Hidden Cottage (40 page)
Tears had filled her eyes and she’d said, ‘It wasn’t your fault. You mustn’t ever think it is.’
But all he could think about on his way to school was that he was to blame. He should never have told his mother about Gretchen and Lillian.
Life was full of innumerable shades of regret and wrongly taken paths, Owen thought now as he decided it was warm enough to drink his coffee outside. One never learnt, so it seemed.
Common sense and a fully working moral compass would have made it all too clear that he and Mia were a regret waiting to happen; they should never have embarked on an affair. And he was to blame. He was the principal guilty participant, for he was the one who had encouraged Mia to be unfaithful to her husband. He knew she would never leave Jeff now; Daisy’s tragic death would bind them together even more so. From here on, it would be how they would be defined as a couple: the couple whose daughter died in a car crash.
Outside on the veranda, Putin was standing on the top step, as if waiting for Owen. Seeing him, the bird stretched its neck and eyed him in his usual suspicious and belligerent manner.
Pushing his hands into his pockets, Owen looked out at the garden and to the lake. Whenever he pictured Mia, he didn’t see the Mia who had leant back in the boat with her eyes closed, or the Mia who had described herself as feeling drunk with happiness, or the Mia who’d lain in bed with him, her eyes luminous with desire. Instead he recalled the Mia the day of the funeral, the Mia with the haunting blankness in her eyes. He didn’t think he would ever forget the chilling coldness to her words when she said whatever had taken place between them had been a mistake.
He had reasoned that shock and grief had fuelled her decision, and he still stood by that. But he now reasoned that it would probably never change, because a parent never truly gets over the shock of losing a child. Mia would learn to live with the loss, but she would never get over it. It would always be there for her.
When he thought of what might have been between the two of them, a dull ache pressed heavily on his spirits and he became jittery with a restless energy. He felt it now and knew the best way to rid himself of it was to pour that energy into playing the piano.
Two hours later, when he was all played out and feeling more his normal self, he went to pick some runner beans.
It seemed nothing short of a miracle that the plants he’d bought from Georgina at the fete had not only survived his inexpert care, but had produced an extraordinary quantity of beans. What was more, they were edible. He had picked a large bowlful when he heard a voice. ‘
Yoo-hoo!
’
‘I know that voice,’ he said, when Muriel appeared round the corner of the house wheeling her bicycle.
‘I should hope you do. And I’m very glad to find you at home in your splendid idyll far from the madding crowd.’
He watched her prop her bicycle against the wall. ‘And why’s that?’ he asked. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘It’s more a matter of what I can do for you,’ she said, coming over and inspecting the bowl of beans in his hands. ‘Not bad,’ she said, turning them over, ‘not bad at all for a legume virgin.’
‘Praise indeed,’ he said with a smile. ‘So what is it you can do for me?’
‘I’m going to make you a star, Owen Fletcher.’
He laughed. ‘Does that mean you’re going to lure me onto your casting couch and have your wicked way with me?’
‘I certainly hope so. Why else would I have volunteered to be artistic director?’
‘My, that’s a very grand title.’
‘I’m a very grand woman. Here,’ she said, after opening a canvas bag and digging around in it, ‘this month’s parish magazine.’ She slapped it on top of the beans.
‘Thank you. And would your visit have something to do with roping me in for the talent show?’
‘The nail and hitting it on the head springs to mind.’
‘Now, Muriel, I have to warn you – this is the bit where I go all coy and say, oh, but I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Yes, and this is the bit when I twist your arm. Very hard. And in response you say, Muriel, I’d love to participate – where do I sign?’
‘Mmm . . . I had a nasty feeling that would be your position. What exactly do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing too awful. I thought you could tinkle the ivories for us.’
He looked at her sceptically. ‘Just that? Nothing else?’
‘Well, you might like to add a few colourful flourishes. Make it a performance, you know, entertain the troops.’
‘You mean dress up and make a fool of myself?’
She beamed. ‘Got it in one!’
‘Are we talking Bobby Crush meets Liberace, by any chance?’
‘Owen, it’s as if you’re a mind reader.’
‘And on that bombshell, how about I make us a drink and you can tell me more about the show and what it entails?’
They sat on the veranda and once they had discussed the show – with Owen happily offering his services – the conversation inevitably turned to Mia. It was inevitable because that was what Owen wanted and he deliberately steered the conversation in that direction, wanting Muriel’s take on what was currently going on at Medlar House.
‘Frankly, I’m worried about Mia,’ Muriel said. ‘I know it’s still early days, but she hardly leaves the house and if she does, it’s only to cross the green to Parr’s or to go and see Jensen and co.’
‘She’s working, though, isn’t she?’
‘Oh yes, and that’s mainly down to Tattie stepping in and helping to get things on the move again.’
‘What about Jeff? How’s he coping?’
‘I haven’t seen him in weeks, not since he decided the compassionate leave he’d been given served no purpose and went back to work in Brussels. In my opinion it was the best thing he could do. One simply has to get back into the saddle and get on with life. The sooner Mia realizes that, the better.’ She waved a hand vaguely about her and added, ‘You’re probably thinking I sound unreasonable and hard-hearted, but life goes on, it really does.’
‘Mia will get there,’ Owen said with more certainty than he felt. ‘We all need to be patient with her.’
Muriel eyed him over her mug of coffee and he was reminded of Putin looking at him earlier that morning. He suddenly felt dangerously exposed, as if Muriel might know – or suspect – something he’d rather she didn’t. Or was he imagining things? Surely Muriel couldn’t possibly know anything?
He was relieved to escape her scrutiny when he heard the telephone ringing. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, quickly up on his feet and shooting inside the house before she could extract a confession from him.
The phone call was from a woman in the village enquiring about piano lessons for her son. He jotted down the details and suggested a time when the mother and son could call in to meet him.
Back outside, not wanting to risk any further beady-eyed looks from Muriel by resuming the discussion about Mia, he leant against the wooden balustrade of the veranda and looked out at the lake. ‘That’s the third enquiry I’ve had this week about piano lessons,’ he remarked casually.
‘The floodgates are opening!’ Muriel responded with a hearty bark of laughter.
He turned round. ‘A steady trickle, more like it.’
‘You wait, you’ll have an army of love-struck women wanting to learn before too long.’
He smiled. ‘Then you’d better get in quick while I still have a free slot for you.’
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Owen, I like to think you’ll always have time available for me. Now remind me, when do you go on that music course in London? It won’t interfere with the talent show, will it?’
‘It’s next month, third week of October, and it’s only for one day with the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music.’
‘I say, now who’s throwing grand titles around? But I thought you were talking about a teaching diploma? Surely that can’t be done in a day?’
‘That comes later.’
‘Is it all really necessary when you’re getting the pupils by word of mouth already?’
‘True, but if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly. Besides, I passed Grade Eight a long time ago and feel I owe it to anyone I teach to be fully up to speed on all fronts. Including the theory side of things.’
‘I’m intrigued – why did you never follow a career in music when you were younger? Why did you go into business?’
‘Back then I was more interested in making money. Money represented security and stability. And I wanted a ton of it. Two tons of it, given the chance.’
‘Well,’ Muriel said, hauling herself out of the chair and getting to her feet, ‘I think we can safely say you achieved that ambition, and some. But then I doubt you do anything by half, do you?’
Seeing her off, Owen was left with the uneasy feeling that Muriel’s remark had been loaded with subtext. But what exactly?
While Tattie walked Madison to school, and before he started work, Jensen went to see his mother, hoping to catch her before she opened up the barn.
The space on the drive where her car used to be parked was empty; his mother was in no hurry to find a replacement. For Jensen, the empty space was a stark reminder of the accident. He could recall very little of the crash, other than blindingly bright lights and the sudden and terrifyingly violent sensation of being crushed. Now and again, often when he was about to fall asleep, his brain tried to fill in the blanks with a kaleidoscope of distorted images and sounds. They could be real, or more likely, as he was inclined to believe, they were the product of his overactive imagination. He had absolutely no way of knowing for sure.
He gave a cursory knock on the back door at Medlar House and let himself in. With no sign of Mum in the kitchen he went looking for her, wondering how she would take the news that he and Tattie were now planning to get married. He was worried that she would think it inappropriate so soon after Daisy’s death, but whatever her opinion he had to tell her today because odds on, and despite telling her it was a secret until Mia knew, Madison would probably tell Beth at school and before long everyone would know. Ideally he should have told his mother over the weekend, but with Dad around he’d decided against it. He wanted to share the news with Mum first. On her own.
The impulse to get married had come to Jensen, not surprisingly, after coming so close to his own mortality. When you really had no idea if you were about to experience your final day on earth, you might just as well go for broke while you could, he had concluded. Not the most romantic of reasons to get married, but what counted was that he loved Tattie and wanted to be with her, so why not go the whole way and make things official? When he’d asked her to marry him, it hadn’t been a properly thought-out proposal, more a spur-of-the-moment saying aloud what he’d been thinking for some weeks. He’d been brushing his teeth in the bathroom and wiping his mouth on a towel, he had then wandered through to the bedroom where Tattie was reading a cookery book. ‘You know what we should do?’ he’d said.
‘Hmm . . .’ she’d responded absently, not looking up from the book.
‘We should get married.’
That did catch her attention and giving him one of her long and steady looks, she had asked him why.
‘Because I love you,’ he’d said, ‘because there’s no one I’d rather be with for the rest of my life.’
Her face had broken into a smile and she’d said, ‘Good answer, JC.’
‘And yours?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think I’m suddenly too scared to think what it might be.’
She’d pulled him down onto the bed and kissed him. ‘Yes, I’d love for you to be my husband. And for me to be your wife.’ She’d kissed him again and then laughing, she’d burst out, ‘My God, that sounds so grown up!’
‘We
are
grown up.’
Suddenly serious, she’d said, ‘But we need to discuss it with Madison.’
‘Understood,’ he’d replied.
He found his mother upstairs in Daisy’s old room. She was standing at the foot of the bed in front of a pile of neatly folded clothes. She turned, saw him in the doorway and looked startled.
‘I did call out to you,’ he said.
‘I didn’t hear,’ she said, her voice no more than a whisper.
‘Should you be doing this?’ He indicated the folded clothes and the black bin liner in her hands.
‘It’s got to be done. These are things Daisy left here a long time ago.’
‘Does Dad know what you’re doing?’
‘No.’
‘Is that wise? I thought he kept this room locked when he wasn’t here.’
‘I asked Joe to get a copy of the key for me. And I don’t care what your father says; it has to be done. I won’t have this room turned into a morbid shrine. It’s not natural. It’s—’ Her shoulders dropped and she closed her eyes briefly. She inhaled deeply, then let out her breath, screwed the empty bin liner into a ball and flung it on the bed. He could see she was close to tears and went to her and automatically put his arms around her. But she flinched and he let go, remembering too late that she couldn’t bear to be touched now.
‘Mum,’ he said, ‘don’t make it any harder for yourself; sorting out Daisy’s old things doesn’t have to be done now. There’s no hurry. You shouldn’t do it alone anyway. I’ll help you when the time’s right.’
As if suddenly exhausted, she sat down on the bed, her head lowered. He sat next to her. Hanging on the back of the door was not only his father’s towelling bathrobe but a selection of ties and a suit in a dry-cleaning bag. Realizing that this was the first time he’d set foot in the room since his sister’s death, he didn’t know how his father could bear to sleep in here. Seeing Daisy’s things, the poignant reminders of her life, Jensen could feel his heart pick up speed and the familiar tightening in his chest. It still didn’t seem possible that she was gone, and though he’d never been as close to her as he was to Eliza, he missed her. He missed her simply because she had been his youngest sister, the drama queen of the family, the one who’d caused them the most anxiety. He also missed her occasional moments of insight and advice. The last she’d given him had been that night when she’d met him at the station. Just minutes before the crash, she’d told him how great Tattie was. ‘You be sure not to lose her,’ she’d said.