She was completely still, an asp ready to strike as her lips held a taut line.
‘Appropriate?’ she bellowed. ‘Don’t you talk to me about whatisandisn’tappropriate!’ She gave us both a pointed look. ‘It seems to me that I am the onlyappropriateone around here.’
Everyone shrank back in their seats, wishing the earth would swallow them up. I chewed on my cheek, watching Fergus’s face turn from puce to purple.
‘My brother has just died,’ he ground out, lips twitching.
Jeannie eyeballed him. ‘Don’t pretend you suddenly care for him now, Fergus. If anyone has the right to be upset, it’s me. The only thing you’re upset about is the possibility of the gravy train ending.’
Aunt Clem, who hadn’t uttered a word all evening, let out a shocked little gasp.
‘Mum,’ Miles protested, ‘I know you’re in shock but… please. This isn’t the time or the place.’
Jeannie seemed to catch herself. She looked around at our faces and took a moment to regain composure before continuing.
‘At a time like this we need family. We need friends. What won’t do any of us any good is shutting ourselves away, crying in the dark.’ She looked up at the ceiling just in case any of us needed a reminder of who she was talking about. Tristan, Mimi and the girls hadn’t come down since George had been taken away, and I couldn’t say I blamed them.
‘A time such as this is all the more reason to be with our friends.’ Her tone put an end to any rebuttal. Clearly no one was to mention to Jeannie what had happened to George. We would be expected to carry on as if he had gone on a business trip, which was fine by me.
‘Fergus and I were talking—’ started Aunt Clem.
‘Not now, Clem,’ Fergus cut in.
Clem persisted, ‘We were just saying, that if we can help in any way… if you don’t want to be alone when the children leave after Christmas, then we could always come and live?—’
Jeannie let out a curt, dismissive huff. ‘I’ll be perfectly fine, thank you. Besides, who knows what the living arrangements will be now that George—’ She wouldn’t allow herself to finish the sentence. Changing the subject she said, ‘Mrs Harlow also found some more of the boxes from the attic, and now they’re cluttering up the entrance. We need to get the decorations up. So, tomorrow, we are going to the Christmas-tree farm to buy a tree?—’
Fergus made a move to protest, but she halted him with a look. ‘Then the children can dress the tree. I don’t want a bare house. All of this is depressing enough as it is.’
Miles winced. The kids nodded, clearly counting down the seconds until they’d be allowed to leave and go to their rooms, and I just sat there wondering whether our car had been totalled on the drive over here and I’d in fact died and gone to hell. Although I couldn’t quite say George’s death could be considered all bad… perhaps now Jeannie might even renegotiate the will? Hey, a girl can dream.
Jeannie’s face was a mask of practised composure, the kind that wealthy women perfect through years of private disappointments and public smiles. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d already called Artie Peverill to shuffle some funds around and line up the next chess piece.
‘I think a tree is a wonderful idea,’ Clem offered, her voice too bright.
Miles cleared his throat. ‘About tomorrow… I’ve got some work calls that?—’
‘Cancel them,’ Jeannie said, not looking at him. Her fingers traced the rim of her wine glass. ‘Family comes first, especially now.’
The irony wasn’t lost on me. George had spent forty years putting everything but family first, and now his absence was being used to enforce togetherness. Classic.
Mrs Harlow brought out some cold cuts, and we grazed mostly in silence, save for a few barbed exchanges between Fergus and Clementine, followed by furtive glances between myself and Miles. I was just thankful Toots had already been driven back to the home, and therefore wasn’t here to rile Jeannie even further.
As soon as we were excused, we skittered off sharpish, but not before I grabbed Callum’s arm and whispered the twins’ plans to steal his stash of weed, adding that on no account was he to be caught smoking. He seemed surprised that I knew, but the relief he felt that I wasn’t about to confiscate his weed was palpable.
Understandably, Miles had barely uttered a word since George’s body had been taken away. I put my arm around him and ordered him to lie down on the bed, telling him I’d be up in a moment, after I’d helped to clear up.
I couldn’t put my finger on why I felt so uneasy… Yes, Miles’s dad had just dropped down dead unexpectedly, but the unease I felt wasn’t due to that. Then, I had a horrible, fleeting thought that made my stomach lurch and I felt as if a weight had been taken away. I felt… strangely relieved. I was sad for Miles, of course; losing a parent is never easy. But when Miles had once told me his grandfather Eugene used to discipline him and Tristan with a belt when they were young, while their father merely averted his gaze, it made me see red. Presumably George had endured the same abuse when he was a boy and thought it was par for the course. But in my opinion, that was all the more reason for George to step up and protect his son from the same fate. When Miles had revealed that information to me a few years ago, I’d wanted to burn out Eugene, George and Jeannie’s eyes with red-hot pokers.
Yes. Maybe it was okay for me to admit to myself that it felt damn good that the impotent old bastard was dead.
Making my way to the kitchen, I was surprised to find Fergus already in there, staring at the dirty dishes in the sink. In my nineteen years of knowing him, I’d never seen him lift a finger to help out. Silently, I slotted in next to him, inserted the plug, squeezed some washing up liquid into the basin and turned on the hot tap. The sound of running water seemed to jolt him out of his reverie. He picked up the cleaning brush and began scrubbing.
I waited patiently in silence for him to hand me an item. Eventually, he passed me a suds-covered plate that he hadn’t rinsed properly, and I soaked it up with a tea towel as best I could. I could feel the tension radiating from him as he scrubbed away at the plates and glasses and I dried them.
‘She’s always been a bit mad, but now I think she’s truly lost her mind,’ Fergus muttered finally under his breath, ‘completely off her rocker.’
I nodded sympathetically, not daring to voice my agreement out loud in case she suddenly appeared behind me.
