by Susan Lewis
By the time David came home, just before midnight, looking tired and dishevelled, Lisa was the best way through a bottle of wine and, thanks to a long chat with Brendan who was losing his job too, feeling extremely emotional over her future career prospects. Coming to the end of an era would have excited her once, but now she was fast approaching forty with a whole circus of bright new talent less than half her age dancing, strutting, somersaulting and doing heaven only knew what in the wings these days, it was hard to imagine anyone wanting her.
Though she tried to turn the subject round to his evening, it wasn’t long before he was handing her tissues as he listened to all her fears about being washed up and put out to grass, which soon ran on to her misgivings about getting married and being an MP’s wife and not being able to live up to what he must surely be expecting of her. She decided not to mention Tony because there really was no point – he was simply someone from her past, just as Catrina was from David’s.
In the end, instead of looking worried, or even hurt, as she’d expected him to, he seemed to be amused. ‘Darling,’ he said, taking her hands and holding them between his own. ‘You can’t really believe I don’t understand how important your own identity and independence are to you, and as far as I can see there’s no reason for anything to change.’
It took her a moment to digest that, and another for a sneaky suspicion to start raising its head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but if you’re going to offer me a job, or some kind of allowance …’
‘Would I dare?’ he broke in laughingly. ‘No, all I’m going to offer you is the reminder of how excited you were a few months ago about writing a book. You were full of the publishers you knew and agents, and where you were going to travel for the research. It all sounded very challenging and inspiring to me. So, as I see it, you still have the opportunity to achieve that, with your redundancy money to help fund the trips – and the possibility of your identity being held intact for posterity on the jacket of a number one bestselling book.’
She blinked, opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. In the end she said, ‘I’m not sure if the idea’s actually any good.’
‘You know it is,’ he corrected. ‘All it needs is your time and commitment and …’
‘A miracle?’ she interrupted, starting to smile.
He laughed. ‘I was going to say and the right place to work, but a miracle could come in handy too.’ His eyes were softening as he brushed his fingers over her cheek. ‘I’m not coming into your life to try and take it over,’ he told her gently, ‘I’m here to try and make it feel as complete and worth living as you make mine.’
‘Oh God,’ she wailed, clasping her hands to both his cheeks, ‘how could I ever have thought I didn’t want to marry you? You’re the most wonderful man in the world, and I couldn’t care less about anything else, just as long as we’re together.’
His eyebrows arched ironically. ‘A tad rash,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll remind you of that the next time you tell yourself you’re getting cold feet about me.’
‘It’s not going to happen,’ she assured him confidently. ‘Just don’t you go doing it about me, OK? Promise?’
‘Promise,’ he said, pressing a kiss to her mouth, but instead of gathering her up in his arms, the way he usually did, he pulled gently away and went to run himself a bath.
After the evening he’d just had, he didn’t have it in him to make love tonight.
Chapter Seven
JERRY WAS STANDING in the hall reading the paper when Rosalind came in through the door carrying several Harvey Nichols bags, which she dumped at the bottom of the stairs ready to go up the next time she did. Once she’d have whisked everything out and treated him to a saucy fashion show after the kind of spree she’d just been on, but things had changed between them now, so she generally kept her purchases to herself.
‘Hi, everything OK?’ she asked, going to give him a peck on the cheek.
‘Everything’s cool,’ he assured her, keeping his eyes on the page in front of him, while scratching a hand over his recently shaved chin. He wasn’t wearing his pilot’s uniform, so he’d obviously been home for a while, and knowing that he hadn’t bothered calling to find out where she was, or simply to let her know he was back, grazed painfully over the rawness inside her.
He was a good-looking, fresh-faced man of medium height and build, with wavy fair hair and a rash of moles over his skin that she always used to tease him were beauty spots. These days they were never mentioned at all.
‘I have to hand it to your father,’ he commented, ‘he’s a class act when it comes to avoiding an issue. Have you read this yet?’
After glancing at the article, she said a short ‘Yes,’ and continued on to the kitchen.
‘So we still don’t know whether Colin Larch is going to make a bid for the leadership,’ he said, coming after her, ‘which was what they were really hoping to get out of him, obviously, and they didn’t manage to land his girlfriend either.’
‘There’s a picture of her,’ Rosalind pointed out as she filled the kettle. ‘And he wasn’t backward in saying how much he’s looking forward to the big day.’
Stifling a sigh at her tone, Jerry dropped the paper on the table and went to take a beer from the fridge.
Standing with her back to him, staring at the kettle, Rosalind knew she should ask, out of politeness if nothing else, how his recent trip had gone, but even though the words were right there, on the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t make them come any further. Maybe if he’d flown somewhere other than Cape Town she wouldn’t be having such a problem, but knowing who was there, and fearing what the woman might still mean to him, she was too afraid of his answer to risk asking the question.
‘So did you see him at the weekend?’ he asked, going to lean against a worktop as he drank from the can.
Realising they were still talking about her father, she said, ‘Yes, he came on Saturday, as usual, and again on Monday night.’
‘Was it OK?’
‘Mostly. Saturday was a bit difficult, I suppose, but everything was fine by the time he left on Tuesday.’ She took a mug from a hook and held on to it as she added, ‘He left his briefcase behind, so I had to courier it up to London.’
Since there wasn’t much he could say to that, he took another sip of his beer and watched her drop a tea bag into the mug, before starting to unload the dishwasher.
‘I found a card,’ she went on, feeling so tense she might snap. Why was she telling him this when she already knew what his reaction would be? ‘It was obviously meant for her. Apparently, she’s the love of his life.’ She swallowed as the meaning of it dug deeply into her heart.
‘How come you saw it?’ he asked mildly.
She threw him a quick glance, then carried on putting some bowls away. ‘That’s hardly the point, is it?’ she retorted. ‘The point is, if she’s the love of his life, what does that make my mother?’
As his head fell forward a wave of anger swept through her. She wanted to scream, or cry, or smash the dishes against the wall, anything to try and make him understand what this was like for her.
‘People say these things when they’re in love,’ he said. ‘It’s not meant to minimise what went before, it’s simply about what’s happening now.’
‘And you know that because you’ve been there, I suppose?’
‘Rosalind …’
‘Don’t! I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s always a mistake trying to discuss anything with you.’
Though his expression was taut he made an effort to sound consoling as he said, ‘You have to let it go, Ros. It’s …’
‘What are we talking about now?’ she interrupted. ‘My mother? Or the fact that you don’t really want to be here?’
His eyes darkened. ‘If I didn’t, I’d have left eighteen months ago,’ he told her curtly.
‘And now you regret missing your chance. Has she found someone else, is that the problem?’
‘
I have no idea what she’s doing now. I never see her, we have no contact …’
‘But you haven’t stopped thinking about her, wishing you were with her.’
He flung out his hands. ‘Why are you putting words in my mouth?’ he cried. ‘That’s you speaking, not me, and I don’t know how much longer you’re going to go on throwing this at me, but I do know that I can’t take much more.’
Her eyes were flashing with fury in spite of the anguish inside her. ‘At which point you’ll be able to blame me for our marriage breaking down,’ she shot back scathingly. She wanted to stop. She knew she shouldn’t be attacking him like this, but as though they had a will of their own, the words just kept coming. ‘It won’t have anything to do with you and the fact that you had an affair that lasted three years before I realised it was going on.’
‘And it’s over now,’ he insisted, ‘at least for me. I just wish it was for you, because we can’t go on like this, Rosalind. It’s getting so that I’m starting to dread coming home.’
‘Don’t say that,’ she begged, clasping her hands to her ears. ‘I want you to come home, I don’t want this to be happening, but I’m afraid to trust you, can’t you see that?’
‘And I don’t know what to do to make you,’ he replied helplessly.
Her eyes stayed on his, staring at him as though trying to see past all the lies and betrayal, back to a time when they’d been so close that they often knew what the other was thinking. In the end she seemed almost to crumple in defeat as she said, ‘No, nor do I.’
Going to her, he started to pull her into his arms, but before she could stop herself she turned away. ‘Seeing that card,’ she said, returning to the kettle. She took a breath. ‘It was like seeing …’ She tried again. ‘It brought it all back, only this time it wasn’t only me who meant nothing, it was Mum too, and now I can’t get it out of my mind.’
‘Ros,’ he said gently, ‘you really need to talk to someone …’
‘Please don’t suggest I go for counselling,’ she broke in heatedly, ‘because it’s not counselling I need, it’s the certainty that you’re not seeing her when you go to South Africa; that you’re not thinking about her every time you look at me, wishing I was her; that you’re not asking yourself all the time if today’s the day you should go.’
His despair was complete. ‘Why are you doing this to yourself?’ he demanded. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? I stayed because I wanted to, because I love you and I want to try and get back what we once had, but no matter what I say, or do, it never seems to get through to you.’
Her head was in her hands. She was struggling to accept his words, to allow them to be true, but it was so hard. ‘Swear to me you’re not still seeing her,’ she cried desperately.
‘I swear,’ he said, his voice rising with sincerity.
‘On Lawrence’s life?’
He seemed to baulk at that, but then in a tone that remained sincere, he said, ‘OK, I swear on Lawrence’s life that I’m not still seeing her.’
Though Rosalind held his eyes, trying to feel the truth taking root inside her like a drug dispersing a disease, in the end she found herself turning away, so pent up with pain now that she could barely breathe. Did swearing on Lawrence’s life have the same meaning for him as it would for her? The words wouldn’t change anything, nothing was going to strike Lawrence down as a result of them, so what was the harm in uttering them? Merely to think he might care so little half killed her with wretchedness. However, to be so cavalier, or cold-hearted, wasn’t the Jerry she knew, but then nor was the man who’d carried on a relationship with another woman for three whole years before she’d found a hair slide in the pocket of his uniform that she’d known right away wasn’t hers. She’d long wondered if the woman – Olivia – had put it there herself in an effort to bring things to a head. Olivia wanted Jerry to commit to her, and this could have been a way of forcing his hand. Rosalind’s mother had been certain of it, and so had she at the time, but what did it matter now, because even if it had been the woman’s intention, it had ended up backfiring on her. Jerry hadn’t left his wife, he’d left his mistress instead. So when it came right down to it she and Lawrence had meant more, unless it was guilt and pity that had kept him here.
A painful silence filled the kitchen as she poured herself a cup of tea, and he made a pretence of returning to the paper. It was like this between them most of the time now: a certain amount would be said, until the fear of going any further shut them down like a sudden break in power. There was too much energy, too many emotions, needs, frustrations and despair overloading the currents between them. So, as usual, they gave themselves some time to back away, to let things cool down a little before attempting to connect again.
In the end Jerry was the first to speak, taking them, to her surprise, down another route that was likely to end in an explosion. ‘Did you talk to your father about the wedding?’ he asked, making an attempt to keep it mild by appearing distracted by the paper.
‘No,’ she replied stiffly.
He turned over a page as he said, ‘Have you changed your mind about going?’
Once again she said, ‘No.’
When eventually he looked up his expression was so despairing that she immediately felt her temper rise. ‘I’m not the only one who thinks he’s in denial over his grief,’ she cried defensively. ‘Miles and Dee happen to agree with me, and what’s more certain things are starting to come to light about her that are causing Miles even greater concern.’
Jerry’s expression took on an astonished, then cynical edge. ‘What on earth’s that supposed to mean?’ he demanded.
Her face was turning sour. ‘He’s not in a position to divulge any details yet, but apparently he’s not the only one who’s worried. There are …’
‘Hang on, hang on,’ he said, putting up a hand to stop her. ‘Are you telling me that Miles has been digging around for dirt on Lisa?’
‘What I’m saying is that Dad has political enemies who’ll do anything to try to discredit him, and if he weren’t so screwed up in his head over Mum dying and thinking he’s in love with someone he barely even knows, he’d have checked her out himself before committing to a relationship that’s very likely going to end up ruining his career, and everything else for all we know.’
Jerry was staring at her aghast. ‘Your father’s not a fool,’ he stated angrily. ‘As far as I can see he knows exactly what he’s doing …’
‘Well, you would think that when we all know that if I were to die tomorrow you’d do exactly what he did, and call up your mistress before the bed had time to turn cold.’ The words were out before she could stop them, and all she could do now was watch in shame and horror as he shot to his feet.
‘I don’t know why I waste my time trying to talk to you,’ he growled. ‘You’re so obsessed with everything that’s gone before that nothing about today seems to matter to you. I’m sorry that your mother’s dead, Rosalind, I really am because I loved her too, and that’s what’s at the heart of this. No, don’t try pretending it isn’t and blaming everything on your dad. You’re the one who needs help handling your grief, not him, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Catrina was a lovely woman, we all miss her, a lot, but life has to go on, so instead of trying to destroy what he has with Lisa, why don’t you try being happy for him that … No, don’t turn away,’ he cried, grabbing her back.
‘I’ll never be happy for him as long as he’s with her,’ she spat.
‘For God’s sake, listen to yourself …’
‘No, you listen. I know in my heart that my mother will never rest easy until I get him away from that woman. So I owe it to her, and to him, to do everything I can to put a stop to this wedding – and if you cared about me at all, and how I feel, you’d be refusing to go too.’
‘My decision about going has nothing to do with the way I feel about you,’ he shouted, ‘because believe it or not, not everything is about you. On this occasion it happens to be about Lawrence a
nd his role as your father’s best man, so how the hell can you not go?’
‘Asking Lawrence to stand up for him was a trick on Dad’s part to get me there.’
‘Didn’t you hear what I just said?’ he cut in furiously. ‘It’s not about you. It’s about the special relationship our son has with your father, so why don’t we feel thankful that he has one with someone, because it sure as hell hasn’t happened with either of us. Your father’s doing something extremely important for him, making him feel valued and trustworthy and responsible, which, in my book, is a wonderful gesture, and nothing at all to do with trickery or persuasion the way you seem to think.’
‘You can tell yourself what you like, I know how my father works, so I know the truth. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some calls to make,’ and picking up her tea she started out of the kitchen.
‘I’m going to the wedding,’ he told her, before she could leave. ‘I’m going to be there for our son, and your father, even if you won’t.’
Though she’d stiffened, she didn’t turn back, simply kept on going until she was in her study with the door closed and the key turned in the lock so he couldn’t come after her. She didn’t want to argue any more; her head was throbbing and every word she uttered either came out the wrong way or somehow seemed to escape his understanding. Why couldn’t he see how difficult and painful all this was for her, and how hard she was trying to do the right thing? She loved her father with all her heart, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt him, but sometimes it was what had to happen if it was the only way of saving someone from themselves.
David was standing at the window of his office, hands stuffed loosely in his pockets as he stared down at the raggle-taggle sprawl of a protest group on Parliament Square. They were imprisoned on the central island by steel barricades, a sweating, shouting mass of humanity wielding angry placards and flags, with traffic swirling around them like urgent pinballs firing from an unstoppable machine. Each week brought another demonstration – rising unemployment, the victimisation of Muslims, Middle East policy, mothers against drunk drivers, fathers’ custody rights, the environment, petrol prices – there was no end to the issues people could protest about, and no easy solution to any of them.