by Debby Holt
There was a long silence and then Richard said, ‘All right. I’m going now.’
Tess put the phone down. Her eyes were drawn across the aisle. The woman smiled at Tess, gave her a thumbs-up sign and continued to read her magazine. Tess gazed out of the window. She meant what she’d said to Richard. She had never given him any indication that she’d wanted more than a platonic relationship. And that pious comment – if you don’t like men you should stay away from them – was just pathetic. As the train continued on its way, the words stay away seemed to merge with the rhythmic sound of the engine and continued to beat inside her head like a gentle hammer against her skull.
Freya and Neil sat finishing their bottle of wine while watching the first episode of the new Downton Abbey series. This was Freya’s choice and one that Neil found incomprehensible; he kept pointing out anachronisms of speech and the excessive use of pauses. When they heard voices in the hall, he sat up immediately, his eyes bright with curiosity. Rory had not returned home from a party last night.
Now, he came into the sitting room, radiating smells of beer and tobacco. ‘Hello, lovebirds. Can I introduce you to Hayley? Hayley, this is Neil, my dad, and this is his beautiful lady, Freya, who looks after us both.’
Hayley raised a hand and waved it without much enthusiasm. ‘Hi, Neil. Hi, Freya.’ Hayley had long black hair and a spiky fringe which finished just above her kohl-lined eyes. She had a small nose, an enormous mouth and, Freya thought, a rather weak chin. She wore a small black leather mini-skirt and a long-sleeved close-fitting black top under which a pair of generous-sized breasts strove to escape.
Rory said carelessly, ‘We’re tired so we’re going straight to bed. Goodnight.’ As they went out of the room, his hand caressed Hayley’s backside.
Neil’s eyes followed Hayley out of the room. ‘I have to say,’ he murmured, ‘I have never seen Rory look less tired. I can’t say I blame him.’
Freya thought about pointing out the girl’s weak chin but decided that Neil might misconstrue what was simply an interested observation. Instead, she agreed a little stiffly that Hayley was very striking and then suggested that, since Downton Abbey had just this moment ended, Neil might like to help her wash up the dinner things.
Neil downed the rest of his wine, put the glass down on the table and took Freya’s face in his hands. ‘Hayley doesn’t have what you have.’
‘That’s true,’ Freya said. ‘She doesn’t have my years.’ She felt quite sad: sad and old.
‘If I were a wine expert, I’d say she’s like a young, transparent little Riesling. Personally, I prefer a mature red Rioja anytime.’
Freya finished the last of her wine. ‘You’re a smooth-talking bastard, Mr Lockhart.’
‘I mean it.’ Neil took her glass from her hand and put it down beside his own. ‘Personally, I feel like a taste of my mature, red Rioja right away. The washing-up can wait.’
Over breakfast the next morning, Freya asked if she should make scrambled eggs for Hayley, but Rory said she was still asleep. ‘She’s doing an audition at two,’ he said, ‘so she’ll probably spend the morning in bed. You just carry on as usual. She can let herself out.’ He finished his coffee, stood up and kissed Freya’s cheek. ‘How do you always look so lovely at this time of the morning?’
‘Because she is lovely,’ Neil said. He kissed Freya’s other cheek. ‘Thank you for a fabulous breakfast, have a great day and remember I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ Freya said, her good humour thoroughly restored after last night’s temporary blip. It had been silly to feel so discomfited by Hayley’s presence. She was just a girl, after all, who would go the way of all the pretty girls in Rory’s life. It had been ridiculous to expect Neil not to notice Hayley’s breasts. He had given delightfully satisfying evidence last night that she, rather than Hayley, was the object of his love and his lust.
She spent longer than usual clearing up after breakfast and the night before, and it was some time before she settled down to write an article she had been commissioned to write for a Sunday magazine supplement. Her subject was the difficulties thrown up by discovering new relatives when researching one’s ancestors, and she wanted to create something punchy as well as informative.
She had finally thought of a good opening sentence when Hayley entered the sitting room, dressed in one of Rory’s T-shirts, and raised a hand to give the same sort of vague wave she’d given the night before. ‘Is it all right if I have a shower?’
‘Of course,’ Freya said. ‘You’ll find towels in the cupboard in the hall. Did you sleep well?’
‘When you share a bed with Rory,’ Hayley said, ‘you don’t do a lot of sleeping.’
Freya wasn’t sure whether to give a knowing laugh or a sympathetic smile. She didn’t feel like giving either. Fortunately, Hayley didn’t seem to expect a response since she drifted out of the room as lifelessly as she’d drifted into it and a few minutes later, Freya heard the sound of the shower. She turned her attention back to her laptop and realised she had now forgotten the brilliant first sentence she’d been about to put down. After deleting at least eight alternatives, she finally thought of one that was a little pedestrian but would have to do: ‘All relationships should be handled with care, new ones as much as old.’ She glanced at her watch. Hayley had been in the shower for ages. At this rate there would be no hot water left. Only when she heard the shower stop and the consequent opening of the bathroom door did she return to her article.
There was something about Hayley’s presence in the flat that made concentration difficult. She had only written a couple of paragraphs when she heard Hayley banging around in the kitchen, presumably preparing herself either a late breakfast or an early lunch. Freya felt very strongly that she should not intervene. It wasn’t as if Hayley had asked for help. Eventually the noise in the kitchen stopped and then some time later, Hayley emerged in her clothes from the night before and said, ‘I’m off now. See you soon,’ and left without waiting for a response, almost as if she had already forgotten her.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Freya went through to the bathroom and pursed her lips. There were little pools of water on the floor and the wet towel had been thrown in a heap in the corner. The kitchen was even worse. It was clear that, in Hayley’s eyes at least, Freya was just a housekeeper. There was a dirty frying pan on the hob and a sink full of dirty plates, cups and cutlery. A half-empty bag of mushrooms sat on the chopping board along with the innards of the green pepper Freya had been reserving for the evening supper. On close examination of the fridge, she noted that the last of her fruit yoghurts had gone. It was too bad and Freya very much hoped she’d never see her again.
Her hope was dashed later that evening when Rory turned up with Hayley while she and Neil were watching a film. Rory disappeared into the kitchen and came into the sitting room a few minutes later with a couple of generous-sized bacon sandwiches. He yelled to Hayley who came in, wearing Rory’s T-shirt. Hayley sat next to Neil and put her long bare legs up on the coffee table while she ate.
Later, in bed with Neil, Freya told him that Rory and Hayley had left a big mess in the kitchen. Neil sighed and said Rory was hopeless. She should leave him to do his own clearing up. The trouble was, as Neil knew very well, Freya cared far more about a clean kitchen than Rory did.
The next morning, over breakfast, she did say a little playfully to Rory that he and Hayley had forgotten to wash their things up the night before and that if he washed up as he went along, he would find that it only took half the time to do.
‘You sound like my mother,’ Rory told her good-naturedly. ‘I know I’m a slob. So is Hayley. I’ll tell her we have to do better in future.’
Freya didn’t know which part of Rory’s response was the more annoying, the comment that she was like his mother or the implication that Hayley was going to be around for a while. She and Neil went out for dinner that night and the main subject of conversation was a result of the unwelcome disc
overy Freya had made before they left the flat. She had spent some time getting changed and had emerged from the bedroom to find Neil, Hayley and Rory on the sofa, watching television. Rory and Hayley were eating a fry-up on trays. Slipping into the kitchen for a quick glass of water, she had taken one look at the sink and blanched.
As they ate their meal, she tried to make Neil see the delicacy of her situation. ‘I am living in Rory’s flat,’ she said. ‘I can’t nag him about cleaning his kitchen when it is his kitchen. I’m not even paying any rent. I was happy to clear up after him when he was on his own because I felt it was my contribution. But it’s different if I’m going to be cleaning up after him and Hayley. It doesn’t seem fair.’
‘I’ll have a talk with him,’ Neil said. ‘Not that he listens to anything I say.’
Freya sighed. ‘It’s been fun to stay here, but it can’t go on. I have to start thinking about my future. Felix said I could keep the house in Darrowbridge and…’
‘Freya,’ Neil said, ‘I don’t want you to go back to Darrowbridge. I want us to be together.’
‘That’s very sweet but not terribly practical.’
‘Why not? We’ll rent a small little love-nest of our own.’
‘Well, if you’re serious, perhaps it’s time you talked to Eva. I mean, there she is, on her own in that great big house while you and I are tucked into your son’s spare room. It’s crazy. She can’t be happy there. Perhaps it’s time for you to consider selling the place.’
Neil looked startled. ‘That house belongs to Eva. Her father left it to her years ago. I could never afford a house like that.’
‘Oh!’
‘But you’re right about Rory’s flat. We ought to find a place of our own. Perhaps you should start doing some research.’ Neil reached across for her hand. ‘Let’s face it: as long as we have each other, it doesn’t matter where we live. I’d be happy in a shoebox in Whitechapel if I was with you.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him that she hadn’t left behind a lovely old house and garden in order to live in some poky little flat. Then she remembered that Neil had given up a beautiful mansion in Kensington in order to be with her. It was a shock to find that Neil’s wife, rather than Neil, seemed to be the owner of the beautiful mansion, but after all, Neil was a solicitor and must therefore be fairly affluent in his own right. Besides, Neil was right. They had each other. She would be happy with him anywhere. And at least in a shoebox in Whitechapel, she wouldn’t have to clear up after Hayley.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tess’s new flatmate had gone home for the night in order to attend her grandmother’s funeral. This was a sad occasion for Emily and her family but great for Tess who had the flat to herself for an entire evening. She poured herself a large glass of water and placed her phone on the kitchen table. She took a deep breath, picked it up and rang Jamie.
He sounded tired. ‘Hi, Tess. How was your father?’
‘That’s why I’m ringing.’ Tess straightened her back and curled one hand round her glass. ‘He’s bad. He gets panic attacks if he tries to leave the house. The doctor’s signed him off for a couple of months. And then… he found out about the party. I had to tell him about Mum and your father. I don’t understand him. He seems so angry with them both. It’s like he’s totally forgotten what he said to Mum the last time he saw her.’
‘I see.’ She could hear him sigh down the phone. ‘I don’t pretend to understand your father’s thought processes but I can see why he might feel hostile towards my family…’
He understood. She knew he would. ‘It’s awful to see him like that. And I realise…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I realise I can’t see you again.’
‘All right…?’
His voice dropped and then rose, waiting for her to explain her decision and she wasn’t sure she could. She felt she held a tangled ball of wool in her hands and when she tried to extract a strand, the knot simply tightened. She said, ‘It’s all hopeless, I mean, if things were different, to be honest, I’m not even sure if they were different… but anyway, everything’s such a mess and I can’t deal with you and me and… I’m sorry, Jamie, but I feel, I really do feel, it’s better just to say goodbye.’
There was silence and then he said again, ‘All right,’ but this time there was no question mark, just a weary sort of acceptance.
She said, ‘As far as the TV series is concerned, I’ll email Geraldine and tell her I can’t…’
‘You’ll do no such thing. It’s a great opportunity for you and probably for the castle, too.’
‘It seems wrong, that’s all, when…’
‘Why? Just because we’re no longer going to see each other? You’ll do a brilliant job.’
‘I wish I had your confidence. I wish things could be different.’
‘Well. Perhaps it’s my fault. Perhaps, I let myself get carried away. Look… if there’s nothing else, I’d better get on. I have Martha coming round and…’
‘Martha?’
‘I think I mentioned her. She’s our local historian. We have a lot to discuss, so…’
‘Of course. I’ll let you go. I suppose there’s nothing else to say.’
‘I don’t think there is. I can’t bully you into wanting to see me. Goodbye, Tess.’
She put the phone down. She had expected to feel relief but she felt a sort of dead numbness. She was grateful to him for not trying to push her further. She bit her lip and knew that most of this had nothing to do with her parents’ troubles. For weeks she had sensed she was wandering into a strange new country for which she was totally unprepared. Like all normal people, Jamie wanted sex. She supposed that a very small part of her – the sleeping, subconscious, sex-obsessed part – wanted it too. The trouble was that the having-sex-with-Jamie thoughts cast ever-darker shadows over the lovely Jamie thoughts. However patient he promised he would be, there would come a time when he’d tire of his fucked-up, or rather not wanting-to-be-fucked-up girlfriend. She was frightened of failing him but far more scared of the alternative. It was easier to take the simplest path of action: run away.
There were times when the sheer randomness of her memory startled Anna. Months ago, William had asked her to give Tess a message, a simple task she had signally failed to carry out. If it weren’t for the Riddlers, it would have remained buried in the back of her mind, along with goodness knew how many urgent but neglected requests.
John and Amy Riddler had arrived at St Peter’s in the early hours of the morning. When Anna saw them in the afternoon, Amy was distraught and exhausted. She’d had strong contractions all day but the cervix was still hardly dilated. Her husband was barely holding together his supportive, grimly positive demeanour. When Anna examined her, she discovered the baby was stuck behind the cervix. ‘I’m going to try to dislodge him,’ she said.
‘Her,’ Amy breathed. ‘She’s a girl. We’re going to call her Marnie – if she ever comes out.’
Two hours later, Anna was with them when Marnie decided to enter the world: a girl with dramatic eyebrows, a full head of black hair and a pugnacious little face. While Amy, weary but happy, smiled down at her daughter, her husband embraced first the midwife then Anna, fervently singing their praises and that of the hospital.
As Anna cycled home, the name of Marnie ran like a river through her mind, prompting a memory that remained frustratingly out of reach. This was not surprising, since her brain was simultaneously conducting a non-stop interrogation into the possible reasons for her father’s extraordinary behaviour. It was Tuesday night and she still hadn’t heard from Tess, which could either mean that the weekend in Darrowbridge had been a disaster or that it was utterly uneventful which actually, Anna thought, would in the current circumstances be a positive piece of news. Back at the flat, she made a mug of tea and picked up her phone.
‘Tess? How was the weekend? You said you’d ring me.’
‘Oh yes…’ Tess’s voice trailed away as if she’d already forgotten about i
t.
‘Did you manage to get Dad to talk?’
‘A little. He can’t leave the house at the moment. He says it’s agoraphobia.’
‘Oh God, poor Dad!’
‘He didn’t seem too upset about it. His doctor assures him it’ll go soon.’
‘That explains a lot about last weekend. Why didn’t he tell me when I was with him?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t know. Perhaps he came home from Madrid and stayed in bed till you surprised him. I only found out because he’d hired a taxi to collect me even though he was up and about. It was obvious something was wrong.’
‘He needs to get help. I’ll ring him and…’
‘I think you should leave it for the present. He’s on anti-depressants and he’s got two months’ sick leave. He doesn’t want us to fuss.’
‘Did he talk about Mum?’
‘A little. He asked about the party. He still makes no sense. The way he talks about Neil Lockhart, you’d think Mum had left him. He hates Neil Lockhart.’ Tess gave a little laugh. ‘He hates all Lockharts.’
‘That can’t be easy for you. He must know you’re friends with Jamie.’
‘Well, I can’t be. Not now.’
‘Can’t you? Would you mind a lot if you didn’t see him again?’
‘It’s sad to lose a friend. You know how you miss William.’
To retrieve a wayward memory was like a long-awaited sneeze. Anna felt all the better for it. ‘I’ve just remembered something,’ she said, ‘and I must tell you before I forget it again. William asked me to give you a message ages ago and I’ve only just remembered. He said you were nice to his cousin, Marnie. He said she wanted to say hello. Hello and thank you. He obviously felt it was important to pass it on, but it wasn’t exactly riveting and I forgot.’
‘I remember her. I liked her a lot.’
‘I’m so glad I remembered. It was really bugging me…’ Anna went on to explain about the Riddlers and baby Marnie and it became obvious that Tess was paying no attention because she suddenly broke in in mid-sentence.