Shell House (10 page)

       
Gabrielle stood in her quiet, cold house, which seemed to snub her now, as if it had carried on perfectly well without her and didn’t need her anymore. She barely recognised it and hadn’t realised how stark it was; how very little she owned. She knew these were silly thoughts commanded by her guilt and that turning the heating on and warming the place up would make it feel different altogether. It was an odd feeling though and one she couldn’t shrug off even after a couple of hours of settling herself in. It was like she wasn’t part of the same story anymore, as though her departure had been permanent and she wasn’t supposed to come back. She’d turned down the wrong avenue in a film and everyone on set was hanging their heads in disappointment.

       
After ten more minutes of pondering she ran upstairs, grabbed more clothes and rammed them in another bag. She called the woman who owned the cottage she’d rented and prayed it would be available. After a small amount of pleading and quite a large sum of money the proprietor agreed to let her have it over the Christmas period, having told Gabrielle they normally closed it until the New Year.

       
Her plan was to drive back to Norfolk and see how she felt when she got there. At least she’d be in the cottage if it wasn’t appropriate to go to Harry’s.

       
She took a deep breath and had one last look around the house to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. She wasn’t used to making rash decisions and it made her nervous. Most of her decisions had been made for her. The biggest one she’d ever made herself was deciding to write books. The probation service dealt with everything else in her life. Although, the last few years they seemed to be allowing her more space to get on with things and had become fairly non-existent, as long as she didn’t leave the country, which would be breaking her license, they didn’t seem to care. Her probation officer, Rosa had become more of a friend than anything else and now that they met socially they barely remembered how they’d first been introduced.

       
The noise of the phone ringing broke her thoughts. She answered it immediately thinking it was Harry and then wished she hadn’t.

       
It was her friend, Tara. She almost told her she’d got the wrong number when she referred to her as Rebecca; Gabrielle had become so unused to hearing it.

       
She hesitated quite obviously letting Tara know there was something wrong. This was a long term friend who she knew very well but she felt like she was talking to a stranger; a voice she’d never heard before. She couldn’t hide the stiffness in her response which made her sound cold and offhand. It would have sounded normal to a sales person but to a close friend, unused to the tone, it was quite out of character. She’d kept her mobile switched off whilst she’d been away, not wanting to speak to any of her friends. It was a fear she had that they’d know over the phone who she really was, which was ridiculous when she thought about it properly, but she knew they’d detect something and start asking questions and she didn’t want to be put in that position. It had been best to tell them she was going away and didn’t want to be disturbed and most of them had accepted it was something to do with work.

       
“Rebecca...? Is everything okay? It’s me, Tara?”

       
“I’m fine, errr....everything’s fine. You’ve just caught me on my way out, that’s all.”

       
“Oh, sorry...you’re sure you’re okay though?”

       
“Yep, honestly.” She heard her clipped tone and flinched; she didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but for some reason she felt extremely intruded upon. She tried to soften her voice; feeling guilty. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t; you really have just caught me at a bad time.”

       
“Can I ring you later, we haven’t spoken for ages and I’ve so much to tell you.”

       
“I’m not sure, Tara. I’m going away for Christmas and there isn’t a very good signal where I’m staying.” She cringed at how pathetic and lame she sounded and found herself physically flinching. “I should be back in the New Year, we could catch up then?”

       
There was silence the other end and she knew she’d wounded her friend. She tried to appease her but she couldn’t shake the tone in her voice.

       
“There’s nothing wrong, really. I’m just exploring some new ideas at the moment. I’ve met some family I didn’t know existed and it’s all quite difficult. I’ll talk to you about it when I get back.” Gabrielle physically cringed again; guilt creeping in to pinch her around the neck.

       
“Okay. I understand. I’ll leave you to it...take care…”

       
Gabrielle tried to cover the damage with a plaster. “How are you? Is everyone alright?”

       
“Yes, yes we’re all well thank you.”

       
“Good. Listen, Tara I’m sorry. I’ll explain to you when I get back.”

       
“It’s okay, don’t worry, as long as you’re alright. Have a good Christmas.”

       
As Gabrielle responded she heard the line go dead. She knew she’d hurt her friend and that she’d take it personally. Ever since she’d had children Tara had become terribly insecure and Gabrielle had noticed it getting worse and worse, always assuming everything was to do with her, never thinking beyond her own world and that other people had challenges to deal with. She was the worst person who could have called at that moment. Gabrielle gripped the receiver, knowing her friend would now be busying herself around the house, fighting back the tears, trying to work out what she’d done to offend her so badly. Before she put the phone back on it’s hub she wondered whether to call her back but she wasn’t sure she’d make the situation any better. Then the irritation of intrusion unfurled inside her again; she was constantly listening to Tara’s problems and the friendship was mainly one sided. It felt really selfish but all she wanted was to think about her own feelings, her own plans and her own self. She didn’t want to appease, offer comfort or reassurance to anyone other than herself and her father.

       
The decision made, she repacked her case, adding more items than she removed, took one last look around and walked out. As soon as she got in the car and began to drive she felt what she could only describe as normal again. Two miles down the road she pulled over, realising she needed to call Harry and tell him the news.   He was elated and relief flooded her; her worst fear had been rejection again.

        Harry had the best Christmas since Emma had been alive, long ago when they were first together and happy. It was the best Christmas Gabrielle had ever had in her life. There was no feeling of someone missing as there had been when she was a child and before she was sent away. Christmas for her and her brother had always been laced with the absence of her mother. The few members of family they had would visit and glance pityingly at them all, gazing sorrowfully around the draughty old house that seemed so forlorn on its own, overlooking the sea.

       
After she was sent away, Christmas barely existed. The staff at Hellesdown, the secure unit she’d stayed in, tried hard to make it special, but every child there felt the absence of their loved ones and no amount of tinsel and mince pies could change that. They were even allowed an extra trip to the shops a few days before Christmas, but even that didn’t lift the mood. Every child plummeted into a melancholic stupor at that time of year and sometimes the staff wished that Christmas didn’t exist, because it highlighted everything the children had lost. But the extra shopping trip was the best treat in the world to Gabrielle because it meant visiting Mr. Jim. One year he made her a cup of tea and gave her a hot sausage roll. She never forgot that year; it always held the fondest memories up until now and it was the last Christmas before Mr. Jim died.

        Gabrielle and Harry sat now at the end of the large dining table; a place laid out for both of them.

       
Harry had ordered another tree to be delivered specifically for that room and he’d sent Nancy out to get more lights and decorations, which she’d excitedly helped him to put up. It seemed as though there wasn’t a surface free from lights, baubles or tinsel. The brightness that twinkled against the back drop of the dark sky seen through the windows made it look even more spectacular.

       
Harry had waited for Gabrielle to go back to the cottage before he began his secret preparations with Nancy; he wanted it to be special. Once Nancy had left, promising to join them later, he set about laying the table; something he wanted to do on his own.

       
Out came the best crystal, the best china and the best cutlery. He decorated the table with candles and holly cut from the bush by the back door. From the first view the table looked old fashioned and outdated, but then it softened on the eye and was perfect for the atmosphere in the rest of the room.

       
They sat now amongst all he had prepared the previous day and instead of feeling silly and pretentious, as he thought it would, it was magical.

       
Gabrielle laughed as she finished her prawn cocktail.

       
“What’s so funny?”

       
“I was just thinking how certain meals are marred by their era and social standing.”

       
“I don’t understand what you mean?” Harry helped himself to more bread and used it to wipe the sauce from his glass.

       
“Well, here we are eating a prawn cocktail, which has travelled through various eras and has slipped up and down the social ladder. It’s been messed about with and altered to bring it up to date and more en trend.”

       
“Don’t you like it?” Harry’s face was suddenly filled with disappointment.

       
“No, that’s what I’m trying to say; I love it! It is what it is and it doesn’t need changing. Look at the stew for example. That dish has been around forever and okay it’s been tweaked here and there but you don’t ever hear anyone shout ‘oh how 1860’s’ when it’s served up.” Gabrielle realised she was getting slightly animated so she buttered another piece of bread and calmed herself. “Well, I like it anyway.”

       
“Have you ever written about food?”

       
“No, I’m just passionate about it. It was important to me when I was in...when I was away.” A mist of silence fell across the table and Gabrielle stared at the embroidered white table cloth, unable to look at Harry.

       
“Go on. You can talk about it you know.”

       
“It’s alright. It’s the past, best left there. We agreed, remember?”

       
“No, come on; it’s part of your life. The more we talk the less uncomfortable it will be.”

       
Gabrielle took a deep breath, moved her head from side to side as she often did when she was thinking, and tried to reconnect with what she’d been saying.

       
“I read a lot about food. There wasn’t much else to do but read and I didn’t always want a fictional book. I like photographs. Old photographs.” Gabrielle looked him in the eye, suddenly feeling extremely self conscious and slightly silly. “This is ridiculous. You don’t want to hear this, its mindless crap. Let’s talk about something else.”

       
“Okay, fair enough. What do you want to talk about?”

       
Gabrielle sat up in her seat slightly shocked at the ease in which he gave in; she felt rattled that he hadn’t pressed her on the subject even though she’d suggested changing it. She watched him pour them both more wine and the rattling inside her turned into a bubble of irritation.

       
“I was fascinated with photographs. I had nothing else. Pictures of people mainly, but I also liked looking through recipe books.” Her voice was hard and getting louder but she couldn’t help herself. “I used to make up stories for each dish, like what sort of people were going to eat it, where they lived, that sort of thing.”

       
Gabrielle knew there was harshness in her tone of voice and she was trying to control it but she was annoyed because she felt he’d suddenly tried to belittle her or wasn’t really bothered by what she had to say. She watched his face to detect if he was even listening and was even more astounded when he pushed back his chair, collected the empty cocktail glasses and wandered off to the kitchen. By the time he came back into the room and fiddled about putting on another record, Gabrielle had pushed back her chair, folded her arms and had fixed him with a hard stare.

       
“Another drink, dear heart?” He called over his shoulder.

       
She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She didn’t want to spoil his dinner or their day and she could feel she was boiling up into a rage.

       
Instead she tried to make light of it but there was still a serious tone to her voice. “No, I don’t want another drink. I was talking to you just now at the table you cantankerous old so and so.” Gabrielle was suddenly pinched with the feeling she might have gone too far.