by Debby Holt
She went out into the dusk, almost tripping over her heels. Oh it was terrible, terrible. She had been so proud of her family, she had loved and nurtured and cared for them and this was the result. It had all been false, it had all been one huge messy failure. She would never see any of them again. And was it true about Tess? Did she really love Jamie? She must talk to Neil, they must talk to Jamie, she must talk to Felix. Felix! She was so sure he’d met someone else. But if he hadn’t, if Anna was right, it was even worse. She could never, she would never forgive him. A sob escaped her throat and she shook her head hard. She would not cry. She would go home and talk to Neil.
She was almost at the flat when she heard her name being called and turned to see Rory running towards her. He was carrying a large bouquet of red roses. She stopped and waited for him to catch up with her. She said, ‘What beautiful roses!’
‘They’re for Hayley.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘We had a little argument the other night. She caught me fooling around with someone. And then this evening we were supposed to be going out with friends. And I got to the pub and she sent me a text to say she was tired and I thought: Rory, you must take action. One, buy flowers. Two, return home. Three, grovel. What are you doing here? I thought you were taking your daughters out to dinner.’
‘There was a change of plan.’
‘We could have a takeaway,’ Rory said, ‘unless you feel like cooking something.’
‘I don’t, I’m afraid. I shall make your father take me out.’
‘That might be a good idea. I’ll rustle up something for Hayley and tell her I love her.’
‘I’m sure that will impress her.’
He took his door keys from his pocket. ‘Now we must creep into the flat and surprise her. I want to overwhelm her with my romantic gesture.’
In the event, it was Rory and Freya who were surprised. At first they thought the flat was empty, but then they heard a sound. The door into the sitting room was wide open. For at least a moment – or at least until Rory cried, ‘Hayley, what the fuck are you doing?’ – Freya didn’t understand what was happening. For at least a moment she thought that Hayley might be kneeling in front of Neil because she was trying to find a contact lens or something.
Then Neil said, ‘Oh fuck!’ and Rory said, ‘Fuck you!’ and Hayley got to her feet, adjusted the shirt that as usual seemed to be her only item of clothing, pushed back her hair and turned to face Rory. ‘I was only doing what your friend did to you on Saturday.’
Rory gave an extravagant grimace. ‘That is so gross. You were doing it to my father. He’s my father and he’s old.’
‘Freya’s old too. That doesn’t stop you flirting with her.’
‘I always flirt with older women. It’s polite and it cheers them up. I can’t believe you would do this.’
‘I couldn’t believe what you did on Saturday. So there you are. We’re quits. Now I’m going to pack.’ She walked out of the room, brushing Freya’s arm in the process.
Neil sat with his hands held in front of his crotch. ‘Rory,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Rory didn’t even look at him. He thrust his roses into Freya’s arms and went off after Hayley.
‘Freya,’ Neil pleaded. ‘Freya…’
‘Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look?’ She threw the flowers onto his lap, turned on her heel and stormed into their bedroom, flinging open drawers and pulling out her clothes.
Neil came in and looked at the suitcase on the bed. ‘Freya, will you at least let me try to explain?’
That stopped her. She straightened her back and put her hands on her hips. ‘I would love to hear your explanation, Neil, I really would. Explain away!’
‘I came home from work. Hayley was here. She said Rory was out and I knew you were too so I offered to cook and she offered to help and we couldn’t find anything so we had a drink and then we had another and she started to… It was a moment of madness, it meant nothing. You mean everything to me…’
‘If I mean everything to you, why did you let that girl even touch you?’
‘I was a little bit drunk and she’s young and she’s beautiful and she was very persuasive. It’s like…’ He scratched his head and narrowed his eyes. ‘Imagine you’re on a diet and someone offers you a chocolate truffle…’
‘Are you saying that being with me is like being on a diet?’
‘No, no, of course not, you’re perfect, you’re utterly perfect. It’s only that Hayley’s so young and she seemed so eager and…’
‘And you are disgusting and pathetic and amoral and I never want to see you again because you make me feel quite sick, so feel free to go and eat as many chocolate truffles as you like, though perhaps in future you should stay away from those belonging to your son. Now get out and let me pack.’
‘Freya,’ Neil said, ‘this hasn’t been easy for me, you know. I fell in love with you and almost at once we were living together in a cramped flat with Rory…’
‘You said you wanted me to live with you!’
‘I know and I don’t regret it for a moment but it all happened so quickly and tonight, I suppose, was just me letting off steam and…’
Freya put her hands on her hips. ‘Let me tell you something. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt here and assuming you are drunk because if you aren’t you are even worse than I think you are. Let me tell you something else. From now on, you won’t have to let off steam because I won’t be here.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I love you!’
‘Well, all I can say is that your idea of love is very different from mine. Now get out of this room before I start to scream.’
Neil looked at her for a moment before displaying, if belatedly, some prudence, and left the room.
She marched round the bed and slammed the door shut. It didn’t take her very long to finish her packing. She shut her case and wheeled it across to the door. She found Neil waiting for her on the other side. From Rory’s room came the unmistakable sound of lovemaking.
Neil tried a weak smile. ‘Rory’s obviously forgiven Hayley,’ he said. ‘Can’t you forgive me?’
Freya raised her chin. ‘I think the three of you are made for each other. I want to forget I ever met any of you. Goodbye, Neil.’
‘I can’t let you walk out like this. Where will you go?’
‘That is not your concern. Step aside.’ She hesitated and then turned and went to the bathroom to retrieve her toothbrush. When she came out, Neil said, ‘Freya, please…’
She ignored him. In the lift down to the ground floor, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and saw a mad woman with thin streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. She struggled out of the lift and then struggled again down the steps of the building. Finally, she reached the pavement and began to walk, pulling her case behind her. She stopped after about ten minutes, aware she was on the Embankment.
She stared down at the Thames. What a fool she had been! Neil was not Prince Charming, he never had been. He was a man who was ruled by his penis. He had wanted to have sex with her and she had wanted to erase the appalling fact that the husband she loved did not love her. She had wilfully disregarded Neil’s obvious flaws, she had run into his arms to get back at Felix, she had, in short, made a monumental fool of herself. What was it Rory had said? ‘I always flirt with older women. It’s polite and it cheers them up.’ Oh God, Freya thought, how she hated herself. She was selfish and silly and worthless.
The water was as black as the night sky above it. It would not be difficult to tip herself over the edge and let the water cover her. If she were Emma Bovary or Anna Karenina she wouldn’t hesitate to throw herself in. But she was Freya Eliza Cameron and she would hate Neil to think she had killed herself on his account and there was no pleasure in envisaging her husband and her daughters crying at her funeral as she wasn’t at all sure they’d bother to come. For now, she had to think practicalities. There was only one option. She saw a taxi coming her way and she hail
ed it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Anna had continued to sit at the table, occasionally sipping her wine. When she caught sight of the waiter staring at her, he looked embarrassed. He came over at once and asked if she was ready to order.
‘My mother’s been called away,’ Anna said. ‘Will you bring me the bill for the wine? And a cork so I may take the bottle away with me?’
It was ironic that her mother, such a stickler for appearances, should be the one to erupt from the restaurant while she stayed stubbornly here, resolutely ignoring the whispered asides of other clients, determined to act as if all was well. Once she paid her bill, she walked out with her head held high.
As she unlocked the padlock of her bicycle, she was aware she’d drunk a little too much. She cycled back with extra care, concentrating on the traffic around her. It was a relief to impose an embargo, if only temporarily, on all thoughts about the evening.
Tess was still out when Anna got home. For once, she was glad to be on her own. She sat on her bed, her arms hugging her knees. There was no point in trying to defend herself. She had been clumsy, tactless and unfair tonight. And as for the rest, she thought bleakly, her mother’s brutal assessment of her character was spot on. When Anna thought back to her teenage self, she saw only resentment, bitterness and bile. As she grew up, she had assumed she’d taken on a new maturity, taking care to ring home with punctilious regularity. Who was she kidding? Her grown-up behaviour had been worse than her earlier sulks and tantrums. How could she blame Freya for lashing out at her this evening? She certainly hadn’t acted like a mother found out in a fourteen-year-old affair.
Anna’s eyes focused on the chest of drawers opposite her but what she saw was the road outside their old house in Wimbledon, and Xander walking towards her along the pavement. He’d waved and asked her where she was going.
‘I’m meeting a friend in town,’ she said. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have a fossilised stone for Tess. Is she in?’
‘You do know we finished our fossil project weeks ago?’
‘Yes, but Tess likes collecting them.’
‘Xander,’ Anna said, ‘you come over a lot, and Tess… Tess really likes you.’
‘The feeling’s mutual. It’s impossible not to like Tess.’
‘Yes,’ Anna said. She wished she hadn’t started this now. She was aware that her motives for doing so were mixed. It was true she was concerned that Xander might just enjoy being the focus of one girl’s adoration, but it had always irked her that he was so much more interested in Tess than he was in her. Doggedly, she stumbled on. ‘You know what I mean. And she’s thirteen and you’re nearly thirty.’
He’d stared at her for a few unsettling moments and then he laughed. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at,’ he said. ‘It’s not just Tess I come to see.’
‘Yes, but you don’t garden for us now.’
‘No. That’s true.’ He gave her a speculative sort of smile. ‘You have a very beautiful mother, you know. Has it never occurred to you to wonder why your dad’s so keen to carry her away from Wimbledon?’ He laughed again and then patted her arm before walking on and calling out, ‘See you, Anna. Take care now.’
Freya paid off the taxi and stared up at the grand old mansion block. There were five steps up to the entrance. She pushed down the detachable handle of her case and struggled up to the big black door with it. She took a few deep breaths and then pressed the button next to the word ‘SAMPLE’. A clear voice answered almost immediately. ‘Come on in, Freya.’
She went through to the hall and pushed up the handle. A door on the right opened and a small, thin woman stood silhouetted against the light. Her white hair was cut in a short, elegant bob. She wore grey slacks, a green ribbed jersey and a pendant. Her face, despite its network of thin wrinkles, was still beautiful. Her eyes were Freya’s eyes but she was a stranger. Freya had hoped she might experience a waterfall of memories and recollections but there was nothing. She felt embarrassed to be here, in this state, with this elegant old lady.
‘I’m sorry,’ Freya said. ‘I had nowhere else to go. It’s only for one night.’
Her hostess stepped aside to let her into the flat. ‘I’m glad you rang me. I’ve made up your bed. Would you like a glass of wine? I have only red, I’m afraid.’
‘That would be nice.’ Freya moved her case to one side of the door. ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom first?’
As soon as she had shut the door behind her, she pressed her back against it and raised her eyes to the ceiling. It was just one night. She would leave first thing in the morning. She glanced round at the white floor tiles and white walls. She went to the basin and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She saw a wild-looking woman with dishevelled hair, swollen eyes and a face streaked like a zebra. There was a glass jar full of cotton wool balls on the small wicker chest of drawers. She took one of them out and began to clean her face.
When she finally emerged from the bathroom, Eliza came out of the kitchen with a silver tray containing two long-stemmed glasses generously filled with red wine, and a bowl of cashew nuts.
Freya took a seat on the sofa. ‘You’re very kind. I do apologise for my dramatic intrusion. I think I owe you an explanation.’
Eliza settled into the armchair and picked up her glass. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’
‘I’ll keep it short. I had a disagreeable encounter with one of my daughters and returned home early. I found my partner in a compromising position with his son’s girlfriend, so I packed and left. I’m going down to Somerset to stay with a friend tomorrow.’
Eliza nodded as if Freya’s explanation was quite normal. ‘I’m sorry about your daughter and your unsatisfactory lover but I’m glad you came to me.’
The word ‘lover’ issued from her mouth with no trace of affectation or awkwardness. This was not a woman who would be easily shocked. Freya took a sip of her wine and then attempted a smile. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got your email. I’m sure you must regret sending it.’
‘I don’t regret it for a moment. I’m pleased you’re here. I wasn’t sure you’d want to reply. I spent a great deal of time composing it.’
Freya reached for the nuts. She was, she realised, hungry. ‘It seemed so odd to hear from you after all this time. I meant to tell my girls tonight. What made you do it?’
‘Very selfish motives, I’m afraid. I’m old and discovered I was lonely.’ She regarded Freya with unblinking blue eyes. ‘I suppose you’ve had no supper. I can offer you an omelette.’
‘That would be marvellous. Can I help?’
‘No. I won’t be long.’ Eliza looked almost amused. ‘Finish the nuts.’
Freya had already emptied half the bowl. Once Eliza had gone, she took another gulp of wine. It seemed surreal to be sitting in this stranger’s flat but at least she had found the one place in the world that could distract her from the horrors of the last few hours. She had not seen her mother for forty-six years and now she could hear her in the kitchen making an omelette.
Already, the wine was relaxing her. She glanced around at her surroundings, admiring the soft grey carpet and long rose-coloured curtains. There was a small desk in the corner on which sat a laptop and a brass lamp. On one side of the mantelpiece, a modest-sized television sat on an antique chest of drawers. The only lighting came from the standard lamp behind the sofa. The whole effect was one of calm tranquillity.
Freya’s eyes wandered over to the mantelpiece above the gas fire. She put down her glass and walked across the room, feeling suddenly giddy as she took in the collection of framed photographs. There was a toddler sitting on the lap of a laughing young woman with long blonde hair falling over one eye. The next showed a small child with plaits and a steady, serious expression. She recognised the third: it was a professional photo in which she modelled a black cocktail dress with her usual Lauren Bacall expression. And now she and Felix came down the aisle together, both of them beamin
g as if they’d just discovered the Holy Grail. Another had the two of them sitting together. Felix held Anna and she had Tess. And finally there was one taken by her father only a few years ago. It had been Christmas. She and Felix stood with the girls and all of them stood behind Ivy who sat holding a cracker. It was incredible to see her life played out in this sitting room.
Eventually, Freya went through to the kitchen, another pristine room with a cork floor, shiny black surfaces and a bright pink fridge.
‘Do sit down,’ Eliza said. She served up the omelette and refilled Freya’s glass.
‘Won’t you join me?’ Freya asked.
‘I’ve already had two this evening and at my age that’s one too many. Do you want any salt?’
‘No, this is perfect.’ Freya watched the old lady squirt washing-up liquid into the sink. ‘When you left home,’ she said, ‘I thought it was because I’d been horrid to you.’
Eliza put on a pair of plastic yellow gloves and dropped her frying pan into the water. ‘I’m afraid your father and I handled it all very badly.’ She cleaned the pan and put it on the draining board. ‘I fell in love with Stephen. He was your father’s best friend and a diplomat. He’d been posted to Argentina. I decided to go with him.’
‘And you left me behind.’
‘Yes.’ Eliza began work on a small Pyrex bowl. ‘Your father wanted to keep you with him. I felt, in the circumstances, it was unfair to take you.’
‘He would never talk about you. He removed all the photos. I have none of you.’
‘Well,’ Eliza said, ‘I can see why he would do that.’
‘Were you happy with Stephen?’
‘We had our moments. It’s difficult to be happy when you both feel guilty. He missed his old friend and I missed you.’