Everyone deceived her brother, yet Ivy always felt she was the one truly tricked
The telephone rang at some hour that seemed made of ink and fog.
Darling, the house is on firewere burning! Her mothers sobs threaded through static, snaps, shouts, a chorus of splintering wood and whispered cinders. Sleep vanished like mist.
Her mothers housea sprawling old thing, fifteen miles outside Oxford, standing proud yet hunched near a village that seemed always shifting closer to the citygrew in Ivys memory, cobbled by generations. Her great-grandfather had laid the first bricks, her grandfather had built up a rambling second storey for summer, only for wind and modernity to wall in the cold, make it proper.
The house had grown sideways with curious additions: a crooked sunroom, twisted by years, painting long shadows across the garden. It seemed sturdy as an oak at first glance, but time gnawed at it. In winter, it was cold as a crypt; in summer, it dripped with damp.
Decay worked quietly, clever as mothseveryone saw it, but her mother dug in her heels: no demolition, only repairs. She ruled the nest; her husband had departed this world, leaving her the keys and the right to decide.
Theres only enough for repairs, not for a new build, her mother would pronounce, tallying her dwindling savings in pounds and pence.
Mum, why hold onto an old manor house? You could have a pretty little place. There are even two-floor projects for a good price nowyoud free up space for your roses! Ivy would plead, eyes bright with city light.
You dont understand, Ivy, her brother George would chime in, always siding with mum. Its the ancestral home! The family seat! This has to be preserved. A proper overhaul, and itll be as fresh as spring rain.
George was her mothers champion, her comrade-in-repairs. Ivys advicesensible things, reasonable thingsnever caught purchase, only bristled hair and turned heads. She learned, after all, to let the house crumble in its own good time.
All right, Ivy would say, hands apart like opening windows to a breeze. Go on, refurbish it. I wont stop you.
But, love, well need a hand from you toojust a bit, if we run short, her mother hedged. Ive money from selling Aunt Lilys old flat in London. What do we want with a flat all the way there?
You sold the London flat? For a patchwork job on this old place? You could have bought three houses here!
My half wasnt muchthe other half went to her son. He bought me outtrue, I had to let it go cheap, but there it is, her mother replied.
Mum! We dont need it, you could have just
Given it away? Ive a family here. Thats that.
Have it your way. If you need nothing else from me, Ill be off.
A month flickered by, and then the phone dragged Ivy from sleep again. The house was burning. She and her husband, Nicholas, drove straight through fog and memory to the smouldering ruin. Nothing left to savethe fire had been greedy.
Ivys thoughts tangled with unreality.
Nicholas, she said, perhaps Mum should stay in the one-bed on Shakespeare Avenue. The tenants just left.
I thought so toothe flats yours, technically, she mused.
But love, all the flats are ours. Your mother needs help; well miss the rent but we still have the other two, and ours to live in, Nicholas told her.
Still, its your flat.
Everythings shared. Let her have it. Theres furniture and kettlesanything missing, well pick up.
They moved her mother in, made the place homey with groceries and little comforts. One rare day, Ivy dropped by unannounced. She brought apples, bread, the weight of unease. Inside, the telly hummeda telly that hadnt been there before. The air was stitched with the sharp ghost of coffee.
Mum, you told me everything burned. This tellywasnt it the one we got you for your birthday? And is that the coffee maker?
You think I stole all this? We carted it all away before the repairs! Only bare walls left. The insurance paid out, so I said it was gone. Whats the fuss? The wardrobes and such are with George.
He needed them for the new place; hadnt managed to get wardrobes yet. My old sheets went with him toohes hardly fussed over them.
George bought a flat? With what, exactly?
What do I know? He bought it, didnt he? Left me out of it.
Ivy felt the shadows thickenher mother was hiding something. Time would tell, but Ivys trust was always the currency spent. Her mother and George: they spun threads for each other, not for her.
George was unluckyblessed with bad luck and schemes that crumbled like biscuit in tea; always duped, supposedly, always hard done by. But Ivy, in her waking dreams, felt she was the only one bruised by everyones small cheats.
What about the rubble? Ivy asked. The plot is good, insurance paid out, you could do something wonderful.
Whats there to do? All ash. Ill sell the land. Got a roof here, thank heavens for daughters with means. George, poor love, is up to his eyeballs in debt, her mother sighed.
Why not buy yourself a flat?
And this one? Throw me out, would you?
Its Nicholass flat.
Youll all cope!
We might rebuild. Think of ita proper new house, like the neighbours. All theirs, scrubbed neat as new shoes.
Decided alreadythe lands going. It was always a mans house, passed down the line, but George doesnt want the village. Hes a city boy, needs his WiFi and buses.
If youre sure. I wont press.
Later, Ivy said to Nicholas, Mum plans to sell the plot.
Thats hers to decide. But Id rather we rebuilt. Its a grand spot. Your dad loved sitting under the ancient lime tree there. We could do something beautiful.
It felt wrong when the lime died. Like an omen. Maybe we should think about building there ourselves?
Nicholas grinned, dream-lit. We wanted a country housethe children would love it. When they have children, theyd bring them here, too.
You dream big.
Why not? Your mum could live there as well.
Wed need to buy the plot, to keep things clear, or shell claim its hers. My brother isnt lucky, but he does know how to mess things up.
Ill handle it. If she puts it on the market, well buy. Maybe Ill ask her outright?
Shell only play coy. Lets just buy it, no fuss.
Mum heard them and snapped, Why not just ask me directly?
We thought you needed the money. This way you can buy yourself something lovely.
Her mother stayed silent and bought nothing. All the money, Ivy soon learned, crossed to Georges accounthe failed his mortgage anyway. Insurance never paid; the fire wasnt chance at allsomeone had stripped out the valuables, torched the shell, then played for sympathy. Nothing turned out as expected.
Sometimes her mother would drop by, spectre-like.
Beautiful place youve got. George is crampedtwo bedrooms between four. Should have bought bigger. The old house was good, you know. You were right about rebuilding, her mother murmured, the words echoing off newly painted walls.
I offered before the fire, but you wouldnt have it. We could have helped!
Yes, yes, her mother said, and offered in turn, why dont you move back to town? Ill take your flat; you can have the house here. Maybe George will join me. Traditions traditionthe house passes down to George, to the son.
Is that what you think? We sweated over the build, and you want to pass it to George, like a family ghost? Had the house survived, hed have flogged it for a song.
That is his right. Centuries old, this is how its always gone.
Centuries? The house barely saw eighty years!
No need to squabble. When will we swap?
Our new house for a city flat? We registered you at the flat, thats all. Nothing more.
Youll never buy anything noweverythings gone to George. Different heirs for this house, nownot him.
You have plenty, but George cant catch a break!
Cant catch a break? The London flat money went straight to him, the insurance would have as well. All that was left from Dad, the savings, the carGeorges. He isnt hard done by, I assure you. Nicholas and I made every brick in this home ourselves.
Hes unlucky, just a trusting soul. Always tricked!
Tricked? Ive been tricked all along. The lands ours, bought fair, sorted proper. George wont be here; he can visit when he likes, no more.
One foggy afternoon, their cousin David came down from London. He strode through the door, pockets jangling. Had to see my poor relatives. Aunt told me everyones scraping bydesperate for cash. These must be hard times, judging by your palace.
Mum said that? Of course
I had to take a loan myself, only just paid it off. Oh, here, IvyIve got earrings for you. Mum said theyre yours; proper handover.
The rest well, she claimed Aunt Lilys jewellery was all meant for herat the funeral, even. I hid the box just in time. She searched for it. Something didnt add up, so I held onto it. She was probably spinning tales, wasnt she?
Oh, absolutelygive me the story soon, will you?
David laughed, One day, over tea.
Ivys mother now rarely travelled; her legs nagged, and George was too busyalways the victim of someone elses schemes. Ivy and Nicholas found contentment in their odd, peaceful home. Their children laughed in the gardens wild embrace. David visited often. Life ambled on, as everyone, in their own way, hammered out happinesshowever crooked, however dreamlike.
