The Legacy (32 page)

“Partners only from here, I’m afraid. You can wait back down the hall—there’s a waiting room there,” the man tells me, pointing back the way we have come.

“You’re Honey’s partner?” he asks Dinny.

“Yes—no. I’m her brother. She’s got no partner,” he says.

“Right. Come on then.” They disappear through the doors, leave them swinging in their wake. The doors make a sweeping sound and a thump, as they pass each other, once, twice, three times. My breathing slows with them, and then they fall still. Dinny is her brother.

The clock on the wall is just like the one that used to hang in my classroom at school. Round, white plastic with a yellowing fade, the thin red second hand ticking around with a tremble. It says ten to one as I sink into a green plastic chair, and I watch as it creeps round and round, wondering how it hadn’t occurred to me that Dinny might have a sister. He didn’t have one when we were little, so I assumed he still didn’t have one. They look nothing alike. I think back, rake through all my memories, try to remember ever seeing them touch each other, or speak to each other as if they were a couple. They never did, of course. A feeling appears in me, to know he is not hers, it is not his baby. I feel a tentative hope.

Half past three and I am still the only person in this square waiting room. People go along the corridor occasionally, their shoes squeaking on the floor tiles. My legs are heavy from sitting too long. I am drifting into a kind of daze. I see Dinny’s camp in my mind’s eye, on a summer day—early summer, with spent tree blossoms raining down on a light breeze, and sunshine glancing from the metal grilles of the parked vans. Grandpa Flag dozing in his chair—the wind lifting the coarse ends of his graphite hair, but otherwise he would sit so still. He never said that much to us, but I always thought of him as kind, safe. He would slump, as if fast asleep, but then suddenly laugh at something that was said or done. A loud guffaw, booming from his chest. Always a battered hat, pulled low over his face; and in its shadow, dark eyes gleamed. Leathery cheeks, deeply scored. A lifetime outdoors had tanned him the color of hazelnuts. The color of Dinny’s arms in the summertime. They made him move, again and again. The police, in the days after it happened. Grandpa Flag watched them with his calm, penetrating gaze. They made everybody move their vans, time and time again, with a roar of engines and plumes of diesel smoke. One trailer, belonging to a man called Bernie, needed a tow to move it. Mickey and the other men put their shoulders to it, shifted it, did as they were told even though Bernie’s trailer was high enough from the ground to make looking underneath it easy. I asked Mum what they were looking for.
Fresh earth
, she told me shortly, and I didn’t understand.

A figure passing the door rouses me—Dinny, walking slowly. I run clumsily into the corridor.

“Dinny—what’s happened? Is everything OK?”

“Erica? What are you still doing here?” He looks dazed, battered and amazed to see me there.

“Well, I . . . I was waiting to hear. And I thought you’d want a ride back.”

“I thought you’d have gone—you needn’t have waited all this time! I can take the bus back . . .”

“It’s half past three.”

“Or a taxi then,” he amends, stubbornly.

“Dinny—will you tell me how Honey is? And the baby?”

“Fine, she’s fine,” he smiles. “The kid was upside down but she managed to do it, eventually. It’s a girl and she’s doing well.” His voice is rough, he sounds exhausted.

“That’s great! Congratulations, Uncle Dinny,” I say.

“Thanks,” he grins, a touch bashfully.

“So, how long do they have to stay in?”

“A couple of days. Honey lost a fair amount of blood and the baby’s a little jaundiced. They’re both fast asleep now.”

“You look shattered. Do you want a ride home?” I offer. Dinny rubs his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.

“Yes, please,” he nods.

The weather has not let up. I drive at a more cautious pace. The countryside is so black, empty. I feel as though we’re carving a tunnel through it, the only two people in the world. I am light-headed with fatigue but too tired for sleep. I have to concentrate hard on driving safely. I open my window a little; cold air hits me, flecks of rainwater. The roar of it fills the car, cloaks the weight of the silence between us.

“You never said Honey was your sister. I didn’t realize,” I say, not quite lightly.

“Who did you think she was?”

“Well . . . I thought she was . . . I don’t know . . .”

“You thought she was my girlfriend?” he asks incredulously, then laughs out loud. “Erica—she’s fifteen years old!”

“Well, I didn’t know that!” I say defensively. “What was I supposed to think? You didn’t have a sister the last time I saw you.”

“No, I didn’t. She was born well after you left. A late bonus, my mother called her.” He smiles slightly. “Now she’s not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve met her. Honey doesn’t have the easiest temperament.”

“So what happened? How come she’s been staying with you?”

“The baby. When she got pregnant Mum wanted her to get rid of it. She thought it would ruin her life, having a baby so young. Honey refused. So Mum said fine, have it adopted, and again she wouldn’t. They had a massive row and then Keith weighed in as well. So Honey flounced out and was told not to come back.” He sighs. “They’re just angry with each other, that’s all.”

“Keith’s your mum’s new husband?”

“They’re not married, but yes, to all intents and purposes. He’s OK. A bit strait-laced.”

“I can’t really imagine your mother with somebody strait-laced.”

“No, well, neither can Honey.”

“But Honey must be used to a more . . . conventional sort of life, mustn’t she?”

“She travelled with us until she was seven, when Dad died. I guess it got into her blood. She’s never really settled into the mainstream.”

“But now, with the baby . . . surely she can’t stay with you for ever?”

“No, she can’t,” he says firmly, and I glance across at him. He looks careworn, and the silence settles back into the car.

“What happened to the father?” I ask cautiously.

“What happened to him? Nothing, yet. That may change if I ever get my hands on him,” Dinny says grimly.

“Ah. He’s not been a knight in shining armor about it all, then?”

“He’s a twenty-year-old townie idiot who told Honey she couldn’t get pregnant on her first time.”

“That old chestnut.” I wince. “And twenty years old? He must have known he was lying . . .”

“Like I say, if I ever catch up with him . . . Honey won’t tell me his full name, or where he lives,” Dinny says, blackly.

I cast him a wry glance, smile slightly. “I wonder why,” I murmur. “Still, it must be a great way to raise a child—living the way you do. Travelling around, wherever you feel like. No mortgages, no nine-to-five, no juggling with childcare . . . The great outdoors, no keeping up with the Joneses . . .” I venture.

“It’s fine for the likes of me, but for a fifteen-year-old with a fatherless kid? She hasn’t even finished school yet,” he sighs. “No. She needs to go back home.”

I park in front of the house. The study light I left on blooms out, lighting the stark tree trunks nearest the house.

“Thanks, Erica. Thank you for driving us. You were really great with Honey, back there—you’ve been great,” Dinny says, reaching for the door handle.

“Why don’t you come in? Just to warm up. There’s brandy, and you could have a shower, if you want. You’re covered in mud,” I tell him. He looks at me, tips his head in that quizzical way.

“You’re offering me a
shower
?” he smiles.

“Or whatever. I could dig out a clean T-shirt for you,” I flounder.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Erica.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Dinny! It’s just a house. And you’re welcome in it, now. You’re not going to
catch
convention, just by using the plumbing.”

“I’m not sure how welcome I am. I came up to talk to Beth. She wouldn’t let me in,” he says quietly.

“I know,” I say, before I can stop myself. He shoots me a questioning glance. “I was listening. At the top of the stairs,” I say apologetically.

Dinny rolls his eyes. “Same old Erica.”

“So are you coming in now?” I smile. Dinny looks at me for a long moment, until I start to feel pinned; then he looks out at the hostile night.

“All right. Thanks,” he nods.

I lead Dinny through to the study. The fire has gone out but it’s still very warm. I go to draw the curtains.

“God, it’s black out there! In London you have to shut out the light, here you have to shut out the dark,” I say. The wind throws a dead leaf against the glass, holds it there. “Still think there’s no such thing as bad weather?” I ask him wryly.

“Yes, but I’ll admit that I’m
definitely
wearing the wrong clothes for it tonight,” Dinny concedes.

“Sit. I’ll get brandy,” I tell him. I creep to the drawing room, fetch the decanter and two crystal tumblers, make as little noise as I can. I shut the door softly. “Beth’s asleep,” I tell him, filling the glasses.

“The house looks just the same as I remember it,” Dinny says, taking a swig of amber spirit, grimacing slightly.

“Meredith was never one for unnecessary change,” I shrug.

“The Calcotts are part of the old guard. Why would she want anything changed?”

“
Were
old guard. You can hardly say that of Beth and me—I’m an impoverished schoolteacher, for God’s sake, and Beth’s a single working parent.”

Dinny smiles a quick, ironic smile at this. “That must have really pissed the old bird off.”

“Thanks. We like to think so.” I smile. “Do you want another?” I ask as he drains his glass. He shakes his head, then leans back in his chair, stretches his arms over his head, arches his back, catlike. I watch him, feeling heat in my stomach, the blood pounding in my ears.

“I might take you up on that shower, though. I’ll admit it’s been a while since I had access to facilities like these.”

“Sure.” I nod, casually. “This way.”

The room the furthest away from Beth’s is Meredith’s and its en suite has the best shower—the large glass cubicle is opaque with limescale, but it has one of those huge shower roses that pours out a wide cascade of hot water. I find new soap, a clean towel, and I turn on a bedside lamp because the main light is too bright and if Beth is awake she might see it as a strip under her door, might come and investigate. Dinny stands in the middle of the room and turns, taking in the huge bed, the heavy drapes, the elegant antique furniture. The carpet over the uneven boards is a threadbare sage green. That familiar faint smell of dust and mothballs and dog.

“This is her room, isn’t it? Lady Calcott’s?” Dinny asks. In the low light his eyes are black, unreadable.

“It has the best shower,” I say nonchalantly.

“It feels a bit . . . wrong, to be in here.”

“I think she owes you a shower, at least,” I say gently. Dinny says nothing, starts to unbutton his shirt while I hurry from the room.

Creeping softly away along the corridor I hear the shower come on, the pipes gurgling and popping in the walls, and I shut my eyes, hoping Beth won’t wake up. But even as I think it she appears, looking at me around the side of her door at the far end of the corridor. Her hair hangs down at either side of her face, bare feet white and vulnerable.

“Erica? Is that you?” Her voice is taut with alarm.

“Yes—everything’s fine,” I say quietly. I don’t want Dinny to hear that she is awake.

“What are you doing up? What time is it?” she yawns.

“It’s very early. Go back to bed, love.” Beth rubs her face. Her eyes are wide, confused, newly awake.

“Erica? Who’s in the shower?” she asks.

“Dinny.” I look at my feet in my grubby socks, shifting guiltily.

“What? What’s going on?”

“It’s no big deal. Honey had her baby tonight—I had to drive them to Devizes and we got soaked and muddy and . . . when we got back I said he could have a shower here, if he wanted,” I tell her, all in one breath.

“You’ve been to
Devizes
? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were asleep! And I had to go in a rush—Honey didn’t feel right and . . . and it was all in a bit of a hurry, that’s all.” I crush one of my feet beneath the other. I am reluctant to meet her eye. I flash her a grin. “Imagine how Meredith would have gone off—to know a
Dinsdale
was in her shower!” I whisper, but Beth does not smile.

“Dinny is in the shower and you’re waiting outside the room like . . . like I don’t know what,” she says.

“I’m not waiting outside the room! I was just going to grab him a clean T-shirt . . .”

“Erica, what are you doing?” she asks me, seriously.

“Nothing! I’m not doing anything,” I say, but even though it’s true it doesn’t sound it. “Are you going to tell me that I shouldn’t have invited him in?”