Free The Fall by Simon Mawer Page B

past, nowadays they certainly had no point
     in common. “I’m sure she’d love to see you again, Mrs. Matthewson.”
    “Oh, for goodness’ sake,
Caroline
.” She smiled. “But not, I repeat not,
Meg.
I don’t think your mother is quite as fond of me now as she used to be.”
    I protested eternal affection on the part of my mother. Caroline smiled knowingly and changed the subject with that lack of
     guile that adults believe children will fall for. “So you came all this way to find Jamie? What a shame.”
    “He sent me a postcard from the Alps.”
    “He was there with friends of his father.”
    “But he posted it from America.”
    “Dear Jamie, so typical of him. To write a card in one place and post it in another. He’s in the Bahamas now, I think. Sailing.
     He doesn’t really like sailing. I don’t imagine he’s enjoying himself very much. This autumn he’s off to Scotland.”
    “Scotland?”
    “He’s going to university there. Saint Andrews. For me he’s barely out of knickers and already he’s off to university. He’s
     only just seventeen. And you must be, what, sixteen?” She looked at me thoughtfully, as though searching for a way to rid
     herself of this uninteresting child. I shifted in my seat.
    “Nearly,” I said. “Nearly sixteen.” I was conscious of her disconcerting eyes on me.
    “So tell me. Tell me all about you. What are you doing now?”
    I told her anyway, although I knew she couldn’t possibly be interested — about school mainly, about lessons and exams and sports.
     And I watched her, seeing shadows of Jamie there — the same coloring, of course, and something about the shape of her face,
     the curve of her jaw — but seeing other things that she had lent no one: the strange mobility of her mouth, whose lips I last
     saw mouthing the words
Did you have a good time?
on the station platform, a mouth that seemed small when composed but large when she smiled, a sudden, surprising change of
     expression that almost ambushed you.
    “And at school?”
    “I said, I’ve just done my exams.”
    “Of course. You said.” She was looking around the room in that way people do when they are searching for something further
     to say. She’d lost interest. I felt myself redden, and I cursed the sensation. I half rose from my chair. “Perhaps I’d better…”
    She lifted a hand. “Surely you’ll stay for lunch? It’s a long way to come just for a cup of coffee.” “I —”
    “Of course you will. I tell you what…” And now there was an uncertain quality to her smile, as if she wasn’t sure of what
     she would tell me, or exactly how. “You wouldn’t like to earn some pocket money, would you? I need someone, and it’s difficult
     to get people out here. Someone to do some clearing out for me. We’re doing some alterations, you see. This was Guy’s house,”
     she said, “his great love —”
    “Guy?”
    “Jamie’s father. He wanted to live here, but of course I preferred London. He used to make me feel quite disloyal. Dear Guy…”
    “He was a mountaineer, wasn’t he? Jamie told me.”
    “Oh, yes, he was a great mountaineer. A regular British hero.” Irony or a plain statement of truth? I couldn’t tell. She seemed
     to speak of the man she had married as though he were still there, as though he was a fool, as though she was still in love
     with him, as though she rather despised him. All these things in the few occasions she referred to him. “And now we want to
     make the place livable, so I need some help. Of course you don’t have to say yes straightaway. Of course not. Let me show
     you, and then we’ll have some lunch and you can tell me what you think. I’m sure a boy like you would like to earn a little
     extra, and I’m sure your mother would be delighted. I know what it’s like shelling out pocket money all the time. Let me show
     you round.”
    So we did a tour of the house, peering into rooms, edging through doors, tripping over steps.