The Sea Garden (16 page)

‘Are you serious?' he demands. ‘Don't you care if their marriage breaks up?'

Cass sighs inwardly. ‘I'd care very much indeed if I could believe that they still love each other. I'm just not sure that they do. In which case I'd rather Gemma and the twins were here.'

‘You never liked Guy, did you?' Tom perches on the end of the little deal table where the laundry basket sits.

‘Not much,' answers Cass. ‘No. He's too much like Mark, and I saw how it was with Kate and Mark. I didn't want that for Gemma. If it had been Giles I'd have been much happier. Giles is much more … human. Gemma needs love like plants need the sun, and Guy is such a cold fish.'

‘But Gemma loves him,' Tom insists. ‘She wouldn't have gone to Canada otherwise. It was a perfect moment to leave him if she'd wanted to but she didn't.'

Cass folds the shirt and selects a long cord skirt. She turns it inside out and draws it over the ironing board. ‘I know she didn't, but I wonder how much of that was to do with guilt. She'd had an affair and had been caught out, risked everything for a foolish moment of passion. We've been there, haven't we? We can't condemn her for it. I certainly can't.'

Tom heaves a huge, rather self-pitying sigh: he hates these kinds of discussions. They force him to confront his own weaknesses and failures; to remember his own infidelities and, much worse than all these, the death of Charlotte, who adored him. The reminder that, just briefly, he was prepared to put her at risk for the sake of a lustful moment of physical madness still has the power to reduce him to tears. He turns away, sticks his hands in his pockets and stares out of the window.

‘We were both equally to blame,' Cass says, knowing what he is thinking. ‘I remember Kate saying back then, that kind of passion is like a terrible illness that destroys all sense of past or future. Only the present matters, burning you up so that you're prepared to consign duties and responsibilities and even your loved ones to the flames. And when the fever passes it's too late. The damage has been done.'

And Charlotte was our scapegoat, bearing the weight of our confusion and passion; riding her pony out, too overwhelmed by her own fear and vulnerability to take sensible judgements. He doesn't say the words aloud, fearing another shouting match; instead he says, ‘Have you told Kate how you feel? That you don't mind if Gemma and Guy divorce?'

‘Of course I haven't,' Cass says irritably. ‘Kate and I hardly know what to say to each other at the moment. It's a wretched situation. She blames Gemma and I blame Guy, but deep down we know it's much more complex than that.'

She pushes the iron along the skirt's seam, steam hissing, remembering Kate's love and support through those dreadful months after Charlotte's death. She hates the Tom Tiddler's ground that stretches between them since Gemma came home; each publicly defending her own child whilst privately acknowledging the other's dilemma. It seems impossible that they should be unable to have a normal conversation without resentment creeping in or sharp words being spoken: impossible that she and Kate, after all these years, should be in such a position. While Gemma remained in Canada it was possible to skirt the issue; small skirmishes but quick retreats back into the warmth and constancy of their long relationship. Now, with Gemma and the twins here, it is as if the lines of battle need to be more clearly defined.

Cass shakes out the skirt. She knows that it is unfair to put all the blame on Guy. She and Gemma are too alike for her to ignore that trait that leads Gemma to flirt, to regard the occasional sexual encounter as unimportant as a session at the gym or a game of tennis. She does blame him, however, for taking Gemma and the twins to Canada – to Mark.

‘I never liked Mark,' she says, ‘and he never liked me. Gemma doesn't like him either. I can't imagine why Kate ever married him. I know Guy isn't such a cold fish but I'm afraid that, as he gets older, he might turn into Mark – if you see what I mean. I hate going out there and having him there in the background looking so smug and vindictive. It must be hell for Kate when she goes out to visit them. Even worse now that he's married again, not that Kate cares about that. I think she's relieved, actually. She feels a bit less guilty for walking out on him.'

Tom whistles a little tune just under his breath. ‘What you really hate is Mark having the satisfaction of thinking that he's won. That's why you want them back, isn't it?'

‘Partly.' Cass lays the skirt beside the shirts. ‘Mostly because I miss them so much and I know that Gemma isn't happy there. Nor, by the sound of it, is Guy. Anyway, she's made up her mind and it wasn't anything to do with us. We didn't influence her and I'm not going to beat myself up if Guy doesn't come back.' She switches off the iron. ‘Shall we have some lunch? Oliver said he'd grab something on the way back from South Brent.'

She goes out, passing him without a glance, and after a moment he follows her downstairs.

*   *   *

Kate packs a few things into an overnight bag. She doesn't need much; after all, she's going home, isn't she? A different home in a very different setting, but home just the same. She straightens up and looks around her bedroom, at the familiar belongings. It's odd and unsettling to have two homes but this one at least belongs to her. The cottage at the end of the row in St Meriadoc is Bruno's, though it feels – and looks – like home. She's confused by the concept of having two homes; it's already beginning to feel divisive. She misses the sound of the sea, the tall, bleak cliffs – but it's good to wander out into the town or to drive up onto the moor, to know that the twins are only a few miles away at school.

So why not simply keep both cottages and go between the two of them? After all, she managed to move and live happily between the house in Whitchurch and David's house and studio in London. But that was different: the truth is that the house in London was never truly home to her. Perhaps David felt the same about the house in Whitchurch but the marriage worked nevertheless. Married late, each with grown-up children, they'd both been glad of the space they'd given each other. She'd retained responsibility for her house and David for his so that their children had been almost unaffected by their parents' marriage. Nobody had been required to make choices or give anything up. David was an artist; his workplace was sacrosanct but beyond that he was very flexible. Bruno is like him in that respect.

Kate takes the bag and goes downstairs, checks that the kitchen is tidy, plugs switched off, and wanders through to the sitting-room. She's thinking of Gemma and Guy and the twins now, of Cass and Tom, of Bruno; oh, the different kinds of love: love for one's children, for friends, for a lover. Her heart is divided amongst them all and she longs for a solution that answers their needs and her own.

The danger is, she thinks, that when we love we demand too much, we grow possessive because our hearts are searching for perfect love. Perhaps no human person is capable of it; perhaps only God can offer it, but still we long for it … and the words of St Augustine's prayer come into her mind: ‘O Lord, You have made us for Yourself and our hearts are restless till they rest in You.'

True intimacy, she decides, requires both closeness and distance … like dancing. But how difficult it is to know when to move closer and when to draw back. Sometimes we invade the other person's space, become too needy, and sometimes we hold ourselves apart, fearing to make demands, but giving the impression that we are unwilling to commit.

We double-guess each other, thinks Kate, Bruno and I. How dangerous that is. Privately, secretly, I set him little tests but, since he doesn't know the questions, how can he hope to pass? Perhaps he's doing the same to me.

She is glad that she's made this decision to go to St Meriadoc; to be proactive rather than waiting, always waiting, to see if Jess needs her, or Gemma or Cass. She telephoned Bruno to tell him – she didn't have to but decided she would – and to ask outright if she could come to supper.

‘Then,' she said, ‘I shan't have to worry about serious shopping. I've got some basic stuff…'

And he was so pleased.

‘I've got a cassoulet on the go,' he said. ‘Great. Will you go to the cottage first? OK then. Just come over when you're ready.'

Oh, the foolish relief; the ridiculous happiness at his reaction.

I wonder, thinks Kate, if I shall ever grow up.

She has one last thing to do: she will make a call to Oliver and then she will be free to go.

*   *   *

Oliver has a pint and a sandwich at the pub in Cornwood and then heads up onto the moor. He drives quite slowly, listening to his Norma Winstone CD, stopping for a string of horses who come clattering out of Tinpark Riding School, clip smartly along the lane and then disappear onto Ridding Down, the rider at the rear raising her hand to him as he idles along patiently behind them. At Cadover Bridge a woman is throwing a ball for two Labradors who plunge into the river, leaping and splashing, their wet sleek black coats glistening in the sunshine. When he reaches Lynch Common he pulls the car off the road to check his mobile. There is a voice message from Kate.

‘I'm going down to St Meriadoc for a few days,' she says. ‘I feel edgy, and anyway I want to collect a few things. I wonder if you'd like to use the cottage while I'm away? I think it might do us all good to have a break from one another and you might like a bolt hole yourself. Let me know. Cass has got the spare key for emergencies.'

He sits in the warm November sunshine, looking across Burrator reservoir towards Sheepstor, thinking about it. His instincts tell him that something crucial is about to happen between Guy and Gemma, and he needs to be at hand for it. At the same time the prospect of a break from his parents is tempting. He presses buttons and Kate answers at once.

‘I'm on my way back,' he says. ‘Just picked up your message. I think it's a very good idea. Thanks.'

‘Oh good. I've been dithering about whether to stay or go but I think we're all getting on each other's nerves and this seems an ideal opportunity. Cass and Tom won't mind you coming here, will they?'

He laughs. ‘I think they'll be delighted. The timing is perfect. Thanks, Kate.'

‘The bedroom Jess used is all made up. I'll leave you some rations – milk and stuff – but you'll want to get some food in.'

‘Don't worry about that. Have you heard from Jess?'

‘Yes. She sounded a bit odd when we spoke but Lady T has had an angina attack so Jess is probably upset. They want her to stay on, though, and she seems keen. But look, Ollie, I've given her your mobile number. Do you mind? It's just that I feel I'm rather abandoning her, though it's no great distance from St Meriadoc if there's a problem.'

‘Of course I don't mind. And I'm sure she's quite safe with the Trehearnes.'

‘I know. But I was the one who invited her down and she doesn't know any of us particularly well. If she has a wobble I'd like her to feel she can come back to Chapel Street, and she sounded pleased to have your number. Apparently she's asked if you can be invited to the reunion supper or whatever it is. I said you'd probably be delighted to go.'

‘OK. Tell her I'll be around if she needs me. I'll collect some things from the Rectory and be over.'

‘Great. Thanks, Ollie. Look, I'm just leaving now so I shan't see you. Could you tell Cass? It's all a bit sudden but I really need a breathing space.'

‘We all do. Send over Jess's mobile number, would you? Thanks. Stay in touch.'

He puts his mobile back in his pocket. Cloud shadows drift across the bleached grassy slopes where sheep graze, moving slowly; the calm waters of the reservoir glitter below him. A buzzard rises, circling out of the trees, borne upwards on invisible currents, each flap of its wings taking it higher. Two crows come out of nowhere to hassle it, dive-bombing it; a pair of aerial fighters driving it out of the valley towards the stony summit of the tor.

Oliver turns the car and drives down the lane to the Rectory.

*   *   *

Tom and Cass are still sitting at the kitchen table with the remains of lunch between them.

‘It's just not the same without a dog,' Oliver says as he comes in. ‘It feels weird.'

‘We don't need a dog,' Tom says at once, just as Oliver knows he will. ‘If you need a dog, get one yourself.'

‘I don't need a dog,' protests Oliver. ‘I'm too peripatetic. It's the Rectory that needs one. It's too big without one. You'd like one, wouldn't you, Ma?'

Cass cannot quite hide her relief at his return. It seems, just now, that whenever she and Tom are alone they argue about Gemma, so Oliver's teasing is a welcome distraction.

‘Listen,' Oliver says, sitting down, reaching for the cheese and cutting a slice. ‘We've had this idea. Kate and I. She's shooting down to St Meriadoc for a few days so I'm going over to Chapel Street.'

‘Why?' asks Tom immediately, irritably. ‘Why do you need to go to Chapel Street simply because Kate's going to Cornwall?'

Oliver beams at him kindly. ‘Don't you want me to go? Will you miss me?'

Cass, who has also helped herself to a sliver of cheese, nearly chokes.

‘The thing is,' Oliver is saying, since Tom remains furiously silent, ‘Kate thinks Jess should have somewhere to go if things get difficult down on the Tamar. I expect you've heard that Lady T isn't well?'

‘Yes,' snaps Tom, not wishing Oliver to think that he's ahead in the information stakes. ‘They've cancelled the reunion thrash. But I still don't see why you need to be at Chapel Street. If Jess has a problem, though I can't imagine why she should, she can come here. Her grandparents were our friends, not yours.'