Where Everything Seems Double Penny Freedman (motivational novels .txt) 📖

‘Or not think!’ her grandmother snapped. Her face had gone very red but she was at least managing to keep her voice down. ‘No, Colin and I never had an affair of any kind, and – and you will have to take my word for it – I did not ruin their lives. Colin managed that all on his own. It just suits them to blame me. I’m not going to tell you what happened – that’s their business – but you will have to decide whether you would rather believe them or me.’

She looked so angry, so different from the way she had ever looked before, that Freda panicked.

‘I didn’t mean…’ she said. ‘There’s no need to…’ and then she grabbed the room key, which was lying on the table, jumped up, almost knocking her chair over, and ran out of the room.

Upstairs, she wrestled with the heavy key in the door of their suite and was about to slam it behind her when she saw the notice that hung on the handle inside. Please clean this room it said on one side, and Do not disturb on the other. She took it and hung it on the door that led into her own room with the Do not disturb side in clear view.

She expected that once she was in her own room she would want to cry but found, when she was there, that she didn’t want to after all. Was this what it was to be thirteen? Was she actually becoming grown-up? She sat down on the bed and considered how she felt. Well, cross mostly. A bit cross with herself for jumping to the wrong conclusion, but mainly cross with the adults – all of them – for their messy secrets which they couldn’t keep to themselves. OK if they didn’t want their grandchildren to know about them, but then why not just shut up about it all and not say mysterious things like ‘she ruined our lives’? Either it was private adult stuff or not. And to be fair to Granny, she hadn’t talked about it at all. Freda had known that something must have happened between her and Eve, because she said that Eve had been her best friend, but she had never heard her mention her before, so that was weird. And now the two of them wanted their grandchildren to be friends but there was all this ill-feeling swirling around which made it pretty difficult.

She went over to the window and sat looking out at the lake as the colour drained away from it in the dusk. She wondered about apologising to Granny. It was a bit childish, jumping up and running off like that, and this could be such a nice holiday if they got on with each other like they usually did. She didn’t even really mind Granny’s lectures over the menu. On the other hand, there had been no need to be so – so fierce to her. It wasn’t as though Freda had accused her or blamed her. She had just asked a question. She wasn’t sure yet that it was her job to apologise.

She heard her grandmother come into the room next door and hoped that she would get the message when she saw the Do not disturb notice. She could think about it, and they would see in the morning who would say sorry first.

The gang

Chapter Five IS ALL OUR COMPANY HERE?

Thursday

Of course, it is entirely my fault. I know it the moment Freda runs out. She didn’t ask to be caught up in the Gray/Fletcher/Flynn psychodrama of blame, guilt and resentment and what was the child to do, given odd scraps and hints, but to try to make sense of them? I wait just long enough for her to collect herself and then head upstairs. Apart from anything else, Freda has a bit of a history of taking off when people piss her off, and I can’t risk her running out into the night to catch last trains back to Kent. When I get to our rooms, I find that she has not, at least, locked me out, but she has made pointed use of the Do not disturb notice. So very Freda – she has style, I must say. Warned off barging in, I write her a note. Brevity, I decide, is best. I write:

‘Sorry I was a cross old bat

Love you

Granny’

And then, under the influence of my large glass of Beaujolais, I draw her a very bad picture of a very cross bat, push it under her door and go off to have a long and penitent bath.

In the bath, I reflect that my lapse and apology have created a serious shift in our power dynamic; Freda will now be calling the shots for the rest of this trip, I fear, and between her and Eve I shall be a feather for every wind that blows, like poor, mad, old King Lear.

I ponder on this uncomfortable prospect and start to wonder whether I can persuade David to come up for a day or two and be bossed around. Could I lure him with the dual prospect of excellent walking and my delightful self and then smuggle him into the search for Ruby Buxton? It is a comforting thought to take to bed with me.

I am woken in the morning by Freda coming into my room. She has clearly decided to forgive me.

‘Morning, Gran,’ she says as she tugs open the heavy curtains and reveals the day. And really, who could hold a grudge on this sort of day? The clouds waft, the ripples on the lake sparkle, the wild flowers glow and the birds do their thing as though it has all been primped and polished for a tourist photo.

‘Morning, darling,’ I say, taking the message that no further discussion of yesterday’s contretemps is needed. ‘Did you make any plans for today with Fergus and Milo?’

‘Nope,’ she says.