Tara (11 page)

The message in his eyes was clear. He couldn't bear to leave them here. They had until tomorrow morning to make a decision and he hoped they'd come back with him.

Silence fell. Mabel stood with her back to the window, hands on hips, looking at the children. Tara stared defiantly back, but Paul's eyes dropped to the floor.

Harry shifted his weight from one foot to another, uncertain whether to go immediately. Amy's eyes swept round the filthy room. She could see no sign of prepared food and doubtless the beds were unmade but her mother had invited them here.

'Mother and I have a lot of catching up to do.' She moved nearer Harry and touched his arm. 'Come back tomorrow morning before you leave.'

'If you're sure!' Harry's grin was watery. He ran his fingers through his dark hair as if wanting to say something more. 'Be good to your gran, kids, see you tomorrow!'

Amy's heart sank as Harry reversed out of the yard and she saw panic in the children's eyes.

'I don't like the look of him,' Mabel said as Amy turned back into the kitchen. 'A smart Alec if ever there was one.'

It was clear Mabel hadn't changed much in temperament since the day when she had refused to speak civilly to her son-in-law Bill. Her hair was white now, pulled back into a rough bun. Wrinkled skin ingrained with dirt, and the absence of a top set of teeth belied the beauty of her amber eyes, so much like Tara's. Her rudeness, however, acted as a spur. Amy knew she had to take a firm stand now or she would be trapped in humble servitude again, just the way she had been before she ran away with Bill.

'You don't like the look of Harry?' Amy used her anger to give her strength. 'Well I'll point out now, Mother, I don't like the look of you or this place! It's like a pigsty. I'll overlook that for now, but don't you ever say anything about Harry and George because they've been the best friends anyone could have. So just watch it!'

'Well, Hoity Toity,' Mabel snapped back. 'You've got a bit lippy for someone who's been knocked about. It's all your own fault, too. I warned you about MacDon-ald!'

'So you did, Mother.' Amy took a step towards Mabel and looked right into her amber eyes. 'OK, you were right, and I hope it made you very happy. But while we're getting things out in the open, how about considering what a mess you made of bringing me up after Dad died! Maybe if you'd done a better job as a mother I wouldn't have been attracted to Bill in the first place.'

'How dare you?' Mabel's lip quivered.

Amy went back to the children and put an arm round each of them. 'I didn't ask to come here, you invited us. I'm prepared to put aside the past and try to make a life with you. But only if you meet us half way.'

'You should consider yourself lucky I've offered you a home.' Mabel pursed her lips.

'Lucky! To live here?' Amy laughed mirthlessly. 'This place is disgusting. It's a far worse slum than Durwood Street!'

'It is a mess,' Mabel agreed, glancing round the room as if seeing it clearly for the first time. 'But I can't help it, there's too much to do for one person.' There was a forlorn, almost bewildered look on her face which suggested things really had got on top of her. Amy felt a flicker of sympathy for her, despite her anger.

'All the more reason that you stop being so stupid then,' Amy snapped. 'I've got a deal to put to you.'

'What deal?' Suspicion wafted out of Mabel like body odour.

'If you treat us in a civilised manner, show your grandchildren some affection and share your home with us, then I'll work for you. I'll clean up this house, do the garden, sweep that yard.'

'Bill MacDonald
has
taught you a few things then?' Mabel almost smiled. 'Never used to be able to say boo to a goose!'

'I can when my children's happiness is at stake,' Amy said tartly.

The two women stared at one another, but it was Mabel who dropped her eyes first.

'A bargain,' she said, somewhat reluctantly. 'But don't you think I'll kowtow to you!'

'Nor me to you, Mother.' Amy smiled. 'Now, shall I introduce your grandchildren?'

'I'm Tara.' Tara moved forward just an inch or two. She had been concerned for the last hour or two about her crumpled kilt, the tomato sauce stain on her green jumper and her untidy hair, but compared with her grandmother she looked immaculate.

'I thought your name was Anne?' Mabel frowned.

'We changed it when we all changed our name to Manning,' Amy explained. 'She wants to be a fashion designer and we all thought Tara Manning sounded right.'

Mabel sniffed, but her mouth moved slightly in amusement.

"This is Paul.' Amy held on to his shoulder tightly, trying to give him confidence. 'Paul wants to be a doctor, but he's very shy, Mother, till he gets to know people.'

To Amy's surprise Mabel bent down towards Paul.

'Farms are good for shy people,' she said. 'Animals like gentle folk and you can practise talking to a horse until you're braver with people.'

'I like animals,' Paul volunteered hesitantly. 'Will I be able to help feed them?'

'Of course you will,' Mabel said. 'I'll take you over later to meet my old mare Betsy, she likes little boys.'

Those few words comforted Amy. She dimly remembered that tender voice from before her father died. It was odd that Paul had brought it back. Paul wasn't attractive like Tara, but if Mabel reacted like that to him, things were looking rosier.

'Right,' she said. 'Before we can even think of eating, I'll have to clean this kitchen. Is there hot water?'

'Of course,' Mabel snapped back. "The Aga heats it.'

Amy looked blank.

'The stove, ninny!' Mabel turned to something behind her, lifted a large, heavy-looking hinged lid and heat wafted out. 'We cook on it, it keeps us warm and heats water. Look, it's got four ovens, all of them different heats. There's a rabbit stew in one of them.'

It was after midnight when Amy climbed into the big double bed with its feather mattress. It felt damp, it smelled musty but she was so tired she didn't care.

Despite the exhausting hours of work she'd put in already this evening, she'd barely scratched the surface. The whole house was totally neglected and all she had managed to do was roughly clean the kitchen, make up the beds and sweep a clean path through the yard. The floor alone had taken five or six buckets of water before the red quarry tiles appeared beneath the dirt.

But looking objectively, Amy could see that her mother had her priorities right. The animals were well looked after, there were crops in the fields, rows of vegetables in the garden. Her work in the dairy was almost a full-time job. Aside from Stan, a local man who came in to help with the milking, she had been struggling to hold it together alone.

This was never going to be a soft option like living with George. Her mother was prickly, self-opinionated and mean-spirited. She would harp on forever about Bill, and Amy would probably work her fingers to the bone without any thanks.

It was no good considering all the big jobs that needed doing – the holes in the barn roof, the broken windows, the front door that wouldn't open. Creating a clean, comfortable home was the first priority; turning out all those fusty rooms, clearing the accumulated rubbish, washing windows and curtains.

The children's reactions were difficult to gauge. Mabel had taken them on a tour of the farm while Amy was washing the floor, and when they came back they were calling her Gran as naturally as if they had known her all their lives. They made no comment even when Amy tucked them into bed, and that seemed almost like approval.

As to her own feelings, Amy couldn't even begin to sort them out. But now, as her eyes drooped and she felt sleep overtaking her, she had a sense that fate had sent her here for a purpose.

'Are you sure, Amy?' Harry stood by his car, his bright blue eyes troubled. 'She's worse than Attila the Hun! And what about the kids? They'll hate it.'

'Do they look as if they're hating it?' Amy nodded towards Tara. She wore a pair of navy blue shorts, an old sweater and her bare legs were half hidden in a huge pair of Wellingtons. She was hosing and sweeping down the yard, crowing with delight as smooth cobbles revealed themselves under the dirt.

Paul was hidden in the barn, but they could hear him chattering away to two new calves as if they were old friends. Amy had never seen him eat such a big breakfast – porridge, bacon and eggs and at least three slices of bread and honey.

'Once the novelty wears off they'll wish they were back in London,' Harry argued. 'We could help you to find a flat there, and you could get a job easy.'

Amy shook her head. 'Look around you, Harry. Forget the dirt in the yard, the greasy windows and the hole in the barn roof. Look at what I'm being offered here and what it could mean long-term.'

The sun was shining on a clump of white dog daisies by the barn, the old mare Betsy was looking out over the stable door. The only sounds were Paul talking softly to the calves in the barn, Tara sweeping and the chickens clucking.

'There are meadows all around that belonged to my ancestors.' She gestured behind her. 'Mother tells me if we go down the lane it leads to the river. A couple of miles over there' – she pointed beyond the house – 'is a huge lake full of wild geese, swans and other birds. You tell me where I'll find that in London.'

Harry had never seen Amy like this. In a pair of jeans and a cotton blouse she looked more like twenty than over thirty. Her hair was tousled, her hands were already red from scrubbing, but she had a determined look in her soft blue eyes.

'Well, you know where we are,' Harry said as he opened the car door. 'If it don't work out, any trouble, anythin' at all, just phone and we'll be down to sort it out.'

'Are you going now, Harry?' Tara shouted, running across the yard as fast as she could in her huge boots.

'Paul!' Amy called out. 'Harry's leaving now.'

Somehow it showed the full measure of Harry when Paul came racing out of the barn, running full tilt to the older lad's arms, beating his sister. Harry swept him up, pressing his face against the smaller one.

'You'll come and see us, won't you?' Paul asked, his small grubby hands cupping Harry's face. 'And teach me to box?'

Harry hugged Paul one last time before putting him down. 'And I hope I get such a good hug from you too, Tara?'

Tara looked bashful, but she put her arms round his waist and buried her head in his chest.

'I never had such a good friend as you,' she whispered. 'I won't ever forget you.'

'You won't get a chance.' Harry prised her off his chest and lifted her chin so he could see her face. 'I shall be checking up on you, so don't think you can marry some spotty-faced farm boy and forget about being a famous dress designer,' he said. He kissed her cheek, then reached out for Amy, a stricken look on his face.

Amy hugged him. 'Promise me you won't go astray, Harry?' She wiped away the dirt Paul had smeared on his face. There was strength and character in that angular face, his blue eyes were compassionate. If he didn't wander from the straight path it would be a lucky woman that had those sensual lips to kiss and that lean, strong body in her arms.

He shook his head, kissed her cheek and got into the car.

'You don't know how much Dad and me'll miss you. Keep in touch!'

'Can't you sit down for a minute?' Mabel said tetchily as Amy put back the last piece of washed china on to the dresser.

The children were in bed, exhausted from exploring and cleaning their bedroom. They hadn't even noticed the absence of a television in the excitement of so many new experiences.

'I'll stop now.' Amy hung the teatowel on the rail in front of the Aga to dry and leaned back against it, looking round at the clean room. 'It looks much better, Mother, but it needs painting.'

She had worked on the kitchen since Harry left that morning – walls and ceiling washed down, the pine table scrubbed with bleach, cupboards and drawers turned out, every last utensil and piece of china washed. Some of the old pots were copper and now they gleamed up on the beams, free of cobwebs and dust. The prettiest china was displayed on the dresser and faded checked curtains had been washed and replaced at sparkling windows.

It was far brighter now, already a pleasant family room, but Amy's head was buzzing with ideas, for new upholstery on her mother's rocking chair, maybe a rug beneath it, and bright cushions on the wooden settle.

'I can't afford painters.' Mabel's rocking chair scraped on the tiled floor.

'I can paint it.' Amy studied her work-reddened hands; they hadn't look like this since she left Bill. 'If I'm going to live here we have to make it nice.'

She'd barely had time to examine the other rooms but a quick glance had daunted her. Boxes of rotten, forgotten apples lay in the dining room, stuffing spilled out of the armchairs in the sitting room and an inch of dust covered everything. The bathroom upstairs smelled as if something had died in there, and she found mouse droppings in the airing cupboard. There were cupboards and trunks stuffed with ancient clothes, letters and photographs, strange old gadgets that ought to be in a museum, glimpses of a past Amy wanted to know about. Yet she sensed a deep reluctance on her mother's part to discuss it.

'There's paint out in the barn.' Mabel sniffed. 'I bought it all before Mother died. I was like you then, but losing her knocked the heart out of me.'

Amy pulled out one of the chairs from the table and sat down.

'Why didn't you ever tell me about this place when I was little?' she asked. The question had been in her mind all day and now it suddenly seemed very important. 'Did you fall out with your mother, too?'

Mabel didn't answer for a moment, she just sat and rocked, almost as if she was dozing off to sleep.

'Not Mother,' she said eventually. 'Just Papa.'

'Tell me about it now.' Amy moved her chair a little closer. 'There's so much time to make up for, Mother.'

Mabel chomped on her false teeth and looked hesitant.

Amy had been surprised this morning to find her mother had obviously bathed, washed her hair and put on clean clothes. Her white hair was fluffy now, trying to escape from its bun, and with her teeth back in she looked ten years younger. She still wore men's trousers and a sweater, but Amy had seen for herself that such an outfit was far more sensible than a dress.