Shell House (30 page)

       
“Knock, knock?”

       
Rebecca turned to see Nancy standing at the door.

       
“Come in, come in!” She beckoned to her as she descended the small step ladder she’d used to aid her in opening the windows.

       
“Oh, Aunt Gabrielle!” Nancy almost ran to throw her arms round her.

       
Rebecca hugged her hard, still feeling strange at being referred to by her original name.

       
When she’d talked with Harry, either in correspondence or on the telephone, he’d referred to her as such and she’d never had the heart to correct him, although it had felt strangely normal. She thought now, this was probably because it was coming from her father.

       
She was still undecided as to what she should be called, swaying more towards Rebecca because she’d been called that for so long, but she now felt a pang of guilt for her parents, who had carefully chosen the name Gabrielle. Before her appeal she hadn’t had the choice because Rebecca Banford was her legal identity. She found she had so many more choices now, and some decisions were proving to be quite difficult.

       
“Those journalists don’t give up, do they?”

       
“They’ll soon get bored. How would you feel about calling me Rebecca?”

       
Nancy thought for a few seconds. “Aunty Rebecca?”

       
Rebecca laughed. “If you like. It feels like this is all a new start, I’ve been known as Rebecca for so long and I think Gabrielle carries too many bad memories for me to return to it.”

       
“I prefer it actually. Whatever was Gramps thinking?”

       
She laughed again. “I don’t know, I think I was supposed to have been named after an angel or something. That’s what he used to tell me when I was little anyway. When did you get back?” Rebecca quickly changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on the whys and wherefores of being named Gabrielle.

       
“A few days ago.”

       
“Did you have a good time?”

       
“It was okay.” Nancy shrugged.

       
“Hang on a minute − I thought you weren’t due back until the weekend?”

       
“I wasn’t but there were a few squabbles amongst the girls....”

       
“Do you think there were too many of you? I know you said you were worried about it. It was only a small holiday cottage, after all.”

       
“Yeah but it wasn’t just that. I came home early because I had a call from my Mum. Has Dad been round?”

       
“Not to my knowledge. Is everything okay?”

       
“Not really. My Mum’s left him.”

       
Rebecca sat on the step ladder; memories of what she’d written in her book flashed before her. It was beginning to feel like she’d psychically mapped out their futures, which she knew was absurd. “Oh no. Are you alright?”

       
Nancy screwed up her nose and Rebecca suddenly caught a glimpse of herself at that age; she’d inherited her deep brown hair and pale blue eyes. They looked more like mother and daughter than aunt and niece.

       
“Yeah, kind of. I don’t really feel anything about it but maybe I should. I think I’ve always been expecting it; they’ve been at each other’s throats for years.”

       
Rebecca stood up and put her arm around Nancy’s shoulders, guiding her from the shell room and into the house so she could make them both some tea. “There’s no should or shouldn’t about it. It’s probably a bit of a shock at the moment.”

       
“Not really. They got worse after I left for Uni so it was inevitable. I can’t believe he hasn’t been round to see you or at least called.”

       
“Why would he just because your mum’s left.”

       
Nancy’s cheeks turned slightly pink as she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.

        Rebecca nodded. “I see. Your
mum didn’t want him to see me. It’s alright, you don’t have to explain.”

        
“I just think it was more Mum’s influence over him making decisions, although he is a stubborn git.”

       
“Well, I don’t want you to worry about it. I’m sure he’s got much more important things to think about than rushing around to see me. He must be terribly upset.”

       
“He’s not really, just a bit quiet and grumpier than normal. I’ve just stayed out of his way.”

       
“You know you can always stay here if you don’t want to be at home. I know you spent a lot of time here with Harry and I don’t want you to think that’s changed because he’s not...this is still your home.”

       
Nancy looked up at Rebecca as she placed two steaming cups of tea onto the table. “I miss him terribly.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “That’s partly why I came back early from my trip. Mum’s phone call was a good excuse to leave but the truth is, I just didn’t want to be there. I can’t believe I still feel so sad about his death.”

       
Rebecca reached across the table and held her hand. “There are no set rules about grieving and you were very close....” She paused, trying desperately to compose herself.

       
“I feel alright a lot of the time and then it’s like a massive wave looming over my head threatening to engulf me.”

       
Rebecca smiled. “I know what you mean. That’s a good way of putting it. And it’s also true what they say about waves − go with the rip current and don’t swim against it. It might carry you away for a while but it’ll deliver you safely back to the shore. You listen to your Aunty Rebecca, she knows what she’s talking about.”

       
Nancy sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue she had tucked in her sleeve. “That’s surfing talk. Do you surf?”

       
“I have done but not for a long time. And no is the answer to your next question, I’ll stick to my running thanks.”

       
They both laughed, pleased that the atmosphere had lifted.

       
“Now then, tell me what we’re going to do to spruce up the shell room? Are you going to open it up to the public? As a museum I mean?”

       
“Yes, once it’s all been cleaned and repainted. That was one of Harry’s conditions in his will − that I was to open it as a shell museum, which is what I fully intend to do.”

       
“He would have really loved that.” Nancy sipped her tea, trying to stem the fresh wave of tears that were threatening to trickle down her cheeks.

       
“That’s why I want to make the room extra special, so that wherever he’s watching from he’ll be really proud.”

       
“Every time I go past the sea front I swear I see him sitting on his bench out of the corner of my eye.”

       
Rebecca wrapped her arm around her stomach feeling a wave of grief rise up to her throat and fall into her chest, turning into a blanket of snow as it landed around her heart. The story she’d written had still lived on in her head and she held onto it tightly, allowing herself to believe she had spent that time with him; got to know him again.

       
“I feel his presence here a lot, especially in the evenings, but then maybe that’s just my imagination.”

       
“No it’s not. He loved this place. I bet he’s here all the time when he’s not on his bench by the sea.”

       
They smiled at one another. “Have you sorted out any of his things?”

       
“Not in any great capacity. Well actually I haven’t at all apart from outdated tins of food and various items I found in the larder.”

       
“I should imagine that took you all day! I sometimes wondered if he thought there was going to be another war!”

       
“It was a bit like that, yes!” Rebecca laughed. “I don’t know, I just can’t settle to clearing it all out. It’s everything he created, his whole life and I don’t want to disturb any of it. I know it’ll have to be done eventually. I actually thought your dad might like to sort through some of his things.”

       
“He did say he was going to come and see you, have a talk. I thought he would have been round while I was away. He’s useless.”

       
“He’s got enough on his plate right now, I should imagine.” Rebecca was just pleased he’d said he’d come and see her. It was a start and eased her worry over it all.

       
“I’m sure he’ll come round at some point.”

       
“I can’t make him do anything and I’m not about to pester him over it. I still feel bad that I got left the house; that must have really hurt him. I think it’s only fair that he has the chance to sort through Harry’s things. I’m not in a hurry; I can’t bring myself to do it anyway.”

       
“They say that it helps the grieving process, something to do with acceptance? You might feel better if you make a start.”

       
Rebecca let out a sigh. “Well, you know, I’ve spent a lifetime following advice and orders from therapists. I’ve decided to do what I think is best and right now that’s to just settle into this beautiful house and leave things just as they are, for now.”

       
“I read it in a magazine, so it’s probably a load of rubbish anyway.” Nancy shrugged and sipped the last of her tea.

       
“I thought so.” Rebecca laughed.

       
“Hey, it could be the film set for when they put your book on the telly!”

       
“That is not a bad idea.”

       
They were quiet for a while as they sat at the kitchen table drinking more tea, both deep in thought.

       
“I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

       
They stared at one another for a few moments.

       
“That’s a very kind thing to say but don’t be sorry for me, I’m fine. Really.” She reached across the table and patted her hand again. “We must look forward, not dwell and become bitter. Now come on, we can’t sit here all day. I need you to help me get the shell room ready for decorating. Let’s see what we can get done before I have to go out.”

CHAPTER
FIVE

        Rebecca knocked for the second time on the old blue door; its paint curled and chipped from the varying weather it had endured over the years. She was about to walk away when she heard a muffled voice which she thought was coming from behind the door.

       
“Hello?” She called and waited for a response. Then she saw a figure out of the corner of her eye and turned to see John Tailby coming towards her, a garden hoe in his gnarled old hands. She stepped back slightly.

       
“Yes? What do you want? You’re not one of those damn reporters are you?”

       
“No, no I’m not.” She was slightly taken aback by his appearance, having expected a wizened old man, even though she’d described someone completely different to that in her book. The man standing before her now was neither an old man nor a face plucked from her imagination, and she barely recognised him from when she was a child. He’d filled out somewhat, having been extremely lean in his younger years. He’d grown a beard and obviously age and life had weathered the colour to white flecked with grey, making him look very different.

       
“Who are you then?” His manner was abrupt and she’d begun to think better of her visit. Then she saw the recognition in his face as he drew closer to her.

       
“I’m Rebecca Banford.” She gingerly held out her hand to him.

       
He stared at her for a few moments. “You’re not though, are you? You’re Gabrielle Rochester. I’ve seen your picture in the paper.” It was as though he were making a flat statement.

       
“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I just wanted to talk to you.” Rebecca lowered her hand realising he wasn’t going to take it.

       
“You better come indoors. How did you manage to get round here without a load of reporters following you? You’ve been in all the papers.”

       
“I got in my car and drove to the next village and walked from there. Sunglasses and a cap come in handy. They’re dying off a bit now, thankfully.”

       
John nodded without much expression and turned to walk through his garden gate which led to the back of his house.