Lyn nodded. ‘Mat and I took Tom down to make sand castles. It’s glorious there today.’ She stretched her arms languidly above her head. Joss saw Mat’s eyes go involuntarily to Lyn’s breasts, outlined so clearly under the thin blue tee-shirt. He was looking remarkably cheerful.
‘I’ll take Ned up and change him.’ Joss headed for the stairs as the others trooped, talking loudly, towards the kitchen.
She glanced warily around her bedroom. The sun had moved round slightly and the room was cooler. In her arms the baby had opened his eyes.
He was gazing up into her face with unwavering concentration. She dropped a kiss on the end of his nose, overwhelmed with love for him. No one. No one was ever even to think of harming him or she would not be answerable for her actions. Sitting down in the low chair by the window, she gazed down at him, overcome with love as he dozed off again, seemingly not ready yet to be fed. Breathing in the heavy scent of mown grass and roses from the climber outside the window she felt herself grow drowsy and as her eyelids became increasingly heavy her arms began to loosen the hold on the baby, almost as if someone was gently taking him from her …
‘Joss? Joss, what the hell are you doing?’ Lyn’s shriek brought her back to the present with a jerk of terror. Snatching Ned from her, Lyn had turned on her with the ferocity of a spitting cat. ‘You stupid idiot! You could have killed him! What were you doing?’
‘What –?’ Joss stared at her blankly.
‘His shawl! You had his shawl over his face.’
‘I didn’t.’ Joss looked round, confused. ‘He didn’t have a shawl. It was too hot.’
But it was there, still wrapped round him, covering his head and face and trailing from Lyn’s arms as the baby began to scream.
‘Give him to me.’ Joss snatched Ned from her sister. ‘He’s hungry. I was just going to feed him, that’s all. He’s all right. He’s just hungry.’
She cuddled the baby to her, unbuttoning her shirt. ‘Go and make tea! I’ll be down soon.’
She watched as Lyn backed away towards the door. Lyn’s face was preoccupied and uneasy as she let herself out onto the landing.
‘Silly Aunty Lyn.’ Joss guided Ned’s mouth towards her nipple with her little finger. ‘As if I would hurt you, sweetheart.’ Lowering herself back onto the chair near the window she gazed out at the garden as Ned suckled, relaxing back against the embroidered tapestry cushion which Elizabeth had brought as a housewarming present.
On the bed, the rose which lay on her pillow wilted in the last rays of the sun as it moved across the window into the western sky and one by one the petals fell, small white patches on the rich colours of the crewel-work bed cover.
24
The house was very quiet after the departure of the family. As each stifling airless day followed the one before Luke and Joss and Lyn found themselves growing increasingly listless. Even Tom was subdued, missing the posse of adoring grandparents. Each morning after feeding Ned and putting him down to sleep Joss disappeared into the study where, with the French windows opened wide, she would sit in front of the Amstrad, wrestling with Richard and the climax of her story.
Twice David phoned, the last time before he set off to spend the summer in Greece. ‘Just to see how you are. Is the book going well?’ He did not mention his researches into the house any more and she did not ask.
Out in the courtyard the Bentley went to be replaced by a 1936 SS and then a Lagonda. In the shadowy coach house, the coolest place in Belheddon save for the cellar, Jimbo and Luke worked early in the morning and late in the afternoon, saving the hot midday for a swim in the sea, sandwich lunch and then a siesta under the trees. During the long evenings Luke and sometimes Jimbo too would work in the garden until dark.
Lyn, ignoring all warnings about the sun, stretched out on one of the old chairs, firmly plugged into her Walkman, while the children slept in their bedrooms. Twice she had written to Mat. He had not replied.
At her desk, Joss stared out at her sister and frowned. In spite of the liberal application of sun oil Lyn’s legs were peeling; pink flaky patches appearing through the brown. Lyn was constantly watching her. Ever since that afternoon where she had snatched Ned from Joss’s arms she had the feeling she was being checked on. She shook her head wearily and stretched her arms above her head, easing the cramp from her muscles. Tom and Ned were both growing fast, seemingly thriving in spite of the heat. Were it not for Tom’s nightmares all would have been peaceful. Simon, called in at last at Lyn’s insistence, gave Tom a complete check up and blamed the heat. ‘He’ll settle down once it’s cooler, you’ll see.’ The arrival of two kittens from the Goodyears’ farm, christened with due ceremony by Tom Kit and Kat cheered him up enormously, but did not stop the dreams. If they were dreams. Getting up, night after night to feed Ned, and see to Tom, Joss was growing more and more tired and her tiredness was beginning to show. The book was going badly. The story wouldn’t progress and Lyn was getting on her nerves. Often now, when she picked him up Ned would start to scream. She would hug him and comfort him but as though sensing her exhaustion and her distress he would cry all the harder. And every time he cried Lyn would be there, reaching out for him, trying to take him, looking at her accusingly.
‘You see! When I hold him he stops.’ She would croon over the baby and then look up in triumph.
‘It’s normal, Joss,’ Simon said gently. ‘Babies often cry when their mums pick them up because they want her milk. It’s frustration and hunger because they can smell it so close. Lyn has nothing Ned wants, so he doesn’t bother.’