The House by Princes Park (48 page)

Ellie hardly spoke to her grandmother on the way home in the taxi, though it was hardly Gran’s fault she’d had a baby. Mind you, Gran hardly spoke to
her
, which was odd because she was usually so cheerful. In fact, she’d seemed a bit down all day. Ellie didn’t care, although she thought the world of her grandmother. She was too fed up to care about anything.

When Ellie woke, it was still dark and someone was sitting on the bed trying to shush a bawling Brendan. She sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. ‘What time is it?’

‘Three o’clock.’ The someone was Daisy, still in her blue bridesmaid’s frock. ‘Me and Clint went back to Mary’s house and I’ve only just got in. I heard Brendan cry and thought I might stop him before he woke you, but he must need feeding.’

‘The bloody little sod always needs feeding.’ Ellie opened her nightdress and Daisy put Brendan in her arms. ‘I only fed him five hours ago.’

‘You must be awfully tired not to have heard him.’

‘I’m more than tired. I’m totally exhausted,’ Ellie replied piteously.

‘Why don’t you put him on the bottle permanently and we can take turns looking after him during the night? I wouldn’t mind, and nor would Gran. You can get tablets from the doctor to dry your milk up.’

‘Can you?’ It seemed a marvellous idea. Ellie decided to see the doctor first thing in the morning.

‘Would you like us to make you some cocoa?’

‘Please. Can I have a biscuit too? I’m starving.’

By the time her cousin came back, Brendan was halfway through his mother’s second breast.

‘What does it feel like?’ Daisy asked.

‘It either hurts or tickles, one or the other.’

‘Me and Clint are going to have loads of children.’

‘Are you now! Is that Clint’s idea or yours?’ Ellie suspected Clint was keeping well out of her way. They hadn’t come face to face since she’d got back.

‘Mine, I suppose. You know Clint, how shy he is. He doesn’t like talking about certain things.’

Having babies being one of them, Ellie thought cynically. ‘Are you two still getting married?’

‘Yes, a year next January, 1979. You can be a bridesmaid with your Moira if you like,’ Daisy offered generously.

‘That’d be nice, ta.’ Ellie looked at Daisy’s innocent, wholesome face. She’d changed a lot in the last year, was far more confident, and had loads of friends, though was as dumpy and plain as she’d always been. The friends were artists, Moira said, and considered Daisy to be a fantastic painter. They’d held an exhibition and some of Daisy’s paintings had actually been
sold
.

‘You mean people gave money for them?’ Ellie gasped.

‘Yes, isn’t it amazing?’

‘Truly amazing.’

Brendan detached himself and smacked his lips with satisfaction. Ellie hoisted him on to her shoulder to bring up his wind.

‘Shall I do that while you have your cocoa and biscuit?’

‘Thanks, Daise.’ Ellie gratefully handed her son across.

‘I like the feel of him, the way he fits against me like the piece of a jigsaw puzzle.’ She began gently to pat Brendan’s back. ‘He’s a very masculine baby. He doesn’t suit nightgowns. Do you mind if I buy him one of those all-in-one stretchy things?’

‘I don’t mind a bit.’

‘I’ll get one in Mothercare tomorrow.’

It was rather nice, leaning against the pillows, sipping the cocoa, and watching someone else burp her child.

‘Were you pleased about your A levels?’ Daisy asked.

‘I did much better than expected.’ Ellie had been astonished to find she’d done so well considering she hadn’t revised a single subject.

‘Are you going to look for a job?’

‘I hadn’t thought about it. What about Brendan?’

‘Gran will look after him, won’t she? She looked after us when your mum was ill and mine went to work.’

‘I suppose she would,’ Ellie said thoughtfully. After Daisy had gone and Brendan was back in his cot, snoring softly, Ellie snuggled under the clothes and considered what had just been said. She didn’t want an ordinary job, like in an office or a bank, but fancied working in a nightclub or an advertising agency, becoming a model or an actress, travelling the world. She’d thought having Brendan had put a stop to these dreams, but if Gran was prepared to have Brendan while she went to work, she might be prepared to have him if she went away!

Only might! Ellie had a feeling that if she put this proposal to her grandmother, she would object. After all, looking after a baby for a few hours a day wasn’t the same as looking after one the whole time. And Gran might insist Brendan needed his mother, even if it was only at night.

In that case, Ellie would just have to leave the way she’d left before, the way she’d left Felix and Fern Hall, without
telling a soul, knowing her son was in safe hands. This time, she wouldn’t even say anything to Moira who’d only disapprove.

And so it was that, two months later, in the middle of September, when Ruby crept into the room to collect Brendan and give him his bottle, Ellie’s bed was empty. She wasn’t in the bathroom, either, nor downstairs. A few hours later, when there was still no sign, Ruby came to the inevitable conclusion that, not for the first time, her granddaughter had run away.

So much money, enough to buy all the clothes she wanted, anything for the house, yet Greta felt bored. And it was such a beautiful house, mock Tudor, with five bedrooms, living, dining and breakfast rooms, and a kitchen with every conceivable modern device. The garden was a picture, neatly perfect, and a man came twice a week to weed and prune and cut the grass.

Matthew had had the place redecorated from top to bottom; new carpets everywhere. She had rarely enjoyed herself so much, choosing the colours, the curtains, wandering around the most expensive shops picking any item of furniture that took her fancy.

Now it was all done, the limewood wardrobe and the matching chests of drawers were full of new clothes, and suddenly there was nothing else to do. They had a cleaner as well as a gardener, and all Greta did was put the washing in the automatic machine, transfer it to the dryer, and make an evening meal for Matthew.

She wondered if she should have kept her job, but it hadn’t seemed right, being married to a hugely successful businessman, living in such an impressive house, yet working as a shorthand-typist. If she’d had a profession, like Heather, it would have been different. Anyroad, she’d never liked work. Mam always said she was lazy, that she preferred her bed, which Greta had to concede was true.

It was upsetting that neither of her girls had wanted to live with her – four of the five bedrooms hadn’t been used.
It didn’t matter that Moira was at university or Ellie had taken it into her head to run away again. At least she could have got their rooms ready for when they came back, furnished them in a way she knew they would have liked.

Matthew worked harder now that the company belonged to someone else. Some nights, it was ten o’clock by the time he got home and the meal was spoilt. Greta felt lonely on her own, which was ironic in a way, as she’d only married him so she
wouldn’t
feel lonely. More and more, she found herself going round to see Mam. She hadn’t realised when she’d lived there just how shabby and run down Mam’s house was, and it made her more cross that the twins hadn’t wanted to leave. It was Mam, not her, talking about Moira coming home from university for Christmas.

Now Heather was studying for a law degree through the Open University, getting up at unearthly hours of the morning to watch programmes on television. Evenings, when Greta went into her old room and sat on her old bed wanting to chat to her sister, Heather was usually studying or writing essays and made it obvious she didn’t appreciate being interrupted.

During the day, Mam was usually busy with Brendan, nearly eight months old, a delightful baby, but a terrible handful. Poor Mam was up to her eyes with work, what with Brendan, three students, and Heather and Daisy to look after.

‘Why don’t I take Brendan off your hands?’ Greta suggested one afternoon when Brendan was being given his tea and turning it into a game, holding the food in his mouth for ages, before slyly letting it dribble out so that Mam had to catch it with the spoon and put it back. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and he kept slamming the tray on his high chair with his big hands and thumping it with his fat knees at the same time. He was a handsome child, perfectly built, with Liam Conway’s eyes and hair a
lovely golden red. Brendan would keep her busy during the day and she was sure Matthew would love a baby. They could get an au pair to look after him during the night and do things like change his nappies.

‘I don’t need him taking off my hands, love,’ Ruby said mildly.

‘But you’ve so much to do, Mam!’

‘If you feel like helping, Greta, you can make the students’ tea.’

Greta pouted. It wasn’t the same. After all, Brendan was Ellie’s son and Ellie was her daughter, which made her Brendan’s Grandma. She had far more right to him than Mam. ‘But that’s not fair,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a much nicer house, a lovely garden. We could buy him far more things, toys and stuff, clothes.’ Brendan’s stretchy suit was so small, the feet had been cut off to accommodate his legs and he was wearing a pair of frilly girl’s socks that she remembered had belonged to one of the twins.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ Ruby said, very slowly and deliberately, but when you said you’d take him off my hands, did you mean permanently?’

‘Yes.’

‘And why, all of a sudden, do you want a baby? Is it because you’re bored all day in your much nicer house?’

‘Yes, no. No, of course not,’ Greta stammered, and all of a sudden she and Mam were having a terrible row, which they’d never done before. At least Greta was having a row, Mam didn’t say much. She accused her mother of having stolen her children so that she’d hardly seen anything of them when they were little, and now she was stealing her grandson. She ended up storming out, screaming something about going to court, getting her grandson back, when she’d never had him in the first place.

When she got home, the house was in darkness and felt cold. She turned up the central heating, threw herself on
to the bed, and burst into tears. Why wasn’t she happy? She’d always been happy apart from the few years after Larry died, and she’d thought she’d be happier still in a smart house with pots of money. Although it hadn’t been her intention to go one up on her sister, nevertheless she’d thought Heather would be envious of her new position in life, but nowadays Heather appeared serenely contented as she studied for her law degree.

Matthew didn’t help much, though it wasn’t deliberate. He was incredibly kind and thoughtful, took her out at weekends, was buying her a fur coat for Christmas, and complimented her on her cooking. Making love was oddly thrilling. Matthew had been part of her life for almost as long as she could remember and although she’d always considered him attractive, she’d never remotely thought of him as a lover. But now he was her husband, she went to bed with him every night, and felt instantly aroused by his touch, yet sensed that Matthew was only doing what was expected of him, that he was detached from the whole thing. Sometimes, even when he was being his kindest, she felt as if he was detached from the marriage itself.

Ruby was still shaking when her other daughter came home. She’d burnt the students’ tea, but fortunately she’d taken boys again and they didn’t seem to care what the food was like as long as it arrived in heaps – girls, she’d decided, were far too much trouble, always complaining about something or other.

‘Where’s Brendan?’ Heather enquired.

‘Asleep, for once. Look, love, d’you mind having an omelette? There’s nothing else ready. I’m way behind today.’

‘An omelette’s fine. What’s the matter, Mam?’ Heather had noticed her mother’s trembling hands.

Ruby sat down, close to tears. ‘I had a terrible row with our Greta.’ She explained what had happened. ‘I don’t
know what’s got into her. She’s not been the same since she got married.’

Heather reached for her mother’s hands. ‘I’m sorry, Mam, but none of us really know what our Greta’s like. Oh, she’s as nice as pie while she’s being spoilt and made a fuss of, loved by one and all, but she’s got a selfish streak. She’s always put herself first – it’s what she was doing today, no matter how much it upset you. It’s obvious she’s not happy in that big house on her own and she sees Brendan as a way of filling the time, making her feel as if she’s somebody again.’

‘Oh, I don’t hold with all this psychological claptrap, Heather. Beth’s always coming out with stuff like that.’

‘Can you think of another reason why Greta behaved the way she did?’

‘No,’ Ruby sighed after a few moments’ pause.

‘Ellie’s the same,’ Heather continued. ‘She does her own thing and to hell with the consequences.’

‘Your dad was a bit like that. He had no conscience. He’d sooner walk away than face up to things.’ Ruby frowned. ‘I hope Matthew’s being all right with our Greta.’

‘I’m sure Matthew’s being fine, but he’s not there all the time, is he? He’s got other things to think of, and Greta’s not the centre of the universe any more, like she was here – with you and me, at least.’

‘Perhaps I should go and see her.’

‘No,’ Heather said in a hard voice. ‘Let her stew in her own juice for a while, she’ll soon be back. You see, Mam, Greta needs us far more than we need her.’

‘That only seems more reason why I should go and see her.’

‘She’s forty-one, Mam. She’s got to learn to stand on her own two feet. You’ve got enough to do with Brendan.’