A Mother's Love: An Exclusive Short Story Page 2

  “He’ll love that.”

  “And I’ll kick a soccer ball at him when I’m home,” Robert interjected enthusiastically.

  “He likes soccer. His dad has trained him to be a pretty good goalie.”

  “When’s Mark joining you?” Robert asked.

  “He’s bringing the girls over in a couple of weeks. I’ll have everything sorted by then.”

  “It’ll be so nice to have you in the same country for a change,” said Marigold happily.

  “Tell me about it. I’ve missed you all so much!”

  “It’s about time Bruno got to know his family,” said Huxley. “And learned to speak English,” he added firmly.

  “Oh, darling, you sound just like your father, Grandpa Hartley,” Marigold scolded. “Old Hartley fought in the war and hated anything foreign. His idea of speaking a foreign language was to talk in English very loudly.”

  “He’ll lose his Australian accent soon enough,” Georgia reassured him.

  Huxley nodded. “Good. We’ll do all we can to accelerate the process.”

  Once everyone had gone, Celeste showed Bruno the playroom. It had remained untouched for almost a year and a half. Boxes of Legos, trains, and plastic guns were placed in neat rows against one wall, a table and chairs against another with a container filled with pens and crayons and a rattan basket of plain paper. A big red sofa dominated the room and an open fireplace stood empty and desolate. There was a large flat-screen television and lots of DVDs of all Jack’s favorite movies lined up in the bookcase. Celeste switched on the lights and the room seemed to spring to life. The little boy wasted no time in pulling out the boxes and rummaging through them. He quickly lost himself in his endeavor and Celeste had to swallow back her tears, because Jack had sat on the rug just like Bruno. She turned away, for the sight was too painful. It was all she could do to restrain herself from asking him to leave her son’s toys alone. This had been Jack’s room. She wasn’t sure she was ready to share it with another child. But she had no choice. She had been forced to welcome this usurper. Didn’t anyone understand her pain?

  3

  Robert was in his study when Celeste came looking for him. He saw her in the doorway and stopped what he was doing. She folded her arms and sighed. “Are you okay?” he asked, weary of always being the one to reach out.

  She nodded. “He’s in the playroom.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  She shrugged. “I have no choice. It’s hard to see a child in there again.”

  “He’s found things to play with?”

  “Jack’s things.” She frowned, fighting the impulse to snatch them back and guard them, like she had snatched and guarded her son’s memory.

  “Good.”

  She turned away, then hesitated and pursed her lips. “Robert, he’s the same age as Jack was.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, I knew, I suppose, I just hadn’t thought . . . that he’d remind me so much of him.”

  Upstairs she set about unpacking Bruno’s clothes. The rain had now stopped and the sun was peeping through the clouds, shining brightly onto the glittering countryside. She opened the drawers of the dresser and placed Bruno’s T-shirts and sweaters in neat piles. As she did so she felt a satisfactory sense of purpose. She took her time, making sure everything was in its place. Slippers beside the bed, dressing gown on the hook behind the door, toothbrush and paste in the bathroom.

  She realized then just how bored she’d been. In the days before Jack got sick, she had run her own business making embroidered quilts and bed linen. She had been quite successful, especially at making children’s quilts. They were all tailored to each child, the squares embroidered with their favorite things in their favorite colors. In the beginning, word had been spread by satisfied clients, but then she had set up an e-commerce site on the Internet and she’d struggled to meet the demand. Then Jack got sick and she didn’t have the time or the will to keep going. The Swedish-style house that Robert had had built for her business at the bottom of the garden had been locked for three years now. She hadn’t set foot in there, although in the past it had been her sanctuary and one of her greatest pleasures. Jack had sat on the floor and set out all the spools of thread in order of color. There had been over sixty different shades and he had loved the challenge. Sometimes, when she had been under pressure to finish a quilt, he had brought his homework in after school or sat at the table coloring while she worked. The memory of his little face, so full of concentration, caused her battered heart to groan. She tore herself away from the past and pushed Bruno’s case under the bed.

  She set about making lunch. Roast chicken, because all children like chicken. She could hear Bruno talking to himself as he played. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought he had company. At lunch he chatted away as if he had known his uncle and aunt forever. He was uninhibited and curious and seemed older than his years. She couldn’t remember Jack being so articulate and confident. After lunch Robert played soccer with him in the garden, making a goal out of sticks, then they set off to explore the farm together with Grandpa Huxley, the big German shepherds, and Tarquin.

  Celeste went into the playroom to tidy away the toys. She shed tears onto the Legos, spending an excessive amount of time putting the pieces into the box. It was unbearable to think that Jack was never coming back. She could sort out his toys and place the boxes neatly on the shelves again, but he’d never return to play with them.

  The sun began to set, flooding the gardens with a soft amber light and her heart with melancholy. The scents rose up from the borders and the clamor of birds grew louder as they squabbled for places to roost. At last the rumble of Robert’s car could be heard coming along the farm track, and Celeste felt her heart contract with dread.

  She walked round to the front of the house. Bruno jumped out of the car, breathless with excitement. “I drove a tractor!” he exclaimed, hurrying up the path with Tarquin at his heels. “I climbed on the grain and Uncle Robert chased me. Then he lost his shoe.” The child laughed with such abandon that Celeste found herself chuckling with him. She almost resented him for making her smile, for she had grown used to her misery and had found refuge in the dark comfort of her unhappiness. “We searched and searched for it and then Tarquin found it. Isn’t he clever? It was hidden in the grain. Grandpa let me sit in a combine and says that when they cut again I can ride in it. The rain has made it all wet, so they won’t be cutting until it’s dry. I hope it doesn’t rain again so I can go on the combine. It’s awesome!”

  “You must be hungry,” she said. “Do you want some tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Come on, then. I’ll find something to fill you up.” Before she turned to go into the house, she saw Robert coming up the path towards her.

  He shook his head and grinned. “That child has a lot of energy!”

  “He’s had a lovely time.”

  “And worn me and Dad out!”

  “You’ll be relieved to go back to work tomorrow.” She felt her resentment cloud the fleeting sense of joy she had just experienced. Tomorrow she’d be alone with Bruno. What then?

  Robert put his hand in the small of her back and led her into the cottage. “No, I won’t,” he said. “I’d much rather be here.”

  She fed Bruno fish fingers and ran him a bath. Afraid to leave him in the water on his own, she pottered about tidying the already immaculate sink and cupboard beneath. He chatted blithely, lolling in the warm water. She kept herself busy so she didn’t have to look at him. She resisted slipping into the old routine she had enjoyed with Jack, of washing his face and soaping his hands and feet, because she knew it would only make her cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of Bruno.

  After the bath he pulled on his spaceship pajamas and she put him to bed. She tucked him in and watched him snuggle against his bear. Hovering by the door, she didn’t know whether to kiss him good night or read him a story. She definitely sensed that she was la
cking somehow and that he sensed it, too, because he looked at her with his big brown eyes and in them she recognized anxiety.

  “Sleep well,” she said.

  “Yes,” he replied, suddenly diffident. Not the same little boy who had been talking so contentedly in the bath. He seemed smaller now and a little forlorn.

  “If you need us, we’re just down the corridor.” He nodded. “I’ll send Robert up to say good night.”

  But Robert was already coming along the corridor with Tarquin. She watched them walk past her. The child’s face blossomed into a smile and he sat up. “He’s come to say good night to you,” Robert said.

  Bruno leant over to pat the dog. “Where does he sleep?”

  “In the kitchen in his basket.”

  “Isn’t he lonely on his own?”

  “No. You don’t get lonely on your own, do you?”

  “But I’m not alone. I have Brodie.”

  Robert laughed. “And he’s a very fine bear.”

  “If Tarquin gets lonely, he can come and sleep with me.”

  “Then you wouldn’t sleep a wink, would you? Now, bedtime.” The child’s eyes were no longer dark with anxiety. He lay down contentedly and Robert drew up the bedclothes so that all Celeste could see was the boy’s rich brown hair peeping out of the top. Her husband bent down and kissed his forehead. “God bless,” he said, and patted the bedclothes.

  Celeste turned away and went downstairs. She didn’t want to feel moved by the sight of Robert kissing his little nephew. She held on to her resentment, fearing that if she let it go, she’d have nothing left. Robert joined her in the kitchen and poured them both a glass of wine. Then he went to the sitting room and turned on the television. She knew he did that to avoid talking to her. She wasn’t good company these days. Once they had been eager to share their day; now she was eager to end it.

  But a little boy was sleeping upstairs and he had changed everything. They were no longer alone. The house vibrated with the child’s presence as if a fire had been lit against her will, infusing the familiar cold with a new warmth. She cooked spaghetti and they ate it in front of the television. Celeste found herself listening out for Bruno. One ear on the movie, one on the bedroom upstairs, and she didn’t know whether she listened out of fear for the alien or yearning for the child.

  That night she slept fitfully. She dreamed of Jack. He was sitting on a fence. Behind him was a beautiful dawn. She was begging him to come home. But he remained on the fence, neither in her world nor the next. When she awoke, her pillow was soaked with tears.

  4

  The following morning when Celeste went into Bruno’s room, she found him sitting on his bed playing with his bear, chatting away as if to an old friend. He stopped suddenly when he saw his aunt standing in the doorway and his cheeks flushed.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He held the bear against his chest. “I’m talking to Brodie,” he explained.

  “Good. Are you hungry?”

  “A little,” he replied.

  “Why don’t you get dressed and come down and I’ll make you something to eat. Do you like cereal, or toast?”

  He shrugged. “Cereal, please.”

  “Your clothes are in those drawers.”

  “Okay.”

  She left the room feeling guilty that she wasn’t being more helpful. Should she have taken his clothes out for him?

  Bruno perked up over breakfast as Robert talked to him about soccer. The two of them already had a good relationship, and Celeste couldn’t help but feel jealous—jealous that Robert seemed to find it so easy to get over Jack’s death and jealous of his ability to endear himself to his nephew. When Bruno looked at her, his eyes darkened with apprehension. It appalled her that she could inspire such a negative reaction. She hadn’t cared that she had alienated her friends and cold-shouldered her in-laws, but she cared that she caused a child to feel fearful. A child she was meant to be looking after. What if the shoe was on another woman’s foot and the child was Jack?

  After breakfast Celeste watched her husband leave, then wondered what she was going to do with Bruno all day. She was suddenly besieged by a wave of apprehension. What used she to do with Jack? Suffocating in panic, she tried to remember the things Jack had liked to do. If she couldn’t think of anything today, how was she going to entertain him for five days?

  “Can I go and play in the garden?” It was Bruno. He was standing in the doorway in his boots, his face solemn.

  “Of course you can. Do you want me to come with you?” she offered, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.

  “I’m fine. I like exploring.”

  “Okay. It’s a big estate. Don’t get lost, now, will you?”

  “I won’t.”

  “Why don’t you take Tarquin with you?”

  He smiled. “Can I?”

  “You’ll be doing me a favor. That way I won’t have to walk him.” Celeste put a couple of dog biscuits into Bruno’s trouser pocket. “In case he doesn’t come when you call him. He’s a very naughty dog, you know.”

  Bruno laughed and the shadow of unease seemed to lessen slightly. “Okay,” he said.

  “Marigold, will you come out of the bush!” Huxley hissed at his wife.

  “I need to make sure he’s okay,” Marigold replied, parting the branches to get a better look into her son’s garden.

  “She won’t have eaten him for breakfast, you know,” said Huxley.

  “Well, of course she won’t. I just need to be sure that she’s looking after him. You know how fragile she is.” At that moment the door opened and Bruno wandered out with Tarquin. “Ah, there he is!”

  “Alive and well?” Huxley asked.

  “Very,” she replied, satisfied.

  “Two arms and two legs?”

  “Now you’re being silly.”

  “One can never be too sure.” He chuckled as he watched the dog prick up his ears. “You’re going to be discovered now.”

  “Damn it. Well, don’t just stand there like a lemon. Help me out of this bush!”

  Tarquin spotted the bush moving and trotted over, wagging his tail in anticipation of finding a large rabbit. He found Marigold instead, backing out big, round bottom first.

  Bruno went after the dog, which had now begun to bark with excitement. When he saw his grandparents, he smiled happily. “Hello, Grandma. What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Bruno, darling. I was just looking for the soccer ball,” she replied hastily.

  “Do you want to play?”

  “Goodness no! I don’t play. Grandpa does, though, don’t you, Grandpa?”

  “I don’t suppose I have any choice in the matter,” Huxley replied drily.

  “Don’t worry, Grandpa. I want to explore,” said Bruno.

  “Do you need a guide?”

  “I’m on a mission,” the child informed him importantly.

  “What sort of mission? I’m good at missions.”

  “To find things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “Ah, I know where to find lots of things,” said Huxley knowledgeably.

  Bruno grinned. “Then you can be my guide.”

  “What a good idea. Why don’t you two go off together?” Marigold suggested.

  “The ball is over there,” said Bruno, pointing to the bottom of the garden. “Uncle Robert and I played yesterday.”

  “Ah, so it is,” Marigold replied. “Silly me, all that searching in the bush for nothing!”

  She watched the child and his grandfather wander off through the orchard, followed by Tarquin. She turned her attention to the cottage for a moment and wondered how Celeste was. Before Jack died she would have gone in for a cup of tea and a gossip, but things had changed. Celeste avoided her most of the time. She sighed heavily and turned back towards her house. Jack had taken not only his mother’s heart, but the heart out of the whole family.

  Celeste stood in the h
all wondering why she didn’t feel relieved that Bruno had gone out to entertain himself. Instead, she felt a stab of guilt. Would he be all right on his own? What if he got lost? Was she callous to leave an eight-year-old child to his own devices? She hovered, deliberating what to do. The morning stretched out empty and quiet as before, but suddenly, now that Bruno had come to stay, the prospect of spending it alone was no longer so appealing. The house felt emptier and quieter than was comfortable.

  She set about clearing away breakfast. There had only been three of them, but she took her time, putting three cups, three plates, one bowl, and cutlery into the dishwasher. Then, with mounting pleasure, she climbed the stairs to tidy the child’s room. He hadn’t made any mess. His pajamas were neatly folded on the bed, but he hadn’t made it. This pleased her, for it gave her something to do. She stripped it bare and started again. It gave her a surprising sense of satisfaction to make it neatly, knowing that Bruno would be in it that night. She placed the slippers on the carpet and his dressing gown across the quilt. Then she stood at the window and looked out onto the summer’s day. The rain had left the countryside sparkling clean and the birds were frolicking about in the sunshine. She allowed the sight to uplift her. Instead of feeling resentment, she felt the first small stirrings of joy. It was as if she had looked out onto the garden but seen only her own sad reflection in the glass. Now she flung open the window and saw the vibrant green of the leaves and the sapphire blue of the sky. Fat bees buzzed about the hollyhocks and butterflies bathed their wings in the sun. She listened to the birdsong and felt the jasmine-scented breeze on her skin. For a while she forgot her pain. She surrendered to the moment and the moment was sweet.

  When Bruno eventually returned, she felt a wave of relief. He hadn’t gotten lost. His cheeks were pink and his eyes shining and he looked happy. “Did you have fun exploring?” she asked.

  “Yes, Grandpa took me up to the woods.”

  “Did you see any hares? The woods are full of hares.”