Thicker Than Water (18 page)

But after the first fumbling and embarrassing coming together, Harold had astonished her by his passion and increasing dexterity, to which her love-starved body had instantly responded. It was as though his desires, having been damped down all his life, had at last found expression, and he exulted in the experience. No doubt, after several days’ abstinence, he would want her tonight. She could only hope her headache had lifted by then.

Cal’s voice broke into her musings. ‘What’s for pudding?’

‘Cranberry cake.’ It was Liza, in the act of clearing away the main course, who answered him.

‘Especially for Harold,’ Beth said quickly, willing him to show some sign of appreciation. But, his mind presumably still on his mother, he merely nodded with a slight smile, and Beth, with sinking heart, saw Liza’s lips tighten.

‘Can I have ice cream instead?’ Abby asked. ‘I don’t like cranberries.’

‘No, you can’t.’ Beth spoke sharply, her annoyance with her husband transferring itself to her daughter. ‘This isn’t a hotel. Tonight’s pudding is cranberry cake, but you may ask for a small slice.’

Abby’s face took on a mutinous expression, Harold’s one of satisfaction. Beth didn’t know which irritated her the most. It was a relief to all of them when the meal was over.

The thunder had indeed cleared the air, and the next day dawned fine and dry, with a breeze to temper the summer heat. At eight thirty, Harold having already left, Beth stood at the front door to see the children off to school. Beyond them the lake, now shining blue and gold in the sunshine, hurt her eyes, still weak after the headache, which always left her drained.

At the bend in the path they turned to wave, a daily ritual, and she reciprocated before going back inside, reflecting yet again how fortunate they were that the school was so close. King Edward’s and its excellent reputation was one of the reasons she and Simon had come to Scarthorpe. Though primarily a boarding school, there was a small number of day pupils, and the fact that it took children from kindergarten right through to eighteen was another advantage. The handsome building, surrounded by its playing fields, was at the foot of the hill on which their house stood, and Beth passed it several times a day as she went about her business. Which today would consist of driving the mobile library to outlying farms and villages.

Scarthorpe itself lay half a mile from the school gates, the road running alongside the lake and passing the local sailing club en route. Largely thanks to the school, it was saved from depending solely on the tourist trade, boasting a bank, library, up-to-date health centre, restaurants, a hotel where visiting parents stayed, and a larger range of shops than its neighbours. Not to mention a firm of accountants, of which Harold was a partner.

In the breakfast room, Liza had replenished Beth’s coffee and laid out the daily paper, both of which she took to an easy chair for a brief relaxation before her working day.

The time she’d allotted was almost up, and she’d made a start on the crossword when the telephone interrupted her, and she lifted it to hear her sister’s voice.

‘How’s the northern tribe this sunny morning?’

‘Pam! Lovely to hear from you! We’re fine, how are you?’

‘Somewhat harassed. I’m trying to organize a trip to Scotland, which, of course, includes arranging for people to come in and feed the animals. Actually, that’s why I’m ringing.’

‘To ask us to baby-sit your horses?’

Pam laughed. ‘Hardly, though no doubt Abby would love to. No, I’m wondering if we could scrounge a bed next weekend? It would be a lovely way of breaking the journey.’

‘Of course you can. We’ve not seen you since the wedding.’

‘True enough. How’s the bridegroom?’

Beth bit her lip. Though Pam hadn’t said as much, Beth knew she’d been dumbfounded by her choice of husband.

‘Very well. He’s just back from a few days in London, attending some course or other.’

‘A long way to go. He didn’t drive, surely?’

‘No, he gets the train to Manchester, and flies from there.’

‘Still a long way. And the kids?’

‘Stroppy, as usual.’

‘Seriously, are they settling down?’

‘Oh God, Pam, I don’t know. They and Harold continually wind each other up. Sometimes I could knock their heads together.’

‘Like us to have them for a while during the summer hols?’

‘Would you? They always love staying with you.’

‘And we love having them.’ It was a continuing sadness to Pam and her husband that they were childless.

‘Well, there’s time enough to discuss that. As to next weekend, when should we expect you?’

‘Stephen’s taking Friday off, so – a week today, in time for dinner?’

‘Great. Till the Monday morning?’

‘If we don’t outstay our welcome. And perhaps at some stage you and I can slip away for a while and have a good old natter.’

‘I’ll make certain of it.’

Beth replaced the phone, feeling all at once more cheerful, and, putting the paper aside, went into the hall and put her head round the kitchen door.

‘I shan’t be in for lunch, Liza, so feel free to go out earlier, if you’d like to.’

Liza turned from the sink. ‘I might, at that. Thanks, Beth.’

‘See you later, then.’

When the front door had closed behind her, Liza went into the hall and lifted the phone.

‘Cora, it’s me. I can manage lunch, if you’re free? . . . Fine; I’ll catch the twelve thirty, and be with you about quarter to one.’

She put down the phone, felt in her pocket and extracted a few coins, which she laid on the small table beside it. At first, there had been arguments when she’d tried to pay for her calls, but once Beth understood how strongly she felt, she tacitly accepted the occasional offering. From Liza’s viewpoint, it meant she needn’t feel guilty about using the phone as and when needed.

She stood for a moment, drawing a deep breath and enjoying the peacefulness of the now-silent house – lozenges of sunshine on the floor, richly gleaming wood and tapestry-seated chairs. How lucky she was to be living here, and with this family, even though things weren’t as happy as they had been.

She sighed, manoeuvred the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard, and set off with it up the stairs. No thanks for the cranberry cake, she reflected, despite Beth’s prompting, bless her. Not that she’d really expected any, the sour-faced old stick. (That Mr Sheridan was roughly the same age as herself was irrelevant.)

She knew he resented her familiarity with the family – calling Beth by her first name, for instance. But Beth and Simon had insisted on it when she first came, which admittedly had been unusual in the seventies, though things were becoming less formal now. Beth had even suggested Liza continue the practice with her second husband, but the name had stuck in her throat – nor, she was sure, would it have been well received. When Simon was alive, she’d known the accountant as Mr Sheridan, and that was how she continued to address him. Beth, perhaps understanding, hadn’t pressed the point.

But names and cranberry cake weren’t really the issue. What did upset her was the way he was with the children, and they with him. Poor mites, they still missed their father. A less stiff-necked man would have seen that, though to be fair, it had to be said they played him up, particularly Jilly, who cheeked him as often as she dared. So the chasm between them widened daily, while she and Beth stood helplessly on the sidelines, seemingly powerless to intervene.

There was a request stop outside the gates of The Lodge, and Liza flagged down the bus and climbed on board. The ten-minute drive beside the lake was always interesting; in winter, the water lay darkly brooding, strong winds whipping up white ruffles and gulls swooping and crying. In summer, as now, it was serenely blue, dotted with small craft of every description. She’d had to learn to block its connection with Simon’s horrific death – though her dreams were still troubled by it – as she’d also buried her shock at Beth’s second marriage. It wasn’t her place to criticize or condemn. Having no experience of marriage, or even of the love between a man and a woman, she was in no position to judge, and whatever she felt privately, she’d fiercely defended Beth’s actions against anyone who questioned them – Cora, for instance. And Cora, good friend that she was, had subsided and said no more.

Cora Selby was the proprietor of one of the cafés on the lakeside of Scarthorpe’s main road. A widow with a son in his twenties, they had met when Liza first came to work for the Pooles, and had popped into the Willow Pattern on her afternoon off. Fifteen years on, though both were forthright women, there’d been scarcely a wrong word between them. They had shared confidences, discussed problems, helped each other through good times and bad, and for several years now had gone on holiday together.

Cora was, in fact, her first real friend. Liza had been a large, ungainly child, not popular at school, where she was teased because her parents were so much older. Though come to think of it, her younger brother, Ted, had managed to escape such baiting – just as, years later, he’d escaped to marry Freda, leaving Liza to stay home and care for their increasingly frail parents. Ted the escapologist, she thought now, with wry amusement. The domestic science course she’d taken with a view to teaching, had, instead, been utilized in running her parents’ home, and any hopes of marriage and a home of her own were stillborn.

Mother had been the first to go, and thereafter Father became increasingly difficult, finally refusing to leave his bed. When he too died, Liza’s grieving was mixed with a guilty sense of relief. Free for the first time to make her own decisions – she was then thirty-seven – she was at a loss to know what to do.

Her parents, after a discussion with Ted and Freda, had left their house and its contents outright to their daughter, in recognition of her care for them. It was, after all, the only home she had, and Ted hadn’t argued the point. Money was not a problem for him; he was doing well in his job, had recently been promoted, and did not grudge his sister her reward. But Liza had no desire to continue living in the small, cluttered house, reminiscent of old age and sickness, and lost no time in putting it on the market. And because it was on a main road, close to shops, schools and station, she’d had no trouble in getting a good price for it. On completion, she’d moved into temporary accommodation, to allow herself time to take stock.

Her original goal of teaching was no longer feasible. Domestic science had evolved into food technology, and everything she’d learned was hopelessly out of date. On one thing, however, she was determined; she would not apply as housekeeper-companion to some elderly lady, even though, by default, she was qualified for little else. Enough, she told herself, was more than enough. But though retraining courses of all kinds were widely advertised, none stirred so much as a flicker of interest, and the months slipped by without any decision being reached.

It was at that point, when she was beginning to despair, that, idly scanning the advertisements in a newsagent’s window, she’d seen Beth’s plea for help. The idea of being with young people – especially a baby – had appealed at once, and it would at least be a stopgap while she continued to deliberate her future. But she and Beth had immediately taken to each other, and Liza had fallen completely for the sloe-eyed baby girl in her charge. As Beth’s broken arm mended, she kept finding excuses for Liza to stay on a little longer, and without any conscious decision, it had gradually become apparent that her position in the household was to be a permanent one. In those days, she was, she supposed, a cross between children’s nurse, cook and general help – not a million miles from the post she’d sworn not to take. The mitigating factor was the charm of the young couple and their baby, not to mention their beautiful home overlooking the lake, and Liza, for the first time in her life truly happy, felt that the gods had at last smiled on her.

The bus came to a halt and, jolted from her reminiscences, she realized they’d reached her stop, directly opposite the Willow Pattern. She waited for a gap in the traffic, then crossed the road and went through the curtained door into the buzzing, familiar interior. All the tables were occupied, and Alice and Shelley, the two waitresses, were moving quickly and efficiently between them, carrying plates of food, removing empty dishes, replenishing water jugs. The Willow Pattern had a reputation for good food which it guarded jealously, and was usually filled to capacity.

Cora, with supreme confidence in her staff, took her own lunch in her flat above the café, and it was there that Liza, climbing the stairs behind the door in the corner, found her, standing at the window and gazing over the lake. Hearing her friend’s footsteps, she turned with a smile.

‘Just enjoying my wonderful view,’ she remarked.