An Ocean Apart (2 page)

Jane noticed a weary expression had come over Effie's face.

“How
have
things been?” she asked.

Effie carried the teapot over to the table and sat down opposite. “Och, they come and go, up one minute, down the next.” She poured out the tea into the two cups. “Lady Inchelvie has had to work like a Trojan this last month, getting all the grandchildren's things together to get them ready for returning to school. Mind, they didn't go back at the beginning of term, it being only a couple of weeks after their mother's funeral; and besides, I have an inkling that Mr. David was in two minds whether he should send them back there at all, thinking that they might be better off closer to him at the village school.” She sighed and cocked her head to the side. “However, from what I can gather, it was the children's choice to go back and be with all their friends.” She paused, seemingly unconvinced herself by the decision. “I don't know. Maybe a comfort for them to return to some sort of routine.”

Jane took a drink from her cup. “I do think that's probably right, Effie. A different environment, yet a familiar one. Sophie has her GCSE exams this term, doesn't she?”

“Aye, she does. She's a grand wee girl—mind you, no' awful wee now, she's nearly sixteen years old, and that well-organized—just like her mother.” As she said this, Effie suddenly faltered and swallowed hard, her composure suddenly under threat. “Oh, Mrs. Spiers, it's that hard getting used to not having Mrs. David around anymore.”

Jane leaned across the table and patted the housekeeper's hand. “I know. My husband often wonders if cancer doesn't prepare a family better for the inevitable than, say, a heart attack or a road accident, but I don't think so. The loss when it happens is still devastating.”

Effie was looking down in her lap, fiddling with her apron, her bottom lip quivering. Jane took a calculated gamble to continue the conversation.

“And what about the other children?”

Effie took a deep breath, and, almost for something to do, replenished both their cups even though Jane's was still three-quarters full. She delved into the pocket of her apron and brought out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

“Oh, they seemed to have coped better than any,” Effie replied, managing to smile bravely, though her voice still faltered. “Even during the tea after the funeral, Charlie was badgering Mrs. David's brother to go out onto the lawn to kick a rugby ball with him. And wee Harriet, well, Sophie just seemed to take her under her wing. I don't really think the wee lass has taken it all in just yet. It's a blessing that all three are at the same school.” She leaned across to Jane and said with a caring look, “Sophie will look after her, you can be sure of that.”

Jane smiled and nodded. “Everyone plays a part in the healing process, Effie, not least you. You're as much a part of this family as any, and I know that everyone would have found it hard to cope without your being here.”

The older woman went rather pink, not used to being praised quite so openly. She got up from her chair and cleared away the cups and saucers. “Och, we all do what we can under these kind of circumstances.” She pulled open the dishwasher and started loading the racks.

Jane picked up the milk jug from the table and carried it over to the fridge, playing for time before asking the next question. “And what about David? How is he?”

Effie closed the door of the dishwasher and turned towards Jane. There was a moment's silence, an expression of concentrated bewilderment on her face as she tried to work out in her mind what to say. Then she just shook her head.

“I really canna tell, Mrs. Spiers. I mean, I have to say that he was wonderful as always wi' his children when they were home, playing tennis and fishing wi' them and all that, but even so, there always seemed to be something missing, as if he was only going through the motions. It was as if his mind was away somewhere else.” She smiled at Jane and picked up a cloth from the sink and started to wipe absently at the draining-board. She stopped and nodded her head slowly. “Aye, now I think about it, it was the laughter that was missing.” She looked across at Jane. “Maybe he's just finding it awful hard to concentrate properly on anyone but his wife. Dr. Spiers will no doubt have told you that he had nursed her entirely by himself since December.” She turned away and looked out the window, and Jane heard her voice once again begin to falter. “I've a wee feeling that he was so devoted to her that some part of him died wi' her.”

Jane went over to the little housekeeper and, putting her arm around her shoulder, gave it a comforting squeeze. “I can see that, Effie. I know that it must be really hard for you to talk about it, and I do appreciate you telling me.” Jane felt that she had to break the melancholy of the conversation, and looked up at the clock above the Aga. “Heavens, it's half past four. I had no idea it was that late.”

Effie turned from the sink, and on reaction looked up at the clock as well. “Och, Mrs. Spiers, what am I doin'? I shouldn't be going on so.” She started to move towards the door, drying her hands on her apron. “Come on, I'll take you through to see Lady Inchelvie.”

“Oh, please don't bother to do that,” Jane said. “Look, I'll just show myself in. I'm sure that you've enough to do in here.”

“Well, if you're sure. I'll have to be gettin' started on the potatoes for dinner. Lord Inchelvie has a meeting in the village tonight, so we'll be eating early.”

“Absolutely. I've been enough hindrance to you.” She walked over to the door of the kitchen, then turned to the housekeeper. “Keep your spirits up, Effie. You really are one of the mainstays of the household. Just keep being as cheerful as you always have been.”

*   *   *

The volume of the television hit Jane as soon as she entered the drawing-room, the usually whispered tones of the snooker commentator sounding as though he were speaking through a megaphone.

“… and if he can get a good angle on the pink ball, that should be the third consecutive frame to Hendry.”

The three black Labrador dogs, however, heard Jane's entry above the noise, and, looking in her direction, each let out a short bark before realizing that it was a familiar figure. They left their place in front of the blazing fire and trotted over, their backquarters slewing from side to side with delight.

“Hullo, boys,” Jane said, reaching down to pat their heads.

At the far end of the room, a figure moved in the high-backed armchair in front of the television. “Is that you, Effie?”

Unable to move any closer due to the keenness of the dogs' welcome, Jane called out, “No, Alicia, it's me—Jane.”

Alicia Inchelvie peered round the corner of the chair, bowing slightly to look over the top of her reading spectacles. “Jane! How wonderful to see you! What a lovely surprise!”

She turned the television off with the remote control and rose to her feet, pushing a large ball of red wool onto the ends of two enormous knitting-needles. “Dogs, go and lie down and let poor Jane get into the room!”

Alicia walked rather stiffly towards Jane, her spectacles, now dangling by a cord around her neck, swinging from side to side as she walked. She was a tall and erect figure, dressed in her customary elegance of a tweed skirt and cashmere cardigan, with her grey hair pulled tight and gathered in a comb at the back of her head. It was the first time that Jane had seen her since the funeral five weeks previously, and although Alicia's whole comportment belied her seventy-eight years, it was obvious that even that short intervening period had taken its toll. There was now a drawn look on her face, a look of total fatigue, one that Jane surmised as being brought about by Alicia's own inner conflict to keep her thoughts of loss and anguish under control, so that outwardly she could appear strong and supportive to the rest of her family.

Two of the dogs took immediate heed of their mistress's request to return to the fireside. The other, an old greying boy with opaque eyes and obviously fading hearing, continued to wag his tail and gaze up lovingly at Jane, impeding any attempt she made to move farther across the room. Alicia's voice rose a full tone.

“
HORACE
!” she yelled in the direction of the dog. “
GO AND LIE DOWN BY THE FIRE
.” She gesticulated like a policeman on point duty, waving on the old dog with one hand and pointing with the other, still clutching the knitting-needles, in the general direction of the fire. Horace looked sideways up at his mistress, her voice now having penetrated his senses, and, unclear as to why she held aloft those menacing objects in her hand, he slunk sheepishly away to join his younger companions.

“I'm sorry,” Alicia said. “Horace is almost totally deaf now, rather like me. Can't hear anything unless it's at full volume. How are you, my dear?” She met Jane half-way across the room and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “Come and sit down by the fire. What a revolting day! Would you like a cup of tea? I've just had one, but let me call Effie—”

“No, don't worry,” Jane interjected. “I've actually just had one with Effie in the kitchen.”

Alicia looked at her, surprised. “Have you? How extraordinary; I never heard you come in. How long have you been here?”

“Oh, about three quarters of an hour. No, actually I did want to speak to Effie about something.” She smiled knowingly at her friend. “At any rate, I didn't want to interrupt the snooker!”

“Ah, so she's been telling you about my secret addiction, has she?” Alicia said, sitting back down in her chair. “I must say I get totally mesmerized by it, and it's such a treat to see so many young Scots being rather good at a sport! Really makes one feel quite patriotic, although I'm sure that being good at snooker reveals a somewhat misspent youth!”

“Absolutely,” said Jane. “Who needs exam results when you can make money potting balls!”

They both dissolved into laughter, and Jane immediately felt at ease, any fears of how the overriding gloom of present circumstances might have affected her long-time friend expelled from her mind. They were still very much on the same wavelength, still able to laugh together.

Alicia put on her spectacles again, uncoupled the ball of wool from the end of the needles and resumed her knitting. For a second there was silence, as if her thoughts were taken up on a different plane. Then she looked up and smiled across at Jane.

“It's lovely to see you, my dear. I really have missed you. As you can imagine, life hasn't been filled with a great many happy thoughts lately.”

“I quite understand. I should have popped in before now, but I didn't want to intrude.” Jane watched Alicia as she concentrated on her knitting. “What are you making?”

“Oh, just something that Sophie started during the last holidays. It seems to be the rage at her school to have a chunky sweater with huge arms that come down at least six inches over the hands.” She looked at Jane over her spectacles. “The waif look, I think. I took her into Inverness to see if we could find one, but they were all dreadfully acrylic, so we ended up buying a pattern and this rather garish wool.” Alicia held the shapeless garment up at arm's length and wrinkled up the side of her nose in an expression of uncertainty as to what the end result might look like. “I have a feeling that it might look a little better on a large male gorilla than on Sophie.”

“Well,” said Jane, “I'm sure that if Sophie doesn't like it, there would be a welcome recipient at Edinburgh Zoo.”

“You're not meant to agree with me Jane,” Alicia retorted, feigning hurt. “You're supposed to say something like ‘It's far too well-made for that!'” She laughed, then abruptly bundled knitting-needles, sweater, and ball of wool into one heap and threw it onto the sofa. “Anyway, I don't know why on earth I'm doing it when you're here. Come on,” she said, getting up from her chair and manoeuvring her way through the prostrate dogs to put another log on the fire, “tell me what's going on in the outside world. I don't seem to have been in touch with anyone for so long.”

It took Jane all of five minutes to fill Alicia in with the most important topics of local news: how the incessant rain had washed away part of the back road between Dalnachoil and Achnacudden, and how the local Territorial Army Brigade had come to the aid of the already overstretched roads division by erecting a temporary Baillie Bridge over the yawning gap; how Mrs. Mackenzie, the postmistress in Dalnachoil, had also been affected by the weather, bringing on a dreadful bout of arthritis which “literally ballooned up my ankles, Mrs. Spiers, and I have to serve all my customers sitting on a chair behind the counter wi' my bedroom slippers on”; how everyone in the village had been asking kindly after all those at Inchelvie. And finally she told Alicia about how the influenza bug had hit the local school, and how Roger had taken it upon himself to visit all the children at home, rather than risk its spread by treating them in his surgery.

Alicia looked concerned. “You know, my dear, that husband of yours works far too hard. I mean, he really should have retired last year, shouldn't he? Maybe that's a silly thing to say knowing that the prime reason he kept going was to look after Rachel, but now can't he get one of his younger partners to do all these house calls? They really are going to have to start coping without him.”

Jane sat back in her chair and sighed. “Oh, I know, and don't think I haven't put that argument forward on more than one occasion. What makes it more difficult is that I do have one of his partners phoning me up every so often to ask if I could gently persuade Roger to call it a day. I'm really caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Anyway,” Jane said, sitting up and looking at Alicia, “we're both in the same boat at the minute, aren't we? Having husbands who should have retired but are still working?”