‘So, little bird,’ she says, taking Ella from Camille’s arms. ‘How are you? Yeah? You look a lot less scary than the last time I saw you. The last time I saw you, you were like this big lump with mad staring eyes and you never really had much to say for yourself.’
Ella grins at her happily. ‘Goy de goy de goy!’ she intones in a sing-song voice, and I worry that Dora’s thin arms might drop her but I manage not to say it out loud.
‘I’ve always said that,’ Dora tells her as if she was a thirty-year-old herself. Before I can say any more the doorbell goes again, and as I head up the hallway I think of appropriate responses for whoever it might be. To be honest, even before I open the door I know it’s Gareth, and an unexpected rush of anticipation gathers rosily in my cheeks. It’s not as if I welcome the tension he’s bound to bring into my home, it’s more like the … novelty of being at the centre of something again, even if it is the centre of something so dangerous.
After almost a week of dreading this moment, I find I’m looking forward to seeing him. Maybe after he’s had time to think about it he’ll realise he made a bit of a prick of himself, and we can go back to being gardening friends again. The drama will be over for sure, but at least I’ll be able to relax again.
I swing open the door and grin at him, which on reflection might be why he looks so disconcerted. I’m trying to show him that I have no hard feelings, but he looks as though he thinks I might have overdone the sherry, or just possibly he was looking forward to seeing discomfort and anxiety in my face. I push that thought away and beckon him in.
‘All right?’ he says at last. The bright sun gives his hair a reddish tint and somehow seems to intensify the gold of his eyes, and noticing that makes my mouth dry and I swallow hard.
‘Hi,’ I say awkwardly and back away from the door, clearing his entrance into my home. He steps through the doorway until we are just a few breaths apart and I can see him even now adjusting his game plan. It is clearly not over for him, despite all my half-hopes that it might be.
‘I’m sorry about what I said the other day, all that macho stuff about “if you were mine” and all that. It was well out of order.’ He shuffles and hangs his head, and for a moment I feel as if he might be genuine, except for that look on his face when I first opened the door and the way his body is slowly drifting closer to mine.
I take a step back and examine the door frame, unable to reconcile a growing sense of disappointment.
‘I really like you,’ he continues. ‘I think I got carried away with other feelings, feelings I shouldn’t have. I know you’re really happy with Fergus. I won’t try or say anything like that again, all right? Do you forgive me?’ He dips his chin a little and smiles up through his lashes.
For a second longer I look at the door frame before dragging my gaze to meet his.
‘Okay, make sure you don’t,’ I say with perfect composure, trying to let him know that I know exactly what he is doing, even if I’m letting him. Trying to let him know that I’m in control. ‘Everyone is in the kitchen.’
I take a few deep breaths of spring air before closing the door again. As Gareth reaches the end of the hallway I hear him say, ‘All right? I’m Gareth.’ I look up abruptly and see Dora standing looking after him. For a moment I’m certain she couldn’t have seen or heard anything, but as she looks back at me she raises an overplucked eyebrow.
‘You’re a bit of a dark horse, aren’t you?’ she says with the very edge of a smile. ‘Must tell me all about it later …’
Before I can reply the doorbell chimes again, and I think that should I ever happen to be in Canterbury and should the cathedral bells sound anything like these ones, then I will probably be compelled to go around opening stranger’s doors and thrusting mini-sausage rolls in their faces. The bright sunlight makes me blink after the gloom of my hallway assignation, and for a moment I’m not really sure what I’m seeing.
Mr Crawley and my father and my father’s friend have arrived together.
‘Mr Crawley?’ I greet him with delight. ‘Dad!’ I say to my father. ‘You made it. Well done!’
I look at his friend, who is entirely the opposite of what I imagined she might be, and hold out my hand. ‘Hello, I’m Kitty.’
The curvaceous black woman squeezes my fingers very tightly. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she tells me. ‘I’m Joy Parsons, I met your dad at a social I run.’
I smile and nod – Dad never mentioned anything about it being at a social, but whatever it is I must admit he looks good on it. Sort of … well, almost kind of vibrant. I show the threesome into the living room, calculating that there must be no room left in the kitchen by now, and if I’m honest I’m keen to keep my dad from the group until I’ve fully assessed his mental health. After all, he may look vibrant, but he still might be a raving loony.
‘So, I thought you were going to call and Fergus was going to get you from the station?’ I say to Dad, testing him for some deranged response. He looks, well, sort of polished.
‘Well, yes dear, but you know my memory. I left the number at home and as we came out of the station, Joy and I, we asked this gentleman here for directions and it turned out that he is a friend of yours and he gave us a lift! What a coincidence, eh?’
I smile gratefully at Mr Crawley and wonder how it is that he manages to be in exactly the right place at exactly the right time whenever I need him to be.
‘Wine.’ Mr Crawley hands me a bottle and kisses me on the cheek. ‘Nothing too fancy, I’m afraid, but not too bad. Where’s the little one?’
‘Oh, she’s starring as the main attraction in a game of human pass-the-parcel in the kitchen. Take a seat and I’ll get you a drink, then get everyone to come in here.’ I look hard at my dad. He looks okay, and if somehow he got from Hackney to here on public transport with Joy then he must be okay, at least for now. As I leave the room, trying to keep the drinks order in my head, he follows me into the hallway.
‘Don’t worry,’ he tells me earnestly.
I look at him enquiringly. ‘Worry about what?’ I say breezily.
‘Worry about me. I … I need to talk to you later about a few things? Okay?’ He grips my wrist tightly until it hurts, and the familiar sensation of claustrophobia I have always felt when he’s around begins to creep up on me.
‘Yes, yes, okay. Of course,’ I say, releasing his grip with my fingers. ‘Of course. Now I must go and sort out the food. Fergus!’ I call out as I back away from him. ‘Dad is here! And Mr Crawley! Oh, and Joy!’
I look over my shoulder to find my dad still watching me. ‘Go back in the living room, Dad, and sit down. I’ll be back in a sec.’
As I enter the kitchen I see that between them Camille and Georgina have laid out all the finery M&S had to offer and the vol-au-vents on the flowery china. Daniel is folding serviettes under the close observation of his wife, and Dora is standing in the door frame of the open back door, intermittently waving the smoke from her cigarette into the back garden.
Fergus and Gareth are standing on the lawn, with Ella sitting happily at Fergus’s feet ripping up pieces of grass and eating them. My irritation at Fergus letting his daughter snack like a calf is soon eclipsed by the fact that they look as if they are arguing. They are standing only inches from each other’s faces, eyeball to eyeball, mouths and chins set in anger.
‘What’s going on?’ I say to the room at large, and as I push past Dora she breathes a stream of smoke into my face.
‘They’re having a bit of a disagreement, I think,’ she says with half a smile. ‘Over some English rose I reckon.’
I shoot her the most venomous look I can muster in a state of high anxiety as I head towards them.
‘I’m sorry,’ I hear Fergus say, ‘but that’s a deceitful and underhand way to behave. And entirely unprofessional.’
Gareth shakes his head angrily. ‘If you would just let me finish,’ he says, his eyes burning, ‘I discussed it with Kitty and she agreed to it. Or does she need
your say-so for everything …’
I almost trip over my baby in a rush to get between them.
‘Agreed what? What’s the problem?’ I sweep Ella up off the ground to her angry protest, and use my finger to fish a pulpy mass of grass out of her mouth.
Gareth looks pleased to see me.
‘I agreed with you that the original budget wouldn’t stretch to everything you wanted in here,’ he says, his eyes still fixed on my husband. ‘I told you the new costs and you agreed them. It’s up to you. If you want me to complete with the price we first agreed then we drop the gazebo, or the big plants, the trees and the Wendy house …’
‘Oh not the trees,’ I say with dismay.
Fergus looks at me in disbelief.
‘Did you seriously not think of checking all this with me before you spent another thousand pounds?’
I feel his anger like a slap in the face, a slap I can hardly endure in front of a triumphant Gareth.
‘Well, usually when I ask you about cash, you say not to worry and that everything is fine. I meant to ask you, but …’ I desperately don’t want to fight. Not here, not now and not in front of Gareth – the last thing I want is for him to think I’m put upon by an overbearing husband.
I turn to Gareth, avoiding his eye. ‘Look, let’s just drop the gazebo, okay? It’s not that big a deal, and the trees – we don’t need the trees.’
Gareth shrugs, but before he can reply Fergus interrupts.
‘Yes we do, if you want the gazebo, if you want the trees, then you will have them,’ he tells me angrily. ‘I just wish that when I discussed this with our gardener I’d been prepared for what he was about to say!’
I open my mouth and close it again, wondering if there is any way I can make this better, and quickly. The last thing I need right now is for Gareth to see so clearly for himself the cracks in our relationship.
‘Fergus, I …’ I begin, but before I can say anything he walks back to the house.
‘Are you okay?’ Gareth asks me gently, any hint of smugness carefully removed from his expression.
‘I’m fine,’ I tell him shortly. ‘Absolutely fine. He’s just under a lot of pressure at work, that’s all. It’s my fault.’ I hold his gaze for a moment longer and turn on my heel, feeling Gareth’s gaze on my back.
‘I’m saying nothing!’ he calls after me. ‘Nothing at all.’
As I enter the kitchen Fergus seems to be back to his usual self, pouring drinks for our guests, who all seem to have congregated there now. My poor dad and everyone must have thought I’d abandoned them.
‘Can’t we go into the living room?’ I plead. ‘That fireplace cost us a fortune, didn’t it, Mr Crawley?’
Mr Crawley laughs and we both say together, ‘Though considerably less than it might have done.’
Georgina leads everyone out of the kitchen until just Fergus and I are left. I sense Gareth’s presence in the garden and turn my back on his watchful eyes as I try to explain myself.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the quote, but every time I ever ask you about money you tell me it’ll be fine, you tell me not to worry.’
Fergus shrugs, pouring a large glass of red wine. I remember Georgina’s words earlier and I swallow my anger.
‘This thing is,’ I continue in a studiously even tone, ‘that I’m not used to having to check every little financial detail with someone else. I’m used to being my own person, I always have been. I know that …’
‘Another thousand quid is not exactly a little detail,’ Fergus interrupts me, refilling his already empty glass. ‘And do you know how much I spent on all this crap today?’ He gestures at the empty packages and trays of food. ‘One hundred and twenty quid, for some sausage rolls!’
I hold on to my voice tightly. ‘As I was saying, I know you want to look after Ella and me, and I want you to, but that doesn’t mean that you have to carry the entire financial burden yourself. Let me help, let me work too.’
Fergus studies his empty glass for a moment. ‘You’d just be working to pay for child care,’ he says in a slightly less confrontational tone.
I take heart and press on.
‘Well, not if I had that job up at the management college. They pay well and there’s a crèche there, and anyway, once Clare’s registered as a childminder we could use her. Ella loves her, and childminders are cheaper than nurseries.’
‘Yeah, but that job will have gone by now,’ Fergus says, stuffing one of his mum’s vol-au-vents into his mouth.
‘Well, maybe it has, but I could give them a ring, and anyway, in principle you don’t object to me looking for a job?’ I ask, my hopeful heart in my mouth.
He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, leaving flakes of pastry in his fringe.
‘Kitty, I need to talk about something with you …’ he begins just as the sodding bells chime again.
‘Is it that you want to install a knocker?’ I say with a smile. ‘Tell me. I’m sure your mother will answer the door.’ I hear voices at the door that confirm my suspicions. Clare has arrived.
‘Now’s not the time. Later, when everyone is gone, okay?’ Fergus says, taking my hand. ‘We’ll discuss everything then, all right?’
I nod, and as Fergus leads me down the hallway to join the others I look over my shoulder and take one last look at Gareth, staring at the sky as if it’s about to fall in.
Clare and Ted stand on the periphery of the group, both looking terrified and shy.
‘Hiya!’ I say to her, touched by her vulnerability and shocked by Ted’s. I kiss her on the cheek and lift Ted from her arms, setting him on the floor.
‘Have you met everyone?’ I do a round of introductions. ‘Right, I’ll just check on the food. Does anyone need a drink?’
‘I’ll help you,’ Clare says quickly and follows me out of the room.
‘Smells nice in here,’ she says, looking incredulous.
‘M&S paprika-roasted chicken and whole Peking duck, preroasted potatoes and preprepared vegetables. Now all I have to do is heat up these fresh sauces in the microwave and I have a meal. I love modern life.’
Clare looks out into the garden.
‘Oh, so he is here then. I had wondered. What’s he doing out there? It looks like he’s praying for rain!’
I watch Gareth, his head still tipped back, his eyes fixed on the heavens.
‘I have no idea, maybe he is.’ I pause. ‘He had a bit of a tiff with Fergus about money. They got all blokey. You know, squared up to each other. He probably should leave.’
Clare taps on the window and waves at him. He starts when he hears the noise but quickly refocuses his gaze on her, breaking into a swift sweet smile and walking back towards the house.
‘Maybe he was praying for rain,’ Clare says as he approaches, pulling at the ends of her hair. ‘It’s started to spit.’ She admires him openly. ‘He’s all Daniel Day Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans, isn’t he?’ She giggles, and as Gareth approaches the house in his tatty jeans and his worn brown leather jacket, I can kind of see what she means.
‘Clare!’ he says as he enters, the first mist of a light drizzle clinging to his hair and skin in bright droplets. He kisses Clare on the cheeks and squeezes her shoulder. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Fine! I’m glad you’re here. I hardly know anyone out there. Can I sit next to you at lunch?’ she rushes eagerly.
I studiously pour out the last of my drinks order.
‘Are you staying?’ I ask him briskly.
‘No. Look, Clare, I’m sorry. I think I’ll be in the way if I stay. I don’t know if she told you, but I had a bit of a disagreement with Mr Kelly and, after all,’ Gareth looks right at me, ‘you don’t want the hired help at your lunch party, do you?’ Clare’s dismay is palpable.
‘But I thought we could get to know each other a bit more, you know …’ She catches my look and closes her mouth. ‘Well, all right, I’ll see you on Wednesday then?’ she finishes instead.
/> I hand Clare the drinks tray.
‘Will you take these in, Clare? I just need to check the food.’ Clare reluctantly takes the tray and heads back to the living room.
‘Don’t mess around with her,’ I say to him. ‘She really likes you.’
Gareth shrugs. ‘I really like her,’ he says. ‘Do you want me back on Monday or not?’
I stare at him, and find that I don’t.
‘No. I really think that after everything that’s happened it would be best to leave it as it is. You’ve done the basic, really good work, but I’ll finish it myself.’ I knot the oven glove I’m holding awkwardly in my hands. ‘I just think it would be best.’
Gareth sighs, pulling his hair back from his face and holding it at the nape of his neck.
‘Listen, Kitty, all that stuff I said, all right? I do like you. I like you a lot, it’s pointless pretending that I don’t. You’re a big girl, you can see it for yourself. But I’d never make a move on someone already in a relationship, not unless they wanted me to. I care about what happens to you, that’s all. I want to be your friend.’
I shake my head, taken aback by his sudden frankness. ‘I don’t think we can be friends,’ I say. ‘It won’t work, we’d still be …’ I can’t think of a word to describe what I’m thinking. I don’t want to.
‘Why not?’ Gareth persists, standing a little closer to me. ‘Why couldn’t we be friends? We get on. We have a laugh, don’t we? Why couldn’t we be friends at least? We are both grown-ups.’
He keeps moving forward until the air is squeezed out between us, his voice low and insistent. I turn my head away from him but he bends his face ever nearer to mine.
‘Because you want more than that and …’ I falter, biting my tongue on what I was about to say.
‘Oh, come on, Kitty.’ Gareth’s temper flares briefly. ‘I’m tired of fucking around this! Just say what you mean, for once. And what?’ He persists, ignoring, no, revelling in, my discomfort. ‘And you do too? And you want more than just friends too?’ He runs his forefinger down the length of my face and gently turns me to face him.
‘Is that it? Say it.’ I look into his yellow eyes, and in that moment I don’t know what I want except that I want him to be gone.
After Ever After Page 25