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Laura

August 1991

GREENGAGES. I ALWAYS associated my first visit to Summerbourne with those shy green plums, whose ordinary-looking skins hide such astonishing sweetness. In my eighteen years as a city girl, I had never even seen a greengage, but they grew abundantly in the woodland at the back of the Summerbourne garden, and I devoured several that day. They tasted of honey and sunshine and new beginnings.

The full English breakfast at King’s Cross station earlier that morning had settled my nerves for a while, but as midday drew near and the train rumbled deeper into the Norfolk countryside, the fluttering under my rib cage increased. I pressed my forehead against the window. Broad, flat fields stretched to the horizon, punctuated by eerily motionless villages and odd isolated houses topped with thatch. Somewhere in the depths of my handbag lurked a cheese sandwich intended for this section of the journey, but the upcoming interview had chased away my appetite.

At King’s Lynn, I clutched the letter from Mrs. Mayes in front of me as I approached the taxi rank, even though the address for Summerbourne House was already fixed in my memory in its spiky letters. The taxi driver’s vowels rolled and stretched in his mouth, leaving a heartbeat’s delay before they settled into words I could understand. I fumbled the letter across to him.

“Oh, Summerbourne, is it?” he said. I climbed into the back.

Despite the roads having only one lane in either direction, we hurtled along between high hedges as if he had a sixth sense for hazards around bends.

“That’s just down the drift here,” he said eventually, his tone encouraging, as we left yet another village behind us and swung into a narrow lane. I wound my window down, unsure whether my churning stomach was a reaction to the twisting roads, the looming interview, or the sudden fear that I didn’t have enough money in my wallet to pay him. A heavy, sweet smell filled the car as we passed a field of cows, and the lane curved to reveal a row of small cottages with low front doors, their walls studded with irregular gray stones. Just as I became convinced the lane was narrowing into a dead end, we reached a sign for “Summerbourne” inviting us to turn right. The driveway widened into an oval of golden gravel in front of the most entrancing house I had ever seen.

From the buttery glow of its weathered bricks to the rounded edges of its broad stone doorstep, every detail of Summerbourne radiated a warm welcome. Lush greenery stretched along the front of the house on either side of the central front door, glossy leaves stroking the ground-floor windowsills. The front door knocker was a large brass ring, solid and plain. There was none of the adornment I had seen on grand London houses, but this only enhanced the impression that Summerbourne sat contentedly in its own bricks and mortar.

A long single-story wing stretched from one side of the house, angled backward, its sharper corners hinting at more recent origins. From the far end of this wing a high wall curved to join a stable block that stood at right angles to the main house, fronting onto the oval of gravel. Three of the four stable doorways were fitted with wooden garage doors.

I forgot my anxiety as I stood by the taxi and absorbed the view, and my smile must have revealed my genuine delight to the small, dark-haired woman who emerged from the front door.

“Mrs. Mayes?” I asked.

“Call me Ruth,” she said, and paid the taxi driver without fuss. She had an unhurried manner about her—friendly, but as if part of her attention was elsewhere. A little boy had followed her out and peered at me from behind her legs as the taxi purred away down the lane. This child was the reason I had traveled all this way, and I crouched on the gravel in front of him.

“Hello. I’m Laura. Are you Edwin?”

He nodded. “Did you come on the train?”

“I did.” I tugged my handbag open and rummaged through the contents. “Look—here’s my ticket. Would you like it?”

I wasn’t particularly used to young children, and I’d never seen anyone’s mood change so quickly. He snatched the ticket and whirled around, whooping, waving it in the air, before catching Ruth’s eyes and pausing to say, “Thank you.” Then he launched into a garbled story about a train journey he had taken with his granny—what the guard had said, how fast they’d traveled, what all the different carriages had been for.

Ruth smiled at me over his head. “Let’s show you around.” She indicated the single-story extension as we approached the front door of the house. “That’s the day nursery, there, and the annex at the end of it. We’ll start in there.”

She led me from the hall, through the kitchen and utility room, into the vast, light-filled day nursery that made up the majority of the extension. A row of floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a wide lawn that ended in trees in the distance. I tore my gaze from the scene and hurried to catch up with Ruth and Edwin as they paused at the door at the far end of the room.

“The annex,” Ruth said, pushing the door open and gesturing me in first. “Did the agency explain the hours? We just want some part-time childcare. We’re quite flexible. The other girl I interviewed thought we were too far out in the middle of nowhere.” She sighed. “We’ve never had an au pair before.”

I looked around at the high ceilings, the white walls, the generous windows.

“I’ve never been an au pair before,” I said, and then gritted my teeth as I realized this reply was hardly reassuring. Ruth didn’t appear to notice.

Edwin slipped his hand into mine. “I’ll show you everything, Missus Laura Silvey. There’s a bed in the bedroom, and there was a ginormous spider in the bathroom, but it’s gone to live in the woods now.”

The furniture was heavy looking and old, but the rooms were bright and spotlessly clean, and I was glad of Edwin’s nonstop chatter as he showed me around. I was primed and ready to answer questions about my limited childcare experience, but I struggled for the right reaction to this casual tour.

“It’s all so—beautiful,” I said.

Ruth indicated the cooktop and fridge in the corner of the sitting room. “The kitchen in the main house will always be available. We’re happy for the au pair to eat with us, or not—whichever they fancy.”

We retraced our steps and this time paused in the day nursery long enough for me to take in its contents. Bookcases bulged with games and toys, and there was a large table covered in art equipment, along with two battered sofas and a television and video recorder.

“He does like to play outside as much as possible,” Ruth said. “But this room’s handy for when you want a quiet hour or two.”

The whole ground floor of Mum’s house would have fitted inside it.

We rejoined the main part of the house through a utility room that opened into the kitchen. Edwin’s artwork covered a corkboard on one wall, and paintbrushes mingled with cutlery on the drainer. Double glass doors opened onto a patio, and I followed Ruth outside, squinting through a dazzle of whirling lawn sprinklers to spot some wooden play equipment in the far corner where the perfectly trimmed grass met the trees.

“We’ve had a difficult couple of years,” Ruth said as Edwin ran ahead to reach his climbing frame. “I’m looking for someone to keep him company and play with him when I can’t. Most mornings and some afternoons, but I’m quite flexible. No evenings or weekends unless mutually agreed and for extra pay.”

“It sounds great,” I said. “It doesn’t sound like work, to be honest.”

“Wait ’til he’s telling you the train story for the thirtieth time.” She gave me a quick smile. “But no. He’s just full of energy. He needs to be outside climbing and running, but I need to know he’s safe.”

We stopped by the play equipment, and watched Edwin launch himself along the monkey bars.

“It’s just for a year,” she said. “He starts school next September.”

“Well, I’ll retake my exams next May, and then I’ll be free until I start university.” I tapped a strut of the climbing frame. “Touch wood.”

“And you have some experience of working with children?”

I hesitated. “A little. I’ve done a fair bit of babysitting for my neighbors. I like children.” I waited for her to frown, to exclaim that this wasn’t enough, but she was gazing at Edwin as if her mind had already moved on.

“Watch me, Laura Silvey!” Edwin shouted, lining up to shoot down the slide headfirst on his back. He had a false start, so I went over to help him.

We continued our stroll through the garden, slowing at the edge of the woodland to pick our way over the scattered fallen fruit that Ruth told me were greengages. Hundreds more of them hung from the branches overhead, and Ruth and I picked several, passing some to Edwin. They were perfectly ripe, and all three of us exclaimed over their heavenly flavor, spitting the stones away into the undergrowth and wiping our mouths with our hands. The tension in my stomach began to ease.

My early impression of Ruth was of someone self-contained and calm, with a controlled way of moving and speaking. I worried at first that her reserved manner meant she didn’t like me, but as we followed the winding path through the trees, I began to suspect this was her natural personality, and I found myself warming to her. She seemed to forget she was meant to be interviewing me; she complained good-naturedly when she caught cobwebs in her hair, and was gentle in her handling of an earthworm that Edwin presented her with. I examined her in brief sideways glances. Below average height and delicate boned, she was the physical opposite of me. I wondered whether she was always this pale. Perhaps it was due to the difficult time she had mentioned.

They showed me the tall iron gate in the back of the boundary wall, but we didn’t have time to go out to the cliffs and see the sea.

“Next time,” Ruth said. I was returning her smile before the full implication of her words sank in, and then the remaining tension in my stomach melted away.

We toured the vegetable garden and the apple orchard on our circular route back toward the house, and Ruth introduced me to the gardener, Mr. Harris. With his thick white hair and leathery skin, he had the appearance of a person who’d lived outdoors his whole life.

“Mister Michael Harris is Joel’s grandad,” Edwin told me.

“You’ll have passed his cottage in the lane,” Ruth said.

The older man nodded at me, and I smiled back. I used to love helping my aunt in the garden of her little bungalow, before Mum fell out with her and I was banned from visiting. When Michael slid open the greenhouse door for Edwin to pick a handful of sun-warmed tomatoes, I leaned in to inhale the earthy aroma of humid green growth.

The biggest surprise came at the end of our walk. Sheltered by the back wall of the stable block, encircled by faded timber decking and a hedge of lavender, was a glorious turquoise-tiled swimming pool. The water sparkled invitingly in the August sunshine.

“You’re a swimmer, aren’t you?” Ruth asked. “Although the solar heating’s pretty puny, I’m afraid. You have to be fairly tough to bear it.”

I smiled. “I taught myself to swim at a lido when I was ten. It was freezing, but you get used to it.”

“And you swim competitively now?”

“I did, yes. Until—my exams, the last few months.” I squinted at a single green leaf floating on the surface of the pool. “I love it.”

“I’m glad,” Ruth said. “I’d much prefer to have someone who’s a strong swimmer. To keep Edwin safe, you know.”

I looked at the little boy. “What do you reckon, Edwin? Do you think we’re brave enough to swim in a bit of cold water?”

Edwin did a wild dance to show his enthusiasm for the idea, and Ruth laughed.

“Do you have any questions?” Ruth asked me, and then, “Have you had lunch? We had ours before you arrived. Come and sit on the patio, and I’ll bring some tea out.”

The patio furniture was more substantial than Mum’s three-piece suite at home, with sturdy wooden frames and deep cushions. Stone urns brimmed with orange marigolds and blue lobelia. Along with the tea, Ruth carried out a plate laden with squares of chocolate tiffin, cinnamon pastries, and slices of carrot cake with thick lemon frosting. Edwin scampered off to his sandpit with a piece of tiffin cake, and Ruth poured the tea.

“I was very impressed by your references from your school,” she said. “I’d like to offer you the job, Laura. I do hope you’ll say yes. I think you and Edwin would get on extremely well together.”

I fumbled with my saucer. “Yes, please,” I said. “Thank you. That’s brilliant.”

“Lovely,” she said. “Can you start a week from Monday?”

I was finishing my second slice of cake when the peace of the garden was interrupted by sounds drifting over from the front of the house. Tires crunched over gravel, and a door slammed. Ruth made a noise in her throat.

“My mother’s taxi,” she said. She didn’t get up. “Technically, this is her house, and she likes to keep an eye on what goes on. She was angling to meet you. Sorry.” She must have caught my expression, because she added, “Oh, don’t worry, she doesn’t visit that often. She comes down from London once or twice a month on the train. Anyway, she’ll adore you. I’m sure of it.”

“Granny!” Edwin hurtled toward the woman who stepped out onto the patio, his arms outstretched. Her sleek bob of dark hair was immaculate, her white blouse pristine, but she dropped her handbag and swung the little boy up and hugged him to her chest, laughing.

“Hello, my darling boy.”

I brushed cake crumbs from my lap as I stood.

“Mother, this is Laura Silveira,” Ruth said, remaining seated. “Laura, this is Vera Blackwood, my mother.”

Vera’s handshake was firm, and I braced myself against her appraising expression, struck by an unsettling conviction that she understood more about my personality and my background from that brief greeting than Ruth did after an hour of talking to me. I wondered whether Vera had met the other girl Ruth said she’d interviewed. I found myself scrutinizing Vera in return, wondering how it felt to own a house like this and yet live elsewhere.

Vera’s direct gaze softened when she smiled, and she nodded as she released my hand. She turned to Ruth.

“Sorry to interrupt your interview, darling. How are you getting along?”

“I’ve offered Laura the job. She’s perfect.”

Vera’s smile widened. “How wonderful. I’m so glad to meet you, Laura. Edwin is our pride and joy, and we do so want him to be happy.”

Ruth gave an exaggerated blink and turned to watch Edwin practicing handstands on the lawn.

“Ruth?” Vera tilted her head as she scrutinized her daughter. “You look tired, darling. How are you feeling?”

Ruth sighed. “I do have a bit of a headache, actually. This sun doesn’t help. I might go and lie down now, if you don’t mind, Laura?”

“Not at all,” I said. “Of course.”

“I’m so glad you’re going to come and live with us.” Ruth kept her hand on her forehead as she stood. “Just let me know which date suits you to move in—maybe next weekend? Mother can call a taxi to take you back to the station when you’re ready.”

“Oh, but—” I stopped, ducking my head as they both looked at me. “I mean, it’s a shame, that’s all, that the other taxi just left. I should have gone in that one.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. Ruth looked at me blankly, but Vera waved away my concern with a gentle smile.

“Not to worry,” Vera said. “Ruth, you go and lie down, and I’ll ring for the taxi and keep Laura company until it gets here.”

Edwin trotted into the house after them, and I stayed on the patio, fanning myself with a picture book from the table. When Vera returned, she brought a jug of cold juice with her, and she sent Edwin off to eat a Popsicle on the lawn so as not to drip it on the cream cushions. She poured me a glass, and asked me a few questions about my school and my swimming squad.

“I’m so glad Ruth likes you,” she said. “She can be rather overprotective of Edwin sometimes. Unsurprisingly, after what happened to his brother—did she tell you?”

I shook my head, the glass at my lips.

She twisted the rings on her fingers. “Edwin had a twin brother. He died the December before last. In an accident.”

The liquid caught in the back of my throat, making me cough. I covered my mouth with my hand, staring at her. “No.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “It was just after their second birthday. I thought you ought to know. We all miss him terribly, of course. But Ruth has found it particularly difficult because she blames herself.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact. I couldn’t find any words.

“Ruth can be a little... unpredictable at times,” she continued. “I’m hoping she’ll get better once you’re here. She doesn’t like me coming over too often, and Dominic’s in the city for work during the week, of course. It’s rather lonely for her. Although she says that’s the way she likes it.”

I watched her twist her rings, struggling to follow her words, the horror of Edwin losing his brother pulsating in my mind.

She paused to scrutinize my face for a moment. “I think you’ll be perfect for her.”

Edwin brought his Popsicle stick to the table and then scampered back to practice forward rolls on the lawn.

“My number’s in the book on the hall table, if you ever need to ring me,” Vera said. “Ah, that’s the taxi.” She rose in one smooth movement. “Edwin, darling. Come and say good-bye to Laura. She has to go now.”

Edwin slid his sticky hand into mine as we walked through the kitchen and hall, and out to the drive. Vera held her purse in front of her.

“When are you coming back, Missus Laura Silvey?” Edwin asked. I cleared my throat, squashing Vera’s words to the back of my mind and concentrating on the serious blue eyes gazing up at me.

“You can call me Laura,” I told him, smiling. I looked at Vera. “If I’m starting a week from Monday...”

“Shall we say Saturday the seventh?” she said. “Give you time to get settled.”

“Yes, great.” I gave Edwin a quick hug, and climbed into the taxi while Vera paid the driver.

“Safe journey,” she called as we pulled away. I waved to the two of them, craning my neck to keep the golden bricks of the house in sight for as long as possible. The greengage in my pocket I would savor on the train home. I had just over a week to pack and say good-bye to my friends, most of whom were starting new jobs, or themselves packing for university. Then I could put my old London life behind me, and dive into the year at Summerbourne that glittered ahead. Ruth and Vera had both said I was perfect for the job. As far as I could see, the job was perfect for me. LGrE0kLKiHuVtxVd4hrIsfJBBLbnC2qtpSYK24b/JpNs6OZaK6mAUxjRMc0rxVYk