THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

table, she likes the fact that she and Nelson have some shared history to relate (they tell the story of the Iron Age body on the Saltmarsh, the discovery that first drew them together), she relishes the moment when, after repairing to the drawing room, they sit together on the sofa drinking brandy.
    Irene has gone to bed. ‘She sleeps downstairs; it’s easier for her these days.’ Stella, after checking on her mother-inlaw, comes into the room with coffee in little gold cups, chocolates, coloured sugar.
    ‘Blimey,’ says Ruth, who has had rather a lot to drink, ‘do you eat like this every night?’
    She sees Nelson smiling into his brandy.
    ‘We try to eat in the dining room at least once a week,’ says Hastings. ‘It’s a shame to let standards drop entirely.’
    ‘But most of the time we huddle round the kitchen table,’ says Stella. ‘Jack reads the paper and I listen to the radio. That’s why it’s nice to have guests.’
    ‘Do you entertain a lot?’ asks Nelson. He says ‘entertain’ like it’s a foreign word.
    ‘Not really.’ There’s a twinkle in Stella’s eye as she passes round the cups. ‘Jack’s fallen out with most of the neighbours, you see.’
    ‘Really, Stella! That’s not true.’
    ‘I can’t stand most of my neighbours,’ says Nelson. ‘But the wife still insists on asking them round.’
    It’s the first time he has mentioned Michelle. At least he didn’t say her name, thinks Ruth.
    ‘You should be master in your own home, my dear fellow,’ says Hastings.
    ‘That’s easier said than done,’ says Nelson. ‘I’m outnumbered. I’ve got two daughters, you see.’ He looks at Ruth and away again. ‘They gang up on me.’
    ‘Clara could always twist Jack round her little finger,’ says Stella. ‘You’ve got all this to come, Ruth.’
    Ruth smiles stiffly.
    ‘I don’t mind being outnumbered,’ says Nelson. ‘I haven’t been first in the bathroom for over fifteen years. It’s hard, though, when they grow up.’
    Stella nods, her blue eyes warm. ‘You’re so right, Harry. I remember when Alastair left home I was bereft. I kept wandering into his room and crying. It was the same withGiles and Clara. That’s why I’m glad that Clara’s come back to us for a bit.’
    ‘She’ll soon be off again,’ says Hastings. ‘She’s thinking seriously about the TEFL course.’
    ‘You must be proud of her,’ says Ruth. She thinks it’s about time she said something.
    ‘Oh we are,’ says Stella. ‘She hasn’t had it easy. School was difficult. I was so pleased that she made it to university and got a good degree. I just hope that this latest thing …’ Her voice trails off. The logs hiss in the fire. In the hall, a clock strikes.
    ‘Midnight,’ says Nelson. ‘I must be for my bed.’
    ‘Me too,’ says Ruth and blushes. Nelson grins at her.
    ‘Don’t mind us, ha ha,’ Jack Hastings is quick to enlarge on the joke.
    ‘Really, Jack,’ says Stella mildly. ‘I’ll show you to your room, Ruth. It’s in the tower. Yours is the one above, Harry. It’s got its own bathroom so you can make up for all those years of missing out.’
    Clara’s room is comfortable and untidy. Because it’s in the tower it has curved walls and nothing quite fits. The bed juts out into the middle of the room, cupboards and bookcases stand awkwardly against the rounded walls. It was obviously once Clara’s childhood bedroom – there is a rocking horse grinning in the corner and a pile of teddy bears on the widow seat. Equally obviously, it has been recently decorated, with blameless sprigged wallpaper and curtains held back with little bows. Ruth goes to the window and looks out. Far below is the sea. It looks wrong to seesnow on the beach, like a negative, the black waves breaking on the white shore. Far off, she can see a flashing light. It’s probably on the coast road but it makes her think of the lighthouse and the days when its beam would have shone out, warning sailors off the jagged rocks. At the foot of the tower there is a narrow line of snow before the land drops away. The garden and the summer house have disappeared forever. Ruth thinks of the night when the Germans landed, the shots in the dark, the little boy watching from the window. Perhaps this same window? She shivers.
    She washes in the bathroom, a thin slice taken out of the room. Stella has lent her a nightdress but it’s floor-length and frilly and she doesn’t want to wear it. (‘Why?’ she