away. And how relieved she and Pa were much later when they heard that the sailor had reached Sydney Harbour, and loved Australia so much that he abandoned the rest of his voyage and never returned.
There were one or two other relationships: Clem’s history master, who was divorced with a large and complicated extended family; and a fellow who owned a string of restaurants – and a string of mistresses to match. Neither of these amounted to anything, but Dossie entered into them each time with hope and a great deal of naïvety.
‘Why does she always get hurt?’ Pa demanded after they discovered the true nature of the restaurant owner. ‘Good grief! There must be an ordinary trustworthy kind of fellow out there somewhere. Why does she have to be attracted to nutters or to men who will hurt her?’
He thumped on the kitchen table with his fist, and John the Baptist flattened his ears and rolled an anxious eye at him.
‘Dossie believes in love. She’s an eternal optimist,’ Mo answered at last, and Pa breathed in heavily through his nose and turned his eyes heavenward as if seeking patience, muttering, ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ under his breath. ‘And it’s no good making faces at this late date,’ she added crossly. ‘ You didn’t see anything wrong with any of them either.’
He was irritated then, pushing his chair back so that its feet screeched on the slates, getting up and going out into the boot-room. John the Baptist struggled up, looking at her as if to say, ‘Here we go again!’ and followed Pa out, and they disappeared over the fields together.
Now, Mo closes her eyes and lifts her face to the hot sun. She is aware of the mower’s engine stopping and the sudden silence, and then of other sounds: a robin singing in the escallonia hedge and the two notes echoing from the top of the ash tree where a great tit swings in its branches amongst the fat black sticky buds, which are bursting into leaf. She thinks of Dossie just now, running out to her car; of the way, lately, she checks and rechecks her mobile for messages; of her recent bright-eyed preoccupation. A shadow blocks the sun. Mo opens her eyes: Pa is standing looking down at her.
‘All right, Mo?’ he asks – and she is unnerved by the familiar enquiry just at this moment, wanting to share her suspicion with him but fearful lest he too should become alert to Dossie’s behaviour and question her. It is impossible to swear Pa to secrecy and silence. Sooner or later he will speak out thoughtlessly and precipitate some kind of argument or action.
‘Where did Dossie say she was going?’ he asks, as though reading her thoughts. ‘I thought she had a dinner party at Rock.’
‘She has.’ Mo speaks calmly. ‘There’s plenty of time. A client phoned, she said. Do you want a cup of tea after all that effort?’ She gets up. ‘It’s so warm we could have it out here.’
‘And when did you say Adam was coming?’
He trails after her, and her heart sinks at his question. She stops, staring down over the newly mown grass. It is foolish to be so fearful of Natasha and her two girls, yet every instinct warns her against this woman and her two sullen, uncommunicative daughters. The fact that she, Mo, still loves and misses Adam’s ex-wife doesn’t help the situation, and irritates him.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ she answers. ‘In time for lunch. Dossie’s got something special planned. If it’s as warm as this we’ll be able to eat in the garden.’ She needs to be upbeat about it, otherwise Pa’s antagonism might well spiral out of control.
‘Why don’t those girls ever speak?’ he demanded after the last visit. ‘No “please” or “thank you”, no attempt at joining in, refusing to have anything to do with Jakey. Just glowering about and muttering to each other or plugged into those damned iPods. And those awful earrings and nail varnish. Good God, they’re hardly teenagers and they look like a couple of hookers!’
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