Relative Love (41 page)

Charlie ran as far as the entrance to the rather tasteless neoclassical pile on the far side of the village, then stopped for a breather. He leant on the wall next to the gates to stretch his calf muscles, remembering that Maisie had got quite excited about the owner of the place, some pop star or other but he couldn’t dredge up the name. Modern music was a mystery to him – all noise
and no tune. But, then, his parents had said the same about Genesis and the Rolling Stones, he reminded himself, comforted by this small reminder that the patterns of life repeated themselves, generation after generation, that everything changed and yet stayed the same. Just as Serena, although changed, was the same, reflected Charlie, his thoughts returning, as they so often did, to the damnable, alienating unhappiness of his wife and what to do about it. So far he had discouraged her mutterings about getting a job, but maybe that
was
the right way to go, he mused now. It would get her out of the house at least, offer some distraction. He was still tussling with the idea when the strident toot of a car horn sounded over his left shoulder. The gates next to him opened and a hefty four-wheel-drive vehicle nosed its way between them. Charlie was all set to nod in greeting when the driver, a surly-faced, scruffy young man with a stud in his front tooth, leant out of the window. ‘This is private property – can’t you read the sign?’ he barked, then accelerated noisily into the empty road.

As he loped back in the direction of Ashley House, Charlie’s spirits lifted at the sight of his younger sister dawdling along the lane with her back to him, fiddling with her mobile phone. Dearest Cass, life went on for her at least, unshackled by all the troubles of parenthood and partnership, ploughing her own sweet furrow. Although as Charlie watched his sister, something in the intentness of her expression, fixed upon the phone, while her fingers raced with impressive dexterity across its tiny keypad, gave him pause for thought. She had, now he thought about it, been a little subdued the night before, looking gorgeous as ever in yellow satin, but not quite joining in. She had also taken on the highly uncharacteristic role of being the first of the family to go to bed. Maybe her life was more complicated than he supposed. Charlie called her name and made a last effort of a sprint to catch up with her. Maybe, for the first time in her life, some male was giving her a hard time.

‘Phew.’ He bent over, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. ‘Who are you on the phone to, then, on this fine sunny morning? Wrapping some new victim round your little finger, no doubt, a substitute for …’ He clicked his fingers. ‘What was the last one called?’

‘Richard,’ said Cassie flatly, the habit of protecting Dan snapping like a reflex, independent of the ocean of feelings swelling round him.

‘So, go on, then, who is he?’ Charlie persisted cheerfully, standing now with his hands on his hips, glad of any distraction from the conveyor-belt of his own thoughts.

Cassie hesitated, aware that her brother was looking for entertainment rather than enlightenment. She had turned to Peter for help in the crisis over Stephen Smith and the letter because she knew he would offer cool, clear analysis as to what she should do. But cool, clear analysis had done nothing to make her feel consoled, or less lonely. Peter now believed that the problem had been solved, that they could dust off their hands and move on. But the problem wasn’t solved because Stephen was still there, refusing to be forgotten. Charlie’s appearance had coincided with yet another message, a text this time: ‘Hope the party was good. Looking forward to seeing you on Friday.’ A harmless few words. Nothing too insistent or sinister. Yet Cassie felt pressed, on all sides.

‘There is sort of someone, actually. One of those he’s-keener-on-me-than-vice-versa situations,’ she explained lightly, switching off the phone and dropping it back into her bag.

‘I might have guessed.’ Charlie rubbed his hands, looking pleased. ‘Typical Cass.’ They fell into step beside each other, walking in companionable silence for a few minutes. ‘Though it will happen one day, you know,’ he added, with vehemence, ‘the proverbial thunderbolt, just when you’re least expecting it. Someone will sweep you off your feet and before you know it you’ll be choosing colours for a nursery instead of a drawing room.’

‘Shut up.’ Cassie gave a playful thump to his arm while inside she ached with recognition, seeing again the grey morning at the surgery, her hair dirty, her face pasty, the forgotten prescription and Dan charging down the street after her and into her life with the force of a tornado. Unforeseeable, unprecedented, unimaginable, unignorable. Oh, God, she missed him so much. She missed the feelings he had allowed in her – of uninhibited loving and being loved. In the weeks since her reckless, clumsy attempt to resolve matters, with its catastrophic consequences, her longing had, if anything, got worse. She had lost the love of her life, it was as simple – and complicated – as that. The scar on her wrist had faded, but the pain in her heart was still raw.

‘In fact,’ continued Charlie, deep in his own train of thought, his voice tremulous, ‘I bloody well hope it does happen – and soon – not just because I’d like my lovely little sister to discover the joys of true love but because it’s just what this family needs. A bit of a new start. New little ones … a future …’ He broke off, covering his face with one hand, caught off-guard by the rush of his own emotions.

‘Oh, Charlie.’ Cassie looped her arm through her brother’s and squeezed hard. Instinctively, they both slowed their pace, aware that the conversation needed to find a satisfactory close before they got back to the house. They were half-way down the drive, with the front lawn sloping away to their right and the orchard of silver birches on their left. Ahead Ashley House already filled the skyline, basking like some huge sleek animal in the sun, its walls thick with ivy and purple clusters of wisteria, its windows winking like knowing eyes. ‘Do you know,’ Cassie confessed, squinting at the familiar sight, ‘I always struggle to imagine Peter and Helen living here? I mean, I’m perfectly happy about all the family arrangements – I really am – but when I try to picture it I just can’t. It would suit you and Serena far more. Helen and Peter are such
townies
. They worry about things like cat hairs on cushions and mud on boots, whereas you …’

‘Whereas we’re a complete shambles,’ Charlie finished for her, throwing back his head and roaring with laughter.

‘I didn’t mean …’

‘I don’t care what you meant.’ He hugged her hard, then changed tack, asking if there was any way she could find a small role for Serena with her work.

‘Oh dear. She’s already asked me.’

‘Has she?’ Charlie couldn’t conceal his astonishment, or his pleasure. Serena taking such a step was encouragingly significant. It meant that somewhere inside she was trying. It meant, too, more importantly, that they were at least – albeit unwittingly – on the same wavelength about something.

‘Yes, last night, at the party.’

‘And what did you say?’

Cassie looked at her feet, recoiling at his eagerness. She was wearing strappy white sandals with far too much heel for a country walk. The red varnish on her big toe was already chipped, revealing an ugly zigzag of nail. ‘I’m afraid I said it’s really not possible at the moment. Business isn’t great, it really isn’t.’

‘But I thought you were rushed off your feet with customers?’

‘Sometimes I am, but it’s gone sort of quiet.’ Cassie squirmed, inwardly despairing at the myriad half-truths about her life. ‘Besides,’ she gabbled, ‘working with members of the family isn’t exactly recommended, is it? I mean, it’s a bit like selling a used car to a friend – business and pleasure, one shouldn’t mix them …’ she faltered, quavering under Charlie’s determined expression.

‘It’s not remotely like that, no. Serena’s bloody good, you know – really artistic. She’s got a fantastic eye and she’s good with people – and numbers come to that, if all you want is a bit of help with the accounting. And if it’s money, I assure you she won’t be expecting a huge wage. In fact,’ he concluded eagerly, ‘if it’s about money
I
’ll pay.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Charlie.’ They had come to a standstill a few yards from the front gate. Next to them the silver birches rustled softly, like an impatient audience.

‘I’m not, Cass. We … Serena is pretty desperate, to be honest. She needs
something
, some reason to get out of bed in the morning, get out of the house. I can’t tell you how much you would be helping her. Helping us. I mean it about the money, Cass, I’ll pay, I really will.’ He took hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. ‘Will you at least think about it?’

‘Of course I will.’ Cassie managed a bleak smile, wishing it were possible to confess that she had virtually no work to share and that employing her sister-in-law would both advertise this and force her to do something about it. The truth was she had got rather used to floating round in a bubble of indolent despair, dipping into her father’s gift to pay bills. Part of her wanted to keep things that way, to be free to brood over Dan, to continue to wallow in self-pity. In addition to which, Serena would need careful handling and, given the private mess of her own emotions, Cassie wasn’t sure she was up to it. ‘Of course I will,’ she repeated, patting Charlie’s chest, where a huge dark patch was spreading from the exertions of his run. ‘I’ll call you next week, okay? Let you know what I come up with.’

‘You’re a brick, Cass.’

‘I haven’t promised.’

‘No, but you’re still a brick. Now, you go on in. I’m going to do a bit of stretching or I won’t be able to walk this afternoon.’ He trotted over to the nearest of the silver birches where he seized one of the branches and embarked on some comical twists and bends that, in spite of everything, made Cassie laugh.

The sandwiches, neat, bulging parcels of chicken and home-made coleslaw, wrapped in tin-foil and with the crusts cut off, were very good. Eating them as she drove, Elizabeth felt a customary stab of exasperated affection for her mother. Nothing was ever badly done, not even a makeshift last-minute picnic. There were two without coleslaw for Roland, as well as a carton of low-sugar blackcurrant squash and a bag of Monster Munch. For afters there were two crisp, waxy-skinned Granny Smiths and a couple of Flakes, which Elizabeth meant to avoid but to which she succumbed when Roland unwrapped his. She wolfed hers down, as she had her sandwiches, aware that eating was dulling the edge of her headache. By the time they reached the Hog’s Back just outside Guildford, she was feeling as if she could recall a state of physical normality even if it was not quite within her grasp.

‘Do be careful, Roland, you’re spilling chocolate everywhere. It’s a new car, remember?’

‘I hate it,’ retorted her son sulkily, his mouth stuffed with Monster Munch and Flake, an interesting combination.

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I do. It makes you and Daddy cross. In the old car it didn’t matter.’

‘Trying not to make a mess always matters,’ countered Elizabeth primly, feeling, as she often did with such necessary but petty reprimands, that she was reading from a script written by someone else. Someone who knew the Right Way to be a mother, a teacher, an adult. Without such a script her wicked true self might have been tempted to urge her uncertain, over-cautious child to
make as much mess as possible because a Flake was a delicious little tree-trunk of chocolate designed specifically to explode on contact with teeth and that was as much fun as dabbing up all the little shards of chocolate afterwards, feeling them melt to nothing the moment they touched your tongue. But she couldn’t say that, of course. It would be irresponsible. More to the point, Colin had only just cleaned the car, inside and out, using a snouted little upholstery Hoover he had bought especially for the purpose. Prompted by this last thought, Elizabeth reached into her son’s lap and removed the empty sweet and food wrappers.

‘I hadn’t finished,’ Roland protested untruthfully, seeking revenge for having been dragged away from his cousins. It had been the best visit to his grandparents that he could remember. Because of the party he had been allowed to stay up later than he ever had in his life before. He had loved his and Chloë’s picnic breakfast in front of the telly; and when Chloë went all funny because of the fight in the kitchen Ed had come to his rescue by inviting him to join in with a quick spying game in the bushes. They had got really close to their grandfather, sitting all pink-faced and sweaty on a log in one of the fields, then crawled on their tummies along one side of the biggest flowerbed, surfacing to find Chloë and Theo’s mum and dad standing by the sundial and kissing. Not in a normal way but with their lips glued together for ages, like they were eating each other. Ed had to stuff his fist into his mouth to stop himself laughing, which made Roland want to laugh, too, so badly that he had wet his pants a little bit. And then his mother had called that it was time to go and they had to scrabble back the way they had come. ‘Can I play on your phone?’ he asked now, seeking distraction from the contrasting boredom of his current circumstances.

‘No, the battery’s almost dead and, besides, we’re nearly home. Look, we’re just going past the turning to your school.’

Roland looked, gloom swamping his heart. Some ten minutes later they turned into their own road and pulled up outside the house.

‘Help Mummy with the bags, there’s a good boy.’

‘Why can’t Dad help?’

‘He will, just as soon as we get inside. Ring the bell if you like so he knows we’re here.’ Elizabeth clicked open the boot and grappled with the luggage, reaching first for Colin’s evening gear which, like hers, was laid flat across the top of everything, protected by trailing sheets of see-through plastic.

‘Daddy’s not answering.’

‘Well, come and help me, then.’ Elizabeth staggered to the front door, groping in her handbag for her keys. As she got there the door swung open and Colin appeared, smiling broadly. ‘Hello, darling. You’re back early. Look who dropped by.’ He turned as he spoke, revealing the presence of Phyllis McGill.