A/N Hi everyone! Sorry it's taken me so long to get another chapter up. I found it quite hard to get moving on this one, so I've sat and tried to write a more detailed plan; fingers crossed it gets me writing a bit faster! I'm going into hospital next week for an operation and will be off work for a little while so I'm hoping I can use the time to get some writing done! Many, many thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed so far; the encouragement means a great deal to me, so thank you!
Second Chances - Chapter 4
Ripon was stupid, the North was stupid, I was stupid. That was my daughter's assessment of our move after her first day at school and just for a moment I considered the thought that I'd maybe preferred it when she'd been giving me the silent treatment. She'd sulked and refused to answer any of my questions about her first day as we'd driven back to Downton, instead giving me a litany of reasons why we should return to Guilford and why my selfish decision was ruining her life forever. Slamming the car door for good measure as I parked the car, she flounced off towards the entrance, leaving me behind to bring in the groceries I'd picked up for our dinner.
"Trouble?" Mrs Carson greeted me, as she packed the last of her and Mr Carson's belongings into the van they'd hired to help them move.
"Just the usual," I smiled wanly, "I'm the worst mother ever."
She shook her head knowingly, "She'll come around eventually, you know what girls are like at that age."
"So, are you all packed?" I changed the subject, nodding towards the van.
She nodded contentedly, "Oh yes dear, Charlie's just bringing the last few bags down and we'll be out of your hair! I expect you'll be wanting to get on and get used to the place without us cluttering it up and following you around."
"Not at all," I smiled sincerely. Mrs Carson really had been a god-send since we'd arrived. It felt strangely like having a mother around again; an idea I had found strangely comforting. "I'm not going to know what to do without you! Who am I to call when I've misplaced something or can't remember where an item's supposed to be filed?"
"You'll be fine Dear," she laughed, "And don't forget, you'll have Mr Bates to help you."
"I'm not sure how much Mr Bates will enjoy having me around making mistakes all over the place when he's used to you, Mrs Carson."
She smirked knowingly, "Oh I daresay you have other attributes he'll find more appealing… Besides, I think the shake-up will do him some good. It's not a healthy environment; him stuck here with only two pensioners for company. You will look after him though, won't you?" she reached out to hold my hand somewhat imploringly, "I mean, he's a good man. He may seem formal and distant, but underneath all that I really do think he needs some company."
"I'll do my best," I squeezed her hand, before reaching out to hug her. I really would miss her and Mr Carson. It had been nice to feel like a little family, if only for a short time.
"Now you've got my phone number at the cottage and we'll be back to visit for the Grantham Ball in June. Most of the arrangements have already been made for it so you don't need to worry. And remember; just ask Mr Bates if you're unsure of anything."
"I will," I promised, as Mr Carson appeared from the door, carefully storing the last few bags in the front of the van and nodding his head towards me in his usual dignified manner.
"Take care Dear," Mrs Carson smiled, getting into the van and rolling down the window. "We'll telephone as soon as we arrive."
"Drive safe!" I replied, "And thank you for all your help, we really do appreciate it!"
"You're welcome Dear, and remember what I said about Mr Bates!" she raised her voice as the engine started. Then with a final wave from each of them the van trundled off down the driveway and I found myself with the distinct feeling that someone had removed my stabilisers – I was on my own.
I'd scarcely closed the door after Mr and Mrs Carson's departure when my ears were hit by the violent assault of angry teen angst music, wafting down the elegant passageway towards me in a manner which I was sure would have made the former residents of the Abbey turn in their graves. Recognising that it was unlikely that Mr Bates had recently developed a penchant for P!nk's latest album I found myself racing up the stairs towards Holly's room, as much in anger as in terror that Mr Bates would get there before me.
"Enough is enough!" I started before I'd even opened the door fully. She lay prone on her bed, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded defiantly under her chin. She didn't even look up as I entered, which of course only served to make me angrier.
"Will you switch off that bloody stereo and listen to me?!"
She deigned to glance sideways, reaching out a finger towards the iPod dock as though to turn it off, instead pressing the volume-increase button.
"You little…" I marched across the room, pulling the plug from the wall, met suddenly by blissful silence as P!nk screeched her last profanity for the time being.
"What?!" she challenged me, "D'you want something?"
I could feel my blood boiling, inside my head chanting my mantra over and over remember you're the adult, remember you're the adult… It was moments like this that I felt hopelessly ill-equipped to deal with. Holly was eleven; she wasn't meant to hit the terrible teens for a couple of years yet. I had no idea of the correct response and I wasn't in the right place to deal with her myself.
"You need to turn your music down and start fixing your attitude!" I began, hands on hips, confrontationally. Even as I was yelling I knew my approach was catastrophically flawed.
"I don't see why I should!" she yelled back, "It's not like there's anyone here to bother with it."
"You know fine well that Mr Bates' office is only downstairs, if you keep carrying on like this you're going to get me the sack!"
"So?"
"So, then we'll be out on the street with nowhere to live and nothing to eat!"
"Or…" she replied with controlled sarcasm which only made my anger rocket further, "we could just go home?"
I flopped down on the edge of her bed, head in my hands as a moment of silence filled the air between us.
"You don't get it Holly," I began, "I know you're angry and you don't understand why we're here. But it's not up to you to decide why we left, you just have to respect my decision…"
"Respect your decision!?" she interrupted furiously, "Why should I respect your decision? It's not like you've ever made any decisions before; Dad used to sort out everything! He never did anything that bad to you and now you've made me leave him, and leave school and my friends and come up to this stupid house and start living like we're on some stupid programme on the telly and I'm supposed to just be okay with it. Well I'm not!"
I was crying now, I'd never cried in front of my daughter before that week and here I was doing it again. "Holly I wish you could understand…"
"I understand alright! I've got a stupid mother who made a stupid decision and I wish you'd just leave me alone and let me go back to Guildford!"
The door opened suddenly and we were both stunned into silence by the stony face of Mr Bates.
"I heard a commotion," he offered in typically understated fashion, "I thought perhaps I could be of assistance."
Holly scoffed and I turned to give her my best death-stare, realising Mr Bates had now seen my tear-stained face.
"Miss Smith, I was wondering if you knew where the utility bills were kept, Mrs Carson appears to have forgotten to pass them onto me before she left. Perhaps you could fetch them for me, if you'd be so kind."
"I'm not sure where…" I began.
"If you could just have a quick look for them just now, I'd be very grateful." I realised it wasn't a request so much as a very polite order. I stood up from the bed, trying somewhat futilely to brush off my tears and return my face to some sort of presentable state as I left the room, wondering what on earth Mr Bates could have to say to Holly.
I just hoped to God that she wouldn't yell at him.
I'd left the house for a while after that; just wandering around the grounds a bit aimlessly, not really knowing if I should go back inside yet appreciating the time to myself to calm down. It wasn't that I didn't understand Holly's feelings; I just felt hopelessly unable to explain my reasoning to her. I couldn't face telling her that her beloved father was a monster who'd regularly left me black and blue, and that the main reason we'd left was for her own protection. One day we'd have the conversation but at the back of my mind was that as much as she was behaving like a belligerent fifteen year old, she was only eleven; my baby, to be protected and sheltered from the realities of her parents' relationship.
The weather finally made the decision for me, the fine drizzle I'd been steadfastly ignoring, escalating into big fat drops which had me running for the door to escape a soaking. Figuring a cup of tea was in order I headed down the hallway to the kitchen, hoping for a few moments more peace, only to be met by Mr Bates.
"I'm afraid you've caught me out," he smiled, as I hung back at the edge of the kitchen door.
Across the kitchen table I could see him crouched on the floor in front of the washing machine; a packet of soap powder in his hand, the machine stuffed so full it looked like it should burst. With his jeans on and usually scraped-back hair un-styled and a little dishevelled, he suddenly looked like a completely different man to the stern, formal gentleman who'd offered me the job only a week or so earlier. Completely different and about ten years younger, I couldn't help but think to myself.
"Caught you out?"
"Well I was rather hoping that I'd have the opportunity to test out the washing machine by myself before anyone noticed my ineptitude," he smiled wryly.
I shuffled further into the room to stand at the opposite side of the table to where he was crouched, "Have you not used it before?"
"Alas I have not," he shrugged, "Mrs Carson was always so kind as to do my washing for me, but I'm afraid I'm feeling more than a little foolish now."
His self-deprecation was endearing and I couldn't help but find myself relaxing for the first time in his presence since we'd arrived.
"D'you want a hand?"
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."
I crouched down beside him and opened the door of the machine, "Well first thing's first, you've over-filled the machine; you might want to take about half of that out." I was about to reach in and pull out the clothes, then realised that he might have all manner of clothing inside and stopped myself; the image of his mortified expression as I pulled out his underpants not one I wished to see in reality.
"It's alright, it's only jeans and shirts," he laughed, seemingly reading my mind and reaching into the machine to drag a few items out until the drum was emptier. He closed the door again and I added the soap powder into the drawer, showing him how to set the programme before starting the machine.
"Easy," he grinned, "I'm indebted to you Miss Smith."
"Anna, please…" I laughed, "I know we're living in a centuries old house but honestly, I'd feel much better if you called me by my first name."
"I'm sorry," he laughed, "force of habit. I'll try to fix it, Anna," he added, and I couldn't help but give a little shiver as the soft Irish undertones in his voice pronounced my name. "And if I'm to be on first name terms with you then you must call me John; you're right, we're not living in 1912."
"Quite right John," I laughed, as we both stood up.
"So…" I could tell he was about to broach the subject of Holly and suddenly the tension seemed to mount again. "I had a chance to talk to Holly earlier."
"I'm so sorry about all of that," I shook my head, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sitting down. He turned away for a moment to fill the kettle then took the chair opposite.
"Please, don't be sorry," the kettle began to bubble and I could tell he was searching for the right words. "I don't mean to pry Anna, really I don't, but I think I've heard one side of the story from Holly and it might be better if you were to fill in the blanks rather than letting me fill them in for myself with only a child's explanation to help me."
He stood up to tend to the kettle and before long I had a steaming mug of tea sitting in front of me and he was back sitting opposite me, mug in hand, leaning back comfortably in the chair.
"I suppose she told you about her father…"
"He was mentioned," he raised his eyebrows, "although I got the feeling you perhaps wouldn't see eye to eye on that one."
I shook my head, tears springing to my eyes, "I'm sorry, forgive me, it's just that I haven't really spoken about it and…"
"Anna," he pulled his chair closer and reached across the table, taking me by surprise by taking my hand in his. "It's not my place to pry and I can see you're not ready to tell me. At the end of the day, you don't know me that well and frankly I don't suppose it's any of my business. But I do want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, I'm here to help. If we're all to live in this house together I'd really like us to be friends."
I blinked back my tears and found myself looking up directly into the surprising warmth of his gaze. "Thank you John, I really do appreciate it. I'd like us to be friends too."
"Then we're all agreed," he smiled, squeezing my hand, "Even Holly. I had a little word with her and we've discussed the volume button on that blasted iPod."
I couldn't help but giggle and the sound of his deeper laugh resonated around the room. Perhaps things weren't looking so bleak after all; at least I had a friend.
