by Ruth Mancini
Zara cocked her head to one side. “It seems like he’s the strong one out of the two of you, the one with the power to do the hurting.”
“Okay. What if he leads me on and hurts me?”
“Then you’ll get over it. As will Christian, if you choose Oli.”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I just need some time on my own. Maybe this thing – this Oli and Christian thing – is all a reaction to what’s happened with Martin and Helena. Maybe that’s what I need to focus on right now.”
Zara shook her head. “No! You absolutely do not need to focus on that. That’s exactly what you don’t need. Trust me. You need to be with Oli and have lots and lots of sex to take your mind off it.”
We both burst out laughing. “Your answer to everything, Zara,” I said. “Talking of which, how’s it going with...”
“It’s gone.” Zara wrinkled up her nose. “We broke up while you were away.
I sat up. “Seriously? I thought you were... well, you know.”
Zara shook her head. “Seems he was only after my money.”
“Your money? You don’t have any money.”
Zara looked at me. “Yeah. You’re right. It must have been my body then.”
We both burst out laughing again.
“So, what really happened?” I asked.
“It wasn’t right,” Zara said. “I knew that. It was me, actually. I was the one. I tried to break it off before Christmas. I would have come to France with you if you hadn’t been... well, you know. With Christian. And if he hadn’t looked so upset. He made me feel so guilty. He said, ’I’ll be on my own for Christmas’. So I changed my mind. I told him he could spend Christmas with me at Tim and Annalise’s and I waited instead, until after Christmas, to break it off.”
“That was good of you,” I said, feeling guilty that I hadn’t afforded Christian the same level of consideration. “So when did you finally break up?”
“Boxing Day,” she said.
I laughed. “Boxing Day?”
Zara nodded. “At one in the morning.”
“So, you waited an hour?” I laughed out loud and wiped my eye.
She pouted. “Well at least he had a nice Christmas. And I was thinking of him.”
“Never mind, hon,” I told her. “There’s always Lester Piggott.”
Zara pushed me backwards onto the sofa and sat down heavily onto my stomach. “If you don’t stop talking about Lester Piggott, I’ll...”
“Alright, alright,” I squealed. “Let me up. I promise.”
“I want you to say it. Say it out loud: ‘I will never mention Lester Piggott to Zara again.’”
The front door opened and Helena walked in. “What’s going on here?” she smiled. “You’re not still going on about Lester Piggott are you, Zara?”
Zara let go of me. “No, I’m not. I’m well over Lester Piggott. It’s your bloody mother. She won’t let it go.”
“Yeah. Well, she’s good at that.”
I looked up, stung by Helena’s words and wondering what on earth had happened now that had set the anti-Lizzie train in motion again. But Helena was smiling at me affectionately and I realised that it was just a throwaway comment that hadn’t meant anything. I had to stop myself being so sensitive; Helena and I were okay.
I got up and hugged my daughter. “You’re soaked,” I commented.
“Mum, it’s chucking it down out there, or hadn’t you noticed?” She kicked off her trainers and put her wet arms round me. She patted my head and then rested her chin on it. I smiled to myself. It was just like old times. “I‘m training late in Camden,” she said. “So I thought I’d stop by on my way through and welcome you home.”
I pushed her wet hair back from her forehead. “So, London’s home now, is it?”
She let go of me and looked at me a little sheepishly. “Yeah,” she said. “You know, I think it might be.”
Zara looked up from the TV and caught my eye.
I thought about that for a moment. I hadn’t even stopped to consider that this was now a factor in whatever I decided. Christian or Oli. France or England. Helena – or no Helena. Whatever happened in my future, Helena may decide not to return to France. There was every chance that she would make England her home, now that she’d discovered Martin and Sky, now that she had roots here. Would that change things for me? Did I want to return to my life in Eaubonne without her? In this very moment, that prospect seemed particularly bleak.
In my conscious mind, I’d imagined that I’d been keen to get back to London because I couldn’t deal with the pain I’d caused to Christian, because he was living in my house and because of what had happened between us. After all, my house didn’t feel entirely like my home right now. But would it ever do so again? Without Christian? Without Helena? My life in France and my life with Helena had been inextricably linked. Was there any future there for me now, without her?
Maybe, deep down, France had even been an escape for me all along – from Martin, from Catherine, from myself? Was London really where I belonged, after all? And what if Oli were to return to Paris? Would I stay, or would I go? What was it that made your home a home, after all? Was it about the city, the town or the country that you liked the most – or was it much more simply about the people that you loved and couldn’t live without?
“Earth back to mother,” Helena said, snapping her fingers. “Come on. I’m waiting.”
“What?”
“My present,” she grinned. “Pass it over.”
“You can sort that lot out first, Madam,” said Zara, pointing to the pile of Helena’s things in the corner of the room. She turned to me. “Don’t give her anything more until she’s moved that lot.”
Helena pushed out her bottom lip and made a face at Zara. “You’re mean,” she said. Her phone bleeped. She pulled it out and checked her messages, then punched the air. “Yes!”
“What?”
“Training’s cancelled,” she said. “The pool’s had to close early.” She tugged her coat off and walked over and sat down on the sofa next to Zara.
“You don’t have to rush off?” I asked.
“No.” Helena shook her head.
“Well, have you eaten?” I asked. “We could get a takeout and a movie, or something.”
Helena nodded and swung her feet up onto the armchair. She peeled off her socks, rolled them into a ball and aimed them at the pile of her things in the corner of the room. “That sounds like a great plan. To be honest, I’m really tired. I’ve had a really long day, so I was thinking I could do without training tonight anyway.”
“That’s great,” I said, delighted at the prospect of Helena staying for the evening.
“Stay the night if you like?” offered Zara. “We can have a girly evening with crisps and popcorn and we can talk about boys.”
“Zara, you’re forty-five, not fifteen,” Helena reprimanded her. “They’re not boys anymore.”
“Aren’t they?” asked Zara. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I will stay the night though,” said Helena, looking up at me. “I’ve missed my mummy.”
My heart flipped. She was serious: she’d missed me!
“Ah,” said Zara and smiled. She got up. “Right. I’m off to the Chinese then. What does everybody want?”
When Zara had gone, I sat down on the sofa next to Helena. She swung her legs over from the armchair onto mine.
“So, how was Christmas?” I asked. “Did you have a nice time?”
She nodded. “It was okay.”
I looked at her. “What about the banger racing? I bet Sky loved that didn’t he? Blokes seem to love seeing cars bashing into each other. It must be something to do with the way their brains are wired.” I laughed, but Helena didn’t join in.
“They like bashing stuff,” she said. “That’s for sure.”
My heart froze. “Did something happen?” I asked.
“No,” said Helena quickly. “Just... just Dad and Sky. They clashed a bit, t
hat’s all.”
“Oh?”
She looked up at me for a moment, as if trying to decide whether she should talk to me. Then she said, “Sky’s just... I don’t know. I think he’s a bit jealous of me and Dad. Dad’s been taking over a bit with my coaching. He’s kind of been a bit... well, intense. Which is good,” she added, hastily. “Really good. He’s brilliant. He totally knows what he’s doing and it’s really helped me out with my times. I’m totally in line for the British Championships and it’s natural that with Dad’s experience he’d want to be pushing me on. But I guess Sky just feels a bit...”
“Left out?” I offered.
Helena nodded. “Yeah. I think so. Dad kind of ignored Sky a bit over Christmas, too. He was all over me when we were there, and not paying Sky so much attention. I could see Sky was hurt, but Dad didn’t seem to notice. So Sky got a bit pissed off and they argued a bit. Dad was a bit hard on him at times.”
I felt a brief tug of empathy for Sky. He was just a kid, after all, like my daughter. His father had shown very little interest in him for most of his life and now, here he was, showering his newfound daughter with gifts and attention. Sky had used Helena as a hook to pull his father back into his life, but it had only served to emphasise the gap that there had always been between them and to leave him feeling even more ignored than ever.
“Well, he’s bound to feel like that,” I said. “Like you, he didn’t have his dad around for most of his life. Now he’s back, it must be very hard for Sky to see you suddenly getting all the attention.”
“It’s probably just because I’m a good swimmer,” Helena said. “And it’s new, you know. Him knowing me.”
I smiled. “Of course. But these things happen in families. It’s your first experience of sibling rivalry. It’s perfectly normal. But it doesn’t mean you have to feel guilty. It’s not your fault. Okay?”
Helena looked up at me, her eyes shining. “I’ve missed you, Mum,” she said. “I’d almost forgotten how good you are to talk to.”
I smiled and put my arm round her. “I’ll always be here for you to talk to,” I said. “Night or day.”
Helena snuggled in closer to me. “Thanks, Mum,” she said. “So what about you. How was your Christmas? How’s Christian?”
I took a deep breath, wondering whether this was the right time to talk to her about Christian and me, but I hadn’t done much more than give her a general update about the house and Lily and what we’d had for Christmas dinner before the front door slammed and Zara came in clutching a number of different carrier bags. Helena’s phone began to ring at the same time. She sat up and took the call.
I followed Zara into the kitchen and put some plates into the oven. As we unpacked the food I heard Helena say, “Sorry, Dad, but I’m knackered. I don’t really feel like finding another pool. One night off won’t hurt. I want to spend some time with Mum.”
“We’ve got spring rolls!” said Zara brightly, poking her head into the living room. I thought, Yeah. Spring rolls. That will do it. That’ll convince Martin that spending the evening with me is a good idea. But I couldn’t help feeling happy, and pleased that she’d stood up to him and chosen me this time.
“Well, I do want to, Dad,” Helena said. “But not this weekend, okay? Mum’s just got back and I’m going to stay here tonight. We’re going to do some girly stuff. Why don’t you ask Sky? He’d love to spend some time with you.”
Zara looked at me with a barely suppressed smile and moved her eyes back and forth between Helena and me. “Told you,” she whispered. “Told you, told you, told you. All that worry for nothing. I told you she’d come back.”
I laughed and shushed her. We took the plates and cartons into the living room.
Helena looked upset. “I know that, Dad,” she said. “But I told you, I’ll do extra tomorrow. I promise. I’m tired. I had a really long day. I just want to chill here tonight with my mum and Auntie Zara.”
We set the plates and the food on the coffee table. I wondered whether we should go back into the kitchen again. I didn’t want Helena to think I was listening in on her conversation, though of course I was.
“What?” Helena asked, in an indignant voice. I could hear Martin’s voice emanating loudly through the tiny mobile speaker. “I know that,” she said, then she suddenly laughed. “Of course she didn’t. And, anyway, I’m not stupid. Look, I’ll speak to you tomorrow, okay? I’ve got to go. The food’s arrived. We’ve got spring rolls.”
Woohoo. We’ve got spring rolls, Martin. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Then, Grow up, Lizzie, I told myself.
Helena ended the call and put her phone on the table. She looked a little red in the face. “Bloody hell,” she said. “Men.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Helena sat down and started to pile food onto her plate. “Can you believe he asked me if you’d told me that Zara was my real auntie? Like, pretended she was your sister?”
I laughed. “Why would I do that?”
Helena suddenly looked a bit guilty. “Oh. Well, you know? He thinks you kind of...”
“What?” I made sure that I was still smiling as I asked the question.
“Oh, nothing. Come on, what movie have we got, then?”
“What?” I persisted.
Helena shrugged. “Oh, just ignore him. He’s got this thing about you making stuff up. It doesn’t mean it’s true.”
Zara looked at me and shook her head.
“Whatever,” I said and smiled. I could be the bigger person. Of course I could.
Helena looked up at me gratefully. “Whatever,” she repeated, and laughed.
Zara joined in. “Whatever,” she said.
Whatever.
Tonight, we’ve got spring rolls. And Helena.
20
I returned to the office the following week. The rain still hadn’t let up and on the first morning it was horrendous, with a perpetual thick stream of heavy raindrops spattering and soaking every inch of the pavements, whilst ankle deep water covered parts of the roads. I knew that, despite my umbrella, I’d be soaked to the skin before I even reached the tube station and I considered taking the Peugeot, which was still sitting outside Zara’s flat, the boot now full of Helena’s belongings, which I’d resolved to either take to charity or sell.
I exited the flats, car key in hand, but then changed my mind and put the key back into my pocket. I’d probably end up paying as much for parking as it would cost me to get a taxi. I might as well put the car up for sale while I was at it, I thought, ruefully, but it was such a shame. It had been Helena’s little car and it had taken us ages to find, me and Christian. I could still remember the delight on my daughter’s face when she’d first seen it that Christmas morning, little more than a year ago. But Helena no longer needed it and I hadn’t driven it since I’d arrived here seven months ago. For the short distance to the office and the odd trip to my mother’s it wasn’t worth what I was paying in tax and insurance – or the stress of trying to remember how to drive on the left hand side of the road.
The traffic was busy. I couldn’t find a taxi and decided in the end to take my chances and run for the tube. Oli was in the office when I arrived. He laughed at my soaking and dishevelled appearance as I entered and came over to help me off with my coat. He fetched the towel from the closet and handed it to me with a smile and a tentative kiss on each of my wet cheeks. I was reminded of the first morning I’d met him, when I’d come for my interview, when the weather had changed unexpectedly, so that, en route, I’d been soaked to the skin. Oli carried on working for a moment while I stood, towel-drying my hair in the closet doorway. I peeked out from behind the towel to watch him as he moved back and forth between the computer and the printer and the cabinet, where I’d neatly reorganised his whole filing system the very first week that I’d arrived.
After a few moments, he finished what he was doing and sat down in the chair in the corner of the room.
“So,” he aske
d. “How was your Christmas?”
“It was okay.” I walked over and hung the towel over the radiator to dry then switched the kettle on. I tipped the old coffee grinds down the sink and started to make a fresh pot. “How was yours?”
Oli shrugged and smiled. “Uneventful. It would have been much, much nicer with you.”
I smiled as I opened the fridge and found a carton of milk. I didn’t have to open it to know that it was off. Oli took his coffee black, but he knew that I drank mine white. I thought about Christian; he was very much more house-trained than Oli. He would have made sure there was fresh milk in the fridge for me on my return. His mother had taught him well. Or maybe it was because he’d lived alone all these years... or maybe he just wanted to please me, to make me happy, and that was why he remembered these things – because he cared. Had Oli been thoughtless, I wondered, or was he just busy? Was I reading too much into this carton of old, smelly milk – comparing Oli to Christian now, and trying to find a reason why he wasn’t up to scratch?
I looked across at him. He was now leaning back in the chair with his arms folded, smiling his handsome smile, his head cocked to one side slightly, his face lit up and beautiful. I thought how different it was to Christian’s sad, dejected, broken face, the face that now mirrored his broken heart, the one that I’d destroyed. I wondered what Oli’s face would look like to me after we’d been together for five years, like Christian and I had, or for ten, or fifteen, when we were older and had lived together for all those years. I wasn’t naive. I knew that once the novelty of waking up to that smile every morning had faded, there had to be something much more solid and lasting underneath. But how would you know? How could you possibly know? I’d thought I’d known with Larsen, but I’d been wrong about him.
But I knew Christian. I knew that I’d been happy with him. We had things in common. We had a lot to talk about. He was caring and considerate and we got along well. I certainly hadn’t ever been unhappy with him, and there were a lot of women – women like Catherine and Lindsay – who would settle for that. They dreamed of just that, in fact: a quiet, restful, easy life, with a man who would behave in the same way from one day to the next, one who would never yell at you or drive you crazy: a man who truly cared.