Learning by Heart by Elizabeth Cooke Page A

inert body into the ground, it was Zeph who, with a grimace of unhappiness, did the job. Cora had reached down and felt him.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Zeph had asked.
    ‘I’m trying to make him comfortable,’ Cora had replied, out of breath.
    ‘Oh, Mum,’ Zeph had said, with sympathy. ‘It doesn’t matter which way he’s lying, you know.’
    ‘It does,’ Cora had whispered, as Zeph scooped earth into the grave. ‘It does.’
    They had come back very cold, and saying little. In the relative warmth of the kitchen, Cora had switched on the kettle and held up a cup to Zeph. Zeph had merely shaken her head, and Cora’s heart had gone out to her child, who looked ghost-like.
    ‘Not a particularly good day, all round,’ she commented, hoping to see a smile of black humour.
    ‘I’ve had quite a few better ones,’ Zeph replied. She paused. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
    ‘Yes,’ Cora had replied. ‘I’ll be fine.’
    Zeph had gone slowly out of the room and upstairs to bed.
    Now Cora saw movement on the path out of the corner of her eye. She looked up and Nick was standing there.
    The two gazed at each other. There was no greeting. ‘Where is she?’ he said.
    ‘She’s out,’ Cora said. ‘She’s taken Joshua to the doctor.’
    Nick glanced briefly at the ground behind her.
    ‘We had to bury Denny last night,’ Cora told him. ‘He died out here during the day.’
    ‘I’ve been looking for you for a while. What’s the matter with Josh?’
    ‘It’s just a sore throat. A cough. And she wanted to register him.’ As soon as she had said it, she realized how tactless she had been. She walked away from the grave and on to the path.
    ‘I couldn’t stay in Paris,’ he said. ‘It seemed all wrong.’ He gave a wry, painful smile. ‘I wanted to surprise her,’ he said. ‘But it was me who got the surprise.’
    ‘Nick,’ she said, ‘she’s very angry. Perhaps you’d better leave her alone just now.’
    ‘I can’t do that,’ he told her.
    They walked back down the hill, across the first orchard.
    ‘How did you get here?’ Cora asked, because Zeph had brought their car.
    ‘I hired a car,’ he said, sounding irritated. He took a deep breath as they came into the second orchard. ‘Everything’s looking real nice,’ he said.
    She smiled inwardly at the compliment. Nick had always been charming with her, as he was with all women. When Zeph had first brought him home, Cora had liked him at once. Oh, of course it meant little, she could see that, to be able to say pretty things at the right times. It was a facility rather than a strength. But it was pleasant all the same to be noticed and complimented. And Nick was good at telling Zeph how wonderful she was, and how beautiful. Cora had watched her practical, pragmatic daughter melt, and felt pleased. She had only ever looked as happy as that with her father – although Nick was nothing like Richard.
    Nick was laid-back where Richard had been hardworking, artistic where Richard had been practical. Richard would probably have criticized his wit and apparent carelessness, his philosophy of letting tomorrow take care of itself. Richard would have said that Zeph needed security and money, not the hand-to-mouth existence that Nick offered.
    Looking at him through Richard’s eyes, Cora could see that a struggling writer was hardly reliable, hardly a provider, and she worried that it was Zeph, not Nick, who got the part-time jobs, a whole variety to make ends meet. When Nick and Zeph had first set up home together in a tiny flat, it was Zeph, not Nick, who worked in a bar and, at nights, as an usher in a theatre. She even went temping, doing days here and there in City offices, filing and running errands. Anything to bring in the money while Nick worked on his first novel.
    It would pay off when the book was published, Nick would tell them, with a wink, a smile and that fantastic American drawl. That was how Nick got along, Cora saw. And the first