Chapter 3
3
So much had changed since Dylan had last been back that time had rendered most of the drive from Heathrow to the Cotswolds unrecognisable. As they passed the black on white sign marking the boundary of the village of Stourton-in-the-Vale that sense of discomfort and unfamiliarity faded at the sight of the first row of chocolate-box stone and thatched cottages. Home. It shouldn’t be possible given he’d been nineteen the last time he’d passed along this same road, though travelling in the opposite direction, and yet it was as if a missing piece of his soul clicked into place. He steered the car to the kerb and sat for a minute, drinking it all in.
The grip of winter’s harshness on the bare tree branches had been softened by the subtle golden glow of fairy lights. Wreaths of black-green holly leaves adorned with red berries, pine cones and splashes of brightly coloured ribbons hung from front doors painted glossy black. A pair of Christmas trees stood sentry on either side of the front door of the village pub. The Stourton Arms had been the source of more than one hangover and Dylan was overwhelmed with a sudden wave of nostalgia as he remembered the pride he’d felt walking through the door with Ziggy and Zap on his eighteenth birthday to a round of applause from the locals. The applause had been mostly for the fact he’d pulled out his wallet and declared that the drinks were on him than any particular deference to the youngest child of the local bigwigs. Though always conscious of their privilege, their generation of the Travers family had worked hard to distance themselves from the patrician attitude of their grandfather and considered the villagers friends and neighbours.
‘Well, here we are,’ he said. When there was no response Dylan glanced in the rear-view mirror to find Theo had his headphones on, his eyes glued to his phone, while Avery was fast asleep, her head resting on a makeshift pillow Theo had made by rolling up his hoodie. ‘After all that fuss you guys made about wanting to come here, too,’ Dylan grumbled to himself with a chuckle.
He checked around him, ready to pull out to complete the final short drive to the gates of the estate when a flurry of movement caught his eye. Three men stood under the bright light over the entrance to the pub, laughing about something. What the hell? Though that mane of white hair had been dark the last time he’d seen it, and the belly resting on the waistband of his jeans much expanded, Dylan would’ve known his father anywhere, even if he weren’t still wearing the same patchwork jacket he’d bought at some festival back in the seventies. The warm glow of nostalgia faded and Dylan set his jaw as he pulled away from the kerb and drove off a little faster than was polite for the quiet village streets.
Throughout the short drive from the village to the estate, Dylan turned over in his mind the messages he’d exchanged with Ziggy about their trip. Their communication had mainly focused on making arrangements, including asking if the children had any particular interests or dietary preferences. Funny how he hadn’t found time to mention their parents being back on the estate. Probably because he knew how Dylan would react to the news. The last he’d heard in one of his elder brother’s infrequent updates, their parents had been somewhere in South America and he’d had the impression their visits home were very few and far between. So what was Monty doing here now?
Their father had made it clear from a young age he had no intention of taking on the responsibilities of the estate, leaving Ziggy to take the strain of their grandfather’s expectations. Dylan had wanted to do the right thing and set his heart on doing a business course at university but had hated almost everything about it. Only his desire to not let Ziggy and Zap down had kept him on track and, when the incident with his brother and Rowena had happened, Dylan knew he’d made a bigger deal about it than it had needed to be because it had given him the chance to run away too.
As bad as the old man.
Before he had time to fully jump on board that particular guilt train, the entrance to the estate, including the grand wrought-iron gates, came into view. Dylan slowed as he turned, coming to a complete halt just after entering the gates. He glanced in the rear-view mirror at the kids sprawled on the back seat. ‘Hey, we’re here.’
Theo glanced up, his scowl at being interrupted fading into a look of wonder as he caught sight of the impressive vista over Dylan’s shoulder. He sat forward in his seat, his phone all but forgotten. ‘Oh my God.’
‘Not bad, eh?’ Dylan replied with a grin before turning his attention to Avery, who had been woken up by Theo moving. ‘Hey, sleepyhead. We’re here.’
Avery rubbed her eyes then let out a squeal of delight as she took in the view. ‘It’s so pretty!’
‘Isn’t it just?’ Leaning back in his seat, Dylan tried to take it all in. The tall trees lining the main avenue were bedecked with lights and he could only imagine how impressive they would look once the sun went down. As the original estate’s designers had intended, the line of the trees drew the eye to the enormous pale-stone mansion sitting on an artificially created rise in the landscape. The Cotswold stone seemed to glow in the rays of the late morning sunshine, a beacon to draw visitors. And not just visitors, because the urge to see it up close for the first time in thirty years was almost overwhelming. ‘Come on, let me show you where I used to live.’
The fountain at the centre of the circular driveway had been turned off, the deep basin that he’d paddled in as a little kid was hidden under a cover, the statue of a Grecian goddess and her pouring jug removed and ?no doubt tucked safely away in storage somewhere. In its place stood a collection of small wire sculptures, each one representing one of the twelve days of Christmas, covered in sparkling white lights. Dylan didn’t pay it too much attention, his eyes continually drawn towards the grand marble steps leading up to the front door. The peeling paint he’d remembered was gone, replaced by a slick shine of black gloss he thought he might be able to see his reflection in if he stood close enough. The sagging gutters and slipped tiles had been repaired, the tangles of ivy burrowing into the brickwork removed. He couldn’t begin to estimate how much money they’d have to have spent on the place.
When he was growing up, the hall had been the world’s most exciting playground. Hide and seek games could last an entire day, the curving banisters on the main staircase only shined thanks to the friction of sliding bottoms. Moth-eaten bed drapes, a lingering smell of cold damp in long closed-up rooms, hints of the glory days of the family shrouded under yellowing dust sheets. Every time he’d returned from boarding school for the holidays it had seemed as though the number of rooms the family used had dwindled, as had the number of staff to look after them. And in amongst all that crumbling splendour, his grandfather had refused to change. No safari park for them or jousting knights and tea rooms that other grand families had resorted to in order to keep the roof over their heads from falling down around their ears.
‘You really used to live here?’ Avery’s question was full of wonder as they got out of the car to stand at the foot of the steps.
‘Yep. But it was a lot different back then.’
The front door opened and a slender woman with short silvering hair smiled down at them. ‘Welcome to Juniper Meadows! Are you checking in today?’ The woman frowned for a moment. ‘Dylan?’
His heart thumped in his chest. ‘Stevie?’ The last time he’d seen her he’d been maybe sixteen or seventeen, when she’d moved to London. Dylan hadn’t been the only one keen to escape, but he couldn’t blame his sister for wanting to live elsewhere because their grandfather had shown little to no interest in her. With a small cry, she flew down the stairs towards them and Dylan found his throat catching as she threw her arms around his neck. As his arms closed around her, the years seemed to fall away and he was transported back to the last time he’d clung to his sister like this. He’d been six and Stevie nearly nine and they’d just watched Zap and Ziggy be driven away to start at boarding school. Their parents hadn’t been around to stop it, their father having one of his regular blow-ups that resulted in the pair of them disappearing for months on end. They’d gone touring around Australia, that time, if he remembered rightly.
‘Don’t worry,’ Stevie had murmured as she’d soothed his recently cropped hair. ‘I’ll never leave you alone.’ She’d meant it, too, but what was one little girl supposed to do in the face of their grandfather’s iron will? Two years later, she’d been packed off herself, though to a girls-only school because grandfather had had no time for new-fangled nonsense like co-educational boarding. And Dylan had been left to run wild until it was finally his turn to go. At least he’d had Zap and Ziggy to show him the ropes, but they’d been too busy with their friends and thinking about exams to do much more than show their faces in the first-year common room now and again to make sure Dylan wasn’t being bullied.
‘Dad?’
The question in Avery’s voice was enough to pull Dylan back to the present and he released Stevie. Looking down, he saw he wasn’t the only one with wet cheeks and he gave an embarrassed laugh as he dabbed his eyes with his sleeve. He turned to face Theo and Avery, who were watching them with curious smiles. ‘Theo, Avery, this is your aunt, Stevie.’
Stevie stepped forward and raised a hand to gently touch the dark curls tumbling over Avery’s shoulders. ‘I’d know this hair anywhere.’ Her hand shifted to cup Avery’s cheek. ‘And those eyes. Hello, darling, it’s so lovely to finally meet you.’
Avery ducked her head, a blush warming her cheeks. ‘Hi, Aunt Stevie. Thank you for having us to stay.’
‘It’s our absolute pleasure.’ Stevie turned to Theo, her smile deepening as she extended her hand towards him. ‘And you, young man, are the spitting image of your father at your age.’ She glanced back towards Dylan. ‘A Travers to his bones.’
‘In looks, maybe, but he’s got his mother’s brains and temperament, thank goodness!’ He didn’t know if it was a genetic thing, or just that natural inclination of each generation to kick against the previous one, but Theo was one of the most grounded, sensible people he knew. A little too sensible, sometimes, and Dylan worried his divorce from Jen had left him feeling scared to do the wrong thing. He sighed. That Philip Larkin poem had it right about getting effed up by your mum and dad, that was for damn sure.
‘Come on in and I’ll show you to your rooms.’ Stevie leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘Look, we didn’t want to overwhelm you with the whole clan so thought you’d like the chance to settle in and get used to the idea of being back here. We’ve planned a family dinner for later in the week, but if that’s not what you want, just say the word.’
Dylan appreciated the thoughtfulness. ‘That sounds good. I’ll catch up with Zap and Ziggy before then – and Rowena, of course.’ When he caught a flash of concern in his sister’s eyes, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘It’s all good, Stevie, I promise. Hey, did I imagine it or did I see Monty coming out of the pub earlier?’
Stevie’s lips quirked in a not-quite smile. ‘He’s here, but that’s a story for another day.’
Dylan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push it. Seemed as though he wasn’t the only chicken come home to roost.