I had no answer to that.
A second nurse came in with a tray and we helped Alice to sit upright. I handed her a cup of tea. ‘Drink,’ I ordered. She swallowed a few sips and began to look better. I cleared a space on the locker for the cup and saucer.
I felt her eyes burning into my back. ‘Why didn’t I do it properly? Atypical of me. I’m usually so thorough.’
‘Perhaps you didn’t want to.’ I turned back to face her.
A weak smile touched the pale lips. ‘Did you think of it at all?’
‘No.’
Alice was silent, then asked, ‘What’s Jilly like? What’s she got that I haven’t?’
I chose my words with care. ‘Jilly is different from you. She’s more conventional… I think.’
‘There’s no need to go on. I can picture the type.’ Alice slid back down the pillows. She shielded her eyes with an arm. ‘Sam deserves someone nice, someone who will put him first. I would have never have done that. I’m not nice enough. I have myself to look after too. Anyone who says they don’t is lying.’
Obviously Alice had been admitted in a hurry, and her clothes had been tossed on to a chair over by the window. I picked up her grey flannel trousers. They were stained and smelt of vomit. A black cashmere jumper was just as bad. Alice’s beautiful, expensive clothes. I knew she would mind about those. Gently, carefully, I folded them. ‘I’ll get these cleaned and delivered back to you,’ I said.
She dropped her arm. ‘Why are you doing all this for me, Rose? You never liked me much.’
‘I hate to see Sam hurt.’
‘So why?’
‘Because you were always honest,’ I replied. ‘You may have hurt Sam but you never led him up the garden path. You never promised anything you wouldn’t deliver.’
But she and I were linked by an experience we had not sought and, I suspected, Alice would take longer to heal. I brushed back her hair. ‘Alice, will you promise not to do this again?’
Her colour brightened. ‘Who knows?’ she replied, with a touch of her old imperiousness. ‘I might have got a taste for it.’
Alice remained in contact. After she left hospital she was given a month’s leave, and because she felt low and desperate she rang me. Clearly she did not have much rapport with her own parents. But I had a brainwave and packed her off to Mazarine in Paris to help with installations.
They got on rather well. ‘At least,’ Mazarine reported back, ‘she is capable of great pain and passion.’ She added a (rare) compliment: ‘In that respect she is more French than English. But I shall take her shopping.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
I was kept busy lighting candles around the Madonna in St Benedicta’s: for Poppy and Richard, Sam and Jilly, Nathan, Ianthe, Alice. I also lit one for myself. It seemed appropriate.
In the office Kim piled on the work. On several occasions, I ended up going in early and leaving late. The buzz was that the Daily Dispatch’s figures were looking good, and the advertising department went round with a bounce in their step.
But these days I hurried less. There was no need. Today as I crossed the park, I enjoyed the birdsong, a tense exchange between a parent and child, the drone of an aircraft checking into its flightpath. My father had been a good listener. He had liked birds, the sound of water and the rustle of grass. The sounds that I was enjoying were city ones, but they also repaid attention. They were a line into life: ordinary and unremarkable.
Over by the path skirting the river, the buds on the chestnut were swelling nicely. Pink tulips bloomed under a maple and I bent down to examine the nearest. Greenfly swarmed over the concave inner petal fretworked with tiny green veins. That was good: Nature had not given up.
Swinging my book bag, I rounded the corner into Lakey Street and there was Hal. In the back of my mind, I had been expecting him so I was not surprised. It was absolutely in character that he was sprawled comfortably on the front doorstep, reading the evening paper. Beside him was a basket with a hinged lid.
‘Have you been waiting long?’
He looked up and sprang to his feet. ‘That’s great. I’d given you twenty more minutes, and then I was going to try again another day.’
A scuffle from the basket broke an embarrassed pause. ‘What have you got there?’
‘If you let me in, I’ll show you.’
In the hall, he put down the basket and opened it. ‘Come here. It’s a present.’
I knelt down on the cold tiles, looked inside and felt my heart squeeze: it was a tiny cat, as rippled and tawny as a jungle creature. I put out a finger, touched its head – and once again I was pacing the house, holding my shouting babies, while a cat drowsed on the shelf above the radiator.
‘Abandoned,’ Hal explained. Amanda, my ex-wife, found it in the road. But I’m afraid its leg has been injured at some point and healed badly, so it’s not very mobile.’
The cat had allowed me to touch it, but I sensed this was not a compliant spirit. Its yellow-green eyes had the bold stare of a vagrant used to living off its wits. This was an animal that would require time and guile to woo and tame.
I looked up at Hal. ‘I miss Parsley more than I can say.’
‘You can have it, if you want it.’ He hunkered down beside me. ‘Poor little guy.’
We carried it into the half-dismantled kitchen and tried to settle it. Its injury hampered its movements, but after several bouts of spitting and arching its back, it curled up on an old jumper of mine and went to sleep.
Hal put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Rose?’ He was asking permission. To push past the exchange of information to more weighty things? I did not know, and I did not know what I would ask him in return.
His hand tightened on my shoulder. ‘You look well.’
‘I am.’ I noted his expensive-looking trousers and jacket. ‘And you look prosperous.’
Actually,’ he said, ‘I’ve come to ask you something.’
There was a new jar of honey on the table. I picked it up and put into the cupboard. Suddenly I felt as awkward as a schoolgirl. ‘Why don’t you stay and have some supper? I could do pasta. Then you can ask me.’
‘I should take you out.’
I shut the cupboard door. ‘I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it.’
‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘I would. But would you mind if I phoned Amanda? She was half expecting me. Don’t worry, she won’t mind. And her husband certainly won’t.’
While Hal was phoning, I whisked round the kitchen, making a carbonara sauce, boiling the pasta, laying the table, and I happened to glance up at the garden.
It was far less tidy, with an unfamiliar sprawling and rambling dimension, but the Marie Boisselot had assembled a whole dinner service of white plate-like blooms.
‘What are you thinking?’ Hal had come back into the room.
The lilac blossom was heavy and abandoned-looking, the Solanum romped over the trellis and the buds on the Iceberg by the window looked promising. ‘That I will plant my next garden with a bit more colour. I shall do it differently.’
Hal peered outside, but he knew nothing of the white period. One day I might tell him. The notion lit a spark of interest, excitement, even. I made him sit down, gave him a glass of wine and hunted around in the half-packed-up kitchen for bowls.
‘Amanda’s pleased you’ll take the cat.’
I busied myself draining the pasta and mixing in the sauce. ‘How long were you married?’
Hal sat down at the table. ‘Nine years. Amanda’s a good, patient person, but even she couldn’t take the absences. Anyway, she found Edward and is very happy.’
‘Did you mind?’ I put a plate in front of him, and sat down.
‘Yes, I did. Very much.’ His eyes met mine. ‘I was a fool.’
I concentrated on forking up the pasta. I did not wish to put everything into pigeon-holes – good, bad, indifferent – but it was important to me that Hal minded about the failure of his marriage.
‘I
seem to specialize in being a fool, Rose, don’t I?’
My fork assumed a life of its own and clattered back on to the plate. ‘Meaning?’
Pushing the plate aside, Hal placed his hands on the table. He cleared his throat. ‘Let’s get this over and done with. I haven’t ever been able to say sorry that you lost the baby and for the way I treated you. It’s something I have wanted to do. Now, I can.’
At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister…
I hesitated to discuss this subject. I could not bear for us to dissect it into the small and tame. ‘I should never have agreed to go with you, Hal, but I was sick with love, and I didn’t think. I didn’t know the dangers. I was ignorant.’
‘At least I should have looked after you better. I shouldn’t have left you in Quetzl, however hard you begged. I thought it was the right thing, that it showed we’d taken proper decisions. But it wasn’t very adult.’
My eyes locked on to his. At the time it was… the solution.’
Hal made no effort to touch me, and I think he wanted to bridge the gap between us, but that was right: we needed to air this subject without distraction. ‘I’m sorry, so very sorry. I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving you like that. In that scuzzy hotel where you could have picked up a terrible disease. You were sick, and needing attention. But I was so desperate not to… determined to do the work on the Yanomami. I couldn’t get over the transition from a love affair to something that threatened to pin me down, and I could only think about myself. So I made the choice.’
‘It was my choice, too,’ I offered, but my voice was not quite under control.
‘Yes, but it’s a proper, better life if we can think about ourselves and take on board others. Or one other. Am I forgiven?’
The telephone began to ring, but I ignored it. Eventually it gave up and the silence in the kitchen was shattering. I smiled at Hal. ‘I forgave you years ago. I had to, otherwise I could not have continued to be married to Nathan. I had to be clear of you to live with him. I pushed you to the back of my mind and got on with another life.’
‘Do you regret it?’
‘No. Never. I’ve been very happy. And I didn’t want it to end. But it has.’
The answer seemed to please him, and he nodded. The blue eyes were still like gentians, a rich surcote, the colour of peace and resolution.
He nudged his glass. ‘Tell me more.’
If becoming older meant loss, the loss of childhood, magic and belief, and the first flush of desire and faith, then it also gave back something unexpected. For as Hal and I continued to talk, and shaped the past into comprehensible slabs, desire reignited its lick and burn, and an old hunger and belief stirred. I was not dead. I was not finished. Neither was I invisible, nor beaten. And fresh air was blowing through the habit and expectation.
Some time later, I do not know how much later, we had talked out what we had done in the past, and what we planned for the future. Hal’s took in Namibia (again), the Yanomami (again), and the Umbrian olive farm. Mine was to rebuild my work (on different terms), earn a living, and make a new home.
‘I must go,’ he said, at last. ‘When can I see you again? Why don’t you come over to my flat?’ He smiled. ‘There are no ghosts.’ He shrugged on his jacket. ‘Or come to the farm before summer takes hold. It’s at its best then.’
With his hand on the door, he paused. ‘I’m glad I took the risk and came here.’
It took me some time to get to sleep but when I did I dreamt of floating through sunlit air, as light and unfettered as a feather drifting from an angel’s wing.
When I made it downstairs the next morning, the cat was still curled on the jumper, but I sensed it was defensive and unsettled. At my entrance, it raised its head, and its fur was as soft and golden as you could wish. I rustled up a cat meal from a packet of Parsley’s favourite biscuits, which still lurked in the cupboard, and some warmed-up gravy. I told it that it was a beautiful creature, and it listened.
It went back into the cat basket without too much trouble but protested when I let myself out of the house and down Mr Sears’ steps.
‘Is that you, Betty?’ he called.
The weather was growing warm, and the room was stuffy. Even so, Mr Sears had retreated under his rugs. He looked so small and beaten by life and his disabilities, and he was crying, copiously and silently. I knelt beside him and put the basket on the bed.
‘Mr Sears, I’ve brought you something. A present.’
‘If it’s from the council, send it back.’
I opened the basket, and the cat favoured me with a green glint. ‘You be good,’ I lectured it. ‘Know which side your bread is buttered.’
I eased it out and placed it on Mr Sears’ lap. ‘A good home is wanted, and I wondered if you would like to give it. It needs a bit of looking after because it’s been injured. If you would like it, Mr Sears, I’ll take it to Keith and get him to check it over.’
Mr Sears gave a great cry, and his hands scooted over the rug. The cat tensed, reared its head and transferred its attention from me to the tearstained Mr Sears.
He extended a finger with its horny nail. ‘Lie down,’ he ordered – against every rule of cat training. By some miracle, the cat merely arched its back, adjusted its stiff leg and did as it was told.
Mr Sears looked triumphant. ‘Some things never leave you.’
I backed into the kitchen. By the time I emerged, the cat had settled on the bed and it and Mr Sears were conducting an ongoing conversation in ‘stomach talk’, as the Japanese would have it. They took no notice of me.
I rang Hal. ‘I’ve given the cat away,’ I confessed. ‘Someone needed it more than I did but also…’
‘Yes?’
‘It would have been a going back. It would be trying to relive a stage that has gone. I’m not sure I can explain it. I’m sorry. I hope you’re not offended.’
‘Very interesting,’ he said, ‘and, no, I don’t mind.’ I could tell he meant it.
‘Hal, will you come to a party for a friend who’s getting married? I think it will amuse you.’
‘On condition that you come shopping.’
‘Which first?’
‘Shopping.’
Which is how it came about that, dressed in my French linen dress and wearing the French underwear, I went with Hal to Charles Madder’s lunch party to celebrate his wedding, which was supposed to be secret.
But the press had been working on it. When we left, we ran straight into a phalanx of photographers. The result was a front-page photograph in the next day’s paper – of Charles and Kate leaving the restaurant, followed by Hal and me. I was clutching a large carrier-bag, which contained the softest, most supple and expensive walking boots Hal could afford, and which he had insisted on buying me.
Poppy came to view the new flat. ‘I’ve been ordered to report back to Dad,’ she said. ‘And he ordered me not to tell you.’
‘Well, don’t, then.’
Poppy poked her head into a kitchen cupboard. ‘It smells dreadful – of dead insects. I hope you’re going to rip it all out and start again.’
‘There’s no need. Underneath the ghastly paint is some lovely wood. It just needs cherishing.’
While I made lists, Poppy prowled through the rest of the flat, but I gave up after a bit. I could do everything when I moved in.
‘It’s OK,’ said Poppy, but she was doubtful. ‘And the garden is twee.’
‘As long as the flat is warm and waterproof.’
‘So unlike you, Mum. You always took such pains at Lakey Street. You put so much energy into making it nice. Promise me you won’t go downhill and not care.’
‘Do I look riddled with decay?’ Poppy rummaged in a smart, expensive-looking handbag shaped like a croissant. ‘Nice bag,’ I added.
A funny little look stole over her face. ‘Isn’t it? Richard gave it to me.’ She fished out ma
keup and a transparent plastic envelope full of loose change. ‘Where is my mobile?’
I poked at the envelope – not the luminous envelope I used to think about at sixteen but an infinitely more earthbound, practical one. ‘Why all the change, Poppy?’
‘Richard says we have to start saving. Pension and things. Big trees from little acorns grow. So, I’m saving my coins.’
This was yet another new light shed on my impulsive, romantic daughter. I snapped my notebook shut and tucked my hand into Poppy’s elbow. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Well… we had a big row the other day. I packed my suitcase, but Richard stopped me at the door.’
‘Are you speaking or non-speaking at the moment?’
There was a pause. ‘Speaking… sort of. I’ve got a job interview, editorial, and Richard bought me a trouser suit to wear for it, so I have to speak to him.’
‘Oh, well, then,’ I said. ‘It can’t be all that bad.’
I drove Poppy back to Kensington. ‘Has Sam mentioned Alice?’ I asked her.
‘He said she was going to be all right, that he felt terribly guilty, and he’d had no idea she felt about him the way she did.’
I skirted an illegally parked lorry. ‘I liked Alice much better after Sam left her. She’s honest.’
Poppy made a face. ‘Jilly’s upset. She feels Alice set out to ruin her happiness.’
‘I don’t think Alice would put herself through all that just to get back at Jilly. I think Jilly was irrelevant.’
‘Well, that will cheer her up.’ There was just a touch of malice in Poppy’s tone. Perhaps she hadn’t forgiven Jilly for keeping her in the dark. ‘But if you think Jilly was irrelevant you’re wrong. Jilly took one look at Sam at the party and went for him.’
This was a new perspective on the luminous Jilly.
Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman Page 28