The Children's Hour (15 page)

Rosie watched her for a moment, not speaking, until Joe came out of the snug behind her and Lyddie was able to smile at him too, as naturally as she could.

‘I'm a bit early,' she was beginning – and then, to her relief, a couple came in, exclaiming at the weather, and Rosie moved behind the bar.

‘Come and sit down,' Joe said, smiling back at Lyddie. ‘You
are
a bit earlier than usual, and Liam's still in the office, but you must have a drink and then I'll go and tell him you're here. I know he wants to eat with you this evening. I've had instructions.'

Her heart was warmed by his words, and by his welcome, and courage flowed once more in her veins. She sat down in the corner of the snug, the Bosun stretched just outside, and waited for her drink.

‘So.' He put a glass of wine in front of her and slid onto the opposite bench. ‘How are you? I didn't have a chance to talk to you last night, we were too preoccupied with the man from the VAT, but I think he's finished with us and we've passed all the tests with flying colours!'

He was friendly, easy in his corner, yet Lyddie still sensed uneasiness beneath the joky exterior.

‘I'm worried about Liam.' She said the words without really thinking about them; they seemed to jump from her lips like the toads from the princess's mouth, and she watched his expression change.

‘Worried?' Joe never drank when he was working, so, having nothing to occupy his hands, nothing to sip whilst he thought up some light response, he folded his arms across his chest and frowned a little. ‘What's to worry about? He seems fine to me.' But he would not look at her, shifting, instead, sideways onto the table, one leg stretched along the bench, so as to stare out of the doorway of the snug.

‘I don't know.' She rested her arms on the table. ‘I hoped you'd be able to tell me. He keeps the whole business side so private but there's something on his mind.'

She noted that he looked relieved, watched him relax slightly. ‘Oh, that's Liam all over,' he said. ‘Even I don't know what's going on when it comes to the business. It's his baby, always has been. No good getting upset about it.'

‘It's not quite that.' She wondered how much she could confide in Joe. ‘The thing is, I've been wondering if the business needs money. If— Oh, hell, I don't know how to put this. We've had a bit of a row about it, actually.'

She looked so miserable that Joe swung his leg off the bench and faced her directly across the table.

‘OK,' he said. ‘I know you saw a letter. Liam told me something
about it and I think he was over the top about it, if you want my opinion. You're his wife, after all, and I think he's too obsessed – well, possessive, anyway – about The Place. It's his whole world and you're going to have to try to accept that. But there is no need to worry about the financial side of it. Honestly. It's not unusual to raise money against your own property when you're in a partnership. It means that the liability is equally shared. We've got to modernize the kitchen and that's the long and short of it. I'm doing the same, raising money against my flat, and Rosie's not too thrilled about it, I can tell you.'

‘Is that what you were arguing about?' she asked, comforted by his matter-of-factness.

He flushed, clearly embarrassed, and she cursed herself that, in her relief, she'd been so tactless.

‘Anyway,' she said quickly, covering the lapse, ‘it's simply that I might have some money coming to me, you see, and I wondered if I could help him.' She shrugged. ‘You know, stop him having to borrow.'

‘Liam's a control freak,' Joe told her. ‘He likes to do everything himself. It's crazy if you've got some money and you're prepared to let him use it – but that's Liam!'

‘And who is it taking my name in vain?' Liam appeared in the doorway, smiling at their discomfiture, stroking the Bosun's head. ‘What lies is he telling you about me?'

It was clear that, between Aretha Franklin and the people now filling the café, Liam had heard only the last few words and Lyddie swallowed in a dry throat and took a quick, nervous sip at her wine.

‘I was just telling her what a mean, arrogant bastard you are.' Joe got up, grinning easily. ‘But I'm sure she knows that by now, poor girl.'

‘She does indeed.' Liam took Joe's place, lifting Lyddie's
hand to his lips. ‘I don't deserve her at all but you knew that anyway.'

Joe turned away, laughing. ‘I'll get you a beer,' he said, ‘and then you can tell me what you want to eat.'

‘It's the truth of it,' Liam agreed, still holding her hand. ‘I'm a mean, arrogant bastard. Can you forgive me at all?'

‘Oh, Liam.' She was so overjoyed to see him easy and charming, so loving as he looked at her, that she knew she'd forgive him anything. ‘I'm really sorry about the letter. It was quite wrong of me—'

‘Shall we forget the old letter? The VAT man has gone, the saints be praised, and I feel like a reprieved man. Could you manage another drink?'

‘Yes, please,' she said gratefully. ‘Oh, I could.'

He leaned to kiss her, quickly to begin with, and then lingeringly, until Joe, coming back with a menu, was obliged to bang on the table to gain their attention, so that the three of them laughed together and harmony was re-established.

Driving to Ottercombe on Saturday morning, Lyddie still felt all the relief and happiness that making up with Liam had brought her. Within her relationships, Lyddie dealt in absolutes: she was incapable of living with strife, unable to ignore surly tempers or icy silences. She liked open discussion, however painful, and preferred communication to the bottling up of discontent. Misunderstandings could so easily blow up into full-scale resentment, irritation could develop into intolerance, and she believed that every relationship worth nurturing needed attention to detail. She'd discovered fairly early on that not everyone worked in the same way and she was quite content to leave those who did not agree with her to their own principles, though, as yet, she had not been prepared to compromise her own.

Now, despite the relief and happiness, she was experiencing the first stirrings of anxiety. She was forced to admit that there was a whole part of Liam's life to which she had
no access: a no-go area that was closed to her. Had this been clear from the beginning or had she wilfully misled herself because she'd wanted him so badly? Even now, although Liam was full of apologies for his outburst and the current of love was flowing once more between them, Lyddie was obliged to face the fact that he had not budged an inch from his original position. The Place was his and she had no part or say in it. The subject of the loan to be raised against the house, along with her own offer, had been simply despatched straight back into that no-go area; it was as if these matters had never been raised and, despite her policy of negotiation at all costs, Lyddie had found herself unable to resurrect them. She knew why: the resumption of their loving, warm, easygoing pattern of life had been too precious to risk. He'd shown her his weapons – withdrawal of love, silence, coldness – and she'd quailed before them.

She tried to convince herself that it was early days, that Liam could not be expected to change overnight with regards to his passion for his business. After all, she knew what it was like to love one's job, she'd worked with professionals who juggled their work and their families; she knew that there had to be a certain amount of compartmentalization and a great deal of self-discipline. Five years of Liam's life was bound up in the wine bar: it had been his whole world. She needed to make allowances, to give him space to adjust. Part of the cause of the row, she also told herself, had been to do with the VAT inspector's visit; the timing had been most unfortunate and it was now obvious that Liam had been pretty uptight until the accounts had been given the all-clear. How quick he'd been then to make amends, to acknowledge his faults and to sweep away all her apologies for opening his letter. Nevertheless, it was also clear that that particular subject was closed, off limits, and,
in her silent acquiescence, too grateful for his love to risk it again, she had surrendered her own principles.

As the car fled along the A39, leaving Hartland Point and Bude to the west, circumnavigating Barnstaple and speeding away again towards the turning at Kentisbury Ford, Lyddie tried to convince herself that she was exaggerating, that they were both recovering from their first serious row, and that Liam would slowly relinquish his grip on the business and allow her to enter into it with him. She must be patient. The fear remained, however; a tiny shadow cast across her happiness.

Both Mina and Nest were aware of it as they watched her playing with Toby and Flora or laughing and talking with Jack and Hannah. There was a febrile quality to her brightness that worried both of them but they were too concerned about Georgie to attach too much weight to it. They guessed that it might have something to do with Liam and, whilst they both felt the impotence of being obliged to stand back and watch a beloved child suffer, they also knew that marriage to such a one as Liam was bound to be hedged about with difficulties. They, like Lyddie's colleagues in London, could see past the charm and sexiness, beyond the fascination and the challenge, to the determined, driven, restlessness that possessed Liam's soul; but then, they were not in love with him.

After lunch, however, Georgie was beginning to behave oddly enough to keep them both alert. She'd begun the day well, appearing to have a reasonable grasp on the proceedings. Nest managed to avoid irritating her, reminding herself not to fall into the trap of asking her sister if she remembered Hannah and the children, talking instead with Mina about the little family whilst the three of them had breakfast.
Georgie had not contributed but appeared to be listening and taking it in.

‘After all,' said Mina philosophically, as she and Nest cleared up afterwards, ‘Jack and Hannah know the score. I doubt they'll be offended if Georgie muddles them with someone else, and the children won't understand anyway.'

‘As long as she doesn't . . .' Nest hesitated, ‘you know – blurt something out.'

Anxiety curdled Mina's gut. ‘The thing is, we don't know what it is she might blurt out.'

Even as they stared at each other fearfully, a commotion was heard outside: Jack and his family had arrived. The sisters hurried through the hall, the dogs racing ahead, and out into the garden. Jack had already released Toby from his seat and he came hurtling round the front of the car to greet the dogs, whilst Flora could be heard struggling with Hannah and wailing, ‘No! No!' and, ‘Get down! Get
down
!' as her mother undid the straps of her chair.

Jack kissed his aunts and looked tolerantly upon his family. Flora had now fought her way both out of the car and from Hannah's restraining grasp and stood swaying uncertainly on the gravel, her gaze fixed upon the dogs.

‘Which is Nogood Boyo?' asked Toby, kneeling amongst the three of them. He thought the name was exceedingly funny. ‘Why is he called Boyo? Why is he no good?'

‘Because he's a very naughty person,' explained Mina, ‘and he's Welsh.'

‘What's Welsh?' asked Toby, puzzled, stroking Nogood Boyo's head and submitting to being licked upon the cheek. ‘Why is he Welsh?'

‘Don't,' murmured Jack. ‘Please, Aunt, just don't. After “no” and one or two other unsavoury words of the moment, “why”, “how” and “what” follow in quick succession. It
won't stop with defining “Welsh”, I promise you. Next it'll be Dylan Thomas, his life and work, and after ten minutes you'll be giving a dissertation on
Under Milk Wood
and then how will you explain Polly Garter, I wonder?'

Mina tucked her hand under his arm, chuckling. ‘I was always taught that one should answer children's questions,' she said, ‘but your father and Nest gave me some very bad moments when they were small, I admit.' To Toby she said: ‘Boyo's a Sealyham. That's the kind of dog he is. And Sealyhams come from Wales.'

‘Dogs are different makes, Tobes,' Hannah told him. ‘You know that. The Bosun doesn't look like these, does he? That's because he comes from Switzerland. See?'

‘And the secret, at this point,' said Jack, beaming at his aunts, ‘is that when he answers “No”, we all pretend we haven't heard him. Now who was it mentioned something about coffee?'

‘Come on in,' said Nest, feeling more light-hearted than she had for several weeks. ‘You are hopeless, Jack. It must be due to Hannah that the children are so good.'

‘My yoke-mate is a miracle of patience,' he said, dodging a blow from his wife with a dexterity born of practice. ‘But teaching small boys all day long instils a high degree of self-preservation. Ah, here's Aunt Georgie. Good morning, Aunt, and how are you?'

Georgie allowed herself to be kissed, stared fixedly at Hannah for a moment and stood watching the proceedings as Flora was whisked upstairs to have her napkins changed, Toby reflected upon the rival merits of orange juice and milk, trying to decide which he might like best, and Nest and Mina chattered and joked with Jack. As usual, they relaxed quickly into the happy, carefree aura that he always so successfully created and, in the midst of their jollity, Lyddie
and the Bosun arrived. Georgie was drawn smoothly into the conversation and even Flora, once she was allowed to have her juice sitting on the floor beside the Bosun, responded with a sunny amiability that charmed her older relatives.

Lunch passed without too many alarms but now, as they sat drinking coffee in the drawing-room with the french doors open to the terrace, Mina grew aware of the change taking place in Georgie. She'd managed one or two fairly sharp observations during lunch – which because of lack of space had been a buffet arrangement with the children at the kitchen table – but now that particular expression, which Mina was learning to dread, was transforming Georgie's face. Confused, even anguished, Georgie sat contemplating her family. In the drawing-room, the scene of so many family occasions, she seemed to drift in time, staring first at Toby, now at Flora, in puzzlement. She turned her eyes to Jack and saw Timmie sitting talking – but to whom? Was it Nest who sat beside him, leaning towards him, listening intently, as they had so often sat together in the past? Yet here was Nest, wheeling her chair into the circle, reaching for her coffee . . .