Last Christmas Page 23

  Noel, who rather hoped some of it would come back to Matt, promised to be in the office as soon as he could.

  He grabbed a bit of toast, kissed Cat and left. Every cloud had a silver lining. Maybe now Gerry Cowell would see Matt for the bullshitter he really was.

  Cat dropped the kids off at school, checked her watch to see if she had time to quickly nip into Mum’s before her monthly schedule meeting with Bev and, deciding she did, drove round like a demon to her mother’s house.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Her mother looked distinctly displeased to see her.

  ‘I just thought I’d pop in to see how you were,’ said Cat.

  ‘I am not an invalid,’ said her mother with dignity. ‘I am just having a little trouble with my memory at the moment. I’m sure I’ll be better soon.’

  ‘I’m sure you will too,’ Cat said diplomatically. She didn’t want to distress her mother. Of late, any kind of disagreement seemed to set off a reaction. ‘But can’t a daughter come and have tea with her old mum anyway?’

  ‘Less of the old,’ said her mother. That was more like it—this was the mum she knew and loved.

  But then she was gone again. Walking into the kitchen, her mother paused, looked perplexed, and stood staring blankly into space. It was as though for a moment the lights had all gone out. Cat didn’t know much about strokes, but she wasn’t sure this was how they manifested themselves. She had a ghastly insight into what the future might hold.

  ‘Mum,’ she said, and then Mum was back.

  ‘Oh,Cat,dear,’she said, ‘how nice of you to call in.Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’d love one.’ Cat sank into a seat at the kitchen table. This was terrifying. She was losing her mother before her eyes.

  For the next half an hour though, it was as though nothing was wrong. Mum asked after the children and Noel. She talked about the flooding that she’d seen on TV. Everything seemed as normal as could be.

  ‘I’d better go,’ said Cat eventually, getting up. ‘I’ve got a meeting at work.’

  ‘Cat—’ Mum sat looking incredibly sad and wistful.

  ‘What?’ Cat was gathering her bag and surreptitiously clocking her watch. She was going to be late if she wasn’t careful.

  ‘Thank you for taking me to the doctor yesterday,’ said Mum. ‘You’re right. I do forget things. I forget things a lot. I have been for a long long time. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.’

  Cat sat down again and held her mother’s hands.

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said. ‘We’ll get through this, whatever it is. I promise.’

  ‘You’re a good girl, Cat,’ said Mum. ‘You always have been.’ She paused, and Cat suddenly realised her mother was very afraid, and very vulnerable. ‘We need to think about the future, Cat. I don’t know how much longer I can be trusted to run my own affairs. So I want you and Noel to have power of attorney.’

  ‘We can talk about all that later,’ said Cat, tears pricking her eyes.

  ‘I may not have later,’ said Mum. ‘I’ve got the forms here. You take them and talk it over with Noel.’

  ‘Whatever happens, Mum,’ said Cat, ‘I won’t leave you.’

  ‘I know,’ said Mum, patting her daughter’s hand. ‘But you must promise me that if I get really bad, you’ll sell this place and put me in a home.’

  ‘I could never do that,’ said Cat, horrified.

  ‘Never say never,’ said Mum sadly. ‘My mother started out like this and ended up with dementia. I couldn’t cope. You won’t be able to either.’

  ‘You never said.’ Cat was incredulous.

  ‘It was a long time before you were born,’ said Mum, ‘and, to be honest, it was something that absolutely terrified me before. So I couldn’t talk about it. But now, I’m going to have to.’

  ‘It might not be dementia,’ Cat said. ‘The doctor never said you had dementia.’

  ‘She didn’t have to,’ said Mum. ‘I know something’s wrong. And I don’t think I’m having strokes. It’s like a blank screen comes over me, and I can’t remember where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing. It was just the same with my mum. It’s a terrible, terrible disease, but we have to face what’s going to happen to me.’

  ‘I don’t want to,’ said Cat, the tears now flowing freely.

  ‘I know,’ said Mum, tears shining bright in her own eyes. ‘And I don’t want you to have to go through this either. But we can’t all have what we want. So come on, chin up. You’ve got a meeting to get to.’

  Mum saw Cat to the door, and they hugged fiercely.

  ‘You promise?’ Mum said, as they said goodbye.

  ‘I promise,’ said Cat.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gabriel was still feeling shell-shocked about Benjy when he and Marianne got back to his cottage. They’d had to leave the bodies there for the time being. He needed to go back with the Land Rover and get them at some point, but for now he had to work out what to say to his son. Stephen was going to be devastated.

  The opportunity wasn’t going to come straightaway, somewhat to Gabriel’s relief, because he and Marianne walked back into bedlam. The boys were all whooping about like lunatics, and Lucy was sobbing because they’d been teasing her. Even calm Pippa was having trouble keeping control.

  ‘Where’s Dan?’ Gabriel asked.

  ‘He went down to inspect the damage at our place. You wouldn’t believe it, but everything was peaceful till about five minutes ago.’

  Gabriel quickly had the boys sitting down in front of the TV, made Pippa a much needed cup of tea, and then sat down next to Lucy. He was immensely fond of his godchild, and he could usually raise a smile.

  ‘What’s my favourite girl doing down in the dumps?’ he said, and then proceeded to pull funny faces at her till she was giggling away happily.

  ‘That was amazing,’said Marianne.‘You’ve a real gift with children.’

  Gabriel shrugged, and gave her a rather sad smile, ‘Looking after people seems to be something of a speciality of mine. Talking of which…I really need to find some time with Stephen to explain about Benjy.’

  ‘Do you need any help?’ He was touched by Marianne’s concern. When Eve had been around she always left all the difficult stuff to him.

  ‘I think this is something I need to tackle alone,’ he said. ‘But God knows what I’m going to say.’

  The office was buzzing when Noel got there. He noticed to his satisfaction that even Matt’s smooth exterior had been ruffled by events up north.

  ‘Thank God you’re here,’ he said. ‘I’ve had Luke Nicholas on the blower five times already. Five times. What does he think I can do from here? Work a bloody miracle?’

  Noel muttered something placatory and then got to work to find out what the damage was on the site. According to the site foreman, half the foundations were now so waterlogged it was going to take weeks—possibly months—before building work could resume. It wasn’t as if they’d been dry to begin with. But the local authorities were pumping water out of Hope Christmas, so there was a possibility that the pumps could be borrowed, ensuring the worst of the water could be got rid of. Quite how they were going to dry everything out to meet the incredibly demanding schedule, Noel wasn’t quite sure.

  He went back through the files and dug out his original plans for revitalising the buildings on the Hopesay Manor Estate. He looked through them again. He felt suddenly angry that the building work had gone ahead despite his objections. He couldn’t prove that the flood was a result of the silt being dumped in the river, but given that, according to the reports, Hope Christmas itself hadn’t flooded for a hundred years, Noel couldn’t help feeling that somehow the work they’d been carrying out was partly responsible. Apart from being morally wrong, it was a flagrant breaking of the stringent government guidelines for the building of eco towns. Matt should really get it in the neck for this.

  He printed off the plans, wrote a quick report on the situation in Hope Christmas, promisin
g to visit the site next week for an update, and left both on Gerry Cowley’s desk. You never know, maybe Gerry would have a change of heart now. Surely even he would see that pursuing the eco town option now was throwing good money after bad?

  ‘Oh my word.’ Marianne and Pippa gingerly entered her farmhouse to see filthy water still swirling through the house and out of the back door. Dan had gone back to Gabriel’s place to take over with the kids and start making the inevitable phone calls to insurers. The flood waters had receded somewhat, leaving a muddy, gloopy mess on the floor, but carpets were ruined, the wiring was sodden, the plaster was peeling off the walls, and the skirting boards were warped.

  ‘It’s so much worse than I thought,’ Pippa said bleakly. ‘I know it’s stupid to be so upset, but look at it. That’s our life. In tatters.’

  She wandered desolately through to the lounge, where she picked up a broken photo frame and showed it to Marianne.

  ‘Our wedding day,’ she said simply.

  ‘Oh, Pippa,’ Marianne hugged her friend hard. Why did the worst things happen to the nicest people? ‘Soonest done, soonest mended. As my granny used to say.’

  ‘Has your granny got a phrase for every occasion?’ said Pippa with a weak grin.

  ‘Pretty much,’ said Marianne. ‘Look, why don’t I carry on here for a bit? It’s mayhem at Gabe’s place and the kids need you.’

  ‘“Gabe”? I knew it! I knew it!’ Pippa was practically dancing in delight. ‘Now that has really cheered me up. I thought there was something going on between you last night, but I didn’t like to ask.’

  ‘Yes, well, last night was hardly the moment for confidences,’ said Marianne. ‘And now isn’t the moment either. We’ve just found Benjy’s body in the valley. Gabriel’s devastated and he doesn’t know how Stephen’s going to react.’

  ‘Oh my God, poor, poor Stephen,’ said Pippa, forgetting her own troubles for an instant. ‘He’s had so much to deal with as it is. He doesn’t need this.’

  ‘What’s she like?’ Marianne said hesitantly, as she gathered up some soggy bits of carpet, ready to dump outside. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to talk about Eve but she couldn’t contain her curiosity…

  ‘Who,Eve?’Pippa rolled her eyes.‘She’s pretty,very pretty. And when she’s on form, she’s funny and lively and inventive. I can see why Gabe was attracted to her, but she’s always been flaky as hell. Not at all cut out to be a farmer’s wife. I’ve never met anyone so sensitive.’

  ‘Gabe said as much,’ Marianne said. ‘I gather she had a lot of problems.’

  ‘And then some,’ said Pippa. ‘You do have to feel sorry for her. Life hasn’t been kind to Eve at all. Her dad left when she was small and, from what I can gather, her mum had a series of boyfriends and didn’t show her the slightest interest. You could say she has security issues. Gabe’s been amazing, considering all she’s put him through. But in the end, it’s better all round that she’s gone. It wasn’t doing Stephen any good, Eve sometimes at the school gate, sometimes not. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve had to pick that child up at the last minute because Eve was having a funny turn and couldn’t come. It broke my heart to see how sad he was. I hope she can sort her head out, but equally I hope she doesn’t come back and mess about with Stephen’s anymore. That kid’s been through enough.’

  Marianne felt her original worries about getting involved with Gabriel resurfacing. Was she biting off more than she could chew here? Suppose she just added to Stephen’s problems? To take her mind off things, she picked up a broom Pippa had brought in from the kitchen and started sweeping the remnants of sludge and slimy water towards the patio doors.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Pippa said hurriedly, ‘Oh my God, I hope I haven’t put you off.’ She scooped the muddy debris up with a dustpan and brush and started chucking it out into her swamp of a garden. ‘I think the best thing that could possibly happen to Stephen is to have some kind of stability in his life. I’m sure you being around can only help.’

  ‘If he can cope with it,’ said Marianne, working away with a will. ‘And that’s a very big if. And now’s probably not the time to go there. Anyway. You need to get back to the kids. I’ll carry on here.’

  ‘Haven’t you got stuff to do?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Marianne. ‘School’s closed and I’m sure my cottage is fine, I may as well stay and help you out.’

  ‘I don’t know how I can ever repay you,’ said Pippa, as she put the dustpan and brush down. ‘You’re a star.’

  Marianne rolled her eyes.

  ‘Ever since I came to this village, you’ve looked after me. This is the least I can do.’ She waved the broom at Pippa. ‘Now get away with you, before I sweep you away with this broom.’

  Cat logged onto the blog. The post about bullying had evidently hit home. There was a flood of sympathetic messages offering advice and helpful comments. On the increasingly frequent occasions she considered giving up the blog on the grounds that, as well as hating the persona she’d created, it took too much of her time and energy, Cat would often have a response like this to a post and it made it all worthwhile. Sure there were some nutters out there (one or two frequently left annoying messages in her comments section, but she usually ignored them), but in the main she’d found the blogosphere a friendly place. Sometimes it felt like being part of a warm and cosy family, far removed from the messy domestic situation in her real life. There were times, in fact, when she felt that a virtual life might be more satisfying than an actual one. Certainly at the moment she could do with living the fantasy.

  She scrolled down through the comments. ‘Talk to your daughter, let her know she has nothing to fear from confiding in you,’ opined MommyintheUSA, while TwoKidsNoHusband advised, ‘Get in touch with the school. The sooner they know, the sooner they can nip it in the bud.’ All good, sound, helpful advice. The only trouble was it was hard to get Mel to talk—she clammed up at the slightest hint of a question about school. Cat was about to sign off, when a new message popped up. Anonymous. Hmm. That didn’t always mean trouble, but people who wanted to cause trouble in the blogging world weren’t usually too keen to leave their names.

  ‘Your daughter is a lying bitch and so are you.’ Nice. Where did these people get off on such nastiness? Cat deleted the comment and closed down the blog. She concentrated on writing her recipe for Granny Dreamboat’s Winter Warmer, a beef stew replete with winter vegetables and pearl barley. Even in summer, writing this gave her a warm and tingly feeling. Not that it felt like summer, the storm from up north having made its way southwards. It had rained so much today, it was a wonder there was any more rain left in the sky.

  Cat looked at her watch. Nearly school pickup time. She started tidying things away when an instant message pinged up on the screen.

  One of Mel’s friends no doubt. Perhaps on a day off sick and bored trying to instant message her friends.

  She opened the message, to a stream of abuse. ‘I saw what you wrote on my Bebo page. You are a lying bitch and so is your mum.’

  There was a picture of a rather tarty-looking twelve-year-old whose MSN legend bore Inyourfacebitch. How very very unpleasant.

  With a sinking heart, Cat typed back: ‘This is Melanie’s mother, who are you?’

  ‘Go away bitch,’ was the charming response.

  ‘Does your mother know what you are doing?’ Cat typed back.

  Her erstwhile correspondent beat a hasty retreat out of cyberspace.

  What the hell had that been all about? Cat went into Mel’s Bebo account. She had been most reluctant to allow Mel to set one up and had only done so on the condition she had full access to it at all times. She was horrified by what she saw. Her daughter apparently considered a girl at school called Juliette (nicknamed by Mel as ‘Screwliette’) a lying bitch, and everyone should apparently know what a slag she was. Reeling with shock at the language her eleven-year-old was using, Cat sat back absolutely stunned. There she’d been assuming
that Mel was being bullied, but it now looked very much as if her daughter was the one doing the bullying.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marianne walked down the High Street a week after the flood on her way to the dentist’s. People were slowly trying to get back to normal, but it was going to take weeks, if not months, for the cottages on the High Street to dry out again. She walked past Miss Woods’ house to see the ex-head of Hope Christmas primary berating the workmen who’d come to clear out her ground floor. In front of the house was a pile of what looked like junk, an ancient fridge-freezer, an old sofa, an aged TV set, but, Marianne thought sadly, it probably wasn’t junk to Miss Woods. That detritus was her life. It was shocking to realise just how destructive nature could be.

  ‘I’m sorry about your house, Miss Woods,’ Marianne said, narrowly avoiding the stick that was waving at a poor workman who hadn’t put a bit of old carpet properly in the skip.

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Miss Woods. ‘It’s all old junk anyway. Now I can get myself a new plasma screen on the insurance. And a better computer for surfboarding the interweb. My dial up connection was just so slow. I fancy going Hi Fi.’ She paused to tell the workmen off. ‘Just what do you think you are doing with that sideboard? It’s not to go in the skip, it belonged to my grandmother.’

  ‘What do you think will happen about the village hall?’ asked Marianne. Now that the floods had subsided, the true extent of the damage was revealed. The doors were smashed in, one half of a wall had collapsed, and at least two of the windows had been swept away in the flood.

  ‘I expect we’ll have to have Parish Council meetings at Diana Carew’s place, God help us,’ said Miss Woods. ‘But at least it might mean the Nativity will get cancelled.’

  Marianne grinned. Last year’s Nativity still gave her nightmares, and Diana had already begun dropping big hints about how invaluable her help had been, and would she possibly like to get involved in this year’s.

  ‘Do you think Diana will ever let that happen?’ said Marianne. ‘It seems like the Nativity is her baby.’