A home from home, p.4
A Home From Home, page 4
‘She misses you, your cousin,’ he told her sternly as the waiter poured a very good burgundy for them to drink with the entrecôte they were sharing. ‘She likes to make out she’s tough, but she’s as soft as butter.’
‘I know,’ sighed Georgia. ‘But she said some awful things to me. And to Doug.’
She cringed at the memory of the evening. They were in the kitchen after a bit too much to drink at the Swan, scoffing cheese and drinking cider brandy. Tab always got tense when she knew Georgia was leaving to go back to London, and Doug had sensed it and gone right for her Achilles heel … Things had got very heated very quickly, and Tab had fought back. It was gloves off.
Even though everything Tab said about Doug had turned out to be true, Georgia hadn’t quite forgiven her for saying them.
Gum didn’t take sides or want details. He did, however, want his two favourite people in the world to be friends again.
‘Don’t let Doug come between you. That would be a terrible shame.’
Georgia sighed. ‘It is a shame. But she went too far. I’m not ready yet. It’s going to take a bit of time.’
Gum put his hand over hers and squeezed it. ‘Not everyone has a cousin, you know. They are a luxury. To be enjoyed and looked after. Not like siblings, who can be a responsibility and a nuisance.’ He smiled, and Georgia looked at his wise old face, handsome once, and knew he was right. Pride, however, was hard to swallow, and it was difficult to undertake a rapprochement from a distance. Her workload was punishing. She couldn’t see how she could get down to Dragonfly Farm. And it would be impossible to get Tabitha to London. She hated the city and rarely came up.
‘She misses you,’ said Gum. ‘She would never admit it, but I know she does.’
Now, in her panic, Georgia’s mind began to play tricks on her. Gum’s death was all her fault. If she’d buried the hatchet with Tab, things would have been different. She could have altered history’s course. But she’d been too bloody stubborn, too proud and selfish, to heed her great-uncle’s words. And now she would never have the benefit of his wisdom again.
Georgia wiped away a tear as she pushed her ticket into the barrier. Then another tear fell from her other eye. And another. As she stumbled onto the platform, sobbing, she realised that at least now Gum had his wish.
Georgia and Tabitha were going to be reunited.
5
After her phone call to her cousin, Tabitha stood in the middle of the hospital corridor leading to A & E. She should phone her father, Robin – Gum was his uncle, after all – but she couldn’t face hearing him trying to be helpful and reassuring and utterly failing. Robin didn’t have a practical bone in his body. He would literally have no idea what to do.
‘You can’t stand here forever,’ said Dash kindly. ‘Come on. Let me take you home.’
Dead on arrival. Somehow those words only belonged on television, spoken in urgent tones by actors dressed in green with stethoscopes around their necks. Not by normal, ordinary people in Honisham hospital, with their glasses on a chain around their neck and a cold cup of coffee next to their paperwork.
There had been a flurry of information about post-mortems, organ donation, identifying the body. Forms to sign. And now – nothing. All Tabitha could do was go home and process what had happened.
She felt filled with anxiety and strange thoughts. She blamed herself for the accident. If she had driven Gum into Nettleford … If she had offered to pick his prescription up for him … If she had made him a cup of coffee and delayed his departure … Maybe she could have changed the course of events if she’d behaved differently.
She turned and stared at Dash. She’d almost forgotten he was still there. He’d waited for her. Which was thoughtful.
‘I could have got a taxi,’ she told him.
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. You need someone with you.’
She realised she was being ungrateful. ‘Thank you. I’m sure you’ve got other things to do.’
‘Nothing that can’t wait. Come on. There’s nothing to be done here.’
Tabitha shivered, suddenly realising that there were people milling past her in both directions and she was clogging up the corridor. She started marching towards the exit. ‘You’re right. I bloody hate hospitals.’
‘No one’s keen, are they?’
‘I suppose not. I haven’t been here since I had an argument with a chainsaw.’
Dash raised his eyebrows. ‘Who won?’
‘I’ve got a nice scar on my shin. My fault for using it in shorts.’
Dash winced. ‘Ouch.’
Tabitha gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘Just a flesh wound.’
‘You’re tough, then.’
They walked through the automatic doors and out past a trio of smokers.
‘No,’ said Tabitha eventually. ‘Everyone thinks I am, but I’m not. Not at all.’
Her eyes filled and her chin wobbled. She wiped away a tear with the heel of her hand, then looked around the car park.
‘Where’s the car?’ she said. ‘I can’t remember where we parked.’
She frowned with the effort of trying to remember. It had all been a blur, getting to the hospital.
‘If you wait here, I’ll go and get it for you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’ll take twice as long.’
Dash looked at her and she realised how rude she was being.
‘God, I’m sorry. I’m rude when I’m upset.’
‘It’s fine.’ He pointed towards the far end of the car park. ‘We’re that way.’
‘Have you got the ticket?’
He waved it and dug in his pocket for change. ‘Yeah. And I’ve got change.’
‘Can I owe you? I’ve come out without any cash.’
‘Absolutely not. I won’t hear of it.’
‘We’ll see.’
Tabitha headed towards the area of car park Dash had indicated. He followed in her wake, slightly bemused by her demeanour. He’d never met anyone quite so … He couldn’t think of the word. Abrupt? Defiant? Prickly? Though to be fair, he hadn’t met her under ideal conditions. Perhaps she was usually sweetness and light?
In the car, Tabitha stretched her legs out in the front seat. The leather was soft and enveloping, and she leaned her head back on the headrest, shutting her eyes with a sigh. Her fists were balled up, and she was rigid with tension.
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,’ she said as Dash navigated his way out of the unnecessarily complicated one-way system.
‘I’m guessing you were close?’
‘Yeah. Just a bit. I know everyone thinks it’s kind of weird, living with your great-uncle, but he was more than that to me. Much more of an influence than my grandfather – he died a long time ago. Or my dad, come to that.’
‘I think that’s quite charming. All my great-uncles are barking mad. Or drunk.’ The car pulled smoothly out onto the ring road. ‘But how did you end up living with him?’
Tabitha didn’t look like a country bumpkin or someone who lived with elderly relatives. She had an energy to her; a wild beauty that spoke of adventure and risk.
‘Mum and Dad split up when I was twelve. They were crazy in love but brought out the worst in each other. I didn’t handle it very well. I blamed Mum, because it was Mum who went off with someone else, so I didn’t think she’d tried hard enough. And I hated her boyfriend – on principle, not because he was a bad person.’ She managed a laugh.
‘I can imagine.’
‘So I ended up going to live with Dad when I was fourteen, which was great because he didn’t have a clue about bringing up children. Bedtimes or feeding or homework or any rules at all. I fended for myself most of the time.’
‘Sounds like a dream come true for a teenager.’
‘Of course, that’s what I thought. I could do what I liked. My school friends were all green with envy. We lived in West London. He was away a lot. I went out every night. Hung out with the cool kids.’
‘Oh.’ Dash nodded. He could imagine her dancing in the streets at Notting Hill carnival or queueing up to get into the latest nightclub.
‘I thought it was so glamorous. I was a bit of a wild child.’
‘You look as if butter wouldn’t melt now,’ he teased her gently.
She managed a smile.
‘Well, it wouldn’t. I’m a paragon of virtue. I never do anything I shouldn’t.’ She turned to him, and her expression was bold, defiant. ‘Anyway, I ended up getting thrown out of school. Mum was livid and said I had to go and live with her. I refused. In the end, I ran away to Gum and Joy. They were the only people who didn’t judge me. They took me in, made me sign up to retake my A levels at the college in Nettleford. Gum taught me to drive. Joy taught me to cook. And here I still am. Nearly ten years later.’ She shut her eyes and scrunched her face up. ‘Only now they’re both gone and I don’t know what to do without them. Which is ridiculous.’
‘Hey. No, it’s not. It’s totally understandable. It sounds like they were your rocks.’
Tabitha nodded but couldn’t speak.
‘And maybe you were theirs?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Now I think I didn’t do enough. They looked after me but I should have looked after them. I should have taken Gum into town this morning—’
‘Stop it,’ said Dash. ‘He doesn’t sound to me like the sort of man who needed mollycoddling. You’re feeling guilty. Grief does that. Don’t let it.’
She was surprised by the firmness of his tone. And he was right, of course. Gum had never stood for any fuss. She nodded.
‘I suppose I’m trying to make sense of it.’
‘You’ll drive yourself mad if you try to make sense of death. It never feels right. How can it?’
He spoke as if he’d tried to make sense of it himself, but Tabitha didn’t feel she should pry.
‘I know he was quite old. But it’s not fair. He was as fit as a flea. And sharp as a tack. He put me to shame most days, with what he got done.’
She felt tears well up and breathed them down. They were approaching the supermarkets on the edge of Honisham. Dash slowed down.
‘Is there anything you need to pick up from the supermarket? As we’re passing? It might be an idea to stock up. Saves you going out again.’
‘Good idea. But I can’t think what we need.’
‘Sit here and I’ll whizz round for you. Milk? Bread?’
‘Milk, definitely. Not bread – I can make that. Cornflakes. Tomato soup. Digestives. I don’t know what else. . . Maybe a chicken?’
‘I’ll use my common sense.’
‘Pink Panther wafers.’
‘What?’
‘You know. Pink Panther wafers.’
Dash shook his head, bemused.
‘Oh my God, you must have had a deprived childhood. Pink wafers, with cream in the middle? In the biscuit section. Actually, hang on.’ She undid her belt. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ll just sit here crying otherwise.’
They walked together towards the supermarket entrance and Dash grabbed a small shopping trolley.
‘Thank you for all of this, by the way,’ said Tabitha. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘Isn’t that what neighbours are for?’
She took the trolley from him. ‘You Culbones haven’t been very neighbourly until now.’
‘Maybe things will change.’
She looked at him. ‘Are you living here, then? Not just visiting?’
Dash nodded. ‘I am. As of this month, Rushbrook House belongs to me.’
He walked in through the entrance. Tabitha stared after him in surprise. For years, Rushbrook House had been rented out to a series of tenants who had taken less and less care of it, and now it was almost tumbledown, according to the postman. She presumed Dash must have been gifted the house in some sort of inheritance tax dodge. Classic, she thought disparagingly.
But perhaps she shouldn’t judge just yet. He was being extraordinarily kind and helpful. So she followed him in through the door.
She wandered around the supermarket aimlessly. She felt cold and lost under the harsh lights and hoped not to see anyone she knew. Everything seemed slightly heightened; her head felt light but her heart heavy. It was hard to make decisions, but Dash steered her about, urging her to stock up.
‘The next few days are going to be chaos. You’ll have people in and out. The last thing you’ll want is to go out to the shops.’
They piled the trolley with staples, and occasionally Tab remembered something she couldn’t live without.
‘Fish fingers,’ she said at the freezer counter. ‘We’ll have fish-finger sandwiches tonight, me and Georgia.’
‘Who’s Georgia?’
‘My cousin.’ Tabitha sighed. She held up her crossed fingers. ‘We’re like this, but I haven’t seen her since May. We had a bit of a fall-out.’
‘Families, eh?’
‘I feel as if it was my fault, because everything usually is. I’m not very good at keeping my mouth shut. She was going out with the most awful man and I told her what I thought.’ Tab looked a bit shame-faced. ‘In front of him.’
‘Ah.’
‘But he had spent half an hour telling me I was wasting my life.’
‘That’s rather rude.’
‘Yes. And then he buggered off to Hollywood and started shagging his producer. So turns out I was right. But people don’t always like it when you’re right.’
‘No …’
Tab looked sharply at Dash.
‘Are you laughing at me?’ she demanded.
‘God, no. I can totally empathise. Families are a nightmare to navigate.’ He spoke with true feeling. ‘I think we should get you home – get your fish fingers in the freezer.’
He grabbed the trolley and pushed it towards the checkout.
As Tabitha lined up behind him in the queue, she saw a tall figure at the next checkout, dressed in a checked shirt and cords and a dark-green quilted waistcoat. It couldn’t be? Or could it? Perhaps it had been mistaken identity? She started to run towards the man, but as he turned to put his items on the conveyor belt, she stopped.
Of course it wasn’t him. It was a man with the same build, the same dress code, but a totally different face. It wasn’t Gum at all.
‘Are you OK?’ Dash was next to her, looking concerned.
‘I thought …’ She pointed at the man. ‘I thought it was Gum.’
She felt weak with disappointment. Dash curled an arm round her and she crumpled. He was warm and smelled of sandalwood, and she just wanted to lean against him and fall asleep and wake up to find it had all been a dreadful nightmare. But the bing-bong of the supermarket PA system brought her to her senses. She broke away from him and headed back to her trolley.
What was she doing, snuggling up to a Culbone? Gum wasn’t quite in his grave yet, but if he was, he’d be spinning in it. Once again, she remembered the letter from the Culbones’ solicitor. Gum had thrown it on the fire and not even bothered to reply. Had Dash been behind that?
Driving into the yard at Dragonfly Farm that afternoon was discomfiting. It had always been her place of safety, somewhere that lifted her heart, but now it felt almost hostile, as if it was blaming her for Gum’s absence.
‘I’ll carry your shopping in,’ said Dash.
‘I can manage,’ said Tabitha.
‘I’m sure you can,’ said Dash. ‘But it doesn’t mean you have to.’
And, in fact, she did feel weary. The thought of lugging the carriers inside and unloading them suddenly seemed a gargantuan task.
‘Thank you.’
Inside, he put all the bags on the floor of the kitchen.
‘You’ve been so kind,’ she said. ‘But, really, I can manage now.’
‘Are you sure?’
Her head was whirling with people she needed to speak to, things she needed to do, and an overwhelming need to lie down. And she thought perhaps she didn’t want to be on her own. The kitchen too held a sense of foreboding that was unfamiliar. There was a chill in the air that made it feel like a slightly frosty person keeping her at arm’s length.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I know it’s a massive cliché, but I could kill a cup of tea. I need to go and put the sheets on Georgia’s bed before she gets here. There’s nothing worse than having to make up a bed when you’re exhausted.’
‘No,’ said Dash, who couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had to change his own bed linen. ‘You go ahead. I’ll get the kettle on.’
Tab just about managed a smile. ‘Thank you.’
Dash set about the kitchen as best he could, considering he was pretty undomesticated. He filled the kettle again and switched it on, then unpacked the bags, putting things away in the most logical places. Even if he got everything else wrong, the fish fingers definitely belonged in the freezer. There was a sinkful of washing-up, so he tackled it – it was only a few cups and plates and a soup bowl.
He found the teapot, which was big enough to bath a baby in, so he threw in three teabags and filled it with boiling water. As he worked he uncovered more layers in the kitchen that told him about the people who lived here: piles of old paperbacks with faded postcards as bookmarks, envelopes full of seeds marked up in sloping black letters, an encyclopaedia of apples, a beer mug filled with spiky dahlias in a rainbow of colours – pink and orange and purple and yellow – that was so full of joy and life he was reminded of the sharp contrast between this and the sterile environment he’d lived in up until now. There had been no clutter in his apartment because he never did anything there but sleep, take a shower and get changed, and any signs of his presence had been whisked away by a cleaner he had never met. He had a lot to learn, he reflected, as he poured a jarful of murky liquid down the sink. He wasn’t sure what it was but it looked as if someone had kept their paintbrushes in it.
