A Week in Winter: A Novel (34 page)

‘Treasured pieces that go together,’ she’d said, ‘because they’re loved and because you simply couldn’t live without having them. Do you know what I mean?’ she’d asked and he’d said, ‘I’m beginning to think I do,’ and had raised his glass to her. How hard it had been to hide her confusion, to pretend that she had the right to embark on this magic, incredible affair. Holding Luke tightly she wrestled with the guilt which threatened to diminish her happiness. Was it merely delusion to imagine that Rob would forgive her deceit; would understand once he knew the truth? She
must write the letter before it was too late; too late for the memories to be clear, to explain exactly why she’d misled him. And he would have Moorgate …

Luke’s warm, heavy body, his regular breathing, relaxed her and presently she, too, slept, her cheek turned against his soft hair and small round head.

Mike found them thus when he came down for lunch. He stood inside the door watching them, painfully aware of Melissa’s thin cheeks, the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the terrible transparency and frailness of her slender form. In contrast the child seemed to bloom, exuding vital, sturdy life, even in sleep. Despair seized him; the powerlessness and inevitability of it, numbing and weakening him. Melissa smiled and murmured in her sleep.

‘Can you hear the lambs?’ she asked.

He turned away, then, going out into the shadowy hall where his tears might not be seen, standing for a moment, leaning against the wall. After a moment he went back, noisily enough to disturb her, to give her time to collect herself.

‘Lunchtime,’ he said. ‘How have you been getting on with the proofs?’

He took the heavy child from her and they smiled at one another, each knowing the effort the other was making; the knowledge making it possible to endure what lay ahead.

‘Mum?’ said Posy. ‘Are you there, Mum? Look, I know you don’t really want to discuss this with me but I want to know what you’re going to do?’

‘Do?’ Selina, still smarting from the embarrassment of overindulgence, sounded frostier than usual. ‘I suppose you mean about your father? Why should I do anything?’

‘So you’re just going to carry on like nothing’s happened?’ Posy tried not to let irritation creep into her voice.

‘I don’t have much choice. I’m certainly not going round telling everyone, if that’s what you mean, and I’d be pleased if you could make an attempt at discretion.’

‘You know, it’s really amazing how many people here don’t have the least bit of interest in our family life. What you and Dad do isn’t exactly of global significance, if you know what I mean.’ Posy grabbed at her temper and bit her lip. ‘Sorry …’

‘Oh, don’t bother to apologise. I don’t expect anyone to empathise with me.’

‘Oh,
please.
Can we just have a normal conversation? Dad says he’s leaving a few days before Easter and I thought I’d tell you that I’ll be home for the holidays then. If it’s any help—’

‘I might not be here,’ said Selina airily. ‘I’m thinking of visiting Patricia.’

‘You’re going to Australia for Easter?’

‘I might. Why not? There’s nothing to keep me here, is there?’

‘No,’ said Posy, after a moment. ‘No, I suppose there isn’t.’

‘I have tried to reason with your father.’ Selina shuddered as she remembered her weak, drunken weeping when Patrick had arrived home early and found her well into the second bottle of wine. How could she have abandoned her pride and self-respect so far? Begging him to stay, clinging to him … ‘He is completely selfish,’ cried Selina angrily, ‘and I am not only resigned to his going, I positively welcome it.’

‘Right,’ said Posy. ‘Fine.’

‘I have no doubt that he’ll be back,’ said Selina viciously, ‘with his tail between his legs. Your father is an idealist’—if she’d called him a serial murderer she could have hardly sounded more disgusted—‘and it won’t be the first time that I have been asked to pay the price for his flights of fancy. One of us has to hold things together.’

‘OK,’ said Posy. ‘Well then. As long as you’re happy.’

Selina laughed. ‘When have you ever worried about that?’

‘Look,’ shouted Posy. ‘It’s not just you. He’s leaving all of us. You, me, the boys. We’re all feeling pretty shaken up about it. He’s my
father
—’

‘Well, perhaps you should have thought about that sooner. If you’d behaved like a normal natural daughter instead of rushing off to Maudie whenever you could—’

‘Oh, it was bound to come back to Maudie, wasn’t it? It’s all my fault because I happened to want a perfectly ordinary relationship with my grandmother.’

‘
Step
-grandmother,’ hissed Selina. ‘She is no relation to us whatever. She is a cold, calculating cow.’

‘Grandfather didn’t think so, did he? He adored her.’

There was a click and a buzzing noise. Posy took a deep breath and put down the telephone receiver.

‘Sod off, then!’ she muttered and felt a foolish, childish desire to burst into noisy, luxurious weeping. She went upstairs, into her room, and sat down on the bed, pushing her hands through her hair.

‘I will not feel guilty,’ she told herself. ‘I won’t.’

She stood up and wandered over to the table which was littered with books, papers and other evidence of study. She stood for a while, staring down, picking up sheets of paper, glancing at one or two textbooks. After some moments, she sat down on the small upright chair, pulled a book towards her and tried to concentrate on her work.

Shopping in Bovey Tracey, buying some Sharpham cheese at Mann’s, chatting with David Pedrick about the price of lamb, Maudie was thinking about her conversation with Patrick.

‘Thanks for phoning,’ he’d said. ‘She’d got herself a bit worked up. Everything’s fine now.’

‘Is it?’ Maudie had chuckled a little. ‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Well,’ he’d sounded somewhat embarrassed. ‘Given the circumstances.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Maudie had taken him up on it at once. ‘Given that you’re leaving her, you mean?’

‘Maudie,’ he’d said warningly, ‘don’t push your luck. I came home and sorted things out and I’m glad you telephoned. Selina shouldn’t have been alone, I agree, but I’m not open to emotional blackmail. I’ve been there, done it and I have a whole wardrobe of T-shirts.’

She’d raised her eyebrows, surprised by his cool, calm determination. ‘Fair enough. So when are you off?’

‘Just before Easter.’

It was clear from his brevity that he’d had no intention of confiding in her, nor had he allowed any room for cross-questioning. He’d also wisely refrained from requesting her to look out for Selina—thus opening himself up to criticism. Maudie had wished him luck and hung up. All the same, she couldn’t simply forget about Selina.

‘The G-word,’ she muttered as she drove home; turning out on to Monk’s Way, diving off to the left by the thatched cottage and bumping down the narrow lane. ‘The G-word is raising its ugly head again. Selina has always made it painfully clear that she’s never accepted me as a member of her family, so why should I care what happens to her?’

She thought: Is it because Selina is Hector’s daughter? Or because she is Posy’s mother? Or is it simply because I could have made more of an effort to reach her when she was a child? I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about and it was terribly difficult to love someone who disliked me as blatantly as Selina did. But she was a child. I shouldn’t have expected her to make all the running. I was old enough to know better. The truth of it is that I was jealous. I can see that now. Trying to compete with the perfect Hilda, crazily in love with Hector, resenting anything that came between us. I still do. I still hate it that he apologised to Selina at the end for loving me. She had the last laugh. Oh, hell and damnation, shan’t I ever be rid of it?

She passed between the two stone plinths which had once supported the railway bridge, feeling depressed and old, trying not to hate both Hilda
and Selina. Quite suddenly she recalled a conversation with Daphne, years before. They’d been talking about shoes; discussing Maudie’s long, narrow feet and the difficulty about finding anything that fitted really comfortably.

‘Hector always said that Hilda didn’t have toes,’ Daphne had said, chuckling. ‘He said that she simply had serrated edges to her feet.’

‘Really?’ Maudie had felt the usual unworthy delight in any disloyal confidence about Hilda. ‘When did he say that? Was it in front of Hilda? Did she mind?’

‘Oh.’ Daphne had looked nonplussed for a moment, probably feeling rather guilty. ‘I can’t remember. No, Hilda didn’t mind. At least, I don’t think so. You know Hector. He likes a joke. Better not remind him, though. He’s a touch oversensitive about her now.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ Maudie had agreed—but she’d felt complacent, after that, about her long elegant feet.

Now, passing over Wilford bridge, turning into the drive, she felt a huge sense of relief at the thought of Daphne’s impending visit. She needed Daphne; a detached but loving spectator who would sort them all out, bringing her humorous, calm wisdom to bear on this emotional muddle. As Maudie lifted out her shopping she called to Polonius, who was baying a delighted greeting on the other side of the gate. She’d considered it too warm, on this sunny spring morning, to cram him into the car but as soon as she’d put away the shopping she would take him for a walk through the woods. The prospect filled her with pleasure and her depression receded a little. The sun was almost hot, there was delicious cheese for lunch, and, in a few weeks’ time, Daphne would be here.

The kitchen was deserted. Mike yawned, rubbing his hands over his unshaven jaw, noting that it was nearly nine o’clock. He’d worked well, today, and he felt weary but at peace—and terribly hungry. A note was propped on top of the tidily stacked pile of proof pages: ‘Feel too tired to eat. Gone off to bed.’

Fear jolted him out of his other, imaginary, world back into the present. He stood for a moment, indecisively, and then went quietly upstairs. Luke slept peacefully, tidily, his thumb still half in his mouth, and Mike stared down at him thoughtfully. They’d both taken a break at Luke’s teatime and had given him a bath before feeding him and putting him to bed. Mike had noticed that lately Melissa was having great difficulty in lifting
the child and he’d realised that he must be on his guard to protect her. Crossing the small landing, he gently opened her bedroom door. The light streamed across her bed and he saw that she was lying on her back, so flat and light that she seemed to make no impression on the bed, no shape beneath the quilt. Silently he raged against the pervasive, cruel, relentless disease, impotent with helpless fury.

They’d heard earlier that completion should take place within the next few days and Mike had realised, by the look on Melissa’s face, that she was simply waiting. Ever since she’d returned from Moorgate it was as if she were being sustained by the need to see the sale through. Once it was accomplished she would feel able to let go. And then what? It was difficult to imagine life without Melissa. She inhabited his earliest memories; how would it be without her fun, her determination, her undemanding companionship? Without her love and support?

His attention was caught by a pale oblong shape, lying on the table beside her bed. He stepped forward cautiously and picked it up, holding it angled towards the light. ‘For Rob’ was written on the front of the bulky envelope. So she’d managed it. In the last few days she’d found the strength—and the courage—to write to him; to explain the reasons for the deception and to assure him of her love.

Mike thought: I said I’d go down to see him but how will I be able to leave her now? She’s deteriorating so fast. How could I leave her? I’d have to take Luke with me.

He replaced the letter gently on top of
The Golden Treasury
and went out. As he made some supper he wondered what he should do. Should he telephone Rob after completion and talk to him? Mike shook his head despairingly. What a shock it was going to be for the poor fellow; how would he deal with it? He might want to refuse to accept Melissa’s part of the house, reject her bequest, and then what? Rob sounded a resourceful, determined man. Once he knew the truth it would be almost impossible to refuse to allow him to come to Oxford, yet Mike knew that this would ruin everything for his sister. She wanted Rob to remember her as she had been in Cornwall and it would be cruel to weight her last days with the responsibility of comforting him, or the guilt of admitting that she’d misled him. The whole thing was quite mad; wildly, crazily impossibly foolish.

Yet it still might be achieved. His head aching with ideas and plans, Mike sat down to his supper.