Love and Devotion (57 page)

He didn’t know whether it was a relief or a comfort, but already Suzie’s presence seemed to be greater in death than when she was alive. It was as if he’d been made raw from grief and his mind, body and soul were sensitive to everything he’d ever known about her. Memories he’d forgotten he had had been brought vividly and painfully alive.

The most painful memory was of him kneeling by the side of her bed on her third birthday. She was still overexcited from an afternoon of too much sugar and a houseful of squealing friends from nursery school. Her tiny party frock was hanging from the handle on the wardrobe door, her brand-new black patent shoes had been left out to wear again to Nana Ruby’s the next day, and he had soothed her by stroking her back and singing to her. His heart thumped as he pictured her small, restless body gradually relaxing, her eyelids fluttering, her lips gently parting as she slept. But without warning, the picture changed and it was a grown-up Suzie he was looking at - Suzie dead in the hospital, the lights bright, the ground rising up to meet him as he pitched forward, hands reaching out for him, voices asking if he needed to sit down, did he want a drink? No, he silently screamed, I want my daughter back. Give me back my daughter!

He lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the burning tears that threatened to destroy what few defences he could still rely on. He plunged his hands into the washing-up bowl, clenched his fists and tried to take a gulp of air.

‘Will?’

Fighting hard to regain his composure, he forced himself to swallow. He didn’t want Maxine to see him like this. It was too reminiscent of a lifetime ago, when she had despised and scorned him for his weakness.

‘Will, are you okay?’

Ignoring her, he went over to the drawer where his mother kept the clean hand-towels. He pulled one out and dried his hands roughly, and still with his back to Maxine, hunted through his pockets for something to blow his nose on.

‘Here, try this.’

He turned round; Maxine was holding out some kitchen roll towards him. He took it but was careful not to look at her. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry to let the side down. You never did like seeing me when I was upset, did you? In your eyes men should behave like real men. As your father did.’ His tone was bitter.

‘As usual, your biting cynicism isn’t far from the truth.’

‘And?’

She shrugged wearily, and once again he realised how changed she was. There was little evidence of the determined and ambitious Maxine in her face. She looked haggard, thoroughly defeated.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘old habits die hard. I keep having a go at you, and I shouldn’t. Not now when we’re going through — ’

She raised her hands. ‘No, please, don’t say any more.’ She looked terrified that he might offer her sympathy.

It upset him to think how divided and entrenched they’d become. How could they have created a beautiful child like Suzie, only to end up hating each other? Surely, for Suzie’s sake, they could learn to be kinder to one another. Couldn’t they? Emboldened, he decided to test the water. ‘Maxine,’ he said softly, ‘do you think it’s possible that we — ?’

But once again, she cut him off. ‘If you’re tired of washing, I’ll take over and you can dry.’

Taking his cue, he thought better of what he’d nearly said. Perhaps it was hopeless anyway. They’d probably left it too late.

 

 

 

 

It had rained steadily over Christmas, but the day after Boxing Day, the sky suddenly brightened, and seeing as she was off work until January, Harriet phoned the estate agent to ask if she could borrow the key to number one Lock Cottage to do some measuring. She wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any last-minute surprises, such as discovering her bed wouldn’t fit up the stairs.

The biggest surprise of the move so far was how much Carrie was looking forward to it. To Harriet’s amazement her niece spoke of little else and was constantly on at Harriet about when she could invite her new friends to see the cottage and when they could have their first sleepover. Harriet viewed this enthusiasm with a mixture of relief and horror; it was good that Carrie had now made friends at school, but the thought of having to entertain them on a regular basis scared her rigid.

As was to be expected, Joel was more reticent about the move. Harriet had lost count how many times he had asked her how he would get home from school. It was as if he had a mental block on the subject. His anxiety was contagious and whenever Harriet found herself beginning to worry too much about her nephew, she reminded herself of something Will had once told her; that as soon as Joel had made a special friend at school, everything would come together for him and he’d feel more settled and secure. Will had been right on so many other matters when it came to the children, she hoped he was right on this one. It really mattered to her that Joel was happy. He wasn’t a strong, resilient child the way Carrie was; he was quiet and sensitive and too prone to introversion. He was entirely his father’s child, Harriet had come to realise.

Harriet had seen Will only twice during the Christmas period, and that was when he came and went from his house. Mum had wanted to invite him over for a drink, but Harriet had begged her not to. Seeing Will floundering over a glass of wine and a flaky cheese straw in their sitting room would have been too much. ‘It’s far too soon to expect him to be sociable,’ she’d told Eileen.

‘I’m not expecting him to be sociable,’ her mother had said, ‘but it seems wrong to leave him out in the cold, as though we don’t care.’

‘He knows we care, Mum. Just leave him be until New Year.’

Their own Christmas had, of course, been overshadowed by Felicity and Jeff’s absence, and Harriet knew that at times her parents had struggled to keep a brave face on the proceedings. It was particularly palpable when it came to the children opening their presents. Felicity had had a rule with Carrie and Joel that they could have their stockings as soon as they were awake, but the rest of the presents had to be kept until after lunch. Eileen had decided to stick with this tradition, but when the children were sitting expectantly round the tree, their hands itching to root out something with their name on it, Harriet’s father had left the room abruptly.

‘It was their faces,’ he told Harriet later, when he was helping her to make some ham sandwiches for tea. ‘There was such joy and excitement in their expressions. And poor Felicity not here to see it. It’s so bloody unfair. It’s like they’ve forgotten her already, as though she never mattered to them.’

‘They’ll never forget their mother,’ Harriet had said, quick to defend her niece and nephew. ‘They’re just adapting faster than us. Perhaps we should take a leaf out of their book.’

These had been almost the only words exchanged between Harriet and her father since she had learned of his double life, and she could muster up little sympathy for him. Mum had said she mustn’t judge him too harshly, that his behaviour was a reflection of the depth of his grief, but it simply wasn’t in her to offer him any consolation. The rest of them were coping; why couldn’t he?

 

The children had wanted to come and help her measure up at the house, and just as they were climbing into the back of her car, a voice had Harriet turning round. She hadn’t seen either Miles or Dominic since the evening at Novel Ways, but here was Dominic coming towards her. ‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ he said. ‘Are you on your way out or coming back?’

‘Going out.’

‘Anywhere interesting?’

‘Yes, my new house.’

‘Excellent. I’ll come with you.’

She moved away from the car so that the children couldn’t hear her. ‘Firstly,’ she said, ‘you’re not coming anywhere with me until you’ve apologised. Secondly, who says I want you to see my new house?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Good God, Harriet, you’re quite magnificent when you’re angry. It’s enough to make a gay man straight! Here, let me kiss you to see if you’re the answer every fundamentalist Christian out there has been praying for.’

He put his gloved hands on her shoulders but she pushed him away roughly. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘Ah, not even a little kiss? It is the season of good will, after all. Besides, I’m told my technique is something to behold.’

‘Well hold onto it yourself; I’m not interested. So how about that apology?’

‘It would help if I knew what it was I’m supposed to be sorry about. Remind me what heinous crime I’ve committed. Don’t tell me your stultifying priggishness didn’t appreciate the card I pushed through your letterbox. Is that what I’ve done wrong?’

Staggered at his glibness, she tightened her scarf around her throat. She was also blushing at the thought of the card he’d sent - a picture of two naked men having sex in the snow. Definitely not one for the mantelpiece! But only Dominic could pretend that scene in the wine bar had never happened. ‘I suggest you cast your mind back to last week when I threw my drink in your face,’ she said, ‘and in particular, the reason why I did it.’

‘Surely you’re not still cross about that? A silly off-the-cuff remark about my little bro fancying you?’

She looked at him hard. ‘You called me frigid.’

‘Did I?’

‘You did.’

‘And is that what you want me to apologise for? For you having an underdeveloped sexuality? Not for my teasing you about Miles swapping his affections from one sister to another? Which was, I admit, rather cruel of me, but I wanted to see the look on his face. By the way, presumably you’ve now proved me right; that it was Miles with whom Felicity was having an affair?’

Having no intention of letting him off by being side-tracked, Harriet said, ‘Dominic, I’m warning you. You apologise to me, right now. Or I’ll — ’

‘Or what?’ he interrupted her. ‘What will you do, Harriet?’ He suddenly flung his arms out wide. ‘What can anyone do to me?’ To her horror and amazement, he started to cry, and lurching towards her, he wept uninhibitedly, his sobs catching in his throat.

Stunned, and wondering if he’d been drinking, Harriet stood in his arms not knowing what to do. She tried to slip out of his grasp. ‘Dominic,’ she said. ‘Please stop. The children. You’ll upset them.’

To her relief he let go of her abruptly, almost flinging her away. But with his head back, his face open to the sky and tears streaming down his cheeks, he said, ‘I don’t give a damn about anyone else. Don’t you understand I’m beyond that? ... Please let me come and see your new house.’ He was pleading with her.

What could she do but give in? She bundled him into the passenger seat of her Mini, hoping that he’d stop crying so that the children wouldn’t ask what was wrong with him.

But he didn’t stop crying, and they did ask what was wrong with him.

‘Dominic’s not feeling well,’ she explained as they hurtled down Maple Drive and he leaned against the passenger window, his face partially hidden behind a handkerchief.

‘Has he got flu like Will?’ asked Joel.

‘Would he like a sweet?’ asked Carrie, leaning forward and offering a paper bag of Edna’s pick‘n’mix.

By the time they’d picked up the key from the estate agent and had driven on to the house, Dominic had calmed down. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, when at Harriet’s instruction the children had taken the keys and gone round to the back of the cottage. ‘I warned you in Dublin that I was losing it.’

‘Dominic, have you thought seriously about seeing someone? A doctor? Or maybe a therapist?’

‘No!’ He slammed the car door shut. ‘Come on, I’m bored with this conversation. Show me your house. Show me where I’ll come and visit you, where we’ll sit by the fire eating crumpets on a cold winter’s afternoon.’

His mood swings were so difficult to keep up with. Not for the first time, Harriet wondered if drugs were responsible. She knew from Felicity that years ago he went through a phrase of using amphetamines and coke. It was the reason Jeff had said he wouldn’t ever allow Dominic to stay with them; he didn’t want his children coming within a mile of someone with a drug habit. But whatever the reason behind Dominic’s current erratic behaviour, Harriet knew she couldn’t stay cross with him for long. She never had been able to. That was the trouble with him; he was his own constellation. You couldn’t judge him by normal standards.

The house was freezing cold inside and Harriet quickly got on with the job of measuring up. Leaving the children to give Dominic the guided tour, she worked out where all the larger pieces of furniture would go. When the solicitor had given them the all-clear, she and her parents had sold most of Jeff and Felicity’s things. Forever practical, though, she had kept most of the kitchen appliances as well as the more useful pieces of furniture, such as the kitchen table and chairs, a range of book cases, and of course, everything the children had had in their old bedrooms. It was all stored in her parents’ garage, along with her stuff from the flat in Oxford. While she was looking forward to having her own belongings around her again, she wasn’t so sure about resurrecting such tangible reminders of her sister. Her original thinking had been that their presence would be a comfort for Carrie and Joel, but supposing she’d got that wrong? Supposing it just chafed at the wound that was slowly healing?

Dominic made no comment on the house until they were locking up and the children were dragging him by the arm to come and look at the garden and canal. ‘Felicity would approve,’ was his only comment as he rested his elbows on the wall and watched a pair of swans gliding past. From nowhere, a smile appeared on his face. ‘Let’s go for lunch,’ he said. ‘A pub lunch. We should celebrate this day.’

‘Why this day in particular?’ she asked.

‘Because I’ve decided I’m going to apologise to you.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘I’m not sure, to be honest. Now this pub you’re taking me to, I’m assuming it’s one of those dreadful family pubs where they pander to the whims of diminutive savages? Any chance of there being some kind of quicksand pit in which these two can be thrown, thereby allowing us to have a quiet conversation?’