Fox Hollow, Upper Milliwick
‘I thought you had decided to stay with Blythe until after the New Year.’ Although surprised to see them, Helen carried on feeding Ned and barely looked at her parents when they followed Kester into the kitchen. ‘Wasn’t that the plan?’
Her initial reaction at hearing her father’s voice in the hall had been one of horror. Having told them that she and Kester were spending New Year’s Eve with friends, they would have to find somewhere to go or be caught out in a deliberate lie. In the intervening few seconds between Kester answering the doorbell and her mother and father coming into the room, her mind had raced. She decided, in that short time, not to mention it at all. Over egging the pudding would definitely make them suspicious; if they had had plans for the evening other than toasting each other at midnight and falling into bed, it wouldn’t be the first thing she would refer to as soon as they arrived. With any luck, they wouldn’t stay long and the need to launch into a more convoluted explanation of their evening’s plans wouldn’t arise. Guilt had an immediate and adverse effect on her stomach and she fought the need to run for the lavatory, after which she knew she would end up confessing. Her parents had come such a long way to see her when Ned was born; it seemed unjust to wish them gone now.
‘It was..yes..’
Her father sounded more lost than usual and she turned to look at him properly. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe she had been wrong and Blythe was genuinely ill. Ned picked up on her anxiety, spat the teat from his mouth and began to grizzle.
‘Tea...coffee?’ Kester asked, although they all looked as though they could use a stiff drink, Helen included. His mother-in-law was oddly quiet and he sensed that Helen was made nervous by the atmosphere her parents seemed to have brought into the house. He reasoned that bad news would have been tearfully delivered on the doorstep and he wished he could convey that to Helen without actually saying so. The tension had the effect of freeze-framing the three adults, while Ned squirmed and wailed, demanding attention. ‘I can make both.’
‘Yes, do that.’ Helen spoke first. There had seemed to be a pool of silence, despite the increasingly angry noise from Ned, and her words fell into it, rippling outwards and filling the strange gulf which stretched between her and her mother and father. ‘Daddy prefers coffee...but I’d like tea.’
‘Do something with that child!’ Ella Marchant shrieked. Her hands clenched at her sides and her whole body began to shake.
‘Excuse me?’ Helen stood up, making no attempt to pacify Ned other than to hold him to her shoulder, furious at her mother’s greeting. ‘How dare you!’
‘I can’t talk with that racket going on!’ Ella was unrepentant.
‘Then I suggest you leave and come back when you can!’
‘Helen...’ Brian Marchant stepped between them and faced his daughter with his palms lifted in an effort to restore peace. ‘Your mother has something to say, something rather important which I think you should hear.’
‘And you haven’t?’ she snapped crossly. ‘Or do you find your grandson’s crying too much of a challenge too?’
‘Certainly not,’ he replied with a smile and held out his hands to take Ned. He bounced him on his arm as he spoke quietly. ‘This grandson of mine is my raison d’être, you know that as well as I do.’
‘I’ve got no idea what’s going on,’ Kester left what he was doing to stand at Helen’s side and glower at her mother. ‘But I won’t put up with you talking to Helen like that and I definitely won’t stand by and listen to you having hysterics because my son’s crying. It’s what babies do! Whatever your particular problem is, it’s not of our making, and you should remember that before you come here shouting the odds. I think you had better say what you’ve come to say, and leave. I’m sorry if it’s bad news....’ He thought he should cover all bases; from Barry’s casual and smiling attitude, he didn’t think it could be but there was no knowing. People reacted in different ways; he knew he had a tendency to laugh at inappropriate moments; it was a nervous reaction. ‘If Blythe...and I presume as you’ve come from there that this is about her; if she is more ill than we first realised, then I’m sorry...’ He looked at Helen, put an arm around her shoulder and after exchanging a brief glance, gave a nod. ‘We both are. But that’s no excuse for behaving like this.’
‘Hmmm, no...Indeed it’s not.’ Helen’s father, making sure of his grip on Ned by putting his free hand firmly under his arm and holding his upper body steady, turned to his wife. ‘Ella, I know this is very difficult for you but I insist you stop this nonsense right now!’
Helen blinked in surprise; these flashes of forcefulness from a very mild mannered man always came as a shock, especially when directed at her mother.
‘We have not come from Blythe’s,’ he continued and the stony look he gave Ella indicated that, however reluctantly, he had decided to take responsibility for any explanation while she seemed to be able to do nothing but sob. ‘We have come from the hotel.’
‘The hotel?’ Helen echoed, if anything looking more surprised than she had before. ‘You were at the hotel?’
‘That is correct.’
He was being very formal; his words had a staccato crispness and, having drawn himself up to his full height on an intake of breath, Kester imagined him having full control of a lecture hall without any problem at all. The only softness in his face was reserved for Ned and his expression changed continually as he turned his head from Helen and Kester to him, recognising that the baby, still crying but becoming less fractious as time went on, would not be comforted unless he presented as the same doting grandfather he had always been.
‘You didn’t go?’ In that moment, it was the only reason Helen could think of for them being at The Manor, but at the same time she knew that as they were at a premium over the festive season, they had been persuaded by a substantial reduction in the rate on their return to give up their room while they were away. Had they reneged on that agreement? Surely that would mean that some other poor guest had been without a place to stay? This was too confusing for words. ‘Why on earth didn’t you come here?’
‘We went! We went!’ Her mother had recovered enough to interrupt but not sufficiently to stop another burst of hysterical crying.
Kester said nothing but went to the dresser and took out a bottle of brandy. He poured a large measure into a glass and taking Ella by the arm, led her to a chair and pressed it into her hands before returning to Helen. ‘Shall we all sit down?’ he suggested stiffly and took a seat at the head of the table, leaving his mother-in-law at the other end to wallow in whatever misery she brought to the occasion; he hoped to God her outburst didn’t mean that they had found Blythe dead, but then dismissed the notion as ridiculous; they would have heard before now. ‘You were saying?’ he said to Barry, offering to take Ned but having his offer rejected with a shake of the head and a smile as he gave his largely pacified grandson another bounce and a rub of his nose on his cheek, then sat down and settled him on his knee. ‘You saw Blythe?’ he referred to what Ella had said by including her with a flick of a pointed finger.
‘Eventually.’ Helen’s father did not sound annoyed but articulated each syllable with a weary resignation which to anyone’s ears would lead them to deduce that it was no more than he had thought likely.
‘We were so worried!’ Ella was still crying but she seemed more able to contribute without losing control.
‘She was not there when we arrived...And of course....’ The look he gave his wife was compassionate, as though there was no need to take such a firm line with her now that she was beginning to calm down. ‘We were very concerned that either she had been taken to hospital or was too ill to answer the door.’
Helen closed her eyes and groaned; she knew exactly what was coming or certainly had a fair idea of what had transpired; she had been served much the same herself in the past, worrying unnecessarily over someone who didn’t seem to give a damn about anything or anyone and cared even less that it was her lies which had given rise to the concern.
‘What did you do?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘Luckily.....’ he glanced at Ella again. ‘Or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, the chap next door had a key. He heard the commotion and came out to see what the problem was.’ He cleared his throat uncomfortably and combed Ned’s hair with his fingers before looking up. ‘He was able to tell us that Blythe was in fact spending Christmas in Switzerland with friends.’
‘Not for her health, one supposes.’ Kester’s remark was flippant but he was steaming and had to give vent somehow, however small the jibe might be. Helen had been right; he had been right, and now they had to put up with the fallout? He clamped his teeth together to save from losing it completely. Helen had been vilified for her doubts over Blythe’s illness and maligned as heartless and cold by her mother; was she really expecting them to be sympathetic now that she had been proved wrong? Helen sought his hand and clasped it; her fingers felt cool and he could detect a slight tremor as their wrists met but he was unsure if it was the pounding of his own pulse he could feel, or hers.
‘Skiing.’
‘Rather strenuous for someone at death’s door.’ Waspish and acerbic in the extreme, Helen made her feelings known. ‘I don’t think I want to hear anymore. I have had this sort of thing happen so many times but you refused to believe me. I’m afraid I have no pity in me to spare.’ Standing up, she took Ned from her father’s arms and picked up the feeding bottle which still held a few ounces of formula milk. ‘He needs his nap.’
‘Please stay,’ Barry implored, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. ‘I have never expected pity from you...’
‘But ‘a little understanding’?’ she threw her mother’s exhortation back at her and laughed cynically. ‘I know you haven’t, Daddy, but that’s all she’s here for. I don’t think you realise just how angry I am.’
‘She came to apologise.’
‘And how long did it take you to persuade her to do that?’ Flushed and with Ned beginning to grizzle once more, she took a few steps towards the door. ‘No apology could make up for being wrong my whole life and nothing will ever make amends for having Ned referred to as ‘that child’.’ She glowered at her mother, unmoved by her tears. ‘There are people in this village who act more like a grandmother to him than you do. We actually saw one or two of them on Christmas morning!’ The kitchen door closed behind her and her footsteps echoed through the hall as she marched to the stairs.
‘I think I’d better go see she’s okay...and maybe you had better leave.’
Helen’s father whispered, tears filling his eyes. ‘Tell her I believed her and always believed in her, will you? It’s been....difficult, you understand?’
‘I’m sure she knows that already but I will tell her.’ Kester gave his shoulder a squeeze and got a wavering smile in return. ‘She’ll be in touch, don’t worry,’ he said in an equally low voice and patted his arm before letting his hand drop.
Barry Marchant took a handkerchief from his pocket and briskly wiped his nose. Tucking it back again, he drew a deep breath and turned to his wife. ‘Come along, Ella. Time we were gone. No....’ he silenced her protest with a stern lift of his voice. ‘We are leaving, now! We have a great deal more talking to do and here is not the place to do it!’
