‘Adam, I’ve been teaching for over thirty-five years, and a month ago if you’d asked me how I’d feel to give it all up – almost a lifetime’s work – I’d have said it didn’t bear thinking about. But now, it isn’t that I don’t care, but that I’ve realised none of it really matters. Yes, the university might think I did a good job, the students might miss me, possibly even prefer me to whichever tutor comes in my stead, but they’ll still graduate. They’ll still get their degrees and go off and live the rest of their lives. And in a year’s time, they probably won’t even remember me. And that’s fine. It’s something I’ve done, but it doesn’t fit with how I feel now, with what I want for my future. And the same can be true for you.’ Henry reached across to lay his hand on Adam’s, giving it a light squeeze. ‘At the moment all you can see is something ending. But what if it were just beginning, Adam? What then?’
Adam and Sofia left shortly after that. There didn’t seem to be much else to say, and although the conversation began to falter, the silences now were comfortable. And for the first time, in quite some while, the hug the two men exchanged on parting was warm. Henry was exhausted, but it was a small price to pay.
He had promised to keep Adam’s revelations to himself until his son had had a chance to speak to Sofia, but he hoped it would be the start of more open communication between them all, Blanche included. He was only too aware that secrets were being kept from her too, and as she gave him another gentle hug before leaving, Henry realised how much he would miss her being around. He’d grown to like her acerbic wit.
He sat quietly at the kitchen table for a few minutes after they’d gone, trying to muster the strength to move. His head was throbbing badly and he felt vaguely nauseous – all symptoms which the hospital had warned were likely, but which were still worrying. He had meant what he’d said to Adam about the spanof his life not being enough, and given where he was currently, the thought that that life might still end was harrowing.
Lifting his head from where it had been cradled in his hands, he realised that Peg was watching him from the doorway. How long she’d been there, he had no idea, but she smiled once she realised she’d been spotted.
‘Can I get you anything, Henry?’ she asked, concern creasing her forehead.
He didn’t want her seeing this pathetic version of himself and he shook his head. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Then might I suggest you come and sit by the fire? The girls are going out shopping and Mim is reading, but between you and me, will be asleep in minutes. It wouldn’t hurt you to join her.’
‘I heard that…’ came a shouted voice from the other room.
Peg grinned. ‘Regardless of that, it’s true,’ she whispered.
Henry didn’t have the strength to argue, and even if he had, he probably wouldn’t. The thought of falling asleep by the fire was most appealing. Even so, he didn’t want to give in straight away.
‘The last time I did that, I woke up in hospital,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea.’
Peg was watching him again, a curious look on her face. ‘Is that what happened in your dream?’ she asked. ‘You were very confused after your surgery.’
‘It didn’t feel like I was dreaming,’ said Henry. ‘I spent Christmas Day here. We went for a walk. We had dinner. I washed up and afterwards we sat by the fire, reading. I can describe everything I saw, and everything that happened, right down to the leeks we had with our dinner which came from your garden. You also told me a story about your bathroom, which was originally downstairs – off your living room – and, when you first moved in, made the flow of the house all wrong. You couldn’t work it out to begin with and tried all manner of thingsto make the room feel better, but nothing did until you moved the bathroom. Then you realised that there had never been a problem with the living room at all. You just hadn’t realised what therealproblem was.’ He stopped, frowning as he recalled the point of the story. ‘You said that was probably the reason why Adam and Sofia have been behaving the way they have – that they’re fixating on the wrong thing, too.’ He stared at her in surprise as the memory came back to him. It had made sense before, and now, suddenly, it made even more sense.
Peg blushed. ‘I like the sound of the dream me,’ she said. ‘I sound very wise, but I’m not sure that’s me at all. And the bathroom has never been downstairs.’ Her smile was tinged with sadness. No, it wasn’t sadness, it was something like it, but more…poignant, more…more a commiseration. ‘I’m sorry, Henry.’
21
30 DECEMBER
Peg put down her pencil and frowned. Something wasn’t right, but for the life of her she couldn’t work out what was wrong. Perhaps the perspective, or…She pushed her sketch pad away. She didn’t usually have this much trouble with her illustrations – bringing her articles to life in this way was usually the part of the process she enjoyed most.
She sat back in her chair, staring through the window at the garden beyond. Sometimes, when she found her inspiration wasn’t flowing, it was because her thoughts were drawing her outside, but it wasn’t sunny today, or warm, and the squally rain which had been falling since dawn certainly didn’t incline her to visit the woods, or tend to any number of the jobs in the garden which needed doing.
Perhaps, then, it was the quietness of the house which was disturbing her concentration. The holiday was over and the girls had gone back home, taking with them the lively chatter which had been such a feature of the house over the last few days. It was always the same after a visit, when the first few days without them became almost overwhelmingly silent, but Peg ought to be used to it by now.
She tutted, cross with herself. She’d been cross with herself for days, ever since Henry had told her the details of his dream, because she knew perfectly well what the problem was, and trying to kid herself that it was anything different was just silly. Worse, the preoccupations of someone half her age. Henry had got lucky, that was all. She might have picked leeks from the garden for Christmas dinner but that was logical – she was a gardener, and they were a seasonal vegetable. The book, which he’d told her about in the hospital, was harder to explain but…She shook her head and got up.
The worst thing was that she had lied to him. And if not lied, then misled him, at best. She had denied being any of the things which Henry had attributed to her, when the simple fact of the matter was that his descriptions had been unerringly close. His accuracy had surprised her, made her a little uncomfortable, and just because she couldn’t explain it, it gave her no right to be so dismissive. Henry had looked bereft at her response, and she was angry that when she could have been kind, she had chosen instead to protect her own feelings and tramp all over his. Glancing at her watch, she picked up her sketchbook and headed downstairs. Perhaps a look at some source material would help her in her work.
She was surprised to find Mim standing in the kitchen with her coat on.
‘Ah…I was just coming to find you,’ she said. ‘Blanche is calling for me in her car. She’s invited me to afternoon tea – with scones – and you know how fond I am of a naughty treat.’
‘Blanche is? Oh…’ Peg frowned. ‘Somehow I didn’t think she drove. I don’t know why.’
‘Probably because her daughter always insists that they pick her up whenever she visits them. Blanche reckons it’s so she can’t run away.’
‘Mim…’
‘What? I’m only repeating what Blanche said,’ she replied, an innocent expression on her face.
‘Well, okay, but are you sure you’re feeling up to it? You said your wrist was hurting this morning.’ She paused, taking in the expression on her aunt’s face. ‘Sorry, you go. Of course you’re up to it.’
‘Don’t write me off just yet,’ cautioned Mim, but she was smiling.
