Relative Love (80 page)

Frances left the bed and went to stand beside her. For a moment both women studied the sombrely-clad groups arranged on the lawn below. The plea for no black ties had been largely ignored. Daisy’s white-blonde head stood out like a beacon, as did Felix’s bright red tie. They were talking to guests, but still standing next to each other in a show of mutual support.

‘The children are being wonderful,’ said Frances, biting her lip.

‘How long is Daisy staying?’

‘The rest of the week, I think. Her plans, as ever, are hazy. She says she wants me to go and stay with her and Claude, but I don’t think she means it.’ Frances stared at the subsiding mountain of old grass clippings, concealed from general view between the garden shed and the end fence. Cutting the lawn had been one of Paul’s favourite weekend chores. His birthday present that year had been an expensive four-wheel mower, the size of a small tractor. For the ageing gardener, Frances had teased, watching him open the small wrapped parcel that contained the ignition keys. He had used it once, just before the party, steering it with all the glee of a small boy, leaning out at the corners as if the garden were a Formula I circuit instead of a one acre rectangle with a few trees.

‘If Daisy’s asked you, you should go.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And when’s Felix off?’

‘He starts in two weeks.’

‘At least it’s Sussex and not Edinburgh. It’s only an hour away…’

‘An hour and three quarters.’

‘Well that’s nothing,’ concluded Libby brightly, as if a forty-three-year-old mother could expect to commute to her son’s student digs every other day of the week in search of distraction and entertainment. ‘And that children’s charity you’re always helping,’ she continued, a little desperately now, ‘no doubt they’ll be making their usual heavy demands, they’re always frantic after the summer, aren’t they?’

‘Oh yes, always.’ Frances drained the last of her tea. ‘Help me get rid of them all will you? I’ve had enough.’