Relative Sins

‘Don’t you like the Slime Monster, Mum?’ he asked, wriggling round to look at her, and Sara pulled a wry face.

‘Does anyone?’ she asked. And then, sitting on the end of the bed, she went on, ‘I want to talk to you. Do you think we could turn it off for a while? There’s something I want to say.’

Ben grimaced. ‘I s’pose so.’

‘Good.’ Sara leant across and did just that. ‘It’s difficult to think with that racket going on.’

Ben shrugged. ‘It’s just a cartoon, Mum.’

‘I know.’

‘But you don’t think Dad would like it, hmm?’

Sara hesitated. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t. And…’ She paused. ‘It’s about Daddy that I want to talk to you—’ She broke off again. ‘This was his study, you know. When he was a boy. He used to do his homework here.’

‘But Daddy said he went away to school.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Did he have homework in the holidays?’

‘I’m not sure.’ There were times when Sara wished that her son weren’t quite so bright. ‘In any event he kept his toys here. And those are his pictures on the walls.’

‘Mmm.’ Ben looked about him. ‘They’re very old, aren’t they? Sort of yellow at the edges.’

‘Not that old,’ declared Sara painfully. ‘Your father was still a young man when he—’ She broke off once again and swallowed. ‘Ben, can we talk about now? About why we’re here?’

Ben frowned. ‘This used to be where Daddy lived, isn’t it? Before he went to live in Br-Bra—zil? When will we be going back to see him? Didn’t he mind that we came such a long way?’

‘No, he didn’t mind,’ said Sara, wondering how she could possibly tell the little boy that his father had flown back with them. How did she tell him about the shooting? Or convey the finality of Harry’s death? She licked her lips. ‘And…we won’t be going back.’ She chickened out at the sight of the dismay on his small face. ‘Well…not for…not for a while anyway.’

‘We’re staying here?’

Ben was evidently trying to come to terms with what his mother was saying and Sara bit her lip.

‘For a few days, maybe,’ she conceded gently. ‘Then—then you and I are going to find a home of our own.’

‘Without Daddy?’

Sara sighed. ‘Daddy’s gone, Ben.’ She paused again. ‘Grandmama told you that.’

‘Did she?’ Sara didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry that Elizabeth Reed’s harsh words had made so little impression on her son. ‘Where’s he gone? Why can’t we go with him? He promised to get me a bicycle for my birthday.’

Sara almost smiled. It would have amused Harry too, she knew, and that made it harder to cope with—that his death should have been reduced to the loss of a bicycle. Yes, that was the real tragedy—that Ben had depended on him for the little things in his life as well as the big ones.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’ll have to see about that. And no, we couldn’t go with him. Daddy’s gone to heaven, with my mummy and daddy. They’re probably watching us at this moment, and saying what a good boy Ben has been.’

‘Are they?’ Ben’s face brightened up. ‘Why didn’t I see your mummy and daddy?’

‘Because they went to heaven before you were born,’ replied Sara with more confidence. ‘Now, why don’t you settle down for a nap? Then you can come and see Grandmama and Grandpapa before supper.’

‘And Uncle Alex?’

Sara stiffened. ‘Maybe.’

‘He didn’t get here until we went to that church thing,’ declared Ben importantly. ‘Grandmama said he’s Daddy’s brother.’ He frowned. ‘He hasn’t gone to heaven too?’

‘No.’ Though Sara thought rather uncharitably that it would have been fairer if he had. Harry had never betrayed anyone. Yet he had been the one to die. She bit back the urge to tell her son not to depend on Alex—for anything—and forced a thin smile. ‘So…we’ll talk some more later. Let me take off your sweater. You don’t need that on under the quilt.’

‘Can I have the television on again? It might help me to go to sleep,’ suggested Ben appealingly, and because it was the lesser of the two evils Sara agreed. She’d rather he was thinking of slimy monsters than his uncle Alex, though, come to think of it, she appended grimly, they had a lot in common.

She pulled his door to behind her and then spent a few minutes attending to her own appearance. Perhaps if she’d worn a brighter lipstick she wouldn’t have looked so colourless, she mused doubtfully. But what did it matter anyway? She didn’t care what anyone but Harry thought.

The room was cool, even though a check on the heavy old iron radiator elicited the information that it was working. But in a room of this size two or more radiators were needed, and she was almost glad to seek the comparative warmth of the hall outside.

Going down the main staircase this time, she was aware of the draught of cooler air from the open doors. The guest—mourners—were leaving, and the dampness from outside was spreading into the house.

‘Oh, there you are, Sara!’ exclaimed Elizabeth Reed, making her way towards her, her expression mirroring the disapproval that was evident in her voice. ‘I think you might have stayed around a little longer. We all appreciate your position, but it would have been more polite.’

‘I went to check on Ben,’ said Sara stiffly, trying not to resent the older woman’s attempts to put her in her place. Mrs Reed was suffering; that was obvious. Harry had been their older son, and it always hurt to lose one’s child—of any age.

‘Even so…’

The presence of remaining friends and neighbours prevented a prolonged protest, and Elizabeth’s face resumed its gracious expression as she bid them goodbye. When remarks were addressed to Sara she offered her daughter-in-law regretful sympathy, and only she and Sara were aware of how insincere it was.

Alex was standing with his father, and for a brief moment Sara glimpsed the sorrow in his face. For all her own resentment towards him, she couldn’t help but be aware of his feelings, and despite the animosity she felt towards him she couldn’t deny a certain sympathy for his grief. Harry had been his brother, after all, and during the early years of their life they had spent a lot of time together.

Ironically enough, for all that he had been the elder, Harry used to say that it had been Alex who had defended him in times of schoolboy rivalry, which wasn’t so surprising when you considered that Alex was probably two or three inches taller than his brother had been, and infinitely more muscular.

Feeling suddenly weary, Sara waited until the last guest had departed and then said carefully, ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to have a rest before supper too.’ She moistened her lips. ‘I suppose it’s partly the jet lag, but right now I feel really…exhausted.’

Robert Reed came to her support. ‘Of course we don’t mind, Sara,’ he said, forestalling whatever comment his wife had been about to make. ‘It’s been a hard day for all of us. I’m sure we’d all appreciate a little time on our own.’

‘Is Ben all right?’

Alex’s unexpected question disconcerted her, and Sara turned to look at him with guarded eyes. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Why shouldn’t he be? I’m hoping most of this has gone over his head.’

‘Is that why you let him attend the funeral service?’ enquired Alex coolly, and this time there was no way that Sara was going to take the blame.

‘That wasn’t my idea. It was your mother’s,’ she replied stiffly, ignoring Elizabeth Reed’s reproving glare. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my room. As your father says, I would appreciate some time to myself.’

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b20b9f3c-f92c-543a-8d68-991940e24e8f)

WHEN Sara opened her eyes again it was daylight—and not the grey, rain-washed twilight of a winter’s afternoon but, if she wasn’t mistaken, the brightness of a crisp November morning. Although she could hardly believe it, it seemed that she—and possibly Ben too—had slept for almost sixteen hours, and a glance at her watch confirmed as fact what an unfamiliar sense of optimism was telling her.

And she did feel rested, wonderfully so. Despite the fact that she had slept in her clothes, with just the fluffy feather duvet pulled over her, she felt thoroughly revitalised. More than ready to face whatever was in front of her, she thought. And infinitely more equipped to take control of her life.

And her son’s, she appended vigorously, thrusting back the duvet and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Last night she hadn’t even felt the hard springs of the mattress, which she’d blamed for the poor rest she’d had thus far.