Holding On (33 page)

He had merely continued to hold her, willing her his strength, and presently she had straightened up and smiled at him. By the time the twinnies had come up to see her she was composed, ready to listen to the recital of their achievements, to share in the joy of their presents and accept their hugs and kisses with dignity and pleasure. She had been slightly confused at, if delighted by, Hal's later arrival and he'd spent some time alone with her before he'd driven away in convoy with Fliss on the Sunday afternoon. Since then Theo thought that he'd detected a new element of peace, a kind of detachment which also meant a relinquishing of what remained of her control.

A coal shifted, settled precariously and then rolled into the grate. Freddy startled into wakefulness but Theo was already standing beside the fire, tongs in hand, placing the coal back amongst the flames. She pulled herself into a more upright position, collecting her thoughts, smiling at him.

‘I think I nodded off,' she said ruefully.

‘For a few minutes.' He shrugged it off, resuming his own seat, picking up the book again. ‘It's nearly lunchtime but I think we've just time to finish the chapter. Now where were we . . .?'

 

The cold spell had been a brief one. After a few days, the wind backed round to the west and rain swept in, thawing the snow and bringing mild weather. After lunch, when Theo had returned to Mrs Chadwick's room, Caroline finished the washing up, picked up the tea cloth and glanced at the expectant Rex. Since his arrival she'd fallen into the habit of taking him out for a walk after lunch. These days, by the time tea was over it was practically dark and it seemed sensible to get some fresh air whilst she could. Rex, whose walks had hitherto been brief and infrequent, could hardly believe his luck. He missed his own people, especially his master, but his new mistress seemed to have been perfectly trained. She talked to him, allowed him to live with her in the large, warm kitchen, fed him regularly and took him for wonderful forays into new and unexplored countryside. She never shouted at him nor struck him with his lead – in fact, his lead had not appeared yet – nor berated him for being muddy and overfriendly. Nevertheless, he deemed it wise to take nothing for granted. He hauled himself into a sitting position and waited hopefully, ears pricked as the now-familiar after-lunch acts were performed. When she uttered the words, ‘
Right. That's that then
,' which were accompanied by strange ritualistic acts to which humans seemed subject, he would know that his moment was at hand.

‘Right,' said Caroline, putting away the last of the plates and hanging the wet tea cloth on the Aga rail. She topped up the kettle with cold water from a jug, replaced the kettle's lid and put the jug away. ‘That's that then.' She reached for the jar of Cremolia, rubbed some cream into her hands and smiled at Rex. ‘How about a walk?'

At the one word he truly recognised he stood up and came wagging out of his basket. She bent to stroke him, smoothing his head and ears while he waited quietly, aware of the tension which was running out of her, down through her arms and hands and into his own body. She sighed, relaxed now, fears and anxieties suspended, and he tensed expectantly.

‘Come on then,' she said. ‘Just let me put my boots on.'

Outside on the hill, Caroline paused beside the wall where the dogs were buried, paying them a brief homage, remembering past walks and excursions, whilst Rex raced ahead. A congregation of rooks wheeled overhead where ragged clouds drifted slowly, grey on white, with occasional patches of inky black. The breeze was soft against her cheeks and she breathed deeply, thrusting her hands into her pockets, her spirits rising. The darkness of the short winter days, combined with the hushed atmosphere of The Keep, could easily depress her and she was glad of a good reason to be out of doors. She'd fully expected Maria to ask for Rex's return, to say that were all missing him much more than they'd imagined, but the weeks had passed and no word had been said, apart from Hal telephoning from Greenwich to ask how Rex was settling in and to check once or twice since that she was able to cope with him.

Following the well-worn sheep tracks down the hill, Caroline found it difficult to understand how they had been able to part with him. Of course, she did not have two small children to deal with and there was plenty of space at The Keep, but Rex was such a charming fellow. Jolyon and Edward must be missing him terribly. As yet she hadn't taken him beyond the immediate vicinity of The Keep but she was rather looking forward to putting him in the car and taking him to the beach. She was deeply grateful for his company, glad to have him to talk to and to have the small necessary routines of feeding and grooming him. Theo was spending more and more time now with Mrs Chadwick and Rex had brought a purpose to Caroline's life, something to brighten the lonely days.

She skirted the spinney, heading down to the river where early catkins hung and snowdrops grew in the shelter of the bank. It seemed unlikely that Mrs Chadwick would venture outside the house ever again and Caroline was hoping to take some evidence of the coming spring back to her. It was still nearly two months until Easter but there were signs that the worst of the winter might be behind them. The gorse was in blossom and the willow bushes were tipped with fluffy white down.

Rex was already paddling. He loved the water although he rarely showed any tendency to go in further than the shallows where he waded to and fro, dipping his muzzle into the cold water and then shaking his head furiously, so that the glinting drops flew wide.

‘I think you were a water buffalo in an earlier existence,' she told him – and he flattened his ears at her, tongue lolling out so that he seemed to be laughing. When she bent to gather some of the delicate, drooping snowdrops with their fragile, white, green-veined blossoms, he came out of the water, padding along the bank to see what she was doing and sniffing inquisitively at the snowdrops.

‘Great elephant!' she murmured to him. ‘Get your huge feet off those poor little flowers.'

He licked her cheek and she pushed him away, wiping her face with her sleeve, pretending to tussle with him. He barged about, in and out of the slowly flowing water and back up the bank, and presently found a stick for her to throw. She placed the small posy carefully in a bag and put it into her largest pocket before picking up the stick and hurling it further along the bank, beneath the trees where the few early catkins hung. He raced after it, the shingly earth spraying up behind him, his feathery tail describing great circular sweeps. Taking the secateurs from her pocket, Caroline cut a few sprays and put them into the bag with the snowdrops. Once more she threw Rex's stick, this time aiming it back the way they had come, and then followed him, climbing slowly, pausing to look out across to the dun-coloured hills.

Her mind was full of the past: of Fox and Ellen and other dogs; of the children, Fliss, Mole and Susanna. It was difficult, with Mrs Chadwick so near the end of her life, to feel anything but melancholy. The landscape matched her mood – the chalky colours of grey and brown; the sensation of being held helplessly immobile in this wintry, drab existence. The twinnies' birthday weekend had been a glowing moment in the midst of the gloom and the sight of their bright faces and happy laughter had shown her that there was a future, that Mrs Chadwick's death would not be the end of everything. The glow had remained for a while but, during the last week or so, there had been a further deterioration in the old lady's health, and Caroline's depression had returned.

She thought: I love her. We have cared for the children together for nearly twenty-three years, been through so many ups and downs, so many terrors and joys. How will it be without her?

Memories crowded into her mind: standing beside the car watching Mrs Chadwick saying goodbye to Fliss on her first day at boarding school and then coming back to the car muttering fiercely, ‘Get in quickly and drive.
Quickly
,' and seeing the tears falling as they passed out of the gate; sitting beside her as they drove anxiously to Exeter to meet Mole and Susanna from the train after their first journey home from school alone. ‘I'll drive,' she'd said. ‘I shall be happier if I'm doing something,' her hands clenched on the steering wheel, knuckles white; the fierce pride on her face when they'd heard that Mole had passed his AIB; the expression of joy and tenderness when she saw the first photograph of the twinnies . . .

The misery pushed up, making a lump in Caroline's throat and she swallowed once or twice before it dissolved into tears. Standing there on the hillside she cried out her unhappiness, the tears mingling with the rain on her cheeks as she held both hands against the terrible pain in her heart.

Rex came back to her, pushing against her leg, and she crouched beside him, an arm about his shaggy neck. He stood firm, puzzled but steady, licking her face from time to time, tasting the salt.

Presently the sobbing ceased and she rubbed her face against his warm ear, straightening up, feeling for her handkerchief. He wagged his tail tentatively, encouragingly, and she smiled waveringly, grateful for his company as they set off together; going back to tea, going back to give Mrs Chadwick the first fruits of a spring which she would never see.

‘I'm doing that terrible sighing thing,' said Prue anxiously, on the telephone to Caroline. ‘You know, like old ladies do, with their mouths tucked down and never looking at you properly. My mother used to do it to make my father feel guilty. I only remembered that recently. Isn't it strange that I should think of that after all these years?'

‘It's to do with feeling miserable,' said Caroline. ‘As if your heart is terribly heavy.'

‘But why should I be miserable all the time? I'm fed up with these awful depressions and coming over all hot. It's so embarrassing. I'm in the middle of buying something and I have to rush out of the shop. That or strip all my clothes off. I feel such a fool.'

‘The thing is to try not to panic.'

‘I
do
try not to panic. It comes on so quickly when I'm not ready for it. I
wake up
panicking although there's nothing to panic about at all. Do you think I'm going mad?'

‘Of course you're not going mad. It's just middle age. We're all the same.'

‘Other women don't seem so bad – well, I've got one or two friends who understand – but I'm so unbalanced. One of my old ladies died the other day and I cried for hours, couldn't stop, and then there's Freddy . . .'

‘It's because you're alone too much. I wish you'd come down, Prue. You can't imagine how much it would mean to me. I'm going through this middle-age thing, too, you know, and it's awfully depressing here knowing that . . . well, you know.'

‘Oh, I can imagine. It must be terrible for you and poor Theo. And Freddy, of course, that goes without saying. It's simply that I don't feel I can just turn up without Freddy approving. I know it's silly.'

‘Supposing I have a word with her and she invites you, would that do?'

‘Well, if she does it of her own free will. Don't coerce her or anything.'

‘Don't be an idiot. You've got over sensitive about it. We'd all love to see you.'

‘Oh, Caroline, I'd love it, too. I could give you a hand and keep you company, and I'd so much like to see Freddy. We were never terribly close but she was very fair always and I have an enormous respect for her.'

‘I'll have a word with her and I promise not to prompt her. How's the family?'

‘Oh, I don't know. That's another thing. I'd love to go and see Maria and Hal and the children but I know how precious weekends are when your husband's away all week and Maria doesn't sound terribly enthusiastic about my going for a couple of days midweek. We used to be so close, too.'

‘You're sighing again, I can hear it. Now don't get in a state about Hal and Maria. Hal was in great form that weekend he brought Rex down. Oh, Prue, I can't tell you what a comfort Rex is. He's just about saved my life. Look, you simply must come. It would do you so much good to get out on proper country walks and we could have good old chinwags. How's Kit?'

‘Kit never changes. It really worries me, actually. I wonder if she'll ever marry now. At thirty-six she's just the same as when she was twenty. I wonder if it was not having a father. She's a sort of Peter Pan. That darling old Clarrie keeps an eye on her and she simply adores him, but she and Sin go on much as they ever did. I'm sure that Kit still hasn't got over Jake, you know. So tragic but I warned her often enough. As for Sin, she jokes about an unrequited passion so much that I'm beginning to believe it might be true, but they both seem happy enough.'

‘Well, that's something. At least they're all fit and healthy.'

‘That's true. How's Susanna?'

‘She's fine. She and Gus come over regularly, bless them, and they cheer us all up and make us laugh. Their barn is coming on and they hope it'll be ready to move into in time for the baby.'

‘Darling Sooz. It seems quite impossible to imagine her as a mother. How's she coping with Freddy?'

‘She's very upset that her grandmother won't see her baby but she's dealing with it very well and Gus is an absolute tower of strength. Perhaps it's to do with being a parson's son but he has that same kind of serenity that Theo has, which is such a comfort.'

‘I don't think I would ever have survived without Theo. He's a kind of living example of all he believes in but he never goes on about it. I think about him when I'm in a muddle or feeling bitchy and just the thought of him makes me want to be better. Funny, isn't it?'