‘It can come out of the blue. I suppose you realize that, now you’ve got no structure to your day, it will be very easy to let yourself go? Resist it,’ she advised. ‘I’ve done that, been there with Simon.’
Fee took her cue, relieved to change the subject. ‘How is he?’ she asked, attempting to clear a chair of junk so that she could sit down.
‘Brilliant,’ Gill’s voice sounded only slightly shrill. ‘He’s happy as muck. He’s finally got a project off the ground – a series of five-minute films for television. He’s asking famous people which building they like, then shoving in a bit of history. A firm of architects has also asked him if he’ll join as a partner, so everything’s just fine, couldn’t be better, it’s absolutely marvellous – for him,’ she added bitterly.
Fee decided she couldn’t handle her own resignation and an exploration of Gill’s reasons to be bitter on the same day, so she remained silent. She noticed that Gill had grown her hair so that it looked not unlike, well, Imogen Banks’s hairstyle. And she had moved into a far stronger look. Now she was wearing a shocking-pink shirt and pink and black leggings. The overall impression was that of a quite glamorous presenter of a Channel 4 show on do-it-yourself.
‘I’ve never thanked you for the time we stayed at your flat, have I?’ Gill asked, pouring tea and offering biscuits.
‘Oh, you did,’ Fee corrected her, preparing herself for the sting in this tale. Gill smiled. It was a touch condescending but then again, Fee told herself, perhaps she was behaving more sensitively than usual today.
‘I never thanked you for the glimpse you gave me of what life would be like on my own.’ Gill shuddered involuntarily.
‘That bad?’
‘Bad but manageable,’ she surprised Fee by replying. ‘It made me realize that if things do get absolutely unbearable between Simon and me, then I wouldn’t totally collapse as a divorcee.’
She paused. ‘The trouble is, trust has gone between us. That’s like taking the foundations away from a building.’
She handed Fee a cup and sighed wearily. ‘Still, looking on the bright side, I’ve come out of this learning a few lessons. I’m aware that I’ve taken Simon and the kids for granted. When I realized that Percy preferred to be with you – and Simon preferred to be with Imogen, and, for that matter, that I preferred to be with that hideous man Steve at the singles night than on my own, it was a bit of a revelation.
‘Now I know that I couldn’t be without Percy or Simon. Or, rather, I wouldn’t be happy knowing that they were with anyone else but me so I’m determined to make more of an effort. Of course, they’ve got to do their share too . . . Funny business, love, isn’t it? The rules seem to change all the time.’
Later, Fee recounted the conversation on the telephone to Claire, who was about to leave on a business trip to Ireland. She was dismissive.
‘I don’t call that love; I call that possessiveness,’ she said. ‘Strange how some people can’t tell the difference. Possession is nine-tenths of the real reason for divorce.’
Early on Friday evening, in the video rental shop, Fee told Percy that she was as stubborn as her mother. They had argued for fifteen minutes about which videos they should hire. Percy wanted a Certificate 15.
‘But you’re only seven,’ Fee argued.
‘Nearly eight,’ Percy countered.
‘I’ll do a deal,’ Fee offered. ‘You can have two PGs instead.’
‘Done,’ Percy said.
Ten minutes after dumping her overnight bag in Fee’s bedroom, Percy was sitting on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, pizza on her lap, video whizzing on fast forward through the ads and previews.
‘You have no idea what it’s like to have a bit of peace and quiet,’ she said as Fee came in with a tray holding two Cokes, tomato sauce and napkins.
Fee ruffled Percy’s hair affectionately. As she did so, there was a knock on the door.
‘Here we go again,’ Percy said resignedly. ‘I knew it wouldn’t last.’
An unlikely trio, Edward and Shona Spannier and Imogen Banks, stood on Fee’s doorstep.
‘It’s my fault,’ Imogen blurted out.
‘Yes, it probably is,’ Fee answered coldly, still smarting from the unwanted press coverage Imogen had orchestrated.
‘No, I mean it,’ Imogen insisted, and walked past Fee into the kitchen followed by the Spanniers.
‘It’s my fault,’ she repeated, pacing up and down in front of the cooker. ‘I warned all of you that I wasn’t to be trusted . . .’
Edward Spannier sat down heavily at the kitchen table. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to no one in particular.
‘You’re sorry?’ Fee repeated, now completely flummoxed.
Shona looked at Fee bleakly. ‘They’re in love,’ she explained. ‘Edward and Imogen came to tell me. It’s the first time in our entire marriage that Edward has owned up to an affair and taken responsibility for it, so I know it’s serious.’
‘We’re suited, Edward and I,’ Imogen began, as if Fee had requested an explanation. ‘The textbooks say that you tend to fall for people who are a replica of your inner soul. And, well, basically, Edward and I have discovered we’re as badly behaved as each other. That’s why I know it’s going to work.’
‘So why come to me?’ Fee asked.
‘It was Shona’s idea,’ Imogen said.
‘I want you to tell her what kind of a man Edward is. You know what he’s really like, don’t you Fee?’ Shona pleaded.
Fee sat down next to her. ‘But I thought you and Edward had agreed on a working arrangement for a marriage. You live your life; he lives his?’
Tears welled in Shona’s eyes and Fee felt like shaking her. ‘It sounds all right in theory, but in practice it’s . . . it’s . . . it’s horrible. Tell her what Teddy is like, please, Fee.’
‘Even if I did, do you honestly think she’d listen?’ Fee asked gently. Then she turned to Imogen. ‘Is this because Simon has gone back to Gill? Is this on the rebound? For God’s sake, Imogen, why can’t you choose a man who comes without any strings. Just once? For everybody’s sake?’
Imogen’s face registered outrage. ‘Gone back? Are you mad?’ she yelled. ‘Simon didn’t go back.’ She squared her shoulders and banged the kitchen table almost triumphantly. ‘He was returned. It was never going to work, so I took a decision that was best for both of us.’
Imogen addressed herself to Shona. ‘Look here,’ she began briskly as if making a final offer in a Delhi souk, ‘Edward and I deserve each other . . . I’m sorry and all that but do stop being so pathetic. You’ll soon be glad that he’s gone. In fact, in a year or so, you’ll thank me for it. Honestly you will.’
The following morning was a busy one for Fee. She watched cartoons in bed with Percy; consoled Shona who had slept badly on the sofa, and then sat down with a list by her telephone.
First, she contacted Anna Clarke, the woman who had left a message after the screening of The Perfumed Pound.
‘That’s Fee, isn’t it?’ Anna guessed immediately. Within minutes, the years had slipped away. ‘I own a secondhand bookshop near the Brecon Beacons,’ she explained. ‘Why don’t you come and spend a few days?’
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ Fee replied.
Then, she called Jean Stoker.
‘Are you still short of £27,000?’
Jean sounded despondent. ‘A couple of bank managers have laughed in our faces at the suggestion of a loan. Veronica’s next-door neighbour, Amy, has decided to invest £8,000 so long as she can have a role as a talent-spotter. And your sister, Elizabeth, has produced another two grand, but if we can’t come up with the rest by Monday, that’s it. I’m beginning to wonder whether Veronica and I are just completely out of our depth on this—?’
‘I hope not,’ Fee answered, ‘because if you are, it will be my money that goes down the drain as well.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jean’s voice suddenly lifted.
‘I’ve left my job,’ Fee
explained. ‘I’ll need to keep some of the pay-off to meet my overheads for a couple of months, but you can have the rest. I’ll talk to the bank so that either you or Veronica can collect the cheque as soon as I get the money.’
‘Boy, oh boy.’ Jean was ecstatic. ‘We are finally in business.’
‘I’ve got two provisos,’ Fee interrupted. ‘I’d like a decent return on my investment one day. And I need a baby-sitter now.’
She briefly explained what had occurred between Imogen and the Spanniers and that she planned to go away for a week or so, but she was reluctant to leave Shona alone.
‘I was wondering if you or Veronica might be able to stay in my flat so that Shona knows there’s somebody at hand?’
‘I’ll happily stay – but I’m sure Shona will be fine,’ Jean replied confidently. ‘You watch, Spannier will be sick of Imogen in a couple of days and come running home—’
‘That’s what he might want to do,’ Fee answered cheerfully, ‘but, this time, I’m not sure Imogen will let him go—’
On Saturday evening, after taking Percy home, Fee visited Walt Whiting. He and Jim Roth were about to go for a pint in their local and they asked Fee to join them. Fee told them about Rita’s call from a phone box in Bristol. Jimmy Roth said that a young Iranian student was now renting her room.
‘Has she contacted that seance bloke at all?’ Walt Whiting asked.
Fee shook her head. ‘He said he’d tell me if she did. You don’t think I should go to the police?’ Fee asked. Jim chuckled.
‘You won’t be the first,’ he smiled. ‘She told me that she’d been reported missing twice before. The police can’t do anything unless they suspect foul play . . . Nothing much you can do now until she makes her next move.’
Fee decided on the way home that Jim was right. Tomorrow, she would drive to Wales, visit Anna Clarke and forget about work and men and broken, lonely, hearts.
How did the quote that Will Evans had given her read? ‘Being an old maid is like death by drowning. It’s a delightful sensation once you cease to struggle.’
Fee realized that she had stopped struggling – almost without noticing.
At 7 a.m. on Sunday morning, Clem Thomas telephoned. Claire had flown to Dublin on Friday. Twenty-four hours later she had been rushed to hospital with a suspected brain tumour. He had only just been informed. He said he planned to catch the ten thirty flight. ‘I’ll come with you,’ Fee immediately offered.
Chapter Thirty-Five
ON THE flight to Dublin, Clem and Fee said little. They drove straight to the hospital and took turns to sit by Claire’s bed. They were informed that the original diagnosis had been incorrect; what she was suffering from was a rare strain of meningitis.
Fee thought of very little over the next forty-eight hours except her overwhelming desire that Claire should live. Live and resume being her normal bossy, blunt and, at times, aggravating self.
Sitting alone in the cream and white room, Fee was compelled to talk to a rarely conscious Claire – about the times when they had first shared a house, had first gone on holiday; about the sense of loss when each had bought their own flat; about the lovers Claire had introduced into their lives and Fee had endeavoured to like, only to find them dumped within weeks . . . about Clem . . .
On Tuesday, the third afternoon of Clem’s and Fee’s shared vigil, when Claire showed a slight improvement, the staff suggested that they should take a break and go for a walk in the grounds together.
For the remainder of the week, the afternoon walk became a regular occurrence. The two talked about everything and nothing. Gradually, the initial judgements that Fee had passed on Clem, she quietly revised.
Of course, Fee told herself, what they had in common was Claire’s recovery. So Fee had no games to play, no traps to lay, no subtext – as Claire would call it – to decode. She could afford the risk of being herself because if she failed to come up to scratch, so what?
‘How did you and Claire meet?’ she asked Clem casually on one of the walks. He looked at her quizzically.
‘Hasn’t Claire told you?’
Fee shook her head. Clem smiled. ‘We met through an introduction agency. I was fed up of being on my own but I couldn’t stand the thought of going out night after night on the hunt. Besides, I wanted somebody older, who enjoyed their job but who’d come far enough in their career to be willing to enjoy their free time too.’ He glanced at Fee again.
‘I don’t know if Claire mentioned it, but my first wife ran off with one of my closest friends. It’s OK, a lot of it was my own fault. I hardly spent any time with her, I was too busy climbing the ladder. Well, that was a lesson that hurt, so I decided I’d take a lot more care the second time—’
Fee began to laugh, then in case he thought her insensitive, she hurriedly explained. ‘You went to an introduction agency? I don’t believe it. And Claire must have gone too? No wonder she kept suggesting that I give it a go.
‘No wonder she never asked any questions about the HAH! account. She must have been petrified that I’d come across her brilliant c.v. when I was poking around doing research. But why didn’t she just come out and say so? Why be so secretive?’
Clem shrugged. ‘Pride perhaps? She said she didn’t want us to tell anyone in case people jumped to the wrong conclusion. Presumably that we were two of life’s social inadequates. I said fine because it didn’t bother me either way. But you asked a direct question, so I thought I should give you a direct answer.’
Fee smiled again. ‘Well, speaking from my newly acquired professional experience, I would say that you honestly don’t look the type.’
‘And my advice would be that you would be wise to keep more of an open mind,’ Clem replied lightly. ‘Or start taking your own research more seriously.’
On Saturday morning, six days after she was admitted, Claire sat up in bed for the first time and began to talk a little. On Saturday afternoon, Clem suggested to Fee that they cancel their walk so that he could go and buy the odds and ends that Claire had requested.
‘How long will you be away?’ Fee asked and then, in case Clem should think the question peculiar, she added quickly, ‘What I mean is, I’ll wait with Claire. I’ll have to think about going back to London soon—’ She paused to gauge his reaction.
‘Of course you will,’ was all Clem said. Of course you will. Polite, non-committal.
Of course you will.
Clem promised he’d return in a couple of hours. Fee sat by Claire’s bed and watched her friend sleep. It was then that she admitted to herself what, on a deeper, less conscious level, she’d known for a day or so. She was in love.
She was in love with Clem Thomas. She missed him when he was absent; she was disorientated when they met. She assumed that he must have guessed, but he gave no indication.
Fee tried hard to reason. This emotion was a consequence of her concern for Claire. This emotion was base: it was because Fee wanted what wasn’t hers. This emotion was a result of Fee’s determination to wreck Claire’s relationship.
Fee didn’t know which explanation, if any, might be true. But she was aware that, for the first time in her life, she had fallen for a man not because of the distorted passion he engendered in her, or the contempt with which he treated her, or the possessiveness he displayed, but because, in his company, she was comfortable both with him and herself. She was at peace.
On Monday, eight days after Fee’s arrival in Dublin, she decided that her choice of action were minimal. It was time to run.
Claire would soon be fit enough to return to London. Clem would then be on his half-term holiday from school and he had promised the hospital staff that he would ensure that she rested. Fee had had no signal from Clem that he was remotely interested in anyone except Claire. Even if he had given any encouragement, how could Fee possibly destroy Claire’s trust?
‘Fee, I haven’t been honest with you.’ Claire was in a wheelchair, and the two women were sitting looking out of her b
edroom window, drinking tea. Fee had arranged to leave Dublin the following morning. Claire had improved but she remained fragile and weak. Seeing her vulnerability, Fee was consumed with guilt. But for what?
Claire took a sip of tea. ‘I haven’t been entirely honest about Clem and myself.’
Fee’s mouth went dry. ‘Oh?’ she replied casually.
‘The relationship’s been a lot tougher than I’ve made out.’
‘Oh,’ said Fee again.
Claire proceeded to recite the complaints that she had first voiced to Michele Canning in the bridal shop – unaware that Fee had been able to hear. ‘It’s not Clem, it’s me,’ she elaborated. ‘I’m difficult to live with. Perhaps if there was more passion on my side, I’d find it easier, I’d make more allowances—
‘I’ve been trying to change Clem into the kind of man he doesn’t want to be.
‘No, no, I need to tell someone this,’ Claire continued as Fee began to interrupt. ‘I’ve tried to customize him into my perfect man . . . make him more ambitious, smarten up . . . and, rightly, he’s been resisting.
‘I’ve realized since I’ve been in hospital that instead of pursuing some ridiculous ideal, I should value what I’ve got in Clem . . . I know that’s what I should do—’
‘I certainly would,’ Fee answered emphatically. ‘I mean if I were you.’
Claire smiled at her, relieved. ‘You like him?’ she asked. ‘I thought you might, if you had time to get to know him properly. I think it was partly due to your influence that I kept seeing him in a negative light . . . I mean, you haven’t exactly been enthusiastic, have you?’
Fee smiled at the irony of her situation.
‘Clem’s told me that you know that we met through an introduction agency,’ Claire added. ‘I would have told you earlier but you were already so scathing, I knew your reaction to that piece of information would probably finish our relationship off.
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