But I’m used to it now. After all, everyone has their own style when it comes to sex. And Jed is, always, super-concerned that the sex should be good for me. I often feel daunted by his experience compared to my own: I’ve had precisely six sexual partners, only three of whom were really boyfriends and only one of whom – the gorgeous but commitment-phobic Dan Thackeray – lasted more than six months. Jed, on the other hand, claims to have lost count. Unsurprising, I suppose. He is fifty and I know there were many lovers before his twenty-year marriage – plus the occasional one-night stand during. He says his restlessness ended the day he saw me, that I meet his every need, that – now he is older – he values our relationship in a more rounded way, that sex is just a part of it, that he has slept with enough women for the rest of his life, that I meet all his sexual needs anyway. In fact he says I’m his fantasy, his ideal woman . . .
He is uninhibited in bed, too, though he doesn’t particularly like it if I initiate the sex or try and take control at any point. I have learned to let him lead me, trusting that in this, as in everything Jed does, he has my best interests at heart. The sex is good, too. The best I’ve had, apart from with Dan – but then I was so infatuated with Dan I probably imagined half the orgasms.
We finish and Jed gives a contented sigh. I glance down at the sheets. Just a small stain. I hurry to the bathroom and dampen a flannel. Not that I think Martin would mind – he’s pretty easygoing – but it still seems rude.
I scrub at the stain while Jed’s breathing grows deep and steady. After a few minutes I’m satisfied that the mark won’t show once it’s dry. I put my dress back on, then prod Jed awake. While he tugs on his trousers I turn down the white linen, smoothing the sheets over, then folding the blue silk throw and laying it over the end of the bed.
‘How’s the headache now?’ Jed asks, turning to me with a smug grin. ‘Did we get rid of it?’
‘Sure did,’ I say, though in truth I can feel another band of pressure building at the back of my head. ‘But it’ll be good to take the painkillers anyway, make sure it doesn’t come back.’ I turn to leave the room but Jed catches my hand.
‘I was thinking,’ he says. ‘When we get married, will you take my name?’
I bite my lip. It’s not that I love my name – Campbell – so much, but it’s all that is left of my parents and still a huge tie with Martin and Rose.
Jed senses my uncertainty. ‘I don’t mean give up yours,’ he says, patting my hand. ‘I know how important it is to you. I was thinking maybe we could do Campbell-Kennedy? What do you think?’
‘I guess,’ I say. ‘Can I think about it?’
‘Of course, baby, no pressure.’ Jed smooths a stray hair from my cheek, then grins as he slaps me playfully on my behind. I grin back, feeling content. As we walk through to the living-room cabin, voices sound on deck. Martin is first through the door. He looks distracted but attempts a smile as he sees me.
‘How you doing, Em?’ he asks.
‘Better,’ I say for Jed’s benefit, though my headache is now, in fact, definitely creeping back.
‘Lish got you some headache pills,’ Martin says.
‘Actually they’re powders,’ Lish says, following Martin through the door. ‘It was a tiny chemist and the only “analgésique” they had without ibuprofen or codeine was a box of sachets that look a bit like Lemsip but they’re called ExAche Powders.’ He pushes back his long, greasy hair off his face and smiles, though the smile wavers slightly as he meets Jed’s eye. Jed gives a brisk nod. He’s trying not to show it but I can tell he’s irritated that Lish didn’t manage to find a better-known brand. And if I can tell then I’m guessing Lish can too. I know Jed wishes his son had more ambition, more drive, but Lish, despite his rather grungy appearance, seems fine to me. At least he’s at college. Perhaps my feelings are over-shadowed because, after the first four months of complete stand-off between us, we now get on okay. It was hard at first, immediately after Jed left his wife back in the spring. Then Lish took his mother’s side entirely but since Jed and I got engaged he seems to have accepted me.
‘Pills . . . powders . . . so long as they work.’ Martin punches Lish playfully on the arm. Lish pretends to reel back, his smile widening and deepening at the horseplay.
Martin has helped hugely to heal the rift between me and my stepson. But then, he has always been a peacemaker and one of the most emotionally intelligent men I know. When Mum and Dad died he was just a few weeks off his sixteenth birthday and while our older sister, Rose, looked after me in all the practical senses, it was Martin who stepped up as my protector – smoothing away Rose’s rough edges when we clashed and as hard on my early boyfriends as any father could have been. My friends swooned before his handsome, square-jawed face and long, lean frame. They still do, if I’m honest, even though Martin came out many years ago. He told me first, even before Rose, knowing, or so he said, that I would never judge him. I didn’t. Couldn’t. Martin at almost thirty-eight is as charming as he ever was, and still boyish-looking, with that dimple in his chin and those big brown eyes. Lish has clearly fallen under his spell completely. I see him glancing from his own skinny arms to Martin’s tanned and buff body in its white shirt and designer chinos. Is Lish just wishing he had some of Martin’s style? Or might he be gay, too? He’s never brought home a girlfriend nor, according to his dad, has he ever mentioned going out with anyone. I glance at Jed. Has this occurred to him? How would he react? I imagine he would be disappointed, not because he’s openly homophobic – he treats Martin and Cameron with the greatest respect – but because homosexuality is not part of his vision for Lish.
Lish takes a small box and hands me a sachet of ExAche Powders from it.
‘Apparently they’re supposed to be good for headaches, that’s what the pharmacist said, isn’t it, Lish?’ Martin asks. ‘Lucky Lish’s French was up to it.’
‘Lucky for Lish he went to a good school where he had the chance to learn decent French,’ Jed mutters with a wry chuckle.
There’s an awkward silence.
‘Thanks, Lish.’ I walk over, take the sachet and reach up to peck his cheek.
Lish shrugs and blushes. He’s as tall as his father now, but lanky and lolloping, without any of Jed’s heft – or his forceful presence.
‘I think I’ll take one, make sure the head doesn’t come back.’
Martin fetches me a glass of water and a spoon to stir in the sachet of powder. As he hands me the glass, Dee Dee rushes in and hurls herself at me. Water slops over the side of the glass. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Jed wincing at her clumsiness.
‘Hey, Dee,’ I say brightly before he can criticize her. ‘How was it at the cocktail bar?’
‘Brilliant,’ she says, round-eyed. ‘I had a mocktail.’
Not for the first time, I’m struck by how young Dee Dee sometimes seems. At thirteen I was driving Rose nuts, sneaking off to pubs with older kids from school. Martin was away at college so Rose bore the brunt of dealing with me then, explaining that the boys who bought me vodka Red Bulls and hot pink alcopops might have unscrupulous motives underpinning their generosity.
I stir the ExAche Powder into the water and look up. Where is my sister? There’s no sign of her or Martin’s boyfriend.
‘What happened to Rose?’ I ask. ‘And where’s Cameron?’
‘Still on deck,’ Martin says, sinking onto the nearest couch. ‘They’re dealing with the fish. We bought some sea bream from this private trader we met here before, plus a whole load of salad. Cameron thought it would be fun to eat on board.’
‘I thought we were going to a restaurant?’ Jed sits up. There’s the tiniest edge to his voice. I imagine this is how he sounds with his staff of junior lawyers when they challenge him.
Martin shrugs, unfazed. ‘Sure, if you like,’ he says, his face breaking into a disarming smile. ‘Cameron just thought . . . if Emily wasn’t feeling well . . . but we’re easy, whatever you guys would like.’
‘
Of course.’ Jed sits back, pacified at this show of consideration. He turns to me. ‘Up to you, baby.’
They both look at me. I gaze down at Dee Dee. ‘What do you think?’
Dee Dee hugs me, then puts on that little-girly voice again. ‘Dee Dee doesn’t like fish.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Jed says. ‘Of course you like fish. Fishfinger sandwiches are your favourite meal.’
Dee Dee shrugs. Jed has a point: Dee Dee loves it when we stay in and do homemade fishburgers and pizzas, but there’s a world of difference between a fish-finger sandwich and sautéed sea bream. I’ve never known Dee Dee to order fish when we go to nice restaurants. It’s perfectly possible she doesn’t like it and Jed would have no idea. I open my mouth to say that I didn’t like fish dishes much when I was thirteen, and that I’m sure Cameron can find something else for Dee Dee to eat, but Jed is talking again.
‘You’re eating the fish,’ he orders his daughter. ‘Martin and Cameron went to a good deal of trouble to buy it and there’s no good reason not to eat it. Plus Martin’s right. If Emily isn’t feeling too hot, then staying in is the best bet. We can always stop off for a drink on the way back to the villa later.’
And so it is decided.
The rest of the evening passes uneventfully. The ExAche tastes bitter, but my headache totally disappears. Rose makes a dressing for the salad while Cameron cooks the sea bream with a delicious lemon and caper sauce. I check with Dee Dee that she’ll be okay eating it and she says she’ll be fine. However when the time comes I can’t help but notice that Dee Dee prods at her food and only actually eats the sea bream when Jed leans over and whispers something, stony-faced, in her ear.
Afterwards, Lish and his sister take themselves off to the cabin – Lish to play computer games on Martin and Cameron’s massive, state-of-the-art TV and Dee Dee to make use of the onboard wi-fi to Skype with her friends back in Highgate. I’m glad she has such good mates. She told me a few weeks ago how supportive they’d been at the end of last term when a couple of girls at school were mean to her. Jed is always so dismissive of such upsets as ‘teen nonsense’ but I remember well myself how, at that age, even small conflicts can leave you reeling and desperate for days.
Rose, Jed, Martin, Cameron and I sit outside on the Maggie May’s rear deck, enjoying the warm breeze and the lights and bustle on the promenade beyond. While Jed tells the others about his latest court case – a high-profile acquittal of a government minister – I go inside to check on Dee Dee again; she seems fine, intent on something on her phone. She’s probably finding out about the latest gossip back home or looking at pop bands. Back on deck, I’m pleased to see that Jed seems more relaxed than he has done all day. I settle down beside him with a glass of wine and he takes my hand. As dusk falls, the promenade lights twinkle and the bay hums with nightlife. Jed and I are inveterate people-watchers and tonight we’re intrigued by an elderly couple eating across the jetty at the nearest – and one of the fanciest – restaurants along the quay. The woman has a leathery tan and a fabulously camp diamond tiara. I finger my own diamond – a huge oval set on a platinum ring that Jed chose and presented to me on my birthday last month. I said ‘yes’ and promptly burst into tears. For a fleeting moment I wanted to ask him how his wife reacted all those years ago when he proposed to her, but any such reference is liable to propel Jed into a bad mood and I didn’t want to spoil the moment. Since then his ex has really faded from her dominant position in my thoughts. It’s funny. Her shadow hovered over our first few months together, through our affair and Jed’s decision, back in February, to leave her. I felt guilty – not so much about her, the stories Jed has told me make it clear she no longer loved or respected her husband – but over the kids. Still, they both seem to be doing okay now. Anyway, just after Jed proposed in July his ex pitched up at the school where I teach. She waited for me in the car park. It was almost the end of term and when I staggered outside that afternoon, laden with boxes and bags of files, she rounded on me, accusing me of being an evilsouled, husband-stealing, home-wrecking whore and insisting that I had tricked Jed into proposing in order to get my hands on his money. For the first couple of minutes I met her fury with denials and justifications. Then I realized that nothing I said would make a difference, that the woman would never listen to me anyway. Upset and humiliated, I got in my car and fled. I called Jed immediately and he was so outraged on my behalf and so furious with his ex that I actually started to feel sorry for her. And even though, since then, she does her best to tear into me verbally whenever she can, I find that most of the time I pity her: she might have been a bitch to Jed throughout their marriage, but she loved him, in her way, and now she has lost him.
Dusk turns to darkness, the promenade buzzes, music drifts towards us across the water and the five of us chat and laugh through the evening. It is this moment I will remember in the months to come, the way I am purely and perfectly content with the warm breeze on my skin, my fiancé holding my hand and my brother and sister at my side. Rose casts me occasional glances to make sure I’m really over my headache and I smile at her, happier than I can ever remember being before.
Cameron and Rose do most of the talking as Martin opens another bottle of wine. Rose was recently dumped by her boyfriend, Simon – a work colleague of our brother’s – and, though her tone is light as she refers to their split, I can see that underneath she is hurting. She’s looking good on it though – ‘yeah, that’s the misery diet’ she says with a wry laugh. But it’s not just that she’s shed a few pounds. The truth is that I can’t remember her ever looking better than she has in the past few months. She’s junked all her mumsy dresses and is wearing more fitted skirts, tops that show off her curves and even the occasional pair of heels. People say we’re alike and we certainly share our olive skin and long dark hair, though Rose has a higher forehead and a snubbier nose, but our styles are very different. I like my clothes casual whereas Rose tends to wear more formal outfits, and makes sure she is fully accessorized at all times. Tonight she’s in a smart linen sheath dress with a pashmina over her shoulders and every time she leaves the deck to go to the bathroom, she returns with her nose neatly powdered and her lips a soft shade of pink.
We leave shortly after ten. Martin insists on me taking another sachet of ExAche Powders in case my headache comes back. I protest that I’m fine, but Lish has already fetched the box and found me a sachet. Martin hands it to me, then calls us a taxi and we go back to our villa, a few miles along the coast. The lights are on in the hall, the back door to the garden open. We all traipse through and find Jed’s brother Gary and his girlfriend – who declined Martin’s invite to spend the day based around the yacht – swimming naked in the pool. Jed tersely orders Lish and Dee Dee to bed, then insists Gary gets out. He is clearly drunk and, if Iveta’s hints are anything to go by, they’ve been shagging all day – including in the water. Rose blinks at this, clearly horrified. My older sister has always been a bit of a prude compared to me though, frankly, I find the idea of Gary ejaculating into our holiday swimming pool fairly revolting myself.
Jed is back to being tense and irritated. I see him draw Gary to one side, a frown on his face, though I can’t help but notice his eyes are fixed on Iveta, still naked in the pool as he speaks. She’s gorgeous, all long slim legs and huge, high breasts that Rose and I have already decided are fakes.
Rose seems flustered by the situation and heads off to bed. I go to check on Dee Dee. She’s sitting on her bed looking glum, her chubby legs startlingly white beneath her cotton pyjama shorts.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘I can’t find my phone and I turned off the locate app so I won’t be able to work out where it is,’ she says. ‘I know I had it when we left the boat but . . .’
‘Do you think you left it in the taxi?’ I ask.
‘Maybe,’ Dee Dee says. ‘Or maybe it fell out when we were walking to the taxi. That’s the last time I remember seeing it.’ Her lips tremble. ‘I was su
re I put it in my jacket pocket, but it is a bit loose and flappy . . . and it definitely wasn’t in my pocket when we came into the house.’ Her voice cracks.
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ I rush over and squeeze her hand. ‘Listen, I’ll go and get your dad to call the cab firm.’ Dee Dee nods. I squeeze her hand again. ‘It’s horrible losing your phone,’ I say. ‘I’ve done it and it really sucks.’
Jed, already irritated by his brother, is predictably annoyed that Dee Dee has been careless over her mobile, especially when the cab company tell him it hasn’t been handed in. I tell Jed that I’ll break the news.
‘Okay,’ he says with a weary sigh. ‘I’ll probably just get it wrong if I speak to her anyway.’
I fetch a bottle of water and hurry up to Dee Dee.
‘There’s no sign so far,’ I say, setting the bottle down beside her bed. ‘But we can call again in the morning and if it hasn’t turned up I promise we’ll drive back down there tomorrow to where it might have fallen out and ask around.’
‘Thanks, Emily.’ Dee Dee reaches up to give me a hug.
‘Get some sleep now.’
‘Night, night, Emily,’ she says in that little-girly voice. Did she speak like that the last time I saw her before our holiday? No, I’m pretty sure it’s a new development. I let her go and she sits back, rubbing her forehead.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask.
She points at her forehead. ‘Headache. Like you.’ She gives me a wan smile. ‘Hey, maybe it’s catching.’
‘Or maybe you haven’t drunk enough water today,’ I scold with a smile. ‘You have to drink extra when it’s this hot.’ I point to the water bottle, then burrow in my bag for the ExAche sachet that Martin gave me. I check the back. It’s fine for kids over twelve so I hand it over. ‘Mix that in your water,’ I say. ‘There’s a glass you can use in the bathroom. And I know it’s got a bitter taste but make sure you drink it all.’
‘Oh, thanks, Emily.’ She lurches forward and almost crushes me with another hug.
Here We Lie Page 3