Breaking the Chain (18 page)

‘Yes, please!’

‘So how about Peter and Hope?’ Phoebe asked her. ‘How do they stand each other?’

‘I think they’re very alike in some ways,’ Fay said. ‘They’re both buttoned-up in emotional straitjackets. Perhaps if we were more like her, we’d get on better with our husbands!’

‘No way!’ Phoebe protested. ‘So if she’s well suited to Peter, why the great depressions?’

‘He must be hell to live with. D’you know, when he’s away he
never
phones her. She never knows where he is or when he’s coming back. I’m sure that sort of thing can’t help, and then there’s her genes. It’s an inherited thing, isn’t it? Isn’t Duncan the same?’

‘Yes,’ Phoebe agreed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have children, she thought.

‘Herry’s different,’ Fay said. ‘I’ve always thought there was something odd about him. He doesn’t seem to be part of my chain somehow.’

‘And Brendan too?’

‘Oh well, he’s not Hope’s, of course, and he was brought up in a completely different environment until he was 14. I’ve never been able to work out his and Hope’s relationship. It seems to me that you’d have to be some sort of a saint to take in a bastard of your husband’s – and a teenager at that! – and Hope’s no saint, yet he’s nearly always there at family gatherings, and she treats him the same as the others.’

‘Perhaps she’s grown fond of him.’

‘She’s not “fond” of anyone except herself!’

‘When did Brendan tell the family he was gay?’

‘A couple of years before your wedding. I think Peter was devastated at the time, although he was careful not to show it. Perhaps he’s come to terms with it now, but obviously he must
be very concerned about the possibility of AIDS. Who wouldn’t be?’

‘And Hope?’

‘She was very calm. It didn’t seem to bother her at all. It doesn’t add up.’ Fay shook her head. ‘Weird family,’ she said. It was three in the morning before the two women finally got to their beds. Phoebe was grateful that it was Fay and not herself who would have to cope with Jack’s normal waking time of 5.30 a.m. There was a lot to be said for not having children!

On Sunday morning, they all went for a walk. Duncan strode ahead with Diggory, leaving the others far behind.

‘I want D-D-Duncan to c-c-come b-back here!’ Jack wailed unsuccessfully.

‘He always does it,’ Phoebe explained to Fay. ‘I’ve given up going for walks with him because of it. He just gets impatient and I get knackered! I think we’ll have to turn back soon anyway, if I’m to get the joint in.’

After a large roast lunch Fay and Jack prepared for their journey to Cornwall. Phoebe was sorry to see them go, but she had a lot of thinking to get on with. She felt a huge sense of relief. At last, she had found someone lovely to talk to. Her gratitude to Fay was enormous. She hugged her goodbye and kissed her on both cheeks.

‘Come again whenever you like,’ she said.

‘Goodbye,’ Fay said to them both. ‘It’s been so good to see you. Thanks so much.’ She stretched up to give Duncan a kiss as well and he accepted it, but without bending down to make it easier for her.

‘Bye,’ he said.

‘Give Uncle Duncan and Auntie Phoebe a kiss, Jack,’ Fay suggested.

‘No!’ Jack said.

They drove away up the lane, Fay waving until they were round the corner and out of sight. Phoebe found that she had tears in her eyes.

‘W-What’s up?’ Duncan asked.

Two tears overflowed. ‘I’m just so pleased to have got to know her,’ Phoebe said. ‘She understands me.’ She reached
out and put both arms round Duncan’s waist, resting her face against his chest. Duncan submitted to her embrace and, after a moment, put his arms round her too and held her.

‘I’m g-g-glad s-someone does,’ he said.

On Monday when Phoebe went to work, she found a letter on her desk, the contents of which were not altogether unwelcome.

Fay telephoned her in the evening from Cornwall to say they had arrived safely and that Jack had settled in well.

‘How are you?’ Fay asked her.

‘Much better than I was. You’ve given me a lot to think about,’ Phoebe said. ‘I had a surprise at the theatre today. It’s closing down! I’ve got a fortnight’s notice.’

‘Good! Now you can get a proper job.’

‘I wish I could. There was something else I meant to say to you … about Jack’s stammer. I’m convinced that Duncan doesn’t have to stammer, you know. I think it’s a useful screen for him to hide behind; a good excuse not to have to talk. Anyway, at the Golden Wedding do, I met an old lady in a purple hat and she gave me the address of some man in London who she says is an ace at curing stammers. Duncan pooh-poohed it, of course, but I’ve still got his address and I thought maybe you could take Jack to see him when you’re both back?’

‘It’s well worth a try,’ Fay said. ‘Thanks.’

As soon as they had finished talking and Phoebe had put the phone down, it rang again. It was her mother.

‘Phoebe pet,’ she said, ‘you remember my car?’

‘The blue Polo? Of course I do.’

‘It’s four years old now but it’s a good little runner. Would you like it?’

‘Yes!’
Phoebe said. ‘I’d love it, but won’t you –’

‘George wants to buy me a new car next month,’ Wynne said with satisfaction. ‘It was his idea you should have the Polo. Shall I tell him it’s yes?’

‘Yes, please,’ Phoebe said. ‘That’s really sweet of him and it couldn’t have happened at a better time.’

Duncan was less enthusiastic when she told him. ‘It’ll be e-e-expensive to r-run,’ he said.

‘Well, I shall just have to get a better paid job then, shan’t I?’ As Phoebe said it, she realized that it might even be possible. Fay’s influence was working already! There was great competition for every job these days, but someone had to win. She was experienced and well qualified. She could do it.

Fay telephoned her again two weeks later from her new flat in St John’s Wood.

‘How did Conrad react?’ Phoebe asked.

‘Badly. He refuses to believe I really mean it. Luckily he doesn’t yet know where I’ve gone, so I’ve got a bit of a breather until he finds out.’

‘You’re still determined to divorce him?’

‘Oh yes,’ Fay said. ‘Actually, Phoebe, I’m phoning about something else. Before we discussed our marriage, Con told me that Rick phoned him wanting to know if I had any contacts. Apparently Rick’s housekeeper is having to have an operation and will be off work for a month or so. It wouldn’t matter usually, but it’s the boys’ half term mid-February and Rick has to be away filming. Then I thought of you. You’ll be out of work by then. I don’t know how you’d feel about a week in London? Rick would pay you, of course, and we could spend some evenings together too maybe.’

‘What would I have to do?’ Phoebe was unsure.

‘Look after his house, cook for the boys, wash their clothes and things, feed his cat.’

‘I don’t know,’ Phoebe said. ‘It’s rather a responsibility and I hardly know the boys.’

‘Rick’s got a charming neighbour with children the same age. I’m sure she’d help and advise, and it’s only for one week. Think about it. I’ll see how much money I can screw out of Rick! He can afford it, after all. It’ll be worth it to him not to have to spend time interviewing and vetting total strangers.’

‘The money would be useful,’ Phoebe agreed, ‘and it would be great to see you as well …’

‘Duncan could manage on his own for a week, couldn’t he?’

‘Oh yes, easily.’

‘There you are then!’

‘Here,’ Rick said, standing in his high-tech basement kitchen, ‘is the microwave. The dishwasher is under here. The freezer is full of stuff – help yourself. The sink has its own disposal unit – don’t put any spoons down it! The ceramic hob is here, of course, and the oven in the wall over there. Airing cupboard by the door with sheets and towels and stuff. Right?’

‘I don’t know how to use a microwave, or a dishwasher or a disposal thing,’ Phoebe said apologetically. ‘We don’t have them at home, you see.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. The boys will show you,’ Rick said easily. ‘The washer/dryer is through there, and this is where the water turns off if there’s a flood or anything.’ Phoebe followed him obediently up to the ground floor of his house, wondering what she had let herself in for. ‘The central heating control switch is here,’ Rick went on. ‘It’s fully automatic, so just leave it as it is. Downstairs john in there. The burglar alarm in the hall here has to be inactivated as soon as you come in, by keying in the right code. Memorize it if you can.’ He scribbled five numbers onto his telephone pad, tore the top sheet off and handed it to her. ‘Again, the boys will show you.’

‘Is it new?’ Phoebe asked, remembering his burglary.

‘Yes,’ Rick said. ‘Better late than never.’

‘Did your burglar take anything?’

‘Apparently not. Nothing I could find anyway. It was clearly my lucky day.’

‘It couldn’t have been the boys?’ Phoebe asked.

‘No. They’re quite definite about that. Anyway, they’ve both got keys. Dining room here. My study in there.’ They went upstairs to the first floor. ‘Drawing room in here,’ Rick said, standing aside to let her precede him, ‘with views to the square.’ The room was large with a high ceiling and tall windows flanked by long expensive curtains.

‘Daffodils already!’ Phoebe said, looking out into the dusk. ‘What a lovely garden.’

‘There’s a key to the gate on a hook in the kitchen,’ Rick said. ‘It’s residents only, so there’s no dog shit, thank God!’ The carpets here, as everywhere, were thick and the furniture was large and opulent. There were abstract paintings on the walls, Phoebe saw, but no books. The whole house had no individuality that she could feel. It was more like an impersonal up-market hotel. ‘The TV and video are in the couch-potato room over there,’ Rick said, ‘where the boys are now. My bedroom is next door, in here. I thought you could sleep here as it’s the most comfortable bed.’

‘A four-poster!’ Phoebe exclaimed. She wondered how many people had sat in it with Rick, drinking champagne afterwards. Perhaps he wasn’t much good in bed either.

‘My bathroom is through here,’ Rick said, opening a communicating door. A fan purred into life. Phoebe saw a lavatory, bath, shower and bidet with a matching blue carpet and gold taps galore. They were marked F and C. ‘French,’ Rick explained, ‘and the fools of builders put them in the wrong way round, so C now stands for cold (not
chaud
) and F stands for effing hot.’

Rick led the way back through his bedroom, out onto the landing again and up the last flight of stairs to the top floor. ‘Another bathroom up here and the two boys’ rooms,’ he said, indicating the three closed doors. One had a poster on it, underneath a PETER nameplate, which said:
DANGER – Teenager in Residence!
The other had a neat hand-painted sign nailed to it, which read:
Rod’s Studio. Keep Out.
‘If you’re very privileged, you’ll be invited into one or both of those dens,’ Rick said. ‘I’ve no idea what sort of a state they’re in. I never go in.’ He turned and led the way downstairs again. ‘That’s about it, I think,’ he said. ‘Have I covered everything?’

‘More or less. Um … what sort of things do Rod and Pete like to eat?’

‘Oh they eat anything and everything,’ Rick said; no help at all.

‘And do you have any particular rules that I should see about?’

Rick laughed. ‘What a quaint idea,’ he said. ‘Don’t let them murder each other and don’t give them any money – apart from that, no.’

‘What about a phone number, in case I need to contact you?’

‘Tricky,’ Rick said. ‘I’m likely to be all over the place. I can give you one, but only use it
in extremis,
okay. They don’t like being bothered with social calls.’ He took a pen from his inside pocket and wrote a London telephone number on Phoebe’s proffered piece of paper. ‘Oh yes, and the cat,’ he said. ‘He only eats the special stuff in the larder. He has to have those biscuit things too, and fresh water. He likes to sit on shoulders and he bites a lot, but only in fun.’

‘Oh.’ Phoebe had forgotten the cat. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Geronimo. Sorry this is all rather a rush,’ Rick said, ‘but I have to catch the damn plane. Now, you’ve got enough cash?’

‘More than enough, thanks.’

‘And there’s nothing else you need?’

‘Well … I don’t …’

‘Good. That’s it then.’

The taxi driver announced himself by ringing the doorbell. Rick nipped upstairs to get his bag and say goodbye to his sons. Phoebe was surprised that they didn’t bother to come downstairs to see their father off. It was something she would have insisted upon.

‘I’ll be off then,’ Rick said. ‘Have fun in the big city.’ He smiled his famous smile and ran lightly down the steps to his cab. Phoebe watched him climb in and waved as he drove off in it. He didn’t turn round or wave back. He hadn’t thanked her for helping him out either, Phoebe thought.

She closed the front door and wondered what to do next. She felt out of her depth in this shrine to conspicuous consumption; a real country cousin. She climbed the stairs to the first floor and put her head cautiously round the door of the television room. Rod was lying on the small sofa with his back to her. He was resting his boots on one of its arms, and his head on the other. Pete was sitting on the carpet, hugging a leather pouffe. Both were intent on watching the television, and both ignored
her. Phoebe looked at it too. A menacing robot with a knife was about to do something very nasty to an already bloody half-naked black girl. The music rose in a crescendo. The shot zoomed in on the girl’s terrified eyes. Phoebe looked away hurriedly.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Is there anything –’

‘SSSHHH!’ Rod said imperiously, without taking his eyes from the screen.

Phoebe withdrew. Were they allowed to watch such stuff? Rick hadn’t said. She hadn’t liked to confront them so early on. Tomorrow would do. She decided to unpack her things instead, and carried her suitcase up to the master bedroom. She stood briefly at the window and looked out at the typical London square with its elitist garden behind the locked gate. All was illuminated by the sodium glare of the streetlamps. The other houses were like Rick’s, tall, thin and cream painted with red burglar alarm boxes. Their basements were protected from the street by iron railings. Their front doors displayed shiny brass furniture and some had entry phones. They had stone steps leading up to them, and pillars. The cars parked beside the pavement were all less than two years old. In one parking space there was a builder’s skip which was full of perfectly acceptable furniture. Phoebe wished Duncan were with her. He would have gone out and scavenged a lot of useful things from it! Here, in this part of London, there were no vagrants or homeless people with or without cardboard boxes, but there was plastic and paper litter everywhere, and many of the paving stones were cracked and uneven. Unsmiling people walked past without greeting each other. In the distance she could hear the two-tone sound of a police siren. In spite of its wealth, the area seemed threatening and unfriendly to Phoebe; the epitome of pride before its fall? The cottage in Somerset was enormously attractive in contrast. I don’t belong here, Phoebe thought. Thank goodness it’s only a week.