Chapter 10 #3
Henry frowned. ‘I was just thinking… When I look at my son’s house compared with yours, it isn’t just the style which is different, there’s something else as well – like nothing there fits properly.
Here, everything blends. It doesn’t jar your eyes to look at it, it doesn’t jar your thoughts either.
Does that sound crazy? I’m not sure I can explain it properly. ’
‘No, I understand,’ said Peg. ‘When we first moved here the bathroom was downstairs – through the door to the right of the fireplace. Getting to it from upstairs was a bit of a convoluted journey – through the dining room, across the lounge, round the side of the sofa and then…’ She paused to look at him.
‘Do you see where I’m going with this? We didn’t give it a huge amount of thought to start with – it was where the bathroom was and that was the end of it.
But after a couple of months, things in the house began to niggle at me.
The living room didn’t look quite right.
Neither did the dining room. The colours were wrong, or a piece of furniture was in the wrong place, and we spent months fiddling with things, but never seeming to fix the problem.
And it was sad because this was our dream house in every other respect.
We’d so looked forward to moving here and yet… something wasn’t working.
‘The solution came about quite by chance when we decided to make some alterations to the kitchen and the builder asked if we’d ever thought of moving the bathroom upstairs.
Because if we were, with all the changes that would need to be made to the plumbing, that would be the time to do it.
It was as if someone had turned a light on.
And from the moment the alteration was made, the house righted itself.
It flowed, you see… and we were moving with the flow instead of against it.
I think the same is true with our lives.
‘Sometimes, when we think we’re unhappy with a particular thing, or want to change it, it’s only because we haven’t worked out that it’s actually something else causing the problems. Does that make sense?
And because we don’t know what that something is, we go about changing all manner of stuff in the hope that it will make everything feel better, not even realising that we’re going about it all wrong. ’
Henry was astonished. ‘That’s it,’ he said.
‘That’s exactly what I see when I look at Adam and the way he and Sofia live their lives.
All that striving, wanting more, wanting different, and yet none of it will alter the way they’re feeling.
It’s something else which is off, and until they work out what that is, nothing will fundamentally change. ’
Peg tipped her head to one side. ‘So what’s the problem then?’
‘That’s just it,’ said Henry, scratching his head. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
Henry rested his spoon in his bowl. He didn’t think he could eat another mouthful, but the chocolate pudding had looked so enticing – oozing with sauce and served with cream so thick you could stand a spoon up in it – that Henry’s willpower had entirely deserted him.
And that was after he’d laid waste to a plateful of roast chicken with all the trimmings.
Not quite the traditional turkey, as Peg had said on more than one occasion, but she preferred chicken and he had to say he agreed with her.
The meal had been nothing less than superb.
It had also been relaxed, with conversation that flowed amid laughter and general good humour, and Henry couldn’t help but compare it to the one he would have eaten had he stayed at Adam’s house. It was the only thing which soured his stomach.
He insisted on doing the washing-up while Peg sat down, something which, much to Henry’s surprise, she agreed to, telling him to just stack the dishes on the drainer and leave them to dry.
And it was nice, peaceful, pottering in her kitchen among the plants and bunches of herbs dangling from the beams. He dried everything as well – it didn’t seem right to leave it – stacking the crockery and pans on the side once he’d finished so that Peg could return them to their rightful places.
By the time he returned to the living room, the house was still, and quiet, just the ticking of a clock somewhere, but even that seemed slow and soothing. Peg had curled herself into the corner of the sofa, one arm propping up her head, with a book open on her lap.
‘Is this what you’d be doing if I wasn’t here?’ he asked.
She looked up, smiling lazily. ‘I expect so. Or perhaps doing a jigsaw. Something which wouldn’t take me too far away from the fire, in any case.’
‘I don’t blame you.’ The log burner had died down to a bed of glowing ashes, but he could still feel the heat from it, gently radiating into the room. Peg didn’t look like she was going anywhere and so he crossed to the bookcase that lined one wall.
‘May I?’ he asked.
‘Be my guest,’ replied Peg, waving a nonchalant hand. ‘They might not be your cup of tea, but see what you can find.’
There was no order to any of the books on the shelves – gardening books nestled against fiction, a first-aid manual beside a book of poetry – but he rather liked it that way.
You had to really look to see what was there, and Henry smiled as some familiar titles appeared.
After a few moments, he came to a series of detective novels by an author he admired, titles which he hadn’t yet got around to reading.
He selected the first, drawing it from the shelf and turning it to read the information on the back.
‘Are these any good?’ he asked, holding up the book so that Peg could see the cover.
‘Wonderful,’ she replied. ‘And each one seems better than the last.’
Henry carried it to the chair and turned to the dedication. It was something he always did. For Anne McIntyre, he read, and he smiled, wondering who Anne was and what she had done to make her worthy of the dedication. Then, turning the page, he settled down to read.
He had barely finished the first chapter, however, when Peg’s cat suddenly jumped into his lap. It kneaded his legs gently, turning first one way and then the other, nuzzling its head against him before curling itself into a ball and settling down to sleep.
‘I ought to be getting back,’ he said, suddenly aware of what he was doing. ‘And let you have some of the day in peace.’
Peg smiled. ‘Perhaps… But at least let your dinner go down first.’
She didn’t seem in any hurry for him to leave, and so Henry dipped his head to the book once more.
He did need to return, well aware that there was still a situation to resolve, apologies to be made and conversations to be had, but he felt far more able to do so now.
Perhaps this was all he’d needed, some time away from the situation, some distance in which to order his thoughts and gain a different perspective.
His hand lowered to stroke the cat’s back, its expanse of fur soft and warm.
He would go soon, maybe just another couple of chapters.
The words, however, began to dance on the page, becoming more and more jumbled as sleep began to soften the edges of his vision.
His head dropped forward, and even though he jerked it up again, the same thing happened moments later.
This time he let it fall. He was so cosy, so comfortable, relaxed for the first time in what felt like ages.
Maybe he’d just rest his eyes for ten minutes or so…