by Judy Astley
‘They’re back at school tomorrow,’ Sam said. ‘Maybe if you start taking something – something mild and safe – from today and getting a bit of peace when they’re out of the house, you’ll get back to normal.’
‘I am normal,’ she’d told him. ‘This is my normal. And it’s Monday, why aren’t they back at school today?’
‘Christ on a bike, Em, don’t you ever look at the calendar? They’ve got an inset day. Some of the teachers are off. That’s why Thea’s still down at Sean’s, though I guess she’ll have to drive back today.’
‘Will she?’ Emily asked wearily. ‘I don’t know why she doesn’t just stay down there. Or he could come up here. Then they could get married in Richmond or something. Much more—’
‘Leave it, Emily. It’s their choice. They aren’t going to change it just because you say you can’t be arsed to go there, join in and enjoy yourself.’
But Emily didn’t even have any choice over her own health, it seemed. She paid for the cream and slammed out of the shop, wanting to kick the prescription-holders. What secret code had they uttered that had worked its magic on whichever doctor they had seen? Should she have seen a different one? But it had been hard enough to get an appointment with Dr Mac. It could be halfway into next year before she got another one, the way the complicated bookings system worked.
It was all about cutbacks, that must be it. Nobody got what they needed (apart from that shopful, all smugly lined up) if there was the slightest chance of a cash saving being made. What was it he’d said? Oh yes, ‘conservative management’. For a moment she’d assumed he’d been talking about government policy regarding the NHS but then quickly realized he was talking about treatment for post-natal depression. ‘Avoid caffeine and alcohol,’ he’d told her. Well, yes, she was doing that already, apart from the odd cup of tea. Did he really think she was the sort of mother who breastfed while bingeing on booze and triple espressos?
Exercise. He said exercise. ‘Walking is good.’ He meant she should go out and push a pram round the park and get talking to all the other knackered, pissed-off new mothers. Which was fine if you still had a pram and also fancied listening to strangers treating you to too much information about their perineal stitches. No thanks. It wasn’t the weather for walking anyway. It wasn’t even easy to persuade Alfie and Milly to go to the swings or to wander down to the river and feed the ducks in November. They’d always hated having cold fingers and they got lazy in winter, reluctant to leave the nest, like hibernating squirrels.
But it was the other thing that most pissed her off. ‘Don’t isolate yourself,’ he’d advised, with the kind of smile that used to go with an avuncular hand on the knee in the days before that sort of thing got you arrested. ‘Keep up with friends and family,’ he’d said, while already looking at his computer and Googling what to do about the nasty eye infection awaiting him on his next patient just the other side of the door. She’d vaguely mentioned Thea’s wedding in Cornwall and how she didn’t feel she should go and he’d beamed at her. ‘Oh, but it’ll be just the thing!’ he’d said. ‘Splendid event, just what you need to take you out of yourself.’ She didn’t think she’d mention this to Sam. No. That was the kind of thing that came under ‘patient confidentiality’. Perhaps she should have told Dr Mac about her snow phobia. She could tell him how she’d felt when she’d watched Milly on her new bike, careering across the ice. How in the seconds before she’d reached her she’d pictured the child, who’d ended up tangled in the bike’s frame, with her legs at the wrong angles, bones sticking through her skin, maybe an artery ripped. And no way of getting her to any help or hospital. Even now, she felt sick at the thought. She walked a bit faster as she neared home. Perhaps she’d try and make another appointment for next week after all. But with one of the other doctors.
All the best things are over far too soon, Thea thought as she drove out of the village on her way back to London. The Polo chugged up the hill away from Cove Manor as if it too was reluctant to leave. She stopped at the top of the rise, pulled over into a gateway and took a last long look back at the bay. The day was bright and sunny and the bare hawthorn branches were stark and dark against the pale blue sky. Far below, the wet beach shimmered and the waves were cresting with white. Sean had said there would be rain later and a high wind, possibly quite a storm, but for now it looked benevolent and beautiful, the kind of scene that graces TV holiday shows and has people rushing to book cottages for the summer ahead.
Thea pulled away from the roadside after a few lingering moments and began the long haul to London, mentally checking in her head that she’d got everything. It was easy to forget things now she kept quite a few clothes here at the stables and on the last visit she’d had to go back after a couple of miles for her most comfortable boots that she liked to wear at work.
She thought about the Meadow School as she joined the traffic moving slowly towards Truro. How much more fun it would be to work there than under Melanie’s iron reign. Thea did her best to bypass the rigid reading schemes, preferring to get children enthusiastic about books by reading them stories where the language had an entrancing rhythm and flow, but Melanie had this idea that all books should be age-labelled and reading outside a prescribed range was not encouraged. If she came in to Thea’s class during the designated Literacy Hour and found the children acting out the stories that Thea read to them she often disapproved. She had once told Thea that she should be far more formal in her approach. Thea had children in her class who were almost ready for War and Peace and others who were finding it hard to grasp the basics of three-letter words, so she was firmly on the side of flexibility. She wondered how Melanie would react to Sarah’s free-range method of teaching the smallest children letters: taking them outside to walk the shape of, say, a W; forming the large letter on the ground out of shells or stones; maybe collecting from the hedgerows and the field small items that began with that letter; making up alliterative rhymes. She could just see Melanie’s face if she saw Thea had her class out in the playground, making letters out of sticks and leaves instead of painstakingly forming them with stubby pencils on paper or tracing them on dots in workbooks.
She’d already gone past the Falmouth turning before she realized that one essential – her bag containing the school marking she’d been doing this week – was still on the desk in the stables sitting room. For a few moments she contemplated continuing the journey without it. Was having Sean post it to her an option? But no – that wouldn’t work. She’d need it from the first day back – tomorrow – as it contained all the books in which the children were writing stories based on the theme of autumn. She’d asked them to collect as many different fallen leaves and fruit as they could find over this half-term week to write about them, so they would need their books straight away.
There was no choice but to turn round and go back. In spite of this adding a good hour to what was already going to be a long journey in slow London-bound post-holiday traffic, she couldn’t help feeling a small thrill at the idea of just a few more moments with Sean. It had been a horrible wrench leaving him earlier and she’d felt quite tearful as she kissed him goodbye.
‘You soppy thing,’ he said to her, mopping her damp eyes with a tissue.
‘Sorry. I’m an idiot. It’s just been such a lovely week.’
‘It has,’ he said, hugging her tightly. ‘But I’ll see you in a couple of weeks and then it’ll be no time till Christmas and our mad little wedding. I can’t wait.’
‘Me neither. And it is a bit mad, isn’t it?’
‘Tell me truly,’ he then asked. ‘Is it a bit too informal and casual for you? Are you sure you don’t want hundreds of guests and a sit-down meal and a marquee and—’
‘And a diamond tiara and a twenty-strong team of bridesmaids? No I don’t! Don’t even think about it! We’ve talked about this. Just us and a few family members will be perfect. All I hope is that your mother is onside about it.’
‘I’ll find out next week
when I go up to see her. She’s keen to come to it, and she’s bringing my sister Patti. But if you hear someone tutting all through the ceremony, asking me why I couldn’t have got Father Dooley to officiate, and then demanding to know why there isn’t a five-tier cake covered in iced roses and with a plastic bride and groom on the top, then that’ll be her.’
‘Oh God, I’m sorry. Not a good start, is it, getting on the wrong side of my mother-in-law?’
‘Oh, she’ll be fine. She likes you. Who wouldn’t? And so long as she gets to try on every hat in John Lewis so she can get the one that’s guaranteed to be the biggest at the gig, I think she’ll be as happy as a clam.’
It was disappointing, as Thea arrived back at the stables, not to see Sean’s Land Rover there. As she climbed out of the car, Woody the cat came running up, miaowing, and he let her pick him up. With him snuggling and purring against her, she went to open the door but was surprised to find it wasn’t locked. That wasn’t like Sean. Although he’d agree with most of the village that crime wasn’t an issue in the area and that there hadn’t been a burglary for years, he wasn’t likely to take pointless risks and leave computers and his precious surfboard collection vulnerable to that rare passing chancer.
‘Sean? Are you here?’ Thea called as she went inside, in case he’d moved the Land Rover somewhere else and was actually on the premises. The coffee mug she’d used that morning was still in the sink. Maria’s cookbooks were heaped on the kitchen table. The washing machine was whirring in the utility area.
Thea found the bag she needed, put it by the door ready to take with her, and then went into their bedroom. She could smell her Clarins shower gel and she sat on the bed and breathed in the scent. She almost felt like getting back into bed and waiting there for him, as a surprise. A tap ran in the bathroom – so he was there after all.
‘Sean?’ she called, thinking it was probably not a great idea to give him the huge shock of coming out and seeing her there with no warning.
‘Hey, who’s that?’ The voice wasn’t Sean’s and Thea stared at the bathroom door as it opened. A girl came out, a towel wrapped round her tall slim body and another one turbaned on her hair. Thea took in the smooth silky tanned skin, cheekbones as angular as Kate Moss’s and arms with the kind of defined slender muscles that only serious fitness commitment could provide.
‘Oh my Gaahd!’ The voice was American and squealy. ‘You, like, so scared me! I was expecting Sean!’
‘That makes two of us,’ Thea said, her heart thumping. ‘Who are you?’
‘I could ask you the same. In fact I will. Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m Sean’s girlfriend. I’m Thea. And’ – she looked at the girl’s feet – ‘those are my slippers you’re wearing.’
‘Really?’ The girl looked down as if her footwear was a complete mystery to her. ‘It’s so lucky they fit!’ she said. ‘They’re toasty warm.’
‘Aren’t you going to take them off?’ Thea said. ‘Or do you usually just take other people’s stuff to wear?’
The girl shrugged and pulled the towel off her hair. A cascade of wet blond hair fell below her shoulders. Thea felt a bit sick. What was going on here?
‘So you’re the new girlfriend,’ the girl said, running her fingers through her hair. The ends curled into little tendrils.
‘Not so new,’ Thea told her, looking around the room. Where were the girl’s clothes? Was she intending to pad around all day in the towel? And where the hell was Sean? ‘It’s been nearly a year,’ she went on.
‘That’s pretty new!’ the girl said, laughing. ‘You’re really kinda cute,’ she added. ‘I like your hair.’
‘Thank you. So where is Sean?’ The tall, elegant girl had used the ‘cute’ word. The instinctive suspicion escalated to dislike.
‘Oh, he went to see someone called Paul. I think he said Paul? Back soon, he said, and then he’s going to take me to lunch at the pub. I was just taking a shower …’
‘I know. That was my shower gel you used.’
The girl laughed. ‘Really?’ she said again. ‘Hey, but no worries, I do have my own clothes. You don’t have to look so paranoid. Do you mind if I go put them on?’
‘Feel free,’ Thea said, half-expecting her to open a drawer and take out Thea’s own underwear and spare jeans.
‘OK. Give me a sec, be right back.’ The girl pulled the towel tighter round her body and padded out of the room, still in Thea’s sheepskin slippers. Drops of water glistened on her shoulders and dripped a trail from her hair as she went, passing the kitchen and entering the second bedroom.
Thea went into the sitting room, closing the bedroom door firmly behind her. She felt shaky and a bit sick. This girl seemed perfectly at home here. She appeared entirely confident of her right to be on the premises and certainly knew her way around, barely a couple of hours since Thea herself had got out of Sean’s bed.
Thea went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on, rinsed out the mug she’d used only that morning and plonked a teabag in it. She didn’t feel like offering to make one for this interloper. In fact, she felt far more like grabbing her by her long swishy curls and hurling her out of the door and into the cold, preferably still wearing only the towel. Where the hell was Sean? She’d love to hear what his explanation was. Woody sat on the bench by the table, watching Thea and blinking his blue eyes slowly. She stroked his ears, gaining some small comfort from the softness of his fur and the way he so lovingly pushed his pointy little face against her hand.
‘So …’ The girl came back into the room, her hair brushed and even blonder as it dried. She was wearing skinny jeans and a pale blue chunky soft sweater with a drapey neck. She looked fresh, pretty, appealing. ‘Sean told me you’re supposed to be getting married.’
The kettle boiled and Thea poured water into her mug. The girl eyed it but said nothing. ‘Shall I make you one?’ Thea heard herself say just as she cursed her own good manners.
‘No thanks. I don’t do caffeine.’
‘What do you mean, “supposed to be”?’ Thea asked. ‘It’s next month.’
The girl laughed. ‘Yeah. Sure.’
‘Well yes. Sure,’ Thea replied. She went to the fridge to get milk. Inside were two new bottles of champagne and a duty-free bag containing a bottle of vodka that hadn’t been there earlier that morning. ‘Yours?’ Thea pointed to them.
‘Yeah. Gotta thank your host, haven’t you?’
‘You’re staying here then?’
‘Hey, lighten up, honey. Could you be more hostile?’ The perfect all-American teeth were still showing but no longer even pretending to be part of a smile.
‘Yes, I probably could. I don’t even know your name. Sean never said anything about a friend staying. And that bedroom where your clothes were, it’s got its own bathroom.’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t have your shower gel.’ The girl grinned as she sat down on the bench alongside the cat and he moved out of the way, twitching his tail. ‘It was a last-minute call,’ she said. ‘It’s what we do – a surf thing. We crash on each other’s sofas, worldwide. Sorry if it upset you. Sean knew you wouldn’t be here, so I guess there was no point in mentioning me. I’m just passing through. It’s no biggie. I think he might have wanted us to like each other but I guess it’s not the best start. Sorry about the house-shoes. I’ll put them back in the room, shall I?’
‘Just give them to me, I’ll put them back.’ Thea sipped her tea. It was still too hot and she scalded the end of her tongue. ‘Where are you passing through to?’ she asked.
‘South Africa. I’ve got a comp there.’
‘Comp? A competition?’
‘Sure. I’m a surfer. I know Sean from when he was on the world circuit. We go back a looonng way. Has he never mentioned me? I’m Katinka. I’m surprised he hasn’t.’
‘No, never … except …’ Thea went to the window ledge and picked up the bracelet. ‘Oh yes, he did once, last week. I think this is yours. You must have left it las
t time you were “passing through”.’
‘Hey! That’s great! Thank you so much – I thought I’d never see it again. It has great sentimental meaning to me.’ She slid it on to her wrist and looked at it, stroking her fingers over the smooth scarlet stones set into the silver. ‘It was actually a present from Sean on my wedding day,’ she said, looking up at Thea.
‘Oh right – so he was a guest at your wedding?’ Thea felt some of the horror lift slightly.
‘Hell no, sweetie, Sean was the groom.’
NINETEEN
The book group would never be the same again. Anna had missed the email while she was away because it had gone into her junk mail folder and she simply hadn’t thought to check it till she was home and back on her computer rather than just the phone. The message that Miriam had died had come from Alec. He’d written it from a different email address from the one he’d used to contact her back when they were having their … What should she call it? It was an affair: almost anyone would call it that, but as Anna and Mike had been going through a phase of ‘extra-marital exploration’, as Charlotte had once put it, with a view to the possibility of a totally amicable divorce, it hadn’t had the sneaky intensity, the lying, the guilt and the sense of cheating that is usually associated with the word. All the same, seeing Alec’s name confined to junk mail seemed sadly symbolic now, as if their former relationship itself had become a matter of garbage, fit only to be thrown away.
So Miriam had gone. Big, clumsy, flamboyant Miriam would never again spill red wine on someone’s new pale sofa while declaring that Vanity Fair’s Becky Sharp was the first example of a truly liberated woman in fiction. Anna remembered not quite agreeing with her on this (citing the Wife of Bath and Shakespeare’s version of Cleopatra), though seconding Miriam’s notion that Becky’s quest for a rich and comfortable life was organized entirely on her own terms. Others, she recalled, had shouted them down, arguing that she’d merely prostituted herself by marrying for money and position and not for love. That particular book group meeting had been here in this house, Anna remembered now as she was about to leave for Miriam’s funeral. Miriam had flailed an arm and sent a vase of tulips flying from the table beside her chair. Anna had been finding teeny shards of the vase’s glass for months after that and had had to ban Alfie and Milly from running around barefooted in the sitting room.