The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [80]
Reluctantly Julia abandons the warmth and comfort of the bed, reaches for her dressing gown and is at the door as Liv arrives, portentous and reproachful at her mother's tardiness.
‘Zack's crying, Mummy,’ she says reprovingly. And he's woken Charlie.’
‘Yes, thank you, darling,’ answers Julia wearily. ‘I heard him. Be a good girl and go and talk to Charlie while I get Zack's bottle, would you? Thanks, Liv. You're such a help to Mummy.’
Liv bustles away, glowing with pleasure at the prospect of all the good deeds to be accomplished, and Julia gives brief thanks that the twins aren't jealous of Zack but have accepted him in the same spirit of benign indifference with which they'd welcomed Charlie. They are too secure in their own relation-ship to feel threatened, though they are occasionally irritated or bored by the younger ones. Starting school has increased their self-importance and they've developed a tolerant, world-weary attitude towards Charlie and Zack that amuses Julia.
As she picks Zack up from the cot, speaks to him tenderly and cuddles him, she can hear Liv's voice, schoolmistress-like across the landing.
‘Mummy will be here soon so stop fussing, Charlie. Shall I read you a story until she comes?’
Julia smiles. Zack lies in her arms, staring at her placidly, and her heart gives the little familiar tick of love and pain. Often she conducts unspoken conversations with Tiggy, as though the dead girl stands at her elbow, and in this way she tries to share her grief and guilt. The shock and horror of Tiggy's death are still vivid with her: postpartum haemorrhage. Everyone assures her that it need not have had anything to do with the accident and the agonizing walk back to Trescairn, or the long wait for the ambulance. Still, the guilt remains – and joy too. Zack is so sweet, especially now those early exhausting weeks of little more than a repetitive cycle of screaming, feeding and sleeping have given way to a slowly growing awareness: to these calm moments when he smiles at her or watches the other children; or simply lies on his back kicking and waving his fists. The Turk raises her head and is watching from her basket in the corner; she insists on sleeping there, just as she had when it had been Tiggy's room, and Julia hasn't the heart to forbid it. It is as if the Turk knows that this is Tiggy's child and that she is watching over him.
Andy appears, books beneath his arm and a hopeful expression on his face, but Julia shakes her head.
‘Don't wake Daddy,’ she warns him. ‘Please don't, Andy. He's very tired this morning and he's going back to sea tomorrow. Take the books downstairs and we'll look at them while I feed Zack.’
Andy makes a face and disappears, and Julia follows him out and down the stairs, bracing herself for another busy day: breakfast first then the washing and dressing marathon followed by the school run. At least Zack makes certain that they don't oversleep – and for one more morning she can leave the two little ones and the dogs with Pete while she takes the twins to school. She knows she'll really miss Pete but a tiny part of her is looking forward to being alone, free from the strain of trying to be cheerful for his benefit. Immediately after Tiggy's death and her own miscarriage, he'd been a tremendous comfort to her; shocked at the news, he'd been sympathetic with her sudden attacks of low spirits and he'd shown himself to be a tower of strength with the children. But now he's grown a little impatient with her inability to come to terms with her grief.
Well, I am better, Julia tells herself as she drives the twins to school; but on this bone-chilling winter morning, with a drizzling mist obscuring anything more than ten feet beyond the windscreen, it is only too easy to allow the old horror to take control, especially as