CHAPTER 27
Harriet
Dorset
Tomorrow, Joanna was leaving for Lisbon, so Harriet and her sister decided that a chat after lunch, just the three of them, was not only required but also long overdue. Mother needed to be told, Harriet would appreciate the moral support, and Joanna was so much more diplomatic than she.
Joanna made tea and they took it into the sitting room where their mother was sitting, staring into space, looking pensive.
‘Can we have a word, Ma?’ Joanna began. ‘We’re a bit concerned, about the—’
‘Take the tarmac people,’ Harriet interjected, before she could stop herself. But resentment had been building, and she hoped there was steel in her eye. ‘We know you wrote to them. We just want to know why.’
‘Oh.’ Their mother looked from one to the other of them in panic.
‘It’s OK, Ma.’ Joanna sat down next to her on the sofa. ‘Don’t worry.’ She held their mother’s hand. ‘We just want to understand why you would do it, that’s all.’
This was ‘good cop, bad cop,’ Harriet thought.
And she always took on the baddie role. ‘Although it isn’t OK, actually,’ she said.
The important thing was to be firm; Father would have been firm.
She hoped Joanna wasn’t thinking about sweeping the whole problem under the carpet.
Because Harriet was planning on getting to the bottom of it right now.
Joanna shot her a reproachful look. But, ‘Harriet’s right,’ she said. ‘She keeps the books, she’s in charge of the finances and, you know, even with your pension, the two of you simply can’t afford to have the drive tarmacked.’
Harriet couldn’t have put it better herself. ‘And even if we could,’ she added, to make things clear, ‘there are a hundred other things that would take precedence over tarmac.’
Their mother looked up hopefully. ‘Such as?’
Harriet didn’t trust her an inch. ‘Never you mind,’ she said.
Joanna got up to pour the tea. ‘The thing is, Mother,’ she said, ‘Harriet doesn’t want to tell you what things she’s talking about, just in case you call someone round for an estimate.’
This, Harriet thought, was undeniably true.
‘She doesn’t trust me. Neither of you trust me.’ Their mother looked so sad that Harriet had to turn away. She hated to hurt her. And she had promised her father to look after her. Was this the kind of looking after he’d meant her to do? Hardly. She waited for Joanna to deny it.
‘You’re right, we don’t trust you,’ her sister agreed.
Harriet blinked at her.
‘But we want to,’ Joanna added. ‘You’re our mother. We love and respect you. We want to be able to talk about anything with you, we want to include you in all the household decisions, we want—’
‘He noticed things,’ their mother announced. ‘He knew what had happened. You can think what you like. But he made me feel . . . wanted, appreciated.’
Harriet and Joanna exchanged a look. Harriet didn’t know what had happened but she knew Mother wasn’t talking about any tradesman.
‘He’s gone.’ Harriet knew her voice was stark. She sniffed. ‘And I’m sorry, but you have to find a way to manage without him, Mother.’ They were all grieving. But it had been seven years.
Joanna brought over the tray and put a cup of tea in front of her. ‘Harriet’s right. Everyone suffers losses, Mother.’ She gave her shoulder a quick squeeze.
Their mother shot Joanna a dark look. ‘I know that. But I’ve had more than my fair share.’
‘Yes.’ Joanna’s voice was unusually brisk. ‘But we lost our father too.’
‘I’m not . . .’ Mother’s voice tailed off. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter.’ Joanna nodded. ‘We understand that. But it’s not fair to make it so difficult for Harriet. None of it’s her fault and she has so much to worry about as it is.’
Harriet stared at her sister. She’d had no idea that Joanna understood her position so well.
‘I know, I know.’ Their mother looked contrite. ‘And I don’t want to be a nuisance, I really don’t. It’s just that . . . they make me feel . . .’ Once again, she seemed unable to go on.
Tradesman therapy, thought Harriet. But her mother looked so vulnerable, so fragile.
Joanna passed their mother the tea.
Mother hung her head, almost as if she were ashamed – which made Harriet feel worse still. She took the cup. ‘Thank you, my dear.’
‘So, we were wondering . . .’ Joanna glanced at Harriet.
She nodded. Let her sister carry on, she was very good at this sort of thing, she should have been a politician.
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Is it that you’re lonely?’ Joanna’s voice was gentle. Harriet wished she could be like that with Mother. She only seemed capable of being gentle with the hens.
‘We only want to help. Is it that you’d like to get out more? See other people? Make new friends?’
Mother shook her head. Was she even listening to Joanna? There was an air of distraction about her, almost as if she was somewhere else entirely. Back in the past perhaps? Sorry, Father, Harriet muttered to herself. Would he understand that she was doing her best?
‘Is it that you’re worried about the state of the cottage?’ Joanna persevered. ‘All the things that need doing? Harriet’s done what she can to keep things going, you know. She can’t do much more.’
Once again, Harriet gazed at her sister in surprise. She had been listening. She really understood.
Their mother let out a deep sigh. ‘You’re right, of course.’
Harriet lost patience. ‘Then why do you do it, Mother?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you keep calling out tradesmen we can’t afford? Is it because they’re men? Young men?’
‘Harriet!’
Harriet didn’t need to look at the shocked expression on her sister’s face to know she’d gone too far. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.
A tear trailed down their mother’s lined cheek, then another. ‘I’m sorry too, darling,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, Mother.’ Joanna had already taken her in her arms. She was holding her and stroking her hair, just like she had stroked Harriet’s hair when she first came back here from London.
‘It’s all right,’ she was saying. ‘Don’t worry, Ma.
’ She looked over at Harriet, her dark eyes sad.
She shook her head. Enough for today, she seemed to be telling her. And she was right, of course.
Harriet waited a few moments for their mother to come over to her for comfort.
But she didn’t. Harriet had been too harsh – again.
She had thought something and then made the unforgiveable mistake of allowing it to come out of her mouth.
When would she learn? She’d made their mother cry and that was unforgiveable.
And anyway, why would Mother need Harriet when she had Joanna to comfort her?
Harriet turned and walked away. Sorry, Father. There was no getting away from it. She had failed him – again.
*
Later, Joanna was helping her change the bed linen in Mother’s room.
‘That didn’t go too well, did it?’ Harriet hissed. Mother was still in the sitting room but she didn’t want her to overhear their conversation.
Joanna whisked off the pillowcase and threw it onto the floor. ‘But at least we tried to get through to her.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I’m certain we made her more aware.’
Maybe she was right. Harriet hoped so.
Joanna took hold of the other end of the sheet and shoved it under the mattress. ‘I can’t believe you still use sheets and blankets.’ She pulled a face. ‘Duvets are so much easier. When are you and Mother going to enter the modern world?’
Harriet frowned. ‘When we win the lottery,’ she snapped.
Joanna’s fingertips lingered on their mother’s pale pink eiderdown. ‘Sorry, it’s not great timing – me going away again to Lisbon.’
‘It’s fine.’ Joanna was only going for a few days. And after that . . . ? ‘And then?’ she asked. ‘Will you go back to London?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ She glanced at Harriet. ‘I expect you want me out of your hair. I’ll find something soon, I promise. Maybe somewhere not quite as far away as London.’
Harriet didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
Joanna did help her out with Mother, she had to admit, and this had given Harriet more free time.
The rent and food money was also useful.
And . . . well, she’d quite liked having some sisterly companionship – it had made her feel less alone.
But Harriet had always known her sister wouldn’t be staying here forever. ‘No hurry,’ she said.
She pulled the eiderdown so that it was taut and neat.
Being with Joanna made Harriet miss something – something from her childhood maybe, something she couldn’t name or quite catch hold of.
Something she didn’t want to be reminded of, but which drew her too.
She thought back to their old game of hide-and-seek.
Joanna could never find her – not once did she come close.
Because Harriet had discovered the perfect hiding place and she would never tell.
It didn’t matter how upset her younger sister got, how much she cried or pleaded to be told.
It was Harriet’s secret. Her triumph. And Joanna?
She was like the innocent part of her childhood – the unknowing, sunshine part.
Harriet loved that – and resented it too.
Still, she’d miss her when she finally left.
Joanna glanced across at Harriet. ‘In that case, I’ll stay for a bit longer – if you’re sure you don’t mind, Het?’
Harriet swallowed. ‘I told you, it’s fine. It’s your home as much as mine.’
‘Hardly.’ Joanna laughed.
Harriet pounded one of Mother’s pillows a little more violently than necessary.
‘And while I’m away, you have to promise me to take care.’
‘Of Mother?’
‘Of yourself.’ Joanna pulled a clean pillowcase onto the other pillow. ‘And I still think you should inform the police about that prowler of yours.’
‘Hmm.’ When had he become her prowler? she wondered. She arranged the pillows neatly on the bed.
‘And what will you be doing while I’m away?’ Joanna was smiling that mysterious smile again.
‘The chores?’ Harriet narrowed her eyes. What was her sister up to?
‘Life’s too short not to have fun.’
Together they pulled over the vile pink nylon bedspread that their mother adored.
‘Fun?’ Harriet’s antennae were really twitching now.
‘All work and no play makes Harriet a dull girl.’ Joanna launched herself onto the freshly made bed.
‘Jo! What are you—?’
Her sister laughed and Harriet couldn’t help grinning back at her. She looked like a kid again. ‘So, who is he?’
‘What?’ To give herself time to think, Harriet began gathering up the dirty sheets.
‘Who is he? The guy in the coffee shop?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You know, the guy in the cowboy outfit.’
Harriet groaned. She’d been spotted. Bugger and hellfire. ‘So, you noticed what he was wearing?’ she asked Joanna. Pointlessly. How could anyone not?
‘Did I notice?’ Joanna positively chortled. ‘What a look . . .’
‘I know.’ Harriet began to stagger downstairs with the pile of laundry. ‘Shh,’ she warned.
Joanna followed her into the kitchen and shut the door. ‘And as for that hat . . .’
‘I know, Joanna.’ How could she make her shut up?
‘So, spill, sister. Was he a date?’
‘He’s just a friend,’ Harriet told her firmly.
‘But where did you meet him?’ There she was, grinning again. Harriet was glad she was providing her with such entertainment.
‘I sort of came across him.’ Which didn’t sound remotely convincing, but Harriet didn’t care. Joanna would laugh like a drain if she told her about Someone Somewhere.
‘Oh, yes? Unusual get-up.’ Joanna leant on the counter. ‘I suppose some women might find it sexy.’
Sexy? Harriet hoped that Mother couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was bad enough that Joanna had seen her. But now that she had . . . Well, Harriet had to admit it was quite nice to talk to someone about it, to get a second opinion.
She began to load the washing into the machine. ‘Sexy?’ The thought hadn’t occurred to her.
‘I only saw his profile,’ Joanna admitted. ‘But it shows he’s interesting, doesn’t it?’
‘Does it?’ Harriet was less sure. It showed he was weird. She wondered what would happen if she carried on seeing him. Would she have to start wearing cowgirl boots with detachable fringes? White calico blouses? Starched petticoats? She gave a little shudder.
‘What’s his name?’ her sister asked.
Harriet scooped in the powder. ‘Jolyon.’
Joanna made a noise that sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter.
Harriet glared at her. ‘And he is a bit . . .’ – she hesitated – ‘extreme.’
‘In the way he dresses?’
‘In his obsession.’
‘Oh yeah? With what?’
‘Anything country and western, I think. Clothes, music, dancing, the lot.’ She set the dial to sixty degrees.
Joanna laughed. ‘Oh, God, he hasn’t taken you hillbilly boogieing?’
Harriet shot her a look. ‘He’s asked me to go line dancing,’ she said. ‘Next week.’
‘Wow.’ Joanna moved over to the sink to fill the kettle. But her shoulders were still twitching suspiciously. ‘Why all the secrecy, though, Het?’
‘Oh . . .’ Harriet got out the chopping board and inspected the contents of the fridge in readiness for supper. ‘I didn’t want Mother to start asking questions.’ Joanna would understand that, surely? ‘I haven’t even decided whether or not to go.’
She hoped her sister hadn’t seen them holding hands.
Well, not holding hands exactly. ‘Wichita Lineman’ had started playing in the coffee shop and Jolyon had come over a bit emotional.
He had taken Harriet’s hands, squeezed them hard, said, ‘Harriet, I’m so happy to finally meet a woman like you. And I just want to say . . .’
Heavens, she thought. He was about to make a declaration. Already.
‘Thank you, ma’am. For restoring my faith in the female sex.’
‘You’re very welcome, Jolyon.’ Gently, she’d disengaged herself. Goodness. It was all a bit Miss Ellie and who shot JR.
‘I’m glad, Harriet.’ Joanna squeezed her arm. ‘Who knows where friendship can lead? I’m really pleased for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Harriet could feel her sister’s warmth.
And she was quite moved by it. But she wasn’t sure she wanted this friendship to lead anywhere.
Was she ready to go galloping off into the sunset to La Ponderosa?
She didn’t think so. Was she so very desperado?
She hoped not. Did she want to listen to someone humming ‘Rawhide’ night and day (it was one of those tunes that got into your head)? Definitely, no, no, no.
Harriet was not at all sure that she wanted to start dating a cowboy.