It was no surprise, I’d expected some sort of objection, even if nothing quite as emphatic. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because Eve it is …’ She began lighting up another. ‘The moment is past.’
This struck me as a bit rich. ‘How can you say that? Kerridge has buggered off exactly as you predicted he would, and Clive on your own admission, is a new man.’
She jabbed at me two fingers clamping a cigarette. ‘ Exactly.’
‘What?’
‘He’s over me, just as I’m over him.’
‘I honestly don’t—’
‘He may not even know it yet, but it’s plain as the nose on his face. He only came after me last night out of habit. He doesn’t need me any more. On the contrary, it would be a retrograde step.’
I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Whence all this selflessness? What do you want?’
‘I’ve no idea. But not Clive. If we were to go back to each other now it would be just that – going backwards. I won’t say I learned anything from Kerridge, but I have changed. And so, it turns out, has my husband.’
‘But isn’t that a good thing? Could you – not go back, exactly, but start afresh?’
‘I think not.’
‘Did you say all this to him?’
‘I did.’
It had become like pulling teeth again. ‘And?’
‘After a little token protest, he agreed.’
‘He agreed with your analysis.’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘I see.’
I don’t know why I was so disappointed, because I knew she was talking sense. I suppose I had become attached to my happy-ending scenario, and this was all so bleakly realistic. It also displayed an obduracy in Helen’s character of which I’d never really taken account.
She coughed. ‘Anyway, the new Clive isn’t for me. He’s for the lovely Catherine.’
She sounded quite matter-of-fact, but I still jumped in without thinking: ‘I assure you that’s not what he said—’ I stopped, hideously embarrassed. But all she did, without looking at me, was raise an eyebrow. ‘Helen, I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘What will you – do you have any plans?’
‘No. I’ll carry on as I am for the time being. Though I could do with getting out of that bloody village.’ She flashed me a sudden, lively grin. ‘Maybe I’ll move to the seaside.’
That evening Ben called and said he’d be down the following night to pick up his things.
‘Is it OK if I spend the night?’
‘What a question – of course it’s OK.’
‘Thought I’d better check. After last time.’
‘But this is still your home, darling.’ I thought a little guiltily of the blitz I’d imposed on his room. ‘Some daft bust-up doesn’t change that.’
‘I don’t know about daft. Still, it’s high time I was out of there. You need your space.’
How little he knew, I thought. My space as he called it had become a kind of solitary confinement. I was going to have to brace myself for this, the big departure.
I was sorting through the Sunday paper, weeding out the sections I wasn’t interested in before taking the rest to bed with me, when I saw Ankatex mentioned in a small paragraph on the front page of the business section. Trouble at mill, apparently, was causing Ankatex shares to wobble. But the oil fire outside Karnesh in the Emirates was now being brought under control. Ankatex troubleshooter Charles McNally, within weeks of retiring from the front line, was quoted as saying it had been a tough one but not, he was happy to say, too tough. In italics at the bottom of the paragraph the paper’s man in the UAE advised Ankatex investors to hold their nerve – McNally’s was a famously safe pair of hands.
So he was doing what he liked best, facing the firestorm. I put the paper down and stared out at the sea. On this quiet night it was no more than a denser area of darkness between the streetlamps and the stars. If I listened really hard I could hear the faint hiss of the incoming waves as they dragged the stones beneath them on their crawl up the beach. It was strange to think that my furthest horizon marked out only a minute fraction of the distance which separated me from Charles McNally.
Ben was already there when I got home on Monday night at six. He called from his room as I closed the front door.
‘Hi, I’m in here.’
His rucksack was in the middle of the floor, and most of his clothes were on the bed.
‘Decision-making process,’ he explained.
‘Can you find everything?’
‘Sure – it’s leaving things out that’s the problem.’
I came into the room and sat down on the chair. I felt shy. It was hard to recollect the easy come-and-go of our previous life together. We hadn’t even exchanged a kiss.
‘When do you actually leave?’
‘Wednesday – afternoon flight from Heathrow.’
‘Have you sorted out somewhere to live?’
‘All taken care of, I’m lodging with some bloke Dad knows – low rent plus a bit of babysitting.’
That reminded me of something. ‘I saw Pearl the other night, she’s working in the supermarket.’
‘Oh yes?’ He gave me a flash of the old grin. ‘ How is the Pearly Put-Out?’
‘She’s a pregnant pearly put-out.’
He sat down on the bed. I had his complete attention, for possibly the first time in weeks. ‘You’re joking.’
‘Not at all. And guess who’s it is.’
He shook his head slowly, eyes on my face. ‘I give up.’
‘Nozz.’
‘Nozz, the jammy bastard …’ he breathed. ‘He didn’t waste much time.’
‘He’s very pleased, according to her.’
‘Going to make an honest woman of her?’
‘I’ve no idea. You’ll have to ask him.’
He began picking up clothes and stuffing them into the rucksack. ‘How was she, then?’
‘Looking wonderful. Blooming, as you’re supposed to do.’
‘Happy?’
‘Absolutely. But she was very insistent I give you her love.’
He gave a short laugh, and shook his head again, but there was an expression of real tenderness on his face. ‘She never gives up.’
We tried to have a completely normal evening. Bacon and eggs in the kitchen, enjoyable rubbish on the TV … But it wasn’t normal and we both knew it. Cravenly, I longed to go to bed, simply to shorten this period of dread. After the Nine o’clock News I switched off and yawned.
‘I think I might—’
‘Mum, have you seen Sabine at all?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know how she is?’
‘No, I don’t. I really don’t have any contact with her at all these days.’
‘I just wondered if you’d heard anything.’
‘No. Or at least I know they went away this weekend, to somewhere in the Lakes.’
His head was turned away. ‘They both went.’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish I knew …’ His voice wavered, he paused, and took a breath. ‘I just wish I knew how she was … what she’s feeling.’
‘I can’t help.’
‘I realise that. But it seems mad, me sitting down here and her up there, not speaking, or touching – or anything. Mad and fucking wrong.’
‘It’s what you decided to do,’ I reminded him, trying to sound calm over rising panic. ‘Space and time for her to make her decision, remember?’
There was a long silence. His leg, triggered by that jumping nerve, quivered uncontrollably.
‘Yeah,’ he said at last. ‘I know.
I stayed up a little longer, ostensibly clearing up the kitchen, but actually keeping an eye on him. To my relief the moment seemed to pass. He switched the TV back on and I even heard him grunt with laughter at something.
‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m going to bed. Don’t forget to turn everything off.’
I leaned o
ver and kissed him, and he reached his head up to kiss me back, and laid his hand on my arm for a second.
‘Night Mum.’
I was just about to get into bed when he called from the hall: ‘I’m going for a bit of a walk, shan’t be long.’
‘Right – oh, Ben?’ I was too late, the front door closed firmly behind him.
I actually turned my bedroom light off and looked out of the window, but he failed to appear on the prom. I lay in bed in a state of red alert, my brain whirring. He hadn’t gone for a walk at all, of course – he’d driven up to Headlands to lay siege to Sabine and get a beating from Martin … or worse still they had arranged to meet in advance, they might even now be – oh God … or worst of all, they were heading for the night ferry, and I’d never see him again—
After no more than fifteen minutes the front door opened and closed and he went into his room, walking quietly so as not to wake me, as I lay there bathed in a sweat of relief and shame.
I’d already decided that the next morning I’d leave for work at the same time he left. That way our last farewells would be outside in the road where I’d stand less chance of disgracing myself and embarrassing him. Until that moment we kept busy, doing the usual morning things, not talking much – I kept the radio on in my bedroom and the kitchen, the familiar authoritative voices covering our tense silences.
He didn’t comment on the fact that I was leaving three quarters of an hour earlier than usual. Looking at his backpack as he went down the stairs reminded me of something inconsequential.
‘Won’t you need a suit?’
‘Might do. I’ll get one over there – Dad subbed me.’
‘Oh.’
The day was fine and cold. The gulls clustered on the roofs and chimney pots glittered in the sun, but it was chilly in the early morning shadow of Cliff Mansions. He loaded the backpack into the back seat of the VW and then there was nothing left to do.
‘Now you take care, darling,’ I said, ‘and give me a ring, even if it’s only to—’
‘Mum …’ He enfolded me in a huge, hungry hug, his face buried in my shoulder. All I could think of was that I must try to keep my own face under control so that I didn’t go to pieces completely when he let me go. But when at last he did, he didn’t even look at me again. He got quickly into the beetle, twisted round to reverse, and drove off.
I needed some of the extra time to compose myself, so I drove east out of Littelsea on the Brighton Road and turned off to one of the clifftop vantage points. When I reached the parking area I left the car and walked past the collection of picnic tables and along the broad track to the edge of the cliff. The ground fell away slightly where the track petered out, so I didn’t see the car until the last moment. It was strictly illegal to bring a vehicle this close to the cliff edge, and I was astonished to see that it was the Chatsworths’ Rover. As I drew closer I could hear music swelling from it, and recognised Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius, one of Ian’s favourites.
It was as well the music was loud, and that I was on foot, otherwise Dennis might have seen me, when it was obviously his express intention to be alone. He was sitting very upright in the driver’s seat, his hands resting side by side on the bottom of the steering wheel. He wore his dark three-piece suit – like me, he must have been on his way to work. But also like me his mind was elsewhere. Never had I been so conscious of a person being in a world of their own. His face was set, and pale. His eyes stared at something that only he could see. And his cheeks were wet with tears.
Chapter Nineteen
In trying to escape my own unhappiness it seemed I’d stumbled on a far greater one. All day I was haunted by the memory of Dennis’s face. Until that moment I’d been content to shelter beneath the wide, warm wings of Ronnie’s gallantry – we all had. But Dennis was living every minute with the unremitting truth which I too could no longer escape. She was going to die.
It was quiet in the office and Jo and I went to the pub for lunch. She was one of those naturally talkative people with whom one didn’t have to make an effort, but even she noticed something was amiss.
‘All right Mrs Piercy – spit it out.’
‘What?’
‘Tell Auntie Jo all about it.’
‘I’m sorry, have I been that bad?’
‘You haven’t been bad at all but there’s obviously something on your mind.’
‘Too much, really – I don’t want to bore you with it.’
‘And I don’t want to pry – but you won’t bore me.’
She was a good person to unburden to, because work was the only place we met, and all we had in common, so she had the advantage of objectivity, and I the comfort of knowing I wasn’t betraying any confidences. Even so I didn’t mention Ben – I wouldn’t have trusted myself.
‘The fact is,’ I told her, ‘I thought I had problems, but I’ve just found out that a friend of mine is going to die.’
‘It’s the only sure thing in life,’ she said, quite seriously.
‘Yes, but soon, within the foreseeable future. I’ve just seen her husband, and it was awful.’
‘Poor lady.’
‘To look at her you wouldn’t know she was ill, she’s one of those people who literally bounce with life – I play tennis with her.’
‘People do get over the big C, you know. If it’s caught early enough, and if she’s a fighter, she may see it off.’
‘I know, but I think in this case – I believe she hasn’t got long.’
‘Tricky,’ said Jo in her practical way. ‘Because she can be wonderfully brave, but you can only be sad.’
She had put her finger on it exactly. ‘Right. It’s so hard to know how to behave. I feel I’ve been a pretty lousy friend, completely wrapped up in my own troubles.’
Jo leaned forward. ‘ I bet she’s glad of that. She won’t want you round there with homemade cakes every five minutes.’
I had to laugh. ‘Too true, any cake I made would only hasten the end.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Jo, ‘perhaps she would like to talk about it. I mean it’s one thing being brave, but it’s another feeling you mustn’t dump on your friends because it’s not manners.’
‘But how on earth – I can’t imagine how to provide the opening.’
Jo opened a hand, tilted her head. ‘Ask a few questions?’
‘You’re pointing out the obvious.’
‘Best never to ignore it. And anyway I’m not a very subtle operator, the obvious is the only thing I see.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I’ll give it a go.’
‘Let’s have another.’
When she got back with two more glasses, she said: ‘So that’s your friend. Now what about you?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing, not in the same league.’
‘Cheers. It may not be life and death, but if it’s getting you down … Man trouble?’
I considered this. Was I suffering from man trouble? The phrase implied an habituation with the opposite sex that I simply did not have.
‘Not really. The man in question hasn’t been any trouble, exactly. Unless you count disappearing at a moment’s notice.’
‘Doesn’t sound very convenient.’
‘It’s not.’
‘So what’s his explanation?’
‘He’s an oil company troubleshooter – he’s in charge of putting out a fire in the Gulf.’
‘I’ve got to say that as explanations go,’ said Jo, ‘that sounds like a pretty good one.’
She was right of course. Once again she’d pointed out the obvious: it was a good explanation. Charles McNally had an important job, and he’d had to go and do it, and the sensible thing for me to do was to get on my with my life and wait, with a good grace.
‘Thanks Jo,’ I said, when it came to going-home time, ‘for being the voice of commonsense.’
‘Forget it,’ she said, ‘I’m basically a bit thick, but sometimes that helps to cut down the options.’
On the way ba
ck I went into a petrol station to top the car up. After I’d moved to the side of the forecourt to fill the screenwash I saw the Drages’Mercedes pull up. I watched in shameful fascination as Martin, in black tie, got out and stood for what seemed like ages filling up their vast tank. I could see Sabine, her face framed by a big fur collar, sitting in the passenger seat.
When he’d finished he said something to her, and went into the shop. I started to get back into the car but I wasn’t quite quick enough – she’d seen me and was getting out.
I could, of course, have simply pretended not to see her, and driven away. I could have been out of there, and out of harm’s way, in seconds. But for some reason I didn’t. As she began to walk towards me I closed the car door and waited. She looked absolutely beautiful, like an art nouveau nymph in her narrow, pale grey furtrimmed coat and sleek short hair – beautiful and very, very thin. Fragility was not a word I had ever associated with Sabine, but tonight she looked fragile.
‘Eve.’
‘Hello Sabine.’
‘How are you?’
‘Not so bad.’
She came closer, to my side of the car, and I could smell her scent – the same one I’d smelt on Ben, a zillion years ago.
She said: ‘Isn’t it awful about Ronnie?’
‘Yes. Hard to believe.’
‘And Dennis … and those poor boys.’ Her voice trembled, there was no doubting her sincerity.
‘She wants to play tennis again,’ I said. ‘Just until she starts her chemotherapy. Will you be able to join us?’
‘I should like that, very much.’
There was the tiniest emphasis on the first word which prompted me to reply: ‘I should, too.’
I held out my right hand, and she took it with her left. She wore silk gloves and her hand felt insubstantial and boneless, like a child’s. We stood there like schoolgirls, holding hands, too full of feeling to speak.
Martin emerged from the shop, slipping his wallet into his inside breast pocket. When he found his wife wasn’t in the car he looked around and spotted us.
‘Eve – greetings stranger!’
He advanced on us with his big, rolling stride, beaming all over his face. We let go hands and he came between us and kissed me heartily on both cheeks. He doesn’t know, I thought, and felt relief wash through me.
That Was Then Page 31