Nula was beginning to relax. Charlie did seem to be taking a bit of a back seat these days; Harlan was busy on the manor, and that was good in Nula’s eyes because it meant Harlan was away from her. Charlie’d had him installed in one of his many London houses, until Beezer reported that Harlan had checked out of there and booked himself into the Langham instead – at Charlie’s expense.
Charlie’s shouts of rage could be heard all over the house.
‘What the hell . . . ?’ Milly crossed the hall with Belle at her side. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked her mother, hearing the yells coming from behind the closed study door.
‘Just your dad, kicking off as usual,’ said Nula, who was used to hearing Charlie bawling the place down.
Now she’d had another long spell away, had time to think, she realized that her mind had been playing tricks on her, that the psychiatrists were right; it had been her imagination, and really she had been cruel to Harlan, unintentionally cruel, and he must have seen her wariness around him as a rejection.
She made up her mind that in future she would make an effort to be nicer to Harlan. Now she was better, things would be easier. She had a clear mind. That horrible black dog of depression had let her go. She was still on the meds, of course – just to keep her steady. And still keeping her journal, writing everything up, tucking photos inside the pages, explaining her life. But that was all right.
Charlie emerged from the study, red-faced with rage.
‘That little bastard wants to watch his fucking step,’ he told Nula, and filled her in about the Langham business. ‘I’m off down to see to the animals,’ he said.
A visit to his ‘menagerie’ always seemed to soothe Charlie. He said he’d set it up for the kids – but Nula reckoned he’d done it for himself. There were no fluffy bunnies down there, no cute pygmy goats or Shetland ponies. Spiders and reptiles were Charlie’s thing. Coincidentally they were Harlan’s too. But they were not Milly’s, or hers. ‘Got some new baby caimans. You want to see them, babes. They’re cute.’
Nula didn’t think baby caimans were cute. They were creepy, emitting those weird cries and watching you with blank staring eyes that said: When I’m older, I will eat you.
Charlie went out. Then Milly came and stood in the doorway, trailing Belle behind her.
One of the new younger guys on the staff called Sammy was sitting beside the front door, reading the newspaper. The headlines shouted about Dickie Attenborough and Ben Kingsley winning Oscars for Gandhi. He looked up when the two young women crossed the hall and nodded at Milly. ‘All right?’ he said.
Milly didn’t answer but Belle was suppressing a grin.
‘He likes you,’ she whispered to Milly. ‘Say the word, he’d be yours.’
‘Shut up,’ said Milly, but she did like Sammy. He was OK. She’d chatted to him once or twice. He worked for Dad, here at the house or on the cars or on the doors at Dad’s clubs or snooker halls, or at the furnishing factories. He’d told her about his own dad, who’d been an army man, ballistics or bomb disposal or something like that, and how Sammy had been a disappointment to him when he didn’t join the army too, preferring PPO work like this.
‘Mum? Can we have a word?’ she asked, opening the door to Nula’s sitting room.
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Nula.
‘I’m not sure about this,’ said Milly to Belle.
‘About what?’ asked Nula. ‘Come on in, don’t stand in the doorway.’
The two of them stepped inside. Belle glanced back into the hall, and carefully closed the door. Then she followed Milly over and sat down beside her.
‘Well?’ said Nula, not liking the troubled expression on her daughter’s face.
‘We don’t want to upset you,’ said Milly.
Nula smiled. ‘Come on. Spit it out.’
Milly glanced at Belle again, then took a deep breath and told her mother about what she’d found back in the summer, in Harlan’s room.