Last night she’d been blissfully happy. Gray was back where he belonged. He loved her. What more was there to say? Then this morning she’d reached out for him and he’d shrugged her off, turned over and gone back to sleep. It was too soon, of course it was. He hadn’t even been properly awake, not enough to register her presence, so she’d no need to feel rejected, and yet she had.
He’d spent most of the morning in his dining room office with the door closed. She’d tried not to feel resentful – naturally there were things he needed to catch up on – but she wanted him with her. She’d missed him so much. When, eventually, she heard the door open she’d flown downstairs but he seemed barely to notice her as he marched, grim-faced, out to the garden and disappeared into the shed.
She stole a sideways look at him now as he chewed pensively on a grass stalk. The colour had returned to his cheeks, which must be a good sign. She put a hand on his arm and immediately he covered it with his.
‘I thought I was protecting you by not telling you about Tasmin. I didn’t consider you’d see it any other way.’
‘It’s all right. I feel guilty for ever having doubted you.’
Gray smiled. ‘Guilt. Now there’s a wasted emotion.’ Then he said, his eyes wide with wonder: ‘You came to rescue me, didn’t you. I’d almost forgotten that, with everything else. That’s fairly amazing, considering.’
‘I only wish I’d done it sooner.’
‘Even so, the way I treated you...’
‘I thought it was me, my fault, the way you seemed so angry all the time. I think that’s why I was so angry myself, when I found out the real reason. I’d been blaming myself and all the time it was something else entirely, something neither of us had any control over.’
Gray gave an elaborate sigh, shaking his head slowly. Juliet’s stomach tightened. ‘I’ve said the wrong thing, haven’t I.’
‘No, no, of course you haven’t.’ He squeezed her hand, then let it go. ‘It’s what you said about control. That’s what’s been bugging me about all of this, the fact that I didn’t take control, I was weak and I let it happen – me, no-one else. I keep wondering what Al would have done. He’d have handled it – her - much better than me, that’s for sure.’
Juliet was silent for a moment. It was no good refuting Gray’s take on this. In time he would see that he hadn’t been to blame, that he’d been the victim of a very determined and unbalanced stalker, and he’d only acted as anyone else would have, but right now it was too fresh in his mind for him to think dispassionately.
‘You know, it’s no good going over and over the whys and the what-ifs,’ she said, carefully. ‘What’s done is done – it doesn’t do to over-analyse these things.’
Gray nodded. ‘Doesn’t stop it going round and round in your head, though. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to keep going on about it. I haven’t really made sense of it all yet. In here.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Just when I think I’ve got one thing straight I find other things, things I didn’t even know existed.’
He looked at her, his gaze intense, searching. What other things? She felt useless, unable to respond in the way he wanted her to. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, folding the cotton material into a succession of tiny pleats, like a fan.
‘You go on about it as much as you want and I’ll always listen. It’s not talking that does the damage,’ she said, thinking how true this was on so many levels, and still feeling they weren’t anywhere near the nub of the matter, yet unable to pinpoint exactly what that was.
Perhaps she needed to be convinced, in her heart as well as in her head, that should anything of this magnitude happen in Gray’s life again, he wouldn’t hesitate to share it with her. It may well be part of his nature to battle on alone but it wasn’t part of hers. She could put that to him now, simply and directly, couldn’t she? And yet something in his demeanour seemed to be telling her that he might say what she wanted to hear, but he would only be saying it to pacify her.
‘Kiss me,’ she said impulsively.
After a moment’s hesitation, he put one arm loosely around her shoulders, leaned in and brought his mouth down on hers but his kiss held such an unmistakeable note of reticence that she almost wished she hadn’t asked. All too quickly, it was over and he’d moved apart from her, his eyes elsewhere, and presumably his mind as well.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the green, earthy smell of the hillside. It would be all right, of course it would. Give him time, yes, that’s what he needed – time and a large dose of TLC.
And then it hit her. Today, the last twenty-four hours in fact, had been all about Gray, his pain, his feelings, and it was only right that she should be the one doing the nurturing and the coaxing and she would carry on doing that for as long as he needed her to, but what about her? What about her needs? She remembered telling Rachel that people didn’t change, they were as nature made them, and while she’d been waiting for Gray to assure her, truthfully, with all his heart and soul, that he would never keep secrets from her again, he wasn’t able to, was he? He couldn’t know for certain how he was going to react to future events – no-one could - and he would never placate her with rash promises. By not telling her what she wanted to hear, he was being truthful, she could see that now.
And that was something else - truthfulness. Why hadn’t she told Gray about her free-running friend? Because she was afraid of hurting him, certainly, but also because she’d believed at the time it was for the best, just as Gray had thought it best not to tell her he had a stalker, although that was hardly in the same league.
And now? If she’d learned anything from the past weeks, it was that secrets had no place in a loving relationship. Yet secrets they had, both of them.
‘I don’t know what to do, Andrea. I don’t know if I can go on.’
Juliet had begun by telling Andrea the whole Jonno story, including the bit where she’d fought off temptation, which had been tricky, but necessary - for her to say the words out loud, as much as for Andrea to know. Then they’d talked about Gray, or rather, Juliet had talked and Andrea had listened and refrained from commenting, although her expression changed from one of empathy to one of disbelief as Juliet warmed to her theme.
‘You have to go on, Ju. What’s the alternative?’
Juliet had been wondering that herself. She’d tried to imagine what it would be like to be without Gray, to start all over again. In her mental meanderings, the Rachel scenario had galloped on several stages and her daughter was announcing her intention go to Somerset and live with her real father, who, for all his peccadilloes, she now considered to be the better option. She’d have to sell Clifton Gardens of course. The house was too big for her alone and held too many memories. She would go to London, rent an attic in a downtrodden area, turn it into a studio and be known as the arty woman who wore strange hats and muttered to herself in the street.
Andrea poured the rest of the tonic into her vodka. ‘You can’t have perfection because it doesn’t exist, not in any part of our lives. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’re going to end up lonely and very disappointed.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No, I mean it. Don’t go throwing away the best thing you’ve ever had because likely as not it won’t come again.’
‘I know, and I mean it, too. Thank you for being honest. It’s what I need. Do you really think Gray’s the best thing that ever happened to me? Apart from Rachel.’
Andrea finished her drink and put down the glass. ‘You already know the answer to that.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Well then.’ Andrea offered an encouraging smile.
This little pub with its scrubbed wooden tables, unpretentiously arty atmosphere and slightly too loud music was just what she needed tonight. It was only a stone’s throw from home, yet she couldn’t remember ever having been in here at night. Gray came here sometimes, with Al or his other friends. She looked towards the bar where a group of men, of similar age
and type, were gathered, and imagined Gray among them, jocular, pint in hand. She imagined them going home to their wives at the end of the evening, as Gray came home to her. Everything good and normal and in its rightful place. Not perfect, because as Andrea said, absolute perfection didn’t exist, but perhaps it was the tiny blemishes, the occasional slippery stepping stone hidden beneath smooth water, that kept a relationship fresh and vital, and truthfulness was a part of that, surely?
‘I want to tell him about Jonno,’ she said, ‘but I can’t seem to find the right moment, or the words.’
‘What? Have you gone completely mad? Nothing happened. It’s over, so why risk Gray going off on one when you’ve only just got over the other business?’
‘That’s just it. We haven’t got over it and I don’t know how we’re going to if one of us is still lying...’ - Andrea raised her eyebrows – ‘...or not lying, maybe, but not telling it all either, which amounts to the same thing. I need to be able to trust Gray and he needs to be able to trust me. Supposing he finds out? That would be a hundred times worse than me telling him, surely?’
‘You’ll just have to meet that when it comes to it - if it comes to it, which it won’t. The lad didn’t get his oats. End of story.’
Juliet laughed at Andrea’s use of the word ‘lad’. It was quite funny, when you thought about it.
‘That’s better,’ Andrea said, laughing too. ‘You know, women spend their entire lives feeling guilty about something or other. If you’re going to load a bit more guilt on to what you’ve already got it may as well be something you can have a nice little dream about occasionally. I presume he was fit?’
Juliet saw again the flash of intense brown eyes, the sculpted features, the lean athletic torso... She shrugged. ‘He was all right, I guess.’ She downed the rest of her drink in one. ‘Your round.’
It was true, she thought while Andrea was at the bar, she hadn’t found the right moment to tell Gray about Jonno - if indeed she was serious about doing so - but neither had she found the right moment to talk to him about anything of any weight. Each time it looked as if they might have a quiet moment together, he found something else he simply must do, as if he sensed she wanted to talk but he couldn’t face it. At night he sat downstairs, reading or watching television, sometimes till twelve or one o’clock. When, eventually, he came up to bed, he’d be asleep in minutes.
Perhaps he just wasn’t up to any kind of purposeful conversation yet. It was understandable, wasn’t it? She was only just beginning to realise how far-reaching the effects of stalking could be on the victim, and on those close to him, how the fear it provoked was far from irrational, even though it must seem so at the time. Fear changed people, governed their reactions. Perhaps Gray should have counselling – not easy to suggest, in his case. Physician, heal thyself.
One of Gray’s diversionary tactics involved him taking over the housework. Dilys had arrived on Wednesday looking as white as the proverbial sheet and careful enquiry had revealed she’d been nursing Cyril through a particularly nasty bug. Despite declaring that she had no intention of giving in to such a thing herself, she had eventually conceded defeat and allowed Gray to drive her home. So paranoid was he about illness, particularly the contagious sort, that Juliet wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d tied a hanky over his nose and mouth in order to carry out this errand of mercy.
Juliet was disinclined to worry about crumbs on the carpet and rings round the bath but Gray rolled up his sleeves and set to, vacuuming and brushing and polishing his way through the house as if they were due an inspection by the hygiene police. She knew he would rather be at work but that particular bolt-hole was temporarily out of bounds - the office suites that housed, among other businesses, Peach-Holbury-Thornes, were being redecorated.
This morning she’d stood in the kitchen doorway watching him attack the floor while rivulets of soapy water leaked from the mop, causing Sidney to seek refuge on top of the freezer. ‘Leave it,’ she’d said. ‘You’ll wear yourself out. I’ll finish it off. Go and work in the dining room. I won’t disturb you.’
‘Can’t. Have to keep moving. I don’t know why but I do.’
‘All right,’ she’d said casually, while inside she’d felt precarious, like a gate hanging on one hinge.
She felt a bit tipsy now. Andrea must have worked her a double. Her friend was right - nothing could be perfect all the time. Andrea’s own life had hit the buffers and was about to change direction, although what that might entail Andrea seemed neither to know nor particularly to care. She just carried on regardless, crossed her fingers and trusted all would turn out well in the end. Perhaps that was the only way to be.
‘I just want everything to be the back the way it was, Andrea. Is that too much to ask?’
‘Of course it isn’t, honey, and it will be. You just have to hang in there.’
22
August dripped into September. As if the rain wasn’t enough of a reminder that summer was over, a fierce wind sliced off the sea and headed straight for Clifton Gardens. Juliet turned on the heating, listened to Dilys’s veiled references to woolly vests and liberty-bodices, and turned it off again.
Rachel went back to school with only a token whinge. Gray bowled off to his newly-painted office each morning and Juliet couldn’t help noticing that he did so with some relief – relief to be getting away from her, perhaps. When he was at home, he seemed preoccupied – with what, she had no idea, since the most serious subject they’d talked about all week was whether or not the loft needed lagging.
Andrea was probably right when she said Gray didn’t need to know about Jonno, but she did wonder, mostly in the wakeful small hours, whether the fact that she hadn’t told him was creating this seemingly impenetrable barrier between them, because something surely was. ‘Hanging in there’ was easy enough to say but a lot less easy to do, especially when the outcome was so worryingly uncertain.
She filled her days with work, not only on her current assignment, a series of history books for an educational publisher, but on her ideas for taking part in Open House. She would need to contact the organisers at some stage but for now she concentrated on collecting together existing work and dreaming up new projects including, perhaps, a set of parkour pictures. They would be a departure from her usual style, she decided. She’d make them big and bold, like posters, using strong lines and flashes of bright colour for the figures of the free-runners. The stairs would be a good place to hang those, providing Gray could be persuaded to take down the creepy angels and those vacant-looking girls standing about on a bridge.
It was while she was in the loft one afternoon, looking for a particular drawing, that she heard someone on the landing. She peered down and saw Andrea standing at the bottom of the ladder.
‘Hang on to this. I’m coming down.’ She threw down a large cardboard folder and reversed down the ladder.
‘What is it?’
‘Open it. Go on.’
Andrea blew perfunctorily at the half inch of dust on the folder, lifted the flap, drew out a sheet of cartridge paper and handed it to Juliet. She couldn’t have looked less interested if she tried. Undeterred, Juliet held up the drawing.
‘It’s you! Don’t you remember? I did this one night when you were getting ready to go out with Declan.’
Juliet turned the picture round and studied it. For an early effort it wasn’t bad. It had a spontaneity about it that shone through, masking most of its amateurish imperfections. She’d drawn Andrea sitting on the old piano stool in front of the dressing table in the London flat. Her hair hung in shiny waves down her back, her eyes were black-lined and fake-lashed and she was wearing a dress with a scoop neckline and tight lace sleeves that came to points at the wrist. It wasn’t new – they’d bought it in Portobello Road and shared it, as they had most of their clothes. This dress, Juliet remembered, was lime green, and Andrea had topped it with a moth-eaten purple velvet scarf thrown casually over one shoulder. The whole effect was
one of faint decadence, Juliet thought, studying Andrea’s expression in the drawing. Decadent, yet innocent at the same time.
‘You looked so beautiful.’ She smiled at Andrea, who promptly burst into tears.
Andrea never cried, well, hardly ever. Juliet sat beside her on the bed, holding a box of tissues and feeling completely useless. She should have seen this coming. The signs had been there but she’d been so wrapped up in her own problems she must have subconsciously chosen to ignore them. Now it began to register that, apart from the evening at the pub, when Andrea had clearly been making an effort for Juliet’s sake, she’d been unusually quiet lately and she’d hardly been out at all. The jokiness was less apparent, the confident smile watered down, and she, Juliet, had done precisely nothing about it. Some friend she was.
Andrea grabbed a fresh bunch of tissues, gave her nose an almighty blow and stopped crying almost as suddenly as she’d begun.
‘Oh Ju, I’ve made such a mess of everything. I’m such a cow. How do you put up with me? I can’t even put up with me, never mind anyone else. I’ll pack my bags and go tonight.’ They both looked around the room at the boxes and bags, some of which had never been unpacked in the first place, the clothes and shoes, the myriad bottles and jars, the thirty back copies of Vogue, the menagerie of stuffed monkeys and the leather stool shaped like an elephant. ‘Well, tomorrow, anyway.’
‘Nonsense. You’ll do no such thing.’ Juliet heard her mother’s voice come out of her own mouth and winced. ‘I said you were welcome to stay as long as you liked and I meant it, so let’s have no more talk of leaving, not while you’re in this state anyway.’
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