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Authors: Marcia Willett

BOOK: Summer House
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They sat around the table in the breakfast room – Matt, Lottie and Milo. The photographs were scattered between them, the two letters lying side by side. Earlier, Venetia had been picked up by a friend and taken out to lunch, and now the three of them sat contemplating the photos and the letters. The words of Matt's extraordinary story and their shocked response to it seemed to echo in the silence.
‘So this Taji,' Milo broke the silence at last, ‘she was your nurse?'
‘As far as I can remember anything, I think she was. The name, when I read it in that letter, gave me an immediate memory jolt. That's the trouble, you see. I can only see flashes of things. Everything is so fragmented.'
‘Well, that's fair enough. You can't have been two. And she was in a prime position to take David, wasn't she?'
Matt was still finding it odd to hear David referred to so naturally but Milo had grasped Matt's story with an acuity that had surprised him, and was now working it out for himself.
‘It would have been carefully planned,' he was saying. ‘Taji would have had some help. She'd have wheeled you somewhere away from home in your big pram where she knew you'd be safe. Then she'd have taken David out, hurried down some little side street and probably into a waiting car, and then she'd have been away and over the border into Russia. Calling David “Vladimir” is the clue there, isn't it? Vladimir is Russian for David, if I remember rightly. I wonder where it all happened. In the bazaar? Somewhere it was safe to leave Matt but that gave her long enough to get some distance away before the alarm was raised.'
Matt nodded; that sounded perfectly reasonable. He could tell that Lottie was anxious lest he was finding Milo's down-to-earth approach painful, and he smiled reassuringly at her.
‘I've always remembered it,' he said. ‘The heat, and the exotic scents, and the babble of foreign voices. It could easily have been a marketplace. I have this vision of being lifted and whirled away, and yet at the same time I was watching myself being carried off. And then the sense of terrible loss. It's such an odd sensation that I'm surprised I didn't guess the truth or remember him more clearly. I suppose that it was because nobody ever talked of him or mentioned him again. At eighteen months you can't verbalize it, can you? Eventually there's nothing to feed your memory. Just this terrible sense of traumatic loss. I wonder if he's suffered from that, too.'
Lottie moved the photos around, looking at them.
‘He looks happy, doesn't he?' she ventured. ‘Maybe he's had his demons too, but on a day-to-day level he looks a balanced, happy sort of fellow. Thank goodness he had Taji as a kind of continuity.'
‘I keep wondering how I might trace him,' Matt said. ‘Knowing he's out there somewhere is wonderful in one way, but terrible in another.'
‘But how could you do that without bringing his whole life tumbling down?' asked Milo sharply. ‘Clearly he has no idea of his past. You'd have to tell him that the person that he thinks is his mother has been party to his kidnapping. His father knows nothing about that, either. He thinks that David is her niece's child. It might destroy them all.'
Matt sat staring at him. ‘I hadn't thought it through,' he muttered at last. ‘You mean we can never meet? I can never go and look for him?'
He saw Lottie's swift warning glance at Milo, who sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. There was a little silence.
‘There is a way that one day might bring David to
you
,' she said. ‘I'm surprised you haven't thought of it.'
He stared at her, puzzled, and she got up and went swiftly out of the room. When she returned she was carrying two copies of
Epiphany
: one hardback, one paperback. She showed him the photograph on the back of the dust cover of the hardback, and the author photo on the inside cover of the paperback.
‘You're an international bestselling author, Matt. Don't you think that one day David might see this and then, maybe,
his
memories might begin to make connections?'
Hope rose in his heart but he crushed it down. ‘But, like Milo said, that could cause huge problems, couldn't it?'
Milo remained silent, staring at the photographs on the table, but Lottie shook her head. She looked calm, even happy.
‘I think there will be a moment when it will all come together and the time will be good for it. I have a strong
feeling, Matt, that one day you and David will meet again in the right circumstances.'
He wanted so desperately to believe her that he could hardly bear to think about it, but Milo's warning was a real one.
‘Both your parents are dead,' Lottie was saying. ‘Who knows whether David's stepfather is still alive? Clearly his stepmother is, since you had the photograph only a few weeks ago, but there will come a time when David will be able to meet you without quite the disaster that Milo describes. I feel certain of it. You'll simply have to go on waiting, Matt, but now, at least, you know the truth. That must be some comfort.'
‘Yes, it is.' He shuffled the photographs together, picked up the letters, paused to look again at the most recent photograph; Milo and Lottie watched him. ‘I wonder what he's like,' he said. ‘Whether he's a doctor, or a teacher, or a musician. He might even be a writer.'
‘Whatever he does,' Lottie said after a moment, ‘he looks as though he enjoys it.'
‘When will you tell Im?' asked Milo. ‘How will she take it, d'you think?'
‘I think she'll be emotional about it for all the obvious reasons, but especially because of Rosie. It was bad enough thinking that David had died of some kind of disease. To hear that he was snatched will probably really upset her.'
He got up, and they rose too, watching him with anxiety and love.
‘I'm fine,' he said, as if in answer to some unspoken question. ‘It's a relief because I really know it all, at last. I'm going to see Im as soon as I can. I think she should know too. Thanks for, well, for being around.'
 
 
When he'd gone they looked at one another.
‘It hardly seems possible,' Milo said. ‘What an extraordinary story. I wish I could believe that he won't be knocked off balance by it. It's one hell of a shock, isn't it?'
‘Except that Matt always suspected that there was something missing; he's always been lonely for David though he didn't know what or who it was until he saw Helena's paintings and began to guess, but deep down he knew that there had been some traumatic event way back in his childhood. Even as a small boy he was trying to write the fear of it out of his system and finally it all came together in
Epiphany,
though none of us quite recognized it. It's much better that he knows the truth. Actually, it will be harder for Im.'
‘But why should it be? It wasn't her twin that was taken. She didn't even know David.'
‘But she knows now what it's like to fear for your child. Matt's quite right. It will be Im who will really need support. If I know Matt he's already beginning to think of how he can use all this material. Oh, not consciously in a cold-blooded way. He simply can't help himself. His creative spirit will take it and set it apart from him and he'll turn it into a story that he can tell himself. That's how he'll manage it and understand it and gradually come to terms with it. Im can't do that. She might imagine it happening to Rosie or be afraid to leave her alone. Things like that. She'll need a great deal of reassurance.'
They stood together; Milo put his hand on her shoulder.
‘Do you wish that she and Jules were at the Summer House, after all, so that they were close to us?'
Lottie shook her head. ‘They'll deal with this together. It's exactly what they needed after all the fuss with Nick.'
‘With Nick? What about Nick?'
Lottie bit her lip. ‘I simply mean the fuss about Nick needing the money, and you offering Im the Summer House and then Jules not wanting it and it causing a lot of problems between him and Im, that's all. They know now that it would have been wrong for them and they're back on an even keel, but this news will bring them even closer. Much better that Im is depending on Jules for comfort than on us. We'll be here, of course, but it's Jules she'll need now.'
He sighed. ‘I'm sure you're right. I'm going to do some work in the garden. It'll settle me down after all that.' His hand tightened reassuringly on her shoulder. ‘We'll get through this,' he said.
She smiled gratefully up at him. ‘I know we will.'
He went out, Pud at his heels, and she watched him go, puzzled as always that other people couldn't see quite obvious things so easily as she could. Clearly Milo had not suspected that Nick's recent spate of visits had been anything other than filial; but why should he? Nick had now accepted that his place was with Alice and his children, however uncomfortable it might be to begin with, and his visits would drop back to a more usual rate.
The telephone rang: it was Sara.
‘I hear that Milo's turning the place into a hospital,' she said in her abrupt way. ‘Nick says that Venetia managed to fall down the stairs and break nearly every bone in her body and that she's taken refuge with you. Drunk, I suppose?'
Lottie began to laugh. ‘No, not drunk. Just not terribly well. A tiny stroke is suspected, so they're going to keep an eye on her, but it was just her ankle and her arm that were broken, luckily.'
‘A stroke?'
Lottie detected a tremor of fear in her sister's voice. ‘Difficult to believe, isn't it? Venetia seems indestructible,' she said. ‘But she's much better. Going home soon, so don't worry.'
A short silence. ‘I'm glad to hear it.'
‘I knew you would be,' Lottie said cheerfully. ‘You sound in good form and thank you, yes, we're all well here in La-la Land. I'm coming up to London to see some friends next week and staying a couple of nights. Could you get up for lunch, say, Wednesday?'
‘I suppose I could,' said Sara ungraciously.
‘Good. I'll give you a buzz when I'm in town and arrange to meet. We'll exchange all the news then. 'Bye.'
She put the phone down and took a deep breath. She walked out to the parlour and on to the terrace. David. It was as if someone near had spoken his name. In her mind's eye she saw again the photograph of the little family: Tom holding his babies, and Helen, standing easily and relaxed, smiling happily and lovingly at them all. Pain sliced into her heart. How different was the Helen she'd known; her face rigid with control; the blank eyes always looking back at the past; the nervous, uncontrolled gestures. Oh, there had been happy moments when, briefly, she'd been able to forget the anguish, but then memory would snake back, coiling round her heart, and there would be the hasty exit, the quick tilt of the bottle.
Lottie put her hands to her own heart. She'd imagined that Helen's pain had been for Tom, and of course some of it had been; but how could one forget, even for a minute, the loss of a beloved child? And in such a way.
And Tom? She remembered his determined perseverance in his effort to appear normal and how she'd sometimes been
irritated by Helen's excessive grieving over a miscarriage whilst she had two beautiful children and a devoted husband. She'd felt sorry for Tom, and glad that he'd known a kind of respite in her company. Like Matt, he'd hidden his feelings in his writing, immersed himself in work; how like his father Matt was; and David looked just like him, too.
David. The name echoed again in her mind but now it came with a sudden uplift of joy; a reassurance that all would be well, and a promise for the future.
‘The trouble is,' Im said, ‘that I keep going over it in my mind. And then I want to rush and find Rosie, wherever she is, and hug her and not let her out of my sight. I wake up in the night and want to go and make sure she's still there.' She and Jules sat close together on the sofa with The Dodger fast asleep at their feet. She was holding Jules' hand tightly.
‘And do you?' asked Jules. ‘Do you actually do that?'
‘No,' said Im firmly. ‘No, I don't. I've been thinking about it really carefully, you see, now the first shock is over. I thought about Mum and how her whole life was destroyed by horror and fear. And I feel an absolute cow, now I know the truth, because I could never relate to her, you see. It was so difficult living with this buttoned-up, silent person but, at the same time, it was what I'd always been used to, and we had Lottie, thank God. Lottie wasn't actually maternal in the usual kind of way but she was
there
, and she enabled us to be normal children, so it was OK. But as I grew up I became more resentful of Mum's silences, and the never-actually-drunk
but never-quite-sober kind of state she lived in, and in the end I just kind of gave up on her. Matt never did. He was always so patient. But then he could remember Mum from before, you see, and he went on hoping that some miracle would happen and she'd be her old self again. I can understand why she was like that now, of course, and I feel so guilty that I didn't make more allowances, and it's ghastly what she went through. She couldn't ever have forgotten David for a moment. Every time she looked at Matt she would have seen David. And the torment would have been that she'd have felt that nobody else could ever cherish David or understand him like she did and she'd have felt so helpless. And then there would be the grinding guilt and all those “if only” conversations with Dad. Poor, poor Mum.'
Jules waited whilst the storm of tears passed, and Im blew her nose.
‘But you say you're not going to let yourself worry about Rosie?'
‘No,' Im said fiercely. ‘I won't let her grow up in an atmosphere of paranoia. Looking back, I guess that it was Lottie who unwittingly saved us from a crushing straitjacket of care; who made sure that we went out and about like other ordinary children. And I've seen where fear takes you: straight to the bottle. I don't want to be like that, Jules.' She shuddered. ‘I've decided that the only way is simply to stamp on it right from the beginning and not let it get a grip. Rosie's in no more danger now than she was last week. I shall take all the usual sensible precautions but I won't allow myself to become paranoid. I mustn't for her sake.'
Her face crumpled, and she sobbed again, and Jules held her tightly.
‘You are absolutely right,' he said. ‘I'm with you all the way.'
‘I've decided something else.' Im wiped her cheeks. ‘Something Lottie said about fear made me feel that it would be right.'
She hesitated, and Jules asked: ‘What did she say?'
‘She said that it didn't take much to push people into a climate of fear. That one act of terrorism could almost paralyse the entire world and create suspicion and hatred where there had been none. She was talking about faith in humanity and hope for the future, and I suddenly knew that I wanted another baby, Jules. Our baby, as a kind of symbol.'
He smiled. ‘A kind of two-fingers-to-fear baby?'
She smiled too, a rather watery smile. ‘Exactly that. It's all so terrifying if you allow yourself to think about it. And one fearful thought quickly lets in others, and then you're just sliding all the way down into a kind of hell of images and horror. I won't go there, Jules. I have a choice. Mum had reasons for her dependency on alcohol: David disappearing, and then Dad being killed. I don't judge her at all. But, actually, nothing's changed for us, has it? At least we know David is alive and looks happy, and he hasn't really known anything else or, at least, he probably can't remember anything else. I suppose, as far as he's concerned, it's no different from being adopted into a loving family. Except that being a twin, he's probably had those odd feelings and flashes of memory that Matt's had.' She shook her head. ‘I probably sound callous, or I'm oversimplifying it, but we have to survive this news and go on making a happy world for Rosie. So this is my way.'
They held each other tightly. Jules knew that this
conversation would be repeated in many different forms, and on many occasions, and that it was necessary for Im's mental health that she should be allowed to talk about it as often as she needed. Recently, since the move to Exmoor and the new job, it had been her courage and warmth that had sustained him through unconfident and fearful moments. Now it was his turn to support her.
‘I like the idea of this baby,' he said now. ‘I have a strong feeling it'll be a boy and we'll call him Jack.'
She raised her head curiously. ‘Why Jack?'
‘Jack-the-giant-killer,' he answered cheerfully. ‘He'll triumph over the fear and darkness. He'll be our stake in the future.'
‘Oh, Jules.' She put her head back on his shoulder, hugging him. ‘I do love you.'
‘Not puppy love this time,' he said teasingly. ‘Baby love. Oh dear. Here we go again.'
She laughed, and hit him with a cushion. ‘You'll do your duty like a man,' she said. ‘And you'll enjoy it. This is not a subject for negotiation,' and she kissed him.
 
The azaleas and rhododendrons were in full flower. The small lawn was held in an encircling embrace of white and purple and crimson blossom. On the bank beside the brook, yellow and blue flag irises in their green sheaths stood straight as swords, their vivid colours reflected, broken and refracted, in the fast-flowing water. A blackbird swooped, beak filled with food for her babies sheltering in the hedge, and sunshine filtered through the tender, green beech leaves, casting ever-changing patterns on the grass. The kitten pounced upon them and stared in amazement to find nothing beneath his paw but sunbeams.
From the veranda, Matt watched, amused.
‘I shall call him Pickles,' he'd said to Milo and Lottie. ‘He makes me think of all the Beatrix Potter books that Milo used to read to me, and all those cats and kittens. I know …' he held up his hands in defence as Milo began to protest, ‘I know that Pickles was a terrier and that Ginger was the cat's name, but it suits him.'
He wondered what name the cat in the painting had had, and wished that he possessed Helena's talent for painting. Helen and Helena: in his consciousness the two seemed to be merging, to be with him in the house and in the garden, a kindly, gentle presence; enfolding and healing. He sat quite still, listening to the summer sounds: the breeze murmuring amongst the leaves; the singing brook; the trill and call of birdsong. Beside him on the table was his laptop and a notebook. Early that morning, wakening in the silvery dawn light, listening to the thrush's song, he'd known with certainty that he was ready to enter once again into the parallel universe of the imagination. Relief and joy had sent him down, barefoot, into the cool, dew-drenched garden, to wander by the brook and to allow his thoughts to flow free. He'd glanced up at the landing window, saluting the little cherub, and then he'd gone inside to make coffee. He'd dragged the chair out on to the veranda, and put his work things on the table; and now he waited confidently.
Visions and ideas swarmed in his mind; he could see the beginnings of a story about two boys, twins; separated early in their lives, and growing up on separate continents, yet still mysteriously connected. It wouldn't be quite his story, nor yet David's, but the essence of both their stories;
distilled, changed, recreated. Matt was filled with energy and excitement. Now, at last, he knew what he would write – and how he would begin: he would begin with the photographs.

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