Chapter Twenty-Three
I wasn't in the best of moods when I arrived at Great Uncle Charles's house. I couldn't believe that Kit was going ahead with his plans to cut the Christmas bonus. I'd stupidly and naively believed that he would change his mind, once he got talking to the staff and bonded with them. I should have known better. Mr Scrooge wouldn’t change his miserly ways that easily.
Frankly, though, after everything that had happened, I couldn't imagine what else I could do to show him the error of his ways. If the weekend we'd just spent together hadn't made him want to be the man he used to be, then what would?
My steps slowed, as I trudged up the path to the front door. Feeling defeated wasn’t a mood I wanted to face Great Uncle Charles in, and he’d no doubt make it worse by having something to say about my total failure. Great.
The door was locked, though that wasn't surprising so early in the morning. I knocked several times, but there was no answer. He was probably avoiding me, winding me up. The world felt out to get me that morning.
Cursing, I stomped around to the back of the house, moved the pot, and retrieved the key.
The house was cold inside—freezing cold. It actually felt even colder than it did outside, which was a bit weird. For the first time, a seed of doubt formed inside me. Was he okay? It was deathly quiet in there.
I wandered into the living room, but there was no sign of him. A half-eaten pot noodle sat on the coffee table, its congealed contents alarming me and filling me with shame. He'd not even managed to finish that meagre meal. Had he been eating properly at all over the weekend? I should have visited him sooner, instead of going to parties and rolling around in bed with Kit.
I would make it up to him. I'd cook him a proper breakfast, get that heating on, and then make sure he got a hearty evening meal, cooked with my own fair hands.
While climbing the stairs, I called his name. I didn't want to alarm him, walking in on him in his bedroom, after all. Reaching the airing cupboard, I flicked on the boiler, relieved to hear it click into action. At least the heating seemed to be working.
When I knocked on his bedroom door, though, there was no call for me to come in, or, more likely, to bugger off.
Tentatively, I pushed open the door. Great Uncle Charles was in bed. His duvet had landed on the floor, and I scooped it up, horrified at how cold he must’ve been. Laying it over him, I felt a churning of dread in the pit of my stomach. He looked terrible. His eyes were closed, his face was grey, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. I placed my hand on his forehead. He felt clammy, in spite of the cold air, which had wrapped itself around him in place of the bedding.
I glanced at my watch. If I rang the doctor, there'd be no chance of a visit before lunchtime. I wasn't at all sure I could wait that long. I wasn't sure Great Uncle Charles could, either.
"All about the money, you know."
I jumped as his reedy voice cut through the quiet. "It's all right, Uncle. Go to sleep. I'm going to get help."
"You're a good girl, Marley. Always a good girl."
I stared at him in disbelief. He was being kind about me? But at least he knew who I was. That was something, wasn't it?
"Don't let him go, Marley. He's not like them. Don't be alone."
I bit my lip. "I won't. Don't worry about all that now."
He kicked at the duvet, his breath coming in short gasps. "But I love you. I love you. Please don't do this. Please .... Please don't leave me. I need you."
Tears filled my eyes as I stood up and hurried down the stairs to telephone for an ambulance. Something was dreadfully wrong with Great Uncle Charles, and it was all my fault. I'd abandoned him in his hour of need, and, it seemed, I wasn't the only one.
***
I called Kit. He sounded quite sharp at first, not that I could blame him.
"Where are you? You do know you're nearly an hour late for work?"
"I'm sorry. I won't be coming in today. I—"
"For God's sake, Marley. How unprofessional is that? So you don't approve of my decisions. Tough. Live with it. You have a job to do, and you should be here. Unless, of course, you've decided to move on?"
A note of hesitancy moved into his voice at that point, and I tutted impatiently. "Just shut up, Kit."
"Pardon?"
"Look, this has nothing to do with you, or us, or the factory. It's my uncle. He's seriously ill."
"What? God, I'm sorry, Marley. Where are you?"
"At the hospital. I had to call an ambulance." My voice wavered. "He's—he's really poorly, Kit. They suspect pneumonia, and it's all my fault."
"How is this your fault?"
"I should have visited him sooner. I promised I'd call round earlier, but I stayed away all weekend. I feel terrible." Tears rolled down my cheeks. "I let him down. He could die."
"He won't die." The uncertainty in his voice belied his words, though. "I'll be right there."
"There's no need," I said. "Besides, you have a job to do, don't you? Can't put it off any longer."
"Already done it." His voice sounded grim. "I'm hardly Mr Popular around here at the moment. I'll be with you as soon as I can."
"What, just so you can get out of everyone's way?" I sniffed, feeling angry and hopeful all at the same time. I was annoyed that he'd done what he'd said he would do, and part of me resented the fact that he just expected me to want him with me. On the other hand, I did want him with me. He'd been a massive comfort to me when I’d lost Grandad. I needed him beside me again. I could hardly expect my family to care, could I?
"No," he said. "Not because of that. Because I want to support you. Is that okay with you?"
I wiped away the tears and nodded. "Yes, please," I said, my voice small. "I would really appreciate that."
His tone softened immediately. "I'll be as quick as I can. Promise."
In the event, he was there within three quarters of an hour, which was pretty good going, considering he'd brought along David and Olivia.
"What are you two doing here?"
"Why wouldn't we be here? Kit told us what's happened and offered to bring us. Don's gone to fetch Mum. Can't believe you didn't call us, Marley."
"I didn't think you'd be bothered," I admitted.
"He's still family, whatever we think of him," Olivia said. "Besides, you're bothered. We'd be here for you, even if we hated Great Uncle Charles, which we don't. I definitely don't like to think of him so ill. I was going to visit him at the weekend, for Christmas. I feel bad now. He'll be okay, though, won’t he?"
I stared at her, stricken. Truthfully, I couldn't say he would be, having seen the state of him. He'd been mumbling some pretty weird things before the paramedics had arrived and placed an oxygen mask over his face. I couldn't make head, nor tail, of most of the stuff he’d said, but what was clear was that the rumours were true. Great Uncle Charles had definitely loved someone once, very much. And that person had left him and broken his heart.
Was that when he'd become such a bitter man, driven only by the pursuit of wealth?
He'd left Moreton Cross when in his early twenties, and gone to Leeds, where he'd eventually built up a hugely successful construction company. He'd sold it off on reaching retirement age, and had moved back to Moreton Cross to spend his twilight years with his younger brother. Grandad had once told me that he'd been very different when he was younger, and that I shouldn't judge him too harshly, as I had no idea what he'd been through. Evidently, he was quite right. I wished with all my heart that I'd been more understanding towards him. Kinder. Though, God knows, he hadn't made it easy to like him.
"Marley? He will be all right?" Olivia reached for David's hand and squeezed it as she waited for my reply.
I took a deep breath. "He has severe pneumonia. He's very poorly. It's not looking good."
Kit put his arm around me and drew me towards him. "I'm sorry," he murmured, kissing the top of my head.
David and Olivia exchanged glances. "Coffee, anyone?" David said hastily. "Tea? There's a vending machine down the corridor."
We all agreed a cup of tea would be just the job—more, I think, for something to do than because we actually wanted a drink.
We'd just settled into chairs in the waiting area, clutching our plastic cups, when Mum and Don came rushing in. Mum hurried towards me and put her arms around me, almost knocking the tea out of my hand.
"Why didn't you call me, love? Are you okay?"
"It's not me that's poorly, Mum," I reminded her.
"I know, but you go to see him a lot. And he's all you have left of your grandad, after all."
I gaped at her, stunned that she'd even given any thought to that aspect of our relationship.
She ruffled my hair. "What? You think I didn't know that you kept in touch with him? Do me a favour, Marley. I'm your mum. I always know."
Not everything, Mum. You definitely don't know everything.
She cuddled me, and I quickly passed the cup to Kit before any more hot tea could land on my lap. "I'm sorry, love, I really am. I should have been there for you when your grandad died, but I was too angry and bitter with your dad. It coloured my judgement, and I really let you down. I'm so sorry. It wasn't your grandad's fault, any of it. I should never have listened to your dad."
"Dad only hated Grandad because Grandad saw him for what he was," I said. "When Grandma was alive, he kept his mouth shut, and let her believe the best in their son. When she died, Dad must have known that Grandad wouldn't put up with his lies any longer. He was probably worried that Grandad would tip you off about what Dad was really up to. He couldn't risk that, so he turned you against him. Grandad was lovely, Mum. The best man in the world."
"I'm sure he was, love. I'm sorry you went through all that alone. I just wish I'd been there for you."
I risked a sideways glance at Kit and wanted to say, I wasn't alone. I had the second-best man in the world right beside me, every step of the way, and here he is again, just when I need him. Although, he hadn't always been there when I needed him, had he? And I didn't think right then was the time to reveal the depth of the relationship Kit and I had shared—not with Great Uncle Charles so ill.
The nurses allowed us in to see Uncle two at a time, for short periods. He looked dreadful. His face was grey, his wispy hair plastered to his head. Beneath his closed eyes, an oxygen mask covered his face. He had tubes coming out of his arms, which didn't surprise me, considering I'd heard the nurse telling Mum about complications.
"He's nearly ninety," Mum had said gently. "You've got to be prepared."
But I wasn't prepared. As I looked down at the old man, who'd been such a big part of my life since Grandad had died, I knew I wasn't ready to let him go. I would have given anything to hear him snapping at me about my ulterior motives for visiting him, or telling me off for making the tea too strong, or making some sly comment about Olivia's baby-making prowess, and my own lack of anything meaningful in my life.
Kit squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry, Marley."
"Don't write him off just yet," I said desperately. "He's a lot stronger than you think. He'll pull through this, you'll see."
Back in the corridor, I announced that I was heading to Fox Lodge to get Great Uncle Charles some things.
"What things?" Mum said.
"What do you think? When he wakes up, he's going to be furious that he's stuck in that hospital gown. I'm going to bring his pyjamas, and his glasses, and a newspaper for him to read, and his favourite biscuits. Bet you anything you like that he'll moan about the food in here."
They all looked at each other, and I wanted to scream at the expression on their faces: You don't know him like I do! He won't let this beat him. He's tougher than he looks. Instead, I said dully, "Can someone give me a lift, please?"
A chorus of voices obliged, but strangely enough, I knew exactly who I wanted to take me home. "Kit, you need to get back to the factory. David, can you drop Mum home before you go back to work? Don, thank you. I'd really appreciate the lift."
Kit looked at me, clearly hurt. I couldn't deal with him right then. I couldn't think about anything but sorting out Great Uncle Charles's belongings and bringing them straight back to him.
"You've done enough for me today," I told him. "Seriously, I appreciate it, but you need to be at work. I'll be fine with Don."
Don put his arm around me. "Come on, then, love. Let's get off to Fox Lodge, shall we? Don't want the old man sitting there in that gown when he wakes up, do we? Let's give him some dignity, eh?"
And that, I thought, following him out of the hospital towards the car park, was why I needed Don right then. He'd go along with whatever I said, without trying to talk me out of it, or prepare me for the worst, like the others. It was why he'd spent his entire lunchbreak finding a Father Christmas outfit for Kit, even though he thought my whole mission to save him was completely barmy. He was a good man, and perfect for Mum. At that moment, I didn't want reason, or kindness, or sympathy. I just wanted someone who would let me believe.
***
"So, this is Fox Lodge," Don said, as I pushed open the front door and ushered him inside. The heating was still on. Great Uncle Charles would be furious if he knew.
Don looked around him, while I waited anxiously for his verdict. "It could be a cracking place, this. I can see why you love it so much. Make a smashing home when it's done up."
I could have hugged him. Mum and Olivia thought it was just a gloomy old pile of bricks, but Don could see the potential, just as I could. Even so, I would far rather have Great Uncle Charles at home, sitting in his chair, newspaper in hand, trying his best to ignore me, than his house, however gorgeous I could make it.
The thought shook me. I'd had no idea how fond of him I'd become. I wished with all my heart that I'd realised it sooner. Maybe if he hadn't thought I only cared about the house, he'd have softened towards me, too. Maybe we'd have got on better.
Well, I thought, squaring my shoulders determinedly, when he got home, things would be different. I'd tell him how much he mattered to me. We'd make a fresh start. Get to know each other properly. There was so much I wanted to know about him, and it wasn't too late. It wasn't.
We headed upstairs to his bedroom, and I opened the top drawer of his chest of drawers, pulling out several pairs of pants and some socks.
"He'll need a couple of pairs of pyjamas," I said, placing the underwear on the bed. "Hope he's got some clean." I assumed they'd be in the next drawer, but they weren't. Instead, there was an assortment of shoes lined up, all neatly polished.
Don wrinkled his nose in bewilderment. "Why keep shoes in a drawer? Funny old stick, isn't he?"
"You could say that," I said, smiling. "He has his own ways, and they're always right. Everyone else is wrong."
I closed the drawer and tried the bottom drawer, relieved to see several pairs of stripy pyjamas folded up neatly. I pulled a couple of pairs out and then peered back into the drawer. "What on earth's that?"
Don wandered over to stand beside me and stared into the depths of the drawer. "Looks like a scrapbook," he announced, quite unnecessarily. My question had been rhetorical. I could see for myself what it was. The question was, should I look inside it?
Don looked down at me as I crouched beside the open drawer, trying to decide what to do. "He won't thank you for it," he said. "It's private, Marley."
"I know. I know that." But I bit my lip. It might’ve been my only chance to find out what made Great Uncle Charles behave the way he did, what made him tick. Grandad had said a lot had happened to him, and that he didn't used to be like that. What had changed him? If I could find out what had happened, maybe we could build a better relationship when he got home. He need never know that I knew, after all.
Without another thought, I pulled out the scrapbook and rushed over to the bed.
Don tutted and shook his head. "You sure about this, love?"
"Quite sure," I said firmly.
The scrapbook was old, its pages stiff. I stared down at the newspaper cuttings and frowned. They were just about the last thing I'd expected. Don sat beside me, and we turned the pages in silence—my mind whirling.
"By heck," said Don at last. "It's like a history of Carroll's."
"But I don't understand," I said. "Great Uncle Charles hates Carroll's. Why has he been collecting all this information about it?"
Don went back to the beginning of the scrapbook and looked through it again. "It's not a history of Carroll's, really. It's a history of Edwin and Dorothy Carroll. Look, it starts with their engagement announcement, and goes right up to the birth of James Carroll. Then it stops. This whole thing only covers about five years."
I examined the cuttings and photos again. He was quite right. The first cutting was all about how delighted both parents were that Edwin Carroll was engaged to be married to Miss Dorothy Enid Brocklehurst. Dorothy was, apparently, the daughter of a Whitby solicitor, and was rather attractive.
I stared down at her face, noting the sparkling eyes and the dark curls, and realised with a start that I was looking at Kit's grandmother. How strange that Great Uncle Charles had a picture of her in a scrapbook. Not just one picture, I realised. He'd collected press cuttings of their wedding, and a photograph of them posing with their only child, Kit's father, James. He also had various newspaper snippets about what was happening at Carroll's during that time, and details of parties the couple had attended.
One photo particularly caught my eye. It was a picture of Fell House, complete with dozens of posh cars in the drive, and an article about the swanky party that the couple had hosted after James's christening, and the local dignitaries who were his godparents, and how happy and how much in love the couple clearly were. After that, the scrapbook was empty, although there were several pages he could still have filled. What did it mean?
Don shook his head. "Seems to have had a bit of an obsession with them, doesn't he?"
The fog was lifting. "Dorothy Carroll," I murmured. "That's what went wrong. That's what changed him."
"Sorry?"
"Grandad said he'd been badly hurt, and it had changed him. That he didn't used to be the way he is. Don't you see? He clearly loved this Dorothy Carroll, or Brocklehurst, as she was, and she chose Edwin Carroll over him. Great Uncle Charles probably thought it was his money she'd gone for. That's what made him so bitter, and that's why he went off chasing after a fortune of his own. No wonder he hates the Carrolls and that factory. Edwin was at school with him, and must have known how he felt about Dorothy. No wonder Great Uncle Charles says you can never trust that family. Poor man. He must have been heartbroken."
Don sighed. "What a waste of life. He could have found someone else, instead of sitting here, brooding over something he couldn't have."
"But if she was the love of his life, how could he ever get over that? She abandoned him for money. She chose the lifestyle over him!" I thought of Kit. He'd abandoned me, too. Okay, he'd gone off to do good, but could I trust him? Could you ever trust a Carroll?
"Now, Marley, you don't know that she abandoned him for money, or anything else, for that matter. You don't even know if she was even aware that your uncle was in love with her. It might have been a secret crush, for all you know. And who's to say she didn't genuinely love this Edwin Carroll?"
"Huh. I very much doubt it. From what I've heard, he was horrible."
"And your uncle's all sweetness and light?"
I glared at him. "He was, until she broke his heart!"
"By heck, there's no shifting you when you've made your mind up, is there? All right, love, if you say so. We may never know the truth of it, so there's no use falling out over it. Let's put this back and get his stuff packed for the hospital, eh? Don't go upsetting yourself."
But I was upset. If Edwin Carroll hadn't been so selfish, if Dorothy Brocklehurst hadn't been so greedy, Great Uncle Charles might have had the life he deserved, and he may have turned out as lovely and kind and sweet-natured as Grandad. I could well understand his hatred for the family. Hadn't I felt it myself all those long years, when Kit had left me all alone, after all his promises?
Don put his arm around me. "This has really got to you, hasn't it? What is it, love?"
I put the scrapbook beside me on the bed and rubbed my face wearily. I was so tired of everything. I wasn't sure I could carry the burden of the past on my own any longer, and Don was so kind and so straightforward. I leaned into him, as he patted my arm, just like a dad should have done.
"You can tell me," he said. "I won't say a word."
I knew that. I had no doubts about him, at all. So, slowly, hesitantly, I told him about Kit. I told him about my childhood crush on him, how he'd wanted to ask me out, but hadn't dared, how he'd overheard my conversation with Hayley and misunderstood. I told him about my goth phase, and how I'd unwittingly been party to Kit's total humiliation, and about our meeting again in Helmston Christmas Market, and the start of our relationship. I told him about our secret meetings at Grandad's, and how Kit would never take me to Fell House, and how I hadn't told Mum and Olivia about our relationship because of Mum's fragile state. I told him how close we'd become, especially after Grandad died, how Kit had supported me through it all, how much I'd loved him, how I'd believed him when he said he loved me.
"Well, I'll go to the foot of our stairs," he said, shaking his head. "I had no idea. You and Kit, eh? Mind you, you can see the lad's smitten with you. Saw it straight away at the hospital. By heck, you kept that quiet, love. All that stuff about saving him, was that just a cover to spend time with him?"
"Definitely not!" I protested. "Actually," I added thoughtfully, "it was Great Uncle Charles who encouraged me most with that little plan. Kept telling me that Kit was the best thing that ever happened to me, and that I'd only been happy when I was with him. He said I changed after Kit and I split up." I frowned. "It doesn't make sense. Why would he want me to save a Carroll, after everything that family did to him?"
Don sighed. "I hate to say this, Marley, but have you ever thought that maybe what he was really trying to do was save you?"
My eyes widened. "Save me? From what?"
"From being like him. From being alone. From having nothing in your life but this house. Look, you told me before how he's always having digs at you about Olivia and the kids. From what you've just said, he clearly believes that you'll be happier if you and Kit rekindle your romance, so don't you think that what he was really trying to do was give you a reason to become involved with Kit again? And maybe, just maybe, he wants you to focus on something other than money and Fox Lodge? Maybe he thinks you need to remember the past, just as much as Kit needs to."
I was about to deny the possibility that Great Uncle Charles would ever have been that deep, but the words died on my lips. It made sense. And, given what I'd just seen in that scrapbook, I realised there was far more to him than I'd imagined. He had a heart. He understood love. He understood pain and loss and rejection. Maybe he really had done all that for my sake, after all. It was more likely than wanting to help a Carroll.
I thought of Dorothy. Kit was the image of her. How could I look at him again, knowing he was the double of the woman who'd destroyed my uncle's life?
"Sometimes," I said, tearfully, "the past isn't something you want to remember."
Don nodded. "True enough. On the other hand, sometimes we have to remember, so that we can learn from it." He squeezed me gently. "What went wrong between you and Kit, love? Sounds like you were a really close couple. What changed?"
"He changed," I said bitterly. "I thought we were happy, Don. I was making plans. In my head, it was all arranged. Kit would go to university, then he'd start working at the factory with his father, preparing for the day he'd take over. We'd get engaged, married, have a family." My voice cracked, and I buried my face in his chest.
Don stroked my hair. "But it never happened."
"No." I sat up and wiped the tears away, my voice harder as the memory seared through me. "You see, Kit failed to mention that he had other plans entirely. He wanted a gap year. He didn't want to go to university straight away. He planned to go abroad, travel."
"Nothing wrong with that, love," Don said gently.
"Really? Don't you think he could at least have had the decency to tell me himself?"
"You mean he didn't?"
I shook my head bitterly. "One of Mum's cleaning team at the factory also cleaned at Fell House. Mum came home one day, full of gossip, about how Audrey said there were ructions with the family because of Christopher's rebellion. Apparently, he was refusing to do what his father insisted he had to do, and there was a massive row going on. James Carroll was furious, because he wanted Kit to get his degree and then learn the ropes at Carroll's as soon as possible, but Kit had informed him that he wanted to get some life experience first, and had no plans to work at the factory for the foreseeable future. Life experience!" I tutted in disgust. "Can you imagine how that felt? He hadn't said a word to me, and there was Mum chattering blithely on about it all, thinking it was so funny that James Carroll had been disobeyed for once, and I was just sitting there in shock."
"So, I'm guessing you confronted him?"
"Too right I did. I was livid."
"And did he have a good reason for not telling you first?"
"He said it had all snowballed without him meaning it to. He said it was an idea he'd been mulling over, but his father had got on his high horse about something, and he'd just blurted it out in anger, and of course, his father put his foot down immediately, which just made Kit dig his heels in and refuse to budge. He said the more his father insisted he do as he was told, the more the idea appealed. By the time I spoke to him about it, he'd made up his mind, and there was no shifting him."
"So, what did you do?"
"What do you think I did? I was furious. I told him he couldn't go, and what about all our plans?" I blushed at the memory. "He said what plans? Like he hadn't even thought about getting married and taking over the factory."
"Hang on. Are you saying you hadn't actually discussed the future with him?"
My face burned. "Well, no, but it was a given, wasn't it? That's what happens when you're in a relationship." Besides, how many times had he assured me he loved me with all his heart, that he would always love me?
"But you were only eighteen, love. Far too young to think about all that. No wonder the lad panicked."
I glared at him. "He panicked? How the hell do you think I felt?"
"I don't know. Why don't you tell me? Why would you panic just because he was going away for a year? If he said he was coming back to do his university course after that, wasn't that good enough for you? It was only a postponement of twelve months. Was it really that bad?"
"You don't understand."
"What don't I understand, Marley?" Don's voice was kind, and I realised I was crying again.
"I was scared. I thought he wouldn't come back."
Don sighed and nodded. "Aye. Like your dad, you mean?"
"All those rich, brainy kids on a gap year. What if he met someone over there? What if he wanted to stay with them, rather than come home to a boring college kid?"
"So, you broke up with him, rather than risk it?"
"I didn't break up with him!" I said. "He left me. He said we had no future together, and he walked away."
"Why would he do that?" Don sounded confused. "Didn't the lad try to reassure you?"
I chewed my lip, remembering. "He asked me to go with him," I said eventually.
Don frowned. "Eh? He wanted you to go abroad for a year with him?"
I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself, as if to protect myself from the memory.
"Then, you've lost me, love. Clearly, he didn't want to break up with you. The lad was offering you the chance of a lifetime. Why didn't you go with him?"
I rocked back and forth for a moment, feeling sick. It was all too painful. There were some things that I couldn't explain, not even to someone as understanding as Don.
"Marley? Why didn't you go with him? A year abroad, a chance to discover new things together. Think of the memories you'd have made, the bond you'd have forged. Why would you turn that down?"
"Because—because I didn't fancy it." I saw the look on his face and tried to justify myself. "He was talking about trekking through jungles, living in tents, that sort of thing. I mean, he really wanted to cut himself off from civilisation and rough it, as if there's something noble about that way of life."
Don gave me a look. "So, you turned him down 'cos you didn't fancy camping?"
"I didn't fancy living like some primitive being in the middle of nowhere, with no real sanitation, and God knows what dangers lurking."
"And that's what you told him?"
"More, or less." I shivered. "I said I didn't see any reason to live in a tent for a year, and that it didn't make you a better human being to go without a flush toilet."
Don let out a long breath. "Right. I can see what went wrong now. What did he say to that?"
My anger burned brightly again. "He said I was a spoilt little princess. He said that everyone was right about me, and that he should have known what I was like. He honestly thought I was only with him because he was a Carroll. He said all I wanted was to trap him, so I could live in luxury all my life, and that I needn't think he was going to lock himself in a prison just so that he could provide me with the lifestyle I wanted. He told me we were finished, and that I could find myself some other mug to sponge off."
"Right." Don stood up and replaced the scrapbook in the bottom drawer. "So, quite a bitter break-up, then."
You have no idea. I tucked my hair behind my ears. "You could say that."
"But that's the past. Clearly, he's changed his mind about you, or why would he become involved with you again? And you've obviously forgiven him."
I stared at him dumbly, and his eyes narrowed.
"You have forgiven him, haven't you?" When I didn't reply, he reached for my hand. "If you can't forgive him, there's no future for you, Marley. You must see that? All right, harsh words were spoken, and the break up was painful, but that's all gone now. You were just teenagers. All them hormones sloshing around must have played havoc with your reasoning. He probably regretted what he'd said, the minute he left."
"But he still left," I muttered. "And he came back for university after a year and didn't get in touch. He came back from working abroad, for his father's funeral, and never contacted me. If Jack hadn't gone to America, I'd probably never have seen him again. What kind of love is that?"
"You never tried to contact him, either, I presume?"
I hadn't even thought about it. "It was up to him. He was the one who left me."
Don tutted. "I don't know. Seems to me, you two need your heads banging together. Come on, love, let's get this stuff back to your uncle. Them hospital gowns are proper draughty round your vitals, you know."
We picked up the pyjamas and underwear, and headed downstairs. As Don took my uncle's belongings to the car, I went over to the heating thermostat and turned the temperature down a little, just to keep the chill off the place without burning too much gas. Great Uncle Charles wouldn't thank me if he received a huge gas bill in January.
Looking around, I felt a warmth towards him that I'd never experienced before. He'd be home soon, and then we'd build a better relationship. I couldn't wait to get to know him properly.
Smiling, I closed the front door of Fox Lodge behind me.