Unravelling

by Lindsay Stanberry-Flynn

  Julia’s attention is distracted by her colleague’s arrival. ‘Can you give me a hand getting Gerald into bed.’

  The two nurses stand each side of his chair and put their arms round his back.

  ‘I’ll wait outside,’ Vanessa says.

  They don’t answer. They bend over Gerald, easing him out of the chair. ‘It’s okay, Gerald,’ Julia says. ‘We’ll have you comfortable in two ticks.’

  Vanessa hovers by the door. ‘Can I sit with him when he’s in bed?’

  The other nurse glances at her watch. ‘I’d leave it till tomorrow. It’s almost the end of visiting.’ They slide their arms under Gerald’s legs and lift him on to the bed. He still doesn’t open his eyes.

  Vanessa remembers her bag and goes to collect it. She longs to give Gerald a kiss, but the nurses enclose him, seem to seal him in their world.

  Lights illuminate the area outside the hospice entrance, but some distance away, in the shadow of the trees, Vanessa can make out Jake. He’s smoking a cigarette. She starts to walk towards him, her feet crunching on the gravel.

  As she approaches, Jake flicks his cigarette end on to the ground and grinds it under his heel. He doesn’t look at her. He pushes his hands in his pockets and sets off in the direction of the road.

  Twenty-seven

  Vanessa pushes open the shop door. Josie is standing on a chair, draping a knee-length coat over the mannequin. It’s one of Vanessa’s new designs for the winter. Josie looks up and waves.

  Vanessa drops her bag and moves towards her. ‘Josie, I’m so sorry.’ Unable to sleep, she turned off her alarm in the early hours and rummaged in a drawer for the earplugs and eye mask she keeps for just such nights. It was late when she finally surfaced.

  Josie makes a mumbling noise, indicating the pins in her mouth. She pulls back the coat until the two folds at the front fall just as Vanessa wants, and pins the material into place. ‘There! How does that look?’

  Vanessa leans back. ‘Fabulous. I love the purple beret with the turquoise panels in the coat.’

  Josie grins. ‘You’re the one who taught me about colour.’ She jumps down from the chair. ‘Coffee? You look as if you could do with one.’

  Vanessa wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t need a mirror to know she looks washed-out, the skin under her eyes puffy and stained the colour of a new bruise. She sits down at the small desk at the back of the shop.

  Josie sets out mugs and pours boiling water onto the coffee. She passes one to Vanessa.

  ‘Have you been busy?’ Vanessa clasps her hands round the mug. Perhaps the warmth will seep into her frozen heart.

  Josie perches on a high stool. ‘I sold the waistcoat – you know the one?’

  ‘The ribbon yarn?’

  ‘Yeah. The woman saw it on the website and drove over from Bournemouth. She loved it.’

  Vanessa pictures the waistcoat, its intricate lace pattern, the mixture of yarns blending the rich cerise and blackberry colours beautifully – it was one of her favourites from the summer collection. At least she gets something right in her life.

  Her eyes move to the book lying open on the desk. Thursday 16th – phone she reads in Josie’s writing. 8.35: Gerald. 8.40: Cordelia. 8.55: Esme. 9.05: Gerald. 9.20: Cordelia. And so on, a list of names and times stretching down the page. ‘What’s this?’ she asks.

  Josie laughs. ‘You’re in demand with your family this morning.’

  ‘Any messages?’

  ‘Gerald wants to know if you’re all right; Cordelia and Esme both said to ring as soon as possible.’

  ‘I should have realised if I switched my mobile and home phone off, they’d ring the shop.’

  ‘In such numbers?’

  Vanessa feels Josie’s eyes studying her. ‘There was a bit of a crisis last night,’ she says.

  ‘Is Gerald okay?’ Josie sounds alarmed.

  Ever since she met him, Josie’s been reading up on Gerald. She often asks Vanessa: what was Gerald like when he was young? Did you help him with his work? Were you his muse? Once she even said: It must have been so exciting to be married to Gerald Blackstone.

  ‘You’ve spoken to him more recently than me.’ Vanessa looks up and catches a shadow passing over Josie’s face. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,’ she says. ‘Things are difficult at the moment.’

  ‘Anything you want to talk about?’ Josie asks.

  Where to start? Images of Jake hissing abuse into Gerald’s face ripple across Vanessa’s mind. She folds her arms round her waist, resisting the urge to rock backwards and forwards. ‘Not really,’ she says.

  ‘You’re so pale. Do you want to go home and get some sleep?’

  Vanessa pictures her bedroom, cool and quiet, usually the place she seeks sanctuary. But the last thing she needs today is silence, where memories rear up to taunt and provoke. ‘I could do with a walk – if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I don’t expect we’ll be busy today,’ Josie says. ‘And there’s a pattern from the new collection I’m desperate to knit up.’

  Vanessa’s eyes skim the list of phone calls. She should ring them back. No. She gathers up her bag.

  ‘I almost forgot.’ Josie is holding up a piece of paper. ‘I hadn’t got round to putting this call in the book.’

  Vanessa takes the paper. 10.15 – message from Charles Miller: I’m in Lyme Regis. Any chance of lunch? If the mountain won’t come to Mahomet.

  ‘I don’t know what he’s on about. I had to get him to spell Mahomet,’ Josie says.

  Vanessa wants to laugh. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’ She pauses, her hand on the door knob. She looks at Josie, studying a pattern, lips pursed, as she works out the yarn she’ll need. ‘Are you all right?’ she asks. ‘You look tired yourself.’

  Josie glances up. ‘I split up with my boyfriend.’

  ‘God, I’m so selfish!’ Vanessa crosses the shop. She can see now the small lines of strain round Josie’s eyes. ‘When?’

  ‘Last weekend when I was back in Cardiff.’

  ‘Why?’

  Josie pulls a face. ‘He says I spend too much time working. Not enough on him.’

  Vanessa puts her arm round Josie’s shoulder. ‘I was envious of you. Wished I’d been as focused when I was your age: time for work and a relationship.’

  ‘I thought I had it sussed,’ Josie says. ‘Seems I was wrong.’

  ‘Do you want some time off? Perhaps if the two of you had a holiday.’

  Josie shakes her head. A tear trickles down her cheek. ‘No, it’s over.’ Despite the tear, her voice sounds strong. ‘It’s true what they say. You can’t have it all, can you?’

  Vanessa strides down the hill towards the sea. The wind lifts her hair, and its chill weaves inside her clothes, settling itself next to her skin. She pulls her jacket tighter. She packed her cloak away for the summer and can’t face getting it out again – its blackness reminds her too much of last winter, trips to London to see Gerald, or worse, those days when she made herself stay away, days of longing, forlorn in their grey light. Perhaps she’ll knit herself the coat Josie has put on display. She tries out different colours in her mind. Shades of orange or yellow, something vibrant to counteract her dark mood.

  She reaches Marine Parade and inhales deeply. She waits for the sea air to calm her, shift the debris of negative emotions littering her mind. She scrambles up on to the Cobb and stares down at the water on the west side, away from the harbour. The tide is in and the waves are choppy, little kicks of water, dashing at the base of the stone wall. She shifts her gaze to the end of the Cobb, where usually she loves to stand and contemplate the horizon, imagining other worlds, other lives; lives she might have lived. The wind gusts around her, and her feet feel timid on the sloping surface of the wall. Why isn’t the place working its magic today?

  She takes her mobile from her bag and switches it on: 12 missed calls. She scrolls through the list – as expected, a good proportion from her family. A
lmost immediately, the phone rings. She clicks accept.

  ‘At last!’

  Gerald. Her heart gives an answering flip. ‘Hello,’ she says, her voice determinedly neutral. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine. More to the point, how are you? Why have you gone silent on us?’

  Us. There is no us, she wants to say. You gave up the right to us.

  ‘I needed time to think,’ she tells him.

  ‘And? Have you thought?’

  ‘I’m still thinking.’

  He laughs. ‘I hope I’m included in all this brain activity.’

  The wind tugs at her skirt, pushing her off-balance. She steadies herself, darting glances at the churning waves. She’s never felt scared here before.

  ‘Don’t joke, Gerald. After last night … I don’t know what to do about Jake … I don’t even know where he’s gone.’

  ‘Esme phoned – Jake’s back in London, sleeping off a monumental hangover.’

  Vanessa’s legs feel wobbly with relief. Until this moment, her mind was tormented with the worst of imaginings: Jake in hospital, Jake in a police cell … Jake on a mortuary slab, his body broken – like Andrew’s was.

  ‘We need to talk about things, Nessa,’ Gerald says.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Definitely. When are you coming? I know you’re not working.’

  Here we go: the usual arrogance.

  ‘You’ve no idea what I’m doing,’ she snaps.

  ‘The Cobb?’ His voice rises, heightening the question in it.

  Her gaze strays along the length of the harbour wall, its precarious slope, where usually she feels so sure-footed, the grey water below – she’s angry with it for not providing its usual balm.

  ‘Come and see me, Nessa.’ Gerald’s voice is soft in her ear. She can only just hear him over the rushing wind, the cawing seagulls. ‘Now Jake’s forced the subject into the open, I can see the accident’s been skulking in the corner, watching and waiting, ever since we met again.’

  The boats in the harbour rock, their rigging jangling in the wind. Gerald’s right. It’s taken Andrew’s son to make her accept what she’s been hiding from all these years. Her home, the family, work, everything she’s strived for is irrelevant if she can’t confront the dark crater at the centre of it all.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

  ‘I’ll be here when you’re ready,’ Gerald says and rings off.

  Vanessa climbs down from the Cobb and finds a bench to sit on. She rings Esme.

  ‘How’s Jake?’ she asks, tears filling her eyes as she says his name.

  ‘He’s okay. He got the last train back to London last night. I tried to let you know, but your phone was off.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll speak to me?’

  ‘I’d leave it,’ Esme says. ‘He’s still recovering from the half bottle of whisky.’

  ‘He was so angry. I’ve never seen him like it.’

  ‘I know. We were up till the early hours talking.’ Esme gives a little laugh. ‘Him talking, me listening.’

  ‘He hates me, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Probably. At the moment. But he hates Gerald more. I don’t blame him. I’ve never really thought about it from Jake’s point of view.’

  ‘That’s my fault,’ Vanessa says. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed it away, made the accident a taboo subject.’

  ‘It’s not too late.’

  ‘What should I do?’ Vanessa asks.

  Esme snorts. ‘This is a turn around! I’m usually the one asking for help. You’re always so in control.’

  ‘If only.’ Vanessa knows she’s whispering: she can hardly hear her voice herself over the wind and the boats and the gulls. ‘I’m frightened.’

  ‘What did you always tell us?’ Esme asks. ‘The only failure is not trying.’

  Vanessa blinks as her eyes adjust to the soft lighting of the Italian restaurant in Broad Street. The waiter leads her to a table. Charles Miller is waiting, a bottle of white wine and two glasses already on the table. He stands up and she kisses his cheek. It’s smooth and smells of something fruity.

  ‘You look nice,’ she says, after the waiter has taken their order.

  He pulls the purple sweater from his shoulders. ‘Artfully casual,’ he says, straightening the collar of the lilac shirt. ‘All designed to meet with your approval.’

  ‘And it does,’ she assures him. ‘Believe me, it does.’

  He beams across the table at her, and she finds herself beaming back. It’s so easy. There’s an old-fashioned charm about him that is disarming.

  He tells her about his business, how he arranged a meeting in Bournemouth, so that he had an excuse to drive on to Lyme Regis.

  ‘I’m so pleased you rang back,’ he says, as they tuck into plates of smoked salmon risotto, a speciality of the chef. ‘I’ve missed our dinners over the summer.’

  ‘I know, but your calls have a been a tonic.’

  ‘A tonic?’

  ‘Yes, I look forward to – ’

  ‘You make me sound like a prescription from the doctor.’ He picks up his napkin and holds it to his lips.

  ‘You’re so sweet. Everyone should have you on prescription, Charles.’ Some of the tension eases from Vanessa’s shoulders and spine. It was the right decision to meet Charles for lunch. His eyes smiling at her now over the top of his glasses make her feel warm and desirable.

  ‘You do know I’ve always hoped … ’ His forehead creases into ridges. ‘I like you a lot, you know.’

  ‘And I like you,’ she says.

  ‘Enough to have me around on a more permanent basis?’

  ‘I enjoy your company. You have a calmness about you compared with the complications of the rest of my life.’

  ‘That sounds horribly boring.’ Charles gulps down his wine. ‘I can do racy as well, you know.’

  She laughs. ‘I’m sure you can, Charles. But at the moment … ’ She spreads her hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I can’t promise anything.’

  He waits until the waiter’s poured them both some more wine. ‘Tell me about these complications.’

  Vanessa holds the stem of the glass, twisting it round and round. ‘It’s Jake, my son,’ she says. ‘No, it’s Gerald.’

  ‘Ah, Gerald. Your ex-husband.’

  ‘Mm. Actually, it’s not them at all; it’s me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Charles asks.

  ‘Gerald wants us to get married again. But Jake hates him because of the accident.’

  ‘Accident?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I don’t have to be anywhere.’

  ‘Some years after we split up, Gerald came back.’

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ Charles says. ‘He must have been a fool to go in the first place.’

  Vanessa smiles. ‘You’re so lovely.’

  Charles doesn’t take his eyes from her face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Gerald wanted me to go away with him. Leave Andrew and Jake, take the girls and go.’

  ‘Andrew? You mean you’d married again?’

  ‘We weren’t actually married. But we’d lived together for five years. We had Jake together. And he loved Cordelia and Esme, as if he was their father.’

  ‘One of the good guys,’ Charles says.

  ‘That’s what I decided.’ Vanessa lifts the glass to her lips, returns it to the table without drinking. Decided? Why is it so hard to be honest? The scene in the kitchen that evening blazes in her mind: Andrew pulling her arms from his neck, pushing her away from him, his angry question do you love me enough to give him up? Perspiration pricks her skin at the memory: her, shivering, despite the heat in the room; Andrew’s gaze fixed on her as he waited; the image of Gerald’s face burning her eyeballs, the smell of him clinging to her skin, the yearning for him already unbearable. Do you love me enough to give him up? Of course, she remembers saying,
the words too small, too light to contain such a monstrous lie. Of course.

  ‘What happened next?’ The voice across the table is gentle. Vanessa stares at him, surprised to find not Gerald or Andrew sitting opposite her, but Charles. ‘I can’t imagine from what you’ve said that Gerald took the decision well,’ he says.

  ‘I didn’t actually tell him,’ Vanessa says. ‘Andrew met him to let him know I wouldn’t be seeing him again. He could see Cordelia and Esme, but, as far as I was concerned, that was it.’

  ‘Andrew must have been relieved to see the back of him.’

  ‘I never spoke to Andrew again. The car they were in crashed. Gerald escaped with minor injuries; Andrew was killed.’

  Charles doesn’t say anything for a long time. He reaches across the table and takes her hand. His touch is cool and comforting. ‘I’m so sorry to make you relive that. I had no idea.’

  ‘Why should you? The thing is Jake blames Gerald for killing his father.’

  ‘No wonder he hates him.’

  Vanessa pulls her hand away. ‘But Gerald’s ill now. I can’t abandon him, can I?’

  Two clefts form between Charles’ brows. ‘But what about you, Vanessa? What do you want?’

  ‘Not to hurt Jake, but I need to resolve things with Gerald before … well … before ... ’

  ‘Do you love Gerald?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hated him for years, and now I can hardly tell the difference.’ She hesitates. She likes Charles enough to want to explain her feelings to him, feelings she’s been trying to untangle herself ever since she and Gerald met again all those months ago. The notion of their great love affair sustained her over the years. Even when she was at her happiest with Andrew, the thought that somewhere in the world Gerald was walking, talking, working, thinking, perhaps about her, created a bubble of excitement in her.

  She feels Charles’ eyes on her. She moves the salt and pepper mills, circling them round each other. ‘When we were young, I loved Gerald so much. Sometimes I thought my heart would burst. He was exhilarating. The best sculptor of his generation, people said. The room came to life when he walked in. But it was hard to be in love with someone so brilliant. Especially in those days, when it was difficult to be an independent woman anyway. Sometimes it was as if I was invisible, and I hated him.’