Ruth awoke and knew immediately that today was going to be one of her bad days. A familiar pain was making itself felt in her lower gut; like a rough river pebble scraping and forcing its way along her tender fleshy by-ways, it would grow, and be joined by a companion, and together they would grind and grate the inner surface of her digestive tract until it swelled and went into spasm. Of course there were no pebbles, but the sensation so exactly fitted that description, and was so localised, that it was a miracle to her that an examination of her abdomen did not reveal a raw rose of bruise and the physical manifestation of stones travelling under the skin. She knew that at the height of the attack she would crave a knife to stab and slash at the place, to release the pressure and the virtual foreign body in a gush of watery, blood-streaked fluid.
Ruth cast a doleful glance across at her dressing table where what James called her ‘medicaments’ - an array of potions and pills both preventative and palliative - offered her a number of possibilities. No doubt a richer than usual diet, more alcohol than she was used to - especially red wine and port - and the disruption of her usual constitutional routine were all factors in this morning’s attack. But above all the stresses and outrages of the previous day had acted as a trigger on her vulnerable and sensitive physiology. In this, her oasis in the maelstrom of the autumn term, she had needed rest and calm, and a chance to repress that slough of despair and depression which threatened to engulf her. She sighed, and shifted her position in the bed, knowing as she did so that relief could not be gained that way.
James entered the room. He was fully dressed, flushed with fresh air and his thick, wavy hair shone with wetness. He carried a steaming mug, the transparent delicacy of the china looking vulnerable in his large hand.
‘Peppermint tea,’ he announced, placing the cup on the small table which separated the beds.
‘How did you know?’ Ruth struggled up into a sitting position.
‘Ah.’ James smiled a knowing smile, not smug, but kind and perceptive. He crossed to the dressing table and surveyed her medication.
‘Now then.’ He wriggled his fingers over the array like a pianist about to strike the opening chord of a concerto. ‘Which of the pilules shall we indulge in today? Two of these, to begin with, I think, and one of those, to get things moving, yes?’ He began to pluck pills from their packets. ‘I’ll go and run you a warm bath while you drink your tea. Then lots and lots of fluids for you today, not much food, and later a nice walk. Then, this afternoon, two more of these and sleep. Yes?’
Ruth nodded and swallowed the two round white tablets he had put into her upturned palm. The other thing, the thing to get things moving, she would take with her into the bathroom. During the day James would bring her drinks, a variety, some warm and some cool, fruit juice, herbal teas, water, nothing caffeinated. He would present the occasional snack - an apple carefully cored and sliced and arranged on a plate, brown bread lightly buttered and cut into small squares, pro-biotic yoghurt sweetened with honey. His care would be casual, he wouldn’t fuss – that would irritate her – but constant. He would monitor her progress and increase the pain relief if necessary. In extremity he would give her the small, mind-altering pain killers and put her to bed and sit by her side, his hand cool on her feverish palm, nodding sagely as she raved and muttered the hours away. Afterwards, she would be parched with thirst and disorientated. He would fetch iced water and soothe her with reassuring words. At times like these she knew that she did not deserve him and regretted the critical attitude and carping derision with which she tended to treat almost everything about his person, character and calling.
‘Ellie’s birthday brunch is imminent downstairs. I’ve made your excuses,’ James said, collecting her towel and toiletry bag to take through to the bathroom for her.
‘Oh, yes. There’s a parcel, in the case.’
‘Yes, yes. Already delivered. Don’t worry. I know the routine.’
In the kitchen Roger had taken up a proprietorial position in front of the Aga, causing Belinda considerable inconvenience as she tried to serve brunch. Earlier he had cowed Tiny with an alarming display of yellow teeth and black gums, and made Todd cry by rebuffing a friendly advance with snarls and curled-back lips.
‘Oh dear, oh dear, what a silly you are,’ Muriel had admonished.
‘Are you sure that dog’s safe?’ Simon had asked, cradling Todd on his knee. ‘There’s the baby to consider, you know.’
‘Safe as houses. But he isn’t used to children. It would be better if we all just ignored him.’ Muriel fussed with Roger’s ears from her position in the armchair besides the Aga.
Todd sniffled and rubbed his head into his father’s shoulder. This was the second time today that he’d been made to cry. The disrupted routine, yesterday’s big walk and two late nights were beginning to take their toll on the six year old.
‘Are you sure I can’t help, Belinda?’ Muriel offered. ‘Isn’t there anything at all I can do?’
‘Well,’ Belinda thought for a moment, ‘if you’re sure you don’t mind, I think Ruth started off some laundry yesterday. June’s things need washing from last night and I expect you’ll be able to collect enough from other people to make up a load.’
‘Say no more,’ Muriel gushed. ‘Just leave it to me.’
Ellie sat in state at the head of the table unwrapping parcels, most of which were from her parents. By the expression of interest and gradual disapproval on Elliot’s face it was plain that he had played no part in their purchase or presentation. Electrical items, clothes, accessories, sensible toiletries (from Ruth), cheques, money and cards were strewn across the table. Ben and Rachel were agog at the sheer number and expense of the gifts.
Tansy gushed, ‘An MP3 player! You lucky thing! Toni and Guy straighteners? Wow! Oh, talcum powder – always so useful!’
‘Thank you, Uncle James,’ Ellie said sweetly.
‘Thank you, Uncle James.’ Her brother, forced to get up and take part in the birthday ritual, glowered from his place at the table.
Mitch, from his position leaning against the dresser, out of the family circle, gave a sharp cough.
‘Fix your face, lad, for God’s sake,’ Elliot hissed at Rob. He needed to take his disapproval out on somebody and his son’s sullenness gave him just the excuse he needed. But Rob stood up and said into his father’s ear, ‘For fuck’s sake, Dad, let me go home. This is just crap.’ Elliot reddened and gathered himself for an onslaught but Rob had already crossed the room and was pouring juice from the fridge with moody concentration. Toby, from the table, observed his cousin with wide-eyed shock and ill-concealed admiration.
Belinda served up bacon and tomatoes, fried bread and mushrooms, sausages and eggs. Apart from Ruth she had the entire family to cater for – it was quite a task. She looked flushed and bright-eyed. Mary observed her with surprise, having expected gloomy repercussions from the previous evening. But the whole family seemed to have come to terms and moved on and as Mary looked around she felt hopeful that things might at last settle down. Sandra and Kevin had departed, Mr Burgess was gone. Granny was behaving herself reasonably well under the careful supervision of Muriel, who was herself beaming and agreeable. In honour of the birthday even young Rob was up and dressed. The girls were in high spirits, laughing and joking with Heather and Starlight. Rachel looked lovely in her new jeans, white trainers and a good quality t shirt, although she had what Mary called, knowingly, ‘that white look.’ Starlight, in her high chair, waved a spoon and sang happily at the top of her voice. There was a pleasant hubbub of conversation and laughter, the sizzle and spit of eggs on a skillet and the smell of bacon and coffee pervaded the air. Only Elliot cast a morose shadow as he sat at one end of the table and occupied himself with a newspaper.
Then Les and June entered the kitchen. The happy noisiness petrified like an insect in amber. It was as though a film had been stopped in the middle of a scene: Belinda stood at the Aga, the kettle poised over the coffee pot, Miriam�
��s fork hovered in the air in front of her mouth, Rob held his juice glass to his lips but did not drink. Following June’s display the previous night, no one knew what kind of denouement might ensue. The possibility of strident and righteous accusation, bitter remonstration and emotional out-pourings was very real. On the other hand, the McKay family way dictated restraint and dignity regardless of the provocation even when such restraint might mean an unhealthy curbing of feelings which would have been better expressed. In addition to this, everyone, now, was aware of the schism which existed between June and Muriel, and also of its cause. The presence of June and Muriel in the same room as each other, not to mention Les, the unlikely object of their rivalry, was a potentially explosive recipe. Family skeletons both ancient and modern rattled themselves in their respective cupboards as Les and June stood on the threshold of the kitchen. June was coiffed and made up even more copiously than usual, the layers of make-up forming a mask of fixed hauteur which belied the hunted expression in her eyes. Les took her arm in his and guided her firmly to a seat next to Granny McKay, taking the adjacent seat. He had showered and shaved and changed his clothes, and girded himself mentally for the ordeals of the day. But his intention to keep a firm hold of the situation had been shaken just by running the gauntlet of the McKay breakfast table and while he placed a controlling hand on June’s rigid back his eyes searched for an ally who would break this spell.
To everyone’s surprise, it was Muriel who came to his rescue.
‘Good morning, June,’ she said, brightly. ‘I hope you’re feeling better. I’m sorry to say poor Ruth isn’t at all well.’ Her comment gave everyone an opening. People who hadn’t noticed Ruth’s absence turned to James with concern, sympathy was expressed, Ben began to explain to a wide-eyed Todd about Ruth’s sundry health issues, with a small degree of accuracy seasoned with large helpings of rather grisly imagined symptoms. Belinda continued to serve breakfast. Elliot remained hidden behind his newspaper.
Rachel said little. Her stomach was still feeling distinctly odd even though she had eaten some breakfast, and she wondered if she ought to mention it to her father. Across the table from her Rob and Jude were discussing music. She admired Rob’s hair which was clean and shiny, and free of its bristling spikes. His face had lost its accustomed moody glower. Seeing him like this, Rachel questioned Ellie’s insistence on his malevolence. She didn’t believe that Rob would do anything to hurt his sister and the notion occurred to her that she might in some way bring them together, if only she might be brave or clever enough. The idea that she might effect a reconciliation, and be forever regarded by both of them as some kind of confidante and saviour was appealing and romantic, and Rachel pursued it down hallways of fantasy which led her to an altar and a ceremony which would make her a real McKay, while her tea went cold in the cup in front of her.
✽✽✽
The rain cleared after brunch and most of the adults prepared to go out for a walk. Mary was persuaded to join them when Les and June insisted that they would take care of Robert; she especially wished to see the sea. The men pretended to have forgotten the way so Ben and Todd were press-ganged to join them as guides and they scurried around to get their outdoor clothes with whoops of excitement.
Toby hung back. He would’ve liked to be allowed to play on the computer with Rob, but his cousin had disappeared into the study mumbling about coursework and closed the door with a sullen flourish. When Tansy and Rachel offered to bake Ellie a new birthday cake even Belinda agreed that there was no reason for her to stay behind. Granny and Starlight were put to their respective beds with Muriel and Mitch in watchful attendance. Ruth had made a pale appearance for half an hour before retiring to the library where James had lit a cheerful fire. Elliot, with bad grace, agreed to work on his figures in the bedroom, since the study, the library and the kitchen would all be occupied by others. The family made a good natured attempt to persuade him to join them but he demurred, pleading important work which had to be emailed off without fail in the morning.
‘I don’t know why we bother,’ Simon complained to Miriam in an undertone as he helped her into her coat. ‘It isn’t as though any of us even like the man. It beggars belief that we’re spending a whole week with him. If I met him socially I wouldn’t give him five minutes’ attention, would you?’
With all the adults out of the way, incapacitated or otherwise occupied, the girls took gleeful possession of the kitchen. Ellie brought down her CD player and soon music was blaring into the kitchen and filtering up the passageway. They opened cupboards and got out bowls and utensils and ingredients, and set about deciding what kind of cake they should bake. It turned out that Rachel had never baked a cake without supervision before but Tansy knew what to do and soon had her sifting flour and weighing out margarine. The busyness took Rachel’s mind for a while off the heaviness in her abdomen, a dull ache between her legs and a vague, distracting buzzing noise in her head. Under ordinary circumstances illness would have sent her to a cosy corner with a book but she didn’t want to admit that she was ill, or pass up this opportunity with the other girls. She considered putting Aunty Belinda’s flowery and capacious apron on, to make sure that she didn’t get her new clothes dirty, but decided in the end just to be very, very careful.
Ellie perched on the kitchen table and began to paint her nails with the varnish which had been in one of her parcels.
‘You have nice nails,’ said Rachel, looking ruefully at her own, which were badly bitten. ‘You keep them very long.’
‘Yes. It isn’t allowed, really, at school, to have them painted, and I have to invent all sorts of aches and pains to get out of netball but, you know...’
‘You’d be made to take the varnish off, at our school,’ put in Tansy. ‘Matron keeps a bottle of remover in the sick room. Rachel, would you grease these tins? Rub those butter papers round them. That’s a nice colour, though, what is it?’
Ellie read the label. ‘Plum Beautiful. Caro bought it for me. She sent the parcel with Mum. It has an eye shadow and lipstick to match.’
‘That’s nice. So she must be your friend, then, after all,’ Rachel soothed, smearing butter around two cake tins and thinking how nice it must be to have a friend who bought you birthday gifts.
‘Not if I can’t trust her. That’s what friendship is, after all, isn’t it?’ Ellie replied, a little snappily.
‘Oh, yes, I suppose…’ Rachel trailed off. She had recently made a friend at school, a girl who had just moved to the area and joined her class. Rachel had been picked to look after her and had enjoyed showing her where the science labs were and the short cut to the dining room. It had been fun walking round the quad together at break time and having a companion at lunch, but there hadn’t been the kind of private sharing between them which would result in secrets or the need for trusting. And anyway the girl had just been picked for the school hockey team and moved into the top set for maths and English, and Rachel knew that their friendship would inevitably cool as a result of these obstacles. After the holidays she would be back to solitary sandwiches in the dining room and lonely periods in the library.
‘There are two twins at my school, boarders,’ Tansy was saying, above the whiz of the electric mixer. ‘Their parents are abroad. They work for the government or something. Anyway, these twins, they don’t have any friends but each other. One of them – she’s called Holly - told me it’s because they move around so much, and go to so many different schools, no friends they ever made really lasted. In the end they only have each other, she says. She says your family has to love you no matter what, whereas friends only choose to and they can change their minds. Do you think that’s true?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ellie considered her nails. ‘I don’t love Rob no matter what.’
‘I know you say so, but if he was to run in here now on fire, you’d try and put him out, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well yes. But I’d do that for anyone, almost. Can it be a chocolate cake?’
> ‘If you like. Or there’s strawberry jam and some cream we can whip up.’
‘Yes, that sounds nice. Can I scrape out the bowl?’
‘In a minute.’
‘We’re family, aren’t we?’ ventured Rachel, tentatively, folding the butter papers smaller and smaller. ‘Does that mean that we have to love each other no matter what?’ The potential of the idea was almost too much to grasp, particularly with the naggingly insistent pain down below and this hissing noise in her head. That someone had to love you, by compunction, didn’t sound very appealing. Yet there was a certain comfortable security in the notion that she could be loved in spite of her failings. She knew with an absolute certainty that her father loved her completely, and Ben, too, and even Ruth loved her in practical ways which, though they lacked tenderness, were reliable. But on the other hand the idea that someone would choose to love her was more thrilling, and in her ambivalent position in this family, with these girls, it seemed to her like an important thing to establish. ‘Or… or… are we friends because we really like each other?’ At last she lifted her eyes and looked from one to the other of her cousins. She had made a colossal assumption there and it left her on thin ice. ‘I just ask because, well, you know, I’m not really family, am I?’
‘Oh!’ Tansy exclaimed, giving Rachel a floury hug. ‘Of course you are!’
‘You don’t have McKay genes,’ Ellie conceded, applying herself to the cake bowl, ‘but I wouldn’t worry about that. You might be the lucky one. Look at Granny McKay. Look at that Sandra girl last night and Aunty June. They all have McKay genes. Oh God! It doesn’t bode very well, does it? There’s no hope for any of us! It’s a wonder those policemen didn’t lock us all up!’
Tansy began to smooth the cake mixture into the tins. Rachel dusted flour off the shoulder of her t shirt.
‘That would have been funny, wouldn’t it, if they had?’
‘It depends,’ mused Ellie. ‘What would have been funnier is the collection of people left behind. What on earth would they have done with themselves, without any McKay glue to bond them together?’
Relative Strangers Page 28