Rosalie grasped my hand through the window and winked at me. ‘You’re a good girl, Lizzy. What’s this I hear about you and Miles, then?’
‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘Young David told me. He’s been amazing in all this, you know. Practically tied your uncle up and forced him to talk to me and sort it all out. God bless him, he’s great. But whatever.’ She shook her head. ‘So, you and Miles – it’s going well, is it?’ She looked like a bright little bird, her head on one side.
‘Yes, it really is,’ I told her. ‘So – so David knows about us, does he?’ I’d not had the courage to ask Miles again if he’d talked to his brother.
‘Honey,’ Rosalie said, ‘he knows. I think he’s fine with it. That’s what he told me, anyway. Why shouldn’t he be? It’s a little weird for him, sure, but it’s no big deal, is it?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t agree more.’ I couldn’t work out why I felt rather deflated after she said this; after all, it wasn’t a big deal.
‘I’m coming through. Stay there,’ said Rosalie. ‘I need a drink.’
‘Yes,’ I said, gazing past her into the garden. ‘So do I.’
THIRTY
By the time Miles arrived to pick me up, I was glad to be getting out of the house – and who could have predicted that a few hours earlier when we had been crying with joy that the house was saved. The atmosphere was as thick as pea-soup and we were no longer dancing around with joy. The reason, of course, was Mike. And it wasn’t really his fault, more that all the stress of the last forty-eight hours, or perhaps the last five months, was finally catching up with all of us. Anyway, as is usually the way with large family gatherings, I’d changed my mind about wanting to spend as much time as possible in the bosom of my family and was practically standing by the side of the road with a sign saying ‘Take me Away from Here’ when Miles zoomed, too fast, round the corner in his zippy Mercedes at precisely one minute to seven, I was sitting on the grass verge with my case under my feet. Thankfully, the others were still at the wedding rehearsal.
‘Hello, beautiful,’ he said, as he screeched to a halt.
‘Hello,’ I said, jumped in and kissed him.
His dark hair was sticking up in peaks because of the wind, his face was flushed, and he looked so pleased to see me that I was infected by his enthusiasm.
‘Don’t you want me to come in and meet the family?’ he said, teasingly.
‘No. I just want to get out of here and be with you,’ I said, trying to sound like an exotic Soviet spy, but instead sounding rather desperate, like a sex-starved librarian who couldn’t give it away.
‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ said Miles, and as we kissed again, I felt all my cares disappear. He was a great kisser. The house wasn’t being sold. Chin’s wedding was tomorrow. The weather forecast was for twenty-five degrees and sunny. And I was going out on this lovely evening to be a proper grown-up. I would have sex, which is always a great prospect at the start of an evening.
‘Mm,’ Miles said, shifting in his seat. He brought me closer to him, and I relaxed even more. ‘Mm,’ he repeated.
‘Mm,’ I said back, then saw that Mum, Dad, Chin and Gibbo were staring at us from the other end of the bonnet. They must have walked back across the field from the church.
‘Oh, my God,’ I said, leaping away from Miles and pushing him away as if I were being assaulted by a complete stranger.
‘Hi there,’ said Gibbo, smiling broadly.
‘Hello,’ said Miles, confidently. ‘I won’t keep you. Lovely to see you, Mr Walter, Dr Walter, Chin, Gibbo. Good luck for tomorrow. We’ll see you then. We’re off.’ He put the car into gear and shot off, before we could enter into any further conversation. I turned and waved as my family disappeared into the distance.
‘So,’ said Miles, as the sommelier retreated, leaving us to enjoy an insouciant little dessert wine from the company of Overpriced and Curlicues. ‘Is this really all OK? Are you enjoying yourself?’
It’s always about me when I’m with Miles. Am I happy? Am I enjoying myself? Is Miles pleasing me? I found it odd at first but relationships are all about balance, aren’t they, and if both of you are content why fight it? It’s like when people say, ‘If I had all the money in the world, I still wouldn’t want to do nothing all day, I’d soon get bored.’ Rubbish, you’d like to try it for a while, wouldn’t you?
Before David, most of my previous relationships had been characterized by me running to catch up with men who didn’t like to be seen in public with me. My ex-boyfriend after university, Jim, whom I went out with for three years on and off, was a nice man – but we drifted apart. I was pretty upset when it ended, but a couple of months later I was relieved. I should have known it was on the skids when I agreed to cater for a dinner party he was having for five other friends to which I wasn’t invited. I went, I cooked, I laid the table. We even had sex in the bathroom before the guests arrived. Then I left, having angled desperately for an invitation to stay. Jim dumped me a couple of weeks later and I don’t blame him. I’d have dumped myself after that.
Anyway, my point is that I was used to being a table-laying geisha-style girlfriend, rather than the stroppy princess who has to be placated with mini-breaks, expensive meals, flowers and jewellery. Part of me worried about why Miles did this. Perhaps he felt guilty about David. I did. Perhaps we should have talked about it, but Miles didn’t like talking about it, and neither did I.
Secretly, I didn’t really like the imbalance it created between us – like I was the girly girl and he was the cash-heavy man who took his lady out and threw money around. Once in a while I wished I could take him out, or cook him a meal, or do more normal things, like see a film, but we didn’t and over the last couple of months I had got used to living this rather glamorous life.
The Oak Grange was very nice. Plush, dimly lit, all mod cons and very tasteful, with some of the charm of the original sixteenth-century house but brought fully up to date. We were by the window in the dining room, which was wide, low-ceilinged, with the doors flung open on to the flagstoned patio. Actually, it was all a little bit Crossroads: the gerberas on each table were fake, in those tiny jars with clear gel to hold them up, and the music drifting over from the ‘lounge area’ was distinctly Dion-esque. I couldn’t have cared less, but Miles was anxious: he’d thought we’d signed up for the last word in exclusivity, and the plastic gerberas were a big disappointment to him. Several long discussions with the head waiter about the sea bream, the white wine and the Reblochon had soothed him, though, and he was now more relaxed, no doubt helped by the copious amounts of wine we’d drunk.
‘I’m having a wonderful time. What about you?’ I said.
‘Me too,’ said Miles seriously. ‘I’m sorry to be fussing.’
‘You’re not.’
‘I just feel guilty about being such a plonker this morning on the phone.’
‘You weren’t. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your texts. I should have done – you understand now?’
‘Of course I do. I was just worried all of a sudden, that’s all.’
‘Don’t be,’ I said.
‘I can’t help it.’
I finished my wine and wished I could help myself to more.
A few other people were dotted about the dining room, mostly couples. I wondered if any were staying there for the wedding. A couple near us, a few years older than us, were sitting in total silence. The man looked bored and boring, the woman cross. She had one of those sinewy, grasping faces and pale blue eyes. I let my gaze drift over the others. Were they all having similar conversations? Were they arguing? Would they go upstairs and laugh like drains, were they happy?
Miles took my hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you so much,’ he said.
‘Why?’ I said, touched.
‘It’s so great of you to come when you could have stayed at home with your family and had a celebration.’
‘Honestly,’ I said, thinking of Chin screaming and c
rying, ‘I’d rather be here, you know.’
‘Really?’ Miles said eagerly.
I could be truthful about it because it was a fact: I’d rather be in this nice hotel with this lovely man than in the House of the Rising Tempers fifteen miles down the road. ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘Of course. I feel…’ I tried to work out what to say. ‘I feel…well, like I’ve been clinging to all of that for too long. To the past. Lots of things. Well, I’ve been stupid.’ Suddenly I experienced the liberating rush that comes when you know you’re saying what someone else wants to hear. ‘I’m sick of the house, and I want to be with you. I’m so lucky, I can’t believe it. I keep thinking you’ll change your mind.’
‘I won’t,’ said Miles, smiling. ‘I want you to change your mind, though.’
‘About what?’
‘About lots of things. About not supporting QPR. About moving to LA. About coming to live with me. About…’ he leaned forward, smiling wickedly, and lowered his voice ‘…about doing that thing I want you to do.’
I laughed. The couple at the table nearest to us looked over, and the woman gave us one of those typically female appraising glances that mean, ‘I’m jealous of you, but I’ll hide it by staring rudely at you.’ I do it all the time.
‘It’s getting late,’ Miles observed. He put his hand on my knee and slid it slowly higher.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Time for bed?’ Miles said.
‘That would be nice,’ I said.
We got up and left. As I walked out of the room I threw a glance over my shoulder at the woman with the pale blue eyes. But she wasn’t looking jealously at me any more: she was laughing with the man opposite, looking at the pudding menu, her necklace glowing in the twilight. She looked quite different, and as Miles put his arm round my waist and drew me towards the lift I felt a little jealous of her.
We had had sex, and Miles got up to get a glass of water. He came back into the bedroom and sat down beside me, slipping his hand between my thighs and kissing me. ‘Was that good?’ he murmured enquiringly.
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
Miles sat back on the sofa. ‘Can I ask you something?’
It’s surprising how little one likes the question that follows that one. ‘Of course,’ I said.
He bent his head over me, stroked my hair and nuzzled my neck. He murmured something. I caught his head in my hands and he smoothed my hair away from my face, section by section, lifting it behind my shoulders. He kissed the hollow at the base of my neck. ‘Better than David?’ he said.
I opened my eyes. ‘What?’
‘You must have known I’d be curious. Am I better than David?’
‘Fuck off, Miles,’ I said, and stood up, smiling to show I wasn’t pissed off, although I was. David.
Miles flung one arm across the headboard. With the other he reached out and grabbed my arm. He said, in the same maddeningly calm tone, ‘Come on, Lizzy, it’s kind of natural I’d want to know. How did he fuck you? Was it better than this? What else did he do? What did you do to him that you won’t do to me? Anything I should know about?’
I tried to walk away but he was still holding my arm. ‘Get off, Miles,’ I said.
‘No.’
‘I mean it. Get off,’ I said, trying to walk away. But he was stronger than me and he wouldn’t move. He was pulled along the sofa and on to his knees on the floor. He laughed, like it was all a big joke.
‘Don’t be cross, Lizzy,’ he wheedled.
‘Miles! Get a fucking grip. You look ridiculous.’
Suddenly I felt nothing but contempt for him. I looked at his face, so like David’s yet so different, and felt sick.
‘I just want to know,’ he said, sounding totally unlike himself. ‘Did he make you come every time? Did you fake it with him?’
‘I don’t fake it,’ I said.
‘Liar.’
‘OK, I did once, maybe twice. But—’
‘Why?’ Miles stood up. ‘Why? Don’t I – don’t you—’
He put his hands on my face. I could smell the wine on his breath. It isn’t in my nature to demand to know what’s going on, or to cause a fuss. I wanted to smooth this over, make us both believe everything was OK. So I tried to laugh it off. ‘Well, you know, brothers,’ I said. ‘You’re very much alike, sometimes it’s hard to tell. Oh, I’m joking, Miles, calm down. Let’s just go back to bed.’ I stroked his cheek.
But he stayed where he was, staring at me, and his grip tightened. ‘You never loved me,’ he said, after a moment.
‘Miles! I’ve never said I did,’ I wrenched my head from his grip.
‘Are you thinking of him when you’re with me?’ he said.
‘No, of course not!’ I said, aghast. ‘God, no, never.’
‘Why not?’ Miles said, backing away. ‘David told me what you liked. I’ve been doing what you liked. I thought it might remind you of my big brother. I thought it might make you like me better.’
I felt dizzy. ‘Stop it, Miles,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, Lizzy. I shouldn’t have said it.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does. I’m a twat.’
‘You’re not, just forget it.’
So we had sex again, and I faked it much more convincingly this time, and as we lay there afterwards, Miles breathing heavily, his arm weighing down hard on my ribs, I bit my lip and stared up at the ceiling. I could have been at home. I should have been at home. David had told Miles about our sex life (not very successfully, though – if he was going to betray our deepest secrets I wish he’d been more specific in his descriptions to Miles) and Miles was – what? I didn’t know this side of him and I didn’t like it.
The difference between Miles and David was that when I found out something new about Miles it always alarmed me. Nothing David could have told me about himself, short of him being a UKIP MP or president of a golf club, would have worried me. I’d wanted to know everything about him, what he liked, what he hated, what made him sad, when he’d been most scared, what made him happy and what might make him happy.
Miles rolled over in his sleep and wrapped his arm round me, pulling me towards him. I felt his chest against my back, his breath on my neck, his twitch as something in his dream disturbed him. After a while my thoughts started overlapping and spooling together, and I slept the sleep of the dead, so heavily I dreamed of nothing and no one, until Miles woke me the next morning, and it started again.
THIRTY-ONE
Despite all the palaver, weddings don’t vary that much in the essential details, do they? A group of people gathers at a church or somewhere similarly picturesque. They watch their friend/relative/enemy/colleague/secret lover get married. They drink champagne. They eat. The cake is cut. The speeches are made. People circulate. They get drunk. They dance until the wedding is over. Within that framework there are different kinds of flowers, bridesmaids’ dresses, waist-coats, speeches, food, photos, music and snogs. But it’s like there’s a Venn diagram of about six basic weddings and all of them overlap at certain points. For the person attending the wedding there is only one point at which they all meet: it’s much better to go with someone than to go alone.
Chin’s wedding was Wedding Variation Number Four: Notting Hill Boho Relaxed Shabby Chic (but God forbid that any of the Portaloos don’t have Cologne and Cotton hand-towels and Molton Brown liquid soap). I was going to wear a dress I’d bought in an amazing shop in Bloomsbury. It was 1930s, soft apple-green silk, empire line, with a chocolate brown trim, and a plunging neckline, which, with the empire line, hoicked my boobs up to my neck. I was pleased with the result: it made me look like Simone Caldwell. I had some chocolate brown suede kitten heels and a matching wrap. Early in the morning I had my hair blow-dried in the beauty salon at the Oak Grange while Miles was in his bath, singing James Brown at the top of his voice.
I didn’t want to talk about the previous night. So I didn’t. And I was glad when I went back to our room to get my b
ag and make sure Miles was ready. He was standing in the middle of the room, fiddling with his buttonhole, trying to pin it on. ‘It’s weird that I’m an usher and you don’t have anything to do when she’s your flipping aunt,’ he said, swearing as the safety-pin pricked his thumb.
‘I’ll do it,’ I said, putting my bag and wrap on the bed and going over to him.
‘Hello,’ he said, kissing me. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘So do you.’
‘Let’s not make a big deal of this, Lizzy,’ he said.
‘It’s done now,’ I said, having pinned the rose into place. ‘All fine.’
‘I meant last night.’
‘Oh,’ I said, and took a step back. ‘Forget it.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ said Miles, easily. ‘I was drunk, I was a wanker. It was nothing. I don’t want it to ruin today, OK?’
‘Right,’ I said lightly. I wanted to say something more, but I didn’t know what. ‘Let’s go then.’
‘Great,’ said Miles. ‘You really do look beautiful.’
He picked up my overnight bag as I checked myself in the mirror. Suddenly I knew what I wanted to say. But it was too late then, and we left the room.
Miles dropped me off at Keeper House fairly early. It was only ten o’clock and already obvious that it was going to be yet another hot day. It was a record-breaker for May, according to the news that morning. The sky was almost white, and the mulberry tree in the courtyard was totally still. He had wanted to come in to help, but I wasn’t sure of the status quo. Too many cooks spoil the broth? Or many hands make light work? Whichever, I didn’t want to risk exposing Miles to the ugly atmosphere of yesterday, especially with the added factor of bridal Chin. And I wanted to be on my own for a little while.
I’d forgotten my keys, so I had to ring the doorbell. I felt like a visitor, standing on the doorstep, and I realized my night away had given me a sense of perspective. As I gazed up at the front of the house, so peaceful and golden in the morning sun, I couldn’t believe it was only yesterday that Dad had been standing in his best suit in the kitchen, prepared to sign it all away. It was a miracle. It made all the arguments, the petty family issues and crises, seem irrelevant. None of it mattered.
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