“I don’t know,” said Katie. “Have you really not got a telly?”
“No. Not anymore. You’re the man who gave me directions,” said Daisy as Hal drew nearer.
“Hal Hatton. And you’ve met Katie.” He smiled, his face looking younger, more relaxed than the last time they met. He tipped his head back to gaze into the sun. “Nice of you to have us over. I hear you’re on quite a deadline.” He took a step back, to see better. “God, I haven’t seen this place in years.”
“There’s a few walls knocked through. And some of the smaller bedrooms have become bathrooms,” said Mrs. Bernard, following his gaze. “They all want en suite nowadays, apparently.”
“Do you want to come through?” Daisy said. “I found some chairs and I’ve put them out on the terrace, seeing as it’s such a nice day. But we can move in if you like. Just watch out for rubble.”
It was as she held the door open that she realized the blond woman couldn’t see. Her dog didn’t look particularly like a guide dog; it had no frame or harness for her to hold, but it did glance behind her as if well used to adjusting its own speed, and then, as Camille stepped toward the door, her husband’s hand just appeared gently at her elbow, disappearing discreetly when she had made it past the front step.
“It’s straight on. But I suppose you know that,” she said, with a shade of awkwardness.
“Oh, God, no,” said Camille, turning to face her. Her eyes were clear and blue, perhaps deeper set than usual. “This was always Mum’s house. It never really had much to do with us.”
She didn’t look like a blind person. Not that Daisy had a clear idea of how a blind person should look, having never actually spent time with one. She just imagined that Camille should look somehow dowdier. Perhaps a little overweight. She certainly shouldn’t be wearing designer jeans and makeup and have a waist measurement possibly half the size of her bust.
“Did you not come here much as children?”
Camille called ahead. “Hal? Is Katie with you?” She paused. “We did come here occasionally. I think Mum used to get nervous about me being so close to the cliff edge.”
“Oh.” Daisy didn’t know what else to say.
Camille stopped. “She didn’t tell you I was blind, did she?”
“No.”
“Plays a lot of cards close to her chest, my mother. But I suppose you’ve realized that.”
Daisy stood for a minute staring at the smooth, caramel-colored skin, the abundant blond hair. Her hand rose unconsciously to her own. “Do you want . . . I mean, do you want to feel my face or something?”
Camille burst out laughing.
“God, no. I can’t stand touching people’s faces. Unless I’m working, that is.” She reached forward, tentatively touched Daisy’s arm. “You’re quite safe, Daisy. I have no desire to touch anyone’s face. Especially beards. I despise beards—they make me shudder. I always think I’m going to find food in one. Now, has my dad managed to let go of his car for two minutes? He’s become obsessed with the thing since his retirement,” she confided. “That and his bridge. And his golf. Likes his hobbies, does Pops.”
They emerged onto the terrace. Hal guided his wife into a seat, and Daisy watched this casual intimacy with a flicker of envy. She missed having a protector.
“Used to be a beautiful house, didn’t it, love?” Mr. Bernard placed his car keys in his pocket and turned to look at his wife, a strange mixture of emotions flickering over his face.
Mrs. Bernard shrugged. “Not that anyone around here ever thought so. Till it started changing.”
“I always thought it would benefit from a monkey puzzle tree,” her husband said.
Daisy took in the quick glance exchanged by the Bernards and the slightly uncomfortable silence that followed it.
“So what do you make of Merham?” said Hal.
C
OMING FROM A FAMILY THAT WAS NOT SO MUCH BROKEN
as irrevocably fractured by bereavement, Daisy automatically assumed that all other families were like the Waltons. Daniel had told her so more than once, when she’d emerged from one of his family gatherings shocked at the noisy disagreements and simmering resentments that flared up as regularly as did the barbecue. But still she found it hard to view them dispassionately, found herself unconsciously trying to fit in, to tap in to some shared family history. She refused to believe that being part of a large extended family could be anything other than a comfort.
The Bernards and Hattons, however, had a kind of forced jollity about them, as if they were permanently reassuring themselves of their status as a family, edged by an apparent determination to ever refer only to the good. They exclaimed over the general pleasantness of everything—weather, surroundings, one another’s outfits—and addressed one another with fond insults, made references to shared family jokes. Except for Mrs. Bernard, who smacked down any Waltonesque sentiments with the determined efficiency of a hygienist swatting a fly. Just as a Mother’s Day treat was memorable only for the stench of drains, so every reference had to be smothered with a caustic aside, only partially alleviated by occasional wit. Thus the endless beauty of the beach was tempered by the fact that holidaymakers were now staying away—and she didn’t blame them; the glossy new family car was so smooth it made her carsick; Camille’s boss at the salon, who, despite giving her a pay raise, was apparently “mutton dressed as mutton.” The only exception to this was any reference to Katie, in whom her grandmother took an evident pride, and the house, which, perversely, Mr. Bernard didn’t seem to want to talk about at all.
Daisy, who had looked forward to a visit from the family more than she cared to admit, had found it all curiously wearing. And having never spent any length of time around anyone blind before, she became awkward around Camille, unsure where to look when she addressed her, dithering over whether she should serve things directly onto her plate or allow Hal, who had seated himself beside her, to do it for her. Daisy had tripped over the dog twice, the second time eliciting a polite yelp of protest.
“You don’t have to put the sandwiches practically in her mouth,” said Mrs. Bernard suddenly. “She’s only blind, not a bloody invalid.”
“Love . . .” said Mr. Bernard.
Daisy, flushing, had apologized and stepped backward into the laburnum.
“Don’t be so rude, Mum. She’s only trying to help.”
“Don’t be so rude, Granny,” echoed Katie, halfway through a chocolate éclair. She was rocking Ellie’s car seat with her foot.
“Let me apologize for my mother,” said Camille. “She’s old enough to know better.”
“I don’t like people fussing over you.”
“And I don’t like you jumping in over my head. That’s what makes me feel like an invalid.”
There was a brief silence. Camille, apparently unperturbed, made a tentative move forward for her drink.
“I’m sorry,” said Daisy. “I just didn’t know how you were going to tell between crab and Marmite.”
“Oh, I just take lots of everything. That way I usually manage to get what I want.” Camille laughed. “Or I get Hal to get them for me.”
“You’re more than capable of looking after yourself.”
“I know that, Mother.” This time there was an edge to Camille’s voice.
“I don’t know how you cope with having her under your feet all day,” said Hal. “The sharpest tongue in the east.”
“Mummy says Granny can cut paper with her tongue,” said Katie, prompting an embarrassed ripple of laughter at the table.
Mrs. Bernard, however, was suddenly quiet. She gazed at the contents of her plate for a minute, then looked over at Hal, her face blank. “How’s the business?”
He paused for a minute before replying. “Not great. But there’s an antiques dealer over at Wix who has promised to put some work my way.”
“I guess it’s a bit like mine,” said Daisy. “When things get tight, people don’t spend money on the insides of their houses.”
“You’ve been talking about that dealer for weeks. You can’t hang around waiting forever. Shouldn’t you wind it down now? Try to get a job somewhere?”
“Come on, love . . . not here.” Mr. Bernard reached an arm toward his wife.
“Well, there must be places that need people who can do carpentry. Furniture warehouses and suchlike.”
“I don’t make factory furniture, Ma.” Hal was struggling to maintain his smile. “I restore individual pieces. It’s a skill. There’s a big difference.”
“We had terrible trouble getting work in our first couple of years,” said Daisy quickly.
“Hal’s got some things in the pipeline,” said Camille, her own hand sliding under the table toward her husband’s. “It’s been a quiet time for everyone.”
“Not that quiet,” said her mother.
“I’m taking it one day at a time, Ma. But I’m good at what I do. The business is a good one. I’m not quite ready to give up on it yet.”
“Yes, well, you want to make sure you don’t go bankrupt. Or you’ll drag everyone down with you. Camille and Katie included.”
“I’ve got no intention of going bankrupt.” Hal’s face had hardened.
“No one ever has any intention of going bankrupt, Hal.”
“That’s
enough
, love. . . .”
Mrs. Bernard turned to look at her husband, her face childishly mutinous.
There was a prolonged silence.
“Anyone want some pudding?” said Daisy, trying to fill the gap. She had found an old hand-thrown bowl in one of the downstairs cupboards and filled it to the brim with glistening fruit salad.
“Have you got any ice cream?” said Katie.
“I don’t eat fruit,” said Mrs. Bernard, standing to clear the table of plates. “I’ll make us all a pot of tea.”
“D
ON’T TAKE
M
UM’S COMMENTS TOO MUCH TO HEART,”
said Camille, appearing at Daisy’s side in the kitchen as she cleared the plates. “She’s not really nasty. It’s all a bit of a front.”
“A cold front,” joked Hal, who appeared behind her. He followed her everywhere, Daisy had noticed. She was increasingly uncertain whether he was being protective or just needy.
“She’s all right underneath. She’s just always been a bit . . . well, sharp, I guess. Would you say sharp, Hal?”
“Your mother makes a steel blade look cuddly.”
Camille turned to face Daisy. Daisy focused on her mouth. “Actually, you’re okay. She likes you.”
“What, she said so?”
“Of course not. But we can tell.”
“It’s the way she hasn’t been baying for your blood at midnight, her fangs dripping saliva.”
Daisy frowned. “It doesn’t feel—You surprise me.”
Camille smiled brightly at her husband. “It was her idea that we all come today. She thought you might be lonely.”
Daisy smiled less brightly, her faint pleasure that Mrs. Bernard liked her after all dampened by the idea that she was now an object of pity. She had spent twenty-eight years being a girl everyone envied; the sympathy mantle did not sit comfortably.
“It was nice. Of you all. To come, I mean.”
“A pleasure,” said Hal. “To be honest, we were keen to see the house.”
Daisy flinched at his choice of words, but Camille didn’t seem to notice.
“She never really welcomed visitors up here, you see,” Camille said, reaching down for Rollo’s head. “It was always her little bolt-hole.”
“Not so little.”
“We only came up on the odd occasion. And Dad never really liked it here, so it’s not like it was ever a family home.”
“So you won’t miss it.”
“Not really. Most houses I don’t know are just a series of obstacles to me.”
“But didn’t you mind? Her always coming away from you all?”
Camille turned to face Hal. She shrugged. “I guess it’s only what we’ve always known. Mum has always had to have her own space.”
“I suppose all families have their eccentricities,” said Daisy, whose family didn’t.
“Some more than most.”
S
EVERAL HOURS LATER
H
AL AND
C
AMILLE STROLLED
back through Merham arm in arm, Rollo a few paces ahead, Katie skipping backward and forward, apparently involved in some complicated negotiation with the edges of the paving slabs. Occasionally she would run back and thrust herself pleasurably between them, demanding to be swung upward, even though she was too tall and too heavy. It was beginning to lighten up in the evenings now, the dogwalkers and evening travelers looking rather less resolute and windblown, walking with their heads up instead of braced against the gale. Hal nodded a hello to the owner of the newsagents, who was just closing up for the evening, and they turned the corner into their own street. Katie ran on ahead, shrieking at some friend she’d spied at the top of the road.
“Sorry about Mum.”
Hal put his arm around his wife. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not okay. She knows you’re working as hard as you can.”
“Forget it. She’s just worried about you. I guess any mother would be the same.”
“No. They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t be that rude anyway.”
“That’s true.”
Hal stopped to adjust Camille’s scarf. One end had started to work its way toward her feet.
“You know, maybe she’s right,” he said as she rebuttoned the collar of her coat. “That dealer’s probably stringing me along.”
He paused. Sighed, loudly enough for Camille to hear.
“Is it that bad?”
“We’ve got to be completely honest now, haven’t we?” He smiled mirthlessly, mimicking the counselor’s words. “Okay . . . it’s not good. In fact, I’ve been thinking I should start working out of the garage. Silly paying for the workshops when . . . when there’s nothing in them. . . .”
“But Daisy said she might be able to find—”
“It’s that or pack in the business altogether.”
“I don’t want you to give up the business. It’s important to you.”
“You’re important to me. You and Katie.”
But I don’t make you feel like a man, thought Camille. I still somehow make you feel diminished. The business is the only thing that seems to keep you upright.
“I think you should give it a while longer,” she said.
D
AISY, SETTLING DOWN FOR THE EVENING WITH A SHEAF
of fabric samples, felt a little better. Camille had invited her to come to the salon for a treatment. Her treat, she said. As long as Daisy would let her do something adventurous. Mrs. Bernard had agreed to look after Ellie on a more regular footing, hiding her evident pleasure under a tart litany of conditions. Mr. Bernard had told her not to let the buggers get her down, with a wink in the direction of his wife. And Ellie, unusually, had gone to sleep without even a murmur, exhausted by the unaccustomed levels of attention. Daisy had sat on the terrace, wrapped up against the evening chill, looking out to the sea and smoking a leisurely cigarette as she worked, feeling, briefly, not lonely. Or not
as
lonely. It was a feeling that might well have lasted a few days. So it had seemed doubly unfair when the fates, in the shape of her long-silent mobile phone, had conspired to destroy her temporary equilibrium.