A Married Man Part 36

He was screaming at me now, tears pouring down his cheeks, grief buckling his pale face. Whatever Rose had been to me, she'd been his granny, and though I'd hesitate to prefix that with 'beloved' she'd nonetheless invested time and effort in them, and been rewarded with that precious, unconditional love only children can bring to a relationship. They didn't judge her as I did. She was their grandmother, ipso facto, they loved her.

I let him cry for a bit, then, as his sobs subsided, tried again. 'Ben, listen darling. I know it's sad, and so sudden,' I drew him close, 'but older people, grandparents, you know, we have to accept that they die before us.'

'But burned to death!' he screamed, pushing me away.

'Burned to death, that's awful!'

'No, Ben, that's not true, I told you'

'But he's right, the barn did burn down,' insisted Max. 'Look!' And with a four year old's zeal and enthusiasm for all things dramatic, he ran to the window and swept back the curtain.

I caught my breath. There, on the horizon, was the view I'd avoided from my own bedroom. Perched on the soft, rolling hills which swept up from the lake, where the kingcups gave the fields a golden glow, rose up the jagged, blackened sh.e.l.l of our home; sodden, from the Fire Brigade hoses, and whilst not quite rased to the ground, certainly minus a roof and most of the top floor. At this distance, it was as if the top had been taken off a doll's house, before havoc had been wreaked with a chainsaw and a pot of black paint.

'Wow!' breathed Max. 'You can still see sofas and tables and everything, 'cept they're all black! But our rooms have gone. Look, Mum. Look, Ben!' He walked to the window as if pulled by a string.

But Ben was not finding it nearly as enthralling as his brother. 'I can't bear it,' he whispered, clamping clenched fists to his eyes. 'Can't bear to think of us in there, of Granny in there, of her struggling to get out, trying to open doors, coughing, crawling along corridors . .

'Draw the curtain,' I ordered Max.

'But why? I want to-'

'NOW" He hastily obeyed.

'Now listen, Ben Max, you listen too.' I pulled Max back from the window and put my arms around their thin shoulderson the bed. 'What has happened here is,' I struggled, 'horrendous, yes. And desperately sad. But it is not the stuff of nightmares, OK? Granny was old-'

'How old?' demanded Max.

'I don't know, but jolly old.'

'Over fifty?'

'Oh yes,' I said gratefully.

'G.o.d'

'And she didn't die a violent death, Ben, she died peacefully. In hospital, surrounded by her family, and by the people she loved. You are not to imagine her crawling around a burning building looking for a way out because it's simply not true.' Even as I said it, I saw Rose, blundering blindly along, one hand over her mouth, blue eyes wide and terrified, or even on her hands and knees as Ben had said, trousers torn, face blackened, gasping for air. 'Simply not true!' I lied, shutting my eyes. 'You saw her come out alive, and I don't want you rewriting history, OK?'

'OK,' they whispered, eyes huge.

I knew from experience that children will believe you if you're insistent enough. You can tell them black is white. I remembered Ben, forgetting his lines in a school play once, and believing me when I'd said he was absolutely the best on stage because his silent presence was so magnificent. I wasn't sure how well I was doing now, but I had to try to comfort him somehow, try to slice through the terror.

'OK, Ben?' I repeated.

He nodded. 'But why us again?' he asked, turning his pale face up to mine.

Max frowned, confused, but I knew what Ben meant. Knew he was talking about his father.

'I don't know,' I admitted.

I regarded the white face of my child beside me and felt fury rising up within me like a high-speed elevator. Fury, that once again my precious boy had been damaged. And why had Rose let them go down to the barn alone? What the h.e.l.l had she been playing at? Why hadn't she put them to bed up here? But now was not the moment. Ben was starting to shiver. I reached for his dressing gown and pulled it around him. 'Here, Ben, put your arm in the sleeve, and try to-'

Van we go home, Mum?' he interrupted, in a small voice.

I stared. Shifted back on the bed to look at him properly. Then glanced quickly out of the crack in the curtain where Max had failed to draw them completely, to the blackened remains beyond. Oh G.o.d how much had this affected him? Had he not completely taken it in?

Van we?' he repeated.

'He means to London,' put in Max.

I swung around and looked at him. 'To London?' They both nodded. I caught my breath. 'But darlings, the flat's gone! I sold it, you know that.'

'But you could buy it back, couldn't you? Offer him more money? Ask the man who bought it if we can buy it back from him?'

I licked my lips, marvelling at their simple faith, their trust in the consummate ability of grown-ups. And of course I'd been hoist by my own petard. Not a moment ago I'd prided myself on my ability to get them to believe I could fix anything, that black could, quite easily, be white.

'I know,' I said suddenly, 'we'll go to Lucas and Maisie's.'

'Yes!' they both gasped, and for the first time that morning, the dull fear lifted from Ben's eyes.

'Yes, let's go to Lucas and Maisie's. We could live there, couldn't we, Mum?'

I didn't answer that, didn't gainsay it, even though I knew it might not be possible. Because if there was a crumb of comfort on the horizon, by G.o.d I'd let them s.n.a.t.c.h at it. Let them imagine the welcoming arms of their cosy grandparents, the shambolic, chaotic, Bohemian house where I'd grown up, where anything went, and where, within a twinkling, Max would be helping Lucas sort screws into boxes in the garden shed, with Ben at the kitchen table, playing Racing Demon with Maisie, shrieking with laughter as they slapped down cards and tore to the finish. Oh no, with the prospect of all that, I wasn't going to pour cold water.

Van we?' said Ben, clinging to it. Van we go?'

'I don't see why not,' I said carefully, thinking defiantly that we jolly well would go, no matter what anyone here said, whatever opposition I encountered, and that once in London well, we could get rid of the nurse, and I could look after Maisie. They wouldn't need a nurse if I was there, and then we could move into the spare rooms on the top floor, couldn't we? Suddenly all things were possible. All things. Because you see, if I could take Ben's mind for one moment from the terror he had the brains to imagine ... well, I'd move b.l.o.o.d.y mountains. Do whatever it took to spare him more pain.

'Wait here,' I said tersely, 'and get dressed. I'll be back.'

They hopped off the bed, if not excited, certainly relieved. A plan had been formed.

'We can't!' Ben's face was suddenly panic-stricken again, as he stood there, arms outstretched in his pyjamas. All he possessed. d.a.m.n.

'Yes, you can.' I pulled open a drawer. 'Remember, Granny kept these in here, in case you stayed.' I dragged out shorts and a T-shirt. 'See?'

'Oh yes. She did,' Ben said slowly. He fingered the clothes reflectively, remembering Granny again. Nothing could be fixed that rapidly.

'So come on, buck up,' I urged, hoping he wouldn't regress too far. 'Oh, and hop in the bath first to get rid of the soot. I'll be back in a moment.'

I flew into my room and put my shoes on, dressed, already, in all I had in the world, then crept out along the corridor.

It was surely mid-morning, but all was silent. The huge house was deathly quiet as I pa.s.sed down the long pa.s.sage, under archways, past a longcase clock that must have stopped, or else someone had failed to wind it, to the top of the sweeping staircase. As I paused for a moment under the domed gla.s.s roof that crowned the stairwell, my hand on the polished banister rail, it struck me that it felt more like a mausoleum than ever. But then, that was only fitting, wasn't it? She had been its lifeblood, Rose, its force. It was Archie's house, sure, but only in name. Her tiny presence had been the pulse of the place as she scurried energetically up these corridors, its arteries; raising her less industrious daughters from their rooms, then down to Joan in the kitchen, berating her for preparing cold cuts when there could have been a cottage pie, then off to scold Archie about his smelly Labrador leaving seething people wherever she went. Running around with a poker, almost, stoking little fires, keeping them going,hustling everyone along, and without her the place seemed to stop.

As I got to the bottom of the stairs, I had an awful feeling that something like a sigh of relief had swept over the house, too. The painted smile of one of the blackamoors who stood sentry at the bottom seemed to confirm this. I glanced away, horrified. No, no it was an empty, soulless place that I crept through now, I insisted, and when I finally found the shattered remains of her family in the morning room, I knew it to be so.

Archie was slumped in a wing chair by the fireplace, staring into an empty grate, with Pinkie and Lavinia perched on either arm. His eyes were blank and glazed, and he looked about a hundred years old. The girls were talking across him in low voices as he sat numbly between them, staring blankly, his fingers twitching. They stopped talking when I came in, and stood up.

'Lucy,' sobbed Pinkie.

I quickly crossed the room to hug them both.

'Pinkie, Lavinia, I'm so sorry,' I whispered, holding them both tight.

They nodded, gulping. Their clothes smelled of smoke and I realised n.o.body had been to bed. Lavinia drew back from me after a while, eyes dry in enormous sockets, hollow with misery and fatigue; Pinkie, her shoulders shaking, sobbed quietly into a spotted hanky of her father's as I hugged her. I looked over her shoulder.

'Archie .

I went across and perched on the arm Pinkie had vacated. His ancient Lab lay protectively across both of his feet. He made as if to rise, but couldn't. I got off the arm and crouched down in front of him, the better to see his face. My hand closed over his. He squeezed it.

'She ... had a good life, you know,' he murmured softly. 'A full one. Children, grandchildren, the garden, and so on . . Committees and what not. And she wasn't in any great pain, when she went. It was all ... very peaceful. Quiet. And thank G.o.d the lad came. Thank G.o.d she saw him.'

'Hector? Was Hector there?'

'Lavinia rang him. Came immediately. Up from London. Wouldn't come back here, of course, but well. They had time together. Alone.' He took his eyes off the grate and looked at me directly for the first time, his swimmy brown eyes childlike, bruised, looking for confirmation. 'That's important, don't you think?'

'Oh yes. Yes, very,' I breathed.

'And she had such sadness, too, of course. Ned, her favourite, you know, always her favourite . .

I blanched at this in front of the sisters, but nodded, because I did know.

'Never got over that. Never. Thought that the boys, Ned's boys ... well, thought the world of them, what?' He raised his eyebrows enquiringly, then looked back to the grate.

'Yes, I know,' I murmured. His voice was vague, distant, and he seemed confused.

'Filled a gap, I suppose. But she dreamed too much. Didn't know it could never happen ... would never happen. I couldn't let her have that, however much she'd been hurt. You do see that, don't you, Lucy?' He turned to me again. Eyes wide, appealing. 'Wouldn't have been fair. Or proper.'

I wasn't sure I did see. Wasn't sure I had a clue what he was talking about, but I kept on nodding.

'Yes, Archie, I see'

'And of course she didn't know, so that was a blessing. Didn't know I wouldn't have it. Died thinking she could. That I'd let it happen'

I glanced desperately at Lavinia for help, but she was standing with her back to the room at the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows. She held herself tightly, arms crossed, staring out at the parkland, sunk in her own private misery, Archie's ramblings not reaching her, or her not wanting them to ...

'But thank G.o.d those boys got out. Thank G.o.d . .

'Yes,' I gulped. 'Thank G.o.d.' I knew I'd have my own nightmares about that, be sitting bolt upright in the middle of the night in a muck sweat for years to come, but I blanked it out ruthlessly now. Ben was my priority.

'And Archie, you know, they're pretty bad, the boys. Ned's boys,' I added, in case I needed to penetrate. He glanced up. 'Hmm?'

'Ben and Max. They're well, Ben is desperately sad and distressed, about Rose, and disturbed, almost, about the fire. I'd like to take them away, to my parents', to get them away from it all. Of course I'll be back,' I added quickly, lest anyone should think I was deserting a sinking ship, but actually, I almost felt like an interloper here. As if I was intruding on their grief.

'Lucy's right,' said Lavinia, turning and coming back from the window. 'They must have some s.p.a.ce. Little Ben well, he won't cope.'

I looked at her gratefully and Archie nodded.

'Good plan. Make a plan and stick to it, quite right. No need for you to be here. Police have been up already, of course,' he glanced at me, 'while you were still asleep. Jack gave you a draught, apparently, so we didn't wake you. They believe it was some electrical fault. No funny business or anything, but just some c.o.c.k-up at the hands of those cowboy builders Rose got in to wire it up. No doubt on the cheap. Always on the cheap...' He shook his head wearily. 'Anyway. No point going over that now. Her project, her baby. Her baby ...' His chin wobbled at this, and one corner of his mouth drooped dramatically. A tear trickled down his papery cheek. Pinkie swooped.

'Oh Daddy, don't!'

They clung to each other as Pinkie sank to her knees beside him, sobbing all the harder. Archie gripped her hands, and squeezed his eyes tight shut, grimacing as tears escaped. I watched, helplessly, as Lavinia did too, arms crossed, her nails digging into her bare arms. She glanced at me. Came quickly across, nodding.

'Go,' she whispered, taking my arm and coming with me to the door. 'I know where you are if we need you.'

'You've got my parents' number?' I asked her. 'And my mobile?'

'I have.'

We hugged each other hard and I felt how rigid and unyielding her body was.

'Let go, Lavinia,' I urged. 'You need to let go!'

'Will do,' she agreed brightly, drawing back, her tone reminiscent of her mother. 'All in good time.' She raised her chin. 'All in good time.'

I squeezed her arm again and then, with one last look at Archie, his chin on his chest, darted gratefully away to get the boys.

I turned left and made for the back corridor, pushing through the green baize door to take the quicker, backstairs route. As I approached the kitchen, I heard Joan and Trisha talking in low voices. Their backs were to me at the sink as they scrubbed potatoes, and it struck me that, although the mood was sombre, respectful perhaps, no one was sobbing into their pinny here. No one had their head in their hands at the kitchen table, life was going on, and lunch was being prepared. Yet Joan had worked here for what thirty years? Their conversation stopped abruptly as they heard my footsteps, but they didn't turn round. Two heads bent industriously over the sink. I hovered guiltily for a second, wondering what they'd been saying. In the silence, I heard voices coming from the gun room, next door. That in itself was unusual. It was Archie's private room, where he sat alone, in an old leather chair amidst dog baskets and fishing rods and ancient copies of The Field, jealously guarding his privacy and his a.r.s.enal, snoozing quietly. But Archie was in the morning room. I moved quietly towards the open door and saw David, pacing up and down by the window, seemingly talking to himself. He stopped abruptly the moment he saw me, and glanced warily at someone sitting in the huge leather chair which had its back to me. I couldn't see the occupant.

'Lucy!' He quickly crossed the room and came out to the corridor, shutting the door firmly behind him. 'How are you? How are the boys?'

'Awful, David,' I gulped. 'Well, no, perhaps awful's toe strong, but Ben's so upset and oh G.o.d, what a ghastly mess!'

I realised I was welling up and he took my shoulders and held me close for a moment. A moment later he pulled back, holding me at arms' length. His face was terribly drawn, and white with fatigue. No sleep for him either, I imagined.

'Take them away, Lucy. This is no place for them. Not at the moment.'

'I'm going to,' I breathed. 'We're going to my parents'. I'm just going upstairs to get them now and-'

'Good, good,' he interrupted, 'fast as you can, good plan.' His eyes darted warily up and down the corridor, almost to check if anyone was listening. He dropped his voice.

'And listen, Lucy, ring when you get there, OK? Not here, on my mobile.' He took a pencil and pad from his pocket and scribbled down the number. He tore the page out and gave it to me. 'Let me know that you've arrived, hmm?'

'OK,' I said slowly, staring at his shattered face. Was it my imagination, or were people behaving strangely? I felt David was being furtive, hurrying me along, almost giving me a gentle push towards the backstairs, or was it just the shock playing tricks with my emotions? He made to go back inside, then paused, his hand on the door.

'And don't worry,' he said kindly, 'children are very resilient. Particularly yours. You've done a good job, Lucy. They've been brought up with so much love, they've a wealth of resources to fall back on. They'll be fine.'

'Thank you,' I said, flooding with relief, so glad he'd said that. So grateful for those few kind words, and not tranquillisers, pressed into my hand for them.

He gave a quick, sad smile and went back in. As he made toshut the door, I saw a pair of khaki-clad legs stretched out in front of the leather chair. I recognised the shoes. Jack's shoes. And the top of his copper hair, too, protruding over the back of the chair. So Jack was in there with David, I thought, as I walked slowly away. But he hadn't wanted to be seen. Least of all, by me.

I walked heavily upstairs and a lump came to my throat. I told myself not to think about it. Not to think about last night and what had happened, that it didn't matter. That there were far more cataclysmic events to consider this morning, and that in the scheme of things, kissing Ned's cousin was very small beer. But my mind resolutely refused to behave. It seemed full of Jack, and only Jack; his tenderness last night, his kisses, his kindness, so much so that when we drove out of Netherby ten minutes later, I was almost in a dream. I hardly even registered the police car coming up the drive towards me, pa.s.sing me at speed in the opposite direction. Hardly heard the crunch of gravel as it stopped sharply at Netherby's front door. Gave no thought to the man in a suit, leaping out of the back, and dashing up the mountain of stone steps. Didn't stop to consider it at all.

Chapter Twenty-nine.