The Curious Charms of Arthur Pepper (16 page)

Vera tapped some more.

“Yes. I didn't recognize the place. Years have flown since Miriam was a young girl, living there.”

He could see Vera's lips twitch, as if they wanted to join in the conversation. However, she marched off to check the price of the Sellotape on the shelf. She brought back an orange sticky label and pressed it to her desk.

“You must have seen some comings and goings over the years. It must be a privilege to own the post office and be an important part of the community. I'm afraid that I was rather snappy when I was last here. I'm still at sixes and sevens trying to get back on my feet, after Miriam, you know...” He looked at his feet. This was hopeless. Vera didn't want to speak to him. He had blown it.

“She was a lovely woman, your wife.”

He lifted his head. Vera's lips were still set in a straight line. “Yes, she was.”

“And her mother before her.”

“So, you knew her?”

“She was a friend of my mother's.”

“You can probably help me, then. I'm trying to remember Mrs. Kempster's first name. Was it Pearl?”

“Aye, it was. I remember my mother sitting me down when I was a girl and telling me that two important things had happened. One, that Marilyn Monroe had been found dead, and two, that Pearl Kempster had moved her fancy man into the house when her divorce hadn't yet come through.”

“So, Marilyn Monroe died in 1962?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“You have a good memory.”

“Thank you, Arthur. I like to keep the old gray matter busy. Pearl's new man, though, eeh, he was a bad 'un, but she couldn't see it. No wonder poor Miriam took off like she did.”

“You know about that?”

“Well, yes. A young woman sees her parents split up, and then her mother gets a rough new boyfriend. I presume that's why Miriam followed that doctor chap she worked for when he moved back to India. Why else would you go somewhere so very foreign?”

Arthur blinked. Understanding washed over him. No wonder Mrs. Kempster had been so sour-faced with him. She'd gone through a divorce, her daughter flitting abroad and an errant lover. She was a survivor.

“Thank you, Vera. That is most helpful.”

“That's fine. Anytime.” She pushed her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose. “I suppose you think I stand here gossiping all day?”

“I, er...”

“Well, that's not true. I talk to people about what they know, what they're familiar with. The post office is a community hub. It's important to village life.”

“I understand. Thanks again.” He felt a bit humbled at how obliging she had been.

Turning to leave he found a small semicircle of pensioners around him. They had their heads cocked at various angles as they listened in to the conversation. For a moment he remembered a zombie film he had watched late one night on TV where the undead honed in on their victims, ready to eat their brains. But he was being unkind. They were probably just lonely, like him. “Hello.” He raised his hand. “Nice to see you all. I was just having a lovely chat to Vera. Can I just squeeze through? Thank you. Thanks.”

He walked back outside and the sun had come out. He had solved another charm. There was nothing untoward about this one. Perhaps the others might be the same, throwing up no other lovers, or questions, or unease. Yes, he felt better now.

“Oh, hello, Arthur.” Across the road Bernadette spotted him and waved. She ushered Nathan across. “Well, just look at you. You go to Graystock and then there's no stopping you on your travels again. You're like Michael Palin all of a sudden.”

Arthur smiled.

“I called 'round today with a pie for you. That nice man opposite with the lawn mower said that you'd gone out. I gave the pie to Mrs. Monton instead.”

“Sorry about that. I should have told you.”

“You don't need to explain to me, Arthur. I'm not your keeper. It's nice to see you out and about, that's all.”

“How is the university search going?” Arthur said to Nathan.

The young man shrugged. “S'okay.”

“The uni in Manchester looked interesting,” Bernadette said. “Very contemporary.”

“Good.”

“You have a rucksack,” she said.

“Yes. And sandals.”

“You do look like a real traveler.”

“I've been to London.”

Nathan looked up, his face full of anticipation. Arthur didn't elaborate. He didn't want to talk about De Chauffant.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Bernadette asked. “I'm doing rag puddings. I cook them in white cotton handkerchiefs.”

Arthur's mouth began to water, but he had already thought of a plan. “I've decided that I'm going to visit my daughter,” he said. “It's been too long since we saw each other.” He didn't want to risk Lucy disappearing out of his life as Miriam had moved away from Pearl.

“Lovely. Well, it was nice to see you. Perhaps another time?”

“Yes, definitely. Cheerio, then.”

Arthur took out his mobile phone and rang his daughter. When she didn't answer, he hung up. But then he dialed again and left a message. “Lucy. It's Dad. I've been in London. I'm just phoning to see if we can start over. I, er, I miss you and think we should be a family again. I need to talk to you about something to do with your mother. I'm going to call 'round to yours at ten-thirty tomorrow morning. I hope to see you then.”

He then stuffed his post office purchases into his rucksack and walked back toward his house. Now he knew why Miriam had set off on her travels. But why hadn't she told him anything about them?

Green Shoots

SOMETHING HAD CHANGED
when Arthur woke up the next morning. For one thing, he had overslept. His alarm clock had stopped, the digits frozen at three in the morning. He knew it wasn't that early because outside the sky was tissue white and he could hear Terry's lawn mower. His watch showed it was nine o'clock. Usually this would have thrown him into a state of panic. He was already an hour late for breakfast. But now he lay back on his pillow and thought of nothing except going to Lucy's house.

When he got up, he didn't lay his clothes out on the bed. He went downstairs in his pajamas. He decided that he would eat breakfast with his cereal bowl on his knee in front of the TV rather than sit alone at the too-big kitchen table. He enjoyed ignoring his routine.

He left his house at nine forty-five, giving himself plenty of time to walk. Terry gave him a wave as he went past. “Arthur. You're back. Your daughter was looking for you the other day.”

“I believe so.”

“Uh-huh. I think she was worried. I mean, you don't really go out much.”

“No, I don't suppose I do.” Arthur stood poised with one foot in front of the other, ready to be on his way. Instead, he reconsidered and crossed over to speak to his neighbor. “I went to Graystock Manor in Bath and then I went to London. You know, sightseeing and things.”

“I think that's great.” Terry leaned on his mower. “I really do. When my mum died, well, my dad went to pieces. He kind of retreated into himself and gave up. It's good that you're getting out and about...making the most of things.”

“Thanks.”

“You're always welcome to pop 'round to mine for a cup of sugar or a chat. It's just me so I'd welcome the company. It's not the nicest thing being on your own, is it?”

“No. It isn't...”

“And it would be nice to see you at Men in Caves again.”

“Is Bobby still barking commands?”

“Oh, yes. And my woodwork is still as appalling. I still make tortoises that look like cars.”

Arthur raised himself up onto his toes. “Speaking of which...” He narrowed his eyes as he saw movement in Terry's ornamental grasses.

Terry gave an exaggerated sigh. “Not again.” He strode over and stooped to pick up the escaped tortoise once more. “What is it about my garden that is so attractive to reptiles?”

“Maybe it's you it likes.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps he just has a sense of adventure. He doesn't like to stay put, this one.”

* * *

As Arthur walked to Lucy's he took in the sights and sounds around him that he didn't usually notice, stopping occasionally to admire what a beautiful place he lived in. The fields in the distance were a patchwork of greens. He noticed bursts of daisies sprouting from the cracks in the pavement. He was aware of each step he took, from the soreness of his ankle to the thrilling feeling that he was moving closer to his daughter.

The top of York Minster gleamed gold in the sun and Arthur really couldn't remember the last time he had visited and gone inside. He'd never had a to-do list, taking each day as it came, doing whatever Miriam and the kids wanted to do, but he thought that he might start one.

He arrived at Lucy's in the realization that he hadn't been there for months. Lucy always came to them, at Christmas, for birthdays, for her usual weekly visits—before they petered out after Miriam's death. He wasn't even sure if she had picked up his message.

The door was freshly painted in scarlet and the window frames were white and bright. When Lucy opened the door he had an urge to leap forward and hug her, as he had done with Mike, but he held back, unsure of what her reaction would be. He wasn't certain of her feelings toward him any longer.

“Come in,” she said, and opened the door. She was wearing a white apron and green rubber gardening gloves. A smudge of soil ran from her eye to her chin. She turned and for a moment she looked just like her mother. Arthur stopped still. The resemblance was uncanny. They shared the same tilted nose and aquamarine eyes and the same air of serenity. “Dad?” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes. I...well...you reminded me of your mum then. Just for a moment.”

Lucy looked away quickly. “Come in,” she repeated. “We can go through to the garden. It's too nice to stay indoors.”

Arthur recalled that there used to be beige carpet in the dining room and now there were stripped-back floorboards. A pair of men's Wellington boots stood at the door. Were they Anthony's old ones or did they belong to a new man? He didn't even know if Lucy had met anyone else, or if she was still mourning her marriage.

As if she could read his mind, Lucy followed his gaze. “They're too big but I wear them for gardening. I'm not giving them back to Anthony but they're too good to give away. A few pairs of thick socks and they fit me just fine.”

“Good. They look nice and sturdy. I need to get some new boots. Mine have a hole in them.”

“These ones are size ten.”

“Oh. I used to be a ten. I'm eight and a half now.”

“You should take them.”

“No. I can't. You use them...”

“They're too big.” She picked them up and thrust them into his arms. “Please have them.”

He was about to protest but then he saw the determination in her eyes. The hurt. So he relented. “Thanks. They're just the ticket. Maybe your mother has some that will fit you.”

“She was a four and I'm a six.”

“Oh.”

They chatted and agreed that it had been a good year for carrots but not so great for potatoes. They listed the different dishes that you could make with rhubarb and the merits of using wooden lollipop sticks to mark the rows of vegetables. They agreed that there had been a lot of sun that year so far but not enough rain. Lucy asked what kind of savories Bernadette was making at the moment and Arthur said that he particularly enjoyed her sausage rolls but he wished that she wouldn't bring marzipan cake, as he didn't like the taste but didn't want to offend her by not eating it. Lucy agreed that marzipan was by far the worst food she could imagine and wasn't it strange that it was made from almonds and she liked those. They both thought that Christmas cake would be much better with just a layer of icing.

It was a hot day. Arthur wore his slacks and a shirt with a stiff collar. He wondered how he had ever felt comfortable wearing these clothes day in and day out. He decided that he had never really liked them. Miriam had laid them out for him each day and they became a uniform.

Sweat dribbled down his neck and gathered in a small pool beneath his collar. He found the belt on his trousers cut into his waist as he bent over. “I owe you an explanation about my travels,” he said.

Lucy dug in the trowel, scooped and then flung weeds, not watching where they landed. “Well, yes, you do. You took off to Graystock Manor, then left me a garbled message to say you'd been attacked by a tiger.”

“I went to London, too.” He had decided that he needed to tell her the truth. He wanted her to know about the bracelet and the stories it held.

Lucy clenched her teeth, which made dimples appear in her cheeks. She focused intently on each weed, staring, then jabbing. “I'm really worried about you.”

“There's no need.”

“Of course there's need. You're acting very oddly. What on earth are you doing traveling around the country?”

Arthur looked at his shoes. The toes were flecked with soil from Lucy's digging. “I need to tell you something. It will explain what I've been up to. It's about your mother...”

Lucy didn't look up. “Go on, then.”

Arthur wished that she would meet his eyes, but she was intent on attacking the lawn. It looked as if moles had been on a rampage. He spoke, anyway. “I was clearing out your mother's wardrobe, you see, one year after she...you know. I was most surprised to find a gold charm bracelet stuffed inside her boot. I'd never seen it before. It had all sorts of charms on it—an elephant, a heart, a flower. Do you know anything about it?”

Lucy shook her head. “No. Mum didn't wear stuff like that. A charm bracelet? Are you sure it was hers?”

“Well, it was in her boot. And Mr. Mehra in India said that he gave her the elephant.”

“An
elephant
?”

“Well, a charm one. Apparently your mother was Mr. Mehra's child-minder in Goa, when he was a boy.”

“Dad.”
Lucy sat back on her heels. Her cheeks reddened. “You're not making sense. Mum never went to India.”

“That's what I thought, too. But she did, Lucy. She lived there. Mr. Mehra told me and I believe him. I know it sounds awfully strange. I'm trying to find out where else she lived, what she did before we married. That's why I went to Graystock, why I went to London.”

“I don't understand what's going on here. What are you talking about?”

Arthur slowed down his words. “I found a number engraved on one of the charms on the bracelet. It was a phone number. I spoke to a wonderful man in India who said that Miriam used to look after him. I'm finding out things about your mother that I never knew.”

“Mum
never
went to India,” Lucy insisted.

“I know. It's difficult to believe.”

“There must be some kind of mix-up.”

“Mr. Mehra is a doctor. He described your mother's laugh perfectly, and her bag of marbles. I believe he's telling the truth.”

Lucy started to stab the soil again. She stopped briefly to scoop up a worm with the tip of her trowel and deposit it in a plant pot, then used her trowel like a dagger again. All the while she muttered under her breath.

Arthur didn't know how to handle other people's emotions. When Lucy's teenage hormones reared their ugly head when she turned thirteen, he found the best way to deal with it was to study the newspaper and to leave it all to Miriam. It was she who dealt with tears over boys, a brief dabble with blue-streaked hair, the slamming of doors and the occasional thrown coffee cup. She told Dan to quieten down when he was high-spirited and regularly said to him, “Don't speak to your father like that.”

Arthur felt if he ignored moods, maybe they would go away. But now he could see that his daughter was consumed by something. It was as if she had swallowed a swarm of bees that were bursting to get out. He couldn't stand it any longer. “Lucy. Are you okay?” He placed his hand on her arm. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you this before.”

She squinted against the sun, her forehead rippling. “Yes, I'm fine.”

He paused for a moment, wondering whether to leave things alone, like he had done so many times over the years. But he kept his hand in place. “No, you're not. I can tell.”

Lucy stood up straight. She dropped the trowel to the ground. “I don't think I can handle all this.”

“All what?”

“You, on your mad travels and telling me strange stories about Mum. Trying to cope without Anthony. Having lost the...” She ran her hand through her hair, then shook her head. “Oh, look, it doesn't matter.”

“Yes, it does. Of course it does. I didn't mean to worry you. Sit down with me and talk. I promise to try to listen. Tell me what's wrong.”

For a few seconds she gazed off into the distance. Her lip curled up to the left as she seemed to consider his offer. “Okay,” she said finally.

She wrestled two deck chairs out of the shed and set them on the grass next to each other, batting off the dust and soil with a gardening glove. She and her father sat down, their faces tilted toward the sun, squinting so that whatever they said to each other was done without looking into each other's eyes. It brought a kind of anonymity to what they had to say.

“What is it?” he said.

Lucy took a deep breath. “I want to tell you why I didn't go to Mum's funeral. You need to know.”

“It's in the past. You were poorly. You said goodbye in your own way.” He spoke the words, forgiving her already even though it agonized him that she hadn't been there. He longed with every bone in his body to know how his daughter had done such a thing.

“I was ill, but there was something else. I am so sorry...”

It was then that she let out a cry. Arthur's eyes widened. But his daughter wasn't a little girl any longer. Should he scoop her into his arms? He followed his instincts and got out of his deck chair. He stood, his body in silhouette against the sun, and then dropped to his knees. Circling his arms around her he held her tight, like he should have done so many times when she was growing up. For a moment she resisted, her body stiff and unresponsive. But then it was as if she was a puppet and someone let go of her strings. She crumpled into his arms. She tucked her head under his chin and they stayed there for a while, holding on for dear life.

“Whatever is the matter?”

She stifled a sob but then let it go and a noise came out of her like nothing Arthur had heard before, from deep within her chest. It was a strangled mewl. Swallowing, she wiped away a trail of spittle from her chin. “I had a miscarriage, Dad. I was fifteen weeks gone. I had the scan and everything was fine. I was going to tell you and Mum face-to-face. It seemed too exciting a thing to announce over the phone. It was my big story. I'd arranged to come over for tea, remember? I was going to tell you that I was pregnant.” She gave a sigh full of regret. “I had bad stomach cramps the day after the scan. I curled into a ball on the bathroom floor and the baby started to come too early. Anthony called for an ambulance. It arrived within minutes, but they couldn't do anything...” She shook her head. “Sorry, I don't want to think about it.