‘Why are you bringing William’s death up now?’ asked Felicity, the pain clear in her voice. ‘That was twenty-four years ago. What can you hope to gain by going over it again? It has nothing to do with Charlie’s death.’
‘Maybe not, but Charlie’s only been dead six months and yet I know bugger all about the manner of his death. And it suddenly occurred to me today that I know bugger all about his life and his work. All I know about him is the bit he brought home at night, and I’m damned sure that was only the tip of the iceberg.’ Seeing the concern in her mother’s face she took a deep breath and tried to bring her emotions under control. ‘I just thought, Mum, that you might be able to help me. I need to fill in the gaps. And I don’t think I shall be able to move on until I do. Will you help me fill in the gaps, Mum?’
Well, it’s worth a try, thought Joyce. Though she was aware that her softly-softly approach had gone out the kitchen window.
Felicity scrutinized her pie for a moment before answering. Then she looked up and directed a penetrating gaze at her daughter.
‘Something’s happened, Joyce, hasn’t it?’
Damn it, thought Joyce. She had allowed herself to forget how astute her mother could be. Felicity Tanner might give the impression of being the meek little wife, content to live in her husband’s shadow and acquiesce to his every whim, but she was a highly intelligent woman and not to be underestimated.
‘No, of course not. I can’t help fretting about things, that’s all, and that’s why I’m turning to you, to help me sort myself out,’ responded Joyce, suspecting that she did not sound at all convincing.
‘Joyce, I know you too well,’ said her mother. ‘Something’s happened, I’m sure of it. Come on now, tell me what it is and then I can help you.’
Joyce could feel the outline of Charlie’s letter in her cardigan pocket. If she was going to throw caution to the wind, confide in her mother and show her the letter, this was the moment to do it. And Joyce longed for Felicity to reassure her and put her mind at rest. If she was honest, that had been her real motive for coming here in the first place. Joyce didn’t want to have to deal with the questions the letter had raised. Not on her own. And she certainly didn’t want to uproot herself and her two younger children and take off for a new life. She simply wasn’t capable of doing such a thing. It was perhaps indicative of Charlie’s state of mind that he had overlooked that.
It felt as if the letter was smouldering away in her pocket. She almost expected her mother to drop her gaze to the pocket and demand to see what was in there. But Felicity was still looking her in the eye, a concerned expression on her face.
This was the mother Joyce loved, the mother who had always loved and cherished her. The woman who had been at her side constantly, through good times and bad times. The mother who had been the first person she’d turned to when the news came through that the Molly May had been found but Charlie was missing. The mother who had consoled her with all her heart, who had slept on the sofa in her bedroom for a month after Charlie had gone. If there was one person in all the world she could trust, even if she allowed herself to doubt her own father and the memory of her husband, it was surely Felicity Tanner.
Yet Joyce held back. She could not put her trust in Felicity because her mother had always put her trust in Henry — and always would. The letter must remain Joyce’s secret. At least for the time being.
‘Nothing’s happened, Mum, I promise you,’ she said.
She surprised herself with the ease the lie slipped from her lips. She didn’t think she had ever lied to her mother before this day, not about anything important anyway. She had left an awful lot unsaid, particularly about her marriage and her concern over her husband’s mental state. But that was the Tanner/Mildmay way.
‘Joyce, I really think you should...’ Felicity began.
Joyce stopped listening. She realized that her mother was telling her what she should do, but she wasn’t interested. She’d had a lifetime of people telling her what she should do, and she’d gone along with it — until now. It was time she started making her own decisions, in her own best interests. And the first decision was that she would not allow herself to be deterred.
She would find out the truth, but she would do it alone. Much as she would have liked to share the burden, Joyce didn’t have anyone she could turn to. She hadn’t stayed in touch with old school chums and Charlie had been her closest friend and confidant at university. She had never worked so there were no workmates past or present. She didn’t do the daily school run, so she’d never mingled with other parents at the school gates. Her golf and tennis partners were no more than that; they might have the occasional lunch at the club after a game, but they never socialized beyond that. Ever since she could remember, her family had been her entire world. So she had no choice but to keep her own counsel.
It was possible that Charlie’s unnerving warning was the product of a disturbed mind. If that was the case and her father was blameless, to share the contents would only cause unnecessary distress to her parents. If, on the other hand, her children were genuinely at risk, she needed to identify the threat and act upon it — and she would have a better chance of success if no one knew what she was up to. Not even her mother.
‘Sorry, Mum, but I must go,’ she said lightly. ‘I left Molly with my credit card so she could order the pizzas. She’s probably bought herself the latest iPad by now!’
And then she was out the door without a backward glance, though she was conscious of her mother’s eyes following her. She wondered what Felicity would say to Henry when he got home — it was inevitable that she would mention Joyce’s visit, but would she mention the questions Joyce had asked about Charlie, about William, about Henry himself?
Despite her newfound sense of purpose, Joyce felt apprehensive and unsettled as she hurried home to her children.
Four
She made it just in time for the pizza delivery. She put on a bright smile and bustled about the kitchen, determined not to infect the children with her fears. They had enough to contend with, grieving for their father and adjusting to life without him.
The three of them sat up at the kitchen table, but they ate their pizzas with their fingers straight from the boxes, in big drooping slices. The proper way. That was part of the fun, particularly for Fred, who was delighted to be having junk food for supper rather than the healthy home-cooked fare Joyce usually prepared.
Not long after they’d finished the meal Joyce’s mobile rang. She glanced at the screen — missed calclass="underline" Henry 18.33 — then switched it off. She’d been half expecting it. Felicity must have told him about her visit the moment he stepped through the front door. Even so, Joyce hadn’t expected him to call so quickly.
A few minutes later, as Joyce was stacking the dishwasher, the house phone rang. Before Joyce could stop her, Molly picked up the nearest receiver from its bracket fixed to the kitchen wall.
‘It’s Granddad, for you, Mum,’ said Molly.
Joyce kept her back to Molly and carried on filling the dishwasher. She daren’t take his call now; he was bound to start interrogating her about her visit earlier and there was a danger she would blurt out more than she meant to. If she was going to succeed in fobbing him off, she needed time to come up with a strategy. Flustered at the thought of her daughter waiting expectantly for her to take the phone, she dropped a plate and cursed as it clattered noisily to the floor.