Chapter Text
April 1979
The phone in the study rings early, but Violet is up anyway.
Her ability to sleep through the night has been completely ruined by menopause. Night sweats at just 38 are the worst thing, but a nice cup of tea and some time with a magazine and the kitchen window open usually helps.
It only gets to three rings before she has picked up the receiver. It wouldn’t do to let it wake the rest of the sleeping household.
“Hello. Mintonbury 7538. The Holmes residence.”
“Violet. Vi. It’s Deme. I- Sorry for ringing so late, early, in the dark… but...” The other woman sounds vague and there’s a thread of disinterest in her voice even though she has made the call.
Violet settles onto the antique mahogany desk chair, this may take a while.
“Deme. It’s-” She can’t say it’s fine. It’s not fine. Demeter is obviously drunk; that’s about the only time she calls these days. “I was up anyway. How can I help you, dear?”
“I need someone to... look after Gracie.”
“Now, Demeter? Is everything alright?”
“No. Yes. I mean. It’s all perfect, isn’t it? I’m not… So no Vi, not now. Just…”
A long pause. Violet hears Demeter snuffle a bit unsure of what to say next but obviously wanting to talk.
“She’s hard work, Vi. I mean two year olds are, but… she’s not like my friend’s children. She is so stubborn and… if things aren’t the way she expects she just cries. I’m not a bad mother. Vi. I don’t know what happened to our little sunshine. She was so good, a darling, before Bill...” She cuts off here and Violet can hear that she’s crying.
“I know, Deme. But we’ve been through this. You call me upset, asking to see me and then when I come you’re out, or you won’t let me in. I last saw Grace, three months ago? Her second birthday, and then a couple of times after that in February. She barely knows who I am.”
“Oh, she knows exactly who you are. She asks for you. When she wants to speak to me…”
“Does she indeed? Well, maybe I can come tomorrow, dear? Have you slept?”
“I- no. Not really.”
“Is Grace asleep?”
“Erm…”
“Demeter?”
“Yes, yes! She’s asleep!”
“Alright, dear. Well why don’t you have a glass of water and head to bed too.”
“But, Vi. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this. When I close my eyes…”
“I know, Deme. I can’t even imagine how it feels. But you still have Gracie, and she needs you to be her mother. So go to bed, and I will try to come tomorrow. Hugh and Mycroft are dead set on some lecture or other in Cambridge, so I have the whole day.”
“Okay. Bye Vi. See you… tomorrow.”
The line goes dead and Violet sighs heavily to herself. The whole situation makes her quite anxious.
The death of her nephew, Bill, unexpectedly, just ten months previously had shaken the entire family to core, and they’re still very much in a state of limbo over it. He’d seemed absolutely healthy but an undetected heart condition had felled him whilst he slept. No wonder Demeter is struggling with the whole thing.
And of course since he was born, Violet who had been a teenager at the time, had been incredibly close to him.
He’d always been such a sweet little thing, the youngest of her sister Lillian’s brood of four, following his beloved Aunt around at family gatherings and always asking for cuddles and his 'Viye'. They’d remained close as he grew into adulthood so much so that it was often Violet who he went to for help and advice rather than his mother.
So it’s natural that Deme should turn to Violet as some sort of kindred spirit; a guide of sorts, someone who had loved her husband just as fiercely, but differently.
Grace, who has enough of her late father about her to always make Violet do a double take, had been a bonny little tot just 18 months old when he died and already bright as a button, but also prone to being as awkward as her mother described. It hadn’t just been after her ‘Papa’ had died, Demeter just can’t process that right now, but in fact Bill had always found her mercurial moods easier to manage than his wife, probably because Grace and her mother were rather too alike in that respect.
Bill had been very involved with Grace. Both his and Demeter’s careers, he a Vintner and she a rather in demand actress, had been worked around each other so they could juggle the demands of having a baby. And it had turned out fine for the most part. Bill would rather stay home when not working or pack up the car and take Grace with him on a ferry to France whilst Demeter filmed wherever, and then they’d meet up and spend time at the vineyard, before Deme would fly back to the UK with Grace. Sometimes Grace would have to be left with a friend of the family but those instances had been few and far between.
Now work is sporadic for Demeter since she’s a shadow of her former self. And being home alone with Grace she seems to be struggling more and more. And it’s not as if Lillian can help, as since her MS diagnosis five years ago she’s been able to do less and less. She tries but she’s also a grieving mother and the stress only makes her symptoms worse.
Violet will definitely make the trip across to London tomorrow. She needs to put her mind at rest.
Awake and in my bed. Am I hungry? Not sure. I’m wet... again. Soaking. Stupid nappy. I don’t like it. Why can’t I stay dry at night? Bad body.
The house is quiet. Not noisy like before bed. No shouting, laughing, music.
Wiggle wiggle. Where’s O-Bear? Lost in covers!
No. No. O-BEAR? Where are you? Look. Feel. There!
O-BEAR! Hugs. Can’t lose you!
Where’s Maman?
“Maman.”
Nothing.
Louder...
“Maman! Maman?”
Nope.
She is not coming. I’ll get up. Take O-Bear. Out of bed and…
Spin spin spin… to...
Door. Stretch, reach handle. I’m tall, I can... OPEN! And…
Oh the gate! It’s a stupid gate. Think, Grace. Oh, the desk chair. Pull the little chair… drop O-Bear down first, and me up and over. Down.
Ow!
Twisty foot. That hurts. Can I use it? Yes. A little limpy.
Walk to Maman’s room. It smells bad in here. There are a lot of bottles. They stink too. The same stink. Yuck. Maman is still asleep. Is there a man? Extra shapes in bed? No. Good.
Up onto bed.
Oh the fluffy blanket. Stroke. So nice and soft.
Oh Maman’s bed is so springy, not like the boring foam mattress on mine. Should I..? Bouncy! Bouncy!
“Maman. Wake up, Maman! S’morning!”
“Wha? Gracie? How did you… never mind I… STOP THAT YOU! I’m gonna… STOP IT! No BOUNCING!”
Maman's hand through the air. On my arm. Ouch! Stings! I make no noise. Maman doesn’t like it. I'm big. I can be brave.
Freeze! Stay still? No. Need to move. Shake shake hands. Shake. Shake shake.
Maman says stop moving. Don’t cry! Cry? Am I crying? Yes, but not loud. Fingers into mouth and hug O-Bear so tight under arm. Be quiet, Gracie. Maman is saying something. Angry at me. Shouting now. But can’t hear the words. Banging inside my head. Feel wrong.
Another smack but it doesn’t hurt the same. Body another place.
Close eyes and too many colours inside.
I stay. Wait.
Wait. Body feels still not my own.
Banging inside head slows down. Stops. Peek open eyes. No Maman. She’s gone somewhere else. Another room.
I can get up. My hands still want to shake. My tummy is squeezing funny. I hug O-Bear extra tight. O-BEAR helps with stupid feelings.
I got out back to the landing. Walk quiet. Creep. Not that floorboard. It’s noisy.
She’s in toilet? Sounds funny. Bad yucky noises. Don’t stay here, Grace. Still angry Maman.
I downstairs, careful. No silly gate. Don’t slip. I can do stairs!
Kitchen.
Stupid soggy nappy. Off off, and in yucky bucket by washing machine. I can be big at daytime. Only wet when sleepy. No knickers here though… oh well. Who needs knickers? Not me!
I am hungry. Cereal cupboard. And a little bowl. I can’t reach spoons and the chairs are too big. Never mind. Just having cereal.
Where do I eat? Safe, safe, somewhere safe.
Ah! Under the table. I feel safe here.
Crunchy crunchy. The best cereal. Tiny picky crispy rice. Eat piece by piece.
Noise. Maman! She can’t see me.
“Grace? GRACE? Sweetheart. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. Gracie? Where are you, darling?”
Hide. Cover eyes.
Her footsteps. Close. Close. Close.
Make me small.
“Gracie. I know you’re under the table. You’re always under the table. Silly little thing.”
Peek peek. There’s Maman looking in. Maman reaches in. Maman says I'm silly. Says I'm little. Not a big girl? No nappy, Maman. Look, I have cereal!
“Come on, ma petite.”
Same hand that smack finds my knee but a gentle tickle.
Hate gentle… it burns.
“No!” I shout and kick my feet. Ow, I knock the foot I hurt. I cry just a bit.
“Alright… Don’t kick me! Oh… Shit. Maman’s really sorry, Gracie. I’m just so tired darling and I don’t feel well, so please? Come out. I won’t be angry anymore. I promise.”
I stay at back of table. Myself against the kitchen wall.
Maman starts crying. She cries. Her crying hurts my ears. My head gets full, full, full again. Her crying is a wrong purple colour and it whistles.
I don’t know when she stops. But I blinky and notice she gets up, fills the kettle, whoosh, and it makes the hot bubbly sound. She makes tea. No milk… but I really want milk. Will have to move. I go to edge of table. And peep out.
“Maman… I sorry.” I always sorry. I did it. My fault. Grace not a good girl. “Milk, please Maman?”
“I… fine. Yes, there’s milk. I can do milk if that’s what you want.”
“Okay, Maman.”
I crawl out, and Maman gets me milk. She crouches down to me. Ruffles my hair with her spare hand. Not nice but I have to not get upset.
“There you go, poppet. You’re going to be good now. Aren’t you? You know I love you, Gracie? So you have to be good.”
I do love Maman, and she must love me because she says so...
“Mmmhmmm. I be good. Love you too, Maman.”