And then there was Charlie. Suddenly, there he was. From that day onwards, he was ours. It was all Steph’s doing, the clever girl, and she was proud of herself for doing it, and quite right too. I was with her over Charlie right from the start, without even having to think about it. It was in her face, for one thing. The necessity of it, I mean. Charlie was, purely and simply, a necessity. He still is. When she burst into the kitchen that day, there was, I don’t know, a very
That same evening we managed to settle Michael down about it all. You know, it is amazing how much more amenable people are when they have been properly fed. I wonder less, now, at Mother’s permanent irascibility when I was growing up, remembering what we ate in that house! Mother’s meals were not just unappetising, they seemed to take more out of you than they put in. We would rise from the table debilitated, thwarted and restless; afterwards I would wash up and clear away but I could never wipe the surfaces clean of my disappointment.
So over dinner, together Steph and I persuaded Michael about Charlie. Because of course the minute she told me about her job, I saw it as clearly as she did. She began to explain it to me when we were doing the potatoes and beans together in the kitchen, while Michael was in the cellar deciding on something to go with the beef. I still feel some pride in the way I took control that evening, weak though I was myself. Because they needed me; my two young people were quite ragged with tiredness and hunger and with this matter of Charlie, so I kept them both busy and away from each other until we were at table. The little jobs I set them to were those pleasant tasks that fill the hungry waiting time and slowly transform a dining room while the cooking proceeds: replacing candles, setting out the beautiful claret glasses and the silver (we always used the dining room in the evenings, but did so that night with special ceremony), decanting the wine. I sent Steph out to pick flowers for the table and she, bless her, came back with hedgerow flowers: some late primroses, buttercups and campion. She wasn’t sure if she was meant to pick the garden flowers, she said. I point this out because that’s the sort of girl she is. Not greedy. Not inclined to assume that things are hers for the taking. But if it’s a question of necessity, well, that puts a different complexion on it. Anyway, by the time we sat down to dinner the tension had almost gone; by then we could think of little else but the food. And afterwards, such a happy atmosphere, it’s funny how you remember the details.
I have thought about this since I began to cook, and I believe that it is very much underestimated, the effect of food on one’s outlook. I do not mean just being hungry or not. I mean the very things we eat. That night we ate red meat, a great deal of it. I roasted a sirloin of beef. To begin with, the smell of rich meat like that belongs in a house like this. It made us feel optimistic and at home, although we were too hungry to feel quite happy until after we had eaten. We were so hungry that we could not wait, not with the smell of it tormenting us, so we ate our meat very, very rare. And that sort of food makes one courageous, even slightly bolshy. Perhaps it’s the blood or the chewing, something metallic that sharpens the air, an edge of steel, but that beef did something for us that another dish (poached salmon, say, just as nutritious, and delicious too) would not have done. Not an obvious summer dish, a sirloin of beef, but it was exactly what we all needed; it resisted just a little against our teeth before melting down our throats, it was so sustaining and rich, and the potatoes and vegetables were so sweet.
So, I agreed with Steph that Michael was worrying unnecessarily, because of course there would be no question of her spending her days apart from us, going off to that house in the village and staying there all day with the baby. I knew that without having to be told. She would bring Charlie here. His mother already thought she was some sort of genius with children after just one day. I gathered that Sally was getting her head round (Steph’s phrase!) the idea of going back to that job of hers, and Charlie had already slept right through the night, for the first time, the night after Steph’s very first visit. So in Sally’s eyes Steph could do no wrong, right from the off. We didn’t see a problem with her agreeing that Steph could bring him to the manor. We’d win her over with the thought of all that space, the gardens, and the pool (where of course Steph would not let go of him for so much as a second). She’d probably go along with it. And if she didn’t, how would she even know? Steph could get him back to Sally’s in good time, if need be, at the end of each day. A detail.
Bit by bit our confidence soaked into Michael, so that by the end of dinner he was as full of it as if he had mopped it up himself along with the juices on his plate. Afterwards we sat outside with glasses of brandy to watch the sunset from the terrace that faces west. It must have been the first time we had all sat there together, for we had not had many fine evenings. This was a perfect one, full of contentment, the sun such an improbable, huge, burning orange, the pinks and blues in the sky so painted-looking. Such a hazy evening sky seems to hold neither air nor colour but is like pure, liquid light just melting over empty land. Steph said it was like a Turner. She and Michael were sitting quite cuddled up by then, all happy. It did us all good to be sitting together looking outwards, beyond the boundary of our own place.
I began to wonder what we had been so frightened of. I was beginning to think we’d been a bit over the top, with all this keeping ourselves so apart, even being frightened about Michael going shopping. I said so, and it turned out they had been thinking much the same. After all, as Michael said, his trip to Bath had gone off perfectly. Steph pointed out that she had taken herself off to the village and come back not just unharmed but actually bringing us a baby boy. I said I did not want to be furtive about everything, it made me feel as if I were doing something wrong. Perhaps we did not have to be quite so cautious. Private, yes, and discreet- we were not about to fling the doors open to all and sundry- but if we were sensible and clever about it, there was no reason why we shouldn’t be a little more relaxed. Life would continue just as before. It was Steph who said oh, but it’ll be even better than before. And we agreed.
Michael had brought back a vanload of food and over the next week or so we all grew strong again. But in no time at all the need for money reared its ugly head again. We weren’t hungry any more, but we found there were other things we needed. Steph admitted that she couldn’t bear her clothes (the things she had from my wardrobe were, in truth, much too old for her, and she was tired of borrowing Michael’s shirts). She wanted to make herself something to wear, she said, and it wouldn’t be expensive. That’s fair enough, she’s young, and these things matter especially if you’re pretty, as Steph is. Her shape had changed, so she needed things that were looser. She had noticed that we had lots and lots of white sheets made of real linen, scores more than we ever used, and white linen would be just right for summer clothes and she knew how to make what she wanted. She didn’t even need a pattern, she said, just thread and a few buttons and a sewing machine.
Well, we hunted high and low for a sewing machine, even in the attics, but there wasn’t one. I thought it odd, but there you are. Although our money situation was much better, with what Steph was earning and with my rise in salary, we still did not have the wherewithal for big purchases like that. Never mind then, Steph said, but we could tell she was disappointed, and it was such a modest request. So Michael and I surprised her. One day when she thought he had just gone shopping for food, he came back with her sewing machine. I had told him, you see, to take a pretty little brocade-covered button back chair from one of the other bedrooms, and a pair of watercolours of Venice, and get what he could for them. It’s marvellous, our sewing machine. You can even do embroidery on it. Steph was delighted and said she would learn how to sew CHARLIE in big letters, and customise all his T-shirts, but in fact she’s never got round to it. But she set to work on the linen sheets while I minded Charlie. (Charlie, even if I say so myself, took to me from the start, and even though I couldn’t feed him myself, he was very happy in my care.) Steph worked quickly, so that after only a day or two she had made some pairs of pyjama-like trousers and simple tops, a wrap-round skirt and some dresses. Everything was loose and summery, draping and elegant, in simple shapes and layers that allowed her to move easily and gracefully. Michael could hardly take his eyes off her. But she only wore her linen clothes here, never to fetch and return Charlie. She wore a sort of uniform of navy trousers and floral blouses for going outside.
Steph got used to arriving at Sally’s to find both her and Charlie in a state of fractious semi-undress. During the first week she had walked into the house each day eating a bar of chocolate that she bought from the village shop on her way past. (She very soon got, with her chocolate and her change, a ‘you all right, then?’ from the man in the shop, whose name was Bill. And as a regular customer she was no longer invited to buy the bargain tent, which was still for sale.) But very soon Steph sensed that her chocolate-stopped mouth diminished her authority in Sally’s eyes and, more importantly, she realised that authority over Sally was going to be the key to success. So
