by Voss, Louise
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘May I have another brandy?’
‘Sure,’ he replied, unfolding his legs and sauntering back over to the bar. I noticed that he put some Euros into the till for my drinks, which embarrassed me.
‘Please, put the drinks on my room,’ I called. ‘Have one yourself.’
‘My drinks are free,’ he called back. ‘And tonight I treat you.’
‘Thanks,’ I repeated, gratefully accepting my third brandy.
I didn’t go back up to bed until almost three o’clock, but since my body clock was still just about on US time, it made no odds. The best thing was that the awful panic of the day had subsided. There was no point in fretting about Rachel’s career, and she herself was going to be fine. Nobody had died. It wasn’t my fault (although I had trouble holding on to that one for more than a moment). I’d even made a new friend. I went back to sleep feeling much better.
The next morning, spaced out with jetlag and headachy from too much brandy at a high altitude, I awoke to the sound of the telephone: a shrill, old-fashioned ring. I thought I’d escaped the wrath of Ivan, but I was wrong.
‘I’ve just heard …how could you let this happen?’ he screamed without preamble when I picked up the receiver. ‘Do you realize what you’ve done? I called the physio to ask him about fractures of the tibial plateau, and it’s an incredibly fucking serious injury! She won’t play for months, maybe never again professionally! What the hell were you thinking, inviting her on a flaming skiing trip, when she’s on the edge of the big time? She only went to piss me off, you do know that, don’t you? And now her career’s probably ruined, thanks to you!’
I rolled on to my back against the pillows, holding the receiver as far away from my ear as I could, but still hearing the indignant squawking. ‘Susie? Susie! ’
‘Ivan,’ I said, calmly, although my hand was shaking so much that I had to hold my elbow with my other hand to steady it. ‘Rachel is a grown woman. What she decides to do on holiday is entirely her own business. I didn’t force her to come with me. She loves skiing – and she loves it because you taught her! You’ve taken her skiing a couple of times, why is this any different? You’re not being fair. It’s just one of those things; accidents happen. She could have tripped off the kerb at home and done the same thing. This isn’t helping any of us.’
Despite my words, however, the guilt inside me was horrendous, bubbling up inside my gut like an evil sort of stomach acid. I felt dizzy with it. In my head, I kept chanting Karl’s words about it not being my fault.
It was the Italian boy’s fault, not mine …But it was still down to me that Rachel had even been there on the mountain. I felt like losing the calm, rational, defensive voice and screaming back at him: ‘I know! I feel terrible! I’m sorry!’
I got off the bed and pulled aside the orange curtain to look out of the window. The snow had stopped, but overnight it had drifted into glittering peaks and mini ski slopes on the terrace outside. It was so bright, and perfectly flawless under a clear blue sky, coating the ground and hanging heavy on the fir trees, a good six inches of it along each individual branch.
Ivan was still ranting. What had I ever seen in him, I thought, trying to block out the words and wondering if I had the nerve simply to hang up. His voice was polluting the perfection of my view. In the end, I managed to interrupt, by some miracle keeping my voice calm, if sarcastic.
‘Listen, Ivan, I appreciate your concern. It was sweet of you to call, but I’m afraid that I need to get on now. I need to get to the hospital and see how our daughter’s doing. She’s asked me to take her washbag in for her. I’ll tell her that you sent your love, shall I? She’ll be touched. Bye, then. I’ll let Gordana know when we’re coming home – in about three days, they think. Thanks so much for ringing…’
It took me ten minutes before I stopped shaking enough to do up the buttons of my shirt.
I checked out of the hotel and allowed Karl to drive me back to the hospital with Rachel’s and my bags in the back of the minibus. The hotel owner – Karl’s brother-in-law – had made a reservation for me at another hotel, two minutes’ walk from the hospital.
‘Will you still require a ski pass?’ he’d enquired, and I’d laughed hollowly.
‘No. Thank you,’ I said, certain that I’d never set skis on piste again.
I didn’t bother to say goodbye to the rest of the group. Apart from our encounter with Robin on the way up the mountain, and the first evening spent with them, we hadn’t really got to know them at all. It was only Karl whom I was sorry to leave.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ I said when he dropped me off outside the hospital, having already waited as I checked in at the new hotel. He shrugged.
‘It’s only a couple of lifts,’ he said.
‘I don’t mean for the lifts – although I’m very grateful for those too. I mean what you did for me last night, letting me talk like that. It really helped. I didn’t want to be on my own.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ he said, inclining his head in a slight bow. He had lovely eyes, I thought. He was a lovely man. Far too young for me, of course.
‘I am often in England on business. Could I have your address, if you will be there for some weeks? I would like to keep in touch and hear how Rachel gets on. And if you become a life coach. That is most interesting also.’
There it was again, that ‘alt-zo’. I noticed with vague interest that it did something funny to my insides. I delved into my bag and tore a page out of my notebook, on which I wrote Gordana’s address and phone number.
‘This is my ex-mother-in-law’s number; Rachel’s grandmother. I won’t be there all the time, but she’ll know how to get hold of me if I’m not. I’d love to see you over there – I’ll buy you lunch, as a thank you.’
He smiled and kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘I will keep you to that,’ he said, and hopped back into the driver’s seat of the van. With a grinding of the clutch and a squeal of the accelerator, he was gone, and I felt his loss with a brief, almost pleasurable pang of anticipated nostalgia. I was sure he wouldn’t look me up at Gordana’s – or at least not before I’d gone back to Lawrence, anyhow – but I didn’t mind. There were some people who only flitted into your life for the briefest of moments, and that was how it should be. Any more than that would spoil the experience. I didn’t even know his last name, I reflected, as I hurried into the hospital to see how Rachel was.
I could always contact the hotel and find it out, I thought, knowing that I wouldn’t bother.
Chapter 25
Gordana
So Susie and Rachel are coming to stay. I must say, despite these bad circumstances for me and for Rachel, I am almost excited. It will be nice to have something else to think about, and I hope too it will stop Ted giving me these anxious looks. We don’t talk about it much – what is there to say? I have told him the facts.
There is a way of telling facts which makes it sound not quite so serious, and this is how I tell them. But he still keep giving me the nervous looks, as if I am a small pan of milk which will boil over at any moment.
He took me to my appointment at the Marsden: more tests, more information and chit-chat I didn’t really wish to hear. Ted shook hands with Mr Babish like they were two business associates meeting for lunch.
Mr Babish explained the tests and gave us leaflets which I have hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet. The operation is next week.
I can’t remember the last time Susie and Rachel were in our house for more than a lunch or a flying visit. It used to make my head spin around, to think about how busy Rachel was all the time. Even when she wasn’t at tournaments, she was either training or working out in that gym six days every single week.
But if she has any hopes of becoming a champion, it’s what she must do. I am so worried about her now. What will she do without her tennis? Maybe she will just slow down and stop altogether. The thought of that is terrible; it makes me want to cry. She is young, and
beautiful, and always on the move. She will hate so much that she has this accident now. And Ivan so cross too.
In secret I often felt sorry for her, especially as a child, when she cried with exhaustion or defeat; but I always told her to keep going, work harder, don’t stop.
It’s what I had to do with Ivan also. Even one hundred per cent commitment will not be enough. One hundred and twenty per cent is what’s needed, minimum.
I hate to admit it, but perhaps this accident is her body telling her something: to slow down. It would be very sad if this is the case, but we must be philosophical about it: Rachel will not succeed where Ivan failed. I will just have to try and come to terms with this. Even though somebody crashed into her, her injury may be a result of her body’s complaints at how hard we push it all these years.
I haven’t seen Susie for a while. Ivan was cross when I said she was going to stay with us, but that is just tough. He is furious about Rachel’s accident, but I suspect he enjoy any reason to be furious with poor Susie. It was not her fault. Rachel chose to go skiing; her mother didn’t force her. Ivan doesn’t have to see her if he doesn’t want to. I know I have soon to tell Ivan about my lump, but I still have not decided whether to wait until after the operation.
I wonder why Billy has not come over too, at least for part of the time? When I ask Susie on the telephone, the way she said no, like a gulp, made me think that perhaps this is more the reason she decide to take a skiing holiday in Italy instead of Canada or Colorado.
I only once met that Billy of hers. He seemed very relaxed, and he laughed at things which weren’t particularly funny. I couldn’t help thinking there might be something a bit wrong with him. I don’t know why I wonder if all is not well. Just a feeling. I know Susie better than she thinks. She will tell me when she gets here.
I have always liked Susie, once I got over the shock of Ivan getting her pregnant. She has a direct sort of a way about her which is refreshing. I think it’s a shame that she and Ivan broke up. I know I was against it when they first started, so young, and with a baby, but that was just because I didn’t want my Ivan to feel trapped, with his career so important to him. But I think Susie helped. She kept him …what is that word which always make me think of camping? Grounded, that’s it …in a way that I could never have done. She stopped him sleeping around with many tennis groupies; she travelled everywhere with him.
Also she encouraged Rachel to start playing tennis, at the age of three. People think it must be because of Ivan that Rachel took it up, but it wasn’t, it was Susie.
I remember seeing them out on court, for hours, here or at the club, hitting a pink foam ball over the mini-tennis net, Rachel with her little racket, with so much concentration.
She enrolled Rachel in mini-tennis classes as soon as she turned four. The other children were older, but they would chat and giggle and stop to examine a worm on the court, or whack the ball far away, but Rachel could hold a long rally by then. So Susie got her moved up to the classes for the six-to-eight-year-olds, and then the ten-year-olds …Nobody could believe it, except Susie. And me and Ivan, of course.
I think that, just as Susie helped Ivan’s career, she also helped Rachel’s; even though she says she felt left out of it, that Ivan pushed her away.
It will be good to catch up with her. I’ve been getting their rooms ready this morning; I’m putting Susie in the Blue Room, the biggest of the en-suite spare rooms, the one with the view over the front garden and then out to the parkland across the road behind. Susie likes that room. It was where the three of them lived when they came back from Kansas, for a year, when Rachel was a baby. She slept in a cot by the window.
I remember one morning Susie came and found me when I was putting on my make-up in my own bedroom. ‘Come and look, Gordana,’ she said. I came, hoping I would remember that I had put mascara on only one eye so far. Rachel was lying in the cot, very still except for her eyes, which had focused on the leaves of the big plane tree outside the window. It was a windy day, and she was concentrating on a branch which swayed back and forwards, making the leaves dance and jump, and her eyes went back and forth, back and forth, wide open with wonder.
‘She looks like she’s watching a tennis match, doesn’t she?’ said Susie, and we laughed together. I don’t know why I always remembered that.
Rachel was such a delicious baby, I could have eaten her up. I loved having them both living here. I say ‘both’, because I don’t recall Ivan being around that much, and of course it was long before Ted retired, so he was out all day, running his jewellery shops. It was just us three girls, and we had so much fun. I taught Susie to play tennis – she wanted to surprise Ivan one day. I don’t know if she ever did. I doubt it, somehow. Ivan never had the patience to play with anyone unless there was something in it for him: money, or a good match, or reflected glory.
My garden looks beautiful at the moment, with frost on the bare branches of the beech trees, although the lawn is leaving something to be desired. I’ll have a word with Manuel; tell him to rake the rest of the leaves off it before my guests get here. He should have done it two weeks ago.
I always think of Manderley when I stand at the window of this room, as if Mrs Danvers will glide in and appear at my shoulder. Not that our house is as impressive as Manderley, and there’s no sea view to watch; but still. Rebecca is my favourite book. It is the first one I ever read in English.
That reminds me, I must talk to Ted again about getting a housekeeper – a non-sinister one, of course. He has no idea how much work is involved in running a house like this, even with the cleaner and a gardener.
I could do with some nice organized person with cheeks like apples to come and take over, especially when I am recovering from the operation, and having the nasty treatments. I don’t want Susie pushing her finger along the mantelpiece to see how dusty it is – not that she’s likely to, I suppose, I don’t think she notices that kind of thing. Ivan’s Anthea would, without any doubts. She doesn’t keep her own house clean, but she would look down her nose if mine wasn’t. I hope Ivan’s Anthea will never come to stay.
Ivan is dropping Rachel off. Susie will come separately – she spent last night with an old friend of hers from Kansas. She and Ivan made careful plans so that their paths didn’t even cross at the airport when Ivan was picking up Rachel. It’s ridiculous that they still can’t talk, after all this time. Surely past is past.
But I’m glad she’s not coming just yet. That way, I can insist that Ivan come in for coffee when he drops Rachel off here.
I want to ask him how things are going with the tennis club. I think not very well, because lately Ivan look even more worried than usual. I’m sure his hair is disappearing even faster, and the bits he still has are getting quite grey. The girls say they haven’t even seen him down there for a while, which is a worry. I hope he has not lost interest in it, after all this effort. Worse, I hope that the Immigrations people have not been giving him a hassle again.
It’s difficult. Ivan need a big success with his academy, or at least with one of his players. Preferably Rachel, of course. I only lent him the money because the academy would benefit Rachel’s career. I hope he will not have problems paying me back. Well, I suppose that flying to tournaments all the time is very expensive, if Rachel doesn’t win. The LTA pays José’s wages, but not his travel expenses, or Ivan’s, of course.
It has been quite a long time since I saw Rachel play. I think the last was when she got through to the finals of that tournament in Bournemouth some years ago – lovely day, for us anyway. We had gorgeous lunch in that hotel in Boscombe, with the best prawn salad I ever had. But poor Rachel; by the time she was a set down to that Slovakian girl, such a skinny little thing, she was ready to throw her racket to the ground. Ivan would have done it, at her age, but Rachel always had a better control of herself. She was so upset, though, she couldn’t even talk to us afterwards. I’m sure it wasn’t helpful that Ivan was shouting at her. I think he made
her cry that day. Sometimes my boy is not very sensitive – and he of all people should have understood.
Ooh, here they are now – but with brown leaves still all over the lawn! Look at her, my poor darling, waiting in the front seat while Ivan unfolds a wheelchair for her. Better run down and welcome them. I will just put on some lipstick while Ivan gets her bags out of the boot…
‘Hello, Gordana, thanks so much for having me,’
Rachel says when I open the door. She’s such a lovely girl, although why must she always wear those terrible tracksuit bottoms? I bend down and hug her carefully.
Usually she almost crushes the breath out of me, but in the wheelchair with her leg sticking out straight, she can only lean into me.
‘Hello, darling; hello, Ivan, other darling,’ I manage to say, kissing them both and then wiping my smudgy lipstick prints from their faces with my thumb. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. How do you feel, Rachel? We’ve been so worried about you. Do you have to be all the time in this wheelchair?’
‘I’m not too bad, Gordana,’ she says bravely. ‘And no, I’m meant to be on crutches. I’ve got to get back on my feet as soon as I can. They just gave me a chair for the travelling and all.’
Ivan takes a pair of metal crutches out of the boot and offers them to Rachel, but she shakes her head.
‘Think I’ll be a wimp and stay where I am for the moment, thanks, Dad,’ she says, without smiling at him.
‘Is it hurting, my darling?’
‘It kind of aches, but weirdly my hip hurts more than my knee, in the place where they took the bone graft.’
They both look very bad. Ivan is weary, and his stubble scratches my cheek. Rachel looks worse: grey bags underneath her eyes, skin pale and blotchy, and all her hair greasy at the roots, scraped back away from her face with a thick rubber band – not even a scrunchy or a bobble, just the sort of rubber band the postman uses to keep bundles of letters together. And so scruffy, with those awful baggy, stained sweatpants.