(Sorry this has taken so long- I’ve got a new job and it’s left me precious little time to muck about. Things should be a bit simpler after next week.)

*

Getting a phone call from Jonathan, asking her to meet him at his office as soon as possible, was more than enough to make Octavia concerned.  Jonathan refusing to go into any more detail than, “There’s something we need to talk about,” tipped that concern over into actual worry.  And when she opened the door to his office and saw their mother sitting opposite him, trying to murder her with her eyes, it took all the strength Octavia could muster not to turn around and get as far away from here as possible.

Every time Octavia saw her mother, she hoped that, this time, she’d have finally got too old and frail to intimidate her.  And every time, she was disappointed.

Jonathan didn’t notice any of this.  He just sat behind the desk, looking all concerned like he sometimes did.  “Octavia, do you know a man named Russel Doggett?”

Octavia’s stomach dropped.  She had no idea how her mother and brother had come to know who Russel Doggett was, but there was no chance of it being a good thing.  “Yyyes…  Why?”

“He made an appointment with me yesterday afternoon,” said their mother, spitting each word out as if it tasted disgusting, “He said he had information about my daughter.”

Octavia left a reasonably long pause before asking, “Which was?”

Jonathan cleared his throat.  “He had photos…  He’d clearly been following you without your permission, and we’re going to have to discuss what we should do about that, but there was also…”

“‘Without her permission’?” their mother snapped, “Do you really think that’s the issue here?  That she didn’t give permission?”  She’d got to that stage of anger where her lips drew back and bared her teeth, as if she was threatening to bite you.  When Octavia and Jonathan had been kids, that had had been a sure sign that something you loved was about to get broken.

“What kind of photos?” asked Octavia, because there were only a limited number of things he could have photographed her doing, and none of them were particularly interesting.  Because she’d have been in London when he took them.  Obviously she’d have been in London.  Why would he have bothered to follow her anywhere else?

Her mother twisted around and fixed her famous icicle-blue gaze on her.  “It was of a child’s tenth birthday party.  A child who looked an awful lot like you.”

Octavia felt as if she was choking, just on the air in this room.  She knew that the most horrifying part of this should have been the thought of Russel Doggett skulking around Amber’s party and spying on the children, right under her nose.  Later on, maybe even in a few seconds, she’d be exactly as horrified as something like that deserved.  But right now, it seemed to pale in comparison to the thought of Josette Lambton seeing a photo of her daughters.

“I’m only going to ask you once, Octavia.”  Her mother’s lower jaw trembled.  “Is the child yours?”

Was there any point in trying to lie?  Would it do anything to keep Amber and Saffron safe?  Probably not.

Octavia folded her arms.  She hadn’t got around to sitting down, even though there was a spare chair in front of the desk, and that meant she got to indulge in towering over the pair of them.  “She is, yes.  Her sister, too.”

“And you understand the humiliation I felt, having to admit to that man that I had no idea my grandchildren existed until he told me?”  Their mother’s voice gathered pitch and volume as it went on.  It wouldn’t be long before she’d completely turned into a banshee.

Couldn’t back down.  Couldn’t blink.  “I’ve gone to a lot of effort to make sure you didn’t find out”

That seemed to surprise her.  (Why?  Had she expected Octavia to just shrink back and stammer out an apology?  Who knew what that woman thought?)  “You have the mentality of a child,” she said eventually.  Her voice was quieter now- Octavia thought she heard it shaking.  “Nothing but adolescent spite.  How dare you do this to us?”

Us.  Octavia turned to look at Jonathan, who hadn’t said anything since their mother had started yelling.  He looked back at her with those sad brown bloodhound’s eyes, and said softly, “This whole time, I’ve had two nieces I didn’t know about?”

A lot of people would have led with that.  Not with concern about Russel Doggett following her around.  Octavia sighed.  “Yes.  I’m sorry.  I couldn’t have you telling her.”

“I wouldn’t have.  Not if you’d asked me not to.”

Maybe it was because of that calm, concerned expression, and maybe it was because there wasn’t a hint of defensiveness in his voice, but Octavia was pretty sure she believed him.  And she wasn’t prepared for how lousy that made her feel. 

It hadn’t been out of spite, her decision not to tell him.  More of a ‘what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him’ thing.  And now he did know, it probably had hurt him, and he’d still mentioned doing something about Russel Doggett first.  Of course he wouldn’t have told her.  How badly could you underestimate somebody you’d known all your life?

Their mother, naturally, was just annoyed at them for ganging up on her.  “Is this how people reason now?” she demanded, “No sense of duty to family whatsoever?  No sense of guilt?”  She waved her hands in the air.  “What kind of world do we live in?  What kind of family do we have?”

All things Octavia might have expected Jonathan to ask.  If he had, he’d have got a different answer.  “The same kind of family we’ve always had- the kind of family that kicks out its sixteen-year-old daughter for not lying to make you look good.”

“You ran away at sixteen.”  Her mother’s voice reminded Octavia of a dog barking.  One of those little annoying ones that thought they owned the place.

“No- I just decided that this time I wouldn’t come back and grovel as soon as you’d calmed down.”

“You pathetic woman.”  Josette Lambton rose to her feet.  “And to think, you’re bringing up those children to be just like you.”

“That’s enough,” said Jonathan, standing up so he could face her properly.

Josette Lambton looked from her son to her daughter and back again, giving them equal doses of what she probably hoped was a withering glare.  “Oh, it’s all very modern.  Very cutting-edge.  Post -family, post-morality…”  She turned the glare back onto Octavia.   “But as far as I’m concerned, they’re not my grandchildren.  Because as far as I’m concerned, you’re not my daughter.”

That stung, even though it shouldn’t have (hadn’t it basically been the case for the last two decades?).  But Octavia was an expert in faking nonchalance.  “OK.  Can I go now?”

Josette Lambton went crimson.

Jonathan cleared his throat.  “Mother, can I talk to Octavia in private for a moment?”

“I’m not finished,” said their mother, but she started backing towards the door anyway.  Octavia remembered how much she liked to make a memorable exit.  “I’m disgusted with the pair of you.”  She opened the door, stepped halfway through, and turned her head at the last moment to say, “I’m going to have to think very hard about what I do next.”

With that, she shut the door behind her.  Octavia had to bite her tongue not to laugh.  What I do next?  What was Octavia meant to imagine her doing?  Joining a Grandparents’ Rights group, and losing interest as soon as she realised it meant having to interact with working-class people?  Bitching about her in the Sunday papers again, and hoping somebody actually bothered to read it this time?  Sitting in her house thinking aggrieved thoughts at her as hard as she could?

To think she’d spent the last ten years deceiving her brother because of the old cow.

Jonathan tapped the chair in front of his desk.  “Please, sit down.”

Octavia sat down.  Whatever he had to say, she probably deserved it.

“I think it would be a good idea for us to talk to the police about Russel Doggett.  His kind of behaviour tends to escalate.  Best to nip it in the bud.”

This time, Octavia actually did laugh.  “That’s really your top priority, isn’t it?  Not the fact that I’ve been keeping two whole human beings secret from you for the last ten years.”

Jonathan frowned, but only a little.  “It… just seems like we should deal with him soonest.”   He glanced down at his desk, avoiding eye contact.  Octavia was just about to say something like, I don’t deserve a brother like you, when he added, “Besides, it’s not like I don’t see why you kept it secret.”

“I shouldn’t have.  I don’t know why I assumed you’d take her side.”

He looked back up at her.  “Octavia, look at me.  I get it.  You’re terrified of her.  Even if you were ninety-nine percent sure I wouldn’t tell her, that one percent was too big a risk to take with your own children.”

“I should have trusted you.”  Octavia was surprised at how quiet her own voice was.

“Well, maybe you would have if I hadn’t kept pressuring you to make up with her.  I should have known better.”  His eyes went all concerned-bloodhound again.  “But do you trust me now?”

“Of course,” said Octavia.  As if she’d have said ‘no’ at this point, even if she hadn’t.

He smiled back grimly.  “Then let’s talk about what we’re going to tell the police.”

(To be continued)