The Winter Children (30 page)

The strange thing was how cold Francesca was over it.
She’s been so lovely lately, she can’t do enough for me. And suddenly, last night, she went all prickly.
Olivia recalls
that right from the off, as she started preparing the meal, Francesca grew distant. She didn’t offer to help – not with the cooking, or with the table, or even clearing away
afterwards. It was almost as though she were trying to relegate Olivia to the status of housekeeper, while she played the lady of the manor.

Maybe that’s what she’s used to at home.
Olivia wrestles with a pair of Dan’s heavy wet jeans, tethering them down to the line with several pegs.

Francesca seemed to enjoy herself during the evening, revelling in the old jokes and stories, and joining in whenever she could. Her attention was firmly focused on her Cambridge mates, but
that was how it should be. It was why they were there, really. And she was in her element when they went on the tour of the house. But afterwards, she seemed thoroughly pissed off.

And then back to normal this morning. Emptying the dishwasher, feeding the kids, clearing up. Just the same old Cheska, smiley and chatty and nice.

She bends down to the washing basket and gets more clothes. The line is dipping under the weight already, but the warm air will soon dry out the worst of the water. As she takes out some sleep
suits, she considers.

What is normal for Cheska, though? What do I really know about her?

She has always been around, for as long as Olivia has known Dan. A fixture in his life. A platonic female friend with whom there has never, apparently, been a spark of romance.

Olivia laughs to herself.
Well, it’s possible. I mean, Dan has a magnetic effect on lots of women, but some have got to be immune to him. Look at the others . . . Claire, Katy, Alyssa . . . they’ve never seemed to respond to him like that. And nor has Cheska.

And yet, now she thinks about it, she remembers how she once used to feel vaguely uncomfortable about Francesca and the intimacy she shared with Dan. She believed him when he said that
they’d been no more than friends, but always wondered if that puppyish attitude of Cheska’s had spilled over into something romantic. When she playfully asked him, he laughed and said
he didn’t think so. Still there was something intimate between them . . .
But he was close to Claire too. What’s the difference?
She thinks hard, frowning as she pegs out
another T-shirt, hearing the children chatter at her feet as they play with the pegs in the bag.
It was because Claire was absolutely and irrefutably in love with Jimmy. They were a couple. The
intimacy with Dan was a close friendship. But Cheska is in a couple too, married to Walt. It’s the same thing.

Her mind plays over it again, what it was like when she met Francesca, how she absorbed the story of Francesca’s marriage.

It wasn’t really like Claire and Jimmy, because Walt was never here. We never saw him. It was always Cheska on her own, except very occasionally, like at our wedding. He was there
then.
She remembers him, a portly businessman with a merry smile and a loud American accent, a little out of place with his handmade shoes and tailored suits and solid gold cufflinks. She liked
him. But it was hard to visualise him at Francesca’s side as her partner. It was more like she’d brought a distant relation along.

Why did she marry him? I can’t see it somehow.

But the marriage has lasted so far, with two children and a home in Switzerland and now this house, a project that will see them into the next few years at least.

Suddenly she recalls the moment last night when Jimmy said something in particular. What was it? Something about Dan still being able to reel them in, and he mentioned Cheska in particular. Then
it went quiet and everyone was a bit odd, just for a moment, until someone smoothed it over.

She stands still, the damp clothes swaying on the line beside her.

What did that mean?
She shrugs.
I’ll just have to ask Dan. I’m sure he’ll tell me.

Once she’s finished with the washing, there’s still no sign of Francesca or Dan. He must be working. Her eye is caught by a sudden movement, and she gazes upwards to see Francesca
standing at the window of the twins’ bedroom, looking down while she talks on her mobile phone. When she sees that Olivia has spotted her, she waves merrily and makes a gesture to show that
she is deep in a conversation.

What’s she doing in there?

Olivia picks up the washing basket and takes it inside, leaving the twins playing. Then, on a whim, she gets her coat and slips on her boots. They will take a walk into the garden of the main
house. Why not? It might get her creative juices flowing again. It’s been fun poking around in the cottage garden, and she’s spent some happy half hours weeding and clearing and giving
the shrubs some space to breathe.

But I need to earn some money soon. Dan’s redundancy won’t pay the bills forever and despite what Jimmy says about my royalties, they don’t amount to all that much.

She should think about a new book. The Argentinian one can’t go ahead now that she’s left and there probably wouldn’t be much of a market for it either. ‘A nice how-to
guide always goes down well,’ her literary agent would say. ‘That’s what they like. Simple, pretty and lots of lovely pics.’

She hasn’t heard from him for months. He’s probably forgotten all about her.

Well, there might not be a book in Renniston, but I’m sure I could do some articles for a gardening magazine or a Sunday paper. I’ll pitch something to my old contacts and see
what happens.

Feeling a little brighter, she takes a twin by each hand, and they skip out of the cottage garden, singing one of their favourite songs as they go. She soon realises they don’t need their
coats; the weather is properly warm. They are well into May and there’s more than a hint of the coming summer.

‘Isn’t this lovely?’ she asks, as they walk along the gravel paths and she begins to take in the garden. The trim paths are bordered by lavender and purple sage with small
round rosemary bushes in between. Behind are taller plants, stocks in white and mauve, white-green balls of hydrangea, fluffy-headed phlox, with shaped evergreen shrubs adding structure. Where
paths divide, bay trees stand guard, their trunks sturdy and bare, their leaves trimmed to glossy green orbs on top. Jasmine, clematis and honeysuckle climb the old stone walls, some of their
flowers already out, speckling the shaggy growth with colour. Some borders have tiny cut hedges of their own to enclose a mass of blooms, or a rose bush. It’s old-fashioned but lovingly set out and cared for.

Does William really do all this on his own? How incredible! He must work so hard.

The children are entranced by the gravel and she has to stop them picking up handfuls to toss at each other and over the borders. Then they come to a smaller enclosed garden, set out with formal
patterns, with a pond in the middle.

‘Stay away from the water,’ she says strictly, and diverts them from their instant run towards it. ‘No, you naughty things! We’re not getting wet today. It’s not
that warm.’

Then she sees it. The topiary, in the garden beyond. ‘Look, look!’ she cries, laughing. ‘What can you see?’

Bea and Stan look where she is pointing but they don’t know to lift their gaze and it’s only when she holds them both up that they see what she is talking about.

‘Wabbit!’ cries Bea, pointing too. ‘Wabbit, wabbit!’

‘Wabbit?’ asks Stan wonderingly, then sees it and shrieks. ‘Cat!’

‘No, rabbit,’ Olivia corrects, and then she sees the cat as well. ‘Oh my goodness, it’s a pet zoo. Come on, let’s go and look.’

She puts them down and they make their way out of the far end of the formal garden and into a wide avenue at the back of the house. Here, at the eastern end of the Hall, is the topiary: a row of
green hedges cut into the shapes of animals.

‘Squiwwel!’ cries Bea, and laughs.

‘Yes, a squirrel. And a bear, how hilarious. What made him put a bear here? And . . . what’s that? An owl?’

The row of green leafy animals has been carefully trimmed and maintained. Each animal is neat and easy to identify. They spend a happy hour wandering among them, pretending to feed them, and
talk to them, and the children make up names for them. Then Olivia realises it’s time for lunch and chivvies the children back onto the path for home.

How lovely to find these animals
, she thinks.
It makes up for that horrible experience last night. The house doesn’t seem so bad when it’s got this little menagerie
here.

As they head back towards the cottage, she thinks she sees someone watching them over the low wall of the formal garden, but when she turns to look, there is no one there.

When the twins have eaten and Olivia has put them down for a sleep, Dan emerges from his study for lunch. Olivia is just sitting down to join him for a bowl of soup at the kitchen table when
Francesca comes in to say she is catching up on admin this afternoon and could she borrow the car to go to town. ‘I’ll get some lunch there, and do some grocery shopping if you need
anything.’

‘No problem,’ Olivia says. ‘Of course you can borrow the car. And the list is on the wall over there, take it with you. I’d be ever so grateful, I can’t stand the
supermarket.’

‘Happy to. I’ll see you later.’ She takes the car key from the rack and goes out.

Olivia raises her eyebrows at Dan as they hear the car engine start up. ‘There we are. Peace at last.’

‘Are the kids napping?’ he asks, looking about as though he has just noticed they aren’t there.

Olivia nods. ‘Fed and fast asleep. We had a very nice morning in the garden.’

‘That’s good,’ Dan says absently, and brushes the crumbs on his plate into a little pyramid. He frowns. ‘We’ve got to get rid of Cheska. I don’t want her here
anymore. I really don’t.’

‘I can’t say I’m ecstatic about it, but how can we?’ Olivia tries to sound reasonable. ‘This is her house. What can we do about it? She’ll have to go
eventually.’

‘Or we do,’ Dan says brusquely.

‘Leave? But go where?’ Olivia knows she doesn’t want to leave. She likes it here: the old cottage and its sunny garden, the mysterious great house beyond. ‘We
haven’t got the money to rent somewhere like this.’

‘We don’t have to live in a place like this. We could take a flat in the town. Or get a modern house that doesn’t cost as much.’

‘I . . . suppose we could,’ she says cautiously. ‘But would we be as happy?’

‘We’d be a darn sight happier than we are sharing our lives with Cheska!’ he bursts out.

She leans towards him, anxious at the sight of his strain and the way his fists are clenched. He looks so tense. ‘Is everything going okay with your writing?’ she asks.

‘What?’ He scrunches up his face as though he can’t understand a word, then says, ‘Oh. Yes, yes. It’s fine. I mean, it’s not finished, I don’t know when
it will be finished.’ He releases a hard puffing breath through his nose. ‘Look, the redundancy money is almost gone. The rent from the flat is paying our bills. Obviously it’s good that we don’t have
rent to pay on top of that. But one way or another we need to sort out our future. And I just don’t think it’s here, Olivia. I’m sorry. It’s best that we come to terms with
it sooner rather than later.’

‘We could sell the London flat and buy a cottage,’ she suggests. ‘Somewhere like this – rural and pretty with a garden . . .’

‘But where will I work?’ he says slowly in a tone of exasperated patience, as though pointing out the screamingly obvious. ‘If my writing doesn’t come to anything,
I’ll need to find something like my old job again. And that means London.’

‘No. Not London.’ She’s determined. She doesn’t want to take the twins back there, to the noise and the traffic and the struggle to go anywhere. ‘We have to be able
to make it work. Surely. I’ll start coming up with some proper book ideas. I’ll go to town for the day and see my agent and talk it over with him. I’ll get some pitches for
articles ready.’

‘All very nice possibilities. If they happen, then maybe we could live off them. But we can’t be sure.’

He’s in one of his negative phases – nothing she suggests will inspire hope. He’ll knock it all down. She tries to think of what she can do in the short term to improve his
mood, and places a hand over his, rubbing the tops of his knuckles gently. ‘Listen, I’ll talk to Francesca and ask her what her plans are. Maybe we can explain that we really need
some time together as a family. She must know what that’s like, she’s a mother.’

Dan looks suddenly even more miserable, his blue eyes darkening and his mouth turning down. ‘No. Don’t do that. We don’t need to risk upsetting her. Leave her be. She’ll
go in the end. It’s just . . . draining.’

Olivia stares at him, still rubbing her hand over his. ‘Dan . . .’ she ventures. ‘I know I asked you before but . . .’

He flicks his gaze up at her; it’s hard and unyielding. It reminds her of the dark days. The arguments. The tears and shouts and desperation. The sense that he might be a stranger to her.
She feels momentarily cowed, then decides to press on.

‘You and Francesca . . . did anything . . .’ She tries to pick her words carefully. ‘Did anything ever happen between you? Romantically?’

He hesitates, and as soon as he does, a strange feeling washes over her, a prickling, buzzing feeling as though her world has just shifted. ‘Did it?’ she asks, her voice tight with
sudden strain.

He looks up, his stare unwavering. ‘No,’ he says firmly.

‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you?’

He pauses again, and she is back on tenterhooks. ‘Look, I don’t know . . . back in the day, she might have nurtured a little crush on me. But if she did, it was a lifetime ago and it
never went anywhere. It was over long before I met you. She was going out with Walt practically as soon as we left university and soon after that she got married. That’s all there is to
it.’

‘That’s it?’