The Son-in-Law (36 page)

‘What will you do while we’re gone?’ Ben asked dramatically.

‘Ooh,’ murmured Hannah, playing with his hair. She does that when she needs time to think. Her nail polish was chipped. ‘We’ll be flat tacks! Lots to do. And you’ll be home before we know it.’

‘I could stay here.’ There was the hint of a whine in Ben’s voice. ‘I could just stay . . . just stay here with you.’

‘What will you be busy doing, Hannah?’ I asked quickly, before the little toad could wind himself up and make a scene. He could be naughty about going to Dad’s, pretending he didn’t want to go when really he did. It had caused all sorts of dramas. I suppose he felt torn, like the rest of us.

She rolled her eyes around, thinking. The skin on her face looked dry, her hair wasn’t quite clean, and she hadn’t bothered to put on lipstick. ‘Well, we need to visit a garden centre and get some seedlings—don’t we, Freddie? You said you wanted some seedlings? I have things for the university, just finishing off and handing over. Oh, and Gramps has to decide whether to direct that play for the amateur dramatic society.’

I glanced at Gramps. He looked dignified as he stood holding on to the Aga rail, but his sweater was inside out. I could see the big label sticking up behind his neck. I thought it would be lovely if he could still direct a play, but I had my doubts. Serious doubts.

‘Do him a power of good,’ said Hannah, as though she’d read my mind. ‘Wouldn’t it, Freddie? You need a challenge.’

He smiled at her. His mouth began to form the words a couple of seconds before the sound came out. ‘Mmaybe.’

‘Look at you!’ she cried, setting Ben on his feet as she jumped up. ‘You’ve got that sweater on inside out. Isn’t it uncomfortable? Dear oh dear. Let’s put it right.’

I watched as she fussed over him. I don’t think she realised she was doing it, but she spoke to him as she would to Theo. Even to Ben. She almost said ‘skin a rabbit’.

When Dad arrived, our grandparents saw us out as far as the pavement. Dad always parked a little way down Faith Lane—Hannah’s stipulation—so they didn’t have to speak to one another. We all hugged Gramps and Hannah (Ben made a meal of it, of course), but the moment came when the three of us had to turn around and walk away from them towards Dad’s car. I always hated that part.

I wasn’t in a cheerful mood as we drove away. Far from it. I looked back as we turned out of Faith Lane, and I could see two lost souls standing on the pavement. They were holding hands, which was something they
never
used to do in public. I felt so guilty. I wanted Dad to turn the car around and take us back.

‘Ten days might be a bit too long,’ I burst out.

Dad looked at me as he changed gear. ‘Really? You think you’ll be homesick?’

I just shrugged.

‘Let’s see how we go.’ He seemed disappointed, and I knew I’d hurt his feelings. So then I felt guilty about him too.

It wasn’t a great start to the holiday, but Dad tried very hard to be jolly and it was always fun to be back at the caravan site. It was crowded with campervans and tents now, and there were children everywhere. It was all looking much smarter than it had the first time we came. Dad kept the grass perfectly mown, and he’d repainted the ablution block. He said he’d be starting on the kitchens next.

Abigail suggested we make a campfire, and pointed out a ring of stones down by the stream. We gathered wood from fallen trees along the beck. I chose a massive log that was covered in a squidgy forest of white toadstools. After I’d carried it all the way to the fireplace, I could smell mould on my clothes. It reminded me of Gramps and the medieval lichen that day we walked on the walls. I wished I’d listened properly, instead of hurrying him along. It was our last real conversation.

We used newspaper to get the fire going.

‘An inferno,’ said Dad happily, surveying our handiwork. ‘Remember, guys—nobody is to step inside the ring of stones. That’s the house rule.’

Theo and Ben got down on all fours, spitting on a hot rock and watching their spit balls sizzling into nothing. They’re strictly forbidden to play this game on Hannah’s Aga. Actually, it’s easy to make your spit sizzle on the right-hand hotplate of the Aga. I know this for a fact, because Vienna and I have mastered the art. I didn’t broadcast that fact.

‘Disgusting,’ I said.

‘Have a go, Scarlet!’ Theo was grinning from ear to ear. ‘It’s cool. It bubbles. Look!’

‘Marvellous,’ I declared sarcastically. ‘You’ve made a boiling gob.’

‘So, Captain Theo,’ said Dad, settling himself down on a tree stump. He was holding a mug of tea between his palms. ‘How did the gym club gala go?’

‘I got a gold medal for my back handsprings. I’ll show you.’ Theo found a flattish bit of grass and then he was off, a flick-flacking little acrobat.

Dad whooped and clapped madly. ‘What a champ! Ten, ten and ten from the judges.’

Ben couldn’t abide seeing Theo get all the limelight. He started doing forward rolls, squeaking, ‘Look at me, Dad!’ Big mistake. He rolled over a sharp rock and collapsed in a wailing heap. ‘I broke my back!’ he howled.

Dad didn’t look too worried. He strolled across and lifted him onto his knee. ‘Let’s see, does it hurt here? Or here?’

Theo met my eye, and we both made lying-little-sod faces.

‘He’s Hollywooding, Dad,’ advised Theo. ‘He does it all the time. Ignore him.’

Dad winked at him over Ben’s head. ‘But it’s a good excuse for a cuddle, isn’t it?’

Soon, Theo set off to see a family who were camping at the top of the hill. They had a boy about his age who was another football nerd. Once he’d gone, Dad, Ben and I played I-Spy. I think it’s an unbelievably boring game, but I was happy to be sitting by the fire with Dad.

‘Something beginning with L,’ said Ben. ‘Ellyellyelly.’

Dad and I racked our brains. ‘Light?’

‘No!’

‘Loos?’

‘Nooo!’

‘Elephant? No? We give up.’

‘Lady!’ crowed Ben, pointing. ‘And she’s coming here right now!’

‘By Jove!’ Dad laughed. ‘You’re absolutely right.’

I spun around, and by Jove he
was
right. It was that woman I’d talked to on our first day, the one I’d nicknamed Gypsy Rose. I’d seen her from time to time around the campsite, but she’d seemed to be avoiding us.

Dad was sitting on a lump of wood, with Ben cuddled against his chest. He smiled up at her as she approached. Well! It was as plain as the nose on your face that something was going on there. He carried on looking at her far longer than he needed to, as though just the sight of her made him happy. I got the feeling they’d shared something important, like a secret. I hoped it didn’t involve . . . Euw. The very thought made me want to throw up.

‘Coming to join our sausage sizzle?’ I asked her. I spoke loudly—rudely, probably—in order to make it clear that I had my eye on them.

She looked uncertain. ‘Um . . . well, I don’t like to intrude. Abigail made some flapjacks and sent me down with them. I’m afraid I ate two on the way. Couldn’t resist.’

‘Have a cup of tea,’ offered Dad. ‘And do stay. We’re going to put a grill across the fire in a minute. Think they’ll cook all right?’

‘I’ve no idea, Joseph. I wasn’t a girl guide.’

He got to his feet, still holding Ben. Gramps couldn’t hold Ben at all nowadays but Dad easily jumped up, throwing him onto his shoulders. ‘I’ll just grab a few things, and we’ll get on with our culinary masterpiece.’

After he’d gone, there was an awkward silence. Rosie sat on a stone, poking the fire. Her clothes were a fashion disaster, even for an older woman like her, but I have to admit they suited her. She was wearing a white cheesecloth shirt with a round neck and embroidered flowers. It looked old-fashioned but pretty, and it showed off her tan. Her skirt looked as though it was made of curtains. A long plait hung over one shoulder. Actually, she had hair to die for—dark brown, with little wisps curling around her face. She needed to dye out the grey strands, though, and maybe use some serious product to get it under control.

‘School holidays?’ she asked, after a minute of fire-poking.

‘Thank goodness. I hate school.’

‘I didn’t think much of it either.’

I wondered what she’d been like as a teenager. She looked as though she might have been a bit of a rebel.

She scuffed her foot in the fire. ‘Some people claim their school days were the happiest days of their lives. I think they should all be sent straight back there. It would serve them right for talking such utter . . . um, rubbish.’

She’d been going to say
shit.
I was sure of it. I liked her already, despite the vomit-inducing way Dad had smiled at her.

‘Digby caught any rats lately?’ I asked.

‘Rats? Oh yes—last time we met he’d got one, hadn’t he? As a matter of fact he’s caught plenty. It’s like a massacre up there in the barn. You wouldn’t believe such a hefty animal could move so fast.’

‘He needs to go to Weight Watchers.’

She had a mischievous smile, as though she hadn’t quite grown up. ‘Or join a gym. He could run on the treadmill.’

The question just popped out of my mouth. I didn’t even know it was coming. ‘Do you fancy my dad?’

Rosie pulled back her head as though I’d spat in her face. Her cheeks turned pink, and I felt mine doing the same. ‘I’m sooo sorry,’ I gasped, pressing both hands over my face. ‘Can’t believe I asked you that.’

‘Don’t worry.’

‘My big mouth!’

‘I’ve got a fairly sizeable one myself. In fact, I can fit my foot in it.’ She put her hands on her hips, looking straight at me. ‘Look, I really,
really
like your dad. I do. I could count my real friends on one hand, and I hope he’s one of them. But there is not, and there never will be, anything more between us.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because there can’t be. It isn’t possible. And anyway, just at the moment he’s got you three to think about. So you don’t need to worry.’

I was relieved. Well, sort of. I didn’t want anyone to take over as my mother, and I certainly didn’t want Dad to love any other girl more than he did me. Then again, for some reason I felt a little disappointed.

‘But why—’ I began, but I buttoned my lip when Dad came bounding out of the caravan with a steaming mug and a big grin. He looked years younger when Rosie was around. Ben followed close behind him, talking loudly as he negotiated the steps. He was carrying a plate of raw sausages, made out of one of Abigail’s poor pigs.

‘The finest Earl Grey, Reverend Mother,’ said Dad, holding out the mug.

Rosie thanked him as she took it. ‘Scarlet and I have agreed that Digby should join a fitness club,’ she said.

‘Leave that cat alone!’ protested Dad. ‘He’s happy with his weight. Don’t you go imposing your body-image obsessions on him.’

I loved the smell of that evening: mushroomy wood smoke mingled with the soft air of the moor, and mud and water from the beck. Theo dribbled his ball back just as the sausages were turning brown. We sat around the fire and ate them wrapped in bread, with ketchup. The wind must have changed because smoke drifted all around me, and made my eyes water. I didn’t want to move, though. I got out my phone and took some pictures.

Every now and again I’d wonder how Hannah and Gramps were doing. I told myself they’d be fine—probably loving the peace. I didn’t believe it, though.

We played charades. My idea. Though I do say so myself, I am pretty darn good at charades. Rosie claimed not to have played for years but she caught on fast. She collapsed into giggles when it came to miming
Moby Dick.
I was amazed at how good an actor Dad was. I’d always assumed all of that came from Mum’s side of the family, but his
Fireman Sam
was what Gramps would have called a ‘thespian masterpiece’. I told him so, though without mentioning Gramps.

We played until long after our usual bedtimes, and then we lazed around and talked as the fire died down. Our voices were peaceful; even the beck sounded as though it was sleep-gurgling. A column of tiny ants discovered our dropped bread and carried it away, crumb by crumb. Rosie sat cross-legged like Buddha, while Dad sprawled near her with his head propped up on one hand. Ben fell asleep with his head on my leg, but still Dad didn’t pack us off to bed. ‘It’s so light,’ he said. ‘And it’s the first day of your visit. Doesn’t seem fair to make everyone go indoors.’

We talked about all sorts of things, from bitchy schoolgirls to pop concerts to whether dolphins have a language as complicated as ours. Rosie and I thought they did. I offered to paint her toenails during our visit, and she wiggled her toes and said she’d love that and please could I paint little masterpieces on each one? Then the conversation moved on to Flotsam and Jetsam. Dad said when they were kittens, they used to go missing all the time.

‘One time they totally vanished. We ransacked the house, searching. Mum found them both together—curled up and fast asleep in a cut-glass fruit bowl.’

We all said
Aw
. Theo hugged himself with the cuteness of it all. ‘They must have been so
small
.’

‘Just dots with miaows,’ agreed Dad. He looked sad for a few seconds. I’m sure he was thinking about Mum.

A blackbird sang to us, hopping about in the hedgerow. He looked like a man in a black tailcoat. That bright-eyed, orange-beaked bird understood music and feelings more deeply than Mrs Hag ever will. The sky looked like the ceiling of a gigantic, lavender silk marquee.

‘A summer’s evening,’ said Rosie dreamily. ‘And to cap it all, the moon’s rising.’

She was right. The moon gleamed above the moor, with the evening star at her heels. It looked as though someone had cut a fingernail-clipping hole in the lavender silk, and a spotlight was shining through.

After a while Rosie rolled to her feet, picking up Dad’s mug and her own. ‘One more for the road?’ she suggested. As she was heading for the caravan, she glanced back at our fire. ‘It’s burned right down to the embers. Now’s the perfect time.’

‘Perfect for what?’ asked Dad.

‘Toasting marshmallows. Haven’t you got any?

•

The next day, Dad drove us all to Helmsley. Rosie came too; she said she wanted to do some emailing. He stood close to her just before she headed for the library. I flapped my ears, desperate to overhear. I caught the words, but their meaning was a mystery.