Suddenly, in spite of herself, Ellie began to cry. Tears quivered for a second on her dark lashes before rolling down the side of her nose.
‘Oh poor Ellie. Poor Ellie,’ Tansy murmured, under her breath. She put her arms around Ellie’s shoulders and began to rock her gently to and fro. Mitch leapt from his seat as though jolted by an inner mechanism but found himself unable to leave the spot, restrained by an invisible brake. He folded his arms across his chest, trapping them. Conversation in the kitchen dried up. Outbursts of emotion were not something the McKays did. They all turned towards Ellie. Only Rob continued, feverishly, to mix something on a square of worktop by the back door. He was the only one to notice the figure who stepped into the last patch of grey daylight which filtered through the opening. Belinda had moved to Ellie’s side. She perched on the bench and gently took hold of Ellie’s hand.
‘Oh, darling. Do tell me what the matter is,’ she said.
Tansy spoke into the silence. ‘Unfortunately Ellie has been badly let down by someone who she thought she could trust. By someone she really ought to have been able to trust. It’s made her very sad. Poor Ellie.’
‘Who?’ ‘Who is it?’ a few people enquired, but Tansy’s wouldn’t say more. Mitch’s eyes bored holes into Rob’s back. Mary, overwrought by the day’s events, and against the family rule, also began to cry. Confusion gusted from the family; they didn’t know how to cope.
In the doorway Rachel stood aghast. She and Rob looked at each other, stranded from the rest by their mutual connivance in Ellie’s unhappiness. Tansy’s words cut them both like a knife, to their quick. They licked and burned at Rachel with the caustic flame of guilt and self-accusation. She welcomed the pain of it. She wished it could be more real, that they would see her flesh ablaze with it.
‘It’s one of life’s hardest lessons,’ Ruth said coldly, from her seat by the Aga. ‘People do let us down and when it’s the people that, over all others, we should be able to trust, the lesson is hardest of all. The ultimate betrayal.’ A few people nodded.
James followed the direction of Ruth’s steely gaze. It was aimed squarely at Belinda. He sighed. He would have to find a way to persuade Belinda to tell the truth. He couldn’t keep her secret for her much longer. Ruth’s muddle-headed misconceptions threatened to blow them all sky-high. He stood up and cast a significant glance at the back door, where empty air, grey as a ghost, made a curtain out into the night. Belinda followed his intention and not many seconds after he had passed out into the evening, she, too slipped through the veil.
A thick and surprising mist surrounded Hunting Manor, rolling in from the sea and cloaking the house in impenetrable, unfathomable mystery. It quickly swallowed up even James’ bulk as he walked away from the house and into the woods. He called Rachel’s name a few times but it was like shouting into a pillow. Some yards into the woods he had to stop. It was impossible to see the path; the mist eddied through the trees and in any case the night was so dark that without a torch, even without the mist, it would have been impossible to find the way. He turned back with a sigh. Suddenly Belinda was in his arms, they collided before they had seen one another. Belinda pressed against him.
‘Oh, James,’ she said, resting her head for a moment on his chest. Then she inhaled, as though gathering herself, and they stepped apart.
‘I can’t find Rachel in this mist,’ James said unnecessarily.
‘No,’ Belinda said. ‘Ellie’s lost in a mist too. I can’t seem to get through to her. She won’t speak to me.’
‘Somebody has let her down,’ James stated. ‘Or she feels that they have. But of course,’ he flung out with a cynical tone, ‘she won’t talk about it.’
They walked slowly back to the little gate. By unspoken consent, rather than returning to the house they wandered along the line of the fence besides the trees.
Belinda nodded. ‘It’s a McKay thing. One of the many maxims we were brought up with, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.’’
James laughed grimly. ‘So you can never express anger, sadness, dissatisfaction, fear...’
‘No. Because they’re not nice.’
‘It might not be nice but it’s honest. Surely we can be honest with one another? It shouldn’t make any difference, in a family.’
Belinda shivered. James unzipped his fleece and put it round her shoulders. ‘I hoped that this week would draw us back together but we only seem to be getting further and further away from each other. Ellie’s done it right in front of my eyes.’ Belinda shook her head, reviewing it all in her mind. ‘I knew on Friday that there was something wrong but I didn’t ask her what it was. Heather told me that there was something going on between her and Rob but I was too busy to get to the bottom of it. On Sunday they were at each other’s throats – literally fighting… it isn’t right that she doesn’t feel she can confide in me.’ She heaved a massive sigh, weighted with sadness.
‘It’s a maddening McKay trait,’ James said with unusual vehemence, ‘and, you know, I’m not just thinking of Ellie, now. Things left in the dark only fester.’ He gave her, through the gloom, a significant look. They had reached the end of the fence but lingered still, not ready to go back to the house. In any case the mist boiled and eddied and disorientated their sense of direction. ‘I mean,’ James pressed his point, ‘here’s Ellie with some problem that she doesn’t feel she can talk about but which is clearly making her very unhappy. Now which would you rather? That she preserved a few family taboos or that she was happy?’
‘Of course I want her to be happy no matter what.’
‘Of course you want her to be happy. And I want you to be happy - so would the whole family, if they only knew.’
Belinda made a gesture of impatience. ‘You’re mixing up two different things.’
James said, ‘No, Belinda, I’m not. They’re the same. The only difference is the way you feel about the people involved. To you, Ellie matters so the rules don’t apply. But in your eyes, you don’t matter, you don’t deserve to be happy; you’re not important enough to be allowed to upset the apple cart.’ They turned and retraced their steps along the fence towards the gate. Belinda stared into the mist. It enveloped and protected them, blotting out every feature of the landscape, cocooning them in its moist silence. Not a sound or a glimmer penetrated it. They could be anywhere, anywhere at all, in time or space. She had only wanted to talk about Ellie but James wouldn’t let her separate Ellie from the other issue.
Suddenly she relented. She said, quietly, ‘It’s a case of the good of one against the good of the many.’
They ambled for a few moments more. Then James said, ‘In a family, the good of the one is the good of the many. Wouldn’t you like, at last, for them to see things as they really are?’ They had arrived back at the gate. James put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Her hair was silvered by beads of moisture. It looked as though she was wearing a cap of jewels.
Belinda looked into his eyes. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘You make it sound as though I’ve been lying to them.’
‘Hiding the truth is a kind of betrayal,’ he said, looking past her into the mist and thinking of Ruth.
There was silence between them. When he looked back at her he saw only fear, and he knew he had failed.
A rustle in the undergrowth nearby broke the moment. She stepped a pace or two away from him.
‘No,’ she said coldly. ‘It isn’t. I’ve been loyal. I’ve stuck to the script. I’ve done what was expected of me. No one could accuse me of betraying the family. You know we talked the other day about kindred and kin, and I asked you which was stronger? Obviously it’s kin. The integrity of the whole family is far more important than one individual member, or any friendship, no matter how close.’ She turned to face him, her hands rubbed and twisted restlessly against one another, the ring on her finger turning and turning in a ceaseless spiral. She was beginning to cry. ‘No one could
ever accuse me of betraying the family!’ she repeated.
James took two steps towards her and gathered her into his arms.
‘No, my poor darling,’ he said quietly, into her soft, damp hair, ‘they could only accuse you of betraying yourself.’
✽✽✽
Rachel lay in the undergrowth. Only four days ago she had romanticised this kind of existence; living rough, sleeping under the leaves, gleaning nuts and berries for food. But the reality was that the night was cold and the mist scared her. It had laid a coating of moisture on her jumper which was gradually seeping inward to her flesh with a clammy grip. The ground was hard and stony and the pine needles, which felt so soft under foot, were sharp; they pricked and protruded through her layers of clothing. When she had heard someone coming she had dived into the small opening in the pile of branches and leaves she had spent the afternoon heaping up between and against the divided trunks of a tree. It was some few yards off the main path and not far from the gate into the garden. The interior was smaller than she had planned and it was uncomfortable to be half squatting and half lying with her knees under her chin. At the sound of her father’s voice calling her name she had wanted to cry out to him, but had steeled herself and clamped her mouth resolutely shut, in her den.
She caught only snatches of their conversation. They had been discussing Ellie and her betrayer. Then they had wandered away for a while but when their voices once more became audible Aunty Belinda had talked about loyalty, about doing the right thing by the family and about family being more important than any other relationship. That meant that the family would unite against any outsider who threatened them. And for one family member to betray another was obviously the worst thing anyone could be accused of: ‘Nobody,’ she had said, with pointed inference, ‘would ever be able to say that she had betrayed the family,’ as though it was ultimate, the worst kind of treason which in the olden days would have been punishable by death.
Rachel remained in her hide after they had gone. The temptation to remain was very strong but she knew what its inevitable outcome would be; eventually she would be found. The truth would come out and that was something she was determined to save Ellie and Rob from if she could. The main thing was to ensure that Ellie’s secret remained exactly that. Ellie need never, Tansy would never and Rob should never tell. The secret would bind them together in a circle of trust and by placing herself on the outside of its perimeter Rachel would seal them into it.
✽✽✽
After tea people drifted away from the kitchen. Simon and the boys began to scoop the meat mixture out of the basin and make round patties with it on a floured board. The girls had disappeared upstairs with Heather and Mitch, to help put the baby to bed. Ruth remained fixed in the armchair, in a sort of reverie, staring at the back door which had now been closed against the night. Muriel was busy clearing away the tea things. Les had helped Robert to his feet and they had shuffled off in search of a television. Granny McKay sat at one end of the table rummaging in her handbag.
Mary arrived carrying two tubes, both red with a broad white stripe. She laid them on the table in front of Granny, who blinked up at her owlishly. Mary picked up the larger tube. ‘Toothpaste,’ she said loudly, ‘for cleaning dentures.’ She picked up the smaller tube. ‘Thrush cream, for... well... I think you’ve been getting them mixed up, Granny.’
The old woman swept both tubes into her handbag. Mary turned to Simon, ‘You’re being very industrious,’ she said, ‘what are you cooking?’
‘Homemade beef burgers, jacket potatoes, coleslaw and pancakes for afters.’
Mary stopped in her tracks. ‘Pancakes?’ She looked as though he had said they were to have sheep’s eyes.
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘But it isn’t Shrove Tuesday!’ Eating pancakes on any other day was as inconceivable to her as eating Easter eggs at Christmas. It just wasn’t the way they had always done things.
Simon laughed and put a floury arm around her shoulders. ‘Oh, Mum. You’re such a slave to convention. You are allowed to eat pancakes at other times of the year, you know. They do it in America every day!’
Mary humped. ‘Well,’ she said, huffily, ‘we always had them on Shrove Tuesday.’
‘Don’t worry Grandma,’ Toby said, nudging his cousin, ‘it isn’t against the law. We won’t get arrested!’
‘No!’ Rob laughed. ‘I think it’s the pancake police’s day off!’
‘Now, lads,’ Simon said. ‘That’s enough.’
Mary said, ‘Simon, after tea I’d like to speak to you and your sisters.’
Simon was grating carrots with gusto. ‘Ok, fine,’ he said.
‘Did you catch that, Ruth?’ Mary asked, folding the tea towel and draping it over the Aga rail.
Ruth drained her glass and reached for her bottle. ‘I’ll check my diary and see if I’m available,’ she said sourly.
‘Somebody’s nicked my Johnnies,’ Grandma McKay announced, looking up from her handbag.
Young Rob held his hands out. ‘Not guilty!’ he said.
✽✽✽
Les got Robert settled in the games room. It was a struggle; the children had more or less appropriated the room. Their toys and disks and shoes and debris lay everywhere. There were cups and plates and glasses and discarded clothing. Les had to clear a space on the sofa before he could ease Robert into it, and the seat was really too low.
Robert was querulous. ‘Bloody mess everywhere. Noisy children. Can’t tell what’s going on half of the time.’
‘I know, mate. Rum carry-on all round. But the youngsters seem to be enjoying themselves,’ Les sympathised, tucking a cushion behind Robert. ‘It’ll be quiet in here for a bit, I think, and kick-offs at seven.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Right here, if I can get that thing to work.’ Les approached the enormous television with some trepidation. There was no sign of the remote control and he began to search around the room for it; under cushions, behind the chairs. Finally he located it in the microwave of Starlight’s toy kitchen. ‘Alright. Now then. Let’s see.’ Les prodded at the control but couldn’t get anything but a blizzard on the screen.
‘Somebody needs to fiddle with the aerial,’ said Robert. ‘We’ve missed Murder, She Wrote now, anyway. Where’s Mary?’
‘In the kitchen, washing up. She’ll be through in a minute. Maybe something’s unplugged at the back.’ Les stepped over the trailing wires and circuitry to examine the back of the set. At the same moment Ben and Todd came hurtling into the room, whooping and hollering, embroiled in some game. Robert tensed.
They skidded to a halt. ‘What you doing?’ Todd stepped out of the make-believe to observe Les on his hands and knees behind the set.
‘Granddad wants to watch the football later. I’m trying to tune the telly in,’ said Les, tentatively touching wires.
‘Oh.’ Todd picked up the remote control and mashed at the keys. The television leapt into life. ‘You need to swap the in-put,’ he said, as though it was obvious. He dropped the control and instantly he was back in his game, a super-sleuth on the trail of the ubiquitous Wriggly.
Between them they kept up a continuous narrative of invention. ‘Wriggly hides behind the settee.’
‘And the detective gets out his special detection glasses and scans the area.’
‘And Wriggly puts up his special anti-detection shield.’
‘There you are, Robert.’ Les dusted his hands against one another. He wanted to check on Muriel, to make sure she was safe from June. ‘I won’t be a tick. I’ll just fetch the paper,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember who they’ve tipped to play up front.’
‘Oh look, it’s Ready Steady Cook. I like that,’ Robert brightened at the sight of a familiar face on the screen. ‘They cook things all in a rush and then the peppers and tomatoes say which they like best. It was better with Fern Brittain, though. Her hands always looked so clean.’
‘Wriggly crosses the deadly swamp. Snakes
and crocodiles are near.’
‘A crocodile spots him and crawls into the water.’
The ceaseless squeaking of the two boys was too much, setting off a whine in Robert’s head which wouldn’t go away and which interrupted the jocular repartee on the television. He cupped his hands behind his ears to try and filter out the boys’ laughter but it was no good. ‘Oh, I can’t hear it. Turn it up! Turn it up!’ he raised his voice at them but the boys were too embroiled in their game.
‘The crocodile’s jaws are enormous, and they clamp on Wriggly’s leg.’
‘Wriggly struggles but the crocodile is too strong for him. Will our hero meet his end in the swamp?’ The boys rolled and thrashed across the parquet floor, locked in combat.
The remote control had been left on another settee and Robert couldn’t reach it. He couldn’t get up; the seat was too low and he didn’t have his stick. ‘I can’t hear! I can’t hear!’ he shouted, ‘Mary! Mary!’ but no one took any notice of him, it was like being dumb, or being in a dream where no one will listen to you or do as you say, and the frustration of it all whipped up a fury in his head. Why wouldn’t they listen to him? Why couldn’t he make them? Why couldn’t he move? The fury in his head got bigger and bigger, ballooning out of control, pressing on the backs of his eyeballs, making a rushing, pulsing sound in his ears. It was stopped up in his throat, strangling his voice, his breathing.
Todd and Ben scrambled to their feet and raced round the settee, laughing and shouting in continuous circles.
‘I’m coming to get you! I’m coming to get you!’ Todd bellowed. Ben dodged and avoided him easily, behind the settee, lurching first one way and then the other. Todd, holding onto his granddad’s knees, lunged left and right, mirroring Ben.
Suddenly, in a rush, the balloon of Robert’s fury burst. There was a seeping, melting ooze of escaping ire in his brain. A noise like an enraged animal burst from his throat. Todd was laughing, his eyes on Ben, loving the game, his hands to each side of his face, fingers wiggling, tongue waggling. The wrath was coursing through Robert’s body, engorging, crackling with static. His arms flailed, out of control, and a bony-fingered hand caught Todd a glancing blow across his velvet cheek. Todd’s laughter was reabsorbed in a sharp gasp of shock and he raised his hand to his face. His eyes widened in surprise and revelation. Ben, too, was shaken out of the game. He paled and gaped like a fish. There was a moment of stunned silence in the room with only Ainsley Harriot’s chocolate voice to fill up the void before Todd’s yelling drowned out every other noise.
Relative Strangers Page 45