Holding On (17 page)

Feeling suddenly depressed Caroline stood her empty mug with the rest of the dirty dishes, rolled up her sleeves and prepared to do the washing-up.

The detached house, with its large private garden, was not very far from the cottage which Hal and Maria had rented four years ago in Boarhunt but it was worlds away from the cottage's tiny old-fashioned simplicity. Streamlined, modern, smart, this wellappointed house had been built in the highly desirable Meon Valley, close enough to Winchester for Maria to do her shopping in that charming town, driving herself in the large Citroën GS X whilst Hal used his Sprite to get himself to and from the dockyard.

With Hal's rise in salary since his promotion, added to the allowance from his family and the generous assistance which her parents bestowed upon their adored daughter, Maria could now afford to have someone to help with the housework and the children. Hal protested that they could manage the garden between them but, each time the ship sailed, Maria called in an elderly odd-jobman from Southwick to help her with any heavy work. The other naval wives, managing simply on their husband's salaries, envied her the large house and her ‘help'. Maria gloried in her superiority; these were the things that gave her confidence amongst her peers. She liked to talk about Hal's ‘place' down in Devon which he would inherit shortly and to which she and the children would move, no longer having to follow from port to port or live in married quarters. Some of their friends were already scraping money together to buy their own homes and Hal had suggested that he and Maria should do the same. She'd been taken quite by surprise.

‘But why on earth should we?' she'd asked.

He'd shrugged, clearly thrown a little by her reaction. ‘I know how you hate quarters,' he'd answered. ‘I thought you might prefer a place of your own. Of course it'll always be in the wrong place. If we buy here I'll be posted to Devonport and vice versa. Or I'll be given a desk job at MOD. But at least you could settle down, sort out schools and so on. I'd get home as much as I could, of course, and we might be lucky and get a home posting.'

‘But we shall have The Keep,' she'd replied, frowning. ‘It's a waste of money, surely, to buy a house of our own.'

Hal had been silent for a moment. ‘Well,' he'd said at last, ‘it was just a thought.'

This evening the rain clouds were dark, purplish-grey, swollen and heavy. The highly polished laurel leaves clattered in a sudden gust of wind as Maria snatched the last of the washing from the line, thrusting it down into the basket, making a dash for the kitchen before the rain came. She dropped it on the floor and darted out again to fetch Jolyon's wooden push-along tricycle. He watched her from his high chair at the big pine table.

‘Wet,' he said cheerfully. ‘Bike's all wet.'

Maria wiped it over with a towel and smiled at him. ‘Not any more,' she said. ‘Have you finished your soldiers?'

Jolyon carefully picked up a Marmite-spread strip from the plate on his tray and showed it to her. ‘Sholder,' he said carefully.

Maria sat opposite him, recognising Hal in the small face with its mop of blond hair. ‘S-s-s-ssoldier.' He had difficulty with his speech and it worried her. ‘Say it, darling. S-s-s-ssoldier.'

‘S-s-s,' hissed Jolyon happily, ‘sholder.'

Maria got up, hiding an impatient sigh. Small children could be extraordinarily tiresome and she'd had a long day. She needed Hal to come home, to pour her a drink, massage her neck, listen to her list of grievances. He would cheer her up, make her laugh, give her the courage to go forward.

‘For heaven's sake,' another naval wife – one whom she had counted her friend – had said. ‘Whatever have
you
got to grumble about? You don't know you're born, stuck up here with all the commanders and captains and someone to do all your work. As for Hal being at sea, of
course
, he's at sea. He's a bloody
sailor
, for God's sake.'

Maria hadn't spoken to her since. She'd felt the usual mixture of hurt and inadequacy. No one appreciated how much more difficult it was for her than it was for the other wives. They'd been brought up in the bustle of siblings and busy family life, living away from home later on whilst they trained as nurses or teachers. Naturally, they were more able to deal with the loneliness and difficulties, to manage without a husband around. She, on the other hand, had been cosseted and protected; nothing had been required of her except that she should look pretty and be a delightful daughter until she married.

‘You were spoiled rotten,' Hal had once said outspokenly – and, though he'd laughed as he'd said it, she'd never forgiven him for it. Surely it was what he'd first loved in her – her feminine ways and clinging adoration. It was unfair to expect her suddenly to become efficient, strong, independent.

She looked at herself in the mirror which hung over the double drainer stainless-steel sink. In a little bag on the windowsill she kept a comb, powder compact and lipstick so that, should anyone ring unexpectedly at the doorbell, she could check that she was looking her best. Now, she performed the familiar little rite – touching her nose with the powder puff, stretching lips as she outlined them, pulling the comb through the long dark hair – wishing she still had time to bathe and change as she had in the old days, before the children came along.

Jolyon watched her, interested. Once he'd tried the same operation on himself, dragging the chair across to the sink, climbing up and trying to peer in the mirror in order to investigate the results. He'd toppled over, all amongst the washing-up, and smashed a glass. Mummy had just started cleaning him up when Daddy arrived home. She'd been cross, lips all tight, eyes small, and he'd been frightened until Daddy had come in, taken one look and laughed his big growly, roaring laugh which came from right deep inside him, taking him from Mummy's quick, hard hands and swinging him up high, telling him how pretty he looked.

Remembering, Jolyon began to laugh too and Maria peered at him through the mirror.

‘Daddy's home,' he said, in explanation, hopefully.

‘Not yet,' said Maria, glancing at the mahogany-framed clock on the kitchen wall. She went through to the big playroom where Edward had fallen asleep on the big sofa. The wretched child
would
do this, refusing to sleep until late in the afternoon and then being wide awake all evening when she wanted to be alone with Hal.

‘Stop fussing,' he'd say easily, taking Edward in his arms, pressing his cheek against the downy head. ‘I hardly see him. I'll have him on my lap while we eat. He's no trouble.'

The irritating thing was that this was quite true. Edward
was
no trouble with Hal; he lay quietly crooning to himself whilst Hal forked up his food, smiling at his father, happily content, which made it difficult to explain just how exhausting a day she'd had and how trying the children could be. She moved Edward slightly, hoping that he'd wake, taking his thumb from his mouth, readjusting his coverlet, but he continued to sleep and she went back to the kitchen to check the dinner. As she stirred the cassoulet in its brown earthenware pot, turning the beans so that they should all be crustily browned, Maria rehearsed today's tiny grievances: Jolyon had dropped his Peter Rabbit mug, which was now in two halves; the iron had sizzled violently, frighteningly, before dying; the dog had been sick . . .

The dog was a serious grievance. It was Maria who had demanded that they should have a dog, simply so as to complete her mental picture of them as a family: the slim, pretty, charming mother, the tall, handsome, naval officer father and the two adorable blond babies. Only a dog was needed, sitting in the back of the estate car, behind the two boys in their car seats, walking beside the pushchair. Hal had been cautious, pointing out that she appeared to have quite enough on her hands as it was, underlining the problems a dog could cause. Maria had stood firm. A puppy would be such fun and, when it grew up, it would be company and protection for her when Hal was at sea. She'd never been allowed a dog and she was quite sure that it was good for children to have animals about them.

Finally, Hal had given in. He'd checked with another naval family who had a golden retriever and then took Maria to meet the breeder. It was Hal who'd made the good impression, chatting knowledgeably with the breeder, utterly at ease with the big dogs, discussing diet and exercise. Maria, playing charmingly with the puppies, had protested at the suggestion that her boys might tease their own puppy, solemnly declared her passion for animals, and had eventually chosen a jolly fellow, to be collected in three weeks' time when he would be old enough to leave his mother.

That was three months ago and Maria was at her wits' end. To begin with, Rex chewed anything that was left in range, did antisocial things on the kitchen floor and dug holes in the lawn. Now, thanks to Hal's training during a fortnight's leave, Rex was settling down but there were still accidents and naughtiness with which to contend, and she could see that exercising him was going to be an utter bore. It had been such bliss to leave him with a friend when they went down to The Keep for the wedding. Maria's heart bumped nervously. She had decided that this was the evening to talk to Hal seriously so perhaps it would be unwise to begin with a recital of the hardships of her day. They'd been back for a fortnight and no moment had presented itself: it simply must be this evening. As she hung up the tea towel, he came into the kitchen.

‘There's a real old storm brewing,' he said, brushing drops of rain from his jersey. ‘Hello, darling. Something smells good.'

She returned his hug, wishing that the Navy had not introduced the jersey in place of the jacket. Even with his gold epaulettes on each shoulder there was a casual look about him of which she disapproved. This was not the moment to say so, however.

‘It's me or the cassoulet,' she said teasingly. ‘Take your pick. Knowing you, it's the cassoulet that's caught your attention.'

‘You always smell delicious,' he said – and bent to kiss his son.

Jolyon raised his arms and Hal swung him up and out of his chair whilst Maria hastened to fetch a cloth to wipe Jolyon's sticky hands and mouth.

‘Where's Edward?' Hal sat down at the table with Jolyon on his lap. ‘And Rex?'

‘Rex is in the garage,' Jolyon told him, his face serious. ‘He eatened something bad and he was sick.'

‘Ah.' Hal looked apprehensively at his wife. This was usually a cue for an outpouring of woes. This evening, however, she merely shrugged and even smiled a little.

‘The wretched animal's such a pig,' she said with an unusual indifference. ‘Goodness knows what he's picked up this time. We went for a walk in Hundred Acre so it might have been anything. I thought it best to confine him for a bit. It's not so bad if he throws up on the concrete floor out there.'

Hal glanced about him. There was a large circular damp patch on the corded carpet which bore witness to Rex's earlier excesses.

‘I eatened up all my sholders,' said Jolyon – ‘Ate,' corrected Maria automatically. ‘Sssoldiers.' – anxious that his father should receive some good news. ‘And we watched
The Clangers
.'

‘Blue string soup,' said Hal at once. ‘How would you like blue string soup for tea?'

Jolyon made suitable noises of disgust but Hal laughed at him, jogging him up and down on his knee. They began to sing together.

‘You sound happy.' Maria had poured him a gin and tonic, which she stood on the table, close enough for him to reach but beyond the range of Jolyon's flailing arms. ‘Good day?'

‘Oh, the usual kind of day.' Hal rarely discussed his job with Maria. He knew now that she was only interested in his relationship with his senior officers and his chances of promotion. Her own friendships were confined to one or two of the wives who, like her, were preoccupied with their families and kept their social lives at the coffee morning level. He was sorry that she took none of the opportunities to develop other acquaintances but she seemed more content since the children had come along and she loved this big house, although he was faintly embarrassed by such opulence. His oppos were still at the cottage stage, babies crammed into tiny bedrooms the size of large cupboards, bigger children stacked on bunk beds. Of course, these were the families who were buying their own places . . .

Hal removed his wristwatch and passed it to his son – a ritual which delighted Jolyon who immediately held it to his ear – and reached for his gin. It still puzzled him that Maria had so flatly refused to consider buying. Was it because she knew they couldn't afford such a place as this?

‘It's a nice kitchen.' He spoke aloud, looking round the big bright room which contained every modern convenience known to man. He'd been about to add that it could be made much more cosy, much less clinical, but Maria, who had been weighing the rice to be cooked presently, turned quickly.

‘Isn't it?' she said eagerly. ‘I really love it. I've been thinking, Hal. We could do something like this at The Keep.'

‘At The Keep?' He repeated the words, puzzled. ‘How d'you mean?'

‘Well, take out that filthy old Aga for a start. All that ash and coal dust is lethal in a kitchen. Strip out the sink and build in a whole new double drainer and lovely pine units. Paint the dresser or, better still, have one built in with the units. Clear out the tatty old rugs and lay a proper carpet. You can buy ones like this, industrial stuff that's really hardwearing, and you can scrub if you need to. You'd be surprised how big and light that room could look if it was modernised. Of course, that goes for the rest of the house. Still, we'll get it right in time.'