The Way We Were (11 page)

‘I don't quite know. It sounds great but it's something I'd need to think about.' Liv was flustered. ‘You know I'm tied up at the moment?'

‘Yes, I've gathered that. But it's not a permanent post, is it?'

‘I thought I'd probably stay until the autumn.'

‘Well, that's not a problem. It's very early days. There's a long way to go yet but I wanted to sound you out. This would be quite a commitment.'

Liv thought about Chris and Penharrow. ‘Look, I need to think about it.'

‘Of course you do,' said Matt easily. ‘I wondered whether you might like to come down and see The Place again. Refresh your memory and let me buy you lunch. We can have a look at it properly and discuss options. What d'you think?'

‘I'd like that,' she agreed. ‘But I'll need to check my diary. Shall I phone you? Will tomorrow be OK?'

‘That'll be great. I'll give you my mobile number, shall I?'

She wrote it down. ‘Thanks. And thanks for thinking of me.'

‘Your reputation goes before you,' he said. ‘I need you, Liv.'

She laughed. ‘We'll see. I'll phone you.'

‘Great. And, Liv, don't mention this to anyone just yet, will you? Like I said, it's very early days.'

‘Course not,' she answered. ‘See you.'

Julia glanced up at her as she came back into the kitchen.

‘Everything OK?' she asked brightly. She saw Pete's grin and bit her lip. ‘Pour Liv a drink,' she said. And I'll get supper.'

‘Thanks, Dad. Not too full; I'm driving, remember. Well.' Liv took a deep breath. ‘Matt's got a new project and he'd like my help but it's a big secret at the moment so my lips are sealed.'

‘Fine,' said Julia with determined cheerfulness. ‘Did I tell you that we're planning a trip to Hampshire? We're wondering whether to take Frobes with us this time. What do you think?'

Behind Liv's unsuspecting head Pete silently applauded Julia's restraint. Grinning broadly, he picked up his glass and toasted her. She burst out laughing and Liv raised her eyebrows.

‘What's the joke?' she asked.

‘Nothing,' replied Julia. ‘Just your father being a twit. We were remembering when Zack was younger and he used to call us Dumb and Mad just to annoy. We can hardly believe he's about to become dad himself.'

‘Time is an illusion,' said Pete. ‘Have a drink, Liv, and tell us about the latest goings-on in the Penharrow soap opera. But don't raise your voice. Frobes is feeling particularly sensitive this evening.'

1976

Spring comes to the peninsula once, twice, three times: each time, just when it seems that the winter is over at last, the warm sunshine and soft winds retreat before cold wet weather that races in from the west. The obliterating silvery-grey curtain can be seen approaching from a great distance, blotting out hills and valleys and familiar landmarks, swallowing up sunny sweeps of moorland and little fields, until, with an ominous rattle of the windows and the vicious spatter of rain against the window, the storm is upon them, sending Julia dashing out to bring in the washing, Tiggy to gather up Charlie and the dogs, whilst the twins collect their toys and carry them indoors.

Then, between one day and the next, spring finally arrives. Deep drifts of bluebells scent the woods on the road to St Tudy, blackthorn hedges in full bridal blossom bank the small scrubby fields and, up on the moors where Tiggy walks, skylarks fly up from the wet grass before her feet and the clear air is filled with their song. High on Alex Tor, watching the dogs racing in and out of the rocks in their eternal quest for rabbits, Tiggy mentally composes and recomposes a letter to her grandmother. They speak from time to time on the telephone but, though she always likes to hear about Julia and the children, she refuses to accept Tiggy's thanks for the very generous presents of money that she sends regularly to her granddaughter.

‘I haven't anything else to give,' she says shortly, ‘and I don't need it. At least it's something I can give you. Just take care of yourself, darling, and give my love to dear Julia.'

Each time, Tiggy screws herself up to the point when she might tell her grandmother the truth but each time her courage deserts her.

‘She thinks I'm here because you need help with the children and that I needed a change after Tom,' she tells Julia. ‘She lives so much out of the world that I don't imagine she thought about what would have actually been involved if I'd really just chucked up my job mid-term. She hasn't a clue, really. After all, she's in her eighties and she lives a very secluded life. Everything changed when Grandfather died, you see. He left the whole estate to my father and, since his marriage to Giselle, Grandmother rarely sees him. Grandmother simply doesn't get on with Giselle. She can't see why my father had to get married again, especially to a foreigner. And she tells me that Jean-Paul is a horrid little boy and she can't stand him, either. It's a disaster, really. My father can't turn her out but she feels she's there on sufferance and she hales it.'

‘Couldn't she find a little place of her own?' Julia asks. ‘I know she's rather fierce, and one of the old school and all that, but I rather like your old gran. It must be horrid for her.'

‘She has very little money of her own,' explains Tiggy. ‘Not enough to buy a house, however small, and she seems bent on giving most of her allowance to me, which is very nice for me, and with my savings it means that I can pay my way here and keep a bit put by, but I worry about her. I just can't think how she'll react when I tell her about the baby.'

Now, as she walks amongst the rocks in the late afternoon sunshine, with the sea dazzling away to the west, her grand-mother is very vivid with her, and she determines that she will go straight back and write the letter.

Julia meets her at the door, her face serious. ‘Oh, Tiggy, I've got some bad news. I've just had a call from your grand-mother's housekeeper. Mrs Hartley, isn't it? Your grandmother's had a stroke.'

Tiggy stares at her blankly and Julia takes her by the arm, leading her into the kitchen, away from the sitting-room where the twins are watching
Roobarb
, and pushes her down on to a chair.

‘They've decided not to take her into hospital but Mrs Hartley and a nurse are with her.' Julia sits down beside her, turning sideways to look at her. ‘Mrs Hartley said that she'll be listening out for the phone. Would you like to call her?'

Tiggy nods vaguely, because she knows that she should, yet she is unable to react properly. The first great wave of panic and horror has receded, leaving her incapable of action, and she struggles to brace herself.

‘Wait,' says Julia suddenly. ‘Just wait a minute. It's such a shock, isn't it? We'll have a cup of tea first. Give yourself a chance to recover.'

Andy appears, demanding juice, and Julia fills two tumblers and carries them away to the sitting-room, with Andy in close attendance. She reappears with Charlie, who beams at Tiggy and gives her his Episcopalian salute. Despite her misery she smiles and holds out her arms to him. Julia puts him on her lap and Tiggy hugs him, her cheek resting on the top of his head, whilst he thumps on the table with his fist and talks his scribble-talk.

Julia pushes a mug of hot tea across the table, her pretty face so troubled that Tiggy's eyes fill with tears. It is beyond her greatest expectation, this love the little family has given her: it is quite outside her experience. She remembers her own lonely life as a child – her parents' rages and silences, her mother's death and her father's destructive behaviour – and she hides her face for a moment in Charlie's soft neck. He twists his head, trying to see her face, puzzled, and she smiles and kisses him.

‘After all,' she says sadly to Julia, sipping the tea and putting the mug down well out of Charlie's reach, ‘Grandmother is well over eighty. It's not so terribly surprising, is it? The fact is, we never think about the people close to us being ill. Probably because we don't want to. Because we need them we want to think that they are indestructible.'

She drinks some more tea and tries to smile reassuringly at Julia. ‘I'm fine now,' she says. ‘Honestly. I think I'll phone Mrs Hartley.'

The housekeeper's soft Welsh voice is calm: no, nothing can be done at present, no point in setting out so late in the day on so long a journey, better to wait until the doctor has seen her grandmother in the morning. Yes, she will give her Tiggy's love when she regains consciousness.

They talk for a little longer and then Tiggy hangs up.

‘It doesn't sound very good,' she tells Julia. ‘Grandmother is paralysed all down her right side and she can't speak; she's not properly conscious. The doctor isn't very hopeful. They've been in touch with my father and he's on his way. Mrs Hartley clearly thinks that there's not much use my being there. Oh, she didn't put it into so many words but that's what she implied.'

Julia bites her lip. ‘I could drive you up.' she says suddenly. ‘If you'd like that? Aunt Em would come over and baby-sit. It's too far for you to go in the van on your own …'

They stare at each other: now, nearly six months' pregnant, Tiggy wall find it difficult to disguise her condition. She thinks about her father, imagines his expression when he realizes the truth; she remembers the strong, determined, invasive hands, the terrible, silent struggle and the blow that knocked her to the floor. She thinks about her baby and remembers her dream: supposing she were to have a little girl – Claerwen, Clare for short?

‘I don't want to see my father,' she says strongly. ‘I don't want him to know about my baby. Not ever. Promise me, Julia, that you'll never say a word to anyone about who my father is. I know Pete and your mum know, but nobody else. Promise?'

‘OK,' agrees Julia quickly. ‘I promise. I can understand that, given the way he behaved. And it's not as if he stays in touch, is it?'

‘I haven't heard directly from him for years. Not since I left school. I expect he wouldn't want me to meet Giselle again in case I told her a few unpalatable truths.'

‘But it'll be difficult, won't it? I expect you'd like to see your grandmother to … well, to say goodbye.'

Tiggy is silent, recalling their last meeting; her grandmother so anxious for her to take the little Merlin, the unexpectedly warm embrace.

‘I think we've already said goodbye,' says Tiggy slowly. ‘I didn't realize at the time. I was taken aback by her giving me the Merlin. She was so keen for me to have it as a keepsake, really keen. It wasn't like her at all. Maybe it was Grandfather's and she wanted me to have something by which to remember them both and my holidays with them. I think she knew.'

‘When you get to that age I suppose you're used to imagining that something could happen at any moment. But does that mean you just won't go?'

‘I'll think about it. Perhaps in the morning I might have a different perspective:

But in the morning Mrs Hartley telephones to tell Tiggy that her grandmother has died in the night and that her father and his wife and child have arrived and are planning the funeral.

‘Has he mentioned me at all?' she asks hesitantly. ‘You know? Whether I should come up or anything?'

‘No, Miss Tegan. He seems much more interested in your grandmother's will and what he plans to do with the house and its contents.' A pause. ‘It might be sensible if I were to pack up some of your own things, Miss Tegan. Just for the present. The young boy, Jean-Paul, seems to think that everything up in the old nursery belongs to him, you see. All the old toys and the books, if you follow me …'

‘Well, so they do, Mrs Hartley' says Tiggy sadly. Anything that was my father's or his father's naturally goes to Jean-Paul.'

‘But there are some things, Miss Tegan,' insists the soft voice. ‘Things your grandmother bought for
you
'

Tiggy chuckles unexpectedly. ‘You're quite right. I can't see Jean-Paul wanting my Lorna Hill books. Or my collection of Georgette Heyers.'

‘I could pack them up, you see. Just quietly without any fuss. Along with a few things she had put by for you. She was always angry that your father disposed of your mother's things and you had nothing. She talked it over with me because she knew that matters might be tricky at the end …'

The soft voice trails away and Tiggy stands clasping the receiver, thinking.

‘I wouldn't want you to get into any kind of legal trouble, Mrs Hartley. My father is … you know, not stupid.'

‘No, no, Miss Tegan. I shan't underestimate him, you can be very sure of that. These things aren't part of the estate. They belonged to your grandmother's family. Only a few little pieces of jewellery. They're already tucked away. She was prepared.'

Tiggy's eyes fill with tears. Why hadn't she known that she would never see her grandmother again? She would have hugged her more tightly, told her she loved her.

‘She was content, Miss Tegan, if you understand me. And she hoped that it would be just like this at the end. Quick and very little suffering. She liked to think that you were with Miss Julia. She said that to me, after you'd gone.'

Tiggy swallows her tears with difficulty. ‘What about the funeral?'