‘Where do you sell them?’
‘Various places.’
‘She’s too modest,’ Andrew said. ‘She’s got shops in Oxford, Bath and Cheltenham who take them. Can’t keep up with the demand.’ His hand found Vanessa’s under the table and squeezed it.
Vanessa and Andrew listened to the murmur of voices from the room above.
‘What do you think they’re talking about?’ Vanessa whispered.
Andrew turned on his side and nuzzled his nose against her cheek. ‘Probably saying how clever you are. Lizzie looked impressed when I said how popular your designs are.’ Andrew’s fingers circled the curve of Vanessa’s breast. ‘She’s scary, isn’t she?’
‘She’s got high expectations of people.’ Vanessa struggled on to her right shoulder – moving about on the inflatable mattress that was their bed for the night was like being enveloped in sponge. ‘Seeing her reminds me how badly I let Gerald treat me.’ From the dull glow of the streetlight through the curtains, she stared at Andrew’s face trying to make out his expression.
‘It’s okay.’ He rubbed his nose from side to side against hers. ‘I’m feeling strong. You can talk about the bastard if you want to.’
She fastened her arms round Andrew’s neck and wriggled closer to him: toes entwined, knees bony against each other, bellies pushed together until perspiration trickled between them, her breasts squashed against his chest. She felt his penis stir against her thigh.
‘I don’t want to talk about him,’ she said.
‘Good.’
‘But … ’
He made a noise into the pillow. She couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a groan.
‘I thought it was too good to be true,’ he said.
She drew his head towards her again. ‘Andrew, it’s you I love, you know that.’ She raised her fingers to his face, tracing the outline of his mouth.
‘I still feel jealous sometimes.’
‘Don’t be. I never think about him.’
‘Never?’
‘All right. Rarely. But seeing Lizzie again makes him -’ Vanessa felt Andrew’s hands cupping her face. His palms were warm and seemed to set her cheeks on fire.
‘Sometimes when I think about him …’ Andrew’s breath fanned against Vanessa’s mouth. His words insinuated themselves between her lips and burnt on her tongue. ‘I’m not a violent man but when I think how he treated you.’
‘Ssh!’ She ran her fingers down the hollow of his spine. ‘Don’t say it! Don’t think it!’
‘I don’t want anything to happen to us, Vanessa.’
‘It won’t. I promise.’ She stroked his hair back from his forehead, trying to soothe him as she did Jake when he was upset. She felt his limbs soften. His breathing grew slower and deeper. She began to drift off to sleep.
Suddenly Andrew gripped her shoulders.
‘What?’ She was wide-awake.
‘Listen.’
She lifted her head from the pillow. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
‘Exactly. They’ve stopped talking.’
‘Do you think they’ve gone to sleep?’
‘Or they’re hanging naked from the lampshades.’
‘You mean sex?’
‘You wouldn’t want to waste a bosom like Sadie’s, would you? I could get lost for a week in there.’
‘Andrew!’
‘Sorry, but you must admit it’s rather luscious. And talking of luscious breasts … ’ His head burrowed under the blanket, and she felt his lips close over her nipple.
An oak bench at the far end of the garden was screened by rose bushes in summer. A fence ran behind it, marking the boundary between the garden and a footpath. Clematis with white starry flowers swarmed over it, and a rambler rose scented the air. It was a private space – the children rarely went down there – and Vanessa liked to slip away at odd moments in the day and spend some time alone.
In winter the feeling of privacy disappeared. The bench was clearly visible from the cottage, and anyone walking along the footpath could see over the fence into the garden. Vanessa would stand at the kitchen window, gazing at the bench, imagining the spring and summer to come.
A day or so after Lizzie and Sadie’s stay, she arrived home after visiting the shops that sold her knitwear. She dropped the bag containing her designs in the hall, pulling off her jacket as she went into the kitchen. She crossed to the sink to fill the kettle.
Her eyes sought out ‘her spot’ at the bottom of the garden. She blinked. She turned off the tap and put the kettle down. She looked again. Yes, there was someone down there. She hesitated. An old woman in the village sometimes stood on the footpath, peering over the fence. Could it be her? Could she have unlocked the gate and got into the garden? She went to the back door and stepped on to the patio. From here, Jake’s swing and a buddleia obscured her view. A gust of wind tugged at her clothes.
‘Hello?’ Her voice sounded thin and reedy and she tried again with more authority: ‘Hello!’
Through the buddleia, she caught sight of movement. A man emerged on the path. In the twilight he seemed to be entirely black: long black coat, black hair, most of his face obscured by a black beard. He wasn’t very tall but he seemed stocky. He drew closer, and then he smiled.
‘My God!’ Vanessa whispered. ‘It’s you.’
‘Hello.’
‘What the hell are you doing creeping round my garden?’
‘There was no one in.’ He moved forward with that swaying walk she remembered so well. He was standing in front of her. He held out his hands and without knowing she was going to, she placed hers in his. The skin of his palms and fingers was rough, as it always was, and the touch propelled her into another time, another place.
‘Gerald.’
He put his arms round her and pulled her to him. That smell. His face was close to hers. It was a shock. She was used to Andrew, so much taller – their faces only on the same level in bed. He began to kiss her. His beard chafed her skin. His lips forced hers open.
She jerked away from him, but he was strong. His arms gripped her. She put her hands flat on his chest and pushed. He stumbled, his dark eyes wide. ‘What’s wrong?’
Her pulse thudded in her ears. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I wanted to see Cordy and Esme. And you, definitely you.’
‘You know I’m with Andrew now.’
‘At the moment.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I intend to get you back.’
It was as if a thunderclap sounded directly overhead. The air around her vibrated with his words: get you back … get you … back … back. The echo became jumbled with her own no … no … no, like crossed wires on the telephone.
‘Go away.’
He laughed. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Gerald phoned the next day. He wanted to take Cordelia and Esme out for dinner. The table was booked for eight o’clock.
‘That’s too late,’ Vanessa told him. ‘They’ve got school tomorrow.’
His laugh came down the line, the sound an intimate connection between them. ‘One day off won’t hurt.’
She could hear him breathing, and she held the receiver away from her ear. ‘Just don’t think you can turn up unannounced and take centre stage.’
‘You mean if I’d told you I was coming, you’d have fallen into my arms?’
Vanessa caught sight of her face. The mirror on the hallstand was old and speckled where the silver backing was damaged, but even so she could see the livid spots of colour on her cheeks. She imagined Andrew’s reaction when she told him: I knew he’d be back one day. She had to get off this phone. ‘It’s Cordelia and Esme’s decision,’ she said. ‘If they want to see you, I’m not going to stop them. But if they don’t – ’
‘They’re not going to turn down a swanky meal out, are they?’
‘You might not be able to buy them off as easily as you think, Ger
ald. You hurt them badly when you went.’ And me, she wanted to scream. Have you any idea how much you hurt me?
‘Why do you think I’m here?’ His voice was soft and glossy. She knew that voice, knew its tones, its cadences, spilling magic into her ear: Come on, my darling one … that’s beautiful … yes, oh yes … you’re coming now … I can feel it …
She squeezed her eyes shut. Her teeth were clamped together.
‘I want to make it up to you all.’ His voice was ordinary now, deep, that slight foreign inflection, but no magic.
She opened her eyes. ‘You can pick them up at seven.’
He arrived at six-thirty. The noise of the brass bell jangled through the cottage. Vanessa was upstairs giving Jake a bath, and Andrew was in the kitchen preparing supper. She’d planned to be downstairs when Gerald came, to hurry Cordelia and Esme out of the door, so that Andrew wouldn’t have to see him. She lifted Jake from the bath and wrapped a towel round him, all the time listening: to Andrew’s footsteps crossing the hall, to the creaking of the front door, the mingling of male voices. What on earth were they saying to each other? She towelled Jake’s hair and pulled on his pyjamas. ‘Play in your room for a few minutes,’ she said to him. ‘Mummy will be back for your story.’
She hurried across the landing. Laughter and the smell of perfume wafted from Cordelia and Esme’s room. Esme scarcely remembered her father and hadn’t been sure when Vanessa told them he was back and wanted to take them out, but Cordelia’s face had shone as if a light had been switched on inside her.
She was standing in front of the mirror, hand on one hip, head cocked to the side. Her hair was backcombed into a frizzy fan shape; dark blue eye shadow and bilberry-coloured lipstick made her look as if she’d been in a fight. Her eyes didn’t move from her reflection. ‘What do you think?’
Vanessa took in the skin-tight jeans covered in silver sparkly bits, the denim jacket, the white boots with their red stitching. She forced her lips into a smile. ‘Pretty, darling, you look really pretty.’
‘Do you think Dad will like it?’
It grated that Cordelia still referred to Gerald as Dad, while she had to make do with Vanessa. ‘I’m sure he will.’
She turned to Esme, dressed in the pretty blue skirt and lacy blouse they’d bought for a friend’s wedding. ‘You look lovely too, darling. Now you’d better go: your father’s waiting.’ She kissed them. Esme put her arms round her, but Cordelia pulled her head away, so that Vanessa was left kissing her ear.
‘Don’t let him keep you out too late,’ she called down the stairs after them. She leant over the banisters. Gerald was standing in the hall staring up. He put his fingers to his mouth and blew her a kiss. The sensation of his warm breath seemed to skim across her cheek.
She listened to the sound of voices from the street outside, then the taxi pulling away. She went into Jake to read him his story. She nestled close to him on the bed, tucking her arm round his shoulders. She opened the book and began to read.
She’d got to the third line when he interrupted: ‘Have you been running, Mummy?’
‘No, why?’
‘You’re breathing all sort of funny and I can hear your heart beating.’
In the kitchen Andrew was at the cooker. He didn’t look round when she came in. She hesitated. Was he ignoring her deliberately? Punishing her for somehow making Gerald reappear? She stared at his back. One of his shoulders was raised where he was stirring something in a saucepan. It made his shoulder blades more pronounced than ever.
She crossed the kitchen to him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘If you count being patronised by that bastard as okay, then, yes, I’m fine.’ He continued to circle the saucepan with the spoon.
Vanessa slipped her hand under his shirt. His skin was warm and smooth. She rubbed the little hollow at the base of his spine. ‘What did he say?’
‘Some shit about admiring a man who’s confident in the kitchen, but he’s more of a bedroom man himself.’
‘He’s only jealous.’
Andrew let the spoon clatter into the saucepan. Flecks of tomato sauce spattered his grey shirt. ‘Precisely. And what’s he jealous of?’
‘He can see you’re making a success of your life. You’ve got a nice home and people who love you.’
Andrew shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you? He’s jealous of me because I’ve got you.’
Heat spread across Vanessa’s chest and up into her neck. ‘That’s ridiculous. He’s probably got any number of women – ’
‘But not the one he wants.’ Andrew caught hold of her arms. She could feel his nails through her jumper. ‘He’s come back for you, Vanessa. And he won’t give up without a fight.’
Andrew went up to bed at nine o’clock. ‘I’m going to read.’
‘I’ll wait up for the girls,’ Vanessa said. ‘They shouldn’t be long.’ But Andrew had already disappeared. It was the first time ever he hadn’t kissed her goodnight.
It was eleven by the time Cordelia and Esme arrived home, full of their evening.
Cordelia perched on the kitchen table, swinging her legs from side to side, while Vanessa made some drinking chocolate. ‘Dad says we’re going to be a family again,’ she announced, her eyes wide, the pupils dilated.
‘Steady on,’ Vanessa said. ‘Don’t I get some say in this?’
‘Dad said you’d be sure to say yes.’
‘To what exactly?’
‘He’s going to buy a big house for us all.’
Vanessa eyed the ceiling. ‘Keep your voice down, Cordelia – you’ll wake Andrew. Anyway, we’ve already got a house.’
‘And he wants to take us on holiday. You will say yes, won’t you?’
Vanessa planted mugs of chocolate on the table. ‘Can you get off here? You’re going to knock the drinks over.’
Cordelia jumped down and pulled a chair close to Vanessa’s. She caught hold of her hands and squeezed them. ‘I’ll love you forever if you do.’
Esme stood behind Vanessa, arm draped round her shoulder. ‘Dad said we could go somewhere like Argentina. Lucy Bates would be dead jealous. She never stopped going on about her holiday in Majorca.’
‘What about Andrew?’ Vanessa asked, keeping her voice light. The last thing she wanted was for Cordelia and Esme to see the panic flapping round her brain like a captive bird. ‘How do you think he’ll feel if we go off on holiday with Gerald?’
‘He can come too,’ Esme said. ‘And Jake. It’ll be great.’
‘Don’t be stupid!’ Cordelia’s voice cut in before Vanessa had a chance to reply. ‘Course they can’t come. It’ll just be the four of us.’
‘I’m not going without Andrew and Jake,’ Esme insisted.
‘You idiot!’ Cordelia turned her back on Esme. ‘Vanessa, Dad said to tell you’ – she looked full of self-importance – ‘he’ll be here at eleven tomorrow.’ She kneaded Vanessa’s hands between her own. ‘He’s going to take you out to some posh restaurant.’
Twenty-two
When Vanessa woke, her head felt heavy, as if she’d swallowed a double dose of sleeping tablets. There was a weight on the side of the bed, and she forced her eyes open. Andrew was sitting watching her.
She twisted her head towards the clock: 09:48. Just over an hour and he’d be here. She struggled to sit up. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’
‘I’m going now,’ Andrew said.
It was impossible to tell from his voice if he knew. ‘Where’s Jake?’ she asked. ‘And the girls should be at school.’
‘Jake’s gone to nursery, and I dropped Cordelia and Esme off before nine.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I didn’t have the heart.’
Vanessa’s eyes flitted about the room: Andrew’s painting of the house on the wall opposite the bed, her pink robe thrown over the chair, her bracelets and beads hanging from the swivel mirror on the chest of drawers. It was so familiar, the fab
ric of her life: why did it all look artificial, like a stage set?
She took a deep breath. ‘Andrew, I need to tell you something.’
‘What?’
‘Last night, when the girls got back from the meal …’ Her eyes slid away from his. ‘They said Gerald had suggested – ’
‘Esme told me.’
He knew. He knew Gerald would be here soon to take her out. He was going to stop her. He wouldn’t let her go. Her chest squeezed with panic, as if giant hands gripped her. ‘What? What did she say?’
Andrew took Vanessa’s hand and placed it on his knee. He ran his fingers over the back of it, and then turned it over and circled her palm. ‘She’s upset. Says she wants to go on holiday with Gerald, but doesn’t want me to be left behind.’
The holiday. It was the holiday Esme had told him about. ‘Of course she doesn’t. She loves you. You’re the only father she knows.’
‘I’m glad someone in the family still cares about me.’
Vanessa pushed herself up on to her knees. She clasped her arms round Andrew’s neck. ‘Don’t say that. We all care.’
‘Do you? Cordelia couldn’t get out of the car quickly enough this morning. She was desperate to tell her mates her father is taking you all to Argentina.’
Vanessa tried to smooth the ridges in Andrew’s forehead with her thumbs. ‘She’s excited to see Gerald again. You know how she’s built him up in her mind to be super-dad.’
‘It’s easy to be super-dad if you’re never here.’
‘We both know that, but she’s sixteen.’
Andrew pulled Vanessa’s hands from his neck. He placed them firmly in her lap. ‘I’ve got to go to work now. We’ll talk about it tonight.’
Vanessa wrapped herself in a towel. The bath water had been as hot as she could stand, but she couldn’t stop shivering. What should she wear? The top she’d bought last week, in a vivid peacock blue with lacy ruffles at the neck and cuff, caught her eye, and her hand lingered on the silky material. No – she wouldn’t dress up. She pulled on a pair of jeans, and an old shirt of Andrew’s that she wore for housework.
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