The Healing Stream Page 23

  ‘They called it Huntington’s disease. I don’t know much about it except what it did to her and in the last few years to Pamela, too – your half sister.’

  ‘Is it infectious, then?’

  ‘It can’t be. She’d been gone a year or more when Pam started with it,’ Adrian had said, passing his cigarette case to Giles. Then, holding his lighter to Giles, after inhaling deeply, he continued, ‘But hers is quick – she’s going downhill so fast I see a change in her every time I visit. Certainly she gets depressed, but then who wouldn’t in her position? No control over her movements, she flings her arms out as if they have a will of their own, her body sort of dips and swoops when she talks to you, and even worse her speech is getting so slurred it’s hard to understand. When she walks she never knows where her feet will touch the ground. Poor kid – so far her brain is OK, but that just makes it harder. Can’t even cut her own food and feed herself, it’s as if her limbs have a life of their own. Her mother got like that, too, but in her case she got dementia, lost track over her mind and her body. My uncle has a nurse living in the house for Pam. Tell you, though, he’s turned into a real old man years before his time. Nothing worse than standing by and being helpless. Like I say, he worshipped your mother and now he has to stand by and watch Pamela.’

  ‘But if they know what’s the matter, can’t they do something for her?’ Giles had been impelled to ask the question, but he felt he knew the answer.

  ‘One day they’ll come up with a cure, no doubt, but that day hasn’t come. Hey, though, man, I’ve done all the talking. Now it’s your turn. Do you have a wife here? Or, like me, do you like to be fancy free?’

  ‘My wife and daughter are in Spain. That’s where we live. I’m only in London for a short stay on business. You’re working over here?’

  And so the conversation had been steered away from the tragedy of which Giles had been ignorant.

  Two days later, much sooner than usual, Giles had returned to the finca. Usually when he came home he wanted nothing more than to be with Tessa, wanting her as a thirsty man might want water. She was pure and innocent; she made no secret of her love for him as a more sophisticated woman might. But after that brief absence his return had been different. From the moment of his arrival she had been aware of a change in him and had felt hurt and rejected.

  He had said nothing about his meeting with Adrian Wilmot, nor yet how the next day he had spent hours in the library reading room, determined to read everything printed about the disease that had killed his mother and was well on the way to killing his half-sister. The words jumped out of the page, depression, mood swings, headaches, fits of anger. Onset of the illness happened usually between the ages of thirty-five and forty-five, although there had been cases both older and younger. He’d never been a quick-tempered man, nor yet had he suffered from depression, but didn’t the books tell him that there were a variety of symptoms: restlessness was one, the first thing that fitted what he was looking for. Worse than that, though, one thing that was known with certainty was that the disease was passed from parent to child in the genes. His mother had had that gene; she had passed it to Pamela – a case of someone much younger than the norm. Each hour he had become more frightened, more certain of what lay ahead. Between thirty-five and forty-five . . . Sitting in the silent reading room his hands had been clammy. He’d felt sick and shaken with fear as he’d turned the page and read details of what he might expect, what he must watch for. An illness, no matter how serious, which could be helped by surgery didn’t hold half the fear of this. No cure . . . nothing but watching as its grip tightened.

  The steady drumming of the engine, the gentle snoring of someone seated behind him, the stewardess moving along the aisle between the first-class seats at the front of the plane where he sat with his eyes closed and his mind painfully wide awake. The scene of that last hour with Tessa played again and again in his memory. She would be all right without him . . . she loved Finca el Almendros. Right from his first terrified suspicion of what was wrong with him he had been determined she must never be told. He could almost see her face as he imagined her listening to him telling her how with each passing day he became more and more certain of what his future held. He shied away from the words he knew she would say as she begged him to stay with her and let her care for him as the disease took hold. He couldn’t bear to think of it, of what it would do to her life as well as his. How long would it take? Restlessness wasn’t new to him, so did that mean that the first stages had been developing for months, even years? After he’d met Adrian Wilmot his life had become a nightmare, the dread of the future never leaving him as he watched himself getting ever more depressed and irritable. It started to become habit for him consciously to note the way he walked and listen to his voice to try and detect a change. He supposed he was a selfish man, for his thoughts had been just of himself. He wanted to be left alone in his misery and fear. A gene passed through the generations, Wilmot had said. So had it been passed to Millie? Hour after hour he’d sat staring into space; instead of seeing the sloping garden and the blue sky he had looked to a future that was beyond contemplation. There had been a morning when, out walking with his thoughts following their same relentless path, he had almost fallen when he’d not seen a deep rut in the parched ground. With his heart pounding he had taken note of the incident – yet more evidence. Night and day there was no escape for him. And then had come the letter about the filming of the people of Burghton and he had seen a way forward and known what he had to do.

  After the first two or three days of his absence, Tessa went each morning to Llaibir to collect the mail. Usually there was nothing, one morning an electricity bill, another a notification of which day the telephone would be installed, but never what she wanted. Then halfway through the second week after his departure she was handed an envelope typed and addressed to her personally. Standing outside the little post office she tore it open and read the single-sided sheet. Stunned, frightened she might meet someone she knew and have to talk to and feeling physically sick, she almost ran back to the car. It couldn’t be true . . . Finca el Almendros would be made over to her together with a generous allowance. Before leaving for the United States Giles had instructed his solicitor to set in motion the arrangements for a legal separation. ‘We need time apart,’ she heard the echo of his voice. But this wasn’t ‘time apart’. A legal separation . . . never-ending time apart. At that moment, though, it wasn’t the future she thought about, it was the past: the times they had been happy, the times she had believed he had been as filled with joy as she had herself.

  She got into the driver’s seat and, acting automatically, drove through the little town and on to the road towards home. She must get away; she wanted to hide from everyone. The solicitor had written from an address in London, so Giles must have left her knowing that he didn’t intend to come back. Not come back . . . never be with him again . . . never feel his hands on her shoulders as he came to stand behind her while she typed the day’s dictation . . . never to wake up in the morning filled with subconscious peace at the sight of him sleeping by her side. If he was gone, there was nothing . . . the challenge of making a success of her new venture disappeared now that she had no need to prove herself. The years stretched ahead like a long, straight road through a barren land. But she had Millie, she reminded herself, Millie who had been the reason he married her. For on that morning with the solicitor’s letter lying on the passenger seat at her side, she knew without a doubt that without Millie there would have been no wedding.

  It took all her courage to tell Naomi and Julian. Their sympathy was harder to bear than their condemnation would have been if she had broken faith with her marriage.

  Deirdre was living in a euphoric state of happiness as she had daily reports of the progress of work in readiness for her move to the Rodriguez home. Until the house was ready the wedding had to wait but, as often as Timus had time to take her, she visited. For so long she had felt resentment, believi
ng herself to be of less importance than other people; but now, seeing the work going on and the family’s eagerness to make everything right for her, there was no one in the world with whom she would change places.

  ‘So Giles is up to his old tricks again,’ she said as she drove her electric chair to where Tessa was working in a shed she had had erected on her five-acre plot. Then, when she didn’t get an answer, ‘Well, if you ask me, you’ll be better off without him. He’s been a real pain in the butt recently. Everybody’s noticed it. So I suppose you must have been prepared to hear he was chucking you. But Tessa, he’s not worth wasting time grieving about if he can’t be faithful – and I bet he’s been getting all he wanted from some of his flighty birds when he used to keep rushing off to London. Do you reckon he’s found someone else? I know what Miss Sherwin always used to say about him. Don’t let him make you miserable, Tessa. You’ve got all of us. Once you’ve picked yourself up we’ll all be fine together, you’ll see.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Tessa made herself say, hoping Deirdre would be content to let the subject drop. Purposely she had gone on weighing and netting nuts while Deirdre had been talking. ‘Do you want a job? I could do with a hand tying the labels on. I use this thin gold ribbon; it looks good on the red netting – sort of Christmassy.’ Christmas! By the time it came perhaps she would have won the battle and found the courage to make herself look ahead to another year, the first without him. But how could she win the battle when her heart wasn’t in the fight? She couldn’t even try and tell herself she didn’t want him, because she knew it would be a lie. But she pulled her thoughts back into place, realizing that Deirdre was still talking. ‘Is that OK? Is that the way you do it?’

  ‘Perfect. Thanks, Deirdre. Have you time to give me a hand for half an hour?’

  ‘As long as you like. I told Timus if I hadn’t found him when he was ready to go home for lunch he could pick me up here. You know, Tessa, after Aunt Naomi told me last night about Giles leaving you like that, I lay in bed thinking about it and the more I thought, the more I saw it might be providence. I mean, just look at me! I’ve never – even before I got thrown – had such a wonderful, certain sort of feeling. It’s mostly Timus, of course, but it’s more, it’s something I don’t know how to explain. It’s the family and knowing I shall be part of it – in fact, I think they see me as part of it already. That’s what I want for you too, Tessa. And I’ve got a plan. Timus has a cousin – his family grow oranges mostly, lemons too, at a place down in the valley about seven miles away. He comes over here to the house sometimes and he’s really quite handsome – well, they’re a good-looking family. I was thinking how good it would be if you and he got together. If you were there with his family, me with Timus’ here, then Aunt Naomi and Daddy. It would be lovely for Millie, too, she’d be part of a real sort of community of us instead of being just an only child with no father.’

  Tessa started to laugh, but there was no humour in it. Peering at her Deirdre wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying. Perhaps she ought not to have made the suggestion so soon. She’d say no more for the moment, but really there was logic in the plan. Tessa was much too nice to be left here on her own with no one caring about her and what could possibly be more certain, more perfect, than being part of the Rodriguez clan? However, it might be wiser to change the subject.

  ‘I bet folk get really excited when they buy these nuts. There’s no difference in these and the ones we grow next door, but I bet these will cost twice as much because they’re packed to look so pretty and say where they were grown.’

  ‘It’s not just because they have an address of where they were grown,’ Tessa said, ‘it’s because they come from the home of someone people have heard of – probably someone they feel they know because they have read his books.’

  ‘Huh, seems a bit daft to me. Bet it was his idea to use his name.’

  ‘It was a joint idea,’ Tessa retorted, loyal despite his having torn her world apart.

  Her grief was private. To the world she presented the face she meant even those nearest to her to see; that way she managed to get through the weeks and then the months.

  ‘Is Daddy coming today?’ In the beginning that was Millie’s question most mornings. Whether or not she hoped he was, it was impossible to tell from her gruff tone. Millie would never win a medal at a charm school, but young as she was there was an honesty about her. She would never cheat, never lie or purposely be unkind; that was probably because her imagination didn’t stretch far enough to let her feel fear. If she was angry she let the world know; if she was happy she danced and sang (off key and out of rhythm and yet with joy in every sound and movement).

  Deirdre and Timus were married in the last week of January at the registry office in Llaibir’s Town Hall just as Julian and Naomi had been the previous year, and Giles and Tessa before that. In Deirdre’s case there was a difference for, after the ceremony, the two families went to the church where Father Josef, a close friend of the family for many years, blessed the union and prayed the couple would be granted a full and contented life with the gift of many children. Millie had been left at home with Maria so that morning Tessa’s mind was painfully free to wander where it would: she and Giles standing at the table in the registry office – oh, but Millie had certainly been in evidence that day; the certainty that their lives would be full of joy. Watching Deirdre and Timus setting out on that same road she had no doubts about their future. To Timus, Deirdre was the beginning and end, whatever twists and turns life’s path held. If only she could have seen into the future in those far away days when her face had worn a permanent scowl! Tessa made sure that her own face wore no expression that would hint at the ghosts that taunted her as she accompanied Julian and Naomi back to Finca el Almendros to collect Millie before they all went on to the Rodriguez house where the family was assembling to celebrate in true Spanish fashion with laughter, music, dancing, more laughter and warm hospitality that threatened to melt the ice around her heart.

  When at last they left it was hours beyond Millie’s bedtime. As long as she’d been with the other children she had danced (by her own standards) and made merry, but as soon as she was on the back seat of Julian’s car, leaning against her mother in an invitation to be cuddled, her eyes closed.

  ‘A day for thanksgiving,’ Julian said as he turned the car on to the narrow road for the short drive to Finca el Almendros. ‘Since Deirdre’s accident a day has never passed without the fear that haunted me. What was to become of the child? Oh, I know, she’s no longer a child,’ he added, casting a look towards the passenger seat where Naomi sat, ‘and I know you would always care for her just as I would myself. But the day will come when we’re no longer here.’

  ‘They’re a lovely family,’ Naomi answered. ‘If each of their sons gave them half a dozen grandchildren I believe each one would be welcomed as yet another blessing.’

  ‘Children? Deirdre?’ That was something he had never considered.

  ‘And why not? She is as normal as the next girl except that she can’t walk. Yes, it’s a joy to see the way she is accepted, no quarter given because she has a handicap. They’re a staunch Catholic family and I bet you anything you like that by this time next year there will be baby number one on the scene. We’ll be grandparents, Julian.’

  Tessa said nothing, her mind on the joyful atmosphere they had just left and her imagination carrying her to the years ahead for Deirdre. She loved Naomi and Julian dearly; she knew they cared sincerely for her and a cloud would fall across the happiness of their day if she let them guess at her loneliness.

  When they drew up at the front door of the finca Julian and Naomi accepted her suggestion that they should come in for a nightcap.

  ‘I’ll carry the little one straight up, shall I?’ Julian suggested, while Naomi said she would make coffee unless they wanted something stronger. So by the time Tessa came down from undressing the still-sleeping child the coffee was made, and the brandy bottle put uncere
moniously on the kitchen table.

  ‘This is nice,’ Julian said, stretching his legs in front of him as he sat on the plain wooden chair. ‘I’ve always had a fancy for the warm, lived-in feeling of a kitchen.’ Without asking, he poured Tessa’s brandy while Naomi poured her coffee. How could she possibly feel so alone and void of hope when they were her family?

  Millie was keen to go to school. She was never knowingly lonely, yet she had no companionship from other children and she loved listening to the tales Maria told her of her family and the games they played. Once she started school she would have fun like that and, although the thought didn’t form itself into words in her mind, she would be a ringleader. So the following year, even though her fifth birthday wasn’t until spring, on the first day of term after Christmas Tessa drove her into town. She was full of self-importance: on her back she wore a satchel, her pencils were sharpened and her lunch packed in a picnic box.

  ‘Better than a picnic, Mum,’ she said in her gruff young voice as, having stowed the box in the satchel with her pencil case and a new notebook, she concentrated on doing up the straps of the satchel. Neither of them had a clear picture of life in a Spanish classroom, but Tessa had never been more thankful for the hours the child had spent with Maria, for the outcome was that she spoke Spanish as naturally as English.

  Arriving at the school Millie got out of the car and slammed the door shut.

  ‘I’ll come in with you and we’ll find where you have to go,’ Tessa told her, the remark met with a scowl.

  ‘No, Mum. I’m big now. The others haven’t got their mums with them. Bye.’ With that the not-quite five-year-old marched through the school gate, stepping with a firm tread into the start of her new life.

  Watching her go Tessa felt a strange sensation: guilt – not just for not taking her in but for the hundreds of times she had put the almond grove before her needs, leaving her with Maria for companionship. Her little girl . . . Giles’ little girl . . . unlike either of them. Where would the years take her? Her own mind slipped back to her own childhood and to Amelia who had been all the family she’d known. Long ago and far away, a house near the cliffs in the Isle of Wight, the never-changing love of Gran. With neither mother nor father she had had all the love a child could need. Both she and Giles had failed Millie. No wonder the little girl marched with a firm tread; life had taught her to stand on her two small feet.