‘We’re going to be Mr and Mrs Robert Blakiston and we’re going to live together and we’re never going to be apart again.’
Suddenly, he took hold of her. Both hands were around her and the grip was so strong that he almost hurt her. He kissed her and she saw that there were tears in his eyes. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you,’ he said. ‘You’re everything to me. I mean it, Joy. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m not going to let anyone stop us being together.’
She knew what he meant. The village. The rumours.
‘I don’t care what people say,’ she told him. ‘And anyway, we don’t have to stay in Saxby. We can go anywhere we want.’ She realised that this was exactly what Pünd had said. ‘But we will stay here,’ she went on. ‘You’ll see. Everything will be all right.’
They parted company soon after that. He went back to his little flat to shower and change out of his work overalls. But she did not return to her parents. Not yet. She still had the note she had written. It had to be delivered.
8
At exactly that moment, and a little further up the road, Clarissa Pye heard someone ringing at her front door. She had been preparing her dinner, something quite new that had suddenly turned up in the village shop; frozen fish cut into neat fingers and covered in breadcrumbs. She had poured out some cooking oil but, fortunately, she hadn’t yet popped them into the pan. The doorbell rang a second time. She laid the cardboard packet on the kitchen counter and went to see who it was.
A shadowy, distorted figure could be seen on the other side of the granite glass windows set into the front door. Could it be a travelling salesman at this time of the night? The village had recently had a veritable plague of them, as bad as the locusts that had descended on Egypt. Uneasily, she opened the door, glad that the security chain was still in place, and peered through the crack. Her brother, Magnus Pye, stood in front of her. She could see his car, a pale blue Jaguar, parked in Winsley Terrace behind him.
‘Magnus?’ She was so surprised she didn’t quite know what to say. He had only ever visited her here on two occasions, once when she was ill. He hadn’t been at the funeral and she hadn’t seen him since he got back from France.
‘Hello, Clara. Can I come in?’
Clara was the name he had always called her, from the time they were children. The name reminded her of the boy he had once been and the man he had become. Why had he chosen to grow that awful beard? Hadn’t anyone told him that it didn’t suit him? That it made him look like some sort of mad aristocrat out of a cartoon? His eyes were slightly grey and she could see the veins in his cheeks. It was obvious he drank too much. And the way he was dressed! It was as if he had been playing golf. He was wearing baggy trousers tucked into his socks and a bright yellow cardigan. It was almost impossible to imagine that they were brother and sister – and more than that. Twins. Perhaps it was the different paths that life had taken them in their fifty-three years but they were nothing like each other any more, if they ever had been.
She closed the door, released the security chain, then opened it again. Magnus smiled – although the twitch of his lips could have signified anything – and stepped into the hallway. Clarissa was going to take him into the kitchen but then she remembered the box of frozen fish lying next to the hob and led him the other way instead. Left turn or right turn. Number 4, Winsley Terrace was not like Pye Hall. In this house there were very few choices.
The two of them went into the living room, a clean, comfortable space with a swirly carpet, a three-piece suite and a bay window. There was an electric fire and a television. For a moment, they stood there uncomfortably.
‘How are you?’ Magnus asked.
Why did he want to know? What did he care? ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ Clarissa
Suddenly, he took hold of her. Both hands were around her and the grip was so strong that he almost hurt her. He kissed her and she saw that there were tears in his eyes. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you,’ he said. ‘You’re everything to me. I mean it, Joy. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me and I’m not going to let anyone stop us being together.’
She knew what he meant. The village. The rumours.
‘I don’t care what people say,’ she told him. ‘And anyway, we don’t have to stay in Saxby. We can go anywhere we want.’ She realised that this was exactly what Pünd had said. ‘But we will stay here,’ she went on. ‘You’ll see. Everything will be all right.’
They parted company soon after that. He went back to his little flat to shower and change out of his work overalls. But she did not return to her parents. Not yet. She still had the note she had written. It had to be delivered.
8
At exactly that moment, and a little further up the road, Clarissa Pye heard someone ringing at her front door. She had been preparing her dinner, something quite new that had suddenly turned up in the village shop; frozen fish cut into neat fingers and covered in breadcrumbs. She had poured out some cooking oil but, fortunately, she hadn’t yet popped them into the pan. The doorbell rang a second time. She laid the cardboard packet on the kitchen counter and went to see who it was.
A shadowy, distorted figure could be seen on the other side of the granite glass windows set into the front door. Could it be a travelling salesman at this time of the night? The village had recently had a veritable plague of them, as bad as the locusts that had descended on Egypt. Uneasily, she opened the door, glad that the security chain was still in place, and peered through the crack. Her brother, Magnus Pye, stood in front of her. She could see his car, a pale blue Jaguar, parked in Winsley Terrace behind him.
‘Magnus?’ She was so surprised she didn’t quite know what to say. He had only ever visited her here on two occasions, once when she was ill. He hadn’t been at the funeral and she hadn’t seen him since he got back from France.
‘Hello, Clara. Can I come in?’
Clara was the name he had always called her, from the time they were children. The name reminded her of the boy he had once been and the man he had become. Why had he chosen to grow that awful beard? Hadn’t anyone told him that it didn’t suit him? That it made him look like some sort of mad aristocrat out of a cartoon? His eyes were slightly grey and she could see the veins in his cheeks. It was obvious he drank too much. And the way he was dressed! It was as if he had been playing golf. He was wearing baggy trousers tucked into his socks and a bright yellow cardigan. It was almost impossible to imagine that they were brother and sister – and more than that. Twins. Perhaps it was the different paths that life had taken them in their fifty-three years but they were nothing like each other any more, if they ever had been.
She closed the door, released the security chain, then opened it again. Magnus smiled – although the twitch of his lips could have signified anything – and stepped into the hallway. Clarissa was going to take him into the kitchen but then she remembered the box of frozen fish lying next to the hob and led him the other way instead. Left turn or right turn. Number 4, Winsley Terrace was not like Pye Hall. In this house there were very few choices.
The two of them went into the living room, a clean, comfortable space with a swirly carpet, a three-piece suite and a bay window. There was an electric fire and a television. For a moment, they stood there uncomfortably.
‘How are you?’ Magnus asked.
Why did he want to know? What did he care? ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ Clarissa
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