The Way We Were (7 page)

With excited anticipation Em climbs the stairs to her little studio, the small back bedroom that has become her own special place. As she opens the door the warm glow of the electric fire, which she has turned on earlier, welcomes her. It is a pity that the pretty little fireplace has been blocked up but it would be tiresome to carry wood or coal upstairs each time she wants to work. She turns off one bar of the fire and looks about her with satisfaction. The worn lovat-green carpet needs a rug or two so as to hide the worst of the rubbed areas but the rather arty effect of the paisley shawl draped over the wine-coloured velvet of the old wing chair is very pleasing. Sometimes she brings up her cup of favourite Darjeeling tea and sits here beside the fire, planning her next painting without interruption, and enjoying the atmosphere she's created. Her small mahogany bookcase holds some of the tools of her trade: reference books, sketch pads, photographs and camera. On the top shelf are her favourite photographs: she and Archie on their wedding day; the twins clutching her hands as she kneels between them on Polzeath beach, laughing at the camera with eyes screwed up against the sun and wind; a rather formal study of Julia and Pete, with Charlie in his christening gown. Beside them a potpourri of rose petals in a blue Wedgwood bowl gives off a faint, sweet-smelling scent.

The divan bed is pushed against the wall, covered with the pale green and cream chintz that match the curtains, and piled with bedding and curtains from Trescairn, yet to be sorted. The basin to the right of the sash window is a bonus; water to hand saves journeys to and from the bathroom not only when she is painting but each time she needs to stretch her watercolour paper. She does this on the old blue Formica-topped table that they'd brought from Trescairn, soaking the paper, then placing it on her drawing board and securing the edges of the paper with wet strips of brown gummed paper so that once it is dry and taut it won't bubble or buckle when the colour wash is applied.

This morning her board is on the table ready for use, along with her brushes, looking like some kind of zany flower arrangement in their ancient chipped china vase. She's bought the best sable brushes: some rounds with good points, a few flats for all sorts of washes, and a mop that holds a lot of paint and is a favourite for painting skies. Very carefully she moves the table just a little so that it is at the most advantageous angle for the light coming in through the window. Earlier she's picked a tiny bunch of snowdrops and put them in a mint sauce jar so as to copy them. Looking at their delicate veined petals and drooping heads she wonders how they are able to survive the biting January winds. She assembles her other props: two Cornish honey jars filled with clean water and some photographs and sketches of spring flowers that, unlike the snowdrops, are not yet in bloom; a biscuit tin, with a picture of a mare and her foal on the lid, in which she keeps little tubes of watercolour paint; her while palette, and the little sponge, which, when dampened, she uses to lift colour out of a sky so as to give the effect of scudding clouds. Some tissues and an old tea towel for drying her brushes complete her equipment.

On the back of a pine chair – brought up from the kitchen because it is just right for working – hangs one of Archie's old checked shirts, which Em now uses as a smock. As she pulls it on she is assailed by a pang of remorse for the relief she'd felt earlier when he'd said that he would be going to Bodmin; she hopes he is keeping warm, wonders briefly if he's remembered his gloves and then, putting everything else out of her mind, settles down to work.

She plans her palette: manganese blue with a touch of cobalt for the sky, very watered down; then the various shades of yellow for the daffodils and the primroses. She chooses cadmium yellow, Windsor lemon, yellow ochre and cadmium orange. Ultramarine and burnt umber mixed with cadmium yellow will make different shades of green, with sap green for the brighter leaves of the primroses. Last of all, she selects magenta to mix with ultramarine for the pretty violets.

Em squeezes some of the rich pigment from the little watercolour tubes into the wells of her palette. She mixes the palest blue, uses the lid of the biscuit tin to tilt her drawing board, and with her mop brush she begins to paint the background. The flowers are already lightly sketched in and she grades the sky carefully lest the paint should touch the heads of the flowers, creating green daffodils when she adds the yellow paint later on. She's decided that whilst the background dries she will paint a little card for Julia's birthday; perhaps a colourwash of the snowdrops against a wintry sky.

Em works happily, utterly absorbed, hardly aware of the dimming of the sun as the clouds bank up and drift from the north-east on a light chill wind. It is much later that she remembers that Tiggy is due at Trescairn, and nearly a week before the lanes are clear enough to be able to drive up to Trescairn to meet her.

*  *  *

The really strange thing Tiggy remembers about that first meeting is that she recognizes Aunt Em: not the woman who comes hurrying into the sitting-room, arms held wide to the children and a smiling welcome for Tiggy. No, not a physical recognition, Tiggy tells herself afterwards, but a gut-twisting shock that she is looking at somebody she knows deep down inside.

‘You looked so surprised,' Julia tells her later, chuckling – and Tiggy grimaces guiltily.

‘You might have warned me,' she says.

Aunt Em, wearing Levi jeans and a navy-blue Guernsey, doesn't look like anyone's aunt: very slender, very tall, with straight, fine ash-coloured hair, she has a bred-in-the-bone elegance and a charm that immediately captivates. The twins fall upon her with cries of joy whilst Charlie, corralled in his playpen, stamps round and round, clinging to the rail and roaring with frustration. Aunt Em kisses Andy and Liv, passes them a package each and goes to the playpen.

‘May I?' she asks Julia – and then, lifting him out, she swings Charlie up and up, high, into the air while he chuckles with delight. She sets him down again gently, then quickly, before he can protest, produces a small soft toy: a black and white penguin whose beak and huge feet are the colour of egg yolks. He sits quite still, turning the toy in his hands, examining it closely.

‘Crayons!' shriek the twins, wrapping paper all over the floor. ‘Colouring books!' and they run into the kitchen and scramble up at the kitchen table with their presents.

Aunt Em gives Tiggy a little wink. ‘That'll keep them quiet for a moment,' she says. ‘Long enough for us to say hello, at least.' She holds out her hand. ‘I'm Em and you're Tiggy. Or should we be very formal and call ourselves Emily and …' a little hesitation, ‘Tegan, is it?'

‘Tiggy will do just fine.' She takes Em's thin hand. ‘Only my grandmother calls me Tegan these days.'

‘That's rather a pity. It's an unusual name.'

‘It translates as “beautiful” or “blessed”. I prefer Tiggy.'

And I prefer Em.' The older woman smiles but there is a more searching scrutiny hidden behind the smile, as if she is making some connection at a deeper level, and Tiggy's clasp involuntarily tightens before she releases Em's hand. ‘And this is Archie.'

Archie is definitely uncle material and Tiggy greets him almost with relief. His thick silver hair brushes the low heavily beamed ceiling, and he ducks his head automatically. He has a broad-shouldered, bear-like quality, exaggerated by his Norwegian jersey and baggy cords, and Tiggy is seized by an odd desire to throw herself and all her problems and fears into his arms. He looks so capable, so calm – rather like a much older Tom, she suddenly realizes.

His greeting is friendly, if slightly preoccupied, and, as soon as he relinquishes her hand, he returns to his conversation with Julia, which has to do with some damp on the ceiling in Charlie's bedroom.

‘I'll go up and take a look,' he says, ‘while the kettle boils,' and disappears up the stairs.

Tiggy watches him go, turns to see Em studying her curiously and is visited by the familiar anxiety of the attractive young girl when confronted by an older and possibly jealous woman.

‘Neither of you is the least bit how I'd imagined,' she says quickly. ‘Do you do that? Make menial pictures of people you're going to meet?'

Em chuckles. ‘I always do it and I am invariably wrong. So how did you see us? Rather elderly and wizened, wearing shabby but well-cut tweeds and being kind but firm with the children?'

Tiggy bursts out laughing. ‘Well, I did, if you want the truth. Julia might have warned me.'

‘So she might if she'd thought about it. Julia's too used to us by now. What a darling she is! Pete is so lucky. I'm very glad she's got you to keep her company while he's at sea.'

‘I'm lucky too,' mutters Tiggy, suddenly confused, wondering how much Em knows. Julia has promised that nobody else knows the truth but Tiggy instinctively guesses that it would be foolish to underestimate this woman's intelligence.

Julia appears. ‘Is it OK if we have tea round the kitchen table? It's so much easier to keep the children under control. Great. I'll shout for Uncle Archie.'

‘It must be a comfort for Julia to have Uncle Archie so near at hand when things go wrong, especially since you both lived here and know the house so well. It's a bit daunting all on your own with three small children.' Tiggy follows Em into the kitchen.

‘Oh, Archie's everyone's uncle,' Em answers lightly. ‘Not just Julia's.'

She bends over Liv's colouring book, exclaiming at the brightly coloured picture, and Tiggy stands still, for a moment, feeling faintly uncomfortable and wondering if she's heard her correctly.

‘What did she mean?' Tiggy asks later. They've already discussed Tiggy's surprise at Aunt Em's appearance and Uncle Archie's Paddington Bear-like attraction. About Uncle Archie being everyone's uncle?'

‘Well, it's true. Poor Aunt Em. Uncle Archie simply can't resist a cry for help and everyone knows it. He loves to be organizing and fund-raising and in the thick of it. I think it's because she's waited all these years for him to stop going to sea so that they can be together and it's been a bit of an anticlimax.'

‘She seems quite a bit younger.'

‘Oh, she is.' Julia kneels down on the rug in front of the fire and begins to pull the logs together, prodding them with the poker to make a blaze. ‘It was a tremendous romance, Pete says. Uncle Archie was a typical career officer, confirmed bachelor and so on. And then he met Aunt Em and she completely knocked him sideways. Although she was brought up by some dreary old aunts she's such a live wire and everyone loves her. The kids absolutely adore her. It was a great shame that she couldn't have any of her own.'

Tiggy feels a twinge of anxiety. ‘Does she know about me?'

‘Of course not.' Julia looks up reassuringly from her crouching position. ‘But she's bound to find out before too long.'

‘I know. It's stupid of me.' Tiggy shivers, edging closer to the warmth, remembering Mrs Armstrong's shocked and disgusted expression. ‘It's just that I can't bear the thought of how people will react.'

‘But you were going to be married at Easter. It wasn't just a one-night stand,' says Julia. And if you'd told Tom about the baby, you'd have been married by now and nobody would ever have known.'

‘I wasn't certain, you see,' says Tiggy wretchedly. ‘You kid yourself that you've got the dates wrong or it's because you're worrying about it. You know how it is.'

She breaks off, knowing that Julia has never been in such a frightening position, experiencing the earlier sense of isolation. Julia watches her sympathetically, remembering Tom's striking good looks but also his faint air of unapproachability. Pete had really liked him.

‘After all,' she says, with unexpected intuitiveness, ‘even when you're engaged it's a bit tricky coming out with that kind of news, isn't it? And Tom was just a tad intimidating, wasn't he, being that much older? He was so terribly … complete.'

Tiggy looks at her with surprise. ‘That's exactly right,' she agrees. ‘He was very self-contained. Oh, not in a cold way, but he didn't
need
people in the way I did. Do. I needed reassurance that he really loved me. When I first guessed about the baby I was immediately frightened that he'd see it as a nuisance. Or a threat or something. When I was sure, I held back from telling him because he was so set on doing the Horseshoe under snow. It was a big thing with his climbing group and I didn't want him to have anything on his mind.' She bends forward so that her forehead rests on her knees. ‘I wish I'd told him,' she says, muffled.

Julia pokes at the fire, rather at a loss for words; anything will sound trite.

Presently Tiggy raises her head. ‘It's wonderful being here,' she says. ‘You've saved my life.'

Julia looks embarrassed but pleased. ‘It's nice for us too, you know,' she says.

‘What did you think of Tiggy?' Em asks as she and Archie drive back to Blisland.

Archie reflects on the question. He liked the girl; very pretty with all that long dark reddish-brown hair. There's probably some fancy word for it. Auburn? Too light. Anyway, it's pretty hair. And she had a nice straight way of looking at you. Good eyes too. Greeny-blue, like the sea on a hot day. And that little dusting of freckles is rather attractive. Bit on the thin side for his taste, not like Julia who is a good armful when you give her a hug.