The phone rang as Rosalind was passing through the hall. ‘Yes?’
‘Mum?’
The voice was so wobbly it took her a minute to realise who it was. ‘Tim? Is that really you, darling? Where are you?’ Tears started pouring down her cheeks, tears of such relief and joy that it was hard to focus on what he was saying.
Louise came pounding in from the kitchen at the sound of her brother’s name, trying to put her ear close to the phone and listen in. Jenny hung over the banister.
‘I’m in Poole, Mum. At the coach station,’ Tim said.
‘Wait there. I’ll come and get you.’
‘How long will it take you to get here?’
‘An hour, perhaps less.’
‘There’s nowhere comfy to wait, nothing to do. Look, there’s a shopping mall across the road. I’ll go in there and get a cup of coffee. I’ll meet you in an hour near the mall entrance, the one that’s opposite the coach station. And Mum – it’s great to hear your voice.’
‘It’s great to hear yours, love.’
Louise grabbed the phone, but he’d already put it down. She glared at her mother. ‘You knew I wanted to speak to him!’
‘There isn’t time for chatting. We have to leave at once.’
‘Well, you might have bloody well let me say hello, at least.’
‘If you don’t apologise for speaking to me like that, I’ll not even take you with me to Poole. Do you really think you can be polite to your father and rude to me?’
Louise’s mouth fell open in shock. She had never seen such an expression of determination on her mother’s face.
‘Well? I’m still waiting for an apology.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to upset you, Mum.’
‘Well, you did upset me. I’ve lost count of the times you’ve upset me by your rudeness in the past year or two, and I simply won’t take it any longer. Do you understand that?’ Her voice was still quiet, but steely in tone.
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Now go and get ready.’ Rosalind raised her voice, ‘Jenny? Are you coming with us to meet Tim?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’ As Jenny walked back into her bedroom to grab her coat and bag, she couldn’t help grinning and making a triumphant fist in the air. Wow! Her mother was really getting tough.
She paused. No. Not tough. Mum could never be tough in that sense and had spoken as quietly as she always did. But she was starting to stand up for herself – not waiting till she was goaded, like before, and then bursting out with a hysterical-sounding protest. This time she’d spoken straight away, as soon as the put-down started, and had stayed in control of herself. About time, too.
As she came downstairs, Jenny suddenly remembered her date. ‘Oh, can you just wait a minute, Mum? I want to cancel my date with Ned. I’m not going out with him on my little brother’s first night back.’
Tim put the phone down, then went into the shopping centre, where he bought a cup of coffee and sat watching the crowds.
When an hour had passed, he went to the entrance and found his mother and sisters waiting, looking anxious and scanning the crowds. He hurried across to them, tried to hug them all at once and then said in a shaky voice, ‘Get me out of here.’
‘Where’s your luggage?’ Rosalind asked.
‘Lost.’
It seemed a long walk to the car. Tim sank into the back seat and huddled down. ‘I’m exhausted!’ He was holding tears back only with great difficulty. It was so wonderful to see them. So bloody wonderful.
‘So where have you been in America?’ Louise asked. She was sitting next to him in the back of the car, worrying about how ill Tim looked.
He shrugged. ‘Here and there.’
‘But where exactly?’
‘We wound up in New York.’ Which was a lie.
‘You and Wayne?’
Silence.
‘It’s lovely to see you, Tim,’ Jenny ventured from the front seat.
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
‘I’m delighted to have all the family together again,’ Rosalind said softly.
Tim jerked forward in his seat. ‘All the family? Dad’s not down here, is he? Oh, God, I can’t face him yet!’
Rosalind frowned, wondering why she’d said ‘all’ when Paul wasn’t going to be with them for a few days.
Louise laid a hand on her brother’s arm. ‘It’s all right. Dad isn’t here just now. The chairman called and he rushed off to London again like a tame little piggy-wig. He won’t be back for a few days because he’s going to some sort of live-in planning meeting.’
Tim buried his face in his hands, relief making him shake. ‘Thank goodness! Oh, thank bloody goodness!’
In the front, Jenny and her mother exchanged astonished glances. In the back, Louise sat and worried some more.
By the time they reached the village, Tim had calmed down again.
‘This is it,’ Louise said, waving one hand scornfully. ‘Burraford Destan. Dad’s English country dream. Centre of the bloody universe it isn’t.’
‘It looks wonderful to me. Peaceful and full of real people.’
She stared at him. What had happened to make Tim welcome the idea of living in a dead-end hole like this? She would get it out of him later. He always told her things.
In Australia, Liz stared at the doctor in horror. ‘No! I don’t believe it. We had tests, lots of tests. I can’t have children. We tried for years. It must be something else, gastric flu maybe.’
The doctor sighed. She hated to see women react like this to the news that they were pregnant. ‘According to your records, the tests showed you weren’t highly fertile because you don’t release many eggs, but you could definitely conceive. Your husband was in a similar position – under-fertile – which made it very difficult for you both.’
‘But we’ve never taken any precautions, not since those tests. And I’ve never got pregnant.’ She’d boasted about that to Paul, who had produced some test results giving him a clean bill of health and had then boasted in return that he chose his partners very, very carefully and she had no need to worry about catching anything, if she wanted to really enjoy sex without those bloody condoms.
The doctor cleared her throat to bring her patient’s attention back. ‘There’s no mistake. You are definitely pregnant.’
Liz buried her face in her hands. She hadn’t let Bill near her since she got back. And although it was only a short time and she’d only missed one period, she was feeling wretched, nauseous all day. She’d gone to the doctor for help, worried that she’d picked up a virus in Hong Kong. She hadn’t even asked what the tests were for.
‘It isn’t my husband’s child,’ she said in a voice still muffled by her hands. ‘I’ll have to get rid of it.’ Her voice rose hysterically. ‘I’ll have to!’
‘Ah.’ The doctor steepled her hands. ‘Well, if you really want to do that, we can discuss it later, but it’s too soon to make a decision.’
Liz raised her head and glared at her. ‘What do you mean, too soon? What else can I do? And surely the sooner we do something, the better?’
‘You could tell your husband and ask him to accept the child. After all he wanted children, too, or he wouldn’t have gone for the tests.’
‘That was a long time ago. And he wanted his own children, not another man’s.’ Bill had flatly refused to consider adopting, becoming aggro at the mere idea. Telling him about this child would mean her accepting his screwing around, as well as him accepting her little affair and its consequences. She’d never get an edge over him after this. If he accepted the child. If she decided to have it. If they managed to stay together. Oh, hell! What a bloody mess! She groaned aloud.
The doctor shook her head and gave Mrs Foxen a moment or two more to pull herself together. Patients never ceased to amaze her by the complexities of their emotional and sexual lives. ‘Well, it’s still too soon to think of an abortion. You tried for years to have a child and at your age this may be your final and only chance. My advice is to go away and think it all over very carefully. Take a few days. We don’t need to rush into anything.’
Liz stared at her. It was good advice – for other people. She could see that. But she could never have this child. Still, you had to go through the formalities, the rigmarole and procedures the medical profession had set up. If the doctor wanted her to wait, there was nothing she could do about it.
Just as she was about to agree, however, a thought struck her. ‘I don’t think I can hide it from my husband for much longer. The sickness is so violent in the morning he’s bound to guess.’
‘I can give you something which may help. But it probably won’t stop the sickness completely.’
Liz accepted the prescription and walked out to sit in her car and try to come to terms with it all. She was going to get rid of it, of course she was. Oh, hell! What a stinking, rotten mess!
She’d been a fool, an utter fool.
When they got back to Sexton Close, Tim gulped down a coffee, smiled faintly at the empty mug and looked at his mother. ‘I used to dream about your coffee, Mum. It’s still the best in the world.’
Rosalind gave him a quick hug as she passed. ‘Well, now you can drink it till it comes out of your ears.’
‘Yes. I can.’ He tried to smile. Didn’t succeed.
‘Have something to eat.’
‘I’m not really hungry, Mum.’
‘Just a snack, then. To please me.’
‘OK.’ He picked at some food, then pushed the plate away. ‘What I’d really like is a bath. I must smell awful. I’ve been in these clothes for days.’
‘What happened to your own stuff?’ Louise asked.
‘Stolen.’
Rosalind hadn’t commented, but he did smell pretty high. ‘I’ll find you something of your father’s to wear.’
‘I have a tracksuit that’s unisex,’ Louise volunteered.
‘Thanks.’ He trailed up the stairs without even looking at her.
‘Shall I clear your stuff out of the spare bedroom?’ Louise asked her mother, trying to be helpful.
‘Why?’
‘Well, why do you think?’ She sighed. Honestly, her mum could be so vague. ‘Tim’s back. He’ll need somewhere to sleep.’
Rosalind fixed her with a cool gaze. ‘There is another bedroom free. The attic. If you don’t think it’s suitable for your brother, you can move up there yourself. I have my room all set up as I like it, so I see no need to change things.’
Louise opened her mouth, caught her mother’s eye and shut it again. ‘I’ll go and make the bed up in the attic for Tim, then, shall I?’
When she had gone clumping up the stairs, Rosalind looked at Jenny and for a moment her courage faltered. ‘He looks so ill,’ she whispered. ‘He’s nothing but skin and bone.’
Jenny had seen people looking like that before, at university. ‘I think – it’s only a possibility, mind – but he might be seriously addicted to hard drugs. Or just coming off them.’
Rosalind closed her eyes and took a few slow breaths. ‘Yes. That had occurred to me, too. But he’s not going to take drugs in my house.’ She began to fiddle with things in the kitchen, trying to find something to keep her busy. ‘How about a roast chicken for tea?’
‘Fine.’
She sat and listened to the microwave pinging and whirring as it defrosted the chicken, listened, too, to the sounds from upstairs. The bath lasted a long time, then slow footsteps climbed up to the attic.
A short time later Louise came into the kitchen. ‘He’s fallen asleep.’ She looked a bit miffed. ‘He had a shower, lay down on the bed, grunted at me and fell asleep.’
‘Perhaps that’s what he needs most.’
‘I wanted to talk to him, ask him about America.’
Jenny made a choky little noise to show her disgust. ‘You always think about what you want. Try thinking about what other people need for a change.’
‘Has Mum been talking to you?’
‘What about?’
‘What you just said.’
Jenny looked at her in puzzlement.
‘Oh, forget it!’ Louise stamped out of the room.
They took it in turns to go up and check, but Tim slept all through the rest of the afternoon and the evening, too. Feeling emotionally drained, Rosalind had a nap as well, something rare for her, waking with her son’s name on her lips.
The girls stayed up till ten o’clock, then went off to bed, yawning. Rosalind hesitated in her bedroom doorway, then shook her head and went to work on her embroidery. She couldn’t sleep yet.
She sat quietly with the door open, listening to the sounds of her daughters getting ready for bed, tossing and turning about, then falling asleep.
At about one o’clock she went to bed herself, but lay there wakeful, worrying about her son. In the end, she gave way to temptation and tiptoed up the attic stairs in her bare feet.
Louise had left a lamp on at the side of the bed. Tim was lying sprawled across it in the way he always had done, even as a very small child.
As she watched, he opened his eyes, jerked upright and stared round him in what looked like sheer terror. Not until he saw her by the door did he sink back on the pillows again. ‘I thought it was all a dream and I was back there again.’
She went to sit by the side of the bed. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
He reached out for her hand and they sat holding one another for a few minutes. She saw tears on his cheeks, then he sniffed and looked at her.
‘Yes. I do want to tell you about it – some of it, anyway. But – do you really want to know, Mum? It isn’t nice. I’m not proud of what I’ve done.’
‘You’re still my son.’
He smiled through his tears. ‘And you’re still the best mother in the world. I wanted you dreadfully when – when things went bad.’ Then he began to tell her.
She sat very quietly, holding his hand, not interrupting, not even allowing herself to exclaim in shock.
When he’d finished, she gathered him in her arms and held him for a long time, rocking him slightly. Only after he pulled away did she move again.
‘I’ve stopped taking the drugs, Mum.’
‘Do you need help with that? I have plenty of money now. I can get you into a clinic—’
‘No!’ He took a deep breath and tried to smile, but failed completely. ‘I don’t want to be shut up anywhere. Can you understand that? Even the plane – and the bus – made me feel bad. What I want to do is spend as much time as I can in the fresh air, in quiet places. Like beaches. Or woods.’
‘Well, there are plenty of places like that round here.’
He didn’t seem to have heard her and the confidences were still pouring out of him like pus from a boil. ‘When it gets bad, Mum, when I’m hanging out for the drugs, I go out and walk till I’m exhausted. It helps. If I can live here quietly for a while and get my head together, I think I’ll come through it.’
‘Well, no one will stop you going for walks. I did it myself when I was first here because I missed home so much. But I warn you, I shall try to feed you up.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t feel hungry these days.’
‘But you’ll eat a little – to please me?’
‘Are you sure you’re not a Jewish momma?’ he teased with a brief return of his old self.
‘In the sense of feeding you up, I’m as Jewish a momma as they come, so beware.’ She watched his smile fade. ‘Look, I’ll go and get you a tray. I won’t bring a lot of food, but you must eat something.’
When she got back, he was staring blankly into space. She set the tray in front of him and sat down. ‘I’ll feel better if I see you eat something.’
So he forced down two of the delicate sandwiches, and drank half the glass of milk. Then he looked at her pleadingly. ‘If I eat any more, I’ll chuck up.’
She took the tray. ‘Do you want to get up or stay here?’
He sounded surprised. ‘I think I can sleep again. I’ll have a pee, then come back.’
‘It’s not the most comfortable bed on earth.’
‘It feels pretty wonderful to me.’
‘Then I’ll leave you in peace.’
Before she went to bed, she wrote a note to Louise and propped it at the foot of the attic stairs, warning her to let Tim sleep, then she went to bed. She thought she’d never get to sleep, but her exhausted body had a different view of that and she didn’t wake until ten o’clock.
She found all three of her children gathered in the living room looking sad. She decided to think and act positively. ‘When I’ve had something to eat, would anyone like a ride to the nearest beach?’
‘Sounds great,’ said Tim. ‘I’d like to sit quietly and look at the water.’
‘All right,’ said Louise. ‘I can do my running there, I suppose. I’m getting quite fit, Tim. You could join me when you’ve picked up a bit.’
‘Yeah, sure.’
‘I think I’ll stay here,’ Jenny said. ‘I’m not much into beaches.’ And she was finding being with Tim a strain. He looked so miserable it hurt her to see him, because every time he came into a room, she was instinctively expecting the old Tim, the one who bounced round the house, talked rebelliously and couldn’t even sit quietly to drink a cup of coffee.
‘If your father rings,’ Rosalind said quietly to Jenny as they left, ‘don’t tell him about Tim yet.’
‘No.’ She could understand that.
And they were all glad of that.
In fact, Rosalind was so dreading Paul’s return that she was even thinking of taking Tim up to Southport before he came back and staying there with him. Tim seemed to need to be with her. He didn’t say much, but often sat nearby watching her. He particularly liked watching her embroider and he was the only one to whom she showed the family picture she was working on.
He stared at it for a long time. ‘You’re really good, Mum. I didn’t realise how good. You’ve got that sod down to a T.’
‘And myself,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘All pale and wishy-washy.’
He studied her for a minute then shook his head. ‘That was the old you. You’ve changed. You’re still quiet – but you’re more – more colourful.’
She treasured that compliment.