so, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but … Well, it’s just not like you to call out of the blue, like, for no reason.’
Gil took a deep breath. ‘I thought I might, you know, take you up on your offer. That is if it still stands, of course.’
‘Offer?’ Lyn sounded confused.
‘To take the train over … See the little ones. It was in your Christmas card …’ He was losing his confidence now, wishing he hadn’t called. He hadn’t even got around to asking about Karen yet. Maybe this wasn’t the time.
‘Dad,’ Lyn laughed. ‘That was for Christmas! It’s September!’
‘Christmas soon,’ he said, all too aware of how very pathetic that sounded.
‘Of course you can stay with us. Meggie and Alfie would love it. Any time. Just give me some notice in case Paul’s going to be away.’
Gil wouldn’t mind that. His son-in-law was all right for a salesman. It wasn’t like they’d ever really got to know each other. Only met a handful of times in the ten years Paul had been married to his daughter. If anything, he suspected Paul thought of Kevin as his father-in-law.
‘Is that it, Dad? Only I’m on my way to pick Meg up from school and Alfie’s raising merry hell in the back of the car.’
‘There was one other thing …’
‘Y-es.’ Suspicion entered Lyn’s voice.
‘About your sister …’
Silence.
‘I was just thinking. Wondering, if you had an email address.’
‘You know I do and you know I can’t. Karen doesn’t want to hear from you. She knows where to find you. And if she wants to, she will. She was the youngest. She took it hardest. You know she did. Is this the reason you phoned?’
‘No, love, course not. It’s just, if I could speak to her, I’m sure we could sort it out.’
‘Are you? I’d leave her alone if I were you.’ Lyn paused, listening to muffled yells too far from the phone for Gil to make out. ‘Yes, love,’ he heard her say. ‘Mummy’s coming now …
‘Dad,’ she was back. ‘I’ve got to go. If you really mean it about coming to visit, call me later with dates.’
11
It was better this time. In as much as when she emerged from her migraine Helen knew where she was and, for that matter, who she was and when it was. She knew it with such sharp-edged clarity it was shocking.
The house felt better, too. The bits of it she used anyway. Familiar, almost calm. The floorboards and joists had ceased their constant moanings, the scuttlings and scrapings had fallen silent. As if she wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting for the storm to pass.
Helen wandered along the landing on colt-like legs, testing door handles and windows as she passed. Locked. All of them, apart from the one she’d wedged open with a book just before her migraine kicked in. The book was still there, half in/half out, its pages curled where pre-dawn mist had descended. The three-bar fire still blazed. Waving her hand in front of its bars to gauge their heat, Helen grinned. Blazed in the loosest possible sense. Several years earlier she’d trained herself not to turn on gas or electrics when she felt a migraine coming on. Her chances of remembering to turn them off again were minimal. She hadn’t expected yesterday’s to roar in quite so fast. Normally she could predict, gauge their ferocity and closeness. But this attack had taken her completely by surprise.
Picking up the laptop from the upstairs drawing-room floor, she tucked it under her arm and went downstairs. Her legs felt weak, shaky, as if she’d been in bed for days, not hours.
Could she have lost a day, she wondered, checking the front door – still locked – and repeating the exercise with all the downstairs rooms.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
In the kitchen, she found milk neatly returned to its shelf in the fridge, open but fresh. Bread, Marmite, jam, even chocolate. Piling it all on to the oak table next to the laptop, she broke off a square of Galaxy and put it on her tongue, counting slowly down from ten
‘Yes, but … Well, it’s just not like you to call out of the blue, like, for no reason.’
Gil took a deep breath. ‘I thought I might, you know, take you up on your offer. That is if it still stands, of course.’
‘Offer?’ Lyn sounded confused.
‘To take the train over … See the little ones. It was in your Christmas card …’ He was losing his confidence now, wishing he hadn’t called. He hadn’t even got around to asking about Karen yet. Maybe this wasn’t the time.
‘Dad,’ Lyn laughed. ‘That was for Christmas! It’s September!’
‘Christmas soon,’ he said, all too aware of how very pathetic that sounded.
‘Of course you can stay with us. Meggie and Alfie would love it. Any time. Just give me some notice in case Paul’s going to be away.’
Gil wouldn’t mind that. His son-in-law was all right for a salesman. It wasn’t like they’d ever really got to know each other. Only met a handful of times in the ten years Paul had been married to his daughter. If anything, he suspected Paul thought of Kevin as his father-in-law.
‘Is that it, Dad? Only I’m on my way to pick Meg up from school and Alfie’s raising merry hell in the back of the car.’
‘There was one other thing …’
‘Y-es.’ Suspicion entered Lyn’s voice.
‘About your sister …’
Silence.
‘I was just thinking. Wondering, if you had an email address.’
‘You know I do and you know I can’t. Karen doesn’t want to hear from you. She knows where to find you. And if she wants to, she will. She was the youngest. She took it hardest. You know she did. Is this the reason you phoned?’
‘No, love, course not. It’s just, if I could speak to her, I’m sure we could sort it out.’
‘Are you? I’d leave her alone if I were you.’ Lyn paused, listening to muffled yells too far from the phone for Gil to make out. ‘Yes, love,’ he heard her say. ‘Mummy’s coming now …
‘Dad,’ she was back. ‘I’ve got to go. If you really mean it about coming to visit, call me later with dates.’
11
It was better this time. In as much as when she emerged from her migraine Helen knew where she was and, for that matter, who she was and when it was. She knew it with such sharp-edged clarity it was shocking.
The house felt better, too. The bits of it she used anyway. Familiar, almost calm. The floorboards and joists had ceased their constant moanings, the scuttlings and scrapings had fallen silent. As if she wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting for the storm to pass.
Helen wandered along the landing on colt-like legs, testing door handles and windows as she passed. Locked. All of them, apart from the one she’d wedged open with a book just before her migraine kicked in. The book was still there, half in/half out, its pages curled where pre-dawn mist had descended. The three-bar fire still blazed. Waving her hand in front of its bars to gauge their heat, Helen grinned. Blazed in the loosest possible sense. Several years earlier she’d trained herself not to turn on gas or electrics when she felt a migraine coming on. Her chances of remembering to turn them off again were minimal. She hadn’t expected yesterday’s to roar in quite so fast. Normally she could predict, gauge their ferocity and closeness. But this attack had taken her completely by surprise.
Picking up the laptop from the upstairs drawing-room floor, she tucked it under her arm and went downstairs. Her legs felt weak, shaky, as if she’d been in bed for days, not hours.
Could she have lost a day, she wondered, checking the front door – still locked – and repeating the exercise with all the downstairs rooms.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
In the kitchen, she found milk neatly returned to its shelf in the fridge, open but fresh. Bread, Marmite, jam, even chocolate. Piling it all on to the oak table next to the laptop, she broke off a square of Galaxy and put it on her tongue, counting slowly down from ten
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