by Hazel Prior
* * *
• • •
There are days and days of frosty silence. The only conversations we have are laced with snubs and cutting comments. I do all that I can. I cook all Clive’s favorite meals. I make an effort with my appearance, applying lipstick and mascara, and wearing the prettiest clothes that cold weather will allow. I attempt the few seduction techniques I know about, but they fail totally. Even Sunday afternoon sex has been frozen out.
I have stopped going to the Harp Barn—to prove a point, I suppose—but that is making me even more miserable. Clive never asks about it, so it seems a vain sacrifice. In the end I decide to tell him.
“Just in case you’re interested, I haven’t been to the Harp Barn for weeks.”
“Why?” he asks, as if it wasn’t obvious.
“Because . . . well, because I thought you didn’t like me going there.”
He won’t look at me. “Why should I care? You can do what you want. You do anyway.”
“Look, I’m doing my best to make things right between us. I’ve said I’m sorry a million times. I’ve stopped playing the harp, even though I love it”—this is a mistake and I realize it the moment it has slipped out of my mouth, so I rush on—“and I’m trying to make up for everything because I know I was in the wrong. I do know it. I’m so unhappy when we’re like this. But what more can I do?”
“If you love playing the harp, why don’t you go and play it? You’re being a martyr now as well as an angel, I suppose.”
“No!” I cry. Being a traitor is quite enough for me. “Clive, please. I love you so much! Let’s just go back to being the way we were before.”
The “I love you so much” sounds high and false, more like desperation than affection. Clive raises his eyes and looks me in the face at last, but it is a look of disgust.
It’s easy to see what he is thinking. The idea was planted in his head by Rhoda and fed by Pauline’s insinuations and the wild whirrings of his brain. My own guilty behavior, my blushes, my picking at my eyebrows, my every word and move is interpreted as further confirmation. Our one joint visit to the barn made matters worse. Clive did not see what I wanted him to see—all Dan’s peculiarities and eccentricities, his self-sufficiency, his otherworldliness. He saw only what he dreaded most—that Dan is devastatingly attractive and that he knows me inside out.
Clive has suffered betrayal before, from my friend Jayne all those years ago. He trusted her and loved her absolutely, and she walked all over him. She took delight in sleeping with other men whenever his back was turned. When he finally found out, he was wounded to the core. The scars are deep.
Now he thinks it is happening all over again. On the one hand I’m appalled that he could suspect me of such a thing, but on the other I feel for him. If only he would let me reach out to him, if only he would believe me! I can’t think of any way to convince him of the innocent truth. It is tearing us both to pieces.
“Clive, I swear to you on whatever you like—on the Bible, on my father’s grave, on all that is holy—I am not having an affair with the harpmaker.”
He turns away. “Isn’t it time for supper?”
* * *
• • •
The cold went on and on, inside and out. It was hard to bear. Part of me just wanted to die.
I rang Christina. “Can I come over?”
“Of course!” she said. “Still being horrible, is he?”
“Yes. It’s his way of dealing with pain. I don’t know what to do,” I confessed. “Where will it end?”
“He’ll come round. He adores you, Ellie. Always has done, always will.”
I wasn’t so sure.
“We’ll talk it over. I’ll see you in twenty. I’ll get the kettle on!”
It was a bleak day. The trees were skeletal and dripped dankness and grayness. The hills were shrouded in mist. The car radio wasn’t working so I couldn’t put on any upbeat music to try and cheer myself up. I drove past a pheasant corpse on the road, bloodied and half-eaten by buzzards. It made me think of Phineas. God, I was even missing the pheasant!
What was going on up there, up at the barn? Dan and Ed were bonding . . . but what of Dan and Rhoda? I couldn’t bear to think of it.
I’d had a short spell of happiness, of dazzling, uplifting joy to the soundtrack of harp music. I’d experienced the miracle of creativity. I’d started to see the world through new eyes. But now my own clumsiness had robbed me of it all. Not only that; I’d lost Clive’s trust forever.
I drove through the villages and drew into Christina’s lane. What a relief! I felt cheered seeing her little cottage ahead of me. There were fairy lights strung round the windows and a homemade Christmas wreath hanging on the door. I stepped up and rang the bell. My heart lifted at the prospect of some proper human interaction. But it sank again the minute I saw her. Her face was blotchy and tear stained. She grasped me in a tight hug.
“Christina, what’s wrong?”
She wailed into my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re here, Ellie! I feel totally wretched. Alex has just rung and told me he isn’t bringing his girlfriend home for Christmas after all! I won’t even see him! They’re going off to Switzerland, to her parents instead. I can’t believe he’s being so selfish! And he knows how I get. He knows how low I always feel at this time of year.”
I gave her another squeeze. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.” It was the only comforting thing I could think of to say.
“He won’t,” she sobbed. “I know he won’t. He’s in her clutches and that’s what she wants, so that’s what he does! Mum doesn’t matter anymore. Anyway, come in.”
I stepped into the hall and took off my coat. At least it felt snug inside. Christina’s central heating is far more generous than ours, and she has an Aga too.
“It looks nice in here,” I told her. She’d already got up a Christmas tree, twinkling with lights and her special red and gold handmade baubles.
“Thank you.” She sniffed. “But what’s the point? There’s only me who’ll ever see it.”
“I’m seeing it,” I said.
“OK, two people, then.”
I prodded one of the baubles. “I’d bring Clive round, but I don’t think you’d enjoy his company very much at the moment.”
She gave me another hug, both of us crying now.
She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Look at us!”
“Pathetic, isn’t it,” I agreed, wiping mine.
“Tea, tea, tea!” she said, heading for the kitchen. I followed her. Jewelry-making oddments were scattered across the table. Meow was curled up on the chair nearest the Aga.
Christina grabbed mugs and biscuits. “It’s bound to get us down. Seasonal affective disorder, Christmas and men behaving badly all at the same time.”
I sank into a chair and started playing with a length of silver chain. “So Alex must be serious about this girlfriend.”
“I suppose so. He won’t tell me anything about her, though. Apart from the fact that she likes horse riding.”
“Tell him to bring her down here to show off the Exmoor ponies.”
“I’ve tried that. No good. Her parents obviously have something I haven’t got. So I’ll be here all by myself.”
I wished I could do something to help. “Why don’t you go away somewhere?” I suggested. “You could get one of those cheapo, last-minute flights. You could escape from England and go somewhere for a bit of winter sun. If Alex is going to be in Switzerland, why don’t you beat him at his own game? Go somewhere better, brighter, sunnier.”
She lifted the lid of the teapot to examine the color of what was inside. She gave it a vigorous stir. “I like your way of thinking, Ellie,” she said. “Do you know, I think I might just do that.” She glanced across at her cat. “Cattery for you, Meow! Sun, sea and sex for me!”
“I think I
’ll come too,” I said, without thinking.
“Hey, do!”
I shook my head.
“I’m serious!” she cried. “Let’s just take off somewhere and leave our troubles behind. I need sunshine and can’t bear to be alone at Christmas. You need sunshine and can’t bear to be with your husband at Christmas!”
I prodded her jewelry about the table. “Well . . . it’s not quite as simple as that.”
“It is! I wouldn’t get in your hair, I promise. We could be quite independent once we arrive wherever it is. I might find some horny beach bum, after all—you never know! So might you! That would give that husband of yours something to think about!”
“Christina, my aim is to patch things up with Clive, not to make them worse.”
She was silent for a moment. “Ellie, I admire your tenacity, but is it worth it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your marriage. Is it worth it? Really?”
She doesn’t get it. With her string of broken relationships, she can’t see it. The way marriage works. The strength you need. I thought of my father. By example, he taught me so much about strength, about endurance, about how to weather the cold.
But it’s easier for me than it was for him. Deep down I’m sure this winter of discontent can’t go on for much longer. I don’t believe it’s in Clive’s true nature, this terrible coldness.
“Christina, I love Clive. I do. I couldn’t imagine life without him. And I believe in marriage. I don’t think it’s right just to give up the minute things get a bit sticky.”
I knew as well that I’d be desperately lonely if I had to live by myself as she did. Perhaps even more lonely than her.
“You have staying power, I’ll give you that,” she said. “But Clive will soon learn to appreciate you if he’s left to his own devices for a bit. A few days of arriving home to no dinner on the table and he’ll be on his knees begging you to come back.”
I shuddered. “I’d rather not risk it, if you don’t mind. Besides, we’re supposed to be going up to Yorkshire, to Vic’s.”
“Please, Ellie! Come abroad with me! I won’t give you your cup of tea otherwise!”
I took the cuppa firmly from her. “Sorry, Christina. I’ve told Vic we’re going. I can’t let her and her family down. And there’s Mum.”
I hoped being among family might smooth things over between Clive and me. But I was beginning to worry that he’d refuse to come up to Yorkshire. Although he gets on all right with Vic and Alan and their children, they are my family, after all, not his.
“Not tempted by the Bahamas? Or Mauritius? Or Thailand? I’ve always fancied Thailand.”
“You go,” I said. “Go and enjoy it for both of us. I can’t just run away from the situation with Clive. It’s all my fault it’s got like this; it would be irresponsible and mean to take off and leave him right now.”
“Oh, just be irresponsible and mean for a change!”
“Christina, I can’t! And I won’t!”
| 35 |
Dan
Roe Deer rang me and gave me what is called an “earful.” My ears (both of them) were certainly full for a long time afterward. Full of words that were as scratchy as gorse bushes. Some were words I sincerely hope she will never use in front of my son Ed. The gist of those words was that she is cross. Cross that Ed knows I am his father, cross that I told him so straightaway without even consulting her. I wasn’t supposed to do that. It has ruined everything.
“What everything?” I asked her.
“You really have no idea, have you?” she fumed. “You always were idiotic. Nonsensical! Head-in-the-clouds! You have no grasp of reality. Which is exactly why I didn’t want you to mess about with Ed’s life. He has enough problems without having the worry of a father like you.”
I mentioned that Ed did not appear to be worried in the least. On the contrary, Ed was happy to have met me (I knew this because he told me so himself and he strikes me as being a truthful boy). I also suggested quietly that perhaps a father like me was better than no father at all. Just as I also suspected that a mother like her was better than no mother at all.
She did not seem to like this comment. At least, I presume that is why the phone cut off at this point in the conversation.
She rang back ten minutes later, however. “I didn’t want to tell Ed about you until it was the right time,” she said. “This is not the right time.”
“For him or for you?” I asked.
“For him, of course. It takes sensitivity to handle an issue like this. As for me, it’s actually the worst possible time for me as well. My feelings are unimportant, my career doesn’t matter in the least, but I never asked to be a mother, did I? It was a mistake, but I didn’t realize until it was too late. Now everything’s so difficult for me. I’ve struggled with this for years. ‘Single mother’ just isn’t me. ‘Harpist’ is what’s me—and it’s so much better if people see me that way.”
Considering this was all about Ed, she seemed to be repeating the words “I,” “my” and “me” an awful lot.
I waited to see if she had anything else to add. She did: “And the last thing I needed was interference from you now, just when my own engagement is on the cards.”
“Which cards?” I asked. “Engagement to who?”
“A man, OK? A guitarist. He and I are made for each other and I want to marry him. I have to do it before he finds out about Ed. I don’t want this whole thing to put him off. He might think I’m more involved than I actually am; he might think there are too many strings attached.”
I’d have thought that a harpist and guitarist would inevitably have plenty of strings attached.
I was about to tell her this, but Roe Deer started talking in a very loud voice about Ed’s upkeep and how all the money she earned from harp playing went toward Ed’s upkeep and how, morally speaking, I should be paying toward Ed’s upkeep.
I pointed out that if she had informed me of Ed’s existence as soon as it had happened, I would have been glad to pay toward his upkeep straightaway and keep doing it for the rest of my life—but she hadn’t, so I didn’t. If you don’t know about things, you can’t do anything to fix them.
Now, however, I knew of Ed’s existence and of course I was more than happy to pay for as much of his upkeep as I possibly could. Upkeep was a bit of a mystery to me and I had no idea how much upkeep cost, but I would certainly start making extra harps, as many harps as it took. My sister Jo, I was sure, would help me sell them using my website. Jo had heard all about Ed and was keen to meet him soon. She would no doubt strive to improve my financial situation with all her business skills once she realized I was putting money toward such a worthy cause. I would churn out harps and every penny of my harp money would be spent on Ed’s upkeep. From this point onward Ed’s upkeep would be my priority in life. Perhaps this meant Roe Deer could marry Guitar Man and stop worrying.
“I’m still cross with you, Dan,” she said.
* * *
• • •
Roe Deer’s parents are not unkind people, I would say, even if they don’t have much idea about what Ed needs. They seem to think what he needs is plenty of exams and money and computerized gizmos. They don’t seem to realize that what he needs more is plenty of trees and fresh air and music.
I’ll say this in their favor, though. Ed’s grandparents have been helpful. When he asked them if they could bring him to the Harp Barn to visit me, what they said was yes, they could. They did this on a Saturday morning at ten thirty-six.
Ed has big eyes anyway, but they grew even bigger when he came in.
“Dan—Dad!” he cried.
I liked that.
He inspected every harp in turn, plucking a few strings of each one and knocking the soundboard gently to see if it could double up as a drum. The grandparents stood around in the background
. It seemed to be their role in life.
At last Ed turned to me.
“Can you make trains too?” is what he said.
The structure of a smallish train would be simpler than the structure of a harp. And the mechanism to make it run, once I had acquired the necessary bits and pieces, would not be difficult to install. Making trains could possibly become another branch of my business, under Ed’s supervision. Although then I would have to rename the Harp Barn and call it the Harp and Train Barn. Or the Train and Harp Barn. Which would be better? I wondered. My sister Jo would know. Thomas would have an opinion too. So would Ellie, and that very quiet husband of hers who came to visit here the other week. I could also consult Roe Deer and Roe Deer’s parents. Most of all, I could consult Ed. What a lot of people I now had to consult.
“Yes,” I said.
I made coffee for the grandparents and sat them in the warmth by the fire, as Jo had told me that grandparents get cold and they like coffee and it is a good idea to keep them comfortable. Ed and I did not have coffee or sit by the fire, as we were far more interested in looking at harps. Then it was time to feed Phineas so we stepped outside, taking the medieval Lapwing harp with us. The air was sharp and there was a scent of pine trees, nice and tangy. I played an F minor chord on the harp and Phineas came scooting across the yard to meet us.