The Children's Hour (39 page)

‘I might,' she said, laughing. ‘I just might at that. Dear old Aunt Mina loves it. She chats to all her friends at night. I see her light on, really late, shining under her door.'

‘Well, there you are, then. Go on! Then we could have speaks every day. Hannah loves it.'

‘I'll think about it,' she promised. ‘I really will.'

‘Lunch is ready,' said Toby, appearing suddenly, ‘and Mummy says it will get cold if you don't come
this minute
.'

‘A directive I never disobey, do I, Tobes? Mummy's word is the Law and the Prophets rolled into one, especially when food is involved.'

‘What's the law and the prophets?' asked Toby predictably.

‘Ask your Aunt Lyddie,' answered Jack promptly – and vanished kitchenwards.

Toby beamed up at her. ‘We're going down to the beach after lunch,' he told her. ‘All of us with the dogs. I love the Bosun best of them all. I wish we had a dog. Can he swim? We're not allowed to today because it's too cold but Mummy says we can all go down to the beach. Well, all except Aunt Nest. She never goes to the sea, does she?'

Lyddie stared down at him, thinking of Mina's words. ‘No,' she said slowly. ‘No, she never does. I expect she has a little sleep after lunch.'

Hannah's clear voice echoed impatiently from the kitchen and Toby grabbed Lyddie's hand. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘Lunch.'

*

Later, as the beach party assembled, Lyddie said that she would stay with Nest and do the washing-up.

‘Take the Bosun, though,' she said. ‘Aunt Mina will keep him under control.'

There was a blessed silence, once the door had shut behind them all, and Lyddie smiled at Nest.

‘Would you like to rest?' she asked. ‘I'm very happy doing this lot on my own, really I am.'

Nest made a little face. ‘To tell the truth, I would,' she admitted. ‘Love them though I do, I find a few hours of them all quite exhausting. If you're sure . . .?'

‘Quite sure,' said Lyddie firmly. ‘Off you go. I'll bring you a cup of tea later, if you like. Although you'll probably hear them all coming back.'

‘I expect I shall,' agreed Nest.

She wheeled away and Lyddie was left in possession of the kitchen. She began to clear up methodically and, after a moment, found herself humming. These small, unexpected manifestations of happiness were still surprising to her and she moved quietly about, grateful that she was granted such a refuge.

By the time the lunch things were washed up and put away, the kitchen tidy and the kettle ready on the Esse, she heard the sounds of the returning party.

‘It was the devil of a job getting them away,' said Jack, accepting his cup of tea, ‘but we really should be on our way very soon. It's a long drive and the boys will be back this evening.'

Nest was roused and came to join them for the last ten minutes, before the children were packed into the car after tearful farewells to the dogs, and the grown-ups embraced each other with thanks and promises of future jollies.

‘We'll get together somehow for Christmas,' Jack said, hugging Lyddie. ‘We'll sort something out.' He bent to kiss Nest, holding her hand tightly for a moment, and then turned to Mina. ‘Lyddie looks well,' he murmured, under the cover of the others' farewells.

‘She does, doesn't she?' she answered eagerly. ‘And it's such lovely joy having her here. My dear boy, you are
such
a blessing to us all.'

He looked down into her sweet, old face and bent to kiss her lips gently. ‘Love you lots, darling,' he said tenderly. ‘We'll have speaks later.'

‘God bless you,' she said. ‘Drive carefully.'

They went away up the drive, Toby's hand waving furiously at the window, and the three standing motionless on the gravel heard the car pull out and accelerate away across the moorland road.

‘And now,' said Lyddie, ‘you and the dogs have a little rest, Aunt Mina. I've lit the fire in the drawing-room. Pour yourself another cup of tea and go and enjoy it in peace.'

‘It sounds wonderful,' admitted Mina, ‘but what about you?'

‘Ah.' Lyddie laid her hands upon the back of Nest's chair. ‘Well,
I
think it's time that Nest and I went down to the sea.' She smiled at her. ‘What do you think, Nest?'

The silence seemed to engulf them all and Mina realized that she was holding her breath. After a long moment Nest turned to look up into her child's face.

‘I think that's a very good idea,' she said.

It was exactly as she'd remembered it, dreamed about it. The steep-sided cleave clothed with larch and oak and tall, noble beech, their bare, twiggy branches reaching to the tender blue sky; great thickets of rhododendron beneath
the rocky shoulder of the moor; bright green ferns at the water's edge. The stream ran beside her through the narrow valley, flowing over smooth boulders and under willow, whilst ducks dabbled amongst the reeds and the sharp scent of gorse was carried on the breeze. Nest's hands clutched at the arms of her chair as she turned this way and that, each sight furnishing a hundred memories, until at last the cleave widened into the crescent-shaped beach, protected on each side by the high grey cliffs, and the stream travelled onward to its inexorable meeting with the sea.

The sea. Nest hardly realized that her chair had stopped moving; that she was sitting on a flat rock staring across to the waves that rolled in, crashing against the towering walls of stone and sweeping over the shaly sand. Voices were carried on the wind:

‘We'll live here together when we grow up.'

‘Have you come to tell me I'm trespassing or are you simply a passing dryad?'

‘We have a new baby brother. Do you think Papa will love us any more?'

‘It was nothing. Nothing at all. I missed you so much and she'd lost her husband . . . It's over.'

‘Will you share this magic place with me for this afternoon, lady?'

She was quite unaware of the searing tears that streamed down her cold cheeks as she listened to the rhythmic beating of the tide and allowed the salty air to wash away her bitterness and pain. Presently she was aware of Lyddie kneeling beside her. Lyddie took her handkerchief and dried Nest's cheeks and kissed her before she straightened up.

‘We must go home before it gets dark,' she said gently. ‘But we'll come again . . . won't we?'

‘Oh, yes,' said Nest, struggling to keep her voice steady. ‘We'll come again. And thank you, Lyddie.'

Lyddie tucked the handkerchief away, paused for one last look out to sea, and turned the chair for the journey home.

Mina watched them go, her warm heart full of gratitude: the miracle had happened, the acceptance made. She'd been watching the love between Nest and Lyddie growing steadily and now any reservations she might have had were finally lifted from her. Calling to the dogs, deciding that she could manage without another cup of tea, she went into the drawing-room, still feeling light-headed with the joy of it all. Unconsciously pressing her fingers to her old, withered lips, holding the kiss Jack had given her, she sat down in the corner of the sofa whilst the dogs flopped gratefully and wearily upon their beds. She stared at the brightly burning fire, thinking back over these past few weeks: jaunts in the camper, quiet contented evenings, walks with the dogs; and further back again, seeing scenes amongst the burning logs and hearing voices in the whispering flames.

‘I'll tell you a story,' said the Story Spinner, ‘but you mustn't rustle too much or cough or blow your nose more than is necessary . . .'

‘I apologize for arriving unannounced.'

‘He should be called Kim, not Tim. Kim, the Little Friend of all the World.'

‘He is dead. Dead.'

‘Is it possible that you might speak to Mr Shaw soon?'

Arousing herself suddenly, as if from a dazed sleep, Mina thought first of Timmie, going away to school and then into the army, and then of Jack and his small family. She murmured a prayer for their safety and wellbeing and, as a stronger wave of dizziness engulfed her, she had time to see
quite clearly, and with deep joy, Lyddie smiling down at Nest; to hear her saying, ‘I think it's time Nest and I went down to the sea,' and see Nest's answering look of love and trust. It was her last conscious thought.

Walking in the early mornings with the dogs on the moor above the house, looking out to sea, Lyddie tried to come to terms with this new blow. Without Aunt Mina, she felt as if she'd suddenly lost her footing, trodden confidently out onto a step that was not there. In the ambulance, leaving Nest white-faced but determined – ‘You
must
go! I can't be with her but she mustn't be alone. Please go with her. I'll be all right!' – she'd held Mina's cold, unresponsive hand and stared beseechingly into the calm, serene face. Waiting alone in the hospital, she'd known the truth, already learning to face a future that did not hold Aunt Mina.

The minute Jack had heard the news, telephoning Ottercombe to say that they were safely home, he'd driven straight back. Leaving Hannah with the children and the boys, and another master to take over his teaching duties, he'd come straight to the hospital at Nest's request and taken the whole terrible business into his hands.

This morning, the fourth after Mina's death, watching a
tanker ploughing down the Channel, catching the rays of the newly risen sun, Lyddie could feel the tears running down the back of her throat.

‘It's just that she's always been there,' she'd said to Jack. ‘She and Nest, after Mummy and Daddy died. I can't quite imagine life without Aunt Mina.'

‘She's left everything to you, Ottercombe, everything,' he'd told her. ‘Did you know that I'm an executor? Aunt Nest has the right to live at Ottercombe until she dies but it's academic, of course. She could never manage there alone.'

‘She isn't alone,' Lyddie had said. ‘I shall be with her.'

Jack had watched her thoughtfully. ‘Shall you stay at Ottercombe?'

‘Yes, I shall. Even if I wanted to I couldn't possibly uproot her now. It's been the most terrible shock for Nest. On top of all the other knocks she's taken it would be the last straw. Anyway, I don't want to leave. I love it here and I can't imagine where else we could go. I had no idea that Aunt Mina had left the house to me, though.'

‘She knew that you could be trusted to look after Aunt Nest and it's possible . . .' He'd hesitated.

‘It's possible that she suspected that I might need a refuge,' she'd supplied rather bitterly.

He'd shrugged, still watching her compassionately. ‘Maybe. When you talk of Aunt Nest's “knocks” do you mean the accident?'

‘Well, yes . . .' She remembered with a sudden shock that Jack knew nothing of the true relationship between herself and Nest. It was odd to have secrets from Jack. ‘Yes, of course. Do you think it's crazy? Us staying at Ottercombe?'

‘Of course not,' he'd answered. ‘If Aunt Mina could cope with it all, I'm sure you can, although you have to remember that you work full-time. There's a bit of money invested
– Richard Bryce was a wealthy man, so that should help a bit. No, it's simply that Aunt Mina devoted her life to Grandmama and then to Aunt Nest and I don't want to see you sacrifice your life in the same way.'

‘Was it a sacrifice?' she'd wondered. ‘I can't think of anyone more content than Aunt Mina. And how wise she was, considering that she only spent a few years outside the cleave. We all turned to her at one time or another, didn't we?'

‘Oh, I agree.' Jack had smiled at her. ‘Aunt Mina was a communicator and one way or another she retained her intellectual integrity. She never shut herself off. I'm delighted that you'll be together, you and Aunt Nest, but I don't want you to forget that there's life outside Ottercombe, that's all.'

‘I shan't do that,' she'd promised. ‘Perhaps the time might come when we'll want to sell up and move into a town, that kind of thing. It's just that I don't want to do anything in a hurry and I don't want to upset Nest any more than she is now.'

‘Fine.' He'd paused. ‘Have you noticed,' he'd asked, ‘that you don't call her “Aunt” these days?'

‘No, I don't, do I?' she'd agreed after a moment. ‘Odd, isn't it?'

High above the turbulent waters, a tiny silver aeroplane tracked across the sky, unspooling a silvery thread, which frayed and unravelled as she watched. Her shadow, long and thin, stretched ahead across the sheep-nibbled turf and she idly held her arms out a little, stiff and straight, and opened her fingers, two and two, so that they looked like long pointed scissor-hands. She made several cutting movements until suddenly, disgusted by her childishness, she thrust her hands deep in her pockets and turned back, calling to the dogs.

*

At Ottercombe, Nest was getting herself up by degrees. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on a long, warm flannel skirt in soft blues and red. It was Mina who had discovered the blissful ease of elastic-waisted skirts and trousers, sending away for catalogues, poring over them with Nest, insisting that she should remain stylishly dressed, boosting her confidence.

Sitting on the bed, Nest fought with the tears that threatened night and day. Mina was everywhere: working in the garden, cooking in the kitchen, reading beside the fire. Nest could still see her, in those dreadful days after the accident, dancing on the terrace, a puppy in her arms, holding up one of its paws elegantly as they swept to and fro; pouring a very necessary drink before dinner; pushing the wheelchair round the supermarket so that Nest could choose something special for her birthday, Nest clutching the wire basket on her knees.

‘Christ . . . did not cling to equality with God . . . but emptied himself . . .' The verse came unbidden to her mind. Perhaps that was what the attaining to Christ's hard-won peace was about: an emptying of self, cheerfully, willingly . . .