Nest of Sorrows (44 page)

‘You began with your childhood; I shall begin with mine. When Father died, Mother depended totally on me. I suppose she over-depended. Life had to be perfectly regulated to keep her on an even keel. Perhaps this is why I am so fussy about everything – didn’t you used to call me an old woman?

‘She didn’t want me to marry. But once I reached my thirties, I began to visualize myself living with her forever, getting old myself, watching her fail completely until I would be left with nothing. I chose a young wife. I wanted your youth, needed it. But I loved you, Kate. As soon as I saw your disappointed little face in that dance hall, I knew you were for me. But you became distant once we were married. In your mind, you were always somewhere else. I didn’t understand you.

‘Yes, Mother spoiled me. Women have a habit of spoiling me. I am used to my own way with women. I was not a faithful husband, Kate. I cannot defend my faithlessness, save to say that something was missing from my marriage. I think my idea of marriage was basically wrong. Just as you judged me, I decided that you were not a good wife. Strangely enough, I have been more faithful since you left me. There have been three women in your absence. One of them was Christine next door – I’m not particularly proud of that.

‘Now for the big one. You were right about my needing a psychiatrist. I see Dr Coakley once a week. He is treating me for something called manic depression. He and I have discussed my relationship with you. He says I was too manipulative, and I am sorry for that.

‘I can’t say much to you, except that I still . . . care for you and that I’m disgusted by what you have done to us. Leaving Melanie was one thing; getting her involved in duplicity is another matter altogether. You can put this right. Just come home. Bring the little lad and we’ll pick up where we left off. But it will be better. I’ll be better.

‘Well, you stated the rules, missus. No conversation, no discussion, just say our pieces then leave. But tomorrow I shall be bringing my mother to Crosby. Let her see her grandson before she dies. Whatever happens from now on, Kate, is on your head. I will not sue you; I will not divorce you. I leave the matter entirely in your obviously competent hands.’

She watched him leave. They had been together for just fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes in two and a half years! Yet in that short time, she had known him better than ever before. He was vulnerable; he no longer saw himself as perfect. ‘I don’t love you,’ she whispered into the silent room. ‘But you are likeable. For Mel, and for Michael, I have to move nearer to you . . .’

Dora had to take another of the little pills. When the pain had mercifully edged away, she looked up into the worried face of her only son. ‘It’s all right, Geoffrey. Just a turn. That was enough to give anybody a turn. A boy, you say? A little grandson? How could she keep him from us? Why? Are we such bad people?’

He perched on the edge of the bed and grasped his mother’s hand. ‘Kate must have thought we were bad, too bad for her. We didn’t . . . perhaps we didn’t always treat her well. I don’t know what to think. And I don’t know what to do. If she won’t come home voluntarily, I can scarcely drag her by the hair. Nor can I sue for custody of a two-year-old. How could we look after a baby?’

Dora heaved herself up from the bed and swung her feet on to the floor. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better go and see this baby before it’s too late. Too late for me, at least.’

His grip on her hand tightened. ‘I can’t bear the thought of life without you, Mother. You’ve always been here . . .’ Yes, she’d been here too often, he knew that now. He’d always known it, yet had never admitted that fact to himself or to anyone else. And now it was too late!

Dora smiled bravely. ‘It’s funny. I’ve been ill for so long, worried sick about dying. I could have enjoyed all those years, Geoffrey. But now that it’s really coming, I don’t seem to mind. As long as it doesn’t hurt too much. I want to go with my heart, not with the other. I don’t want to die of cancer.’

He lifted her from the divan and helped her on with coat and scarf. ‘Be nice to Kate when we get there,’ he whispered before kissing her lightly on the forehead.

‘I was always nice,’ she replied smartly.

He sighed. ‘Well, be extra nice, then.’

They stood in the porch for what seemed an interminable time. At last, Kate opened the inner door wide enough to let them in. Not a single word was spoken as she led them through the hallway and into the back room. Dora gazed around at the mess. The big square bay was occupied by a large desk covered in paints and paper, while the sofa and both easy chairs were covered in finished work. ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Kate. She cleared the room in one swift movement, gathering everything together and dumping it on to the desk where it slid about until it found its own level. ‘Sit down.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Dora breathlessly.

‘He’s out. I’ll bring him back shortly.’

‘Out?’ began Dora, but Geoff laid a restraining arm on his mother’s shoulder. ‘Hold your horses,’ he said softly. ‘This has to be done properly.’

Kate shot him a look of gratitude, then sat down in the swivel chair at her desk. ‘Michael doesn’t know what “Daddy” means,’ she began. ‘And it’s time he did. He will probably start playgroup or nursery soon, and that’s when he’ll notice that other children have fathers. The introduction must be gradual. I don’t want either of you pouncing on him and smothering him. You are just a pair of strangers . . .’

‘And whose fault is that . . . ?’

‘Mother!’

Kate gazed steadily at her mother-in-law. She wanted to yell, ‘It’s your fault, yours and your son’s! I wanted someone of my own, a child who would not be reared to think of its mother as a certifiable idiot!’ Instead, she spoke quietly. ‘Dora, it’s time to forgive and forget.’

‘And what have you to forgive?’ asked the old lady.

Kate paused, but did not avert her eyes. ‘You led me a dog’s life, both of you.’

Dora blushed, dropped her eyes, then brushed needlessly at the front of her coat. ‘I expect he knows his Granny Rachel, though.’

‘Yes, he does.’

‘Hardly fair,’ muttered Dora.

Geoff stepped into the middle of the room, as if to provide a barrier between the two sparring partners. ‘Kate made the first move,’ he said. ‘She set up the meeting between myself and her. Whatever has happened in the past must be left aside. If you are going to carry on bickering, Mother, I shall have to put you back in the car.’

‘But Geoffrey . . .’

‘Enough,’ he said, his voice firm. ‘I came here to see my son, not to act as referee between the two of you. Now,’ he looked hard at his mother, ‘are you going to behave yourself? We can’t have the child upset.’

Dora took a deep breath. ‘I’ll do my best. I’ve always done my best. For years I tried to . . .’ She twittered on, and Geoff looked at Kate. ‘Bring him,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll keep her in order.’

His eyes were smiling, and Kate suddenly wanted to hug him for taking her side. Had he ever taken her side before?

Dora continued undeterred, ‘And everything I did for Melanie while Kate went to work. No thanks. You never get any thanks . . .’

‘Is she ever going to stop?’ mouthed Kate.

He nodded. ‘For good. Soon, she’ll stop for good.’

Kate inclined her head, then left the room to fetch Michael from next door.

He ran in eagerly, pausing just inside the doorway to study the man and the woman who were new words in his vocabulary. Would they fuss him? Michael didn’t like fuss. Would they give him presents? He loved presents.

Geoff turned away and swallowed a sob, his hand fumbling in a jacket pocket. ‘I’ve got something here for a boy,’ he said, his voice suspiciously thick. ‘He might be called Michael. Is he called Michael, Granny Dora?’

Dora dabbed at wet cheeks. ‘I think so. Oh, Geoffrey, look at his eyes!’

Kate blinked rapidly, then used her knee gently to propel her son further into the room. ‘Say hello,’ she said.

‘Hello.’

Geoff swivelled round. ‘Hello, cowboy. See in my pocket? It’s a little cardboard box. I wonder what’s in that little cardboard box?’

‘Daddy and Granny Dora,’ said Kate. ‘With a present for you.’

‘Present,’ repeated the child, his face beaming with anticipation. ‘Present for me.’ He snatched the box and opened it with chubby though dextrous fingers. ‘Racing car!’ he screamed. ‘Mummy, racing car! Red one!’

‘Aw, bless him.’ Dora seemed steadier now. ‘And in my handbag, I’ve got a tractor.’ She pulled this larger item from her bag. ‘What colour’s that, Michael?’

‘Green.’ He grabbed at it.

‘Kiss first,’ demanded Dora.

The little boy, apparently liking what he saw, climbed on to Dora’s lap. As she kissed her grandchild, the other two adults in the room stared at one another.

‘God, Kate,’ mumbled Geoff. ‘This is too much for me. What the hell do we do?’

‘Something. We’ll do something.’

‘Promise?’

‘Yes.’

Michael jumped down from his new-found granny’s lap and rushed out into the hall, from where many ‘vroom-vrooms’ and ‘beep-beeps’ were heard as he pushed car and tractor about on the parquet floor.

Dora wiped away a last stray tear. ‘Well,’ she said begrudgingly. ‘At least I did get to see him. Thanks for that. Thanks for not taking him off to the other side of the country. I . . . I won’t be here long, you know.’

‘I know.’ Kate’s tone was subdued. ‘And I’m very, very sorry.’

‘Oh Kate!’ cried the old woman. ‘Why didn’t we get on?’

Kate fell to her knees in front of Dora’s chair. ‘Because we’re both too bossy, Granny. And Geoff was too soft to manage us. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, Dora.’

‘I didn’t know what I was doing! He was all I had! I didn’t know I was causing damage . . .’

‘Forget that now.’ Kate placed her arms on Dora’s shoulders. There was a musty smell in the room, a smell that did not match Kate’s memory of this woman. Was it the odour of imminent death? Dora’s skin hung in loose yellow folds, large bags under the eyes, quivering layers where her fat chins had once been. ‘Let’s forgive one another, shall we? I’ll be buying a house nearby, probably on the Rookery estate. Then you can see Michael as often as you like.’

‘Come home.’ A mustard-coloured hand gripped Kate’s arm.

Geoff stepped forward. ‘No, Mother. Leave it all to Kate now. I’m sure she’s capable of reaching a decision on her own. Come on. We have to get home. You mustn’t tire yourself.’ He helped Kate to her feet. ‘I love you, girl,’ he whispered. ‘The door’s always open. Whenever you need me, I’ll be there. But you don’t need anyone, do you? You’re probably richer than the rest of us put together.’

She looked deep into the sad brown eyes. ‘There’s more to life than money, Geoff. A lot more.’ She smiled at her husband for what seemed like the first time ever. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

The accident happened on the way home from Kate’s house, just as they were driving through Atherton on the main Bolton road. It was not Geoff’s fault; there was nothing he might have done to prevent it. A large van travelling at speed towards them suddenly went out of control, sliding abruptly into their path. The Jaguar was crushed against a concrete lamp standard, and the impact was sufficiently vicious to kill Dora outright.

Geoff remained aware of most of what went on around him. He heard bells and sirens, caught the odd glimpse of flashing lights, knew when a needle was being inserted into his arm once the doctor found a hand space in the wreckage. He floated in and out of consciousness while the car shuddered with the vibration of cutting gear. There was little pain, but he could not turn in what was left of his seat to look at Mother.

As Geoff hung between life and death, Michael’s little face kept jumping into his mind. A sweet and pretty child who liked red racing cars and green tractors and old ladies. What else did he know about his son? Nothing. Or of Kate? Just a little more than nothing. He had been wrong, so wrong to try and mould her into whatever . . . Into what? What had he wanted? Why all those other women, all those nameless and faceless creatures? Then poor Christine. Regrets, regrets . . .

They lifted him on to a stretcher, and still he felt nothing. His mouth opened to speak, but someone clamped an oxygen mask over his face.

When he came to again, he was in a small white room filled with people. ‘Mother?’ he managed.

‘Sorry,’ said a doctor.

‘Dead?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Just as well, just as well . . .’ He drifted away again.

‘Your name?’ yelled a voice in his ear. ‘Come on, man, save yourself! What’s your name?’

‘Saunders. Geoff Saunders.’

‘Address?’

‘Fifty Beech Gardens, Edgeford. Phone my daughter. She will be worried.’

They seemed to be studying his feet. ‘There’s no response,’ said a nurse at the foot of the bed. ‘No reflex at all.’

‘I’ve broken my back.’ Geoff’s voice was small. ‘Haven’t I?’

‘We don’t know yet. It could be trauma, bad bruising . . .’

‘It’s broken,’ he repeated sadly. ‘I can feel my arms now, but not my legs. Get Kate. Tell Melanie to get Kate. I want Michael. Bring Michael. I have to apologize. To Kate. I must tell her . . . Get Kate!’

So great was his state of agitation, that the doctor, fearful that further damage might occur, decided to knock him out for the rest of the examination. All the vital signs were normal, but it did look as if the poor chap might have severed his lower spine.

Kate and Melanie came to him that night, sitting for hours by his bed until the sedative drug began to wear off. He blinked his eyes to force them to focus. ‘My girls,’ he smiled. ‘Both my girls. At last . . .’

Melanie choked on a sob. ‘Daddy!’

‘It’s all right, Melanie. Granny Dora can’t hurt any more.’ He looked at Kate. ‘Where’s Michael?’

‘At home, love. This is not the place for him. He’s a noisy little beggar at times. I’ll bring him to see you when you’re a bit better.’

‘Will I get better? Will I?’

‘They say so. I asked them.’

‘My . . . my legs?’

Mel was weeping openly now. ‘They don’t know, Dad. They don’t know . . .’

‘Hush,’ chided Kate gently. ‘Let’s look on the bright side. These things sometimes heal themselves.’