Holding On (40 page)

‘No. Bless you, Mole. You made her happy at the end, you see. Now, do you think you could leave me just for a moment? Perhaps you could tell the others?'

‘Yes, of course.' Mole hesitated, bent to kiss his grandmother's cheek and then turned away.

When the door had closed behind him, Theo kneeled down. Very gently he closed Freddy's eyes and took her hand. He'd recognised the line that Mole had quoted and wondered where Freddy had discovered it. As he kneeled there, the whole of the prayer slipped into his mind and he was granted a moment of joyful understanding and blessed relief. Raising her hand briefly to his lips, and then holding it against his heart, he began to pray.

Here, in a sheltered corner of the churchyard protected from the chilly, chancy breeze, the early March sun was warm. Kneeling on a folded plastic bag, Fliss arranged the sprays of forsythia and
Garrya elliptica
in the dark blue pottery container and sat back on her heels to view the effect.

‘It's too early for the
oderatum
,' she told her grandmother, ‘but it won't be long now. And I found a few early daffodils on the bank beneath the rhododendrons but you'll have to share with Ellen.'

She put the buds in but took them out again so as to cut an inch or so off the green, sappy stems with a small pair of secateurs.

‘That's better,' she murmured, replacing the daffodils and settling the container carefully beneath the headstone. ‘Ellen and Fox have got catkins but I kept the forsythia for you. Young Fred is picking some snowdrops. There's masses still under the wall by the gate.'

She glanced about her but could not see him beyond the angle of the granite buttress of the ancient church. A night of heavy rain had given way to a pure, sparkling, rinsed freshness and there were no clouds in the dome of tender blue that overarched the scene. Rooks were squabbling in the great oak tree in the lane, their twiggy nests clearly visible amongst the network of bare branches, and above her head, in the copper beech, a flock of bramblings and chaffinches swung and fluttered. A blackbird gave a warning cry as it skimmed low across the peaceful grassy mounds and the chaffinches set up their alarm call – ‘pink pink pink' – as young Fred appeared, breathing hard, a bunch of snowdrops clutched in his chubby fist. He came towards her, eager and flush-cheeked, beaming with delight.

‘Lots,' he told her, laying his offering on the grass beside her. ‘Lots and lots of snowdrops.'

Fliss kneeled up so that their faces were on a level and put an arm about him.

‘Let's see,' she said. ‘Good boy. You remembered to pick the stems very long. Aren't you clever?'

He nodded and let out a great puffing breath. He knew that the task entrusted to him had been important and he felt equal measures of pride and relief.

‘Put them in,' he said, crouching to look at the arrangement, poking amongst the sprays with his finger. ‘In
here
.'

Carefully the snowdrops were inserted amongst the silken tassles of the
Garrya
and the yellow flowers of the forsythia.

‘And some over for Ellen and Fox,' she told him.

‘Fox,' he murmured. He'd seen pictures of foxes but he knew this was a different sort of fox. In his mind he pictured a jolly swaggering animal – rather like Mr Tod – with his brushy tail sticking out of his trousers. Fliss was smiling at him, guessing at his thoughts. He would be four years old in August and it was already clear that he was going to be very much like his father. He was a delightful sight: blue dungarees tucked into red gumboots and a yellow woollen jacket with the hood pulled cosily over his silky brown hair. Fliss hugged his bundly, sturdy body.

‘Give us a kiss,' she said.

Obediently he pursed his lips and placed them gently against her cheek. He pecked, once, twice, lips still pursed and then looked to see how she was liking it.

‘Call that a kiss?' she said, pretending scorn. ‘You'll have to do better than that, young man,' and she pulled him down across her knees and blew raspberries into his soft warm neck whilst he chuckled with delight. Presently she released him, picking up the remaining snowdrops and reaching for the watering can.

‘You know where this lives don't you?' she asked him. ‘By the tap, round on the other side of the church? Could you take it back for me?'

He nodded importantly, seizing it enthusiastically; although nearly empty it barely cleared the ground and he leaned away from it, balancing the weight as he lugged it along. Fliss watched him go. It was wonderful to be home again after two years in Brussels followed by two years in London whilst Miles was at the Ministry of Defence. Now he was about to retire and they had moved back to Dartmouth in time for Christmas. At present he was attending the courses that the Navy supplied for officers about to find new careers in a civilian world but he was playing his cards very close to his chest when it came to discussing the future. Nevertheless, Fliss was delighted that he'd accepted that, even with the twinnies away at school, the house in Above Town was too small for them. At last they could look about for something more suitable. Although, in the end, they'd decided to continue to let the house whilst they were abroad and in London, Miles was now very ready to put it up for sale – but he remained evasive when she talked about finding another house.

‘No point,' he'd said, ‘not until we know how much this might fetch. No good getting ourselves worked up about a place and then finding we can't afford it or someone else pips us to the post. After all, I'm sure we could stay at The Keep if it comes to it.'

This was perfectly true but Fliss longed to be exploring. She looked in estate agents' windows and drove around on what she called ‘outside recces' looking at houses which might be possibilities, spying out the lie of the land. It would be wonderful if she could be within, say, half an hour's drive of The Keep, perhaps somewhere along the corridor of the A38 so that Miles could get to Exeter or Plymouth, or even further afield, as quickly as possible if he needed to in his new career – whatever that might be. Whilst he was away on his courses she pottered about checking out houses and cottages in Ashburton and Bovey Tracy, thinking how lovely it would be to have such ready access to the moor. Sometimes she would leave the details of this property or that lying temptingly about, hoping that Miles would read it and be fired with enthusiasm, but as yet he'd made no comment about any of them.

‘Have to go where the work is,' he'd say vaguely and she'd be seized with terror that she might find herself back in London or somewhere in the industrial north, hundreds of miles from the children's school and The Keep.

London had been fun. It was good to have Kit at hand, to go to the theatre together and to share lunches with Clarrie up in his eyrie. As soon as they'd returned from Brussels and settled in the flat in Chiswick, the twinnies had started at Herongate House School. Fliss had missed them quite dreadfully but she and Kit regularly went down to the New Forest together in Eppyjay to fetch them for exeats or to take them out to tea on Sundays. Kit was a tremendous favourite with Jamie and Bess. She had a genius for finding exactly the right present or discovering special places for outings. When matches were being played or concerts given Kit would be there whenever possible, giving encouragement, and often Hal, bringing Jolyon with him, drove over, to stand on the edge of a muddy rugby pitch cheering Jamie on or to attend the end-of-term play.

As she began to thread the snowdrops amongst the catkins on Ellen's grave, Fliss knew that the most wonderful thing about the twinnies going to Herongate was that Bess's musical talent was being cherished at last. She'd first noticed her aptitude at The Keep when she'd heard Bess picking out a tune on the piano. After that she'd encouraged her, taught her what she could, but she'd been obliged to agree with Miles when he refused to consider the idea of carting a piano about with them.

‘When we stop moving about we shall have one,' he promised, ‘but until then it simply isn't practical in furnished hirings and quarters.'

It was pointless letting Bess have lessons if she couldn't practise but Fliss was longing for the time when she herself could play again, too; there was something so therapeutic about playing, so comforting. Bess was coming on in leaps and bounds and since their next move would be a whole house move there was no reason why they should not have a piano now in Dartmouth. A piano would be hardly noticed amongst all the rest of the furniture to be moved. She said this to Miles but once again he balked at the suggestion.

‘We're cramped enough as it is. It won't be long now, surely you can wait a little longer? Bess gets plenty of practice at school and you can always go over to The Keep and play the piano there.' He'd laughed a little, patting her shoulder, softening the blow. ‘Poor Fliss. I had no idea you'd felt so deprived.'

Now, as she gathered up the secateurs and the plastic bag Fliss strove to be fair. After all, she had never made much of her own longing to play and Miles wasn't particularly musical. It was unreasonable to expect him to understand. During the last two years, however, he'd made tremendous efforts to bring their relationship onto a new level. With the twinnies away at school it was as if he were trying to pick up where they'd left off all those years ago when she told him that she was expecting a baby. She had the impression that London was a kind of dress rehearsal for a new life together and, although she'd entered into the spirit of it as best she could, she couldn't help feeling that it was utterly unreal. It was impossible to pretend that ten years could be washed out as if they simply didn't exist or that by sending one's children away to school they didn't exist either.

She'd confided her anxieties to Kit. ‘Neither of us is the same person we were ten years ago,' she'd said. ‘Even Miles can't turn back the clock although I think that he believes that he can. It's weird. There's something so single-minded about him, so determined.'

‘He's certainly determined,' Kit had agreed. ‘You've only got to look at that jaw. He sets his mind on something and simply goes for it. Remember how long he waited for you? Five years, was it? He's that kind of chap.'

‘But was he waiting?' Fliss had sounded puzzled. ‘I know that he was a good friend to all of us but I never noticed anything more than that.'

Kit's smile had been sad. ‘I believe you, honey. You only ever saw Hal.'

Stuffing the secateurs into her pocket, the sun warm on her back, Fliss could remember how the quick, uncontrollable flush had made her face feel hot.

‘Oh, hell.' Kit had put an arm about her shoulders. ‘You and me both, little coz. We're one man women and we both got it wrong.'

Fliss hadn't bothered to deny it. Since her telephone call to Hal just before Grandmother died there had been some subtle indefinable change. Both had acknowledged that they belonged together; neither was prepared to grasp happiness at the expense of partner or children. Yet the awareness of Hal's love was a sword and a shield and she was more able because of the certainty of it.

She turned away from the graves of Ellen and Fox and paused beside her grandmother's headstone.
Here lies Frederica Elizabeth Chadwick . . .
How strange that she should have said those particular words at the end. ‘
Be happy, my darlings
,' she'd said. ‘
Be happy together
,' just as if she knew that their love still survived and approved of it. This was quite impossible, of course, yet it had given some small measure of peace, her final blessing.

When Mole had come into the drawing room and told them that Grandmother had died, she remembered that she'd stood up immediately and then been quite unable to move, muscles locked with shock. Hal had taken her icy hands and then slipped his arms about her, cradling her against his breast. Mole had stood watching them, his face bleak, and Hal had stretched out a hand to him, too, drawing him in so that the three of them stood closer together, sharing their grief.

Later, alone together again, Hal had said, ‘Play for me' and Fliss had gone to the Bechstein, turning over her grandmother's music, knowing that she was not up to her standard. Nevertheless she had played to him: Bach, Chopin, Schubert. Silently they mourned together through the music, each absorbed by his or her own memories, facing the inevitability of loss.

Later still, Hal had risen, coming to stand beside and a little behind her. Once again she'd felt his hand on her shoulder, felt his lips touch her hair – and then he'd been gone. She'd remembered a spring fifteen years before when he had stood there beside the piano and told her that because they were cousins, because their fathers were identical twins, they must not love each other. ‘It was silly of us to get carried away,' he'd said, ‘but we'll go on being close, won't we?' His face had been clenched with misery. ‘I love you,' she'd said, puzzled, not believing. ‘I love you, too,' he'd said sadly, ‘but it's got to be a different kind of love from now on . . .' Fifteen years later, as she'd played, it had seemed that losing Hal was bound up in losing her grandmother, her mother and father, her brother . . . Passion, grief and pain had seemed to pour out from her very soul into the music and when at last she'd ceased, limp and exhausted, turning on the stool she'd seen that Uncle Theo had been sitting behind her, his hands gripped tightly together, his face wet with tears . . .

‘I miss you,' Fliss told her silently. ‘I miss you terribly. I missed you when Jamie got promoted to the under-twelve rugby fifteen and when Bess passed her Grade One with Honours and I couldn't tell you. I miss seeing you walking in the garden and pouring out the tea in the hall and playing the piano. And I miss you when I see Uncle Theo looking at something I can't see and I know he's thinking of you. And I know it will never stop, just like with Mummy and Daddy and Jamie. I will simply get better at dealing with it . . .'