You Never Told Me

by Sarah Jasmon

  It was hard to tell what Jon made of it all, but she did extract a promise that he’d sort something special for him and Eleanor at the weekend. He left Charlie further from sleep than ever, turning over the conversation, the outcomes, what she could do, what she definitely shouldn’t do. And there were no answers, nothing that could give her a clear direction, let alone anyone else.

  ‘We’ll have to stay up here for a bit longer in any case,’ she told Bella, giving her head a rub. Bella made a half-hearted nudge back and curled in more tightly. She was right. It was time to sleep. But how, when she couldn’t stop thinking? She lay down, too strung out to rest, although at the same time too tired to reach across for the T-shirt to put back over her face. The orange-tinted shadows of the room made her eyelids twitch. What could she think about? Not her mother, not Elizabeth. Nor did she want to dwell on what was going to happen to Hugo, to Eleanor, to Jon. The flicker of a memory of Dave skittered through, chased by another one about Max and their house. Money. She’d need to think about that soon. She and Eleanor had to decide what to do with Britta’s nest egg. And how to divide what was there and the boat. They’d balance each other out, perhaps, and Charlie could keep Skíðblaðnir as her share. But even a boat needed some income to maintain it, and how would she manage if Max carried on refusing to compromise? Perhaps it would be better to give in to what he wanted. Bella gave a little snore and Charlie felt the weight of her warmth. That was the main thing, having her there. The weight of indecision lifted a little, and Charlie forced her mind back towards Skíðblaðnir, quietly rocking at the mooring.

  She visualized her mind leaving her body to fly over the Pennines towards Macclesfield and the start of the canal. Bob asleep, waiting for Libby to come back from work. The other boats steady in their silent ranks. Charlie let herself turn to follow the water along, past the bridges and locks, down to the junction. So fast to traverse by mind, all of the stopping and winding and filling and moving smoothed into one easy flow. She turned to the left, leaving out the turmoil of Max and Dave and the long hill of locks. To the left, though, the tunnel. It was as if she had lost any control she’d had over her movements as she paused at the mouth before swooping up and over, almost touching the treetops. She was going too fast, wouldn’t be able to stop. The canal was there again, coming up in front of her, and she braced herself for impact. But the water skimmed beneath her and she was swept along, villages and roads and boats swooping past. And now she was on a boat, not Skíðblaðnir but another one, which was too big for the channel and it was going too fast and the water was coming over one side and the boat was sinking and she was on the bank, holding on to a rope and leaning, leaning. And the far edge of the boat began to come up, water streaming from it, and she had to put all of her weight back against the pull of the rope until finally the bulk lifted and settled and was still. And then she was inside, this time in her bed on Skíðblaðnir, and she didn’t have to open her eyes to know that everything was safe.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Charlie woke up the next morning feeling slightly sick. Too much whiskey, definitely. She vaguely remembered stirring as someone had left that morning, which must have been Jon. He’d said something about an early start, a couple of days away, before he’d left the night before. Sooner him than her. In the kitchen, Eleanor was fussing over bags and sandwiches. As Charlie ran herself a glass of water, it became apparent that both of the girls’ classes were going on trips today.

  ‘Which is a nightmare.’ Eleanor was raking through the contents of a drawer. ‘Martha, have you seen the other sun cream? No, it’s all right, I’ve got it.’ She zipped one bag shut. ‘Which they never do on the same day, but Poppy’s one was cancelled last week. And now one of the parent helpers has had to drop out so I’ve got to go instead.’

  ‘Why don’t you come with my class, Aunty Charlie?’ Martha was prodding at a puddle of soggy flakes in the bottom of her bowl.

  ‘She can’t,’ Eleanor said, reaching over the table for a plastic water bottle. ‘Someone has to take Grandad to the hospital.’

  Charlie and Martha exchanged looks, Martha giggling at the expression on Charlie’s face. ‘It’s probably just as well,’ she told her. ‘It’s going to be the most boring trip ever.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Charlie asked, dipping a hand into the box of cereal. She’d get to the question of the hospital visit later.

  ‘She’s going to a very interesting museum,’ Eleanor snipped in. ‘And don’t do that, it’s disgusting.’ She snatched the box from the table, huffing as she rolled up the inside bag and put it all in the cupboard. ‘And don’t feed the dog from the table.’ Charlie lowered the discarded crust back down onto the table and glanced over at Martha again. Martha gave an exaggerated shrug, which Eleanor caught sight of over her shoulder. ‘Come on, finish up.’ She started moving Martha’s bowl away. ‘We need to go.’

  ‘But it’s ages until it’s time to leave.’ Martha picked out a single flake and nibbled it with a look of disgust. ‘And I want some toast.’

  ‘Well, you can’t have any toast. I need to be there early.’ She was already bending to fasten Poppy’s sandals. ‘Charlie, you need to sort out Dad’s breakfast. I’ve left the details of his appointment on the side. You’ll have to get a taxi.’

  Eleanor had definitely been crying. Charlie turned to Martha. ‘Come on, you’ve finished with that,’ she said. ‘Do what your mum wants, OK? If you get your shoes on, I’ll give you some money to buy something at the gift shop.’ She caught sight of Poppy’s face and could almost see her thought processes working. Any second, she’d be kicking off her sandals to make sure of her share of pocket money. ‘And you as well.’

  Poppy gave a nod, and Eleanor’s lips twitched. Charlie went to find her bag, hoping she actually had some cash. Because otherwise she was going to be in trouble.

  Hugo’s appointment was at the memory clinic. He hadn’t wanted breakfast before they left and he didn’t want to talk on the way. He’d shown no preference one way or the other for having Charlie along, and he hadn’t asked where Eleanor was. Just another family day out, Charlie thought, as she leafed through a motoring magazine while they waited. The other option for reading material was about dental work. Hugo sat next to her, upright in the plastic chair. There was a patch of stubble left unshaved on his jawline, and his shirt was rumpled. She felt a pang of responsibility, that she hadn’t done enough beforehand to make him presentable. He was smaller than he should be, diminished. It was hard to reconcile him to the overpowering figure of her childhood, the man who’d kept a mother from her baby. Except he hadn’t, not really. He’d been complicit in keeping her from that child once she’d grown up. Was that the same thing? Was it even the truth?

  Then the nurse was calling them in and when Charlie held back, thinking that Hugo might not want her in there, the nurse waved for her to follow, saying she might be needed to fill in any gaps they might find.

  ‘There will be no need for that.’ Hugo’s voice was firm, even as he wavered to find his balance on standing.

  ‘I know, my love,’ the nurse said, taking his arm and giving his shoulder a pat. ‘But sometimes it helps to get another view on things.’

  Charlie began to move after them, then caught a glimpse of Hugo’s expression. For a second, their gazes held and she read something in his eyes. He was asking her for something, no, almost pleading. Then he turned and she watched the back of his head as he moved away. She looked over to the nurse, who was waiting by the door for her to come through.

  ‘He’s right, you know. I’ve been away until just recently, and I’m really not sure I’d be able to add anything.’ She took a step across. ‘My sister would normally have been here, but she had an emergency at school.’ How much of an emergency, though? Charlie was pretty sure she could have used the elderly father card to get out of PTA duty. ‘I think he’d be happier without me there.’

  He seemed to be in there for a long time. Charlie read through the le
aflet on memory loss more than once, and then another one aimed at the sufferer’s family, and what they might expect. None of it made for happy reading, even with the positive spin the writers had attempted. One thing was for sure: she’d better not leave it too long before trying to talk to Hugo about any of the past months’ happenings. And another: she needed to have a proper conversation with Eleanor. It was her own fault she’d been left out of decisions up to now, but the sense was building that she couldn’t just turn her back on what was coming. She thought about Skíðblaðnir, about the life she’d just begun to feel was possible. Her and Bella, peacefully working out how the rest of her life was supposed to be. And that led to Britta, nearly making it to that same place. How different would the world now look if she, Charlie, had come back to find Britta there? Would any of them have been allowed to share it with her, or was her plan actually to drop off the map, go and find her first daughter, start over? And would that have worked? She stared at the door into the treatment room, where Hugo was answering questions, or not answering questions, or matching up cards or re-ordering pictures. It all led back to him, in a way. Getting away from him, being landed with him. Eleanor seeming to be making a choice between her father and her husband. But in the end he might forget who they all were, retreat into some shadowy world where nothing was real. She thought she’d feel angry about that, but instead she felt sad. They were all just trying to get to the best world they could manage, and it struck her that Hugo’s might be the worst of the options.

  Back at the house, Charlie followed Hugo up the stairs, moving a couple of steps behind with one hand ready to hold him up if necessary. At the top he came to a halt.

  ‘I very much appreciate your taking me to the hospital,’ he said, his tone formal, speaking ahead rather than turning towards her.

  Charlie stopped where she was. ‘That’s OK.’ She waited, wondering what he was trying to say, trying to decide what she should say. He shuffled forwards and put a hand on the door of his room, then paused again. Charlie could feel the tension building, all the words that needed to be said. Which, if he went through that door, might never be said. ‘Dad, did you actually stop Mum from seeing her daughter?’

  Hugo froze. He still didn’t look round, but after a stretch of time in which Charlie could hear the creaking of the house around them, he began to speak. His voice was uneven, some of the words too quiet for her to hear, others coming out with a surge of noise. ‘She was so young and so pretty and I knew I was rescuing her from something, whatever that was. I was a foolish man.’ Charlie saw a shudder run across his shoulders. ‘But she didn’t tell me. Who she was, what happened. And I didn’t know how to ask what was wrong.’ He was breathing heavily, a man unaccustomed to emotion. ‘I took her for what she was, and I questioned the wisdom of bringing the child, the young woman, back into our lives.’ He turned to meet Charlie’s face now, and she saw that his cheeks were wet. ‘It had already done so much damage. I was wrong, I can see that now, but I was trying to do the best I could, for you, for Eleanor.’

  He turned back to the door and carried on through, closing it behind him. Charlie let him go. Now there was time to talk again.

  She had tea ready for when Eleanor and the girls came back. The girls’ chatter covered up Eleanor’s silence, and Charlie kept them talking to her. Martha was bubbling over with everything they’d done at the museum, her earlier disdain forgotten. Poppy’s class had been to an animal park, though she was more interested in what she’d bought with Charlie’s money than in the lambs or pigs.

  ‘It’s a real dinosaur egg,’ she informed them. ‘I’m going to hatch the baby out and keep it for ever.’

  Eleanor looked exhausted. When the girls had finished eating, Charlie settled them in the living room with a film, enlisting Martha’s help to keep Poppy there with the promise she was sorting out the boat visit. Then she went to join her sister in the garden. She was sitting in the tiny paved area which caught the sun at the tail end of the day. Charlie sat on the other side of the wooden table, watching Bella nose her way around the flower borders. Something told her that she should leave it to her sister to start the conversation. As, eventually, she did.

  ‘I found out how she bought the boat.’ Charlie wasn’t expecting that. Eleanor had been out all day, so when had she found the time to dig further into the depths of Britta’s story? Eleanor must have caught her expression. ‘Jon was up at the crack of dawn. I got up when he left, had another search through those boxes.’ Charlie stopped herself from asking if Eleanor had spoken to Jon. One thing at a time. ‘Did you know Mum had a brother?’ Charlie shook her head. ‘Well, she did.’ Eleanor rummaged in the pink cardboard folder lying on the table in front of her. ‘There’s a hell of a letter somewhere, wait a minute.’ A blue aerogramme emerged, the insubstantial paper letting the ink bleed through to show on the outside of its fold. ‘He’d emigrated to Australia sometime before the scandal. One of those ten-pound tickets. Mum must have written to him asking for help, but he “couldn’t see his way to enabling her misguided plans”. Or something along those lines.’ She held it out. ‘Have a read. He sounds a right charmer.’

  The ink had faded, making the words hard to read, but the sharpness of his abandonment was clear. Charlie felt the jab of every harsh word; how much more Sylvia must have felt, realizing she was on her own. ‘And he’s dead? Shame. I wouldn’t mind writing to him.’

  ‘I know. And yes, he died sometime last year. Never married, no children. Apparently, the propriety of leaving family money to immediate relatives trumped any earlier failures in behaviour.’

  They sat in silence, Charlie wondering if he’d regretted his stance by the end of his life, this unknown uncle on the far side of the world. A bird sang out from the hedge, oblivious. Who was there to remember him now?

  ‘So Mum inherited this money and bought the boat?’ So many years of waiting, and when she finally made the move it ended too soon. ‘It’s a shame he didn’t die a bit earlier, really.’

  ‘I know. Though at least she had that. You know, she did it, or had it all planned, anyway. She was herself at the end.’

  ‘Whoever that was.’ Charlie paused, wondering if this was the time to bring up the question of Hugo and Jon and the whole house thing. She might as well. There’d been enough of not talking in their family. ‘What’s going on with you and Jon, then?’

  Eleanor gazed out over the garden. ‘I don’t know, you tell me. You spent long enough talking to him last night.’ There was a tense pause, and then she gave a sigh. ‘Sorry, you don’t deserve that. He just … said some things before he left this morning.’

  ‘Oh God, what?’ Charlie reached out a hand and, after a pause, Eleanor took it.

  ‘That he didn’t want to have Dad living with us, so I had to choose between them. You know, tough decision.’ Eleanor gave a crowing laugh. ‘I don’t want to live with either of them, as it happens, but where does that leave us? And I reckon Jon’s having an affair. He thinks he’s being so secret, but it sticks out a mile.’

  ‘He’s not, you know.’ Charlie moved closer to her, still holding her hand tight. ‘He’s a bloody idiot, but he does love you guys. And last night I really thought it would be the best thing for Dad not to live with you.’

  ‘I’m sensing a but.’ Eleanor sounded close to tears, but whether that was relief or not, Charlie couldn’t tell.

  ‘I don’t know. We talked after his appointment—’ Charlie stopped herself. That could wait. ‘Look, do you actually want to be with Jon? Because that’s pretty fundamental, apart from anything else.’

  ‘I think so.’ Eleanor’s voice ended up on a squeak, and now she did start crying. ‘I know there are things we need to work on. Things haven’t been right for a while, since before Poppy, really.’ She kept her head down so it was hard to read her expression. ‘But how do I know? I’ve never been in love with anyone else.’ She laughed at herself, rubbing a sleeve across her eyes as if she was Poppy’s age. ‘Do you
mean that, about the affair?’

  ‘He was pretty insulted when I asked him last night.’

  ‘You asked him?’ Eleanor gave another sob-muffled laugh. ‘I was so jealous when you took off, you know. And Mum. Both of us sitting there and wishing we had the balls to up and leave.’

  ‘But it was easier for me.’ Charlie felt herself shrink at the idea of being some trailblazing hero. ‘I had so much less to leave than you, no kids to organize logistics for. Max and I weren’t even married.’

  ‘But you did it.’ Eleanor gave her hand a shake and then let it go. ‘You looked at the future and decided you didn’t want what was coming, and you changed it. Good on you, little sis.’

  The words brought a rush of emotion up into Charlie’s throat. She’d never thought about it that way – had seen it as being weak, running away. But Eleanor was right. She’d taken back control of her life.

  ‘You could do it too if you wanted.’ Charlie shrugged, turning the corners of her mouth down in exaggerated suggestion. ‘You can all come and live on the boat. We can squash in.’ For a second, she pictured how it would have been had her mother not gone back to Hugo when they were young. She could see them, barefoot and suntanned on the towpath. A free-running childhood, not having to watch for every change of mood. And there was a third person in her mental image, a version of their mother, taller than the little Eleanor and Charlie, with her hair pulled up into a high ponytail. A big sister, with them.

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’ Eleanor’s voice interrupted her daydream and Charlie turned, more shaken by the idea of that alternative life than she expected.

  ‘It wasn’t all it was knocked up to be, you know. I should have taken you all with me.’ Charlie gave a sudden snort. ‘All of us in a camper van following some hippy trail. That would have been pretty cool, actually.’

  ‘And now you’re a hippy on a boat.’

  ‘I guess.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Listen, about the boat. And Dad.’