He said, “How are you feeling?” As though he were a kindly doctor, and she had been ill for a long time.
She said, “Awful.”
“Carrie told us what happened.”
“I was horrible to her.”
“She didn’t tell us that. Just that you were upset. And who can wonder, having that bit of news sprung on you over the telephone? I always dislike being given news over the telephone. Somehow, one feels so impotent and removed, simply because one can’t see the other person’s face.”
Lucy said, “It wouldn’t be so bad if I really liked him. Randall, I mean.”
“Perhaps you would get to like him.”
“No. I don’t think so.” She looked at Oscar, saw the hooded eyes that always made him seem a bit sad, the gentle expression on his face, and thought that you liked people instantly, just as she had always liked Oscar. And that all the time in the world would never render her as close to Randall Fischer as she had instantly felt with Oscar.
She said, “I was so horrid to Carrie.” Her eyes filled again with tears, but it didn’t matter now, and it was important to tell him.
“I shouted at her and told her to go away, and she was being so sweet. I feel dreadful about her.”
She sniffed lustily, and felt her mouth trembling like a baby’s; but Oscar only reached into the breast pocket of his lovely velvet jacket and produced a much-laundered linen handkerchief which smelt of Bay Rum. He gave it to her, and she took it gratefully and blew her nose.
After that she felt a bit better. She said, “I don’t usually shout at people.”
“I know you don’t. And the wicked thing is, that when we’re really upset, we always take it out on the people who are closest and whom we love the most.”
“Do we?” She was amazed to be told mis.
“Always.”
“I can’t imagine you ever shouting at anybody.”
He smiled, his rare, warm smile that always seemed to change his whole demeanour. He said, “You’d be surprised.”
“It was just that… I feel so awful, because I suppose I should be pleased. But it was …”
“I know. A shock.”
“… If it was someone I really knew, who lived in England, then it wouldn’t be quite so bad. But I don’t want to have to go and live in America and go to school there and everything. London’s not much, but at least I know where I am. I can’t stay with Gran because she always makes a fuss about everything, and wants to do her own thing, go out and see her friends, and have bridge parties. When she has bridge parties, she doesn’t even like me going into the room to say hello. And she hates it when Emma comes because she says we make so much noise. I couldn’t be with her, Oscar.”
“No.”
His hand lay on the duvet She gave him back his handkerchief and he took it, and then took Lucy’s hand in his own. It felt warm and safe over her fingers, a physical contact, a sort of lifeline, that made it easier to talk. She said, “I don’t know what will happen. That’s the worst. I don’t know what I’m going to do. And I’m not old enough to do anything.”
He said, “I don’t think you have to do anything. I think others have to do it for you.”
“Who?”
“Like me.”
“You?”
“Now just listen. Here’s a suggestion. Downstairs, we’ve all been having a little chat, and we’ve come up with an idea. Supposing, after the New Year, you don’t go back to London with Carrie? You stay here with Elfrida. And I shall go back to London with Carrie, and go and see your grandmother in Bournemouth.”
Lucy was alarmed.
“What are you going to say to her?”
“I am going to suggest that, until your mother’s new life is sorted out somewhat, you should remain in Creagan, with Elfrida and myself. Just for the time being.”
“But what about school? I have to go back to school.”
“Yes, of course you do, but how about taking a term off from your school in London, and going to school in Creagan instead? Peter Kennedy is a good friend of the headmaster’s, and he will have a word with him, and see that you get a place in the suitable class. It’s a very good school, and I am sure there would be no objections from your present headmistress.”
“Miss Maxwell-Brown?”
“Is that her name?”
“I can’t simply leave school.”
“I’m not suggesting that. Just take a term off. Plenty of children do this sort of thing if their parents are sent abroad, or other circumstances dictate. I am sure Miss Maxwell-Brown would be perfectly amenable to let you go for a single term, and keep the options open for your return, when this crisis has settled down, and we are all aware of what is expected of us.”
“You mean…” Lucy felt that she had to get the facts right, because what Oscar was telling her sounded almost too good to be true.
“You mean, I wouldn’t go back to London after the New Year? Just stay on with you and Elfrida?”
“If you want to. Yours must be the decision.”
She was silent for a moment or two, mulling this over. It seemed to her that the whole situation was fraught with obstacles. One of them being Elfrida.
“Gran doesn’t approve of Elfrida,” she told Oscar bluntly.
Oscar laughed.
“So I believe. But she will, I am sure, approve of me: I shall present myself as a schoolmaster and a church organist, with an impeccable background and an unsullied reputation. Will she be able to resist that?”
Lucy said, with a quirk of humour, “Not if it means getting shed of me.”
“And your mother?”
“She won’t care either. She never did, much. She’ll care even less now that she’s got Randall.”
“So no objections from her?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“Carrie’s going to telephone them both tomorrow. She can outline our plans. It is, after all, just until Easter. After that we’ll have to think again.”
“I won’t change, Oscar. I won’t ever want to go and live in America.”
“I don’t see why you should have to. You should visit, of course, and it would be interesting and educational; it’s always good to see another country, and learn how others live. But I believe that, basically, you should stay where you feel most happy.”
“I’ve never been so happy, or at home, as I have here.”
“Then why don’t we settle for that. Stay on, for as long as you wish, with Elfrida and me, in Creagan. Go to the local school. Get your GCSEs. After that, you should spread your wings a bit. Maybe a co-educational boarding-school where you could take your A levels. I know several splendid establishments where I am sure you would enjoy every moment. With my school masterly connections, I could make inquiries and get prospectuses, and we could all talk it over together. Go and inspect them. Let you make your own choice.”
“That’s what Rory said, when we talked about things. A co-educational boarding-school.”
“He’s a wise lad. He is your champion. It was he who stirred us all to action when Carrie broke the news about your mother re-marrying.
“You have to do something,” he told us. And of course he was quite right.”
“But, Oscar …”
“What now?”
“You and Elfrida don’t want me living with you for two years.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re old. Like Gran. She always says she can’t cope. Because she’s a grandparent.”
Oscar laughed. “Oh, Lucy, grandparents are wonderful inventions. All over the world, grandparents are, for one reason or another, bringing up their grandchildren, having a great time, and doing a good job. I think it would be fun.”
“But I’m not your grandchild, so would you want me? Really want me?”
“More than anything.”
“Wouldn’t I be in the way?”
“Never.”
“Supposing you move to the cottage at Corrydale, and sell this
house to Sam….”
“Well?”
“… you wouldn’t have space for me.”
“We haven’t seen the house yet. And if necessary, we shall redesign it. And there will be a special apartment, labelled “Lucy’s Room.””
“Oscar, I don’t know why you are so kind.”
“Because we love you. Perhaps we need you. Perhaps I am being selfish, but I don’t want to let you go. I need a young person about the place. I have got used to the sound of your voice, and footsteps on the stairs, and doors bursting open. And laughter. I shall hate it if you leave. Probably go into a decline.”
Lucy said, “When I first came here… when Carrie and I flew up from London and came here, to Creagan, I was terribly nervous because she had told me about your daughter….”
“Francesca.”
“She had told me about Francesca, and I was afraid that I would distress you … remind you of her… make you dreadfully sad again.”
“You remind me of her, but it didn’t make me sad.”
“What did she look like?”
“Long hair, and freckles on her nose. She had bands on her teeth. She was two years younger than you. She was always on the go, never still, except when she and I settled down in my armchair and read aloud to each other.”
“My dad and I used to do that. When I was little and we were all still together. We read The Borrowers. And when he wanted to tease, he called me Arietty. And he put Badedas in his bath and made the whole house smell piny. What else did Francesca like doing?”
“Everything. She had a little pony, and an old bicycle, and a guinea pig in a hutch, and a bedroom full of books. On wet days, she used to go into the kitchen and make biscuits. They were always either burned or raw, and I used to have to eat them and swear they were delicious. And we listened to music together, and played duets on the piano….”
“Was she good at the piano?”
“Not very.”
“Was she good at lessons?”
“Not very.”
“What was she really good at?”
“Living.”
“That’s important, isn’t it?”
Their eyes met, and they gazed at each other, both silenced by the enormity of what Oscar had just said. It was as though he had spoken without thought, and the word hung between them like a lie. Francesca had been good at living, but now she was dead, her young life ended with the brutal finality of a fatal car crash.
Lucy did not know what to say. To her horror she saw Oscar’s eyes fill with tears, his mouth tremble. Then, in an abrupt movement, he covered his eyes with his hand. He tried to speak, but words did not come; instead, a sound was torn from deep in his chest, a sob of utter despair.
She had never before seen a grownup weep, rendered incapable by an almost overwhelming grief. She stared at him, wondering what she could do to comfort, and saw him shake his head, denying his own weakness, somehow struggling for control of his unbearable emotion. After a bit, to her huge relief, he took his hand from his face and reached into his breast pocket for his handkerchief. Then he blew his nose, made an effort to smile at her, reassuring. He said, “Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter, Oscar. I don’t mind. Really I understand.”
“Yes, I think you do. Death is part of living. I have to remember that, but from time to time the truth eludes me.”
“Living is important, isn’t it? And remembering?”
“More important than anything else.” He stowed his handkerchief away once more.
“That first day, the day you arrived, you and I sat in the church and talked about Christmas and the Winter Solstice. It was then that I remembered Francesca, for the first time, without total desolation. I remembered having exactly the same conversation with her a year or so ago. Trying to explain about the Christmas star and the scientists’ theory of time. And she listened but was not convinced. She didn’t want to be convinced. She liked the story just as it was.
“In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone.
“That was the way she wanted Christmas to be, and for Francesca it wouldn’t have been magic any other way. Because the carols and the darkness and the presents were all part of a time when life took flight, and the whole world soared to the stars.”
Lucy said, “That’s how this Christmas is going to be.”
“Stay with us.”
“I do love you, Oscar.”
“There’s a lot of love around. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t.”
“Do you want to come downstairs now, and join the others, and have some supper? If they’ve left any for us….”
“I have to comb my hair and wash my face.”
“In that case.” He relinquished her hand with a little pat, got off the bed, and went to the door. She watched him go. As he left the room, he turned back for a final reassuring smile.
“Don’t be too long, my duck.”
CHRISTMAS EVE
Christmas Eve.
In this fickle northern climate, one woke each morning without any idea of what the elements were about to reveal, but today had dawned astonishingly pure and gentle, like a day stolen from spring. The thaw had melted the snow away from streets and fields, and only the hills still wore their white mantles, summits glittering in the light of the low sun streaming down from a cloudless sky. A sun that, because there was no breath of wind, even managed to engender a faint warmth. Birds sang from leafless trees, and in the Estate House garden a few early snowdrops pierced the rough, untended grass beneath the lilac bush.
At Corrydale, in Rose Miller’s garden, stood a bird table laden with scraps and crusts, and with a bag of nuts dangling. Pigeons and starlings were out in full and greedy force, while tits and robins pecked at the nuts and the scraps of fat which Rose had threaded on a piece of string. They hovered, and paused, then flew off into the safety of a nearby hawthorn bush, so that its twiggy branches trembled and swayed with fluttering wings and feathered activity.
Because of the fine day, and the fact that the roads were clear, Elfrida and Oscar had come to Corrydale on their own, in Oscar’s car. The others, Carrie, Sam, Lucy, and Rory Kennedy, were driving over later, because Carrie reckoned that she had to wait until after noon before getting on the telephone to her sister in Florida. She had already spoken to Dodie Sutton, holed up in her hotel bedroom in Bournemouth, and the conversation had gone more smoothly than any of them had dared to hope. Dodie was clearly much relieved to be shed of the sole responsibility for Lucy, and even spoke quite warmly of Elfrida’s kindness and hospitality, conveniently forgetting that, at one time, she had not had a good word to say for her ex-husband’s raffish, theatrical cousin.
“Oscar will come and see you in Bournemouth,” Carrie had promised.
“He says he would like to meet you, and if you want, talk things over.” And Dodie had raised no objection to this suggestion either, and said that she would be pleased to stand him afternoon tea in the residents’ lounge of the Palace Hotel.
So now, there was only Nicola to be dealt with, to be told of the tentative plans for her daughter, encouraged to fall in with them, and gently coaxed into agreement. Having listened to Carrie speaking to Dodie, all sweetness and understanding, Elfrida was pretty sure she would do as good a job on Nicola. Objections, should there be any, would be token. Nicola wouldn’t care much what happened to anybody, provided her own chosen path lay smooth and free of any sort of angst.
As well, Carrie had volunteered to assemble and bring the picnic. Elfrida had started making suggestions about hot soup and ham rolls, but Carrie and Sam had shooed her out of the kitchen, and sent her and Oscar, feeling quite irresponsible and light-hearted, on their way.
So now, from the window of Rose Miller’s sitting-room, Elfrida watched the birds. Rose’s garden was empty of flowers and vegetables save for a few rotting Brussels sprouts, but the beds were neatly dug and the earth raked, all ready for pl
anting time. The garden ran, a long and narrow plot, down the slope of the hill. At its foot was a wooden fence and some gnarled beech trees, and then, beyond, the sea-fields of Corrydale sweeping down to the blue firth and the hills on the farther shore. Elfrida was much interested in this prospect, because she knew that the view from Major Billicliffe’s house would be almost identical. Today, with the clear winter air, the colours so sharp and brilliant, the lacy branches of trees so black, she could not imagine any outlook more beautiful.
Behind her, Oscar and Rose sat on either side of the fireplace, where burnt a glowing stack of peat, and drank the fresh coffee which Rose had made for them. Rose was talking. She had not done much else since Oscar and Elfrida had arrived, as arranged, at half past eleven.
“… Of course, the poor chentleman let the house get in a terrible state. Betty Cowper, she’s the tractor-man’s wife, she did what she could for him after his wife died, but she has three children of her own and a man to care for, and she swore it was an uphill task. Once we’d heard he’d passed on, she and I went along and did our best to clear the place up. Most of his clothes were in a terrible state, fit for nothing but a bonfire, but there’s a few things that would maybe do for the charity shop, and we packed them in suitcases. He didn’t seem to own anything of value, but we left his ornaments and possessions and books and such where they were, so you’ll be able to do what you want with them.”
“That was good of you, Rose.”
“Betty gave the place as good a clean as possible, scrubbed the kitchen floor and such, and the bathroom, which was in a terrible state. A disaster. Poor lonely man. It’s sad to think of him dying alone, with no family. You said the funeral would maybe be at the end of the week? Will you let me know? I’d like to be there.”
“Of course… and it’s going to be a cremation. But we’ll take you with us to Inverness, in the car.”
“It wasn’t his fault the wee place fell into such disrepair. But no doubt you’ll be altering things for yourself, and if you get the builders in, they’ll tear the place apart and make a lot of dust.”