‘So?’ Blowing on the hot mug he sat at the kitchen table. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘There’s something wrong, Luke. Terribly wrong. Can’t you feel it?’ She sat opposite him. The smell of the coffee was making her feel sick again.
His face sobered. ‘In what way wrong? Not the baby?’
‘No, not the baby. Luke, I’ve found letters and diaries and things, written by my mother and grandmother.’
‘I know. I’ve seen you engrossed in them.’ He reached for the biscuit tin and levered off the lid. ‘I thought they interested you.’ He poured some more coffee into his mug.
‘They both talk about something dreadful, something terrifying in the house.’
‘Oh Joss.’ He shook his head. ‘Not that again. Not the devil himself, living in the cellar? For goodness sake!’ He heaved himself to his feet, grabbing another biscuit. ‘Listen love, I’ve got to go back to work. I need to try and sort out that carburettor by lunch time if I can.’ He bent over her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Don’t look for problems where there aren’t any. We are damn lucky to have this place. We’re happy here. It’s given us the chance of a new start, and it’s given you a second family to research and get to know. But keep your imagination for your book, Joss. This was real life. Real people living in real times. It wasn’t fiction. Maybe your grandmother and your mother were neurotic. You don’t know. Maybe they were both incipient novelists – perhaps that’s where you get it from. We don’t know. All we know is that this is a fabulous, happy house. Alice and Joe will be here tomorrow, it’s Christmas in three days and our own family is the one that you should be thinking about.’
He had been right, of course. Every time over Christmas when her thoughts returned to the tragedy of her brothers’ deaths, or her mother or her grandmother’s fears Joss firmly brought them back to the realities of running a house full of people, cooking on an antiquated stove, thinking about the book and scribbling notes on the pad she kept in the pocket of her jeans and keeping Tom’s excitement within bounds all the while hiding as much as possible her lingering morning sickness and exhaustion. Alice was not fooled for a moment but she went along with the deception in spite of Joe’s protests that she must not do too much herself, calmly and firmly taking as much as possible out of Joss’s hands and slowly, to her surprise Joss found that she was indeed beginning to relax. With people in it the house did not seem so large. The silences had gone; every room was full of family, whispering, wrapping presents, hiding parcels. The silver glitter on the tree was the only thing that moved in the shadows and the voices were silent. Twice she went out onto the lawn late at night to look up at the stars alone. Awed by their frosty beauty she stood quite still, her hands pushed down into the pockets of her jacket, imagining the ethereal beauty of the music of the spheres ringing through the silence of the garden. But in reality she could hear nothing but the distant piping of the pewits under the moon on the fields and the quick urgent hunting calls of the little owl as it quartered the old gardens beyond the lake.
‘Sammy? Georgie?’ Her call was tentative, making her feel a little foolish. She knew there was no one there. Probably she had imagined it all.
She smiled to herself as she turned back towards the courtyard. It was going to be a good Christmas and they were all going to enjoy Belheddon and be very very happy there.
Three weeks after Christmas, Joe came and found Joss dozing by the fire in the study, her notebooks on her knee, a pen lying slack between her fingers. ‘Your mother’s not well, Joss. The doctor said she mustn’t tire herself out and that’s just what she’s been doing these last few weeks. I’m taking her home so she can rest. And Lyn will still be here to help. She’s a good girl, and she’s loving the country life.’ His face creased into a network of deep wrinkles as he smiled at her fondly.
‘Dad.’ Joss reached out for his hand. She had been dreaming, she realised, about Richard, happily living inside the plot of her book, walking around an earlier, more primitive but sun-filled Belheddon. ‘I had no idea Mum was ill! Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘She didn’t want anyone to know. And there’s nothing rest and a bit of TLC from her old husband can’t put right. Don’t you go worrying yourself now. Just let us go home quietly.’
Sitting in her bedroom later Joss looked up at Lyn who was standing by the window. ‘She wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.’
‘Nor me.’ Lyn bit her lip. ‘You know what she’s like. She never makes a fuss.’ There were tears brimming in her eyes. She turned to Joss. ‘If she gets worse I’ll have to go back. I can’t leave them on their own.’
‘Of course you can’t. Lyn, why won’t they stay here? We could both look after them.’
Lyn shook her head. ‘Come on, Joss. This is your home. Your real parents’ home. However lovely it is here, this is not Mum and Dad’s scene. It’s not really mine, though I’m prepared to make a big sacrifice.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘They’re not really happy out of London, you know that. All their friends are there. The rest of the family is there. This is fantasy land. They are pleased for you – really pleased – but they don’t belong.’
‘I suppose so.’ Joss leaned back on the bed with a sigh. ‘Why do things have to change, Lyn? Why do people get old and ill. It seems so unfair.’