‘Well it’s so easy, just half an hour walk or a short bus ride.’
‘Easier after teaching the piano too.’
‘It would be, but they’re away for a few weeks.’
‘What about the new ones?’
‘Don’t start until September.’
There was a pause. Maybe he too had plans for September.
‘It’s great how this piano teaching’s taking off. And you’re really sounding good these days. I forgot to tell you, when John rang the other day I went to switch off the CD player – didn’t realise it was you playing! And you’ve shamed me into practising my guitar.’
His guitar. Or rather, his guitars. For years he’d collected them, had one cradled in his arms at some point in the day, every day. But he’d sold most of them after a huge row we’d had a few years ago when he’d used my credit card to buy some special vintage one from the States. Then he’d gradually stopped playing.
‘I haven’t heard you in ages. You should bring it in from the studio, play it in the house sometimes. I’m sure Kenny would be impressed,’ I said, my throat tightening.
‘Okay, I will. Oh – he practised the piano for ages the other day – it didn’t sound quite right but he was enjoying himself so I didn’t interfere. And you should have seen him trying the Samba with the slinky Caribbean girl yesterday.’
‘Yesterday?’
‘Yes, he’s doing a Wednesday lesson as well now.’
‘Oh yes. And how’s it going with Seb?’
‘It’s not. He’s not speaking to me. So bloody rude... John doesn’t know how we stand it. But I won’t bother you with it now.’
‘He rang and asked me to talk to you about some DJ thing tomorrow.’
‘I’ve told him, that’s just not going to work. I’m not doing all that driving with Kenny in the car, it’s not fair.’
‘And you might have other things you want to do,’ I said.
Another pause.
‘Oh – gotta go, Kenny’s not getting dressed and it’s nearly half past. See you Sunday.’
I dug in to my bag for my mobile, but then realised that I’d left it at the flat. Damnation. I’d been meaning to send a message to Ali asking him to stop texting me, or be careful about what he said if he did. I needed to do that as soon as possible. But I had meetings – the IT guy, a Fire Safety lecture, the terrifying witch in charge of Casualty. I planned to go and fetch it after I’d had lunch with Ricardo.
***
‘Don’t you ever get tired of jacket potato?’ he asked.
‘No, any more than you get tired of lasagne or moussaka,’ I said.
‘It’s an English girl thing, Ricardo,’ Damian said. ‘Their staple diet. Look around the canteen, they’re all eating them.’
‘I’m not,’ Lisa said.
‘Well you’re different. Unique, my darling. Perhaps that’s why I’m marrying you.’
‘What!’ Ricardo and I exclaimed in unison. I scolded Lisa for not telling me before; we congratulated them, and learnt that it was going to be a New Year wedding in Dublin.
‘And you two have to be there,’ Lisa said. There was a squeeze of my hand under the table: we’ll be together by then, we must both have been thinking.
‘Of course I will. How about you, Rosie?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
There was talk of bridesmaids, problems with Lisa’s peevish sister in the States, the difficulty they were having deciding on where to go for their honeymoon. Then Ricardo bent down as if to pick something up from the floor and put my mobile on the table between us.
‘You dropped your phone,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Thanks.’
I smiled at him: he was such an awful actor.
But then he looked at it and I saw his face change. ‘And you’ve got a text, look.’
‘Yes.’
‘Aren’t you going to read it?’
I should have just picked it up and done so. Shouldn’t have hesitated. Because then, probably thinking that Damian and Lisa were sufficiently distracted by a couple of nurses that had stopped by our table to congratulate them, he slid open the phone and pressed the button himself.
‘Rosi I forgot to say look at interview with Gail Bishop in Independent last Friday. Ali x’
That was it. He was going to know. At some time today, whenever he had time to get to the internet and look. Maybe after lunch in his office, or in between patients in the afternoon clinic. And he wasn’t going to like what he’d see: a picture of Ali flying through the air in just a loin cloth or the predatorily sexy moody-at-the-barre one he’d already seen. A red rag to a bull.
‘I’ve got some patient notes in my office that need to go to Optometry. Would you mind coming with me to collect them?’
He wasn’t wasting any time.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Although... I wasn’t going there this afternoon. Perhaps – ’
‘I’d like you to take them as soon as possible. It’s important.’
My heart was racing, but there was also a heavy awareness that this was always going to happen. He’ll never forgive me for keeping this from him, but I’ve done nothing, really, it’s so unfair...
A hand on mine. ‘Rosie? What’s the matter?’ Lisa asked.
My throat was so tight I couldn’t speak; I just stared at my phone, watching it turn into a watery blur.
‘Come with me,’ she said, getting up.
‘No, Lisa, they need to talk,’ I heard Damian saying. ‘Don’t worry about the clinic, I’ll cover for you,’ he said in a low voice to Ricardo, and I saw them exchange a look.
‘Come,’ Ricardo said, and I followed in a trance. Down the stairs, along the corridor, down the other corridor. In silence. I watched him unlock his office; his secretary must have still been at lunch. We went in and he locked the door behind us.
He sat down to the computer. Exited Clinical Services. Opened the Intranet. It was taking ages. I couldn’t bear it any longer.
‘He’s Alejandro Cortés,’ I blurted out.
‘Yes, I guessed that. But I want to know why he wants you to see this interview.’
And there he was. Sitting on his sofa, smiling ingenuously as if to tell me there was nothing to worry about. An interview about his enjoyment of the arts. I spotted my name in the second paragraph. I’m learning to play the piano. I love it. My teacher, Rosi, is fantastic. She is taking me on a magical journey and has become a special friend.
‘This man, this ballet dancer you adore, tried to make sex with you and you resisted.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I taught him, I tumble-dried a few shirts he needed to pack, he took me to dinner and we watched a silly film –’
‘And then you had sex.’
‘No! And it wasn’t like that. He was just being... affectionate.’
‘So he’s in love with you?’
‘Of course not. And it won’t happen again.’
‘But it has happened. Your face tells me all I need to know.’
‘No! You’re wrong! I – ’
‘Keep your voice down!’
‘Why would I do that when I’m off the pill and – ’
‘Half-Brazilian, half-Cuban, what’s the difference? I’d never know, and you’ve had your fun.’
‘You know I – ’
‘If you’re pregnant I’ll want a paternity test before I support the child. Now get out of here, I can’t talk to you now.’
‘Look, you can ask Emma, speak to Ali, he’ll tell you–’
‘They’ll tell me what you want me to hear.’
‘You have to believe me, you have to,’ I said, trying to put my arms round him. But he was pushing me away.
‘Get out of here. And control yourself, sort yourself out,’ he said, passing me some tissues. ‘Damian and Lisa obviously know about us, and probably others. I don’t want the whole hospital to know you’ve made a fool of me. Now get
out before I do something I’ll regret. Please.’
***
Six thirty. He’d have to come back, wouldn’t he? His things were here. We needed to talk. And if we talked, if he really listened, he’d believe me. But he wasn’t answering his phone.
I got off the bed and went through to the kitchen. There had to be some wine there somewhere. But no, I couldn’t do that... the baby. Oh God, the baby. I suddenly felt so weary and nauseous that I was convinced there was one. I sat down at the kitchen table and gave into a fit of sobbing, but feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to help.
I went over to the board and looked at Ali, tried to wish I’d never met him. Then wondered if he might be able to help me.
I sent him a text: ‘I’m in real trouble. Ricardo has seen all your messages since our last evening. Please text him and tell him nothing happened. His number is 07798 699870. Rosi.’
Half past one in the morning there: he’d be deeply asleep with post-performance exhaustion. There would be no reply until, possibly, the middle of the night. But the phone buzzed.
‘No te preocupes.’
Don’t worry? Is that all he could say? And for the first time I felt angry about the texts; he should have thought about what he was doing, realised there was a risk that Ricardo would see them. It buzzed again.
‘You like interview?’ Still thinking of himself.
‘Yes, but now Ricardo knows who you are.’
‘You should tell before.’
‘Yes I know that now. Any more words of wisdom?’
‘Qué es wisdom?’
‘Saber? Sabiduría? I don’t know.’ What did it matter? Clearly neither of us had any.
A long silence. I thought he might have fallen back to sleep. Then there was one more text.
‘Lo siento, Rosi.’
‘Lo siento también.’ I was sorry to have to find out that the ‘special friendship’ was completely one way. And that I could lose Ricardo because of this captivating but ultimately shallow and self-centred man. I went back to the board and tore off the In Conversation letter, ripped it into pieces and threw it in the bin.
I searched through the cupboards. Where the fuck had he hidden the wine? If I’m pregnant it’ll be the size of a grain of salt, and misery will almost certainly make me miscarry anyway, so what the hell. I slammed each cupboard door in turn, so noisily that I almost missed the ringing of the phone.
Emma was leaving a cheery message, ecstatic about the thought of us renting Alvin’s flat, reminding me to put out the recycling, missing Margot. I put my hand on the receiver but didn’t pick it up: she would tell me I’d been playing a dangerous game, this was bound to happen. Or she would think that but say something else.
There was definitely no wine. I could have gone out and got some but didn’t want to be in a shop when he phoned. If he phoned. Because maybe he would just come round and get his things during lunchtime tomorrow, leave me a note, and that would be it. I tried his mobile again. Then I looked up his home number and, withholding mine, rang it. No reply. Perhaps he’d gone to his friends’ flat, an evening early and alone, for consolation. Suffering needlessly.
I lay down on the bed but could smell him on the pillow, so I took my phone and tissue box through to Emma’s bed. Wondered if I would stay with her when Jez found the courage to ask me to leave, and how it would feel to sleep in that room, in that bed, alone. I drenched her pillow, blew my nose, cried again. And then, exhausted, must have fallen asleep.
***
‘Wake up. Sit up, I need to ask you something.’ He shook my shoulder then stood at the end of the bed with folded arms.
‘Yes... anything – ’
‘Tell me again... what he did to you. Everything. The truth, Rosie.’
‘Er... well he undid the buttons on my blouse and...’
‘No! Before that... I want to know exactly what happened. Any more lies and I’ll leave.’
And so I told him everything, the acting out of the film scene, losing my balance, lying on top of each other... I spared him no details. I saw him wince, look down.
‘And?’
‘When he spoke to me in Spanish, it reminded me of you speaking to me in Portuguese... I told him to stop. It was always going to stop, you have to believe me.’
He continued to look down. But he was nodding slowly.
‘Yes. This is exactly what Alejandro tells me.’
‘He texted you?’
‘He rang me. He’s been ringing all night, wouldn’t give up. He’s a spoilt man, used to being listened to. And used to having his own way.’ He looked at me. ‘Although not with you, he tells me.’
I got out of bed and tried to put my arms round him, but he got hold of my shoulders.
‘Listen to me. This will not happen again, you understand? Never again. If you want to keep teaching him the piano, he has to come to our flat, and while I’m there.’
‘Okay.’
‘And any more lying, Rosie, and it’s finished between us, I mean it.’
‘I won’t, I promise.’
He lifted my chin, looked at me carefully for a moment. ‘You look very pale. What’s the matter with you?’
‘I don’t know.’
There was a half-smile. He took my arm. ‘Let’s get you something to eat.’
32.
‘God, you’re well out of the kitchen scene,’ Emma said. She squeezed a small tray of cake and tea between the cash box and the NGS booklets. ‘Jez’s sister’s going on about her horse club’s charity teas and your father-in-law’s lady is reliving her days running a delicatessen. Different ideas about the layout or something. I just got out before the cake knives started flying.’ She sat down next to me under the gazebo. ‘What’s with this ‘No photography’ sign? Shouldn’t you add, other than the BBC?’
‘I dunno. The NGS send you this stuff...’
‘Look, get some of this tea down you and try to keep calm. Just think how much worse it’ll be for Ricardo. How’s he doing by the way?’
‘Better. We had a gorgeous Wednesday afternoon together and he started talking about us again rather quizzing me about Ali all the time. But apparently Ana’s been going on at him about a consultant post that’s coming up in Rio. It turns out she still wants to go back to Brazil – he’s worried she’ll go without him and take Gabriel with her.’
Emma bit her lip. ‘What would he –’
‘Says he’d just have to visit Gabriel when he could, and have him over for school holidays.’
‘And how’s my godchild doing?’
I shook my head. ‘He’s not. Seems to have evaporated – I’ve stopped feeling sick and I’ve got period pains... Shit, this is her; Jez said she’d be early.’ Sarah, sporting the plaited ponytail and tight t-shirt I remembered from the makeover programme, walking towards us with three men carrying equipment.
‘Hello Rosie, lucky with the weather! How’s it going?’ she asked with a smile, then looked rather surprised as Emma rather wickedly decided to charge her entry. She dispatched one of her flunkies for some funds. ‘Look I know you don’t want to be interviewed, but it would be nice to show you putting the finishing touches to the wood. Could we quickly do that now?’ The smile started to quiver; it occurred to me that she was probably dreading the afternoon as much as I was.
‘Go on, I can manage on my own ’til it gets busy,’ Emma said, so I went off to be filmed clipping at a couple of brambles threatening to loll over the path, repositioning a clue for the kids’ treasure hunt. But Sarah had left me to her crew and had sought out Jez; they were the other side of the garden, talking earnestly, Sarah fingering the lapel of the Hawaiian shirt that I’d bought him as a surprise but hadn’t really expected him to wear.
I followed the crew and watched them film the first of Sarah’s interviews with Jez. Watched him come alive, not just with the passion for his garden but, presumably, his feelings for her and the confidence her attention gave him. Then he looked over to me and grinned, shrugge
d his shoulders. I smiled back and gave him a thumbs-up sign. But I’d seen enough. I made my way back to Emma.
‘I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.’
‘Well, you’ve got two and a half hours more, so just keep busy,’ Emma said. She pushed the roll of tickets towards me and gave change to a woman I recognised as the mother of the classmate who hadn’t invited Kenny to his party.
More people arrived, and interspersed among the elderly ladies were Jez’s accountant, the manager of the shoe shop, the onion-breath man from my salsa class and Liam and his family, his mother asking if they still had to pay, being almost neighbours. I let Emma explain about the charities and extract money out of her while I fished for my buzzing mobile, expecting a text from Ricardo.
‘We have lesson at usual time tomorrow? I have much to show you.’
No more kisses at the end of texts: rather sad really. Even more sad that I wasn’t supposed to be giving him lessons in his flat anymore; I thought I’d explained that, but clearly he hadn’t grasped it as a reality. But Jessie was back from holiday now, so it wasn’t as if we were going to be alone. And until I moved there was nowhere else to have the lesson. Surely Ricardo would understand? But then I remembered that I’d said that Ali and Jessie had already gone to Cuba; I’d have to say I’d got the date wrong. When was I going to explain all this? I wanted our short meeting in the boardroom at lunchtime to be a romantic goodbye before he went off to Brazil, not a wound-opening negotiation. I reasoned that it would be kinder not to tell him. Especially as he’d be going home early anyway, getting ready for his flight the next day and sitting Ana down and telling her he was leaving her.
‘Yes. Look forward to seeing what you’ve done,’ I replied. ‘Six thirty?’
‘OK.’
As if instantly objecting to this, a text from Ricardo buzzed in my hand.
‘Nearly there. Going well?’
‘Going well? Sitting here with this procession of uninvited This-Is-Your-Life guests while my husband performs for his lover? Is he having a laugh?’ I said to Emma.
‘Who’s having a laugh?’ It was Seb, coming up behind us with the camcorder. Official recorder of the day – apart from the BBC of course. Gamely wearing his yellow NGS t-shirt, even if with the low-slung dirty track suit bottoms.
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