The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [90]
‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘a quick lunch break and there's twenty-four unwanted emails and a message from Andy telling me that the family's had a priceless work of art stuck up on the shelf for the last however many years, like you do, and isn't it fun? Since Cat got at him his brain is more scrambled than usual.’
‘What?’ Chris took the chocolate, grateful for her cheerfulness, his own spirits rising. It was so crucial to his wellbeing that he and Liv were friends. ‘What are you talking about?’
She shrugged. ‘Don't ask me. Ask Andy. Make some coffee, Chris. I think I'm losing the will to live.’
1977
The snow comes softly, gently; large flakes whirling slowly and settling only for a moment before melting on the boggy moorland. By teatime, as the temperature plummets, a light dusting transforms the stony tors and the roads are icy. The twins scream with excitement as they drive out from the village and Julia mentally reviews the shopping she's picked up from the Stores, wondering if she's forgotten anything, hoping she won't be caught out if they are to be snowed in for a few days.
‘Will we be able to build a snowman?’ asks Andy, peering hopefully through the windscreen. It is his turn to sit in the front, a treat the twins share whenever Charlie and Zack are with them on the school run.
‘Not this afternoon,’ says Julia firmly. ‘Maybe tomorrow. We'll see.’
Quite suddenly she is transported back in time: a year ago, almost to the day, Tiggy had arrived. On just such a day as this she'd driven down from Herefordshire in the camper, braving the elements, her one idea to protect her unborn child.
‘What's the matter, Mummy?’ Liv asks anxiously, leaning between the front seats. ‘Don't you like the snow?’
‘I'm fine,’ answers Julia quickly, pulling herself together. ‘Just being careful, that's all. It's getting a bit slippery and I shall be glad to be home.’
It is much later that the telephone rings; another naval wife, an acquaintance more than a friend, now living at Faslane in Smuggler's Way. Julia is rather surprised to hear from her but quite glad to have the evening's routine broken, to chat and exchange news.
‘It was seeing Pete that made me think of phoning,’ the friend says at last. ‘I saw him leaving Martin and Angela this morning at breakfast time, in a taxi. Well,’ a tiny laugh, ‘leaving Angela, to be accurate. Martin's at sea at the moment but I expect you knew that. Anyway, must dash. Keep in touch.’
Julia replaces the telephone receiver; she feels sick and her brain refuses to function properly. She moves slowly round the sitting-room, trailing her hand along the sofa's back, mechanically patting the cushions.
Words repeat themselves in her head: That's it then. That's it. I can't stand any more. That's it.
It seems important to keep moving; walking to and fro, putting more wood on the fire, going out into the kitchen to put the kettle on. The dogs follow her anxiously, puzzled by her restlessness. She makes coffee and stares at it: how can she swallow anything? As she pours it away she hears footsteps on the stairs and Liv appears in the sitting-room.
‘I had a bad dream,’ she says fretfully. ‘It was a really horrid dream, Mummy. I dreamed you'd gone away and left us.’
Her small face is distraught and Julia goes to her swiftly, pulls her on to the sofa and cuddles her. The dogs crowd at their knees and Julia talks to them and to Liv, comforting and soothing them all. That night she breaks the rules and allows Liv to sleep with her in the big bed; she takes up most of the room, her limbs disposed at angles, warm and heavy with relaxation. Julia listens to her regular breathing and is grateful for her company; the child's presence is holding her together for the moment. Julia dozes and wakes again, her heart hot with resentment and fear, wondering how much longer she can carry the weight of her burden.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
2004
The telephone rang just as Julia came in from hanging out the washing.
‘Julia?’ Aunt Em's voice was almost a whisper and Julia's stomach jolted. ‘Have