They went home the next afternoon. Jack was weak, but all his tests were positive and he seemed utterly content. The last two months might never have happened. The doctor who discharged him assured the four of them that all Jack needed was rest and a good sensible diet. It sounded routine … easy.
Judith seemed alone in finding the whole situation bizarre. Robert drove them in Bart’s car, which made it odder still. He had to have been back to Castle Dove to fetch it, clean himself up and change his clothes, but although Judith asked him twice about Nat and Sybil she learned nothing.
All Robert said was: ‘I saw Bart when I collected the car keys. No one else.’ Matt, who sat beside him, made no attempt at conversation, and Jack was not strong enough to make more than appreciative noises at the autumnal trees and the first glimpse of the sea as they came off the motorway. These escalated to near-ecstasy as they manoeuvred on to their own drive.
Robert came in with them, and while Judith settled Jack into his armchair next to the gas fire he switched on the heating and told Matt rather brusquely to make some tea. He shook his head at Matt’s offer of a mug and left soon after. Judith thanked him and held the door open while he scribbled something on a piece of paper and put the paper by the telephone.
‘Ring me if you need me,’ he said. Then he was gone, and Judith was left holding open the door, looking at the empty road and feeling bereft.
The rest of that week seemed to belong to some kind of time warp. Judith found herself checking the calendar, glancing at her watch, frowning with disbelief as she read the account of Arnold McCready’s funeral in the weekly newspaper. Matt’s presence in the house was as strange as Jack’s, yet just as normal. He picked up the threads of his Englishness, as both boys did every time they came home. He accepted his father’s ‘breakdown’ and subsequent illness as ‘one of those things’. He said in his serious voice, ‘Mum, we’ve got to put it behind us. Otherwise it makes it worse for Dad. He’s been ill, and now he’s better. It always helps to simplify things – like Dad used to say, one line is better than two.’ He followed his own advice and settled into local life, as he and Toby did twice a year. Judith heard him on the phone to Perth and unashamedly listened in.
‘It was hairy, of course. But that artist chap – Robert Hausmann – he arrived soon after we got home … yeah, he sort of took over. What? Batty? Well, I guess so, but he conjured Mum up, and then of course everything was OK.’ There was a long pause while he listened, then he said, ‘That’s fine by me, Tobe. I’ll do the rescue stuff, I’m kind of into that now. Tell Doc Zack I carried my dad down the side of a cliff in a hurricane last Monday – that should impress him!’ He laughed, and Judith had a sudden memory flash of the Long Gallery creaking in the winds from the Atlantic. She turned into the kitchen, where she was preparing vegetables for the evening meal. That time and place felt more real than this one – the storm and the lightning and Sybil hiding her face. Not this house and the blandness of meals and bed-making. She stared through the window at her beloved garden, bathed in typically mellow September sun; was she no longer a nest-maker?
The rain had stopped at last, and the countryside was clean and washed bare of the fallen leaves. The house was not quite as tidy as she had left it: Matt’s predilection for reading newspapers in the bathroom meant that the laundry basket was piled high with the previous week’s sports news. Her computer was loaded with messages from Martha Gifford, which she high-mindedly did not read. Likewise with messages going to Martha. She tried to be interested, speculating as to whether they kept up a regular correspondence, and whether Martha might become a nuisance, as she so often had in the past. She had been very much younger than the boys, always trying to play football, always in the way. But Matt was nearly thirty now. Might there be something in it? Might she go to Australia to be with him or … might he come home?
Not even that prospect made much impression on Judith, however. The house had waited for her return, yet failed dismally to wrap her in the usual comfort of homecoming. Castle Dove and the countryside around it had been strange but exciting. Home was even stranger and not exciting. There were times when it became worse than unexciting: full of unexpected fears. She waited for Jack to talk to her, yet dreaded to hear what he might say.
On the Saturday, after four days of living in this limbo, Matt went into Bristol city centre to meet with a school friend, and Jack and Judith had the house to themselves. They went through the motions: Jack was in the bathroom for a long time while Judith cleared the breakfast things and tidied generally. The post came, and there was a slip of a letter for her and a thick one for Jack from the Magnet. He had already fielded an email from William about Judith’s contribution which had said simply, ‘Keep ’em coming!’ so the gap of his two-month absence had been bridged. She weighed this large envelope in her hand and wondered what was in it, then put it on the hall table without further interest, stuffed her letter into her pocket, and went into the living room to look at the garden. The wind that had rocked the Long Gallery at Castle Dove had wrecked most of the late flowers here, but surprisingly she noticed a group of dahlias against the wall still holding aloft their blossom heads to dry in the sun. That’s what she would do with this long empty day without Matt: she would spend it in the garden. Jack no longer needed constant ‘surveillance’; he might even make them some lunch. And there was his letter from William … She went into the utility room and put on her wellingtons and an old fleece, found gardening gloves and went outside.
Two hours later, with four green bags of weeds and an aching back as evidence of her labour, she went inside again. Earlier, Jack had waved from the kitchen and held a coffee mug on high, but she had shaken her head and continued to trowel around the perennials and clear beneath the shrubs. Now, she realized she needed some coffee and probably a sandwich or some soup. Or something. She was tired and aching.
The kitchen was as she had left it, except for Jack’s coffee mug on the draining board. She stared at it in disbelief. Was this how it was going to be? They had done everything – everything – together, hadn’t they? And Jack was well enough to have made some sandwiches, wasn’t he?
Angrily she washed her hands at the sink, reached for the roller towel, found it very damp, and practically tore it down and threw it into the machine. Suddenly she wanted to cry. She held on to the edge of the sink and squeezed her eyes tightly shut and let the questions hammer inside her head. She blanked them all out … but, even unacknowledged, they were still there, and were the kernel of a much bigger question. How long could they go on without some kind of explanation? Once Matt went back to Perth, how would they spend their days? All right, like Matt, she accepted that Jack’s mind and body had broken down, but had his memory gone as well? Was he expecting everything to go back to how it had been?
She found a clean towel and hung it up, then began to assemble crockery and food on the kitchen table, made herself some coffee. Perhaps she should look for a job. She sat down with a bump; who on earth would employ a middle-aged woman without a single qualification?
The door of the study opened and Jack’s voice – quite strong – came down the hall. ‘That you, Jude? Is it time for lunch?’
And suddenly the anger – simmering everywhere, it seemed – overwhelmed her, and she yelled back childishly, ‘Food and skivvy await the master!’
It did not help one bit when he took it as banter – as it might well have been in the old days – and came into the kitchen grinning widely and looking, she had to admit, very like Jack had used to look: energized, almost excited.
He sat down carefully, however – his movements were still conscious efforts – and moderated the grin. ‘William has sent a bundle of newspapers. Seems a few journalists have been messing about with all the rules and a scandal is about to break. The suggestion is there’s been a mole – not quite Establishment, but hanging on in there. I thought I’d call him Maurice the Mole. I’ve got an email ready for William: a bit of a storyline with some attachments – sketches, notes. That was why I was waving at you.’
He put his hands on the edge of his chair and changed his position slightly.
She said, ‘You’ve been sitting for too long.’ She stood up and put both hands beneath his elbow. ‘Come on. A turn around the garden, then I’ve got some soup.’
He groaned. ‘How long does soup-time go on for?’
‘This is Mexican bean soup with chillies.’ She opened the door with her back, just as Sybil and Robert had done at Castle Dove. ‘Puts hair on your chest.’
‘Oh goodie,’ he responded, following her on to the patio, stopping, drawing in long appreciative breaths of the autumnal air. He lifted his head, closed his eyes, and then moved away from her and leaned on the rail where Matt had flung his wetsuit after a dip in the Bristol Channel the day before. She felt a dull acceptance somewhere in her chest, and thought that it was not that difficult, they could keep it up, perhaps even pretend nothing had happened.
Then he said, ‘I’d love to see Lundy Island. All I remember is wind and rain. Robert says it’s microcosmic, a state of mind.’
She came and stood beside him, gripping the wrought iron hard.
He said, ‘When I ran away to Perth – after it happened – there was Robert, in hospital after he, too, had tried to run away! So I knew that didn’t work.’ He shook his head. ‘He kept on and on about Lundy. Wanted to take me back and show me. But by then I knew nothing was going to work without you.’ He glanced sideways at her and gave her a wry smile. ‘Stuck it out for weeks, as you know, told myself it was better for you – fresh start – that sort of thing. Then I had an email from that master of understatement – Arnold McCready – he’d seen you somewhere and said you “weren’t good”. So I told Len I was going home, and he said he’d come with me, and I didn’t want that, so I walked out. Matt caught me up at the airport.’ He shrugged. ‘All the wrong things …’
He turned and leaned his back against the railing. ‘Jude. I’m sorry. I see now that you must have known all the time, and you were trying to make the best of a bad job. I would have gone along with that for ever, my love, but … it wasn’t right. I was responsible for her death, Jude. The only other person who knows that is Robert Hausmann. It was one of the reasons Robert wanted us to go to Lundy. Apparently you learn acceptance there.’
He stopped speaking. She found she was gripping the railing much too hard. A death? Who had died? She relaxed her hand with some difficulty. He was not talking sense; she must be … reasonable.
‘Jack. You’ve got it wrong. I have not known what was happening. I still don’t know. I was wrapped in sadness about losing Mum. I was devastated at losing Naomi. I admit I wasn’t putting much into anything. And then you left. I hated you; but when I thought you were dead … oh my God, Jack, I was poleaxed.’ She tried to smile and felt her mouth tremble. ‘Perhaps this isn’t such a good time – you’re still pretty weak and this new project with the Magnet, it’s something upbeat at last. But, I do need to know. Who died?’ She saw his distress and strengthened her voice. ‘Listen. Let’s go and have that soup. And then, perhaps …’
He nodded. ‘That sounds good. Things never seem so bad on a full stomach!’
It was a pathetic attempt at one of their old exchanges. She held the door open for him and they went inside.
Amazingly, he managed a full bowl of the soup; it was strong stuff and he drank a glass of water afterwards, then put his bowl into the sink and sat up very straight in his chair. It made her nervous, and she started to wash up noisily. When he asked her to sit down she suggested they go into the sitting room and ‘make themselves comfortable’ as if they were guests in their own house.
He repeated quietly, ‘Sit down, Jude. Please.’
She sat opposite him this time. He was out of accidental reach, no fear of their knees touching. She put her hands on her lap beneath the table and pulled at her fingers as if trying to lengthen them.
He said quietly, ‘I cannot believe you had no inkling. We weren’t easy together any more.’ She said nothing and he took a breath. ‘It happened at the office party, of course. She was – she was so unhappy. Everyone was at it – you remember from other years. She said it made her feel the odd one out even more. I got some more drinks … Jude, please believe me when I tell you it was impossible not to … not to …’ She made a sound and he said, ‘OK. I knew immediately that I’d done the wrong thing, simply because she was so happy – Naomi seemed contented enough when I met her here, but I’d never seen her like this. She lit up. I wasn’t surprised when she came round on Boxing Day with that champagne and the chocolates for you. I was surprised – and aghast – when she came into the study and … well, obviously thought there had been much more to the party than I had.’
He had not heard the tiny scream of protest as he spoke Naomi’s name. He was somewhere else, deep in a time from which there was no escape. He rested his elbow on the table and put his head on one hand. ‘Yes, all right, I could have – I should have – clamped down that day. But I thought she’d come to her senses of her own accord. Oh, I don’t know what I thought, Jude. Only that I was sick with myself for letting you down. You were still so fond of her – dependent on her – and far from easing her away, my efforts to talk to her properly seemed to make her dependent on me.’ He stopped talking. Strangely he left an echo circling oh so gently around the kitchen. Naomi. Like a chord played on a guitar. Naomi. Naomi. So obvious. Yet never suspected. Never imagined.
Judith held on to her thumb and forced herself to make an effort. Naomi and Jack. It did not work. Naomi wouldn’t have let it happen. So … Naomi was someone else, not the Naomi she had known. Naomi was a widow who had nursed a sick husband for – how many years? She had never spoken of him, never described him. She had said once, ‘I was Naomi Shannon – I might go back to that name. Naomi Parsons is so hard. I never liked it.’
So was it Naomi Parsons or Naomi Shannon who fell in love with someone else’s husband? She had warned Judith about it – tried to put her on her guard, perhaps? Judith found, quite suddenly, that she could indeed imagine someone called Naomi Shannon falling in love with Jack. She could almost see the long neck, the head tilted back, the brown eyes as clear as milkless tea. She looked up and said, ‘So. I was betrayed twice. By my husband and then by my friend – my only friend, actually.’
‘I’ve said that to myself so often, Jude. That’s why I went to see her in London during the spring bank holiday.’
‘Ah, I see. When the boys were here.’ She wanted to hurt him. She could not remember the holiday, but she said in the same level tone, ‘Yes, of course. That was the day they went to Woolacombe for the surfing championships. I thought of walking down to Arnold McCready’s and seeing if Arnie wanted to come and play but—’
‘Jude, please don’t.’
‘All right. Is there much more? Only I’ve got one or two jobs—’
‘She arrived. She had insisted we meet at the Ritz. Tea at the Ritz. She had an overnight bag – said she thought I had booked us in for the weekend. It was horrible. Horrible. When she saw my face she began threatening again. I told her she could do what she wanted – tell the whole world – it would make no difference. I would not see her again. At last she believed me. And she looked at me, picked up her bag and bolted. If she’d left the way she had come she would have gone into Green Park. As it was, she ran out into Piccadilly, which was packed with holiday traffic and … and … and …’ He opened his hands, then clenched them and put his fists on the table. ‘They said the car mounted the pavement. But it killed just Naomi, and there were other people all around her. It had to be deliberate, Jude. And it had to be because of what I’d said. I can’t even remember … I had told myself – schooled myself – to be brutal. I couldn’t go on any longer. It had to be final. And it was.’
She was aghast. This was most definitely not the Naomi she had known. Naomi’s serene ambience had been part of her, never deserting her, not even when her long legs were twisted inextricably behind her washing machine. This was a different Naomi. Naomi Shannon. Passionate rather than compassionate. For a moment Judith saw those same long ungainly legs, unrecognizable beneath the wheels of a car. She coughed, then choked.
He sat there, stone-still, probably seeing it all again like an endless strip of film. She saw it herself. And more; it had been she who had urged Jack to take Naomi to that office party, and she should have known only too well how easy it was after a few drinks to let a flirtation become something more.
She stood up abruptly and ran water into a glass and drank it. She leaned over the sink and choked again, drank again. Stood upright.
Jack was sitting there. Staring.
She said levelly, ‘Why didn’t it come out at the inquest? Did you give evidence?’
He looked up at her and said drearily, ‘I didn’t know. Not then. I left immediately and went through the park and on to Paddington for that six o’clock train. I heard it on the car radio the next day. When I got in you had heard it, too, and told me. If I’d had to tell you I would probably have started from the beginning. I don’t know.’
‘You said nothing? To the police? To – to anyone?’
‘No. What was there to say? I thought it was over – I told myself it was her choice. But it was just beginning.’
‘Someone might have seen her – been able to tell you it was an accident.’ Judith heard her own voice, offering what? Some kind of comfort? She gripped the sink again, battling with another wave of nausea. After a moment she ran the tap, splashed water on her face.
‘I don’t think I’m taking this in, Jack.’ She turned and leaned her back on the edge of the sink. Jack had not moved, but his stare had slightly changed, and he looked defeated. She said, ‘I learned something from my weekend at Castle Dove – people are rarely what they seem to be. Behind every bully there’s a victim. Hiding. And behind the victims there are many bullies. Manipulators – that’s probably what I mean.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s obvious, isn’t it?’ She leaned forward. ‘But … oh, Jack, I thought we were above that. I thought that moment in the lecture room – and then the few days in Paris – I thought that’s how it would be always. Always and always.’ She sounded childish, silly. She raised her brows self-mockingly. ‘Same applies to Naomi. Naomi had nursed her husband for ten years – I remember now, she told me it was ten years. She missed him terribly. Just as we missed Mum. But Naomi must have seen it as an escape.’ She could not look at Jack any more. She closed her eyes. ‘Oh God. Oh, Jack … you should have told me … after the party … you should have told me.’
‘Yes.’ The single word seemed to fall heavily to the floor. They had come full circle. Another silence filled the kitchen as the sun began to make for the sea.
It was warm; somewhere a fly was buzzing and she hadn’t turned the tap off properly, it was dripping.
She said, ‘I have to walk round the garden, Jack. Perhaps you should go and sit in an armchair, you don’t look safe there.’
She went through the utility room and out on to the patio, then straight down by the border that fourteen days ago she had tidied so carefully before deciding to answer the advert in the local paper about the exhibition at Castle Dove. She dropped down the steps into the vegetable garden and walked alongside the single row of bean sticks to the wall that overlooked the sea. When she came to the gap where the top stones had fallen away during the year of the snow, she leaned her elbows on the opening and looked across the roofs towards Wales.
She said aloud, ‘He’s ill. He could go one way or the other. I’m not ill, but I could also go one way or the other.’ She heard her words, closed her eyes and saw them written in the sudden darkness. She thought, for just an instant, that she was offering herself a choice. Then she saw there was no choice.
She had no idea how long she stood there trying to accept that truth. At some point she realized it was colder, and turned with some vague notion of fetching a cardigan. Then Matt’s voice came from the patio.
‘Mum – are you coming in now? What shall I do about the oven? And can I hang my wetsuit in the utility room?’
She climbed the steps on to the lawn and stood looking at him. Already life had gone back to normal for him.
She said, ‘Yes, I’m just coming. Don’t know about the oven. And yes to the wetsuit, so long as it’s not still dripping.’
She trudged on to the patio and into the house. She had thought it might feel like shouldering a heavy load, but it didn’t. She locked the back door and went on into the kitchen. There was a wonderful smell coming from the oven and the warmth told her that it had been on for some time. Matt followed her.
‘It’s one of Dad’s curries, isn’t it? How long did it take him to make that?’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t too good when I went into the garden.’
‘When was that?’
She looked at him wide-eyed. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Mum – you check up on him every five minutes!’ He paused and then blurted, ‘Did you have a row?’
‘Of course not! Well, there was a stumbling block.’
‘He told you to get off his back, and you did!’ Matt was grinning. ‘And it was the right thing to do, Mum! He made one of his curries and it smells good!’
She nodded wryly, surprised that it had taken her so long in the garden to realize that she had no real choice. She put on oven gloves, opened the oven door, blinked at the rush of heat and eased out the cast-iron casserole. She prodded the contents with a knife, then replaced the pot carefully and switched off the oven.
‘It can finish in its own heat,’ she said. ‘I’ll see to the rice in a minute.’
She fetched mugs – washed and put away – and made tea. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon, actually.’
‘I did tell you. I didn’t think you were listening. You were worried about Dad. As usual.’
‘Yes. Yes, I was. Strangely enough, I don’t think I am now – not in the same way.’
Matt made a face. ‘One curry doth not a menu make!’ He burst out laughing. ‘Hey, listen to the son of the two artists! A quip, no less!’
She registered the ‘two artists’ and that Matt’s Australian good temper had escalated into an English excitement.
She sat opposite him, pushed his mug of tea across the table. ‘What’s happened today – something good?’
‘Artist mother very acute or astute?’
‘Both. Come on. You’re different. You’ve reverted to being eighteen.’
‘Two things. Shall I save them till Dad wakes up?’
‘Where is he?’
‘On the sofa in the living room. That’s how I know he’s asleep.’
‘He’ll be awake by now. Let’s go in.’ She poured more tea and they took it in with them. Jack was awake and had pushed himself up. He looked awful in one way, totally drained. But also peaceful.
‘I can smell it from here,’ he greeted them. ‘Did I set the temperature too high?’
‘It’s great, Dad. Like old times.’ Matt sat on the sofa and held Jack’s mug towards him. ‘Mum’s investigated. She’s going to do the rice in a minute.’
Judith watched Jack as he took his mug of tea and inhaled the steam just as she did. They had grown up together, the two of them. It was worth trying, surely? But it was her turn to say something, and that was going to be difficult.
But it came to her very naturally, and she said, ‘Matt’s got some news to tell us, Jack.’
Matt made a face. ‘Sounds suitably condescending, Mother dear.’ He grinned at her. ‘First things first. Martha has done her first year – NQT it’s called, which means newly qualified teacher. So we thought we might make it official.’
Jack stopped inhaling and said, ‘Not Martha Gifford? Little Martha Gifford who stole your marbles when you were ten years old?’
‘She wanted me to notice her, Dad. And she never – not once – got me mixed up with Toby. And she’s not little any more.’ He looked at his mother with some defiance. ‘She was six at the time, please remember.’
Judith discovered she wanted to laugh. ‘When you went off to Perth with Uncle Len she came to see me. She suggested that I use my maternal influence to put a stop to the whole thing. I’d forgotten all about it. She was fourteen. Hot pants and a drawstring top.’
Matt drew his top lip down. ‘She wears conventional clothes now, of course.’
‘Yes, I suppose she would. What a shame.’
‘She’s allowed to wear trousers at work– more practical, of course – but one of the boys told her she had a nice bum, so she’s worn skirts ever since. It was quite innocent, too, he’s eight years old.’
Judith avoided Jack’s gaze.
‘I think that was jolly decent of her!’
Matt looked at her suspiciously. ‘Mum, please be serious. We’re engaged.’
She was suddenly very serious; she looked at him, loving him so hard she wondered he did not reel back into the sofa. ‘Matt! Darling Matt! How absolutely wonderful! She was such a character – she’ll be just great for you! Is it really going to happen? Is she going to chuck in her job and leave her family – for you?’
‘No.’ He was delighted with her reaction, taking Jack’s mug and putting it on the coffee table with great care before leaning over to take her hand and swing it crazily. ‘That’s the other bit of news. Last time we were over, Tobe and I had a look at a transport firm operating from Filton. Len was interested – he thinks it’s time he came home – wanted our opinion. It’s a small outfit, but plenty of opportunity for expansion. They stand in for the ambulance service and coastguard rescue; even the police use them. They need other machines and other pilots. Toby and Len are coming over and we’re going to get round the table.’ He released her hand and she massaged it. ‘What do you think? Martha and I went and had a look this morning. She was dead impressed.’
Judith really was stunned into silence. Jack said tentatively, ‘It’s a bit much to take in – why haven’t you mentioned it before, for Pete’s sake?’
Matt opened his eyes wide. ‘It did not seem quite … appropriate?’ he suggested. He added soberly, ‘Last time, there was Gran. This time there was you, Dad. We won’t go any further until you get strong again and can come and look round with us.’
Jack said, ‘I don’t know a thing about the transport business. But if Len OKs it that will be enough for us.’ He sat forward with some difficulty. ‘Are things looking up? Martha Gifford. This opportunity for all of you to come back home – is it what you really want, Matt?’
Matt said, ‘Well, of course. I mean I’ve always known about Martha. Haven’t seen much of her in these last few years, of course, but she’s been kind of built into my life. And she was so young – just as well Len took us off your hands, Dad. We needed space and physical work. Anyway, Len made it plain to us right from the start that he would be coming back one day.’
Jack said, ‘Jude?’
She swallowed. ‘It’s wonderful. Perhaps … it will be possible.’
Matt was surprised. ‘What’s not possible, Mum? Len will sell the Australian business, no problem. And part of the deal is that we come with the new helicopters. We’ve had our licences for years now – you know that.’
Judith nodded. ‘And Dad has a new project, too. It could be possible. It could actually work.’
‘Mum, you sound distinctly odd. I’ll go and see to the rice and shout when it’s ready. You’re probably faint from lack of food.’ He almost leapt up, then paused at the door; Judith could almost feel the energy fizzing from him. ‘You know, if we’d been here Dad wouldn’t have been ill. And even if he had, we could have looked after him – we plan to live here, you know. It’s twenty minutes along the motorway to Filton. And Martha likes the local schools – actually she hates driving into Bristol every day. We’ve been looking at houses. There’s an old cottage on the Somerset Levels – we could do it up. Your turn to leave home next, Mum!’ He laughed. ‘If you feel the need to do a runner – you could walk that far.’
She picked up a cushion and flung it in his direction. She was very close to tears. All this time, when she had thought herself isolated, there had been plans being made for the future that involved her. And Jack.
Jack was actually smiling. And waiting for her to say something.
She leaned forward and whispered, ‘Martha Gifford!’
He nodded. ‘She went a bit wild? I remember her coming to tea, bringing flowers for Mum.’
‘Angling for news of Matt? She thought Australia was all sex and sea.’
‘She looked through the latest snaps – they were of the boys working.’
‘Was it after that she buckled down and began her training?’
‘Four years ago. Yes. Probably.’
‘We didn’t take her seriously.’
Jack drew down his mouth. ‘We should have done. After the theft of the marbles, we should have known she was very serious!’
And, incredibly, they both laughed.
For the rest of the evening she thought it was going to be all right. Even easy. Matt did most of the talking, but both she and Jack had no difficulty in chipping in now and then, and when they did Matt became even more vocal and told them jokes from the outback that made them laugh again.
He said, ‘Len’s got quite a talent for fitting in – everyone gets on with him. That doesn’t always apply to Poms setting up a business over there. He’s very straight – tells it how it is. Tobe and I got roaring drunk our first night out in Perth. He made us work twice as hard the next day, stripping down one of the engines in a hangar. We were in a bad way. He said hard work was the best detox there was.’ He grinned. ‘We didn’t make it a regular thing – I can see that’s what you want to know!’
‘I never thought it was going to be a proper apprenticeship.’ Judith heard her own words, and realized it was the first time she had voiced the bewilderment she had felt at the time. ‘And then it went on and on. Ten years, Matt. You and Toby were eighteen when you went out there.’
‘Didn’t Dad tell you?’
‘Tell me what?’ She looked at Jack.
He said, ‘Thank God there was no need. Len always believed in hard work. He got me my first job on our local paper when I was messing around after art college. He stood in when Mum and Dad were killed.’
She turned to Matt. ‘What didn’t Dad tell me? And why?’
He said, ‘Loyalty? I don’t know. But Toby and I went through a wild time, told Dad we’d had enough of studying and had no intention of going in for higher education. We tried some cocaine and thought it was OK. The dealer took an interest in us – nobody could tell us apart then. He told us we could make money from our twinship – that’s what he called it at first, afterwards we were not allowed to use the word.’ He turned down his mouth. ‘We provided an alibi for him. One of us had to be by his side when he was doing a drug deal – on show, definitely on show. And the other had to be just as obvious, but somewhere else. Witnesses were confused and unreliable, and it would wreck any case the police might be building against him.’ He shrugged. ‘It was a joke to us. We were so stupid it was unbelievable. We weren’t allowed to use the word “twins”. We were policies. Insurance policies.’
‘Nigel Thorpe said something to me one night – warned me, I suppose. He still lives down the road – d’you remember, Jude? He was the local bobby for ages. I think he’s retired and works for a security firm now.’ Jack sighed. ‘And Len happened to be over here for a couple of weeks. He offered to take the boys back with him, and they jumped at it.’
‘We’d got in over our heads, Mum.’ Matt was making coffee after the meal. He brought it to the table and stood there, remembering. ‘We thought we could make a bit of money and set up … something. We thought we were using him. When he let us know that he was using us, and that with that first job we were up to our necks and couldn’t back out, we were really scared.’
She was stunned. Again. Matt said, ‘It was a long time ago, Mum. Don’t look like that.’
Jack tried to take her hand. ‘It happened so quickly, Jude, and when I got back from settling them in, Mum was—’
‘I know.’ She withdrew her hand and poured the coffee. ‘Take no notice. It’s as if – looking back – I have gone through life wearing a blindfold.’ She glanced up. ‘Is there anything else? Has Toby got someone like Martha Gifford? Is Len proposing to take on other protégés whose parents are unable to cope?’
‘You coped so well, Mum!’ Matt frowned. ‘And of course Toby has got a girlfriend. You’ve seen pictures of her.’
She sighed and shook her head helplessly. If she had known why the boys were leaving home, she would not have been able to cope with Eunice, probably.
She drank her coffee, and Matt said he’d go to bed because he wanted to swim in the tide early the next morning.
And then it was time to lock up and follow Jack upstairs. And it was then she thought of Naomi and suddenly discovered that she could no longer sleep with Jack. It was quite simple. She had got into bed with him back in Taunton, and ever since then had slept by his side so that she was there ‘in case’. Now he did indeed seem better. And he had told her about Naomi.
She said she would have to sleep in her mother’s room; no explanations, but of course he knew why, and almost winced. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said lamely, picking her pillows up from the bed. ‘I can’t do it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep very well, and I need to be able to get up and move around the house.’
He nodded. ‘I … understand. It’s just … it’s been so good tonight. I thought we might talk about that … being a family again. And anyway, I’ll miss you.’
She went into her mother’s room, made up the bed, and began to undress. It was then that she found the flimsy envelope that had arrived that morning, still in the pocket of her jeans.
She sat up in bed and ripped it open and fished out a single sheet of notepaper. It was from Sybil, her address in Kingston upon Thames at the top, her signature at the bottom, and in between, starkly, ‘Guess what? He says it’s too soon, and we must wait until Moss is out of my system. As if!’
She put it back in her pocket and lay down. The thought of Sybil in Judith’s nightdress, much too short for her, perhaps setting up a scenario as the Markhams had done – it had seemed romantic and wonderful. But if Nathaniel had rejected it, the whole thing immediately became sickly sentimental. He had his reasons, of course. But reason had nothing to do with it.
She felt tears behind her eyes and let them come. They were for Sybil, who had been rejected. And they were for herself, too.