He does not come inside, only stands on the threshold, dressed formally. ‘Good. You’re up. Come along.’
Odette rises from the desk. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Herne House. Don’t pack a bag, we will have your things sent on. We must go at once. I don’t think anyone here will want to see you.’
It is a worse blow than he seems to acknowledge, and Odette follows him meekly downstairs and out of the house. She feels sick. What will he say to her? He is so remote and serious that it makes him alien, forbidding.
He walks down the street in great strides that she must hurry to match, steering them towards the station. It is a flat, grey day, cold enough to pinch at her nose and fingertips.
Her father must be angry at her – but she feels a flare of injustice at the thought. Why should he be angry? Why does he not take her side? Surely he must see that Claudine’s behaviour is extreme? Why can he not see the guilt writ so plain?
At the station, he waits for a train heading into the city, then finds a compartment in which they can be alone. The seats are upholstered in stiff fabric that has gone dark with dust and dirt,and the foot heaters give off a smell of burning metal. They sit in silence as the guard slams the door and the train slowly pulls out of the station.
It is an agony. Will he say something?
They roll along the tracks, between high-sided brick embankments, the dawn light flickering between buildings.
Odette feels alive with anticipation. She wants desperately for him to see her, to see what is happening, to defend her. Surely he will – surely he will remember that his duty is to his daughter and not his new wife.
‘This is too much,’ he says, after a great deal of thought. ‘It must stop now.’
‘I agree,’ says Odette quickly. ‘I am beside myself that Claudine destroyed my memorial of Mother – it is too cruel.’
He does not meet her gaze. ‘Yes. Well. Claudine and I don’t see eye to eye on that.’
‘Don’t see eye to eye? What is there to disagree on! If you don’t believe me that she was destroying the evidence of what she did, then it could only have been from cruelty and how could you excuse that?’
‘We can all do hurtful things in the heat of the moment. Claudine has suffered greatly in her life,’ he says, ‘and she has learnt to survive through attack.’
‘And so I must stomach it?’
George shifts uncomfortably. ‘You take it all so seriously. A little grace would go a long way.’
‘And you will do anything for an easy life,’ snaps Odette. ‘I don’t see what reason she would have to destroy it other than guilt. She had a hand in Mother’s death, it is so clear. Why can none of you see it? Mother only became so sick after Claudine arrived. She knows I know the truth, so she comes for me too.’
Odette pushes. ‘She’s guilty. I saw it on her face. Father, listen to me.’
He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Is that what this has all been about? A .?.?. delusion about your mother’s death?’
‘You saw Claudine last night – you saw it as clearly as I did. I know you must have. She knows she has done something wrong.’
George sighs. ‘Yes, she might feel guilty that she failed her sister in the end. She nursed her through her last days, and that takes a toll on anyone. You assume too much and give little generosity towards others.’
Odette is hot with offence. ‘Because you have all been so generous towardsme? As though I did not also nurse my mother through the end of her life? You make me a problem to be tidied away.’
‘That is not fair.’
‘It istrue. You have all decided me mad, but I think I am the only sane one here. You want me to bite my tongue, and Iwill not. Why must I swallow my pain to be more palatable for everyone else? You are all allowed your pain and your weaknesses, to nurture and coddle yourselves as victims. Why ismypain intolerable? Why am I expected to eat all the sin myself?’
George says nothing. He has become distant again, and of all things, is winding his pocket watch, as though her misery is an apt backdrop to his chores.
Does he mean to hurt her? Or is it that she overwhelms him, and he must vacate himself in whatever way he can?
His detachment frightens her, and stokes her fury.
‘Are you quite done?’ he asks, tucking the watch away.
‘No. I have a question for you. How could you forget Mother so quickly?’
