by Fanny Blake
Eve shook her head. ‘OK. I accept all that. Everything that was going on would stress anyone out. And what about Anna?’
‘I haven’t seen her. She beetled back to London with Charlie first thing yesterday. Didn’t he say? Nothing like a free lift. I dread to think what state they were in after the party. I don’t think they even went to bed. But apparently Rick needed her at work in the afternoon. I’ll talk to her when I’m back in London.’
‘And you?’
‘I don’t know.’
Eve could see tears welling in Rose’s eyes.
‘I’ve learned so much about Dan in the last eight months. I thought I knew him through and through, but turns out he wasn’t the person I thought he was at all. Except . . . at the same time, he was. He was a great dad to the girls. OK, he had a short fuse and could be bloody stubborn, but they’re hardly crimes. And he was a great husband to me. What do I feel?’ She gave a huge sigh. ‘I don’t know any more. Exhausted. Betrayed. Angry. Confused. Forgiving. Disappointed. All those things. More than anything, I’m furious with him for not being here to talk about it, and explain. That’s what I want most of all.’
Eve reached out a hand to her. Rose took it. They sat there for a few minutes in silence. There was nothing Eve could say. Eventually Rose swung her legs off the sofa and sat up straight. The effort it took for her to smile was plain. ‘I’ll probably come back here in three or four months’ time. I’m thinking of selling the London house and getting a flat so I keep a toehold there. Jess and Adam’s suggestion has decided me, and anyway, I’m rattling around that old place on my own.’
Eve studied her friend, impressed by her apparent composure. ‘Don’t rush into anything. It’s still early days.’
’The funny thing is,’ Rose continued, as if she’d read Eve’s mind, ‘knowing the truth is better than agonising about who she was. I’ve wondered about her for months and sometimes, however hard I tried to get her out of my mind, I thought the fact that I would never know would drive me mad. Even though she turned out to be Simon, it’s like a weight’s been taken away. Can you understand that?’
Eve reached for her cup, shaking her head. How could Rose be so calm and rational? Where were the rage and the pain of Saturday? If she were in her position, she would be shouting and screaming, infuriated and devastated by the betrayal of both men.
‘Look.’ Rose tried again. ‘I don’t want to discuss it with Simon. And I probably never will. I can’t discuss it with Dan. So I’ve got to accept that there was a part of him I didn’t know about. We do all have our secret compartments that we don’t let everyone see. Simon said he wasn’t the first, that Dan had slept with another man – or maybe even men – in Edinburgh. But I don’t want to think about that. I can’t. Not yet, anyway.’
To Eve’s relief, their conversation was brought to a sudden halt by the sound of the door opening. They turned to find two couples who had evidently braved the weather coming in to order tea. Bedraggled and damp but chatting cheerfully, they brought with them the smell of the outside. Jess was right behind them, directing the hotel porter, who was hefting an armful of logs. Whatever was going on inside, she put on a good professional show, though her red-rimmed eyes betrayed how upset she was.
‘I know it’s the middle of May, but we need a fire in here to cheer the place up. You were lucky the weather held till this morning,’ she said to Eve, as she waited for the fire to be laid to her satisfaction. ‘Where’s Terry?’
‘Gone for a nap . . .’ Eve paused as a thought struck her. ‘I hope.’ She and Rose exchanged a look, missed by Jess. He wouldn’t have snuck off to place a bet, would he? Not after all that had been said. He wouldn’t dare.
‘Good for him. I wouldn’t mind one myself, except I’ve got to work. But all that’s going to change soon.’ She began to stroke Rose’s hair. ‘Isn’t it, Mum?’
‘What? When I come to be your dogsbody?’ Rose looked up at Jess, smiling. ‘I can hardly wait. By the way, did you speak to the builders, or shall I?’
Jess’s expression hardened. ‘I told them there would be a new project manager coming on board. There’s stuff they can get on with. I also had a call from him: Roger Fanshaw. He’s coming down on Thursday and we’ll take it from there.’ Her expression brightened as she looked at her aunt. ‘What about you, Eve? Couldn’t you come down for a proper holiday, now Mum’s going to be here?’
‘I’m not sure what my plans are at the moment.’ Eve noticed Rose give her a quick sidelong glance. ‘I’ve got a lot on my plate and I’m not sure how things are going to pan out.’
‘But I thought you said the agency was back on track now May’s got her feet under the desk.’
‘She has made a massive difference, that’s true. It’s so wonderful having someone who wants to do her job well, but who’s ambitious for something else – her own writing. She’s not trying to compete with me in the way Amy did. But I’ve got to find someone to replace Rufus. His going leaves quite a hole and I’m still having to work at convincing people that it’s not a sign that the agency’s adrift.’
But both Eve and Rose knew it wasn’t the agency that was providing Eve’s biggest headache. Nor was it likely to be the biggest catalyst for change. Some secrets were too dangerous to be shared.
July
28
Rose was facing the usual Saturday-night TV toss-up between an interminable search for a musical superstar, a pointless game-show or the repeat of a tired old detective drama. None of them appealed, but any one of them would pass the time equally well. Mindless entertainment was better than none because it required no effort and stopped her thinking. How Daniel would have disapproved. ‘Why don’t you go and paint something?’ he would suggest. Anything rather than wasting valuable time. Jess’s old bedroom, with its north-facing window, made a great studio. The easel was up, her paints were sorted into colour boxes, her smock hung on the door. Clearing out what was left of her daughter’s childhood detritus had given her something to do for a day or two, but in fact Rose had yet to lift a paintbrush since she came back from Cornwall. She had spent the subsequent weeks in a ghastly kind of paralysis, unable to muster the energy to do much more than wander from sofa to chair to kitchen to bed, every step an effort, tortured by the questions she was desperate but unable to ask Daniel.
She had put her marriage under a microscope, twisting and turning it every which way, trying to make sense of what it had been, of who Daniel had really been and of her own responsibility for what had happened. But without his contribution, she would never be clear about what they had really had together. The idea of living without knowing was making her utterly miserable.
She picked up the TV guide, convinced she could find something better to watch if she tried harder. She ignored the tear that dropped on to the paper, smudging across the Sky film channels: old films, films she’d seen, films she didn’t want to see. Another tear joined the first. She wiped her eyes, resigned to these unpredictable bursts of crying, triggered by anything as trivial as her frustration with the TV programming schedules. That morning, dropping a book and losing her place had been enough to set her off. But what did it matter, as long as there was no one else there to see?
Only six o’clock. Every day took twice as long as it ever had when Dan was alive. On her own, with nothing in particular to look forward to, the hours dragged by. She had friends she could phone, but they were married, with weekends packed full of social commitments to which, now she was on her own, she was rarely invited. The flurry of sympathy and support had inevitably died away as time passed, and they had returned to their own lives, confident they had done their bit and relieved to get back to normal. Despite everything, she did miss Simon, or at least the things that they’d done together. Getting used to being on her own was a long old haul. She had read enough and talked to enough people to know that she had to be patient. But boy, was it easier said than done.
As she washed up the grill pan, tears ran unchecked over he
r cheeks. Brokenly humming ‘Abide With Me’ didn’t help. Earlier that afternoon, walking round Hampstead Heath had taken her mind off Daniel for a welcome couple of hours. But alone again, her thoughts homed right back to him, and to Simon. She reached for the tissues by the toaster, just one of the boxes she’d placed at strategic points around the house. She blew her nose, then dried the pan, wiping her hands on her jeans. Without thinking, she picked up one of the photos that she’d recently dug out of an old album. These and memories were all she had left of Dan. But did either of them represent the truth? She had no way of knowing. Here, they had been caught laughing together just after Eve and Terry’s Labrador puppy had taken a surprise bite out of seven-year-old Anna’s doughnut. She stared into Daniel’s eyes, trying to read into them something that would explain what she now knew about him. But for all they shone with laughter, they remained unfathomable.
‘What was going on in your head?’ she whispered. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, and why aren’t you here to bloody well sort this all out? I don’t know what to think any more.’
As she replaced the photo, the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Through the spy hole she saw Anna, pushing her hair off her face. She’d obviously come straight from work in her uniform of green polo shirt and mud-spattered jeans.
‘Have you been crying again?’ Anna asked, the moment they separated from their embrace. She peered at Rose’s face, clearly not going to be content until she got the truth.
‘I’m fine now you’re here.’ Rose waited till Anna had undone her muddy Doc Martens and left them by the door, then took her hand and pulled her into the living room. ‘Now, to what do I owe this honour?’
‘Nothing really.’ Anna threw herself down in the nearest chair. ‘Just wanted to see how you’re doing.’
Since she had told Anna about Simon and Daniel, her daughter had been more supportive of her than Rose would ever have expected. Over the weeks, Anna’s initial shock became outrage and anger at her father’s betrayal of them. Eventually those feelings were being replaced by a genuine sadness for her father, sympathy for him having to live a lie. She and Jess had been brought together by their concern for Rose and how she was faring. She had spent long evenings with Rose airing their feelings, going round in circles as they tried to make some sort of sense of what had happened.
But this time Rose sensed that there was something else. Anna was so transparent. She was keeping something back, but Rose bet it wouldn’t be there for long. She could wait.
‘Tea?’ She stood by the fireplace, straightening the candles and propping up the single invitation that sat there, to Eve and Terry’s twenty-fifth. On second thoughts, she took it and dropped it in the bin. In the mirror, she barely recognised her reflection – a weary-looking old woman stared back. She rubbed her cheeks to bring some colour to them.
‘Love one. I’ll get them.’ Anna jumped to her feet and left Rose fiddling while she went to make the tea. Returning silently in her socks, she put the tray down on that day’s unopened newspaper, then came up behind her mother and hugged her tight. Their reflections gazed back at them, emphasising their similarities – the tip-tilted nose, the defined bone structure, the boyishness – and their differences – Anna outdoorsy, tanned and healthy, Rose pale and tired.
‘Mum, we know what’s going on and we’re worried about you.’ Typically, she went straight to the point.
‘What? You and Jess?’ Rose was pleased to hear they had kept the peace. If the shared knowledge of Dan’s betrayal had caused a truce, then it was a small consolation that at least something good had come from it.
‘Of course. I do still think she can be beyond difficult, but Dad and Simon . . .’ She let their names fill the silence. ‘Well, how could we not talk about that and about you?’ She squeezed Rose and kissed her cheek.
‘And what did you conclude?’ Rose was on the verge of tears again. She tore a tissue from the nearby box and blew her nose.
Anna squeezed her again and passed her a second tissue. ‘Well, I’m afraid, that somehow we’ve all got to find a way of moving on. You can’t hide yourself away like this for ever.’
Ah, the easy acceptance of youth. But Rose couldn’t help smiling. ‘Why don’t you say exactly what you mean, darling?’ She sat down and took her mug. Keep Calm and Drink Tea, advised the caption.
‘OK, well perhaps that was a bit blunt. But you know what I mean.’ Anna leaned forward and scrutinised her face close-up.
‘You make it sound so easy.’ The hot tea burned the roof of Rose’s mouth. She returned the mug to the tray.
‘But you know I’m right really, don’t you?’ Anna insisted, sitting opposite her. ‘What’s done’s done. We can’t bring Dad back. And even if he did have a fling with Simon, what’s the betting that’s all it was? A stupid mid-life crisis moment that meant nothing. Plenty of middle-aged men have affairs to prove to themselves they’ve still got it. So his was with a man? We’ve got to make ourselves believe it doesn’t matter. I know it’s impossibly hard, but we’ve got to try, otherwise we’ll go under. Even St Jess is on her way to believing that. We’ve got to take our anger, put it in one circle of a figure eight, then cut the join and let it float away from us.’
Rose gave a watery smile. That therapist again, no doubt.
‘And you’ve got to as well.’
‘But it does matter,’ Rose protested. The fact that Daniel had chosen a man instead of her mattered dreadfully, although she wasn’t exactly sure why. In some ways it should have made it easier. ‘I can’t have been the wife he wanted, can I? Perhaps he could have been happy with someone else all along.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘another man’.
‘Mum, come on.’ Anna’s no-nonsense approach was nothing if not bracing. ‘If he’d wanted that, he’d have left you a long time ago. Don’t think like that. You’ll go mad. Try to remember him for what he was to us. A bloody difficult old bugger at times . . .’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Wrong word! But he was Dad. And how awful it must have been for him not to be able to come clean with us. Don’t punish yourself. There’s no point.’
‘That’s so easy to say.’ Rose envied her daughter’s robust attitude to life, which had been so effectively fostered by those stints in therapy. If only she could muster the same resilience. But perhaps with the girls’ support, and with Eve’s . . . who knew what superhuman effort she might be capable of? And what would Daniel want her to do? She thought she knew the answer.
‘Have you heard from Simon?’
‘He wrote me a letter, you know.’ She could recite every miserable word by heart, but the same three stuck at the front of her mind – he loved you. For some reason, she hadn’t thrown it away but kept it tucked into the incriminating Rigoletto libretto that she’d brought home and kept on the top shelf of the bookcase. ‘But not since.’
‘Quite odd, his friendship with you,’ Anna observed, thoughtful. ‘But then I suppose you have got loads in common – apart from Dad, I mean.’ Her hand shot to her mouth again. ‘God, sorry. I don’t seem to be able to say quite the right thing.’
She looked so appalled with herself that Rose had to sympathise. ‘But we do, or rather we did,’ she conceded. ‘I enjoyed his being around. He made me feel safe, not so alone. Good timing, I guess.’
‘Jess misses him at Trevarrick. She says Roger’s nothing like as good – even though he must be referring back to Simon. Unless he’s removed himself from the job completely.’
What was this? Surely they didn’t want her to let Jess reinstate him? That wasn’t going to happen. However much she loved Trevarrick and wanted the renovations to go ahead as planned, she could never accept Simon’s presence there again. ‘Well, she’ll have to manage, I’m afraid.’
‘OK. Keep your wig on.’ Anna patted the air in a calming gesture. ‘I just thought I’d warn you. But I did come to talk to you about something else as well.’
‘I had a feeling.’ Rose hazarded a guess that they were ab
out to change the subject back to Anna. Her daughter was obviously building herself up to saying something momentous. And here it came.
‘I slept with Rick.’ Now Anna’s eyes were welling up, and Rose passed her a tissue. ‘I shouldn’t have.’
‘Oh Anna, why not?’ Touched that Anna wanted to confide in her, Rose couldn’t see a problem. Rick seemed a perfectly nice guy, and it was time Anna had someone in her life at last. Then a thought struck her. ‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’
‘Mum! For God’s sake. At the grand old age of thirty-one, I have got the hang of contraception. Nooo,’ she wailed, impatient with Rose for not catching on. ‘It’s because we work together.’
‘So?’ Rose still didn’t understand. ‘Dad and I worked at Trevarrick together at the beginning. Why’s that a problem? We had some great times.’ She had remembered as many of them as she could since his death.
‘That was different.’ Anna’s impatience showed. ‘You were married. Rick and I aren’t. If we fall out, how’s that going to affect the business? It could mean disaster.’
Rose was mystified. ‘Why should you fall out? If you like each other . . .’
‘It was one night, that’s all.’ Anna spelled it out slowly for her. ‘And he’s got a girlfriend.’
‘Oh.’ Rose wasn’t sure what to say next.
‘We had a couple of drinks to celebrate finishing a big landscaping job. Liz was away, so I asked him back to the flat and, well . . . you know . . . Oh God. If only I could undo everything.’