The Bellwether Revivals (40 page)

‘Amen,’ Ruth said, sipping. ‘That was lovely, darling.’

‘Amen,’ the rest of them murmured.

Oscar just pursed his lips and nodded. Even if he didn’t believe in the prayer, he had to respect the sentiment of it. Then Theo clapped his hands—one loud buckshot. ‘Okay, everyone, if you’ll please make your way to the table.’

Oscar helped Iris onto her crutches. She struggled towards the dining room, one movement of her arms and one swing of her heel at a time. She took her place at the end of the table that was usually reserved for her mother, and Oscar sat adjacent, a buffer between her and Eden. The tablecloth shifted as she lifted herself slowly down onto her chair, and he had to reach out and stop it being drawn away from underneath the tableware like some disastrous magic trick.

Iris didn’t say a word to her brother at dinner. After dessert, Theo pinged his glass, and everyone groaned at the prospect of another toast. ‘Alright, enough. I have an announcement to make. Actually, it’s not just
my
announcement—your mother’s involved in this, too.’ He reached for his wife’s hand across the table.

‘Please don’t say you’re pregnant,’ Eden said. ‘I don’t think I could bear it.’

His father cleared his throat, undeterred. ‘Your mother and I will be going to the Auvergne next week, as you know, to look at some properties.’

Eden said: ‘You told us already. So what?’

‘Well, there’s a particularly good-looking
gîte
out there that’s frankly a steal at the price, and really it has so much potential—more acreage than we have here—and if we can do some work on it in the next few years, it will really turn out to be quite an investment. It’ll be a lovely place to live and something to pass down to
the pair of you in the future when you’re raising children of your own.’ He stopped, drinking his wine.

‘I don’t understand,’ Iris said. ‘It sounds like you’re thinking of staying there permanently.’

Theo raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath, ready to continue, but his wife leapt in: ‘What your father’s trying to say is—what we’ve decided is—after giving it some serious thought, and considering all the factors—’

‘Look, it’s simple,’ Theo said. ‘If this place we’ve got our hearts set on measures up, we’re going to buy it and move out there.’

There was a palpable tension in the room now. Iris sat there with her mouth ajar, and her brother’s face was screwed up with shock.

‘But—but what about your work?’ Eden said.

‘Well, that’s the good thing about consultancy. It’s a moveable feast.’

‘What about
your
work, Mother?’

‘Oh, I can always keep in touch by email.’

‘You can’t just
emigrate
. Not just like that. You don’t even speak French.’ Eden’s anger was rising. The skin of his neck was dappled red.

‘Of course we can emigrate. That’s the joy of the EU. And anyway,’ Theo said, ‘if everything goes well, I’ll probably retire. I’ll have plenty of time to learn the language.’

‘Well, I think it sounds wonderful,’ Jane said, stroking Eden’s forearm. ‘My parents have never been happier since they left for Italy.’

‘Yes, but—but—’ Eden pulled his arm away and stood up. His chair scraped on the marble and his napkin clung to the front of his trousers with static. ‘What will
we
do? I’ll be starting my Master’s in the autumn and Iris still has a year of the Tripos left. And the house—what will you do with the house?’

‘We’ll sell it,’ Theo said flatly. ‘That’s what we’ve decided.’

‘Oh, you’ve got to be joking.’

‘It’s not exactly going to happen overnight, Eden. I can’t imagine we’ll be moving for at least six months, maybe even a year.’

Eden balled up his napkin and threw it at the table so hard it knocked over his wine glass. Burgundy oozed across the white linen and Ruth leaned over to dab it dry. She said: ‘Will you calm down please, Eden. You’re behaving like a child.’

That’s when Iris finally decided to speak up. She gazed at her brother. ‘You should just be glad for them.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re happy about this,’ Eden said.

‘I’m not thrilled about the idea, but I’ll get used to it.’

Ruth was still padding the stain on the tablecloth, pouring salt onto the fabric. ‘Your father’s worked hard for you all his life,’ she said. ‘He deserves his retirement. You’re not children any more, and both of you are just going to have to live with our decision.’ She didn’t lift her gaze from the table. The stain was now a sickly brown colour.

Her words only seemed to make Eden more indignant. His glossy eyes swelled. ‘And what about the organ house? Have you even thought about that? Or are you just going to go away on your little jaunt and leave me to deal with having no organ to practise on next year?’

‘We’ll sort something out for you,’ Theo said. ‘You’ll manage.’

‘I don’t want to manage. I love that organ. I want things to stay just as they are. Why can’t you just move out there
and
keep the house? What if—?’ His face brightened. ‘What if Iris and I stay here next year? Together. What about that? We’ll make sure the place doesn’t go to ruin.’

Iris folded her arms. ‘No chance. I’m moving back into halls next year.’

‘Don’t talk stupid.’

‘I am. I’m moving out of Harvey Road.’ She looked at Oscar for support, taking his hand. ‘I’ve already put my name into the lottery.’

Eden glared at Theo. ‘Did you know about this?’

‘Yes. In light of our own plans, we’re okay with it.’

‘Oh, I see, so you’re
all
abandoning me. I suppose you’ve all been plotting this for ages behind my back. What about you, Janey? Did you know about this?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Theo said. ‘Sit down. Nobody’s been plotting anything. You’re being paranoid. Things change. People move on.’

But Eden didn’t sit down. He stared right at Oscar. ‘I bet
he
knew.’

Oscar stayed quiet. There was no point making things any more tense than they needed to be. Eden was chewing on his bottom lip so hard it looked like it might come apart under his teeth. His lungs heaved in his chest, up and down, like two great accordions trapped behind his ribcage. He had the same dazed look about him that he’d had at the hospital, weeks ago, and Oscar could tell that whatever thoughts were running through Eden’s head now, he wouldn’t let them settle.

‘Eden, come on, sit down,’ Theo said.

But Eden wouldn’t listen to his father. He shoved hard at the table. It slid and lifted up slightly on its legs, but somehow none of the glasses toppled over; they teetered and came to rest again without a drop being spilled. Turning fast, Eden kicked his chair out of the way, his force so strong that it hit the floor with a crack. He rushed out to the kitchen, slamming every door behind him, and soon they could hear the stutter of his feet on the path outside. A pale light came on in the garden, illuminating the rainspots on the windowpanes and making the dining room seem smaller, barer.

‘Excuse me, I’m sorry,’ Theo said, and made to go after him, but Ruth stopped him: ‘Let him cool off,’ she said.

Nobody said anything for a while. Theo leaned his elbows on the table and knuckled his beard. Iris ran her fingers through the crown of her hair. Oscar rolled the last bead of liquid around in his
wine glass. No matter how many of them he went to, he thought, he’d never get used to these Bellwether family dinners.

It was Jane who found a way to break the gloom: ‘So will you keep horses at this
gîte
of yours?’ she asked. ‘Because if you keep horses I’ll come out to visit you all the time.’

Theo smiled, then began to laugh, and the heaviness in the room seemed to lift. ‘Jane,’ he said, the colour rushing back in his cheeks again, ‘we’ll keep a stable full of them just for you, I promise.’

Still, when they all went back out into the drawing room, Theo seemed to be in a downcast mood. He poured cognac for everyone, apologising to Oscar for Eden’s behaviour—’I just don’t know what gets into that boy sometimes, I really don’t’—and sat there, warming his expensive brandy, taking no part in their discussion about the French way of life and what Ruth called ‘the liberal stance’ the country had taken over the invasion of Iraq, though Oscar supposed he had plenty to say on the issue. As the conversation drifted into silence, Theo said tiredly: ‘Okay, everyone. I think we should call it a night.’

‘Yes, I’m exhausted,’ said Jane. ‘Back to the library tomorrow.’

They all gave each other polite hugs and handshakes. Ruth told Oscar there was no sense in ordering a taxi—he could stay in one of the guest rooms upstairs—and Jane volunteered to give him a lift back to Cambridge in the morning. Everyone went off to their rooms.

A bed had been set up for Iris in the sitting room. ‘Can’t handle stairs or flagstones at the moment,’ she said to Oscar. ‘I need more practice on the crutches.’ They lay together, kissing and holding each other, until her leg got too uncomfortable. He sat on the floor with his neck against the mattress and her fingers combing softly through his hair. She was wide awake and talkative, and seemed pragmatic about the idea of her parents moving away. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later. Dad’s always talked about buying somewhere in Nice or Cannes, so I’m a little surprised
they’re looking around in the Auvergne, but it doesn’t matter much to me. So long as they’re happy. And besides, they spend most of their time away from this house, anyway. I suppose it makes sense to sell it. Can you believe the way Eden was acting?’ She checked herself. ‘Wait, what am I saying? Of course you can.’

They talked about the prospect of Crest coming back to the house again. Oscar told her he’d been wondering why Eden had put the old man off for three weeks, but tonight, after the drama at dinner, he’d realised why—because Eden was waiting for his parents to leave town. ‘It’s almost like an admission that he’s doing something he shouldn’t be,’ he said. ‘If your dad found out what was going on here next week, he’d go ballistic.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’ Iris’s fingers stopped moving, settling on his head. ‘You saw him tonight—he’s too soft on him. Put it this way: what would
your
dad have done if you’d kicked up a big scene like that at the dinner table?’

Oscar knew exactly what his father would’ve done, but he didn’t want to tell her about it. ‘We never really ate at the dinner table much.’

‘What about if you slammed a door?’

He wanted to change the subject. It was in his mind now: that horrible banging of the back door latch, loud as a gunshot; a gust sweeping right through the house as his father arrived home. Then the urgent thump of his father’s feet on the stairs: ‘Oscar! What’ve I told you about leaving the back door open. You’re gonna take that fucking door off its fucking hinges. Where are you?’ This wasn’t something he ever wanted Iris to hear. ‘I never slammed any doors,’ he said.

‘Well, you know what I mean. Eden’s just allowed to make a big scene then go away somewhere without anybody telling him off. Everybody in this house just hides and pretends there’s nothing the matter. Maybe I’m expecting too much of people, I don’t know.’ She sighed, pushing her head deeper into her pillow. ‘I just wish this whole thing was over. I’m so tired of my brother, the
way he talks to me like he’s so superior, when
he’s
the one who’s crazy. I just wish somebody would take him off in a white van.’

‘I know you don’t mean that,’ he said.

‘You’re right, I probably don’t, it’s just—I’m so exhausted with it all. I’m not sure how much longer I can go on living like this. I feel like he’s swallowing up my whole life. And Herbert was supposed to help him, but he only seems to be encouraging him.’

‘That’s not how it is.’

‘Well, it just seems like he’s getting what he needs for his book and then that’s it—he’s going to leave us all in the lurch.’

‘It’s not like that. I told you, he’s going to speak to some people he knows, get Eden some proper help.’

‘Why do you trust him so much anyway?’

‘Who? Crest?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I just do. I’ve got to know him quite well lately. He’s a good man.’

‘Well, I hope he’s going to come through for me.’

‘For us.’

‘Yeah.’ She smiled and pulled his hair lightly. ‘For
us
.’

That night, the air in the guest room was stuffy and Oscar couldn’t sleep. Rain was still coming down behind the drawn curtains, rapping on the glass with every gust of wind, and all he could think about was Herbert Crest and the question Iris had asked: why
did
he trust the old man so much? That faded dust-jacket photo from
The Girl With the God Complex
was stuck in his mind—the image of a young, broad-nosed man with a head of dark hair and features not so different from his own. He’d trusted Herbert Crest the moment he’d seen him. He had no doubt that Herbert Crest was a good man, somebody to aspire to—somebody his father would’ve called a butterfly catcher because his brain was too active, too ambitious to settle for doing the same work day in, day out, when it could be exploring the deeper facets of the world.

The wind blew another shiver of rain against the house. Oscar opened the window and the fresh air began to pacify him. Soon, he drifted into a restless dream in which he was swimming in a quiet brown lake where old women were washing cotton nappies and a pack of horses had come to ford. He woke abruptly, feeling tense and thirsty, and went across the hallway into the bathroom to get some water. But when he turned on the light, his eye caught the bleary reflection of something in the mirror, and his heart shook. There on the floor tiles, shivering against the bath panel, was Eden. His hair and clothes were sodden, and he’d removed his shoes and socks; they were drying in the bidet. His fingers were stained black with something: mud, or ink, or oil.

Oscar was breathless with shock. ‘Jesus,’ he said, trying to steady himself, ‘how long have you been in here?’

Eden didn’t answer. He leaned his head against the lip of the tub.

Oscar took a towel from the rack and handed it over. Eden didn’t say thank you, didn’t even unfurl it from its neat little quarter-fold, just began dabbing his face. The extractor fan whirled above them for a moment, then Eden said: ‘When all of this is over, you know what I’m going to do?’ He was slurring his words, either too drunk or too worn out to speak.