The funeral was at ten fifteen, so Graham and Myra set off first thing in the morning to make sure there was plenty of time to make an appearance at John’s house and see how Piers and Oliver were coping.
The next-door neighbour, Delphine, popped out to greet them as soon as Graham pulled up in the drive. He’d always felt there was something curious about her, ever since John and Mo had come to live there. There was always the feeling at the back of his mind that if John had showed the slightest bit of romantic interest in her she would have stepped into Mo’s shoes without a single protest, but unfortunately for her, John had mourned his loss with a deep and lasting passion, and thrown all his remaining energy into raising his sons.
Graham unlocked John’s front door. ‘Good morning, Delphine. Well, not so good, really, is it?’
‘No, Graham not so good.’ Delphine was dressed from head to foot in black. ‘The boys are almost ready. Good morning, Myra. Sad day, very sad day. Still, these things happen don’t they, life’s never fair.’
Myra agreed with her, ‘No, it never is.’ She then added, ‘Boys all right?’
Delphine came closer. ‘Not too bad considering, they’ve been crying a lot, well Piers has, but Oliver’s bearing up. Cup of tea?’
Myra nodded and followed her into John’s house. For one moment Myra got the distinct impression that Delphine was more at home in the kitchen than Myra had ever imagined. Graham went off in search of something while Delphine and Myra stood awkwardly for a moment not knowing who should play host.
‘The boys. Will they need something?’ Myra asked, at last.
‘They’ve had soya milk and biscuits over at mine. Would you or Graham like a biscuit?’
‘I’ll ask him.’ Myra walked into the sitting room and got a shock.
There was Graham sitting on the sofa. Oliver on one side and Piers the other, an arm around each of them and the boys clinging to him as though . . . well, a stranger could have been forgiven for thinking he was their dad. They looked so like him, especially Oliver. She hadn’t heard them come in – they must have dashed out of Delphine’s the moment they heard Graham arriving.
‘Good morning, boys.’ Myra said. ‘You’re looking very smart. Delphine wants to know, Graham, if you would like a cup of tea and a biscuit?’
Graham nodded. He’d been holding everything togther, but now he could barely speak. The two boys had clung to him the moment they walked in and he could feel their need. They had no one but him, their grandparents were too frail to cope, their mother gone, their father gone, who else was there? These boys needed him and Myra, but were either of them fit to become parents to two grieving boys? And were they willing? He’d had difficult moments with Myra many a time, when she needed his support, and he’d offered it, only to have it rebuffed. Now, this particular moment, he needed her support. He was certain he couldn’t reject his own flesh and blood, his closest living relatives. They were so deeply in need. So afraid. So anxious. So desperate.
Delphine came in with his tea and biscuits. ‘Now boys, I think you’d better be going to the lavatory don’t you? It’s nearly time for off. Come on, jump to it.’ When they didn’t move she said ‘Now!’ very firmly. Graham didn’t like her tone. Naturally, he thought, they were slow to react. Neither of them wanted to do anything today, least of all anything that brought them nearer the moment when they would leave for their father’s funeral.
Graham released his arms and said softly, ‘Good idea to go like Delphine says.’
Myra thought she sounded common. But she liked her being strict with them, boys needed someone strict. She glanced at Graham and saw he was angry, very angry. What was wrong with being a bit strict? But he was obviously very hurt.
Graham stood up as he heard the front door opening. ‘I think it’s Mo’s mum and dad, I caught sight of them passing the front window. Yes, it is, that’s her voice. Be nice Myra, be nice,’ Graham warned.
In came old Mrs Stewart. Graham took her arm and helped her to sit on the sofa. ‘Mrs Stewart. How are you? A sad day for us all, especially for the boys. Good of you to come all this way.’
The reply came in a thin reedy voice, almost as if the effort to speak would bring about her immediate demise. ‘It’s brought it all back about our Mo, John dying. Nice man was John, proud to have him as a son-in-law. How are you, Myra? You look no different than the last time I saw you, at our Mo’s funeral.’
‘I can’t believe it’s been almost ten years. How are you keeping?’ Myra knew without waiting for the answer that that the Stewarts were not well enought to take on their grandchildren.
‘Keeping body and soul together, Myra, but only just and my other half’s not much better. His heart you know. Were are the boys?’ Mrs Stewart delved into her handbag and brought out a handkerchief to dab her eyes. ‘You’ll be doing your duty then, Myra?’
‘My duty?’
‘Taking the boys.’
Graham intervened well before Myra had decided what to say. ‘That’s all in the melting pot, Mrs Stewart. Still to be decided.’
‘That Delphine woman, she’d have married John at the first snap of his fingers. Fancied him for years, she did. Well, it’s all too late, he didn’t want nobody after our Mo died. Broke his heart when she got killed.’ So wrapped in her misery was she, that Mrs Stewart had no idea Delphine had come back in and been standing behind the sofa listening to every word.
‘Well really Mrs Stewart, that’s simply not true. I only helped because of the boys, he’d no one else had he? Where were you at the end of the school day while the boys waited for John to get home?’ Delphine’s cheeks had gone a fiery red. ‘I’ve done my bit, believe me, and it’s more than can be said of you. I’ve slaved for John and the children, I have slaved and I mean that. Don’t you think of mentioning a word of it in front of my boys.’
Mrs Stewart surprisingly found some energy to answer her back. Her lips curled, her mouth twisted and out it came. ‘My boys Indeed! They are not your boys and never will be. You’re not having ’em. Graham’s having ’em, so you can forget that, lady.’
Myra reeled with shock. Just when she was forming a convenient plan of letting Delphine have the boys, old Mrs Stewart goes and says that. Her reply slipped out before she had engaged her brain. ‘Oh no Graham’s not, because I won’t allow it.’
At that exact moment the two boys walked back in, coats on, scarves wrapped about their necks, gloves on, looking like two very sad well-dressed angels.
Myra looked at Graham and thought he was going to boil over. She’d never seen him so angry.
Mr Stewart walked in just in time to hear Graham’s emotional yet somehow positive reply. ‘These boys have been left in my care by John in his will and that is how it will remain. Nothing and I mean nothing about this matter is to be discussed, ever again. The matter is settled as of this minute, it’s what John wanted. Now let’s assemble ourselves, the hearse is here, and remember it is these two boys who are suffering the most today and they’ve to have every consideration. From everyone.’
‘But . . .’ protested Delphine.
Graham, in Myra’s eyes, suddenly appeared to have grown.
‘Come along, Myra, we’ll go in the first car with Piers and Oliver. OK boys?’ He gently guided them to the front door, waited for the last of the mourners to leave and then locked it and preceded Myra, Oliver and Piers down the front path. He couldn’t bear to even glance at the coffin. His dearly loved little brother was gone for ever. What his sons must be feeling Graham couldn’t even begin to imagine. For the last week or so he’d kept himself busy organising the funeral, notifying friends and colleagues, tackling a mountain of paperwork – but now he couldn’t distract himself any longer. He would have to be strong while he said his last farewells, he would have to be the rock these boys could lean on now.
‘Come along boys, you get in first with your backs to the front of the car, these seats are just the right size for two boys, aren’t they? That’s it. Now you, Myra, facing the engine . . .’ dropping his voice he added curtly, ‘and like I said no more foolish talk, it’s not appropriate right now.’
‘But all I was going to say was . . .’
‘Drive on, please.’ Graham, grim-lipped and stony-faced, stared hard at her and for once in her life she stayed silent, but it didn’t stop her thinking. It had come to a pretty pass that Graham had silenced her. It had never happened before, he was always so patient, so gentlemanly, so courteous even when she knew she didn’t deserve it. Somehow she’d have to read the will and find out the real truth of what John had decreed. After all, how would she know what was the truth if she didn’t read the will? It was a bit surprising, John had always been so sympathetic about her poor health, surely he would never have intended for her to have the boys long-term. It must be a misunderstanding.
Here they were in the car park, the crematorium looming above them. Graham would have given anything to be able to get out and run, anywhere, anywhere but where he had to go this minute. The moment was finally here. His legs were stiff, his spine rigid, his heart bursting but the service had to be got through.
Myra watched Graham shepherd the boys to wait at the side so they could walk behind the coffin into the little chapel. There was a host of people waiting to follow them in. Who were they all? Smart, well-dressed, black ties, solemn faces, important-looking. Must be from John’s office, she thought. They’d all be manoeuvring for his job now, Myra suspected. As she looked around at the sea of pained faces, she was determined not to let herself feel the pain of John’s demise. She took pride in always being in control of herself, and she wouldn’t be making an exhibition of herself, today or any other time soon.
Out of the corner of his eye Graham saw Viv in the crowd and it occurred to him that she would be an ally for him in the matter of the boys. Perhaps she’d convince Myra of what a chance they’d been given. But as for Myra . . . he glanced at her and saw her impassive pale face, emotionless, controlled. What on earth had happened over the years, was it his fault they never let their true feelings show? Had he been too considerate? Too willing to give in? Too eager to keep the peace? Before he could continue his train of thought, he saw his mother. He half rose but sat down again when he saw his cousin Susan had made a space for her. When he’d phoned her to let her know the funeral arrangements, she’d said she wouldn’t come, that she couldn’t face saying goodbye to her favourite son. That was how it had always been, she’d never made a secret of the fact that her youngest was the apple of her eye. John couldn’t have hand-me-downs like other younger sons, her John had to have the best, even if it meant going without herself.
The service itself passed Graham by, his head too full of problems, his hands holding Oliver and Piers closely to him, sharing a service sheet, grieving for the brother he’d lost and for the father Oliver and Piers had had taken from them. It was all mixed up in his head and his tears didn’t help. He hadn’t a free hand to get at his handkerchief but he didn’t care, so the tears fell unheeded. He glanced again at Myra. Impassive, carved in stone despite this being her last farewell to the man she’d once hoped to marry. Myra must have felt him looking at her and turned her head, her eyes challenging him briefly. But he said nothing.
Before he knew it the gliding sliding organ music began and the coffin went on its final journey through the curtains. The service had ended. And now he had to take on life again. Myra opened her mouth to speak, but Graham held his finger up to her and shook his head as he turned back to the children. ‘Come along, boys, it’s time to leave. We’ll shake hands with everyone and thank them for coming. You’ve been very brave. I’m proud of you. Very proud, are we not, Auntie Myra?’ His eyes told her to answer, but she didn’t.
Graham was taken by surprise by the depth of sorrow John’s work colleagues expressed as they filed out.
‘Wonderful chap to work with.’
‘So sorry he’s gone.’
‘He’ll be greatly missed.’
They didn’t any of them stay for a drink, but he could understand that. Even Graham half-wished he could skip the uncomfortable conversations he knew would abound at the small lunch reception he’d arranged in a nearby pub.
Arriving at the reception, Graham felt he should bite the bullet and talk to his mother.
‘Boys, we’ll go have a word with Granny Butler, she’s over there – look.’ Piers was unwilling to let go of Graham, so trotted across with his uncle to say hello to a Granny he rarely saw. Despite doting on her youngest son, Mrs Butler was firmly of the generation that thought children should be seen and not heard. She visited as infrequently as she could, preferring instead to have John take her out for lunch (without Graham, ideally) while Delphine had the children. That way she could sweep in for a moment or two afterwards, ruffle their hair and leave without having to speak to the boys properly or, God forbid, play with them.
Oliver, old enough to be aware of his grandmother’s disdain for him, point blank refused to talk to her. Myra was for making him go, but Graham said, ‘Leave him be, please.’
Oliver spoke his first words of this dreadful day to his Auntie Myra. ‘The miserable cow. Granny! Huh! If she’s a typical granny then I’m glad I don’t have anything to do with grannies. I mean, Granny Stewart is OK, but she always looks like she’s about to cry when she sees us, and anyway, she lives so far away. Granny Butler lives so near but does everything she can to avoid seeing us, well, me in particular. She’s an old bag.’
Greatly amused that Oliver shared her own feelings about his granny, Myra asked him what was wrong with her.
‘Doesn’t like me, never has, it’s all Piers. Piers. Piers. Not his fault, it’s hers.’
‘She doesn’t like me either, so that makes two of us.’ They seemed to have established a conspiratorial relationship and Myra found herself surprisingly pleased by the idea. Then it occurred to her that that was how it had been for Graham, his younger brother the favourite when they should have been equal. It didn’t soften her resolve though not to have them both to look after.
But Granny Butler staggered across to speak to them. ‘Now then, Oliver, not speaking to your granny then? My little Piers has. Sulking are you?’
Myra couldn’t bear for her new-found conspirator to be spoken to like that.
‘On a day like this I think that Oliver has permission to speak to whom he likes.’
‘None of your business, Myra. None at all. If he can’t be polite . . .’
Oliver turned to walk away, but not without making sure he trod heavily on his granny’s toes.
Secretly delighted he’d done what she wished she would have dared to do, Myra said, ‘Oh! Oliver!’
Granny Butler shouted in pain, and someone Myra didn’t know came across to help.
‘Come along, Mrs Butler you’ve been standing far too long. Let me help.’
She hobbled off, complaining loudly about ungrateful grandchildren.
Graham, witnessing the whole episode, said nothing. What he’d overheard was history repeating itself and he couldn’t blame Oliver. Piers had been given a five pound note by his Granny, was there any wonder Oliver was filled with rage towards her with that kind of favouritism? Graham remembered the anger he’d felt as a boy at the same treatment and he couldn’t in his heart ask Oliver to apologise.
The buffet lunch was excellent. The atmosphere, as at most funerals, was one of people wanting to chat, having met up with relatives they didn’t see from one funeral to the next, but at the same time aware it wasn’t really a time for laughter or excessive noise. Graham was glad when it was all over and people were shaking his hand saying their goodbyes. The whole thing was awkward and regrettable and he needed to pay attention to the boys and explain what was going to happen. He’d said nothing to them until he’d seen the will and there it was plain as plain: the house, the money in the bank and most importantly, the boys were in Graham’s and Myra’s care now. John had hoped everyone else would understand that Graham would need the money to help feed and clothe and educate his boys, so there was nothing at all for anyone else.
His mother would have something to say when she found out. Her favourite son not leaving her anything! Not that she wanted for anything. Graham’s father had left her comfortably off when he died, but the value of money was one of her favourite topics of conversation.
Delphine came to have a word before she left to go home. Graham knew she would, there was no avoiding it, but he wished he might walk away today and deal with it when he felt better able to cope.
Delphine had assumed John would have decreed the boys should stay with her, it seemed to her to be the only common-sense solution. Convenient, no massive upheaval at a time of such distress to the boys, and yes of course they’d be left to her along with plenty of money to care for them. She knew exactly the amount that would be available because she’d peeped at his bank statement a week or so ago when she guessed the end was almost there. She was glad to have the chance to catch Graham right now. After all, that embittered cold-as-ice wife of his had made it clear earlier that she didn’t want the boys. She’d be relieved to be rid of them.
‘The boys can come straight home with me Graham, I’ll sort their clothes out from John’s house tomorrow, move everything across . . .’
‘Delphine! Delphine, I’m sorry to have to tell you that John has decided I should have the boys. It’s in his will. He asked me to give you a big thank you for everything you’ve done for them and . . .’
Delphine went a ghastly shade of white. Her mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. Then she said in a loud raucous voice, ‘You! You and that cold fish you call your wife? What does she know about caring for children? Nothing! I’ve cherished them, I have. They need me!’ Instead of calming down, Delphine was getting ever more shrill and wild-eyed. ‘I’ll fight you in the courts for them. They belong to me! I’m like their real mother after all these years. They’re mine. Mine! You’re stealing them from me.’
Graham had anticipated resistance but not on this scale. ‘I’m sorry, I know you’ve done heaps for them and John always appreciated that, all those evenings before he got back from work, those long school holidays, but this is for a lifetime you see and he wants them to be with family.’
‘I can’t believe John’s done this to me after all I’ve done, day in day out, I thought he’d want me to look after them. I’m devastated. It’s been a privilege to me to to look after them.’
Graham couldn’t stop himself from saying, ‘You did it all out of the kindness of your heart then, did you?’ He knew John had paid over the odds for the hours she had the boys. He’d been so grateful after Mo’s loss that Delphine had been on hand to give the boys some stability – someone to make sure they didn’t get into trouble hanging around after school or falling in with a bad crowd – that he hadn’t minded it cost more than any childminder or nanny Graham had ever heard of.
Delphine hesitated. ‘Well . . . not exactly. John insisted on giving me a little something for the time I spent with the boys. And he always paid me any expenses I had, from time to time, if they needed new trainers or anything . . .’ Her voice trailed off for fear of incriminating herself. What had happened to this blasted mouse of a man standing so defiantly in front of her? Money! That was it, the lure of it, the power it gave him. Damn him. All the money should have come to her, as she’d always expected.
Graham knew different. ‘I know for a fact he paid you for every hour you cared for the boys. He told me in the last few days. I’m glad they had you for support though, you did a good job but now I am doing what John wanted according to his will. So, we’ll come and collect their belongings right away. In the circumstances, the sooner the better I think. I have my own key,’ he dangled a brand new key in front of her, ‘so there’s no need for you to worry. I got the locks changed first thing this morning.’
That was a shock. She’d purposely waited until Graham had let her into John’s house that morning, not wanting people to realise she had free access to it. She’d intended taking various pieces out of John’s house and saying not a word to anyone. Just a few mementoes, she told herself. In her mind she saw Mo’s jewellery – that beautiful gold chain, so delicate, so costly, which she knew John had kept, because she discovered it one day when she was having a poke about in his bedroom. Plus there were some pictures she’d always fancied and those sovereigns in that leather box right at the back of the cupboard under the stairs, she’d have got a tidy sum for those. With the boys out of her house at school all day, she could have been in and out, with no one the wiser, taking what she wanted, over the back fence of course so the neighbours wouldn’t notice.
First thing this morning Graham had said. Delphine struggled to absorb this information. She’d heard a van pull up while she was still in her dressing gown – that must have been when it happened. Graham hadn’t mentioned a thing about it when they all met at the house for tea before the service.
Graham continued with his devastating news with Delphine listening but barely able to absorb it. ‘I didn’t know who John had given keys to, so just to be on the safe side I thought I’d get them changed. After all, the house and its contents are the boys’ inheritance, isn’t that right, Delphine?’
Myra, a surprised witness to this exchange, was even more amazed when Graham took hold of Delphine’s forearms, leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks for all the world as though they were kissing cousins.
Graham produced a beaming smile saying, ‘That’s a thank you for all you’ve done for the boys and for John’s sake. If there’s anything owing while John’s been in the hospice, let me have a list and when the money is released by the solicitors I’ll see you get remunerated. I know you have my address, John told me.’
Delphine nodded, dumbstruck by the unexpected turn of events.
No one had noticed that Piers had snuck up until a small voice piped up. ‘Don’t let’s forget Little Pete.’
‘Little Pete?’ Myra asked.
‘Oliver’s rabbit.’
‘Oliver’s rabbit? I didn’t know he had a rabbit.’
‘He got it for his birthday, it’s only a baby it doesn’t eat much, Myra.’
Myra, on the verge of suggesting they took it back to the pet shop, was silenced by Graham, who after fifteen years of being married to Myra knew exactly what she was intending to say.
‘We mustn’t leave him behind must we, Oliver?’ Piers looked for support from his brother who’d come across to see why all the grown-ups were speaking in raised voices.
‘No. You’ll like him Myra.’
Not entirely convinced that Oliver was right about that, Myra shook her head at Graham to indicate she really wasn’t keen. But he ignored her.
‘Mightn’t you boys prefer to stay with Delphine a little longer while we get organised? Find the best place to put Pete? Get your beds ready. That would be a good idea wouldn’t it?’
Her apparently helpful, considerate remark was met by two pairs of bleak blue eyes, and a blank refusal from them both. Oliver said, ‘No way, we’re not going back to Delphine’s.’
Piers uttered the single but very firm word, ‘No.’
Delphine’s eyes widened but before she had a chance to chastise them, Graham ushered Myra and the boys away. He knew if he didn’t take them now while Myra was still in shock at the thought of taking on the boys, she would come up with a thousand reasons why they couldn’t take the boys home. How he and Myra would cope with bringing up two boys he had no idea, but cope they would, it was most definitely a better solution for them than foster homes or a childrens’ home or Delphine’s for that matter.
Graham swept Myra along with a tide of suggestions as to how best she could help the move. ‘If you could supervise their clothes Myra, get them into cases or bundled up as best you can, don’t forget the coat hangers because we haven’t enough at home, I’ll do the toys and books with the boy’s help and sort out the transport of Little Pete. Before we know where we are we shall be home. I think we’ll have a meal out tonight just to round the day off, how about it, Auntie Myra?’
Numb with shock, Myra agreed. ‘Of course. Yes.’ In the circumstances what was there else to say?
Graham gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek for agreeing and Myra almost blanched at the unexpectedness of it.
Back at John’s house, Graham unlocked the front door and forced himself to go in. He hated this bit, he might look brave and positive but he was anything but. It had only been a few hours since they’d sat in the living room this morning, but the finality of the funeral service had changed the atmosphere. The house felt chilled and unwelcoming. Myra followed him in but the two boys hesitated.
Graham forced himself to sound cheerful. ‘It won’t take us long boys, let’s get on with it.’ He opened the door wider and beckoned them in. Piers ran upstairs, Oliver opened the back door and went into the garden to find comfort with Little Pete.
In no time at all with Piers’ help the books and the toys were packed in large plastic boxes Graham had found in the garage, obviously new and purposely bought by John with removal in mind when he was told he had terminal cancer. Graham was amazed at how John had had the bravery and presence of mind to prepare so many thoughtful details when he must have been reeling from his diagnosis.
The clothes packing was much slower. Myra was inspecting every single item to see if they were suitable and if they would fit in the empty drawers in their guest bedroom. Graham, discovering her slow progress, said, ‘It’s no good Myra, for goodness’ sake. Sort them out at home. Just put them in any old how. Look I’ve found another case in Oliver’s bedroom, that’ll help, won’t it.’
Finally the Butler family car was loaded to its roof, with Oliver and Piers packed in the back seat surrounded by belongings. Graham had finally realised that they had no hope of getting everything in, so had declared that before they went out for a meal he’d come back and pick up Little Pete and the hutch and run and his boxes of food, along with the boys’ computers which also wouldn’t fit in this first car-load.
Myra panicked. In a low voice she protested that she couldn’t manage the boys by herself, what was he thinking of?
‘There’s no alternative is there? It won’t take me long.’
‘Leave the blessed rabbit behind with the door open by mistake. I told you I didn’t want it as soon as I heard about it. Do you understand, just leave the hutch door open, please.’
‘Haven’t they lost enough already? It could do untold damage to them both if that happened.’
‘What about the damage to me?’ protested Myra.
‘Pull yourself together Myra, life’s quite difficult enough without you inventing things to worry about.’
Myra protested vigorously. ‘It’s not fair, you’re not fair. I’m not putting up with it. What’s happened to you?’ She heard the petulant strain in her voice, knew she was meant to be an adult in this situation, but couldn’t stop herself.
They drove home across town in total silence. The two boys weren’t into speaking much that day anyway. Graham was struggling to come to terms with this new situation which had suddenly hit him with a force he hadn’t bargained for and as for Myra . . . she was in a complete spin. This was the first day and already she couldn’t cope. How did you speak to boys? What did you talk about? Weather? Formula One? Football? School?
Myra made her first stab at speaking to them at their level. ‘It’s school tomorrow, isn’t it?’
The disgruntled mutterings which came from the back seat should have warned Myra she was on difficult ground.
‘We’re not going.’ This was Oliver.
‘I’d rather they didn’t, not the rest of this week.’ said Graham. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’
She ignored Graham, it was as if he’d never spoken. ‘Piers, your school is too far away for you to go to. You’ll have to change schools.’
This remark got no reply from the back seat and she realised she might have broached the subject more gently. Tough, she thought. She wasn’t going to be walking on eggshells around the boys.
‘Oliver, your school will have a bus going across town, so we’ll inquire about that tomorrow.’
Still no reply. So what did you do when they wouldn’t answer? How did you know what they were thinking? She glanced at the pair of them via the vanity mirror on her sun visor. They looked miserable. Briefly a moment of sympathy flooded Myra’s heart, quickly dispelled when Piers poked his tongue out at her. Had he seen her looking at him? He did it again! Did he want her to see him doing it? She was baffled. A flicker of a smile crossed Oliver’s face and she knew he liked the idea of Piers doing that to her and then he stuck out his own tongue and grimaced. She’d thought they were friends because of what he’d said about Granny Butler. She folded her sun visor up, rooted in her bag for the house keys and, hand on safety belt, waited while Graham swung the car into their drive.
With everything unloaded Graham said, ‘I’ll be off then for Little Pete. Do you boys want to stay here with your Auntie Myra? I won’t be long.’
‘Why not wait until tomorrow? It’s five already, and almost dark?’ remarked Myra.
Oliver turned to Graham. ‘We can’t leave Pete there all on his own all night, he needs locking up ’cos of foxes. We’ll come with you, Uncle Graham.’
‘That’s fine by me. Come along then, we’ll put all this away when we get back.’
So they went, her wishes apparently counting for nothing.
Myra knew she was losing her grip on Graham and she’d no idea how she’d get it back. Life had suddenly turned completely upside down. Graham seemed to forget it wasn’t just for a few days; one night with guests was bad enough, they were talking here about a lifetime! And a blasted rabbit too! She’d had no experience of animals, not even a hamster because her mother wouldn’t let her have one. Come to think of it her mother wouldn’t let her have anything or do anything she wanted at all, like wearing hairbands when they were the fashion, or skirts the same length as a pelmet when they were in, or holes in her jeans when everyone else her age had artfully ripped denim. Graham had been her bid for freedom and now look what was happening. Surrounded by the mountains of the boys’ belongings Myra plunged down on to the nearest chair and wept; outfaced and inconsolable.