The Dream House (41 page)

‘Yeah. But she’s got a dad of her own. I can’t take his place, can I?’

‘Does she see much of him?’

‘I think he would like to see more of her, but he’s not good at looking after her. Forgets to feed her properly. Linda’s still angry with him. He wasn’t around for her when Shelley was born, you see, and she had a bad time.’

‘And what does Linda think about Shelley seeing you?’

‘I don’t know. Linda won’t talk to me at the moment. Her mum rings when Linda’s out at work and tells me what’s going on with Shelley.’

Dan looked so gloomy, Kate reached out and patted his shoulder, meaning it to be a comforting gesture, but he didn’t seem to notice.

‘I’d better go,’ she said quickly. ‘Thanks for the sandwich.’ And smiling goodbye, she opened the door and slipped outside.

She sat in the car for a moment thinking about Dan’s unhappiness and how innocent children become victims of grown-ups’ misery.

She remembered Dan’s painting and a phrase slipped into her mind.
One morning at the beginning of the world
. She had no idea where the line had come from. And then the thing she had been trying to remember drifted into focus: an image of another woman admiring a picture by another artist. A lifetime ago.

That evening, as Kate was getting ready to go to the Save the School meeting, Simon rang. He wasn’t coming back until Friday, he said, but he had had his meeting with Gillingham that day and his new pay package was a generous one. He spoke to each of the children and promised Kate they would celebrate properly at the weekend.

The Save the School meeting began in optimistic mood.

There had been a letter to the governors from Mr Keppel. In view of their plans for fundraising, he had been able to secure the agreement of his management to delay the final decision about the school for a further academic year, but that was all.

‘Twelve months to raise fifty thousand pounds,’ muttered Debbie.

‘It took years to raise the thirty for the church,’ remarked Mr Overden, shaking his head.

‘We’d better get our plans into place quickly then,’ said Jasmin, pulling a small black notebook out of her handbag. The others watched her in fascination. ‘I have here a list of possible benefactors we should be asking for donations. And here are some copies of a letter I’ve drafted.’ She handed out some papers.

‘This is a good list. And we must write to the MP and the Education Secretary, of course,’ said the grey-haired lady secretary.

Debbie broke in, waving a piece of paper. ‘Jonny’s sorry not to be here, but he’s given me several ideas for publicity to add to Kate’s.’

Mr Overden cleared his throat and took the top off his pen, Mrs Smithson offered to take minutes and the meeting got under way.

After an hour of discussion, everyone in the group had a list of tasks to take away and pursue over the holidays. As Mr Overden looked at his watch and put the cap back on his pen, signalling that the meeting was over, Kate finally took her courage in her hands and said quickly, ‘I can’t promise anything at the moment about how much, but I am due to come into some money, and all being well should be able to make some sort of donation towards the fund.’

Everybody made suitably excited noises and the meeting came to a close. Kate realized her heart was thudding. With the voicing of her thought, a decision had been made and that decision was stated publicly. The fact that she was thinking of making a donation to save the school meant that she was committed to the family staying in Fernley. What had she done and what was Simon going to say?

In the end, she didn’t have to discuss the matter with Simon at all. It fell by the wayside, unnoticed, in the thundering path of something much bigger.

When Simon arrived at Paradise Cottage on Friday evening at the remarkably early hour of seven o’clock, Kate could see at once that his mood had changed again. He seemed pale, wired, nervy. He endured the children dragging him into the living room, where they insisted on going through with him all the bags of worksheets, artwork and clay figures they had brought home with them on this, the last day of term, but he seemed unable to concentrate and snapped when Joyce rather inanely suggested that his promotion would mean he could relax at work now and come home every night.

At half past nine he said he was going for a walk and was out for an hour. When he came back he sat downstairs drinking whisky until after midnight. Eventually Kate coaxed him up to bed.

‘What’s the matter, for goodness sake?’ she hissed, noticing that he had been reading the same page of his Dan Brown thriller for the last twenty minutes. ‘Things haven’t gone wrong with Gillingham, have they?’

‘No,’ he said dully. ‘Nothing like that.’ He turned off the light and rolled over, his back to her.

Kate sat, frozen, watching him for a moment. Finally, she turned off her own light, edged herself under the covers and silently wept into the pillow.

When she woke the next morning, Simon was up and getting dressed. He muttered something in response to her ‘hello’, but seemed absent – he didn’t even look at her. He went downstairs and she heard Bobby bark, then the front door opened and closed and his footsteps went up the garden path and down the road. It was an hour before he reappeared.

It was a cloudy day, but warm and the rain held off, so they carried out their plan of a day in Southwold with Jonny and Debbie and the children. Whilst Debbie and Kate chatted, Simon was gloomy, though he took his turn with the children with Jonny while the women went shopping.

That evening, Kate was beside herself with misery. Joyce looked from her son to her daughter-in-law in anxiety, as both just toyed with their supper.

This time, when Simon whistled for Bobby and said he was going out, Kate slipped out after him. The sun was low in the sky and the flower-perfumed air filled with birdsong as she caught up with him just before the field.

‘Simon,’ she said, then louder: ‘Simon.’ She grabbed his arm, but he went stiff and she dropped her hand. ‘Simon, what on earth is the matter?’

He was silent for a moment, staring into the distance, then he looked at Kate and said, ‘I don’t know.’ He walked on, his wife stumbling after him. After a moment, he stopped. ‘I suppose I feel we’re stuck at the moment. In limbo. I want one thing, you want another. One of us is going to have to compromise. We can’t go on living like this, can we? Having conversations that go round and round in circles. Where we’re going to live, what we’re going to do with our lives.’

‘Well, no.’

‘You want to live here, in Seddington House. I definitely don’t want to live there – I’m fed up with commuting! Everything’s going so well at the office, but I also want to see more of the children. I don’t want a snatched family life at weekends when I’m tired.’

‘But you must have known it was going to be like this. It was you who really wanted us to move, remember?’

‘Because I thought it would be good for us all. You were so worn out. It wasn’t working where we were. I thought it was worth a go.’

‘But you haven’t really given it a go. It’s not giving it a go, staying with your mother and everything feeling so temporary.’

‘It’s given me enough of a flavour, all I need to know. I don’t like being out here, Kate. I don’t want to live my life on the train between Diss and Liverpool Street. God, I know every inch of that landscape now. Every blade of grass, every tree, every office block by every station.’ He started walking again, Kate two paces behind, up the edge of the field, the wheat an old-gold colour in the dying light, desperate for harvesting. With every pace she felt her resentment grow. When they reached the stile at the top, he stopped again. Bobby threw himself on the ground, panting, looking up at them both as if to say, ‘Now what?’

‘Simon,’ Kate said carefully, ‘when we planned this move, we had it all worked out. Our reasons for coming here. That it would be better to bring up our children in the country. That it would be nice to be near your mother. That it would be better for me here, for the balance of family life. And we talked about your work. We did! I know you think you don’t want to try something different, locally. I know your job is going well where you are. But have you considered all the options? Couldn’t you work from home sometimes?’ She was starting to feel desperate.

‘Look, I’ve just been given a promotion, for goodness sake! They want more out of me, not less. You know how the City regards homeworkers – as slackers.’

‘Oh, surely that’s so outdated.’

‘God, you’re as bad as my mother. I have to be part of the culture, don’t you see? Watch my back. Go out to the pub with the others. Be a company man. That’s how it is, full stop.’

‘That’s how you’re going to let it be, without challenging it, you mean,’ she said bitterly.

‘This is exactly what I’m talking about – our conversations going round and round.’ Simon sat down suddenly on the stile, looking at the ground. Bobby was worrying a stone, which he dropped by Simon’s feet. Simon scooped it up and threw it viciously hard, right into the middle of the cornfield. Bobby slashed through the wheat in pursuit, barking joyfully.

Kate tried to keep her voice calm, reasonable. ‘For the first time in my life I feel I belong somewhere. I have a home, a house that’s been in my family for generations. I’m part of a community, and the children are, too. I’m stronger, I don’t feel so upset about things. Funnily, having moved away from Mum and Dad I actually feel closer to them, I can understand them better. Simon, I know this sounds weird, but I think being here, having Seddington House, is somehow meant.’

‘Because you’ve dreamed about it, I suppose?’ Simon’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Kate, you can’t base your life on dreams. They’re just something your mind makes up, plays with, when you’re asleep.’

‘I don’t know why I dreamed of Seddington House, whether they were prophetic dreams, or some sort of visualization of my deepest desires fed by a childhood memory.’ She had told him about her mother’s photograph. He had seemed relieved at the time, that his wife wasn’t fey or going crazy. ‘But we all have dreams, whether waking or sleeping. And there was a time when you encouraged me to follow mine. And you brought us all here in the first place.’

‘I came up with the idea, yes, but it was a joint decision, Kate, don’t try and blame it all on me. We’re both adults, after all – you could have said no. But yes, I have encouraged you. Don’t forget what we’ve been through together, how I’ve put up with everything . . . your depression, for instance.

‘That’s low. We’ve both had our trials and tribulations.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, but it hasn’t been easy, you weeping all over the place for a year, and then after Sam.’

Kate stared at him. The wound was to the heart. A snide little voice inside her said,
Ah, but you didn’t just put up with it, did you, Simon?
Which brought back the pain of his recent betrayal a hundredfold.

‘Well, at least I never—’

‘Don’t say it,’ he hissed, standing up suddenly, his face hard with anger. ‘I’m never going to escape that one, am I? Never, never. No matter how hard I try with you, for evermore. There’s always going to be that between us.’ He stopped to draw breath. ‘Kate, it’s decision time. We’ve got to find some sort of compromise, or I don’t see us going on together.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, disbelieving.

‘Just that. I’m not going to live down here,’ he declared. ‘I’m just not. You’ve got to choose. The house or me.’

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘That’s nonsense! We don’t have to make any instant decisions. There must be some middle way.’

‘Well, from where I am, I don’t see it.’ He was turned away from her now, ignoring Bobby, who was panting hopefully at his feet. But in another respect he was miles ahead, striding out of sight. She was left behind, pleading for him to wait.

She noticed suddenly that his shoulders were shaking. ‘Simon, what’s wrong?’ She pulled him round to face her. He was crying. He pushed her away. Then he lunged at her, throwing his arm around her in a clumsy hug, burying his face in her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry, so very sorry,’ he cried, his voice strangled and his body heaving.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ A growing sense of dread.

Simon crushed her tighter, still shaking and sobbing now. ‘I can’t help it,’ he groaned. ‘I’m just pulled both ways. It’s no good, I’m torn in half. I don’t know what to do.’

Then Kate suddenly saw everything, what all this was about.

‘It’s her, isn’t it?’ she shouted, shoving him away. ‘She’s still got you. Why can’t she leave you alone? You said you told her.’

‘I did,’ he said, ‘but she didn’t accept it.’

‘But she knew you belonged to me. To me and Daisy and Sam. How could she? How could you let her?’ She thought suddenly. ‘Did she go to Germany with you?’

He nodded, not looking at her. ‘She loves me,’ he said simply. ‘She really loves me.’

‘But
I
really love you! What gives her the right, the nerve . . . ?’ The tears were pouring down Kate’s face now, but they were tears of anger. She was absolutely furious. Furious at his weakness, at Meredith’s strength, at her seeming inability to change anything. This wasn’t an argument about where to live. It was much bigger than that.

Anger finally gave her the strength she needed. Any respect she still had for Simon was suddenly gone. Where was the man she had looked to for support? Where was the soulmate in whose arms she had felt completely safe? Where was her rock? He had proved to be a man of clay. And in that moment of realization, the remnants of her love for him fled.

‘You’ve ruined everything,’ she whispered. ‘How could you? I hate you.’

The tears still streaming down her face, she turned away and stumbled down the path, across the darkening field, back towards her sleeping children and the house that was not her home.

‘Kate!’ She heard Simon’s voice, thin in the distance. She didn’t even falter.

She was sobbing uncontrollably when she fell against the gate to Paradise Cottage, then a wave of rage crashed through her. She couldn’t just walk in through the front door and pretend to Joyce that nothing was wrong. Where could she go? Her hand touched the car key in her pocket. She must get away. Somewhere. Anywhere.