‘Pregnancy won’t make that so easy, will it?’
Tom turned his head to look at Martha. ‘Are you worried she might feel she’s trapped now?’
‘Yes, I think I am. Willow’s a free spirit and much as it surprises me to say this, I’d hate for her to have her wings clipped. It would change her too much.’
‘You don’t think this is her time to emerge from her chrysalis and be the beautiful butterfly she was always meant to be?’
Martha smiled. ‘How very sweetly put.’
‘Less generous of me would be to say that maybe this is simply her time to grow up. She is going to be a mother, after all.’
At home, and while Tom was in the garden cutting the grass, Martha tackled the ironing which she’d been putting off for some days. While she worked her way through Tom’s work shirts, she thought about her sister and Rick. She knew that she should be happy that Willow had found somebody who was so caring and so utterly determined to protect her and their unborn child. But …
But what? That she thought Rick cared too much? How could that ever be a problem?
The thing was, the more she saw of Rick, the more she thought there was something that didn’t ring true about him. If she didn’t know better, she would say it was all an act with him. He was playing a part, and playing it to the hilt, insinuating his way into their family and beguiling Naomi with his charm and helpfulness. Although there had been nothing charming about his manner at the fête yesterday afternoon when he’d revealed Willow’scondition– that she was pregnant. For a moment he’d seemed quite different, almost surly. Was that his true self? Had, for a split second, the mask dropped?
As for his endless fretting over Willow, dictating what she could and could not eat and drink, that would drive Martha crazy if Tom ever tried that on her. During lunch today, Rick had insisted that anything Willow ate from the barbecue, which Ellis had presided over, was thoroughly cooked, that there was no blood seeping out of her burger or lamb chop.
‘Sorry to be such a pain, Ellis,’ he’d said, all ingratiating smiles and apologies, ‘but I’d never forgive myself if any harm came to Willow or the baby.’
He’d then had the nerve to take over the barbecue, damn near burning everything for them all while banging on about salmonella and how somebody he’d known had been ill for months after eating a dodgy chicken drumstick while in Hong Kong. God, he’d sounded such an old woman and had made Martha want to eat the bloodiest burger she could get her hands on, which naturally she wouldn’t, she wasn’t stupid. But she could quite sympathise with Willow trying to have a sneaky glass of wine behind Rick’s back. No, she didn’t blame her sister for doing that. In her shoes, Martha would probably do the same.
In contrast Martha had been quite open with Tom about the wine she’d drunk in the garden yesterday afternoon, but it wouldn’t be something she would do too often. Just as she wouldn’t drink more than the odd cup of coffee. Which was a challenge at work, where mainlining super-strength caffeine was an essential part of the working day.
Returning her thoughts to Rick again, Martha wondered if her problem with him lay in the potential threat he possessed with regards to the balance of their family. By being the father of Willow’s child, he had the power, and, Martha suspected, the motivation, to change things. Because if, through his encouragement,Willow emerged from her chrysalis, as Tom had called it, and finally become the adult it was high time she did, that would mean the dynamics between the two sisters would have to change. No longer could Martha play the Big Sister card.
The very fact that she was articulating these thoughts disturbed her. Perhaps because it was scarily true, and the truth was often at odds with the perception one had of oneself, or how one wanted to be perceived.
Rick was effectively holding up a mirror to Martha, and she didn’t much like what she saw reflected back at her.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Two days after the weekend of the fête and when Naomi had broken the news to Martha and Willow that she was going to marry Ellis, he received a text from Lucas saying he would be in London on business that coming Friday.
In a flurry of messages, Lucas told Ellis that there was no need to meet him at Heathrow, he’d jump on the Express and go straight into London for the meetings he was flying over for. He would then hire a car and drive down to Tilsham. Ellis chose not to say anything about his own news, other than to mention that he had something to discuss with Lucas. As was typical of Lucas, he didn’t press for any further information.
Now, and after nearly a year of not seeing each other, Lucas was upstairs in the guest bedroom at Waterside Cottage changing out of the smart jacket, open-necked shirt and chinos he’d arrived in. Downstairs, and as per Lucas’s request, Ellis was making a pot of ‘bog-standard tea’. Apparently, this was one of the few things he missed from England. That and Cadbury’s chocolate and Mr Kipling’s cherry Bakewell tarts, which Ellis had been quick to buy in readiness for his visit.
‘It’s a great little place you have here,’ Lucas said, coming into the kitchen. He was now dressed in jeans and a Final Fantasy T-shirt;his feet were bare. Funny how he’d always been like that, kicking off his shoes at the first opportunity and leaving his socks in the oddest places. It used to drive his mother crazy looking for where he’d put them. ‘For the love of God, just put them in the laundry basket, that’s all I ask!’ she would say. In the end she gave up and left him to go sockless or wear unmatched pairs.
‘I was lucky the cottage became available when it did,’ Ellis said. ‘I thought we could have tea in the garden. That okay with you?’
Lucas nodded and followed him outside where Ellis had already put the tray of tea things on the wrought iron table.
‘It doesn’t get more English than this, does it?’ Lucas remarked after he’d stood for a while to take in the view of the beach. ‘Even the sound of seagulls and the smell of seaweed lives up to expectation.’
‘It probably feels a bit tame compared to what you’re now used to, doesn’t it?’
Lucas turned around and came and sat down. ‘Not really. Everywhere has its own particular quality and charm.’ He drank some of his tea, followed by a bite of cherry Bakewell, nearly polishing it off in one go.
‘How’s Gran?’ he then asked.
‘I’m sorry to say she’s growing frailer by the day, but when I told her you’d be visiting, she immediately bucked up and started talking about having her hair done. She always asks after you. Never fails.’
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been a better grandson to her.’
‘I shouldn’t worry, you can do no wrong in her eyes.’
