The Christmas Angel (27 page)

‘I just can’t believe this,’ he says quietly. ‘One minute we’re talking downsizing—’

‘No, no,’ she interrupts him. ‘
You
were talking downsizing, Adam.
We
never were. This is our home and we love it. Because of Dossie we’re able to stay in it and so is she. For as long as she needs to. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Wait,’ he says, as though he is speaking to a fractious child. ‘Now just wait. First you imply that Pa is getting old and we ought to be coming down for his birthday because, having had a stroke, he might keel over at any minute, and the next minute you say that you’re opening up The Court for business again. Isn’t this a bit irrational? Can’t you see the strain it’ll be on you and Pa? Never mind that Dossie’s cooking the breakfasts, just having people there, coming and going all the time, is enough to give anyone another stroke.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Mo says. ‘You never have. We love having people here. Pa adores having someone to chat to, to have a drink with; and we’ve known some of these friends for more than thirty years. It’s not a stress for us, especially with Dossie doing the real hard work. It’s giving us something to look forward to and to plan for and enjoy. Can you try to understand that, Adam?’

‘I think it’s a terrible mistake,’ he says stubbornly. ‘It’s like trying to regain your lost youth; it’s simply bound to
end
in disappointment. I know that Natasha will agree with me.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ Mo says affably. ‘As long as someone does. Now, I really must go. Sorry we shan’t see you at the party but we quite understand. ’Bye, darling.’

She puts the receiver down and he waits for a moment and then slams the phone on the table.

‘What is it?’ Natasha has come into the room. ‘What’s going on?’

The girls are close behind her and he wonders if it will ever be possible to have a conversation without these two listening in; watching; giggling in corners.

‘You’ll be glad to know,’ he says vindictively, ‘that your behaviour has finally done the trick. Because of your refusal to go to Pa’s party you and your children have done me out of my inheritance once and for all.’

‘Oh, honestly.’ Whatever next? She is getting really, really tired with these silly dramas. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that because you never ever do anything you don’t want to do they’ve given up on me. They’ve decided to go back to doing bed and breakfast with Dossie in control, and I suspect that this will be the end of it.’

Natasha frowns incredulously, and then laughs; the girls move closer to stand one each side of her.

‘Are you seriously telling me that because we can’t go down for your father’s birthday he’s disinheriting you? You must be joking.’

‘No. I’m not joking, and it isn’t just that and you know it.’

‘You didn’t want to go either,’ says one of the girls. ‘It wasn’t just Mum.’

‘It’s no good trying to blame us,’ says the other.

He loses his temper. ‘I’m not talking to you,’ he shouts. ‘For God’s sake just clear out, will you?’

The girls move closer to their mother, as if they are afraid of him, and she puts an arm around each of them. She has made her decision, she’s known for quite a while that she and Adam don’t have a future together, and now he has played into her hands. She and the girls can manage very well without him.

‘If there’s any clearing out I think you’ll be doing it,’ says Natasha calmly. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten that this is my house and these are my children. Since you seem to imagine that we are rotting up the brilliant relationship with your wonderful family then I suggest you clear out now.’

The girls stare at him. Their eyes are bright with malice and triumph as he storms past them, out of the room and up the stairs.

Through the window she can see Wolfie playing on the lawn whilst John the Baptist watches him. She sees that Wolfie has got old Jonno’s bone and he is racing round in circles with it, dropping it temptingly, and then seizing it again before Jonno can grab it, and dashing away with it.

Dossie comes in behind her. ‘So what did he say?’

‘They can’t make it.’ Mo doesn’t turn round. ‘He’s cross about the B and B-ing.’

‘Well, that’s hardly a surprise.’ Dossie stands beside her. ‘What else?’

‘Nothing else. He thinks we’re crazy trying to regain our lost youth.’

Dossie laughs. ‘He simply doesn’t get it, does he? But then he never did. I simply don’t know where he came from. Weird, isn’t it?’

Mo nods. ‘Weird, and very sad. We love him; he’s our son. And he’s a complete stranger. It seems impossible to connect and I can’t see what we did wrong.’

‘Why do you think you did anything wrong? It’s just a genetic cock-up, that’s all. There’s nothing any of us can do about it. Look, we still speak, we stay in touch and he can come down any time he likes. We simply have to accept that it’s all we’re going to have.’

‘But try to imagine how you would feel if it were Clem. Or even Jakey. That you’d given birth to someone you can’t recognize, and who doesn’t understand you, and yet you still love him terribly even if you don’t like him very much.’

‘Sorry.’ Dossie puts her arm round Mo’s shoulders and gives her a hug. ‘I didn’t mean to be clever about it. Really I didn’t. It would break my heart, of course it would. It’s just that he makes me cross and I hate it for you.’

They stand together watching the dogs. John the Baptist has made an attempt to retrieve his bone from Wolfie and the two of them are rolling together, play-fighting, barking with excitement.

‘I must go and rescue poor old Jonno,’ says Mo. ‘That will be doing his arthritis no good at all, though he seems to be enjoying himself. Perhaps he’s trying to regain his lost youth, too.’

Dossie watches Mo as she crosses the lawn, shouting to get the dogs’ attention. She persuades Wolfie to give up the bone, drops it into a bag and disappears out of view with both dogs at her heels. Dossie continues to stand at the window, staring at the empty lawn, wondering how Rupert will get on with Mo and Pa. She spent ages planning just how to raise the subject with them and in the end she did it
rather
clumsily, standing up from breakfast and saying: ‘Oh, by the way, I thought I’d bring one of my Fill the Freezer clients to your birthday bash, Pa. He’s rather nice. Recently widowed. I think you’ll both like him.’

They both looked up, Pa from the Sudoku and Ma from a letter she was writing, and stared at her. She knew at once that only rigid discipline was preventing them from nodding at one another and saying: ‘I told you so.’ There was no surprise; she detected only a certain amount of relief in their reaction.

‘Well, good, that’s good,’ Pa said vaguely, whilst Ma smiled and said: ‘We’ll look forward to that. What’s his name?’

She felt rather foolish, as though she were a teenager again, and mumbled an answer and then said she must go up and check emails. Neither of them has mentioned it since.

Dossie can’t decide whether she is pleased that her announcement has been received with such a startling lack of interest or whether she’d rather there were a few animated questions: ‘So where did you meet? Where are his holiday cottages?’ or, ‘So what is he like and how old is he?’

The truth is, she guesses, they’ve suspected that there is someone in the background – it’s a bit naïve to think otherwise – and they are simply relieved that they’re going to meet him at last and that he isn’t married. She is sure that they would like him – how could they not? – but much more to the point is how he and Clem will get along. She hasn’t yet mustered up the courage to tell Clem about Rupert; she can’t quite find the words to explain their relationship. And this is a real problem because she doesn’t quite know how to define it even to herself. For instance, they aren’t an item; neither takes the other for granted or assumes that a date or plan can be made without consultation. There remains
a
slight formality between them that she’s been unable to break down. One of the difficulties is that she has no place of her own where she can invite him for supper or for a barbecue, or any casual date. They have the cottage, of course, but it means it’s always his call. At least she’s made the big step of inviting him to meet Pa and Mo – and he’s perfectly happy about it.

Rupert is on the phone to Kitty.

‘… And I know you can’t get home this weekend,’ she is saying, ‘but I’ve got the next one planned round Mummy’s birthday on the Sunday. She’s really thrilled about it. Of course we all know it’s going to be the last one so it’s got to be special …’

She chatters on but he isn’t listening. Leaning forward to look at his diary he’s just seen that next Saturday is Pa’s birthday and he’s promised he’ll be at The Court for tea. He’s been dreading it, wondering how he’ll handle it but now it looks as if he’ll have to cry off. He can’t cancel a second weekend with Kitty, and though a part of him is deeply grateful for this excuse he has no idea what he will say to Dossie. She still thinks he has a mother in Bristol and he’ll use her as the excuse. After all, it’s not too far from the truth …

Kitty, sensing his distraction, is asking him if he is OK; whether something has turned up.

‘Just looking at the diary,’ he says. ‘I was supposed to pick up some stuff this morning in Bodmin and I’d completely forgotten it. Look, I’d better dash, sweetie. I’ll call you later. ’Bye.’

He lays his mobile down and curses below his breath. He can’t disappoint Kitty or her mother, but he needs some very
good
excuse to get out of this one. Dossie is going to be upset. It’s getting difficult, trying to keep his two worlds separate, but he’s reluctant to give up on either. Dossie has become important to him; she’s the perfect companion just now and he sees no reason why this particular boat should be rocked. He’ll have to be careful, though, to keep an important date with his ‘mother’ at the root of his excuse. He’s learned that it’s always best to have a seed of truth in the middle of a lie. And anyway, dear old Mummy has indeed been like a mother to him since his own died, so it’s a kind of truth. He’ll have to box clever, though. After all, he’d hardly forget the date of his mother’s birthday. No, it needs to be some other kind of celebration; some kind of family event involving his sister, perhaps. He’ll think of something – and meanwhile he has to tell Dossie.

Sister Ruth gives the flowers a last twitch and glances round the small West Room. Guests are being asked to bring their own sheets and towels these days, but there are one or two exceptions that include elderly visitors of very long-standing. This is one of those cases and so the bed has been made up and towels hung beside the basin, and the little room looks clean and fresh and inviting.

She’s picked the last of the sweet peas and some purple hebe for the green pottery vase that stands on the well-polished table, and is pleased with the effect. It is good to be hospitable, though she can never quite let herself go as Sister Emily does, and Mother Magda, welcoming their guests with hugs and kisses. She was taught to be restrained and self-effacing and she’s never been able to be demonstrative. Only very occasionally with Sister Nichola can she relax a little and give her the good-night kiss that the elderly Sister
expects
and looks for, or to hold her hand sometimes when they sit quietly together. Caresses and overt affection have never come naturally to her as they do, for instance, to Janna with Jakey.

Sister Ruth runs her duster once more over the wooden framed armchair. Of course, her own upbringing was a strict one; children were kept firmly under control. To be fair, Jakey is a good child but in some odd way she feels threatened by him. She fears that if he were to be disobedient or rude she might not have control over him, which frightens her. He is so quick and determined, unhampered as yet by social mores. The others love this childlike spontaneity and find it funny: only
she
finds it threatening. It’s always been the same: she needs to feel that she has control over events and people or she is overcome by panic and by fear.

When it was suggested that she should be Sister Nichola’s ‘carer’ she’d been torn between pleasure – and surprise – that she’d been chosen and anxiety lest she should fail. Sometimes it seems that Sister Nichola is the one in control because the elderly nun’s calm sweet temper is like a balm on the fretted edges of her own nervousness, gently enabling and smoothing her into her carer’s role. She is grateful for it, encouraged by her ability to ‘manage’ Sister Nichola so successfully, proud of her special status, and the suggestion that this privilege of caring is now to be shared with Janna fills her with dismay and jealousy.

Folding the tartan rug and placing it at the foot of the narrow bed, she is aware of a tensing of the muscles and a twisting of the stomach at the mere thought of Janna. Like Jakey, the girl is an unknown quantity. Neither of them is bound by the natural rules of a good upbringing and a formal education: Jakey because he is too young to have yet
acquired
them properly and Janna because she’s never been exposed to either. And now there is the daunting prospect of all this change: moving to the Coach House, and Chi-Meur becoming a retreat house. Panic flutters her heart and she sits down on the edge of the bed, pressing her hand to her breast. Perhaps it would be best simply to go to the Sisters at Hereford where she trained as a novice all those years ago. Even back then she’d been fearful; keeping herself to herself and suspicious of her fellow novices.

‘I expect we’d all prefer to have a relationship with God on our own terms,’ the Novice Mistress said to her once. ‘He requires us to mix with the oddest and most unsuitable people, doesn’t he?’

She stands up and bends to smooth the duvet cover and pick up the duster and polish. With one last glance around the room she goes out onto the landing and down the stairs. There are several guests in the hall and she passes them quietly with a little nod and heads for the kitchen, where Janna is making lunch and looking after Sister Nichola. The old nun smiles with delight as she comes in and holds out a hand in her easy affectionate way and Sister Ruth takes it and holds it for a moment, smiling back at her.