Читать книгу The Path to the Sea - Liz Fenwick - Страница 24

13

Lottie

3 August 2018, 6.00 p.m.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Lottie was greeted by the voice of Bobby Darin. ‘Somewhere Beyond the Sea’. Gramps had taught her to dance to this while Gran taught Alex. They had been invited to a big black-tie party at Eddie Carew’s house for his eightieth. Neither Lottie nor Alex had known how to dance properly so the week before the party the drawing room rug had been rolled up and every night, just after cocktails, it had been like a session of Strictly for the hopeless. But by the time the party had arrived, both Lottie and Alex could dance. Even now she could remember how handsome he’d been in his borrowed dinner jacket and the feel of his arms around her. It had been a magical evening of dancing under the stars. A few days later it was over.

She couldn’t fix the past, but she could make sure she didn’t mess up any more of the future. Hopefully now she had learned to let no one in and to trust no one. That would be key to going forward.

In the courtyard she tapped on the cottage door. Alex opened it, dressed only in a towel. She looked at the top of his head for fear of staring.

‘Sorry to disturb you but Gran would like to come downstairs and she said you’d help.’

‘Of course.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

‘Do you need help?’ She looked down at his bare feet.

‘I can get dressed on my own.’

‘Right.’ She risked a quick glance up but wished she hadn’t. He was amused but she felt an idiot. Exiting swiftly, she set a smile on her face and walked back to the house and into the drawing room with her head held high. No one here knew what a mess her life was at the moment and it would stay that way. It would cause Gramps so much pain and her mother would be disappointed yet again.

‘Lottie, my dear. Gin?’ Gramps asked, putting his hands on the arms of the chair.

‘I’ll get it, Gramps. You stay seated.’ She walked to the end of the piano where the trolley sat and made herself a weak drink, tempting though it was to let the gin relax her. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. She turned back to the room and surveyed it. It felt too big and at the same time not large enough for the three of them.

Gramps was in his armchair because the sofa was now just too low for him to use without help. He didn’t want assistance, as she’d discovered in February when Paul had taken the armchair. Gran had called him a stubborn old mule when he wouldn’t be helped out of it and said to leave him to it. She hadn’t been herself then, now Lottie thought about it. She had been quieter and greyer. She must have known but hadn’t said anything. How could she have when Lottie had spent the weekend trying to get Paul to see Cornwall, Boskenna and her grandparents for the wonders they were. She shouldn’t have wasted her breath for he was a liar and a thief.

Her mother, gin in hand, paced in front of the French windows, looking out to the sea fret. She had been refreshing hers and Gramps’ drinks with ice when Lottie had walked into the silence.

‘Alex is going to bring Gran.’ Lottie perched on the arm of the sofa halfway between the two of them.

‘Alex?’ Her mother turned. Lottie braced herself. A decade ago her mother had forbidden her from ever getting in touch with him again. Lottie hadn’t blamed her. But Alex hadn’t been the problem – she had. She was the one who had lied to her mother. True, it was because of Alex that she hadn’t taken the internship her mother had arranged – but it was Lottie’s decision, not his.

‘Yes, Alex Hoskine has been a godsend to Joan and me.’

Lottie jumped to her feet. ‘Is there anything I can get for her?’

‘The nurse will be here shortly.’ Her mother turned to look at her.

‘Oh.’ Gramps and her mother obviously had a chat. This was good, progress even. ‘Should she stay upstairs?’

‘No, if she feels up to joining us, that is wonderful.’ He gave her a brave smile.

‘How often does the nurse come?’ Lottie asked, looking at Gramps’ face. She saw him trying to hold it all together.

‘Morning and evening.’ He took a sip of whisky. ‘Or more frequently if needed.’

Her heart sank. No wonder Alex had started helping.

‘She should be in a hospice. Not here.’ Her mother sighed and turned from the windows.

‘She is where she wants to be.’ He spoke with quiet determination.

‘Mum,’ Lottie stood.

‘The place is a wreck, a relic even.’ Her mother waved her hand. ‘The upstairs windows are coated in salt and the woodwork is rotting from the constant assault of the weather while two people rattle about in a few rooms.’

Gramps put his drink down. ‘Joan loves it.’

‘Does she? Does she really?’ Her mother shook her head. ‘I can’t see how.’ She walked towards Gramps. ‘I don’t know how you can stand it, living in the house that they lived in together.’

‘Mum.’ Lottie moved towards her then stopped. Where was this anger coming from?

‘We are all grown-ups here. No need to mince words.’ She topped up her drink and Lottie raised an eyebrow. Her mother wasn’t a big drinker.

‘Why did she come back to Boskenna after so long?’

‘What do you mean, “come back”?’ Lottie frowned. This was Gran’s home.

‘Boskenna was let out until George retired.’ Her mother sat on the sofa.

‘It was.’ Gramps relaxed.

‘Why did you come here? Why not Cape Cod, where your family were?’

Lottie held her breath. Her mother had shifted into reporter mode – forgetting that, like him or not, Gramps was her stepfather and an old man. How could she snap her out of it?

Gramps put his fingertips together, making an arch with them like the childhood game he used to play with her. Here is the church, here is the steeple, open it up, see all the people. But this wasn’t a game. Gran was dying and her mother, possibly as a way to distance herself, was interviewing Gramps.

‘She wanted to. It’s her home.’

Mum shook her head and pressed her lips together.

Just then, Alex arrived at the door – carrying Gran as if she was a child. With care, he placed her on the sofa and Lottie arranged some cushions behind her.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Alex asked.

‘I’d love the smallest taste of whisky, well-watered, please.’

‘Of course,’ he smiled, and Lottie caught his eye and mouthed thanks. ‘George, does your drink need refreshing?’ Diana?’ He glanced around.

She held her breath again. Her mother stared at him and everything in Lottie tensed.

‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Her mother turned and walked to the fireplace then turned back again as he handed Gran her drink.

Lottie watched her mother open her mouth, but Gran raised her glass. ‘Thank you for coming.’ She coughed.

The doorbell rang and Alex leapt to answer it. She couldn’t blame him. Lottie’s shoulders were around her ears. The atmosphere in the room was fraught.

The nurse came in and her mother glared at Alex before she left the room. That wasn’t fair. Her mother had had every right to be angry with Lottie even now, because she’d believed Lottie had been in London all summer doing an internship when she’d been falling in love. It was never Alex’s fault. It had been – and always would be – Lottie’s fault.