‘A shame that he got killed? Or about the stammer?’ Heather smiled.
‘You didn’t know Matron, then, Mother. Come on, finish your tea, then I’ll help you upstairs.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Poor thing; Muriel was always so ugly. But Arnold was a nice boy and he wouldn’t have minded.’
‘Oh Granny, now that’s not very kind,’ Heather reproached her, looking sympathetically at Muriel.
Muriel fed Roger crusts and patted his head. ‘I’ll take you out for a walk later, Roger,’ she said, quietly.
✽✽✽
The men had escaped to the pub. It smelled of Sunday-lunchtime cabbage and wood-smoke and stale beer. The walls were crammed with photographs of hardy country folk clutching bedraggled sheep and dangerous-looking, unwieldy farm implements. The low, beamed ceiling was strung with hunting paraphernalia; bugles and whips and pewter tankards for slaking the rural thirst. Fires burned in two cast-iron stoves. They were the only customers and from the landlord’s rather tousled appearance it seemed as though early-door business was not normally expected on a Sunday. However he quickly adjusted his demeanour and welcomed them with enthusiasm, pulling pints and fetching ice. Mitch and Jude played darts in the games room, smoking voraciously and quaffing frothy pints. James and Simon played pool; James was rather an accomplished player since it was a popular activity in the day-room of the clinic, but he was careful to give Simon the best of the game. Les, Elliot and Robert stood at the bar; Les and Robert drank halves of mild, Elliot a large scotch and soda, his second of the day. He tried to interest Robert in some business matters but Robert wasn’t able to take in the details and conversation between them soon faltered. Presently Simon and James came back to the bar. Simon bought another round of drinks and they took them to a table next to the fire.
‘We should have brought Rob with us,’ Simon said. ‘He oughtn’t to be left with the women and children all the time. It isn’t good for a lad his age.’
‘You never wanted to go anywhere with me,’ Robert said with a flash of his old maliciousness.
There was a moment’s silence. In all the general chat, the planning and discussions, and even during the bizarre events of the previous evening it was the first time that Robert had directly addressed his son; the first time that a reply had been specifically required.
Simon took a deep breath. ‘I was desperate to spend time with you, Dad, just not in the cab of a lorry. But now isn’t the time to go into that.’
Elliot considered Simon’s suggestion and on the whole he found that he rather resented Simon’s advice, especially in the light of the afternoon’s occurrences. ‘When he can behave like an adult, I’ll treat him as one,’ he said eventually.
‘I think you might find it works the other way around,’ James said quietly.
Elliot fumed at the correction but held his peace. They drank in silence for a time.
Then Simon said, ‘I think it would be a good idea to make a new start tomorrow. What with one thing and another it’s been a disrupted weekend.’
‘I told everyone that we needed a plan, but no one would have it,’ Elliot crowed.
James nodded. ‘I’m worried about Belinda. She looks done in.’
‘Oh, don’t take any notice of that,’ Elliot snorted, swigging whisky. ‘It’s a ploy of hers. To make you feel bad.’
‘I hardly think so,’ James retorted.
‘I think we should aim to eat out tomorrow. At the very least we should suggest that we scale down the catering; we don’t need gourmet meals every night, nice as they are.’ Simon sipped his expensive continental beer.
Elliot laughed, coldly. ‘I expect we’ll do as we’re told, as usual. I may have to drive home, anyway.’
There was a short silence. ‘I do hope not,’ James said, politely, after a moment.
‘I don’t think anything’s going quite to plan,’ Simon said, ‘although the children seem to be getting on nicely, on the whole.’
‘There are a lot more of you, for one thing,’ Les agreed, graciously. ‘I know you never banked on me and June. Or Mother. Or Muriel.’
‘Ah ha! Now then. And thereby hangs a tale, eh, Leslie?’ Elliot had finished his drink already. He pounced on the opening Les had inadvertently created.
‘Mmm, well.’ Les stared into the fire.
‘June and Muriel have hardly spoken for years,’ Robert said, frowning. ‘They fell out. It isn’t anything to be proud of. We never speak about it. I am surprised Mary invited her. But it is nice to have her here.’
‘Nothing’s surprised me more than to discover old Les here is a philandering old dog!’ Elliot cried with an unpleasant lasciviousness. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Les kneaded his hands together as though in order to restrain them from Elliot’s throat. Elliot looked around the table. ‘What’s the problem? It’s true, isn’t it? This is family! No need to be coy!’ No one met his eye.
Jude and Mitch came back into the bar. Jude pulled a stool up to their table. Mitch remained standing, his back to them, scrutinizing the framed sepia prints of prize-winning tups and bulls from years gone by. Jude motioned to the landlord that he should bring another round of drinks.
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Mitch amended, over his shoulder. He was driving.
‘What is it with this family?’ Elliot wouldn’t let the subject drop. ‘Are all families the same? So many holy cows and no-go areas! I like to say a thing as I see it. I’m only saying what you’re all thinking! Come on! Were you having them one at a time, Les? Or both together? It’s every man’s fantasy, isn’t it, that? Two sisters in the same bed?’ He grinned round the table again trying to entice them, but no one met his eye.
‘Those are my sisters you’re talking about, Elliot,’ Robert flashed, with sudden perspicacity.
James stood up abruptly. He wondered which McKay sisters Elliot fantasised about; frankly he found the idea of any of them in bed with Elliot revolting, even Belinda. ‘We oughtn’t to be late. Belinda wanted to serve dinner at seven.’
‘She can hold it back,’ Elliot waved James’ concerns away. ‘And Jude’s just got another round in.’
James sat down again. The landlord brought their drinks. Jude rummaged in his jeans pockets for a time before discovering that he had no cash.
Mitch produced his wallet and handed over a note. ‘The kids asked me to sort out the TV in the big room,’ he said. It was a safely neutral topic, he hoped. ‘They want to watch a film. I think it just needs connecting up. I’ll have a look at it when we get back.’
‘Thank you, Mitch. Simon was just saying,’ James said, pouncing on the opening Mitch had provided in a determined effort to leave no opportunity for Elliot, ‘that he thinks tomorrow we should try and take control of things a bit.’
‘Yes,’ Simon clarified. ‘I think it would be good if we all went out. Some people haven’t stirred from the house since they got here.’
‘The atmosphere in that place is becoming insufferable,’ Elliot muttered, darkly. ‘The Happy Family is a farce.’
‘Heather wants to take the girls to a pottery or something,’ Jude said, soldiering on alongside James, ‘throw plates. Cheers, Mitch, mate.’
‘Ideal. Yes, cheers. And there’s a place with a climbing wall, canoeing; the boys will enjoy that.’
‘June and I will take care of Granny and …’ Les glanced at Robert, ‘anyone else who’d rather stay home.’
Elliot, who had not been consulted on any of these plans, and whose nose was feeling distinctly out of joint since Robert’s rebuff and the other men’s determined efforts to ignore his conversational gambits put in, sulkily, ‘As I say, my own efforts to organise things were rather frowned upon. But never mind. Have it the McKay way if you must. It seems more and more likely that I shall go back to the office. I have some important quotes to get off tomorrow. I don’t want to climb a wall or throw a plate.’
‘Belinda would like to visit a stately home,’ James said. ‘She mentioned it after ch
urch. I forget the name; something in-the-forest. A few hours out, just the two of you, would be very agreeable I should have thought, and she could certainly do with your support.’ James sipped his drink. ‘I would urge you to get her away from the house, Elliot. Look how much better she looked after the walk today!’
‘I didn’t notice. I only noticed that I was left to deal with a crisis and that I didn’t get my figures finished. As for a stately home - sounds like hell. You take her, if you like. You clearly know far better than me what my wife needs!’
‘I’d be delighted to take her,’ James said mildly, ignoring Elliot’s spleen.
‘Mary likes a stately home,’ Robert commented. ‘Simon, I think I need the toilet.’ Simon gave a slight, involuntary recoil. He stared intently at his drink. It was as though his father had not spoken or was not even present. There was a beat, awkward, loaded, then Les got to his feet and helped Robert towards the gents. In their wake the difficult silence stretched itself across their corner of the room.
Suddenly, Simon turned towards Elliot. ‘What would you like to do, Elliot?’ he asked sharply.
Elliot contemplated the last mouthful of his drink, leaving Simon in limbo. He would not have wanted to take Robert to the toilet, either, but then Robert was not his father. Presently he swallowed the last of his whisky. ‘I enjoy a round of golf,’ he said unctuously.
‘Not really a family activity,’ Simon retorted, but Jude cut in, ‘Grand. Mitch’s a good player, plays off a handicap of seven. He’ll give you a game, won’t you, mate?’
‘Be delighted,’ Mitch agreed, thinking ruefully of the long hours spent on Floridian courses.
‘Super,’ Elliot nodded, looking a little white.
‘Now,’ James looked at his watch, ‘time we weren’t here, I think, gents.’ They finished their drinks.
On their way out to the car Jude nudged Mitch playfully, ‘Sorry about landing you with the golf. But it’ll make a nice change from mopping up blood and vomit, eh?’
‘If you say so.’
✽✽✽
Rob had cloistered himself in the study once more. Five Mile Pile Up yelled furiously from the speakers, their angst bouncing off the walls and finding an answering note in his head. He was on the edge, positively poised, clinging on and yet yearning to leap, in that space where pros and cons clash. His mind was in a maelstrom. He badly wanted a drink, to get very drunk, to rage and lash out. His anger was like a wild animal, caged but desperate to be released; it seemed to scrabble with its frantic claws inside him until he thought he might explode. The pointlessness of it all, the unfairness of it, the suffocating falseness was driving him mad. It was almost unendurable, but on the other hand the thought of unleashing the beast was a terrifying prospect too. He had no idea, once he succumbed to it, where it might lead; smashed up furniture, vandalised works of art, bruised bodies, a raging inferno. There was no saying where it might end. Suddenly he was marching out of the room and down the corridor to the small sitting room. It was empty. Some muddled plan over where the drinks should be kept had meant that one or two bottles and glasses had been left on a glass-fronted cabinet. He helped himself to a large whisky and drank it down with a shudder. Then he poured another and carried it boldly back into the study, slamming the door. The activity and the whisky, seemed to exorcise some of his torment. He swallowed down some more. It scalded his stomach but the heat of it seemed to put out his rage. He could feel it melting, flowing into his limbs, slowing the frenzied beating of his heart. It felt good. He was conscious of a sharpening of his mind as he considered things; a dark cloud of anger and – he identified it now – fear; the danger inherent in someone hacking into his computer; the malicious intent which had been behind the printing out and planting of stuff where it would be found; the injustice of the accusations levelled against him. But over and above all, the hurtfulness of his father’s failure to believe him or even to listen to him.
All was not entirely dark, though; a clear arrow of light shot through the bleakness. His conversation with Jude over brunch had been a shining possibility. Plus, much as he might minimise it, the tiny rapprochement between the cousins on Friday night over hot chocolate and cake had felt good. He was quite aware of Toby’s developing puppy-like adoration for him: it was annoying but it was also rather flattering. Then, even though it still eluded his grasp, the existence of this supposed secret of Ellie’s intrigued and worried him. He needed to be master of it, whether to use it against her or to protect her from its consequences, he could not say. It called to him in a way he did not understand. He was angry with her, angry at himself, afraid of her, afraid for her. It gripped him, or he gripped it, either way, it wouldn’t be let go. Its power over him irked him.
In frustration he paced from one end of the room to another, his music at full volume, looking for but failing to find the security and calm it usually supplied; it seemed to bounce around him, elusive. He lit one of Jude’s cigarettes and inhaled it rapaciously. He didn’t care who came in. He stood in front of the fireplace, his forehead against the wood of the mantelpiece, his arms braced on either side. Gradually his body chemistry reached some kind of equilibrium, so that when a tentative tap on his shoulder alerted him to Toby’s presence in the room, to invite him to join them at monopoly, he was able to decline with only an icy sneer, as opposed to a furious tirade of invective, which is what, only moments before, would have been his inevitable response.
To his extreme irritation, Toby persisted, ‘Only, you know, we thought you might like to, and, well, we’ll let you choose who you want to be, you know, the battleship, or the car, or whatever...’ Toby trailed off.
Rob took a deep breath. ‘Oh great!’ he said, with withering sarcasm, ‘well why didn’t you say so?’ Toby continued to look at him, his eyes pathetic with pleading. Rob looked back, his eyes hard and cold.
‘So? You don’t want to play, then?’
‘No!’ Rob shouted, making Toby jump, and then regretted it. He gathered himself and repeated, more reasonably, ‘No. I don’t want to play.’
‘Ok.’ Toby left the room, closing the door behind him but not before Rob’s muttered, ‘For fuck’s sake!’ made itself heard.
✽✽✽
The returning men met Heather and Muriel in the hall. Heather had changed into her floaty outfit. She put her arms around Jude’s neck and they kissed extravagantly.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Elliot growled, shrugging his coat off.
‘I put Starlight to bed all on my own,’ she said, proudly, like a small child boasting of a great achievement.
James made immediately for the stairs. ‘I ought to check on my womenfolk,’ he said, cheerily.
‘No,’ Heather halted him, ‘they’re both fast asleep. I just looked in on them. So is Granny, isn’t she Muriel?’
Muriel was buttoning herself into her coat. Roger circled her feet, eagerly. ‘Yes, out like a light. And June has also retired for the night. Belinda says I have twenty minutes before we eat, so I’m just going to take Roger out for his constitutional. Poor lamb. He hasn’t been out all day.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Les said, hanging Robert’s coat up for him. ‘It’s very dark out there and you don’t know the ground.’
‘Thank you Les, that’s very kind of you.’ They stepped out together into the night. Without Les, Robert was suddenly unaided. His eye, fierce but also a little frightened, travelled over the men in the hall. His stick trembled in his grasp.
‘I’m going to find my boys,’ said Simon, making swiftly for the games room.
Mitch moved off in the same direction. ‘Just go and sort that telly out,’ he mumbled.
‘Come on Robert,’ James, at last, took Robert’s arm. ‘Let’s find Mary,’ he said. ‘Coming, Elliot?’
‘No. I think I might throw up,’ Elliot glowered. ‘I need a drink. And I still haven’t finished my figures.’ He thrust his hands into his pockets and stalked away.
Todd, Toby and Ben were lying
on the floor playing a game of Monopoly. They were wearing their pyjamas.
‘Oh Dad!’ Toby scrambled to his feet at the sight of his father. ‘Dad! Aunty Belinda says we have to go to bed early tonight. She made us put our pyjamas on. We don’t have to, do we?’ He was sick of being treated like one of the little children, the indignity of being sent upstairs with them to get undressed had been galling, that, and Rob’s rebuff, had brought him uncomfortably close to tears.
‘I think that’s a very sensible idea,’ Simon said, putting his arm around his son. Toby’s shoulders were narrow and bony underneath his pyjamas. He had grown three inches in as many months and his skeleton seemed stretched and thin. ‘We’ve all had some late nights recently and tomorrow … Well tomorrow, there’re going to be untold wonders and excitement!’
‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow?’ Toby sat down next to his father, on the squashy settee, comforted by his solid nearness.
‘Well. It seems there’s an activity centre with a climbing wall and canoeing and high ropes and archery…’
Todd left the game of Monopoly and came to stand by his father. ‘Wow! And are we going, Daddy?’ He was wide eyed. He scrambled onto Simon’s knee. Simon settled him there and put his other arm round Toby.
‘We certainly are!’
Ben returned to the board game. He had just thrown a five and a four. He was playing with the motor car and he drove it carefully from Bow Street around to Fenchurch Street station, where he parked it. Places like activity centres cost money, so there was no chance that he would be going. Fenchurch Street station cost £200 but he didn’t have any other stations so he decided not to buy it. Toby was telling his Dad about Archery club at school; he had joined last term and was already quite good. It didn’t look as though he would want to resume their game. Todd had been losing interest in it anyway. It would soon be tea time. Ben sailed Toby’s ship around the borders of The Angel Islington where it was currently harboured.
Relative Strangers Page 31