Shell House (7 page)

       
Whilst I was wandering and perusing, an idea for a new book came to me so I bought a notebook (I always begin with a fresh one), and some pens (I have to write with new blue biros). There is no reason for this oddity other than it stirs up a feeling of excitement inside me; a new start.

      
Fresh prawns, salad and pasta constituted my supper and I made my way back to the cottage. The more I stay in the little place the more comfortable I become. It’s so tiny but it feels spacious and filled with everything you could possibly want. Well, if you live fairly simply like me. There is no plasma screen TV, X-box or Jacuzzi, you understand.

       
There are two steps down to the front door, which is painted black, and you have to stoop through on entering. You’re then in a space which triples as kitchen, dining and living room. But it’s perfect and filled with interesting local art, candles and strings of lights. It contains oversized, ostentatious objects which draw me to it even more. With my background you’d think I’d require more space but I don’t. I want to feel as though I’m being wrapped in soft, warm, cosseting blankets and not just when I’m asleep.

       
Supper and writing in bed and I had a perfect evening.

Harry Rochester   December 3
rd
2010

        Something very peculiar happened this morning. I went for my walk and bumped into Gabrielle. I couldn’t help imagining afterwards that we were both in separate houses preparing to get ready for the same brisk walk at the same time, like parallel lives. It linked us somehow and repaired a little of what had happened the day before, as though it was meant to be.

       
The sea was working its magic and it made me feel closer to her. We ate breakfast on my favourite bench and talked in a relaxed manner.

       
There was none of the feeling of unsaid rubbish from the day before. It was nothing significant; just giving each other permission to say what we needed to.

       
We could have been floating on the wind seated on that bench high above the sea. That’s how it felt anyway.

       
When all is said and done and whatever she did or has done, she’s still my daughter. And I realised something today. That I do love her after all these years; it scares me to think that I could even imagine I didn’t.

4/12/2010   Rebecca Banford 

        Another emotionally tiring but mainly enjoyable day.

       
I arrived at the house to discover that Harry had fetched all the Christmas decorations down from the attic. He wanted me to help him dress the tree that he’d had delivered that morning.

       
I have felt deep, deep pain today. His attitude towards me after our chat yesterday is breaking my heart. He is so kind and he wants to share everything he can remember with me. He’s trying to make up for lost time.

      
I wept over the Christmas decorations. I have never cried so much in as many days. He poured us a port and brought out some mince pies and sausage rolls that Catherine, his housekeeper had made. For some reason I’d not imagined Catherine being around, I don’t know why, probably because she was our weekly cleaner when I was there. I’d like to see her at some point even though I don’t remember that much about her. I understand from Harry that my brother was very close to her, which was obviously because she became the housekeeper after I went away. I was always slightly distant from everyone anyway...

       
This whole situation is beyond bizarre; I never expected it to be like this. I thought it would be filled with arguments and most of the time quite fraught. Let’s face it I wasn’t expecting to be permitted a visit at all.

       
I am starting to wonder if there’s any point in us talking it through; he doesn’t seem to want to. He’s told me as much as he wants to for the time being but he keeps saying that what happens now is what’s important. I guess he’s right.

       
I will never forget today, ever. This evening he cooked me supper in the old kitchen where we used to sit all those years ago. He prepared my favourit
e−
his homemade fish and chips.

       
After we ate he reached across the table with his shaky old hand and clasped mine. He told me how sorry he was; that he felt he’d let me down. I tried to quieten him but he wouldn’t let me speak.

       
He talked about my mother, their life together and how dedicated she was to her religion; something I never knew. I gather that had she not been I would, through my father’s influence, not be here because he is in no way religious and I’m sure he would have wanted her to survive instead of me.

       
My first reaction was to point out how very different his life would have been had he overridden her decision and she’d survived instead of me. I stopped myself because it would have sounded so childish and quite churlish out loud and wasn’t how I was feeling at all.

       
Of course he would have wanted his wife to survive. I was an unknown entity and more children could have been produced to fill the space of the missing one. I know it wasn’t quite like that but mortality was more common in those days. He said he hadn’t told me for this reason and I believe him; he was just trying to explain why he’d been like he was when we were growing up.

       
His granddaughter, Nancy, called round today when I was there; my niece. I was so eager to see her but he sent her away at the door. I really felt for her; she sounded quite confused at why she couldn’t come in and meet his guest. He’d obviously never turned her away before.

       
He told me Jonathan must be informed firs
t−
that it wouldn’t be right for her to know before him. I was relieved that it wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted her to see me. It did occur to me that Jonathan hadn’t appeared to have contacted Harry in the time I’d been there, unless it had been when I was at the cottage. I don’t get the impression they are terribly close. Anyway, that’s none of my business and I don’t need to concern myself with it.

       
He hugged me for the first time when I left and I swear I heard him whisper, ‘I love you’ in my ear.

       
He’s asked me to stay another week. I will sleep on it.

Harry Rochester  
December 4
th
2010

        Unbelievably and against all my expectations Gabrielle has grown up to be a beautiful human being. How is this so after the life she’s had?

       
She told me today about the books she’s written; I was filled with pride but saddened too at what a seemingly lonely life she’s led.

       
I expected a rough diamond, a defensive damaged person to walk through my door a few days ago. She’s none of those things; she reminds me so much of Emma even though she of course had no direct influence.

       
I don’t want to keep raking over the past; I don’t have time. I want to get to know her, to...I don’t know. It’s not that I’m even trying to make up for lost time; that we can never get back.

       
I called Jonathan this evening and told him Gabrielle had been in contact and come to visit.

      
He didn’t say much, just became very quiet. I could have taken his attitude as indifference but I know him too well. He’ll either silently seethe or eventually give me his long winded opinion and not get involved.

       
He’s a GP at the surgery in the village. He talks to you in that stern, clinical, stiff manner as though you were one of his patients. There were lots of solemn umms and ahhhs as though he were summing up a diagnosis.

       
He’s a good doctor. I can’t say otherwise but he has an air of snobbery that wafts around him like cigarette smoke. Sometimes it seems to disperse but the lingering smell is still present. He’s become very withdrawn and quiet over the last few years. Don’t get me wrong − we have a good relationship, as best you can have with Jonathan. I understand him quite well so I can read him better than most and he’s a good person, but lots of people don’t see that and they take an immediate dislike to him when they meet him. Put it this way − he’s a popular doctor because he’s good at his job but people don’t visit him for his bedside manner.

       
Over quite a few years, it’s as though someone sucked the laughter out of him; his book cover has been slammed shut and he’s inside it.

       
His wife, Anna, is difficult and they have, from what I can gather, a turbulent relationship. She’s French. In my experience there are jolly French people and stern ones. She’s the stern kind.

       
He was full of humour and laughter when he met her and she was charming, shy and happy. He was an open book then; talk to you about anything. He’d love nothing more than to stand in the pub and chatter over a few pints; we haven’t done that for years and I have missed it.

       
They both changed when they started to create a routine that they felt, as so many do, was invented especially for them. And, ‘their lot’ so to speak, began to slowly grind them down.

       
How Nancy turned out the carefree, happy child she is, I’ll never know.

       
I don’t see Jonathan much; his life is his work and he’s terribly busy. He has told me he needs to think and digest what I have told him about Gabrielle.

       
I won’t dwell on this. I would have done many years ago but I leave him to it now. He has a knack of portraying himself as the responsible parent and me as the elderly man in his second childhood.

       
We came to blows over it a few years ago. I lost my footing for a bit and allowed him to do it but then I’d seen his sleight of hand and soon became aware of what was going on and put him straight in no uncertain terms. Got to have control, has Jonathan, but he does it in such a subtle way that nobody notices. Part of the art of being a doctor, I suppose. I needed to make it clear that I am still head of this family and capable of making decisions that can be discussed but not questioned. He understands this and I must not waste energy worrying about what he really thinks.

       
I, more importantly, want my Nancy to know about Gabrielle. I sent her away last night and I feel terrible about it. We don’t have secrets.

       
It’s strange what life brings you. Even at my age, when you think you’ve worked it all out, you still get hit with surprises. I thought Gabrielle’s visit would be short and painful; filled with turmoil. It’s been painful but it’s also been wonderful, I never expected any of this.

5/12/2010   Rebecca Banford   

       
I met Nancytoday; she is absolutely charming and full of life. I can see why Harry is so fond of her. And he’s righ
t−
she does look very much like me.

       
She could barely contain herself when he opened the door. At first she studied me, all smiles, as though she were looking at a freak from the circus. When I opened my mouth to speak to her and she realised I’m a normal person, she then flung her arms around me, exclaiming loudly in my ear how she’d always wanted an aunty.

       
I did wonder at first if she knew the whole story but then she started asking me forthright questions, as teenagers do, about prison and did I have an electronic tag. Harry laughed nervously and seemed quite embarrassed. He kept interrupting her and telling her not to be so nosy, not to bombard me and did she know I was a writer, as though that counteracts everything else. She was elated when she realised she’d read some of my books and it stirred a new episode of excitement.

       
I explained to her that I only went to prison for a short time when I was sixteen and no I didn’t wear a tag because it was a long time ago and such a thing didn’t exist. Harry busied himself with the washing up while I talked to her. It didn’t really need doing because there were only a couple of cups and a plate, but I think he wanted a distraction from any awkward questions.

       
Even though Nancy’s excitement bubbled over into her chatter, she has promised not to tell anyone about me or what we discussed. Harry seems to think she will keep quiet. I’m not so sure but then he knows her better than I. I think she understands that she won’t see me again if the news of who and where I am comes out.

       
Harry and I have agreed to meet on the bench in the morning for breakfast. I have booked the cottage for another week. I am staying for the moment.

6/12/2010   Rebecca Banford   

        Went running this morning before it was light; I always run when I’m at home and missing it for a few days feels peculiar. Running has always been the equivalent of anti-depressants for me. I call it my motion meditation; it helps me think clearly and it keeps me young and healthy. No one believes I am fifty-four and this pleases me. I don’t feel fifty-four, maybe this is why. What does fifty-four feel like anyway?