She kept setting one too many places at the table and cooking too much food.
‘It would have been better if he’d just died,’ Dad said one meal-time as Mum broke down again over one pork chop too many.
Belinda just couldn’t understand why Simon and Ruth too, come to that, had found it necessary to make such pointless waves in the family. Why had they complained and objected to everything? Why did they want everything to be different? What, exactly, she wanted to know, was wrong with things the way they were, the way they had always been? There was nothing wrong with being a McKay! Increasingly McKays were looked up to in the town. They employed thirty-odd people one way or another. Dad and Uncle Les had joined the Masons and the four of them went off regularly to dinner dances where they rubbed shoulders with police inspectors and stock brokers and people who had been members of the golf club for as long as they could remember. Belinda had been with them to a ‘Ladies’ Night’ with her hair pinned up and wearing a sequined cocktail dress and ‘drunk wine’ with the Worshipful Master and received a pretty little china dressing table ornament as a gift. She had danced with a pleasant young man with an unfortunate stammer, and another with a shock of auburn hair, and a third, rather older, tall and thick-set, with beautifully deep brown eyes, a low, sonorous voice and a heavy gold signet ring on his little finger. It had been glorious; she was twenty four after all and it was time she was married. The last of her partners had asked her for her telephone number but he had never called. All this affluence hadn’t changed the McKays though. Mum still did all her own cleaning and baked every week and her washing was the whitest and brightest you would see on any line in the area. Only with Simon and Ruth gone there was so much less of it now, and it made her sad.
The two of them spoke of him sometimes, in hushed tones, speculating as to where he might be and what he might be doing, and whether he was safe. Dad never mentioned his name at all but the frown-line between his eyebrows was more deeply etched, his mouth set in a harder line, his McKay eyes a more steely grey. He carried the burden of the yard alone. Without the support of a son, without the hope of a McKay to pass it all on to, it must all seem, suddenly, very pointless.
Belinda put her key in the door and stepped into the hall. It struck her immediately that something was different. There was, first of all, the smell of something rich and beefy coming from the kitchen. Tuesday was usually a day for sausages or bacon. Then as she slipped off her wet raincoat and hung it in the cloakroom she could see that the table in the dining room was set with the best white cloth and wine glasses, for four. The lamp on the sideboard was lit and the fire was on. Nowadays they rarely used the dining room on weekdays, preferring to eat round the little gate-leg table in the kitchen instead. She walked across the hall, tucking her wet and disarranged hair back into its bun as best as she was able. She stood for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, outside the lounge door. There was something else. Something was lighter, released, like fresh wind after a storm, like the relief when a headache has passed. The band of tension she so often experienced as she stepped into the house was slack and negligible. The house itself felt relaxed. She opened the lounge door. In a vase on the low table in the bay window a there was a huge bouquet of flowers. The television was switched off. Mum and Dad were perched awkwardly on the edges of their chairs sipping sherry. On the settee lounged a young man Belinda had not seen before. He stood up as she entered. He was young, perhaps a year or two younger than her, and only an inch or two taller. He was slightly built with fine dark hair swept back away from his face. He had a good complexion, rather small, dark eyes, a pointed nose and a thin-lipped, narrow mouth. He was not handsome but he had an engaging smile. He held out his hand to her.
Dad leapt to his feet with more energy and enthusiasm that she had seen in him for months. Belinda looked across at him. His face was alight, alive. His eyes were shining and his whole demeanour seemed inflated somehow, buoyed up, infused by some impetus Belinda couldn’t quite identify. She looked at her mum. Still seated, Mary looked back at Belinda with an eager, hopeful smile, her crystal sherry glass clutched so tightly between her clasped hands that Belinda wondered why its stem didn’t snap. She hesitated to speak, as though waiting, almost breathlessly, for some much hoped-for sign. And immediately Belinda recognised and named the new quality in her father’s manner which had eluded her a few seconds before. It was hope.
Dad stepped forward across the hearth rug and smiled at her. He held out both his hands, taking the young man by his elbow and reaching out the other hand to Belinda’s shoulder. He exuded hope, it poured off him in palpable waves, it shone out of him. The room and everyone in it were bathed with it; golden and beneficent.
‘Here you are at last!’ he cried. ‘Let me introduce...’
But the young man interrupted him. ‘I’m Elliot Donne,’ he said. ‘Delighted to meet you at last.’ His voice had a thin, nasal quality to it, almost adenoidal. They shook hands. His hand was damp, but then, probably, after the rain, so was hers.
‘Now then,’ Dad said, rubbing his hands together, ‘let’s eat. Come on, son, this way.’
He led the way into the dining room and motioned Elliot towards Simon’s chair.
Sunday
After the surreal and distressing developments of Saturday Belinda’s determination when she woke on Sunday morning was to sound a note of calm normality. Not least in her desire was the fact that it was Ellie’s sixteenth birthday and she wished above all things to make the day as enjoyable for her as she could. It was hard to imagine what could possibly occur to blight the holiday further. She felt as though almost every ounce of joy had been wrung from it by the interloping relatives; her plans and expectations were in tatters. But nothing, no matter how bizarre, violent or fantastical, could surprise her now. Only one joyful if unlooked for possibility gave her any encouragement, a hope which she dared not even name and yet which shone over every ugly and embarrassing circumstance of the holiday so far with a kind and healing light. It gave her strength and compensated slightly her sense of deflation, and she determined that nothing should be allowed to jaundice Ellie’s special day.
Ellie’s birthday always fell in half term and over the years they had made various attempts to overcome the difficulties that this posed; friends were often away and so parties tended to be disappointingly attended. On the other hand, cinemas, bowling alleys and the like were always maddeningly crowded. No matter what they arranged always seemed to be burdened beforehand with the expectation of disappointment. In arranging the holiday Belinda had specifically mentioned to everyone that it would be Ellie’s birthday and she sincerely hoped that the family would have made an effort. While April had been alive she had been reliable about sending cards and presents but Miriam left these matters to Simon who generally forgot until days or sometimes weeks after the event. Ruth normally managed a cheap card and a sadly crumpled ten pound note; its dilapidation somehow speaking of the reluctance with which it was parted. Heather’s solution was to make vague promises about future treats which rarely materialised into anything concrete or which, at best, involved Belinda in time consuming and expensive trips into town to see obscure exhibitions or slightly unsuitable shows to which Heather had sent tickets. Mary usually consulted Belinda before buying anything and therefore in the past had ended up presenting her grandchildren with practical, useful, if unimaginative gifts, but recently she had taken to enclosing (quite generous) sums of money in the card. Both Rob and Ellie had monthly allowances and as a result rarely needed anything. In addition their patience with useful, practical gifts was wearing embarrassingly thin. They preferred to be taken to boutiques – or, in Rob’s case, computer shops – and waited for outside while they selected purchases unimpeded by parental suggestions. Belinda had been delighted by Heather and Miriam’s gesture the day before although she still had not been shown what Ellie had chosen, but she hoped that there would be some surprise parcels for Ellie today.
Elliot h
ad come to bed soon after her the night before. She was pleased to see at least that he had brought up with him the cursed laptop computer which had been in the way all day. She had been seated in front of the dressing table brushing her hair. It still reached well down her back and although its lustre was gone it was thick, with a natural wave. Only Elliot ever saw her with her hair down - even the children rarely did - but it was not a sight which seemed to move him unduly. She had always considered her hair her only beauty. The feel of it in her hands and on her naked shoulders awakened in her imagination confused fantasies which drew from sources as diverse as Rapunzel in her tower, lonely and yearning, and Mary at the feet of Christ, intoxicated by the scent of expensive perfumes as she wiped his feet with her hair. Having her hair unpinned made her feel young and girlish, rather vulnerable, undone and undignified. It was at this moment in the day when Elliot would often choose to unburden himself of the day’s frustrations. He would rant and pace, often decrying the idiocy of an employee or the senseless bureaucracy imposed by government which impeded his business. But sometimes he would pick an argument with her which she would feel, in her state of undress, ill-equipped to handle. She often wondered if he did it on purpose, waited until she was undressed and her hair down before launching an attack, as an animal will catch its prey unawares and then target its softer, undefended parts. It grieved her that at those times when she needed from him extreme consideration and tenderness she must instead tap into her own deeper reserves of extra caution and defensiveness.
Elliot had pottered around the room as she brushed, folding his clothes and taking a long time about putting his trousers in the press. She had braced herself for an onslaught but there had been none. Indeed, he had seemed to Belinda, on the whole, rather quiet. She put it down at first to his lack of proper sleep the night before and the last vestiges of his hang-over. While he had cleaned his teeth she had climbed into the bed and switched out her light, leaving his burning dully on his bedside table. She had felt him slide into the sheets beside her and switch off his light. If Elliot had had a day even half as bad as hers had been had been she would normally have spent some time soothing his ego and commiserating with him. But of the two of them she felt that she had suffered far more and if any sympathy were to be offered she ought certainly to be on the receiving end of it. Her exhaustion and disappointment threatened, in the darkness, to spill into tears. A kindly hand or soft word would have meant the world to her but she expected none. She caught herself imagining with a bitterness which surprised her the kind of reassurances, encouragements and fondness Ruth would have got from James in similar circumstances. She pushed this thought with difficulty aside and thought her way instead around the situation from Elliot’s point of view, coming to the conclusion eventually that he had been, unusually, out-manoeuvred on all sides. June had used him and the united actions of the McKays in bringing Muriel had been accomplished in spite of him. He would be, therefore, either genuinely sad, bewildered and hurt or as mad as hell and bent on revenge.
In a desperate and craven attempt to elicit some kind of communication from her husband Belinda had turned over and said, ‘What time shall we waken Ellie tomorrow?’ She’d heard him sigh and almost sensed his brain computing the requisite actions and words for a McKay birthday. It was a ritual, one of many, carried forward from Belinda’s own childhood days and as far as she knew was the norm for all the McKays. Elliot seemed to have no family traditions or routines at all. He never spoke of his childhood or his parents. He mentioned his eccentric sister only in terms of relief that she required no contact with him. One of the most shocking discoveries Belinda had made during the first few months of their marriage was that Elliot had no idea at all about family life; his calendar was empty of the landmarks which measured out the McKay year; Shrove Tuesday, Easter egg hunts, summer holidays, Halloween, bonfire night, stir-up Sunday.
She had thought for a moment, as she lay in the darkness, that he would ignore her question. She had almost given up on him when he spoke. ‘I suppose ten will be early enough. I’ll wake her up and do my bit. But after that you can count me out. Personally I plan a quiet day with the Sunday newspapers tomorrow, if I can finish my figures off. Thankfully I’m not required to play a part in this family melodrama you have insisted on acting out. I’ll be glad when you all stop being so bloody clannish. In the meantime I may well drive back on Monday. I must let Carole have these figures for the quotes. They simply have to be in the post on Monday afternoon or the tenders will be closed. And there are other things at the office I need to see to.’
If his words intended to wring from Belinda a plea for him to stay, to relent, they failed. She had turned from him, edging as far away from him as it was possible for her to get. At that moment she could not have cared if he had been as good as his word but she believed that he was bluffing and she refused to pander to him. They had spent the night thus, separated by hard bolsters of disappointment, hurt and resentment. But in the morning, Belinda packed away her feelings as one might pack up photographs and memorabilia of a deceased love - one which would cause distress to look upon. She showered, and dressed, and put up her hair, and descended to the kitchen with Ellie, and only Ellie, focussed in her mind.
✽✽✽
Unfortunately Simon’s forecast of good weather turned out to be wide of the mark. In the night the wind had herded laden grey galleons of cloud across the sea and as dawn came they unloaded their cargo relentlessly along the coast, over the fields and onto the village. Hunting Wriggly sloshed ankle-deep in the deluge. The roofs of the cottages seemed to be pulled low over their walls like hats. The merry brook which crossed the road by the school had turned into a turgid brown torrent, the ducks plattered around in the puddled grass of the green. Outside the little shop a stream of water spilled out of a broken gutter and baptised the early-bird customers as they entered and departed. Les dodged it as best he could. Inside the shop a musty smell of old stock mingled with the humid hum of damp overcoats and the shop-keeper’s bacon breakfast. Les bought a birthday card for Ellie (embossed with a be-ribboned and be-frilled little girl which he hoped would be appropriate) and a selection of Sunday newspapers. As an afterthought he also purchased a bar of Muriel’s favourite chocolate and a packet of Resolve hangover remedy. In the car he wrote his own and June’s names inside the card and added a twenty pound note before sealing it. His coat, even from the short dash between the car and the shop, was soaked. The envelope, pressed against his knee as he wrote, became damp and looked limp and disappointing in spite of his best efforts.
Les drove back to the house with great care. The drive of Hunting Manor was rutted and uneven and threatened to grate on the bottom of his low-slung Jaguar. But as well as the desire to protect his aged but well-cared for motor car, he needed to consider his anomalous position in the McKay family milieu. Uninvited, unwelcome, he was yet constrained, now, to stay. Granny McKay and Muriel constrained him, with duty on the one hand, and desire on the other. His wife also, he was absolutely determined, would stay until Thursday and atone for the disruption she had caused. Under no circumstances would he allow her to shirk her responsibilities to Mary and Robert and the family. Neither would he allow her to take out her frustrations on poor Muriel, the inevitable and, frankly, easy prey for June’s caustic sarcasm. A position of strength was not one Les was used to taking in relation to his wife and he girded up his loins, metaphorically, for the onslaught.
Lying next to Muriel the whole night long, a luxury their situation had never before afforded, he had gone over and over in his mind the legalities, the moralities, not to mention the practicalities of his situation. On every count it seemed to him that the rights of it were all on Muriel’s side and the wrongs all on June’s. Forty five years ago, given June’s purported condition, the family had agreed that the right thing for him to do was to abandon Muriel. Her claims, they had implied, were less. How would they respond now when he declared his intention of unravelling time and going
back, as it were, to plan A? There was no doubt that the years of employment security that had been afforded him by McKay’s Haulage weighed heavily. Les considered whether there was any sense in which he had been ‘paid off’ for doing what had seemed to be the right thing by June. Perhaps the family would consider that he had been amply compensated and that to change horses now was rather a smack in the eye.
The house in its rainy hollow looked damp and desolate. The sandstone had turned dark in the wet, the windows were dulled with water, many still curtained. It was still early and no cheering wisp of smoke rose from the chimneys. But Les was pleased to see that the hatchback of Sandra’s little car was open and in the time it took him to navigate the drive and park on the sweep she and Kevin had stowed their luggage, climbed into the car and had made their shamefaced departure. She gave him a wan wave as she passed, but Kevin avoided his eye. Les’ satisfaction at their quiet exodus was double-edged; he had been heard and obeyed, which was grimly pleasing, but as they drove away they abandoned him to a tug of war between June and Muriel from which, for him, there could be no escape.
Relative Strangers Page 26