Echoes of the Dance (40 page)

‘'Tisn't interfering; 'tis caring. So what's happening about your cottage?'

‘Ah!' Kate leaned her head back against the door jamb and closed her eyes. ‘How long have you got?'

Janna grinned. ‘As long as it takes. We can go up the pub for lunch. Come on, it's your turn now. What's been going on?'

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Monica arrived in Horrabridge late on Friday morning. The top half of the stable door was open but nobody was around. She frowned at Janna's carelessness and went inside, looking about as usual, noticing the symbols of Janna's presence: the shawl on the chair, a small vase filled with wild flowers, a magazine on the table. She experienced the familiar twinge of irritation, suspecting that Janna didn't pull her weight financially and that Nat was being manipulated. She knew only too well how susceptible Nat could be to certain forms of feminine influence.

On the landing she paused, puzzled. The door to the small bedroom stood open and she could see that the bed- clothes were rumpled and thrown back: Janna's tote bag stood beneath the window and her clothes were flung over the chair. Before she could check out the double bedroom she heard footsteps in the room below and then Janna was hurrying up the stairs. Monica saw the pale wedge of her face upturned towards her, noted the anxious expression and saw how her breast heaved.

‘I didn't expect you just yet,' she said breathlessly, almost propitiatingly. ‘Nat said you were coming some time late this afternoon. I was a couple of doors up with a friend, not far away.'

‘I should hope not.' Monica didn't move. ‘Not with the door left wide open. Anyone could have walked in.'

‘We'd have seen anyone coming down the lane. We saw your car.'

Janna climbed the last few steps and looked beyond Monica into the bedroom.

‘I'm just about to do the room. Shouldn't take very long. Shall I make you some coffee and you can sit and drink it while I'm getting the room ready?'

Monica watched her. She was aware that Janna was uneasy, that she was frightened of something, but she couldn't quite decide what it might be or how to approach the problem. However, it seemed important to hold this advantage she had somehow acquired and to use it carefully.

‘I didn't know you used this room,' she said pleasantly.

Janna's eyes flicked away from Monica's steady gaze and she smiled anxiously. ‘Just now and again. Sometimes 'tis better like that, if you see what I mean.'

‘I'm not sure that I do.' Monica laughed a little: inviting confidences. ‘Have you two had a row?'

‘Something like that.' Gratefully Janna seized the excuse held out to her. ‘Nothing serious. Look, if you let me past I'll start clearing up.'

‘I'm beginning to feel that I shall be in the way. I don't want to force you and Nat upon each other if you've fallen out.'

‘Oh, 'tisn't that bad. Just a silly quarrel. Please . . .'

The girl's distress was palpable but Monica had no intention of backing down. She could sense something was seriously amiss here and she intended to pursue it.

‘Perhaps I'd better have a word with Nat. He could sleep on the sofa and I'll have his room.'

‘Please don't tell him. He'd be angry to think you didn't feel welcome. It's my own fault. I promised that I'd move my things out and get the room done. He's always the same when you're coming but this time I thought . . .'

‘This time?'

‘I usually make sure my stuff 's cleared out and the sheets are changed for you the night before . . .'

Monica watched coolly as hot colour washed over the pale skin in a crimson tide. Janna bit her lips, trying to find a way back; her mind doubled and turned, thinking over what she'd said. The prospect of Nat's anger if his secret were to be guessed at by his mother made Janna even more nervous and clumsy.

‘You know how 'tis. It's such a tiny cottage I often keep my stuff in there.'

‘And sleep in there too?'

‘No. No, only sometimes. You know what it's like . . .'

‘No, I don't know what it's like. It looks to me as if you do all the taking and Nat does all the giving. You use the place like a hotel, coming and going when it suits you or when Treesa – ' she made the name a spiteful little sound – ‘clicks her fingers. You sit about, making no contribution whatever . . .'

‘No!' cried Janna. ‘'Tisn't like that at all between me and Nat.'

‘You aren't mature enough to know how to conduct a relationship.' Monica raised her voice above Janna's protests. ‘I suppose he's in love with you, though God knows why, and you use him to suit yourself—'

‘What the
hell
is going on?'

Nat's voice had the effect of a bucket of icy water. Monica fell silent and Janna began silently to weep. She turned her head away, trying to control herself, whilst Monica pushed past her and went down the stairs.

‘Janna was explaining to me why my room isn't ready,' she said, very light, very brittle, her eyes bright with anger. ‘And I was telling her what I think about it.'

‘No, 'twasn't like that.' Janna descended with a rush. ‘I haven't said nothing, Nat. Only that I was sleeping there for a night or two . . .' She pressed her lips tightly together, her face crimson with mortification. ‘I was trying to explain.'

‘She was trying to explain why she uses you the way she does.' Monica still felt in control, delighted at last to have been given this opportunity to make her feelings clear. ‘I told her that I would hate to put her out. If she doesn't want to share your room then I'll use it. I'm sure you could cope with the sofa, Nat.'

‘You don't have it quite right, Mother.' He stretched out an arm and pulled Janna to him, holding her close to his side. ‘It is I who refuse to share a room with Janna. She's my very good friend and I love her dearly but I don't enjoy making love to women. There's no reason why you should know that I'm gay, Janna's allowed me to use her as a smokescreen for long enough, but I think that it's time the truth was told.'

Monica had put both hands to her mouth. She continued to stare at him with wide, horrified eyes whilst Janna sobbed silently with her face hidden in Nat's arm.

‘I'm sorry.' He spoke more gently now. ‘It's a shock, isn't it? But there's no way to break it more kindly.'

‘A shock? It's disgusting.' Even the words seemed bitter to the taste and her mouth twisted as she spat them out as if she couldn't bear them on her tongue. ‘Horrible.'

Janna broke free from Nat's hold and fled up the stairs; she reappeared in moments, clutching her tote bag, the tears still shooting from her eyes.

‘I'll go,' she said. ‘I'll go, Nat. I'm so sorry . . .'

She ran out of the door, tripping and stumbling on the cobbles, but Nat followed her, catching her before she'd reached the end of the lane.

‘Don't go, Janna,' he said, holding her by both arms. ‘Please don't go. Not now.'

‘'Twas all my fault,' she said. ‘If I'd done the bedroom first thing, like you said—'

‘It was time,' he said. He shook her gently. ‘Stop crying. It was the right time. Please come back with me.'

‘I can't bear to hear her say those things, Nat.'

‘We have to bear it. Come on.'

Monica was sitting at the table, her hands clasped in front of her. She stared at them as they came in.

‘I'm waiting to hear what you have to say.' Her face was strangely altered: a mixture of shame and disgust made her mouth ugly but her eyes were fearful and shocked. ‘I refuse to accept that you are one of
those
. A queer.' The word was a sneer. ‘What have you to say?'

‘I have to say this: the bedroom upstairs is Janna's room, not yours. This is her home. We may not have a conventional relationship but we value it. I suggest you find somewhere else to spend the night.'

Monica got to her feet, holding on to the table for support, but her expression rejected any help or compassion.

‘I shall be glad to go.'

She picked up her overnight case and pushed past them, holding herself away slightly as if any contact might contaminate her. Nat stood quite still, his face white and strained, and Janna, looking at him anxiously, put her arms around him and held him tightly. They waited, close together, listening as Monica reversed her car up the lane and drove away.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

‘I simply didn't know where else to turn,' said Monica, following Kate into the kitchen. ‘He more or less threw me out.' She made a disbelieving sound. ‘Of course, I was shocked and outspoken but, after all, what did he expect? Congratulations?'

Kate looked at the self-pitying face and realized that Monica, unlike Roly, only saw the situation as it related to her. It was clear that as far as Monica was concerned Nat was giving way to some kind of deliberate perversity simply so as to add to her burdens: how he felt or suffered was not important to her.

‘Perhaps he hoped for understanding,' Kate suggested. ‘After all, I imagine none of us chooses to be different from the herd and it can't be easy, even in this enlightened age, to come to terms with it.'

‘Understanding!' Monica's lips curved in contempt. ‘He knows very well how I feel about those kinds of people.'

‘But this is Nat.' Kate sat down opposite. ‘Not “those kinds of people”. He's your son.'

She was seized with a great weariness: Monica's arrival was the last straw and Kate felt that her back might break beneath the weight of her emotional demands.

Monica looked at her, frowning. ‘You don't seem terribly surprised,' she said slowly. ‘Did you know he was queer?'

‘Yes, I knew.' Kate struggled with a surge of great dislike. She found Monica's self-righteous prejudice far more difficult to accept than the fact that Nat was gay. ‘He didn't tell me but . . . I knew.'

‘How did you know?' Monica's face was sharp-eyed and pointy-nosed: ferrety with fear. How many others, she was asking herself, how many of my friends know? ‘How can you tell? He doesn't look like one.'

‘If you mean he doesn't dress like Elton John, I agree. My daughter-in-law wondered about it. She's a very pretty girl who likes to flirt and after she'd met Nat a few times, and he didn't respond, she asked me if he was gay. It made me think about it. Look, would you like some lunch or something?'

‘I couldn't eat anything. I feel quite sick. I think I might go down to Roly. I can't believe what he'll say when I tell him.'

Kate watched with distaste as Monica's expression changed to one of introspection, even to satisfied expectation, as she contemplated the possibilities of the situation that might force a more intimate connection between her and Roly.

‘Mim's home for the weekend. And they've got Daisy staying. Anyway,' Kate simply couldn't prevent herself, ‘I think you'll find that Roly already knows.'

‘No.' Monica shook her head. ‘No way. He'd have said something to me.'

‘Are you sure? Knowing how you feel on the subject?'

‘Anyway, how would you know he knows? Have you discussed it with him?'

Kate was silent for a moment, seeing the pitfalls: Nat's new confidence was built on his belief that Roly had known for a long time and nothing must shake that belief.

‘Not in that way. It's just something that we've come to accept without finding it necessary to pick it to pieces. We love Nat and we want him to be happy. It's very simple really.'

‘Roly
knows
and he never told me?'

‘Well, now that you do know, and seeing how you've reacted to it, can you blame him?'

‘And you. You knew and never hinted at it. That evening I came to supper and we talked about all those things . . .'

‘But none of those things was to do with Nat. We talked about you and Roly. And we talked about Jonathan . . . and how you hated him.'

Monica's eyes grew dark and wide, her expression a mixture of anger and accusation. She stared fixedly at Kate, who felt that she was being willed into some kind of propitiatory response. The terrible needy emptiness behind the almost hypnotic stare demanded some kind of reaction that Kate was reluctant to give. She looked away, glanced at the kitchen clock and resorted to domestic platitude.

‘Are you sure I can't get you something to eat?'

‘Quite sure. I think the best thing I can do is to go home.'

‘Home? But won't you try to see Nat again? I know he said hurtful things but try to imagine what he must be feeling. Don't do something you might regret. You could stay the night here and in the morning you might feel a little differently.' With great effort Kate called up a measure of sympathy. ‘It's a great shock. I can see that it will need a lot of getting used to and a great deal of understanding on your part but don't go away in anger.' She reached across the table to touch Monica's hands. ‘Come on, Monica. This is Nat we're taking about.'