Master of the House

‘Sorry, Lulu,’ he said unsteadily. ‘Didn’t mean to put this downer on you.’

‘Shut up. I want to hear it. I want to. Talking can help.’

‘Hmm, so can brandy.’

Yes, well, that made a lot more sense now. He gave me a sideways look.

‘I got quite pissed yesterday. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I’m back on the wagon now.’

‘I know it’s a long, hard road,’ I said, dismissing his slip. ‘I know that. As long as you don’t give up.’

He patted my hand. ‘Thanks for being understanding.’

‘I want to understand,’ I said. ‘Have you talked about this to anyone who wasn’t around at the time? I mean, friends or counsellors or …?’

‘I couldn’t,’ he said. ‘I mean, sometimes, I tried. I prepared the ground. But I always shied away when it came right down to it. I was afraid I’d be rejected for it, or disbelieved or laughed at … I don’t know.’

‘Who would laugh at someone’s distress?’

‘My parents,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You see, when you grow up with people like that, you think it must be in everyone. You don’t know what a natural reaction is any more. Hell, I copied them, thought it was the way to be, until I went to Eton and my housemaster was a bloody decent human being and I saw it was possible not to have to …’ He broke off again.

This time he was tearful. I put my arms around him and just held him, tight and close, while his chest rose and fell hectically against me.

‘I came to life there,’ he whispered. ‘I was allowed to be what I was – which was pretty much the polar opposite of Father. A boy who loved poetry and amateur dramatics and music. Father despised all that. He tried to force me into his mould but I just didn’t fit. “Is this my son?” was his catchphrase. I fell off my horse when I was four, and I cried, and he said I must have been swapped by the gypsies because I was no child of his.’

‘I never liked him,’ I admitted. I had only seen him from a distance, but he had always struck me as a frightening figure, given to unpredictable bouts of rage. I had thought Joss was the same. Worse even. It had never occurred to me that he was just copying the only available pattern. And passing on some of the pain in his miserable little soul.

‘Nobody liked him,’ said Joss savagely. ‘But everyone toadied round him and deferred to him.’

‘And your mother never stood up for you?’

‘She was lovely until I was four or five, then she just seemed to turn her back on me and side with Father. I never understood that. It was almost as if she died, in a way. I grieved for her, my whole childhood.’

‘Perhaps he abused her too.’

‘Perhaps, though I never saw any evidence of it. I confronted her, you know, at his funeral.’

‘God, did you? Oh, Joss.’

‘Yes. I wasn’t nasty or anything. I just said, as we made our goodbyes, that this would probably be the last we’d see of each other and I hoped she’d have a nice rest of her life.’

‘Bloody hell. What did she say?’

‘Oh, God. In my heart of hearts I’d been hoping she might break down, beg me not to leave her, admit she’d been a bad mother, apologise, even. But she just said, “I see,” and went back to talking to her sisters. I nearly lost it, right there and then in the drawing-room among all the guests. I wanted to kill her.’

He was shaking now. I held him through it.

‘I don’t blame you,’ I whispered. ‘It must have been so painful for you.’

‘I’m just exhausted with it,’ he whispered back. ‘Exhausted with having it in my life, all this anger, all this … ugh. I’m sorry. I’m making this all about me. I’m so self-indulgent, I’m sorry, Lu.’

‘Stop it. You’ve nothing to be sorry for.’

‘Oh, come on, I have.’

‘Well, never mind that now. Darling, will you do something for me? And for yourself?’

‘Anything.’