Never Too Late (8 page)

“How was your day?” she managed to ask.

Iain took a sip of his scotch and turned to top it up before answering. “Much as usual – subcontractors not doing as instructed when they’re instructed. Supplies not arriving to schedule. The usual balls up of British so-called workmanship and red tape delaying everything even further.” He looked back at her. “And you?”

Oh, you are so lovely, but such a stranger now, so stiff and unwelcoming. Where has life taken you my darling Maggie? Why did you leave me, in spirit if not in body? Why didn’t you leave me in body too instead of sitting there torturing me?

Her mind raced over the multitude of small tasks she had done, all of which would seem so trivial and uninteresting to her husband. “Oh, just the usual bumbling about. Not much of anything happens here, you know,” she said with a little apologetic half laugh.

Yes,
she admitted to herself,
I’m boring, and have been for a long time. No wonder he isn’t interested in me any more. We sound like two strangers, passing the time until the train arrives to carry them off to their separate destinations. Like in Brief Encounter.

A little shiver went down her spine.

“Well, if you don’t need anything else,” Maggie managed to say, “I think I’ll just go on up to bed.”

She couldn’t quite fathom Iain’s expression as he looked at her, his eyes unreadable from where he stood half in shadow by the drinks cabinet. He raised his glass to her and she felt he was mocking her with the salute.

“Good night, love,” he said, his voice very cool and controlled. “I’ll try not to disturb you.” He took his drink into the study as Maggie went up to bed.

Always, always controlled,
Maggie thought desperately.
Why can I never tell what’s going on in your mind? Why won’t you let me in?

With the blue package in his hand Iain stood a long time in front of the portrait he’d commissioned of Maggie and the children. She was sat with an arm around toddler James and baby Chloe in her lap. Chloe was in the christening gown Maggie had laboured so many hours over before James was born. It was of a beautiful soft white lawn, with pin tucks and embroidery, that she had envisaged using for their own planned five children and all the generations to come. She looked so radiantly happy back then. He hinged back the painting and opened the safe behind it.

I will not cry,
Maggie kept repeating to herself as she prepared for bed.
I’ve done enough crying for the whole of Surrey and I’ll not do any more! It’s been too long, too many years of him seeing me just as the mother of his children and the provider of his home comforts, for me to get upset any more.

So why did it still hurt so much?

If only I’d known he was coming home tonight I’d have been mentally prepared.

She lay in bed, willing herself to go to sleep before he came up, but with each passing minute sleep seemed further outside her grasp. She heard him climb the stairs and come into their bedroom, heard him trying to be quiet in their bathroom.

Hoping not to wake me,
she thought miserably,
no doubt hoping he can climb in beside me and not have me expecting anything of him. When was the last time we made love? So long ago I can’t recall it exactly. Why do I so desperately want him to take her me his arms and cherish me as he used to? It wouldn’t matter if he’s too tired for lovemaking. Just to be held and know I’m important to him, to give and receive the comfort of being together, a couple, a partnership in life for as many years as we have left together, that’s all I ask. Is it really too much?

Iain knew she was awake as soon as he lay down. He’d listened to her breathing for enough years to know when she slept and when she was awake. He used to love hearing those little snuffling sounds she made in the first stages of sleep, just as he imagined a little dormouse would, safe in its nest, protected from the world, as he protected her.

She was all he’d ever wanted in his life. Was it too much to want to be the main person in her life? Always, though, it was the children, what they wanted. And when the children were in bed there were all the other things she prepared for them while they slept. And then there were all the things she made for their home, and her gardening or reading or listening to her music, until she was so tired all she wanted was bed, and that just to sleep once she knew she couldn’t conceive again. Suddenly, somehow, too many years had passed to be able to change things. How could he change things when he bore the guilt of being a man with a normal man’s needs and passions? Passion he couldn’t find at home, but many other women had been willing to give and receive in full measure.

Against all logical hope he reached sideways to touch her hand where it lay on the sheet between them. He felt her jump like a startled rabbit.

Christ Almighty! Is even a touch too much now?

He turned on his side away from her, his jaw clenched.

It was a long time before sleep came to either of them.

*

The children in the school hall were very excited, all dressed in their best clothes and with the promise of chocolate to come – lots of it! The girls were rushing from group to group to show off their Easter bonnets to each other, bonnets that had taken them a couple of weeks to put together, to their own designs, in the after school club. The decorations on the basic bonnets that were used year after year looked very festive. There was a profusion of the inevitable chicks, bunnies and tissue paper flowers, attached rather precariously in some cases. One bonnet was almost entirely hidden with (almost) oval eggs made from egg box pieces covered in metallised wrapping paper in all the colours of the rainbow. That one had taken some rather tricking sewing to a net base, Maggie recalled ruefully.

Not to be outdone, the boys had created their own headgear. No sissy bonnets for them, though! There were cowboy hats, a wonderful papier-mâché top hat, a Darth Vader mask, but the boy who caught Maggie’s attention was dressed as St George. His sword was suspiciously rigid and closer inspection revealed the silver sprayed card covered a poker. She had a fair idea who it was but lifted off the helmet to check.

“Jules Riley,” she said as sternly as she could. Mischievous as he was, Ada Riley’s great grandson hadn’t a bad bone in his body and inspired laughter more often than the reprimand he deserved. “This,” she indicated the sword, “should be made of cardboard.”

“It is, Miss,” he answered, all innocence.

“Just cardboard!”

“Well… “He looked down and twisted one foot into the floor. “It did start as just cardboard. But the cardboard was floppy and I don’t think St George would have been able to slay the dragon with a floppy sword, would he Miss?”

“But that’s a poker in there! You could really hurt someone with that!”

“Promise I won’t, Miss. Honest!” Jules crossed his heart and looked at her pleadingly. “I’ll be ever so careful. Please don’t spoil my costume – I want to win the prize this year.”

Every year the children paraded through the village from the school to the church and the congregation put their votes for best bonnet, or male equivalent, in a box as they left. The result was always pronounced at the village hall after the Easter egg hunt. The prize was small in monetary value but much coveted as it also meant getting your name inscribed on the Easter Cup which was kept in the display cabinet at the school.

Maggie gave in to Jules’ plea but determined to keep a close eye out for any play ‘fights’ developing. She didn’t want to have to admit to some parent that she could have prevented a trip to A&E with their injured child. “Just bear in mind there will be NO Easter eggs for you if you so much as touch another child with it,” she stipulated.

Jules grinned at her and put his sword in his belt. “OK!” He ran off to rejoin his friends.

Maggie shook her head but with a smile on her face as Sharon came over. “Problems?”

“No,” Maggie assured her. “No problem.” But she kept her fingers crossed behind her back as she said it. “Are we ready to roll?”

Sharon scanned the hall and nodded. “I believe so.”

She walked over to the doorway and clapped her hands loudly. “Children, children!” she called loudly and waited a few moments until she had their attention. “Come on, now, in twos and we’ll make our way to church in a calm, respectful manner.”

The children rushed to get paired up with their best friend and, with a bit of pushing and shoving, got into place in front of their headmistress.

She placed her finger on her lips and gradually silence fell. “Now remember what today is all about, what we talked about in assembly before the holiday.” She scanned their faces. “What did we talk about, Isabelle?”

Isabelle looked startled – she’d been caught whispering to her best friend Jasmine. “What happened to Jesus at Easter that we need to remember?”

Isabelle’s face cleared. “Jesus died on the cross but He rose again to save us all.”

“That’s right. Now let’s think about Jesus while we walk to church. Remember how good He is, and how He loves all you little children, and we need to say thank you to Him.”

Sharon led the crocodile with three of her teaching staff walking as ‘outriders’ to maintain order. The applause from the relatives lining the route could be heard while Maggie closed up the school. There was no doubt at all that the children would behave impeccably, but she suspected that was probably more to do with the threat of not being allowed to hunt for eggs than respect for Jesus.

She thought back to the very early start that she, along with the other helpers and several parents, had had that morning. The pearly mist had hidden their scurrying around through the village, hiding mini chocolate eggs in little ‘nests’ for the children to find later.

It had been a magical time of day, the milky opalescence growing in intensity as the sun strengthened and finally started to break through the drifting veils. Tiny drops of moisture on the branches and vivid fresh greens of the new leaves became glistening jewels, miniature globes of scintillating light. Blossom scented the air with a heady promise of fruitfulness to come and many birds were already busy with hungry, demanding chicks in their nests.

A summery dress and a light cardigan were all that was needed today. What a shame, Maggie thought, that Easter did not always fall so late. There were possible April showers forecast for late afternoon, but the morning was set fair for all to enjoy.

The children all sang “Christ the Lord has risen,” as they entered the ancient church, which was resplendent with its massed spring flowers and multi-hued shafts of light beaming through the East window. The combined scents of daffodils, narcissi, hyacinths and lavender scented beeswax polish was heady in the extreme.

Maggie slipped into a pew at the rear and prepared to enjoy the most important Christian festival of the year. She looked at the children seated all together at the front of this church in which she had worshipped with her own children. This was a world she understood, a world of parents and children, a continuous line back through the generations, with common beliefs and goals. A gathering of like-minded people to give praise and give thanks.

She meditated on all the good things in her life, and prayed for guidance through her present confusion and loneliness.

*

There was a constant stream of people into the village post office. The balloons outside and the banner proclaimed to the world “It’s a boy!” and everyone wanted to give their congratulations to the new grandparents. When Maggie got there she saw Frank Nichols beaming fit to burst as he taped a big poster in the window. She waved to him and stopped to read it.

Come one, come all!

In celebration of the birth of

HARRY

(weight 9lb 4oz!!),

AND 25 years of wedded bliss,

AND 20 years in Holmsford

You are all invited to the

Triple celebration in the Village Hall

Saturday 2pm to 11pm

“Congratulations,” she greeted him. “Mother and baby both doing well I take it?”

“They are, they are,” he told her. “Jean’s over with them now so I’m a bit short handed at the moment,” he apologised rather breathlessly, heading back down to the post office counter. “Excuse me,” he called over his shoulder to her.

“No problem,” Maggie called back. “I’ll man the shop for you for a bit if you like.”

“Bless you, Maggie.”

Oh, that is good news! I’d better buy some of that lovely wrapping paper Frank has before it sells out. Thank goodness I managed to find time to finish crocheting the baby’s shawl. No doubt Jenny will take Harry to the party on Saturday so I can give it to her then
.

Maggie put her handbag under the counter and prepared for what was shaping up to be a very busy day. It seemed like every resident in the village would be in at some point to get all the details of the news. She took out a notebook and pen, thinking that it would be useful for Jean to have some idea of the number who would be going to the party as no doubt there would be some catering involved. She would ask the people coming to the shop if they would be attending and just note their names down.

It didn’t take long for the list of names to transform into a list of food too. Everyone wanted to help and most were offering to take one or two buffet items. It was looking as though Frank would only have to go to the cash and carry for drinks. The men had it planned between them who would put up decorations and who would sort out the music. It was sometimes very useful to have a large percentage of village residents retired – they had the time and inclination to get involved in village affairs. No doubt the phones would be busy too, passing on the news and organising those who were at work. It was shaping up to be a wonderful shindig, Maggie was certain of it.

*

The battered transit and a multi-hued camper van slowly bumped their way over the rough ground between the ancient trees and pulled to a stop under a majestic beech. A young man jumped down from the transit and leaned back to look up into the branches.