Sewing the Shadows Together (10 page)

Flora turned her gimlet gaze to Nick. ‘I think it’s up to you, young man. If you brought someone along then Lottie’s little friend wouldn’t seem such an outsider.’

Nick gave a smile so like his father’s. ‘I’d sooner throw a friend of mine to the lions than bring them along to face you lot!’ The lightness of his tone made it sound like a joke but Sarah knew he meant every word. He stood up from his chair. ‘Anyway Granny, if I brought someone else along I wouldn’t have so much time to devote to you. Come on now, your chariot awaits.’

He led his grandmother to the hall and gave his mother a wink. ‘Thanks, Mum. The food was great.’ A thought seemed to occur to him and he moved his head closer to his mother’s. ‘We must get together very soon, go up town, have a drink.’

‘I’d like that.’

Nick gave her a hug and a kiss. ‘See you soon, lovely Mummy.’

Rory came out of the dining room and and swept Flora into his arms. ‘Goodbye, my favourite little flower,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. Flora beamed. Rory did the manly punch bit with Nick, who then took his grandmother’s arm and led her down the stairs.

Sarah closed the door. She felt completely exhausted. Rory looked at her like a dog expecting a treat. ‘Well, I think that went very well.’

Sarah sighed, ‘Could have been worse.’ She looked at the kitchen piled high with dirty dishes and at the white starched tablecloth stained with coffee rings.

‘Right,’ said Rory. ‘I’m going to
have
to do some work now. I haven’t read all of the poems in that folder and I need to write a full proposal for the programming meeting tomorrow.’ So saying, he went into his study and closed the door firmly.

Sarah was hoovering the dining room when the phone rang behind her. She gave a jump; she’d been thinking of Tom. Could it be him? She saw the number on the display – her mother.

‘Hello, Mum.’

‘Hello dear. I hope I’m not disturbing you when you’re doing something important.’ Sarah bit her lip. Her mother managed to imbue this simple sentence with a loud and clear sub-text:
of course I’m not disturbing you as you never do anything important
. Her mother, on the other hand, was always busy, the constant round of bridge games, hair appointments, lunches and coffee afternoons.

‘No, Mum. Rory’s just gone out.’

‘He works so hard, dear boy. Well, if you’ve got nothing on perhaps you could do something for me. Mona McLean – a very dear friend of mine - has arranged a luncheon at the Waterfront Brasserie. You know the Brasserie? Very French, the in-place at the moment, and she asked me to join her and her friends. She’s the widow of a high court judge, you know.’

Ah so that’s why you’ve phoned, to let me know about this social coup,
thought Sarah, but she just said gently, ‘That’s very nice.’

‘I have a little favour to ask of you. It’s so difficult to get to Leith by public transport. I thought you could just come over and pick me up and drop me off at the restaurant.’

‘Mum, it’s only half past nine. What time’s your lunch?’

‘We’re meeting at twelve thirty, but I thought you could come and have coffee with me first. I’ve bought a new jacket and I’m just not sure which skirt would go with it best.’

‘Of course. When would you like me to come round?’

‘As soon as you like. And you could just pick up a couple of croissants from the French patisserie in Stockbridge on the way.’

Twenty minutes later Sarah drew up outside her mother’s bungalow in Corstorphine, clutching the requested bag of croissants. Her mother had moved here from their gloomy Portobello house after her husband had died.

Her mother was waiting at the bay front window. ‘Now, I was just wondering what had kept you. Was there a long queue at the patisserie?’

Sarah fixed a smile on her face. Why didn’t her mother call it the baker’s like everyone else? How did Flora expect her to get there in less than twenty minutes? Why did everything her mother said irritate her?
I must be patient,
she reminded herself.

‘It’s lovely that you’re going out to lunch. Come and show me what you’re going to wear.’

Sarah followed through to a bedroom where one entire wall was covered with mirror-fronted fitted wardrobes. Her mother opened one section where clothes were neatly arranged in blue-green tones. Some of the more precious items were protected in plastic covers. She began to give a detailed description of where every piece was purchased. Sarah hoped she was nodding at appropriate intervals as her mother pulled out different articles on padded silk hangers.

‘Really, you should get some new clothes yourself. You always seem to wear the same drab colours.’ Flora selected a pretty powder-blue blouse and held it up in front of her daughter. ‘Of course, being a larger size does make it difficult for you to carry off brighter colours,’ she added, sliding the blouse back into the packed wardrobe. Sarah kept her face motionless. She was used to her mother’s lack of sensitivity.

Eventually her mother found an outfit that satisfied her, dressed carefully, checked her perfect make-up and, spraying on some White Satin, led Sarah into the front room. She opened a polished mahogany cabinet and took out a bottle of sherry and two crystal glasses.

‘I think we’ll just have a little drink before we set off.’

‘I’ve got to drive, Mum.’ Sarah wondered what had happened to the idea of coffee and croissants.

‘Just a little one will be all right, just to get myself in the mood for my lunch. Lady Antonia Moncrieff will be there, too. Her husband was a law lord. Rory seemed interested in her yesterday.’

Sarah remembered her promise to Rory. Perhaps her mother could find out something from HJ Kidd’s sister. ‘Oh yes, I’ve heard of her. Her brother was my English teacher when I was at Brunstane High.’

‘I think you must be mistaken, my dear. She is a Lady. She wouldn’t have a brother teaching at that dreadful school. I was so pleased when your father came to his senses and sent you to a decent school like St Margaret’s.’ She took a deep sip of her sherry. ‘Just fill me up, will you dear? I did hope that you would meet some nice girls at St Margaret’s. Do you never have lunch with any of them? With Rory being so busy you do seem to lead such a boring life.’

Sarah flinched and before she could stop herself found herself trying to prove that her life was not as uneventful as her mother suggested. ‘Actually Rory is making a programme about Lady Antonia’s brother and I went along to the filming on Saturday night.’

Flora looked interested. ‘Rory’s making a programme about him? That is exciting. I must mention it to Lady Antonia at lunch. I’m so proud that Rory’s my son-in-law. They’re all so interested in hearing about him. What did you say the brother’s called?’

‘HJ Kidd. He’s a poet. He’s published several books and a few poems have even been printed in the
Scotsman
. He taught at Brunstane High School for forty years and has just retired.’

It occurred to Sarah that Lady Antonia might not be all that keen to talk about her brother after Rory’s experience, but she was sure her mother could get information out of her if anyone could.

She changed the subject. ‘Actually, I thought Brunstane High was a good school. Why did you send me there if you thought it was so terrible?’

‘It was your father. He was very much against anything that might smack of showing off. He said if he preached at the Free Church he should not be sending his own daughter up town to a fee-paying school. Of course, after what happened,’ Flora glared at Sarah as if it had been her fault, ‘I was able to get my way and send you to my old school.’ Flora looked pensive. ‘It was rarely enough I did get my way. We thought differently about almost everything.’

Sarah couldn’t remember her father very clearly, a stern frightening man who seemed to have a grudge against the world. She wondered how her parents had ever got together.

As if she could read her thoughts, Flora continued. ‘There were many people who wondered why I married him. Well, I’ll tell you the reason, it was because he
asked
me. I should have married someone from my social circle, the brother of one of my school friends perhaps, but after the war there were so few eligible men and they were all so swiftly snapped up.’ Flora took the bottle and refilled her glass. ‘I had my admirers, of course, but somehow it never quite worked out, so I married your father. He’d had a very distinguished war career, of course, and a good job doing the books at Dysons.’ She paused, ‘I thought he was a good man. A man of the church.’

Flora looked over her glass. Her beautifully arranged white hair seemed slightly askew and her pale blue eyes glistened beneath her perfectly-pencilled brows.

Sarah wondered if she had been drinking before she arrived. Her mother suddenly seemed quite drunk. Flora leant forward in a confidential way. ‘But he was a beast. You know there’s an unpleasant side of marriage that all women have to put up with, but he was insatiable.’ She took another large sip of her sherry. ‘I tolerated it until I was pregnant, but then I told him it was over. And I never allowed him to touch me like that again.’ Flora smiled, her lips pulled tightly over her prominent teeth.

Sarah squirmed uncomfortably. Her mother had never talked about anything remotely sexual before, had not even told Sarah about periods until she’d been frightened by the blood on her nightdress. And then it was something dirty and embarrassing. ‘Mum, do you want a lie-down? Do you feel well enough to go out?’

‘What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t know what you’re wasting time for. It’s time for me to go out to lunch… you know, with Mona McLean and Antonia Moncrieff? They’re the widows of prominent lawyers. Please hurry up. I don’t want to be late.’

As Sarah drove her down to Leith, her mother slumped into a shallow sleep. They drove down Leith Walk, where many of the Georgian buildings had been cleaned up and glistened pale and dignified in the cool autumn sunlight. Leith was very much gentrified. Her mother would never have been seen dead there in the old days, but now the old warehouses had been converted into yuppie lofts and the docklands had glittering new apartments and smart restaurants.

They drew up outside the Waterfront, which looked suitably upmarket with black leaded windows, hanging baskets, and dark green paint with gold lettering.

Flora seemed to sense that they’d arrived. As she gathered her handbag and stepped out onto the pavement, her legs painfully thin above her smart court shoes, she pulled herself together. ‘What was the name of that poet? HJ Kidd? I’ll ask Lady Antonia about him.’ She gave Sarah a faint smile and walked carefully towards the restaurant.

Sarah sat watching her and mulling over the events of the day. When had her mother started drinking in the morning? Or was it just the tension of this particular lunch date? She’d been trying for years to be accepted into the inner circle of the Bridge Club and this was certainly an important day for her.

Sarah thought back to what her mother had said about her father. Perhaps that was why he was so bad-tempered; it would explain the pent-up anger and tension that had always seemed so close to the surface with him. Her mother was probably right that they should never have married: this bear of a man from a long line of farm labourers and his tiny snobbish wife with her love of clothes and the good life had always seemed an incongruous couple.

Sarah wondered if that was why her father had always seemed to regard her with distaste. She had heard of other fathers who treated their daughters like princesses, whereas she was never good enough, always the awkward, clumsy one. Both her parents had seemed disappointed that Sarah’s height had been inherited from her father’s side of the family.

Back in the sanctuary of her flat, Sarah put on a compilation CD of seventies hits and picked up the paper. As she listened to the familiar music, she laid the paper down beside her; she was reading the same headlines over and over again. So many things were happening, disturbing the normal equilibrium of her life: Logan Baird being released, her mother’s bizarre behaviour, the tensions between the twins, coming into contact with Captain Kidd again, and, of course, Tom. He never seemed to be far away from her thoughts now.

The strains of Les McKeown’s introduction to the Bay City Rollers’ ‘Bye Bye Baby’ came on and she was overcome by a wave of nostalgia and regrets. That was a hit when Shona was killed. They danced to this together in her bedroom. The last time she could ever remember dancing to a pop song. After that it was all blank, lonely.

The music changed…
Woke up this morning half asleep
. The beginning of ‘Flowers in the Rain’. Pop music had been banned in her house. All she could remember were stiff meals with stilted conversations and long, gloomy silences. Television was considered a sin and a copy of
Jackie
provoked a rant on the wickedness of the world. Her mother was always a shadowy figure in the background, never standing up to her husband, but spoilt in many ways, seemingly content as long as she was given her treats, new clothes and a weekly trip to the hairdresser.

On the other hand, anything Sarah had wanted was frivolous, a waste of money; like her clothes, for example: they had to be respectable, old-fashioned and drab, and never seemed to fit, bought to accommodate her long arms and legs, but hanging shapelessly round her undeveloped body.

No wonder she’d spent as much time as she could with Shona and her family. Shona had radiated joy, had brought light into Sarah’s life. And she was daring: Sarah felt a tinge of guilt as she remembered the things they’d got up to together. They’d phoned people up, boys in the class, even once Captain Kidd. Shona had put on a different voice and said the most ridiculous things while Sarah stifled her giggles in the background.

And mixed with her memories of the past there was the image of Tom. Shona’s cool big brother. And now he was back in Scotland. She looked at her phone again. She hadn’t heard anything since the last text message. Was he back in Edinburgh?

Her mobile phone beeped. She looked at it, and felt a tremor of excitement. A message from Tom.
Are you at home? Can we talk?

She texted back immediately.
Where are you? Do you want to come round now?

The mobile rang almost immediately. Tom’s voice. Still Scottish but with a slight overlay of a South African accent. ‘I’m very close. Just outside actually. I was just going to call in but I didn’t want to interrupt anything. Is this a good time?’

‘Of course. Just come right up.’

Sarah could feel her heart beating faster with anticipation. She plumped up a few cushions and then looked in the mirror. Would it look too obvious if she put on some lipstick?

The door rang and she saw Tom standing there. His tanned face looked pale, his eyes dark and tired. They looked at each other slightly awkwardly and then bumped noses as they both went the same way attempting to kiss each other on the cheek.