The Children's Hour (38 page)

For the remaining days she'd continued in that dull, listless mood; shuffling about, sitting in corners, unresponsive. When Mina told her that Helena would be coming to take her home – her lips stumbling at the word – Georgie had stared at her rather vacantly but had been quite ready to go with her upstairs to start the packing.

‘The point is,' Lyddie was saying, ‘that this is progressive. Anything might happen and you're simply not equipped for it here. She could wander off anywhere; up on the moor or
down to the beach. You can't be her gaoler, Aunt Mina. She'll be very well looked after and probably love being with all the other people. We'll go and visit her. Now I'm on the insurance of the camper I'll drive you and Nest up and we'll stay in a hotel somewhere. It'll be fun.'

Mina stared at her, almost weak with gratitude. Whilst she would have vehemently denied any suggestion that she was not perfectly strong enough to care for Nest or to run Ottercombe, nevertheless this infusion of youth and energy was the most tremendous relief. The last few weeks had drained her more than she had realized and Lyddie's strong, practical support was like a tonic. She knew a sudden foolish desire to burst into tears.

‘It sounds . . . wonderful.' She sat down dizzily, suddenly, on a kitchen chair and Nest wheeled over to sit beside her whilst Lyddie made the coffee.

‘Rather good for you to be chauffeur-driven after all these years.' Nest was smiling at her. ‘Just think. You'll be able to see things again which you can't when you're doing the driving. You know, all those little sudden glimpses of the moor or the sea when I shout, “Oh, look” – and you can't because we're going round a bend or something.'

‘I was wondering . . .' But before Lyddie could tell them her idea the door was pushed open and Georgie came in. She looked round at each of them almost suspiciously and, automatically, Mina began to struggle to her feet but Lyddie spoke first and Mina sank back gratefully.

‘Perfect timing, Aunt Georgie,' she said cheerfully. ‘I'm making some coffee and I was just about to come and find you.'

Georgie frowned, looking round the kitchen, not answering, and Mina's spirits sank. Nest wheeled forward touching Mina lightly, comfortingly, on the arm as she passed.

‘Are you looking for something?' she asked gently.

Georgie stared at her distrustfully, still with that tiny frown creasing her brows, and turned away to peer along the dresser shelves. Her hands fumbled over the surface, her steps were short, uncertain, and the other three watched in a kind of breathless, unmoving silence.

‘Aaahhh . . .' She let out a sound that was little more than a long breath of relief.

‘Have you found it?' Nest tried to keep her voice light, interested.

Georgie looked at her guardedly for several moments before opening her hand to show what it held. It was Timmie's little car, washed and scoured by a thousand tides, and Nest – for one terrible moment – wanted to seize it from her.

‘I took it from him before,' Georgie said confidingly. ‘He is Papa's favourite but I am his first-born. I shall hide it.' Her eyes travelled over Nest – puzzled now, as if surprised to see her in a wheelchair – and beyond her to Lyddie, who watched her compassionately. ‘Mama?' she murmured. Her face, confused, even frightened, crumpled suddenly and Mina came quickly to her, taking her arm.

‘Let's go and pack it so that it doesn't get lost again,' she said, ‘and then we'll have that coffee.'

They went out together and Lyddie looked at Nest.

‘Wow!' she said feelingly. ‘That was scary. What was all that about the car?'

‘It was Timmie's car,' said Nest. ‘Timothy . . . his godfather sent it to him and Timmie adored it. Georgie found it on the beach a week or so ago. It had lain there for all those years but she remembered it. I was rather hoping to keep it, for various reasons, but there we are . . .'

‘Oh, what a shame,' cried Lyddie. ‘Was it a kind of
keepsake because of you and Timmie being little together?'

‘Yes,' said Nest slowly. ‘Partly that and partly other things. Timmie and I were very close and I was very fond of him . . .' – ‘and,' she wanted to say, ‘because it was a present from my father and I have so little by which to remember him' – ‘which is probably why I'm so fond of Jack.'

‘Oh, they are such heaven,' said Lyddie warmly, ‘Jack and Hannah, but it's good to be here, Nest.'

They looked at each other rather shyly, each remembering acts of love that spanned thirty years, but not confident enough yet to make any great gesture.

‘I'm glad you feel comfortable with us,' said Nest. ‘You're happy in your little study? That was Timmie's room, you know.'

‘I love it,' said Lyddie. ‘It's just the right size, not too big, and I've fitted all my things in. Aunt Mina's found a big table for me to work on and a bookshelf for all my reference books and things, and I've got my proper chair now. It was good of Liam to let me keep the car. I managed to bring back most of my stuff on this last trip.'

‘But you didn't see him?'

Lyddie shook her head. ‘I told him when I would be arriving and he steered well clear.' She gave a mirthless snort. ‘I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.'

‘Both, I should think,' said Nest. ‘It wouldn't be natural otherwise.'

‘I had a moment's temptation to go into The Place. Just to go in like any ordinary customer and order some coffee, but my nerve failed me.'

Nest chuckled. ‘I'm not surprised,' she said. ‘Early days for that kind of courage.'

Lyddie looked at her, wondering how she'd managed to
meet Connor as her brother-in-law, how she'd hidden her pain and her longing. She felt a surge of respect and fellow-feeling for Nest, a sense of grateful recognition, and knew that it was this that truly related people: this deep-down knowing and sharing. They smiled again, reaching tremulously towards this new level of trust and love but, before either could speak again, there was a sudden ringing of the doorbell, which sent the dogs ricocheting from their beds, barking madly, whilst the Bosun sat up and stared at them in amazement.

There was a sound of a door opening, a voice halloo-ing in the hall, and Helena was at the kitchen door.

‘What excellent timing,' said Nest, pulling herself together. ‘The coffee's just made. Did you have a good trip?'

It was clear that Helena expected some kind of mild reproach, an unspoken but hinted disapproval, and she was ready to adopt a brisk, defensive attitude but her fear faded in the feeling of warmth and goodwill that pervaded the kitchen and she was able to sit at the table with her coffee, admiring the Bosun whilst describing her journey. It was accepted that to drag the moment out would be foolish and, when Georgie appeared with Mina some minutes later, it was tacitly agreed that the two of them would hurry away.

‘We shall stop for lunch quite soon,' Helena said, ‘so that she doesn't get tired. And you must come and visit.'

‘Oh, we shall,' said Lyddie cheerfully, ‘we've got it all planned. You'll have to find a good hotel locally which can deal with wheelchairs, Helena, and send us the details. Goodbye, Aunt Georgie. See you soon.'

Lyddie's positive approach carried them through the painful farewells. Still looking puzzled, Georgie was kissed and hugged, put into the car, and Helena drove away.

The three of them stood together on the drive, staring
after the car, suddenly at a loss. Mina, fighting tears, was swallowing hard, recalling the day that Georgie had arrived.

‘Do you remember,' she'd asked her, ‘how we used to go to the top of the drive to wait for Papa or Timothy and ride down on the running-board?' and the sunlit garden had been suddenly full of memories and Georgie's face had crumpled – as hers was crumpling now.

Nest was beside her, reaching to put an arm about her, and they looked at each other.

‘I just know that I shan't see her again,' muttered Mina, swallowing painfully.

‘I feel the same,' Nest assured her, ‘but we shall. Not here, perhaps, but Lyddie is going to drive us up to visit her.'

She looked helplessly at Lyddie, who smiled and put her arms about them both.

‘I certainly am,' she said cheerfully, ‘but I'm going to need some practice with that old monster you've got, Aunt Mina, so I suggest a trip to Dulverton for lunch at The Copper Kettle. Trish will cheer us all up and the run over the moor should be wonderful on a day like this.'

‘What a lovely idea,' said Mina, still near to tears. ‘Oh,
what
a treat it would be. But can you spare the time, my darling?'

‘I started work very early,' said Lyddie – who, finding sleep impossible, was tending to work half the night so as to distract herself from her thoughts of Liam – ‘and I can work this evening. The important thing is to make the most of this glorious day before the light goes.'

They hurried inside to find their coats and, as Nest was shrugging herself into a warm fleecy jacket, Mina appeared.

‘I think this is yours,' she said. She opened her hand and there, lying on her outstretched palm, was the little silver car.

Nest stared at it and then looked at Mina. ‘How on earth . . .?'

‘Never mind,' said Mina briskly. ‘Soon it would have no meaning for her, even if Helena didn't find it first and chuck it in the bin, and it's important to you.'

‘Yes,' said Nest, close to tears, ‘it
is
important to me.'

‘Put it away, then, and come along,' said Mina. ‘We're going on an outing.'

The camper was beside the door when Nest wheeled herself out, closing the front door behind her.

‘But what about the dogs?' Mina was asking anxiously. ‘Oh dear . . .'

‘The dogs will be just fine,' said Lyddie firmly. ‘Now then, in you go, Nest. That's it. You're in the front with me, Aunt Mina, and you'll have to have Captain Cat with you. Dear old Polly's on her bed already, bless her. There now, in you go with Nest, Boyo,
good
boy . . .'

Presently they were ready. Captain Cat sat on Mina's lap, peering aggressively over her shoulder at the Bosun, who was already lying comfortably in the big space beside Nest's chair, whilst Nogood Boyo sat between his big paws with a smug ‘me and my big mate' expression on his doggy face. Captain Cat gave a small woof of contempt and turned his back whilst Lyddie climbed in, adjusted the seat, and started up the engine. She grimaced at Mina, who beamed encouragingly back at her, and they jolted away up the drive.

For a whole week the crisp golden weather held good and excursions became the order of the day: over to Simonsbath for coffee in the little café; lunch at the Hunter's Inn where the wild peacocks frightened the Bosun; a drive along the coast and through the Valley of the Rocks. Lyddie, tired as she was with lack of sleep and the pain in her heart, was nevertheless glad to be of use, to feel needed and – more than that – she was enjoying herself. Mina and Nest had always been important to her but now, living with them, she discovered the depth of their humour, the breadth of their courage, and her love for them was informed by this knowledge and grew deeper and wider with the discovery.

‘They're terrific fun,' she said to Jack, one weekend not long before Christmas, when he drove his family down to see them.

‘An exeat weekend,' he'd said on the telephone, ‘the little blighters are going home, the Lord be praised, so we could come down on Sunday if you can cope with us?'

Their arrival increased the sense of continuity and Lyddie was beginning to be aware of a slow healing.

‘Well, of course they're fun!' he'd answered her, almost indignantly. ‘We all knew that.'

‘Of course we did,' she said, ‘but I think I shall stay here for a bit, Jack. It's not just because I feel I can help them by driving them about and doing all the things that Mina probably shouldn't be doing at her age, but quite selfishly because they're helping me.'

‘Quite right too,' said Jack. ‘That's the tragedy of this present way of life. We no longer consider that older people have all these things to offer. Their courage and wisdom and experience is just brushed to one side. They're probably doing you much more good than you could do to them.'

‘I agree,' she answered with humility. ‘I
do
need them. And you too, of course.'

‘Well, naturally,' he said, his voice losing its serious note. ‘You couldn't manage without me, I'm quite aware of it. It's a gift I have, a burden nobly borne . . .'

‘Oh, shut up,' she said, laughing. ‘But I just wondered if it's right to stay. For all sorts of reasons.'

‘I suspect,' he said shrewdly, ‘that you're worrying lest they should come to rely on you and then you'll never have the courage to leave them. Is that it?'

‘Something like that,' she admitted. ‘Although, at this moment, I can't quite imagine wanting to go anywhere. I'm just afraid that I'm using Ottercombe as a refuge because I feel so wounded and, when I feel strong, I might want to do something else.' She watched him anxiously. ‘It's this horrid feeling that I might be using them.'

‘I think that you should rely on their common sense,' he answered firmly. ‘Accept now for what it is and let go of fretting. Make the most of it so that all three of you are
happy for this time and don't spoil it by trying to deal with imaginary scenarios which might never arise. OK?'

She grinned at him. ‘Thanks, Uncle Jack,' she said demurely.

‘So are you going to let me get you on the Internet like I did Aunt Mina so you can e-mail your friends? Come on, Lydd, why not join us in the twentieth century before it's too late? One more year to go! Take a chance, why not?'