Giles leapt up in alarm when, down in the living room, the phone rang for the first time since the Telecom blokes had reconnected it. He charged downstairs, thinking he'd get them back to scatter a few extensions around when he and Claire had worked out which rooms they were using. At present the only phone was on a deep window ledge in the living room.
"Hullo, yes. This is, er, hang on — Y Groes two three nine."
"Giles? Is that you. Giles?"
"Certainly is."
"Giles, this is Elinor. Could I speak to Claire?"
Oh hell. He should have known it was all too good to last.
"Sorry, Elinor. Claire's out with her camera. I'm not sure when she'll be back. Might be staying out late to photograph badgers or something."
"Don't be ridiculous, Giles. Now tell me what on earth you're doing there. Why is there a message on your answering machine referring people to this number? What's going on?"
Giles smiled indulgently into the phone. "Going on? Nothing's going on. That's the whole beauty of this place, nothing ever goes on."
"Giles—" The voice of his mother-in-law had acquired a warning weight. "Am I to expect any sense at all out of you? Or should I call back when my daughter's in? Look—"
Being reasonable again, the old Mrs. Nice and Mrs. Nasty routine, Giles thought. "I'm aware that hovel may not be in a fit condition to sell, but surely you could afford to pay someone to do something with it. You didn't have to go there yourselves."
"It's already in good enough condition for us, old darling," said Giles. "Well, virtually. I mean, it needs a few minor alterations, mainly of a cosmetic nature. Anyway, look. I may as well tell you. Expect Claire's been too busy to fill you in about our plans, but the current situation is that we're actually living here now."
The silence lasted nearly half a minute, it seemed to Giles. Why did she always have to phone when Claire was out? He'd have to suffer it all twice now — the heavy threats over the phone from Elinor and then, when he'd told her about the conversation, half an hour or so of Claire pacing around saying what an old cow her mother was.
"Elinor, you still there?"
"In… in that house?" She was sounding very far away. "His house?"
"No. Elinor. Our house."
"Oh, Giles." Unexpectedly her voice had turned itself down low, with apparent anxiety rather than anger. "What about your work, both of you?"
"No problem." said Giles, enjoying talking about this bit, as he always did. He explained how fate had intervened in the form of the Glanmeurig by-election, how he was taking a fortnight's holiday by the end of which, with any luck, they'd be into the campaign. Could be weeks before he'd have to return to London, give or take the odd day, and then, afterwards—"And then you'll sell it, that's what you're saying, when this election is over. Because—"
Giles mentally battered his forehead with an exasperated hand.
"Good God, no, you're not getting this at all. are you? We'll still have our base here. I'll travel lo London during the week. Claire will work directly from here — good as anywhere — and then we've got a few long-term plans to make sure that Wales remains our home. I mean for good. Forever. Got it now?"
There came a stage with Elinor when only brutality would work. He heard her breathe in sharply and then force herself to calm down and reason with him.
"Giles, listen — before this nonsense goes any further—"
"Oh. bloody hell, it isn't…"
" — I–I can talk to you. can't I? I've always thought I could — most of the time." She drew a long breath.
Christ, Giles thought, get me out of this. "Now, I assume this is some insane idea of Claire's… You have to talk her out of it, do you understand? I can't do it, never could once she'd made up her mind about something — now that's an admission, isn't it, from a mother? Giles, please. I'm relying on you, and one day you'll thank me for this—"
"I'll do it now, in case we don't see you for a while. Thanks, Elinor. Now if you don't mind—"
"Giles, don't you dare hang up on me! Listen—" The old girl was racing along breathlessly now. "You could probably get rid of it — the house — quite quickly, if you put your mind to it. I'm sure, if you really want to live in the country, you could get quite a nice property in… in Berkshire or somewhere, for the money. Isn't there some land to sell?"
"Strewth." Giles said. "We don't want to live in bloody Berkshire. I mean, don't worry, we'll still come to see you at Christmas, it's not exactly the other side of the world."
Christ, how could somebody as balanced as Claire have a mother like this? She reflected all the worst aspects of Home Counties womanhood — smugness, snobbery, inability to conceive of civilised society anywhere north of—"Giles, this is not funny. You must fetch Claire home at once."
He felt a warning ripple behind his forehead. "Home? Home? Listen, Elinor, if you want the truth" — the headache was coming back, bloody woman—"If you really want the truth, I've never fell more at home in my entire bloody life. OK, sure, we all know you and the old man were not exactly close but — well, it's not as if he's still there, is it?"
"Isn't it?" his mother-in-law said, sounding suddenly strained and old and tired.
Then she hung up on him.
"All fixed," Claire said. "Starting tomorrow evening."
"What's she like?"
"Very pleasant."
"I mean, is she young or… not so young?"
"I suppose," said Claire, "that depends on what you mean by young."
Getting a bit cryptic these days, Claire. Must be exposure to the Welsh.
"What's she called. I mean, what's her last name?"
"Something English. McQueen — or is that Scottish?"
Although, obviously, she isn't. Anyway, she's going to pop round after school as many nights as she can manage. We didn't get round to agreeing a fee, but I'm sure it'll be reasonable."
"Doesn't matter," Giles said. "Where else would you get Welsh lessons in your own home? But, look, we've got lots to talk about, so why don't I light a fire? Brought some more logs in. Marvellous logs, you know, these, dry as bone."
Going dark earlier these nights. Colder too. Giles thought, glad Claire was back; it was good to stride around the place during the day but he could never go too long without a spot of company. He was dismayed when Claire said. "I have to go out again."
"Go out? Where?"
"I've got some more pictures to take." A wry little twitch of the mouth. "I'm photographing my way into the community, aren't I?"
"Christ, haven't you got enough pictures yet?"
Claire didn't reply. She began to load a film into her newest Nikon as if leaving for a major assignment in the jungles of Nicaragua. It had been like this all day, as though he didn't really exist. She'd just announced what she was going to do and then done it.
Giles said plaintively. "I was waiting to light the fire, have a discussion about, you know, the future. I mean we've hardly had much chance to talk, the past few days. Also, your m—" No, he wasn't going to go into all that Elinor business. Not now.
"We can talk later," Claire said. "I have to catch what's left of the light, OK?"
"Bugger all left, if you ask me. Why not leave it till tomorrow?"
"Also," Claire mumbled, snapping the camera shut. "I have to find my tree."
"I see. And which tree is that?"
"Just a tree I shot last night, and then it went missing."
"I see," said Giles, gritting his teeth. "Now look, Claire, I really do think—"
But Claire had shouldered her camera and was off before he could even tell her about the call from her mother.
Fuck her, thought Giles, and then realised he hadn't done that for quite a while either.