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Authors: Judy Astley
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boys. I know, you could live in seaside hotels, have room service and put bets on the gee-gees in the afternoons.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Miles snapped at him. ‘She can’t sell the house!’
‘Why not?’ Viola said. ‘What’s to stop her?’
‘It’s the
family home
. The base.
Our
base,’ Kate began, exchanging a glance with Miles across the table.
‘That’s right.’ He backed her up. ‘For over thirty years. You don’t just
walk away
.’
‘But you haven’t lived there since you were eighteen, either of you.’ Viola was puzzled. ‘And, Miles,
you
were about sixteen when we moved in – so hardly there at all, really. If it’s anyone’s childhood home, it’s surely mine. And
I
don’t mind if Mum wants to go somewhere else, somewhere a bit easier to cope with. It’s not about bricks and stuff, surely?’
‘No, Viola, stop this. They’re right. I can’t sell it,’ Naomi said. ‘And I won’t. But will you all
please
stop talking about me as if I’m not here? I’m not a
parcel
, not a
thing
to be passed around and dealt with. Viola must go back to her own home, just as she’d always meant to, and I’ll carry on as I did before she came. I haven’t suddenly lost my marbles or the use of my limbs over the past year and I don’t want to talk about this. Next thing, you’ll have me in a home.’
Kate and Miles laughed. ‘Absolutely not!’ Miles assured her. ‘There’s no question of a home, but we do feel …’
‘No, that’s enough!’ Naomi stopped him. She started getting to her feet, staggering slightly as the voluminous tablecloth tangled itself round her leg. ‘Marco – please will you take us home now?’
Before they left, Viola went upstairs to the bathroom. Rachel was inside it so she went into Kate and Rob’s room to use their en-suite loo. The bedroom was looking showroom neat – no clothes and shoes lying around, no books open on the bedside table. Even Beano the poodle was tidily curled up and dozing in his basket. The double bed, though – Viola saw that it had only one pillow, centrally placed. A pink floral night-dress was poking out from beneath it. You could only conclude that Kate and Rob now occupied separate rooms . Kate’s usual collection of framed photos seemed to have gone from all the surfaces too, apart from a few on a table beside the bed. Viola picked up the nearest, surprised that it showed her own wedding, not Rob and Kate’s. It was a casual, happy shot of herself and Kate, both laughing, either side of Rhys, who had an arm round each of them. He was looking at Viola, grinning hugely, as if delighted (at least for that day) to have won her. She felt tears pricking at her eyes and put the photo down again quickly. He’d been a rat, for sure, but for a very brief blissful while, until he’d started to break out of the marriage cage, he’d been
her
rat.
SIX
VIOLA HADN’T HAD the Rhys dream for a while, but the night of the lunch at Kate’s it turned up in the early hours, leaving her wide awake too soon to get up but too late to get back to proper sleep. At first after the crash it had descended on her almost every broken, miserable night, but gradually it had slipped away, coming back only a couple of times in the past few months. Lately, she had almost dared to hope the dream had stopped for good, but obviously no such luck. She should never, she thought to herself as she turned the pillow to the cool side, have looked at that photo in Kate’s bedroom.
The dream was pretty much identical each time. Viola was in the green Porsche with Rhys, screaming for him to stop as the car hurtled like a broken fairground ride towards a vast tree, one that seemed to be coming towards them, lurching out of the woods and over the edge of the roadside, deliberately aiming to smash into the speeding car. She could make out the intricate, twisted patterns of its bark; smell mushroomy old wood and feel the chill against her face from cold damp
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Miles snapped at him. ‘She can’t sell the house!’
‘Why not?’ Viola said. ‘What’s to stop her?’
‘It’s the
family home
. The base.
Our
base,’ Kate began, exchanging a glance with Miles across the table.
‘That’s right.’ He backed her up. ‘For over thirty years. You don’t just
walk away
.’
‘But you haven’t lived there since you were eighteen, either of you.’ Viola was puzzled. ‘And, Miles,
you
were about sixteen when we moved in – so hardly there at all, really. If it’s anyone’s childhood home, it’s surely mine. And
I
don’t mind if Mum wants to go somewhere else, somewhere a bit easier to cope with. It’s not about bricks and stuff, surely?’
‘No, Viola, stop this. They’re right. I can’t sell it,’ Naomi said. ‘And I won’t. But will you all
please
stop talking about me as if I’m not here? I’m not a
parcel
, not a
thing
to be passed around and dealt with. Viola must go back to her own home, just as she’d always meant to, and I’ll carry on as I did before she came. I haven’t suddenly lost my marbles or the use of my limbs over the past year and I don’t want to talk about this. Next thing, you’ll have me in a home.’
Kate and Miles laughed. ‘Absolutely not!’ Miles assured her. ‘There’s no question of a home, but we do feel …’
‘No, that’s enough!’ Naomi stopped him. She started getting to her feet, staggering slightly as the voluminous tablecloth tangled itself round her leg. ‘Marco – please will you take us home now?’
Before they left, Viola went upstairs to the bathroom. Rachel was inside it so she went into Kate and Rob’s room to use their en-suite loo. The bedroom was looking showroom neat – no clothes and shoes lying around, no books open on the bedside table. Even Beano the poodle was tidily curled up and dozing in his basket. The double bed, though – Viola saw that it had only one pillow, centrally placed. A pink floral night-dress was poking out from beneath it. You could only conclude that Kate and Rob now occupied separate rooms . Kate’s usual collection of framed photos seemed to have gone from all the surfaces too, apart from a few on a table beside the bed. Viola picked up the nearest, surprised that it showed her own wedding, not Rob and Kate’s. It was a casual, happy shot of herself and Kate, both laughing, either side of Rhys, who had an arm round each of them. He was looking at Viola, grinning hugely, as if delighted (at least for that day) to have won her. She felt tears pricking at her eyes and put the photo down again quickly. He’d been a rat, for sure, but for a very brief blissful while, until he’d started to break out of the marriage cage, he’d been
her
rat.
SIX
VIOLA HADN’T HAD the Rhys dream for a while, but the night of the lunch at Kate’s it turned up in the early hours, leaving her wide awake too soon to get up but too late to get back to proper sleep. At first after the crash it had descended on her almost every broken, miserable night, but gradually it had slipped away, coming back only a couple of times in the past few months. Lately, she had almost dared to hope the dream had stopped for good, but obviously no such luck. She should never, she thought to herself as she turned the pillow to the cool side, have looked at that photo in Kate’s bedroom.
The dream was pretty much identical each time. Viola was in the green Porsche with Rhys, screaming for him to stop as the car hurtled like a broken fairground ride towards a vast tree, one that seemed to be coming towards them, lurching out of the woods and over the edge of the roadside, deliberately aiming to smash into the speeding car. She could make out the intricate, twisted patterns of its bark; smell mushroomy old wood and feel the chill against her face from cold damp
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