The guest, p.9
The Guest, page 9
“The thing is,” Iris said, her voice unnaturally calm. “I read it.”
He resorted to anger to hide his fear. “Why?” he exploded. “It was addressed to me, which means that it’s private!”
“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just that I saw the letter in the kitchen weeks ago, where Laure had put the mail that had come in while we were in Scotland. If it had been advertising, you wouldn’t have carried it around with you for all that time. I read it because I thought it might be from a doctor. I was worried you were ill and hadn’t wanted to tell me.”
“You still shouldn’t have read it. Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“If I had, would you have told me the truth?”
Gabriel ran a hand through his hair. No, he wouldn’t have, because she wouldn’t have understood his reluctance to meet Charlie’s mum. The letter was from Maggie’s grief counselor, who had explained that as part of the grieving process, Maggie wished to meet the person who had been with Charlie in his final moments.
“I’m not going to meet her, if that’s what you’re wondering. It wouldn’t do any good.”
Iris looked at him, concern in her eyes. “But Gabriel, wouldn’t it give you both some kind of closure, allow you to move on?”
“Absolutely not. I would only have to re-live the whole thing, which is something I’m not willing to do.”
“I know it would be painful. But what about Maggie?”
“What about her?”
“Doesn’t she deserve closure?”
“I don’t see how hearing about the final agonizing minutes of Charlie’s life would bring her closure.”
“No, but I’m sure she’d like to hear what he said.”
“She knows what he said! I told the paramedics and the police and they’d have told her. Even if they didn’t, it was in the newspapers,” he added bitterly, still upset that someone had had the insensitivity to leak Tell Mum I love her to the press.
“Well, maybe she needs to hear it from you.” Iris paused, unable to understand his reluctance to meet Maggie. “Maybe she just wants to thank you.”
“I don’t want her thanks,” Gabriel growled. “I did what anyone else would have done, stayed with him until help arrived.”
Iris folded her arms across her chest. “Why are you being like this?”
For the first time in their marriage, Gabriel wanted to yell at her, tell her that any meeting between him and Charlie’s mum would only bring him endless grief and sorrow. It was one thing to lie to the paramedics and police, but a very different thing to lie to a mother’s face about the last moments of her son’s life.
“It’s not as if you don’t know her,” Iris continued when he didn’t reply.
“Last time I saw her, her son was alive and kicking a football around.”
“Okay,” Iris said. “You’ve obviously made up your mind. But have you ever wondered how you’d feel if you were in Maggie’s place?”
She left the kitchen, and not for the first time, Gabriel wished he could come clean and tell Iris the truth about Charlie’s last words. He knew that for some people it might not be a big deal, that doctors, nurses, paramedics probably told what people call an honest lie, to spare loved ones more anguish. But Iris wasn’t big on lies, not even when they were told with the best intentions.
20
Iris left the house, happy to be going to see Esme.
It was cooler today. She put her hands in the pocket of the cardigan she was wearing and grimacing, pulled out a used tissue and a hair clip, both belonging to Laure. Laure was still borrowing her clothes, even her sandals, which were a size too big.
She arrived at Esme’s. The front door was open but she knocked anyway. There was no reply so she went tentatively into the hall. Esme was expecting her, she had told her she’d call by.
Aware that Esme might be having a nap, Iris walked down the hall and looked through the open door into the vast kitchen rather than call out. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the right-hand side of the room and she stopped abruptly. Esme was stretched out on the sofa, her red hair fanned on a cushion behind her, and Joseph, perched on the low table, had his hand on the mound of her stomach. As Iris stared, flustered by their intimacy, Esme murmured something to Joseph and he leaned forward and lay his head where his hand had been just seconds before.
Her heart thudding, Iris turned and walked quickly to the front door, intending to leave. She would call Esme once she got back to the house and tell her she’d been delayed. But there was a part of her that wanted to interrupt whatever it was she had just witnessed.
Making a decision, she took a breath and turned around. “Are you there, Esme? It’s me, Iris!”
“In the kitchen!” Esme called back.
Iris expected to hear the sound of Joseph hurrying away. But there was nothing and as she moved toward the kitchen, she was half afraid to go in, in case he was still there with his head on Esme’s stomach. To her relief, Esme was on her own, pushing herself up from the sofa.
“I’m sorry, were you having a rest?” Iris asked.
“Just putting my feet up for five minutes,” Esme said, smiling.
“Can I get you some water?”
“I’d love a tea. But I can do it.”
“Please, let me.”
Iris loved that Esme didn’t insist. She might not have known Esme very long, but she felt comfortable with her, and as she made the tea, Iris pushed what she’d seen to the back of her mind. Hadn’t Esme said that she and Joseph went back a long way? It would be wrong to read anything into something perfectly innocent.
“Joseph said that you have some great ideas for the layout of the kitchen garden,” Esme said, over the noise of the kettle whistling.
“Yes, he seemed to like them.” Iris moved the kettle from the hob and made the tea as she’d seen Esme do, the first time she’d met her. “It’s an interesting project to work on. And Laure has said that she’ll help in the garden, which will give her something to focus on. Unless she decides to stay on in Paris.” She turned to Esme. “Pierre has asked to see her. She’s going on Saturday.”
“Yes, I know.”
Iris frowned. “Laure told you?”
“Yes, she came by this morning.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize. She didn’t mention it.” Iris carried the teapot over to the table and went back for the mugs. “She said she was going for a walk, but she didn’t say she was coming to see you.”
“Apparently, she wanted to talk to someone on the outside, someone who doesn’t know her and Pierre.”
“It’s lovely of you to give her advice.”
“I didn’t, not really. I was more a sounding board than anything else. She went to find Joseph after, maybe he was more help than me.” Esme nodded toward the teapot. “Thank you for taking over. It’s nice to be looked after for a change.”
“How are you feeling?”
Esme pulled a face. “The nausea is terrible.” She gave Iris a sympathetic smile. “Laure told me you were so ill when you were pregnant that you couldn’t face having any more children.”
“Yes, I was,” Iris said, feeling a real annoyance toward Laure, not just because she’d told Esme about her crippling sickness, but also because she hadn’t told her she’d come to see her. Why hide it? Had Laure thought she would mind?
A silver bracelet with a beautiful knotted clasp slid down Esme’s arm as she reached for her mug. “Was it tokophobia, do you think?”
“I think it was, in some form or other. But nobody really knew about it, as if a fear of giving birth, or of disgust at being pregnant, couldn’t exist. But that was twenty years ago. Things have moved on, I hope.”
But the conversation brought the bad memories back and, feeling suddenly panicky, she looked for something to distract Esme. “That’s a pretty bracelet. Is it new?”
Esme flushed. “Yes, I saw it online and decided to order it.”
There was an awkward silence which Iris didn’t fully understand.
“How’s Joseph getting on? Is he settling in well?”
“Really well.” Esme lifted her arm and gave it a little shake. Iris couldn’t help wondering if it was a tell, if the mention of Joseph had linked subconsciously to the bracelet in Esme’s mind. It would explain Esme’s flushed cheeks when she had mentioned it. “The thing I was most worried about was our close proximity to The Watershed,” Esme continued. “If we were at the other end of the village like you, the pub might not be such a temptation. But he seems to have resisted so far.”
“That’s good.”
“How’s Gabriel? Is he adapting to being at home?”
“He seems much better in himself since he decided to work on the walled garden. It’s taken his mind off things.”
“Hugh told me that Gabriel was the one who found the young boy in the quarry.”
“It’s”—Iris searched to explain—“changed him. Which is understandable. But you think he’d feel—I don’t know—valorized for having been with Charlie at the end, happy that Charlie didn’t die alone. But he has no positive feelings about it at all. There’s just this guilt.”
“Because he’s a doctor and couldn’t save Charlie?”
“That’s certainly part of it, although he was reassured by the paramedics there was nothing he could have done. But there’s something else, something he won’t talk to me about. He used to confide in Pierre, which is another reason I’m annoyed with him, not just for what he’s done to Laure, but for what he’s doing to Gabriel.” She paused. “I’m glad he feels able to talk to Hugh.”
“Hugh was saying that they should go for a drink together. I’ll get him to call Gabriel.”
“He’d like that.” Iris glanced at her mobile. “I should go.”
Esme stood and pushed her feet into a pair of fuchsia sandals. “Are you doing anything nice this weekend?”
“I’m going to meet a friend in London on Friday, for lunch and shopping. Then Laure leaves on Saturday.” She turned to Esme. “Why don’t you come to lunch on Sunday? If her meeting with Pierre doesn’t go well, and she comes back, I might need some help.”
Esme smiled. “That would be lovely. Thanks, Iris.”
Iris walked home, her mind on what she had seen, Joseph with his head on Esme’s stomach. Hugh had said, the night of the supper, that he’d been away for most of January, when Esme’s baby would have been conceived. Esme had reminded him that she’d gone with him and had stayed a few days, and, of course, he had been joking. But … Iris gave herself a mental shake. But nothing.
21
Gabriel walked to the village pub, glad that Iris had gone to London for the day. He was still angry with her for reading the letter from Maggie Ingram’s grief counselor. He’d tried to justify his anger by making it about his privacy being invaded. But deep down, his anger was directed at himself, for being careless. Now that Iris knew about the letter, he wouldn’t be able to get out of seeing Maggie, not unless he wanted to go down in Iris’s estimation.
Her words about him being in Maggie’s place had struck a chord. If Beth had died in the same circumstances, of course he would want to meet the person who had been with her when she’d died. And hear Beth’s last words from the person who had actually heard them. And hope perhaps that there’d been other words, which had only been remembered after.
Gabriel’s biggest fear was that Maggie wanted to see him, not because she wanted to thank him in person, but because she knew Charlie would never have said that he loved her. Maybe they hadn’t had that kind of relationship. In Gabriel’s mind—because of Charlie’s distress over whatever it was that Maggie had done—there’d been some sort of argument before he left on his bike. If Maggie asked him what Charlie’s real message was, how could he tell her the truth? How could he let her carry the burden of it for the rest of her life? But equally, how could he maintain the lie if she were standing right in front of him?
His phone rang. He knew it was Beth, his phone had a special ringtone for her.
“Hi Dad, I’m just phoning to check you’re not slacking on our pact,” she said, smiling at him from the screen.
Gabriel laughed. “Guilty as charged. I’m on my way to meet Hugh for a drink.”
“I thought I recognized the village in the background. Is Mum with you?”
“No, she’s gone to London for lunch with Jade.”
“That’s nice, she’ll enjoy the break. I hope I still have my childhood friends in thirty years’ time.” She paused. “What’s happening on the Laure and Pierre front?”
“Hopefully they’ll resolve their differences tomorrow and Laure will only come back to pack her bag.” He pulled a rueful face. “She’s not that bad; I’ll probably miss her when she’s gone. But it’s been four weeks. Just saying.”
Beth smiled. “You and Mum should come to Greece once Laure has left. I know you couldn’t before because of your work, but you have time now. I haven’t seen you or Mum for nearly a year. I miss you.”
“Probably not as much as your mum and I miss you. We’ll definitely come, it would be good to get away. I’ll speak to Mum about it. Sorry, Beth, I’m at The Watershed. I need to go.” He flipped his camera so that she could see the pub. “Hugh will be waiting for me.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“Yes, he and Esme are great. Esme is just what your mum needs, a friend in the village.”
“I’ll let you go, Dad. Have fun, don’t get drunk.”
“I won’t. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He found Hugh at the bar. They ordered beers and carried them out to the garden.
“Are you missing the surgery?” Hugh asked, after he and Gabriel had established that they were both fine and glad to be away from their respective houses for a while.
It surprised Gabriel that he needed to think about his answer.
“Not as much as I thought I would,” he admitted. “The first few days were the worst because I felt guilty for not being there. I kept wondering how they were coping, how my regular patients were. But to be honest, there are days when I forget I used to be a doctor. It’s the garden; they say that gardening is good for the soul and, in my case, that’s certainly true. If I didn’t have that to focus on, I’d be itching to get back to work. Which wouldn’t necessarily be a good thing.”
Hugh nodded. “How’s Joseph getting on?”
“Fine. He’s a good worker,” Gabriel added, trying to sound generous rather than grudging.
“Yes, he’s a great help to me.” Hugh clinked his beer glass against Gabriel’s. “Here’s to youth.”
Gabriel laughed and took a long drink of beer. “Iris told me that he got into some sort of trouble a couple of months back. It was kind of you to take him on.”
“Yes. He was fired from Jarmans for drunk driving, and worried he would go completely off the rails, Esme’s dad asked us to take him in.”
“Jarmans?” Gabriel recognized the name of a prestigious landscaping firm. “I was wondering who he’d worked for. So, how are you enjoying village life?”
“It’s a huge change from life in the city, but a good one. And the beauty of it is that we’re near enough to London if we want to go up for the day.”
They stayed a couple of hours putting the world to rights, and as Gabriel walked home, he felt he had a true friend in Hugh. He thought back to what Hugh had told him about Joseph.
He couldn’t help feeling there was something cagey about him. He might only have worked with him for two days, but any attempt he’d made at conversation hadn’t got very far. He was so intrigued that when he got back to the house, he googled Jarmans, mentally shaking his head at himself. Joseph was hardly going to feature on their website, not if he’d been sacked. They probably employed hundreds of landscapers anyway. He looked instead at their projects, wondering which of them Joseph had been working on when he’d wrapped his car around a tree. There was a golf club, and a city park, and the grounds of a public school, St. Cuthbert’s, just outside Winchester.
Gabriel stared at his screen. St. Cuthbert’s was the school that Charlie Ingram had gone to.
22
Iris carried a bowl of beautifully ripe tomatoes and a fresh-from-the-oven onion tart out to the terrace, put them on the table, and walked down the path toward the walled garden. Red flowers—lobelias, geums, and salvias—spilt onto the path, their colors so bright that Iris felt momentarily dizzy.
She stopped for a moment, took a few deep breaths, then continued on her way. At the entrance to the walled garden, she stopped and watched Joseph as he wheeled a barrow of huge stones to the corner they’d earmarked for a rockery, then lifted them out one by one, the muscles in his arms straining as he laid them alongside others already there. She waited until he’d placed the last one.
“Lunch is ready!” she called.
Joseph straightened up and gave her a smile tinged with relief. “Thanks, Iris, I could do with a break.”
“It’s looking great.”
“Only another fifty barrowloads of rocks to go. Shame Laure’s in Paris today, she could have helped,” he added, laughing. “Have you heard from her?”
“Not yet. She’ll only just have arrived at their apartment.”
They walked to the terrace and Joseph went to the tap to wash his hands.
“Isn’t Gabriel joining us?” he asked, when he caught up with Iris, nodding at the table set for two.
“He went into town for some shopping, so I’m not expecting him back anytime soon.”
Joseph pulled out a chair and sat down. “This looks amazing, Iris. I was only expecting a sandwich. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. Even I know how many onions you need to prepare for an onion tart.”
Iris reached for a tomato and began to slice it. Without warning, blood rushed to her head. Blinded by a bout of heart-stopping dizziness, she dropped the knife to the ground.
“Are you all right?” Joseph’s voice, deep with concern, came from a long way off.
Iris nodded, her eyes closed. “Too much sun. It was stifling in London yesterday, and now again today.”
