Going Home (10 page)

‘What?’ I said. ‘That’s bollocks. We’re not like that. What do you mean?’
Where were Chin and David going?

‘Well, we are
similar
,’ said Jess, cutting across me. ‘Of course we are, we’re all related. But I’m nothing like…er…Gibbo,’ she concluded triumphantly.

Miles sighed. ‘Oh, Jess, you great mallet. You don’t get the point, do you?’

Jess’s wide blue eyes filled with tears.

‘Don’t be mean, Miles,’ I said. ‘God, you’re evil. Say you’re sorry.’

‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ Miles said, putting a placatory hand on
her sleeve. ‘But you are all the same. You’re as bad as each other. Look at yourselves.’

‘What do you mean we’re all the same?’ Tom asked.

‘No,’ Miles said, after a moment. ‘Forget it. Let’s talk about Norman Gibson.’

‘No, come on,’ Tom said, shifting in his seat, ‘what do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ said Miles, balancing his lighter on top of his cigarette packet, ‘you rush around, doing Walter things, having Walter family love-ins, whooping it up and having a fabulous Walter time, and you never notice what’s going on right under your noses. You’re a dying breed.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ I said, nettled. ‘We’re nothing like that.’

‘Yes, you are,’ said Miles patiently. ‘Look at you. I’ve known you all for – what, more than ten years? And you never learn, any of you. You’re like a heritage exhibition. Here’s Tom, behaving like a three-year-old who’s overdosed on Sunny Delight. And, Lizzy, look at you and my brother. You meet him, you tumble head first in love with him, like a little girl, and you can’t cope with the first sign of trouble. Then there’s Mike. For some reason he decides it’s time he got married, picks up some pair of cashmere boobs with an exhusband and a lucrative pay-packet and gets hitched three nanoseconds later. And Chin, so beautiful and talented, she could do anything she wants, hooks up with a bloke who might possibly be Mr Right, then treats him like shit because she doesn’t know what to do with him if he is.’

He brushed an invisible speck off his coat. ‘Sorry, Jess, you’re right. You’re not a berk compared to them, actually. You’re the sanest of the lot. And you, Gibbo, get out while the going’s good, mate. Run like the wind.’

‘Hey,’ said Tom, half standing, ‘shut up, that’s not fair. You apologize, OK? Don’t talk about my family like that.’

Miles grinned ruefully. ‘I know I’m being harsh, but I’m
playing devil’s advocate. Can’t any of you see it? Does any of you know what I’m talking about?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘No,’ said Jess, rubbing her nose.

‘Me neither,’ said Tom.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Gibbo.

Miles laughed. ‘Look, I’m not trying to stir, I’m just saying it’s great you’re all so close still. Look at the three of us, and Dad, living out in Spain. It’s not exactly Happy Families at our house, like it is for you. But sometimes you can’t see the wood for the trees because you’re all too busy being Walterish together.’

‘But we like being together! We’re a close family!’ Jess cried. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘Nothing at all,’ Miles said. ‘But think about this. If you see a book lying around at Keeper House, I bet all of you’d know who was reading it and whether they liked it. But can any of you tell me what’s up with the roof that’s so bad your father has to go and see a solicitor in town about it as soon as possible after Christmas?’

‘It’s a leak,’ said Tom promptly.

‘Yes, a leak,’ Jess and I agreed.

‘That’s it?’ said Miles. ‘Is it dangerous? Does the roof need replacing? Whose fault is it? Whereabouts is it?’

We were silent. Tom frowned. I didn’t know what to say. A cold, slinking worm of fear slithered through me, starting in my stomach. I thought of Dad last night at supper, grating pepper and fiddling with his fork. He’d be back soon, surely, and then I could ask him. Suddenly I wanted to see him very much.

Gibbo piped up, from the end of the table, ‘Well, whatever. I think they’re great. And…well,’ he coughed, self-consciously, ‘I’d be happy to be uncle to any of you three.’

‘Gibbo!’ I said, flushed with warmth. ‘That’s so nice. We’d
love you to be our uncle. Frankly, you’d be a lot better than our new aunt.’

‘I like Rosalie,’ said Tom, uncomfortably.

Miles chuckled and stood up. ‘I’ll get some more drinks. Same again?’

‘I know you do,’ I said, when Miles had gone, ‘but come on, Tom, there’s something going on with her, isn’t there? I don’t trust her.’

‘Me either,’ said Jess. ‘I saw her looking at the back of the grandfather clock yesterday after supper. She was looking at the date, really closely, trying to work out how much it was worth.’

‘Jeez,’ I said. I thought of telling them that I’d seen her in the study on Christmas Day but something stopped me.

‘I heard her asking your mum if she’d thought of taking in paying guests, like a B and B,’ said Gibbo.

‘No
,’ I said.

‘Well, not like a B and B,’ he said. ‘It was more like making it a luxury hotel. But your mum laughed and told her they’d never do that.’

‘So I should bloody think,’ said Jess. ‘The nerve of the woman! She’s funny, isn’t she?’

‘You’re telling me,’ Tom said. ‘Still, she’s mad about Mike. And it’d be fun to go and stay with them in New York, wouldn’t it? The apartment sounds amazing.’

Miles appeared with the drinks, and sat down next to me.

‘How are you, Miles?’ I said. ‘Apart from annoying. I haven’t seen you for ages.’

Miles took a sip of his beer. ‘I know. I was thinking the same thing. It’s been frantic, especially at work – sure it has for you too.’

‘Well – yep,’ I said, knowing this was a competition I’d lose as Miles works all the hours God sends. ‘I hope you’re having a good break, anyway.’

‘Absolutely,’ Miles said. He looked at me quizzically. ‘It’s great to be home.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It must be lovely for your mum to have both of you with her.’

‘She sends her love, by the way.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Give her a kiss from me. I love your mum.’

‘Well, she loves you,’ Miles said. ‘I’m just sorry things are so weird between the House of Eliot and Keeper House at the moment. You know, she’d love to see you. You should pop in and say hello. Maybe next time you’re down.’

I thought about this as Tom and Gibbo started up another whispered conference, Tom seeming distracted, Gibbo menacing, or as close to menacing as he can get without the effort of frowning. ‘Ye-es,’ I said eventually. Alice was the ideal mother of a boyfriend. As far as I could tell, she had no agenda whatsoever, other than that a glass of wine is a nice thing to greet your guests with when they walk through the door. She was blonde, little and pretty, obsessed with reality TV shows and ready-made meals from Marks and Sparks, and when David and Miles’s cheating father finally slung his hook, she had thrown a party in the village. The memory of it still makes people wince as if remembering the accompanying White Russian-induced hangover. She was a part of my life that I had lost when David and I split up. I knew I wouldn’t go to see her. It was just too weird, and I couldn’t stand the idea that she might think I was being polite. I liked her much more than most other people, but that was the way it had to be.

‘You never know,’ Miles said, chewing a nail, ‘if you went to see Mum, or dropped her an email, it might diffuse some of the tension you feel about it all. Does that make sense?’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘Anyway, it’s just a suggestion. So, yeah. When are we
going to meet up, then? New Year? Let’s go out and get hammered like the old days.’

‘The old days when all it took to get us drunk was sharing a rum and Coke?’

‘Yes.’ Miles took another sip. ‘I’m joining a club in the New Year so I’ll take you there. But in the meantime there’s a real old men’s pub in a mews off Great Portland Street – went there the other day. It’s tiny. Does amazing beer. That’s quite near where you work, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a good memory.’

‘It’s not that. I’ve got a kind of magnetic needle that can identify the nearest good pub to anyone’s place of work,’ said Miles, with some pride.

‘No way!’ Gibbo said.

I looked at Miles and raised my eyebrows – a code that tried to say, ‘Please sort this situation out.’

Miles, raised his at me, then put his elbows on the table. ‘Oi, listen, Gibbo,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about this. I think I know what you’ve got to say to Chin.’

I smiled at Jess and tapped the side of my nose. ‘Watch and learn,’ I whispered.

‘What?’ said Gibbo eagerly.

‘Tell her you’re going back to Australia and she’ll never see you again and that she can just get lost. That’ll make her see sense.’

Tom sat forward. ‘Hey, that’s a good idea.’

‘Yeah,’ Gibbo agreed. ‘
Great
idea, mate. Good one.’

‘Give her a flight number and stuff, make it look authentic.’

‘Yeah, and ask her if she can come round to help with your packing. You can unpack it afterwards if she comes. She’ll be in pieces. It’ll work like a charm.’

They clinked glasses.

‘Great one, Miles!’

‘Thanks a lot!’

Jess and I exchanged a glance. This was Miles’s great plan. The one that was so full of cunning and daring that Chin would fall right back into Gibbo’s arms. Men. How crap.

‘Shall we get out the battle-wagon?’ asked Tom, as we reached the house, now shrouded in darkness. ‘For old times’ sake?’

The best thing that had happened on the Awful Christmas was when Grandfather tapped Jess and me on the shoulder as we huddled together on the sofa in our scratchy Mothercare dresses, feeling miserable, and holding us each by the hand he led us out into the bitter cold. Our grandfather was exactly as a grandfather should be; twinkly-eyed, interested and interesting. He could fix anything, from a bicycle bell to a fuse and, of course, he made fantastic scrambled eggs. As we walked through the kitchen garden, clinging to his hands, we begged him to tell us what he was going to show us. He took us through the rows of cabbages and potatoes towards the old shed, tucked against the kitchen-garden wall.

‘Here we go,’ Grandfather said, fishing out his enormous key-ring. He flattened his thumb against each key in turn, flicking them aside as he looked for the right one. When he finally unlocked the door Jess and I peered in and gasped.

There, in the shed, was the most amazing contraption, a
metal tin on four wheels with a long handle to pull it along or steer it. Its red paint gleamed at us through the gloom. The wheel hubs were a bright, snappy yellow. Jess jumped straight into it.

‘Your father, Mike and Tony used to play in this when they were young,’ said Grandfather, as I climbed in after her and he took the handle to roll us out. ‘It’s called the battle-wagon.’ He squatted on the grass next to us. ‘You’re here now and I thought it would be nice for you two to play in it.’

We spent the rest of the Christmas holidays in the iron-hard, frost-covered meadow, with Tom when he was better, steering wildly and screaming with excitement. The following summer we made a train line that stretched round the garden, and took it in turns to pull the others round, calling at each stop in turn and picking up the teddies and dolls we’d put there as passengers. I shook my head wistfully. ‘Too many gin and tonics,’ I said wistfully.

‘I know what you mean,’ said Jess, then opened the old wooden gate and stood aside as we trooped in. I could see no sign of life: everyone was still out. ‘What time are you going back to London tomorrow, Tom?’ she asked, as I unlocked the door and we stepped into the house, flicking on the lights in the hall.

‘Morning,’ said Tom, picking up a newspaper. ‘And I won’t stay long now. I want to get back to Mum’s to pack and spend the evening with her. Ooh, Prince William.’ He flung himself on to the sofa in the sitting room.

I turned to find Gibbo behind me, not knowing what to do. ‘Why don’t you go and make some tea?’ I suggested.

‘Good idea,’ he said, and disappeared towards the kitchen.

I picked up a letter on the hall table and wandered after him, unsure what I was going to do. The woolliness of the gin was wearing off. Why had David and Chin met up when
was he flying back to New York soon? In the cool of the darkened passage I leaned against the wall and inhaled deeply, trying not to get upset now that I was on my own. I’d seen him again. I stood quietly, listening to Gibbo humming under his breath as he put the kettle on, and Jess and Tom chatting in the sitting room. Jess was lighting a fire – I could hear the dull thud of logs falling into the grate.

I couldn’t imagine that Chin was doing the dirty behind my back. It was unthinkable. And seeing Miles always brought back memories of David.

‘Er…Lizzy?’ Gibbo’s voice came tentatively from the kitchen. ‘Shall I get out the rest of the Christmas cake? Lizzy?’

I heard a car in the near distance and looked out of the window, pretty sure that it was Mum and Dad’s. It was, and I could see them talking with the interior light on. Then Dad opened the door and got out. My lovely parents, I thought, my heart swelling. The roof. Must ask them about the roof. Suddenly I realized this was my last night at home too. I’d persuade Tom to stay and get Kate to come up here instead. We’d have a proper family supper, lots of wine, perhaps a game afterwards. Maybe I could even persuade Mike to show Gibbo how he could walk up walls, like Donald O’Connor in
Singin’ In The Rain
– he hadn’t done it for ages. Not since the broken ankle, anyway.

Hurrah. I was still here, we were all still here. Were our problems so bad we couldn’t sort them out and get on with it? No, of course not.

I heard Mum and Dad walking through the courtyard, Dad throwing the car keys up in the air. They jangled as he caught them, and I remembered Christmas Eve, just before Mike had arrived with Rosalie. How long ago that seemed now. I went to open the door and Gibbo glided behind me,
carrying the tea tray.

‘It’s Mum and Dad,’ I heard Jess cry from the sitting room.

Our front door is heavy and old. As I heaved it open, I said ‘Hello, how’s the roof? Is it in the…’ But the words died on my lips when I saw their faces.

‘Not now, Lizzy darling,’ said Mum, as Dad shuffled past me without saying anything. ‘We just need to discuss something. Give us five minutes. Ooh, you’ve made the tea, Gibbo. Bless you. Where’s Chin?’

‘Out,’ I said, fear rising. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing, we just need to…Where’s Mike? And Rosalie?’

‘I don’t know, Mum. They’ve been out all day.’

Mum took off her hat and fluffed up her hair. ‘I’ll be along in a minute. Don’t worry, darling, Dad’s fine. It’s…’ her voice faded away. ‘We’re fine.’

I was left in the hall, gazing after them as they disappeared into the study and shut the door. A floorboard creaked and all was silent again. I couldn’t wait out here so I went into the sitting room, chewing a painful hangnail.

Tom was in the doorway, obviously having seen everything. His face was set, eyes hooded. ‘They’ll be out in a minute? What’s it about?’

I shook my head.

Gibbo was on the sofa reading the local paper. I sat down in a battered armchair and Tom put a cup of tea for me on the low bookshelf that ran along the wall beside me. I smiled at him, and he grimaced, then smiled back. We were in this together.

Next to the teacup was a photo of Dad, Tony and Mike as teenagers, all huge ears, buck teeth and long spindly legs, with a chubby, long-haired, gorgeous little Chin. The boys were leaning over with their hands on their knees, smiling, and Chin was holding up a teddy bear at the camera. The house was in the background, and in the top left corner an
open window flashed as it caught the sun. My grandmother was leaning out, a tiny figure, waving. It’s one of my favourite photographs. I picked it up and looked at it, drinking in every detail. Mum and Dad were talking loudly in the study.

Suddenly there were footsteps across the courtyard again. The door swung open and Chin appeared. She looked defiantly at Gibbo, who tossed his (slightly matted) hair and went back to reading the
Wareham and Crozier Gazette
, with the apparent concentration of one for whom every page holds the location of buried treasure.

I looked at Chin through narrowed eyes. ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Where’s Mike?’ she said grimly.

‘He’s gone into town,’ said Jess, getting up. ‘Hello, Aunty dearest, have you had a nice day? Have some tea.’ She poured a cup and handed it to Chin, who still stood in the centre of the room.

‘Are John and Suzy back? I’ve got to find Mike. This is terrible,’ she said.

‘What is, Chin?’ said Tom, alert.

‘I’ve just had a drink with David Eliot,’ Chin said, turning to me.

‘I
knew
it!’ said Gibbo, throwing down the paper. ‘I
knew
you would!’

‘Shut
up
, Gibbo!’ said Tom. ‘Of course you knew she did! We saw her, you complete idiot!’

‘You saw me?’ said Chin. ‘When?’

‘In the Neptune. We were in the Radcliffe. We saw you both arrive,’ said Jess wearily. ‘Gibbo and Lizzy both think you’re having a secret affair. Me and Tom don’t. Chin, did you know his real name was Norman Gibson?’

Chin spluttered. Drops of tea flew out of her cup and into the fire, where they hissed on the logs. She glared at
Gibbo. ‘Of course I’m not having an affair with him! Please! Sometimes I wonder if growing all that hair takes up space in your brain.’

‘You snobbish, stuck-up, thinks-a-scarf-is-a-really-important-work-of-art spoilt little princess!’ yelled Gibbo, leaping to his feet.

‘Yes,’ said Chin, holding up her hand. ‘Look, Gibbo, I don’t have time for this now. We’ll sort it out later.’ Suddenly she looked tired. ‘We will. We both know that, frankly, you’re lucky to get me. Do sit down. Honestly.’

Gibbo did as he was told, rather more relaxed. ‘Maybe. But you know why you’re with me too, you randy little whore.’

Chin blushed and almost giggled.

‘Oh, God,’ said Tom, covering his ears. ‘Please don’t talk about your sex life. I’m begging you.’

‘I’ll go with that,’ said Jess.

The door opened again, and in came Dad. My heart contracted. I seemed to see him properly for the first time in years. His hair wasn’t the light brown I’d always known it to be: it was grey. He stooped. Suddenly he looked about twenty years older. He rested his hand on the old dresser where we kept the family photographs, and looked as if he was trying to work out what to say. ‘I’m afraid there’s been some rather bad news,’ he began.

Mum came in behind him, and caught hold of his sleeve. She had been crying.

I looked round at everyone: Chin, now sitting next to Gibbo on the sofa, underneath the watercolour sketch of my great-great-grandmother who looked so like her; Tom, sliding his tiny mobile phone over and under his fingers; and Jess, her curly hair bobbing up and down as she nodded at Dad.

‘It’s rather complicated, and I still can’t quite believe it, but…to cut a long story short, I’ve done something
incredibly stupid. Well, several incredibly stupid things.’

Mum seemed about to say something, but my father gently eased away her hand in a protective, rather than dismissive gesture. He stopped and stared at the floor.

‘I’m afraid we’ve got to sell Keeper House. As soon as possible,’ he said.