Relative Strangers Read online

  The party was an agony of embarrassment. At three the ten little girls arrived clutching parcels; pencil cases and jig-saws, a kit of beads and pre-cut felt to make a beaded hand-bag, sweets, colouring books, a board game that looked just like the one she had taken to the same little girl’s birthday the preceding month. The girls were all trussed up in velvet, lace and satin; ruched and smocked and be-ribboned, brushed and scrubbed and curled and preened. Their mothers deposited them on the doorstep with strict instructions to ‘be good’ and ‘say please and thank you’ and ‘mind their manners.’ Belinda was insufferable, behaving like a Mummy, taking coats and echoing Mummy’s every ‘how lovely! What a lucky girl! Say ‘thank you’ Ruth.’ Simon was giddy as a goat. He ran around making rude noises and pulling silly faces, snatched the parcels out of her hands and even managed to open one or two of them before Mary could be prised from the kitchen where she was putting the finishing touches to the potted meat sandwiches and spearing cocktail sausages with little sticks, to bring him into line. Even so, the hand-bag kit was open and the floor treacherous with plastic beads before he could be stopped. (Belinda made the bag in the end, but she never did get it finished; too many of the beads were missing.)

  They played ‘pass the parcel’ and ‘musical statues’, Belinda standing at the radiogram in charge of the music. They played ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ and Simon stuck the pin into one of the little girls and made her cry. She didn’t even bleed, but it put a dampener on things for a while. Then, as the girls took their places at the tea table, solemn with good manners, Simon squirmed into the chair at the top of the table reserved for Ruth and would not be moved and Mummy just said, ‘Oh Ruth, let him. He’s only five and you’re such a big girl now. You sit next to Clare instead.’ But she didn’t want to sit next to Clare. She hadn’t even really wanted to invite Clare, who nobody liked because she was a bully, but had been made to because Clare had invited Ruth to her party. Dominating the table, Simon had stood on his chair, and shouted silly remarks and dropped his sausage in his orange squash on purpose and shown off the real fly in his shorts by getting his willy out and waving it around while the girls gravely ate egg-and-cress sandwiches and sausages-on-sticks and crisps and potted meat sandwiches and cheese-and-pineapple on sticks and fairy buns and chocolate finger biscuits and iced gems and jelly and remembered to say please and thank you. The girl who had been pricked with the pin snivelled and Clare reached under the table and squeezed Ruth’s hand so hard that her knuckles cracked and her fingers went white. Then the cake came; a round sandwich cake (not a lorry, which is what she had hoped for) with pink icing and Smarties and eight candles. Belinda had switched out the light (it wasn’t dark, but it was tradition) and Mummy had carried it in. The ten little girls had sung ‘Happy Birthday to you’ and Simon had sung the rude version he had learned at a party the previous week, with squashed tomatoes and stew, and, at the last moment, had slid down from his chair, dashed round the table and blown out the candles.

  After tea the ten little girls had gone home with a slice of cake wrapped up in a napkin and a balloon on a string and her Daddy did not come home until after she was in bed.

  Saturday

  Belinda woke feeling refreshed. Elliot’s side of the bed remained empty. She showered and dressed, made the bed and opened the curtains. Her window looked out onto the gravel sweep, the lawns, the beech trees and the stone fountain. The day promised to be fine; a lingering mist hovered in the hollows but the sky was a pale washed blue. She determined to have no agenda for the day, to see how things developed. It was alien, not to her own character, which was flexible and compliant, but to the nature she had adopted since marriage which demanded order and accountability, and she knew that if Elliot required an itinerary, as he inevitably would, she would have to let it go. But, for herself, she was happy to supply the wants of others while they dictated the pace of things. The only absolute for the day was that she positively must find three more lamb steaks from somewhere.

  Downstairs, the house was as she had left it. The kitchen was tidy, the breakfast table ready. No one else was up and Belinda was glad to be the first to take possession of the day. She placed the kettle on the hob and opened the back door to let a gust of fresh air, sunlight and birdsong enter. Tiny loped in from the hall and passed through the kitchen, giving her a blearily exhausted look, before disappearing outside. Passing the sink, Belinda cast a wondering eye over it, before allowing the dream to dissipate in the sharp air. The arrival pell-mell of Ben, Todd and Toby ravenous for breakfast made practical matters take precedence.

  Mitch, carrying Starlight, entered the kitchen.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, sliding the child into her high chair and fastening the straps.

  ‘Goodness!’ Belinda cried, ‘I never expect to see Rob until after lunch on a Saturday. You’re an early riser.’ Such a nice young man, she thought, clean-shaven, his hair freshly washed, his clothes clean and respectable, not like the dreadful, grunge style that Rob preferred. Amazing to think that only a couple of years before he had been down-and-out, in trouble with the police, probably, she speculated, involved with drugs.

  ‘Well,’ Mitch indicated Starlight, ‘let’s just say that one of us is!’ The child had evidently adapted to her new surroundings; she babbled incoherently and smashed her plastic cup on the tray of her highchair while Mitch mushed Weetabix into milk.

  ‘So did Starlight sleep in your room?’ Belinda was shocked but not surprised that Heather should have passed responsibility for the child onto this young man. They seemed to rely on him for everything, had taken him absolutely under their wing and into their midst just in that all-or-nothing way they had with everything. But he didn’t seem to take any liberties. He behaved, in fact, with perfect decorum. He knew his place and, presumably, that as fortunate as he was in his situation now, there was no guarantee that it would go on forever. It didn’t reflect on Mitch; it was the way that Jude and Heather were - espousing with passionate enthusiasm one thing after another, but nothing much for any length of time. The baby herself, Belinda had to admit, might turn out to be just such another passing infatuation.

  ‘Sleep?’ Mitch replied with irony, spooning the cereal with difficulty into Starlight’s mouth. She kept reaching out for the spoon and gobs of Weetabix were being distributed far and wide.

  ‘Oh dear. And I never heard a thing.’ She placed coffee near his elbow, well away from the flailing arms of the child. ‘Why don’t you let her hold a spoon herself?’ she suggested, passing one over. Starlight beamed as the spoon was placed into her chubby fist and began with immense concentration but indifferent skill, to apply it to her breakfast.

  The little boys were wild with their plans for the day. A walk to the sea, an exploration of the woods, the selection of a suitable camp site, the construction of a bivouac and the snaring of fresh meat for food were all discussed with enthusiasm. Belinda suggested gently that perhaps she would be able to supply food for a picnic which might be less trouble and more enjoyable than raw rabbit.

  ‘It won’t be raw!’ shouted Todd. ‘We’ll cook it, on the fire.’

  The other two boys gave him a sharp look, but the word was out.

  ‘You won’t be lighting a fire in the woods, Todd, dear. That would be very dangerous.’

  ‘But Rob said…’

  ‘Shut up, Todd,’ Toby hissed. Then, ‘Is there any toast, Aunty Belinda?’

  Belinda put toast on the table but needed to extinguish the fire plan once and for all.

  ‘Rob has his coursework to finish. I’m sure he didn’t promise to light a fire for you. He’s too sensible for that. And so are you, I’m sure. And you wouldn’t really want to kill anything would you, boys?’

  Ben secretly agreed with her that killing and then skinning and then finally eating an animal would be awful. He had thought so the previous evening when his cousin Rob had described in lurid detail how this could be done but in the interest of self-preservation he had said
nothing, and now rolled his eyes in an imitation of the other boys’ silent derision.

  ‘Can we go out now?’ Toby leapt up from the table. He had been sitting the closest to Starlight and had narrowly missed being larded with Weetabix. Staying longer, he felt, would be tempting fate.

  ‘No, Toby, not until more adults are up and about.’

  All three boys expressed voluble outrage at this prohibition.

  Presently they all left the table to go to the games room to watch TV. At Belinda’s request they agreed to take Starlight with them on the understanding that the remnants of her breakfast be first wiped from her hair and face and that they wouldn’t be responsible for anything in the nappy department. She toddled happily along between them, looking from one to the other, adding her voice to their incessant chatter.

  Belinda cleared the table around Mitch, refreshed his coffee and placed two slices of toast in front of him.

  ‘Did you have plans for today?’ she asked him. She hoped her question would give him permission, if he needed it, to slip away from what must feel like a slightly awkward, anomalous position. Plus, to be frank, she thought Heather ought to take responsibility for her own child.

  ‘Oh no,’ he replied, biting into his toast. ‘I’ll hang around in case I’m needed. Think I’ll take this outside, though,’ he said, making for the door.

  Belinda just had time to refill the kettle when Mary and James entered the kitchen.

  ‘Good morning dear,’ Mary said, brightly. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Very well, thanks, Mum. You?’

  ‘Oh yes, very comfortable.’ She did look rested and was nicely dressed in a navy woollen dress and hand-knitted cardigan. James settled her at the table and then stepped out through the back door to take the air for a few moments. As he passed her, Belinda made much of pouring tea for Mary.

  ‘Is Dad still asleep?’

  ‘Oh yes, he sleeps quite late, you know. It’s the medication.’

  James re-entered the kitchen. ‘A will and stindless day,’ he pronounced. Belinda liked the funny ways he said things; making the ordinary seem exotic, or the frightening benign. He had a sonorous, low voice, never wasted words, but made them all, even trivial ones, count. His report of Ruth was not good; a disturbed night, bad stomach pains and a blinding headache. He set about making up a tray for her. Belinda tried to imagine Elliot being so considerate.

  ‘Oh dear. Is there anything we can do?’ she asked. James shook his head.

  ‘I do worry about Ruth,’ Mary confided after he had left the kitchen. Mother and daughter sat together at the end of the table. Each held her tea mug cupped in her hands.

  ‘About her health?’

  ‘Yes, but more than that. She always seems so...’

  ‘Tired?’

  ‘Strung out, I was going to say. She’s sort of...’ Mary groped for the word, ‘sour and disappointed. She seems so alone. They never speak of friends. They don’t seem to go out, much.’

  ‘I think money’s very tight.’

  ‘Oh yes, obviously. The children’s clothes…’

  ‘Yes. Well all of them, really. It’s almost like a badge; she doesn’t seem to do anything to disguise it.’

  ‘She’s so busy. I don’t think she notices. She doesn’t have time for the niceties.’

  ‘If she bought better quality things in the first place...’

  The two women sipped their tea.

  ‘I think she misses April terribly,’ Belinda said, presently.

  ‘Oh yes. She was the only one who seemed to be able to get close to Ruth. They were as close as sisters.’

  ‘Closer.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  They avoided one another’s eyes.

  ‘Will you have a slice of toast, Mum? I’ve got some lovely wholemeal bread. Or there are croissants, somewhere.’

  ‘Toast, please.’

  Belinda sliced the bread. Mary opened a jar of marmalade.

  ‘D’you think that was the real trouble last Christmas? Between Ruth and Miriam?’

  ‘That she wasn’t April, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, she is very different from April.’

  ‘Totally. But the children seem to quite like her and Simon’s obviously devoted. I just hope it’s a two way street.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘He couldn’t bear to lose someone else.’

  ‘Oh no. How’s that marmalade?’

  ‘A bit odd.’

  ‘It’s from Fortnum and Mason. Miriam brought it.’

  ‘There you are, then.’

  Mary ate the rest of her toast in silence. Mitch brought his plate and cup back. James reappeared and reported that Ruth was ‘somewhat improved’ and was getting up. He seated himself at the table and reached for the tea pot, but Belinda took it from him.

  ‘I’ll make fresh,’ she said. ‘If I grilled some bacon, could you eat a rasher or two?’

  James nodded. At the mention of bacon, Mitch placed himself hopefully back at the table. The two gave each other a rueful grin.

  ‘Sleep well, James?’

  ‘Remarkably well.’

  Jude and Heather joined them. Jude was wearing his jeans and a clean white t shirt but Heather remained in her ethereal ethnic robes. Her hair was loose and tousled. They both looked rested and rosy and smugly satiated.

  ‘Gosh!’ Heather yawned, reaching for the Muesli, ‘you’re all up so early!’

  ‘Early!’ exclaimed Mary. ‘It’s almost ten!’

  Belinda grilled bacon and scrambled eggs, boiled and re-boiled the kettle for tea and coffee. June and Les joined them at the table, Les with diffidence and June with her habitual laughter and front. She was coiffed and powdered and corseted for battle, declared herself very happy with her accommodation and agreeable to any plan that anyone might suggest.

  ‘And Les will be happy to run any errands, fetch shopping, chop wood. Won’t you, Les?’

  Les nodded, and sipped his tea.

  ‘I think Robert would like to have a bath, later,’ Mary said. ‘Would you mind very much giving me a hand, Les?’

  ‘Not at all. Glad to help,’ he said, gratefully.

  The smell of bacon brought the three boys back to the kitchen; they were back at the table and reaching for cutlery.

  ‘What news of the twirly-whirly-girlies, Ben?’ James turned to his son.

  ‘Oooh!’ he rolled his eyes. It was to be his expression of the day. ‘They’re up there washing and brushing and fiddling with their hair.’ He managed to convey his impression that this was the most pointless of activity. Certainly it was something that neither he nor his cousins had troubled themselves with.

  Ruth arrived, carrying her tray. Belinda took it from her and kissed her. The unexpected show of affection brought tears to Ruth’s eyes. She had spent the past half hour reliving her behaviour of the previous evening and had had to admit to herself that she ought to feel very ashamed of her maudlin humour, inebriation and hysterical outburst. Her almost uncontrollable urge to find fault with others and feel sorry for herself had meant that she had set off on the wrong foot. Also her failure to deal with Miriam, even if only by showing that the past was forgotten, had resulted in the issue still hanging like a cloud over them. She knew that she had considerable ground to make up. She had decided that an apology was in order but had dreaded arriving for breakfast after Miriam, who would have smiled with cloying sweetness while she made it. But now she could speak quite genuinely of her regret at having left them all so early, of her ill health and of her determination to make good the deficit by cooking, washing up, helping with the children or any other chore which might be apportioned to her.

  ‘I’ve no doubt you all planned everything out last night but if someone could just fill me in on the details I’ll happily fall into line,’ she said, slipping into her seat next to Ben. His narrow shoulders and anxious face made her want to cry again. She noticed that his sweatshirt had a hole in the shoulder
seam and the sleeves were too short; his puny arms and wrists protruded from the frayed cuffs. It occurred to her with another rush of emotion that Ben hadn’t had any new clothes for a while because April had not been there to pass along Toby’s cast-offs. It was an arrangement that she and April had had between them and she couldn’t expect Miriam to know of it or to perpetuate it. At the same time it was just another reminder of her loss. April had been Ben’s God-mother, too. He would never know her, now.

  She looked into his face - a broad forehead narrowing to a pointed chin and defined jaw, a good, strong, straight nose; a McKay profile if ever there was one. Grey eyes, sandy blonde hair; the McKay colouring. A wiry frame, but small. He was, in fact, she decided, his grandfather in miniature. The McKay genes were more pronounced in Ben than in any of the other grandchildren. Ellie, perhaps, had something of the delicacy of bone structure, Toby something of the colouring. Rob had the eyes and the stubbornness of character but was wily, like his father. He promised to be reasonably tall; something of a miracle, for a McKay. Todd was like April and Tansy like Simon, who had, like Belinda, inherited a fullness of figure from Mary.

  Ben snuggled into her side. The scrambled eggs which had been placed in front of him were too runny and made his stomach feel as though it was too high up. The frenetic activity of the previous day, the lack of sleep, the excitement of the proposed expedition and the disappointment of delay were all beginning to add up to more than he could take. He looked mutely at his mother, who read everything in a moment.