The Garden House Page 10

  ‘We shall need a name for it,’ he said, as they strolled across College Green and began to climb Park Street, and she laughed and at once felt easy again.

  ‘For Bristol?’ she asked. ‘Or for the flat?’

  She could see he was thinking about it whilst at the same time taking in his surroundings. He looked happy, alert, and she slipped her arm into his and he pressed it closely to his side.

  ‘Either,’ he said. ‘Both. Give me time and I’ll find it.’

  Now, slicing some cheese, Julia’s heart aches with the loss and loneliness of being without him. The Bristol days were the best. At the most they could generally manage two whole days, three nights. Usually it was two nights with one whole day to be free. Maybe its scarcity value was a gift: the relationship never staled. There were no rows or falling out. Nothing challenged their happiness. Martin was relieved when Felicity married her childhood sweetheart.

  ‘She should have stuck with him,’ he said. ‘Maybe he would have made her happier than I did.’

  ‘But then,’ Julia pointed out, ‘you wouldn’t have had Freddie and El.’

  She knew how guilty he felt about his children, how hard he worked to maintain contact. El responded readily but Freddie, already at medical school, withheld his understanding. He was polite, friendly, but there was no real closeness. Julia felt guilty, too, however many times Martin assured her that his marriage was over in all but name long before they met.

  The Bristol days gleamed in her imagination like sunshine after rain.

  ‘I know what we should call it,’ Martin exclaimed, raising his glass of Shiraz to her in what was to become their favourite wine bar. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? The flat is the Play Pen.’

  She laughed with him, still on a high after their first whole night and day together. To wake up next to him, to feel his warm skin under her fingers, to hold him close, was still a marvel to her. She hadn’t realized how lonely she was for a man’s touch, his companionship. At the flat she felt free, happy.

  ‘To the Play Pen,’ she said, touching her glass to his.

  So the name moved into their foolish code along with all the others that would baffle anyone who might pick up their phones. And now the boys are gone, El has inherited the Pig Pen, and Martin is dead.

  Five years, thinks Julia sadly. We wasted five years that we might have been together.

  Yet even as she thinks it she knows that back in those early days, trying to make it work in one house with El and the boys all together, would have been very different from the five years she and Martin shared. She wonders how El is coping, where she is, and whether it would ever be possible to have some kind of relationship with her. How would it work? Julia tries to imagine the conversation they might have about Martin, but fails. Would El be hurt to know that her father kept such a secret: that he shared so much with another woman? How would a twenty-one-year-old react to such a situation?

  Julia wonders what happened to Martin’s phone. Maybe it got mislaid. Davy put his finger on her greatest fear: a call from El asking whose number it is. Yet she can’t bring herself to block the number or to delete Martin’s messages. They are all she has, apart from the Charlotte Marlow painting he bought for her. She turns her head to look at it, hanging on the wall at the end of the table: a pretty, impressionistic watercolour of a flower. They saw it during one of the artist’s exhibitions in the café at The Garden House. A few months later, she bought a similar one for him. It was an astrantia – Moulin Rouge. There was one planted outside a small stone and slate building up above the Bowling Green Terrace where they sometimes met if it was raining.

  ‘For those times,’ she said, ‘when we can’t get ourselves back to the garden.’

  She wonders where it hangs and whether El likes it. A text pings in and Julia reaches for her phone, her heart quickening, half imagining that it might be from El: that by allowing this luxurious indulgence of her memories she has somehow conjured her up. It’s from Davy.

  Thanks for a great day. Are you OK? Dx

  She stares at the text. Am I OK? she asks herself.

  She’s glad now that she’s told Davy about Martin. It has unlocked the memories, and the pain of bereavement, though she’s used to that.

  I’m OK. How about you? x

  He texts back quickly.

  Missing Phil. I’ve got to move out of the flat. Can I come over on Sunday?

  Julia heaves a sigh of relief. By sharing his own misery Davy has made them equals and she can allow herself to accept his kindness, his affection and sympathy. She texts back.

  Yes please. Whole weekend if you like. x

  She holds her breath, hoping he’ll accept. The house feels empty and quiet without the boys and she longs for company. Davy’s text pings in.

  Thought you’d never ask! x

  Julia lets out her breath. She can get through until Friday night.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In the bar of the Bedford Hotel, Kate sits with Plum discussing the pros and cons of naval quarters and hirings.

  ‘I know Dad thinks it’s foolish to rent somewhere when we could live quite easily with him,’ says Plum, ‘but I’m not sure Ian’s terribly keen on the plan. He and Dad get on really well but I don’t know how it would work in the long term.’

  Instinctively both women glance at the tall, angular figure ordering their coffee at the bar. Kate remembers a former conversation here at this very table when Angus told her and Cass about his hope that Plum and Ian might use his house for a base when Ian comes ashore. It might seem an obvious solution but Kate can also imagine how Ian would feel, home from weeks at sea, to spend his leave with his father-in-law.

  ‘Although we shall keep the flat in London, we need to have a base near to Devonport,’ Plum is saying, ‘and … you know what it’s like when they come back from sea?’

  Kate nods. She knows what it’s like. The trouble is that visiting in-laws is one thing and living with them is another. She tries to think of some kind of compromise but she knows there isn’t one.

  ‘The thing is, Kate,’ Plum is saying, leaning forward, slightly lowering her voice, ‘I know your cottage is empty. You have to admit that it would be perfect for me and Ian. Ten minutes’ walk from Dad’s, plenty of room when the girls want to come home.’ She pauses. ‘You haven’t found a tenant yet, have you?’ she asks anxiously.

  Kate’s heart sinks, imagining how she’ll feel when Angus realizes that she is the cause of his disappointment, but she shakes her head.

  ‘No,’ she admits. ‘No, I haven’t got a tenant yet. The cottage isn’t quite ready.’

  ‘Oh, that’s great.’ Plum sits back with a little gasp of relief. ‘Will you give us first refusal, Kate?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Kate, trying to look pleased, hating herself. ‘But have a think about staying with Angus. I know he’d love it.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Plum wretchedly. ‘Don’t think I don’t feel an absolute traitor but I have to think about Ian first, don’t I? I think your cottage might be the perfect compromise.’

  Kate thinks that there is no such thing as a perfect compromise, that it is a contradiction in terms, but she nods understandingly and smiles at Angus as he comes back to the table. She searches about in her mind for a distraction.

  ‘I’ve been into Book Stop to see El,’ she tells them as Angus sits down. ‘It’s her first day. Of course she’s worked in bookshops before, which must be a help, but she was looking very competent.’

  Kate is aware that Plum sits back, almost as if she is distancing herself from the conversation, but Angus is delighted.

  ‘I shall go and buy a book from her,’ he says at once. ‘Now what shall it be?’

  ‘One of Bruno’s,’ says Kate at once. ‘I have to read them so why shouldn’t you? He’s written several about Bazelgette but you need one of what he calls his wolf-scarers. What we used to call a ripping good yarn, back in the day.’

  ‘I shall do that,’ says Angus. ‘Is C
ass joining us?’

  ‘I left her buying something rather nice at Brigid Foley’s but she’s on her way.’

  Even as she talks, Kate wonders what it is that is distracting Plum. Perhaps she is gathering up the courage to announce her new plan to her father, now, whilst they are all together. As Kate braces herself for this possible new development she sees that Plum is staring beyond her and Kate glances round to see what or who has caught Plum’s attention. A woman has come into the bar and is looking around her. She is smart in a casual sort of way, about Plum’s age, very attractive, and as she sees the group at the corner table by the window, her face breaks into a wide smile.

  ‘Hi,’ she cries, advancing towards them. ‘You know, I had a feeling that you might just be here.’

  She’s beaming at Plum, who gets to her feet and, as the woman embraces her, Kate gets a glimpse of Plum’s expression, which is less than delighted. Angus is already on his feet.

  ‘Issy!’ he exclaims. ‘How good to see you. It’s been too long. How are you? This is our friend, Kate. This is Issy, Kate. She and Plum were at school together.’

  Issy hugs Angus and extends a hand to Kate, who is aware that she is being summed up.

  ‘Hi,’ Issy says. ‘Great to meet you.’

  Kate smiles, shakes Issy’s hand, aware of various vibes resonating around the table and wondering why this old school chum should make Plum react so negatively. Angus rearranges chairs and goes to order more coffee just as Cass appears and, as the whole group forms and reforms, Kate sits back a little, pours herself some coffee and watches and listens.

  * * *

  Isla is delighted. Instinct guided her here this morning and now she looks at them all, sizing them up: Plum’s family and friends. Even as she watches them, responding to a question from Cass (very pretty woman, very elegant), dear old Angus (enjoys a little flirtation, absolute pushover) is talking about going to the bookshop to buy a book from El.

  Isla shoots a glance at Plum, so beloved by this particular group of people, but just at this moment Plum is not looking quite so sure of herself and Isla guesses just how much poor Plum must be regretting that moment of confidence. Isla remembers how she comforted her, made light of it, whilst privately she marvelled at sensible, reliable Plum being capable of such an act.

  ‘It was one of those awful moments,’ she said, ‘when grief just hits you. I’d found all the baby toys the girls had packed into a trunk and I just suddenly thought of my baby, and then I heard the doorbell ring and there he was…’

  Isla accepts a cup of coffee from Angus, listening to the conversation, and wonders if any of these people know what it’s like to have spent all your formative years coming last. Big, clever, elder sister: beautiful, intelligent, firing on all cylinders. Small, cute, little sister: funny, endearing, loved by everyone. And Issy, pig in the middle, not belonging, never in the right place, nothing special to commend her. Always fighting for attention, for the right to be loved, never fitting in. At school she learned how to cultivate the other girls, to befriend them by amusing them with her quick wit whilst being swift to sympathize, encourage. She learned to manipulate, too, which was amusing but it didn’t make her feel less lonely. This loneliness makes her long both to draw people close to her whilst, at the same time, punish them for the love and happiness they enjoy.

  As she sips her coffee she wonders how this group of people would react if she were to say: ‘I’m glad to hear that El is doing so well. Wasn’t it her father you had that fling with, Plum?’

  She’s aware that the woman across the table (Kate, is it? Bit of an enigma, bit of a challenge) is watching her almost quizzically, and for one panicky moment Isla wonders if she’s guessed Isla’s own secret, that somehow she knows how much she loves Plum. But it’s most unlikely. Isla takes control of herself and turns to Angus.

  ‘How are those amazing dogs of yours?’

  Immediately the conversation turns on dogs and Isla sees Plum relax and she smiles at her. The smile carries a subliminal message: You see? No need to worry. You can trust me.

  And she knows by the way Plum returns the smile that she’s feeling very slightly guilty that, just for a minute back there, she doubted her old school chum: feared that she might give her away somehow.

  Isla sits back in her chair. It’s always like this, feeling like she’s on the outside looking in. She’d like to change that but she wants to draw Plum closer, not alienate her. She needs time to think about things.

  * * *

  El comes out of Book Stop on a high. It’s been a great first day: learning the computer system, how the till works and all the usual jobs that happen in a bookshop. Unpacking books and shelving them, checking wholesalers’ next-day deliveries, and meeting the friendly customers like Trudy and Vanessa, who recognize her; some who knew Pa and like a chat. Simon and Natasha are kind, really helpful, and El feels on top of her new job. She wishes there was someone she could tell it all to; with whom she could share a bottle of wine and talk through her day.

  As she drives home she thinks about those texts in Pa’s phone: odd, random texts, which seem to be in code. El wonders why she doesn’t simply phone the number, explain who she is and ask the question: who are you? Several emotions are preventing this. First, she is oddly confused by her reaction to the fact that Pa had someone in his life with whom he clearly had an important friendship but had kept a secret from her. This hurts. She knows it’s foolish. After all, she hasn’t told Pa about all her friends and relationships. The second problem is that the person at the other end – and El’s pretty certain that it’s a woman – might not know that Pa is dead, though it seems fairly unlikely.

  As she parks the car and climbs out, El wonders if Cass and Kate and Angus know about this woman and whether she dare ask them. As she lets herself in, hangs up her coat and climbs the stairs, she decides what she’s going to do. She’s going to text Will, describe to him how her day went and then tell him about the phone. At this moment El feels quite relieved that Will is gay, and her stepbrother, because it won’t look as if she is coming on to him. Texting him will seem like a continuation of his last visit when he packed and took away Pa’s clothes. She can explain how she found the phone in Pa’s gilet pocket and then read him some of those texts.

  As she switches on the kettle, finds the tea, there’s a bang at the back door, which is then opened slightly. A voice shouts: ‘You OK there, El?’

  El smiles. ‘Hi, Andy,’ she shouts back. ‘Come on up.’

  He runs up the stairs – Andy does everything at speed – and grins at her.

  ‘How are you doing, maid? Thought I’d best check on you. See if there’s anything we can do.’

  ‘Sweet of you,’ she says. ‘But the truth is that the baby’s screaming his head off, you forgot to buy the bread and Trish is seriously not happy.’

  Andy laughs out loud. ‘You’re too sharp. Mind you don’t cut yourself. Your old dad would have poured me a beer and we’d have had a good old chat about liver fluke.’

  ‘You are such an unconvincing liar. My old dad wouldn’t have known the first thing about liver fluke. And if Trish thinks you’re sitting here with me, having a drink while she deals with the baby and gets the supper, what d’you think my life would be worth?’

  Andy sighs regretfully, still grinning. ‘Worth a try. Sure you don’t need any logs fetched up?’

  El makes tea. It would be very helpful to get the log basket stocked up but she doesn’t want any trouble with Trish, who can be sharp-tongued.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, suddenly serious. ‘It’s a cold old night and you don’t want to be stumbling about in the dark. Trish suggested it herself.’

  El is touched by their kindness. ‘OK. Actually, that would be great. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  He shakes his head. ‘It won’t take long. I’ll get in enough to keep you going for a few days. Trish says come over some time.’

  As she lights the fire and Andy brings in the log
s, El thinks back over her day. Natasha has told her to look out for Book of the Week on Radio Four. It will be El’s responsibility to write a link for the Western Morning News and she feels excited about this. It’s giving her ideas about how she might start writing her own book, but so far she’s only got as far as making copious notes. Yet, all the while, at the back of her mind, she continues to think about the texts and, once Andy has gone, she curls up on the sofa, reaches for her phone and wonders how to describe it all to Will.

  * * *

  Angus is making a curry. As he chops ingredients and stirs and mixes he’s aware of Plum, sitting on the sagging old sofa, a dog at each side of her. He can feel tension but he can’t quite see the reason for it. Each time she makes one of her little dashes from London he hopes that she’ll ask if she and Ian can make this their Devon base, and he’s having to make a huge effort not to ask outright. He remembers what Cass and Kate said in the Bedford – that he should give Plum and Ian time to come to their own decision – and he’s trying to stick with that. But it’s hard. As he puts plates to warm in the bottom oven of the Aga he remembers that Plum became even more tense when her old friend suddenly appeared.

  ‘It was good to see Issy,’ he says rather randomly. ‘Haven’t seen her for a long time. Fancy her remembering Blossom and Dearie.’

  ‘You’ve always had dogs,’ answers Plum. ‘It was a pretty safe guess. I don’t think she mentioned them by name.’