lovelies! Stop wriggling for a moment and let me look at you. Girls, I do believe your father has been stretching you again.’
‘No he hasn’t,’ Daisy giggled. ‘We’re just growing. Look!’ She broke free of her grandmother’s embrace and pointed to the highest of a vertical row of pencil marks on the wall by the dining room door. ‘That’s how tall I am now!’
Guin and Elsie followed suit, excitedly chatting at once about their new heights, although Elsie couldn’t quite remember which one was hers, pointing at several in her haste to be part of the impromptu show-and-tell.
‘Gracious, isn’t that something? I can see you’re eating your greens then.’
‘Trees!’ Elsie yelled. ‘Daddy gives me green trees for my tea and they make me grow big.’
‘Broccoli,’ Jim explained, seeing Grandma Flo’s confusion. ‘I learned early on with Elsie that she wouldn’t eat it unless we called it green trees.’
His mother’s eyes glistened with pride. ‘You’re a natural, James. A wonderful father …’ The sadness in her expression completed the sentence as a moment of understanding passed between them.
Jim nodded. ‘I know.’
‘Grandma, have you seen the pretty dress book?’ Guin asked, and Flo and Jim turned to see – too late – the wedding album in her small hands.
Swallowing hard, Grandma Flo unpacked her calmest smile. ‘Yes, I have, darling.’
Daisy and Elsie were crowding around the photograph album now, causing Jim to look away as a sharp shard of pain pierced him. Instinctively, his mother reached out and took his hand, her eyes never once leaving her grandchildren.
‘Daddy looks so handsome,’ Guin said, stroking the cellophane that covered the photographs on the open page.
‘And what about the lady in the pretty dress?’ Grandma Flo asked, her expression steady. ‘Do you know who she is?’
‘That’s Mummy,’ Daisy replied, her baby blue eyes suddenly old beyond their years. ‘She doesn’t live with us anymore. But it’s OK: we have Daddy.’
Jim’s smile at his little girl belied the tears he was biting back.
*
The day of the wedding could almost have been a portent for what was to come, being beset by angry thunderstorms that churned the sea, turning the waves a murderous dark green as they crashed onto the shingle beach. But for the young couple embarking on a new chapter of their lives, it was everything their relationship was: drama, passion and high adventure. Moira laughed when her mother insisted on crossing herself repeatedly whenever another rumble of thunder punctuated the wedding service in the small Roman Catholic chapel of her hometown.
‘Stop being so superstitious, Mother! This is the happiest day of my life.’
It was not – as was blatantly obvious to everyone else at the ceremony and small reception afterwards – the happiest day of Mrs O’Shaughnessy’s life, however: a fact evident in her disgruntled complaints and pursed lips over everything from the order of service and the playing of the church organ, to the flowers, the food and the wedding cake. Her vociferous opinions rose like the growing storm overhead until it appeared she was engaged in a shouting match with nature itself. Jim’s mother, aunts and friends all failed in their attempts to silence her, their intervention only serving to heighten the woman’s disdain.
But Moira and Jim saw nothing but each other: the thunderstorm, raging mother-in-law and everything else in the dining room of the seafront hotel paling in the blaze of their love for each other. The photographs in the album attested to this fact.
‘Daddy looks so handsome,’ Guin breathed, her small fingers tracing the outline of Jim’s figure in the photographs. ‘And everyone looks happy. One day I’m going to marry someone just as handsome as Daddy.’
Jim reached out to ruffle the mess of curls on her head. ‘I’m sure you will, darling.’
‘Let’s put this away, shall we?’ Jim’s mother suggested, gently pulling the photograph album from her granddaughter’s hands.
‘Awww! Just a bit longer, Grandma Flo!’ Guin protested. ‘I love looking at Mummy and Daddy when they were happy.’
Jim looked away, the poignancy of his daughter’s words too intense.
‘I don’t,’ Daisy said, suddenly. ‘Mummy doesn’t love us any more.’
‘Daisy Heartsease! What a thing to say!’
Daisy ignored her grandmother’s rebuke and stood her ground. ‘It’s true! She promised to love Daddy forever, but she lied. Just like she lies about everything.’
Grandma Flo cast a startled glance in the direction of her son who was gazing out at the garden. ‘Sweetheart, sometimes grown-ups have the best intentions but they find they can’t keep promises. It’s nobody’s fault when things go wrong …’
‘Why did Mummy go away?’ Elsie asked suddenly, her small cheeks reddening. ‘Why doesn’t she want us any more?’
Heart shattering at the sound of his youngest daughter’s stark summation, Jim turned back into the room. ‘Oh, baby. Your mum loves you.’
‘She said she loves us, but she isn’t here,’ Daisy agreed, joining her youngest sister in a defiant show of solidarity in the middle of the dining room carpet.
Guin burst into tears and Flo gathered her into a secure embrace. ‘Of course your mummy loves you my darling,’ she said, her eyes searching out a response from her son. Say something to them, James …
Words failed Jim as he stared helplessly back. What could he say that wouldn’t be a lie? His heart still yearned for their mother, but how could he justify what she did? Given the apparent ease with which Moira had discarded him and their girls, what other conclusion could there really be?
*
The signs had been there, of course, but Jim had chosen not to see them. Maybe he thought it was temporary, or could be solved with enough love and time; perhaps he was blinded by his own unwillingness to accept the inevitable. When hindsight illuminated the truth it was as obvious as the sun in the summer sky, but by then it was too late.
Moira’s mood had blackened over several months; she had lost a worrying amount of weight, hiding her body beneath voluminous jumpers; and her eyes, ringed with permanent dark circles, seemed to be sinking inside her. She abandoned her expensive London salon shampoo and scraped her lifeless hair back into a severe ponytail. Her interest in everything waned: even the weekly arrival of her copy of The Stage, which had been a highlight of her week for as long as Jim could remember. Instead of being eagerly pored over, the trade papers lay untouched in a pile by the front door, greying with dust. Jim saw all of this with gnawing concern, but said nothing. In fact, neither of them said anything: to the point where Jim was tempted to provoke arguments simply to break the silence that hung like a shroud between them.
But then, quite unexpectedly, an old RADA friend of Moira’s who had since become an agent, called with a job offer. A production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof would tour local secondary schools – and the part of Maggie was hers if she wanted it. To Jim’s relief, Moira appeared to rally, and the mood in the seaside townhouse lifted. He helped her learn lines, while the girls played contentedly around them. Her appearance improved and her smile made a welcome return. And Jim, seeing a glimpse of the girl he loved, believed the storm had passed.
Three weeks after Elsie’s second birthday, Moira asked Jim to take the girls to Brighton beach to give her time to focus. The start of the tour was less than a fortnight away and nerves were getting the better of her.
‘Two hours, Jim. That’s all I need to sort this.’
So Jim gathered their children and set off