Facing the Light (35 page)

‘Come on, Douggie. Let's get you back to your room.'

‘Want Mama!' Douggie began to cry.

‘We'll go and find her, shall we? I'll take you, darling. Don't cry! Sssh! Everyone's asleep.'

Fiona was already up, and looking for her child. She was almost running down the corridor as they left the nursery, wearing only her nightie. Without her make-up, without her smart clothes, she looked young and fragile and very pale.

‘Oh, Rilla, I'm so sorry. Did he wake you? Come on, Douggie. Come with me.'

Rilla transferred the child to his mother's arms. ‘It's quite all right,' she told Fiona as mother and child were walking back to their own room. She wanted to say something about not having been to bed at all, but it didn't seem the right time for such confidences. ‘No harm done.'

She went back to the nursery to cover the dolls' house again. How long had Douggie been in there? Could he
have damaged anything? This was exactly the sort of thing that no one needed today. Leonora would be furious. Perhaps it would be possible for her never to know, but she did have a way of finding out what went on in Willow Court.

Rilla saw at once what Douggie had done. ‘Oh, no …' she whispered. ‘Oh, God …'

He'd stripped off a piece of the paper that was stuck to the roof. How many times had Leonora told Rilla and Gwen about how Maude had painted it to look just like roof tiles? Now a whole strip of it, about three inches wide, had been torn away from the wood along the whole slope of the roof. Rilla didn't hesitate. The paper Douggie had dropped lay curled on the carpet like skin peeled from a huge apple. She bent down, rolled it up tight, and put it in the pocket of her trousers. Then she took the sheet and spread it over the house, hiding the damage. She left the room and closed the door behind her, suddenly short of breath. I can't think about this now, she thought. I must sleep. She went into her bedroom filled with foreboding. What would Leonora say? Could the roof be repaired? The strip of paper stuck back again? I'll think about it all later. Sort it out then.

*

Rilla sat on the edge of the bed with her wallet in her hand. Now isn't the time, she thought. I'm happy. It's the best day and I should leave well enough alone, but I can't. Picking Douggie up was a mistake. Rilla could still feel that warm body in her arms, twisting away from her. He'd put his hands on her hair, just as Markie used to do. Years and years go by, she thought, and you manage to have nothing at all to do with small children and then this happens and you're back there, back in those days when you knew what a child's body in your arms felt like and you realize how much you've missed it.

She opened the wallet and looked in one of the inner
pockets. There it was. She felt it with her fingers and hesitated for a second. Should she look at it? When was the last time she had? She couldn't remember. Before she had time to change her mind, she'd put the tiny photograph on the duvet beside her and seen him, just as he used to be; smiling, dark-haired, her child. Her beautiful son. He was sitting on Beth's lap in the photo booth, making a silly face. The day they'd taken that photograph, at Paddington Station on the way to Willow Court, came back to her at once. Mark had been in a bad temper for some reason. Beth had suggested the photographs as a distraction and Rilla had been grateful because he'd cheered up at once.

Now she felt tears running down her cheeks and she quickly put the little photo back into her wallet. What a fool she was, to spoil this most wonderful night! She turned her mind to Sean. Let me dream of him, she told herself. Let me not dream of Mark. Not tonight.

Rilla closed her eyes. Her last thoughts were of the curled-up paper Douggie had torn from the roof of the dolls' house. She pictured it rolled up in the pocket of her trousers and something like dread came over her. She was too exhausted to wonder why she felt like that, and her eyelids grew heavy and heavier until she was falling, plunging into darkness and sleep.

*

‘You're up early,' Beth said.

‘So are you,' Efe replied. ‘Douggie woke me. That bloody kid doesn't know what sleeping in means.' He picked up the coffee pot and poured himself another cup. Black with no sugar. Macho coffee, Beth called it. He raised the pot in the air and smiled at her. ‘Want a cup?'

‘Yes, please,' Beth answered and pulled out a chair. She sat down opposite Efe, and decided not to mention that it was his son who'd woken her also. ‘Where are all the others?'

‘Mum's out and about with Dad. They're waiting for the chairs and tables people. In about an hour the whole place will be crawling with people fixing things up. Haven't a clue where Alex and Rilla are. Chloë won't get cracking till about noon, probably, but her tree's well on the way. Did you see it?'

Beth nodded. She cut herself two slices of bread and put them into the toaster. Then she sat down again and reached for the butter and marmalade. She'd noticed that most of the hall was strewn with willow branches and, although she believed that her cousin would transform it into something amazing, she wondered at Leonora allowing it. The person Beth remembered from her childhood would never have tolerated it. She was definitely getting softer in her old age.

The toast popped up and she went to fetch it. Efe was looking at the financial page of the newspaper, which gave her a little time. He was wearing chinos and a turquoise linen shirt and his hair fell over his forehead in a way that made Beth feel a little breathless. She turned her mind, with some effort, away from these unproductive thoughts. This opportunity had presented itself quite unexpectedly, and she was determined to seize the chance of a private talk with Efe. It was the first time they'd been alone together for ages and ages; too good a chance to miss. Part of her wanted to talk about something that would put Efe in a good mood, but there were simply too many questions she had to ask, even though she wasn't at all sure she wanted to know the answers to some of them. Okay, she said to herself. No hesitations.

‘Who's Melanie?' she asked.

‘Why? What do you mean? I don't know a Melanie.'

‘Yes, you do. I overheard you talking to one yesterday.'

‘You were eavesdropping!' A typical Efe answer, Beth thought. Throw the blame on someone else.

‘I wasn't,' Beth replied, trying not to sound like her
twelve-year-old self. The trouble with talking to someone you'd grown up with was that you soon reverted to your childish modes of speech. ‘You weren't hiding yourself away, exactly. Anyone could have walked in.'

‘You mean Fiona, don't you? By anyone.'

‘Right. What if she'd overheard you instead of me?'

‘I'd have pretended there was nothing in it. She always believes me. I can charm her whenever I want to.'

Beth said, ‘You'd have
pretended
. That means there
is
something in it.'

Efe held his hands up, in a gesture of surrender. ‘Got me there!'

‘Okay. So who is she?'

Efe leaned towards her across the table, took hold of her hand and gazed into her eyes. ‘I can't tell you that, Bethie darling. Not unless you swear not to tell a soul.'

Should I agree? Beth wondered. Should I tell him to go to hell? I don't need to know details. He's admitted he's being unfaithful to Fiona. That should be enough, but I want to know everything. She became aware that a most peculiar series of emotions was passing through her, like those constantly changing neon lights in big cinemas that keep flooding the screen with every colour of the rainbow in turn. She wanted to know about Melanie. She shrank from knowing. She wanted to shout at Efe and tell him how unkind to his wife he was being. She wanted him to say
Melanie is nothing to me. I want you and no one else, not Fiona or anyone. Only you
. She saw him suddenly as selfish and cruel, smiling at the thought of deceiving his wife. She wanted to stay alone with him for ever. She wanted to run away and never see him again. She said, ‘Okay, go on. I shan't say a word.'

‘It's Melanie Havering. You've met her, surely?'

‘From the antique shop? But …'

‘I know, I know. Don't say it. She's old!'

‘I wasn't going to say that. Only she's a good friend of Gwen's.'

‘So? Gwen's friends are allowed to be sexy, you know. And Melanie isn't that old, actually. She's only forty-five.'

‘That's fine, then,' Beth said. ‘That makes it all all right. God, Efe, what are you thinking of? Your mum's friend! Isn't it embarrassing? What happens when she comes here to see Gwen and James? And hasn't Melanie got a husband?'

Efe smiled. He was, Beth noticed, positively sparkling now, as though admitting to this affair somehow made him feel better. He said, ‘She's divorced. And when she does come up while I'm here, it all gets fantastically exciting. We have to take chances sometimes …'

‘I don't want to hear about it, thanks very much. It's revolting.'

‘No, it's not. It's great. Oh, grow up, Beth! You know what goes on. My dad used to be a bit of a lad in the early days, apparently, and got up to all sorts of stuff. No one minds, surely.'

‘I don't suppose Gwen was exactly ecstatic when she found out,' Beth said.

‘She's stayed with him.' Efe picked up the second piece of toast Beth had made for herself and started to butter it. ‘She would have left him if she'd had any strong objections.'

Beth decided to change the subject. There was no point, she could see, in explaining to Efe about all the other reasons his mother might have had for deciding to turn a blind eye. Like the fact that she had three children to consider. Like the fact that she loved him in spite of his infidelities. In any case, he was a reformed character now. Men were such fools sometimes and Efe was beginning to irritate her.

If the conversation had gone differently, Beth thought
she might have been brave enough to ask Efe about his violence towards his wife. While she was with Fiona, she'd felt a blind rage overtaking her, and if Efe had been in the room with them, she might very well have lost it and yelled at him, screamed at him for his unkindness and for not being the person she'd been dreaming he was for years and years. Now, though, faced with him across the table, smiling and looking just as he always did, it was hard to believe that he could be the man Fiona had described to her. She knew she should say something, do something that might possibly help the situation, but she could hear voices outside the kitchen. Chloë and Philip were coming, so that was that.

‘Hiya,' Chloë said, and slumped down into the chair next to Beth, white as a ghost. ‘This is what mornings look like, then. Glad I don't see too many of them. Pass the juice, Efe.'

She ran her hands through her hair and it stood up in spikes. She was wearing baggy jeans, and a T-shirt splotched with paint in various colours and torn in several places.

Efe said, ‘Chloë, are you properly awake? Can you listen a minute?'

He can't, Beth thought. He can't start discussing Reuben Stronsky's offer now, with Chloë still half asleep and Philip already absorbed in the sports pages that Efe had discarded.

‘It's about the Ethan Walsh pictures. Don't you think they ought to be seen by more people? Don't you think Leonora should accept Stronsky's offer?'

‘Not sure, really.' Chloë was pouring milk on her muesli. ‘A museum in the States would be cool. But Willow Court is part of the … you know … the image. You'd lose that.'

‘Does that matter?'

‘Does to Leonora.'

‘But if you had to choose. God, Chloë, I want
someone
on my side. Tell me I'm not crazy.'

‘No, okay. It's a good idea, I suppose. I wouldn't mind a bit of jetting across the Atlantic.'

‘Brilliant!' Efe said. ‘Thanks, really. That's you and me and Fiona and Dad I think. Mum says she's against the whole thing, but I bet she'd come round in the end. What about you, Beth? What do you think?'

Beth longed to be on Efe's side. If she said she was with him on this, Efe would be pleased with her, she knew that. But what would Leonora do if the paintings left the house? What would become of Willow Court? One thing she was quite sure of, it wouldn't be the house it always had been, a fixed point in her life for as long as she could remember.

‘I don't want anything to change at Willow Court. I'm sorry, Efe. I want the pictures to stay where they are.'

Efe's face darkened and he shot her a look of such naked hostility that she felt herself growing pale.

‘Right then,' he said, pushing back his chair and standing up. ‘I'm going out to see if I can help with the chairs and so on. See you.'

He left the room without another word, and Beth immediately felt guilty and as though she'd done something wrong.

‘Don't look like that, Beth,' said Chloë. ‘It's not the end of the world. Not even the middle of the world, really. My dear brother likes everyone to eat out of his hand. You're allowed to disagree with him, you know.'

‘I hate it when he's cross though. Don't you hate it, Chloë?'

‘He can get stuffed,' said Chloë. ‘Don't let him bully you, Beth. He's a bully. He's got Fiona completely under his thumb, but she's a fool.'

Beth was on the point of telling Chloë about her conversation with Fiona in the bathroom, when she
suddenly thought better of it. If his sister didn't know about that side of him then maybe she shouldn't be the one to tell her about it.

‘Chloë, there you are, darling.' Gwen came into the room, looking, Beth thought, like an advertisement for the Ideal Mother. Rilla generally appeared at breakfast in London wrapped in an ancient silk kimono and with her hair all over the place, and Beth marvelled as she always did at the difference between Leonora's daughters. Gwen was wearing black cotton trousers and a pale pink shirt, but the earrings were on, the hair was neatly brushed and the powder and lipstick were in place.