The House by Princes Park (49 page)

A week later, Greta returned, by which time Moira was home and the Christmas decorations were up. She felt a twinge when she saw the worn paper chains, the balls and bells that opened and closed like concertinas, the elderly fairy on top of the tree, things she’d helped put up in the past, but this time it had been done without her.

Moira was lying on the living room floor playing with Brendan, teaching him how to put one block on top of another, but he clearly preferred flinging them as far as they’d go.

‘Hi, Mum,’ Moira sang, but didn’t get up and kiss her.

Greta had come all set to apologise to her mother, but felt annoyed at the signs that life was continuing smoothly without her in the place she still regarded as home. She found Ruby in the kitchen emptying flour into a plastic bowl.

‘Oh, hello, love.’ She smiled, as if their last meeting had never happened. ‘Does that look like a pound to you? I thought I’d make the mince pies early for a change, rather than in a rush on Christmas Eve.’

‘I wouldn’t know, Mam. I thought you were supposed to weigh it first.’

‘I usually do, but Brendan’s broken the scales.’

‘Actually, Mam,’ Greta said on an impulse. ‘Me and Matthew thought you’d like to come to us for Christmas dinner. We’ve bought this huge turkey,’ she lied, and imagined herself the star of the show, everyone saying what a wonderful job she’d done, admiring the house which they’d hardly seen.

‘Greta, love, it’s a bit late to ask now. I was expecting you and Matthew to come to us. Clint’s coming, and I’ve already invited his mum and dad, and Jonathan will be here.’

‘Who’s Jonathan?’

‘One of the students. He’s from India, Karachi. It’s too far for him to go home, so he’s staying here.’

‘Why is he called Jonathan if he’s Indian?’

‘Because he’s a Christian. He’ll be coming with us to Midnight Mass.’

‘Matthew and I can’t come to dinner on Christmas Day,’ Greta said bluntly.

Her mother looked perplexed. ‘But you just asked us!’

‘If me family can’t come, we’ll go somewhere else. We’ve been asked to loads of places for dinner.’ Greta knew she was cutting off her nose to spite her face, but felt deeply hurt that her invitation had been refused, unreasonable though it was at such a late date. She felt as if she didn’t matter any more.

The dining room in the house in Calderstones had never been used since they moved in. She and Matthew usually ate in the little breakfast room which was much cosier. Perhaps it was a mistake to serve dinner on the vast table on Christmas Day, just the two of them, Matthew clearly puzzled that they hadn’t been asked home.

They didn’t say much during the meal. Afterwards, Greta cleared the table and watched the portable television in the kitchen, and Matthew watched the one in the lounge. It stayed that way until six o’clock, when it was time to get ready for the party in Southport being held by one of the executives from Medallion, the company who’d taken over Doyle Construction.

Greta put on a red crêpe frock with shoelace straps and a frilly hem, a bit like the sort Spanish dancers wore. Without Heather there to advise her, she painted her lips bright red to go with the frock and applied a little too much rouge and mascara. Matthew looked a bit surprised when she appeared, but didn’t say anything, just helped her on with her new fur coat which was sealskin with a mink collar and cuffs, terribly glamorous.

At the party, quite a few men wanted to talk to her, tell her what a stunner she was, how much she suited red and,
Greta, always used to being the centre of attention, felt like a star after all. She even gave one chap, an American whose name was Charlie Mayhew, her telephone number, and he promised to call and take her to lunch. She was sure Matthew wouldn’t mind, but didn’t tell him.

‘She seemed such a sweet little thing,’ Matthew muttered.

‘Are you saying she isn’t?’ snapped Ruby.

‘Not any more,’ said Matthew.

It was two weeks after Christmas, and Matthew Doyle had appeared unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon. Moira had gone for a walk with Brendan in his pram, and Ruby had taken the opportunity to wash the students’ bedding. They were due back in a few days and she hadn’t had the chance before.

‘We’ve only been married six months and I’ve a horrible feeling it’s already a failure,’ Matthew said miserably.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ She wondered why she sounded so abrupt when she was so pleased to see him, even if the news he’d brought was distressing. Her heart had turned a somersault when she’d opened the door and found him outside.

‘Because I’ve got to talk to someone and you’re the only one I can.’

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘I was hoping you’d ask.’ He sat his long body on a kitchen chair, shoulders drooping.

Ruby ran water in the kettle and gave the washing machine a kick when it stopped. It was on its last legs and needed encouragement. ‘What’s wrong, Matthew?’ she asked, kinder now.

‘I dunno, Rube.’ She felt warmed by the ‘Rube’. It meant they were at least friends again. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I don’t know what’s right any more. She’s moody all the time, bad-tempered, bored. There was
a time when I couldn’t have visualised Greta being bad-tempered, but I’ve witnessed it quite a few times lately.’

‘I’ve witnessed it myself. It shook me too.’

‘Have you?’ He didn’t look surprised. ‘She hasn’t a good word to say for you or Heather, or Moira come to that. She seems to think you’re all against her for some reason.’

‘We’re not.’ Ruby said fervently. ‘I’m worried sick about her. Heather seems to think she’ll come round in her own time. I don’t think Moira’s noticed anything amiss.’

‘She’s got a thing about Brendan. She wants him.’

‘Brendan’s not a parcel to be handed round at whim. He’s already had two different people looking after him.’

‘That’s what I more or less told her meself.’

‘Are you sorry you asked her to marry you?’

‘I didn’t ask her, Rube. She asked me.’

‘
What
!’ Ruby was pouring boiling water into the teapot. It splashed on to her hand and she gave a little scream. ‘Ouch!’

‘Are you all right?’ Matthew leapt to his feet, grabbed her hand, and put it under the cold tap. ‘Does that feel better?’

‘Much better, thanks. Why did you accept?’ He was patting her hand gently with the teatowel. They were standing very close, touching. His breath was warm on her cheek.

‘Because I’m a soft lad, because I was flattered, because I was feeling particularly low and vulnerable at the time.’

‘Why were you feeling low and vulnerable?’

‘You know the answer to that, Ruby.’

She turned away and faced the sink, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Matthew. I was stupid, rude. I was every horrible name you can think of. I’ve always been slow-witted. It didn’t enter my head what you were trying to say until I was on the phone. I called you, but you didn’t come back.’

‘I was too bloody mad to come back.’ There was a long pause during which both were very still. Then Matthew whispered softly, ‘What would you have said if I had?’

‘It’s too late for that now, Matthew.’ Ruby moved away. ‘You can see that, can’t you?’

He sighed. ‘I’m not sure if I want to.’

‘Then you must,’ she said with a briskness she didn’t feel. She would have preferred to weep, throw herself into his arms, make up for the hurt she’d caused him, but he was her daughter’s husband, and it was much, much too late. Had he been married to anyone else, she would probably have felt pleased his marriage had failed. ‘Oh, this damn washing machine!’ It had stopped again. She gave it another kick. ‘I’ll never get this lot done in time.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Ruby, buy a new one.’ Matthew was himself again. The conversation they’d just had might never have occurred. He returned to the table and she gave him a mug of tea.

Ruby laughed sardonically. ‘What with?’ Greta no longer contributed towards the household finances and Brendan was an extra expense, if a welcome one.

‘I’ll get you one for Christmas.’

‘I couldn’t possibly accept such an expensive present. Anyway, you already gave me some scent.’

‘Climb down off your high horse, Rube. We’re family now. You’re my...’ He paused.

‘Mother-in-law?’

‘My mother-in-law.’ They grinned at each other and she was aware of an intimacy between them that had never been there before, though there was nothing sexual about it. ‘As such,’ Matthew went on, ‘I’d prefer you forgot about the rent for this place from now on. I mean it, Ruby,’ he said flatly when she opened her mouth to protest. ‘If you send a cheque, I’ll only tear it up.’

‘If you insist,’ Ruby said stiffly.

‘I do. Oh, and don’t thank me, Rube. I might have a heart attack.’

‘All right, I won’t.’

The following afternoon, Ruby left Brendan with an adoring Moira, and went to see her daughter, but found no one in. She telephoned that night and was pleased when Greta sounded quite her old self again.

‘I was having lunch in town with a friend,’ she said. ‘Her name’s Shirley and she lives next door. We’re going again on Monday.’

‘I’m pleased you’ve made a friend, love. When can we expect to see you again?’

‘Oh, I dunno, Mam. Soon, I suppose.’

Charlie had taken her through the Mersey tunnel in his red sports car, then deep into the Cheshire countryside, to a little thatched pub where they’d had scampi and chips and two bottles of wine. Medallion were planning to set up business in the States, he told her. He had already spent six months with the head office in London, and was staying another six in Liverpool, the latest jewel in the Medallion crown, familiarising himself with the way things were run.

‘And I’m sure you’ll make my stay very pleasant,’ he twinkled. He was very handsome, very charming, very sure of himself, with broad, athletic shoulders and an engaging smile.

Greta felt drunk and giggled a lot. She liked being the object of Charlie’s undivided attention, which she never was with Matthew, whose mind always seemed to be elsewhere.

On Monday, they returned to the same pub, had a different meal accompanied by the same amount of wine. Charlie leant over and played with a lock of her fair hair.

‘How about coming upstairs with me, gorgeous? All I have to do is book a room.’

She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t ask her out again if she refused. It was what he’d been after all along. ‘A roll in the hay,’ Americans called it. Greta didn’t answer straight away. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she would have dreamt of doing once, but since she’d re-married, she no longer felt like her old self. Now she was bolder, more demanding, as if it had taken all this time to properly grow up. She enjoyed Charlie’s company, the way he made her feel extra-special. What’s more, she
wanted
them to make love as much as he did. Matthew would never know.

‘Why not?’ Greta giggled. And so Charlie booked a room and they went upstairs.

In June, Moira came home, having completed her second year at university and Brendan celebrated his first year on earth. Daisy swapped her day off with someone else so she could be there for his birthday tea and Heather came home early from work. Greta had been invited, but Ruby saw her daughter only rarely these days, and wasn’t sure if she would come.

Brendan ruled the roost in the house, with every single person there attentive to his slightest whim. Moira often rang up from Norwich solely to ask how her nephew was, and Daisy and Heather were his slaves. Clint thought the world of him and Matthew considered the sun shone out of his little fat behind.

‘He’s being spoilt rotten,’ Ruby would frequently cry, and although she loved him the most of all, she did her best to be firm with the little boy when he was naughty. But it was difficult – Brendan was even more adorable and funny and kissable when he was naughty than when he was good. Anyway, finding him on the floor with the shoe-cleaning box, having scrubbed himself all over with black polish, wasn’t exactly
naughty
. It showed the child was clever and was trying to clean himself, even if the result was the reverse. When Brendan planted the clothes
pegs around the edge of the lawn, it was because he’d thought they’d grow, and merely another sign of how brilliant he was. He could walk at ten months and had a vocabulary of half a dozen words, of which ‘Bee’, his name for Ruby, had been the first.

Ruby lived with the constant fear that he would be taken away. Greta’s threats had frightened her, though there’d been no repeat since. Say if Ellie came home and, quite reasonably, wanted her son back? Ruby couldn’t possibly refuse. She tried to prepare herself in advance for when this happened so it wouldn’t come as a devastating shock. It was hard to imagine that each day spent with Brendan might be the last, but it was what Ruby did. It made the time they spent together very precious.

For his birthday, she had bought him denim overalls with red patches on the knees, a red T-shirt to go with the patches, and training shoes. Thus attired, Brendan presided over the table in his high chair, while the guests paid court and presented him with their gifts.

Halfway through the meal, Clint appeared, panting slightly, bearing a giant beach ball. ‘I’ve got an hour off. I’ll have to go back in a minute.’ He beamed at the little boy. ‘Happy birthday, Brendan.’

Brendan decided he preferred to play with the ball rather than finish his tea and the party transferred to the garden, where Daisy had to chase him with the birthday cake and implore him to blow out the single blue candle, which eventually went out of its own accord.

It was a fresh June day, slightly colder than it should have been, and the sun and the sky were exceptionally bright. The flowers in the garden were fully in bloom, the trees dressed with leaves of every possible shade of green.

Ruby sat on the grass and wondered how many children’s parties there had been since she’d moved into the house. Then, Greta had only been three, Heather two, and Jake just a baby. She’d had birthday teas for the
children she’d looked after during the war – Mollie, she remembered, had turned four only a few weeks before a bomb had demolished her house. The little girl had never had the chance to become five. The twins’ parties had always been chaotic affairs with loads of friends invited. Daisy had preferred to have just her family present – and Clint, of course.