The Unwelcome Guest

by Amanda Robson

But, Caprice, I haven’t found kindness in you yet. I think of you yesterday, taunting me, metallic eyes steady on mine. ‘Otherwise you’ll what?’ you asked.

  Have you no conscience? No belief in social responsibility? I’ve tried to love you, to have a close relationship. Memories come flooding back.

  I ached for you when Rupert died. You looked so broken and bereft. Like a baby bird with bones so frail, even the wind might make them snap. Rupert’s sudden death had left me grieving too. Aiden, Miles and I came to stay with you to help organise the funeral. Julie had already left Aiden. I made a point of not interfering, to keep in the background; to clean and cook and help with the washing. I didn’t suggest a hymn choice, or involve myself in your discussions about the eulogy. Our sons came with us. Ben was three years old and Harry was one. I thought seeing the children might cheer you. But it just harassed you. So I kept them out of your way, allowing them to watch a surfeit of Netflix cartoons in our bedroom. Then you complained about my bad mothering skills; because you thought too much screen time was bad for them.

  Breathe, breathe, I told myself. You were grieving heavily. I had to give you kindness and space.

  Funerals are always difficult. A rite of passage for the dead that society is obliged to move through, supposedly to comfort the relatives. It’s just personal – I know funerals comfort some people but they make me feel even worse. Rupert was good fun. Rupert and I clicked. I knew I was going to miss him. I was feeling sick, gut-wrenchingly sick that day. Goodness knows how bad you must have been feeling, Caprice. Although I was suspicious of your motives, you always insisted you loved him very, very deeply.

  Black shiny limos were lined up on the drive, behind the hearse. Miles was shaking as I held his hand and we slipped into the first car together to join you and Aiden. Miles was very distressed by his father’s sudden death. My body ached in empathy with him. I wished him peace and solace with all the silent energy I could muster. From my soul. From my heart, my bones, my sinews. Aiden was using bluster and bravado to cover up his true feelings, but I knew he was devastated too. His eyes were hard and staring. Jaw locked. Lips tight.

  ‘Julie’s arrived,’ you said, pointing across the drive. ‘I wasn’t sure she was coming.’

  She was running towards us, red-faced, wearing a black hat and trench coat. You wound the window down and she leant inside, gasping for breath.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Julie shouted.

  ‘Get out of the car,’ you hissed at me. ‘Julie needs to come with us. She might not know where we are going. You’ve been here all week. You know the way.’

  The car seating had been carefully planned. Close family in the front limousine. Cousins and uncles and close friends in the cars behind. I froze for a second. I didn’t want to be separated from Miles. But it all happened so quickly, none of us had time to think about what was happening or to answer back. You opened the limo door and pushed me out.

  ‘Get in,’ you instructed Julie.

  You always preferred Julie to me, didn’t you? You still do. Your last conniving game stemmed from this. When you told me Miles was infatuated with her, you wished it was true. You would have liked her as a daughter-in-law, instead of me.

  Julie slipped into my place in the car, and I was left standing alone in front of the house. As it turned out, the other limos were all full, so I walked to the church, arriving just in time for a seat at the back. I wept inside for not being able to sit next to Miles and comfort him at his father’s funeral. I had always imagined that we would be able to be there for each other at a time like this.

  When I found him again on the way to the burial, he looked ashen. Hs eyes were red and I knew that he had been crying. He held me against him tight.

  ‘So sorry you had to get out of the car.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not the priority today.’

  The wake passed without incident. Tea, sandwiches and small talk. In the evening we watched TV and drank a few glasses of dry sherry, to relax. Caprice, you gave me a brief hug at bedtime and my heart sang. I hoped we’d survived the lows of our relationship and were on the way up.

  But that wasn’t how it worked out, was it?

  A few months later you decided you felt strong enough to tackle sorting out Rupert’s possessions. The family were called upon to help. The weekend chosen was planned and sorted, firmly planted in our diaries. A week before, I was at home without Miles, playing with the children, when the phone rang.

  I picked up. It was you.

  ‘Hello dear, is Miles there?’ you asked.

  The strange elongated deeeaarr. My stomach tightened. ‘He’s not around right now. Can I help?’

  ‘Can you get him to ring me later?’

  ‘Yes of course. How are you?’

  ‘Good. Good. Coping,’ you replied.

  ‘Well, see you at the weekend. Can I bring anything?’

  The line fell silent.

  ‘Are you still there, Caprice?’

  ‘Yes.’ More silence. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course I’m coming to help.’

  ‘Help sort out my husband’s possessions?’

  I took a deep breath and swallowed. ‘I thought there might be something I could do that was useful. It’ll be very upsetting, sifting through everything. I could help pack things in boxes to take to the charity shop. Cook lunch and supper. Just be around to give moral support.’

  ‘I don’t want you around. I just want my family to myself.’

  I have wasted too many hours mulling over our relationship, Caprice. I think, in retrospect, it became worse when Rupert died. I ask myself why – was it because you missed him and envied the fact I still had Miles? Or were you jealous because Rupert was more fond of me than you liked to admit? Any compliments he ever paid me made your lips tighten and your body stiffen.

  But we’ve rubbed along OK, haven’t we? I have tried to make excuses for your difficult behaviour and to be patient. Until just recently, when you moved out of your annexe, into our house. You are no longer my mother-in-law but an unwelcome guest. An unwelcome guest I can no longer tolerate.

  46

  Hayley

  You have invited me to join you on a winter trip to Hampton Court Palace. It will be a real highlight for my mother to read about in my diary, Miles. You were given free mid-week tickets. The boys are at school and Saffron is busy. Caprice is too tired to go out all day. There is something wrong with her thyroid gland apparently. Her consultant is balancing the amount of thyroxin she needs. Ramping it up.

  So I got lucky.

  Swanning around a grand building with a dreamboat of a man. Pretending a man like you is interested in a girl like me. Just for one day.

  We are walking along the haunted gallery. My spine begins to tingle as I look out for Catherine Howard running and screaming down this corridor. The tale is that she had been arrested for adultery, and imprisoned in her room, in 1541. She escaped, and was racing down the corridor hoping to find Henry in the chapel, wanting to plead her innocence. She was caught by the guards, restrained and never saw Henry again. A few months later she was beheaded at the Tower of London, aged nineteen. But her ghost is still seen and heard screaming along this corridor to this day.

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Miles?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, that depends on what you mean by a ghost.’

  ‘You’re an academic, so everything you believe will depend on a range of facts bound to confuse me.’

  You smile your honeyed smile. ‘So young and so cynical, Hayley.’

  ‘Come on. Do you think Catherine Howard’s ghost comes screaming down here from time to time? Or do you think it’s just a story made up to tantalise the tourists?’

  Your smile widens. ‘I think she’s about to blast past us any moment.’

  We both laugh.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Come on,’ you say. ‘Enough of buildings and ghosts. Let’s go and look at the gardens.�
��

  The gardens are my favourite part. The privy garden, which has been restored to the original garden plan constructed by King William III in 1702, is magnificent. You look out onto it from the back of the palace and it stretches as far as the eye can see and is perfectly balanced.

  We walk through acres and acres of gardens until my feet ache. My favourite plants are the dahlias. Planted in July and still full of colour at the beginning of November. Pinks and purples and blues. Some rose-like. Some like camelias. Petals like leaves. Petals like feathers. A blast of structure and colour.

  I beam at you. ‘These plants are fantastic. When I get home I’m going to join the Dahlia Society of New Zealand.’

  ‘There must be a dahlia society in the UK,’ he teases me with his eyes. ‘Why don’t you join that and stay here?’

  47

  Caprice

  You have been delayed at work, again. There is such a lovely atmosphere without you at Wellbeck House, Saffron. Everyone is so much more relaxed. The boys are enjoying chicken nuggets and ketchup, without a sigh and a look. Miles has cooked steak for the three adults. We are having steak sandwiches with horseradish sauce. Nice and easy. No fuss.

  Hayley and Miles seem invigorated after their outing to Hampton Court Palace. They walked for hours in the fresh air, apparently, laughing and chatting. I’ve not seen Miles look so cheerful for weeks. They showed me the photographs they took on their iPhones, looking like a couple. Oh Miles, if you’re not interested in Julie, maybe a real antipodean jewel like Hayley is just the tonic you need to put your life back on track.

  I knew as soon as she arrived that she was interested in you. With a little encouragement could I ensure you were interested in her, too?

  48

  Saffron

  My life is engulfing me, overwhelming me. I need to take control or I’ll fall into a black hole, an abyss. First, I must handle my business. And then you, Caprice.

  I slip out of bed and shower. I’m meeting a prospective client today. A bit OCD about clothes, I stand in front of my extensive wardrobe, arranged as perfectly as a top-end shop display, and try on lilac cashmere. Insipid. Khaki denim. Too casual, and the colour does nothing for me. I shouldn’t have bought that dress. In the end I take a punt with a grey suit and crisp white blouse. A bit ‘office-boring’, but saved by being perfectly cut.

  Miles is still fast asleep in bed. I kiss him on the forehead – my favourite place, and tiptoe out, past the boys’ bedrooms. Hayley promised to get up early to look after the children today. It’s so early even Caprice hasn’t woken yet. She is often up before us, preening in the kitchen, making sure Miles and I don’t have any time alone with our family in the morning.

  I make a cup of Nescafé and stand looking out of the window, enjoying the peace. Staring at the private playpark she has bought to bribe the children. Never missing an opportunity to remind them that she paid for it. Caprice makes sure she keeps them on her side. The children. My children. My stomach feels heavy. What if she breaks up our family? I press my jaws together and swallow. I will not allow her to do that.

  My prospective client is waiting for me at The Ned. A former bank in Central London that has been converted into a club and restaurant complex. Anyone who is anybody entertains here these days. He is sitting on a pink sofa by the window, in Millie’s lounge. Joshua Cassidy. Twenty-five years old. Professional footballer. Currently injured but due to be back on the squad in three weeks – all being well. Paid the sort of fortune per week that most people don’t make in a year.

  Maybe he has seen my photo on the BPC website, because he recognises me as I walk towards his table, and stands up to greet me. He leans towards me and shakes my hand. He is wearing diamond stud earrings. And I notice a diamond in the bottom right of his left front tooth, as he smiles. What if it comes out while he’s playing? He could swallow it and choke.

  He’s smaller than I imagined. About five foot eleven – not quite six foot. I thought internationally acclaimed footballers would be enormous; the bigger the better to succeed at sport.

  I slide onto the pink sofa opposite him. He pushes the menu towards me.

  ‘I’m a bit tight for time so I’ve already ordered. Why don’t you order quickly so that the kitchen can get us in synch?’

  I place the menu on the table in front of me. ‘No need to worry about me. I’ll just have a coffee and a smoothie.’

  Joshua smiles and his diamonds glint in the light from the window behind us. ‘I bet a smoothie has just as many calories as breakfast,’ he says.

  ‘It’s not about calories. It’s about what I want,’ I reply.

  He pushes young brown puppy-dog eyes into mine. ‘I like a woman who knows what she wants.’

  Twenty-five years old. Cocky. Arrogant. Oh my God. If I was a few years older I could be his mother. I’m not the type to play around. A brick of guilt coagulates in my stomach. Except for my drunken kiss with Aiden. What was I doing? What was that about?

  A black-suited waiter wafts towards our table with Joshua’s breakfast. Almost dancing around us as he places it in front of this overpaid wide boy, who flashes sexism and diamonds. Mashed avocado on toast with poached eggs on sourdough.

  As the waiter puts the plate down I catch his eye. ‘Please could I have a large Americano with hot milk, and a spinach and ricotta smoothie.’

  ‘Of course, madam,’ he drools in a heavy French accent, which sounds as if it has been fragmented through a cheese grater.

  The waiter retreats.

  ‘So,’ Joshua starts, ‘tell me why I should consider using you.’

  ‘Because I would deal with all the things you currently ignore, and which over the next twenty years will make you infinitely richer. You see, you probably only think about today or tomorrow or maybe next week. I think about the future. Your family’s future. I have worked in tax and trusts for years in a top magic circle firm. I know how to protect and grow your wealth. Also, I’m experienced at dealing with the routine aspects of legal need, such as conveyancing and divorce. And I specialise in pre-nuptial agreements – something I understand from the media you might be interested in before too long.’ I lean back on the pink sofa and smile at him, hoping he won’t smile back. I do not want to see his diamond-studded tooth again. ‘You get a tailored 24/7 service from me. I am always there when you need me. And you need someone like me.’

  ‘An attentive 24/7 service. I see.’ He says this with all the emphasis on the word service, as if he’s thinking about sex. I would like to slap him, but I swallow to push away the knots that are tightening in my stomach. I remember his portfolio. I need to be polite. To keep calm. Belgravia Private Clients need this. ‘Haven’t you been acting for Sasha Reznikovitch?’ he asks.

  I sigh inside. ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s not a good example of your services.’

  ‘Her bankruptcy is a reflection of her behaviour, not my advice. I also act for Aristos Kaladopolous, and James Shoestring.’

  He emits a soft whistle. ‘They’re impressive clients. Would they provide a reference?’

  ‘Of course.’

  49

  Miles

  You have driven to visit one of your two remaining clients, James Shoestring, in his country pile; a not-so-small small-holding in Hereford. He pays the local farmer to run his hobby farm for him, to keep it looking authentic for his occasional visits. The crisis this weekend, I understand, is to ascertain which tax jurisdiction should be nominated to receive the next tranche of his income.

  With you away, Hayley and I are taking the boys to Coral Reef Waterworld in Bracknell for the day. Mother is coming with us. She will sit in the café while we swim, and then come for a walk in the surrounding woods with us, after lunch.

  We arrive at Coral Reef and park the car, the boys whooping with excitement. Mother marches off towards the café brandishing her Daily Telegraph. No doubt ready to attack the crossword with her usual determination.

  ‘See you by the base of the
waterslides in about ten minutes,’ I say to Hayley as I take the boys by the hand, leading them towards the family changing rooms.

  ‘Fine.’ She beams, sauntering towards the child-free area.

  Harry and Ben jump up and down pretending to be baby lambs, all the way to the cubicles. I manage to get a big one so that we can change together. Ben stops jumping and changes sensibly. Harry carries on jumping. He is a baby rabbit now apparently.

  ‘Come on, Harry, your turn to get your trunks on,’ I say when Ben and I are ready.

  But Harry keeps jumping, and giggling. His high-pitched giggle is beginning to give me a headache.

  ‘Don’t you want to come swimming?’ I ask. ‘Would you rather sit and do the crossword with Granny?’

  ‘Don’t call her Granny,’ Ben and Harry say in unison.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She hates it.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘She tells us every day.’

  Harry puts his head on one side and looks at me. ‘I don’t want to do the crossword with Caprice, but I can’t come swimming because I’m a bunny rabbit.’ He pauses. ‘And bunnies don’t swim.’

  ‘They do,’ Ben replies. ‘I’ve seen one on YouTube. Can I borrow your iPhone Daddy?’

  I hand it to him. He opens a video of a rabbit, underwater, ears back, kicking its legs, streamlined in the water, like a furry pencil.

  ‘Come on, Harry. We can have a bunny swimming race in the water,’ I say hopefully. We have already been twice as long as I said.

  ‘I want to go to the pirate ship. Bunnies like pirates. They like eating them,’ he says gnashing his teeth.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Bunnies are vegetarian,’ Ben replies.

  Harry puts his tongue out at his brother. Ben reciprocates.

  ‘Remember what Caprice says. If the wind changes your faces will stay like that,’ I say as I grab their hands and drag them out of the changing cubicle. ‘Hayley is queen of the bunny rabbits and she’s waiting for you by the slide. Let’s race there now.’