Small Act of Kindness

by Lucy Dillon

  Libby knew she should be listening, but something about Margaret’s weary yet defiant gaze grabbed her. Margaret must be about the same age there as I am now, she thought. She knows what I’m going through. Has she forgotten how stressful it all is? And why does she look so defensive?

  Maybe it had something to do with poor string-bean Luke, with his grazed knees, keeping out of arm’s reach, hooded eyes slid sideways towards his mum as if he’d just been told off. Maybe it was to do with Doris behind the camera, catching Margaret at a moment when she didn’t have everything under control. Maybe it was clingy Jason. Only Donald looked unconditionally pleased with life.

  I wish Donald were still alive to talk to, thought Libby. I’ve been a part of this family for nine years and I still don’t understand any of them. So much silence and sulking.

  But now she saw the hotel as part of it, looming in the background like a fifth family member – the rackety maiden aunt who’d once been great fun but was now a liability. And Jason had grown up in that atmosphere of stress and silence. Maybe this building project was stirring up different family memories for Jason, she realised. Perhaps not entirely happy ones, going by Margaret’s body language.

  But she’d thought they could get through this kind of challenge, that there was a friendship at the heart of their love. A respect for each other that would make them try to talk through their problems, even if those conversations were hard. Had she been wrong, all this time, about that?

  ‘Was that of interest?’ Doris enquired, as she looked up.

  ‘Yes,’ said Libby. ‘That was very useful indeed.’

  Alice met Libby in the hospital car park, where she was loading Lord Bob into the back of the car and chatting to Gina about where she could get hold of original flying ducks for the bedrooms.

  Once Gina had waved goodbye, Alice listened politely as Libby explained her brainwave about the hotel decor, referencing the 1960s heyday – although she did wonder what Margaret would think about Libby reinstalling everything she’d got rid of – and they were halfway back to the hotel by the time Libby ran out of steam and noticed she’d barely said a word.

  ‘Are you all right, Alice?’ She glanced over. ‘Sorry, I didn’t even ask how your hypnotherapy went. Did you remember anything new?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘Nope, everything still stops about a year ago. We tried to get nearer me and Gethin meeting, but it’s still . . . nothing. I told her about finding the dog lead and toys, so we worked on some details about Fido, and Barley, but to be honest, that just made me feel worse. Thinking about my dad, and my mum . . .’

  Gethin had found some photos of them walking Fido and she’d cried on the sofa with him. When she’d talked about getting another dog, though, Gethin had seemed unwilling.

  ‘I know it sounds silly,’ he’d said, ‘but can I have you to myself for a bit? Before we get wrapped up in another dog?’

  It had sounded silly to Alice, but he’d seemed serious, so she hadn’t pushed it. But the more she thought about it, the less she could make it tally with all the nice things Gethin had said about Fido being part of their little family. He almost sounded jealous of her.

  They’d stopped at traffic lights and Libby gave her a closer look. ‘What’s up? I know it’s very sad about poor Fido, but . . . was there something else too? You look awful.’

  And then there was the other thing.

  Alice bit her lip. Telling Libby things always made them seem more real; she had such a practical way of dealing with problems. Once this was out . . .

  ‘Go on,’ Libby prompted her. ‘It can stay in this car, whatever it is.’

  Alice stared at the traffic ahead. The road to the hospital – the line of trees, the row of villas painted in Neapolitan ice-cream colours, the Esso garage – was calming in its familiarity. A month ago, she’d never seen it.

  A month ago.

  ‘I haven’t had a period since the accident,’ she said, slowly. ‘I asked the therapist today if the accident might have any effect on them and she said shock did sometimes disrupt your cycle, but she wasn’t an expert.’ Alice looked at her hand; she was wearing the ring Gethin had given her, but on her right hand. ‘She offered to get a nurse to do a test, but I said no.’

  ‘OK.’ Libby looked surprised. ‘Why did you say no?’

  Alice shrugged. ‘She made it feel . . . very medical. Just another test. I guess I didn’t want to find out something like that on my own.’

  The lights turned to green and Libby set off. ‘Wow. Do you think you might be pregnant?’

  Typically, Libby had articulated exactly what was tormenting Alice. How could you not know something as fundamental as that about your own self? How could another human being be growing inside you and you have no knowledge of how it got there? But then there was so much about herself that she didn’t know. Her memory had its own secrets, and now her body had too. It made her feel as if there was nothing at all she could be sure of anymore about herself.

  ‘I don’t know what it feels like.’

  ‘Neither do I, to be honest,’ said Libby. ‘Have you felt sick? Sore breasts? Urge to eat coal?’

  ‘I’ve felt quite achy, I guess, but I assumed it was just from working. And my ribs healing.’

  ‘I suppose the bigger question is, do you want to be pregnant?’

  That was a much harder question to answer. Gethin would be so excited. Alice could see his face now: thrilled, protective, ready to make a playlist to play to the baby. But as she thought of his enthusiasm, Alice felt herself pull back. Even after all his date-night efforts, she still only felt as if she’d known Gethin for a fortnight – and he seemed to know a different woman to the person she felt she was. He knew an Alice who’d lost her dog and behaved strangely and liked cider and didn’t have a Facebook account because she didn’t trust online security.

  It was the ultimate confirmation that she and he were in a happy relationship, and yet . . .

  Alice stared out of the window. Who am I? she thought, in despair. Every time she felt she was starting to work it out, it turned out she was wrong. And if she and Gethin were having a baby, that was a whole other person she’d be. Forever.

  And Luke?

  Alice felt the funny hum of yearning, the same colour somehow as the yearning she felt for her mum and dad. Not as intense, but similar. Stop it, she told herself.

  Libby took her silence as an answer. ‘Well, there’s a simple way to put your mind at rest,’ she said, indicating to turn back the way they’d come. ‘Let’s go and get a test. It’ll have to be the Tesco and not the chemist because the last thing I need is Margaret finding out from one of the inner circle that she needs to start knitting.’

  Alice recapped the test robotically, flushed the loo and went back into room eight, where Libby was waiting with two cups of coffee. It was surreal, that something so huge could be decided by a piece of plastic.

  She put it on the windowsill, result side down. ‘You have to wait two minutes,’ she explained, and fought the temptation to turn it back over.

  ‘So in two minutes you can stop worrying and get on with your life.’ Libby handed her the cup; Alice was pleased to have something to do with her hands. ‘I mean, I’m sure I missed a period when Jason got sacked. Stress does that. It’s your body’s way of saying, “Whoa, now would be a really bad time to have a baby, schtoopid!” Now . . . while we’re waiting, shall I tell you my exciting yet budget-friendly plans for this room?’

  Alice knew Libby was going to talk, non-stop, for two minutes exactly so she wouldn’t think about the test, and she was so relieved that she’d waited to find out here, and not in the impersonal surroundings of a hospital cubicle, that she blinked back sudden tears.

  ‘Oh God, they’re not that exciting,’ said Libby. ‘I was only thinking lavender walls and maybe a mural.’

  Alice managed to
smile. ‘I’m just . . . It’s like it’s happening to someone else. Well, it is, in a way.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how weird this must be for you,’ said Libby. ‘Again. But you know we’ll help out, however you want?’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you. Um, will all the rooms have flying ducks?’

  ‘No! But we could put an old-style radio in every room . . .’ Libby rattled through her colour-scheme ideas (all the curtains the same cheap neutral shades, each room a different heathery colour) until she broke off, mid-description. ‘Right, that has to be two minutes. Go for it. Unless you want me to look?’

  Alice took a deep breath. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I will.’

  She made herself pick up the test and turn it over.

  The answer was right there, as she knew now she’d known it would be: two blue lines. The blood banged in her eardrums.

  I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant and I don’t remember. How is that even possible?

  When she didn’t speak, Libby came across and looked over her shoulder. ‘Oh wow. OK. Right.’

  Alice had the weird floaty sensation again. She tried to pin down what she was feeling: she’d always imagined this moment would be different. Exciting, expected, anticipated, shared with the delighted father. Not like it was happening to someone else.

  She tried to imagine the moment of conception – had it been a romantic night at home, Gethin’s strong arms holding her, his compact body locked round hers, his soft voice urgent in her ear, her body responding to his . . . ?

  Alice frowned. That sounded more like something she’d read in a book. There was no answering echo in her body. But why was she worrying about that, when the evidence was right here?

  Libby looked worried. ‘Alice, are you sure you don’t want to sit down? Your face . . .’

  ‘Sorry. It’s too much to take in.’ She forced her attention back to the moment. Now. ‘So what happens? I’ll have to tell Gethin. He’ll want me to move back in with him. He won’t want me to carry on working here – he doesn’t really like me being here anyway . . .’

  Move back. Move out of this place, away from everything familiar, her job, her routine. Alice knew what she should be thinking, but it wasn’t what every instinct was shrilling at her.

  Libby was looking at her strangely. ‘What do you mean, he doesn’t like you being here?’

  Alice realised what she’d said and blushed. ‘Oh, nothing. He’s got the wrong end of the stick. He just wants me to move back. He misses me. Wants everything to return to normal. I can’t blame him, really . . .’ She paused. ‘I just don’t know what normal is.’

  Libby took Alice by the upper arms so she had to look her in the eye. ‘You don’t have to tell Gethin anything, not until you’ve decided what you want. You’ve got to put yourself first. It must be very early days still – surely it’d have shown up on the blood tests they did while you were in hospital?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ That would put it just before the accident. Before that mysterious row. How could you sleep with someone then refuse to go on holiday with them? Had it had something to do with that? Alice’s stomach churned.

  She realised Libby was looking uncomfortable. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Alice,’ she said, ‘but when I said, before, about your body knowing whether it’s a good time to have a child . . . it was a silly thing to say. I don’t know what your beliefs are, but no one would blame you for wanting to be sure you were absolutely recovered before . . .’ Her eyes clouded. ‘Well, it doesn’t mean you have to do anything.’

  Alice knew what Libby was trying to say. She touched her arm in silent acknowledgement, then picked up the plastic stick, half hoping the two lines might have faded. But they were still there. Darker, like an equals sign. A result. Gethin plus Alice equals . . . this. It was a fact, and Alice had very few of those to go on.

  ‘Ah! You’re in there! Can I . . . ?’

  They spun round.

  Luke was striding into the room, his trainers making no sound on the floorboards, but suddenly he stopped. Alice could see quite clearly from the way he froze, halfway across the room, that he’d taken in the whole scene: her shock, Libby’s concern and the white plastic test she was holding in her hand.

  Her chest tightened, then expanded, as if a big orange chrysanthemum had bloomed inside her.

  Their eyes met and for once his guarded face was as easy to read as Libby’s.

  Luke looked horrified, and that suddenly made it all real. Alice knew she should say something, but her mind had gone blank, and before she or Libby could speak, he abruptly turned and left the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Libby couldn’t sleep for worrying about Alice, and when she got up, an hour before her alarm, she found Alice already in the kitchen, staring into a cup of coffee as if it might hold the answer to everything. She jumped, as if she’d been expecting someone else.

  ‘Morning,’ said Libby. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Not great.’ Alice pulled a face. ‘Couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d take Bob out for an early walk and get some fresh air. Do you need anything?’

  Libby didn’t, but she could see Alice needed to get out, and walk and think. ‘Why don’t you plot a dog walk around the town for the website?’ she suggested. Seeing the little dogs under the snug tables in Doris’s album – and listening to Gina’s persuasive arguments about USPs and the price of kennelling dogs while you went on holiday – had finally convinced her that dog-friendliness might be their secret weapon. Just as creating her new budget vintage rooms had made her realise that her glossy boutique dream was never going to work in Longhampton. It would have looked ridiculous – the locals would have been suspicious of the fancy details, and they’d have dated too quickly to be properly fashionable for more than about six months. This had already been in and out of fashion; all she had to do was keep everything spotlessly clean and un-doggy.

  Libby grabbed her camera off the kitchen table. ‘Take some photos if you can, and see which shops you can take Bob into. I thought we could do a whole page – just like you suggested.

  ‘And don’t rush back,’ she added. ‘There’s not much we can do today. Lorcan says it’s best not to distract the lads when they’re counting tiles.’

  Alice smiled wanly. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and Libby wished she could tell her that everything would be fine. They both knew, though, that it wasn’t that easy.

  No sooner had Alice and Lord Bob left than Lorcan arrived with three trainees and more grout. Libby had briefed them on the next en suite and returned to the kitchen for her own breakfast when Margaret appeared at the door, dressed in a droopy blouse and skirt, apparently selected to match her mood and face.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Libby, determined to be pleasant. How could she ever recreate the friendly hotel atmosphere if there was a permanent frost between the owners? ‘Would you like a cup of tea? The kettle’s just boiled.’

  ‘Elizabeth, I think it’s time you told me what’s going on.’ Margaret’s expression wasn’t cold, but it was closed – like Luke’s, Libby thought. She tried to see beyond the lines carved by disapproval to the pretty, weary young mum in Doris’s photo album, but it was a struggle. That Margaret seemed to have been thoroughly restyled into Margaret Corcoran, Community Pillar, Braced for Disappointment.

  ‘With the hotel? I’ve told you exactly what’s going on,’ she said, making a fresh pot of tea. ‘Lorcan’s going ahead with the revised plans, I’ve raised some short-term investment, and we’re aiming to reopen properly by the beginning of July, which leaves plenty of time to get things perfect for that journalist visit in early September. In fact,’ she went on, forcing herself to be inclusive, as Alice had gently suggested on their way home from the hospital, ‘I was talking to Doris yesterday about how the hotel looked in the past and I was thinking you and I could—’

  ‘Doris? I’m not su
re I’d listen to her gossip, if I were you,’ Margaret retorted. ‘What’s she been saying?’

  That you liked getting your own way? That you made life hard for poor Donald? That you, too, did a massive revamp not unlike the one you’re rolling your eyes at now?

  Libby squashed her thoughts down and said, ‘She was telling me that the hotel was the place for parties and that there was a little bar at one time. I thought maybe we should look into getting a licence again. We could offer champagne teas, to start with, and maybe christening parties, since we’re near St Ethelred’s . . .’ She paused. ‘Margaret, I really want this hotel to work. Not just for me, but for all of us. For the town, even.’

  Margaret sighed. ‘It all sounds so much effort, Elizabeth. I don’t know if I’ve got the energy. The more I think about it, the more I think maybe it would be better to finish this work and just sell.’

  ‘What? No!’ Libby was surprised by her own reaction. ‘Don’t you think it’d be a pity to do all this work and let someone else reap the rewards? Anyway, we can’t make any decisions like that without Jason here – he’s a partner in the business too.’

  At the mention of his name, Margaret’s expression turned pained. ‘That’s what I meant when I said I needed to know what’s going on. I’m extremely worried about Jason. Where is he? When’s he coming home?’

  Libby stirred the teabags to make them brew faster. At least Margaret seemed to have dropped the combative attitude. That was something. ‘He’s in Clapham, staying with a friend. He told me he needed some time to think, and that’s all I know.’

  ‘I can’t believe he hasn’t phoned me. His mother.’ She looked peevish.

  ‘Well, he hasn’t exactly been burning up the phone to me, either. As soon as I’ – his wife, Libby added silently – ‘hear anything I’ll let you know. I’m not impressed that he’s just walked out on us while we’re in the middle of the worst bit. Unlike Luke,’ she added. Margaret had barely acknowledged Luke’s presence. ‘He’s dropped some work to come up here and help out.’