He looked pensive for a moment. ‘No... Because I’m wanting to do it more than I’m being shy.’ I hugged him and spun him round, said I would look into it.
Then the doorbell rang. The outline suggested I was about to have to pay the annual three pounds to the village society. But it was an anxious-looking Elizabeth, clutching a folder.
‘Hello Rosie. Sorry to disturb you, but Jez forgot these – he’ll need them on Monday.’
‘Monday?’ He wasn’t due back until Tuesday evening.
‘Yes. For Yiorgos in Crete.’
‘Oh. Well he’ll have to manage without, Jez is already there.’
She looked down and breathed out heavily. It looked like Jez was in trouble.
‘He went out last night. Can’t it be emailed, faxed or something?’ I asked.
‘Er... no.’ She seemed shaken.
‘Oh dear, is it very important?’
She just looked at the doormat.
‘Sorry, would you like to come in? Have some tea – or something cold...?’
‘Hello,’ said Kenny, coming into the hall. She looked at him in alarm and I thought I saw tears in her eyes; I wondered if she was feeling bad about the sacking she was going to give his father. I told Kenny he could have a packet of Maltesers if he went and helped Grandpa in the garden and he ran off.
‘Please come in and have a drink. I’m sorry Jez has let you down, I’m sure he – ’
‘Let me down?’
‘I’m afraid he’s been a bit head in the clouds recently. Maybe the BBC... it’s gone to his head.’
‘Not just his head!’ she suddenly burst out.
I was shocked at her lack of composure: this wasn’t her at all.
‘You’ve no idea, have you? Rosie... Jez... there’s nothing for him to do in Crete this weekend – Yiorgos will be busy with a family wedding... He’s out there with Sarah.’ Her anger suddenly seemed to be spent. ‘I’m sorry, but someone had to tell you. Sarah thinks she can have anything she wants these days – and unfortunately at the moment that includes your husband.’
I felt a rush of sadness but strangely calm; it was just a confirmation of what I really already knew, I told myself. I recalled the stilted replies to my late night phone call. ‘How long has it been going on?’
‘I don’t know, but I suspected it from the start.’
‘So did I.’ I saw her sharp features soften for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about me. I know about Sarah, and I’ve got plans. Now, what do you want me to do with that folder... or is it just a prop?’
She nodded. ‘I needed to find out, see if you...’ she started, smiling weakly. ‘But don’t worry Rosie, I’ll talk to her –’
‘No, please don’t. They’re not children Elizabeth. And please, don’t let’s have any upsets before the Open Day, it means so much to him.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘Yes, it is.’
She reached forward and touched my shoulder briefly and then turned on her heel and walked down the drive. I went back to the sun lounger on the decking, feeling wobbly but, oddly, in no danger of tears.
‘Well... that’s done,’ Terry said, putting the hose away. ‘Can’t have the garden drying to a crisp now it’s going to be on the telly, can we? Who was that?’ he asked, watching Elizabeth get back into her car.
‘Jez’s boss. Brought something round.’
‘Bit of a dragon.’
‘I thought that but... she’s not so bad.’ I watched him sit down and put his hands behind his head.
‘How’s it going with Jan?’ I asked, hoping to be diverted.
He shrugged. Then went inside and came back out again with a lolly for each of us, sat down with a sigh. We enjoyed our chats, Terry and I, liked having time together without Jez dominating the conversation. Seb had managed to tear himself away from his laptop and was playing badminton with Kenny. Terry pointed at the two of them and we smiled at each other: old Seb.
Terry wasn’t answering my question.
‘You see a lot of her, seem so comfortable together,’ I said.
‘Yes, well we are. But she also still wants to spend a lot of time being uncomfortable with David Gray. Dorian Gray, I call him – it’s not natural to look like that at sixty-eight.’
‘The retired fashion designer guy? I thought he dumped her just before she met you.’
‘That kind of man doesn’t finish with anyone, he just collects. And she gets so hurt. I thought I’d let our friendship grow, hoped it would sort of take over. But all that’s happening is I’m getting increasingly involved and she... well, I don’t know...’
‘And she thinks it’s fair to see him as well as you?’
‘She’s always been honest with me. Says she loves us both for different reasons.’
‘What does she love him for then? He sounds vile.’
‘Google him and you’ll see why.’
‘You can’t love someone for being beautiful,’ I said, but recalling my feelings when I first met Ali. ‘Besides, you’re not exactly the back end of a bus.’
‘Thanks for your vote of confidence,’ he said, patting me on the hand, ‘but I can tell you, it’s a shock having to go through all this teenage stuff again at my age. Enjoy the happiness and comfort of being married while it lasts; being single again is bloody awful.’
I leaned back, closed my eyes, tried hard to relax. ‘Oh, this sun’s good,’ I said, trying not to imagine Jez enjoying the happiness and comfort of a sexy siesta.
‘Why didn’t you go with him? I could have looked after the boys.’
‘He didn’t ask me.’
‘Yes he did. He mentioned it when he came back last time, but said you didn’t look that interested.’
‘What? When did he say that?’
‘Well... as I say, when he came back last time.’
I lay back and closed my eyes again, trying to recall the conversation. I’d been enchanted by the idea; how could he possibly not have seen that?
‘I don’t think you two communicate properly sometimes, you’ve both got so busy. Why don’t you have a few days away together somewhere, that place you used to like in Spain, what’s it called, sounds like a medicine.’
‘Medina Sidonia,’ I said, trying not to recall the carefree incarnations of ourselves lost and laughing in the narrow cobbled streets, making love unusually intensely in the heady humidity of the tiny hotel room... I forced myself to concentrate on watching the boys playing; somehow I had to get through the rest of the day, wait until I was alone in bed before I could give in to the swell of tears that were now steadily on their way after all.
‘Yes, that’s it. Catch up with each other a bit.’ He stood up and picked up the mugs, then turned to me again. ‘It’s important you know. To keep talking, sharing things. Believe me, you don’t want to end up playing the ghastly dating game again sooner than you have to.’
I made a smile and shook my head; I suddenly felt utterly exhausted. ‘And what are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to hang on in there. What else?’
24.
There she was, looking rather overdressed for the toy-strewn waiting area in a cream skirt and delicately floral blouse, a coordinating cotton sweater round her shoulders – an effect I sometimes attempted, only mine always fell off.
And there was the gorgeous Gabriel sitting beside her in his school uniform – complete with piped V-neck jumper despite the sweltering NHS climate. Seven and a half now and off to prep school next term. Where he would no doubt continue to shine at English, art and football, and, as an excellent recorder player, was looking forward to starting piano lessons.
I swigged my water bottle as if it were something stronger and called them in. Ana, in her carefully enunciated English, asked after my health and apologised for having to bring Gabriel back again, while I looked down at Gabriel’s shiny dark head as he walked past me to the chair.
‘They’re not right,’ he said, i
nterrupting his mother’s pleasantries, ‘the television’s blurred and sort of... stretched.’
‘Oh dear, can I have a look?’ I moved closer to take off his glasses. He had his father’s big sad eyes and serious expression but his mother’s more elfin features.
There was no mistake in the way the glasses had been made up: I was going to have to re-test.
‘I knew they’d be wrong. She went too fast with the better-one-or-two bit. She was rushing,’ he said, leaning back in the big chair with his hands behind his head like a little prince on a throne.
‘Gabriel!’ exclaimed Ana. ‘She was very patient with you. How can you say that?’
‘It’s true, Mama.’ It may well have been: Dipti was renowned for her rapid patient throughput. ‘And anyway, my papa is a consultant here so I should have the best person for my glasses. And that’s you, not the other lady.’
If any other child had spoken like this I would have been appalled, but it was hard not to enjoy the mutual appreciation – Gabriel’s trust of my skill, and my attraction to his outspoken manner and resemblance to his father. I made some unconvincing comments in Dipti’s defence and got on with the test.
He considered each lens carefully, describing their effect not merely as better or worse but sparkling or dull, bright or misty. Eventually we arrived at a new prescription that took him to the bottom of the chart.
‘What do you say, Gabriel?’ asked Ana as I took off the trial frame.
‘Thank you Rosie,’ he said, getting out of the chair and coming over to see what I was writing. And then, like some children do, he leant against me. I resisted the urge to put my arm round him, stroke his soft black hair. While he still liked me. Because I assumed that by the next time I saw him he wouldn’t like me anymore: I would become the woman who’d taken Papa away. Maybe in time he’d forgive me. Meanwhile Ana was saying how patient I was, and I replied, as I always did, that it was easy to be patient with other people’s kids.
‘And how are your boys?’ she asked. ‘Is Seb better?’
I set the computer to show slides of wild animals for Gabriel. ‘A bit. He’s seeing Professor Borden on Thursday.’
‘Oh, that’s good. And the little one, how old is he now?’
‘Nine in August. He’s fine.’
‘Did you ever want a third? A girl perhaps?’
‘No, we didn’t.’
‘I would like another, but Ricardo isn’t keen. But then, maybe – who knows?’ she said with a little laugh.
Who knows? Who knows if he will change his mind, or who knows whether it will just happen, even if he doesn’t? My heart started to race. I put two stickers on Gabriel’s jumper and told him how well he’d done, gave instructions about taking the notes to the dispensing optician and getting the glasses changed. Then I stood up to signal that it was time for her to go.
‘Thank you so much, Rosie,’ she said. ‘Oh, and good luck with the garden Open Day. Ricardo tells me that it might even be in a television programme. How big is your garden?’
‘About an acre and a half.’
‘Is that very big? Like a park?’ Gabriel asked.
‘No. Well perhaps like a very small park. People want to see the tropical plants my husband’s put in it,’ I told him.
‘What’s a topical plant?’
‘The sort of plant you might see in Brazil,’ said Ricardo, coming in to the room. ‘How did he get on?’
‘He was brilliant. I did find something different – we’ll change the glasses,’ I said, finding it difficult to look him in the eyes.
‘Why can’t our garden be like Brazil?’ Gabriel asked. ‘I’d like to see Rosie’s park.’ He turned his big eyes on me. ‘Can I come to your garden?’
I felt my cheeks begin to flush. ‘Of course you could, but it’s a very long way –’
‘A long time in the car, Gabriel,’ added Ricardo, ‘you’d hate that.’ He thanked me, his hand on my shoulder. ‘We better leave you to it. Come on Gabriel, you could get back in time for football.’
I was suddenly left alone, it was over, and I was left to contemplate what Ana had said. I would have to talk to Ricardo about it later. Inevitably, my head began to throb, so I had a word with the receptionist and went off to my office to get my migraine tablets. But as I walked down the medical secretaries’ corridor I could hear Ricardo’s voice – he must have stopped off to speak to his secretary on his way back to clinic. I walked past quickly but he immediately called my name and came out to see me, taking my arm.
‘People will see,’ I whispered, shaking him off. ‘Nobody’s here. What’s the matter – it was okay wasn’t it?’
‘No it wasn’t.’
‘What happened? Ana seemed fine.’
‘Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?’ I tried to walk on, but he held me back.
‘Why are you –’
‘Are you crazy? Let go,’ I said. And he did; a couple of secretaries had come out of an office and were walking towards us.
By the time I reached my office the tears were welling up. Just when I thought I was sure about him, was finally making a decision, I felt flung back to square one. I opened the door, confident of an empty room because everyone had a clinic. But Damian was there, standing by his desk looking through a pile of notes.
‘Hi,’ I said, turning my back to him and opening the drawer, rifling through for the packet. I was aware that he seemed to have stopped still; I could feel his eyes on me, his antennae detecting a distress signal.
‘Are you okay? No, stupid question, you obviously aren’t. Can I help in any way?’
‘Migraine starting. Come to get my pills before it takes hold.’
‘I’ll get you some water,’ he said, and went out into the corridor.
I sat down and swallowed the pill, pressing my fingers into my left temple in the usual futile attempt to ease the throbbing until the green half-moon could work its magic. Damian came back and sat down, wheeled his chair round to face me.
‘You’ve really got to start looking after yourself Rosie. Sort yourself out. Perhaps... make some changes.’
What? I thanked him for the water but wished he’d go away, wary of his kindness. And then my mobile buzzed, but I couldn’t read a text with him this close.
‘Why don’t you look – it might be something that makes you feel better.’
‘It’ll be the clinic. Or Optometry. Wanting to know when I’ll be back.’
He lifted the phone and dialled. ‘Louise? Damian Tyrwhitt-Blake. Rosie’s here in the office looking awful... She needs to wait for her migraine medication to kick in – can you send someone to cover her in Paeds?’ He put the phone down. ‘Sorted. Put your head on the desk and I’ll turn the lights out. Take your time.’ He patted me on the back, picked up the notes and went to the door. Then he turned and pointed to my bag. ‘Take a look,’ he said, and left.
‘Don’t do this Rosie. You have nothing to worry about, please believe me. Come to my office at 5.30 xxxx.’
But I didn’t go to his office: his clinic over-ran, and by the time he’d finished it was nearly time for me to leave to go to Ali and Jessie’s. So I called him.
‘Just come here for a moment on your way,’ he said.
‘No, I’ve moved their lessons to six – my father-in-law’s babysitting so I don’t want to get back too late.’
‘Well just tell me, why did you... what upset you so much?’
I hesitated: there wasn’t time to talk about it. But then her giggled ‘who knows?’ came back to me and suddenly I was recounting what she’d said.
There was silence the other end. ‘You don’t have to worry about that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s not going to happen.’
‘But... how can you be sure?’
‘Well,’ he said, hesitating a moment, ‘let’s say... I’m ninety-nine point nine per cent sure, okay?’
So they were having sex. I’d had this idea that perhaps they didn’t; he al
ways seemed so desperate when we made love. How utterly stupid could I be.
‘Rosie? Come on now. A man needs comfort. Especially when the woman he loves is in a bed with another guy every night.’
I didn’t reply; I was trying not to cry.
‘But this will be over soon,’ he continued. ‘And listen, I’ve told one of my friends about us and he’ll say I’m with him... can you find a way to be able to stay all night at the hotel on Wednesday?’
25.
‘Rosie.’
I looked down at the proposal. I’d read it of course, a few weeks earlier, but had somehow managed not to take in a word of it.
‘Well,’ I said, three pairs of eyes on me, ‘apart from giving the contact lens industry another invitation to put a bomb under my car, it seems fine.’
Nobody laughed. I was supposed to be commenting on the Methods; the time for facetious remarks had passed. Yet all I could do was stare at the proposed start date and wonder how and where I would be by then. I mumbled something about the need for extra personnel, how I didn’t think I could fit it all into my week, but James said I was right, and that was why I was going to be stopping my Monday paediatric clinics. I might have been going to run the study, but James and Jo seemed to have decided to run my life. Jo, of course, would be managing her parallel Australian study single-handed, while supervising three PhD students, the university contact lens clinic, and heaven knows what else.
‘It’s an important question, a study that really needs to be done,’ she was saying. Maybe. But possibly not by me. I felt like I needed at least six months off to sort my life out. Compassionate leave. Love leave. Not the additional burden of umpteen meetings and applications to get a new study off the ground. I scratched around in my head for a reason to shove the project further into the maybe-never future.
But James had already moved on to discussing the worryingly imminent pilot study. I looked at my watch under the table: 5.25. James had an opera to get to; Anita the statistician had a rock to crawl back under, one that she liked to set out for as soon as possible after five; Jo, over for just a week, was expecting to go for a drink or even a meal, because I hadn’t yet hit her with the half-true babysitting dilemma. I had a worrying image of myself, after a few glasses of wine, thanking her for the essential role her old study had played in my becoming Ali’s piano teacher.
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