Summer at Shell Cottage (39 page)

There
, she thought.
There, Olivia.
You did it.

And now she felt positively triumphant for having dredged up her bravery in order to confront the woman who had been her rival, the woman she’d have been well within her rights to consider
an enemy for life.
But no, Olivia had risen above; she’d been a better person.
So that was two difficult things achieved in the space of a day.
Just wait until she told Gloria!

She got back into her car feeling as if she’d just come through a long dark tunnel and out into sunshine on the other side.
Even better, her next task was going to be a truly joyful one:
baking cakes with her granddaughter.
She started the engine and drove away without looking back.
There might even be some more singing, she thought to herself with a smile.

Libby had had a really good day.
After breakfast, she’d made a daisy chain out of twenty-two daisies from the lawn and even Molly had said it was cool and took a photo of
it on her phone.

Then they had gone to Bigbury beach and they’d ridden over to the island on the big wobbly sea tractor, which was so exciting, she and Teddy had bounced up and down in their seats.
‘It’s like riding an elephant,’ Mum had said, laughing.
They’d had a picnic on the beach – egg sandwiches, which tasted really yummy if you pushed in bits of salt and
vinegar crisps (‘Poo!’
said Teddy, wrinkling his nose), flaky sausage rolls from the bakery and round red apples.

And then, best of all, they’d come home to find Granny in the kitchen, wearing her apron and getting out the cake-making ingredients.
Teddy had wanted to help too but Granny had said,
sorry, darling, but she was going to bake just with Libby today, they could do something nice together the next day – and Libby had felt all fizzly inside with happiness that Granny had
remembered.

They weighed and mixed, they sieved and whisked, they set out the paper cake cases in trays and Granny let Libby spoon in the mixture, dollop by dollop.
Then, while the cakes were baking in the
oven, Libby reached into her shorts pocket, remembering something she’d put there earlier.

Her cheer-up-Granny plan wasn’t really necessary any more, she thought, glancing over at her grandmother, who was humming to herself as she scrubbed the mixing bowl and wooden spoons at
the sink.
Granny seemed to have made herself happy again all by herself, without Libby’s help.
Still, earlier that day, Libby had thought of the perfect present to give her grandmother, and
now seemed like the right time.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said, hiding the perfect present in her fist and holding it out.
‘Here.’

‘Whatever could it be in there?’
Granny said and peered at Libby’s folded-up fingers.
‘Let me guess .
.
.
A lovely new spade for the garden?’

‘No,’ Libby giggled.

‘A beautiful red dress and some high heels, so I can go dancing?’

‘No!’
Libby gurgled.

‘Oh, you haven’t gone and splashed out on a snazzy silver sports car when it’s not even my birthday?’
Granny guessed.

Libby laughed.
‘No,’ she said.
‘It’s .
.
.’
She opened her hand to reveal the small brown pip on her palm.
‘It’s a new apple tree for the garden.
Well.
Not yet.
But one day.’

Libby had expected Granny to smile but instead her mouth went all wonky and her chin gave a wobble.
‘Oh, darling,’ Granny said in a chokey sort of voice, and she gave Libby such a
sudden, fierce hug that Libby almost dropped the apple pip.
‘Oh, my darling girl.
That is the best and nicest present ever.
Will you help me plant it when the cakes are out?
Shall we do it
together?’

‘Yes,’ Libby said shyly, from the depths of the enormous perfumed Granny hug.
It felt lovely in there: squishy and safe and warm.
She had forgotten how much she had missed Granny
hugs.
They were awesome.
‘Yes please.’

Harriet shared the double bed with Molly for a second night and they both slept deeply.
Neither of them stirred until it was nine thirty the following morning, when Robert came
creeping into the room laden with a tray of coffee and pastries, and a hot chocolate for Molly.

‘Morning,’ he said quietly, setting the tray down on the bedside table next to Harriet.

She opened her eyes and blinked, taking a few seconds to jigsaw together the pieces of what was happening.
Robert.
Breakfast.
Last night.
The stupid non-existent book deal .
.
.

‘Morning,’ she said, rubbing her eyes and sitting up.
Harriet always looked dreadful first thing: creased face, flat hair, general air of dishevelment.
Having Robert wake her like
this made her feel at an immediate disadvantage.

‘Freya told me what happened,’ he said.
He looked pretty good for the hangover he must have, she thought, with a flash of irritation as she took in his freshly showered hair, and the
mint-coloured T-shirt which brought out the green of his eyes.
‘About Molly, I mean.’
He shook his head, words bursting indignantly out of him as if they’d been pent-up inside all
night.
‘Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it.
Is she all right?
Molly, are you all right?’

Molly shifted slightly under the cover.
‘She’s fine,’ she muttered.
‘A bit pissed off to be woken up so bloody early but—’

‘Language, Molls,’ Harriet said automatically.

Robert was pacing up and down in agitation.
‘I could bloody kill him for this.
I could punch his fucking face in.
Mr sodding Jamison, how dare—’

‘Language, Robert,’ Molly chided.

‘Sorry.
But.
.
.
shit.
I can’t get my head around it.
Thank God you got there in time.
Thank God everything’s all right.’
He paused, mid-pace, to peer closer at
Harriet.
‘
Are
you all right?’

There was an angry part of Harriet that wanted to put a hand on his chest and push him away, sneering,
What’s it to you, Robert?
Like you’re even allowed to ask me that any more,
when you’ve been lying to me for the last three months?

But confusingly, there was also this other part of her that just wanted to be folded into his arms, and to tell him gratefully that yes, she was all right now, but oh, it had been her worst
nightmare, the most horrible series of events .
.
.

She didn’t do either.
She felt paralysed by not knowing how to respond.
This was Robert, the man she’d loved and aligned her life with – and yet, it wasn’t the same
Robert any more.
This was Robert mark 2, the one that had revealed himself so shockingly as flawed and faulty.
As the man who had lied and lied.

‘I’m fine,’ she mumbled, not looking at him.

‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,’ he said, arms dangling helplessly by his sides.
‘And I’m sorry about everything else too.
I’ve done a lot of thinking
since then.’

Molly pulled the pillow over her head.
‘Too weird,’ she groaned.
‘Too awkward.
Please don’t start talking about feelings in front of me.
I’m serious.’

Robert looked chastened.
‘Sorry,’ he said again.
‘Of course.
It’s a conversation for me and your mum to have when – if – she wants to.’
His eyes pleaded
silently with her and Harriet felt her anger wavering before she turned her head resolutely away.
Don’t look into those eyes
, she reminded herself.
Do not be swayed.

‘Harriet?’
he prompted, waiting awkwardly for her reply.

I know he’s been a bit of a jerk, Mum, but don’t be too hard on him
, Molly’s voice piped up in her head.
He’s just a bloke, remember.

‘Maybe later,’ she mumbled, sipping her coffee.
His gaze, when she could bring herself to meet it, was sad and repentant.

Well, and rightly so, she thought defensively, as he nodded and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Sad and repentant was no more than he deserved, and she was not about to start
feeling sorry for him just because he gave good puppy-dog eyes and brought pastries.
A husband shouldn’t deceive his wife like that, end of story.

She grimaced, wishing she could follow her daughter’s example and pull the pillow over her head.
Instead she needed to think very hard about what she should say later on in this big
serious chat they needed to have.
She had to weigh up the best possible outcome for her and Molly – and, not to put too fine a point on it, whether that involved Robert or not.

Right now, though, she couldn’t face any major decisions.
First things first – there was a large sticky Danish pastry within reach, and a bloody good cup of coffee.
Food first, love
life later, she told herself.
When in doubt, eat.

They needed a nice day today – a fun, happy holiday-ish day, after the trauma and shouting of yesterday.
They definitely needed to get away from Robert and his
kicked-puppy eyes too, so that she could clear her head and think straight.
And so after breakfast, Harriet packed up a picnic and then she and Molly drove out to a stable yard near Tavistock for a
lovely long hack across the moors.
There was something about jolting along on horseback on a summer’s day, the wind in your hair, the land unrolling green and wild before you, not to mention
laughing childishly with your daughter about your horse’s enormous genitalia, that somehow made the world seem bearable again.
It would be all right, she told herself.
She would make sure of
it.

Later that afternoon, they arrived back at Shell Cottage, aching but energized, to be greeted by a delicious smell of baking from the kitchen and a scene of utter chaos in the garden.
Robert was
struggling manfully with assorted camping equipment strewn across the lawn, while the children were getting underfoot and generally making his life ten times harder.
The boys were having sword
fights with tent pegs and Libby appeared to be plaiting some of the guy ropes in a particularly unhelpful way.

‘What’s going on?
Are you moving out?’
Harriet asked Robert.
She was joking – well, pretty much – but her voice clearly didn’t sound jokey because both he and
Molly turned and looked at her doubtfully.

‘Not quite,’ Robert replied.
‘Freya and Vic are spending tonight away together.
I said I’d babysit.
Then Dex suggested a camp-out, and the next thing I knew .
.
.’
He spread his hands, pulling a comic expression.
‘Here we are.
We’re going to forage for our dinner out here and everything.
That’s all right with you lot, isn’t it?
Nice
juicy slug on the barbecue?
A few crunchy spiders if you’re lucky.’

Libby stopped dead.
‘You
are
joking, aren’t you, Uncle Rob?
I’m not eating a slug.’

‘I will!’
Teddy said immediately.

‘Of course he’s joking,’ Dexter said, although there was definitely less of his usual bravado on display as he looked at his uncle.
‘Aren’t you?’

‘Oh, am I?
We’ll see,’ Robert said airily, resuming his tent assembly.

‘Slug attack!’
Teddy yelled, launching himself at his brother with a blood-curdling war cry and a tent peg that went perilously close to Dexter’s windpipe.
Robert, of course,
didn’t notice anything as he slotted two silver rods together, peered at them with a frown, then pulled them apart again, and it was left to Harriet to step in as the voice of
responsibility.

‘Er, guys, be careful, all right?’
she warned.
‘I don’t want your mum and dad coming back in the morning to discover there have been some gruesome tent peg
injuries.’

Robert’s head popped up at once.
‘Oi!
Put those down.
I told you five minutes ago to leave them alone.
Why don’t you go and find some sleeping bags?
Bring down your pillows too
and your teddy collection, Dex.’

Libby giggled and Dexter looked affronted as they vanished.
Molly knelt down and examined some of the poles with an authoritative air.
‘Robert, you’ve got the wrong bits here,’
she told him.
‘When I did Duke of Edinburgh, we had tents just like this so I know exactly how it should all go.
Now, where’s the main pole?’

Harriet felt like a spare part as her daughter and Robert bent their heads over the pile of tent components so she slipped away into the kitchen where Olivia was pouring hot water into a teapot.
‘Harriet!
There you are.
I was just making tea, would you like some?’

There was something different about her mother-in-law, Harriet noticed as she sat at the table and accepted a cup of tea, and an elaborately decorated fairy cake with a half a ton of acid-bright
sprinkles wedged into buttercream icing.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘I hear Freya and Vic have taken off for the night.
Have they gone anywhere nice?’

‘They’re staying at a hotel in Chillington.
I think they .
.
.’
She hesitated.
‘I think they’ve had a difficult time recently.
Haven’t we all?’

Harriet gave a small smile.
Hadn’t they all indeed?
‘We have rather been through the mill this summer,’ she agreed.
‘How are you feeling now?’
She held her breath,
unused to asking her mother-in-law directly personal questions.
There was a regal air about Olivia that Harriet had always found kind of intimidating; it was like asking the queen how she was
doing.
But today she seemed willing to talk.

‘I’m all right, actually, thank you.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear myself say those words again, but .
.
.’
She shrugged.
‘I’m getting there, taking it
day by day.
And of course, I have plenty left to live for.
Having you all around me this summer has helped enormously in reminding me of that.’
Her eyes, still so clear and luminous despite
her age, became thoughtful.
‘It’s not an easy business, though, is it, being a wife?
As you know yourself.
These Tarrant men are wont to giving us nasty surprises now and
then.’

Harriet nodded.
‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘I’m very sorry, my dear.
That Robert chose to do such a thing, I mean.
To deceive all of us in such an astonishing way must have been particularly hard on you.’
She paused,
sipping her tea.
‘Of course, it’s none of my business and I am absolutely not taking sides, but I know he feels very badly about it.
A lie that spiralled out of hand.’

‘Yes.’
And the next lie, and the next lie, and the next.
The party and the lunches and the trip to America – so many spirals, she had quite lost count.
Still, bitching about a
man to his mum was never going to help things, fact.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.
‘I went to see Katie today,’ Olivia said, out of the blue.

‘Wow.
Gosh, Olivia.
That was brave,’ Harriet replied, feeling a new respect for her mother-in-law.
‘What did she say?
How did it go?’

‘I think we were both surprised by how .
.
.
how unremarkable it was,’ Olivia replied.
‘We were civil, we acknowledged each other as women loved by the same man; we somehow
managed not to come to blows over him.’
She picked up a fairy cake and turned it upside down, ridding it of at least fifty sprinkles that rained into her tea plate.
‘I invited her and
Leo here for the barbecue on Friday night.’

Harriet’s mouth fell open.
‘Wow,’ she said again.
‘Goodness.
How incredibly magnanimous of you.’
If Robert had had a secret affair and a love child, she
wasn’t sure she’d be quite so generous-spirited in the circumstances.
Once when Simon’s bit on the side had dared call him on the landline, Harriet had hurled abuse into the
receiver, screeching like a fishwife on steroids until she was pink in the face.
Invite the other woman to a barbecue?
She would have been more likely to push her face straight into the hot
coals.