Empty Nest (20 page)

Netherford House, I repeated to myself as I bid the Drakes goodbye and got back on the road. I knew the name—that's the place where the family had sold up and it became a country hotel. Linus and all his friends had been so sad about it, but Michael—whose family PR firm had represented the hotel—had said the family had come off well. Netherford. There was something else, too—another tiny bit of information that kept just out of reach of my conscious mind and scampered further away when I crept up on it.

Eight o'clock before I pulled up in front of Turnstone House in St. Ives, home of Bianca and Paul Broom and their brood. It sat smack in the middle of a lovely terraced row and had a view of the sea from the roof, loads of rooms over four stories, and no back garden to speak of. I got my case and my bag out of the boot and was pushed up the set of stone stairs to the door by a fierce, frigid gust of wind. Cornwall—a lovely place in summer.

I hesitated—should I ring and chance waking baby? Lights shone out the window of the front room, but I couldn't lean far enough over to see anyone. I opted for a light knock and got no response. A sharp shower sprayed rain on my back. I had reached up to press the bell when through the wavy glass I saw a figure come out of the kitchen. This time, a knock did it.

My brother-in-law, Paul Broom, opened the door. He was tall and bony with thinning brown hair pulled back into a weak braid that, no matter how many years he let it grow, never reached below his collar. He had a quick smile and used it often.

“What news from the North?” he said, giving me a sturdy hug and taking my case and bag as I shook off my coat. I didn't live in the North, of course, but it was our little joke, because I said St. Ives was the end of the earth. And it was, practically.

I didn't have time to answer—the door to the sitting room opened and out poured Emelia, Enid, and Emmet.

“Hello, my darlings,” I said, holding my arms open. They flew at me like bats and clung to my legs, Emmy on one side, Enid and Emmet on the other. Amid a cacophony of “Auntie Jools! Auntie Jools!” and kisses and hugs, I peered at Emelia.

“Is that lipstick?” I asked.

“Gloss,” she said, raising her chin for me to see the translucent pink. “I'm almost eleven.”

“Nana Beryl made jam tarts,” Enid said, her fingers leaving behind a raspberry smear on my thigh to prove her point. I looked down at Emmet, who looked back, mute. He had one arm wrapped round my knee and a thumb in his mouth.

My sister emerged from the sitting room, smiling, her hair pushed back with a band. She wore one of her maternity frocks with a belt to simulate her waist. Knowing my sister, it wouldn't be long before her actual waist reappeared.

Although we were about the same size, Bianca took after Dad with his curly chestnut hair and pale coloring that reddened in the sun, whereas I looked like our mum, blond and able to tan.

And there, in her arms, the precious bundle.

I let out a tiny squeal and crept forward. There she was, small, red, and wrinkled, snug in a Thomas the Tank Engine fleece blanket. My heart melted. “Oh, Bee,” I said.

“We're calling her Essie,” Emmy said.

“Are we?” I asked. “But what's her name, actually?”

All eyes went to Emmet, who removed his thumb from his mouth and said, “Eh-steh-la.”

“Estella,” I repeated, my eyes filling with tears. “She's beautiful.”

“Here now,” Bianca said, handing me the bundle in a cavalier fashion gained, most likely, from this being her fourth time round. “Here's your auntie Jools. Say hello.”

Baby Estella coughed, followed by what I interpreted as a smile. Beryl put her head out of the kitchen to say hello. “I'll bring in tea,” she said.

We retreated to the sitting room, Paul brushing stray Legos off the sofa for me. “Well now, Essie,” I said. I touched my little finger to her hand, and she grabbed hold.

“Eh-steh-la,” Emmet said, crowding next to me. “Eh-steh-la.”

“Emmet, you're speaking—well done,” I said to the boy, now three years old.

Bianca lowered herself carefully into a chair full of squashy cushions. “Jools, he's been talking for ages.”

Not so as I could understand. “Estella,” I said. “Didn't I guess that one?”

“Did you?” my sister asked vaguely as her husband adjusted a cushion behind her and sat on the arm of her chair. “I don't remember.”

It occurred to me at that moment that my sister and her husband had devised a way to make other people think of baby names for them. Start with a mysterious penchant for the letter “e” and watch as everyone round them spent the next several months coming up with suggestions. All they needed to do was choose their favorite.

Beryl brought in a tea tray and a ham sandwich for me. The first bite—delicious though it was—caused me to remember the sandwich I'd made that morning still in the boot of my car. It was sure to have gone off by now, I thought. I'd toss it in the bin tomorrow.

Our room assignments created chaos for all but Estella, whose cradle sat at the foot of her parents' bed for the time being. Beryl roomed with Emelia, because Dad and his production crew were staying in the rustic surroundings of a Boy Scout camp on the far side of Penbeagle, near where the Natural Farmer of the Year lived. I shared a room with Enid, who preferred to leave her bed and join me on the mattress on the floor; Emmet got lonely in his own room and crowded in with us.

I read
We're Going on a Bear Hunt
three times for Emmet and
The Queen's Knickers
once for Enid. That story sent Emmet into squeals of hysteria, as he thought “knickers” was a naughty word, and it took ages before I could get him to stop repeating it. We quieted down with a story I made up on the spot about a puffin. It had no beginning, middle, or end, but it put them to sleep, which was the entire point. I extricated myself from between the hot little bodies and crawled into Enid's bed.

The two bathrooms had queues the next morning, and so I stayed well away with Estella in my arms.

“Auntie Jools will change your nappy,” Bee said to baby as she passed by on her way to the shower.

“She's only two days old,” I said. “Does she need it?” I got no answer. “Right, you, let's get to it.”

Paul left for the gallery, and Beryl departed with two children for primary school and one for nursery school. The house was exceedingly quiet and Estella fell asleep. I put her down and made myself a cup of tea.

My sister appeared, looking quite like herself. She peeked in at the baby and came to sit with me in the window of the front room.

“Are you going out to Penbeagle today to see Michael?”

I'd been completely ready to face him, but now fear seized me. “Yes. Probably. I will. Yeah. I don't want to just leave you, though. I came to help.”

Bee ignored that. “When Dad and Michael stopped the other evening—Sunday, when they arrived—I asked Michael why didn't he bring you down with him, save you the journey by yourself.”

I cut my eyes at her nervously. “What did he say?”

“He said”—she paused for effect, watching me carefully—“that I would need to ask you why.”

“Oh. Was he angry?”

“The look on his face—like he'd closed up shop.” My sister raised an eyebrow. “So, what happened?”

“I…it's just we've…a problem. About Gavin.” That didn't get near describing Gavin's eyesight, my inadequate explanation to Michael and the resulting argument, but it was all that came out.

“Gavin?” Bianca almost shouted. “Julia, you aren't?”

“No, I'm not,” I said, my face heating up. “It's only that I was helping Gavin out with something, and Michael got this in his head and I'm not sure what I can do.”

“I'd say you'd better get it out of his head. You don't have to tell me the truth”—I heard the hurt in her voice, because I always told her everything—“but you'd better decide who is more important to you: Michael or Gavin.”

“There's no question, but…I don't know how to…my life is a mess, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to have a normal relationship. And I look at you, and here you've got this perfect life with a perfect husband and perfect children and perfect house…”

Bee jumped up so quickly I flinched. “Perfect?” she hissed, her face the color of beetroot. “Perfect? I'm exhausted constantly and being pulled in five different directions every minute of every day, and all I can think about is sitting down to a quiet cup of tea, and I can't even have that at the moment. Yet here are you, not a care in the world, swanning around your estate with his Lordship, seeing Gavin on the side, and expecting Michael not to care that you aren't capable of making any sort of commitment. Drive him away, Julia—keep driving them all away and see where you end up.”

I recoiled as if she'd slapped me. I couldn't speak. She stood over me panting, and crying before turning away and walking over to Estella, who had started to fuss.

I stood up and walked out, making it to Enid's room and sitting on her bed where I sat, shaking with sobs I tried to keep quiet. After a few minutes, I got in the shower, welcoming the hot water that beat on me, letting it wash away my pain. I hated it when my sister and I fought. It happened so rarely—just the normal squabbles when we were young and as teenagers a few rounds. We had always been each other's best friend. Bee, two years older than I was, did enjoy being the big sister. And she was right once again—I was afraid and I was letting fear get the better of me.

Beryl stood at the bottom of the stairs when I went down; I saw Bee in the sitting room putting Estella in her crib. The three of us stood in silence for a moment. Beryl looked from my solemn face to my sister's and said, “I'm going down to the shops. I expect this will be settled by the time I get back.”

The door clicked shut. Bee and I wasted no time. “I'm sorry,” she said as we hugged. “Hormones—I never know what I'm going to say.”

I shook my head. “No, me—I'm sorry. I don't know, Bee,” I whispered, partly for the sleeping baby, partly because I didn't want my voice to break. “There's something wrong with me. I think, why go through this again when I'll just make a dog's breakfast of it, as I've done every other time?”

“You won't—one of these times you'll get it right. Maybe this is the one, but how will you know without trying? Ah, Jools,” she said, rubbing my arm, “I don't want you to sabotage your life.”

“I'm going now, straightaway, to see Michael. After I've had some breakfast.”

I cooked us eggs.

“What's Estella's middle name?” I asked as we buttered toast.

Bee smiled. “Ruby.”

My name, too—it had been the name of our American granny, whom we'd never met. I had ended up with Mum's maiden name, as well—I was Julia Ruby Craddock Lanchester. Bianca had scored Maude from an American great-grandmother and Butterwick for Dad's mother.

“You and Paul should go away this winter—Tenerife or somewhere. I'd come and stay with the children—and Beryl, too, I imagine.”

Bee laughed. “How do you think I got that one?” she asked, nodding toward the front room and sleeping Estella. “It was Ibiza in January.” As we heard Beryl coming in the door, Bianca covered my hand with hers and said, “I love my life, Jools, you know that. It isn't perfect, but perfect wouldn't be nearly as good.”

Near midday, I drove off to Penbeagle, a tiny hamlet just inland from St. Ives. I practiced calming thoughts. I knew what I wanted to do, only I didn't know if I could.
Courage, Julia.

Cornwall is full of wide-open spaces, windswept moors, undulating hills looking quite desolate even on a sunny day—makes you wonder how anyone could make a living. Also made me wonder if the wind had blown all the road signs away. Three times I drove up and down a lane flanked with tall earth banks topped with brown grass before I decided which gate to open. I checked my mobile—no reception, so I hoped I didn't end up in the middle of a field with a bull bigger than my Fiat.

The lane wound round several low hills, and at last, out of nowhere, civilization appeared—a stone house, barn, and outbuildings of various kinds. Occupying the yard, the production crew of
A Bird in the Hand,
two vans, Dad's ancient green Rover, various stands of lights, electrical equipment, and cameras. Shaggy sheep with drooping black ears crowded up against the fence and watched the activity.

I parked, checked myself in the mirror, brushing my hair into place with my fingers. When I got out, the wind caught me from behind and blew it straight into my face.

“Hello, lads,” I said to Basil Blandy and the rest of the crew, all of whom I knew from my years of working with Dad. They raised their heads in greeting, one of them asking if I'd be directing the next segment. “Wouldn't you just love that?” I replied, trying not to appear as if I were looking for someone. No Michael about.

“Jools,” Dad called, and waved. He stood talking to a woman who I thought must be the farmer's wife. Thin and small, she had added several inches to her height by piling her auburn hair into a cone right on the top of her head. She wore a floral print dress with two thick cardigans and black leggings with no socks, her bare feet stuck into rubber clogs. I shivered at the sight.

Dad introduced me and we exchanged pleasantries. But he could read my face quite well. “He's in the barn.”

I stuck my hands in my pockets. “Oh, well, then. I'll just…” I nodded in that direction. “Lovely to meet you,” I said to the farmer's wife.

Backing up, I turned and picked my way through the yard, avoiding not only electrical lines as thick as my wrist but also muddy craters and sheep droppings. I worked my way to the concrete slab that led to the barn door.

Stepping in, I stopped, blinking to let my eyes adjust to the dim light. The sweet scent of hay wafted in the cold air—bales rose high against one wall, and loose piles had been pushed up against the sides of the stalls. The floor had been swept clean, with one small haystack in the middle, ready for its photo op. Michael stood talking with a hobbit of a man who wore Wellies that came to his thighs and braces to hold up his trousers. As the farmer explained in great detail what makes a sheep photogenic, Michael caught sight of me, and I saw his gaze shift back and forth between me and the farmer, until at last he broke in.

“That's grand,” Michael said. “We've taken plenty of film of your dog herding, and we've covered shearing thoroughly. What I need for you to do now is to go out and have a word with Basil Blandy, the tech assistant. He's just out there—probably talking with Rupert.” The farmer nodded and moved to the door. “Take him out in the field with you,” Michael called after the fellow, “point out your favorites, show him their best sides.”

The farmer paused when he saw me and broke out in a smile. “Hello, I'm Sam,” he said, gripping my hand as he must need to take hold of a wayward lamb trying to make a break for it. “This is my farm. I'm pleased to welcome you.”

“Happy to meet you, Sam. I'm Julia Lanchester—Rupert's daughter. Well done, you, on this fine award.”

“Thank you. We're quite pleased and surprised at this honor, both my wife and me. And, of course, our sheep—they're ever so grateful. Thank you.”

Sam left, and Michael didn't move. Neither did I. A huge gulf lay between us—much more difficult to get round than the pile of straw at our feet.

“Hello,” I said. “How's filming?”

“It's all right,” Michael said. “How's the baby?”

“Tiny and loud. And sweet.”

So much for preliminaries. My heart felt like a hammer beating in my chest—
ka-thunk, ka-thunk.

“Are you staying—” Michael began, but I cut him off.

“He can't see.” I paused to catch my breath. Michael waited. “Gavin—he can't see distance well because of the concussion he got, and that means he can't see birds and that's a terrible thing for a twitcher, and he's afraid he'll never be able to identify a bird again and he's afraid that other twitchers will find out and start questioning his list and so he made me promise not to tell anyone and I got confused and thought that meant you and so I didn't say anything and that was wrong of me, because he didn't mean for me to keep a secret from you, and even if he did, I shouldn't've have done it. I should've explained. I'm sorry.”

And still he didn't move. No smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. From this distance in the dim light, I couldn't see what shade of blue his eyes were. I wiped my nose on the back of my hand.

“He can't see?”

I nodded. “It could get better, the doctor isn't sure. I felt sorry for him—I felt responsible for him, after the whole business in the pig hut.”

“You're sure he can't see?”

“Yes, I'm sure. He wouldn't lie about something like that—why would he?”

“Why, indeed?” Without my realizing it, Michael had closed the gap between us and now stood close enough for me to see his eyes were a milky blue.

I had more to confess. “I felt like we were getting serious—us, I mean. I've always made such a mess of things. Other relationships.” I shrugged one shoulder and looked at the stack of hay bales. “We were heading in that direction, and it worried me that I would do it again. Better to not even try, I thought.”

“If you don't want us to…”

“I do want to, I know that now. But I'm too late.” I attempted to stop my chin from trembling. “I've spoilt it, haven't I?”

Michael frowned. “Spoilt?”

“Us—for not telling you why I was with Gavin. We'll never get past it.”

There—I saw the corner of Michael's mouth twitch and his eyes deepen. He took my hand, and his warmth rushed up my arm and calmed my heart. “You haven't spoilt anything.”

“It scares me, you see.”

“Scared in a good way or a bad way?” he asked, making me smile.

“Both,” I whispered. “Do you forgive me?”

“Of course. Do you forgive me?”

“For what?”

“I was…” Michael started, and then hesitated for a moment. “Lecky winds me up. He knows it, and I shouldn't have let him, but I did. I didn't like seeing the two of you together.”

“If I go out with him again to watch birds, you can come along.”

“I tell you what, we'll go out, the two of us, and leave him behind.”

By this time his arms were around me and my hands were resting on his chest. “We're all right now?” I asked.

“We are that. We pick up from here and carry on.”

“Just remember I'm not terribly good at that part—the carrying on.”

Michael laughed. “I've not had great success with it myself. Doesn't mean we shouldn't try.”

My lips were a millimeter away from his, and I could feel his heart beating against mine, even through our coats. This was better than I had ever expected. It felt different, stronger. I paused to take in the moment—but a second too long.

“Whoa,” Basil Blandy said as he walked directly into us. “Julia, sorry, didn't see you there. Awfully dark in the barn. We'll need to get some light on Samwise.”

“Samwise? Basil, don't make fun,” I said.

“No, Julia, that's actually his name—Samwise Froggett. Farmer Froggett,” Basil said, and sniggered. “Couldn't've made up a better one.”

“Where is he?” Michael asked.

Basil fiddled with a light meter in his hand. “We're all heading indoors. Mrs. Froggett has done us a lunch. You're invited, too, Julia.”

“Thanks, Basil,” I said, wishing he would go away. “Right behind you.”

Basil retreated, and I backed Michael up against the wall of the barn to make sure he knew how happy I was that we'd got over this bump in the road. When I'd arrived, the air had felt icy, but his lips on mine raised my temperature by several degrees. His hands snaked round the inside of my coat, and I contemplated shedding it but thought we'd better not start something we couldn't finish here and now.

“Lunch.”