Christian held my damp hands and listened to the whole miserable story.
‘Shit,’ was his verdict.
‘Exactly,’ I agreed. ‘It couldn’t be worse. Poor Mary.’
Christian squeezed my hand a little tighter. ‘Your empathy for Mary is all very worthy,’ he said gently. ‘But it’s about four years overdue, and it’s no use to anyone now. I mean, you’ve been risking an outcome like this every time you and Geoff met.’
‘What can I do to fix it?’
‘Nothing now. What you certainly mustn’t do is go back to him out of a feeling of guilt.’
‘You don’t like him, do you?’ I said – something that had never occurred to me before.
‘I don’t dislike him. He’s a good GP. But you could do so much better.’
‘One of the things that attracted me to him was that he wouldn’t ever try to take me away from you.’
Christian looked horrified. ‘That should never have been a consideration. All that skulking about. Keeping him a secret from Mum and Dad. You’ve sacrificed too much for me, Esther.’
‘Why didn’t you ever say anything before?’
‘No point. No one ever listens to advice in matters of the heart.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Wait here,’ he said, ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He left me sitting there, puzzled, while he went into the study. Presently he returned holding a folded piece of paper, which he handed over with an air almost of apology. It was a cheque for £50,000 and it was made out to me.
‘What the hell’s this?’ I demanded.
‘It’s for you. To help with moving out.’
‘You don’t owe me any money, Christian. It’s your house. I’m just a squatter here.’
‘No. You’ve contributed plenty over the years. I don’t mean financially. If we were married, for instance, I’d have to buy you out,’ he said.
‘This is Dad’s bright idea, isn’t it?’
‘We did talk about it, but I’d already decided.’
‘So this is my divorce settlement?’ I said, looking at the row of noughts on the cheque in wonderment.
Christian laughed. ‘If you like.’
‘I don’t want it, Christian.’
‘You may not want it, but you certainly need it. And you’re entitled to it – and more probably.’
‘How can you possibly afford to give away this sort of money?’
‘I’ve been earning all this time without any mortgage to pay. I’ve been saving and investing since I got my first wage slip. Plus, Elaine’s got a house and savings of her own. Don’t worry about us.’
I put my arms round his neck and he patted my back. ‘If only all divorces could be like this,’ I said.
Handwritten envelopes are the only kind worth opening, Dad always said. This one must have landed on the mat after dark as it was there first thing next morning, before the regular post arrived, and I’d been awake since dawn and heard nothing.
Dear Esther
Please try not to be angry when you read this: I couldn’t think of another way. Maybe you won’t be angry: maybe you’ll just be relieved. I don’t know.
What I told you this morning was a lie: I haven’t left Mary, or told her anything about us. I’m sorry for the distress it caused you. I only said it because I honestly hadn’t a clue from our conversation in the car what it was you really wanted. I thought if I told you there were no obstacles to our being together, I would know from your reaction whether it was our situation you’d had enough of or just me. Now I know. Thank you.
In case you’re wondering whether I would have gone ahead and left Mary if your response had been different, the answer is yes. But that’s irrelevant now. I hope you will spare me a kind thought now and then. I don’t regret the time we spent together, and I don’t feel any anger or bitterness towards you, Esther, only tremendous love and tremendous sadness.
Geoff
45
THE TEMPERATURE DROPPED and the weather forecast promised ‘serious snow’ for the end of the week, which caused Elaine some anxiety on behalf of her acer, and sent Christian into a mood of despondency. A heavy fall would represent too great a challenge for the wheelchair and leave him imprisoned indoors until there was a thaw. As one not personally inconvenienced by it, I couldn’t help harbouring a disloyal excitement about the prospect of snow, tempered on this occasion by concern that bad driving conditions might deter Donovan from calling in. But by Saturday morning, in spite of icy air and a mushroom-coloured sky, not a flake had fallen.
When I warned Christian about the intended visit he was infuriatingly non-committal. ‘It’s you he’s coming to see. Will you be in?’ I asked him, while he whipped up some pancake batter to christen the skillet.
‘I don’t know. We’re supposed to be going out looking at wedding venues sometime,’ he said, vaguely. ‘Depends how long it takes Elaine to get ready.’ Her protracted preparations and resistance to chivvying were already the subject of much affectionate teasing by Christian.
‘Can’t you wait till after lunch?’ I asked. ‘It’ll look funny if you’re not here.’
‘Why didn’t you agree a time?’ Christian wanted to know. ‘I don’t want to hang around all day.’
‘It was just a casual arrangement,’ I tried to explain.
‘So he may not turn up at all?’
‘Possibly.’
He rolled his eyes.
In the event, Donovan arrived mid-morning while Elaine was at Waitrose and I was taking an overseas call from Mum. She had heard about Christian’s engagement from Dad and wanted the full story. ‘What’s she like? Is she reliable? Does she know what she’s taking on?’ she said, firing off questions in threes to save money. There was a disconcerting delay on the line, so each exchange sounded hesitant and unspontaneous, as though something was being held back. In addition, Mum’s hearing had deteriorated in the last few years, and I was reticent about bellowing my opinions, however anodyne, within earshot of Christian. ‘Why don’t you ask him about it?’ I suggested.
Silence. ‘I will in a minute. I want to talk to you. Have you decided where you’ll live?’
‘No.’
Silence. ‘You could come out here. They always need volunteers, even unskilled ones.’
‘Thanks.’ The irony got lost somewhere between Caterham and Nepal.
Silence. ‘Don’t thank me. It’s no picnic, I can tell you.’ She talked some more about life at Dhankuta. She was getting over a bout of bronchitis and only just starting to feel well again. Her knee was misbehaving. She promised to come home for the wedding, whenever it happened to be. ‘Put Christian on if he’s there,’ she said at last. ‘Let’s hear the good news from him.’
When I went into the study to give him the phone I found Donovan was already there, being given a demonstration of the latest PC game Christian was developing. They must have rattled through the polite ice-breaking protocol in double-quick time, if they’d bothered with it at all, as they were now deep in one of those technical discussions about computers that Christian enjoys so much.
‘It’s got to be as compulsive as Tomb Raider, but less arbitrary,’ he was explaining. ‘The problem-solving needs to be more logic-based.’
‘Like Myst?’ Donovan suggested, browsing the shelves on which Christian’s encyclopaedic range of games was displayed.
‘Yeah, but with three hundred and sixty-degree view and completely free walk-through. Plus film-quality graphics, and a really strong narrative. So it’s a bit like being inside a classic thriller.’
‘But with infinite possible outcomes?’
‘Yeah, exactly. Not much to ask is it?’ They turned to me expectantly.
‘Mum,’ I said, passing Christian the handset. Donovan and I politely withdrew to the hallway.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ I replied, and with that two-word exchange I suddenly knew with absolute certainty that it was me he had come to see, and that it wou
ldn’t have mattered to him, or me, whether Christian had been there or not.
‘Are you fully recovered from your ordeal?’ he asked. I looked at him blankly. I felt as though I’d been through so many in the last week I wasn’t sure which one he meant. ‘Your hand?’ he suggested. ‘Your shoulder?’
‘Oh, yes. Fine.’ I wriggled them to prove it. On the settle next to me lay the replacement jumper, still in its bag. I passed it across. ‘I put that top of yours through the wash,’ I said, absolutely deadpan. ‘It’s come up quite well.’
Donovan looked at it and then me, and laughed. ‘I can’t decide what you and Christian remind me of,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Hansel and Gretel perhaps.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure. You’re like something from a fairytale. Brother and sister living together happily ever after in your little gingerbread house.’
‘There’s nothing mystical about it,’ I said. ‘I’m just the lodger.’
‘I can’t put my finger on it,’ he went on. ‘It’s as if you’ve made your childhood go on and on. You both even look young for your age.’
‘I suppose we are a bit juvenile at times,’ I admitted, self-conscious all of a sudden. I was remembering the way Geoff had laughed at me once at the Coliseum when I’d folded up my coat and sat on it, like a child, to get a better view of the stage – even though I’m five foot six.
‘No need to be apologetic. It’s quite appealing.’
I considered the dampening effect of the word ‘quite’.
‘Are you busy today?’ Donovan was saying.
‘Busy? Well, there’s the gingerbread house to clean, and then I have to make dinner for the elves . . .’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Donovan. ‘I’ve got another garden to look at, down in Sussex. Do you want to come for the ride? We could get some lunch on the way.’
‘Do you always work on Saturdays?’
‘I work all the time if there’s work to do. You lose so many days to bad weather in winter, plus the dark evenings, that you have to.’
‘All right then.’
Christian came out of the study, shaking his head. ‘Mum is so cheerful,’ he said, with heavy sarcasm.
‘Go on. What did she say about you getting married?’
‘She said, “Congratulations! Have you made a will?”’
‘Shall we take my car?’ I offered, as I put my coat and scarf on. I was remembering the Spartan comforts of the truck.
Donovan shrugged. ‘If you prefer.’
But when we got outside I saw, parked behind my elderly Ford Fiesta, a new-looking Audi TT, shining like a polished stone. Even Christian came out to have a gawp. ‘You always did have bigger, better toys,’ I grumbled.
‘When I found out my wife and I couldn’t have children my immediate reaction was to go out and get a sports car.’
‘Logical,’ said Christian.
‘Unfortunately hers was to go out and get a new husband.’
‘Logical again.’
I walked round it admiringly. ‘Gardening must pay better than waitressing,’ I observed.
‘Well, when I said “gardening” . . .’ Donovan replied. ‘I mean, there’s more to it than raking up leaves.’
Christian waved us off from the driveway, one eye out for Elaine’s return: they were going off themselves later, scouring the county for a wedding venue.
‘It’s a designing and landscaping business, really,’ he explained, once we were on our way. ‘My sister Pippa – Dad and Suzie’s daughter, I don’t know if you ever met her – she does the designing, and the planting plan, and I do all the actual work.’
‘A slightly Hansel-and-Gretelish arrangement, if you don’t mind my saying.’
‘You see – we’ve got more in common than you think.’
We stopped for lunch at the bell in outwood. The Sky had a sickly yellowish tinge, and as we crossed the car park a flurry of dusty snow blew up from nowhere. Donovan insisted on paying for lunch, and dismissed all my counter-insistence. Short of having a stand-up row at the bar, there was nothing I could do. Another debt to be settled later, I thought. As I watched him laying into his gammon and chips I had an involuntary flashback to those all-day breakfasts he’d bought with Aunty Barbara’s money, at the pavement café near St Paul’s. But reminiscing is a risky indulgence, and I wasn’t going to be the one to unleash its mischief.
‘I’m such a coward,’ Donovan suddenly announced.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘When Christian opened the door, I just said, “Hi, good to see you.” And he said, “Great to see you. Come in.” And it was so obvious that the last time I saw him he was walking and now he’s not, and I never even mentioned it. I feel terrible.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘I’m sure Christian was much happier talking about computer games. Which is something he certainly can’t do with me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. In fact I think the reason he doesn’t like meeting people is because he doesn’t want to go through the whole “how I cope” rigmarole every time.’
‘Would you say he’s reconciled to his . . . condition?’
‘Not completely. He still reads up all the latest research on the internet, and he still hopes they’ll find a cure. But he’s not as consumed by it as he used to be.’ Especially not now, I thought, with a surge of affection for Elaine. I couldn’t help thinking how different it felt, sitting here openly with Donovan, instead of skulking in the corner of the George and Dragon with Geoff. But this again was something I couldn’t share.
‘Where are we actually going?’ I ventured to ask as we emerged from the smoky warmth of the pub to the raw air outside. Fine wet snow was falling vertically now, melting as it landed, refusing to settle. It was a relief to get back in the car.
‘Ardingly.’
‘I’ve heard of that. Why have I heard of it?’
‘There’s quite a famous public school there.’
‘That’s right. Didn’t Wart go there?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And you’re going to look at a garden.’
‘Correct. You can give me your advice.’
‘What do you want my advice for? I haven’t got a clue about gardening. I can hardly tell a daffodil from a dandelion.’
‘You’re an artist. You must have a good aesthetic sense. I know you have – I’ve got one of your books.’
‘Have you? What on earth would you be buying children’s books for?’ I asked, realising too late that this wasn’t a terribly tactful remark. Donovan was oblivious.
‘Because it had your name on the front.’
I laughed at the unexpected compliment, and couldn’t for a moment think of any suitable reply. ‘I’m surprised you remembered it,’ I said at last.
Donovan gave me a pitying look: he wasn’t even going to dignify such a craven piece of fishing with a reply.
‘I used to work there,’ he said, a little later, as we passed a sign for Wakehurst Place. ‘Nice job. Terrible pay.’ We were deep in the Sussex countryside by now and appeared to have left the snow behind.
‘You always said you wouldn’t ever work in an office.’
‘And I never have. I’m a man of my word, you see.’
On the outskirts of Ardingly we turned right down a stony track past the church. It reminded me of the approach to the Old Schoolhouse, before it was done over and turned into luxury flats. The vicar was just coming through the gate with a fat Labrador on a lead. He gave the car a cheery wave, which Donovan returned.
‘Friendly place,’ I said. We bumped down the track as far as it would take us and stopped just beyond the last of a row of terraced cottages. Donovan’s truck was already parked outside. I must be very trusting or very dim, because I didn’t even put two and two together when someone emerged from one of the neighbouring cottages to put a milkbottle on the doorstep and called out, ‘Hello’. It was only when Donovan produced a s
et of keys and let himself into the house rather than ringing the doorbell that it dawned on me he owned the place.
‘You live here!’ I accused him.
‘I never said I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘Are you coming in?’
I stepped into a large, open-plan living room, extending the length and breadth of the ground floor. At the far end was a kitchen area with a door into the garden, and against the party wall was an open-tread wooden staircase. There were polished oak boards on the floor and the walls were bare brickwork and white plaster, hung with a variety of prints and engravings. Two old red brocade sofas sat opposite each other across a stout coffee table. In the large stone fireplace an arrangement of logs and paper spills had been laid in the grate but not lit. The floor, the window ledges, the lintels, the rafters, everything was pleasantly wonky. It smelled of fresh paint and brickdust.
‘Goodness, this is grown-up,’ I said.
‘Well, I’m thirty-seven. What were you expecting? Thunderbirds wallpaper?’ He put a match to the firelighter in the grate and waited until the nest of newspaper sticks had caught.
‘It’s very tidy,’ I said. ‘You don’t seem to have thirty-seven years’ worth of clobber.’
‘That’s divorce for you. My ex-wife got custody of the clobber. I kept the car. Anyway, I’ve only just bought this place, so I haven’t had time to trash it yet. I’ve been doing up the inside in every spare moment for the last three months. I haven’t even started on the garden yet. Come and have a look.’
He opened the back door and we stepped out into a wilderness of knee-high grass and thistles. Its position on the end of the terrace meant that the cottage benefited from a disproportionately large garden, extending around three sides of the house. In the middle of the lawn was an ancient pear tree, not yet in bloom, and in the corner, sagging against the boundary fence, was a dilapidated lean-to with a moss-spattered roof. Far below in a shallow valley I could see a cloud of cold, brittle trees, and the metallic glint of the reservoir. ‘What a lovely view,’ I exclaimed. ‘And it’s such a big garden for the size of the house.’
In a Good Light Page 39