‘You’re very cruel. Very cruel,’ moaned June, from beneath a blanket of cognac-sodden distress, but Les had closed the door and was on his way downstairs.
Presently a local GP arrived. Dr Gardner was a kindly, elderly family doctor. He had thinning grey hair with twigs and leaves stuck in it. He wore a blue pullover with frayed elbows, and stained trousers. He apologised for his garb, explaining that he had been helping to build the village bonfire for Guy Fawkes Night when the call had reached him. Dr Gardner took Mr Burgess into the library and gave him as detailed an examination as possible given the patient’s inexorable grip on the portmanteau. They looked as mad as each other. Mr Burgess was declared physically fit but extremely confused and the doctor administered a dose of medication. In conference with Ruth he expressed extreme surprise that a patient in such a far gone state should be anywhere but in a secure nursing unit.
‘If you think he’s in a bad way, you should meet my grandmother,’ laughed Ruth. ‘On the whole, I’d say she was the worst of the two. But we’re stuck with her until Thursday. At least this one’s going home tonight.’
Dr Gardner shook hands and left. The police officer in charge approached to explain that he had concluded his investigations and felt that he could now leave. It seemed to have been a case, he had concluded, of an honest if odd mistake. He found no evidence of ulterior motive, political insurgence or international terrorism. However he had cautioned the young lady in the severest tones that her mistake had caused acute upset and consternation at the Oaks and for Mr Burgess’ family, had tied up several police officers for the whole day and cost a good deal of money. He could not guarantee that some liability for costs might not be laid at her door or even that an official charge of wasting police time might not have to be answered. That would be up to his superiors. His colleagues from the relevant metropolitan constabulary were on their way with a care home nurse to take Mr Burgess back to the Oaks. Having made his case clear the team thanked their hosts for the tea, said goodbye to Starlight, retied their shoelaces, reclaimed their helmets and shambled back into their transportation.
✽✽✽
Fed and watered, the children took Starlight into the games room while the adults at last sat down to dinner. Belinda dished up the lamb with lips pursed like a scar. With the substitution of the burgers there was just enough to go round but she served them with ill-grace. It seemed to her that her dreams had been trampled upon utterly. She felt the presence of June in the house, even from the distance of her room, like a malevolent odour and the embodiment of June’s machinations seated at the table oppressed her. Only the kindly and supportive glances and gestures of her siblings gave her any comfort. They acted as one; settling Mary and Robert, passing vegetables, discussing with careful selectivity the positive occurrences of the day, and glossing over the recent unpleasantness which had marred it. Belinda carefully plated up a meal for Muriel, and, very magnanimously, she thought, one also for June, and put them in the warming oven of the Aga.
Sandra and Kevin were utterly ignored. The two of them had been steered to the far end of the table, landed with the two elderly people and served with dinner without a word, then virtually left to get on with it. The rest of them had drifted in unspoken concert to the other end of the table. They had disgraced the family; this was the unspoken verdict upon them. The McKays had never been in any trouble with the police - hysteria, smashed ornaments, trouserless old men and puddles of urine were unknown in their annals. Les hovered in an agony of indecision, before seating himself half way between the two parties. Mitch, diplomatically, sat opposite him.
Elliot, uncomfortably aware that his ill-advised licensing of June to invite ‘whomsoever she pleased’ the evening before had seriously backfired, distanced himself from the new arrivals. Perhaps, he mused, in a rare moment of self-doubt, he ought to have consulted Belinda first. There was a kind of accord between Belinda and her brother and sisters, and the in-laws, too, were standing in line. It wouldn’t do at all for him to be caught on the wrong side in the event of a schism; he had far too much to lose.
Sandra ate her food miserably with one hand while the other kept Granny McKay from falling off the end of the bench. Granny was quite sozzled - she chatted incomprehensibly to Mr Burgess. Mr Burgess, however, was beyond conversation of any kind. He dozed in the carver chair, his medication having taken effect. Granny McKay was unperturbed by his lack of response, in fact he was the kind of listener she most preferred and she meandered through a confused and half-remembered memoir of a day trip to the Lakes she had taken whilst Secretary to the local branch of the Mothers’ Union. Kevin picked at his food in silence and wondered what he had done to deserve this muck instead of the burgers. He was keen to get back to the computer game or, failing that, to the double bedroom he had surprisingly been allocated to share with Sandra.
Miriam, at the family end of the table, was quite magnificent. She described, with careful deference to Ruth, the shopping trip, the happy camaraderie of the girls, the attractive little market town where they had been too late for the butchers but found the most amusing little grocery store at which one was served by a gentleman in a traditional brown grocer’s coat from behind an old fashioned counter. The image evoked for Mary a picture of shops as they had been in the olden days and Miriam had encouraged Mary in reminiscences of her girlhood, when rationing had been in place, and women had had to be very ingenious indeed to make the food stretch.
After the lamb had been eaten Belinda brought out the meringues.
‘My favourite!’ exclaimed James, with perhaps a little too much gush. He helped himself to two. Belinda smiled at him. James had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen in a man, Belinda thought to herself. So sympathetic and honest, thickly fringed with dark lashes, and melting, like milk chocolate.
‘Not for me, thanks.’ Elliot said, a little abruptly, interrupting the frisson, ‘I think I’d prefer cheese.’
‘I’ll get it out for you,’ said Ruth with what she hoped was a self-deprecating laugh, ‘but let me warn you not to take your eyes off it for a second. Mine disappeared last night during a moment of inattention!’
Mitch coughed.
‘I think we’ll take Granny to bed,’ Sandra said quietly. ‘She’s had a long day.’
‘Haven’t we all?’ said Belinda acidly.
‘What a good idea. Goodnight.’ Ruth dismissed them, literally, with an imperious wave of her hand. Mr Burgess remained at the far end of the table, snoring gently. Sandra and Kevin shuffled out with Granny, rubber-legged, between them. When they had gone, significant looks were exchanged across the table but, in deference to Les, nothing was said.
After the meringues nearly everyone had cheese. Elliot poured port. James led Robert into talk of his childhood days. The distant past was so much fresher in his mind than more recent events, and he could describe incidents which had occurred decades before with a clarity which would have failed him if he had been asked to describe his breakfast that day. The sisters and Mary talked about babies. Miriam, excluded from this conversation, encouraged Jude and Simon to describe the afternoon’s expedition to the sea, which they did with many an amusing anecdote. They had discovered a bear’s den (up a tree – but not the family tree, which had eluded them). Todd had been sent up to investigate, equipped as he was with their only bear-fighting weapon. Hidden treasure had been tracked using arrows made out of sticks and the compass (the treasure had turned out to be some chocolate hidden under a log by James). They had continued their pursuit of the mysterious Wriggly, directed entirely by Ben, which had involved a good deal of hallooing and thrashing about the undergrowth with sticks. The sea, when reached, had been a revelation; a long, pebbled beach with some sheltering dunes running up into a fir plantation. The boys and by contagion the men, were sure that a whole day could delightfully be spent there, with a bonfire, beach combing, some bird-spotting and, when the tide went out, maybe even fishing for crabs in the rock pools.
‘If only the weather holds,’ said Elliot sourly. ‘It is October, after all. And don’t the clocks go back tonight? That’ll mean an hour less of daylight.’
‘No, that’s next week. And the forecast is good for tomorrow,’ said Simon, shortly, ‘and if we got an early start…’
‘Tomorrow is Ellie’s birthday,’ put in Belinda. I’m planning a birthday brunch. And I suppose I’ll have to bake another cake before I go to bed.’
‘Why don’t you let Rachel and Tansy do it tomorrow? Tansy loves baking and I’m sure they’d like to do it for Ellie,’ Miriam suggested.
‘We were planning on going to church tomorrow,’ James announced. There was a shocked silence. The McKays had never been church-goers. Ruth looked rather uncomfortable, and then felt angry at herself.
‘We’ve been attending a local church for the last few months,’ she said defensively. ‘It started off as a bit of a ruse, to get Ben into the Cathedral School; it helped your application if you were regular church attendees. But recently, we’ve started going for its own sake. We quite enjoy it, actually.’ She looked round the table, daring anyone to challenge her.
‘You do surprise me, Ruth,’ said Heather, rather archly. ‘You’ve always been so cynical about my spirituality.’
‘Christianity has a lot to say about social justice,’ Ruth said quickly, ‘you know I’ve always been active politically. I went on the Woman’s Right to Choose march.’
‘Politics certainly does require faith,’ Miriam mused.
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Belinda ‘I’ve never understood any of it, really.’
‘No,’ said Elliot, rather cuttingly, ‘not your strong suit at all, dear. When you talk about politics you just make yourself look ridiculous.’
‘Oh now, really,’ James began, but Simon cut in quickly, keen to preserve the unity. ‘Well. I guess Monday will do just as well for a day at the beach.’
‘Yes, we really ought to make some plans,’ agreed Miriam, with a significant glance at Les, ‘or the week will be gone and we won’t have done anything. I think we passed an outdoor activity centre today. Canoes and so forth. I’m sure the young people will enjoy that.’
‘And there’s the famous mountain; the third highest in Britain? We ought to climb it while we’re here, if the weather’s suitable,’ said Simon. ‘Elliot, could we use your computer to check the forecast?’
Suddenly, with a part to play in proceedings, Elliot was fussing self-importantly with his laptop, which had been removed from the table, eventually, with great care and trepidation, by Ruth. Belinda got up to begin stacking the dishwasher, concealing a welling of tears at James’ chivalry. James got up to help her, and, for a moment, placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. The significance of this gesture lay in its very needlessness and she stored it up like a treasure. Mitch and Les offered to refuel the fires. Jude slipped off for a smoke. Robert’s head drooped onto his chest, and he dozed. He and Mr Burgess, at opposite ends of the table, looked like a pair of curious bookends.
‘We shall have to be careful,’ said Simon quietly, with a mischievous wink at Heather, ‘when the nurse and the policeman come, that they don’t take away the wrong old man!’
‘Poor Daddy!’ sighed Heather. ‘He’s lost his spark, hasn’t he?’
‘His spark used to burn sometimes,’ said Simon, coldly. ‘So I wouldn’t come over all nostalgic, if I were you.’
Ruth and Miriam found themselves sitting a little apart at one end of the table. It was an opportunity at last to re-establish relations.
‘It’s a funny thing, family,’ Ruth offered, by way of an opening.
‘It is,’ Miriam concurred, with a wry smile. ‘You don’t choose them, sometimes you don’t even like them, and yet there seems to be something, I don’t know, a bond, a tie, that can never be undone. Even though you might want to, you can’t; it goes too deep.’ She had uncannily hit on Ruth’s own conclusions and it made her feel uncomfortable to have been so accurately read.
‘I wonder what it is,’ she asked, a little shakily.
‘The bond? Goodness. I’m the last person to answer that question, Ruth. I have no brothers or sisters, only Mother. There’s only ever been her and me, for as long as I can remember. I don’t actually like her that much. She’s over-bearing and dictatorial, quite selfish. But even so I couldn’t choose to cut the tie between us. But what is the tie? Is it duty? I think it might be. She did her duty by me – she was widowed, you know, before I was born, and the pressure on her to have me adopted was very strong – and now I, sometimes to my considerable inconvenience, do my duty by her.’
There was silence between them, before Ruth mused, ‘Mmm. No, it isn’t duty, for me. It’s something far deeper and more... ingrained... to do with what we have shared.’
‘History? Is it a bond of history?’
‘I’m theorising.’ Ruth glanced over at her mother, ‘even unhappy history is still shared and would still count, wouldn’t it?’
‘I would think unhappy history especially would unite people. Adversity forges very strong bonds.’
‘Perhaps that’s all it is, then,’ Ruth said quietly, thinking of angry words unspoken, disappointment unvoiced, the crushing years of disillusionment packing themselves down on the McKays making a mortar of misery.
Miriam sighed and stood up. Elliot, Jude and Simon were leaning together over the computer screen. Belinda and James were washing and wiping in companionable silence. Mary had gone into the games room. The two old men slumbered at opposite ends of the table. ‘Shall I make some tea?’ Miriam asked. Ruth nodded.
‘I’ll make decaffeinated, if there is any. It’s really quite late.’
Simon detached himself from the group at the computer and hunkered down at Ruth’s side. ‘Happy history makes for stronger bonds,’ he said, covering her small hand with his. ‘We mustn’t dwell on the negative. We did have happy times, Ruthie.’ Ruth smiled at him, a little wanly, and he went on, ‘and we can make sure of it, can’t we, for the children?’
‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled, ‘if we can take responsibility for that.’ He squeezed her hand again and then ambled out of the room. Ruth tried to project herself twenty years into the future, and envisage the children on as disparate paths as it was possible to imagine, subject to lucky stars and tragic losses. Ben, say, a famous concert pianist. Toby a recluse. Todd perhaps an explorer and Rob some Buddhist Guru. Tansy in a Kibbutz and Ellie with five children by different fathers on state benefits in a high-rise. What could they do now to make sure that in that future time the young ones, no matter how far-flung, would be bonded indelibly with this happy family adhesive? Or would it just be a case of being larded with the same family soup of genes; a network of accidental biological associations? Or would they be strangers, with nothing in common, no loyalty or link of any kind? And how would they feel about it? Perhaps it would be a blessed relief.
Miriam interrupted her thoughts from where she stood with her back to the Aga. ‘I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to answer this one, Ruth. I agree with you that shared experience – up-bringing - comes into it. I still feel it has a lot to do with duty...’ she shook her head. ‘Perhaps it's something we’ll never be able to pin down.’
‘I think what I think you’re trying to describe is love,’ Belinda said, suddenly, from across the room, a dish cloth poised in her hand, ‘or am I just being stupid?’
‘I can’t define that either.’ The word, the concept, made Ruth feel suddenly panicked. She hauled herself abruptly to her feet and began to arrange cups on a tray.
Belinda shrugged. ‘Isn’t it just knowing that you’d do anything for someone?’
‘Perhaps.’ Ruth cast a sideways glance at her father, still sleeping in his chair. ‘It sounds like a very one way street to me. I’m not saying that you’re wrong, just that it isn’t fair. It leaves a vacuum.’
‘I don’t know about that, Belinda,’ Miriam frowned. ‘Take these two sisters; Ju
ne and Muriel. They don’t love each other, but there’s something between them, still. There’s anger and resentment and jealousy.’ Miriam poured water into the teapot.
‘How do you know?’
‘She’s coming, isn’t she?’ Miriam smiled.
‘Ah! Yes! But why?’ Ruth almost cried. It was just the nature of that connection which she had been trying to define. God knew she didn’t dispute its existence! But Miriam left Ruth’s question unanswered, and carried the tea tray out of the room.
✽✽✽
The children were playing a complicated board game. It involved dozens of playing pieces in different shapes and colours spread over a board which was designed to look like a map of the world. Each player had a small pad of paper and a pencil, and, before each round, had to predict their move, or the move of others, and the outcome. The game was only designed for six players and there had been some initial acrimony over who should be left out. Todd had yelled when it had been suggested that he was too little. Finally Ellie had suggested that they each roll the dice and the two lowest scorers should form a team of two. To her confusion, Rachel had found herself teamed up with her cousin Rob. She had blushed furiously when they had both rolled low, and had hardly dared look him in the eye since. It was clear from his body language that he, too, was unhappy with the arrangement. She had placated him by attempting to make no suggestions at all as to their playing strategy and had contented herself with keeping their playing pieces in neat and tidy order on the floor beside him.
Starlight, initially, had spoiled things by collecting up the pieces, putting the dice in her mouth and scribbling on the notepads but now she had been distracted by Mary with a storybook. She sat on her grandma’s knee with her thumb in her mouth. She was tired and would soon fall asleep. Mary thought it was high time her youngest grand-daughter was put to bed and wondered about advising Heather about establishing routines. She knew also that she ought to think about getting Robert upstairs, and going to bed herself, but couldn’t face it. His disappearance in the morning, the unexpected and unwelcome arrival of his mother and June’s daughter and the shocking appearance of the police, had all taken its toll on her. She might seem to cope well but she wasn’t a young woman anymore. The idea of having someone to look after Robert for a change was appealing. Les, and possibly James, she thought, might do it, if she asked. Here, amongst her grandchildren, she felt content, and with this little one on her knee there was a sense of completion which made the traumas of the day seem bearable. The storybook had pictures of babies – all colours, Mary noted – enjoying a bath and then being put to bed.
Relative Strangers Page 23