Vivienne was shaken by Cath’s outburst. She knew she was careless about Toby but, she told herself, nothing dreadful had happened to him, most people were genuine.
‘There’s no point in worrying about what fills the newspapers,’ she defended herself to Cynthia. ‘The chance of someone harming Toby is so slight it isn’t worth thinking about. People are decent and if they don’t want to look after him they say so. Those who do are kind people who love children. It stands to reason.’
Cynthia said nothing for a while then said slowly, ‘I suppose, by some standards I’ve been neglectful of Rupert, Oliver and Marcus. I leave them with Millie quite a lot, and although it’s part of her job to keep an eye on them, I wouldn’t leave them with her unless I completely trusted her. We can’t allow a few dangerous people to run our lives.’
‘Exactly,’ Vivienne agreed.
‘I’ve never been an over—anxious mother. I work really hard for several charities, especially for those involved with children’s welfare. I simply couldn’t do all the work I do if I’d been a mother hen and one chick type of mother, could I?’
‘My reasons aren’t so noble,’ Vivienne sighed. ‘I just like to go out. I like the cinema, I enjoy the atmosphere in a decent pub and I love dancing to good modern music. I expected to give up those things when I married but now, with no marriage and no serious relationship, I couldn’t stand being home night after night on my own. I think I’m a better mother to Toby for escaping like I do.’
‘You’re probably right,’ Cynthia agreed.
‘I’ll have Toby for you,’ Helen offered. ‘Reggie won’t mind, he likes children and he’ll enjoy amusing him.’
Vivienne looked thoughtful and Cynthia also had a slight frown on her carefully made-up face.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t…’
‘Your house or ours?’ Helen insisted.
When Helen had gone, Cynthia and Vivienne sat quietly for a long time. Eventually, Cynthia asked, ‘This marriage of yours, what happened?’
‘It’s difficult to explain. There was Toby you see and…’ Vivienne waited for Cynthia to come to her own conclusion.
‘You didn’t really love each other, and Toby was the reason you married?’
‘Something like that. Now!’ Vivienne said. ‘I have to pick the boy wonder up from nursery in half an hour, but first, some shopping. Will you come with me and help me choose a dress for tonight?’
Cynthia understood that the subject was closed.
Cath hadn’t gone home when she had run out of Churchill’s Garden. She had driven out of town without a clear idea of where she was going. She was simply getting away from her stupid outburst. What business was it of hers how Vivienne chose to look after Toby? What made her set herself up as an expert on raising children? Angrily, she rubbed away insistent tears.
Driving around the lanes, her first thoughts were that she couldn’t go back to Churchill’s Garden. No more trips to antique fairs with Meriel, no more pleasant mornings searching through car boot sales and looking through the fascinating assortment offered on table top stalls. Slowly, she had been beginning to accept the casual meetings with Cynthia, Joanne. Vivienne and Helen too, slowly beginning to make a life in Abertrochi. Now, with that stupid outburst, she had lost it.
Returning to the town by a different route she saw the huge sign advertising a toy store and again without fully clarifying her thoughts, she parked and went inside. She began to feel tears threaten again as she walked along the aisles and studied what was on offer. There was a familiar tightening of her throat and a stinging behind her eyes. She almost ran out, but stopped herself. This was the opportunity to make a proper apology and get back what she had almost thrown away.
Struggling to the car a few minutes later, she put the large box into the boot and drove towards the road where Vivienne lived. She had insisted on the assistant opening the box and making sure the toy was complete. She had always hated to see a child unpack a long awaited parcel then have to wait longer for someone to put the thing together.
There was no reply when she knocked at Vivienne’s door. The quiet road was bereft of passers-by. Neat curtains hid neat little rooms and in the neat front gardens there wasn’t a sign of a living, breathing human being. She was not the only person to live in isolation. Even in a group of houses like this, a person could be lonely, she mused sadly, remembering her mother’s stories about the friendliness of neighbours and going out together on enormous picnics to the beach. It was an uncaring world today where people only did a kindness for the glory and praise.
She knocked again and when there was nothing but the echo of the sound, she was tempted to go away and forget it. But no. She had run away too often in the past and it was time to stand still.
She sat in the car for an hour, then saw Vivienne’s car turn into the road. Getting out she waited at the end of the drive while Vivienne drove in and parked. Lifting up the box she heaved it out of the boot and walked towards the little boy.
‘Toby? I have a present for you. Not Christmas, it’s too early for that and not your birthday, it’s just for being a lovely little boy.’
Any uneasiness she felt having to face Vivienne after her inexplicable behaviour was quickly dispelled as the excited little boy opened the flaps of the box and stared in undisguised delight at the sit-on tractor. Vivienne’s thanks were brushed aside as Cath explained,
‘I was in a depressed mood this morning, I didn’t mean any of it and in any case, I don’t have the right to criticize you. Toby is a happy, well-adjusted child and you should be very proud of him — and of yourself.’
Vivienne was embarrassed both by Cath’s apology and by the size of her gift. She thanked her, admired the tractor then suggested inanely, ‘Cup of tea?’
‘No thanks, I have to get back. I need to see Meriel and try to explain my dreadful behaviour to her too.’
As she drove past the estate close to the cliffs and parked outside Meriel’s door, Cath felt light-hearted. Somehow the morning’s hysterical outpourings and the following apology had lified a burden from her. She smiled when Meriel opened the door and said, ‘I can’t really explain how or why, but I needed that. Will you forgive me?’
‘It’s forgotten,’ Meriel hugged her and invited her inside. The only comment she made was an assurance that they need never refer to it again, ‘But,’ she added, taking Cath’s shawl and offering her a seat, ‘If ever you want to talk, in confidence, I’m here. Will you remember that?’
Sinking into armchairs facing each other across the hearth, they began making plans for the sales they would attend during the following week. With the approach of Christmas there was a spate of such events and they were determined to attend as many as possible, sometimes separating so they didn’t miss anything when two were taking place at the same time.
On the weekend following Cath’s outburst, Vivienne had been invited to a party. Meriel had agreed to look after Toby and keep him overnight. The small third bedroom was full of boxes which Meriel had half-heartedly begun to pack ready for the move she would one day have to face. Normally she had the little boy in her room in a small foldaway bed, but something made her want to make an effort. Maybe the approach of Christmas.
She decorated the plain walls with a few bright posters. After dragging a small armchair up the stairs, she called at the charity shop where Joanne worked and bought a few toys, which she washed and then used to fill the armchair and a small pine box. Looking around she smiled with pleasure. Everything was in readiness for her small visitor. Toby would be sure to feel welcome.
Vivienne had arranged to bring Toby at six and long before the appointed time Meriel sat and waited, excited at the prospect of Toby’s surprise, but they didn’t arrive. Meriel telephoned and, at eight o’clock, she drove up to Vivienne’s house and knocked. There was no reply and, puzzled, she drove back home.
She tried phoning several times that evening and again the following day but failed to contact her friend. Cynthia and Joanne knew nothing of her plans and even Helen, who bore the nickname, ‘fount of all knowledge‘ couldn’t shed light on the mystery.
It was midday on Monday before an apologetic Vivienne arrived and gave a very incomplete excuse.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ she said as she burst into the kitchen. ‘My weekend was changed at the last minute and I had to go away. I know I should have phoned but, well, didn’t get the chance.’
Toby climbed unaided out of the car, where Vivienne had left him in her haste to explain. Meriel said, ‘Go and look in the back bedroom, Toby, it’s all ready for when you come and stay with me.‘
His little fat legs took him step by step up the stairs and he disappeared into the room.
‘Well, Vivienne? What’s the real story? Are you in trouble?’
‘No trouble. Something came up that I couldn’t refuse and there wasn’t a phone and…’ She gabbled on, talking but without saying much and Meriel sighed and interrupted, saying,
‘All right, I don’t want to know if you don’t want to tell me. But next time something irresistible comes up, will you please let me know?’
‘I promise. And, before you ask, Toby was with me. I didn’t dump him on someone I hardly know. You can tell Cath if she asks.’
They didn’t stay. Toby climbed into his car seat carrying a gaudy green teddy and with small cars filling his pockets, content with his brief visit and unaware of the friction between his mother and one of his ‘aunties’.
Angry with Vivienne for messing up her weekend and not even giving her a satisfactory explanation as to why, Meriel decided to go and do some work in the Harris brothers’ garden. She thought some strenuous work would help rid her of her irritation. As usual, she knocked as soon as she arrived but, as usual, the house was empty.
She went to the shed and gathered the tools she would need for clearing out an overgrown pond she had discovered. She began pulling at tough old grasses, irises and other pond plants, having first loosened their roots with a fork. She worked steadily, discarding her gloves in frustration so that she could finger her way through the overgrown tangle, gradually clearing the round edges of the cement pool and exploring its depth. Deep enough for fish, she decided when she had reached the bottom. She would leave a note for Tom and ask him if he would like to restore it and fill it with water.
Her back was beginning to ache so she used the key Tom had given her — it was too cold to use the shed in winter — to let herself into the kitchen. Washing her hands and allowing the hot water to run over them to ease the stinging of a dozen cuts and grazes, she stared out at the garden. Since she had started coming, it was beginning to open up. The lawn was still patchy but the mosses and the determined plantains and dandelions had almost given up. Flower-beds were clear and ready for spring planting. Soon the pond would be revealed. This evening she would study the gardening year book she had bought and later, discuss with Tom what they should buy for the borders and beds. They had already planted a hundred bulbs. She would be sorry to leave it behind when she moved away and found herself a proper, full-time occupation, she thought sadly.
Reaching for the kettle, she was surprised to notice a small glove on the work surface. She smiled. The brothers obviously had family, a sister perhaps and they had been entertaining a young relative. It reminded her to make sure she covered the pond before she went. A fall down there would frighten a child if not actually harm him.
The door to the rest of the house was usually locked, but, probably because they had not been expecting her, today it was ajar. Curiously she peeped around the door and saw that the floor was spread with children’s videos and, in a corner, was a large tractor, just like the one Cath had described as having given to Toby.
Meriel was not overly inquisitive, but something made her explore further. The opportunity, and seeing the toys, made her intensely curious about the two people for whom she worked.
A second room was neatly and rather sparsely furnished with a three-piece suite and a nest of tables, a music centre and a television. Telling herself she would make the excuse of needing the toilet should either of the brothers suddenly appear, she walked slowly up the stairs. She walked with her back to the wall, moving from step to step sideways, a need to protect her back unrecognized, instinctive, her breathing shallow, her heart racing. She really shouldn’t be doing this, she scolded herself silently.
The first room was a small one containing little furniture, only a single bed, the covers neatly in place and with a few toys scattered about. The smallest room was used for lumber, the third unfurnished. It was only the large front room that looked as though it was used. A double bed, with lots of men’s clothes thrown casually about, the two pillows indented from sleepers’ heads. The bathroom was untidy, razors, men’s aftershave balanced on the edge of the bath, shirts and underwear thrown carelessly towards a clothes basket. Aware of the implications, Meriel ran down the stairs, closed the door and shut herself in the kitchen.
Why had she invaded their privacy? She would have given a great deal not to have known what the use of that bed told her. Tom and Ray were not brothers, that much was certain. Again she went to tackle the stubborn roots around the pond, again needing hard physical work to blank out her feelings. Not anger this time, but embarrassment. Her feelings were ambiguous. She wasn’t anti gay men or women, she just hadn’t knowingly met any before. Would Tom guess she knew next time they met? Could she face him again?
Time passed without her being aware of it and it wasn’t until it was too dark to see the fork she was wielding, that she stopped and cleaned up and went home. She hadn’t left a note. She didn’t think she could go there again, she would be afraid her expression would give away the fact that she had sneaked into their house without permission and learned their secret.
Heaving her wellingtons into the boot of the car with the mud-covered coat, she got in and drove off. When she pulled up outside her house she felt too stiff to move and sat there for a moment, still thinking about the secret she had discovered. She had no one with whom to discuss it. That, she decided sadly, was one of the worst aspects of being on her own. She was very tired and for a weak moment imagined Evan coming out and hugging her.
She would walk through her door and step into a cold, empty house, tired and confused, with no one there to hold her and comfort her and help her to understand how she felt. No man had held her, touched her, even with an arm around her shoulders, since Evan left her for Sophie Hopkins. She wanted to be held now, she wanted it badly.
In a melancholy mood she stiflly eased herself out of the driving seat and gathered her filthy clothes out of the boot. As she stood there, smelling of rotted vegetation and stagnant pond, a mud-spattered coat over her arm, her hair limply hanging around her far from clean face like an abandoned floor mop, her wellingtons in her hand, a voice called, ‘What the hell have you been doing! Get into the house before anyone sees you!’
Evan stood at the door staring at her before running towards her in great agitation and bustling her around the house and in through the back door which, she noticed with irritation, he opened with a key. ‘Why are you working like a navvy? Is it just to humiliate me? If it is then you’re doing a fine job.’
‘I like what I do. The garden is a fascinating hobby and I’ve no intention of giving it up,’ she shouted back. They were leaning towards each other like fighting bantams.
‘I insist that you stop!’
‘You can’t insist on anything! And if this is the way you behave, I pity Sophie. I realize I’ve had a narrow escape! And, give me that key!’ she demanded. ‘You promised not to come here unless invited and you’ll wait a long time for that to happen!’
She was tired and longed to flop into a sudsy bath and was prepared to argue furiously, knowing it was the quickest way to get rid of him. Evan always walked away from confrontation. ‘Go away, Evan! You don’t belong here any more!’ Her voice sounded ugly and harsh. She felt ugly, her anger making her so, and she hated him for making her like this. She took a deep breath ready to shout over his next criticism but, to her alarm, his shoulders dropped and he said quietly:
‘I was worried. I called this morning and again at lunch-time. Patch and Nipper were desperate to go out. It isn’t like you to neglect them. I remembered I still had the back door key and I took them out. I’ve been waiting for you.’ He took out a key-ring and, slipping off the one for the back door, he placed it on the kitchen table.
In a calmer tone she said. ‘I got involved in what I was doing and forgot the time. I really do enjoy taming that garden. I do it for me, nothing to do with you or your hang-ups. I’ll make it up to the dogs tomorrow.’
It was almost dark, the only light was from the porch light. The key was glinting slightly as it sat on the table between then, a reminder of their separation. Neither of them moved and Meriel felt an aching longing for Evan to take her in his arms. To end the tense moment, she deliberately and slowly picked up the key.
‘Would you like me to run you a bath before I go?’
She shook her head. She didn’t want him to see the look in her eyes; he would guess how much she still loved him. Turning away, she said, ‘Goodbye Evan,’ and placed the key in a dish on the dresser. As he left, unnoticed, he reached out and retrieved it.
Christian and Ken were negotiating for a plot of land on which they planned to build three houses and two shops. When they left the site they called at a smaller site where two semis were nearing completion.
‘It’s almost Christmas,’ Ken said. ‘Let’s send in the estimates and then let it go until after the holidays. You and I could both do with some time off. The men here will work for a couple more days then they’ll want to be off.’
‘Will you be seeing your Mam?’ Christian asked.
‘Oh yes. I’ll visit her although she’s so far gone she doesn’t seem to know me,’ he said sadly. ‘It’s a hell of a thing, especially after the life she had. Now, when I could afford to give her some comforts, it’s too late.’
‘Are you sure we can’t go and see her? Perhaps, if we talked about the old days, and of her kindness to Cynthia and me, it might bring her memory back, for a while at least.’
‘No, I’ve spoken to the doctors and they don’t advise it. Sorry, Christian, I know how much you want to help.’
When Christian had gone, Ken called one of the labourers over.
‘Will you go to the betting office and put this on for me?’ he asked, taking a note and some money from his wallet. ‘You don’t have to say who it’s for, tell them it’s yours if you like but, try and run off with my winnings and you’re dead,’ he said with a grin.
The young boy smiled and went off to do as he was asked. He had tried a few bets in the past but with little success and, seeing the large amount with which he had been trusted, he was tempted. It couldn’t win. The odds were too high for it to be more than an outsider. He decided to pocket the money. Why should the bookies get all the luck?
When the results were broadcast later that day, Ken sighed with relief. He’d actually won! Perhaps his luck was changing at last. It wasn’t much, but if he paid off some of his spiralling debts it should keep a few of his debtors happy, at least until after Christmas, he thought.
Perhaps he would treat his old mum to a video and a take-away tonight. It was lucky that Christian wouldn’t be able to see them. The way his mum laughed at the innuendoes and tucked into a curry there was no doubt that she was strong and healthy!
Joanne resentfully prepared a meal for John and some of his friends and colleagues. As a small retaliation she invited Cynthia and Christian to join them.
‘Sorry Meriel,’ she breathed, sweetly apologetic, ‘I can’t include you without a partner. It throws out the seating arrangements.’
John had given generously for her to prepare good food but she had planned the meal with great care and had managed to spend far less than he thought. Pasta as a base for both starter and main course was filling and cheap. An exotic-looking dessert containing cream and chocolate hadn’t cost much and she was flattered by the praise she received from guests and John.
She used the money she saved to pay for Cynthia’s lunch at The Fisherman’s Basket. It gave her a good feeling. Besides, Cynthia would reciprocate at the first opportunity. A guilty thought about the money owing for Jeremy’s skiing trip she pushed aside. New Year, that was the time to worry about that.
Cynthia’s Christmas party was simply arranged. Millie did some of the food preparations, set out the extended table. brought in extra chairs, and the rest was left to caterers. A clothes rail was brought in from the garage for coats and Millie left to spend a few days with her sister.
Joanne’s two arrived first and they joined Rupert, Oliver and Marcus in preparations for some party games. Helen’s three children were staying with her and Reggie for the weekend, so they came too, accompanied by Reggie, who promised to collect them at ten thirty.
‘Eleven,’ they pleaded and Reggie relented. Eleven o’clock was what Helen told him anyway but, knowing the awkwardness of teenagers, he offered less to get what he wanted.
Henri, the only girl to arrive so far, was given the task of handing out paper hats to the guests as they arrived. But only as long as it took Cynthia and Christian to get ready and go out. Once their car had left the drive, the paper hats were thrown aside, games discarded, the music changed and bottles of wine revealed. The lights were turned low, doors opened and closed with increasing regularity and the volume of excited chatter rose as more and more guests arrived; approximately double the number Cynthia had expected.
Many of the guests were not known to Joanne’s boys. Jeremy and Justin went to a different school from Oliver, Rupert and Marcus. Some of the girls looked much older than the hosts and Justin stared in jaw—dropping amazement as girls he had only seen wearing uniform took off coats and revealed minuscule dresses.
Cynthia and Christian went for a meal and on the next table saw Vivienne.
‘Vivienne! What a surprise, would you like to share our table?’ Cynthia asked.
‘Thanks but no, I’m waiting for someone.’
The restaurant was decorated for the season, with a great deal of sparkle, and boughs of holly and mistletoe, some real most not. Cynthia looked around while Christian, always a slowcoach at choosing his meal, made up his mind. A tall, rather effeminate but elegant man entered, dressed in an evening suit that fitted just a little too well and, walking with a swagger, looked around the room in a way that suggested he was used to being admired. He joined Vivienne but, from the way he greeted her, the effeminate impression was wrong.
Slightly embarrassed by her thoughts, Cynthia took out her compact to check her make—up. She moved her chair slightly to enable her to look in a different direction and saw someone else she knew.
‘It’s Meriel’s ex, with his new wife, or woman. I don’t think they’re actually married,’ she whispered to Christian. ‘According to Helen, she wants to but he won’t agree.’
‘Blimey, we might as well have gone to the local pub for all the privacy we’re getting,’ he muttered as Evan left his table and came over.
‘How is business?’ Christian asked. ‘Keeping you busy?’
‘I have to keep busy with the rate Sophie spends,’ Evan said jokingly, but the smile was forced and didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Seen your Meriel lately? I hear she’s doing gardening. At this time of year too.’
‘She doesn’t have to,’ Evan defended at once. ‘I give her a generous allowance and she only has to ask if she needs more.’
‘Sorry, I wasn’t criticizing you, old man. She’s your ex, after all, and no longer your responsibility. I just think she’s admirable, doing something like that. She was filthy when I saw her coming home one day last week, cleaning out an old pond she told me. I could get her a job with my gang of labourers any time!’
Evan looked tense and tight-lipped as he made some brief comment about it being her choice, and women having minds of their own, before returning to his table and Sophie. A few minutes later, when Cynthia and Christian looked, the table was empty, Evan and Sophie had gone.
‘What’s she trying to do to me?’ Evan demanded of a sulky Sophie. ‘She doesn’t have to work, and if she wants a job I’ve no objection. But why choose something like that? Is it to humiliate me d’you think? She says not, but I don’t believe her.’
Sophie made some uncommunicative grunt and quickened her pace as they headed for the car, leaving Evan behind as he went on complaining. She got into the car and, when he joined her, still discussing the gardening and the alternative work Meriel could find, she got out and ran for the bus stop as a bus loomed into view.
‘Where are you going?’ he shouted, hurriedly trying to lock the car and follow.
‘Going for something to eat, where I don’t have to listen to you whining on and on about your ex!’
The bus slowed for her to jump on and Evan had almost reached it when the door closed and it drove off. ‘Damn!’ he shouted after it.
He thought for a moment of following the bus and trying to repair the disastrous evening, but he watched it go then turned away and drove home. He wasn’t in the mood to soothe her feathers.
He sat outside his house for a while. It was one of two small semis, built by Sewell to fill an unwanted corner and tucked out of sight in a small vee where the cliff curved inwards between the bigger gardens and more expensive properties belonging to the Sewells and Morgans. Small and with very little ground, they had sold because of the prestigious address.
Damp night air penetrated his feet and worked up his shins like cold water, creeping insidiously under his clothes and chilling him as he sat with the engine off. He was stiff when he stepped out and the noise from the party at the Sewells’ house hit him. He began to walk back along the cliff path towards Meriel’s house.
The dogs barked their welcome when he knocked then called through the letter-box. Meriel opened the door and asked, rather ungraciously, what he wanted. She was dressed for bed, smelling sweetly of soap and shampoo, wearing a fluffy pink dressing-gown, her hair still damp from the shower.
‘It’s this job of yours,’ he said, pushing past her and going towards the gas fire, rubbing his hands to warm them. ‘Any chance of a coffee, I’m freezing.’
‘Before we row or afterwards,’ she asked coolly.
‘I don’t want to quarrel, Meriel. But I do feel rather strongly about you doing heavy, labourer’s work and coming home so filthy people remark on it, and look at me as though it’s my fault.’
‘I like what I do and I’ve no intention of stopping just because it offends your idea of what’s right for me. I am no longer your concern, Evan.’
‘But you are, you always will be. Divorce doesn’t make the past disappear. We can’t forget the years we were married.’
‘Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Forget how I worked to get you started? How I sold my profitable business to give you the deposit you needed? That’s a part of a different life, a life that’s gone for ever. You chose to move on and I have to do the same. At the moment, I choose to work a couple of mornings a week rescuing a garden from years of neglect.’
‘What about these antique sales? Couldn’t you develop that instead?’
‘How did you know about that?’
‘I’ve known for years about your secret hoard of treasures in the loft,’ he grinned. ‘And you’ve been seen at these local table top sales and the like.’
‘It’s a hobby, nothing more.’
‘But when you get more experienced, a shop isn’t such an impossible dream. You’re an astute businesswoman, running your own artists’ supplies business in your early twenties and helping me establish mine.’ He moved a step closer and spoke more softly. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how much I owe you. You were an enormous help, darling.’
Trying not to show it, determined to remain aloof, the endearment was a painful shock. She was nevertheless pleased with his flattery, even though the ‘darling’ was an empty, rather offensive ploy. A boost to her confidence was welcome. ‘Perhaps I’ll try again, one day,’ she replied coldly. ‘But that is my decision.’
They had a coffee and when he remarked that he was ‘peckish’, she made him a plate of sandwiches, making him smile at her assurances that she had scrubbed her hands after dealing with the pond.
When he left an hour later his thoughts were in turmoil. Walking back westward along the cliff path, oblivious of the icy chill of the wind coming from the sea, he had the strangest feeling that he was walking in the wrong direction.
Rupert allowed the party to degenerate from reasonably orderly dancing to a sort of free-for—all where couples sat and did their own thing, kissing, finding a room for some privacy. He began to be bored, just wandering through the noisy crowd and offering more drink where required. All evening he had been watching Helen’s daughter Henrietta, and gradually he realized that the way she was looking at him was no longer casual. At ten o’clock he suggested she went with him to the garage, where his parents had stored their recently bought Christmas drinks and ‘Find something a bit more exciting than the cheap plonk we managed to sneak in.’
‘You don’t mean spirits?’ Henri looked shocked.
‘Of course not. But they have some better quality wine. I thought you and I might try it.’
He led her through the kitchen door and into the garage, where Cynthia’s car stood. From the sounds coming from it and the movement of the chassis, it seemed occupied.
‘Pity. I could have taken you for a little drive.’ Rupert whispered.
‘You aren’t old enough to drive!‘
‘I’m old enough for plenty of things, Henri. Hidden talents I’ve got, want me to prove it? I know where we can find a car that won’t be missed for half an hour.’
Hesitating only briefly, Henri followed him at a fast walk along the road to Jeremy and Justin’s house.
Cynthia and Christian had promised not to return home until eleven fifteen so, after they had eaten, they went to a club. The first person they saw there was Vivienne.
‘Are you following me, spying for Cath?’ Vivienne laughed. She introduced the man she was with, whom they had already seen at the restaurant, as Sidney Deetam, a salesman in a men’s tailors and ready-to—wear shop.
‘We’ve been thrown out of our home for the evening,’ Christian explained. ‘The boys are having their first Christmas party without us being there.’
‘I have four sisters and we used to have some really wild dos at our house,’ Sidney said. ‘I have a large family, so with all the sisters and their friends and all the cousins and their friends, we had no difiiculty organizing a party. Wild we were, mind. If our parents had seen half of the things we got up to…’ He emphasized his words giving them a confidential tone and Cynthia wondered whether her first impression had been correct.
Sidney was an excellent dancer though, and a good raconteur, and the hours passed happily in his company. As so often happens, they discovered mutual friends, and while Vivienne and Christian were dancing, Sidney told Cynthia that a friend of his owned one of the houses in her area.
‘He’s selling though, some worry with subsidence, but I think he’s crazy. It’s probably untrue and he’ll regret selling, I’m sure of that. He’ll never get such a beautiful house with such a wonderful view again.
‘Subsidence? That’s nonsense! My husband’s firm built them and he wouldn’t own one himself if there was the slightest danger of subsidence, would he?’
‘There you go then,’ Sidney said cheerfully.
At ten forty-five, Joanne put on her coat and picked up her car keys to collect Jeremy and Justin. She couldn’t wait any longer, their first grown—up style party had made her edgy all evening. As she opened the door she saw at once that her car was not there. Disbelief was quickly followed by the thought that she couldn’t collect her boys. She phoned the B and B where John usually stayed when he was in Newport but he wasn’t there. Police? But that would delay her going to get the boys. At this moment, they were her priority. She would have to walk over to collect them and deal with the loss of the car when they were home.
She couldn’t find her handbag and stood unable to think clearly of what to do. She couldn’t go out and leave the house unlocked. She stepped towards the phone. Why didn’t John get a mobile? He should be here to deal with this, or at least be reachable. Spare keys. Not on their hook. In the drawer? She tugged the drawer open with unnecessary force and spilled the contents over the floor. She scrabbled about to find the key-ring. House keys were there, but where was the car key? She pushed the contents of the drawer around in panic. But she didn’t need the car key without a car, did she? She took a few deep breaths to calm herself.
Grabbing the dog’s lead, she hurried from the house. The cliff path was quicker but it was late and very dark. She took the longer route around the roads, half running, half walking, and was out of breath when she reached the Sewell’s still noisy house.
There were several cars in the spacious drive, obviously parents calling to collect their children. Children unwilling to go by some of the arguments going on and the way coats were snatched from parents by sulky owners.
Cynthia tried to put the words Sidney Deetam had spoken regarding subsidence out of her mind and at five minutes to eleven she did a Cinderella act and dragged Christian away as though their taxi, ordered for five minutes time, would be transformed into a pumpkin and no longer large enough to hold them if they waited another moment. During the short journey she said nothing to Christian.
‘That Sidney’s a decent fellow.’ Christian remarked as the taxi stopped at their gate.
‘Ye-es.’ Cynthia didn’t sound convinced and as soon as they stepped out, the noise coming from the house made any further comment impossible.
The first person to greet them was Joanne. ‘My car has been stolen!’ she said before they reached the front door. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Ring the police, surely?’ Cynthia said, hurrying past with bated breath wondering about the state of the house. Millie was not available to help clear up. She had been stupid to give her time off when the party was already planned.
'Do you want this taxi to take you back?’ Christian offered.
Joanne shook her head, she didn’t have any money on her and didn’t want the embarrassment of borrowing some from Christian or Cynthia. ‘It’s all right, we’ll walk and I’ll phone the police as soon as I get back.’
As they turned the corner to their house, to meet the icy wind coming in from the sea, Jeremy pointed. ‘What d’you mean, missing, Mummy? It’s there, in its usual place.’ He laughed uncontrollably, bending down, hands on knees, as the giggles took his strength, guessing why it had not been there a few minutes before. ‘That Rupert’s a cheeky one,’ he whis- pered to his brother between fits of laughing. ‘Him and that Henri were no doubt using it for a bit of fun.’
Accepting the teasing from the two hyped-up boys Joanne went to examine the car. The bonnet was warm. Someone had used it, but who, and why? Saying nothing further to the boys, she got them to bed and tried again to contact John, and failed.
Henri and her brothers declared the party a huge success when Helen and Reggie went to pick them up. William and George had spent most of the evening in the games room with Marcus. Henri said little and Reggie thought she might be a little drunk but he didn’t say anything. Like Cynthia, he thought that kids had to learn. But perhaps he’d have a quiet word with Cynthia and let her know that alcohol had been available. He doubted that she knew.
Cynthia hadn’t known but she soon did, having discovered the assortment of empty bottles the next morning. For the first time she berated her sons for their foolishness.
On the following day, Joanne had a call from Cynthia. ‘Look, I hope you aren’t offended, dear, but there’s a lot of food left from last night’s bash and I wondered whether your boys could help us out. I could bring enough for their meal tonight, chicken, ham, some salads, and lots of desserts. I’ve offered some to Meriel too and I could bring some for you at the same time.’
Thanking her, Joanne replaced the phone and sat racked with guilt. She couldn’t get the thought of stealing Cynthia’s purse out of her mind. It was Cynthia’s kindness in offering to bring some of the leftover food that brought upsetting memories of the half forgotten incident. Unwanted food was hardly a gift of great value, but it was a kindness from someone she had robbed.
It had hardly helped anyway; that fifty pounds’ deposit on the skiing holiday would be lost as John had refused to pay the rest. But they couldn’t be so short of money that Jeremy couldn’t do the same as his friends. How could things be so tight, with John working practically around the clock and the businesses continuing to thrive?
She no longer dealt with the accounts for the firm, but until John had taken them from her and given the responsibility to a firm of accountants, everything was looking good. So why was he so mean with his family?
She heard a car arrive and, presuming it was Cynthia with the promised food, she quickly glanced in a mirror, touched up her lipstick and straightened her hair before going to open the door. But there was no one there, just an envelope on the mat in the hall. The postman had already been so she was curious as she picked it up. The envelope bore no message and inside she found a cheque for the amount needed for Jeremy’s school trip.
Curious, she sat down and stared at it. John must have asked someone to pop it in, but why hadn’t they knocked? It was rather off-hand. She tried to phone but as usual these days, he was nowhere to be found.
It was almost Christmas. What could he be doing that kept him away from home so much? She put the cheque in an envelope ready to go to the school after the holiday and within minutes was worrying about how she would find the money for the extra clothes Jeremy would need.
When Cynthia arrived bearing large platters holding enough food for a small party, she showed the envelope with the name of the teacher scrawled across it. ‘I’ve just written the cheque for Jeremy’s skiing trip,’ she said casually.