A Hidden Life (2 page)

But no, she knew that wasn't fair to either of her parents. Mum wasn't glamorous like Ellie but she was kind and good-humoured,
and even if no one would have called her beautiful, her face was one you were quite happy to look at and if she smiled at you, you couldn't help smiling in return. Lou was born a year after Mum and Dad married, when Nessa was ten and Justin six. Now here they were, the three of them, killing time, waiting to be summoned for the reading of Constance's will.

‘You can come through now.' Matthew, Lou's father, put his head round the door, looking flustered. They followed him across the hall to the drawing room, and Lou looked down at the beautiful Turkish carpet with its pattern of blue and red birds on a fawn background, flying with rectangular wings in and out of glorious, imaginary trees covered in strangely-shaped leaves. There it lay on the parquet floor, looking just as it always had, welcoming every visitor to Milthorpe House.

How typical of Constance to have stage-managed this event, Lou thought as she looked around. Mum was being attentive to Dad as usual. She hadn't been too fond of Constance but would never have shown her true feelings. Lou felt most sorry for her father. He'd been completely devoted to his mother and it was clear he'd been crying, which wasn't like him at all. Poor Dad … Lou had been surprised at how sad she, too, had felt at the graveside. It struck her, all at once, that this really
was
the very end of someone; of everything they'd been. However hard she tried, she couldn't believe in a life anywhere else.
Imagine there's no heaven
 … Lou had never thought there was one, even as a child. The tears that came to her eyes unbidden weren't about any residue of love for her grandmother, but to do with her regret that they hadn't been closer in life; hadn't managed to get over the jealousy, or resentment, or whatever it was Constance felt that had come between them.

The weather (grey, windy, with occasional gusts of horizontal drizzle) had seemed appropriate to the way everyone was feeling. Some of Constance's elderly friends were in black hats with veils. Gareth, Nessa's husband, looked uncomfortable in his dark suit, his round, cheerful face not suited to this setting. Dad had seemed in some strange way
absent
during the service and burial; preoccupied, as though his mind were on something else. Even though his hair had been grey for some years, he still looked young: tall and thin and
with very blue eyes, now slightly red-rimmed, behind his glasses. This must be such a sad day for him. What had he been thinking of while his mother was being lowered into her grave?

Lou sat down in one of the armchairs and felt ashamed as she acknowledged that she was feeling calmer now; even beginning to enjoy herself a little. There was a kind of closure about all this, a putting-away of a person's life, so to speak, and perhaps it was time for her to stop fretting about the bad relationship she'd had with Constance. If you looked at it in a positive frame of mind, the funeral meant a day off work, and a day and night away from childcare. Poppy was staying with Lou's friend Margie, who, poor thing, was in for something of a culture shock, not to mention probable sleep deprivation. You couldn't imagine a one-year-old, you had to experience her, Lou had told her, and Margie announced gamely that she was ready for anything. Lou smiled to herself. The only question was, would she be ready for a repeat performance? Most likely not, but you could always hope … Lou would have died for her baby. She adored her beyond all reason and more than anyone else in the world, but how blissful it was to take a break from her for a few hours, even though she missed her.

It was good to be back here, too. Milthorpe House looked from the outside like one of the smaller hotels you saw as you drove here from Brighton, which was just a few miles away along the coast road. Someone had thought of adding turrets to the roof in several places. The front was cream stucco and there were balconies on those rooms that faced the sea. This was some way off, but still visible because the house was quite high up, built on a gentle slope that became the South Downs once you'd left Barrington land. It wasn't really
Barrington,
Lou reminded herself. Constance had brought the money and the property to the marriage. Her father's family had owned Milthorpe for three generations. John Barrington was a provincial solicitor and Constance was rich and very beautiful and, true to form, she'd never let him forget how lucky he was; how much further up in the world he'd travelled simply by falling in love with her. Lou felt tears coming to her eyes. She still missed her grandfather, who'd loved her, and she'd never stopped loving him even though he'd been dead for more than two years.

‘Louise, darling … how lovely! Years since I've seen you! You've grown up surprisingly pretty!'

What was one meant to say to that? Ellie was well known for speaking before she thought, and even though her tone was quite friendly what Lou heard was
for someone who was such a plain child!
She stood up and kissed Ellie on both cheeks.

‘And you look fantastic!'

That was true. It always had been true about Ellie. She had a flamboyant, exotic style that had seemed quite out of place in Haywards Heath, where Dad and Mum still lived. She was wearing a black velvet cloak over a short black satin dress, which caught the light and shone – rather inappropriately, Lou thought, for a sombre occasion. Her matching hat was wide-brimmed and covered in black feathers. It would have been ridiculous on anyone else, but Ellie, with her wide red mouth and dark eyes, looked terrific. One of Constance's memorable pronouncements was made about her first daughter-in-law:
She's a flamingo who wandered into an aviary full of nothing more exciting than sparrows and thrushes.

Dear old Gran! Always ready with a neat belittling remark. And guess who the thrushes and sparrows were! The rest of the family, of course. Lou was the only person who'd ever called Constance Gran and she did it because she knew how much it irritated the old woman. The war between us, she thought, had been going on for so long. Am I sorry it's over? I suppose not, not really. But while Constance was alive, Lou had never shrunk from a fight, and she'd never changed her views, even though her father was obviously deeply unhappy that his darling daughter didn't get on with his mother.

The last time I saw Constance, Lou thought, I really let her have it, but she'd brought it on herself. It wasn't anything unusual. Lou had been asked down to Milthorpe to show Poppy off to her greatgrandmother, and she'd been pleased to oblige. She'd thought the baby would offer some protection from Constance's sharp tongue but not a bit of it.
I'd have thought that for the sake of the child, you'd have made peace with her father … so important for a child to have a father … grow up wild without one, you know … Any possibility of a reconciliation? You're very young, you know … How old are you? Only twenty-three? A mere infant yourself. You should grow up and realize that life can't be a bed of
roses all the time, dear …

And I answered quite politely at first, too, Lou remembered. Tried to explain what it was like to live with being on guard all the time, every minute. What it was like to be always waiting for the next blow to fall, the next overwhelming fury that came out of nowhere and made straight for her. How she'd found she couldn't stay with him once she discovered she was pregnant. He was a man who didn't see anything wrong with using his fists when he felt like it, and no child of hers was going to be exposed to someone like that. But how hard it had been to leave him for ever, in spite of the way he behaved. How awful it was to live somewhere that was too small and where she also had to try and do her work. How sad it was to be alone, but frightened of meeting anyone new. How crippling it was to be anxious and panic-stricken at the very thought of someone kissing you. Above all, how daunting it was to be responsible for a vulnerable creature she barely understood. She'd tried to convey what her life was like, and then back Constance had come with
are you sure you hadn't done anything to provoke him, dear? Some men are very jealous at the thought of a child and we have to understand that, don't we?

She'd lost it altogether at that point. Sobbed, yelled at Constance, called her names, told her she had as much understanding of anything as a shrivelled old onion and stormed out, banging the door behind her and shouting that Constance was wicked and had no feelings that a proper grandmother would have. She didn't regret making a scene. She should have told her grandmother years and years ago that she was on to her, that she realized Constance didn't love her; quite the reverse. Constance would have denied it, of course. She was good at lying and she'd have trotted out the blood-is-thicker-than-water clichés. But it was true. Constance hated Grandad and me being so close. She knew there was stuff we talked about that he wouldn't have discussed with anyone else, least of all with her. She was just plain jealous.

A man Lou didn't recognize came into the room, and Dad coughed to stop everyone talking. He was very pale and there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke.

‘Everyone, this is Andrew Reynolds. He works for Reynolds and Johnson, solicitors. He's got something to say, I'm afraid.'

Afraid? What did that mean? Justin looked bemused. Lou saw Nessa glancing at him with the slightest shrug of her shoulders as if to say
I've no idea what this is about either.
The man, who was gingery and skinny, was holding a large folder. He coughed, clearly embarrassed, and his face went red.

‘I was instructed by Constance Barrington shortly before she died to draw up a new will—'

‘What on earth—?' Justin interrupted him and Lou saw her father put a hand on his arm to shut him up. Justin looked like someone from a Calvin Klein perfume ad and reckoned that, because of his appearance, he could do exactly what he wanted, when he wanted. He'd been like that ever since Lou could remember, relying on his charm and looks to achieve his ambitions. The strategy had seemed to be working quite well so far.

‘I know Matthew' – Andrew Reynolds nodded at her father – ‘is his mother's executor and had been in charge of her legal affairs. There is a will, dated May the eleventh, 2003, drawn up by him shortly after the death of Mrs Barrington's husband, John, but I was called in to see her only two weeks ago, very shortly before her unfortunate death.'

The silence was so thick you could almost feel it in the room. Lou wondered whether it was the waves of a still-stormy sea she could hear, or simply a roaring in her ears. Mr Reynolds went on, ‘This document is very brief. There's a great deal of the usual thing – being of sound mind, making all other wills invalid, etc., etc., but the actual bequests are very swiftly dealt with. I'll read them at once.' He coughed. ‘I took this down at Mrs Barrington's dictation, you understand. And the will is witnessed by the two nurses who were looking after Mrs Barrington at the time of her death:

Mr Reynolds went on speaking, but Lou heard nothing. The roaring in her ears had subsided. She was sharply aware, as one is in a dream, of everyone looking at her, staring at her. Nessa had a hand over her mouth. She would just be coming to terms with the fact that Justin had done much better out of this than she … no surprise there. Constance had been besotted with him since childhood. Justin was managing to look gleeful and horrified at the same time. Dad's face was chalk-white and Mum was holding his hand. Ellie's mouth was open. Lou thought: Copyright in Grandad's books … they'd been out of print for decades. They were worthless. Constance had disinherited her, and Lou could almost feel her grandmother's malevolent presence in the room.
I've won,
she'd be saying, from that special hell reserved for the unkind, the jealous, the unforgiving, the endlessly resentful.
I've punished you for years of not loving me. I've given everything to Ellie's children. She was closer to me than your father, or you, or anyone related to me by blood. Serves you right.

When the solicitor left the room, after what seemed like a very long time, everyone started talking at once.

‘I'll fight it, Lou,' her father said. ‘She must have gone mad. I'm sure that …'

‘Oh, my poor child!' That was Ellie.

‘I don't know what to say …' Nessa sounded tearful.

Lou heard her mother's voice cutting through the babble.

‘What's the matter with all of you? Don't you understand what's happened here? I don't believe it … I simply cannot credit it … It's monstrous. The copyright to books that have been out of print for years and that no one wanted to read when they were in print … can you imagine a more worthless thing? It's deliberate. She's thought about this carefully. She's punishing my daughter from beyond the grave. It's a wicked thing to do! Quite wicked!'