‘So I’d be all right, then,’ said Georgie automatically, and Cat laughed, then sighed.
‘You want to stop all that, George,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough of that. Life’s too short. You were always the best-looking of us, still are.’
Georgie swallowed, a lump in her throat. ‘Shut up,’ she said. ‘Then, well, anyway. Say if there’s anything actually useful I can do.’
‘The hamper’s great,’ said Cat, ‘honest. Set the neighbours talking anyway, big handsome delivery man, they have their own vans, did you know? And it’s better than some old casserole.’
‘How are things?’ said Georgie. ‘I mean, home, the boys, people. All that.’ She felt like she had lost half her vocabulary.
Cat sighed. ‘You know what people are like,’ she said. ‘The mums – well, they seem almost pleased. They come around, talk in those special caring voices—’ Another sigh. ‘Offer to have the boys, give me food I can’t eat.’ And she was weary again. ‘That’s not very nice of me, I know. It’s hard. I just want – I just want my life back. Hospitals, well – it’s like another world, isn’t it? The world of sick people.’
‘You’ll get it back,’ said Georgie. ‘We’ll be out celebrating before you know it. Dancing.’ She tried to sound calm and cheerful, and failed. Briskly Cat changed the subject. ‘What are you up to?’ Georgie told her. Granddad and zoo, what could be more normal? – but Cat wasn’t fooled.
‘London twice in a week?’ she said, sounding curious, wary.
‘Tim’s away for the weekend,’ said Georgie. ‘Conference.’
‘Ah,’ said Cat, as if that explained everything. ‘He’s doing something right, then. Too important for us these days.’
‘He – he’s not – actually he did say, the other day, let’s get Cat and Harry over. Now they’ve moved up the road.’ He hadn’t meant it, though. Georgie wasn’t surprised Cat had picked up on that.
She sighed. ‘I’m – I’m a bit worried, actually,’ she said, hesitatingly. And found herself confiding in Cat about the damage to the car. Lowering her voice so Tabs wouldn’t hear. When she finished there was a thoughtful silence.
‘You couldn’t have done it and forgotten?’ Warily.
‘No!’ said Georgie straight away – but then wondered. Had there been something in Cat’s voice? Why was she even asking? ‘No,’ she said again, hesitating. Glancing up and down the carriage: it was almost empty. She sighed. ‘I – this might be just me, but I wondered if – if it could have been done on purpose. If Tim might be in some kind of trouble.’
‘Well,’ said Cat, ‘you know your husband better than I do.’ A silence, in which Georgie found herself wondering, if that was true. He didn’t encourage it. ‘I mean, don’t you?’
‘I – he’s so discreet about work, though,’ Georgie said, hesitant. Feeling stupid.
‘Well,’ said Cat briskly, ‘not everyone’s so discreet.’ The change of subject had cheered her up, at least. ‘Your trouble is, you don’t gossip. I did hear – well. When I was phoning round, seeing who I could get together for our girls’ night, quite a few of them asked about Tim. He’s got quite a name. Quite a customer base.’
‘Yes,’ said Georgie, on safer ground. ‘I know he looks after plenty of people round here.’ Not from Tim, though; from the other mothers in the playground, talking warmly about him to her. ‘There’s a builder, in the town, and a man runs a team of plumbers—’
‘No, I’m talking bigger fish than that,’ said Cat easily. ‘Doesn’t he deal with what’s his name, that man—’ she named the owner of a chain of gyms, ‘the one who went bust? That was very handy, declaring bankruptcy when he did.’
‘Oh,’ said Georgie, startled. ‘I didn’t—’ Cat knew more than her. People she’d worked with fifteen years ago seemed to know more than her, for God’s sake.
‘You didn’t say any of this on our night out,’ she said, troubled.
‘Well, why would I?’ said Cat. ‘That wasn’t about husbands, was it? And it’s not like I think— you’re straight as a die, Georgie, everyone knows that.’
Georgie sat back against the seat, her gaze turning to Tabs’ head, bent over the page. She could just about hear the tinny sound of the music she was listening to, Shakira, on the headphones, another thing Tim wouldn’t have allowed. She didn’t understand. ‘What do you think, Cat?’ she said.
‘Oh, I’m not saying he’s a crook,’ said Cat but she didn’t sound sure. ‘He just – it’s just that – he certainly gives them value for money, is what I’m saying.’ A pause, in which the phrase turned meaningless. ‘Gamekeeper turned poacher, the best kind of man to have looking after you. You know. Because he’d worked for the Revenue, you can bet he brought a lot of insider knowledge to the game.’
‘That’s legal, though,’ said Georgie. ‘Right?’ She felt stupid, ignorant. She thought of all those IVF appointments, the injections of drugs that made her feel deranged, and then Tabs. She’d been too – too stupefied, too lazy, too something – to ask Tim about his work, too bound up in IVF and Tabs.
‘Oh, you can bet it’s legal,’ said Cat. ‘On paper, anyway. It’s a while since I’ve seen Tim but he’s not stupid, is he? He knows what he’s doing.’ She sounded invigorated. At least, thought Georgie with one part of her brain, I’ve distracted her.
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s not stupid.’ Was it why she’d fallen for him? Tall, lean clean-shaven Tim, in his crisp white shirt, his tie, standing frowning down over his papers in the sunshine of their home. So fierce in concentration, so intent, so focused. He’d applied the same focus to everything, hadn’t he? To her, to getting her pregnant, to making a home for them. ‘Are you saying he’s working for the kind of person who might damage our car?’ At the window Tabs was pulling at her headphones and she lowered her voice. ‘My car.’
Cat sighed. ‘Well, it could be a creditor, couldn’t it? If I know Tim handled the guy’s bankruptcy, anyone might. But then again,’ she hesitated, ‘we’ve probably all done something, sometime, somewhere, that has made someone angry enough to key our car, if they got the opportunity.’
Georgie was about to protest, not me. But she stayed silent, uneasy. And then Tabs had the headphones right off and was tugging at her sleeve. ‘Mummy, I need the—’ too loud, still at the pitch of the music in her head. And looking round uncertain, not even sure if there would be one, ‘I need the toilet, Mummy.’
‘Look – I’ve got to go, Cat,’ she said, not wanting her to think she was changing the subject. Wanting to know.
But Cat only sighed. ‘Look, George, there’s probably nothing—’ relenting. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘I’ll call you back,’ said Georgie. ‘All right?’
‘Sure,’ said Cat, but she sounded abruptly deflated, worn out. ‘Maybe – just not today.’
Making her way down the carriage to the train’s toilet with Tabs’ hand in hers, Georgie couldn’t stop wishing she could see Cat, face to face. She could ask her – well, whatever. She could trust Cat. But it was Holly she was going to see, Holly who thought it was all just a laugh. Cat said what she thought. But Cat had more urgent things to do than listen to her whining.
‘Here?’ The toilet was certainly cleaner than it would have been during the week but still enough to have Tabs wrinkling her nose in disbelief, looking up at her.
‘Sorry, Tabs,’ she said. Kept her outside while she wiped down the toilet seat with paper then lifted her on to it, holding her safe. She stood bending down, between Tabs and the locked door. Her small face looking up into Georgie’s was uncertain, as if she couldn’t quite believe that her mother authorised this situation.
She thought again about Cat, asking her if she might have damaged the car herself and not noticed. Tim asking the same question. What did they think of her? Soft old Georgie, head in the clouds, trotting up to Tim’s office to say goodbye on her way to London, off she’d gone. Head up her own backside. Georgie waking up in a hotel
room, her mind a blank.
Tabs tilted her head, anxious.
So much, thought Georgie, making herself smile back. There’s so much I don’t know.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Is everything all right, Georgie?’ Dad leaned across the plate of fried eggs towards her. He looked worried. His old cap was on the table beside him, but he had his best checked shirt on buttoned to the neck, and a corduroy jacket she knew he’d bought in a charity shop. Georgie tried to buy him things – the shirt had been from her – but he liked to be independent. It had been a sign of him getting his spirits back, his afternoons browsing for cast-offs.
He’d chosen a greasy spoon off Baker Street for their lunch. ‘Brunch,’ he said to Tabs, excited as if it was something that had just been invented – because he knew he could afford it and whatever Georgie said, he was going to pay. Tabs’ eyes had lit up, to Georgie’s relief.
‘And sausage?’ she’d said, goggle-eyed at the choice on the stained menu. ‘And beans?’
Covertly Georgie examined him for signs of change, of age and deterioration, as she always did. But aside from the pouchy, anxious look to his face at these fleeting moments, when Tabs relaxed her attention and his gaze rested on Georgie and saw something in her, she didn’t know what, Dad looked the same. His hair was being cut regularly, his nails were clean, his clothes were getting washed – and he was even, she guessed from their un-ironed look, managing it on his own.
‘Yes,’ said Georgie now. ‘Everything’s all right, Dad.’
He shook his head, not believing her, then looking from her to Tabs, and sighing. ‘You’re looking tired,’ he said, uncertainly.
‘It’s just me getting older, Dad.’ She did feel as if her body was running twice as fast, lately. Ever since – ever since.
‘Never,’ said Dad, gallantly, ‘not my little George.’ And then a boy was at their table, plates up his arm brimming with beans and eggs and piled with toast. But when he’d gone Dad still looked bothered. ‘Is everything OK at home?’
Tabs’ head shot up. ‘There’s a scratch on the car and Daddy’s angry.’ They both stared at her.
‘Well,’ said Georgie, with a stiff quick shake of her head to tell Dad, Don’t, don’t ask, ‘There’s that. Come on, Tabs, eat up now.’
Dad said nothing, she knew he wouldn’t, just a brief quick pressure of his arms around her shoulder in the doorway as they left. He walked ahead of her holding Tabs’ hand as she bounced beside him along the pavement, walking down Baker Street with its funny assortment of shops, a nail bar with a fish tank in the window and from behind Georgie watched them. She knew the stories he was telling Tabs, a lifetime’s worth, the ones he’d told Georgie and for a moment she yearned so fiercely not to have to go back on the train but to stay here – in the crowded streets roaring with traffic and people, with all the familiar sights of her childhood, the Planetarium and the flaming trees in the park – that she stopped, just for a second, half a second, and heard herself make a sound. Go back and start again, just the three of them, her and Dad and Tabs, start again.
In that half second she blinked: she didn’t know what she was thinking. Tim angry about the car, the house that must be kept tidy, those things were nothing next to a happy marriage, a steady life. Did she think – she could leave him? Was she imagining she could set up home with someone else, just because he’d touched her hand in the dark? She moved again, hurrying to catch them up: they hadn’t noticed.
There was a long queue for the zoo and Georgie found herself hesitating before joining it. Suddenly Dad was moving more slowly, suddenly he did look tired, and old. She thought of the tube journey he’d made to get to them, just the steps down to the ticket hall would be too much for him now. ‘Dad,’ she said, and he nodded.
‘Let’s look at the giraffes through the fence then I’ll be on my way,’ he said. They crossed from the entrance to the giraffe enclosure, and stood at the fence where there was a good view: they weren’t the only ones. Another family was a little further down doing the same. Tabs’ eyes were round and her mouth was open at the sight, her small hands high up on the railings as if she wanted to climb inside with them. They all fell silent watching them, the towering beautiful creatures undulating, unearthly, like something from a dream.
Georgie had stood here as a child herself, holding her father’s hand. What had she wanted? Dreamed of? She couldn’t remember. A pair of shiny lace-up knee-high boots. She glanced sideways, down at Tabs, who hadn’t moved.
‘I met someone,’ she said without thinking she was going to say it. ‘I met someone from Brockley the other week.’
And it came back to her, the club, in the dark, leaning over the bar to him. Frank. How far was the club from where they were now? Not far. On the way, in fact to the bar Holly had mentioned.
‘He recognised my accent,’ she said, wondering. ‘Can you believe that?’
Dad laughed, disbelieving. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, joking. ‘And all that money on elocution lessons.’ He frowned. ‘You never miss it, though, do you? Not out there in paradise?’
And suddenly, stupidly, she felt tears well, burning. ‘No,’ she said choked. ‘Oh, Dad.’
‘You’d tell me,’ he said, quietly. He’d positioned himself on the other side of her from Tabs. Georgie looked at the brown-patched giraffes swaying in among high branches, gliding, gazed at their soft knobbed heads, their eyelashes, not at him. ‘You’d tell me if you weren’t happy? If he—’ he hesitated and cleared his throat. ‘If he was – doing anything? To make you unhappy.’ Georgie felt hot, her eyes felt hot, her fingers as tight on the wire of the fence as Tabs’. What could she say? Nothing. She made herself turn and look at him.
‘Tim hasn’t done anything,’ she said. ‘I would tell you.’
She didn’t know why he’d even said it. Except he had always prided himself on knowing things before she did.
She hugged him as they said goodbye. A taxi waited at the kerb as Dad kissed Tabs and found a little net bag of chocolates for her as if by accident in his pocket, while Georgie slipped the driver a twenty, hoping it would be enough. Georgie knew Dad must have made a special expedition to find the chocolates, the right ones. Pretending not to see what she was up to with the driver, Dad straightened and hugged Georgie again. ‘I wouldn’t blame you,’ he said, so quietly she didn’t even know if she’d heard him properly, then he’d turned and was climbing into the taxi, pulling the door shut. What had he meant? His old white face at the window looking back at them.
When they finally got inside the zoo was crowded, and suddenly, mercifully, Georgie was entirely distracted by the need to keep up with Tabs. It was busy, an autumn weekend, trees turning bright in the park, a long queue of parents for everything, plenty of dads, taking on the kids for the weekend. One of them had tried talking to her in the queue, a man with two small boys, twins they looked like, which always made Georgie wonder if they were IVF too. So she had smiled back when he smiled. About her age, nice-looking, signet ring: ‘Custody weekend,’ he was saying.
It took her a couple of minutes to realise, Tabs pressed against her hip eyeing the little boys suspiciously, that he was chatting her up. That he thought a woman on her own with a child at the zoo at the weekend might be divorced too or maybe he didn’t even think that, was just taking his chances, and then Georgie had to stop herself literally stepping back, away from him, into the cordon keeping them in line. She wondered why she was so stupid. She felt jittery, as if she was coming down with something, and she knew it was to do with him. Not the divorced dad, but him. Out there beyond the park somewhere, out there in the city. To do with him and to do with Tim, in the weirdest way they were entwining. Away from her, Tim had morphed into something else. Not familiar any more, a dark outline, forbidding. What had Dad meant?
He’d never loved Tim. As they walked between the cages, she settled on that, uneasy: his crumpled face when they got married. It wasn’t unusual, was it? For fathers to be wary of their
sons-in-law. It was cold but the sky was brilliant blue against the trees all golden and orange, there were the smells of the elephants and monkeys and the screeching of the birds, netted black overhead in the aviary.
In their enclosures the animals paced up and down: the tiger matched them step for step, invisible in the striped shadows, making Tabs shriek and grab her when she realised it was there.
The biggest distraction was Tabs, she skipped and ran, her face pale and wild with excitement, not disappointed by the empty penguin pool with its curves and steps, not disappointed by anything. The paths were littered with rusty fallen leaves, splashed with startling yellow: some had even found their way into the white bottom of the pool. Georgie had to jog to keep up with her, it would have been too easy to lose her. Holding her hand tight once she’d finally got hold of it, slowing her down. They queued for an ice cream.
‘Are you sure?’ Georgie had said, because it was so cold. But the little hand was hot in hers, burning through energy from who knew where, and Tabs had nodded, certain. She’s going to be exhausted, Georgie thought automatically, we can go straight to the station, she can sleep all the way home on the train – and then she remembered. Looked at her watch: it was only three o’clock.
They sat on a bench in front of a row of smaller caged bird enclosures while Tabs ate her ice cream with concentration, feet swinging. Georgie got out her phone and dialled Holly’s number. It rang. The sun was warm now and the birds hopped, from one branch to another and back again. A big toucan sat so still and bright it might not be real, except for the beady black eyes, keeping track of every movement beyond the wire.
Maybe.
Listening to the phone ring, rehearsing what she was going to say, to put all this behind her: look, Holly, we’re running late, I think maybe— with another part of her brain Georgie wondered how they chose which birds were put in the big netted aviary and which down here, under the gaze of passing humans. The ones that flocked, they got more space, they could wheel a bit up there. These looked like the jungle species, used to the hot damp dark.
A Secret Life Page 14