by Emma Rous
I angled my chair toward the window so I could watch Dominic and Edwin romp on the lawn.
Dominic reminded me of an easygoing forest animal, like a lean, friendly grizzly bear, with his height and his loose-limbed way of moving; his light brown hair unfashionably long. Perhaps it was also because of the way he would scoop Edwin up into his arms, roaring and pretending to take bites out of the little boy who would giggle and wriggle until eventually Ruth would snap at them to stop.
Usually, Dominic drove back to London very early on a Monday morning, but when Vera spent the weekend in the country with them, he gave her a lift home on the Sunday evening instead. On my first weekend at Summerbourne, they left just before Edwin’s bedtime.
“Winterbourne always seems so quiet after a weekend here,” Vera told me in the hall as she waited for Dominic to retrieve her small suitcase from upstairs. She caught my confused expression and smiled. “Winterbourne. It’s the name of my house in London.” I nodded warily, unsure whether she was making a joke.
Monday morning was the start of my official employment, and the bright September sunshine lured us out to the patio straight from breakfast. The plants in the garden shone as if they had been washed and polished overnight. Ruth looked cool in a pale cotton summer dress, and I resolved to use my first pay packet to buy myself some decent clothes, and some pastel nail varnishes to replace my usual dark colors.
“It’s going to be a glorious day,” Ruth said. “We really should make the most of it. Let’s take a picnic down to the beach.”
So she and I packed a bag with sandwiches and drinks and a picnic blanket. After much rummaging through a huge built-in cupboard in the day nursery, Edwin emerged laden with buckets, spades, and two nets on sticks. Considering the beach was within a few hundred meters of the house, there was more of an expedition feel to the process than I had expected, although at that stage I didn’t appreciate how grueling it would be to have to haul yourself back up the cliff steps in the blazing sun if you forgot something.
We stopped frequently on the way for our intrepid three-and-three-quarters-year-old explorer to examine feathers and snails and butterflies. We paused for a chat with Michael by the back gate.
“Where’s Joel, Mister Michael Harris?” Edwin asked.
“Ah, he’s at preschool, my man. He’ll be round later, I ’spect.”
“Joel’s Edwin’s best friend,” Ruth told me.
“After Theo,” Edwin said, sticking his bottom lip out. Ruth and Michael exchanged a glance.
“Yes, darling. After Theo. Say good-bye to Mr. Harris, and we’ll show Laura the way to the beach.”
Once through the gate, an astonishing view of the sea greeted us; my mouth fell open as I stood and gazed at it. The coastline spread out before us, undulating back toward the house and the village to our right, and curving on alongside fields and distant haze to our left. The dark blue water sparkled in front of us to the horizon. It was only a minute’s walk along the path to the cliff steps. A squat tower stood near the top of the steps, its walls made with stones the same color as the bricks of the house out of sight behind us.
“The Summerbourne folly,” Ruth told me, waving a hand at it dismissively. “We own this strip of land up here, but the coastal footpath is public—you can get to the boatyard this way, or back into the village if you go that way. The beach is public too, but hardly anyone else ever comes here.”
“Can we go up and see the cannon, Mummy?” Edwin asked, hopping from one foot to the other.
“Not now, darling. Let’s get down to the rock pools before the crabs have to go to crab preschool.”
Edwin stood still. “No such thing as crab preschool.”
I peered up at the black barrel jutting over the platform at the top of the tower.
“Not a real cannon?” I asked.
“Kind of,” Ruth said as we redistributed Edwin’s beach gear between us so that he could have his hands free to hold the railing down the cliff steps. “It’s called a noon cannon. It’s on a sundial. If you set it up right, you can get the sun to shine through a lens at midday and light an explosive, and fire the cannon. Follow me now, Edwin, and hold on very carefully.”
“An actual cannonball?” I asked.
Ruth laughed. “Goodness, no! It doesn’t fire an object. Just makes a loud bang.” She paused on the steps to check that Edwin was holding the railing properly. “Family legend says Philip Summerbourne, the one who built the house, had it put there so they’d know when it was time to pack up at the beach and head back to the house for lunch. It’s such a fuss though, setting it up, I’m sure they hardly ever bothered.”
We continued our cautious descent. Edwin frowned as we reached the sand.
“Is there such thing as crab preschool, Missus Laura Silvey?”
“Let’s go find some crabs and ask them, Master Edwin Mayes.”
He grinned.
It was a small beach, but postcard perfect in the summer sunshine. The sand was pale yellow, and a band of rocks along the base of the cliffs bulged out to the sea at the far end of the cove to create a few rock pools. Edwin and I spent a contented hour poking around, scooping tiny fish and bigger crabs into buckets, while Ruth sat on a picnic blanket on the sand with a book, her face hidden by a huge, floppy hat. Edwin sprang between rocks with ease, and I was glad after all for my practical shorts and T-shirt.
The sun was high and fierce by the time Ruth called us over for lunch.
“Look, Mummy,” Edwin said, introducing her to the contents of his bucket, before trotting away to release the creatures back into the pools, and then galloping down to the sea to rinse off his hands.
“Where does he get his energy from?” I asked, flopping down and accepting a sandwich gratefully.
“God knows. I get exhausted just watching him.”
“Do you ever swim in the sea here?” I asked her, conscious there’d been no mention of swimming costumes when we were getting ready at the house.
“Oh, Dominic does. He’ll take Edwin for a swim at the weekend. Maybe when we come down with Alex on Saturday.” She smiled, and looked out to sea. “I used to swim here sometimes when I was a child, but”—she shrugged—“I wouldn’t be that confident to take Edwin in by myself.”
“Can I paddle, Mummy?” Edwin asked, a sandwich in one hand, too restless to sit down.
“As long as you stay just in front of us, and no higher than your knees, darling. And keep your hat on.”
“Okay, Mummy.” He trotted off. We sat and watched him as we ate. Ruth had put sun cream on him before we left the house, and was now applying some to her own limbs. I hesitated when she offered me the bottle, since my olive skin doesn’t tend to burn easily, but the harsh glare on the sand was relentless, so I accepted with thanks.
“You’re very . . . discreet, aren’t you?” Ruth said suddenly, breaking the companionable silence and making me blink.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, just that you don’t ask lots of questions,” she said.
I handed the sun cream back to her, ducking my head.
“It’s not a bad thing,” she assured me, smiling. “I meant it as a compliment. You didn’t press me on why I don’t like to swim in the sea anymore, although I could see that you wondered. You haven’t asked who Alex is.”
She raised her eyebrows as if to invite a question, and something from our conversation with Michael earlier niggled at me. Something I’d registered, but not yet thought through properly.
“Who’s Theo?” I asked.
As soon as I’d said it, I was seized by an awful conviction. Who else might Edwin describe as his best friend, aside from little Joel?
Ruth was lying propped on one elbow, but jerked upright at my question. I could feel my cheeks reddening as she stared at me, and I began to apologize, but she shook her head.
“No, it’s fine. You just surprised me.” She eased herself back down again. “Theo was Edwin’s twin brother. He died just after their second birthday, in December the year before last. In an accident.”
I held a hand over my mouth, staring at her.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I should have realized. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay. You weren’t to know. He fell from the cliff here, actually.”
My eyes darted to the rocks at the base of the steps.
Ruth drew in a deep breath and then let it out again heavily. “It’s—I know it seems strange for us still to come here, but . . .” She cast her eyes around the beach, choosing her words. “This is our home. Summerbourne. My home, and Edwin’s home. It always has been, and it always will be.”
I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye, and she gazed out to sea. Edwin continued to frolic in the shallows.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Honestly, don’t worry. It’s everyday life for us. I think about him all the time. When I wake up. When I go to bed. When I’m with Edwin. When I’m not with Edwin.” She trickled sand between her fingers. “So mentioning him doesn’t upset me in that way.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, and breathed in and out deeply before opening them again.
“Of course, Edwin was so young when it happened, he doesn’t remember him really. But we talk about him, of course, to make sure Edwin doesn’t look back and think we let him forget. It’s a shock for other people when we have to tell them for the first time, that’s the thing.”
She passed me a paper napkin to use as a tissue, and I blew my nose noisily. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make it worse, and shook my head instead.
“Honestly, it’s okay,” she said. “To talk about him. I’m sorry too.”
We watched Edwin play for a while.
“So, who is Alex?” I asked eventually, to try to make her smile again, and it worked.
“Ah, Alex. You’ll meet him on Saturday. He’s an old friend.” She carried on watching Edwin and didn’t say any more. I rubbed sand from my shins.
“And why don’t you swim in the sea anymore?” I asked her, my head partially turned away. She laughed.
“No reason. I was being silly. It’s cold, I suppose, and I don’t like not being able to see where I’m putting my feet. How boring!” She jumped up and called Edwin over. “Let’s show Laura how to make a Summerbourne sandcastle, shall we?”
“A Mayes sandcastle, Mummy.”
“All right. A super Mayes sandcastle. And when you see Uncle Alex on Saturday, you can tell him all about it.”
I considered asking why, if Alex was a friend, she called him an uncle. But her comment about me being discreet echoed in my mind. We set to work, and a lopsided sandcastle grew and spread until Edwin spotted two figures waving at the top of the cliff.
“Joel’s here!” he shrieked, and scampered toward the steps, only pausing when Ruth’s sharp voice made him wait for us to gather up all our belongings before she would allow him to start the ascent. Michael waited at the top, holding the hand of a small, dark-skinned boy and not letting go until we were all safely away from the cliff edge.
“Joel!” Edwin squealed, and the two boys clutched each other and twirled around, giggling.
“They can come with me to the orchard,” Michael said, and the boys followed him back to the garden gate, chattering excitedly.
“Joel’s mum’s gone back to Nigeria to look after her mother,” Ruth told me as we made our way back to the house. “Chris—that’s Michael’s son, Joel’s dad—he thought it would be easier if he and Joel moved back into Michael’s cottage until Kemi comes home. I know it sounds selfish, but it’s been great for us over the summer because the boys get on so well—I haven’t had to entertain Edwin while Joel’s around.”
“But Joel goes to preschool now?” I asked.
“Yes. Not full-time, but we’ll see less of him.” She pulled a face. “Dominic thinks Edwin should go too, but I just don’t feel ready. I’d much rather have you here to help me with him.”
I followed her in through the unlocked kitchen doors, kicking my shoes off next to hers, dropping my bags, and accepting a glass of cold orange juice.
“Would you mind awfully if I left you here to listen out for Michael bringing Edwin back?” she asked. “I feel rather headachy.”
“Of course. That’s fine.”
She pottered off along the hall and up the stairs, and I sank down at the kitchen table, wrapping my hands around my cool glass and closing my eyes. I wondered how common Ruth’s headaches were, and I brushed away the thought that there might be an element of convenience to them. That was none of my business. I could smell her coconut-scented sun cream on my skin, and I rubbed sand from the top of one foot with the bottom of the other, listening to it scattering on the tiled floor in the otherwise silent house. As far as first days in a new job go, this had to be up there with the best.
The rest of my first week passed in a haze of sunny days. We swam in the pool several times, Edwin impressing me with his fearsome doggy paddle and his rudimentary backstroke. We helped Michael tidy some flower beds, collecting seeds into little pots and dividing up some of the bushier plants. We ran races and picked raspberries and built a hideout in the woods in the hope of glimpsing a badger or a fox. On the Wednesday, Ruth took Edwin to his gymnastics class, and I drew up a studying timetable. The three of us made an apple-and-plum crumble together that evening, and devoured it with custard.
I was astonished at how soon Summerbourne felt like home. I began to fall asleep within minutes of my head touching the pillow each night, and didn’t stir until my alarm went off the next morning.
I tried not to dwell on little Theo, Edwin’s lost twin. There were no photos on display downstairs. I wondered how the accident had happened. Ruth didn’t bring the subject up again, and as that week wore on, she became increasingly distracted by plans for Saturday’s picnic.
“Would you like to come with us down to the beach tomorrow?” Ruth asked me on the Friday evening after she’d put Edwin to bed. “You’re very welcome to. But don’t feel you have to.”
I looked at her shopping lists on the kitchen table, and thought about the painting that Edwin had done earlier for Uncle Alex.
“You can decide in the morning, anyway,” Ruth said, and she went out into the hall, humming to herself. The microwave beeped, and I took my hot chocolate through to the annex. I told myself I was undecided, but deep down I knew that of course I would go with them. The lure of a grand Mayes family picnic was much too strong to resist.
5
Seraphine
WITH VERA GONE, I spend Friday evening checking through the remaining contents of the bottom desk drawer in the study, a glass of white wine turning warm and unappetizing by my side. Underneath a loose photo of Edwin and Theo in stripy T-shirts, I find a newspaper obituary for my mother:
Taken from us suddenly on 21st July 1992, RUTH ANGELA MAYES of Summerbourne House, Norfolk, aged just 29. Loving wife of Dominic Charles Mayes, beloved daughter of Vera Ann Blackwood and the late John Blackwood, dearly missed mother of Edwin, Daniel, and Seraphine. Reunited in heaven with her precious son Theodore, and with her father, brother, and grandparents.
Flowery words, surely chosen by Vera. Strange that I never knew my mother had a brother. There are too many unspoken stories in our family.
I close my eyes and rotate the chair one way and then the other, consumed by the wish that when I open them, my dad will be standing there, grimacing at the mess in his study, ushering me down to the kitchen where he’ll chop vegetables for a huge stir-fry while he talks me through the day’s county cricket results. If I could have him back, I’d never question anything again. But when I open my eyes, I am still alone, and the questions remain.
On S
aturday morning, I’m in my dressing gown, inhaling the steam from my coffee at the kitchen table, when a car pulls up. My brothers burst into the hall, clattering through to the kitchen, filling the house with noise as they fling down keys and bags and phones and take-out coffee cups. Edwin bends to hug me, while Danny pulls a loaf from a carrier bag and starts slotting bread into the toaster, eyeing up the level in the cafetière.
“So what’s up, sis?” Danny asks.
My sigh is tinged with relief, because, despite the way they get under my skin, I love my brothers fiercely, and they’re the only people I can be myself with.
“Did Edwin tell you about the photo?”
Danny nods, shrugging. “Yep. So?”
“Well.” I glance at Edwin. “I found Laura.”
Edwin makes an incredulous sound. “You did what?”
“And also,” I say, “I had an argument with Gran, and she told me she’s going to leave Summerbourne to you, Danny.”
They both stare at me. I count the seconds of silence. Four. Five.
“Okay, hang on,” Edwin says. “What sort of argument? What did she say, exactly?”
Danny sidles away to get milk from the fridge. I glare at his back.
“She didn’t give me a reason. I guess Danny being her favorite blue-eyed boy is all the reason she needs.”
Danny shuffles round to my side of the table with his coffee, and bumps his elbow against mine as he sits down next to me.
“Why would I want this old place? If she gives it to me, I’ll give it to you. Don’t sweat it.” He peers at the smoke rising from the toaster. “As long as I can nap in the day nursery when I’m passing, and you make sure you keep some decent coffee in.”
I lean closer to him for a moment, pressing my upper arm against his.