by Lucy Gordon
‘Let me talk to him,’ she said, holding out her hand for the phone. ‘Justin?’
‘Yes,’ came his voice after a moment, and even that one word, tinny and distorted as it was, had the power to move her.
‘I just want you to know that Mark is quite safe. He’ll be on his way home in a few minutes. Please don’t worry.’
‘I don’t worry if he’s with you, but I’m sorry he troubled you.’
‘He’s no trouble. And Justin-I’m glad-about his mother-’
‘It was what he badly wanted. I should have seen that at the start. He says he’s told you his idea.’
‘For me to come to the funeral, yes, but it doesn’t seem right.’
She stopped, hardly daring to let herself think further ahead.
Then he said, ‘He wants it badly, but of course I’ll understand if-I couldn’t really expect you-’
‘I’ll come, of course I will. I didn’t think you’d want to see me there.’
Silence. She wished she knew what she could read into it.
‘Mark misses you,’ he said at last. ‘I think it would mean a lot to him.’
Say that you miss me, she thought wistfully.
Silence.
‘Then I’ll come.’
‘I’ll send my driver to collect him. Thank you for looking after him today. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight,’ she said, trying to match his formal tone although it hurt her that they should have to be polite, like strangers.
‘You’re coming?’ said Mark, who’d been listening. ‘That’s great.’
‘Yes, I’ll be there.’
‘Did Dad sound angry?’
‘No, he wasn’t angry, he was just-he wasn’t anything.’ That was the only way, she realised, to describe the sense of blankness that had reached her down the phone.
But telephones made everything different. It would be all right when she saw him.
‘While we wait,’ she said cheerfully, ‘why don’t you tell me some more about Christmas? Did you find it a bit quiet, because Italians don’t really celebrate Christmas. They wait until Epiphany on January 6th.’
‘Yes, but Nonna said ’cos I was English I must have presents at Christmas, like always. And then, when it was Epiphany, she said I must have more presents because that’s what everyone did. I tried to say I didn’t expect two lots of presents, but Nonna told me I’d just have to put up with it.’
‘I can just hear Hope saying that,’ Evie mused, relishing the picture.
‘And I learned lots of Neapolitan words. I remembered them for you.’
They chatted in this way until the bell rang, announcing Justin’s driver. He said he would call for her again to take her to the funeral in two days’ time, and bring her home afterwards.
When Mark had gone she plunged into her work and tried to think of nothing else. But pages passed before her eyes, making no impact. In the end she took the motorbike and rode at speed for hours until she no longer knew where she was. Which pretty much described her whole life, she thought.
For once the speed didn’t bring the usual sense of release. She knew now that she was fleeing something that would always lie in wait, just ahead.
When the day came she chose an austere dark blue suit, and checked her appearance again and again. She was trying to stay calm, knowing that soon she would meet Justin again for the first time in months. And he would look different to her, because now she knew that he kept her picture with him all the time.
She wouldn’t let herself think of what might happen then. That way lay madness. But, despite her good resolutions, the thought of seeing him after the long lonely months, studying his face, the way he smiled at her, all these made her heart beat faster.
Finally the cemetery came into view and at once her mind began to replay her last visit, in early summer when the leaves were green and the sun was high. Now it was the depth of winter-cold, wet, and miserable.
Mark came to meet her at the church door, taking her by the hand.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘We’re all ready.’
She was startled by the bleakness she found inside. As Mark had said, there was only himself and his father, with no family on his mother’s side. Justin was standing in the front row with his back to her. He turned as she approached, and at first she didn’t recognise him.
He was older and thinner, but that wasn’t the worst of it. His face now had the hard, withered look that she’d feared to see.
‘Hallo,’ she greeted him softly.
He seemed to take a moment to respond, as though not quite sure where he was. Then he inclined his head a little towards her.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he said politely. ‘It was important to Mark.’
‘I’m glad he wanted me.’
The priest appeared, wanting to know if they were ready to begin. Justin nodded and glanced at Mark, who went to stand beside him, taking Evie’s hand in his so that she was on his other side.
It was a short service. There was very little to be done. Justin kept his eyes fixed on the flower-covered coffin. Watching him, Evie remembered what he had told her about Margaret, how much he had loved her, and how it had all turned to hate.
What was he thinking now? Was Margaret there in his heart again at this moment? Was there any room left for herself?
They moved outside to where the grave had been dug. Now she could see more clearly the flowers on the coffin-two bouquets of roses. One bore a card in Mark’s childish hand.
To Mummy, with love always.
The card on the other was from Justin. It said simply, Thank you.
When the graveside rites were concluded Mark squeezed her hand, as if to say that everything was all right now. Evie looked at him, touched by the way he was reaching out to her, even at this moment.
Justin’s face was like a rock, revealing nothing.
Everything was unreal. How could she be here with him, her heart alive to him as though the lonely separation had never been? As the service concluded, she saw him look at her. She went to stand in front of him, daring him not to face her.
‘Are you really glad I came?’ she asked. ‘Not just for Mark’s sake?’
He took a long time to answer and a chill crept through her.
‘Yes, I’m really glad to see you,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve wondered how things were with you.’
‘And I’ve wondered about you, whether you were well, how life was treating you.’
‘It’s treating me fine, as you can see.’
No, I can’t see that. I can only see that your face is tense and weary, as it was when we first met.
‘Do you see much of your family?’
‘We have a standing invitation to Naples. Mark can go more often than I can, but Hope and I get on well.’
I thought I’d banished that defensive look from your eyes, but it’s there again, and perhaps it always will be.
‘I’m glad of that,’ she said firmly.
‘You did that for me, and I’ll never forget it.’
No, in the end there was nothing I could do for you, my love.
‘What about you? Have you been back to Italy?’ he asked desperately.
‘There hasn’t been time. I’ve been swamped in work.’
‘Well-I’m glad your career’s going well.’
‘Yes, very well, thank you.’
I’m grabbing all the work I can find. It fills the hours.
She’d been deluding herself with false hopes about this meeting. He hadn’t wanted to see her, and now he was struggling for something to say.
‘The driver will take you back as soon as you’re ready,’ he said. ‘I hope we haven’t taken up too much of your valuable time.’
There was an ache in her throat. Through the worst moments she’d clung to the hope that one day they would meet again.
But this was the meeting, and now she knew they were really at the end of the road.
When at last she could speak, she force
d out words that were as formal and ugly as his own.
‘Well, it’s time I was going,’ she said briskly. ‘It’s so nice to have seen you again. The best of luck.’
He drew a sharp breath and for a moment his face was constricted with pain.
‘Evie,’ he said harshly, ‘are you all right?’
‘No. You?’
He shook his head. But he would not yield.
‘Goodbye,’ he whispered.
She touched his cheek gently.
‘Goodbye, my love,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
S HE began to lose track of time. Day seemed to follow day with little difference between them. Sometimes she felt as though she’d been translating the same book for ever and it was almost a surprise to receive three sets of galleys to check. At some time recently she must have worked on these books, but it felt like another life.
She sat at her screen for hours, crawling into bed at the last moment, getting up with the dawn, drinking black coffee before forcing herself awake with a cold shower.
Then it was back to work. Don’t think. Don’t listen to the phone that never rings. Don’t wonder how you’ll endure the rest of your life.
Mark still corresponded with her. She knew how often he went to Naples, and also how often Justin left him with his grandmother while he went away on business. She formed a vague idea that he was burying himself in work to avoid thinking and feeling, like herself.
She always worded her own emails carefully, in case Justin should see them. She couldn’t bear to think of him knowing how she still pined for him when he had destroyed their love so decisively, although Mark ended every email with a hopeful, Dad isn’t dating anyone else.
In spring she went down to the cottage. She’d been avoiding it, using the cold weather as an excuse. The truth was that she couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the place where she had been with Justin, and had learned to love him.
But with the extra money he’d paid her from the sale she could do many necessary repairs, and at last the moment had to be faced. She bought a small car and drove down to Penzance.
The cottage was chilly and the emptiness felt more bleak even than she’d anticipated. There was the little kitchen where he’d cooked, and she’d begun to realise he had more facets than she’d imagined. There was the sofa where she’d awoken to find him kneeling beside her, regarding her with tender concern.
Her footsteps echoed on the flagstones, then up the stairs to the silent, empty bedrooms. She wondered how she could ever bear to be here again, but then she knew she couldn’t bear to leave. This was the place where they had loved, and he would be with her here for ever.
She began to go swimming. The water was still chilly, but she found it bracing and would swim out a long way. The journey back would tire her, and that way she could get some sleep.
One morning she went out early and swam further than usual. At last she realised that it would be wise to turn back. She returned slowly, feeling the strength draining away from her while the shore seemed to recede instead of growing closer. Her arms and legs were heavy and she seemed to make no progress.
Her mind was growing fuzzy. It would be so easy to let herself fall asleep now.
Once before she’d come out this far and Justin had been alarmed, calling her back to safety, powering through the water to reach her. To tease him she had pushed on further, daring him to catch up.
That had been in the early days, before Andrew’s defection, and everything had been a game, but when he’d been about to catch her she’d suddenly become very conscious of her near nakedness in the bikini, the way he was bound to seize her around the waist and draw her against him.
But he’d only grabbed her wrist and yelled something about showing a little common sense. She’d started to laugh, and he’d said, ‘Hold on to me while we go back.’
She’d laughed harder, saying, ‘Who needs to?’ Then she had broken away from him and swam off, freshly invigorated by the sudden pounding of her blood.
She closed her eyes, reliving the moment, wondering why she hadn’t seen the truth then. And would it have made any difference to the end?
‘Eee-viee!’
The voice came from the sky, from the sea, from the air. It was all around her.
‘Eee-viee!’
The sound narrowed down to a point on the shore. A tall, elegant woman stood there, calling and waving to her.
It was Hope.
Evie blinked, trying to realise that the impossible was happening. Somehow she brought her limbs back to life and began to make her way to shore.
As she reached shallow water and rose to her feet she stumbled, discovering just how exhausted she was. Without hesitation Hope began to wade in, oblivious to the damage to her couture clothes. Reaching Evie, she pulled her arm about her shoulders and supported her back to safety.
There, Evie could do no more than collapse on the sand, looking up at Hope as she leaned over her, saying in a voice of total exasperation, ‘Honestly, you’re as bad as he is!’
Later, in the warmth of the cottage, when Evie had showered and dressed, Hope said firmly, ‘Sit down and eat.’
Attired in Evie’s towel dressing gown while her own clothes dried out, she had taken over the kitchen and concocted a delicious meal from whatever she’d found there. Eating it with relish, Evie recognised the hand of a genuine born home-maker.
This had always been inevitable, she realised. Part of her had known that Hope would never leave matters as they were.
‘Are you angry that I came?’ Hope asked, sitting at the table with her and pouring a cup of strong tea.
‘Of course not. I’m glad to see you. But I thought you were in Italy, with Mark.’
‘My grandson does not need me at the moment. He has the whole family to make a fuss of him. I came to England to see my son. He’s the one who needs me now. You also.’
Evie gave a brief laugh. ‘Oh, I’m managing.’
‘Are you?’ Hope asked, regarding her critically. ‘It didn’t seem that way out there.’
‘I was just tired, getting my second wind before I swam back.’
‘Perhaps, but something tells me that you were thinking dangerous thoughts.’
Before Hope’s shrewd but kindly gaze Evie found that it was impossible to dissemble.
‘Well, if I was, it was only for a moment,’ she said. ‘I’d have pulled myself together.’
‘Of course. You are a woman. Somehow we always pull ourselves together. But them-’ She shrugged, dismissing and disrespecting the entire world of men.
She glanced around the cottage, taking in Evie’s desk, the open books, the signs of relentless work. Watching her, Evie had the feeling that she understood everything.
‘Do you ever sleep?’ Hope asked at last.
‘Only when I have to,’ Evie admitted. ‘For the rest of the time-’ She shrugged.
‘There is always work,’ Hope agreed. ‘It is as I thought. You cope better than he does.’
‘You’ve seen him?’ Evie asked eagerly. ‘How is he?’
‘I was with him yesterday. He’s like you, working too hard, late into the night. His telephone rings constantly. He barks out his orders.’ She gave a sigh. ‘It is terrible.’
‘We each cope in our own way,’ Evie said.
‘He isn’t coping,’ Hope said at once. ‘He thinks he is, but actually he’s dying. The outer shell is the same but inside he’s crumbling to dust.’
‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t say any more.’
‘But I have to. How else can I help my son? Evie, I’ve come to tell you that you must return to him. You must. Or he is finished.’
‘But Hope, I didn’t leave him. He sent me away. That was what he wanted.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous; of course that wasn’t what he wanted. It’s what he felt he had to do, for your sake. It was his idea of being strong, and of course he got it all wrong. He needs you. He c
an’t survive without you.’
‘He thinks he can.’
‘Then you must show him his mistake. You must return to him, whether he agrees or not. If he protests, ignore him. Move in and refuse to budge. Evie, I beg you to listen to me. You’re his last chance. I’ve never been able to do anything for my son before, but I must do this for him.’
Evie was silent, torn by temptation. The yearning for Justin was a cruel ache that pervaded her and reduced the rest of her life to rubble. And yet-
‘I can’t,’ she said desperately. ‘It isn’t that I don’t want to. I do. I want him so much, night and day, all the time, every minute, if you only knew-’
‘You think I don’t know that longing?’ Hope asked wryly.
Evie had put her hands up to her head, almost tearing her hair, but at this she lowered them again.
‘Yes, I suppose you do,’ she said.
‘When I was fifteen I fell in love with a boy a few years older. His name was Philip. He was wild and handsome and all the girls wanted him. My mother warned me against him. She said he was a bad lot. He came from a family of criminals and was just like them.
‘But I didn’t care. I was honoured that he chose me. I gave him whatever he wanted, sure that our love would last for ever. Of course, when I became pregnant, he didn’t want to know. That was when I discovered how many other girls he had. Soon after that he was sent to prison.
‘In those days unmarried mothers didn’t have the help they have now. I longed to keep my baby, for I still loved Philip. I fantasised about going to see him in prison, taking our child with me. He would be so moved by the sight that he would love me again, and when he came out we would be together. Ah, the tales one tells oneself at fifteen!’
She sighed and fell silent. Evie put her hand over the older woman’s and received a squeeze in return. They sat like that for a moment.
‘Then my baby was born,’ Hope resumed at last, ‘but I never saw him. They said he’d been born dead and taken away at once. From that moment I grieved for him, and when I learned the truth it only made the grief greater, to think that he was alive somewhere and I might never see him.