Jake recalled hearing raised voices in Eleanor’s bedroom one day. Her mother was standing over her, demanding to know what she thought she was doing. Even Jake got a shock when he saw the inside of her doll’s house, walls and all, lying discarded in a heap, leaving nothing but an empty shell.
Jake remembered Eleanor’s mother turning away from the bedroom door, mumbling something to herself about why her daughter was such a disappointment; why she wouldn’t wear pretty dresses and play like a normal daughter? Jake had remained in the doorway, watching, fascinated, as she erected new walls and pasted little bits of wallpaper.
She’d let him join in and together they’d chosen colours and made little pieces of furniture. Jake smiled when he remembered Marcus crossly calling him a sissy when he’d discovered Jake playing with Eleanor and not him. Marcus had hovered at the door, watching, and then had grudgingly edged closer until he too was sitting on the floor beside them, totally absorbed in refurbishing Eleanor’s old doll’s house.
Then, a few weeks before Christmas one year, when she’d turned five, Eleanor’s father had crept in late one night from work to give his sleeping daughter a kiss goodnight – so the story went – and stubbed his toe on her part-refurbished old doll’s house. When he’d moved it out of the way, he’d spied some drawings of a doll’s house underneath. The next day after school, Eleanor set to work on her doll’s house, but the drawings were nowhere to be found. Jake remembered searching for them.Even Marcus joined in the search, helping his sister, which was a first.
‘You can draw them again, can’t you?’ Jake had suggested, seeing her distress when they couldn’t find them. She’d said that she couldn’t. The drawings were special. It was a plan for how she wanted her doll’s house to look the next time. She had made drawings and chosen colours, and on her drawings for each room she had stuck little material swatches – all the things she could think of for a new design were on that drawing – but it was gone. Her mother told her that the cleaner had probably thrown it out as rubbish; what did she expect if she was going to be so careless and leave things lying around on the floor?
Eleanor had been inconsolable until the letter from Santa had arrived. Jake knew that so many kids posted their Christmas list to the North Pole, but how many got a reply from Santa? The reply said that he’d magically found her drawing. It was Eleanor’s fondest childhood memory. William had told her that on Christmas night, while doing his rounds delivering presents, Santa must have found her lost drawings and had an idea: why not use her designs to have a very special doll’s house made for a very special girl?
Jake remembered with fondness how William had told Eleanor that Santa must have drafted in his elves, sending the reindeer with the sleigh back to the North Pole to collect them, along with all the materials and tools they’d need to build the doll’s house right there in The Lake House. Then he had finished his rounds, delivering presents all around the world, before returning to collect the elves.
Of course, Eleanor had believed every word, and for one more magical Christmas, Jake had ignored Marcus and had chosen to believe too.
Jake stood for a moment, astounded by the miniature house, the miniature rooms that had been created by a specialistbespoke company, they had found out later, all from a five-year-old’s clever design.
He hadn’t really appreciatedwhat talent she’d had, what talent she’d been born with – until now. He felt responsible for taking away her opportunities because of the life they’d led. If they’d never married, moving back and forth between London and America as the Ross Corporation dictated, perhaps she’d have had the opportunity to create the lifeshe’dwanted. If they’d never married, maybe she would have settled down somewhere and started a business making bespoke doll’s houses for other children to enjoy. Forherchildren to enjoy, though Jake sadly.
Perhaps he wouldn’t be standing there in an empty house, staring at a discarded doll’s house.
Jake climbed the cellar steps and shut the door on those memories, sad memories, and thoughts of a future that would never be.
Chapter 36
‘Where the hell have you been?’
Jake eyed Marcus as he walked up the drive towards Lark Lodge and veered into the front garden. Marcus had been sitting in the garden, reading a newspaper. He closed it and folded it in two as Jake approached. Jake slumped next to him on the wooden swing for two that was positioned on the lawn under the study window.
Jake leaned his head back on the high-backed cushion and closed his eyes.
He felt the swing gently begin to rock back and forward.
‘Are you alright?’ Marcus’s hand brushed his shoulder.
Jake opened his eyes and stared at the ocean-blue sky. ‘Is your suitcase packed?’ Jake turned to look at Marcus. ‘I really need to get out of this place.’
The swing became still. Marcus looked at Jake with a questioning expression.
Jake didn’t feel like offering an explanation. Instead, he rolled his head back to look at the sky. A solitary grey cloud drifted into his frame of vision, which he thought seemed quite apt. In fact, a massive great black cloud with thunderstorms, lightning and torrential rain would just about suit his mood – not this blue sky,that pitiful cloud.
Marcus spoke. ‘What are you going to do about the envelopes?’
‘Huh?’ Jake willed the cloud to grow to immense proportions.
‘These.’ Marcus thrust his hand in front of Jake’s face, obscuring his view of the cloud.
Jake slowly focused on the two crumpled envelopes Marcus was holding up in front of his face. He sat up abruptly and checked his coat pockets – empty. ‘Where did you find them?’ said Jake, reaching for them.
‘On the floor in the bedroom – where else?’ He sounded defensive, as though Jake was accusing him of rifling through his pockets.
Jake sighed. The two letters he’d inadvertently walked out of Cedar Grove with the previous night, after he’d visited Martha, must have fallen out of his pocket when he’d pulled out the plastic bag for Marcus. Maybe he should take them back to Arnold straight away, before hereallylost them. Jake turned to Marcus as he stuffed them back in his pocket. ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’
‘What’s going on?’ Marcus said flatly.
Jake got up. ‘I don’t know. You read the letters. Why don’t you tell me, Sherlock?’ Jake turned to go but Marcus caught his arm, pulling it hard.
‘Tell me.’
