The Love of a Family Page 6

  There came the sound of Graham’s footsteps pounding rapidly up the stairs. He sized up the situation immediately, and for the first time in years he told Myra exactly where to go.

  Myra resolutely folded her arms and said, ‘No. I’m dealing with this.’

  ‘No, Myra, I am. I’ve heard every word you’ve said to this boy and if you think I’m going to tolerate it you are very wrong. He is not going anywhere, most certainly not to Delphine’s. Now I’m not saying anything goes – Oliver is going to apologise when I’ve talked to him. But I will not have threats and cruel words you don’t mean. Now you go downstairs and see to Piers. The child is terrified of what is going to happen to them both and you are to go down there and reassure him.’

  Graham had done it again, growing in stature until he brooked no opposition, and Myra, her temper waning through exhaustion, decided to do as he said. Only because she wanted to reassure Piers, she thought, not because Graham had told her to. So down the stairs she went, to find Piers scooping her dinner off the floor and onto a plate arranging it neatly as best he could.

  He looked up and said, ‘This is my supper, I’ve given Oliver mine, and you’ve got Oliver’s. We’ve got to stay together, I’m no good without Oliver.’ The tender dependence on his brother stirred a slight softening in Myra’s heart. Not much, but she could at least empathise a little with his predicament. As for Graham Butler, just wait till she got him on his own.

  ‘If Oliver goes to Delphine’s I’ll go too.’

  Myra couldn’t understand what made her answer as she did. ‘You’re a good boy Piers. At least let me give you two new sausages, I was going to save them for Uncle Graham’s packed lunch on Monday but you have them and we’ll throw away your two that rolled under the table; the floor is clean, but I wouldn’t fancy them.’

  Piers couldn’t help but notice that the two sausages from the floor were wiped and put in a piece of foil in the fridge. Piers felt very sorry for his Uncle Graham having sausages off the floor for his packed lunch.

  Not long after, Oliver came downstairs with Graham and sat at the table, picked up his knife and fork and said in hushed tones, ‘I’m sorry Myra, I was trying to do my best and you were critical and it hurt. But this is my apology for being so badly behaved. I am sorry.’

  Piers smiled with relief, Oliver began eating Piers’ supper, Piers ate Myra’s and Myra tucked into Oliver’s and silence fell until Graham decided it was time to break it.

  ‘The next chance we get, I thought we’d take the kites down to the coast and fly them up on the cliffs, how about it Myra? Then we could have lunch in one of the fish restaurants and walk along the cliff top to see the lighthouse and go up it if it’s open, which I believe it is at weekends.’

  Graham might have thought that the matter was concluded, but as soon as the two boys were settled in bed that night and Myra was convinced they were sleeping, she launched into what she considered to be her very righteous battle royal.

  ‘You may have won the battle but you certainly haven’t won the war.’ Where on earth had she got that from? ‘I will not stand for Oliver losing his temper like that, if it happens again, he’ll have to go.’

  Graham gave a long steady look while he found the right words. ‘Myra, he was not to blame. When I came in Piers was attending to your hand and Oliver was trying to help by serving the supper. If that isn’t being kind I don’t know what is. I was most impressed and then you – yes you – had to go and spoil it all.’ He looked gravely at her and she felt his accusation come creeping up her back, up her neck and up her cheeks. She damn well wasn’t going to be made to feel guilty about this. Definitely not.

  ‘Excuse me, it was Oliver who flung my supper on the floor not me.’

  ‘But it was you who didn’t, wouldn’t, recognise how helpful they were being. Two boys torn to shreds with grief, we need to make allowances and you should have carried on eating with tremendous graciousness and not a single word of criticism, and you should have seen the effort he had made to please you.’

  ‘He still shouldn’t have done what he did. I mean he’s twelve not two.’

  ‘Myra, he’s watched his father slowly dying with not even his mother to help him, and all the while feeling responsible for his younger brother. Think about it.’ Deciding there was no use continuing the argument, Graham picked up the book he was reading at the moment and opened it up.

  Myra repressed the guilt which kept creeping up her spine. ‘Listen to me. All I said was––’

  Graham interrupted her. ‘The matter is closed Myra. We’re the adults here and it’s up to us to bend the rules, to understand, to feel pity for them, up to us. You and me.’

  How dare he? She hadn’t finished. ‘I might have guessed. I take third place in your mind now, those two boys I didn’t want and I told you I didn’t, are now ahead of me in your affections. I did not think for one moment that this would ever happen. Up till now I’ve always come first with you.’

  She waited for him to tell her she was wrong, that she would always come first. But instead, Graham neatly placed his bookmark at the right page, got to his feet, said ‘Goodnight’ softly, and went upstairs to his bedroom.

  Chapter 5

  Monday morning brought a whole slew of new problems for Myra. On edge after a weekend of trying to get used to the presence of the boys, messing up her house, making noise where she was used to quiet, leaving lights on in empty rooms and strange silences in full ones, she’d got up in really good time to make sure that everything was organised for the week ahead. Something told her the boys should not leave the house without a good breakfast. But her greatest anxiety was having to take Piers to his new school. Seeing Oliver to the bus stop was no trouble but Piers was far too young to be crossing the main road by himself so she had to go part of the way with him at least and then she knew, though she did wonder about ducking out, that she should take him right into school, seeing as it was his first morning.

  Piers didn’t have to worry about Myra holding his hand and showing him up as they walked along, because he knew she wasn’t a holding hands kind of person, but he did worry about a new school and making new friends and what his teacher would be like.

  Mothers and children flooded the pavement the nearer they got to the school, and Myra was surprised how everyone knew everyone else and was amazed how they chatted: arranging other’s children going to their house for tea after school; reminding each other about the new time for their exercise class; had they remembered the New to You Sale in aid of school funds; offering lifts; their reasons for communicating appeared endless.

  But she still had to face going into school. They found the headmistress’s room immediately so there was no choice but to knock and introduce themselves.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Butler. I’m afraid the headmistress is not here this morning, I’m her deputy. This must be Piers. I’ve been told to expect you.’ She shook hands not only with Myra but with Piers too. From her desk she took a file with Piers James Butler written on the front in bold letters. ‘I have all your details in here, Piers, the ones your dad gave my colleague when he brought you last week. Now come along with me and I shall take you to see your teacher, her name is Mrs Fletcher. You remember her don’t you, Piers, I think you met her when you came to school with your dad.’ She turned to Myra. ‘By the way, have you decided, is Piers having packed lunch or school dinners?’

  ‘Ah! Didn’t my husband arrange it?’ Myra was so thrown by hearing the teacher refer to Graham as Piers’ dad that she couldn’t think to answer clearly. Did she think that she was Piers’ mother, then? She thought anyone could see a mile off that she couldn’t possibly be mother to this lively young boy. Maybe it wasn’t as clear as she thought. What on earth had Graham told them?

  Still flummoxed she turned to Piers. ‘What do you want to do for lunch?’

  Thinking about Uncle Graham’s packed lunch sausage sandwiches he chose, ‘School dinners, please.’

  ‘Wise ch
oice,’ said the deputy headmistress, ‘our school dinners are excellent. Come along then young man, say bye-bye to your mum. See you at three fifteen.’

  Piers opened his mouth to say ‘She isn’t my mum’, but changed his mind because he couldn’t remember having a mum and he quite liked the idea, so he decided not to enlighten her.

  Myra said, ‘I’ll be here when school finishes, Piers, wait for me won’t you?’

  Piers nodded and left her standing in the corridor, feeling like a spare part. As she squeezed her way through the crowd of mothers still cluttering the pavement and exchanging news it dawned on Myra that the teacher wasn’t the only one who would get the wrong idea while they were out and about. The whole wide world would think of her as the boys’ mother. She set off on her journey back, trying to ignore the small glow of pride that lurked deep beneath her horror at the teacher’s misapprehension. Her, a mother? Ridiculous.

  By the time she got home, her whole morning thrown out of kilter by having to turn out so early, Myra felt exhausted. She’d have this to do every morning, so her leisurely time pulling herself together after Graham left for work was over and done with for ever. Coffee! She’d have a coffee with sugar in and sit down to read the paper.

  As though Viv had a private line to Myra’s kitchen, she was there as soon as Myra got a mug out for herself. ‘It’s me!’

  Myra got out another mug.

  ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes. I think so. You having sugar this morning, Viv?’

  ‘I need it. I think I’ll have to begin going away for weekends.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The last four weekends I’ve had one lot after another staying. They never think I might like a break myself.’

  Myra placed Viv’s mug in front of her, the coffee still swirling around after vigorous stirring. ‘I’ve been to the school with Piers. Seems nice.’

  ‘It is, all my lot went there and I think the new head is the best one of all. Was Piers OK?’

  Myra nodded. ‘Can I tell you something?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘She assumed I was Piers’ mother.’

  ‘That’s a laugh!’

  ‘Perhaps Graham never told them . . . ’

  Viv thought it odd he hadn’t but said instead, ‘Maybe they’ve just got confused – did you see the same teacher he spoke to? Still, perhaps it’s for the best, Piers won’t get extra sympathy that might make him feel very different from everyone else.’

  ‘I’ll ask him tonight what he said.’

  Viv nudged Myra’s arm. ‘Nice though isn’t it?’ and grinned.

  ‘Nice?’

  ‘Yes, them thinking you’re his mum. Nice for you, you must agree.’

  ‘Not the truth though is it?’

  ‘Sometimes the truth is best left unsaid.’

  ‘When can it ever be better not to tell the truth?’

  Viv’s expressive eyebrows shot up her forehead. ‘So as not to hurt someone’s feelings?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Myra stared out of the window and remembered that in the rush that morning Little Pete hadn’t been let out. ‘They forgot the rabbit, before they went.’

  ‘Well, you can let him out. Come on, we’ll do it together.’

  Myra unlocked the back door thinking it was one thing after another. Not even half past nine yet.

  ‘His food’s in a plastic thingummy in the shed. I’ll get it out.’

  Viv opened the door of the hutch and out came Little Pete. In the morning sunshine he looked very appealing and Viv cooed over him. ‘Does he bite?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve had nothing to do with him, the boys look after him.’ Myra poured a meagre amount of food out of the plastic container and put it down in the run. ‘I’ll get him some fresh water from the outside tap.’

  When she came back with Pete’s water bowl, Viv was cuddling him in her arms.

  ‘He really is the sweetest little thing. Lovely eyes. He enjoys cuddling, here you hold him.’ Viv knew she wouldn’t want to, Myra didn’t like touching anyone, and certainly not an animal.

  ‘No, thanks, shall we let him get his breakfast.’

  ‘You know, Myra, when you’ve got children you’ve got to learn to touch them. Comfort them. Hug them. Maybe even let them hug you back once in a while.’

  ‘Pete’s a rabbit not a child.’

  ‘Same thing except he’s got fur. Reach out your hand and touch him while I’m holding him. Go on, just a little touch.’

  Myra darted a finger out to touch Pete’s fur for a brief moment. ‘There, I’ve done it. I’m going back in for my coffee, it’ll be going cold else.’

  She wouldn’t have admitted it for the world but in fact she found she hadn’t minded touching Pete at all. Not one little bit. When no one was there she might even pick him up, she thought, or perhaps stroke him first and get used to him.

  ‘So how’re yer doing?’ Viv asked once they’d settled back indoors. She cocked her head to one side and looked quizzically at her, looking rather like a robin with her red sweater and her bright inquiring eyes.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not getting this discipline business right, I do know that. I seem to expect all the wrong things.’

  ‘You’ve got to walk on ice in the circumstances you find yourself in, emotionally they’re in a very delicate state. They don’t really know you from Adam do they? What’s more, you’ve no experience of kids either, it all takes time. You’ll have to let them grieve, you see, and be thoughtful of them.’

  ‘Graham seems to know better than me how to go about it.’

  ‘He’s spent a lot more time with them, you never used to go on their expeditions with John and Graham did you? Left it all to him.’

  ‘Someone had to take care of things and I had my fairs to go to.’

  Viv looked a mite sceptical. ‘How many? Four a year? Come on!’

  ‘It all has to be done.’

  ‘Ye-e-ess. They’re very nice tea cosies, but . . .’

  Myra sat up straighter than usual. ‘But . . .?’

  ‘I’ve never said this before and I shouldn’t, but I’m going to . . .’

  She went silent so Myra, preparing herself for a fight, said fretfully, ‘Well?’

  ‘I mean, for example, I have that one you gave me two Christmasses ago and it’s beautifully worked, you’re very clever with the sewing machine and the embroidery, but . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, Myra, it doesn’t grab you.’

  ‘It isn’t supposed to grab you, it’s a tea cosy. They don’t.’

  ‘You know what I mean, it’s not exciting. I’d like a tea cosy that’s bright and cheerful and makes me want to get it out of the drawer on a morning, makes me smile when I look at it, you know.’

  ‘Does it keep your teapot hot?’

  ‘Oh! Yes, nothing better.’

  ‘Well, then, what more do you want?’

  ‘Like I said.’ Viv knew that she was about to be turned out, so she got up to go before Myra got her chance to say it. ‘I’d better be off, anyway. Let you get on with your morning. Be seeing you!’

  Myra was bereft. Even her textile design business was a waste of time according to Viv. She’d known it for a long time inside herself, she even acknowledged Graham felt the same as Viv, but Graham had never said it so forthrightly as Viv had just now. Myra drank her coffee almost to the last dregs and put the mug back on the table, but was so distraught that it slipped from her hand before she’d placed it down properly. It fell over; the remains of the coffee slowly flooded out onto the table and began to drip down the tight join between the leaves. Had she felt anything like normal she would have leapt up and wiped it up, because she couldn’t bear mess. Instead she sat perfectly still staring at the coffee leaking onto the floor. Myra had always loved the table, how thrilled she’d been when it first got delivered, at the time it had seemed smart and up-to-the-minute, like she felt – well, almost felt. Now she wouldn’
t care if it spontaneously combusted. She pictured it now: she’d ignore the bright red fire extinguisher provided and fixed by Graham, and go happily into the garden to watch from a distance as the once prized possession would slowly disintegrate. She wouldn’t even mind if the chairs went too and the padded cushions she’d so eagerly made to match the curtains. Whatever had possessed her to think they were splendid? As she gazed round her precious kitchen Myra decided that the whole of the kitchen required a refit. Every cupboard, every door, every centimetre of skirting board was boring, boring, boring. Safe, that was it, a safe choice. It had been like that all her life: always safe choices.

  She glanced down at the apron she wore, the one she’d made with such care. That was appalling too, so neat, so dreary. She yanked it off and unfortunately for the apron her kitchen scissors were on the table where she’d left them after she’d cut the greaseproof paper for Graham’s sausage sandwiches. Snatching them up, Myra cut the apron to shreds. Snipping, snipping, snipping, relentlessly. She didn’t clear away the pieces, didn’t care that bits of apron were soaking up the cold coffee from her mug, didn’t care the clock was ticking the morning away.

  Then with the decision made – and making decisions was not her forte – she marched with deadly intent up the stairs, scissors in hand and went directly to the smallest bedroom.

  Myra paused in the doorway and knew without doubt that her cutting frenzy was not due entirely to Viv’s criticism. The worst of it was knowing that Viv had only put into words what she herself had been feeling for months and months, feelings she had doggedly refused to acknowledge.

  The tea cosies were lined up neatly in their plastic jackets along the shelves, lying in wait for their buyers. Methodically, without passion, she began their complete destruction. Tearing off their wrappers one by one, each tea cosy was cut into pieces, the padding spilling out on the floor, the very pale green gingham covering fluttering down to the carpet piece by piece. In total thirty-one tea cosies met their Waterloo in the space of an hour. The pieces left were so small they looked almost like fallen leaves. She was ankle-deep in the ruins of her so-called career, in the room which for so long had been her refuge, but somehow she didn’t care.