The Talisman (76 page)

Edward had been out shopping, with the aid of Dewint, and had hidden himself away to wrap his gifts. They had chosen an enormous doll for Jinks, and gardening equipment for Harriet as she was now eagerly nurturing a vegetable patch behind the manor.

Dewint, rather bent with age now, almost toppled off the ladder when the doorbell rang. Harriet shrieked that she would answer it, it was probably carol singers.

Standing on the doorstep, tears streaming down his cheeks, was Evelyn. A policeman stood beside him, his helmet under his arm, holding Evelyn’s bicycle. The boy was sopping wet, his teeth chattering with cold.

‘Well, well, it’s Evelyn, and with an escort! Do come in . . . Edward! There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

‘We found him up by Greenwich Docks, riding down a dual carriageway with no lights.’

Edward came down the stairs, overhearing the policeman’s last few words. He opened the door wide, put his hand on Evelyn’s shoulder, and took the wind out of the pompous policeman. ‘How very kind and thoughtful of you to bring him safely home, officer. Now I think we’d better get you a hot toddy . . . Dewint! A large drink for Constable . . .? I presume you are off duty?’

Edward gave an unhappy, saddle-sore little boy a secret wink. The policeman was rather chuffed at his reception, and asked for a brandy. Dewint proffered a glass, but Edward insisted they gave the constable the bottle, he felt sure the lads back at the station would also like a share of the Christmas spirit. Laughing now at the boy’s antics, the policeman thanked them heartily and left.

Edward closed the door and smiled at his son. ‘Well, we sorted out Constable Plod, so now, my lad, what’s all this?’

Hot soup and warm towels were brought and Evelyn was led to the fireside. He explained that he had come for Christmas, and Harriet hugged and kissed him. She brought Jinks down to make him welcome. She was overcome with shyness, hanging her head and unable to say a word. Harriet told her to go back to bed, she would freeze without any slippers on. She went off with Dewint to make up a bed for Evelyn.

‘The General runs the house, and we all obey her or she throws terrible moods, isn’t that right, Jinks?’

Jinks tripped as she was leaving the room. She bit her lip and replied, ‘Yes, Daddy,’ but it went unheard. Edward sat on the arm of Evelyn’s chair, fascinated by the boy.

‘First thing tomorrow we’d better get you some lights for your bike.’

‘First thing, Edward, is to get this boy to bed,’ said Harriet as she entered the room with a hot-water bottle. ‘Look at him, he can hardly keep his eyes open. I’ve put him in the room next to Jinks, so if he gets lonely in the night she will be next door.’

Evelyn, exhausted, stumbled as he stood up, but Edward caught him before he fell. ‘I think I’d better carry the chap up, General, don’t want any accidents, not before Christmas Day . . .’

Harriet stoked the fire while Edward carried Evelyn upstairs and laid him down in the newly made bed. He was already asleep. Edward tucked him in and stroked his thick, black curls, then leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

Evelyn stirred, and he slipped his arms around his father. ‘Thank you for having me to stay, Uncle Edward.’

When the boy had fallen asleep again, Edward left him, making sure the door was half open and the landing light left on in case he should wake in the night. As he passed his daughter’s room, he called out, ‘Goodnight, Jinks.’

Her whispered reply went unheard. In the darkness her glasses glinted as she looked around her orderly bedroom, some of the toys still in their boxes. She snuggled down and removed her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose where they left a permanent indentation.

In the next two days Evelyn learnt what was missing in his own home. The laughter, the excitement, all building up towards Christmas Day. Delivery vans brought supplies, including one from Harrods with all the Christmas luxuries, and Edward took him shopping in Petticoat Lane. They were in their element.

Harriet had a sneaking suspicion that they should have called Alex to check everything was all right. But Evelyn insisted his parents knew he was staying with them for the whole Christmas holiday. Having Evelyn around had a good effect not only on Edward, but also on Jinks, which pleased Harriet. The little girl had a habit of covering her mouth, like a hamster, when she laughed, as if afraid to hear herself. But with the rowdy boy banging around the house she found herself becoming almost as loud.

Harriet was a child’s dream of an aunt. She was the first to suggest a game, and not boring cardboard-box games but clever charades, which she usually won. She was as noisy and boisterous as the children, and even Edward joined in. With a sheet over his head, he mimed the exceptionally difficult charade Harriet had dreamed up for him, ‘A Sheik in a Pickle’.

‘Would you be Valentino, sah?’

‘Close, very close.’

‘Oi! No speaking, that’s cheating you lose a point,’ bellowed Harriet, jumping up and down. To Evelyn’s delight, when his aunt and uncle argued it was nothing like the bitter, controlled, back-stabbing ‘disagreements’ that went on in his own house. When Aunt Harriet shouted at Uncle Edward, he yelled back that he wouldn’t lose a point as he didn’t give anything away. Anyway, he was damned sure there was no such film. Harriet insisted, all the time nudging and winking at her partner, Evelyn. And Jinks, usually so timid, especially when she heard her parents arguing, now had tears streaming down her face, fogging up her glasses as she rolled on the floor, laughing.

‘You see, look at your partner, she’s collapsed! Out! Time’s up! We won that round, Evelyn, that gives us a four-point lead.’

Jinks turned on her mother, wagging her finger. ‘Mummy, you are cheating.’

‘That’s right, Jinks, you tell her . . . Cheat!’

They were all bickering and laughing so much that they didn’t hear the doorbell, or Alex’s strained voice as he asked if they had heard from his son. When he strode in, the room went silent, and everyone turned to look at him as he stood in the doorway, red-faced with fury.

‘I think you’ve both acted very irresponsibly – do you realize I’ve had the police out looking for him? I have been absolutely frantic, couldn’t you at least have had the decency to call me and tell me he was with you?’

‘I came by myself on my bike,’ piped up Evelyn, and got such a glare from Alex he dodged to hide behind Harriet. Edward tried to explain, but Alex asked that the children leave the room.

The two of them listened outside the door, and Evelyn pulled a face. Nothing Harriet or Edward said could calm the irate Alex. He insisted on Evelyn getting his coat and his bloody bike and leaving with him immediately.

Harriet left the two men arguing, giving the children a glum look. She whispered that it looked like Evelyn wouldn’t be staying for Christmas after all, and cheered them up by saying that if they were very quick they could open one of their gifts there and then. She hurried them to the tree and, of course, they went for the biggest boxes and began to rip off the paper. Harriet hurried upstairs and got Evelyn’s coat, and the few things he had brought in his saddlebag. As she came back down the stairs, she saw the children, sitting in a mound of wrapping paper, gleefully opening more presents.

‘Oi, just one more each, then Evelyn can take the rest home with him. I’ll bring a big brown bag.’

Jinks looked at her huge doll, almost life-size, and then put it back in its box. Evelyn couldn’t believe his eyes – a police car with flashing lights and a siren that screamed.

Edward had apologized, but now he was getting angry at Alex’s attitude. He snapped that perhaps Barbara should have made sure she knew where her son was staying for Christmas.

‘He lied to her, he lied to us both. He told us he was staying with a schoolfriend, we had no idea he wasn’t with them until we called . . . So, there’s blame on both sides. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll take him home.’

When they went out into the hall, there was no sign of the children. Alex called, and Harriet came downstairs with a suitcase for Evelyn’s presents. She suggested they look in the dining room, they often hid in there. Edward approached the closed doors.

‘I’ll get him . . . Evelyn? Evelyn . . .?’

Jinks followed her mother downstairs, very subdued. Her doll was already lying in the cot she had been given for her birthday. She looked tearfully at her mother, and Harriet gave a little shrug.

‘He’ll come and see us again . . . Alex? He can come again, can’t he?’

Alex was standing at the dining-room doors, and Harriet went to his side. From where they stood they could both see clearly into the dimly lit room. Evelyn was sitting at the table with his head in his hands, crying. Edward was leaning over him, stroking his hair. They couldn’t hear what he was saying, but what they saw stopped them both dead. Alex felt as though he had been punched, and his face drained of colour. In the candlelight, Edward and Evelyn were the image of Freedom Stubbs – but they were also the image of each other. Alex and Harriet both knew in a moment that they were looking at father and son.

It was so clear to them now, the eyes, the thick black hair, the dark complexion. Harriet turned abruptly and went up the stairs, saying to Jinks it was bath time but, like Alex, her face was as white as a sheet.

Edward was sitting by the fire, reading. It was after nine, and he wondered where Harriet had got to. The big oak door inched open and Jinks stood there in her nightdress.

‘Daddy’s a bit tired for a story tonight, ask your mother . . . Where is she, upstairs?’

Jinks was shaking, and her face crumpled as she sobbed out, ‘Mummy . . . Mummy’s strange, she looks funny . . .’

Edward picked his daughter up and carried her upstairs, calling for Dewint as he went. He came bustling out of the kitchen, wiping his hands. ‘Dinner will be a fraction late, sah, this newfangled Aga has me all over the place . . .’

‘Harry? Harry . . .? Is she in her studio, Jinks? Where’s Mummy?’

Jinks clung tight to her father’s neck, her eyes wide. She seemed terrified, and as they approached her bedroom she screamed and struggled to be put down. Dewint, right behind them, took the child, reassuring her that everything was all right. But it was in the air, it was almost tangible – something was wrong, terribly wrong. Edward reached the doorway and looked in, then whispered, ‘Oh, Jesus Christ . . . take her downstairs, and get the doctor, fast.’

Harriet was sitting on her daughter’s bed, her blouse open, the beautiful new doll cradled at her breast. She was rigid, her eyes crazy. Edward closed the door, but she appeared not to notice he was in the room, not until he was close. Then she looked at him. Her voice was quite calm – that was what made it so chilling, her calmness, her apparent normality. ‘I can’t wake him, his hands are cold, he won’t take his feed.’

Edward and Dewint both tried unsuccessfully to take the doll away. She became abusive, and screamed at them both.

The ambulance and the doctor arrived within moments of each other. It took two attendants and the doctor to get her out of the room – they cajoled her, and not until she was sedated did she relinquish the doll. She had begun repeating, over and over, ‘He’s your son, he’s your son . . .’

Edward walked into his bedroom. His daughter lay, swamped in the huge bed, clinging to her teddy bear. Her whole body was trembling, and she turned frightened eyes to him. He undressed slowly. It had been a long and terrible night, and one he knew he could never repeat, never risk being part of again. On the way back from the hospital he had made up his mind – this was the end. He couldn’t take any more, and with Jinks to think about he decided the risk was too great. He would divorce Harriet.

Jinks watched her father walk into the bathroom. Her teeth chattered and she was cold and fearful. He switched the light off as he came out. She was scared of the dark, she always had been, but she was even more frightened to say anything. The big bed dipped as he got in beside her.

‘You awake, little one?’

His big arm swept her to his side, and he held her tight. ‘Oh, you’re cold . . . Daddy’ll give you a hot potato, turn around, that’s a girl.’

Jinks lay in the curve of his big body as he breathed on her back, warming her. After a while he stopped, and she turned to face him. In the darkness she could see that he was crying.

‘Do you want a tissue, Daddy?’

‘No, no . . . sometimes it’s best to cry . . . and you and me have a lot to cry about. Mummy’s gone away, and – well, I doubt if she’ll be coming back. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because Mummy is sick. I’ll try to explain it so that you’ll understand. She doesn’t have an illness, like a cold or a pain in her tummy, it’s in her head . . .’

Jinks listened in the dark to his soft voice, and began to wriggle away from him, fraction by fraction. He was talking about a stranger, not her mother. His voice, always low, was little more than a whisper.

‘I don’t want to hear any more. Goodnight, Daddy.’

He looked down at her funny, crinkly hair, the red mark on her nose from the glasses, her eyes firmly shut. ‘Goodnight.’

When she opened her eyes, the room was full of strange shadows. She didn’t cry, she just moved further away from her father, wanting the coolness of the sheet against her. His body, his warmth, suffocated her.

Evelyn had fallen asleep in the car, and Alex carried him indoors and put him to bed. He turned in his sleep, and Alex could see his long eyelashes, so thick and dark, as dark as his silky black hair – just like Edward’s.

Barbara didn’t arrive home until after midnight. She was dressed in a long, floating chiffon gown, and she lounged against his study door. ‘Darling, you really should try to come to more of these do’s. Your grandchildren are growing up, they look so sweet in their little suits . . . Annabelle’s girls are getting to be quite pretty. Selina looked frightful, but then she always does – on the other hand, Annabelle is blossoming. You know she’s opened her own boutique in Beauchamp Place? She loves being Lady Blackwell. Mind you, that’s about all he has to give her, he really is such a weak man. Oh, I need some money for his campaign, you know he is up for the by-election, and . . . darling? Are you listening to me?’