The Dream House (14 page)

‘Well, when your mother’s better, I’m sure they can come again.’

‘If we had a big enough house, it would be easier . . . Simon?’

‘Yes?’

‘What were you arguing about before I came in?’

‘Oh, Mum was having a go at me. Not getting home often enough, not seeing enough of the kids, not getting on and looking for a house. Actually, she’s starting to get quite antsy. Says she loves having us but we ought to find somewhere of our own.’

‘Well, we should. It’s too much for her. We’ve been here far too long. And I’m not sure that she and I see eye to eye on the upbringing of children. Oh, but I saw the most fantastic house today, Simon. Miss Melton’s. Do you know, you’re not going to believe me, but I think it’s the one I saw in my dream.’

Simon turned and looked at her with an exasperated expression. ‘You must have seen it before, then. You couldn’t just dream about it without having seen it. Or a house like it. Unless you’ve been reading the kids too many fairy stories.’

She laughed. ‘Maybe. But it gave me a most peculiar feeling, though.’ A thought struck her and she got out of bed and went and rummaged in her jewel case. Then she remembered. She’d packed the locket away in a box for the shed. She got back into bed. Then there was the photograph in the woman’s bedroom – oh, everything was so confusing.

‘Will it be all right if I go and see Miss Melton this weekend? If she’s OK and allowed visitors, that is?’ she asked him.

‘I don’t see why not. What are the children up to tomorrow?’

‘I ought to get Sam some new shoes. Then Daisy’s got a riding lesson at half two. We’ll have to see what time visiting hours are.’ Kate rolled over and stroked Simon’s face, then nuzzled her head into his neck.

‘Mmm,’ he said, his eyes closing. He didn’t move away, but nor did he respond. She felt rather hurt, though she told herself he must be immensely tired after his week, as he usually was. They lay there for a few minutes in silence, then Simon disengaged himself and reached over to turn out the lamp.

‘Goodnight, darling,’ he murmured, yawning and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders.

‘Goodnight.’ Kate stared at his back in the darkness.

Despite feeling stretched thin with tiredness, her mind was alert and she lay awake turning over all the disturbing things that had happened that evening. Miles away, her mother lay in a hospital bed. Was it just a cry for help, taking those pills, or had she really wanted to die? She’d gone inside herself, Kate’s father had said. Barbara had never tried anything like this before – what could have brought it on? Hadn’t her father been able to gauge that things were coming to some sort of a crisis?

The thought of hospitals brought her to Miss Melton. She hoped Dan’s call tomorrow would bring good news – she badly wanted to see the old lady again, not least to unravel the mysteries about the house and the photograph. There must be some family link somewhere – which made her think of her mother once more.

And then there was Simon. She reached out and touched his hair in the darkness. He didn’t even stir. The poor darling was exhausted. They must find somewhere to live very soon, even if they had to rent. And she must talk to him again about his work: they couldn’t go on living their lives like this, at a distance from one another.

How strange her new life here was turning out to be, how troubled. Before they’d moved, she’d thought certain things were going to be quite simple – that she and Simon would have more time for one another, that they’d find somewhere idyllic to call home. She’d been more worried about the children settling in, about missing her friends or about determining a sense of direction for herself. Yet the children seemed very happy with their new country environment. And she was missing her husband even more than her friends or a job.

Thirty miles away, Miss Melton slept deeply, the monitors by her bed flashing their regular message of reassurance. In her dream, she was a tiny girl again, her nanny calling.

‘Agnes, Agnes! Come out of there, you’ll wake her.’

Agnes stood by the four poster-bed, wondering why her mother was asleep in the afternoon. As Nurse swept into the room, her mother’s eyes opened, she smiled and reached out her hand.

‘Come on, darling. Come and cuddle down with me.’ And little Agnes climbed onto the high bed and snuggled down in the damp warmth of her mother’s embrace, safe and secure against the world, the scent of lily-of-the-valley all around her.

That afternoon, an age ago, was the last time she’d felt safe for a long, long time.

‘Wake up, Mummy. Mummy, wake up! Daisy, come here, Daddy’s home! Daddy, can we go in the garden? We’ve been watching telly for hours and now we want to go out.’ There was a sudden draught as Sam lifted the end of the duvet and burrowed up between his parents. Simon rolled over and tickled him and the duvet slid off. A shivering Kate grabbed it. Daisy came to join the fray, shrieking with joy as her daddy pretended to bite her tummy.

‘You’ll have to get dressed first, darlings.’ Kate yawned, when they all lay tickled out and panting. ‘And have breakfast.’

‘But I’m not hungry,’ howled Sam. ‘Garden, garden. Bobby wants to go out, too.’

‘OK, well why don’t you see who can get dressed the quickest?’

The children raced out and Simon pulled on his dressing-gown to go and make tea.

‘Seven o’clock,’ he moaned, peering at the clock. ‘You’d think they’d give us an extra hour in bed at a weekend, wouldn’t you? Where did we go wrong?’

At nine thirty promptly, the phone rang. Joyce had gone out, so Kate answered it.

‘Kate? Hello, it’s Dan here. Sorry if it’s a bit early to call at the weekend. I thought you’d like to know that I rang the hospital and Miss Melton is doing fine. They’ve set her hip and she’s had as good a night as can be expected. She’s very woozy this morning, but she’s eaten some breakfast.’

‘I’m so relieved. It’s really kind of you to let me know.’

‘I don’t know if you still want to go and see her? The hospital is close on an hour’s drive. They reckon she’ll be well enough to see people by tomorrow afternoon. It’ll be good for her to have visitors, in fact, they said. I won’t get there before four so it would be great if you could go.’

‘If you don’t reckon I’ll be getting in the way of anyone else. Have you managed to speak to the housekeeper yet?’

‘Marie? Not yet. Her daughter’s ringing her – Tina something. Do you know her? She lives in Fernley.’

‘That might be the mother of the girl who cleans for us. I can never get used to everyone being related to everyone else round here.’

‘The only relative of Miss Melton I know is her brother’s grandson. Max Jordan, his name is. I’ve only met him once. Mrs Summers’ll have to ring him as I don’t know the number.’

Kate wrote down the directions to the hospital and thanked him, saying she’d go about three thirty the next day, after she’d taken Sam to a birthday party at the church hall.

Shortly after she’d put the phone down it rang again. It was Claire. She didn’t seem as chatty as usual, but you could never tell with phones, could you? Kate had seen her once or twice when she visited London, but Claire herself had never ventured beyond the M25 to visit Kate. Now, it seemed, she was suddenly free this weekend and wanted to come.

‘Claire, it would have been lovely to see you but you’re right – it’s too late now, isn’t it? I’m sorry I missed you yesterday. What about next weekend?’

But, no, next weekend was no good. Claire mentioned someone called Alex possibly being around and said that, no, she wasn’t certain she could bring him. He might be around the following weekend, too, so she’d better not fix that up. June might be all right, after the fifteenth, possibly. It all sounded very unlike the Claire Kate knew, the Claire who was always in charge of her life.

‘Well, if you won’t tell me any more about this mysterious Alex and you can’t come until mid-June, why don’t you hitch a lift with Liz?’ She suggested. ‘They’re all coming down at the end of June and she’ll probably have a space in the car. I can fix up the B & B for you if you like. Oh, and you mustn’t forget your walking boots and cagoul!’ But Claire’s laugh wasn’t as ready as usual.

On Sunday afternoon, Kate followed Dan’s directions to the hospital; it turned out to be a functional-looking two-storey modern building on a main road into Great Yarmouth. She was directed through several corridors to a small side-room off a large bright ward, where Miss Melton was propped up on a pile of pillows. In her pink brushed-cotton nightdress and with her white hair falling about her shoulders, only her pointed face and her faded blue eyes marked her out as the same person Kate had rescued on Friday night. But the nurses had obviously taken trouble with her. Her hair was brushed and Kate imagined she was wearing her false teeth – her face didn’t have that caved-in look. Indeed, the old lady seemed surprisingly alert considering she had recently undergone an operation and was presumably taking something for the pain.

‘Thank you for helping me. Don’t know what I would have done, how long I might have lain there.’ Miss Melton’s voice was not much more than a hoarse whisper.

Kate didn’t like to think of that either. She just said, ‘It’s funny, but in a way I believe it was meant to be. Something was drawing me there that evening.’

‘What do you mean?’ Miss Melton’s question was sharp despite the hoarseness, and her eyes piercing, as if she were Kate’s old headmistress asking her to explain herself after Kate had made some particularly woolly statement in an English lesson. Kate told her about the dream. That sounded foolish enough so she didn’t tell her about the locket. She didn’t want Miss Melton to think she was completely bonkers and, anyway, it might have been pure coincidence that she’d dreamed while wearing the locket.

After she’d finished, Miss Melton was staring into the distance. ‘There
is
a kind of atmosphere about the house, you know.’ She sighed. ‘A sad one, I’m afraid. When I’m dead and gone . . .’ She broke off in a fit of coughing and it was a moment or two before she could swallow some water and recover. She directed her intense gaze on Kate again. ‘When I’m dead and gone, whoever comes next should sell all the rubbish and throw open the windows to blow the ghosts away!’

She stopped and studied Kate’s face. ‘There, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that, when you asked me about my childhood . . .’ She closed her eyes. ‘Just let me say that I had some happy times there, very happy times. But that was all too long ago now,’ she muttered, opening her eyes and staring round the room. There was silence for a moment, then she seemed to come to herself again. She smiled at Kate. ‘What about you, my dear? Where were you brought up? Are your parents living?’

‘Yes. Though my mother is unwell,’ Kate said carefully. She was still getting used to the idea of Barbara’s brush with death. She explained about the telephone call of two nights before and about her peripatetic upbringing.

‘You don’t sound close to your father and mother. Oh . . .’ The old lady seemed to be in some pain now. She pushed a button on a pad on the bed and a nurse appeared and helped her change position. When she’d settled again, Kate said she thought she must go soon.

‘Of course, dear,’ Agnes said, her eyes closed. ‘Tell me about your parents first.’

So Kate told her about her mother and father, and then found herself talking about Nicola.

‘She died in an accident when I was seventeen,’ Kate said. ‘She was two years older.’

‘Oh my dear,’ said Agnes, opening her eyes wide. ‘How very terrible.’

Kate stared out of the window, remembering. ‘She had only just passed her test. Dad had bought a little runaround car for us to use and it was her second time out in it. We don’t know exactly what happened, but she was driving down one of those narrow Surrey country lanes in the dark. She came off the road and crashed into a tree.’

Miss Melton’s clear blue eyes were full of sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear, she said. ‘I, too, lost people close to me when I was young. You never forget them. The years pass and you never forget.’ And she closed her eyes tight. Kate wondered if she was drifting off to sleep, but then Agnes looked directly at Kate and smiled.

After a minute, Kate whispered, ‘I’m sorry, I must have worn you out. I ought to go now. They’ll be wondering where I am.’ She stood up, then thought of something. ‘Miss Melton . . .’

‘Agnes, dear.’

‘Agnes.’ She stopped. ‘In your bedroom, when I fetched the blanket, there was a photograph near the door.’

‘Yes.’ Agnes nodded. ‘My mother. She died when I was three. You’re very like her, you know.’ And she smiled. After a moment she said, ‘You said your father’s name is Carter. What was your mother’s before she married?’

‘Lane,’ said Kate. ‘She was Barbara Lane.’

‘My aunt married a man named Lane,’ Agnes said softly. ‘She was my mother’s sister and was ten years younger. I wonder . . .’

As Kate made her way down the stairs, she met Dan coming up. He paused, leaned against the wall, one arm stretched up the handrail towards her. Comfortable, strong. Kate explained that she was sorry, she felt she’d tired Miss Melton. Dan smiled, creasing the faint crow’s feet at his eyes.

‘I’m sure she was pleased to see you. I won’t be staying long, just to say hello. Marie Summers came yesterday in the end. She was in a state when she heard, but she wanted to go straight away. She was going to check the house this morning and ring the grand-nephew.’

‘I’ll see you soon then, maybe,’ said Kate.

‘Yes. Come and see her again.’ His blue eyes were warm as he stood smiling, waiting for her to pass.

That evening, Simon had booked them in for dinner at the Five Bells, a gourmet pub-restaurant five miles away. It was lovely to be going out, Kate thought, just the two of them.

‘You don’t have much fun after all those places you used to go in London, do you, darling?’ he said as the waitress left them with their menus.

‘Well, I must admit this is a real treat.’ Kate looked round at the old beams, the collections of Toby jugs, horseshoes, farming implements that could have doubled as torture instruments and the inevitable hunting prints – ‘the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable’ was not a joke to be made too loudly round here.