The Children's Hour (7 page)

Lyddie gave a small embarrassed chuckle. ‘Well, that's honest, anyway,' she said – but she looked worried.

‘Sorry,' said Nest quickly. ‘That was rather a knee-jerk reaction but probably an honest one. Sorry . . .'

‘I asked you,' said Lyddie quickly. ‘Don't apologize. But why do you say that? After all, it's my livelihood too, isn't it? And Liam's my husband. Shouldn't the whole thing be a partnership? Financially as well as emotionally and . . .' She shrugged. ‘Well, you see what I'm getting at.'

‘The money could perhaps be invested,' began Mina carefully, ‘against hard times. The Place is a huge success, anyone can see that, but things can go wrong and it might be wiser—'

‘But it's not just that,' interrupted Nest. ‘Sorry, Mina, but I think this should be said – given that Lyddie's asked us. My view is that The Place is very much Liam's show. Well, his and Joe's. It seems to me that you're not really included in any way. Would you say that's a fair observation?'

‘Perfectly fair.' Lyddie sat upright, her silk-black hair gleaming in the sunshine.

Her small face looked sad, the wide, grey-green eyes
thoughtful, and the two older women each experienced a clutch of fear. Mina longed to put her arms about her, as she had when Lyddie had been small, and Nest felt an unjustifiable surge of dislike for the absent Liam. Lyddie sighed a little and fed a corner of shortbread to the Bosun. Nogood Boyo nipped over to check it out and the large dog looked benignly upon the small opportunist who hoovered expertly round his large paws. Encouraged, Nogood Boyo, wagged his tail and settled beneath the table, an eye on Captain Cat, who pointedly looked the other way.

‘You've really put your finger on it,' Lyddie told Nest, after a moment or two. ‘I'm not included in any aspect at all. He never discusses it with me. It's almost weird but I can understand it. Liam can be very possessive. Possibly it might be different if he didn't have a partner.'

‘But that's the point, isn't it?' Nest was quick to pick this up. ‘He does. You wouldn't only be backing Liam, you'd be backing Joe too.'

‘There might be some legal way of splitting it into three. Or into shares,' Mina was determined that all aspects should be considered, ‘so that if Joe were to leave or ask to be bought out . . .' She paused, frowning, not certain where her argument was leading.

‘It's risky.' Nest was sticking with her gut reaction. ‘And if Liam hasn't asked, why offer? He's a very independent man and he probably prefers to keep his business quite separate from his family life. It's a very wise decision. He and Joe can slug things out between them but two against one means trouble. I should think it would be almost impossible for you to put money into The Place and then manage to stay disinterested, especially should things begin to go wrong. At the moment it's Liam's problem, the decisions are his, and you can remain free of it. You don't have to question or
argue or fall out over it. You might make it very difficult for him if you make him the offer.'

‘I'm sure,' Mina agreed quickly, ‘that if he were hoping for some financial assistance he would have mentioned it by now.'

‘You could be right.' Lyddie was looking more cheerful. ‘I'll think about it carefully but you've cleared my mind. Sorry to bring it up or worry you.'

‘Don't be silly,' said Mina robustly. ‘It's what we're here for. Have some more shortbread and eat some of it yourself this time. I made it specially – and not for the Bosun or for Nogood Boyo. There, take a nice big piece and tell us what you're working on at the moment. An Aga-saga, is it? Or a juicy thriller?'

Lyddie saw that the subject was closed, accepted the shortbread and settled back in her chair to talk about books.

Much later, once Nest was in bed, Mina seated herself at the computer. It was her nephew Jack, Timmie's son, who had introduced her to the world of the Internet just as once he'd introduced her to
Private Eye
. During the early months after the car accident, with Nest almost destroyed by pain and grief and guilt, Jack had shown Mina how to communicate with other people in a similar position to her own: those people who emptied themselves into a self-giving of warmth and humour and patient love.

‘You need something of your own,' he'd told her, ‘otherwise your whole investment will be in Aunt Nest and that's dangerous. Surf the Net. Talk to other carers; there are so many people out there who are in the same boat. Exchange jokes and let off steam. Just don't sink yourself into becoming a slave like you did with Grandmama. Oh, I know you loved her, and that you were happy looking after her, but
I've seen you doing your own thing for the last ten years: going off to the States to visit Aunt Josie and the boys, going to Oxford, buying puppies. I don't want you to disappear,' and he'd grinned at her and kissed her briefly on the lips.

It was odd that he should always do this – not a kiss on the cheek, or a hug, but a gentle salute on her withered lips. Afterwards, once he'd gone, she'd press them gently with her fingers, as if holding the kiss in place. Darling Jack! Tall and blond, just like his father, just like Timmie.

Ambrose, bursting with pride, insists that Timothy must be godfather to his new son and ‘We'll call him Timothy' he says to Lydia. ‘What do you say? I was thinking of naming him Ernest, after my father. But let's call him after old Timothy, shall we, darling?'

Lydia agrees gratefully, rocking her new baby boy, marvelling at his fairness after four black-haired girls. Ambrose returns to London in tearing spirits whilst Lydia and her daughters settle into a new pattern of living. Ambrose's delight has cast a mantle of happiness over his entire family; he is expansively generous, loving to all, and even Georgie, for now, feels no cause for jealousy. Timmie – ‘Timothy' is quickly shortened by Josie – is a contented, cheerful baby, and his sisters vie for the responsibility of watching over him and showing him off to their few neighbours.

‘How strange,' murmurs Enid Goodenough, hanging over the cradle. ‘So blond. Not like his sisters at all, is he?'

She glances with bright, malicious eyes at her brother, Claude, who rocks to and fro, now on his heels, now on the balls of his feet, as he stands beside the french window fingering his moustache.

He titters a little, drooping an eyelid at Enid. ‘Quite a little changeling.'

Lydia pours the tea calmly. ‘He takes after my father,' she tells them. ‘He was very fair and very tall.'

‘How
very
convenient,' murmurs Enid Goodenough, so low that Lydia does not quite catch the words.

But Mina, who is never very far from her new brother, hears what she says and is puzzled.

‘I don't like the Goodenoughs,' she tells Georgie, after they've gone. ‘They're . . . tricky,' but Georgie is too busy being the eldest, ‘a proper little mother' as some kinder neighbour has dubbed her, to care about Enid and Claude. She bustles away on some important errand and Mina is left to herself, trying to analyse the aura of disquiet that clings to the Goodenoughs, leaving edginess in its wake. Mama is restless after their visit, preoccupied as she lifts the baby from his cradle and holds him so that her cheek rests against his round blond head. Mina watches, longing to restore the harmony the Goodenoughs have destroyed.

‘It's time for our story, Mama,' she says, knowing that the children's hour creates a special world of its own. ‘Do you think Sophia will think of a new story to tell the robber Baron? I can't wait to hear what happens next. Shall I call the others?'

Mama smiles, touching Mina's hair, and nods, the anxious lines smoothing from her face, and Mina sighs an unconscious gasp of relief as she runs away to find her sisters. At nine years old, books are her chief delight, her greatest comfort. Their created worlds are her reality and she peoples the cleave and the beach with these characters who are so well known to her, whose words rise so readily to her own lips.
Naughty Sophia
especially lends itself to being re-enacted in Mina's environment and the children's hour is, for her, the most magic moment of the day. Soon they are ready: Georgie and Mina on the sofa, with Timmie
supported carefully between them, Josie lying on the floor with her wooden jigsaw puzzle and Henrietta on the stool where she can see the pictures. The windows are open to the scents and birdsong of the summery garden and the scene is tranquil. Mina relaxes against the cushions, waiting for her mother's voice. The book is opened and Mama begins to read.

‘“Chapter Seventeen. How the Robbers listened to a Ghost Story”.'

Mina, humming to herself as she clicked and scrolled about the screen, was wondering just how much her life had been defined and influenced by books. Sometimes she feared that she'd never left the sheltering walls of make-believe, living most of her life in this beautiful and peaceful backwater; and then she'd remind herself of her own shattered love affair, those war years in London and her marriage, followed by her young husband's death in Jerusalem after the war. What contrasts she'd experienced! Those few years, with their unique atmosphere combining daily tragedy and fear with a fervent, greedy desire for living, had been followed by the quiet, routine-driven world that invalids inhabit. Her love of books had saved her from boredom and frustration and, back again at Ottercombe, she'd been able to steep herself in other worlds and other lives so that she often had difficulty in separating them from her own. It was because of her passion for literature that she'd met Elyot. His wife was disabled and he too used the Internet to keep in touch with the world beyond their small, restricted lives. He and Mina had visited a chatroom that was used as a literary forum and – both being enthusiastic about a particular book – had begun to exchange opinions and recommendations more directly. He was simply ‘Elyot'. Gradually their
correspondence had begun to deal with more than the contents of books as carefully, without disloyalty, they began to describe their frustrations and fears, each encouraging the other, sympathizing and boosting morale.

It was difficult not to allow themselves to become more intimate; certainly Mina longed to know more about this intelligent, witty man, although she was well aware that disappointment was bound to result if she were to probe too closely. Meanwhile, they enjoyed an intimacy of their own which related to fictional characters, certain phrases and gentle badinage. He was without siblings, and was fascinated by her stories about her family and especially about the prospective visit from Georgie. His last e-mail had been full of admiration.

From:
  Elyot
To:
      Mina

What a brave woman you are. I shall resist the temptation to use literary references which relate to three sisters but, seriously, I hope you won't be overwhelmed. I also hope you won't be too busy, my dear friend, to ‘e' me.

Her heart had been foolishly warmed by that short phrase ‘my dear friend' and, hoping to make him smile with her own passing reference to ‘black and midnight hags', she'd assured him that she would stay in touch. Tonight, ready to distract herself from more pressing problems and Georgie's imminent arrival, Mina began to open her mail.

‘Tea,' said Liam, putting the mug carefully amongst the papers on Lyddie's desk. ‘How's it going?'

Lyddie, who was checking an anachronism in her copy of the
Oxford Twentieth-Century Words
, pushed the book aside and stretched her arms above her head, smiling at him.

‘We've got a Jenny, a Janie and a Julie,' she said, ‘which is very confusing. I'm afraid that the author is going to have to rechristen at least one of them, probably two.'

Liam looked approvingly at the workmanlike layout of her table, quite different from the muddle of his own desk. The typescript of the historical saga on which she was working was marked with pencilled corrections, queries were listed on a sheet of A4 beside it, and her ancient, beloved
Collins English Dictionary
was near at hand with other reference books. Lyddie was wrapped in a long, soft, knitted coat in a dark forest green. Liam glanced about him, frowning a little.

‘Mother of God, it's cold in here!' he exclaimed. ‘You'll be
getting stiff, sitting there for hours on end with winter coming on.'

Lyddie shrugged, picking up her mug and holding it in both hands. ‘It's lovely and cosy when the sun's shining,' she said. ‘Anyway, the room's too small to have an electric fire with the Bosun in here. His coat would singe.'

Hearing his name the Bosun, who was stretched out across the only available floor space, opened one eye and his tail beat once or twice.

‘Wouldn't you rather have a fire?' Liam poked the Bosun teasingly with his toe.

‘No, I wouldn't,' answered Lyddie indignantly. ‘He's company for me. That's why you got him in the first place. Remember?'

‘Sure.' He leaned both hands on the desk and reached across to kiss her. ‘Sure I remember. You look beautiful, have I told you that yet? Your eyes are green today, not grey at all. A dark, gorgeous green. Amazing!' He leaned back to look at her appreciatively, kissed her again and straightened up. ‘And I have to be away into the town. I'll see you later. If I don't get back I'll expect you at The Place.'

‘Oh.' She was disappointed. ‘I'll be finishing in an hour or so and I was hoping we might have time for a walk, now that the rain seems to have stopped.'

He edged round the Bosun. ‘Sorry, love. Not this afternoon. Maybe tomorrow.'

‘Are you going to the cash and carry?' She felt foolishly forlorn, looking forward as she did to those few hours together when she finished at about five and he went to the wine bar at seven o'clock. Yet, as usual, instinct warned against making demands, expressing her need. ‘Are you taking the car?'