Driving home from work the following evening, more eager to get home than he’d been in years, Graham looked forward to the new rituals of family life. Dinner and shared stories of their day, maybe some help with homework. Oliver always had something he needed to look at on the internet. He paused – and wondered why Piers didn’t seem to want to be on his computer. In fact, it occurred to Graham that ever since Piers had lived in their house – what was, it three months now? – he’d never seen him using his computer. Now they each had their own bedrooms, where was Piers’ computer? He remembered how thrilled John had been with the speed at which Piers absorbed knowledge about computers even as a young child. Piers was obviously a natural, John had admitted and it seemed odd that he hadn’t asked for his computer to be set up. Was it still in the boxes in the garage? He’d ask as soon as he got home.
Piers froze in response to Graham’s question. Oliver spoke up without being asked. ‘He’s gone off computers for the time being, thank you, Graham. He’ll get round to it soon, I expect.’ Oliver looked at Graham very directly with an expression that brooked no argument and Graham, becoming more of a real dad than he had ever hoped, took the hint.
After Piers had gone to bed, Oliver asked if he could broach the subject of Piers’ computer.
‘Dad always sat with him when he used his computer. He said it was because he didn’t want him wasting his talent on silly games, but I think it was because he was proud of how good Piers was. I think he was wrong about games anyway, I think you can learn a lot from messing about with games.’ Oliver shrugged. ‘But now Dad’s not here he can’t bear even having a go on mine. It was one of his special things with Dad and now it makes him cry and he’s tired of crying but he can’t stop it. It just happens and he wishes it didn’t.’
‘I see. Well, I won’t push it – and I certainly don’t want Piers to think I’m trying to take his dad’s spot at his side, but I’ll have to make sure he knows that when he’s ready, it can be his job to bring me and Myra up to speed on computers and the internet. But there’s no rush. Time is a great healer. If you get a hint he’s feeling better about, it let me know.’
Myra, overhearing this conversation while stacking a neat pile of freshly washed towels ready to go upstairs, decided that Oliver was the most grown-up, sensitive, thoroughly lovely boy she had ever come across. Then laughed at herself, for how many boys had she ever really known before Piers and Oliver came to live with them? None.
What a change they’d made for her and for Graham. The two of them were rapidly becoming more relaxed with each other and she could tell the boys sensed it, too. In fact, as she placed the last of the towels on the neatly stacked pile, she knew she was definitely a different person to who she was the day they arrived. More understanding, more willing to adapt, more—. Myra listened. Was that Piers crying again? Should she go upstairs and hug him?
No, she wouldn’t go in straight away. It was something she was learning – when to swoop in and when to give him space. This time she would let him get it out of his system a little and then casually amble upstairs with the towels and have a word. On the way she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror by the front door. Her new hairstyle, courtesy of an afternoon in the salon that day, really suited her. It was easier to keep looking smart compared to the overly long old-fashioned bun style she’d had for years. In fact she looked like someone who could buy clothes at the next New to You Sale the school was holding in the new year. She might very well go to that this time. Myra paused for a moment longer to admire her new warm silk shirt with the toning cashmere waistcoat she’d bought that morning.
‘Yes. You do look good in that outfit.’ Graham had sneaked up behind her. He had been so amazed at her new haircut when he’d got home, that he’d barely had a chance to appreciate the new clothes that skimmed her figure.
Myra blushed at the thought of being caught admiring herself. She turned round to answer Graham just as the doorbell rang furiously. Myra carried on upstairs and left Graham to open the door. She glanced down from the landing and saw Betty from next door standing there on the step. She stood there apparently speechless with shock. Myra looked again and did a double-take. Dear God! In Betty’s hand was a carving knife copiously covered with blood. Not hers, though, one supposed. This did not look like a little accident carving the roast. Surely it wasn’t Roland’s blood? She hadn’t killed him . . . had she?
`I’ve done it. I knew I would one day and I have. At last. Kept wanting to and now I have. Graham, will you ring the police?’ She calmly asked him again when he didn’t react. ‘I’m not afraid. Prison will be paradise after the years of hatred I’ve tolerated from Roland and his temper.’ Betty gestured with her hands to indicate she didn’t want to use them, covered in blood as they were. ‘He’s dead. He can’t beat me any more. Those days are gone for ever. Sorry for the mess, I’ll stay outside. Myra won’t want her carpet ruining, she’s very houseproud, I know.’
Graham still hadn’t done what she’d asked of him. Ordinary people like Graham Butler didn’t do dramatic things like ringing the police and reporting a murder; a lost boy or a stray dog, but not murder. It felt like a long time before Myra came back down the stairs though it was only a handful of seconds. Graham kept his eyes fixed on her face as she came to stand by his side. He waited for her to collapse at his feet because that was what Myra did when things got too much for her: passed out and left it all to him.
But Myra’s first words were for Betty. ‘I didn’t know he was hitting you. Hold tight to yourself, Betty, keep a clear head, the police will want to know how it all came about. Believe me, I’ve every sympathy with you Betty. Living with abuse day in day out. If only we’d realised. Keep steady.’
The three of them stood silently for a moment, but when Myra became aware that Piers and Oliver had joined them she swung into action. ‘Boys! In the sitting room please, this minute. Graham, will you sit with them please and close the door. Right now. If you please. I’ll stay with Betty.’
Graham looked again at Myra. How she had changed. At one time she would have fainted at the sight of much less blood than this, it was easing its way over the threshold as it dripped from Betty’s hands, and very soon it would be touching the pride of Myra’s heart, her lavender hall carpet. He mustn’t let it happen, he’d have to take action, else . . . but it was Myra who stepped forward.
‘I’ll ring the police for you, Betty.’
The blood still dripped and puddled. The grandfather clock carried on ticking. Graham whisked the boys into the living room. Through the door, Myra could hear Piers using his inhaler and Oliver endeavouring to be the caring elder brother murmuring helpful words she couldn’t quite make out. She brought her focus back to the doorstep. Betty was endlessly talking. But now there was a tremor in her voice as though the realisation of what she’d done was inevitably dawning.
‘I always knew this would be the end of him, me polishing him off. Such a charmer he was, in his twenties. My mother told me not to marry him. She said “his eyes look cruel even when he smiles, don’t be too eager, let him be the ship that passes in the night”.’ Betty looked directly at Myra. ‘I’ll bring the train set round tomorrow. It’s still wrapped up like when you saw it last. Our Col would be glad for it to go to a good home. At least now I shall be able to see Col whenever I want to . . . ’
Myra didn’t think it wise to point out that it was unlikely Betty would be at liberty to drop the train set round tomorrow or see Col easily – unless she was thinking about visiting hours on remand.
‘He won’t be upset about Roland,’ Betty continued. ‘Roland made his life a misery. Hell on earth.’ She bowed her head, the gory carving knife fell from her hand and lay on the doorstep of number 12 Spring Gardens, pointing ominously at Graham who had emerged again.
‘Here’s a chair . . .’ Graham beckoned Betty inside.
‘No, don’t put it down in the blood.’ Myra swiftly whisked the chair leg away from danger and went to pick up the phone.
Graham pulled himself together, and as Betty inched her way into their hall he took care to assist her balance by gripping the one blood-free wrist nearest to him. He looked at the doorstep making sure that the blood-covered knife wasn’t visible for their boys to see at close range – no doubt one would be listening at the door and the other peering out of the window with ghoulish fascination. He didn’t want his boys to see it. Not a blood-stained murderous weapon. Heavens above, they’d never forget. Graham grew in stature, feeling more a father with a protective role to play than he ever had. He must protect them from this harrowing sight. The poor woman had chosen the largest domestic carving knife he’d ever seen. She’d certainly meant to finish Roland off.
Then the whole atmosphere changed. She showed them the bruising on her leg where he’d trampled on her right calf so deeply there was the imprint of the pattern from the soles of his boots left behind on her flesh, vivid purple and blue stains on her skin. The man must have been a monster, thought Graham. No wonder she’d turned on him.
Graham looked into her eyes and saw steely hatred in them, sheer unadulterated scarifying emotion. Though he knew it wasn’t aimed at him, he felt the portion of it that must group all men in with her tormentor. He couldn’t believe this had been going on in Spring Gardens. All that ghastly hatred and cruelty behind the lovely arched windows and the elegant primose-coloured front door of number 10.
In the street everyone heard the distant police siren advancing. But it won’t be coming into Spring Gardens, they all said to each other. We don’t see the police from one year to the next. Then they jerked with surprise as the two cars roared up the road. There was nothing untoward in Spring Gardens. Never. All the same, the two cars stopped outside number 10. Every single neighbour went outside to see and were horrified to watch Betty being led away by the police. Now if it had been Roland, that would have been conceivable, but Betty? Lovely kindly Betty? Instead, the onlookers and assorted faces hidden behind twitching curtains were surprised that old Roland wasn’t out protesting about the officers arresting his Betty. When a bulky body, well-wrapped, was taken away from the house they were bewildered. He must have had a heart attack. Poor old chap. She will miss him. They were devoted, weren’t they?
Only Graham and Myra knew the actual truth. Surely, thought Graham, it won’t be prison for Betty? She had been driven to the worst possible act of desperation to finally get rid of her torturer. But there was no one to stand up in her defence, for no one had ever witnessed his cruelty, there had only been Betty present. What an unholy mess to be in. Standing there watching and waiting Graham was stunned into silence. He watched Myra calmly telling one of the policeman what had happened. She looked so poised. She turned round to look for him and they drew strength from that glance at each other. Were they now drawing nearer to being a real married couple in the proper sense? Two real people working together instead of two half people staying as far apart as possible? He felt ashamed that he was asking this question of himself. A grown man asking questions of himself, analysing himself like a teenager would. If he’d been different, would he and Myra have avoided those long years of not being man and wife in the real sense of the word? He knew deep down how much he needed to be a whole person, he remembered the long forgotten urges, the passion, the excitement. Ever since the other night desire had crackled between them like electricity. Even now. This instant. This precise moment. As Myra finished talking to the policeman and came back in, their eyes met and Graham knew his hunger would be present in his eyes. She would know, she would recognise his desire. Her cheeks flushed. She knew all right! For one brief second their eyes met again and they felt to be the only people in the house and then the moment was broken by Piers calling out.
‘Uncle Graham, is Roland actually dead now. Do you think?’
‘Yes, I suppose he is, Piers.’ Graham felt embarrassed and ashamed that all he’d been thinking of was making love to his wife at a time when there were neighbours in such dire straits. But Graham realised he and Myra were one step nearer to each other despite his anguish about Roland and it all happening so close to hand. ‘But don’t let it worry you, Piers, the police are here sorting it all out.’
Oliver heard a different timbre in Graham’s voice when he’d replied to Piers, one he hadn’t heard before and grinned to himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was he could hear that was different in Graham’s voice but Oliver knew it was a change for the better.
Piers, meanwhile, was thinking how lucky he was he didn’t have a dad like Roland. He then realised he was thinking about his own dad and not crying. He practised thinking about him again and this time decided that maybe he was growing up. He was ten, remember, he told himself. As he tried to think about his dad more and more he found it was the first time he could think of his face and smile. All these last weeks without Dad the days had dragged along and now in an instant he felt the warmth of happy memories bubbling up inside him alongside the sad thoughts. In his mind, he saw his dad sitting alongside him, both of them hunched over his computer. Yes, his wonderful state-of-the-art computer that he’d loved from the very first time he saw, it but had left untouched since coming to live here, even though Graham had quietly moved the box into his room the other day without saying anything. Maybe it was time to get it out and have a play with it. His dad would want him to, wouldn’t he. He pictured his Uncle Graham helping him with the computer instead of his dad. How alike they were. Perhaps . . . perhaps . . . he could make do with his Uncle Graham. He was sure his dad wouldn’t mind, seeing as they were brothers.
Graham and John. Oliver and Piers. Brothers were pretty amazing he thought. Brothers were loyal and proud of each other’s achievements. He dashed away a tear that had sneaked down his cheek, took a deep breath and decided he must allow his life to speed along and be splendid and interesting as it was before, and that Auntie Myra and Uncle Graham would be the next best thing to parents to have with him along the way. First thing: unpack my computer, he thought, no time to waste. He’d begin tonight to help shut out that terrible image of the bloodied knife. Piers gulped at the memory of it but then took hold on life again with enthusiasm. He decided that before he actually began getting familiar with his keyboard again he’d just have a word with Tyke. The two of them rolled about on the hall floor, went in the kitchen and found Tyke’s ball quite by chance and played with that until they were both exhausted.
Thinking of his computer again, Piers headed upstairs. He quickly grew so involved with his computer that he didn’t notice that Uncle Graham had been observing him for quite a few minutes, until his uncle coughed unintentionally and broke his concentration.
‘Hello Uncle Graham. Just thought I’d have a go. Would you like to look at it?’ Piers glowed with pride.
Graham admired it with tremendous enthusiasm and after a moment, asked if he could have a go?
Piers was delighted. So for a whole hour the two of them wallowed together in this miracle of modern technology, although it took only moments for Graham to realise that his brother John had been right about Piers’ talent with computers. He showed him games he’d designed, told him what coding was and how to use it and even told him how to be safe online.
‘Aren’t I meant to be the one telling you that?’ Graham chuckled. ‘Anyway, that’s enough for now, Piers. Its late and time to relax ready for bed.’
Piers objected. ‘But I am relaxing, my computer always makes me relax. A bit longer please. Please.’ Piers splendid bright blue eyes won the day.
Graham, who was in truth enjoying himself immensely, agreed he could have another ten minutes.
After Piers was finally in bed, Graham told Myra about his amazing talent. It was a relief to have something else to talk about rather than the blood and drama of earlier.
‘He takes after John undoubtedly, you know, even at this age! It’s amazing.’
‘Both you and John were always computer-savvy. Graham, you’re a genius with all the computers and systems at work, remember that too.’ She said this so wholeheartedly that Graham was almost embarrassed. Never free with her praise to anyone, child or adult, Graham was surprised to find himself on the receiving end of her admiration. He looked her full in the face and found admiration in her eyes that matched his own. For one brilliantly scary moment they looked into each other’s faces in a way they hadn’t looked at each other for years. Embarrassed, the two of them withdrew their gaze and then returned it, finding themelves greedy for more. Myra reached out to touch Graham’s cheek with gentle fingers, caressing first his right cheek then his left cheek with a tenderness she’d never found before, not even in the heyday of their passion. In one shattering second they were clinging to each other, breaking apart only when Oliver came to speak to Myra about coming home late from school the next day because of an unexpected football match.
Oliver didn’t choose to look directly at either Graham or Myra because of the flush of bright red on her cheeks and the hungry look on Graham’s face. Blimey, Oliver thought, is it romance in the air? At their age! Then he remembered Graham’s makeover the other night and the fact that neither of them were as old as he’d originally thought. He felt acutely embarrassed but at the same time a sense of optimism went through him from head to toe. At least perhaps it might make them more . . . well, more relaxed perhaps, more normal. He left them to it, and once he was out of earshot, chuckled to himself. But a glimpse of the blue lights still visibile between the gap in the curtains reminded him of the cruelty that had played out next door. He was mystified at the way adults could treat each other. He thought of the obvious frostiness between Graham and Myra when they’d first got here. But he had to admit though, Myra was much kinder and more open than she had been. Maybe she had changed. She showed real sympathey for that Betty, and as for Tyke . . . he’d seen her holding him close, rubbing her face against his forehead or tickling his tummy when she thought no one was watching. Tyke had taken a shine to Myra, that much was clear, and dogs instinctively knew about things like that, so if Tyke loved Myra then Myra was all right for him and Piers to love. She still needed a few corners to be rubbed off, but – Oliver heard Graham laughing in a carefree way he hadn’t laughed before – maybe it wouldn’t be far off. Perhaps he and Piers should try to show more appreciation to them both, after all there was no law that said they must take two orphan boys on board was there? It must have been hard for them. Yes, there had to be a plan for him and Piers to show how much they appreciated being taken care of. Since the debacle with the card and the collage, the boys had felt awkward about showing their gratitude. That time when he’d seen Iain, that boy from school who’d been taken into care and looked so wounded that he, Oliver Butler, hadn’t been able to acknowledge him, he knew now he should have spoken to him. That boy needed friendship like a drowning man a lifebelt. Next time he saw him in town he definitely would speak to him and perhaps find out where he was living and invite him home, here for tea. Somehow for Oliver the ground rules felt to have changed. All right, his Uncle Graham was a funny old stick compared to his own dad but it was him who’d taken them into his house and was doing his best to make the rough deal they’d been dealt bearable. He’d go right away downstairs to find Myra, his very own Auntie Myra and ask her what she thought of the idea of him finding Iain and asking him over. She was even more of an odd sort than Graham, but she was his, and right now that seemed to be all that mattered. He had heard her leave Graham in the sitting room, and found her in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to one of her huge fabulous cakes – cherry and coconut this time.
When she answered, she hesitated for a moment while she placed the final cherry on the top, then agreed he could and another night they’d have a friend of Piers’ home for tea.
‘Do you think your friend would like that? A Friday tea then he could stay later with it not being school the next day.’
‘I know he would, Auntie Myra, I know he would. I don’t need to ask. And thank you. Very much indeed. He had to move schools but I’ve seen him in town once or twice so it shouldn’t be too hard to find out where he lives. That’s sorted then. Thank you.’
She was turning out to be quite nice was Auntie Myra. Better than he’d ever expected. Now, thought Oliver, what can we do to show our appreciation to Myra and Graham. He had the answer! That idea of making memory quilts and soft toys for Auntie Myra to sell at the Christmas Fairs, he’d not found the heart to do anything about it yet and very soon he’d be running out of time. So he’d get on with them because all the success of it would depend on his art work. He’d sketch them out today, right now! Show them to her tonight before he went to bed. Filled to the brim with enthusiasm, Oliver sketched out a bear, an elephant and even a giraffe. He even left room on their paws for Myra to embroider on names in case people wanted to make them even more special. Somehow they were among the best drawings he’d done. Perhaps he did his best work when he felt extra happy. That was it! He should only do his art when he was happy, not when he needed to cheer himself up, because being miserable for him was a stumbling block to doing his best work. Myra was thrilled when she saw them and so too was Uncle Graham when he came in to inspect his handiwork.
Oliver went to bed delighted with his efforts and thrilled to have found something to do as a thank-you to Myra and Graham. He got a great big hug from Myra, but Graham shook Oliver’s hand, which made him feel grown-up, much more so than half a dozen of his Uncle Graham’s oddly peculiar clumsy kisses. A handshake was much more acceptable for someone thirteen years old. In fact that night everyone in the Butler house went to bed full of promise and the prospect of making a start on their Christmas project.
The next evening, sitting round the table planning out the work that would be needed to get ready for the fair, Myra decided they would work in two-hour shifts so it would not be too onerous or disrupt homework, especially for Piers. If she wasn’t careful he would be her favourite, but having witnessed the pain that favouritism had brought to Graham and to Oliver she had made up her mind that neither of the boys would be favourites, they would be equals always. Suddenly she felt like some wound had finally healed inside herself and found her new situation so rewarding she wondered how on earth she had functioned as a whole person all these years without this new comfortable feeling she had discovered deep within her. Maybe it had always been there but never emerged before. Perhaps that was why she kept surprising herself by unexpectedly saying motherly things at the right moments. Maybe she’d always been waiting in the wings, so to speak, to be a mother, or something like it, and hadn’t realised it. Whatever, this coming together of the four of them to achieve this new state of affairs was perhaps how family life was meant to be. Myra contemplated that new phrase she’d found: whole person. She never had been a whole person, had she? No, she hadn’t. For years she’d deliberately kept part of herself hidden away, denied Graham her body, denied herself pleasure, remained aloof, kept herself to herself so that she never had truly shared her life with him or anyone. Myra glanced across at him from the other side of the kitchen table and studied him closely, until he suddenly sensed her gaze, when she dropped hers and then looking at him closely again she knew he recognised something in her eyes he’d not seen for years. What a fool she’d been. She recalled the embarrassment of Viv telling her everyone in Spring Gardens knew they didn’t sleep together. The whole street had known and she was so wrapped in herself it had never occurred to her they all knew until Viv told her. Myra flushed red, the very brightest red all over her face, Graham saw it, Oliver saw it, and even Piers, engrossed in the scroll he was drawing round the word Christmas, saw her colour up, but only Graham understood. The boys were too eager pressing on with their scheme to bother to analyse what was going on between the adults around them, and for that Myra was grateful. Viv was right, a husband and a wife showing affection did make the wheels of a marriage turn – be that a hug, sharing a bed or making love. All she’d done was achieve nothing with her disregard of an essential of marriage. John might have been more glamorous than Graham when she’d first met him, but she couldn’t imagine a man more patient, more loyal than Graham in the love stakes. There was no one to beat him when it came to faithfulness. Nor tolerance, nor kindness, nor consideration. She looked across at him again and saw not just how caring he was, but how good-looking he was, saw how decidedly he deserved her devotion. Yes, definitely . . . devotion.
‘Time you boys threw in the towel and went to bed, you’ve worked so hard tonight. How about a slice of cherry and coconut cake with your hot chocolate? Yes? Thank you so much boys for all you’ve done. And you, Graham, for helping us. I don’t know where we would have been without your superb organisation. We’ve assembled so much more than I’d anticipated. Five bears all ready cut out. I love the one out of your old school uniform, Piers.
And we shall have fun making one out of those funny old 1970s shirts of yours we found, Graham. I shall start on the stitching tomorrow. I can’t wait to do their faces – you’ve chosen such cheeky expressions for them in your sketches, Oliver. Brilliant! We’ll get quicker at it with experience, too!’
Myra looked at each of her helpers in turn and gave all three of them warm encouraging smiles. Graham caught Myra’s eye briefly and winked at her. He’d never properly winked at her before. Ever. Married fifteen years and never winked? Surely not. Well, not a genuine wink, maybe an awkward attempt, which like his smiles, used to be oddly twisted. Surprising what two young boys could do to you even when they weren’t aware of it. Graham looked at Piers as he carefully tidied things away. If he’d had a son of his own he would have moved like that. Too late to be thinking that. He did have a son in a way, well two sons in fact, the very nearest he possibly could to two of his own. Graham dwelt on the idea of being a parent. The sensation sat comfortably on his shoulders. Strange how life worked out. Somehow tonight his whole life felt sorted, no more half living, he’d done with all that looking back full of regret, forlornly, uselessly, wishing . . . he sensed he stood on the brink of a new life. He glanced across to Myra and actually saw the changes in her that he felt within himself. She wasn’t visibly shrinking into herself any more, cold as ice and shuddering at the thought of human contact. She was sitting there full of delight about the success of their evening’s efforts, and he, Graham Butler, was smiling properly, he could see his reflection in a mirror on the kitchen wall so he knew for certain he was. He felt Tyke snuffling along under the table looking for bare toes to nibble and he knew whose toes he found, for Myra was soon wriggling and laughing. At one time she would have shrieked as if under attack if a dog even approached, but not now. Now she half grumbled but half laughed at the same time. What a change! Tyke was making it Piers’ turn to wriggle and laugh, then Oliver, then Graham himself. Soon all four of them were laughing. Graham remembered how much as a boy he and John had wanted a puppy. Recollected the unbearable pain he felt when he realised he and John would never get one. But he had now. A puppy and two boys to raise. And two such different boys, for each of them had equal but different merits, different gifts, different quirks. And so different in looks, too. Graham admired Oliver’s curls, envied Piers’ gentian blue eyes and loved them both. Then his eyes lighted on Myra and genuine love for her flooded his entire body. Was there any man anywhere in the world with better prospects than Graham Butler? In fact, was there any woman who deserved loving more than Myra Butler? He thought of all the changes she’d made within her to accommodate the two boys. After all the pain that there’d been between the two of them, life now looked brighter than ever before.