Page 88 of Last Letter Home
Greg. She wondered if she’d ever see him again, whether she wanted to. So his grandmother had been Diane Bailey. When Mrs Clare had told her, she’d been stunned into silence. It was odd that he’d never mentioned Diane’s name and she wondered why. How had the marriage come about? Can’t get one girl, marry the sister, that was not uncommon in life. Briony thought about the photograph Mrs Clare had found for her in an old album. Diane had been pretty, in a doll-like way, with large, wide-spaced eyes and a tiny mouth in a heart-shaped face as she hung on Ivor’s arm. Ivor, in a civilian suit, looked proud as he faced the world, but Briony wondered what they were each thinking behind their smiles for the camera.
What was that? A movement at an upstairs window broke her thoughts. She caught her breath, but then she knew it for the reflection of a tiny bird. There it was, behind her, flitting from tree to tree. This place spooked her. She moved on.
The door to the walled garden creaked open and she stopped, first astonished and then dismayed. The smooth summer lawns had been torn up as though by a giant mole. More likely a digger. Greg and Luke had been at work. To one side lay a pile of brand new pipes, blocking the path. The irrigation system, waiting to be laid. Why was Greg doing this? It must be expensive for a pet project. She remembered his plan for a nursery and a farm shop. For a while she stared round at the desolate scene, then turned away. She didn’t belong here any more. Where did she belong?
As she pulled the gate to, the softness of the light drew her further along the path towards a copse of trees. She guessed where this led and suddenly she wanted to see it. She walked on and there it was, the pond, dark and sullen, the willows bending over it like mourners trailing their hair. A stench of something rotten, stagnant, made her nose wrinkle. It was only of vegetation, she told herself, the breakdown of dead leaves and muddy water. She remembered the story of the child who’d drowned here, Robyn’s brother, little Henry, and she shuddered. Perhaps it had been an enticing place to a small boy then, with trees to climb and glimpses of the speckled backs of fish, a flick of a tail on the surface. It would have been easy to lean too far from an overhanging branch and to slip . . . She could see him in her mind’s eye, his small head disappearing, his feet sinking in the deep mud at the bottom, weeds catching at him, drawing him down to darkness and silence.
She’d turned to go when her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She dug it out, surprised that there was a signal, and read the caller’s name with shock, let it ring twice, three times, before she found the will to answer. ‘Hello?’ The phone was cold against her ear. ‘Aruna?’
‘Are you alone?’ Aruna’s voice sounded accusing.
‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m in Westbury actually. What about you?’
‘Westbury? Why?’ Aruna asked, ignoring Briony’s question.
‘I’ve just seen Mrs Clare. She’s recovering from her stroke and said she’d see me.’
‘Still chasing red herrings?’
‘Yes, if you mean Paul and Sarah. Nothing fishy about them as far as I know.’ Where was this conversation going?
‘I should say thank you for helping me the other night. I was a bit out of it.’
Out of it was an understatement. ‘You were upset, you poor thing.’
‘I suppose you knew what it was about.’
‘Your mum told me the bare bones and then you mumbled a few things. Otherwise, no, I don’t know the details. Aruna, I think I may understand what you’re getting at, but it’s simply not true.’
‘What? What isn’t true? How can you know what I’m talking about?’
‘Hang on, this is getting way too complicated. Are you OK?’ She was sure she had heard a snivel. ‘Oh, Aruna, I’m sorry.’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Why did I do what?’
‘Take him away from me.’
‘Aruna, this is nonsense. I didn’t. I haven’t done anything. Except exist. That’s all I’ve done. I don’t know what Luke has told you, but nothing has happened between us. I’ve been trying to stay away from him so that nothing did.’ She realized instantly that this confession was unwise.
‘So you did know how he felt. You must have done something to make him feel that way.’
‘I can’t think what, I’m sorry.’
‘Is that all you can say, that you’re sorry.’
‘I don’t mean sorry in that I’m guilty of anything, just sorry in that I am sad about what’s happened. I hate it that you’re unhappy.’
‘You knew how important he is to me. I told you.’
‘Yes, you did. And I was happy for you, that you’d found someone.’
‘I expect you were jealous.’
‘No. I really wasn’t. It may not be normal, I don’t know, but I was pleased for you. Genuinely. You were my friend.’ Were. ‘Are.’
There was a silence, followed by another snivel.
