Puppies Are For Life (17 page)

‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do.’ Jan’s tone was decisive. ‘First of all you must give me your doctor’s phone number. And then … well, we’ll take it from there.’

The caravan was in darkness and the Volvo missing when Susannah got home from Bristol. Lights were shining in the cottage, but she could derive no comfort from the fact. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing any member of her family – not one of them.

The entire afternoon had been a total waste of time – as well as money – because she never got to speak to Natalie after all. So on top of Paul’s displeasure over her losing her job – and ‘displeasure’ was probably putting it mildly – she would have Simon’s disappointment to contend with. Not to mention Katy in one of her moods.

At length, gathering up her shopping, she went into the cottage via the kitchen door and found the family grouped round the pine table.

And to think, she thought grimly, surveying their accusing faces, that I dared hope for a change of heart.

On the journey home in crawling traffic, jammed between a horse-box and a menacing van, she had pondered the possibility that they might be pleased
for her when she told them about doing the mural. They might decide it would be good to have a more interesting wife/mother, now that they’d got used to the idea: an artist in their midst, rather than a pay-clerk …

Pure fantasy, of course.
She
might have changed, but they certainly hadn’t.

‘You’ve been ages,’ Paul lost no time in informing her. ‘We had to go out and get ourselves a Chinese.’

‘Poor you,’ she grunted unsympathetically, ‘I hope you made sure he was well-cooked.’

Katy pushed a foil dish of congealed remains towards her. ‘Yours is Szechuan Beef.’

‘Yes,’ Simon sniggered from behind his hand, ‘we didn’t like that one much.’

She glared at her tormentors; she was in no mood for badinage, no matter how harmlessly intended.

‘Where have you been all this time?’ Paul wanted to know. ‘Earning another nice lot of overtime?’

‘N-no … I went over to Bristol to see Natalie.’ She dared not look at Simon. ‘But I’m afraid I couldn’t track her down.’

‘Oh, Mu-um!’

‘Well, it isn’t my fault, Simon! I did my best for you.’

Simon’s expression told her it just wasn’t good enough.

‘I went to the school to see if I could meet her
coming out – twice, I’ll have you know. Then I went to her friend’s flat and parked outside for ages but neither of them ever turned up. I didn’t know where else to try after that.’

‘There are two separate parts to the school,’ Simon told her in a world-weary tone that implied she surely ought to have known. ‘Natalie normally works in the west block –’

‘That’s where I went.’

‘– but not every day of the week. And today’s her day for meditation. She does
that
straight from work, with her friend.’

Meditation!
a voice shrieked inside Susannah’s head. The girl had time to swan around
meditating
while others were left holding the baby? She felt too stunned to explode.

It was then that Katy noticed the shopping bag, still dangling from her mother’s wrist.

‘Ooh! You’ve bought something nice,’ she said, pointing at the bag. ‘Is there anything in there for me?’

Susannah closed her eyes. ‘No. No, there isn’t, Katy. I’m sorry, I –’ But why on earth should she apologise? She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She knew it was all going to come out far from the way she’d planned it, but – well, what the hell.

‘Actually,’ she told them, ‘I’ve been thoroughly and unashamedly selfish. And I really don’t give a damn. Today I bought myself two expensive dresses that I don’t need; I informed Mr Webb that
I’d be doing his mural, no matter what; and I told Mr Duffy where to get off. Oh, and I had a whole cream eclair in the coffee shop. Entirely to myself. Now, does anyone have any objections?’

But if they had she didn’t wait around to hear them. She ran upstairs to get changed.

‘What exactly was it you told Duffy?’ Paul asked before she’d even discarded her coat. He’d abandoned his bag of prawn crackers and shot upstairs after her to their room.

‘To stuff the——job,’ she replied calmly, inserting a suitably unpleasant adjective that was guaranteed to make his ears go red. Paul hated to hear her using bad language.

‘You told him to …? You didn’t!’

‘I did.’

‘And what did he say to that?’

She undid her skirt and stepped out of it. ‘Not much he could say, was there? Anyway, I hardly gave him the chance to say anything. I walked right out and left him to it.’

‘You mean … you’ve actually lost your job?’

‘I mean precisely that.’

Paul took a step towards her. ‘You’ve thrown away a perfectly good job? When your children would give their eye teeth …? And on top of that you come home flaunting two brand new frivolous dresses?’

‘It was
my
money I was spending! Mine! My uncle left it to me. He left me five hundred pounds, if you must know.’

Paul’s eyebrows disappeared. ‘Well, you’ve kept damned quiet about that. But it’s
your
money now, is it? Since when did we cease to share? And if it’s each to his own from now on, how far do you think
you’re
going to get on five hundred measly quid? Especially if you’re going to squander it on clothes left right and centre. Oh, but I forgot: you’ll be getting paid for the mural, won’t you? That should help a whole lot.’

‘It’s a start, Paul, a start. Everyone has to start somewhere. Even –’ she raked up an idol of his that came in useful from time to time – ‘even Margaret Thatcher! And I bet Denis wasn’t an old meanie during
her
early career. I bet he gave her his full support.’

Paul spluttered a simulated laugh. ‘That’s hardly in the same league …’

‘The principle’s the same. Denis had faith in his wife and – and vision. He wasn’t to know she’d end up one of the most famous women in history. Not at the beginning. He didn’t quibble when she contributed less to the family income than he did. And anyway, I
have
contributed as much to this marriage as you have. I’ve been a wife, a cook, a cleaner … a-a nanny, and a laundry-maid and a shopper.
And
I worked full-time. All on top of being a mother, of course, and that’s no meagre achievement. So I reckon you owe me, Paul. I reckon you owe me a lot.’

Paul jabbed a finger at the floor. ‘Haven’t I got enough people to support right now without
worrying about you as well? And don’t forget you’re
still
a mother, not
were
one once upon a time. How about actually behaving like one, or is that too much to expect?’

‘I can’t be expected to mother them for the rest of their lives!’

‘But you can’t simply stop being their mother, can you? You can’t turn it off like a switch. They’re yours for ever.’ He turned to flounce out of the room. ‘And it was you who wanted them in the first place.’

Susannah threw the two dresses to the back of the wardrobe – she would hate them for ever more – put her coat back on and slipped out of the cottage by the front door. She couldn’t face either Paul or the children right now: Paul had managed, as usual, to make her feel so bad about herself, and as she stepped into a soft mizzle she could barely hold back tears.

Never before had such a chasm opened up between them; never had love turned to bitter dislike. Because she didn’t like Paul the way he was now; in fact she almost hated him. Why wasn’t he on her side? Why weren’t the children? It wasn’t as if she was asking much. And she’d never asked for anything before.

Perhaps that was the trouble. She had been too easy-going. And now that she
was
asking, now that she was sticking her head above the parapet, she was getting it blown off.

She headed down the lane, making for the centre of the village where the street lighting was more generous. She needed brisk activity that would burn away some of her anger, but walking after dusk in thickly hedged shadow – even in respectable, burglar-proofed Upper Heyford – was not a good idea.

The Golden Fleece, already decked out with its extra lights for Christmas, beckoned through the mist as she hurried past the terrace of old weavers’ cottages. It was then that a shape loomed up from nowhere.

Startled, she let out a gasp, then saw who it was, though she barely recognised her father slouching towards her with bent shoulders, his feet shuffling along. Since having to admit that he was unlikely to influence the outcome of his brother’s will he had aged considerably.

‘Susannah!’ Frank accompanied her name with a fit of painful-sounding coughing.

‘Heavens, Dad, it’s you! You gave me quite a scare. But what are you doing here?’

‘Just been down to the pub.’

‘Bit early to be coming back, isn’t it?’

‘Well … didn’t much fancy their grub.’ Frank pulled down the peak of the cap he always wore for playing golf, but nothing was a match against the dampness. The fine drizzle that enveloped them could only be seen when caught in the beam of a lamp, but it managed to seep through clothing in no time at all. ‘Paul offered to get me a
takeaway, but I don’t like that muck either.’

Susannah recalled the deserted caravan. ‘Why aren’t you eating with Jan? Where is Jan, by the way?’

‘Didn’t she tell you where she was going?’

‘Er – no. No, she didn’t.’ Susannah nudged a heap of sodden leaves with her toe, the dank smell of mould drifting upwards.

‘Not had another bust-up, have you?’ Frank came straight to the point.

She glanced up sharply. Her father was fingering his ear. ‘Now why would you think a thing like that?’

Frank tried to come out with ‘Huh!’ but ended up coughing again. ‘Perhaps,’ he said as soon as he was able, ‘it’s something to do with the fact that Jan goes on about you and Paul, and Simon and Natalie and Katy, ad nauseam. You surely didn’t imagine you were keeping it to yourselves, did you?’

‘No, I suppose not. Not with Jan around.’

‘Now Susannah …’ he reproached her from under his peak. There was real hurt and concern in his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said shortly, taking her father’s arm. ‘I think I’d better see you home to bed. That cough doesn’t sound too healthy. And where did you say Jan had gone?’

‘I didn’t. She went over to Bristol some time ago. She warned me she might be late back; she didn’t know how long things would take. It all depended on Natalie.’

‘Natalie!’ Susannah’s free hand clenched round a fifty pence piece in her pocket, its edges digging into her palm; so Jan had been running around after the girl too. But would she have been any more successful? Sod’s law told Susannah she probably would.

She saw her father to the door of the caravan, waited for him to find the light-switch, and put her head inside. ‘Are you sure it’s warm enough in there? You could come and sit with us, you know.’

Frank turned to look at the cottage, its windows cosily a-glow. ‘Snug as a bug in a rug,’ he assured her, not very convincingly, ‘so long as you get a move on and put’t wood in’t’ole. Don’t you worry about me, now.’

But she did. She had seen the temptation on his face. Prone to mild asthma and the occasional ‘chesty cold’ her father had denied himself a log fire and Paul’s best malt, rather than face the chilly atmosphere of the Hardings’ living room.

And she felt awful all over again.

Susannah glanced round the studio with satisfaction. A pale sun lit her work table and gently warmed her hands. The cottage was still and quiet. A whole day lay ahead of her; a whole day to herself. And there would be many more. Casting aside all thoughts as to the cost of this achievement – the disapproval of the family, the rift between herself and her husband, the loss of her job – she set to work on a design. But with only her hands fully occupied, her mind kept returning to matters she would rather ignore.

This morning – her first day of freedom, as she saw it – she had hidden under the bedclothes until Paul had gone to work. Positively childish of her, of course, and the sight of her still curled up under the duvet while he had to go to his office must have infuriated him no end, but she decided that getting up and joining him for breakfast might have appeared hypocritical under the circumstances. And what was the point? They were communicating in snatches of cold politeness – and then only when they had to.

Simon had been up and dressed when she finally went downstairs. He hadn’t realised, until she eventually told him the previous evening, that Jan had gone over to Bristol as well.

‘But don’t raise your hopes,’ she’d advised him. ‘If I couldn’t find Natalie, then perhaps Jan won’t have been able to either.’

But of course Jan had. Hardly had Susannah finished speaking than the Volvo lumbered up on to the drive and Jan got out. Her face, as she peered into the kitchen, revealed how successful she had been.

She had got to the heart of the mystery, she said. She had spoken to Natalie, found out what was troubling her, and got her an emergency appointment with her GP. Natalie was starting immediate treatment for depression. She had been signed off work and would be seeing the practice counsellor, but – best news of all – she wanted Simon to fetch her from the flat in the morning and get her away from Lara.

Simon had hugged Jan so hard her feet had left the floor, and she let out a little scream. Even Susannah had had to laugh at the sudden easing of tension, at Simon’s sheer euphoria, and could bear her step-mother no grudge for succeeding where she had failed.

Simon had gone off, whistling, that morning as soon as was practicable, taking Justin with him, followed only minutes later by a thoughtful-looking Katy.

Coming across Katy in the lobby, fully dressed in light blue jeans and a denim jacket that would have been suitable for an early summer’s day but which was madness in November, Susannah found her winding a long blue knitted scarf round her neck.

‘Yes, you can borrow it if you like, Little Girl Blue,’ Susannah told her, but her hint was wasted on Katy. ‘And where are you off to so bright and early?’

‘The doctor’s.’

‘You too? Again? I didn’t know he wanted to see you again.’

Katy merely shrugged.

‘You – er – don’t want me to come with you?’ Susannah saw her time being eroded again, but with for ever and a day ahead of her, it hardly mattered now. She could easily afford a few hours.

‘No thanks. I’ll go on my own.’

She studied her daughter more closely; Katy was avoiding her eyes. ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know … what with you, Natalie and Grandad … thank heavens for the NHS.’

Thinking of doctors, Susannah glanced up from her blank sheet of paper and took herself over to the window where she knew she would be able to see one end of the caravan – as if that would tell her how her father was today! He had certainly sounded rough last night. Being out in the mist and rain wouldn’t have helped his condition at all.

But, leaning with her nose almost touching the
glass, what caught Susannah’s eye was Jan. She was standing on a ladder with a shiny black sack in one hand, her body bundled up against the cold, and as Susannah watched she struggled to maintain her balance on the highest step while attempting to smooth the plastic out flat on one corner of the caravan’s roof. Susannah threw down her pencil and hurried outside.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she called out in the way an exasperated mother might remonstrate with a wayward child. ‘You’ll break your neck if you’re not careful.’

‘Oh, hello, dear.’ Jan smiled down at Susannah as though there wasn’t a soul in the world that she would rather see. ‘Got a day off? That’s nice.’

Susannah passed no comment. Jan didn’t know about her throwing in her job yet, and Susannah did not feel like enlightening her.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Jan ran on, busying herself with the plastic again, ‘but I saw the ladder through the garage window and didn’t want to interrupt you in your work.’

‘Of course I don’t mind your borrowing the ladder. But what are you trying to do? You shouldn’t be clambering about like that.’

‘Not at my age, you mean. Well, I don’t like heights much, I must admit, but I really don’t have any choice. I can’t ask either of your men-folk to do this, can I? Simon’s tied up at the moment and Paul’s out at work all the hours of daylight. And Frank isn’t feeling too good.’

Susannah let out a sigh. ‘I guessed as much. Chest playing up again, I suppose?’

‘Yes, and the van’s got a leak which isn’t helping. Our mattress has been soaking up rain since we got here and we’ve only just realised.’

‘Jan –’ Susannah ran a hand through her hair. ‘You’re wasting your time with that.’ She picked up the roll of parcel tape, with which Jan had no doubt intended to fix the waterproof in place. ‘It would be like mending a burst pipe with an Elastoplast – no earthly use whatsoever.’

Jan came down the ladder and sighed too. ‘You’re right, of course. This is silly. I’m going to have to get someone in to do it properly.’ She looked at her boots, then at Susannah. ‘Could I – er – pop in for a moment, do you think? I’ll be needing to use your phone.’

Paul picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. ‘Harding,’ he said, and took a sharp breath; it was Wesley Morris’s secretary, telling him his boss wanted a word.

While he waited for Wesley to come through, Paul wondered whether this was just another routine call, or whether it was to do with the matter they’d discussed in London. He hoped it would be the latter. The wait for news had been unnerving. And he had had to endure it alone.

Of course it need not have been like that, and it was Susannah’s fault that it had. She was making things so damned difficult. If only he could talk to
her! But every time he opened his mouth the words came out all wrong.

He wanted to show her how reasonable and fair he could be – pander to her odd little whims once in a while; tell her he understood; show her that he loved her in spite of everything – but she managed to rile him at every turn these days. No sooner had he resolved to try to make things up with her, than she went and upset him again.

‘Paul!’ Wesley’s voice burst in on him. ‘Won’t keep you in suspense. Just this minute got word. Hold on to your hat and listen up;
you
are about to be made an offer you simply
cannot
refuse.’

‘You won’t expect miracles, will you?’ Natalie sat down on the Hardings’ settee, her hands squashed between her knees. ‘It could take a little while …’

‘No.’ Simon slid to the floor in front of her and took one of her hands in his. ‘I won’t be looking for a sudden transformation. Oh, but I’m just so glad to have you back! These past few weeks have been hell; I never want to go through anything like that again.’

‘We aren’t out of the woods yet, you know. We’ve still got problems to solve.’

‘I know.’ He looked round the room. ‘This is hardly ideal, is it? But I won’t be out of work for ever. Something’s bound to turn up.’

‘Simon … it’s not going to be that simple.’

‘Well, let’s not think about it now. First of all we must get you fit.’ He looked deeply into her
eyes. ‘Is it really just post-natal depression?’

‘Just?’ She forced out a laugh. ‘If you knew about the black hole I’m beginning to climb out of, you wouldn’t speak of it so lightly. You’re not the only one who’s been to hell and back, you know.’

‘Poor thing.’ Simon put her hand to his lips.

‘I know it must be difficult for you to understand how I’ve been feeling. Mothers are supposed to be ecstatic over their babies, aren’t they? But I was shocked when Justin was born.’ She screwed up her face with the effort of trying to describe her feelings. ‘It was nothing like I expected – so messy and unromantic. And then, after all the effort of having him, I didn’t know what to do with him. I would stare at him in his cot and hate him. Simply hate him for being there; for yelling and yelling and yelling at me and making his constant demands.’

‘Yes, he was a miserable little bugger.’ Simon recalled all the crying. But he hadn’t known what to do either. Looking back he realised he’d been glad to get off to work each day and leave her to manage on her own. He’d always thought her so capable, and she’d never let on how she felt.

‘I couldn’t feel anything for him; only how he’d come and ruined my life. I didn’t know you could get real depression from having a baby – only the baby blues. The doctor I saw yesterday said it was mostly down to hormones. Lots of women get it, you know, some of them worse than me.’

Simon reached for Justin with his free hand and
hugged him so that their three heads were bent together in close communion. Everything was going to be all right now. But the child immediately struggled to be set free.

‘It doesn’t look as if he’s suffered, much.’ Simon grinned and let him go. ‘Not exactly screaming for love and attention, is he?’

‘I hope not, I really do.’ She set her face firmly. ‘I’m going to make it up to him, you know, if it takes me the rest of my life. I don’t want him to grow up like I did – with his mother not caring a toss.’

‘Of course he won’t.’ Simon soothed. ‘Poor you – you didn’t have much of a role-model, did you? You don’t really know how to be a mum.’

‘No.’ With an effort, she held back more tears; she had shed enough of those lately to float the QE2. ‘And
your
mum makes me feel so inadequate.’

‘Mine?’ Simon couldn’t make that out at all. ‘Well, I suppose she was all right when we were young. She doesn’t seem to care much about us now.’

‘But she’s always been terrific with Justin. And you’ve turned out well enough, haven’t you? You don’t know how lucky you’ve been. And you’re a man now. Gosh, if I thought Justin was still going to need me running around after him once he’s eighteen, well –’ by a trick of the lips she blew her fringe off her forehead – ‘I’ll be on anti-depressants for ever!’

Simon kissed her, feeling uncomfortable.

‘Anyway –’ Natalie nodded her head in the
direction of the door – ‘what is it your mother’s up to in there?’

‘In the studio?’ Simon looked glum. ‘She’s going through an arty-farty phase. Driving my dad up the wall. The two of them are hardly speaking – mainly because she’s chucked in her job. This, I have to warn you, is not the happiest of homes. I only hope you don’t find you’re sorry to have been rescued from Lara’s clutches.’

‘No chance of that.’ She gave him a playful nudge. ‘I still can’t believe what you’ve been thinking about Lara. Poor girl.’ She sighed for her friend. ‘She only wants to be loved, you know’

‘So do I,’ Simon said with a rush of feeling, and wondered how soon, and where, they could get down to it.

The receptionist looked up suspiciously. ‘Was it with Dr Llewellyn?’

‘No.’ Katy flicked back her hair. ‘My appointment’s with Dr Platt this time.’

‘Ah, yes. Dr Platt.’ The receptionist ran her pen down a column of spidery scribble, and crossed out Katy’s name. ‘I’m afraid he’s running rather late as usual; you may have to wait a while. Unless you’d like to see one of the other doctors, of course …’

‘I’d rather see Dr Platt.’

Katy scanned the benches of waiting women and found a seat by the radiator. She hoped her red nose would have gone by the time she was called in to see the doctor. Dr Platt was absolutely
gorgeous – much more to her taste than that old fogey Llewellyn – and she wouldn’t want him to see her like this. That would never do.

‘She’s absolutely insufferable!’ Susannah banged clenched fists.

‘Hey, hang on!’ Harvey leaned across the bath tub. ‘That bit’s not quite straight.’

‘Sorry. There. That better? My mind’s not on the job.’ She sat back to survey her work, reflecting on the past three days. ‘And that’s my problem in a nut-shell. How on earth does the woman expect me to concentrate when she’s always beavering about?’ She leaned out of the bath to pick up the next sheet of mosaics.

‘But –’ Harvey tried to puzzle out the way women’s minds worked – ‘this so-called wicked step-mother of yours sounds more like a fairy godmother to me. I mean, isn’t she just what you need right now? Someone to do all your chores for you?’

Susannah looked at him pityingly from the pile of blankets he’d thoughtfully provided for her to kneel on; he didn’t understand. In a way he was perfectly right, of course: she did need someone to relieve her of domestic chores. The cottage was even more chaotic now that Natalie was with them. Also, Jan and Frank had had to squeeze in too until their bedding – which was also their day-time seating – had dried out. Oh, yes, she certainly needed help. But the last person from whom she wanted help was Jan.

On the second morning of her ‘freedom’ Susannah had shut herself in her studio; she had been side-tracked enough the previous day and she wasn’t going to let it happen again. She would get on with Harvey’s mural, come hell or high water or even both, and everything else could go hang.