43

On hearing Timothy’s movements Roger had gone upstairs to find Marina’s bedroom and bathroom were both empty. ‘Tim,’ he called. ‘Where are you?’ There was no answer, but across the landing a door was open; the one Roger had never been through and was usually locked.

Timothy was sitting on the floor wearing the black kimono, his back against the wall and his head bowed. This was the nursery; a tidy shrine wallpapered with Beatrix Potter characters and untouched since the day of Morgana’s death. A row of soft toys sat fixated in the window-seat, and a faded collection of mobiles and marionettes hung lifelessly from the ceiling. He was holding a large purple handbag, and singing softly to himself: ‘Heavenly shades of night are calling, it’s Twilight Time.’

‘Tim,’ Roger said evenly, ‘are you OK?’ There was no answer. ‘Tim, I heard Andrew came back and gave you some pills to calm you down. Have you slept well?’ There was still no answer. Beginning to feel exasperated Roger tried to firm up his questioning. ‘Now look here, Tim. This weird behaviour’s really spooking me, and it’s got to stop. I’m serious.’

‘This used to be my room,’ he said, without lifting his head. ‘When Morgana came I had to move out so she could sleep near Mumma and Pa. This is her bag. The one Father Ewan’s got to bless. What time’s he coming?’

‘For God’s sake,’ Roger pleaded. ‘You don’t need a priest. You’ve got me.’

‘I don’t want you. I want Father Ewan.’

Roger chose, and said, every word of his reply carefully, trying to maintain his patience, but his jaw was taut with frustration. ‘Honey-pie, all we’ve got to do is get through tomorrow and say goodbye to your mother in the way she wanted. Then things’ll start to get better. It’s all going to take a long time to get over, but we don’t need the Holy Joes. We’ve got a new life to look forward to, and we must both be strong. I’m as confused as you are, but if we don’t work hard we’ll lose each other.’

‘Go away and leave me alone,’ Timothy said coldly. ‘I’ve got a headache.’

‘A headache!’ Roger shouted, with a final loss of control. ‘The only reason you’ve got a headache is because you’ve done nothing for three days, except moody around and sleep. I’ve already had a motherfucker of a day. I’ve done a full shop at Sainsbury’s, I’ve traipsed miles to Wycombe to buy some clothes and I’ve had a humdinger of a row with the Feather bitch. I had a motherfucker of a weekend as well, and all you can do is play the invalid. Now get up and stop pissing about with that bloody bag! If you don’t get up right now I won’t be responsible for what I do to you.’

Timothy threw himself forward and rolled into a ball. ‘Don’t hurt me,’ he screamed. ‘Don’t hurt me. I’ll be much better when I’ve seen Father Ewan. He’s got to hear my confession. My big, bad secret.’

With uncontrolled fury, Roger strode over to Timothy, hauled him to his feet and flung the bag into a corner. He pulled him roughly out of the room, thrust him into the guest bathroom and pushed his face to the mirror. ‘The only confession needed is to yourself,’ he seethed. ‘Who do you see, Tim? Do you see a man in his forties, or the jealous, screwed-up boy of eighteen who took a boat trip on a lovely summer’s day with his little sister? His innocent little baby sister. You may think I’m completely oblivious to what’s going on in your head, but you’re wrong! I know everything! I’ve just kept my gob shut all these years because I loved you. Tim, you’re not saying one word to that frigging priest. When he turns up, I’m getting shot of him. End of story.’

Timothy was ashen, his shoulders shook and his lip trembled. ‘You’ve always known, then?’ he juddered.

‘Go back to bed, Tim. I’ll go downstairs and put the kettle on.’

When Roger returned with a tray of tea, Timothy was back in Morgana’s room, sitting on the floor with his hands capped over his knees. Roger placed the tray on the floor and sat down at his side. ‘Judges and juries aren’t in the room, angel. I just want you to get better.’

‘And you won’t ever mention it again?’

‘No. Never. Past history. Chapter completely rubbed out.’

‘So you still love me, and everything’s going to be the same?’

‘Exactly the same,’ said Roger, leaning forward to slide his mouth over Timothy’s eyes, his nose and finally his mouth. ‘I adore you, Tim. Always have. Always will. We’ve turned the corner now. We’ll go arm-in-arm to the crem tomorrow and announce that we’re a couple.’

‘Oh, Skipper. We are, aren’t we? We’ve just had a hiccup.’ They wrapped their arms around each other tenderly, becalmed in silence, but their perfect peace was interrupted by the shrill summons of Roger’s mobile phone. On seeing the number of his caller, he practically yelped and flung it to his ear.

‘Sally!’ he gasped. ‘Oh, thank Christ. Don’t talk about anything. I’m at The Manor and I’ll be straight round.’ He immediately leapt to his feet. ‘That was Sally. She’s back. I really must go and see her. She doesn’t know about Finnegan so it’s going to be more than a bit dramatic. You’ll be all right for a bit, won’t you?’

Timothy nodded dreamily. ‘’Course I’ll be all right. I’ll have a shave and a shower and then we can send out for a huge Indian to celebrate. That is, if you haven’t got anything else planned.’

‘No… Er… Nothing planned, actually. An Indian would be great. Right. Best I be off then. Are you quite sure you’re OK, now?’ Roger gently tapped his brow. ‘In there, I mean.’

‘Calm as a millpond. I feel wonderful. I’ve made things so tough for you, haven’t I? I’m really sorry. Give my love to Sally. I mean it. I want her life to be as happy as ours will be.’