‘Alright. So here’s our angle,’ Simon summarised. ‘Having arranged their coming here we’ll obviously assume that June is happy to take responsibility for today’s arrivals. That’s going to mean being left behind here with them for much of the time.’ He opened the fridge to find Miriam’s wine.
‘You can’t be expected to do it, Belinda, you’re far too busy,’ Ruth pointed out, catching on.
‘And Heather has Starlight to look after,’ Belinda agreed.
‘And poor Ruth just isn’t well enough; she needs a good rest,’ Simon joined in, with a twinkle, coming back with the white burgundy.
‘And poor Simon’s only a man, so he doesn’t count!’ Heather laughed.
‘I suppose that this way, we can avoid a scene, and make sure that Mum and Dad enjoy themselves...’ Belinda began, resolving herself to the situation.
‘Oh yes, of course. But at the same time,’ Simon put in, ‘if we invite Muriel…’
‘June will hate it!’ Ruth finished triumphantly.
They all assimilated the plan, the unforeseen benefit of June’s manoeuvrings which had united them, so unexpectedly, at last. The atmosphere in the room was perceptibly leavened. Even Belinda felt shored up by it, her despair of earlier quite gone.
Heather walked to the fridge and began to search inside. ‘Why did June and Muriel fall out?’ she asked, ‘does anybody know?’
Belinda too got up from the table and began to unpack the shopping which had lain forgotten on the dresser. ‘I’m not sure. It isn’t talked about. I think it was over a man,’ she recalled. ‘Oh, good,’ she said, ‘you bought more bacon.’
‘Yes, we thought we’d better. And they really haven’t spoken since?’
‘Isn’t that sad?’ Ruth drained her glass. ‘I can’t imagine us falling out over a man. You could have mine, either of you, any time!’ She held her glass out to Simon, who filled it up.
‘For your own good, Ruth, that’s your last until dinner,’ he warned kindly.
‘Poor James! You don’t really mean that, do you? Oh no!’ Belinda pulled a box from the carrier bag. ‘You got lamb grill steaks! These aren’t what I wanted at all! They’re only burgers!’
‘It’s all they had,’ Heather said calmly. ‘At least they’re organic.’
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Ruth soothed. ‘The kids will probably prefer them.’
Simon carried Miriam’s wine out of the room. Belinda followed him, taking shopping to the storeroom. Heather rummaged in a drawer for a knife. Ruth remained alone at the table and watched the pendulum of the clock over the Aga swinging relentlessly to and fro until she felt strangely glassy and mesmerised. It was warm in the kitchen, and homely, and curiously peaceful. The dark shadow of depression she had been conscious of somewhere in the region of her diaphragm felt diminished. The warm glow of the wine on an empty stomach had effervesced it away to a degree but the concord of her brother and sisters had done far more to winnow it. She remained fixed to her seat, nurturing the pale kernel of hopefulness.
Simon’s laugh as he came back through the door almost made her jump. ‘Well that was a bad move,’ he chortled, reaching up for more glasses from the cupboard. ‘I seem to have got the job of cocktail waiter, now.’
His words dropped a boulder on Ruth’s nascent contentment. It curdled and warped and turned bitter in an instant. ‘James was supposed to be doing that job,’ Ruth griped. ‘He really is absolutely useless.’ Suddenly her wine tasted sour.
Belinda returned with an assortment of vegetables. ‘I’ve been trying to think,’ she said, ‘but I can’t remember a single time when I’ve seen June and Muriel together. Although Muriel did come to our wedding, I think...’
‘But not to speak to your own sister, for years. That’s sad.’ Heather interrupted, hesitating half way across the kitchen with a packet of ham and some butter.
‘I didn’t speak to mine for years,’ Simon commented, mixing drinks.
‘That was different,’ Ruth said with an effort.
‘Of course it was!’ Heather agreed. ‘You went off adventuring, Simon, we didn’t fall out.’
Simon and Ruth exchanged a look. Its sub-text strengthened Ruth a little. ‘Some families have feuds which go on for years,’ she offered, ‘they go on down the generations until nobody knows what the original disagreement was all about.’
‘It would have to be something terrible,’ Belinda pondered, beginning to assemble the ingredients for the evening meal, ‘something absolutely unforgivable.’
Heather sucked butter off her fingers. ‘I don’t think it happens so much in Eastern cultures. Families are so often bound by business interests as well as emotional ones, there.’
‘We have business interests in common...’ Belinda was busy peeling carrots.
‘Well... We’re not hands-on, are we? McKays Haulage is a closed book to me, even though I am a director. I haven’t a clue what goes on. We could be trafficking illegal immigrants for all I know.’ Heather looked, for a moment, as though she could bite out her own tongue. ‘I’m sure Elliot wouldn’t, though, Lindy,’ she added, blushing.
Simon set glasses on a tray. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him, if there was a profit in it,’ he said darkly.
‘But what act could one family member possibly do to another which could split a family?’ Heather went back to her original question. ‘That’s what I’m really wondering. I can’t imagine anything dividing ours.’
‘I hope we’ll never have to find out, Heather,’ Belinda said.
Ruth laughed cynically. ‘I think the rot’s already setting in, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘Look at us, really. What do we really have in common other than the same mother and father?’ She shook her head and laughed, hollowly. ‘I have no idea what you do for a living, Simon. I couldn’t tell you where Heather likes to go shopping or what music Belinda likes. I couldn’t name your best friends or your favourite restaurants. I could make a guess at your political leanings, I suppose. But I don’t know what your dreams are, what you hope for, what you’re afraid of...’ she trailed off. Her siblings were looking at her, their faces betraying, variously, shock, sadness, reluctant agreement.
Suddenly Heather threw down the knife she was using. ‘We must make a pact of unity,’ she declared, kicking off her shoes and tearing the rubber bands from her ponytail. Her golden hair cascaded down over her shoulders. She caught up the flimsy gathers of her ethereal garment in her hands and began to hop and skip around her siblings. She hummed in an aimless, tuneless monotone, letting her clothing lift and fall as she twirled and leapt.
‘I shall enjoin the good spirits, and summon the forces of harmony,’ she cooed, a little breathlessly, ‘and they shall appoint unto us guardian angels for our concord!’ Tears of sadness which had threatened turned to tears of laughter, as her brother and sisters howled helplessly onto each other’s shoulders.
✽✽✽
Because of the late telephone call and the consequent disturbed night Muriel slept much later than usual. It was after eleven when she telephoned the Oaks and asked to speak to Matron. The receptionist, a youngster, seemed upset. The normal sense of orderly decorum and well-heeled calm had evidently suffered a severe jolt. While Matron was found Muriel could hear definite signs of a flap in progress. The visitors’ entrance hall, which was floored in highly polished parquet, reverberated from the hurry of many panicked footsteps, doors slammed and the usually chocolate-smooth voices of the care assistants were raised to shrill and unpleasant decibels. Eventually, an out-of-breath Matron picked up the receiver.
‘Hello? Oh, hello Miss McKay. Excuse me, yes, rather a to-do here. Your mother is quite well, no need for concern there. She has departed on her little holiday as arranged. But another resident, Mr Burgess, seems, momentarily to have gone AWOL. Would you mind very much if I were to phone you back?’
‘Excuse me,’ said Muriel slowly, ‘you say my mother has gone on holiday? By whose arrangement?’
‘Your niece, Miss
Sandra, is escorting her to the country. I was instructed yesterday evening by your sister to prepare her things. I hope there hasn’t been a change of plan?’
‘Sandra has taken Mother to the country?’ Muriel repeated, incredulously.
‘Yes indeed. And in her absence we’re redecorating her room, also on your sister’s instruction. We think that’s what’s upset Mr Burgess. Strangers and so on. I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, a police officer has just arrived.’
Muriel replaced the receiver slowly. Feelings of abandonment swept over her and she wept a few tears. So the whole family except for her would be up there in that big house, talking about old times, laughing and joking, making arrangements for Christmas and she, alone, was excluded through no fault of her own. The cruelty of it was too much to bear. She desperately wanted to speak to Les, to have him come to her, but she knew there was no possibility of that and that she must not ask it.
She looked around her little house. The Saturday jobs waited to be done; the bed was due for stripping and she ought to walk up to the corner shop to pay the paper bill. Saturday was library day, too. Inviolable routine supported her life – she was, after all, a McKay - like rungs of an overhead ladder, she swung from one to the next, having always to have a firm grip, or she would fall.
Later in the afternoon, just as she had got back from the shops, Muriel’s telephone rang again. It was Matron.
‘Good afternoon, Miss McKay. I’m so sorry to bother you. We think we may have traced our wanderer.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. It seems that as one of the cleaning staff was leaving this morning she left the door unlocked so that the decorators could carry their gear in. At the same time your niece and her young man were helping Mrs McKay outside to the car. We believe that Mr Burgess must have taken the opportunity to follow them outside.’
‘I see.’
‘The police have interviewed all the staff - quite routine in the circumstances. Naturally, we’re very concerned. Mr Burgess requires regular medication, quite apart from anything else.’
‘Of course. I see.’ Muriel put her bag of library books down. Roger sniffed them, hopefully. ‘How upsetting for you all.’
‘Oh yes, it is, Miss McKay. We’ve never lost anyone at the Oaks before.’
Muriel sensed the matron’s hesitation. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked tentatively.
‘There might be. The thing is: one of the gardeners recalls seeing Mr Burgess on the drive. He always has his little suitcase with him and that distinguishes him, d’ you see? And we believe, that is we think, or at least, it seems possible, that he must have climbed into the car with Mrs McKay. It’s the only explanation we can come up with. The police have searched the neighbourhood and no one’s seen him. He must have gone with them. And you see while it might all have been just a mistake, well, I don’t mind telling you that the police are pursuing other avenues, far more sinister ones. In fact, they wanted to know,’ Matron lowered her voice conspiratorially, ‘they were asking me, in fact, Miss McKay, if there is anything dodgy about your niece or her young man.’
‘He’s very dodgy, I believe,’ Muriel gossiped gaily. ‘He has a number of ne’er do well brothers who are in to all kinds of dicey dealing. I think at least one of them has been in prison for something. Les - that is, my niece’s father - doesn’t approve of him at all. I believe the family’s quite notorious.’
Matron digested this information. ‘I see,’ she sniffed. ‘That puts rather a different complexion on things. I’m afraid I’ll have to mention that to the police. It would explain a great deal. We really couldn’t understand at all why your niece allowed it or failed to alert a member of staff, still less why she actually drove off with him. But if there is criminal intent…’
‘Oh!’ Muriel had the feeling that she’d said too much. ‘I’m sure Sandra wouldn’t have co-operated in anything illegal. Not willingly, anyway... Although I suppose none of us knows what we might do if there was a gun to our heads.’
‘Does he have a gun? Good God, Miss McKay!’
‘I... I couldn’t say.’
‘But it’s a possibility. You think he might have coerced her.’
‘Well,’ Muriel stammered. ‘I don’t know. It was just a figure of speech. But it does seem an odd relationship in many ways...’
‘Is she quite reliable, your niece? There isn’t anything the police should know about her, is there? Does she have any particularly strong political opinions, for example? Mr Burgess...’ Matron lowered her voice again, ‘Mr Burgess is related to somebody very high up - you know what I’m saying? That’s quite apart from being wealthy in his own right.’
‘Oh dear. Not that I know of Matron, but you must understand that I’m not very close to my sister or her daughter. Really, I wouldn’t like you to think that I’m suggesting anything dubious... ’
‘But it all looks so suspicious, doesn’t it? Until we can clear it all up. I don’t suppose you have a contact number for the place where Mrs McKay is staying? We need to confirm quite urgently if Mr Burgess is there and whether he’s there - voluntarily, shall we say? And to arrange for him to be collected, and also to try and organise some medication for him.’
Muriel gave Matron the name of the house and the village, which was all she knew.
‘I think the police will manage with that,’ said Matron, writing down the details. ‘Frankly, there’ll be questions to be answered. Even if it was an innocent mistake, it really was most irresponsible of your niece to take Mr Burgess away without a by-your-leave, if that’s what’s happened. You can imagine the distress it has caused to our residents. The staff are upset, too, naturally. The disruption has been immense.’
‘I can’t think what they thought they were doing.’ Muriel mused. ‘But I hope you’ll keep me informed.’
Matron telephoned an hour or so later to tell Muriel that the police had traced the number of Hunting Manor but that it was engaged.
‘They think someone’s on the internet,’ she said testily. ‘We’re pretty sure now that he’s there. Under what circumstances, has yet to be established. But if we don’t get through in the next hour we’ll be alerting the local constabulary.’
‘I quite understand,’ said Muriel.
‘In the meantime it’s quite likely that the police will want to ask you what more you know about this young man.’
‘Goodness me,’ Muriel gasped, wondering if she had enough biscuits.
✽✽✽
The rare moment of family accord between the four McKay siblings soon dissipated into the flurry of activity which ensued, but it was not forgotten. It lingered like sweetness on the tongue and lent its flavour to the succeeding events of the day.
Belinda began the final preparations for their meal, grilling the lamb-burgers with disapproval. Heather went to give Starlight her sandwiches. Ruth remembered the laundry she had left in the machines earlier on in the day and went to put it into the tumble drier and to find clean sheets for the bed in the boys’ bedroom. She encountered Mr Burgess on the stairs, trouserless and ranting, and took pleasure in disturbing June from her tête a tête with Sandra in the library so that she could attend to him.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do it. I have all this laundry to sort out, and in any case I don’t know which room you’ve put him in,’ she explained, in mock apology. June pursed her lips and said nothing.
‘Whose bed is this?’ Ruth asked as she stretched the clean sheet over the mattress.
Todd reddened. ‘Mine,’ he said, quietly.
‘I see,’ said Ruth. She knew she ought to give him a ticking off, but now she came to think of it she hadn’t really done anything to re-establish relations with her nephews. In fact, she couldn’t remember having addressed a single word to either of them since they had arrived yesterday evening. If she waded in like a gorgon now it could well put paid to any future cousinly visitations and Ben did seem to be getting on so well with them both. So she s
miled kindly at Todd as she twitched his duvet back into place and said, as lightly and generally as possible, ‘Do be very careful with drinks up here, won’t you boys?’
The boys had all had showers. Their muddy clothes and damp towels were strewn around the room. Toby and Todd were pulling on clean tracksuit bottoms and t shirts, but Ben remained in his underpants crouched in a corner, absorbed in a game on Toby’s Gameboy. His hair, Ruth noted, was all on end, and his skin clung to his bones with hardly a shred of flesh for padding. She had a sudden desire to embrace him; she had hardly seen him since this morning, she hadn’t heard about his adventures in the woods and at the sea. The tide of information which generally flowed from him, both plebeian and fantastical, had entirely dried up, or, at least, had been washing up on the shore of someone else’s ears, and she missed it. Rachel too, she realised, had been stolen away from her. She hadn’t been invited to approve the new clothes, or to hear about the shops. ‘The family is joined by elastic,’ she mused. ‘The closer we get to some, the more we must stretch away from others.’ She moved over to her son and crouched by his side.
‘Do make sure you sit by me at teatime, Ben,’ she said, quietly, smoothing his hair to his head with her hand, ‘I want to hear all about your adventures.’
‘Alright, Mum,’ said Ben, not looking up from his game.
‘Take your wet things downstairs,’ she told them all, standing up. ‘There’s a boiler room downstairs where you can leave them to dry. After tea we can all play a board game together. You boys can choose from the box we brought with us, OK?’ She chose not to notice the qualified enthusiasm which this suggestion provoked.
She proceeded down the corridor to the girls’ room. A pile of neatly folded clothing was reverently placed on Rachel’s pillow; even the bags had been folded carefully. As Ruth lifted and examined each garment in turn, she couldn’t help but be impressed by its good quality and sensible nature, especially when she got down to the underwear and pyjamas. Something had been mentioned about an incredible sale but even so she couldn’t imagine but that some considerable money had been spent, money she knew that she could not repay without sacrifice. Her instinct was to make vehement protest, to get on her highest hobby horse and rant about sweat-shop labour and the exploitation of women by the fashion industry, not to mention the money... But coming as it did from Miriam this generous gesture must not be snubbed, and, more importantly still, she could not bring herself to spoil Rachel’s own obvious delight with her new things. Rachel, she believed, would never take good things for granted, receiving them all too rarely, while her cousins evidently had the opposite attitude; their new clothes were tossed around the room, crumpled on the floor and flung anyhow.
Relative Strangers Page 21