A Week in Winter: A Novel Read online

  ‘Let’s not go,’ she’d say suddenly. ‘Let’s stay here and make love’—and he’d hesitate, his hands stilled, gazing at her in surprise, shocked but delighted at such a notion.

  ‘Honestly, darling.’ He’d laugh, stooping to caress her. ‘Don’t think I’m not tempted but we’ve accepted now. Can’t let people down,’ but he was pleased, all the same: amused and flattered to be desired so unaffectedly.

  Waiting for the light on the percolator to show that the coffee was ready, Maudie chuckled to herself. It was clear that Hilda had never been so natural with him. She would have been obliging in intimate matters, but she would never have taken the lead, and Hector found this new approach rather fun. In other respects he had been somewhat less pleased by Maudie’s self-confidence; less able to be teased.

  ‘You’re hectoring,’ she’d say, when he came striding into the bathroom, voicing his opinions on this or that political situation.

  ‘I thought you might be interested in my point of view,’ he’d answer rather huffily, stopping short in his peroration, irritated by the pun on his name …

  ‘I am interested,’ she’d answer calmly, soaping herself, ‘but don’t teach it to me. Let’s have a discussion about it, not a lecture.’

  He’d go away, hurt, but gradually he’d realised that she was capable of holding her own in any debate he might choose and began to enjoy the stimulation of an exchange of views.

  ‘Poor old Hector,’ Daphne had said one day, a year or so after Maudie and Hector had married. ‘You’re a bit of a shock for him. Hilda had all the mental stubbornness of the rather stupid person, you know. Her beliefs were formed early by other people and she stuck to them. Fortunately, most of them were formed by Hector so there were very few dissensions.’

  Maudie had thought of Daphne and her remarks later that same day when Hector began to read aloud to her from one of the articles in the paper. After a minute or two she’d interrupted him.

  ‘I’m reading, Hector,’ she’d said, holding up her book.

  He’d stared at her. ‘I beg your pardon. It’s just that this is a subject on which you hold quite strong views.’

  ‘I know,’ she’d answered. ‘I read it this morning. I’m quite capable of assimilating facts from a newspaper article, you know. I don’t have to be read to as though I were a child. I thought he put it very well, actually.’

  She’d continued with her book and Hector had shaken out the pages crossly. No doubt Hilda would have sat sewing or knitting, listening meekly, ready to be instructed. ‘Yes, darling,’ she’d have said. ‘Oh, really? Oh, yes, I quite agree,’ and Maudie had suddenly wanted to burst out laughing, but instead she’d got up and, pausing briefly to touch his shoulder, had gone to pour him a drink. When she’d brought it to him he’d taken the glass but held on to her hand and kissed it. He was never one to bear a grudge.

  ‘Oh, Hector,’ she sighed, now, switching off the percolator and pouring strong black coffee. ‘I’d give anything to have you back. I’d even let you read the newspaper to me.’

  Polonius suddenly thrust a cold nose into her hand and she started, spilling some coffee, cursing under her breath. ‘Wretched animal. No, we are not going for a walk. Not until later. I have to go shopping. I might take you with me, although you don’t deserve to go. Not after yesterday.’

  Polonius flattened his ears, exuding a winning air of kindly benevolence, but Maudie was unimpressed. He was still partially in disgrace after an incident which was affording her a certain amount of amusement. They’d been returning from their walk, rounding the curve in the lane, when they’d observed the car parked beyond the entrance to the drive, beside the little bridge. A couple were climbing out, accompanied by a Jack Russell who immediately raced towards them barking hysterically.

  Polonius had stopped short, ears pricked, gazing at this intruder in amazement, and Maudie had clasped his collar firmly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ called the owner, making no attempt to restrain his dog. ‘He won’t hurt you if you stand quite still.’

  ‘Cheeky bugger,’ muttered Maudie, releasing her grip. ‘Go on, Polonius. Lunch!’

  Polonius had needed no further encouragement. With a deep, baying bark, he’d set off like a bullet from a gun. The terrier had paused, given one last defiant yap and scuttled back to his owners who were now proceeding less confidently.

  ‘He won’t hurt you if you stand quite still,’ shouted Maudie, enjoying the spectacle of the terrier with his tail between his legs. ‘Polonius! That’s enough now. Here boy! Here! Polonius!’

  Polonius had been quite deaf to entreaty, however, and, having dealt with the intruder, was now determined to see the whole party off his territory. The couple had hesitated for a moment and then made a hasty dash for the car, scrambling in, slamming doors just as Polonius had arrived beside it, still barking. They’d driven away and Polonius had returned, tail wagging, evidently pleased with himself

  ‘You’re supposed to come when I call you,’ she’d scolded—but he’d merely shaken himself victoriously and trotted ahead of her, up the drive, hoping for a reward.

  ‘I might take you with me,’ she said now. ‘But you’ll have to be patient. I have quite a lot of shopping to do and you’ll have to wait in the car.’

  Whilst she sat at the table in the living room, making her list, her glance returned occasionally to Posy’s card. Was it really possible that she might come to stay for Christmas? Maudie shook her head. It was best not to be too hopeful.

  I shall be going home this weekend to see the Ageds and collect some stuff, she’d written. I’ll tell them that I’d like to stay with you over Christmas and I’m sure they won’t mind. The boys will be around and I’ll be there for some of the hols, anyway. Fingers crossed, babe! Wouldn’t it be fun? Just you, me and Polonius. I do miss him but I’m so pleased he’s with you. How is he?

  Maudie looked at the great hound stretched before the fire, sleeping peacefully now, and felt oddly contented. She took a quick gulp of coffee and returned to her list.

  Posy folded some jeans and a large black sweater and put them into her faded, battered holdall along with some books. It was important to her that her room in Hyde Abbey Road looked as Posy-ish as she could make it. They were not allowed to put up shelves or hammer nails into the wall but fortunately some previous tenant had been blissfully ignorant of—or utterly indifferent to—this tiresome rule and her own room had plenty of picture hooks. She’d made a point of showing these to the landlord, lest she was held responsible for them at a later date, and he’d agreed that they might be left in situ. Slowly, she’d been moving her few belongings to Winchester and now her bedroom here in London had a rather desolate air.

  She sat on the edge of her bed and looked round the small room. It was odd that she felt more comfortable at the house in Hyde Abbey Road; more relaxed with Jude and Jo and the others than with her family. Posy struggled with her guilt. After all, surely it was more natural to want to be with friends of her own age than with two middle-aged people, especially now that the boys were rarely at home and she wasn’t allowed to keep Polonius? She pushed both hands through her thick black hair, straining it back from her face. It was a nervous gesture she’d had from childhood and Jo and Jude teased her about it.

  ‘Posy’s stressed out,’ they’d warn each other. ‘Watch it. Come on, Posy. Chill!’

  She’d tried to control it but each time a real anxiety presented itself she’d find herself dragging her hands through her hair, pulling it until it hurt, as if this might in some way distract her or calm her. This time it was the thought of Polonius, which had automatically associated itself to Maudie and Christmas, that had triggered it. Being nonchalant about spending Christmas with her step-grandmother was one thing; actually broaching it with her mother was another. Posy drew up her legs and sat cross-legged, frowning. Mum was being a bit peculiar; still set on buying Moorgate but behaving like she was trying to needle Dad with it, and Dad wasn’t responding. He w
asn’t doing his placating ‘of course you must have it if you want it, love’ stuff which he did when he wanted some peace, but he wasn’t actually arguing about it either. It was like he was marking time; waiting for something. He was absent-minded, preoccupied, although he’d been like that for a while now, even before she’d gone back to Winchester, and Mum was kind of watchful but as if she knew a secret and was hugging it to herself. Perhaps she had some money tucked away somewhere and intended to buy Moorgate whether Dad wanted her to or not. Anyway, she’d done the usual anti-Maudie bit and it had been difficult to just say straight out, ‘Oh, by the way, I thought I’d spend Christmas with her.’

  Posy tugged at her hair, climbed off the bed and went downstairs. Patrick was sitting at the kitchen table, reading. He glanced up at her, smiling, but he looked old and tired and she felt another pang of guilt.

  She thought: I won’t feel guilty about him. I simply won’t. Maudie’s old too, and all alone.

  ‘I had an idea about Christmas,’ she said, sitting opposite, trying not to notice his strained expression and restless hands. ‘I wondered about spending a few days with Maudie. The boys will be with you and she’s all on her own. And I have to think about Polonius …’

  Her voice trailed off and she looked away from him, waiting for reproaches. She knew that he loved her and that he would miss her but she tried to harden her heart, ready to argue her corner.

  ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘I guessed with Polonius down with Maudie you’d be more inclined to go there than come here.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say it like that,’ she cried, compassion making her sound cross, ‘as if I love Polonius more than you. You know I don’t. It’s just unfair to load him on to Maudie and leave it at that. Mum said he could come home for holidays but now she’s changed her mind. I’ll be here for some of the time.’

  He raised his hands pacifically. ‘Look,’ he said gently, ‘I’m not arguing. We’ll miss you—of course we will—but you’ll be around for a week or two, I expect. I think it’s a nice idea. There’s no point in inviting Maudie up here, after all, and she’ll be delighted. It’s good of her to have Polonius.’

  She watched him suspiciously, trying to detect signs of martyrdom, but he seemed genuinely undisturbed and she felt a wholly unreasonable stab of hurt pride.

  ‘What d’you think Mum will say?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Does it matter? If you’ve made up your mind, stick to it. That’s my advice.’

  She stared at him curiously, anxiously. This indifference was strangely out of character and she wondered if the Moorgate business were seriously upsetting him.

  ‘This Moorgate thing,’ she said impulsively. ‘It’s just a bee in Mum’s bonnet. She can’t really be contemplating going to Cornwall to live. She’d die without a tube round the corner and Peter Jones and stuff. Don’t let it get to you.’

  He smiled at her, then, with real warmth, as though he were truly seeing her; really thinking about her. ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘Stick to your guns about Christmas, mind. I’m going down to the pub for a pint. See you later.’

  He went out and she sat still, puzzled. Sometimes he’d suggest she might go to the pub with him but it was clear, this evening, that he had no desire for her company. Presently Selina came into the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows when she saw Posy sitting there alone.

  ‘Where’s your father?’ she asked. ‘He was supposed to be getting the supper this evening.’

  Posy felt a familiar sense of partisanship manifesting itself. ‘He’s gone to the pub,’ she said casually. ‘He looks a bit stressed out, I think. Worrying about something. Why don’t you give him a break about this Moorgate stuff? You don’t really want to live on the edge of Bodmin Moor, do you?’

  Selina looked at her coolly. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business. You have your own life to lead now and I suspect we shan’t be seeing too much of you in the future. After all, you’ve always made it very clear where your loyalties lie.’

  They stared at each other, all the old antagonisms rising to the surface, and Posy recklessly seized her chance.

  ‘I suppose you’re right. Actually I’ve decided to spend Christmas with Maudie. Not the whole holiday, but a few days. Since she’s kind enough to have Polonius …’

  Selina gave a short laugh. ‘Kind! She saw her opportunity and grabbed it with both hands. Typical bloody Maudie. She realised that by having that wretched dog your always indifferent kind of loyalty to us would be strained further and might snap altogether.’

  Accusations of this kind had been commonplace all through Posy’s life but she defended herself—and Maudie—as best she could.

  ‘I don’t think she thought about it like that at all. She just knew how miserable I was at the thought of him being given away. You didn’t care. You said he could come back for holidays but you’ve gone back on your word, as usual. And it was I who suggested going for Christmas, not Maudie. Dad seems quite happy about it.’

  Selina, enraged as always by the thought of Maudie gaining an advantage, imagining her private triumph, lost her patience. ‘I’m sure he does. But then he’s too wrapped up in the little tart he’s having an affair with to care about any of us.’ She saw shock replace the indignation on her daughter’s face, saw the blank fear in her eyes and knew a brief moment of remorse. It was quickly smothered by a surge of self-righteousness. Hadn’t she had to cope with just such a shock concerning her own father and Maudie when she was much younger than Posy was? And now Patrick, who knew how she’d been betrayed and hurt, was just as faithless. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you,’ she said, rather ashamed by Posy’s dazed expression though unwilling to acknowledge it, ‘but you’re quite old enough to deal with it. God knows, I have to! He spends every minute he can with her but he hasn’t got the guts to admit it yet.’

  ‘No.’ Posy shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it. Not Dad. He just isn’t like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Selina’s lips curled into her familiar inimical sneer. ‘Oh, this isn’t some passionate sex thing with a dolly-bird type. No, she’s a fat, boring little nonentity with a crippled child. He sees himself as a knight in shining armour, rescuing her from her drab existence. It’s a role he enjoys. God, he is so pathetic’

  ‘If he hasn’t admitted it how do you know?’

  ‘Because I do know,’ Selina answered quietly. ‘I’ve seen them together. You can take my word for it. Come on, Posy. You’ve seen the change in him. Admit it. You were saying as much just now.’

  ‘So what will you do?’ Posy felt oddly breathless.

  Selina shrugged, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I shall bide my time. I’m getting the house valued and I’m preparing to buy Moorgate. Not as a second home. Oh, no. She’s not going to have him, I promise you that. If we have to live in Cornwall, then that’s what we’ll do. He’ll have to make a move soon but, meanwhile, I wait.’ She frowned and glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘Talking of waiting, I suppose I’ll have to get on with the supper myself.’

  ‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ said Posy. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  She went out, upstairs to her bedroom. Sitting on the bed, driving her hands through her hair, she stared about her. Dull and uninteresting though the bedroom had become, she now realised how important it was to her to have this place of security; the comforting knowledge that home and her parents—especially her father—were there in the background, waiting should she need them. It was a shock to think of him in any other role than as husband and father; impossible to see him simply as a man, attracted to a woman other than her mother. She felt childishly angry that this new-found love was more important to him than the company of his own daughter. It was because of this unknown woman that he was preoccupied and indifferent, quite ready to allow her, Posy, to go off to Maudie for Christmas, no longer requiring her company down at the pub. Perhaps he had lied to her; perhaps he hadn’t been going to the pub at all but was with the woman now
. She simply could not think about them; her mind steadfastly refused to furnish her with new disturbing images of him and his mistress. How could she possibly face him on his return? Posy rolled over on to her side and drew up her knees, wrapping her arms about them, shivering. Presently she began to cry.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Where’s Posy?’ Patrick blinked rather blearily around the kitchen. ‘She’s not upstairs. Is she OK?’

  ‘So very much OK that she’s gone back to Winchester,’ said Selina brightly. ‘She didn’t want to hang about, she said.’

  ‘Gone?’ Patrick looked at her disbelievingly. ‘But it’s barely eleven o’clock.’

  Selina raised her eyebrows. ‘So?’

  ‘But I’ve hardly seen her,’ he mumbled. Selina’s shiny brittleness penetrated his heavy-headed stupor and he felt the chill of caution trickling down his spine. ‘I thought we might go for a walk or something.’

  He turned his back on her, switching on the kettle, suddenly alert. He’d got back later than he’d intended, slipping into the spare bedroom so as not to disturb Selina, but he’d been unable to sleep. There had been no answer when he’d telephoned Mary from the pub. Just her voice on the machine, asking callers to leave their names and numbers. He’d told her that he would almost certainly telephone at about this time so he’d assumed that she was dealing with Stuart and couldn’t get to the phone. Presently he’d tried again but there was still no reply. Since she rarely went out in the evening—and he liked to think that she told him her plans—he’d gone back to the bar to finish his pint, anxious and rather puzzled. After a while he’d begun to work himself into a state of serious worry, imagining various scenarios in which Mary was unable to reach the telephone; that she’d fallen or been taken ill. After another fruitless call he determined to walk to the flat to make sure that all was well. As he hurried through the streets, he convinced himself that it was perfectly reasonable to check things out; that he had every right to be worried about her. Yet a tiny worming fear gnawed in his guts. Since the meeting with Selina some undefinable change had taken place in his relationship with Mary. After that first outburst was over she’d been just as loving, still looking forward to their weekend away, yet there was something …