Fraser's Line (12 page)

He was almost there. Now that he had conceived the idea of his mother living with him he was pleased – a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He parked the car outside her cottage and swiftly covered the short path up to her front door. Using his key to let himself in he called out, as he always did when he arrived: ‘Hello, Mother! It’s me, Fraser – I’m here!’ Usually he would hear her reply, ‘Come in, dear!’ but this time there was no response. She must have dozed off while she was waiting for him.

He pushed open the lounge door, gently so as not to frighten her. Marjorie was in the armchair, and her head had fallen forward. He went over to wake her, and kneeling down beside her chair, reached for her hand. Between his large, warm ones her small hand lay still. It was very, very cold.

John parked the car outside Joanna’s block of flats and then went upstairs to ring her doorbell. After some delay Joanna opened the door, looking rather dishevelled – as if she had just quickly thrown on a few clothes.

‘Good morning, Joanna,’ John greeted her. ‘Your chariot awaits.’

‘I expect you’d like to come in,’ she said, and led him into the small lounge, where he moved a few magazines so that he could sit down.

‘Here’s the paperwork. Your father has organised insurance for you, and I’ve seen to the road tax, so the car is at your immediate disposal.’

‘How kind. What have you got me? I suppose it’s a boring old Ford Fiesta.’

‘No. It’s a reliable little Renault Clio. It’s not quite three years old, low mileage, the bodywork is excellent, and the interior is unmarked. I have tried to do exactly as Fraser asked, and find you something that won’t let you down, and be reasonably economical to run, if driven with care.’

‘It sounds,’ she said, ‘as if you have carried out your commission to a T.’

‘I did take some trouble to find the right thing. Fraser’s had a tough time recently. I was glad to be able to do this for him.’

‘I’m sure my father has every reason to be inordinately grateful to you.’

John looked up. Something in her tone troubled him, and he wasn’t sure how to react.

‘I thought you’d be thrilled,’ he said. ‘Not many young people get a nice car handed to them on a plate. Your father has been very good to you.’

‘Has he been good to you?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know what you mean. Of course he has. He has trusted me over the years, and he trusted me to get this car for you.’

‘And you’ve justified his trust, I presume.’

‘Well, we’ve worked together in partnership for over twenty years, and there have never been any problems between us. I admire your father’s standards – both with regard to his work, and in his personal life. I’ve thought of him as a good friend over the years, and I hope he feels the same way.’

‘That would be good,’ replied Joanna. ‘It makes everything so neat. Tell me, does Sadie know you are here?’

‘Know I’m at your flat? Probably not, but she knew I was sorting out a car for you. Why do you ask?’

‘I just wondered how much she knew of your affairs.’

‘What on earth has it got to do with you? But since you ask, she knows most of what I do. We’ve always been a couple who shared things.’

‘I wonder,’ said Joanna, looking as if she was musing over a problem, ‘whether my mother shared everything with my father.’

‘They seemed to me to have a very good marriage. Your poor father was devastated by her death. I offered to cover everything at work for him, for a while, so that he could have some time to get over it, but he seems to want to be involved still. He said it helped to have something else to think about.’

‘I think,’ Joanna said quietly, ‘that my mother was a bitch.’

John was visibly shocked. ‘However can you say such a thing?

‘Probably because I’m one too – it takes one to know one.’

Your mother was the sweetest …’

Joanna interrupted. ‘Are you claiming to know her better than I did?’

‘Of course not. But it pains me dreadfully to hear you speaking of your mother like that. Whatever would your father think? He would be so upset.’

‘My father has blind spots – fortunately for some he cannot see what is going on under his nose.’

John was getting irritated. ‘I can’t understand why you’re talking like this. Where’s your gratitude for all your parents have done for you? Where’s your respect?’

‘Where’s yours?’ asked Joanna.

Now he was floundering, and quite out of his depth with the conversation. Feeling decidedly uncomfortable the only thing was to leave. As he moved towards the door he looked back, and said in exasperation, ‘Oh, go to hell.’

‘See you there,’ she replied.

The funeral had gone well, really, Margaret thought. Of course, Marjorie’s death had come as an awful shock. However inevitable such an event may be – and at 85 years of age it was realistically on the cards before too long – it still knocked you sideways when it happened. And poor Fraser! Fancy going to the house and finding her stone cold like that! He had been distraught when he had phoned her. She wished she was the sort of person who knew what to say in these instances. However moved she felt in her heart her mouth seemed unable to express the sympathy she wanted to convey.

Her mother had been very different – warm and gracious – people loved her because she could make them feel good about themselves. Fraser, too, had that comfortableness that made people like him. Marjorie clearly adored her son, and Margaret had felt in his shadow all her life. She knew her mother loved her dearly as well, but somehow there was this deep-seated feeling of being an also ran. Fraser had already established his place in their mother’s heart by the time she, Margaret, had come on the scene. Fortunately there was Derek, who had been a good husband for many years. Perhaps he was not the most thrilling person out there, but he never found fault with her, and she could feel at ease with him.

They had decided to have the funeral at the local crematorium, and had arranged this with the undertakers. The trouble with making it to your nineties was that most of your peer group were no longer around. However, that kind neighbour Sally had come, along with one or two of the villagers who knew her quite well, and of course all the family members had been present, including more distant relatives that they did not see very often, and some of their friends, too. She had also noticed that strange, dark-haired woman who had been at Marion’s party slip in at the back. The vicar had taken the service very well, even though he did not know Marjorie – he had managed to make her presence felt, using the information she and Fraser had supplied and endowing it with an enthusiasm which had, briefly, brought her to life. Fraser, with great effort, had managed to contain his emotion most of the time, but Margaret had noticed that Joanna was visibly distressed. That rather puzzled her. She did not think that Joanna had been particularly attached to her grandmother.

When the service was over she and Fraser had thanked the vicar, and had stood outside the door to greet people as they came out. The dark-haired woman passed by – was her name Angela? – shook their hands briefly, offered her condolences, and then disappeared. Seeing her there reminded Margaret that she was the person who had caused a commotion over an umbrella at Marion’s party, and when it was over she had realised that Fraser was no longer anywhere to be seen. Oh well, she couldn’t really blame him for going early. At least he had made the effort to come, even if he hadn’t been able to enjoy it. He really was cut up about Edie’s death.

Now there would be much to do, dealing with Marjorie’s affairs. The cottage would have to be cleared of its contents and sold. At least the will was straightforward – all assets to be divided equally between the two children. Margaret felt a stab of regret. She wished she had been able to show her mother more affection. Did Marjorie know how she felt? Margaret hoped that her suggestions about the need to go into a care home had not upset her. Anyone could see it was the sensible thing to do, and if Fraser had not opposed it so strongly she would have arranged it a long time before this. It was ridiculous for Marjorie to be struggling there all by herself – dependent on neighbours to see to her daily needs. Oh well, now it wasn’t necessary, so at least there wasn’t that to worry about.

But she did worry about Fraser. It was hard to see him looking pale and unhappy. Personally Margaret could not understand what there was in Edie to make him so deeply attached to her. Yes, she had been a beautiful woman – no one could deny that. But was she a genuine person? Margaret had never felt close to her. Edie would make all the right noises, but her eyes seemed to be looking into the distance and Margaret always wondered what she was thinking about.

She must try and help Fraser. She didn’t know if the party had been a success or not, but perhaps she shouldn’t try and push him before he was ready. What could she do? She hoped Sarah and Joanna were offering some comfort. Sarah was always busy, but the twins were adorable. Margaret regretted that she and Derek had been unable to have children, but thought that perhaps that was just as well, as she doubted her ability to be a good mother. However she knew that small children, in their innocence, could often bring a little healing to a sad heart.

What about Joanna? She had been in a strange mood lately. Something about her disturbed Margaret. Perhaps the problem was that she had no settled way ahead, and hadn’t made up her mind what to do. It must be hard to see her older sister happily busy with her family and her work commitments. A thought struck Margaret – was that part of the problem? That she envied her elder sister and felt inferior? There was a familiar ring to the situation, which elicited a sympathetic reaction in Margaret. Perhaps she should try and give some time to her younger niece.

In fact, she would do something about that right away. She picked up the telephone and dialled Joanna’s number – but there was no answer. She wondered what Joanna was doing, and was just making a mental note to try again later when the answerphone message clicked in:

‘Hi, you haven’t reached Joanna because she’s not here, and what’s more she doesn’t want to be contacted, so whoever you are, and especially if you’re you-know-who, just sod off.’

As they sat at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee before embarking on the task before them Fraser had asked:

‘The problems with my daughters that I was discussing with you – do you think it’s possible that they will ever come to their senses? I hate to think of them struggling on, continuing to make the same mistakes.’

It had not been easy to settle on option one, but now that he had, Fraser found he was beginning to want answers.
‘Most people do, most of their lives,’ replied Angela. ‘People seem hell bent, at times, on their own destruction. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to change. Usually it take’s some sort of trauma or crisis.’
‘Like, in my case, losing my wife and my mother?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It might be something like that – although not necessarily so drastic. It might be a crisis in their own mind, such as a big loss of confidence, for some reason, that forces them to seek help. Something triggers the desire to come through the dark patch. It’s not impossible. After all, you sought help.’

Fraser felt pleased that she seemed to think he had made progress. ‘Well, I think I’ve delayed the inevitable enough now, don’t you? Shall we get on with it?’

‘How do you want to do this? Would you prefer me to sit here quietly reading a book while you look at the documents?’

‘Actually,’ he replied, ‘I think I’d prefer the opposite. I’d like to do the sitting quietly, while you go through things and tell me what you see. I’m not sure I can bear to look directly at the papers, seeing her handwriting, and all her personal things. Does that sound rather cowardly?’

‘It sounds pretty sensible, if that’s what will help. I’ve been thinking, perhaps before we do get down to it, would you tell me a bit about Edie? I know so little, I think it would be useful. What was she like?’

Fraser’s face suddenly came alive. ‘She was the most beautiful woman you could ever imagine, with her lovely golden hair, and slim figure, and always so beautifully dressed.’

Angela thought ruefully of her own rather dark looks and fuller figure, and suppressed a smile. She also wondered, since Edie was in her fifties, whether the golden hair might have owed something to the hairdresser’s art, but thought it better not to ask.

Instead, she said with a smile, ‘I am reminded of a passage in “Sense and Sensibility” where Marianne is trying to find out about Willoughby, the dashing young man who carried her in from the hillside when she had fallen. She asks her mother’s cousin, Sir John, but all he can talk about is how Willoughby is a good shot and a great rider – attributes that scarcely broaden Marianne’s knowledge of the man. From your description, I’m no nearer understanding Edie’s character.’

‘I don’t seem to be very good at this. How would you answer, if I asked you to tell me about your husband?’

‘I could simply mention the physical characteristics and say that he was a tall, slim, black American.’

Fraser was silent. ‘Does that shock you?’ asked Angela.

‘It’s just a bit unexpected. Was it a good marriage?

‘Wonderful, because he was a really kind, and thoughtful man with a deep love of his fellow men and a passion to help the suffering by using his medical skills. And then there was his sense of humour, which I always found attractive. Professionally, he worked hard, and would go on battling to save a life long after others would have given up. When his own life was brutally terminated I didn’t want to go on living.’