A Week in Winter: A Novel (30 page)

Watching her go, Rob felt that his world was going with her. The prospect of life without her was dull and empty and he could hardly remember how he’d managed before her arrival. He knew now that he’d only been half alive. The whole week had been extraordinary; even the weather had conspired. As he went back into the house, alone again, a thousand questions presented themselves. During this last week, buying Moorgate, being together, falling in love, all these things had seemed perfectly reasonable. Now, walking from room to room, staring out at the drizzle, he wondered if he’d been seized by a form of madness. It would be quite easy to believe that he’d dreamed the whole thing; that his obsession with Moorgate had driven him crazy. He longed to speak to her again, needing reassurance, looking about him for some sign of proof, but all evidence of her occupation had been cleared away; the hamper and her rugs packed into her car. She’d promised to telephone him round about lunchtime and he checked—not for the first time—to make certain that his mobile was switched on. Everything they’d used had been washed up or put away and the house felt oddly empty.

Standing in the sitting room, remembering how he’d first seen her standing looking down at his beanbags, he reflected that it was strange that
Melissa—who loved the house so much—had broken Moorgate’s spell over him. She had shown him that his passion was as nothing compared with his love for her. She had released him and he was glad of it. The obsession had been a burden and it was a relief to be free from it.

Rob locked the back door and walked round to the yard. Standing beside the pick-up he looked at the house. Now that the fever had left him he could see it clearly again: a solid, well-proportioned farmhouse in a delightful setting. Remembering his behaviour during the last six months he felt rather foolish and he smiled to himself, shaking his head. There was no question but that he’d been temporarily mad. Nevertheless, it would be good to own Moorgate, to live in it with Melissa, to raise their children here on the edge of the moor. Moorgate had brought them together. He stood for a moment watching the rooks, thinking about the events of the last week. There were so many things he’d never asked her, so much still to learn about her. He glanced at his watch. It was possible that in less than an hour he might be speaking to her. The thought raised his spirits, made his heart beat a little faster. Whistling to himself, he climbed into the pickup and drove out of the yard and down the lane.

Posy, settled at a corner table in the bar of the Wykeham Arms, watched her father at the bar. He looked different but she couldn’t immediately decide how. He was talking to the girl behind the bar, laughing with her, hands in his pockets, and, for the first time, Posy was able to see him as other people saw him; not as her father but as a man in his own right. Her critical faculties—naturally sharp—were always on the lookout lest he should behave foolishly, be embarrassing, but she was beginning to realise that this intolerance was a measure of her own insecurity.

‘That’s how it started with your mother,’ Maudie had said, fairly recently, ‘but she never grew out of it.’

This remark had given Posy food for thought. She had no wish to be like her mother, whose glance could wither, whose barbed, acid remarks could destroy happiness, yet she had begun to see how easy it might be to use such power over others; to control them. The difficulty was that you needed to feel very safe, very confident, to be unaffected by the behaviour of people for whom you cared. She had a horror of any form of showing off but living with Jude and Jo had gone some way in helping her to be more tolerant.

‘After all,’ Jude had observed, ‘it’s not your problem if someone behaves badly, not even if you’re related to them. Stay detached. It needn’t affect you.’

‘But it does,’ she’d argued. ‘If it’s your mother, say, or a friend, it’s bound to reflect on you, isn’t it? So people could say, “Poor thing, fancy having a mother like that,” or whatever.’

He’d smiled at her. ‘Come on,’ he’d said affectionately. ‘Are you so unsure of yourself that you can’t cope with the opinion of idiots? No one is perfect, we all know that. My feelings for you don’t change just because you know or love somebody who isn’t wonderful all the time. I thought that love was about that. You know? Loving people because of what they are, not in spite of it.’

The problem was exactly that: she
was
that unsure of herself. Perhaps it was due to the continual battle with her mother all through her childhood. Selina had made it clear that the unconditional love she poured out on the boys—no matter what they did or said—was not available to Posy. Because of her affection for her step-grandmother, Posy had been punished by a withdrawal of love, made more obvious by the indiscrimination with which it was lavished on the boys. Especially on Chris, who assiduously courted his mother’s approval and slyly rejoiced in his small sister’s regular falls from grace. Paul had been less affected, remaining as detached as possible, but nevertheless unwilling to stick his neck out.

Watching her father coming towards her, carrying drinks, Posy remembered how often he had championed her cause and defended her. Immediately she was engulfed in guilt. He had always been so loving yet she had been so critical when he’d had his own fall from grace. Where had her loyalty been then? She had rejected him out of hand, not waiting to be certain that he was guilty, unable to be generous.

‘The sandwiches will be along in a minute.’ He put the glasses on the table and sat down. ‘I was just telling the girl behind the bar that this place has hardly changed since I was here thirty years ago, although dear old Miss Sprules has gone.’

‘It must feel odd,’ said Posy, ‘coming back after all these years. Meeting Mum and all that.’ She paused, drinking some lager to cover the confusion of how she should proceed. She still didn’t quite know why he’d come down alone to see her and it was impossible to ask outright. ‘Is Mum OK?’

He frowned, as if puzzled by her question, debating how he should answer it, and Posy felt a twinge of anxiety.

‘She’s perfectly fit,’ he said, ‘but not particularly happy.’

It was such an odd answer that Posy began to laugh. ‘I’m not sure that Mum is ever particularly happy, is she?’ she asked. ‘It’s not how she works, is it? What’s the problem? Is she still going on about Moorgate? Honestly, Dad, it would be really crazy to let her buy it.’

‘No, it’s not Moorgate. I’m afraid it’s me.’

Posy stared at him. ‘How d’y ou mean?’

He looked at her. ‘I’m leaving your mother,’ he said, quite gently but without any hesitation. ‘No, not because of Mary—that’s all done with—but because there’s nothing left between us. Whatever we had is finished.’

‘Finished?’

He sighed. ‘This is so difficult because whatever I say is going to sound utterly callous. I’m hoping that you’ve had enough experience of both of us to try to understand. Your mother doesn’t need me as a friend or a lover or a companion. Looking back I wonder if she ever did. I met her when she was anxious to get away from home and marriage was a wonderful escape. Of course it’s wrong—if tempting—to imagine that we weren’t happy. There have been some very special moments but there’s nothing left and I don’t want to waste any more time. Sorry. I’m not putting this very well.’

Posy was trying to stem a rising tide of anger. This was her first reaction: anger. She swallowed, her hands twisting together between her knees, and tried to answer calmly.

‘So, OK you’re bored, fed up, but does that mean you can simply walk out on your marriage? Isn’t that a bit extreme? Even irresponsible?’

He looked at her almost humorously. ‘Probably. But I’m going to do it anyway. If Selina loved me—oh yes, I know it sounds pathetic—all the humiliations wouldn’t matter. But she doesn’t. She isn’t unhappy that I’m going because she’ll miss me. She is losing a possession, not a husband. Her main fear is how she will explain it to her friends because, this time, there is no woman involved, only my own sense of worth and a few last rags of pride. It’s embarrassing for her.’

As Posy watched him, she realised that this time there was one very different emotion missing. When he’d tried to talk to her about Mary, there had been the element of guilt; the longing to be understood, forgiven. Now, he was indifferent. He felt she had a right to know, that it would be nice if she could see why he was leaving, but there was no pleading, no requirement for her approval.

Fear began to edge out the anger and Posy thrust her hands through her hair. ‘But how can you just walk out on us all? How can you
do
that?’

‘I hope that I shan’t walk out on you. Just because I shan’t be living with Selina in London doesn’t mean that I shall stop caring about you.’

‘But it’s not the same.’ She could hear her voice rising in panic and bit her lip, glancing round anxiously lest others had heard her. ‘It won’t be home without you,’ she muttered. ‘Anyway, where would you be?’

‘I shall be in Brecon.’ His voice was light with happiness and she stared at him incredulously. ‘I am going as an assistant to help people with learning disabilities.’

‘In Brecon?’ She tried to sound cool, even faintly amused. To her horror she felt an acute desire to sneer a little. Her mother’s sneer. She fought it back. ‘So what’s in Brecon?’

‘One of the L’Arche communities. They are committed to helping such people. It’s wonderful. I feel tremendously privileged and I can’t wait to get started.’

Looking at his face, alight with anticipation, Posy wondered if she’d ever really seen him before.

‘It sounds as if it’s all been arranged. So when are you going?’

‘Easter.’ He took a pull at his pint.

‘
Easter?
’

‘There was no point in procrastinating,’ he said gently, ‘once I’d taken the decision. I have to admit that I thought that Selina would have told you before this. I gave her the chance to do it, so that she could tell it to you from her viewpoint, but for some reason she hasn’t. I’m sorry it’s such a shock but it’s impossible for it not to be.’

‘So you won’t be there when I come home for the holidays?’

He looked at her for a moment and then shook his head. ‘No. Selina will keep everything. The house, savings, pensions, everything is hers. From that point of view nothing need change. Hector’s money paid off the mortgage so she doesn’t have to move although she might need to work. If she downsizes she could be quite comfortable.’

‘Does she see it like that?’ asked Posy drily.

‘Probably not, but those are her decisions not mine.’

‘You sound so … different.’

‘Callous? Selfish? Yes, I know. So your mother has repeatedly told me. Only, I don’t care any more, you see. I’ve done everything I had to do to support her and all of you and now it’s at an end. Now I want to do
something for other people. Teaching is changing. My ways are old-fashioned and I don’t enjoy it any more. I still have it within me to be useful and I don’t want to waste the rest of my life pandering to the whims of a selfish woman or dealing with a new generation of children I no longer understand.’

‘What about me?’

He smiled tenderly at her. ‘You are Posy. I love you. Nothing changes that. I hope we’ll still see each other, stay in touch, spend time together.’

‘But how? How can we do that if you’re not at home any more?’

‘There will be ways. Come on, Posy. You’re not at home too much these days, are you? I know that I’m removing an aspect of security from your life but I think you’re old enough to cope with that. As to the financial aspect, you’ll find that the bank has had instructions to take care of you. Fees and allowances and so on have all been dealt with. You won’t suffer because I choose to be callous and selfish.’

‘It’s not a question of the money,’ she mumbled, near to tears. ‘It’s just it won’t be the same any more.’

‘I can’t deny that. I’m sorry, darling. I hate hurting you but I know that if I don’t do it now I shall never do it. I’m not abandoning you, Posy, just hoping we can do things differently and be flexible. I hope you’ll come to Brecon to see me and I can come here …’

‘One tuna and one beef?’ The waitress stood beside them, holding two plates.

‘Oh, yes.’ Patrick smiled up at her. ‘Thank you. Tuna for my daughter. Beef for me, please.’

Posy sat back in her chair, almost grateful for the interruption, her brain still reeling with the shock. She stared at the sandwich, her appetite ruined, and wondered how on earth she would manage to eat it. Bravely she picked it up—and put it down again.

‘So,’ she said, almost conversationally, trying to be adult, ‘tell me about this L’Arche place.’

On Sunday morning Mike bundled Luke into his clothes, whisked him out of his bedroom and hurried him downstairs. He was hoping that Melissa would be able to sleep as long as was necessary in order to recover from the journey back from Cornwall. She’d arrived just before six o’clock, climbing wearily out of the car and stumbling into the house, her face blurred with exhaustion. He’d been shocked by the way she’d looked but had allowed the words of reproach to die on his lips.

‘Oh, Mike,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve fallen in love with a farmhouse and with a man called Rob Abbot,’ and he’d returned her hug, holding her tightly, a look of mingled compassion and bitterness on his face.

She’d sat beside the fire with Luke in her lap whilst he heated soup and put hot-water bottles into her bed and then she’d talked and talked. He’d wanted to say ‘Stop, you’re overtired. Tell me tomorrow,’ but he’d caught the shadow of her fear; that she might never again have the energy to tell him all she needed him to know. By the time he’d persuaded her into bed she’d made it all clear to him; that she wanted to help Rob buy Moorgate; that Mike must have power of attorney.

‘You don’t mind?’ she’d kept asking. ‘Only it was so wonderful. I want to try to repay him. Oh, Mike, it was such heaven. I felt normal and fit and so happy’—and the tears had slid down her cheeks, dropping on to her hands, until she’d brushed them away impatiently.

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ he’d answered. ‘If it’s what you want…’