‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘Mum’s upstairs.’ Rob returned his attention to the laptop balanced on his thighs.
Patrick climbed the stairs and found Vicki in her bedroom listening to the radio whilst ironing. He went straight to her and, but for the hot iron, would have taken her in his arms.
‘There you are!’ She kissed him, laughing as she suspended the iron awkwardly in the air away from them.
‘Wanted a bit of time to myself, that’s all,’ explained Patrick.
Vicki busied herself with unplugging the iron. ‘Of course.’
‘I was upset over some news about an old friend.’ He steeled himself. ‘Someone who was close to me in France.’
‘But it’s all right now?’ Vicki’s glance seemed to contain a warning not to trespass across some invisible boundary.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Can you help me fold these duvet covers?’
Patrick took two corners of the fabric in his hands and, as he helped shake it flat, said into the billowing cotton, ‘We never seem to speak about the past.’
Vicki took his corners from him and folded the cover neatly. ‘Well, there’s no rush, is there?’ She patted it smooth and turned to scoop a second one from the pile of laundry.
‘There are things about me I want you to know,’ he implored her, desperate now to tell her about Daniel.
Her concentration was absorbed in untangling the fabric, and she held out the corners to him again with a smile. ‘When the time is right.’
Patrick experienced a sudden rush of rage, not against Vicki but against a world that had conspired to shut him up and suffocate his need to speak, to be heard. He wanted to smash up every object in the room. Instead, he handed back the cover and turned to the window, hoping somehow to discharge the sour metallic taste of his fury. As he did so, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on Vicki’s dressing table and glimpsed in his own face his father’s thin mouth and high cheekbones, his father’s aggrieved sideways glance. Patrick’s sense of being thwarted became vicious and dangerous, threatened to overwhelm him. He turned back to Vicki.
‘We won’t have secrets from one another, will we?’ he pleaded. ‘We must be able to speak to one another.’
She paled slightly, but nodded seriously. ‘I promise. You can tell me anything you like.’ Before he could say more, she came to him, lying her hands lightly against his chest. ‘All in good time.’ She touched her lips to his, then turned to pick up a pile of folded linen from the bed. ‘Here,’ she said, thrusting it at him. ‘These go in the airing cupboard.’
As Patrick put away the clean sheets his anger ebbed as swiftly as it had risen. Although forced to acknowledge that once he would have welcomed Vicki’s reticence and found it endearing, now he felt utterly dejected by it.
Rob looked up as Patrick came back into the kitchen. ‘You making supper, then?’ he asked.
‘Sure.’ Patrick opened the fridge to see what was there. Little on the shelves appealed, and he shut it again, sighing, then saw Rob regarding him candidly.
‘Mum clams up when she’s upset,’ Rob informed him. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
‘I’ve been fairly guilty of that myself,’ Patrick admitted.
‘Can I ask you something?’ asked Rob.
Surprised by the boy’s serious expression, Patrick sat down at the table, facing him. ‘Of course.’
‘I never paid much attention to what Mum got up to when I was growing up,’ Rob began. ‘She told me who my dad was, no big deal, and then, like you do as a kid, I assumed it never bothered her to be on her own because she had me.’ He stared down at his hands. ‘She’s stopped doing yoga on Friday night, right?’
Patrick was taken aback by this non-sequitur. ‘Right. She didn’t like the teacher.’
‘She’s always done some kind of regular class on a Friday. Always. Guess why.’
Patrick shook his head, mystified where this was leading.
‘Because her married lover was never going to see her over a weekend. The tosser!’ added the boy. ‘Eight years he told her he was going to leave his wife and kids. And she believed him. Until he dumped her.’
‘When was that?’
‘I was about fifteen. She got ill. Lost weight, cried all the time. I was terrified she had cancer and was going to die, so she told me. It’s the only time she’s ever talked about it.’
Patrick nodded. ‘Did you meet the guy?’
‘I’m not sure. Once, I think. But—’ Rob sighed. ‘I love Mum,’ he said, ‘but it can be pretty heavy, being all she’s got.’
‘I know exactly what that’s like,’ said Patrick, grimacing.
Silence fell between them. Patrick looked at Rob, seeing the vulnerable teenager visible beneath the surface of the young man he was becoming.
Patrick took a deep breath. ‘I had a son.’
Rob looked at him with mild curiosity. ‘Really? So where’s he now? With his mum?’
‘He died. When he was eighteen months old. An accident for which I was responsible.’
‘Wow. Sorry. That must’ve been tough.’
‘Yes. It was.’
Patrick glanced at Rob and saw only sympathy in his eyes. There seemed to be no reason to say more, not at this moment, but he felt lighter than he had in years.
‘So what was it you wanted to ask me?’
Rob bit at his lower lip before replying. ‘D’you reckon Mum settled for second-best with that tosser because of me? To have more time for me? So I wouldn’t have to deal with a string of boyfriends?’
Patrick looked into his earnest face. He thought of a childhood spent negotiating silence, living someone else’s lie. ‘No,’ he told him decisively. ‘If she was that broken up about the affair ending, then I reckon she was with him because she really wanted to be. She maybe just thought you were too young to understand.’
Rob nodded, his whole body appearing to relax.
‘Do I let on you’ve told me?’ asked Patrick. ‘Or is it a secret?’
‘Nah!’ Rob shook his head. ‘Mum’ll kill me, but I don’t care. I mean, what’s the big deal?’
Patrick laughed with relief. ‘Ridiculous how easy it is to believe that the world will end, just by saying something.’
When Vicki came downstairs five minutes later she found them arguing amicably over the best way to chop an onion. They turned to her, their easy grins automatically including her in their intimacy. She peered over their shoulders at the ingredients for a pasta sauce laid out on the chopping board, then slipped out of the back door, returning a moment later with sprigs of rosemary and thyme. She stripped the leaves from the soft stalks ready to add to the pan, but was prevented by Patrick covering her hand with his.
‘Wait,’ he counselled her. ‘All in good time.’
‘Okay.’ She smiled and kissed him lightly. ‘Smells delicious.’
In October, Leonie came to London to spend a long weekend with Stella. On the Saturday, as planned, they drove to Brighton for a day out. They found a space in an underground car park and walked down to the promenade. Stella insisted on buying them ices from a van, a chocolate Flake stuck into each sculpted wave of sugary cream, and they leant against the railings, looking across at the pier. The clear autumn weather had brought others like them to stroll on the beach, and there was a pleasant sense of companionship about the scene.
‘No regrets?’ asked Stella.
‘About going back to France? None at all.’
‘And the rest?’
‘No. I decided just to remember the good times, forget the bad stuff. A selective memory has its benefits.’
‘You’re more forgiving than I am.’
‘I forgave myself. That’s what matters.’
‘Sure.’
‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’ Leonie put her arm through Stella’s and hugged her closer.
‘If only goodness really were a match for damage. If we could just kiss it all better,’ Stella obse
rved.
‘You’d be out of a job.’
Stella laughed. ‘True. You certainly tried, anyway. Gave it your best shot.’
‘I did, didn’t I?’
‘No shame in that.’
‘No.’ Smiling, Leonie looked out to sea where the sun made the waves sparkle above the cold depths.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book owes much to Elizabeth Buchan for her encouragement, generosity and all-round wonderfulness. For their time, insight and expertise, I also wish to thank Claire Baker, Tina Burchill, Lisa Cohen, N.J. Cooper, Dr Peter Dean, Alan Dunnett, Maggie Hilton, Bernard Lever, Jackie Malton, Sarah Medford, Angela Neustatter, Laline Paull and Caroline Willbourne; and, not least, my editor Jane Wood and agent Sheila Crowley.
DON'T MISS THE NEW NOVEL BY ISABELLE GREY
AVAILABLE FROM MAY 2013
Recently divorced, Tessa Parker runs a successful B&B in a seaside town. During a surprise visit from Australia, a long-lost aunt lets slip a family secret that unsettles her fragile world.
In shock, and feeling betrayed by her whole family, Tessa confides in her ex-husband just as he reveals he has a new woman in his life.
Struck unexpectedly by jealousy; balancing her own turmoil against the demands of parenting, Tessa tries to trace her birth father, with devastating results. Yet she fails to see how this is a crucial moment in her children's lives. If she gets things wrong, the consequences could be fatal.
Available from:
www.quercusbooks.co.uk
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