“Will you come back next week?” She couldn’t deal with it now.

“I’ll say I will,” said Sackler or Potts. “Be delighted.”

She shut the door. You see? she said to herself, as she switched the light off in the hall. You are handling yourself. You are coping. It’s all going to be all right.

As she passed the hall table, a car back fired in the street and she jumped, knocking the table edge. The pile of letters, balanced in a wide wicker basket, overflowing and only just kept in check by luck, found its luck had run out and fell in a waterfall of correspondence to the floor.

Damn it. She bent to pick them up. Gathered in her hands, there seemed no point in putting them back. She took them upstairs to the sitting room, her sherry, the fire. They sprawled on the little table beside her chair.

The first was a bill, the second a bill, and the third a letter from Ruby. She put them all aside. She couldn’t face any of them. The fourth was post-marked Hatfield – where Douglas lived. Douglas’ writing on the envelope. She opened it. There was nothing in it but a telegram.

Please come at once. Regret to inform you of the death of your son, Fagus. Our deepest condolences and regret. Unavoidable circumstances.

Miss. L. Barnes

She read it again.

Regret to inform you

death of your son

Fagus

What happened next wasn’t under her control. It reminded her of packing up Cherry Trees.

She put her head round the door of Ian’s bedroom. He was sitting on the floor, Finetta beside him. They were throwing soldiers off the boat into the wild and choppy ocean.

“Your brother’s dead.”

They both looked up. She waited to see if they wanted to say anything, but they didn’t. They looked at her and after a moment, a pause, she couldn’t tell how long, they went on with their boat, so she shut the door. She shut the door, went to her chair by the fire and closed her eyes.

Enid, 1964

37

Enid, 1964

The ghost that she couldn’t get rid of.

The phrase span like so much flotsam, caught in the eddies of her mind.

The ghost that she couldn’t get rid of.

Dawn’s chair squeaked. The telephone rang. Mandy said, “I think that’s your Finetta.”

Enid opened her eyes. “Well, answer it.”

“Not the telephone.” Mandy pointed at the window. “Outside.”

She looked. Finetta, all right. Getting out of that car. On her own.