Newcastle, August
Just come with me to see it,’ James pleaded with Tilly.
She was brushing her hair in front of the dressing-table mirror, her back to him. He tried to catch her look in the mirror but she was studiously avoiding eye contact. It was almost impossible to have a private conversation with his wife as there was always someone else with her in the house or she was dashing out to one of her numerous commitments, leaving him with long hours on his hands. If he didn’t have his trips to Willowburn Estate up the Tyne valley to go riding, James knew he would not be able to endure his retirement.
It was kind Adela who had come to his rescue and contacted Tommy, the stable master there, who had introduced James to the genial Major and his nice family. James relished his twice-weekly rides around the estate and talking about tea and India to Major Gibson, who had once been a young subaltern in Burma. When the Major had offered to rent James a house on the estate, he had jumped at the chance. He knew that, given time, he and Tilly could recreate the loving home they had once shared in Assam.
So he curbed his irritation and said to Tilly’s back, ‘The house is big enough for you to do your entertaining and you can furnish it any way you want. You’ll make it into just as comfortable a home as Cheviot View. And the grounds are spectacular—’
‘Cheviot View!’ Tilly exclaimed. ‘God forbid. I don’t see why we have to live so far from Newcastle.’
‘It’s not far and I thought we’d agreed to give it a try?’ James said in exasperation. ‘I’ve more or less promised Gus Gibson that we’ll take it. And he has the most charming young American wife, Martha – she’ll be company for you.’
‘I’ve got the company I want here in Newcastle,’ she replied.
‘But the Major has been most accommodating . . .’
‘You shouldn’t have made promises before I’ve had a chance to see it,’ said Tilly, her hair brushing becoming more vigorous.
‘I’m giving you the chance now,’ James cried. ‘A trip out. The fresh air will do you good.’
‘Fresh air is overrated. Unless it’s sea air.’
She carried on brushing the same wavy piece of hair, though there were no knots left in it. James noticed how it had lost its reddish sheen and was peppered with grey at the roots.
‘Tilly! When I suggested St Abbs to be near Johnny, you said you didn’t want to move to the seaside. I wouldn’t mind that – somewhere near the River Tweed for fishing.’
‘No, I don’t want to live in St Abbs either,’ said Tilly in agitation. ‘Visiting Johnny is one thing – but hearty Helena would drive me mad as my neighbour.’
‘Then what do you want?’ James demanded.
She paused in her brushing and turned to face him. ‘You know what I want – to stay in the city.’
‘But this house is too small,’ James pointed out. ‘Especially with all the extra lodgers you seem to have acquired.’
Tilly gave him a sharp look. ‘They’re not lodgers. Adela and Sam are family – and Josey is like a sister to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ James relented. ‘I didn’t mean that I don’t want Adela and Sam living with us.’ Privately, he could quite happily see the back of the chain-smoking Josey and her droll waspish remarks.
Tilly said, ‘Poor things haven’t found settling back here very easy so the last thing Adela and Sam need is for us to throw them out.’
‘I don’t want to throw anyone out,’ protested James.
In fact, life in the house would be intolerable without Adela and her affable husband. Years ago, he had misjudged Sam as a rootless dreamer who would never stick long at any job, and had resented him for being critical of how workers were treated on the Oxford Estates. But since returning to Newcastle James had quickly grown fond of Sam: he was hardworking and a devoted husband to Clarrie’s daughter. With Sam he could reminisce about India, and the younger man understood how he missed his old home in Assam.
‘If we move to the countryside,’ said Tilly, ‘that’s exactly what will happen. Adela and Sam can’t possibly carry on the café if they’re stuck out at Willowburn.’
‘They have a van,’ said James. ‘It’s not a long drive.’
‘It is with petrol still rationed. They wouldn’t manage. You have no idea how hard life has been in Britain.’
James sighed in frustration. His wife never tired of telling him of all the deprivation those on the Home Front had suffered during the War. When he had alluded to how dangerous Assam had become under imminent threat from a Japanese invasion, Tilly had said that it just made her all the more thankful that she hadn’t returned to India with the children.
‘Tilly,’ James said, trying to stay calm, ‘I just want us to have a proper family home – big enough to accommodate us all – so that Jamie can stay whenever he wants and Libby will have her own room when she returns.’
Tilly seized on this. ‘I can’t believe you let her stay on alone in India,’ she chided.
‘She’s not alone – she’ll be at Belgooree with Clarrie by now.’ James broke off, reddening. Tilly didn’t like him talking about Belgooree or Clarrie or ‘harping on about India’ as she called it.
‘We’ve no idea what that girl is up to,’ said Tilly. ‘You obviously had as little influence over her as I did. I told you what a handful she could be. She just does whatever she wants without thinking about the consequences.’
‘That’s not fair,’ James said. ‘Libby is a fine young woman. She’s made a lot of friends in India and is passionate about the country, so I wasn’t going to stop her having a couple of extra weeks there. Besides, she’s a grown woman and we can no longer order her to do what we want.’
‘We never could,’ Tilly sighed.
‘Anyway,’ said James, ‘stop trying to use Libby to divert our conversation. What are we going to do about where we live?’
Tilly put down the hairbrush. She gave him a contrite look.
‘I’m sorry, James; I don’t want us to argue like this. I know it’s difficult for you,’ she said, ‘but I’m finding this hard too. Perhaps we could compromise on where we live?’
‘How?’ he asked.
‘What about if we spend part of the week at Willowburn – and the rest in town? We could see if it suits us and I could still do my voluntary work – I don’t want to let people down.’
‘You mean keep on two houses?’
‘Yes, just for a few months,’ Tilly said, turning back to the mirror while she clipped on earrings – silver and jade ones that Libby had helped James choose before he left Calcutta.
James felt a tightening in his chest at the thought of his lively, cheerful daughter. He missed her. Several times he had sat down to write to her but hadn’t known what to say. He knew she worried about him but he didn’t want to fill a letter full of lying platitudes that everything in Newcastle was fine. He knew how much she hoped for a perfect family reunion. Anyway, she would be joining them any day soon. His spirits lifted at the thought.
He watched while Tilly sprayed on perfume. For an instant the scent reminded him of long ago when he’d courted her – the young, garrulous, blushing, plumply pretty Tilly – and he felt a stirring of affection. He wanted to recapture their early days. If only he could have Tilly to himself more often, he was sure they could rekindle their early passion.
‘But that doesn’t get around the fact that we’re crammed in here like chickens in a coop,’ said James, trying to lighten the mood.
He put a hand on her shoulder and felt her stiffen. She shifted away from him, leaning forward to apply lipstick. He never remembered her wearing make-up in India.
‘Well,’ said Tilly, pressing her lips on a handkerchief and sitting up straight. ‘I’ve been having a look around and there’s a house in Jesmond which would fit the bill perfectly.’ She turned and gave him a tentative smile. ‘It’s got five bedrooms and a large garden and it’s just a stone’s throw from the Dene so you can take the dogs for a walk – when we get dogs – and I can walk to church easily from there.’
James gaped at her. Her hazel eyes lit up as she talked about the house in the prosperous suburb where she had grown up.
‘And all the bedrooms are a good size. The boys can share the largest one so that Libby and Josey can have their own rooms – and we’d still have a spare room for Adela and Sam if they needed it. You and I could have the one with the view over the Dene and all the trees – just like being at Cheviot View or Belgooree.’
She gave a small nervous laugh. James was dismayed.
‘Have you already been to see it?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I took Josey to have a look last week.’ Tilly’s look turned defiant. ‘It’s for rent or sale, so if we like it we can buy it. Mungo likes it too.’
‘Mungo’s been to see it?’ James exclaimed.
‘Just from the outside,’ said Tilly, rising from her stool and adjusting her sack-like dress over ample hips. James wondered fleetingly when Tilly had begun to wear such matronly clothes. Perhaps she always had but he had never noticed.
Tilly gave him a smile of encouragement. ‘I’ll come and see the house at Willowburn if you agree to look at the Jesmond property. What do you say?’
James hid his despondency. It sounded as if the family was already lining up to support Tilly on the matter – just as they deferred to her on all the petty daily decisions that had been taken since his return. He felt bewildered. His sons made topical jokes and hooted with laughter over radio comedy that left James baffled. Jamie was a kind young man but was diffident with his father and as he worked long hours in a hospital in Sunderland, he was rarely at home. Mungo was friendly and talked to James about sport but was far more at ease with Tilly, although he teased his mother mercilessly. Neither son seemed remotely interested in his stories about India; nor did they want to reminisce about their childhood there in the way that Libby had done.
It was James who felt like a lodger in his own home. Except this wasn’t his home; it was the house Tilly had rented for her and the children during the War. It was full of their possessions – his were still in transit at sea – and it was like staying in a boarding house where nothing was familiar. At least if they went to Jesmond they would be starting again afresh together.
‘Okay, I agree,’ James said, stifling a sigh. ‘I’ll view the house in Jesmond.’
‘Good,’ said Tilly, beaming. She crossed the bedroom swiftly. ‘Breakfast then,’ she said as she disappeared into the corridor.
James surveyed the room. His spirits plummeted at the sight of the twin beds. Tilly refused to sleep in a double bed, saying she had got used to a single bed and remembered how James was far too restless and always pulled off the covers. Hers was neatly made; his was a crumple of sheets and blankets. They had had sex once since his return but it had not been a success. He’d climbed into her bed but she’d lain tense and with her face turned away while he’d tried to arouse her. Ten minutes later he was back in the other bed, staring at the ceiling, engulfed by loneliness.
Neither of them had talked about the unsatisfactory copulation and after that Tilly was always in bed first with her bedside lamp switched off pretending to be asleep. Would his wife agree to buy a double bed in their next house? Could he demand such a concession from her? If only they could lie next to each other and fall asleep in each other’s arms like they used to, then surely they could reignite a healthy sex life.
James yearned for physical contact but Tilly shied away from it. She didn’t even appear to want to be kissed by him. Whenever he touched her, she froze or slipped past him saying she had a dozen things to do. The most he got from her was a peck on the cheek – he suspected more for appearance’s sake in front of the others – and a distracted wave as she hurried away from him.
James closed his eyes in despair. He clung on to the one positive element of their lonely sleeping arrangements: he’d hardly had any bad dreams since his return. He was sure Tilly would have complained at once if he’d woken her up with his shouts and babbling.
James pulled back his shoulders and raised his chin. He’d go riding today, come what may. That was the only way he could bear this strange dislocated life he found himself living.