by Jo Verity
Her mind raced with the implications of what he’d told her. ‘Perhaps it got lost in the post.’
Did he mention posting it?
Jordan burst into the kitchen and saved the day. ‘We forgot the tent. Mimi texted. They’re going to bring it back tonight.’
‘That’s good of them,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I’ll just take this coffee to Di.’
Diane was sitting at the computer, checking her email. When Elizabeth broke it to her that it was Carl who had sent the five thousand pounds, she remained quiet for a few minutes, fiddling with the mouse, watching the cursor circle the screen. She closed her eyes. ‘Why didn’t I catch on? That is such a Carl thing to do.’
‘He was only trying to help,’ Elizabeth said.
‘He’s always “only trying to help”. It’s fucking infuriating.’
Elizabeth nodded towards the screen. ‘Anything from … anyone?’
‘No. And there’s not going to be, is there? I was crazy thinking he’d turn up after twenty years.’
‘You said, back there in the car, that you were going to forget he exists,’ Elizabeth reminded her. ‘I thought you might be relieved.’
Elizabeth could see now that Diane had welcomed the package not for the money that it contained but for the drama that it promised. Marin Vexler was about to come galloping out of the east (or wherever he was) to liberate her from the humdrum and … Diane never worried about the ‘and’ aspect of anything.
Carl’s revelation had lent urgency to the situation. She and Jordan were not needed here. They were getting in the way, an impediment to what must happen. If Jordan cooperated (another fiver should do the trick) they could leave more or less immediately. She would make some excuse for the change of plan – perhaps resurrect the cat crisis.
31
SATURDAY: 3.20PM
Elizabeth apologised for dashing off. ‘Maggie’s been brilliant but I can’t expect her to sick-nurse my cat. Especially if there are,’ she grimaced, ‘veterinary decisions to be made.’
Carl nodded. ‘It’s a shame. We’ve had no time to talk. I wanted to ask Jordan about the tent. If he thinks it’s a good one. And to hear more about making the recording.’
Diane wasn’t fooled but she played along with it. ‘Cats, eh? Worse than kids.’
‘These things happen,’ Carl said. ‘We must all get together again very soon. Laurence, too. Does he like camping?’
‘Yes, we must. But I have to say Laurence is happier in five star hotels than tents.’
Elizabeth felt rotten for lying. But she and Jordan needed to get out of the way. She could picture it now. Carl, crying and pleading and making all kinds of promises. Diane becoming increasingly irritated, her responses more hurtful as she struggled to free herself from his crippling kindness. They had been together for two years. It was longer than Diane had stuck with anyone but Elizabeth doubted whether Carl would take comfort from holding that particular record.
She told Jordan of the change in their schedule and the reason for it. He didn’t seem surprised (she suspected he knew that it had nothing to do with her cat), but spotting the opportunity for a good barney, he made the most of it. ‘What’s the rush? If the cat’s going to die, it’s going to die.’
‘That’s a rather insensitive thing to say, my friend,’ Carl said.
‘Go and check you’ve left nothing upstairs or in the bathroom, please,’ she said and he slouched off.
Despite assurances that they would be stopping at a service station, Carl insisted on preparing sandwiches for them. Whilst he was doing that, the two women went into the garden.
‘Sorry about the cat lie but it’s best if we get out of your way. I don’t really want Jordan to get caught in the crossfire.’
‘I understand.’
‘When will you tell him?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘It’ll have to be before bedtime. I couldn’t face … you know.’
‘He wouldn’t …?’
She shook her head. ‘He won’t force himself on me, or hit me, or kill himself, if that’s what’s bothering you. I shall move out as soon as I can. It wouldn’t be fair to hang around. He’s such a bloody optimist that he’d take it as a sign that I can be persuaded to change my mind.’
‘Where will you go?’
Diane shrugged. ‘Oh, someone’ll give me a bed until I can cobble together a plan. I might go to Greece, with my students.’
‘You’ll have to come back for the start of term, won’t you?’
‘Will I? Actually, I’m quite excited. I’ve always preferred not knowing what’s going to happen next.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t panic, Lizzie. I value our friendship too much to turn up on your doorstep. Can you imagine what Laurence would say? I’m a survivor. You must know that by now. Besides, I’ve got five thousand pounds to see me through.’ Diane glanced at Elizabeth then laughed. ‘Joking. I’ll give it back, of course. And Carl’s tougher than you think. He’ll bounce back before long. In the mean time he has a whole orchestra of shoulders to cry on.’
This was a convenient conscience salver but Elizabeth wasn’t convinced. She didn’t know Carl Ritter well but from their recent conversations it was obvious that he was obsessed with Diane. Obsessives did not readily surrender.
They hugged.
‘It’s great that you and Dafydd got it together. Who knows, he may be the first of many.’ She exhaled noisily, ‘As you say, it’s been a weird old week.’
Carl was tapping the window pane, holding up a polythene bag.
‘Your sandwiches are ready,’ Diane said.
Out of sight of the house, Elizabeth pulled into the kerb and switched off the car’s engine.
‘I need a few moments to clear my head,’ she explained to Jordan, who was in the passenger seat next to her.
‘No rush.’
Why was he being so accommodating? Did he not want to go home? She’d practically had to push him down the path to the gate.
‘Is there a problem, Jordan? I only ask because you seem reluctant to leave.’
‘You said we’d leave at five.’
‘Did I? When?’
‘Yesterday morning. Before we went on the walk.’
What was he up to? Was he hoping to delay until Mimi and Angel got back to Cardiff?
‘Maybe. But quite frankly, I can’t see what difference a couple of hours makes.’
He engaged the zip of his hoodie, zipped it smartly to the neck and, keeping hold of the metal tab, yanked the fabric over his nose. ‘Mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble.’
She tugged the front of the garment, exposing his mouth. ‘I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’
He stared out of the windscreen. ‘I told Layla we’d give her a lift.’
‘Layla?’
‘Yeah. She’s the—’
‘I know who Layla is.’
Although she’d seen them swapping numbers, she was surprised to hear that they’d been in touch.
Jordan was fiddling with his seat belt, clicking the buckle in and out of its catch.
‘Could you stop doing that for a second? Exactly how did you imagine this scheme of yours was going to work? Extra-sensory perception?’
‘’Course not. I told her to be where we dropped her off. At quarter to five.’
‘Well you’ll have to tell her that you made a mistake.’
‘That’s mean. There’s loads of room.’
‘That’s not the point.’ I must stop saying that. ‘You can’t imagine I’m going to hang around Cardiff, waiting for her. That’s not how hitchhiking works.’
‘I could text her. Tell her to get here now.’
‘No.’
‘But it’d be good karma.’
Good karma. Good grief.
He looked her squarely in the eye. ‘If we give her a lift, your cat won’t die.’
He knew. And she knew he knew. But it suited them both not to have this conversation. Whatever accommodation they’d reached in the last week didn’t include frank
exchanges about sex between consenting adults.
He wouldn’t let it go. ‘I’ve done loads of things for you.’
‘For instance?’
‘I came to Wales. I came back from the party. I did the walk. I’ve done loads.’
‘You were paid for most of it, too. And if you hadn’t come to Wales you wouldn’t have met Lenny Butler. Or Mimi. You wouldn’t have written a song. You wouldn’t be the owner of a hundred-pound T-shirt.’
He slouched in his seat, his argument trumped by hers. But her sense of victory was fleeting. There was nothing clever in crushing a child. (That’s what he looked like – a despondent child.) He must think her a real cow. Diane’s words resonated. How often d’you get the chance to play fairy godmother? There was no real reason why she shouldn’t give Layla a lift. It might even put her personal karmic account in credit.
‘She’s in Cardiff, is she?’
‘Think so.’
‘Okay. I’ll give her half-an-hour,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘Cool.’
‘Hang on. I haven’t finished. Your karmic gesture will be to forego today’s ten pounds. And, if she’s not there, I’m not waiting. Agreed?’
He nodded, his thumbs already busy with a text message.
‘Could I make a suggestion, Jordan? Why not ring her? Speak to her? Then we’ll know for sure if she’s coming.’
He looked nonplussed, as if she were suggesting he do something radical. It simply hadn’t occurred to him to speak to Layla. She realised that not once had she seen him using his phone to make a call. Texting was safe, a sterile buffer, a cushion against the outside world. Everything could be filtered. Nothing could catch him unawares.
‘Go on. Ring her now.’
He opened the car door and got out, walking a few metres away then turning his back on her.
It wasn’t long before he returned, his face revealing nothing.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘She doesn’t want a lift.’
‘What’s made her change her mind?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘Dunno.’
He took his iPod from his pocket, shoved the earphones in his ears and turned to gaze out of the side window.
By this time on a Saturday the majority of London-bound weekenders were ensconced in hotels, getting ready for a meal or a show and, as she’d predicted, the traffic on the motorway was light. They were held up through a stretch of road works (heavy machinery parked neatly in the coned-off section and no sign of anyone working) but apart from that, she was able to keep to a steadyish seventy miles per hour. Jordan slept, or pretended to sleep and, with little worth listening to on the radio, it was impossible to keep her thoughts at bay.
Nothing earth-shattering had happened during her week away from home – a thunderstorm, a lazy few days at the seaside, an encounter with an ageing rock star. (There was Diane’s revelation too, although the knowledge that Carl had sent the cash had revived her initial doubts as to its veracity.) Yet she was a different woman from the one who had driven west last Saturday. She was heading home with a secret – a modest one considering what might have been.
She was tired, the drone of the engine beckoning her towards sleep. When she glanced in the rear-view mirror, she saw Dafydd Jones, his arm raised in farewell; when she switched on the radio, Eddie Mair’s authoritative burr moderated into Dafydd’s lilting tones.
When she scared herself by straying briefly onto the hard shoulder, she prodded Jordan. ‘You haven’t told me about recording the song. What did you have to do altogether? Was it complicated?’
He took the bait, his enthusiastic account of his ‘session’ in Lenny Butler’s studio, anchoring her wandering thoughts, making sure she stayed awake.
They stopped for fuel at Membury service station. In the cafeteria, she bought herself a coffee and Jordan a can of Coca Cola, and they sat in the car eating the sandwiches that Carl had prepared. A sense of camaraderie enveloped her – tempered with the hunch that, at this stage in the game, it might be prudent to get on the right side of her charge.
She took a ten-pound note from her purse. ‘Here. This is for today. We’ll work out what else I owe you when we get home.’
‘Okay.’ He folded the note and zipped it into the pocket of his hoodie.
Elizabeth unlocked the front door. The hall smelled stale, like the inside of a suitcase which hadn’t been opened since last summer. She made a swift tour of the house. Everything was as she’d left it.
The week’s mail was on the worktop, along with a Post-it from Maggie – ‘Milk and juice in fridge. Bread in bin. Cat fed at 6pm.’
Elizabeth flicked through the pile of post. A bank statement. An optician’s appointment. Postcards from Laurence and a work colleague. Notification of a blood-donor session. Half a dozen items for Laurence. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She filled the kettle and switched it on then went into the garden. High white cloud covered the sky but it was warm. The rain gauge was empty and the lawn hadn’t grown. London had obviously escaped the effects of Cirrus Unicus. The pots had been watered and the roses dead-headed. Everything was as it should be.
She glanced into next-door’s garden, hoping to catch Maggie, but there was no sign of life.
Jordan came out. ‘Where is this cat, anyway?’
She was too tired to continue the fiction. ‘Look. The cat’s fine. Diane and Carl have … serious issues to discuss. We were in the way.’
‘Yeah.’ He smiled as though he’d scored another point. ‘Carl’s a nice guy.’
‘Yes, but “nice” isn’t necessarily—’
‘Joe’s cooler, though. She should go with Joe.’
She thought how easy it must be to be fifteen, the world set out in black and white. ‘Well. We don’t get a vote on that.’
‘Dafydd’s cool, too.’
Jordan seldom volunteered an opinion which lent significance and slight menace to his observation. Had he been asleep in the car this morning when she confessed to Diane? Might he have overheard Diane and Joe gossiping last night? Suddenly she pictured him, seated opposite her in Lenny’s kitchen, silent and watchful as Dafydd took olives from the dish and popped them in her mouth.
‘Yes. He’s a very nice man. I’m only sorry that Laurence didn’t meet him. They’d get on really well.’ Leave it. ‘I thought we’d have soup for supper. And there’s ice cream in the freezer.’
The cat appeared, picking its way along the fence. It dropped down and strolled towards the back door, ignoring her, punishing her as he always did when he’d been deserted for any length of time.
‘What’s it called?’ Jordan asked.
‘Stevens. After Cat Stevens. You probably haven’t heard of him. He’s a songwriter. Or used to be. I think he calls himself something different now. It was Alex’s idea.’
‘Cat Stevens.’ Jordan mulled it over for a few seconds then smiled. ‘Neat.’
Over supper she discovered what had happened. Jordan and Layla had exchanged occasional texts during the week. (He didn’t say what they were about.) Layla had mentioned that she might be going back to Reading at the weekend. She’d never confirmed this nor had she responded to today’s instruction from Jordan to be waiting on the roadside. The whole scheme had existed entirely in his head.
‘What did she say when you spoke to her?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘She didn’t take the call,’ he mumbled then pushed his bowl away and went upstairs.
Mean cow, she thought, surprised at herself for caring.
Later, after she’d tidied the kitchen, she went up to her room to unpack. Alex’s bedroom door was shut and she assumed Jordan had gone to bed, nevertheless she tapped the door gently and called ‘Night night’.
On opening her bag, the first thing she saw was Gwen’s skirt. Shit. The plan to wash the clothes in Cardiff had slipped her mind in her haste to escape. Now, not only did she have to launder the clothes but she had the problem of getting them back to Dafydd. Returning the
m via Diane (or Carl, come to that) was no longer an option. Cautiously, as if they were booby-trapped, she removed the clothes and spread them across the bed. The smock was quite yellowed around the neck and the side seam of the T-shirt was split. They really were nothing more than a few old clothes. Diane would say ‘They’re worth less than it would cost to post them. Shove the whole lot in the bin.’ She’d have to think about it.
She bathed, thinking how good it was to be in her own bath, how reassuring to know which was the hot tap and which the cold, and to have her favourite ‘smellies’ within arm’s reach.
Had Diane told Carl yet that she was leaving? It was odd that she’d heard nothing from her. No, of course it wasn’t. She would be out with her student friends.
Ten o’clock. Laurence would be packing his suitcase, saying goodbye to his fellow food warriors, swapping recipes and addresses they would never use. She smiled as she remembered his non-existent dalliance amongst the sunflowers. (How could she have been so heartless as to foist Mrs Sensible on him?)
Home Cooking? Why not? She’d make a bread-and-butter pudding tomorrow afternoon.
32
SUNDAY: 9.30AM
The doorbell rang. It was Alex.
‘Good heavens,’ Elizabeth said, squinting at her watch. ‘I didn’t expect you for hours yet.’
They kissed, the stubble on her son’s chin scratching her cheek. He looked as though he hadn’t slept for days.
‘You look a bit rough,’ she said.
‘Thanks, Ma. How was Wales?’
Without waiting to hear, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. ‘When’s Dad back?’
‘This evening.’
The simple fact of her son’s presence altered her. It both added something and took something away. It grounded her firmly in her world whilst, simultaneously, stealing a little of her independence.