with a small cry of alarm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she exclaimed, flustered. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you.’ She took a step back and looked at the man she’d just walked into. He was smiling at her, finding it amusing.
‘Hello, Mandy,’ he said, in a voice that she’d not heard for a long time. ‘Good to see you again. How are you?’
She looked at him, heard his voice and then her silence, and knew he had heard her silence too – the hesitation before she recognized him. ‘Uncle John. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in the house. Evelyn didn’t say.’
He laughed indulgently. ‘Didn’t she? I was having a lie-down upstairs. I was up all night with Grandpa. How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, embarrassed she’d not immediately remembered him. He’d been like a second father to her when she’d stayed as a child but he’d changed dramatically since she’d last seen him and was nothing like the man in the one photo she had of him – playing with her and Sarah on the swings. He was obviously ten years older, but he’d put on weight and his face seemed wider, more jowly. What was left of his previous black hair was now grey. Only his voice had remained more or less the same.
‘You’re looking good, Mandy,’ he said, flashing the smile she remembered from her childhood. ‘I’d have recognized you anywhere.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, still embarrassed. ‘And you.’
He laughed. ‘I don’t think so but it’s nice of you to say so.’ His eyes held her until, uncomfortable, she looked away. ‘Anyway, it’s good to see you again,’ he said. ‘I understand lunch is ready.’
‘Yes, I’ll be there shortly.’ She stepped past him and into the cloakroom.
Closing the door behind her, Mandy slid the bolt. She leant with her back against the door, her heart pounding and thoughts racing. It had been a shock bumping into Uncle John like that – not only the suddenness of coming round the corner and walking straight into him, but actually seeing him again. Why hadn’t Evelyn said he was in the house – warned her? Perhaps it had slipped her mind, but then again there was no reason for Evelyn to warn her – she didn’t know there was anything to warn her about. Only Sarah had known, and she wouldn’t have told her mother. It was their secret, just theirs; they had sworn on their lives. For in the instant Mandy had recognized John she’d also remembered the crush she’d had on him. Going on thirteen and at the onset of puberty, she’d confided her crush in Sarah, who then admitted to having a crush on her uncle – Mandy’s father. They’d been convinced they were the only ones to have these feelings for older men and that if anyone had discovered they found their uncles attractive they would have been locked up and ostracized for good.
Mandy leant with her back against the cloakroom door. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. John, middle-aged, overweight and balding, once the object of her desire! How could she? How could she and Sarah? It seemed ludicrous now. But there was something else – something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, that was making her legs tremble and heart pound. Something that lurked in the shadows of her mind, another, separate reason for her panic. Something that challenged her explanation that it was the shock of bumping into John and remembering her crush that had made her so uncomfortable and embarrassed. Half remembered and then forgotten, a feeling rather than a thought, similar to when she’d first seen the house: as though she had something to be frightened of but couldn’t remember what.
Heaving herself away from the door Mandy crossed to the washbasin and turned on the tap. She splashed cold water over her burning cheeks and then patted her face dry on the hand-towel. The cloakroom looked different from how she’d remembered it – possibly the colour scheme had changed, for the dressing table and chair seemed the same, as did the door to the walk-in wardrobe. Perhaps it was the passage of time and the fact she was now taller that made the room look different? With a small sigh, she reined in her thoughts, used the toilet and then rinsed her hands. She checked her face in the mirror and left the cloakroom.
In the hall the chink of cutlery and china could be heard coming from the dining room at the end of the hall, but there was no conversation.
‘It’s a buffet, help yourself,’ Evelyn said cheerily as Mandy entered the dining room. Evelyn was seated at the far side of the long oak dining table which was covered with platters and serving bowls of food. ‘Mrs Saunders will get you something to drink.’
‘Just water, please,’ Mandy said to the housekeeper, who was waiting by the sideboard, and sat in the chair left vacant next to her father.
She was on the opposite side of the table to Evelyn and Gran, with John to her right at the head of the table. She kept her gaze away from John. So too did her father, she thought. He was concentrating on the table just in front of his plate, looking most uncomfortable. It seemed ridiculously formal for lunch, and the atmosphere was strained with them all together. Mandy looked at the array of cold meats, new potatoes, quiches and salads, and regretted agreeing to lunch; a sandwich on their laps would have been far more appropriate.
‘Quite a spread, isn’t it?’ Gran said dryly, glancing at her from across the table. ‘I told Evelyn not to go to so much trouble.’
‘We have to eat, Mum,’ Evelyn chided. ‘And it’s no trouble. Help yourself, Mandy.’
Mandy smiled and accepted the platter of quiche Evelyn passed to her. Using one of the silver servers she carefully cut a slice and placed it in the centre of her large gleaming white plate, hoping it would fill up space. Mrs Saunders brought her a glass of water and then moved a salad bowl to within reach. ‘Thank you,’ Mandy said, and without much enthusiasm took a helping of green salad. She rarely ate much so early in the day; it was only 12.15, and despite not having had breakfast she wasn’t hungry. The formality of the setting – upright on their high-back dining chairs and Mrs Saunders hovering ready to assist – certainly didn’t help. Indeed it seemed somewhat bizarre, almost grotesque, she thought, that as Grandpa lay desperately ill and barely able to sip water two rooms away they were in here facing a feast. Mandy took a couple of mouthfuls of quiche, drank some water, and then began toying with the salad.
‘Leave it if you don’t want it,’ John suddenly said, making her start. ‘You don’t have to eat it here.’
She looked up and felt her cheeks burn, then glanced at Evelyn. ‘Sorry, I’m really not very hungry.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Evelyn said with a tight smile. ‘I’ll have Mrs Saunders pack you sandwiches for your return journey.’
But John’s words had taken Mandy back to her childhood, and one of the first times she’d stayed with Sarah. She remembered she’d sat self-consciously at this very table and toyed with some food she hadn’t liked, overwhelmed by the formality of their dining. ‘Leave it, Mandy,’ John had said. ‘You don’t have to eat it here.’ And she remembered the absolute relief she’d felt, for at home her mother had always insisted on a clean plate.
‘Sorry,’ she said again to Evelyn, setting her knife and fork on her plate. Then she sat with her hands in her lap as they continued eating, not liking to make her excuses but wondering when she could reasonably leave.
Evelyn seemed happy to be at the table, making conversation, perhaps as a diversion from the sick room, Mandy thought, although her talk was mainly about Grandpa: the appalling state of the hospital she’d rescued him from; the doctor who’d been in charge of his case and whom they’d only seen once; and nursing him at home. ‘John and I have been operating a rota,’ Evelyn said, glancing at her husband. ‘John sat with Dad last night so it’ll be my turn tonight. Unfortunately I still have to wake John as I can’t lift Dad by myself.’
‘Why do you have to lift Dad?’ her father asked naively, speaking for the first time.
‘To get him on to the commode,’ Evelyn said.
“Oh.’
‘Although Dad’s lost a lot of weight, he’s still very heavy. I have to be careful of my back.’
Mandy