One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [137]
‘It wasn’t Daisy’s fault,’ blurted Biba, eyes glittering. ‘How was she to know you shouldn’t get mud in the end. She doesn’t shoot. It wasn’t her fault!’
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ Mum murmured, swooping to put an arm round her as Biba burst into tears again.
‘Where is Daisy?’
‘Upstairs with Laura,’ said Seffy.
‘Best left, love,’ said Dad, putting a hand on my arm as I made to go. Yes. Of course.
Outside, the sound of people packing shooting paraphernalia into cars, drifted through. Guns were being zipped into slips, gumboots coming off, shoes on, cartridge bags thrown in. But there was no cheery banter to accompany the activity. No end-of-day laughter or chat, as there had been when we’d all set off. It was eerily quiet. Through the window I saw the Preston-Coopers, who were supposed to be staying, loading smart overnight bags into their car; the Palmers, too. Time to go. No one wanted weekend visitors hanging around at a family crisis; they’d make themselves scarce. Even Maggie was nowhere to be seen. Angus Harrison put his head round the kitchen door.
‘You’ll give them our love?’
‘Of course.’
He nodded gravely. Departed. Nothing more to be said. It shocked me, though, that he thought the worst. These men shot regularly, most Saturdays in the season: a barrel exploding in someone’s face was clearly a rare accident.
‘I’d better go,’ Cassie said uncertainly, sensitively.
‘There’s no need,’ Seffy told her, quickly.
‘No, but my mum…’
‘I’ll walk you back.’
They got up from the table. I watched them move to the back door together.
‘Hal could run you back,’ I said quickly, and when I turned, enquiringly, Hal’s eyes were already on me.
‘Sure,’ he agreed, grabbing his keys. He strode out ahead of them, before the youngsters had a chance to demur. I watched them go. Thanked him silently for that.
‘Now then, young lady.’ Dad turned to Biba. ‘You and I are going to hose down those dogs. Daisy won’t thank you for leaving them in that state.’
The two Labradors, who’d been in the river, were always under Daisy’s self-imposed wing. Ordinarily she’d be cleaning them in the kennels.
‘No – no, you’re right.’ Biba still very distressed, but knowing this was something she could do for her sister, followed my father out. They took the dogs with them.
The large house, so recently full of noise and laughter and the expectation of a glorious day ahead, was suddenly ghostly, denuded. I looked at Mum opposite me, gazing wearily into her tea. Her ash-blonde hair was a little awry; her shoulders sagged in her Italian cape. I leaned across; held her hand.
‘Why don’t you go and have a lie-down?’
She looked up at me gratefully. ‘Oh, darling, would you mind? I feel all in.’
‘Of course not.’
‘I won’t sleep, of course. So you’ll let me know the minute…?’
‘Of course I will, the moment they phone,’ I assured her.
As she went, gathering her handbag, it occurred to me she looked older: in stocking feet now, shoes in her hand, her bunions from years of high heels hurting, no doubt, face lined and tired. And it struck me they wouldn’t be around for ever, these parents of mine. And they’d most likely die unaware; uninformed… No, Hattie, don’t go there.
I got up from the table shakily. Went to the sink, clutching the tops of my arms, gazing out of the window. The thing that I loathed and feared most in myself, which on good days was a small seed in the corner of my mind, always there but small, but on bad days was a huge swollen growth, the size of a watermelon, filled my head like an abscess. Veined and thin-skinned, it seemed ready to pop. I held on tight to the edge of the sink; shut my eyes. Breathed deeply. No. I wouldn’t let it pop. Couldn’t let it pop. And, if I willed it enough, it would deflate. Crumple back like an airbag, or a child’s balloon, days after the party. I waited for that to happen. The kitchen clock ticked on in the empty house. Minutes passed. I stayed there, at the window, holding on, in so many ways.
A car came up the drive. Hal’s car. I exhaled slowly. That was quick. Good.