CHAPTER 4
Joanna
Dorset
‘It’s so wonderful to see you, darling.’ Their mother was beaming. But even after the two months since Joanna’s last visit, Mother looked older, her hair whiter, her skin paper-thin. ‘I suppose Martin was too busy to come with you?’
Martin. Joanna avoided Harriet’s eye. She knew she’d been evasive.
But right now, she didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it either.
Was Martin already taking advantage of her absence?
Was he with Hilary? She doubted it, if Brian knew about the affair.
She shook the thought away. It was so sordid.
When she and Martin had first met in the college bar, when they’d become an item only days later, when they’d got married .
. . She had never imagined a moment like this could come.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He sends his love.’
‘And what about your work?’ Their mother had hardly touched her food. All her attention was fixed on Joanna and she felt a sudden dart of sympathy for her sister. ‘What are you writing at the moment?’ Her mother settled back to listen.
Joanna told her a bit about the latest article she was writing for a well-known women’s magazine.
She’d have to get on with that, the deadline was in two days’ time.
And then she must get in touch with Toby.
Her mother seemed interested and asked lots of questions, nodding and smiling in all the right places.
Joanna glanced at Harriet. Mother seemed so on the ball, but that was what was so confusing about it all.
There was nothing actually wrong with their mother – or so Martin had always maintained.
Apart, that was, from their father dying seven years ago and Mother not getting over it.
Apart, that was, from Mother apparently not being able to cope with loneliness or old age, with losing her looks and her infamous ability to command male attention.
And apart from a vague depression that seemed to hang over her, clouding every day.
Joanna knew that Harriet had taken her to see their GP several times but Mother could be so rational – just as she was being this evening.
Neither would she acknowledge the problem, nor accept any medication that might help.
Joanna could understand her mother’s reluctance to take pills, but it was as if Mother was determined sometimes to wallow.
‘And how are you, Mother?’ Joanna reached out to squeeze her hand, which seemed so fragile to the touch.
‘Sometimes . . .’ she began. And there was a bleak expression in her mother’s blue eyes that frightened Joanna.
‘Yes?’
‘Sometimes, I’m scared of forgetting how to feel,’ she said.
‘Oh, Mother.’ Joanna felt her eyes fill.
Something lurched inside her – it was that shift, that sadness that was always now mixed in with the love.
She glanced again at Harriet, who was biting her lip.
Was it because of losing their father? Was that why Mother craved so much attention?
Because it enabled her to go on feeling special?
And how come exactly had she forgotten how to feel?
‘Come on now, Mother.’ Harriet’s voice was brisk.
Joanna had noticed recently that this was how her sister dealt with things. She supposed Harriet had to find a way – but was it the right way? Not to acknowledge their mother’s unhappiness? To treat her almost like a child?
‘Joanna’s here now. You know how much you were looking forward to seeing her.’
Nevertheless, Joanna found herself taking her sister’s lead.
‘And we’re going to spend some time together you and I.
’ She patted her mother’s hand. It wasn’t easy, this false brightness, this lack of admission of her own life issues.
But . . . She might not be the mother of Joanna’s childhood – the woman Joanna used to run to with every problem, the woman who could always make things better – but that was even more reason to give something back.
Joanna missed that woman, especially at times like this, but she had been gone for years and since then, their relationship had gradually changed, inch by inch their roles had reversed.
She saw a glint of gratitude in her sister’s eyes.
It was the least she could do to give Harriet a break.
Besides which, maybe she could really help make things better.
But there were no easy answers. They managed on very little money as it was.
Harriet would never leave their mother and Mother could never live alone.
And how could they ever move out of Mulberry Farm Cottage?
The family had lived there for generations.
It was part of their history, their roots.
‘How long can you stay?’ Her mother’s eyes were bright and hopeful now.
Joanna caught Harriet’s glance. ‘I’m not sure yet, Mother,’ she said. She could work from here, of course. But clearly, she’d have to go back to Crouch End sometime and equally clearly, she had to talk to Martin, who had already sent her several texts that she hadn’t answered. But not yet.
‘Stay as long as you like. Remember, this is still your home.’ Her mother leant forwards and Joanna caught the scent of her sweet gardenia perfume.
She knew her mother wouldn’t judge her for leaving Martin, even without the facts, if that was what she decided to do.
Her mother had let so many of her own boundaries slip away to nothing.
‘Thanks, Mother.’
‘You know you’re always welcome.’ She paused, a rare forkful of Harriet’s beef casserole halfway to her mouth. ‘Why, you could even have an office here. We’ve got the room.’
Harriet raised an eyebrow and Joanna couldn’t suppress a grin.
Mother’s thought processes sometimes worked at lightning speed.
‘Well,’ she began. Much as she loved Mulberry Farm Cottage and whatever happened with Martin, she knew she wouldn’t come back to live here permanently – she’d been independent for too long.
Besides, she’d never belonged here – not like Harriet did.
Harriet had always been glued to their father’s side.
And when he died, she’d taken over; it had seemed inevitable – at least at the time.
Joanna, after all, had left home long before.
‘Or we could convert the loft space.’ Their mother was on a roll. ‘I was speaking to such a nice man the other day—’
‘Who?’ Harriet swallowed and coughed. ‘What man? When were you talking to him?’
Joanna sneaked another look across at her sister. She couldn’t blame her for being uptight. This thing of Mother’s had obviously got out of control.
‘Handy Andy?’ Their mother frowned. ‘Let me try to recall.’ She pressed her fingers to her temple.
Harriet got up abruptly and shoved her chair under the table. ‘Don’t even think about it, Mother,’ she growled. She started clearing away. No one else could make it sound so threatening.
‘I’ll do it.’ Joanna rested her hand on Harriet’s arm. It felt stiff with tension. ‘You sit down.’
‘In that case I’m going upstairs.’ Harriet looked uncomfortable. ‘There’s some, er, work I need to be getting on with.’
‘Work?’ Joanna raised an eyebrow. She’d been hoping they might sit down together, perhaps have a chat after Mother had gone to bed. But clearly there was no sisterly bonding on the agenda – at least not tonight.
*
When Joanna went up to her room a few hours later, Harriet was still tap tap tapping on her keyboard, a sliver of light escaping from under the closed door of the study.
Joanna almost went in. But Harriet would hate to be interrupted .
. . So instead, she went to bed, stayed awake, listened to the grandfather clock chime the midnight hour – the Westminster chimes – and she wondered, had she been right to come here?
When she heard Harriet going to her bedroom a few minutes later, she climbed out of bed, pulled on her bathrobe and went over to the window.
There was something about night-time in the country; it was so much more complete somehow.
She let her eyes adjust to the darkness, put her forehead against the cool glass for a moment.
At this time of night nothing seemed certain anymore.
Joanna slipped out of her room. She knocked gently on her sister’s bedroom door. She wanted to say goodnight. ‘Harriet?’
‘What is it, Jo?’ She felt Harriet’s sigh, though at least she opened the door.
‘Sorry to disturb you.’ Now she was here, Joanna wasn’t sure what to say. Instinctively, she reached over to stroke her sister’s hair. ‘I always envied you your thick hair,’ she said.
Harriet seemed to flinch away from her touch. ‘Going grey,’ she muttered.
‘You should get some highlights done. Maybe chestnut.’ She spoke without thinking. Because how could Harriet afford highlights? It was crass, insensitive of her.
Sure enough, ‘And how exactly would I pay for it?’ Harriet demanded.
Joanna had a sudden moment of inspiration. ‘Shepherds’ huts?’
‘What?’ Harriet sighed.
‘A lot of people are doing it,’ Joanna told her. ‘If they’ve got a big garden and want to earn some extra money.’ She’d read an article about it only the other week.
‘We can’t—’
Joanna knew what she was going to say. But she had an answer ready – gleaned from the same article. ‘There might even be someone who owns a shepherd’s hut but doesn’t have enough outside space for it. We could advertise.’ It was an idea at least.
‘We’re fine as we are,’ Harriet snapped.
Joanna didn’t understand her at all. ‘But you said—’
‘Joanna, please don’t interfere.’
She was getting nowhere. ‘Goodnight, then.’ Joanna returned to her room.
It was hopeless. Harriet just seemed so angry.
Was it her life that had made her this way?
She didn’t know. She wasn’t even sure how she and Harriet had drifted so far apart in the first place.
Perhaps it was because she had never been able to find the real Harriet – though hadn’t she looked and looked?
– just as she’d never been able to find her sister when they’d played one, two, three, alive back in the days of their childhood.
She was elusive then and she was elusive now.
As she passed it, Joanna glanced at the picture as she almost always did. Venice. The bridge. Her first holiday with Martin had been to Venice. It had been full of romance, hopes and dreams. And now? What was left now? She shook her head in despair.
She caught sight of her reflection in the tatty gilt mirror on the wall the moment before she put out the light. Losing their shine, both of them. Was her marriage over? And if so, what should she do now? Where should she go?
She would think about it tomorrow, she decided.
One step at a time. She could do it – whatever ‘it’ turned out to be – with or without Martin.
It was a chance to help her family, perhaps to get close to them again.
It was a chance to do something. Because the old Joanna must still be in there somewhere, mustn’t she?
And all Joanna had to do now was find her.