E-mail—Roger to Gina
If asking price for Hopton cottage sensible make an offer pronto.
E-mail—Ingrid to Gina, Sandra, Katie, Roger, Clare
It is good they accept. Alison says kitchen table here will just fit in and perhaps dresser also. Drawing-room curtains here are so old, it is not worth taking. I shall make new. Alison thinks pink floral nice perhaps. We shall need man with rotovator to clear ground for new asparagus bed. Alison says fruit cage if I want.
E-mail—Clare to Gina, Sandra, Roger, Katie
Listen, all of you—isn’t this a weird situation? Here’s your mum and mine fetching up together on their own. OK, I know this is what we never say, your mum and mine, what we never talk about. So I’m saying it, because maybe it’s time. Your mum and mine. Apparently settling down together in a cottage with an Aga and a new asparagus bed. Minus our dad, and of course it was all his doing, and we don’t discuss that either and never have. So here’s my take on it, a few years late.
I’m rather glad to be here, so I can hardly hold it against him. Or my mum. I think yours had considerable cause for complaint. Actually, mine too, come to that. I think he shouldn’t have, but if he hadn’t I wouldn’t exist and that’s such a peculiar thought that I have to stop thinking. In the abstract, I think he shouldn’t have—but look, goodness knows what things have been like for him—we’ve no idea, have we? I don’t understand my mum. Why did she? And then why did she stay and how did she feel and I suppose I’ve got all sorts of Scandinavian relations but somehow I’m not very interested. We’ve never talked about it, she and I—never ever. She knows I know—that we all know—and she’s pulled down a shutter. And I don’t mind—I prefer it that way. Does your mum know we know? If she does, my view is that she’s not admitting it, least of all to herself.
There—that’s my take. Clare bares her soul.
Paul says: Jesus! Bully for Clare—the whole can of worms, wide open. What do I think? I don’t. I’ve always preferred not to. Otherwise I’d have chatted about it to the shrinks. Boy!—they’d have made a meal of it, wouldn’t they? I don’t think anything—just, aren’t all families screwed up somewhere, when it comes down to it?
E-mail—Katie to Gina, Sandra, Roger, Clare
Oh, Clare—you should have said all that years ago. Well, we should. All of us—any of us. Actually, I think—poor them. All three of them. It can’t have been much fun—knowing what they knew and not knowing if we did or not, or knowing and not wanting to. And Dad must have felt guilty—perhaps horribly guilty. And Mum—well, what Clare says, cause for complaint. And Ingrid—all muddled, perhaps. It’s poor them, surely.
E-mail—Sandra to Gina, Katie, Roger, Clare
Well done, Clare! Sorry, Katie—no. No way did he feel guilty—he was out to lunch, all his life. In fact, they were all three of them out to lunch. That’s my view.
E-mail—Roger to Gina, Sandra, Katie, Clare
Devil’s advocate—there’s a case to be made for Dad. Two women and six children—did he need that? OK—I hear you, all of you. But give it a passing thought. And listen! I have news. Susan is pregnant. How’s that? But this is not going to be an Allersmead-style launch—we plan two, conceivably three, and there will be no domestic assistance. Meanwhile, advise Gina arrange man with rotovator at once, contact fruit-cage suppliers, and get the max for Allersmead.
E-mail—Gina to Sandra, Katie, Roger, Clare
Paul proposes all families screwed up, more or less. Well, it’s a thought. Spot on, Clare—thanks for lifting the veil, busting the taboo, etc. We’re an odd lot, aren’t we? The elephant in the room, as we say these days, and all of us mute. Ho hum, Sandra—I’m not so sure. Not so much out to lunch as in denial—my scenario. Same thing, possibly. And yes, Katie—yes I suppose to that too. Poor them. And the devil’s advocate view has to be considered. How far can any of us say we knew Dad? I pass. OK, Rog—you’ve made a point—and that’s terrific news! How open-minded can I get? Oh, plenty more—I’m trained that way. Suffice it that Clare has done us a service, I guess, and maybe we can close the file now. Or let it rest—it’s always going to be there, I suppose. And right, Rog—rotovator and fruit cage will be sorted asap. And Allersmead too, alas.
ALLERSMEAD
A prestigious Edwardian family home, set in 1/4 acre of garden with mature trees. Drive with turning circle and ample parking space. Marble tiled entrance hall, imposing oak staircase to first floor.
Stunning drawing room with original fireplace. Paneled study with De Morgan tiles to fireplace. Further sitting room opening onto wide veranda overlooking the garden. Cloakroom. Large kitchen. Scullery and pantry.
Seven bedrooms and a bathroom on the first floor. Five further rooms and toilet on attic floor. Extensive cellar.
A rare opportunity to acquire an impressive house of the pre-First World War period, with original stained glass and other period features, and grounds that could be delightfully landscaped, or considered for further development. Allersmead would also lend itself to institutional use, or conversion into flats. The property would benefit from extensive modernization, and is in need of some repairs, but offers a unique opportunity to the discerning buyer.
Price on application.
Penelope Lively, Family Album
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