The ‘girls’, not one of them under seventy-five, nodded vigorously.
‘Means fewer trips to the gym, keeps us fit.’
They waved their laden arms as they carried on up to the house to blitz the appalling mess left from the party.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if they did go to the gym,’ said Frankie, tottering across the cattle grid that spanned the end of the drive, the gate wide open, as usual. ‘They probably intimidate all the muscle men. I wouldn’t want to take any of them on in a fight.’
When Juliet had stepped off the last section of the cattle grid, she paused to look back up at the house. There was no doubt that it was a beautiful building, built of grey stone in a ‘L’ shape with gabled roofs and a magnificent arched porch above the huge front door. But the spring sunlight was bright and unforgiving, and she couldn’t deny that Feywood was looking tatty, especiallywhen thrown into relief by the bubbling fecundity of nature all around: hawthorn bushes foaming with blossom, trees heavy under the weight of their burgeoning buds, the grass green and lush. The roof was indeed patchy and sagging, but it wasn’t just that: the stone-mullioned windows had moss growing lavishly on them and ivy was making a determined assault on all the gutters. The sweeping gravel drive was thin and muddy, and all the brickwork needed smartening up.
Frankie wandered on ahead, talking into her mobile phone, but Martha paused next to her and looked at the house.
‘The old lady’s showing her age, isn’t she?’
Juliet nodded and carried on walking along the lane, Martha maintaining an understanding silence by her side. Feywood really looked as if it was in trouble, and it saddened her. Apart from the difficulties with her mother, which had only escalated when Juliet had been a teenager, she had had a wonderfully happy upbringing in the beautiful old house and knew how lucky they all were to live there. With both her parents engrossed in their art, she and her sisters had roamed the estate freely when not at school, or working on their own art projects, and she knew every inch of it: the damp cellars where mice scuttled from your torch beam, the spot on the landing which creaked shrilly and alerted the household to your illicit nocturnal ramblings, the magical woods where, as children, they had seen fairies and elves, they were sure they had.
‘I just can’t believe that Mum left us in this mess – or maybe I can.’
Martha now linked her arm through Juliet’s.
‘Juliet, she did have cancer?—’
‘It’s the fact she hid it all from us, though. And now I look like I’m fiddling while Rome burns, gallivanting around London while the rest of you put buckets under the leaks and pray for a miracle. If I’dknown, of course I would have donesomething. It’s just classic Mum, you always end up feeling so outmanoeuvred, so…impotent.’
Frankie had finished her phone call and turned around, grinning.
‘Who’s impotent? One of your city lads? Maybe you need a nice strapping country boy to show you a haystack or two.’
Juliet was not in the mood for Frankie’s teasing.
‘Ha ha. Come on, at least we’re here now. Let’s go and get a bloody big drink.’
She pushed open the door of the pub and entered its cool, dim interior. It was the pub they had frequented since being teenagers and the beams were soaked with plenty of Carlisle sisters’ history and high jinks. They were always given a warm welcome, and today was no different as the proprietor, Renee, spotted them.
‘Hello, girls, how fabulous to see all three of you in one go. And I think it’s birthday greetings to you, Juliet?’
She nodded reluctantly.
‘I’ll never forget your eighteenth, I never did get the stain out of the wall – had to move that monk’s bench in front of it in the end. Well, what can I get you? Surely not any more snakebite and black?’
‘God no, never again. I think we’ll just share a bottle of that New Zealand Sauvignon, please.’
‘And some chips?’ asked Frankie hopefully.
‘You’re in luck, the kitchen’s open. Go and sit down, and I’ll bring it over. Inside or out?’
‘Oh, inside, please.’ Juliet didn’t want to see anybody she didn’t have to, and people were always wandering past the perfectly situated pub.
The sisters made for their favourite table, tucked away in an alcove by the stairs. Renee brought over the bottle and glasses, and Juliet started sloshing out the wine.
‘You see, that’s the sort of thing I dread, people knowing everything about me, and never letting me forget. I’ll be forced to relive that eighteenth birthday party at least once a week if I move back.’
‘She was only being friendly, just teasing, she didn’t mean any harm by it.’
‘Martha, I know that, but I wish you could understand how I feel. It’s so – cloying.’
‘That’s it, though, I don’t understand. I find the familiarity comforting, not suffocating. I like feeling known.’
‘But I don’t feel known. It’s like they know one version of me, one that was always overshadowed by Mum anyway, and coming back here…It would be like I was sentenced to being that person again as if all the work I’ve done since I’ve moved away will have been for nothing, just ignored, and I’ll be the difficult middle sister who didn’t inherit the family talent but tries her best, bless her.’
