Chapter 33
The next day is A level results day, and I’m back on childcare duty. And after spending the day at Angelika’s pool, the kids and I have work to do.
In the morning, we move the furniture out of Mabel and Archie’s rooms and into the master bedroom of the new family suite.
Like the first-floor lounges, this doesn’t need replastering, as its walls are made of exposed stone and the electrical wiring runs over them—encased in a steel trunking—which meant it was quick and simple to replace.
As the new windows were fitted a few weeks ago, the room is pretty much finished.
Callum has already slept in it for a few nights, while the builders were replastering his bedroom, and now they need to do the same to Mabel and Archie’s.
Once we’ve hauled in the furniture, we spend a while shifting it around to partition the room and create separate spaces.
I’m worried the kids might start falling out, but they seem to like the idea of spending a few nights together.
Archie, in particular, views it as an adventure.
After lunch, the priority is moving Theo’s and my belongings out of the cottage and into Wilf’s old bedroom.
The builders have already ripped out the kitchenette that was on the lower floor of the cottage—shortly after they ripped out the kitchen from the main house—in order to do the damp proofing.
As we don’t need a second kitchen, we’re going to transform that level into a flexible space: it will mainly be a private lounge for Theo and me but will also have a sofa bed, so it can become another bedroom, and a table, so it has an added function as a secluded working area for Theo.
The builders thought the only big job left was to strip out and refurbish the bathroom, but this morning discovered rotten floorboards that need replacing, pipes that need moving, and blocked, rusty radiators that need both—all of which is going to cost more money.
And I’ve no idea how much I’ll be able to generate from the idea I had while talking to Angelika.
More pressingly, all the extra work means Theo and I have to move out. But Theo has back-to-back Zoom and phone meetings so isn’t available to help. And the kids were so good this morning, I said they could amuse themselves this afternoon. Thankfully, Giuseppe offers to step in.
Before he arrives, I pile Theo’s underwear and mine into a suitcase, then stuff in the boxes of letters and the stone.
Then I lug the suitcase through to Wilf’s old bedroom and take the boxes out and tuck them under the wardrobe, which is where I originally found them.
I’ve no idea when I’ll get a quiet moment to read Mum’s second letter.
But again, I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.
Giuseppe and I drag through racks of clothes, bags of shoes, towels, toiletries and the basket of laundry. Each time we pass through the study, I mouth an apology for disturbing Theo. In return, he mouths an apology for not being able to help.
I make the final few trips alone while Giuseppe stays in the cottage to dismantle the rickety old MDF wardrobe. As I pass Theo one last time, he steps out of his Zoom meeting, puts his arms around my waist and nuzzles my neck.
“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he whispers.
I smile, coyly. “You might have to show me.”
He nibbles on my shoulders. “I will—tonight.”
“Dad!” shouts Callum from outside, panic in his voice. “You need to come now!”
Theo’s face darkens and he rushes over to the window. “What’s the matter?”
“Archie’s had an accident!”
My stomach falls away.
Theo excuses himself from his meeting and springs into action. “Where is he?” he shouts, as he flies downstairs.
Callum’s face has gone the color of watery porridge and he’s yanking frantically at his fringe. “At the castle.”
Theo’s forehead creases. “The castle? But you’re not supposed to go up there on your own.”
“Sorry,” Callum burbles, as he and Theo rush towards the hill. “Please don’t be mad at us.”
I rush after them, trailing a few paces behind.
“Never mind that,” commands Theo, “just tell me what happened.”
Callum’s panting. “Archie was looking for the dungeon and started poking at this little hole with a stick,” he garbles. “And then the ground just caved in and he fell through.”
Theo bolts up the steps, two at a time. “Bloody hell, into what?”
“I don’t know, but it looks deep.”
“Bloody hell!”
When we reach the top of the hill, we pass the equipment from the dig, which the team stack and cover with a plastic sheet each day when they leave. A few meters to the left, Mabel is crouching in the undergrowth, over a hole. She, too, is whey-faced.
“Dad!” she bleats. “He’s down here!”
Theo rushes over and kneels down.
“Can you get him out?” Mabel asks, her chin trembling.
“Look, let’s all just try to stay calm.” Theo activates the torch function on his phone and shines it into the hole. “Archie?”
“Dad,” comes a muffled response.
I stand behind Theo and try to peer over his shoulders into the hole.
“Dad, my ankle’s killing!” Archie shouts. “Please get me out!”
I can just about make out his little, whimpering face, his glasses gone, his eyes blinking in the light. Fear slices through me, chased by a rush of love.
“I need a ladder,” Theo says. “Does anyone know where there’s a ladder?”
“I do!” I yelp. “I’ll go and get it!”
I dash down the hill so quickly that I trip over a tree root and almost tumble down the steps. I grab onto the handrail and take care as I continue down. When I arrive at the garage, Giuseppe is throwing pieces of the old wardrobe into the skip.
“Everything is alright?” he asks.
I give him a brief summary of what’s happened as I grab the ladder.
Giuseppe grabs the other end. “I help.”
The two of us carry the ladder up to the castle, my heart pounding.
As soon as we reach the others, we hand it to Theo, and he asks Mabel to shine his torch into the hole. Then he upends the ladder and slowly lowers it, being careful not to hit Archie. He tests that its footing is secure, then straps his phone onto his belt.
“Hold on, squirt! I’m coming down!”
As Theo steps down—soon disappearing from view—I’ve no idea what to do and don’t like to ask in case I get in the way. Thankfully, Giuseppe grabs onto the top of the ladder and holds it firmly in place.
I peer into the hole but, as the light from Theo’s torch jerks and sweeps around, it’s difficult to tell what’s happening. I can hear him talking to Archie and he seems to be examining his ankle. My heart leaps into my throat.
Just as Theo’s gathering Archie into his arms, Archie mewls, “Dad, my glasses!”
There’s more jerking and sweeping, then the ladder starts squeaking. Moments later, Theo reemerges. Archie is clinging onto his back, his red hair covered in dust, his left cheek smeared with dirt, his green glasses sitting crookedly on his nose.
“Oh my god!” gasps Mabel.
“I’m so glad to see you!” says Callum.
The relief is like nothing I’ve known.
Theo lays Archie on a patch of grass, away from the diggers’ grid system. I notice his T-shirt is grubby, damp with sweat and ripped down one side. He gently presses on Archie’s ankle, and Archie screams.
“We need to get him to hospital,” Theo declares. He looks at Giuseppe.
Giuseppe nods. “Let’s go.”
As I stand watching the two of them carry Archie down the hill, his little ankle flopping by Theo’s side, all I can think is I was supposed to be looking after him.
However I look at it, this is my fault.
That evening, I pace around the patio, racked with anxiety. I haven’t heard from Theo since he messaged to say Archie was about to have an x-ray. What did it show? And how much pain is he in?
With the builders gone, the house is silent.
I decide not to put a record on as it wouldn’t feel right.
Callum and Mabel are sitting at the table, flicking through their phones, barely making a sound, Callum yanking at his fringe.
I feel an itch on my calf and look down to see I’ve been bitten by a mosquito. Shit!
I realize I’ve forgotten to put on my spray—which means the kids will have, too. I go inside, grab the can, and hand it to Mabel.
“Come on,” I say, “there’s no point getting eaten alive.”
Once they’ve both had a spray—and I’ve put antihistamine cream on my bite—I apply it to myself.
Then I go back to pacing. And a new worry enters my mind. Is Theo going to be angry at me? Is he going to be angry that I didn’t look after the kids properly?
I decide to water the garden and plug the hosepipe into the tap on the side of the house.
But as I walk around the lawn, sprinkling water onto the increasingly dominant patches of green, I feel a spike of shame.
I shouldn’t have left Archie. I shouldn’t have let Callum and Mabel take him up to the castle.
My shame transports me back to the age of thirteen.
Every Sunday I used to visit my dad and Debbie in their new house on the other side of Manchester.
Dad often didn’t know what to do with me, and if it was sunny, used to tell me to play in the street with Trevor and Keith.
Once, Trevor got into a fight with a boy around my age.
When it became clear he was losing, I ran to get Dad to break it up.
He arrived to find Trevor lying on the ground, nursing a broken arm, the other boy running away.
As Dad helped Trevor into the car to drive him to hospital, he looked at me and said, “You were bigger than him.” I can still remember the anger and disappointment on his face.
More than thirty years later, it occurs to me that Callum and Mabel may be blaming themselves for what happened with Archie. Particularly Callum, as he’s the oldest. And he already worries he’s a disappointment to his dad.
I turn to face them. “Are you guys alright?”
They respond with grunts that remind me of the start of our holiday—when they were unreachable, their defenses activated.