Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
American artist known for her delicate and detailed watercolours of flowers and birds.
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Callie dozed on the sofa for the rest of the morning, emotionally and physically battered. Rallying, she heated up some soup for lunch and ate it with a hunk of bread and cheese. She considered waking Frida but thought it better the girl slept.
Her bruises had made her stiff and sore so she sought the warmth of the garden.
A pale watery sun had mopped up any signs of the storm so, with the grass now dry, she set up her painting kit and settled to half-heartedly painting some quick watercolour sketches of the Japanese anemones.
She missed Vinny pottering about; he’d been good company.
She missed Johnny too, wondering if he’d been given the all-clear from hospital.
With a wry smile she hoped he was surviving at his parents’ home.
She’d ring Jessica later but there was someone else she needed to ring first.
Staring at her phone, her heart thumping and her thumb hovering over the number, she made an impulsive decision and clicked. She’d give them one last chance.
The phone picked up on the third ring. ‘Mum?’
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s Callie.’ The words strangled in her throat.
‘Who?’
‘Callie. Calliope. Your daughter.’
‘Oh.’
‘I was ringing…’ Callie tailed off. Just why was she ringing? ‘I was ringing to see how you and Dad are.’
‘I see.’
Come on, Mum, throw me a bone. ‘So, are you both well?’
‘Perfectly. Thank you.’
‘We’re both okay. Frida and me. Frida’s going to university. She wants to study journalism.’ The need to please, to impress, was ever present and Callie hated herself for it.
‘Oh. Does she?’
‘Actually, I said we’re both well, but we were in a bit of an accident last night.’
‘An accident? What happened?’
Callie heard her mother’s interest quicken.
She always liked a bit of drama. Callie wondered why she was bothering to do this but soldiered on.
When she’d finished telling her mother about the storm and the collapsing beach huts, she’d exhausted her words and herself.
The tale was met with silence. She was just about to end the call, thinking how pointless it was, when her mother spoke.
‘Where did you say you were again?’
‘Lullbury Bay. It’s in Dorset.’
‘Near Bournemouth?’
‘No, the other side of the county. Not far from the Devon border.’
‘Samuel and the family went to Lyme Regis last year.’
‘That’s not far away.’ Callie let out a breath. This was almost like a conversation. ‘I’ve heard it’s beautiful but haven’t had a chance to visit yet.’
‘Yes, well, he said it was nice. The children enjoyed it.’
It was now or never. ‘It would be good to get together with Sam,’ Callie began cautiously. ‘I haven’t seen big bro for ages.’
‘His girls are doing so well at school,’ her mother preened. ‘Top grades in their exams this summer.’
‘That’s good.’ Ask after your other granddaughter. Ask! She’d almost given up when, miracle of miracles, her mother spoke again.
‘And your… Frida. She wants to be a journalist?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Newspapers?’
‘Not sure she’s made up her mind yet. Early days. I can see her on television. She’s grown up a lot recently. Got a lot more confident.’ Understatement of the year.
‘Oh.’
‘Maybe, if Sam and the family are visiting one afternoon, we’ll come round too?
See you and Dad. See Sam and Jill and the kids.
’ Callie held her breath, a pulse beating in her throat.
She had no intention of seeing her parents without the diluting presence of her brother, his wife and children to buffer the tension.
That’s if her mother agreed. She waited for the angry explosion, for the vitriolic rejection. To her astonishment it didn’t come.
‘That would be… nice. Your dad’s not been well.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘He’s been diagnosed diabetic. He’s not too bad as long as he sticks to the diet, but it’s made him think on about stuff. Family. You know, I think… I think he’d like to see you.’
Bloody hell. Callie let it go that her mother stressed it was her father who wanted to see them. Baby steps. ‘Then I’ll ring Sam and we’ll arrange it. Hope Dad’s okay. Bye, Mum.’
‘Bye, Calliope. Erm… for now.’
Callie clicked off the call and lay back in the deck chair.
She had no idea where the relationship with her parents would go, or even if she wanted it to happen but, after last night, it had felt the right thing to do.
Clamping her hands to her mouth to stifle the sound so as not to wake Frida, she sobbed.
She cried out the stress and fear of the storm, of Sunil arriving back into their lives, the loss of Johnny and the last twenty-three years of her parents’ absence.
When she’d made a pot of tea, a calmness washed over her.
She felt utterly spent. Ignoring her painting, she lay back, sipped tea and stared at the sky.
The afternoon was sunny and bright. Cooler though.
It was as if August had given up any pretence to still being summer and was relaxing into autumn.
The air felt fresher and so did Callie. She’d go along to meet her parents, spend some time with them and her brother and his family.
Test the waters. For one thing she was curious to see if they’d changed at all.
At the first sign of anything critical directed towards Frida, she’d be off.
She’d give them all one chance, but boundaries were important.
Maybe they’d mellowed? She’d never have the overbearing needy closeness of the Starlings, and she didn’t want that, but there may be room for some sort of relationship.
She breathed the salty air in deep. It held the hint of the next season approaching.
September was always a new beginning for her.
Another academic year, new pupils, a different tutor group.
Part of her was looking forward to getting back to it all.
And part of her wondered if she should go back at all.
Maybe she should seek a beginning somewhere new? Somewhere else?
Her phone rang making her jump. It was Donna.
Callie filled her in on all the drama, including the call to her mother, at which her friend squealed and demanded all the grisly details.
When Donna mentioned possibly coming down to camp nearby and to see them, Callie made her mind up.
She’d stick to her decision to go home early.
It no longer had anything to do with avoiding Johnny, she just simply wanted to be surrounded by her own stuff, be in her own house.
Donna rang off after promising to put a bottle of Chablis in the fridge with their names on it.
When the phone went again, she assumed it was her friend ringing back, having forgotten something, but it was Dave Wiscombe from the Art School. ‘Just wanted to congratulate you again on winning,’ he said.
‘Thanks, Dave. It still hasn’t sunk in. Quite a lot’s happened since then.’
‘And thought I’d check you’re all right after all that palaver last night. How’s Frida?’
‘We’re both fine. Frida’s leg was cut quite badly but it’s been dressed and we’re home after not too long a stint in A it was one she wholeheartedly rejected. Maybe she should take that leap and embrace an exciting opportunity to change?
‘Hello, Mum,’ Frida yawned from the French doors. ‘What are you thinking about? You looked miles away. Any chance of a brew?’