The Clemontes had extended family visiting and a family friend, Chuck, whose real name was Charles, was coming to stay with his parents for the weekend. Chuck was older than Caitlin by two years, and since Caitlin had found out he was coming she hadn’t stopped yacking on about him. He was such ‘a character’, ‘a hoot’, ‘a joker’, ‘a real card’. A pain in the arse was what he sounded like to me after Caitlin had droned on about him for fifteen minutes straight. I wondered what would happen when Chuck arrived and if Caitlin would still want to hang around with me. Would I suddenly become the caretakers’ daughter when Caitlin had one of her own kind to play with?
It was Friday and so most of the guests would be arriving later that night, driving straight from London from their high-profile jobs. But for now, I had Caitlin all to myself.
She came down the stairs wearing a red-and-black flamenco dress that looked so small I could see red marks appearing around the tops of her arms, and as she high-fived me when she arrived at the bottom of the stairs – followed closely by a flustered-looking Ava – I noticed she couldn’t raise them fully.
We were seated in the dining room around a huge oval mahogany table that would host at least ten, but Judith had huddled all the seats at one end. There was a large free-standing plastic fan whirring in the corner and I could hear the tinny faraway sound of the radio coming from the kitchen where Judith was listening to Radio 2. The dark green heavy curtains were drawn too, with just a slither of sun slipping through the gap, sending a shard of light across the dining-room table. It was 3 p.m. and the sun had hit this side of the house, but even with the curtains virtually closed, the heat was almost overbearing, even as I sat in my white vest top and pink cotton skirt.
I sat as straight as I could on the high-backed solid chair, but my bare legs kept getting stuck to the shiny wood in the heat, and my bottom was hurting already after only five minutes. I could see Ava, who was sitting opposite me, eyeing me intermittently, so I tried to stop myself fidgeting. Josephine was next to her and Caitlin’s father, Maxwell, who had put in a rare appearance for the occasion, was next to Josephine, opposite Caitlin. Everyone’s attention was brought to Beverly, the other housekeeper, who came in to serve food and help Judith out, as she brought in a tray laden with cakes and sandwiches and a chorus of oohs and ahhs erupted around the table.
‘Cook made them all herself,’ she said in a Welsh sing-song accent.
‘Well, Beverly, you must tell Judith that we are most impressed with her culinary skills as usual. A birthday is a special occasion, isn’t it? Ava, dear?’ Maxwell spoke to his wife, who looked as though she were somewhere else, far away.
Josephine picked up her dessert fork and started inspecting it, her long bony fingers curled around the tiny silverware. ‘We used to have more of this style of fork, didn’t we, Beverly?’
‘Yes, we did, ma’am. I think the little ones got hold of them and maybe some found their way into a bin, sadly.’ Beverly busied herself taking plates off the tray and placing them on the table.
I watched Josephine carefully put the fork down in a straight line next to her napkin. Then she began giving the plates a nudge here and there so they were all sat snuggly next to one another. I felt uncomfortable when she looked up and caught me staring at her, as though I had just witnessed some sort of private ritual. We locked eyes for a second as my heart quickened, and then she beamed one of her smiles, washing away the awkward feeling swimming around in my tummy.
‘Well, well, what a day indeed. My little Caitlin is turning twelve. I remember when you came out, all pink and squirmy, trying with all your might to cry, but it came out as barely a husky whisper.’ Josephine smiled with her head tilted at her granddaughter. Caitlin gave her granny a tight smile and shifted in her seat, the sound of the material of her dress swishing against the chair. ‘Sounds horrifying, Granny.’
‘Do you remember it, Ava, that cry, more of mewl, wasn’t it?’ Josephine looked across at Ava, but Ava looked back at her mother with an icy stare. I tried to fathom if I had misheard some of what Josephine had said, maybe a word or two that could have made Ava’s face turn sour.
‘A mewl that soon became the most pitiful cry and with such an earnest look about you too.’ Josephine leant across and patted Caitlin’s hand.
‘I still feel rather foolish that I wasn’t there.’ Maxwell hooted, a small smile across his lips. ‘Stuck up in London for a bloody conference that went on and on. You weren’t due for another three weeks, you know. I had to cancel the rest of my meetings for that week. Never did nail that contract.’ Maxwell’s smile became a frown as he shook his head.
Caitlin looked up at her father. ‘Papa?’ she said quietly.
Maxwell looked at Caitlin, his taut expression softened. ‘Not your fault now, was it? Bloody nature doing its thing.’ Maxwell patted Caitlin on the back, her body jerked forward by the force.
‘Well, I was there, dear, and I remember every second of it as though it were yesterday. Some things in life you will never forget.’ Josephine pressed her palms together. ‘It was awfully lucky, Ava, you were here at Saxby – imagine going into labour in stuffy old London? And, of course, we were eternally
