Did The Earth Move? (16 page)

'Bye.'

'Bye.'

Slowly she put the receiver down and stared at it until it became a blur of tears.

Tom knew as soon as he saw his mother that evening that something was wrong. Her eyes were pink and she was smiling too hard at them.

'Hi,' he said. 'Are you OK, Mum?'

She waved the question away. 'Have you had a lovely time? Deepa! Don't carry him!' She saw Deepa lumbering in behind Tom with a whacked-out Robbie over her shoulder. 'Your poor back.'

Robbie was transferred to Eve and he managed a squeezy hug before conking out again. Anna looked sparkly and bright with the excitement of the day.

'Will you stay for a bit?' She tried not to plead but she really, really wanted the comfort of Tom this evening.

'Of course.'

So Deepa, Tom and Anna went to the sitting room for drinks and crisps and chat while Robbie was eased into his pyjamas and tucked into bed.

Only when Anna had been listened to, washed, teeth brushed, tucked in and left reading in her room, did Eve go back into the sitting room and collapse. 'It's Dad,' she told them, Tom really, not able to stem the tears now. 'He's got a tumour in his bowel. They have to open him up and take a look.'

She saw the surprise of this register on Tom's face.

'God,' was all he felt able to say.

'Janie's going down and I'll take Anna and Robbie for a few days as well,' she explained.

She suspected that Janie, much closer to their father, was going to find this very hard to cope with. Janie would manage little chunks of visit, but she wouldn't be able to stay long enough for her or her father to get really upset. Her sister and her father were much more alike, tried to keep most of their emotions locked up safely out of harm's reach.

'This is going to be really hard,' she said. 'We'll have to go down a lot. He'll really need us.' She felt Tom's arm slip round her shoulder.

'Mum, I'm so sorry,' he said, not sure of anything else that would help.

When Eve arrived at her father's house, in time for lunch as arranged, her younger sister was already there. Had been there for a couple of hours already, judging by the scrubbed-clean look of things.

Janie had greeted her and the children at the front door wearing yellow Marigolds. 'Hello, Lynnie.' She'd hugged her as Eve had wondered, yet again, how she'd managed to acquire three first names in the course of one lifetime. 'Children!' she'd added because Janie, despite being a mother of two, was still one of those people who addressed children collectively rather than by their names.

Anna kissed her politely but Robbie hid behind Eve's legs and felt shy.

'Dad's in the sitting room,' she'd told Eve, but didn't come in herself. 'I'm going to finish the scrub-down I'm giving the kitchen.'

Eve tried not to sigh at her. A decade and a half of marriage had turned Janie into a fussy, overanxious mother and a boring cleanaholic. After half a day together, Eve usually wanted to shout at her that not everything in the world could be put right with a jolly good clean.

God! Did Janie come into court in the morning and announce: 'Right, Your Honour, if we just dust down the panelling and hoover the jury box, I think you'll find this trial will run much more smoothly'?

It bothered Eve a lot that she and her sister had lost track of each other and were no longer as close as they had once been. Janie looked exhausted, as always, in a slightly sad, shapeless, greying kind of way.

She always gave Eve – dressed today in a sober (she thought) purple velvet skirt and pink flowered top, with her hair in a plait – a kind of mildly amused, mildly tut-tutting once over.

Eve dumped the bags she was carrying in the hall and went into the sitting room with Anna and Robbie following her. Her father was in his armchair with the
Sunday Telegraph
folded up beside him. Everything looked so normal. The room, his papers, him.

He stood up at once and held out his arms just a little bit apart. She kissed him on the cheek as he squeezed her shoulders.

'Hello, Evelyn, good to see you,' he said. 'And Anna, you've got so tall – and little Robbie, you're growing too.'

Anna proffered a smile and polite kiss; Robbie was still peeping out from behind Eve's legs, threatening to topple her if she did anything sudden.

She took a seat in the middle of the sofa with a child at each side and felt herself scrutinizing her father as they went through the polite small talk.

She thought he looked tired and maybe a little thinner under the shirt, tie and navy V-neck jumper. His generation's idea of casual Sunday afternoon dressing. To her 'How are you, Dad?' asked with throat-aching feeling, he'd merely answered, 'Not too bad. Not too bad... anyway. Anna, I want to hear all about school. What are you reading these days?'

'Where is the poo dog?' Robbie asked, all of a sudden not shy any more.

'Robbie!' Anna ticked him off. 'It's Hardy.'

'But he stinks! Where is he
Drandpa?'

'Oh God. Outside I hope,' her father answered.

Hardy, who truly did stink – he farted uncontrollably, belched, rolled around in gunge and had some sort of waxy ear problem which further added to the aroma – had come to live with her father several years ago when a friend had died and left him the dog in his will.

'The nerve,' had been her Dad's response. 'He knew how much I hated that bloody dog.'

But there was obviously some sort of grudging companionship going on because although their father complained about Hardy constantly, he walked him twice a day, fed him all sorts of luxurious doggy treats and obviously had no intention of carrying out his regular threats to 'have him bloody well put down'.

And, Eve thought, Hardy added a welcome touch of chaos to her father's prim and orderly household. The dog was one of those shambling furry blond spaniel things. He left pale hairs over everything, would appear, fart, shuffle off, and he often howled for no reason in the middle of the night.

'So what have the doctors said?' Janie asked, pouring coffee as Eve returned from tucking her children up in bed.

'They have to go in and take a look. But they weren't too cheery about it. Let's put it that way,' their father answered with a small smile and a long sip of his drink.

'So they think it might be cancerous?' Janie asked and there it was: the C word, out there in the open for them all to think about.

Long silence, everyone focusing on it. Cancerous ... Cancer. All the horrible implications.

'We'll have to wait and see. No point worrying about it till it's there,' he said, but they were, of course, all worrying about it.

'At least I've got plenty of time to put things in order' – solicitor speak taking over now. 'I'm going to sell the firm to Jack, put the money in the bank, update the will. Be ready if it's bad news. We've all got to go some time.' He brushed the crumbs on the tablecloth in front of him into a neat line. 'I should be grateful for the notice, really... not like your poor mother. So... There we are.'

Eve and Janie were too choked to say anything.

'How are you both?' he asked after a pause. 'That's the thing I worry about really, how you're getting on.'

Eve knew this worry was focused on her, mainly. Janie's career was going well, she was married to David, had been for years and years and would be for years and years, unless Eve was incredibly mistaken.

Eve listened to her sister talk about David's promotion and her teenagers, Rick and Christine and how well they were doing at school. Then it was her turn.

'Things are fine, Dad,' she said. 'Work is good and the kids are all great. Have I told you that Tom is getting married in July? That's something to look forward to.' She didn't think the pregnancy detail was needed at this stage.

'Really?!' was her father and Janie's joint response to this news.

'Isn't he rather young?' Janie asked.

'Nowadays, yes . . . But it's what he wants to do, so he has my blessing. I'll be giving them both all the support they need.'

'I hope you don't mean financially,' her father said. Oh no, she'd hoped to cheer them up with good news. Instead here was her dad giving himself some new reason to worry.

'Look, honestly, we're fine,' she said.

'What are your Denny and Tom doing now?' her father asked.

She told him, dreading the inevitable 'Shouldn't they both have done law?' conversation.

'Photography and computers? Well,' he said, lips drawn into what she couldn't help thinking of as his 'cat's bottom' expression. 'Do you think either of those careers will last?'

'What do you mean?'

'Will the world still need photographers and computer software designers in ten years' time?'

Oh . . . she understood now: as opposed to lawyers: 'Well who knows what's around the corner,' she said, hoping to end this line of questioning. 'Careers aren't the lifelong things they once were and I think that's a good thing. I'm really proud of them both.'

Loud silence.

'Look,' she willed herself to be calm – 'we're here to look after you. Let's not go on about all this other stuff.'

'Why don't you go up and have your bath, Dad?' Janie intervened. 'Lynnie and I will tidy away.'

So then she and her sister were alone in the kitchen. Janie
bustling,
the way she did: scraping pots, putting the radio on, keeping up a cheeriness that felt like the last straw to Eve, who now saw her parents' framed and faded wedding photo on the wall, took it down and sat at the kitchen table to look at it properly. Then wished she hadn't, because it made her weep.

'Oh Lynnie . . .' Her sister put a hand on her shoulder. 'You mustn't be like this. We've got to put on a brave face for Dad.'

'Why?' she asked.

'We don't want him getting really down about all this. We're here to buoy him up.'

'Are we? How do you expect him not to get down about the fact that he's going to die, Janie?'

'We don't know what he's got yet,' Janie said.

'Janie ... he's in his seventies. He's not going to be here for ever.' Eve pressed at her eyes to try and stop the tears. 'Pretty soon he's going to be saying goodbye to us, his home, his friends and everything he loves.'

'Well who knows? Maybe he'll see Mum.' Even as she said this, they both wished and wished they could believe it, but they didn't. There wouldn't be any comfort in that thought.

'Maybe Mum's met someone else.' Eve wrung a little relief from the joke. 'I mean she's been on her own for a long time. And there are all those great people up there . . . Bing Crosby, Spencer Tracy ... Elvis.'

'Oh for God's sake. What are you like? One minute blubbing your eyes out, the next taking the complete mickey.' Janie was loading the dishwasher and running hot water into the sink for the oven pans.

'You're right. I'm sorry,' Eve said and then quite randomly added: 'You'd have been really good during the war, Janie.'

'Oh now what?' Janie snapped, not looking round from the washing up.

'No, I mean that in a nice way. You're very good at battening down the hatches and coping. Anna really wouldn't approve but I suppose that's what the war spirit was all about. I'd have been flailing around in a great big panic, especially if my sons had to go off to fight. How awful! No, I'd have put my heart into being a conscientious objector and begged them to stay at home with me and spread the word.'

'Oh for God's sake,' Janie said again, angrier now, and she was right. This was ridiculous. Just one of those family debates you blunder into and in a minute it would move on to 'Nazis: why Eve thought it was better to be one than get her sons killed' and Janie would hold a grudge against her for years and mention it every Christmas and really, it was ridiculous, it had to be stopped.

'Sorry. Sorry. I'm losing the plot,' Eve said quickly. 'How are you doing?'

'I'm still in shock probably,' Janie said, scrubbing hard at the pan in the sink. 'Dad seems so well. I can't really believe it's going to be cancer and we're going to have to go through this. He's not even properly retired. He's 72! That doesn't seem so old.'

'I know, I know.' Eve stood up to hug her sister.

'If it's cancer . . . Christ. I don't know if I'm brave enough for this,' Janie said over Eve's shoulder.

'Neither do I. But we have to be. We've got each other, OK? We've got each other,' was Eve's choked answer. She gave her sister another squeeze then told her with a sniff: 'I think we should see what's lurking in Dad's drinks cabinet.'

'Good idea,' Janie replied.

First of all they had port, then Baileys, followed with a Martini and lukewarm tinned lemonade, for old times' sake, then it got more adventurous.

'Advocaat?' Eve had offered, opening the bottle and sniffing it.

'Oh God, don't touch that. It goes off, it's got egg in it.'

Eve had crouched down to get to the bottles at the very back of the cabinet: 'Blue Bols?! That's probably been here since the Seventies. Oh, here's the stuff the monks make,' she pulled out a crusted, gunged-up bottle with an ornate label, 'when they want to hallucinate!'

'And crème de menthe,' she added, 'Didn't Mum like that?'

'That's probably her bottle,' Janie said.

And for some reason, they both found this hilarious and began to shake with laughter, until Hardy shuffled in to see what the fuss was, farted and went out again.

Eve was waving a hand in front of her face, tears of laughter streaming from her eyes. 'Oh no ...' she managed when she'd finally calmed down enough to talk. 'Dad can't die yet because you'd make me take the dog, wouldn't you?'

Janie threw a sofa cushion at her and Eve realized that she hadn't seen her sister drunk or even vaguely tipsy for years, which was a shame, because she liked her quite a lot better like this.

They settled down on the sofa together with more Baileys and Janie asked all about Tom's wedding.

'Oh, I'm just the mother of the groom,' Eve told her. 'I gave them a cheque and told them to get on with it. I'm not expecting to know much about it all until the invitation comes in the post. I think that's perfect, though, I mean I'll help out with stuff if I'm asked but I don't want to get embroiled in the sort of wedding shenanigans people seem to have. Deepa and her family are Indian – have I told you that? I don't know if that means a wedding is an even bigger fuss or not. I'm sure I'll find out when I meet them.'

'Are they Hindu?' Janie wanted to know.

'No .. . lapsed C of Es apparently. Not that it makes any difference to us raving agnostics. Deepa's really nice,' she added, 'I like her a lot.'

'How is her family taking the pregnancy and everything?'

'According to Tom and Deepa, they're getting used to the idea. It's a bit of a bloody shock when your 20-year-old son pitches up at the door and announces he's going to be a dad, I can tell you that for free. So, I can only imagine it's even worse if it's your daughter because of all those extra worries... Labour... will she and the baby be OK? Will the father stick around, or leave her to get on with it? Very scary. I think her family went nuts for a bit. She's studying medicine and she hasn't decided whether she'll be able to carry on after a break, or what she's going to do.'

'Oh boy.'

'But, you know, they're really sweet together. I think they'll work things out. I hope they will.' Eve took a deep sip from her glass. It was a very big leap for Tom, she really hoped he wasn't going to flake out on them all.

'Oh . . . put this in your scandal pipe and smoke it,' Eve added. 'Dennis Leigh, the man formerly known as my husband, is planning to come to the wedding with his wife and daughters.'

'No.
No! . . . Dennis?'
For a moment, Janie wasn't sure if she had understood this correctly.

'Oh, I am enjoying the look on your face,' Eve smiled.

'You can't... he can't really be coming? How dare he? It will ruin everything ...'

'Oh don't be so melodramatic, Janie. I'm sure it will be interesting. It's not like he's turning up just for the ceremony. He's coming over from America with his wife and daughters a few days before, apparently, so we'll all have a chance to get... acclimatized.'