Going Home (20 page)

‘Anyway, listen,’ he said. But I’d had enough.

I said softly, ‘No, David, you listen to me. Don’t ever,
ever
call me again and don’t
ever
talk like that about my uncle or anyone in my family. I’m glad Rosalie’s moved in with you. She didn’t waste much time, did she?’ I took another deep breath. ‘It shows the kind of person she is. I never really liked her – none of us did. So you’re welcome
to her. In fact I could almost say you deserve each other. I’m putting the phone down now.’

I turned it off. I was shaking so much I had to sit down again.

The next day I went home.

Kate had said she’d meet me off the train on her way home from the butcher’s. I stood waiting for her outside the red-brick station, shivering and rueing my decision to wear my new pale blue, rather thin spring coat (not appropriate here but Lovely! Tweedy, a frayed trim with large pockets but very slimming). As Kate’s battered Mini Metro came into view round the corner and pulled up in front of me I clapped my hands together in relief.

‘Freezing, isn’t it?’ I said, once we were on our way to the house.

Kate didn’t answer. She chewed her lip as she negotiated a tricky T-junction. She hates needless yabber, as she would say.

I tried my luck once more. ‘Any news from Mike?’ I asked hopefully.

‘Nope, nothing,’ she said briefly.

We drove along various lanes in silence. The banks and hedgerows were coming to life again: the daffodils were out in force and pale yellow primroses were dotted beside the road. I felt strangely calm to be going home, despite the big deal I’d made about it. Don’t think about it now, think about
it later. Think about it before Chin’s wedding, worry about it then, I’d told myself, as winter slid into spring and time ran out. Now, driving along the roads I knew so well, with the sun shining in through the windscreen, I wondered how I could have stayed away so long when soon I wouldn’t be going to Keeper House ever again. It seemed stupid beyond belief.

We turned the last corner, and I could see the side of the house opening up before me. Kate slowed to let another car go past, a flashy black jeep with bull bars and blacked-out windows. It screeched to a halt just past us as we turned right, and someone yelled, ‘Mrs Walter! Hey, Mrs Walter!’

Kate stopped, and we both turned. Two long, rather bony white legs appeared from the jeep. ‘Oi! Mrs Walter! God, these bloody shoes…’ Suddenly the legs slipped out on to the muddy road, followed by the unmistakable surgically enhanced torso and face of SOKH’s evil nemesis, Simone (née Sarah) Caldwell. She was wearing a red Lycra miniskirt, black platform wedges, and a huge black padded jacket, like bouncers wear outside nightclubs. Even at school, Simone had been a stranger to leisurewear. She had her car keys and a mobile phone in one hand, and a little boy in the other.

‘Oh, Mrs Walter,’ she said, hurrying towards us. She peered in through my window at Kate. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you.’

I could see the front door of Keeper House opening, and I didn’t want Simone to notice. What was she doing here?

The boy under her arm whimpered.

‘Shut it, Dior,’ she said. ‘Now, which one are you? I’m so sorry about this, my memory’s terrible. Stu’s always saying to me, “Simone, your memory’s terrible.”’

Kate was looking at her with something akin to horror, mixed with alarm. ‘I’m Kate,’ she said.

‘Are you the one whose husband died?’ Simone asked tenderly, leaning over me. Kate nodded. ‘So…you were married to – what was his name?’

‘Tony.’

‘That must have been awful. Was it awful?’

Kate nodded again. ‘Well, er, yes,’ she said.

‘Look, I’m sorry to bother you,’ Simone said, shifting Dior on her hip. ‘Shut up, all right? I just wanted to see if I could pop round again some time to have a look at the upstairs so I can start thinking up ideas, get a feel for what needs doing.’

‘What you think needs doing, you mean,’ Kate said pointedly.

‘Yeah, that’s it. But I don’t want to intrude, OK? So I was just driving past to see if anyone was in, you know. Is now a good time?’

‘No!’ I said suddenly, making Kate jump. I wanted to punch Simone’s stupid face in. How dare she be hanging around outside, like a vulture? I smiled at her briefly. ‘Now’s not a good time, Simone.’

‘Well, when will be a good time?’ Simone said.

‘I’ll get Mum to give you a call,’ I said. ‘’Bye.’

‘OK, that’d be great,’ Simone said, unperturbed.

I pressed the button and closed the window. ‘That was a bit rude,’ Kate said. She drove on, leaving Simone waving and smiling in the middle of the road.

Stupid Simone, the horrible, silly witch.

Kate pulled into the drive and stopped the car. I gazed up at the front of the house, trying to recall what it had felt like to come back before all this, at Christmas. Why couldn’t I remember? It looked the same as ever, welcoming, mellow, beautifully proportioned, generous, tidy and sprawling at the same time, but somehow completely different, as if already it didn’t belong to us, as if it wasn’t our home any more.

Mum and Dad had heard the car and were waiting by the door, Dad with his arm round Mum. As I got out they came rushing over. I gave them each a big hug. The gravel crunched beneath my feet, the old familiar sound.

‘Who was that?’ said Dad.

Kate might be scary but she’s not a snitch. ‘Simone Caldwell. She wonders if maybe you could call her. She wants to pop round later this week to have a look upstairs.’

‘Again?’ Dad said. ‘Good grief. Why doesn’t she just move in now?’

‘She’d like that, John,’ Kate said. ‘She’s got a crush on you, I’ve always thought so.’

‘No, she hasn’t,’ Dad said stoutly.

‘Of course she has,’ Mum said. ‘How many times did she come to look round the house? Three. And each time she followed John from room to room, looking like – oh, I don’t know. Me at a Kinks concert. Waah! Oh, John!’

She and Kate dissolved into hysterical laughter at the idea that anyone could have a crush on poor Dad. Suddenly I remembered that he’d found Simone once, when she was a teenager, drunk and unconscious in the hedge by the bus-stop down the road from Keeper House. He had brought her back, stuck her head under the tap and given her some strong black coffee. For this reason he had earned himself her undying devotion, and this was why Mum was convinced she had a wee crush on him. Perhaps it was also for this reason that she’d decided her greatest wish was to live in the house where her greatest humiliation had taken place.

‘Well, enough of that,’ said Mum. ‘It’s nearly time for lunch so let’s have a drink. Oh, it’s lovely to see you.’

Dad followed her and they disappeared into the kitchen. Kate went to park the car round the side, and I was left alone in the hall. After the jangle of the Tube, the rattle of the train and the bangs and thumps of Kate’s car, the sudden
silence was deafening. I could hear my heart thumping. I looked up to the window by the stairs, where the sun poured in, casting an amber shadow on the wooden boards where I stood. Dust motes danced in each shaft of light. Through the window I could see the other arm of the house to the right, and the rows of green shrubby lavender. In the near distance I could just make out the lichen-covered cherub statue that stood at the centre of the walled garden.

Well, I was back where I’d wanted to be all along. Why wasn’t it enough? What had I been expecting, when Kate’s car turned into the drive and I saw my home again after three months away? That everything would feel better again? Next to me, the grandfather clock ticked quietly, but I felt as if time was standing still, that this moment would stay with me for ever.

I was glad I’d come back, but I had no idea how I was going to tell Mum and Dad about Rosalie. The back of my jaw tensed and I gritted my teeth. Well, I thought, as I swallowed hard and wiped my nose, let’s get on with it, girl. I picked up my overnight bag and felt like Julie Andrews arriving at Captain von Trapp’s enormous Schloss.

Kate appeared behind me. ‘What are you doing, standing in the hall like you’ve seen a ghost?’ she said, placing her car keys on the hall table with a clatter. She pulled open the poppers on her battered green Husky jacket and hung it on the coat rack, as I watched. It was cold in the hall, though the sun was bright. It was too early in the year for the house to have properly warmed up yet, and Dad would still light a fire in the evening. But the cold didn’t bother Kate. She slapped her hands against her thighs.

‘I’ll go and sit down,’ I said, suddenly feeling like a spare part. I wandered into the sitting room, where the afternoon sun had not yet penetrated. It was dark and chilly, and I pulled the curtains a little further back. As I did so, I remembered
Mike’s face appearing at the window on Christmas Eve, and the shadowy figure behind him who would cause so much trouble. Poor Mike. Grey ash from a previous fire, probably the night before, lay in the grate. A forgotten coffee cup stood by the fender. I picked it up and placed it on the table as the door opened and Mum came in with some wine. ‘I made a quiche,’ she said hopefully.

‘Lovely,’ I said, although the thought of food made me feel ill.

Mum handed me a glass. ‘Dad’s just coming,’ she said.

Kate appeared at the door. ‘Come in, Kate, sit down,’ Mum said.

‘Oh, Suzy…’ Kate hesitated. ‘Shall I just go and start the greens?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Mum said firmly. ‘It’s all under control. Lizzy, darling,’ she continued, ‘when are you going back?’

‘In the morning, Mum. I’ve got to go to work.’

‘Oh. I’d thought you might be able to take tomorrow off.’

‘I didn’t know I was coming,’ I said. ‘I told you on the phone. I can’t just take tomorrow off without giving anyone any warning.’

‘Couldn’t you pretend to be ill? We haven’t seen you for such a long time, darling.’

‘Mum!’ I said. ‘You’re a doctor! You can’t go around suggesting people skive off work!’

Mum looked crestfallen. ‘Chin’s coming down next weekend to measure the garden again,’ she said.

‘I’ll be down then too,’ I said, ‘if that’s OK. And the weekend after that – I’ve got a couple of days’ holiday spare so perhaps I could make it a long weekend. Help you with the preparations, and everything.’

Mum smiled radiantly at me. ‘Oh, Lizzy, that would be wonderful. I just think you’ll regret it if you don’t spend as much time here as you can before we have to go. Jess is
coming next week for ten days. She’s doing a project up here and she gets two weeks off to do it.’

‘God. Students!’ Kate muttered.

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Perhaps Tom’ll come too.’

‘He is,’ Mum said.

Of course he was. I’d been so selfish cutting myself off from the house and my parents since the sale had happened.

‘How’s Miles?’ Mum said. ‘Have you seen him recently?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I had him round to supper the other night, actually. With Tom and Jess. David, too. It was nice.’

‘Oh!’ said Mum, looking amazed. ‘Uh-huh. David – that’s nice. How is he?’

‘He was fine,’ I said nonchalantly. ‘He only came because he was over for the weekend, staying with Miles.’

‘Righty-ho,’ Mum said. ‘Well, that’s lovely. God, this bloody radiator.’ She leaped up unexpectedly. ‘It bangs and bangs and absolutely no heat comes out of it. What’s wrong with it?’

‘It’s the boiler,’ Dad said, appearing in the doorway. ‘I give up. It’s the Caldwells’ problem now, not ours.’

‘Lucky them,’ Mum said. ‘Two months’ time, and I’ll have a boiler that works. Imagine that!’

‘Mum!’ I said, shocked at such sacrilege.

‘That was Mike,’ Dad said, sitting down.

‘Oh, really?’ said Mum.

‘I didn’t hear the phone ring,’ Kate said, looking startled.

‘You were still outside,’ Dad told her.

‘What did he say?’ Mum said.

‘How did he sound?’ Kate said.

‘OK,’ Dad said. ‘Actually, not great. Still no news, I told him.’

This was the moment I should speak up, I thought, and say what I’d come to say. But my heart quailed. It was just too awful – and I’d probably got it all wrong. I couldn’t
just tap my glass with a pen and say, ‘I have an announcement. I think we should get Mike on speaker phone for this. I have a strong suspicion that his wife of two months has shacked up with my ex-boyfriend.’

‘Poor Mike,’ was all I said.

‘And poor Rosalie,’ Mum said.

‘Not poor Rosalie,’ I said.

‘Well,’ Mum said hurriedly, ‘I think we can eat. Come on through, darling. How’s work?’

Dad struggled out of his chair again, grumbling, and we walked through to the dining room. It was so strange being back there in the dark cold house, these three adults and me feeling like someone they’d just invited in off the street. Already it wasn’t the home I’d grown up in. Something was missing.

‘Work’s good, thanks,’ I said, and stopped. You can always tell if people are asking out of interest or just want a marker that the question’s been asked.

‘When Tom was here last week he was saying something about you having a trip to LA,’ said Mum, as she brought in a tray from the kitchen. ‘John, napkins.’

‘Shall I get the mustard, Suzy?’ Kate said.

‘Oh, yes, please,’ Mum said, placing the quiche on the table. ‘Salt and pepper, too, thanks.’

‘Yes,’ I said, putting some bread on Dad’s plate.

‘Knife?’ Kate said, popping her head round the door.

‘Long trip?’ Dad said, handing me a napkin.

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘How long’s long?’ Mum said, slicing the quiche up. ‘Can you toss the salad?’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ I said, grabbing the salad servers. ‘It’d be exciting, though, wouldn’t it?’

‘Ooh, yes,’ said Mum. ‘I’d love to go to California. Beryl and Graham Edwards went last autumn on a tour of the
wine-growing region. They stayed in San Francisco for a few days afterwards. It’s a beautiful part of the world, you know. Absolutely stunning, they said.’ My mother is one of the few people I know who can take a job offer at a film studio in sleazy, smoggy, eight-lane-highway LA and turn it into Beryl and Graham’s vineyard tour complete with souvenir tea-towels. I handed her the salad.

‘Well, that’s exciting,’ Dad said. ‘Would you be able to have some holiday afterwards?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Really, it’s up in the air at the moment. This quiche looks delicious, Mum. So, the bungalow – that’s all going OK, is it?’

‘Yep,’ said Dad, briefly. ‘Survey’s fine, couple of problems with the electrics, but we got them sorted out. We should be in there by June, all being well.’

His words echoed around the large, empty room where at Christmas we’d been scrunched up together along the table, nudging each other for lack of space. I shivered.

‘Are you cold, darling?’ Mum said.