CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Piers slept heavily until he was wakened by the closing of a door and the very faint, insistent noise of Lion whining miserably. He rolled onto his back, saw that it was already light and peered at his bedside clock: just after five o’clock. He groaned, knowing that he must go down at about six to let Lion out, feed him and play with him for a while, wondering if Tilda had already been downstairs to see to him. That early period of bonding was a very important one and he didn’t grudge it but, just now, he would have preferred another three hours’ sleep. At least he could have an hour, he told himself, if only he could get off again. The mournful, piteous noise drifting through the open windows moved him to compassion but he knew that Lion must accustom himself to being without his litter brothers and sisters. He’d soon adjust; Piers hardened his heart and turned onto his side, willing himself to sleep. A car passed along the lane below the house and a blackbird was singing on the hill behind the garth. Piers settled himself more comfortably.
There has been a blackbird singing out on the hill for as long as he can remember. As a small boy he sleeps in the room on the south-east corner facing on to the hill but he always longs for a view of the sea from his bedroom.
He stands at the window in his parents’ room, staring across the tawny little fields towards the coast where the autumn gales pile the grey seas onto the rocks below Hurlstone Point.
‘Couldn’t I sleep in the west wing?’ he pleads yearningly. ‘In Grandfather’s old room. Please.’
He has another reason: he misses his grandfather very much and to be in his room brings him closer, refreshes his memories. He is relieved that his father hardly changes the study where the old man once sat to listen to the wireless and to read his newspaper: it retains his influence, as if he might be found there, dozing in his chair, waking to cry, ‘What’s up? Where’s the fire?’ His bedroom still has his books on the shelves, his small personal items lying about, and Piers likes to touch them so as to feel the worn imprint of his grandfather’s hand.
‘Not yet,’ his mother answers inexorably. ‘You’re too small for such a big room. And anyway, if you were ill or frightened in the night I’d never hear you.’
He is twelve years old when he is assigned the room on the north-west corner of the house, which in due course becomes David’s room. Sue suffers far fewer qualms about her son’s hardihood and he is allowed to move in at eight years old.
‘I have no wish to hear him in the night,’ she says. ‘The further away the better. I need my sleep.’
David pleads to keep the double bed with the same fervent passion that, later, he has for a motorbike, a sports car – ‘She’s a real bargain, Dad. I can work on her. She’s a beauty’ – and the sailing boat that he keeps down at Porlock Weir. ‘Just a loan, Dad,’ he says. ‘After all, it’s only money. I’ve got to phone the owner today or I’ll lose it. Don’t put that face on, life’s too short.’
Piers pressed his face into the pillow. Oh, to see that wheedling grin again, the complicit droop of the eyelid; to lay his hand proudly on his son’s broad shoulder and feel the warmth and comfort of those strong, young arms giving him a hug. He stifled the sobs that wrenched his throat and burned his eyes, whilst Lion continued to whine miserably, and presently he flung back the sheet, pulled on his dressing-gown and went quietly downstairs, crossed the hall and passed through the kitchen to the scullery.
Lion ran to meet him, tail waving furiously, and Piers picked him up and held him close whilst Lion dabbed at his cheek with excited licks.
‘You’ll wake the household if you carry on like that,’ he murmured. ‘Good boy, then. Good fellow. Out we go.’
He opened the scullery door, set the puppy down on the cobbles and bent to clear up the newspaper. Lion pottered about inquisitively, tail waving cautiously; he sniffed at an empty glass, left standing half-hidden beside the trestle table, and sat down quickly, ears flattened, as the swallows swooped low over the garth. Having disposed of the newspaper, Piers stood at the door watching him, his grief dissipating. After a moment he went away to pour himself a glass of water and when he returned he brought one of Joker’s toys: a bright red rubber ball. He rolled it towards Lion, who galloped towards it joyfully, scrabbling with it, trying to pick it up in his mouth, nudging it with his nose. Each time it came to rest, Piers would set it rolling again whilst Lion gambolled to and fro, ears flapping, clearly enjoying the game.
After a while, Piers fetched one of the more comfortable, reclining garden chairs and sat down, suddenly possessed of an enormous weariness. Lion came to look at him, whining a little, standing on his hind legs with his paws on the side of the chair.
‘Had enough, old chap?’ Piers ran his hand over the soft, fluffy coat, imagining how much David would have approved of him, able to think of his son now with a little less pain.
Joker’s descendant whined again, wagging his tail hopefully, and Piers scooped him up, settled him comfortably, and presently both of them were fast asleep.
Tilda found them there several hours later and took Lion off for his breakfast, suggesting that Piers should go upstairs to shower and dress.
‘Coffee?’ she offered as he hovered in the kitchen doorway, yawning, but he shook his head.
‘I’ll have some more water.’ He filled a glass and drank thirstily, watching Lion pottering about, exploring his new home. ‘Did you come down earlier, Tilda?’
Instead of placing Jake’s little chair on one of the kitchen chairs as she usually did, she was setting it on the floor so that he could see the puppy. When Lion encountered the kicking legs, so near to his inquisitive nose, he sat down abruptly, staring in amazement. Tilda laughed, crouching beside them, speaking encouragingly. ‘Look, Jake, this is Lion. Isn’t he nice? Say hello.’ She glanced up at Piers’ question.
‘No,’ she answered, ‘I thought you ought to be the one he saw first. You said that you’d like to have that time to yourself with him so I left him to you. I heard him though, last night and this morning. The thing is, with it being so hot, you have to have all the windows open so you can’t help but hear him. He settled down quite quickly, actually.’
‘Let’s hope he didn’t keep the others awake.’ Piers leaned against the sink, ankles crossed, watching Lion sniffing cautiously at Jake’s toes. ‘Lizzie’s room is right above the scullery.’
‘I did warn her that he might be noisy on his first night away from his brothers and sisters.’ Tilda stood up and began to assemble her breakfast things. ‘She told me that she’d once slept through her host’s garden shed burning down, which included the entire family racing round the house and a visit from the fire brigade, and that she’d never found sleep a problem. Waking up, she said, was something else. In fact she made me promise to take her up some coffee if she hadn’t surfaced by nine o’clock. I told her that she could sleep until lunchtime if she wanted to but I don’t think she feels she knows us quite well enough for that yet. We compromised on ten o’clock.’
‘Fine. Well, I’ll see if the bathroom’s free and be down as soon as I can.’ Piers finished his water and refilled the glass. ‘I want to find David’s old playpen. It came in very useful for Joker and I’m sure we shall need it again now. It’s a wonderful way to restrain puppies as well as babies but, meanwhile, if you have a problem just shut Lion in the scullery.’
‘Stop fussing and go and have your shower. I can manage a baby and a puppy, you know.’ She put two slices of bread into the toaster. ‘I hope his arrival in the middle of your party wasn’t too . . . embarrassing for you.’
He’d bent to stroke Jake’s head gently with one finger. ‘If you mean Alison,’ he said, after a moment, ‘let’s just say that I think the timing was perfect. He’s a terrific present, Tilda. The best. It’ll be fun watching him and Jake growing up together.’
They looked at each other, both thinking about David, each aware of the fact. In a rare gesture he held out an arm to her and she slipped into his embrace, hugging him tightly, her face hidden against his dressing-gown. He stared over her head, his own face momentarily bleak, but when she raised her head he smiled at her, touched his cheek to hers, grimaced and said, ‘Oh, hell, I need a shave.’
‘That’s OK,’ she said, courage restored, comforted by the sharing of their unspoken grief. ‘See you later. Bang on Saul’s door as you go past.’
She put the toast in the rack and poured some orange juice, found the honey and sat down at the table. The door opened and Teresa appeared, pretty and tidy as always, looking refreshed and ready for action.
‘Darling,’ she began – and paused to give a little cry of delight at the sight of Lion curled beside Jake’s chair. ‘Oh, isn’t that sweet? I heard him whining earlier, poor little soul, but I felt it was best to leave him to Piers.’
‘He came down earlier.’ Tilda spread the honey on her toast and took a large bite. ‘Did he keep you awake with his whining?’ she asked somewhat indistinctly.
‘No, not really.’ Teresa pushed the kettle onto the hot plate. ‘Don’t get up. I don’t want any breakfast yet, I need coffee, that’s all. No, I went off to sleep quite quickly last night but I did hear him this morning, poor fellow, and then I heard someone moving about down here and guessed that Piers had come down. Coffee for you?’
Tilda shook her head. ‘No, I don’t have it very often at the moment. Jake doesn’t care for it. The bread’s beside the toaster.’
‘In a minute. Coffee first.’ Teresa sat down opposite her daughter. ‘I think it all went off very well, don’t you?’ Their eyes met. ‘I have this feeling that you won’t be seeing much more of Alison at Michaelgarth.’
Tilda grinned. ‘I have that feeling too,’ she admitted. ‘I wondered if I’d been too high-handed, bringing Lion in like that, without asking Piers first, but he was saying earlier that it was the best present he could have had.’
‘Good for Piers.’ Teresa hitched her chair a little, almost conspiratorially, and lowered her voice. ‘Do you think he and Lizzie have got something going?’
Tilda frowned thoughtfully, finishing her slice of toast with evident relish. ‘They seem terribly well attuned,’ she said after a moment. ‘Sort of easy together and very happy. They make little jokes and they seem so . . . well, comfortable and then again it seems that they’ve only just met each other again after years and years. It’s odd.’
‘Do you know how long it is since she lost her husband?’ asked Teresa carefully, aware that she was moving on to sensitive ground. ‘I just wondered, you know . . . ?’
‘She doesn’t talk about it but when I mentioned it to Felix he said he thought that it was fairly recent. As far as I can tell it was because of her bereavement that she decided to look him up again.’ She smiled sardonically. ‘It’s probably too early to start dusting off your wedding hat, Ma.’
‘Wedding hat? Who’s getting married?’ Saul came into the kitchen, heavy-eyed, a towelling robe tied over a T-shirt and shorts. ‘Piers just hammered on my door and then disappeared into the bathroom. Bastard.’
‘Don’t get up, Ma.’ Tilda started on her second piece of toast as Teresa, flustered, began to rise to her feet. ‘Saul can make his own tea. And no-one’s getting married. We were just talking about Alison’s frustrated plans.’ She winked at her mother. ‘We were congratulating ourselves on our tactics. Or our strategies. Or whatever.’
Lion woke up, staggered to his feet and began to pad purposefully round the kitchen.
‘Quick,’ said Tilda to Saul, ‘head him out into the garth before he widdles on the floor. Go on, Saul.’
Saul seized the puppy as if he were a rugby ball, and sprinted away through the scullery whilst the two women laughed and Teresa got up to make some toast. Presently Piers and Felix came in together and the day began in earnest: breakfast was made, plans were discussed. Saul said that he could stay to lunch but needed to be away by tea-time; Felix, on the other hand, wondered if he might go rather earlier if it fitted in with everyone else. He looked content but rather tired, and Teresa offered to drop him at the flat on her way back to Taunton.
‘I simply have to get back before lunch,’ she said, ‘if that’s not too early for you, Felix?’
‘You’re very welcome to stay,’ said Piers, wondering if they were being tactful. ‘At least help us to finish up the leftovers for lunch.’
‘I’ll take Lizzie some coffee,’ said Tilda, thinking with relief that at least Alison wouldn’t come bursting in this morning, ‘and then I shall have to go and feed Jake. Don’t disappear just yet, Ma.’
She went out, carrying a mug of coffee, and Saul came in with Lion at his heels, chasing the flapping, trodden-down backs of Saul’s slippers.
‘It’s the most fantastic morning,’ he said. ‘We went a little way out on to the hill and the view is breathtaking. Ouch!’ He jerked his heel out of the reach of the puppy’s needle-sharp teeth. ‘How will you manage to keep Lion inside the garth, Piers? If you could get a gate up it would be perfect for him.’
Before Piers could reply, Tilda reappeared, still carrying the mug of coffee.
‘Lizzie’s not there,’ she said, staring round at them anxiously, putting the mug on the table. ‘Where can she be?’
There was a short silence.
‘Perhaps it was her that I heard going out earlier,’ offered Teresa. ‘Lion might have disturbed her and she decided to go for an early morning walk.’
‘But her things are gone and the room’s quite empty.’ Tilda looked puzzled. ‘She’s completely disappeared.’