‘I’m sorry, Bede. I suppose that means you didn’t know about Suzanne, either?’
He shook his head wordlessly.
‘His wife.’
Should have thought of that one. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
She regarded him with the stern expression that always brought him back down to earth. ‘Nothing’s “going on”. He swore me to secrecy, and I didn’t want to betray him, though I tried to persuade him to tell you about his family. But it doesn’t make much difference now, does it?’
‘You tell me.’ Bede tried to steady his voice. ‘So what’s the story?’
She studied him before speaking. ‘Joe was estranged from her by the time I met him. Back in the late 90s, that was – about the time your mother died and he got in touch with you. They had two children. Something awful had happened and Suzanne threw him out. She wouldn’t let him have anything to do with the children, which upset him horribly. He bought them cards and presents for birthdays and Christmas. They moved house, but he tracked down the address. He gave up sending them after a couple of years, though. Suzanne always returned them unopened. I suggested he gave the presents to a charity shop.’
She picked up her teacup. Bede’s mouth felt dry, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink.
‘I kept suggesting he should tell you. Once the three of you were settled at Alderleat, I knew it would be a shock to you if his children got in touch. Better to talk to you first. He obviously didn’t. How did you find out?’
Bede reached into his jacket pocket and took out the birthday card. ‘I was looking for something the other day. Came across this.’
She took it from him, picked up her glasses from a side table and read it. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out that way,’ she said as she lowered it.
His resentment flared up again. ‘You didn’t bloody well tell me either.’
She drew herself up; she could still look formidable despite her age. ‘I hardly think it was my business to.’ Her expression softened. ‘They meant nothing to you and practically, Alderleat was as much yours and Elin’s as Joe’s. I witnessed his will, so I knew he didn’t mention them in it – part of me wasn’t surprised, the way she cut him off, but I tried to suggest he should see his children right. He was having none of it – he assumed she’d have poisoned them against him. Anyway, you had nothing to lose, and nothing to gain by knowing.’
‘What was he supposed to have done that was so awful, for God’s sake?’
Marjorie shook her head. ‘I’ve got no idea. He was always a good enough man in my experience. I’ve sometimes wondered if you might be able to shed some light on that, at least. When he told me about making his peace with your mother before she died, he mentioned “something unforgivable” that had come between them, but he never said what it was.’
Bede thought back. During one visit to his mum’s hospice bedside, as he braved the veneer of cheer and kindness thinly cloaking the inevitability of death, she’d asked him to pass her handbag from the bedside cabinet.
‘I suppose we ought to tell that renegade brother of mine that I’m at death’s door. I know things haven’t always been easy for you.’ She waved a hand towards the corridor his stepfather had just left down. ‘Though God knows I tried. I’m not making any promises, but Joe might be a friend to you. He should, if he’s got any sense of right and wrong.’ She’d produced a notebook and showed him a phone number to copy down. ‘It’s a bit late now to forgive and forget, but tell him I’d like to see him.’
‘Forgive and forget what?’
Since she’d been ill she often lost her train of thought and fell silent, but Bede suspected this time it was deliberate.
He stared now at the tiles of the conservatory floor. Forgive and forget what? Marjorie waited. ‘She never told me anything,’ he said eventually. ‘So, first he was spurned by Mum, then this family of his.’ He glared at Marjorie as if she too had rejected Joe. ‘What the fuck did he do to deserve it?’
‘Watch your language, young man.’
The absurdity of the comment made him snort with laughter. He caught the gleam in her eye and realised she’d done it on purpose.
‘That’s better, get it out of your system.’ She pressed a cup into his hands. He tried to sip his tea but felt choked by a lump in his throat. He spluttered ungraciously and put it down.
‘Maybe you should try and find her. His ex-wife. Ask her. It might not be as bad as you think.’
‘Do I want to know?’
‘I can’t tell you. Think about it. Leave it a while, calm down.’ She squeezed his hand, which he realised she’d grasped. ‘Talk to Elin about it.’
Despite her encouraging words and comforting, grandmotherly hug as he left, Bede felt unclean as he drove away. Nothing had actually happened, yet he was a completely different person. Something unforgivable. As he turned out onto the road to head for home, he realised he was hunched in the tractor cab as if making himself smaller, less noticeable, as his mum had told him off for doing in his lanky teenager days.
Back at Alderleat, Kip jumped out of the cab before he’d finished parking up, and ran towards the road. Bede called, but the wind-borne scent was stronger than obedience. The dog paused, looked back at him and continued. The second time he’d ignored him this morning. As he grappled with the crutches in the rain, frustration grew and he yelled the dog’s name in a torrent of swearing. By the time he was steadied, Kip cowering at his feet as he shook his collar like a madman, Bede felt ashamed. He tried to justify himself by calling to mind the dangers of speeding cars on the lane, exacerbated by puddled rain on the asphalt, but he wasn’t fooling himself. He’d simply lost it.
Tamsin emerged from the greenhouse. Mercifully, she hadn’t witnessed his outburst or, more likely, was making a good job of smiling pretence. He limped over, wondering how he could tactfully ask her to leave.
She tapped her watch. ‘Time do you call this?’
He looked at his own.
‘Twenty to twelve.’
‘Not funny. Shit, Bede, you look worse than yesterday. If you would insist on drinking all that beer and whisky. Dickhead. I told you—’
‘Less of the lip.’ He gazed at the ground, then waved toward the greenhouse. ‘Thanks for doing that. Elin’d be grateful. And if you must know I’m not in the least bit hungover. Didn’t touch the whisky. Bit of a headache but that’s a fact of life these days.’
‘So what’s wrong?’
By the look on her face, he’d have his work cut out to fob her off. No way was he ready to talk to anyone about his conversation with Marjorie, so he gave her a blow-by-blow account of his run-in with Philip Northcote, knowing she’d sympathise.
‘Anyway, I’m sorry, I’ve got stuff I need to do. Won’t be ready to go up to the caravan till this afternoon. I’ll manage. Sorry for messing up the arrangements. Come in, I’ll pay you for what you’ve done.’
‘I don’t mind carrying on with the plants while I wait,’ she said as they went into the house. ‘I could throw us a salad together for lunch if you like. There’s stuff growing in the greenhouse that’s getting past its best.’
He shrugged. ‘How could I refuse? But you do know we can only afford—’
‘It’s not all about the money. We’re off tomorrow for a week’s holiday. Might as well give you a bit more help before we go. My choice.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ Leaving her to it, he went through to the living room and switched on the laptop. As it booted up, he picked up his glasses and put them on.
He stared at the case in his hand.
‘Tamsin, you there?’
She appeared in the doorway. ‘You found them! Great stuff. Where were they?’
‘I was going to ask you. Just here. On the desk. One of the first places I looked.’
‘Me too. Deffo weren’t there yesterday; I searched all over it, even opened the drawers. Felt guilty about intruding, you know?’
He glared at the desk as if it had c
ome alive and started swallowing objects, then grown a mouth and begun laughing at him.
‘You must have found them and put them there when you were half asleep or pissed or whatever.’
‘I didn’t get that bloody pissed!’
He slammed the glasses case down on the desk. Everything – every little thing – felt out of control. Crazy, mad, losing it – this must be what it felt like. He reached for the phone and dialled Elin’s number. Unsurprised when it went straight to voicemail, he couldn’t bring himself to leave a message.
Sounds of doing indicated that Tamsin had retreated to the kitchen. Bede smiled grimly. Poor girl was probably terrified. Well, he wasn’t asking her to stay; she was free to leave any time she liked.
He googled Suzanne Sherwell; found very little except a Facebook page. He hardly thought a friend request was appropriate, so all he saw was a profile picture and that she lived in Leeds. The same neck of the woods that both he and Joe had come from. He studied the photo; tried to memorise the features. Emma Sherwell was a designer of some kind in London. As far as he could tell from the photos on her website, she looked like her mother. He thought he could see Joe in her, too, but Elin was better at seeing resemblances than he was.
There was a family photo – mother, sister and cheeky blond little brother – on one of Emma’s blog posts about a couple of childhood holidays that had influenced her work. The picture was too small to tell him much about the Niall in the birthday card, but as he read the text, Bede found that the failure to mention a father stung him more than it should have.
‘Ready when you are.’
Tamsin’s footsteps approached and the Alderleat watermill filled the screen as he hastily switched to the desktop.
‘I wasn’t going to look.’ Was he that transparent? ‘It’s salad so it can wait. I’ll be in the greenhouse; just say the word.’
‘No, no. I’m done here.’
A snap decision: these people meant nothing to him. He’d seen enough. He closed down the computer and tried to shut off his thoughts as conclusively.
It was going well despite the rain that had been falling steadily all afternoon. At least that proved the roof was sound. Bede was checking through the stack of timbers to choose the tongue-and-groove boards for the next section while Tamsin went to fetch a drink.
‘Is Kip with you?’ he asked her when she returned.
‘Haven’t seen him since we came out here.’ She handed him his tea.
He looked around and called. ‘That dog’s got more bloody disobedient since I’ve been laid up. Taking advantage of the state I’m in to behave like a naughty kid. We need some serious training sessions.’ He put his mug down. ‘’Scuse me a minute.’
He limped up the path a little, anger cranking up his voice as he yelled the dog’s name. The wind in the trees and rain pattering on his hood were the only response. He was beginning to despair when he saw Kip come running. Suppressed relief made his reprimand all the harsher.
‘Biggest incentive I’ve had so far to get my act together, isn’t it?’ he said when he returned. ‘Don’t want to think I’m traumatising my dog on top of everything else. Come on, back to work.’
‘You haven’t drunk your tea yet. It’ll be cold.’
He picked up his mug and drained it. It was cold. ‘See what I mean about getting my act together?’
They settled into the rhythm they’d established of choose, position, brace, nail, accompanied by music from the battery-powered docking station she’d brought. It was going well; he even allowed himself to think they might have all the walls lined by the end of the afternoon. Tamsin timed the hammering to the music and was singing along. He was almost tempted to join in.
‘Bede?’
Something was askew. He found he was sitting against the wall, looking up at the girl’s worried face. The grey sky glared through the skylight above her and a now-familiar pain stabbed from the back of his head to his eyes. He closed them.
‘You all right?’
He nodded.
‘You had me worried there. You just froze, like there was nobody home, then you were like, “When’s Elin coming with those papers?”’
‘Shit. Thought I’d managed to put all that blackout crap behind me.’
She tried to look reassuring. ‘It was only a few seconds. I suggested you sat down for a bit and here you are.’
‘Thanks. I’m fine now.’ He forced a smile and she helped him to his feet, handed him the crutches. ‘That’s it for today, I’m afraid. This headache’s going to get worse. Need to go in and lie down.’
Tamsin offered to stay behind and clear up. He could feel her watching him as he made his way to the house, despite his protestations that he was perfectly capable. Once safely across the bridge over the leat, he turned to stare into the rushing water. Felt nothing. He reminded himself he didn’t believe in ghosts, spirits, apparitions. It didn’t stop him yelling ‘I wouldn’t believe a word you told me anyway!’ into the fine, rain-mingled spray. The stream rushed by and the spray hung on the air unchanged.
He was at the door of the house when he heard tyres on the yard. For once he hoped he really was hallucinating. If he slipped inside without looking round, maybe whoever it was would leave him alone. He heard Silvan call his name. Hunched his shoulders. The jeep door slammed, triggering a pounding crack in his brain.
‘Everything OK, mate?’
‘Mm hm.’ Without turning his head, he waved a crutch towards the caravan. ‘Tamsin’s over there.’
‘I’ll go see her soon. But you look—’
‘Blackout just now.’ He kept his back resolutely turned. ‘I’m fine. Go.’
‘You sound shaky. You need to sit down.’
‘Where do you think I’m going?’ He opened the door. Silvan was straight in behind him. Drained of the energy to object, Bede went over to the kitchen counter, fumbled for a couple of painkillers and poured himself a glass of water. ‘Close the door on your way out.’
‘I can understand you’re not thrilled to see me. But that’s why I wanted a word. Like, apologise if I came on a bit strong the other day. I said some things I probably shouldn’t have.’
‘Yes. You did.’ He closed his eyes against the glare from the window.
‘I’m sorry, mate. Seriously. Can we shake on it?’
Bede kept his hands gripped tightly around the crutches. ‘I’m not in the mood for this. Need to lie down.’
He shuffled past Silvan into the living room and sank onto the sofa. Sleep was beginning to take him over when he heard Tamsin’s voice and the welcome patter of claws on the kitchen floor.
‘Sorry to disturb you. I’ve brought Kip home.’
Damn. He’d forgotten about the dog. He was unsure whether he was more grateful to Tamsin for delivering him safely back or for being there to take Silvan away. He reached out a hand to touch the reality of his dog’s coat; the warm presence was comforting but he wished Elin was there, that things could be back to the way they had been. He drifted to sleep on a wave of love that wounded like a knife, forming vague intentions of talking to her, making it right.
Not what matters
It had been a dispiriting day. Soaked by relentless rain, they’d been splashed with mud, insulted, ignored, threatened. And achieved nothing. A new court injunction kept them at a distance from the site entrance, and the test drilling would be going ahead.
‘You lot have just been on telly again,’ Jeff announced as they walked in. ‘Don’t worry, I recorded it.’
‘I hope we looked more glam than we feel,’ Fran said as she took off her coat and shoes.
‘Came across quite well,’ he said. ‘That reporter woman seems to be on your side.’
‘Don’t get excited,’ Elin said. ‘I stayed well away this time.’
‘Don’t go all coy. You were amazing the way you stood up to your friend Northcote the other day,’ Fran said, waving to Jeff to pour Elin a glass of wine.
‘It was hardly the mo
st eloquent debate I’ve ever had.’ Elin took the wine gratefully.
‘Sounded effective enough to me.’ Fran smiled, eyeing Elin’s wine glass ruefully. ‘You don’t know how much I crave one of those.’
‘Abstinence must be hard at a time like this,’ Jeff said, ‘but it’s all in a good cause.’ He gave Elin a worried look. She wished he’d realise that she wasn’t about to dissolve in a heap every time they referred to Fran’s pregnancy.
They went through to the living room and Fran threw herself onto the sofa, playing the decadent princess as Jeff supplied her with cushions and one of his magic fruit juice concoctions. Elin flopped into an armchair and put her feet up.
‘Talking of good causes,’ he said, ‘Bede phoned, about half an hour ago, just as I got in from work.’
After a spell of ignoring his missed calls, Elin’s hurt and self-righteous anger were beginning to turn to guilt as she wondered whether something had happened. But she’d sent him a message saying she’d be back the next day; he could wait. Let him stew. ‘What did he want?’
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