The Little House Read online

  ‘They’re both of them sound asleep,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what we’re making such a fuss about.’

  ‘You go off to work,’ his mother said. ‘Have you had breakfast?’

  ‘I had a cup of coffee, I didn’t want anything else.’

  She shook her head. ‘D’you have time for a boiled egg?’ she said. ‘I can have it on the table with some toast in five minutes?’

  He hesitated. ‘All right.’

  Elizabeth moved quickly around the kitchen while Patrick sat at the table, waiting for his breakfast. Within the promised time it was before him: lightly boiled egg, lightly browned toast, and a fresh pot of tea.

  ‘Does she seem better?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘The pills certainly seem to be doing her some good,’ he said. ‘She was quite cheerful last night, and she was only up once in the night.’

  ‘They’ll soon settle down,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I was very tense with Miriam. First babies are always difficult.’

  ‘Well, bless you for coming in.’ Patrick wiped his mouth on a piece of paper towel. Elizabeth made a mental note to buy some linen napkins. ‘I don’t know what we’d have done without you. The doctor practically prescribed you.’

  ‘You know how much I love Thomas,’ Elizabeth said lightly. ‘I’d have him all day every day if it was any help.’

  Patrick gave her a kiss on her cheek, and went to the door. ‘When the Sleeping Princess awakes, you might tell her that I’ll be home late tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ve a late meeting at work and a working dinner after. Tell her not to wait up.’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘Then I’ll have Thomas for another spell this afternoon, if you’re not coming home,’ she said. ‘I don’t think Ruth can manage all day without a break.’

  ‘Bless you,’ Patrick said absently, and left.

  Elizabeth waited a few minutes as the noise of his car died away, and then tidied up the kitchen. She unpacked the dishwasher and loaded it with Patrick’s breakfast things. She threw the egg shells in the flip-top bin and caught sight of the rubbish from last night’s dinner. The packet from a frozen pie, the empty bag of frozen chips, and an empty bag of frozen peas. Elizabeth frowned and then rearranged her face into an expression of determined neutrality. She reminded herself that there was no innate virtue in homemade food. Patrick had never tasted a frozen ingredient until he had left home, but it was not fair to expect Ruth to show the same dedication to high domestic standards as Elizabeth. ‘A different generation,’ she said quietly to herself.

  She opened the fridge door to see what was for dinner. The fridge was virtually empty except for a pint of milk, a box of eggs (which should be kept in the larder and not in the fridge), and cheese. The cheese was out of date.

  A little cry from upstairs prevented her from exploring the larder cupboard. She hurried up the stairs and picked Thomas up just as Ruth’s bedroom door opened.

  ‘Oh! Is it morning already?’

  Elizabeth took in the untidy nursery, the discarded sleep suit, the row of empty bottles, and the stained duvet drying on the banister.

  ‘Yes, dear, but it’s still quite early. I’ll take care of Thomas, you go back to bed.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you were here.’ Ruth’s speech was slow, slightly slurred.

  ‘I’ll take over now,’ Elizabeth said reassuringly. ‘You can leave it all to me.’

  ‘I didn’t hear Patrick get up.’

  ‘He’d have crept out. We were trying to get you some more sleep.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Ruth said. ‘When I got back to bed and it was light, I couldn’t sleep for ages.’

  ‘I’ll get this young man a bottle and you go back to bed,’ Elizabeth said. ‘When shall I bring him home? Lunchtime?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Ruth said slowly.

  ‘Patrick said to tell you that he would be home late tonight; he’s out to dinner. He said not to wait up.’

  Ruth’s shoulders, her whole body, slumped. ‘He’s out all evening?’

  ‘Shall I come round? Or would you like to come up to the farm for dinner?’

  Ruth shook her head slowly. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right here.’

  Elizabeth scanned her with a keen glance. ‘I’ll bring Thomas back at midday, and I’ll pop down again in the middle of the afternoon, to see if you want a hand,’ she said. ‘It’s no fun trying to cope on your own.’

  ‘No,’ Ruth said dully. She did not even look at Thomas in his grandmother’s arms. She turned and went back into her bedroom, as if she did not want to see him, to see them together. The little bottle of pills was beside her bed. She knew she had to take one in the morning. She took one and let it rest on her tongue. It tasted strange: it spread a numb tingling through her mouth, it had an acrid bitter taste, a powerful taste. She swallowed it and felt the ease and relief seep through her. Thomas, Elizabeth, even Patrick seemed a long way away and no longer her responsibility. She closed her eyes and slid into sleep.

  Elizabeth gave Thomas a little of his bottle and then took him downstairs to the kitchen. She made up a couple of spoonfuls of baby rice with the warmed milk and spooned them competently into Thomas’s milky smile. She took him back upstairs to the bathroom and stripped off his damp nightwear. His bottom was sore, the skin was puckered and nearly blistered. Elizabeth folded her mouth in a hard line. She laid him on his back on his changing mat while she ran a bath for him, and after his bath let him kick free of his clothes and nappy, so that the air could get to his sore skin. The marks were fading quickly, but Elizabeth still looked grim. Leaving him safe on his mat, on the floor, she went into the nursery. The mattress was still damp and was starting to smell. The bedding had obviously been wet all night. Elizabeth stripped the bed, wiped the mattress cover with disinfectant, took the mattress to the airing cupboard to dry, and piled the damp clothes and duvet in the laundry basket.

  She went back to Thomas and dressed him in his day clothes, tickling and stroking him, playing peekaboo over the towel. Then she put him into his carry cot, bundled all the washing into a large bag, and drove baby and laundry up the drive to the big house.

  Frederick was waiting for them. ‘How’s the young Master Thomas?’ he asked, coming down the shallow flight of steps and opening the rear door of the car.

  Elizabeth made a small grimace, but did not say a word until they were in the house with the door shut. Not even the blackbird on the lawn should hear her criticizing her daughter-in-law. ‘His cot was soaked, his bedding flung all round the house. He has a nappy rash. It looks to me as if she just shut the door on him and didn’t go to him all night.’

  Frederick had Thomas on his knee, gently bouncing him up and down, holding his little clenched hands. ‘I thought she was up all hours with him?’

  ‘There’s no evidence of it, except for half a dozen dirty bottles. She clearly isn’t changing his nappy or changing his bedding,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Patrick said that she was up only once in the night, but she looked like death this morning. They had frozen food for dinner last night – I saw the packets, and Patrick was dashing out of the house this morning with nothing but a cup of coffee inside him.’

  ‘It won’t do,’ Frederick said firmly. He turned his attention to Thomas. ‘It won’t do, will it?’ he demanded. ‘Won’t do at all. Someone will have to take your mummy in hand. And we know the woman to do it!’

  ‘No no,’ Elizabeth said, smiling. ‘I can’t go barging in there and take over, much as I long to. The sitting room! And the state of the kitchen already! But it’s Ruth’s home and she must have it as she likes.’

  ‘But what does Thomas like?’ Frederick asked the baby’s bright face. ‘Thomas doesn’t want a damp cot, does he? Perhaps he’d better come here for a few days.’

  ‘I can hardly suggest …’ Elizabeth said.

  Frederick looked up. ‘If she can’t cope with the baby, if she’s not getting up to him in the night, and if he’s being neglected, then it’s your duty,’ he said b