Homecomings Read online

  Dossie suffers a little pang of guilt whilst at the same time wondering quite how to act now with Jamie when Hugo and Ned are around. She feels nervous at the thought of her next visit to the house on the quay but then suddenly laughs aloud. How good it is to have something like this about which to feel nervous: to feel young again. It’s what Prune would call a First World problem. She sends back a text:

  Adam here Saturday for the week so it will depend on Ben’s time off. Looking forward to it. Glad all went well for Ned. xx

  She feels confident; happy. Dossie thinks of her mantra and laughs. Her grip on events seems more secure; her life suddenly looks full of promise.

  So now, she tells herself, all I need to do is to get a dog.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JANNA SITS IN her usual seat in chapel, tucked away at the end of a row, aware of the scent of the lilac, growing outside the open window beside her, and the sound of birdsong. It’s just after seven o’clock, and the stone walls are washed with sunlight. A few retreatants have made it to this early service and Mother Magda, frail but indomitable, speaks the words of the opening prayer:

  ‘“The night has passed and the day lies open before us …”’

  And what, wonders Janna, will the day bring? The usual Offices, which give structure to the day; the domestic round. Her life is peaceful and fulfilling where once it had been chaotic, purposeless and empty. She longed for stability, for approval, until she arrived here with nowhere to live, no family, no work, and found a place to stop for a while. She travelled light, carrying her old tote bag with the memories of her childhood wrapped in it: the treasures her mother had given her when she was small. She kept them with her, taking them to the foster homes, from which she ran away at the earliest opportunity, never knowing her father, who’d abandoned them before she was born. These precious things, these symbols, were all she had to show of her mother’s love for her. How fiercely she protected them: the Peter Rabbit mug, the Little Miss Sunshine book, and the pretty Indian silk shawl.

  ‘“As we rejoice in the gift of this new day …”’

  Janna remembers that when she told Sister Emily the lonely, unhappy story behind these precious things the elderly nun, rather than commiserating with her, smiled at her with a kind of radiance and said: ‘When you no longer need them you will be free,’ as if this were the goal Janna must be pursuing.

  It didn’t take long. First little Jakey accidentally broke the mug, then, because he loved it so much, she gave him the book, and finally dear old Sister Nichola appropriated the shawl. How easy it was, in the end, to let go.

  ‘“… may the light of your presence, O God, set our hearts on fire with love for you …”’

  Here in this beautiful old house, on the high cliffs of the wild north Cornish coast, she came home at last. They all – the Sisters, Father Pascal, Clem, even little Jakey – recognized her need for privacy; to live at the edge of the community life without committing herself. They respected it, enabled it, until at last she was able to move closer, to take some responsibility to herself. She felt part of this extended family, the Sisters, Clem and Tilly and Jakey, and even a few people beyond Chi-Meur’s walls. Dossie of course was dearest, and best beloved, and very vulnerable just now.

  ‘“Raise us up, O God, that we may live in your presence …”’

  Janna knew at once; as soon as she saw her yesterday. She sighed and rolled her eyes as Dossie beamed at her, putting the usual offering of cakes on the small table in the courtyard, exuding happiness.

  ‘OK,’ Janna said, resigned. ‘Don’t tell me. Jamie, is it?’

  She could see that Dossie was struggling to make a show of innocence but after a moment she began to laugh.

  ‘Drop-dead gorgeous, darling,’ she said. ‘But don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I shan’t need to,’ Janna said drily. She thought about Dossie’s relationship with her unpredictable brother. ‘What’s Adam going to say?’

  ‘Ah, well.’ Dossie sobered up and looked anxious. ‘I hope that he won’t find out just yet. I want him to be more, you know, like he was last time. Feeling he’s at home. Confident.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to do better than this,’ Janna said.

  ‘Well, it’s different with you,’ Dossie said defensively. ‘I don’t have to pretend with you.’

  ‘And how are Hugo and Ned taking it?’

  ‘There’s nothing to take,’ cried Dossie. ‘Honestly. It’s just that I went over with some food for the freezer and Jamie was on his own. Hugo had taken Ned for his check-up at Derriford. I’d met Jamie briefly, because Hugo texted me to drop in not long after he arrived, and so, because nobody was around, Jamie suggested we go to the pub and he let me drive his MGB home. Gosh, that was fun. It really took me back.’

  She was smiling again, like a teenager who’d been given an unexpected treat, and then her face changed and she added: ‘He reminds me so much of Mike.’ And suddenly Janna wasn’t inclined to laugh or tease. Instead she felt profoundly touched.

  ‘“You are the God of my salvation. In you I hope all the day long …”’

  Now, in the chapel, Janna shifts on her chair, remembering Dossie’s expression.

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ she asked tentatively.

  Dossie looked at her quite seriously and nodded. ‘It was really odd. And really nice. I’ve never known anyone like Mike. He was such fun to be with. He would banter and josh but at the same time there was such a quickness to notice how I felt and to act on it. He was perceptive and kind.’

  There was a silence. Janna rarely heard Dossie talk like this about Mike and she was very much moved.

  ‘I still miss him,’ Dossie admitted. ‘It doesn’t get better. You just learn how to deal with it.’

  ‘So what happens next?’

  Dossie shrugged. ‘Well, there’s the party.’ She began to smile. ‘And you’re invited.’

  Janna experienced her usual sensations of alarm at the prospect of being moved out of her comfort zone.

  ‘What party?’

  ‘Well, Prune wants to bring Ben home to meet everyone and show him where she lives, and they thought it would be nice to invite Adam, and then we thought about you. I’ve often mentioned you so they’re dying to meet you.’

  Janna was already shaking her head. ‘No way,’ she said firmly. ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that,’ said Dossie. ‘I told them you wouldn’t want to, but how would you feel if I were to bring them here? One at a time, of course.’

  ‘Here?’ Janna glanced round as if Hugo or Ned might even now be advancing into the courtyard.

  ‘It would be OK,’ Dossie said coaxingly. ‘I wish you would, Janna. They’re my friends and so are you. It would be so nice for you all to know each other.’

  Janna reflected on it; after all, Ned and Hugo didn’t sound too alarming and it would be very interesting, now, to meet Jamie.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said cautiously. ‘Here, but not all of them at once.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Dossie said. She grinned at her. ‘But which one first?’

  Janna surprised herself with her answer. ‘Adam.’

  Dossie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Adam?’ she repeated. ‘Well, of course. Why not? He’s driving down tomorrow very early.’

  ‘Well, bring him for a cup of coffee or tea some time. Whatever you think would be right.’

  ‘Adam doesn’t drink tea,’ Dossie said.

  But Janna could see that she was thinking about it; that for a moment she’d forgotten about Jamie.

  ‘And you’d rather meet him here? You’ve been to The Court. It wouldn’t feel strange to you there.’

  Janna shook her head. She had a strong feeling that she wanted to be on her own patch for this first meeting.

  ‘No. If he wants to come then just bring him. I’d really like to meet Adam, though some of the things you’ve told me about him in the past make me a bit nervous.’
r />   ‘I know I have.’ Dossie looked anxious, puzzled. ‘It’s weird, really. He’s been so difficult, sometimes, that I’ve quite disliked him but I hadn’t realized how hard it’s all been for him. He’s been damaged and his instinct is to strike first.’

  ‘We’re all damaged,’ Janna answered grimly, ‘and we need to protect ourselves. Or at least we think we need to. Perhaps Adam is beginning to feel he doesn’t need to any more.’

  ‘I think that’s true,’ agreed Dossie slowly, ‘but it’s just awful, somehow, that it’s happened because Mo and Pa have died. It’s so confusing. They were so good to me. I don’t know how to handle it. I can’t deny them, yet I want to help him.’

  ‘Perhaps you don’t need to deny them,’ suggested Janna cautiously. She never felt comfortable offering advice but she hated to see Dossie looking so anxious. ‘Perhaps you just need to listen to him without attempting to justify them. Just to begin with. Go with the flow.’

  Dossie nodded. ‘I know you’re right. And it helps now that he’s met Hugo and Ned so that it won’t be just me all the time. And you, too. I’d love it if you were to become friends.’

  ‘And Jamie,’ added Janna mischievously, trying to recapture that earlier happier mood. ‘Mustn’t forget the old Drop-dead Gorgeous.’

  Dossie began to laugh. ‘And Prune and Ben. It’s so important to feel part of a family, isn’t it? I’m lucky. I’ve got Clem and Jakey, and now Tilly, but I think it would be good for Adam to have a few men of his own age when he comes down. It might encourage him to come and stay if there are a few more options.’

  ‘“In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us …”’

  Janna bows her head for the blessing. Even now Adam will be on his way, driving west, coming home.

  Adam gets back into the car, refreshed after his break at the Exeter service station, and turns on to the A30. He left London slightly later than he intended but he’s beaten the weight of the Bank Holiday traffic and he’ll be at St Endellion before it builds up. It’s good to make this journey so early in the morning; driving west, away from the rising sun, into the darkness, which every moment grows brighter.

  It’s odd to be travelling this road with a light heart, even with expectation, and he wonders why it need have been so bad in the past; why the sense of rejection should have affected him so much. Other people survived the experience of being sent from abroad to school at a very young age and by now, surely, he should have learned to deal with it. And for most of the time he has. He loves his job, and he’s good at it; he has close friends. Only when he was going home, back to the inevitable questions, to the third degree, did the past resurface: the reminder that to come second was to be first of the losers. He can see how his own sense of inadequacy became a self-fulfilling prophecy and that it seemed better, simpler, to keep at a distance from his family. He knows that he allowed the rupture to happen, that he should have been tougher. The danger is that his feelings of guilt might colour his future relationship with Dossie. It’s hard for her to see Mo and Pa from his viewpoint and he doesn’t want her to feel in any way disloyal to them or obliged to defend them. There must be some way through without apportioning blame.

  A drifting curtain of mist obscures the western slopes of Dartmoor and small fields are edged by banks of white and pink hawthorn. The cloudy sky diffuses golden light, then suddenly the sun breaks through so that the road ahead gleams and shimmers. Adam crosses the county boundary into Cornwall. He thinks about Dossie, wondering what is really best for her; whether she should stay at The Court. It’s amusing to talk about decaying grandeur, but not so much fun when the roof is leaking and windows need replacing. He can’t quite see Dossie in a modern house, or a flat, but she must feel lonely rattling about in The Court. Perhaps a dog might fill the gap, up to a point, but there’s still the cost of the upkeep of such a big old house to think about. He can’t help but see The Court as an investment that should be protected, as well as a home, and it’s in Dossie’s interests that it should be properly looked after. He feels protective towards her. When she first mentioned Hugo and Ned he suspected that she might be somehow romantically involved with one of them, but once he met them himself he knew at once that this was not the case. She behaved towards them as she might towards any of her close friends, knowing them well enough to laugh and joke, to share an easy affection that flowed between the three of them. Just at first Ned reminded him of Pa: that straight, critical look and strong clasp of the hand. He was glad he was able to recover from it quickly and to enter into this new friendship that Dossie seemed to want to share with him. And Ned and Hugo were so open, so ready to include him. He was touched by their warmth and is looking forward to meeting them again. And Jamie: Dossie has told him about Jamie. It seems that Jamie has been dealt a very tough hand and Adam wonders how it must be to lose one’s career and health all in one turn of the cards.

  How suddenly life changes, the old pattern giving way unexpectedly to something new and utterly different. He’s glad that the old jealousy of his sister, which has gnawed for so long like a canker at his soul, seems quite gone. It has been difficult to see the approval, the love, flowing so readily towards her whilst his own life was so unimpressive in his parents’ eyes; difficult to sustain a good relationship with her, though when Mike was alive they were closer.

  It was incredibly hard for her when Mike died. Poor Dossie. Mike was so alive, so dynamic, his absence was a terrible thing for her. Adam shakes his head, remembering. It was tough for him, too. God, he loved Mike. He stood between Adam and his parents, defending him, approving him, encouraging him.

  ‘It’s like that sometimes between fathers and sons,’ he said consolingly, when Pa was dismissive about Adam getting the job in London. ‘It was the same with my old dad. He wanted me to follow the family tradition and go into the army. Nothing I did pleased him. Sometimes you can’t do right for doing wrong.’

  Mike’s kindness, his approval, was everything to Adam when he was in his late teens. His grief when Mike was killed paled into insignificance besides Dossie’s; left so young with a small boy to raise. There was no room – nor did he know how – to show, to share, his own terrible sadness. He did what he could, tried to support them both, and then she took little Clem and moved back to Cornwall; back to Mo and Pa. In some foolish way he felt that he’d failed them, both her and Clem; failed Mike.

  At Bodmin Adam turns west on to the Wadebridge road, heading for St Endellion.

  ‘I shall have breakfast waiting,’ Dossie told him when they spoke earlier in the week. ‘No stopping off and pigging out on the way down.’

  ‘As if I would,’ he protested. ‘I shall want the full English breakfast, mind. None of your croissants and special granola from the farm shop.’

  ‘You shall have it,’ she promised. ‘Travel safely.’

  It’s as if the wheel has come full circle; that he has another chance to support Dossie. He felt it when he was last down here: that she was looking to him to help her through this period of bereavement, and this time he simply mustn’t let her down. He thinks about Mike, and he smiles to himself and increases his speed. Soon he’ll be home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  LUCY LIFTS DAN out of his high chair and sets him down on the floor. He toddles away to his Thomas the Tank Engine railway set and kneels amongst the rails and the trucks. She watches him for a moment, then sits down again at the small table and picks up her coffee cup. It’s too early for Mum, who is still in bed, but it’s good to sit here, to look out at the distant horizon, and plan ahead for when the kitchen is finished and the cottage will be properly up and running.

  Lucy sips at her coffee, thinking about her mother. There’s something odd going on but she can’t quite pin it down. There’s a slight disconnect; a distraction in her manner. Of course, Mum can be a bit strange sometimes; she’s not quite like other people’s mothers.

  ‘It’s all that theatrical background. You hav
e to remember that she had a seriously weird childhood,’ she tells Tom defensively when he comments on her mother’s oddball behaviour. ‘You can’t expect her to be like other grannies.’

  ‘I guess,’ he answers. ‘But there does seem to be a definite lack of reality sometimes. And it’s all about her, isn’t it?’

  When Lucy thought about it later she could see what he meant. Her mother lives out of her own reality and anything she really wants to do she is able to justify before too long.

  But perhaps, thinks Lucy guiltily, we’re all a bit like that.

  She looks at Dan, kneeling amongst his engines and trucks, and her heart is filled with love and anguish. She’s seen how her colleagues beat themselves up when they can’t get to the end-of-term play or the athletics day or a prize-giving. Generally one of the parents manages to show up but an awful lot of self-chastisement goes on.

  ‘Nothing beats being there,’ someone said to her once, and she’s never forgotten it.

  Meanwhile, Lucy prays that it will all work out with the nanny so that she can have the best of both worlds. And since this is how she feels, it’s unrealistic to expect her mother to be different. What is different, though, is that Mum doesn’t seem to suffer from the guilt – or anyway, not for long. She gets over it very quickly by convincing herself that, whatever the outcome of a situation, however unfavourable it might seem to be for everyone else, it will be better for them in the long run.

  Lucy finishes her coffee and gives a little shrug: nice work if you can get it. Nevertheless, none of this is quite relevant to her mother’s behaviour just now. She’s being really good about staying here at the cottage whilst the work is being done, despite several hitches and hold-ups. Usually she becomes restless if she’s too long away from London but she’s being very patient, though there’s still this odd sense of distraction about her.

  It’s as if, thinks Lucy, she’s waiting for something really good to happen; calm but excited.

  Suddenly she remembers the old friend, the man she met in Relish, and she wonders if he is the reason for her mother’s readiness to stay in Rock. It might be as simple as that. And if it is, well, that’s all good.