Sail Upon the Land (38 page)

Sarah handed Hari back to Damson and they both stood up. She slipped her arm around her granddaughter’s waist and kissed her proffered cheek.

‘My goodness,’ she said. ‘A new baby at last. We can talk properly in Sussex when I come down to help you settle in. I feel so sad for you that you had to go through that alone. I don’t really understand.’

Damson saw then that her grandmother was getting old.

‘I’m fine. The main thing is Hari.’

They walked towards the station together and parted.

Damson reached Swine Cottage in the late afternoon, Hari tired and fractious after his long journey. Both of them slept well that night, and then she was up, filled with the energy of change. The removal men arrived very early to pack, load everything on to the lorry and take it down to Castle Hey.

Damson and Hari camped that night in the empty cottage, and the next morning Damson called Munty to let him know she was setting off from Fenning for the last time. She could see him in her mind’s eye answering the red plastic Trimphone in his study, so very modern when her mother Melissa had chosen it for him in the Sixties.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Munty? Damson here, just letting you know we’re leaving in a minute.’

‘So pleased. Take care, won’t you.’

She hadn’t noticed before that his voice sounded older.

‘Oh, and Damson. I’m glad you’re coming, and I’m looking forward to meeting the baby. What’s it called?’

‘He is called Hari.’

‘Harry? That’s nice. When do you think you’ll get here?’ Munty asked.

‘Well, the route finder says nearly four hours, but I think you should allow five as we’ll need stops on the way. It’s eleven o’clock now, I’m hoping to be with you by teatime.’

‘Well, I won’t start worrying until drinks time,’ said Munty. ‘We got the North Lodge ready in record time, Pickfords were in touch while you were away of course, for access, and the men unloaded and unpacked everything late yesterday. It’s a bit of a muddle but we’ll soon get it straight.’

‘Thank you, I didn’t expect you to do that. I thought I would do it myself.’

‘Well, what with the baby and so on, we thought we would make it nice for you before you came,’ said her father. ‘It all looks very comfortable down there, the Raeburn’s been on all week and the beds are made up. We even did a bit of decorating. It’s a very nice little house.’

Damson couldn’t remember much about it.

‘There’s a big corporate cocktail party and dinner in the main house, and I thought you and Hari would prefer to move straight in to your own place. Otherwise there would be the bother of all that baby equipment moving around. I remember what it was like with Noonie and Clarrie’s children. Margaret and I are in one of the South Lodges, keeping out of everyone’s way.’

‘I see. No, that’s fine. Very good idea. But no one had lived there for a long time?’

‘Well, we went and had a look as soon as we got your email, and it was in remarkably good nick. Just needed a jolly good spring clean and the garden cleared. So we commissioned an industrial clean from top to bottom. But it’s people who make things dirty, isn’t it? And there have been no people there for many years.’

‘Yes,’ said Damson, bemused. ‘People do make things messy.’

‘Anyway, I think you’ll find it very comfortable.’

He sounded uncertain.

Damson’s mouth, which seemed a lot more mobile these days, broke into a delighted laugh.

‘I can’t wait, Munty. It sounds absolutely lovely.’

‘Well, you take care now on the road. Come to the left-hand lodge, and I’ll have the pleasure of escorting you to your new abode.’

She could hear that he was smiling.

And she kissed the baby on her hip, as he reached up to twiddle her growing hair while sucking the two middle fingers on his left hand.

‘Damson?’

Pause.

‘Yes, Munty?’

‘It will be different this time. You’ll see when you get here.’

‘Different?’

‘Yes, darling, different. I can’t tell you how welcome you are and how much I’m looking forward to seeing you both. You should have been here so much more. Wasn’t right. I am sorry, Damson. The whole thing. Not all right at all.’

‘Munty, are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. We can talk when you get here.’

Damson’s eyes filled with tears as the love that had been dammed up behind walls of secrecy and loss now flowed freely. She must pull herself together.

She had last seen her father in London the year before, when they had had one of their regular lunches. His relieved and loving phone call, after she had been able to help Noonie with Ottie’s meningitis in Derbyshire, had melted some of the discomfort between them. But there was an unspoken rule that they meet away from Castle Hey – and Margaret.

The last time she had actually stayed at Castle Hey – she realised to her horror it must have been for the Millennium – had been different.

The celebrations had been magnificent. All the local grandees were there. There had been an extraordinary
son et lumière
display on the lake, with interweaving water jets lit up to resemble fireworks, and dancing in time to a live orchestra that played both Handel’s Water and Fireworks Music, as well as the Hallelujah Chorus. Damson had tried to find her father among the guests, but couldn’t and gave up, going indoors. She’d tracked him down to his study and found him sitting in front of the fire.

‘Can I come in?’

He nodded.

‘Not watching the display, Munty?’

‘No, not my thing. I was a bit cold.’

He seemed to hesitate as if he was going to say something else.

‘What’s the matter, Munty? Are you OK? Health OK?’

‘Oh, yes, my health is fine. Had my annual check-up, Margaret insists on it. Lots of walks and an excellent diet. Nothing to complain about.’

Damson sat down opposite him and the silence grew and spread between them, impossible to puncture. She shifted in her seat. He didn’t seem to want to look at her. This didn’t surprise her, she wasn’t decorative. He stared into the fire. In the end, with an inarticulate word or two, she had kissed the top of his head and left him to it, going up to her old bedroom to lie awake. She’d left very early the next day before anyone was up.

They drew up outside the left-hand South Lodge at five o’clock. Damson hopped out of the car and rang the bell. She wanted to get Hari straight into the North Lodge so she could give him his tea and bath, plus a bottle and story before bedtime. Munty came to the door wearing his Barbour and pulling a flat cap over his bald patch. He was smiling, and held her shoulders, kissing her cheeks.

‘You’re here,’ he said. ‘You look wonderful. Darling, I’m so pleased.’

A great warmth spread through Damson. She had made an effort and was wearing trousers, but very different from the shapeless old cords she had affected before. Her shapely hips were revealed in a pair of tapered jeans tucked into high-heeled brown boots, and she wore a fitted white shirt.

‘Where’s the baby?’

Damson led him round to the other side of the car, and there was Hari, strapped into the car seat and fast asleep.

‘I have to ask,’ said Munty. ‘Is he yours?’

‘No, he isn’t, not exactly. I can explain. Hop into the passenger seat and let’s get to the Lodge. He’ll wake soon and need his tea.’

Damson was playing for time. She wanted to be sitting calmly when she told her father what had happened.

He seemed to accept that and climbed up into her Freelander. It only took a couple of minutes, driving very slowly in case of deer, to get to her new home. They drove into the woods and curved round to the back of the lake, and there was the little house. Munty handed her the key and told her to have a look round, he would unload and keep an eye on Hari.

She turned the old-fashioned mortice key in the lock and stepped over the raised threshold. There was a very slight whiff of closed-up house, but there was also lavender, beeswax and wood smoke. The windows were open still, airing the rooms. Hard to tell it hadn’t been lived in for years.

She rushed around upstairs to look at the bedrooms, where her bed was already made up with her sheets, and then down to see the old-fashioned but spotlessly clean kitchen and bathroom beyond.

There was her kettle, full of water, so she clicked the on switch and popped a couple of teabags from the red and gold P&Q tin tea caddy into the teapot. She got out a little pot of organic carrot and rice puree and put it to warm in a pan of hot water on the stove, pouring some more boiled water into Hari’s cup to cool down. Munty came in, carrying a suitcase in one hand and Hari’s car seat in the other.

‘I’ve brought your little boy, he was beginning to ask for you,’ he said.

‘And I’ve made some tea. Let’s just get everything in here while it brews, and then we can sit down and talk. I’ll need to give Hari his tea as well.’

She went back into the kitchen and put milk from the well-stocked fridge, and cups, on the tray with the pot, amused to see a red and gold P&Q tea cosy in the shape of a crown waiting for her. Then she carried the tray back into the sitting room. Munty had just lit the fire made up on the hearth, and Hari was beginning to grumble.

‘It’s nice and warm in here, but a fire’s always cheerful,’ he said, getting up stiffly. ‘We had the chimney swept. Generations of starlings’ nests up there.’

When the fire was going, he went and sat on one of her red armchairs drawn up to the hearth. He leant forward, looking into her face, his elbows on his knees. ‘Forgive me, I don’t want to intrude, but who is this charming little fellow exactly?’

‘You have every right to know.’

She took a breath. ‘I wasn’t telling the complete truth when I said Hari was a foster child. He is, but only in the loosest sense. It’s what you might call a private, informal arrangement. The correct term I suppose is kinship fostering. Hari is my grandchild.’

Munty’s face lit up, and he jumped from the chair, his hands stretched out. ‘This little boy is ours?’

‘Yes, he is. Yours and mine. And his mother’s. Although she has stepped aside from motherhood just at the moment. I’m hoping that will change. Let me give him something to eat, he’s hungry. And then you can get to know him.’

Her father was overcome. His eyes glittered and the end of his nose was pink.

‘Please pour the tea,’ she said, thinking he needed something to do.

Seating Hari on her knee and tying a muslin around his neck, Damson spooned warm puree into his willing mouth. Then she turned her attention back to her father who was quietly beaming and wiping his eyes on a large cotton handkerchief.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he was saying. ‘This is the most splendid thing. Thank you so much, Damson, for coming back and bringing my grandchild, no, great-grandchild, with you. You’ve made me so happy.’ He blew his nose loudly.

By this time, Damson was crying too.

‘Do you have a clean hankie, Daddy?’

‘Daddy? I like that. Yes, I’ve another one here.’ He stood up and walked across to her. ‘How did it happen that you always called me Munty?’

‘I don’t know. Do you mind if I call you Daddy? Look at us,’ she said shakily. ‘Crying like a couple of babies.’

After a bit of snuffling and blowing, he went on:

‘So, what happened? How did you end up with the baby?’

Damson told her father everything that had happened, up to and including Leeta leaving Hari with her in spite of all her frantic attempts to get her to stay.

‘I wanted her to so much. It was desperately upsetting when she left. But she was in such a state I couldn’t force her to do anything. Maybe she’ll come back later. If so we’ll be waiting for her, won’t we, Hari?’

‘It is quite a tricky situation,’ he was saying. ‘But I think under the circumstances we can probably sort it out. I would so love to see her as well.’

‘Me too. Having her for a short while and then losing her again was sad. I have her parents’ contact details but I’ve promised not to get in touch until she feels comfortable, if ever’.

‘Right. And by the way, I’ll tell Margaret all about it. You don’t have to worry about repeating yourself.’

‘I wondered where she was.’

‘I decided I wanted to see you on my own first.’

‘Has something happened?’ Damson was intrigued in spite of herself, she didn’t remember being alone with her father for any length of time, apart from their London lunches, for years. And they had never talked about anything important. He shied away from emotional stuff. She had always excused him by thinking of him as a typical stunted English public-school-educated man. He was still talking. ‘Not exactly, but I must tell you that she very much regrets what she did when you were pregnant. She feels she did the wrong thing and should have left you with more choice.’

‘Does she? She was kind in her way and I hadn’t a clue what to do.’

‘Do you think so? She didn’t force you to give the baby away? She’ll feel so much better.’

‘Oh, no, Daddy. It was what I’d already chosen to do before I came home. Margaret just made the whole thing much easier. I hadn’t a clue what to do about adoption or anything really. She rescued me I realise now.’

‘That makes an enormous difference. I have felt very much to blame too all these years for being a coward at the time and letting you both get on with it. Women’s business I thought. So relieved when you just got on with your life afterwards. Realise now of course that it was family business and I should have been involved properly.’

He looked sad. Damson reached over and patted his hand.

‘It’s OK, you know.’

He interrupted, ‘I know she can sometimes seem a bit demanding, but if you knew what she had done for me,’ he paused and then continued.

‘She rescued me too.’

Hari spat a large globule of puree out indicating he had had enough. Damson gave him a sip of water.

‘Sorry, I interrupted, wanted to tell you how I had felt and you were going to say something else? We aren’t very used to this modern kind of talking about feelings, are we?’ He wiped his eyes again.

‘I never told you what happened. Why I was pregnant.’