The Poets' Wives (34 page)

When they returned to the cottage Francesca said she wasn’t used to so much fresh air and was going to lie down for half an hour. Anna was still sitting at the table at her laptop and talking to someone on her phone and it sounded as if she was speaking to a child, trying to reassure them about something, making promises. She went into the kitchen and made some new coffee and when it was ready took one up to Francesca who had got under the duvet.

‘It must be the travelling,’ Francesca said, ‘and all that fresh air out there.’

She set the cup at the side of the bed and briefly stroked her daughter’s head before telling her she deserved a rest and to stay there as long as she wanted. As she walked back down the stairs she told herself that it was like having a child again who was feeling unwell and there was a pleasure in being there to look after her. She took Anna a cup, Anna who never seemed to need any nursing and always appeared to be imbued with an inner strength. The phone conversation had ended but her mobile rested on the table close to her hand and as she drank the coffee she lifted it from time to time and turned it in her hand like a worry stone before setting it down again. Her daughter’s restlessness made her uneasy but she didn’t know what to say so instead she sipped her coffee and waited silently for whatever conversation, if any, might begin.

‘I suppose I should get a walk on the beach and blow some of the London air out of my lungs.’

‘You’ll have your chance tomorrow morning. I hope it’s a day like this and not stormy.’

‘Is Francesca all right?’

‘I think she’s just a bit worn out. She’ll be all right when she gets a rest and we get this over with.’

‘Why is he making us do this?’ she asked, lifting her phone, almost as if she was going to ring him and demand an explanation.

‘Because he was selfish and always insistent on what he believed was his entitlement, I suppose.’

‘Selfish in life and selfish in death,’ Anna said as she set the phone down again. ‘I don’t know how you stuck it all those years.’

‘It wasn’t always like that.’

‘So what was it like?’

She looked at her daughter who was scrutinising her intently in a way that made her uncomfortable and which made her feel as if she was about to be interviewed professionally rather than personally. She felt too that if she were to be weighed in her child’s judgement then she would be found wanting. It wasn’t judgement she wanted now so she said, ‘I suppose like most marriages it had its ups and downs.’

‘So there were ups?’

‘Yes and as I said to Francesca my marriage gave me three children I’m very proud of. That’s something I’m grateful for.’

There were a few seconds of silence while Anna appeared to be pondering her mother’s words and momentarily unsure of what her next question should be so she took advantage of the hesitation to ask about the story she was working on.

‘I’m doing a series of articles on human trafficking – it’s the most important thing I’ve been given to do so far. It’s an ongoing piece of work and I’m investigating how illegal immigrants are farmed out to various industries where they work for minimal wages, often in appalling conditions, and then get most of the pittance they’ve been paid taken off them for the privilege of being allowed to live in some doss house.’

‘It’s a terrible thing. But how do you go about finding out about it?’

‘It’s not straightforward because everything’s controlled by fear so it’s not easy getting someone to talk to you. I’ve had to do a little undercover work a few times and I have a contact in the Met who’s allowed me to follow some of their investigations first-hand. The sex trade is the worst – what happens to some young women who think they’re coming to decent jobs and better lives.’

‘God help them. But it sounds dangerous, Anna – you’re careful, aren’t you?’

‘I’m careful, Mum. It’s not a world where you can afford to take big risks. There’s too many dangerous people who have too much to lose by being exposed. But there’s experienced people in the paper advising me and I have to get their approval for everything I do. So I’m not about to disappear at any moment or anything.’

She was frightened for her child but knew that if she were to show it or make too much of a fuss then she would be told nothing more.

‘Was that someone you were talking to on the phone who’s helping you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it’s a young Chinese girl who’s labouring for a gang-master on farms. Back-breaking work for less than the minimum wage and sleeping in a Second World War Nissen hut. She’s educated, paid the equivalent of two years’ salary to come and this is the life she’s found. I’ve got to know her as much as that’s possible. Given her some money and a phone.’

‘I didn’t hear what she was saying but I guess from the way you were speaking to her that she was frightened.’

‘Yes she’s frightened but frightened even more of what might happen to her in the future.’

‘Anna, you’ll take care of her, make sure no harm comes to her, won’t you?’

‘Of course, Mum.’

‘And take care of yourself as well.’

Anna stretched her hand across the table and patted her arm but it was like the half-hearted reassurance that might be given to a child by a weary parent and she took no comfort in it. She was glad when her daughter closed the laptop and slipped her phone in her pocket as if to signal that this world of potential danger had been set aside. However it was difficult after what she had heard to know how to make further conversation without it sounding like inconsequential and even insensitive small talk so she got up from the table and busied herself about the kitchen. She heard Anna go into the front room and then her voice asking, ‘Was the Don working on anything?’

She turned from the sink and watched her daughter perusing his writing desk.

‘I suppose he was always working on something but there was just bits and pieces. I’ll send whatever there was to his agent.’

There was something forensic about Anna, in the way she touched things, the way she lifted objects and looked at them. She wondered if that was a good thing in relation to love and thought that it might be in that it would prevent her ever being taken in by the false but also that she might never be able to see beyond the flaws, the fine cracks that veined most people’s souls.

‘If you see anything you want please take it.’

‘You didn’t find a diary or a journal, did you?’ Anna asked as she examined a fountain pen.

‘No, as far as I know Don didn’t keep a diary and if he did I’m not sure I’d want to read it. I suppose the poems were his diary.’

She watched Anna sit at his desk and place her arms on the wood at right angles to her body as if weighting herself while she saw what her father saw when he looked through the window.

‘Did he ever read any of my pieces?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know for sure but my guess is that he did. Even though he liked to pretend indifference or that he was too preoccupied I think he was always curious about things so I think that he probably read them all.’

‘He never said once.’

‘I’m sorry about that, Anna, I’m truly sorry.’

‘It’s not for you to be sorry.’

‘It feels like I should be.’

Her daughter said nothing but lifted the pen up to the light before asking, ‘Can I keep this?’

‘Of course but is there nothing else you’d like?’

‘No, just this pen.’

The light streaming through the window illuminated the side of her daughter’s face and glinted the thin streaks of red into life. She saw for the first time that she seemed older, older and a little tired. She wanted to go to her but in the passing seconds where she weighed up whether her daughter would want it or not the opportunity slipped away.

‘Let’s go out for lunch,’ Anna said, suddenly standing up. ‘Let’s all go out together. Why don’t we go round to the Ramore? Is it still there?’

‘It’s still there but I’ve lots of stuff in if you just want to stay here.’

‘No let’s all go out and have a change of scene. Whenever Francesca comes down,’ she said as she slipped the pen into the pocket of her trousers. ‘I’ll go and check on sis.’

‘Don’t waken her if she’s sleeping. I think she’s a bit drained.’ Anna smiled at her and she knew she’d told her something that wasn’t necessary. Wanting to redeem herself she asked, ‘What’s the girl’s name – the Chinese girl?’

‘Jiao.’

‘What age is she?’

‘Twenty-six.’

‘I know it’s a stupid thing to say but if there’s ever anything I can do to help her, with money or anything, I’d like to.’

‘It’s not a stupid thing to say – it’s a nice thing – but I’m hoping the paper might be able to pull some strings when we publish,’ she said as she paused at the bottom of the stairs.

Her hand held the banister and her new rings caught the light. The sun coming in through the porch window nestled against the side of her face and revealed the first fine lines beginning to linger at the corners of her eyes.

‘Strangers were good to Rory when he was in a different country,’ she said, her voice shaking a little. ‘So if there’s ever any way we can help this young woman we should.’

For a second she thought that Anna was going to come to her but instead she simply nodded and then went upstairs, her steps muffled by the carpet.

She went back to the kitchen and pottered aimlessly about trying to calm herself through being busy. It would be best to go out and escape the confines of the cottage. And if neither of her daughters did nostalgia then it might still be nice to retrace some of the places they had frequented as a young family. She heard both their voices but couldn’t make out what they were saying. In the riad where they had stayed there were two young women who did all the work, cooking and serving the meals. Working from early in the morning. When she woke their voices talking quietly in the small kitchen close to her room was the first thing she heard. Unobtrusive, moving like whispers through the courtyard and with whatever was their own lives entirely hidden from public view. She wanted to ask if they too had children but knew they didn’t wish to have conversation beyond what was the polite necessity. When on that morning the younger of the two brought her a breakfast unasked to the roof terrace where she sat looking at the distant mountains she wondered if she knew she had a dead son. She thought of asking her name but hesitated because when so much of her was hidden it seemed like an intrusion. She had made herself eat what little she could of the breakfast but without taking her eyes away from the mountains.

When Francesca eventually appeared she seemed restored to her former self and Anna was close by her side as if in custody of her younger sister.

‘So, Mum, are we going to do a tour of the north coast’s exciting attractions?’

‘Can we get ice-cream in Morelli’s?’ Francesca asked as she pinned up some wisps of her hair.

‘Yes and you can go on the dodgems in Barry’s if you want and eat candyfloss,’ Anna said.

‘I would think the dodgems are out, girls – from memory it’s closed now for the season. But if you’re serious we can go to Morelli’s,’ she said. ‘When you were children you used to think it such a treat except you used to drive your father mad because you took so long to make up your minds about what flavour you were going to have. But let’s get lunch first. It’ll be good to get out and you can see how things have changed, if they have of course.’

So she drove them round the coast to Portrush and they had lunch in the Ramore and both daughters laughed at how big the servings were.

‘People obviously don’t think they get value for money unless it’s reflected in the quantity,’ Anna said but neither of them seemed to have any trouble finishing their portions. And then when they had gone up to the dessert counter and laughed again at the baroque sculptures of cream and cake, they eventually opted to share something, giggling like schoolgirls at their indulgence and declaring they’d have to do a month’s diet to atone for the excess. It pleased her to see their heads bent close and to hear their laughter and for a moment she was almost grateful that they had been summoned to this final ritual. There had been no real time during the funeral period for her to talk to them at length and all her focus and energy were taken up by the arrangements for the service and receiving the constant stream of visitors who came to pay their respects. So even for this short time it felt as if her children had returned to her and she was their mother again, driving them, supplying them with information about things and even despite their objection paying the bill.

‘There’s no way I could even look at an ice-cream now,’ Francesca said.

‘Nor me,’ Anna echoed, ‘although I would quite like to see if it’s how I remember it. It was a place I always liked – you felt you were an adult if you were able to go with your friends and no parent.’

‘I think you’d find it changed – everything’s modernised and plushed-up,’ she said. ‘And the last time I was there with your father he thought the price for a coffee and a scone was outrageous.’

‘Tell me, Francesca,’ Anna said as she wiped her lips with a napkin, ‘when a very overweight young Henrietta arrives in your shop for a wedding dress does your heart sink?’

‘Not at all. It’s a challenge. Covering up what needs covered up, drawing the eye to what’s best. A customer is a customer and anyway who’s perfect, Anna?’