by Ruth Mancini
“Give me the good. Always the good first.”
I smiled and looked up at Oli’s face, which was lit up with anticipation. Most people wanted the bad news first. But then Oli was very much a bottle-half-full person, it seemed, and I hadn’t realised until today quite how much I’d got used to that, maybe even come to rely on it a little. He always had such a positive energy around him, and it was uplifting. It had certainly rubbed off on me today.
“I’m seeing her on Thursday.”
Oli placed his hand on my shoulder. “That’s fantastic. Okay, so the bad news can’t really be that bad.”
“Well, she’s still seeing Martin and it looks as though she’s going to be spending Christmas with him instead of me. He’s bought her an amazing new car,” I added. “And she doesn’t want the one I gave her anymore.”
“Pfft.” Oli shrugged. “He’s trying to buy her. That sort of thing doesn’t work in the long term.”
“I hope not,” I said. “I can’t afford to get into that sort of game with him.”
“A child never stops loving its mother,” said Oli. “It will always be you she comes back to. And as for what he did to you, well, one day the mask will slip and she will see him for what he really is. When people are not truthful, they can’t keep up that sort of pretence forever. One day he will say or do the wrong thing.”
I looked up at Oli, gratefully. “Thank you. I hope so. I just hope he doesn’t hurt her in the process.”
“She sounds like a strong person,” he said. “If she is anything like her mother, she must be an incredible young woman.”
I smiled, shyly. “I don’t know how you’ve drawn that conclusion about me. I’ve done nothing but mess things up and cry on your shoulder about it. You’re the one who’s incredible. I’m so... so in awe of your work, what you do and your dedication to helping others. You’re such a good person.”
Oli looked down at the table and said, “No. I’m not such a good person, you know. There are things about me... well, for a start, you are in a relationship with another man and all I can think about is what we are doing.”
I turned to face him. “But, we’re not doing anything,” I frowned.
He put his hands up and cupped my face. He then looked into my eyes for a brief moment before putting his mouth against mine and kissing me, slipping his hands round behind my head and neck and pulling me firmly towards him. His lips were gentle, but the kiss was unmistakably full of longing. “Yes we are,” he said.
*
We finished the champagne and walked the short distance to Oli’s flat in Rosebury Avenue. The wind was really picking up outside and we’d been told as we left the pub that it had been gale force in parts of the country and was expected to get worse. Oli took my hand and we walked quickly in silence, our coats flapping around us, the storm making conversation impossible. I knew that I was about to betray Christian, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Oli steered me into a doorway next to a photographic shop and up two flights of stairs into a small flat in the eaves of the building. Inside, he took off my coat and kissed me again. I started to unbutton his shirt and he stopped me with one hand.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his lips brushing against my mouth as he spoke. “I need to be sure, after everything you’ve been through.”
“What do you think?” I smiled. I took his hand and led him towards the nearest door.
“That’s the bathroom,” said Oli.
I switched direction. “I knew that.”
“That’s the kitchen,” said Oli.
“Okay, help me out here,” I asked him.
Oli turned me round and backed me into the bedroom. I felt the soft warmth of his bed smother my back as his body simultaneously covered mine. It felt as though I was enveloped in warmth, softness, and love, and it was everything in the world that I needed. I knew that, whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, this was something I was never going to regret.
*
Oli leaned over and pulled his watch off the nightstand. “Okay. It’s six o’clock. What would you like to do? Would you like to go out and eat, see a movie, maybe? Or shall we order in some food and stay here?”
I propped myself up against the pillows and pulled the quilt over my chest. “Martin said I was a tart,” I told him. “Just imagine his face if he could see me now, drinking champagne in the afternoon with my boss and sneaking off home to bed with him.”
“We haven’t sneaked anywhere,” said Oli. “I’m not ashamed of what we’ve done and neither should you be. This word, ‘tart’, this ‘slut’... this ‘whore’, ‘bitch’, ‘cow’ – these are words that a man like the pig, Martin, invented for a woman who didn’t want him. You notice how there are no such words for a man.”
I moved my eyes over his face, looking into his deep brown eyes and watching the dimple dancing on his chin as he spoke, passionate about his subject. I loved him for what he was saying and I also loved the new adjective that had become appended to Martin’s name every time it was mentioned. I know he’s a pig.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “‘Pig’. ‘Bastard’. That’s about it, isn’t it? And even those names don’t have the same kind of power behind them.”
Oli nodded. “Or anything to do with sex. When a man sleeps with more than one woman, the other men stand back in awe and wish it was them. If a woman does it, she is a whore. I detest these double standards.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “Although I can’t say that I haven’t done anything wrong, can I?”
“You’ve followed your heart, as have I.”
“I know. But...”
“But, nothing.” Oli stroked my hair. “You’ve been through a difficult time. I will respect whatever decision you make and I think, from what you have told me about him, so will he.”
I nodded, my heart jumping at the suggestion that Oli might want something more than what we’d shared today. But it was all too much to think about right now. I just knew that I needed to be here with him, in the moment. If there was ever a time for mindfulness, it was now.
“But that is for later,” said Oli, echoing my thoughts. “For now, we just need to eat and be happy. So what will it be?”
I touched Oli’s broad shoulders and stroked his chest. I needed to be intimate with him for as long as possible. “Let’s stay here,” I said. “It’s cosy. And besides, the weather’s awful outside.”
“Okay. But there is a penalty. We must have at least one game of Scrabble.”
I laughed. “I love Scrabble.”
“Good.” He kissed me. “Then we’ll have two games, one in English and one in French. That will be the fairest way.” He got up and pulled on his boxers. I wrapped a quilt round me and followed him into the living room. “I think there is a menu for a Chinese restaurant here somewhere,” he said, sifting through a pile of papers on the coffee table. “Do you like Chinese food?”
“I love Chinese food,” I smiled. I was starving.
Oli ordered chicken satay and egg fried rice for us both and then he showered while I switched on the BBC news. The storm was raging across the country. We’d had some of the biggest tidal waves in thirty years. They’d closed the Thames Barrier and numerous flood warnings had been issued.
“The storm looks very bad,” commented Oli, appearing in the doorway and looking at the telly. He was wearing jeans but his chest was still bare and he was rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked so handsome, he took my breath away. “If you leave here,” he added, “A big tidal wave might come down the river from the Thames Estuary and carry you away. So, you will have to spend the night here, with me, I think.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said. “What will my boss think when I turn up for work tomorrow wearing the same clothes?”
Oli smiled. “He won’t mind.” He nodded at my bare shoulders. “Trust me, he won’t be looking at your clothes. He’ll only be thinking about what’s underneath.”
&
nbsp; I laughed. “Will it be strange? Us working together, I mean?”
Oli shook his head. He came over and sat down on the sofa beside me. “I don’t think so. Do you?”
“No,” I agreed. “I don’t think so, either.”
Oli narrowed his eyes and peered at me, but he was smiling.
I blushed and tucked the quilt a little tighter round my chest, smoothing it over my legs. “Okay. Maybe it will, just a little. And maybe this has happened for all the wrong reasons, I don’t know... but I can’t help myself. You make me feel so very good about myself. What with the things Martin said and the things Helena accused me of... well, I just haven’t been feeling like I’m a very nice person lately.”
Oli took my hand. “But, that’s exactly what he’s trying to achieve, don’t you see? That’s what they do, these bullies, and this is how domestic violence works. A man like this pig, Martin, he will attack a woman’s personality, he will criticise her and accuse her and belittle her feelings... until he has managed to convince her that she is so worthless, so ugly, so pathetic and useless that she is lucky to have him, that nobody else will want her, and that she is too stupid to survive on her own. That’s why these women, they don’t just get up and leave.”
I nodded. “That must be why it took Catherine so long. And that must be what Lindsay meant, too, when she said it wasn’t easy. She seemed so scared and down on herself.”
“Yes. And it’s the same thing that this pig, Martin, is trying to do to you too. He wants you. He can’t have you, so he will use Helena to make you feel like you are nothing, nobody.” He narrowed his eyes again and moved his head to one side like a movie superhero, making a pledge. “But I will fight him.” He turned and looked me in the eye. “Yes. That’s it. For every nasty, negative thing he does, I think I will do the opposite. I will make sure that you know you are the most beautiful, amazing person on the planet.”
I looked up at him gratefully. “Why would you do that?”
Oli grinned, and said in his French Superhero voice. “Because I am here to fight the forces of evil. He will not succeed in destroying you.”
“So,” I giggled. “You’re a bit like a French Luke Skywalker then, fighting Darth Vader?”
“Yes, that’s right. I will use the Force. I may even have special powers, who knows?”
I smiled. “That wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.”
Oli leaned over and pulled me to him. “Shall we find out?”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh. That is such bad timing.” Oli got up to answer it and came back with a big bag full of cartons of food, which he spread out over the coffee table. He fetched salt and pepper, cutlery, and two plates from the kitchen and began to dish out the rice and chicken.
“Seriously,” he said, handing me my food. “I may not be any real kind of superhero. But I’ve watched enough movies to know that you can’t fight evil with more evil. You can only fight it with goodness and light. Take today,” he said. “You didn’t have to fight him. You were just being yourself. Now you have good news. You will see your daughter. And you have some energy now.” He stroked my cheek. “No more tears?”
I shook my head. “I think I’m all cried out, to be honest.”
Oli nodded and picked up his plate of food and winked at me. “That’s good.”
I looked into his eyes. “I don’t think this is over yet. Not by a long shot. But you’re right. I have to accept that she wants to have a relationship with him. There’s nothing I can do about that for now, except to be there for her, and hope for the best.”
18
Hearing the noise of a car engine outside, I peered out of the window to see the Peugeot backing into a ‘residents only’ bay close to the communal doors. I grabbed the permit from the coffee table and picked up my handbag.
“She’s here,” I called to Zara, who was in the bathroom. “I’m off. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay, honey, have a good time,” came Zara’s voice from the bath.
Helena opened the driver’s door and got out of the car as I walked out to greet her. She was wearing a stylish and expensive-looking long-sleeved black mini dress with sequins and padded shoulders and matching black suede and leather high heeled ankle boots. Her long legs were bare, despite the cold. I’d never seen her look quite so stylish and feminine.
“Wow. You look amazing,” I commented.
Helena grinned, obviously pleased. “Stella McCartney,” she said.
“Another Christmas present?” I asked.
Helena reddened a little. “He said he had quite a few years to make up for.”
“Of course. I suppose he has.” I revisited my resolve not to say anything negative about her father. I couldn’t risk alienating her again.
She added, “And he said that, with Lindsay gone, he had no other woman to spoil.”
I glanced at her. I wasn’t sure if she was accusing me again, or simply justifying Martin’s generosity. I resisted the strong urge inside me to tell her about my conversation with Lindsay, to tell her that Lindsay had left the house on the Monday morning with a black eye, and that the person who had been frightening her hadn’t been me. But I knew that it would be futile, and even counter-productive. Helena had clearly softened towards me a little, but she’d be horrified to hear that I’d gone to Cambridge and searched out her father’s ex-partner. She’d be unlikely to check out my story for herself. Even if she did, Lindsay clearly didn’t want to get involved and would probably refuse to talk to her about what had happened, for fear of Helena going straight back to Martin and confronting him with it. I needed to keep my powder dry. I was teetering on the brink of inclusion back into my daughter’s life and any shots fired by me at Martin’s halo would inevitably bounce back and blow up in my face.
“Well, you must be the best-dressed student – with the newest car – in McLaren House,” I smiled.
We walked up towards Angel and onto Upper Street, chatting about Helena’s course at Uni and about my work. Helena was studying anatomy this term, and we swapped interesting facts about our individual research as we walked, finding an unexpectedly easy and interesting common ground.
I had decided to leave it to Helena to raise the subject of what had happened between us, and surmised from her silence, on that front, that she hadn’t changed her opinion about me and what I’d done – my stalking of her father, my lying to her, my decision to keep her from him for all these years – but that she’d decided to forgive me anyway and, hopefully, to move on. I decided to go with that. I had little control over the situation anymore, I knew that. Just seeing her and being with her again was enough for me, and I was happy for the evening to be spent in any way that she wanted it, and on her terms.
The restaurant was French and was tucked away off the main street behind Chapel Market. It was one that Zara and I had discovered by chance just a week or two ago and the food was delicious. I’d booked it again deliberately, with the vague notion that Helena might be so bowled away by it that she’d become instantly nostalgic for home and would decide to come back with me for Christmas after all. I didn’t hold out much hope of that happening, but I knew she’d love the food and the ambience as much as I did, in any event.
We were seated at a lovely table by the window. We chose our favourite bread, goat’s cheese, and olives to start, and Helena chose a nice bottle of red wine.
“This is fantastic!” she said, her eyes shining. “What a lovely place to bring me.”
“It’s my pleasure. And my treat,” I added. “Though I have got you a little something else as well. I didn’t think you’d want to carry it, so I’ve left it back at Zara’s. You’ll come back for a coffee afterwards, on your way home, won’t you? There’s some stuff of yours that you might want to have a look at, too, while you’re there.”
“I’ll definitely come back,” she said. “But I haven’t really got any room for anymore stuff.”
“Neither have we,” I sighed. “Especiall
y now that Zara’s new man is spending all his time with us and leaving his things lying around. If you don’t want it or need it now, I’ll take it back to France or something.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “Thanks. So come on, dish the gossip. What’s he like, then, this new man of Zara’s?”
I smiled. “What do you think? Let’s just say that it’s a relationship based on their anatomical differences. Like you, Zara has a huge interest in the subject.”
Helena giggled.
“I have to say, you look really well,” I told her. “Student life must really suit you.”
She beamed at me. “It does. There’s a lot of work but it’s really fun and interesting. And there’s a lot of Phys Ed too, so what with the swimming and the running, and the gym, I think I’m fitter than I’ve ever been.”
“You’re not missing your fencing sword and your riding boots, then?” I smiled. They were part of the pile that was still cluttering up a corner of Zara’s living room, along with her riding hat, a box full of CDs and some clothes that were now clearly no longer quite fashionable enough for my stylish daughter.
“No.” She shook her head and I made a mental note to pack them up and take them back to France, if I could carry them. Or maybe I’d just leave them in the boot of the car, out of the way.
“So, when do you leave for France?”
“Saturday morning. I get into the Gare du Nord at eleven something. I’ll stay until sometime after New Year,” I added, thinking that she might decide to come and join me there later, if not for Christmas Day itself.
Helena picked up her knife and cut a piece of her steak. “I’m going to spend Christmas at my dad’s,” she said, without looking up. “It’s just that, he’s on his own, you know? Without Lindsay, or any other family? You’ll have Christian, at least. You won’t be on your own, like him.”
I nodded. I cut up a piece of my own steak and popped it into my mouth, not trusting myself to speak for a moment as I envisaged her hugging and exchanging presents with him (there were bound to be more designer clothes coming her way) and laughing and wearing silly paper hats from crackers. The pig, Martin, and my beautiful daughter, there together in his little house, on Christmas Day. The thought made me sick to the stomach. I chewed my steak, swallowed and breathed deeply. I realised Helena was now watching my face, and I smiled at her. “A bit tough,” I said, referring to the steak, though it was actually this situation that we were in that was very much tougher, for her as well as for me, I knew.