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  Miles whistled under his breath. ‘Listen, sorry to interrupt. This is really fascinating, I’m sure, but, Tom, what did you want to ask me?’

  ‘Norman Gibson!’ Tom cackled. ‘Anyway—’

  ‘Get a move on. What was it you rang me about on Christmas Day?’

  Tom paused, took a sip of his drink. I craned my neck to see if Chin was in evidence, but she’d disappeared behind two old men at the bar. Bill was leaning against the till, polishing a glass and whistling sadly.

  ‘Yes,’ Tom said. ‘The plan to get David round to talk to Lizzy, we don’t need that any more. There are other problems afoot. Sorry, Lizzy, I should have told you this earlier.’

  ‘What?’ I said, leaping out of my seat.

  Tom had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, I was going to mention it, then everything else ran away with me.’

  ‘Mention what?’ I leaned forward. ‘Tom?’

  ‘It’s not a big deal, honestly. Just that, well, I thought, after you saw him in church on Christmas Day, you probably really needed to talk to each other – you know, clear the air. So I rang up Miles and told him to tell David that Mike and John wanted to ask his advice about applying for some crap thing like lottery money to restore Keeper House, including the roof. Then I thought he’d arrive and I’d get rid of the others for a bit and you two could talk properly.’

  Jess was nodding, enthralled, as if this was the plot of a daytime soap. ‘Right, right. Then what happened?’ she asked, eyes wide as saucers.

  ‘How dare you, Tom?’ I said, furiously. ‘It’s none of your business. I don’t want to talk to David and I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘Lizzy,’ Miles said calmly, as I balled my hand into a fist. ‘Slow down, it’s OK. I thought you’d probably feel like that, so I told him to leave well alone and get out of it.’

  I was about to say something when I remembered Mike on the phone the night before. Why had David rung, then?

  ‘But what I don’t understand,’ Miles continued, ‘is why David said he was going to meet Chin for a drink today. Ah, here he is now.’ He leaned over serenely, as if the last piece in the puzzle was falling into place. ‘Great pint of Guinness, mate, thanks a lot.’

  Oh, no. I felt as if we were in the closing stages of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta with people moving in and out, sighing hopefully and leaping around corners. Of course this was the nearest pub for miles around, and it was natural Chin should meet David here if she was going to meet him anywhere, but it was a bit much. I put my hands over my eyes and groaned, then peered through my fingers.

  Sure enough, there on the stairs, his lean fingers un-buttoning his coat, stood David. He glanced in our direction and I held my breath, thinking he’d seen us. But then he headed towards the other end of the bar. I was just about to feel relieved when I saw Chin stand up and fling her arms round him. David responded, smiling at her with real warmth. They stood together for a moment, David holding her elbows and saying something. Chin bowed her head and looked downcast, then glanced up and grinned. She picked up her bag, talking all the time, and they moved towards the door. David held it open, then followed her out. I saw him dig his hands deep into his pockets as the door banged shut. It was such a characteristic gesture that my heart turned over.

  Why was Chin having a clandestine drink with my ex, whom she’d had to help me get over a few months ago? Why was David meeting my young, attractive aunt, who was maybe single, maybe not? Were my family lying to me? Was I like Tom Cruise in Vanilla Sky, programmed by futuristic cyborgs to have the life I wanted but with a dodgy computer program that would suddenly reprogram with disastrous results?

  Miles roared with laughter as we told him about our Christmas. We got quite annoyed with him when he was still chuckling five minutes later. ‘God, you Walters,’ he said eventually. ‘You’re all the same – you do realize that, don’t you? That’s why David thinks he misses you all so much – it’s a kind of love-me-love-my-dog thing.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘That’s bollocks. We’re not like that. What do you mean?’ Where were Chin and David going?

  ‘Well, we are similar,’ said Jess, cutting across me. ‘Of course we are, we’re all related. But I’m nothing like…er…Gibbo,’ she concluded triumphantly.

  Miles sighed. ‘Oh, Jess, you great mallet. You don’t get the point, do you?’

  Jess’s wide blue eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Don’t be mean, Miles,’ I said. ‘God, you’re evil. Say you’re sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Jess,’ Miles said, putting a placatory hand on her sleeve. ‘But you are all the same. You’re as bad as each other. Look at yourselves.’

  ‘What do you mean we’re all the same?’ Tom asked.

  ‘No,’ Miles said, after a moment. ‘Forget it. Let’s talk about Norman Gibson.’

  ‘No, come on,’ Tom said, shifting in his seat, ‘what do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ said Miles, balancing his lighter on top of his cigarette packet, ‘you rush around, doing Walter things, having Walter family love-ins, whooping it up and having a fabulous Walter time, and you never notice what’s going on right under your noses. You’re a dying breed.’

  ‘That’s rubbish,’ I said, nettled. ‘We’re nothing like that.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ said Miles patiently. ‘Look at you. I’ve known you all for – what, more than ten years? And you never learn, any of you. You’re like a heritage exhibition. Here’s Tom, behaving like a three-year-old who’s overdosed on Sunny Delight. And, Lizzy, look at you and my brother. You meet him, you tumble head first in love with him, like a little girl, and you can’t cope with the first sign of trouble. Then there’s Mike. For some reason he decides it’s time he got married, picks up some pair of cashmere boobs with an exhusband and a lucrative pay-packet and gets hitched three nanoseconds later. And Chin, so beautiful and talented, she could do anything she wants, hooks up with a bloke who might possibly be Mr Right, then treats him like shit because she doesn’t know what to do with him if he is.’

  He brushed an invisible speck off his coat. ‘Sorry, Jess, you’re right. You’re not a berk compared to them, actually. You’re the sanest of the lot. And you, Gibbo, get out while the going’s good, mate. Run like the wind.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Tom, half standing, ‘shut up, that’s not fair. You apologize, OK? Don’t talk about my family like that.’

  Miles grinned ruefully. ‘I know I’m being harsh, but I’m playing devil’s advocate. Can’t any of you see it? Does any of you know what I’m talking about?’

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Jess, rubbing her nose.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Tom.

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Gibbo.

  Miles laughed. ‘Look, I’m not trying to stir, I’m just saying it’s great you’re all so close still. Look at the three of us, and Dad, living out in Spain. It’s not exactly Happy Families at our house, like it is for you. But sometimes you can’t see the wood for the trees because you’re all too busy being Walterish together.’

  ‘But we like being together! We’re a close family!’ Jess cried. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Miles said. ‘But think about this. If you see a book lying around at Keeper House, I bet all of you’d know who was reading it and whether they liked it. But can any of you tell me what’s up with the roof that’s so bad your father has to go and see a solicitor in town about it as soon as possible after Christmas?’

  ‘It’s a leak,’ said Tom promptly.

  ‘Yes, a leak,’ Jess and I agreed.

  ‘That’s it?’ said Miles. ‘Is it dangerous? Does the roof need replacing? Whose fault is it? Whereabouts is it?’

  We were silent. Tom frowned. I didn’t know what to say. A cold, slinking worm of fear slithered through me, starting in my stomach. I thought of Dad last night at supper, grating pepper and fiddling with his fork. He’d be back soon, surely, and then I could ask him. Suddenly I w
anted to see him very much.

  Gibbo piped up, from the end of the table, ‘Well, whatever. I think they’re great. And…well,’ he coughed, self-consciously, ‘I’d be happy to be uncle to any of you three.’

  ‘Gibbo!’ I said, flushed with warmth. ‘That’s so nice. We’d love you to be our uncle. Frankly, you’d be a lot better than our new aunt.’

  ‘I like Rosalie,’ said Tom, uncomfortably.

  Miles chuckled and stood up. ‘I’ll get some more drinks. Same again?’

  ‘I know you do,’ I said, when Miles had gone, ‘but come on, Tom, there’s something going on with her, isn’t there? I don’t trust her.’

  ‘Me either,’ said Jess. ‘I saw her looking at the back of the grandfather clock yesterday after supper. She was looking at the date, really closely, trying to work out how much it was worth.’

  ‘Jeez,’ I said. I thought of telling them that I’d seen her in the study on Christmas Day but something stopped me.

  ‘I heard her asking your mum if she’d thought of taking in paying guests, like a B and B,’ said Gibbo.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  ‘Well, not like a B and B,’ he said. ‘It was more like making it a luxury hotel. But your mum laughed and told her they’d never do that.’

  ‘So I should bloody think,’ said Jess. ‘The nerve of the woman! She’s funny, isn’t she?’

  ‘You’re telling me,’ Tom said. ‘Still, she’s mad about Mike. And it’d be fun to go and stay with them in New York, wouldn’t it? The apartment sounds amazing.’

  Miles appeared with the drinks, and sat down next to me.

  ‘How are you, Miles?’ I said. ‘Apart from annoying. I haven’t seen you for ages.’

  Miles took a sip of his beer. ‘I know. I was thinking the same thing. It’s been frantic, especially at work – sure it has for you too.’

  ‘Well – yep,’ I said, knowing this was a competition I’d lose as Miles works all the hours God sends. ‘I hope you’re having a good break, anyway.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Miles said. He looked at me quizzically. ‘It’s great to be home.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It must be lovely for your mum to have both of you with her.’

  ‘She sends her love, by the way.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Give her a kiss from me. I love your mum.’

  ‘Well, she loves you,’ Miles said. ‘I’m just sorry things are so weird between the House of Eliot and Keeper House at the moment. You know, she’d love to see you. You should pop in and say hello. Maybe next time you’re down.’

  I thought about this as Tom and Gibbo started up another whispered conference, Tom seeming distracted, Gibbo menacing, or as close to menacing as he can get without the effort of frowning. ‘Ye-es,’ I said eventually. Alice was the ideal mother of a boyfriend. As far as I could tell, she had no agenda whatsoever, other than that a glass of wine is a nice thing to greet your guests with when they walk through the door. She was blonde, little and pretty, obsessed with reality TV shows and ready-made meals from Marks and Sparks, and when David and Miles’s cheating father finally slung his hook, she had thrown a party in the village. The memory of it still makes people wince as if remembering the accompanying White Russian-induced hangover. She was a part of my life that I had lost when David and I split up. I knew I wouldn’t go to see her. It was just too weird, and I couldn’t stand the idea that she might think I was being polite. I liked her much more than most other people, but that was the way it had to be.

  ‘You never know,’ Miles said, chewing a nail, ‘if you went to see Mum, or dropped her an email, it might diffuse some of the tension you feel about it all. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  ‘Anyway, it’s just a suggestion. So, yeah. When are we going to meet up, then? New Year? Let’s go out and get hammered like the old days.’

  ‘The old days when all it took to get us drunk was sharing a rum and Coke?’

  ‘Yes.’ Miles took another sip. ‘I’m joining a club in the New Year so I’ll take you there. But in the meantime there’s a real old men’s pub in a mews off Great Portland Street – went there the other day. It’s tiny. Does amazing beer. That’s quite near where you work, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ I said. ‘You’ve got a good memory.’

  ‘It’s not that. I’ve got a kind of magnetic needle that can identify the nearest good pub to anyone’s place of work,’ said Miles, with some pride.

  ‘No way!’ Gibbo said.

  I looked at Miles and raised my eyebrows – a code that tried to say, ‘Please sort this situation out.’

  Miles, raised his at me, then put his elbows on the table. ‘Oi, listen, Gibbo,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about this. I think I know what you’ve got to say to Chin.’

  I smiled at Jess and tapped the side of my nose. ‘Watch and learn,’ I whispered.

  ‘What?’ said Gibbo eagerly.

  ‘Tell her you’re going back to Australia and she’ll never see you again and that she can just get lost. That’ll make her see sense.’

  Tom sat forward. ‘Hey, that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Gibbo agreed. ‘Great idea, mate. Good one.’

  ‘Give her a flight number and stuff, make it look authentic.’

  ‘Yeah, and ask her if she can come round to help with your packing. You can unpack it afterwards if she comes. She’ll be in pieces. It’ll work like a charm.’

  They clinked glasses.

  ‘Great one, Miles!’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’

  Jess and I exchanged a glance. This was Miles’s great plan. The one that was so full of cunning and daring that Chin would fall right back into Gibbo’s arms. Men. How crap.

  ELEVEN

  ‘Shall we get out the battle-wagon?’ asked Tom, as we reached the house, now shrouded in darkness. ‘For old times’ sake?’

  The best thing that had happened on the Awful Christmas was when Grandfather tapped Jess and me on the shoulder as we huddled together on the sofa in our scratchy Mothercare dresses, feeling miserable, and holding us each by the hand he led us out into the bitter cold. Our grandfather was exactly as a grandfather should be; twinkly-eyed, interested and interesting. He could fix anything, from a bicycle bell to a fuse and, of course, he made fantastic scrambled eggs. As we walked through the kitchen garden, clinging to his hands, we begged him to tell us what he was going to show us. He took us through the rows of cabbages and potatoes towards the old shed, tucked against the kitchen-garden wall.

  ‘Here we go,’ Grandfather said, fishing out his enormous key-ring. He flattened his thumb against each key in turn, flicking them aside as he looked for the right one. When he finally unlocked the door Jess and I peered in and gasped.

  There, in the shed, was the most amazing contraption, a metal tin on four wheels with a long handle to pull it along or steer it. Its red paint gleamed at us through the gloom. The wheel hubs were a bright, snappy yellow. Jess jumped straight into it.

  ‘Your father, Mike and Tony used to play in this when they were young,’ said Grandfather, as I climbed in after her and he took the handle to roll us out. ‘It’s called the battle-wagon.’ He squatted on the grass next to us. ‘You’re here now and I thought it would be nice for you two to play in it.’

  We spent the rest of the Christmas holidays in the iron-hard, frost-covered meadow, with Tom when he was better, steering wildly and screaming with excitement. The following summer we made a train line that stretched round the garden, and took it in turns to pull the others round, calling at each stop in turn and picking up the teddies and dolls we’d put there as passengers. I shook my head wistfully. ‘Too many gin and tonics,’ I said wistfully.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Jess, then opened the old wooden gate and stood aside as we trooped in. I could see no sign of life: everyone was still out. ‘What time are you going back to London tomorrow, Tom?’ she asked, as I unlocked the door and we stepped into the house, flicking on th
e lights in the hall.

  ‘Morning,’ said Tom, picking up a newspaper. ‘And I won’t stay long now. I want to get back to Mum’s to pack and spend the evening with her. Ooh, Prince William.’ He flung himself on to the sofa in the sitting room.

  I turned to find Gibbo behind me, not knowing what to do. ‘Why don’t you go and make some tea?’ I suggested.

  ‘Good idea,’ he said, and disappeared towards the kitchen.

  I picked up a letter on the hall table and wandered after him, unsure what I was going to do. The woolliness of the gin was wearing off. Why had David and Chin met up when was he flying back to New York soon? In the cool of the darkened passage I leaned against the wall and inhaled deeply, trying not to get upset now that I was on my own. I’d seen him again. I stood quietly, listening to Gibbo humming under his breath as he put the kettle on, and Jess and Tom chatting in the sitting room. Jess was lighting a fire – I could hear the dull thud of logs falling into the grate.

  I couldn’t imagine that Chin was doing the dirty behind my back. It was unthinkable. And seeing Miles always brought back memories of David.

  ‘Er…Lizzy?’ Gibbo’s voice came tentatively from the kitchen. ‘Shall I get out the rest of the Christmas cake? Lizzy?’

  I heard a car in the near distance and looked out of the window, pretty sure that it was Mum and Dad’s. It was, and I could see them talking with the interior light on. Then Dad opened the door and got out. My lovely parents, I thought, my heart swelling. The roof. Must ask them about the roof. Suddenly I realized this was my last night at home too. I’d persuade Tom to stay and get Kate to come up here instead. We’d have a proper family supper, lots of wine, perhaps a game afterwards. Maybe I could even persuade Mike to show Gibbo how he could walk up walls, like Donald O’Connor in Singin’ In The Rain – he hadn’t done it for ages. Not since the broken ankle, anyway.

  Hurrah. I was still here, we were all still here. Were our problems so bad we couldn’t sort them out and get on with it? No, of course not.

  I heard Mum and Dad walking through the courtyard, Dad throwing the car keys up in the air. They jangled as he caught them, and I remembered Christmas Eve, just before Mike had arrived with Rosalie. How long ago that seemed now. I went to open the door and Gibbo glided behind me, carrying the tea tray.