Adam looked up. ‘Yes. A fisherman helped me.’ He started to say something and stopped.
Naomi waited.
Adam swallowed. ‘It was terrible seeing her walking into the water. It was scary. It made me really sad. I didn’t want her to drown, even though I was really scared when she was following me. I didn’t know it was her. I thought maybe it was…’
‘What?’
‘Well, a ghost or maybe a paedophile.’
‘That must have been frightening. How did you feel when you realised it was Jenny?’
‘I felt…like, why? But I was relieved too. Then she told me that I reminded her of her husband and I felt sorry for her. I wanted to help her, get her to Mum. She was a bit odd…like, out of it…’ Adam petered out.
‘I understand your mum explained why Jenny had been so muddled. She told you that your father had been Jenny’s husband?’
Adam’s face closed abruptly.
‘You don’t want to talk about this?’
He shook his head.
‘I understand. It’s painful.’
Adam looked at his shoes. He was breathing quickly and was obviously upset. Naomi said gently, changing tack, ‘Why was it important for you to see Jenny before you went home?’
Adam looked up. ‘I wanted to tell her it’s all right. She was so worried she had scared me. I want to tell her…’ He met Naomi’s eyes and she saw how intense and blue his were—intelligent eyes. ‘I just want to see her.’ ‘Because she was married to your father?’ Adam’s eyes showed a flash of anger. ‘Yes, because of that, but because I really like her, too. I liked her from the beginning when she stayed in our house, before I knew anything about my father.’
Naomi stood up. ‘I’m glad. Let’s go and join your mother. You can’t be very long with Jenny, I’m afraid.’
‘I’m not going to ask her anything. Can I see her on my own, for just a minute?
Naomi hesitated. It was obviously important to the boy. ‘Just for a moment. I’ll be right outside.’
Jenny was propped up on pillows like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Her eyes were dark-ringed in a pale face. Adam heard Ruth say, ‘Get well. I’ll see you when we’re next down. Get better. I’ll ring…’
Jenny turned as Adam and Naomi came into the room and her face, when she saw Adam, showed relief, broke into a semblance of a smile. ’Adam!’
The blood rushed to Adam’s face. He muttered something as he moved nearer, but his face too had come alive. James, watching the exchange, felt disturbed. Jenny held out her hand and after an embarrassed hesitation Adam took it. Naomi guided a reluctant Ruth and James to the other side of the door.
All three watched through the glass window. Ruth was white and Naomi noticed her hands shook as they saw Adam turn his back on them and bend to hear what Jenny was saying.
‘I’m so glad you came, Adam.’
‘I wanted to…before I went home.’
‘I’m sorry, so sorry that I frightened you. Please forgive me. It’s all a strange muddle in my head…’
‘It’s OK. It doesn’t matter. You couldn’t help it.’
‘Are we still friends?’
‘Yes, of course. Jenny, can I come back and see you again, when you’re better?’
Jenny nodded, closed her eyes against the blueness of his eyes. ’I’d like that. I will get better, Adam. I will get better now.’
‘I should go. I’m only allowed a minute.’
Jenny opened her eyes, let go of his hand and smiled. ‘Goodbye, darling boy,’ she murmured.
‘’Bye, Jenny,’ Adam said, his heart leaping.
Ruth, James and Naomi could not hear this exchange from behind the door, but the intensity of feeling between Jenny and Adam was obvious. They desperately needed each other, one to hold on to the past, the other to try to make sense of the future.
Turning to Ruth, Naomi said quickly, ‘Please understand that your feelings are as valid and as important as Jenny’s or Adam’s. I hope you might be willing to talk with me?’
Ruth was watching Adam coming towards her. She turned and looked at Naomi with hostility. It was patently obvious that her feelings were not as important as Jenny’s. It was disingenuous to suggest otherwise. ‘I’m not your patient, Jenny is,’ she said abruptly.
‘I put Adam and Jenny together in order to see how things were between them. I wanted to make sure Adam was not still nervous of Jenny. It was not to hurt you.’
‘Well, that’s how it felt.’
Ruth turned to Adam, nodded at James and Naomi, and she and Adam walked away out of the doors to the car park. James said, ‘Oh, poor girl.’ Naomi looked at him. ‘Yes. The pull of a dead parent is hard to compete with.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
As soon as he was in the car, Adam put his earplugs in and slumped in the front seat listening to music. It suited Ruth fine, she had no desire to talk as they drove back towards Truro.
Back at the cottage, Adam went straight up to his room and Ruth began to pack things up for a quick start in the morning. She considered setting off immediately, but knew she was too tired to drive all the way back to Birmingham.
She made Adam supper and let him eat it on his knees watching the television. It was better than trying to make conversation. They were both miserable.
In the morning they piled their possessions into the car and left the cottage with relief. It had become too small a place to be cooped up together.
Ruth was not sure if Peter would be home before her. She tried to ring him and eventually left a text message. The last two days felt like a bad dream she could not wake up from. She and Adam had been catapulted from a peaceful halfterm holiday to a personal tragedy.
As Ruth drove out of Cornwall the cloud cleared and the sun shone for the first time in a pale-blue sky. She sat on a persistent muted anger. She was now appalled that fate had thrown her and Jenny together on a train. She was resentful with Jenny for not telling her the whole truth about Tom and Rosie, and incensed by that patronising bloody psychiatrist.
She glanced at Adam, slouched beside her, tinny sounds coming from his headphones. She felt annoyed with him too for so suddenly turning, for so abruptly becoming enthralled with Jenny, because of Tom.
She knew she was being unfair. It was her fault. In romanticising his conception and birth, even to herself, she had deprived him of something fundamental to hang on to.
Ruth was used to driving long distances and was aware of her lack of concentration, so she stopped twice to find coffee and something for Adam to eat. When it got dark Adam fell asleep beside her. His face, softening into a child’s as he relaxed, moved Ruth with its vulnerability. She drove carefully, longing to get home, yet needing to get her feelings into some sort of order before she arrived.
She began to feel more optimistic about her ability to cope with Adam as they drew closer to Birmingham. Peter was the one person she could talk to about this. Ruth turned into their wide leafy road with relief. She saw that the hall lights were on. Peter was back, thank God for that. Adam woke, stretched and got out of the car without saying anything, but he waited to help her with the cases and together they walked up the steps.
Peter had heard them and came out on to the front step to greet them, running down to the car to carry the remainder of their luggage. He had been cooking something in the kitchen and the smell filled the house. Adam sniffed hungrily.
Peter smiled at him. ‘Spag Bog. Are you hungry?’
‘Starving,’ Adam said. ‘I’ll just put this stuff in my room.’
He bounded upstairs and Peter turned to Ruth. ‘You look tired. Bad journey?’
‘Not really, just long.’
‘I’ve got a good bottle of cold wine in the fridge.’
‘Lovely. But what I’d really like to start with is a malt whisky.’
Peter looked at her closely. Ruth hardly ever drank spirits. ‘OK,’ he said carefully and went to get her one. Ruth sat at the kitchen table wearily. She couldn’t e
ven begin to talk to Peter until Adam had gone to bed.
Peter put the whisky in front of her and went to the stove to dish out a plate of food for Adam, who came crashing down the stairs. Peter turned to Ruth. ‘Do you want to eat now or wait a little?’
‘I’ll wait, but you eat with Adam.’
Ruth listened to them talking together about birds, about the cottage, about the weather. Occasionally Adam’s eyes flickered her way, but he said nothing about Jenny. For the first time she noticed how tired Peter looked, grey at the gills. ‘What time did you get home?’
‘About 3 a.m. But I came back and slept.’ His eyes rested on her in a look Ruth could not fathom.
Adam bolted his meal and leant back. He looked at Ruth, his eyes bright with challenge. ‘Are you going to tell him, then?’
‘Of course I am, Adam,’ Ruth said quietly.
Peter was watching them both. He didn’t smile or try to defuse the atmosphere with a joke as he usually did.
The room was silent, then Adam said abruptly, ‘I’m going to bed.’ He went over to the fridge and got himself a bottle of water.
‘Goodnight, Adam. See you in the morning,’ Peter said.
Adam looked directly at him for the first time. ‘Yeah. Goodnight.’
He thumped up the stairs, closed his door with a thud and music played loudly behind it.
Peter got up and shut the kitchen door. Ruth poured herself another whisky; it was blurring the edges beautifully. Peter put some food on a plate for her. ‘You’d better eat if you are going to drink seriously.’
‘Thank you.’ She played with her food, eating small mouthfuls. The whisky began to taste bitter and she pushed it away. ‘How about opening that bottle of wine now?’
‘You’ll regret it in the morning.’
‘I have a day off. I’m giving that lecture in London the day after tomorrow.’
‘OK,’ Peter said quietly. ‘It’s obviously going to be an evening for talking.’
As he poured the wine Ruth noticed his hands were not quite steady. He was wondering what was coming. There was, all of a sudden, something deeply attractive about his long brown fingers with their sprinkling of dark hair. Ruth felt an unexpected rush of lust. ‘Let’s take the wine up to the attic flat and talk in bed. We’re further away from Adam.’
Surprised, Peter hesitated, then said, ‘All right. You go on up. I’ll just put these in the dishwasher.’
Ruth picked up her wine, went upstairs and gathered the things she needed, and went up to the flat Jenny had stayed in. She ran a bath and sat with her wine watching the soft swaying of the tree outside the window. She thought she heard Peter way below her on the phone. Adam’s music had stopped.
She dried herself and put on a nightdress Peter had given her long ago, which she had rarely worn. It was expensively seductive and she looked at herself critically in the mirror. It was peach, with coffee-coloured lace at the breast and spaghetti straps. It was not a nightdress to sleep in. It was shameful how little she had worn it. Her face was pale without make-up and she had dark circles under her eyes, but she was bone thin and thankful for it.
She climbed into bed. Below her she heard the shower. Adam or Peter? If he didn’t come up soon she would get self-conscious in this nightdress. Ruth suddenly wanted to take it off and put on pyjamas, it seemed such a brazen invitation and unlike her.
It was too late, she heard Peter coming up the stairs. He had the wine bottle and his glass in his hand. He had been in the shower. He poured her more wine without looking at her. ‘Adam’s asleep already. What’s been going on, Ruth?’
Ruth patted the bed, unwilling and almost too tired to talk. Peter took off his bathrobe and climbed in. He looked wary. He did not notice what she was wearing. He never wore anything in bed. Ruth reflected ruefully on all the times he had watched her climb into bed in old PJs and now, when she really wanted him to see her, wanted to have sex urgently, his thoughts were definitely elsewhere.
He smelt good: clean and tangy. He had obviously aired his body near a swimming pool because his skin was tanned. She pressed a nose to his arm and smelt lemon and spice. ‘New soap?’ she asked. ‘It’s lovely.’
He looked down at her curiously.
She met his eyes. ‘I’ve really missed you, Peter.’
‘Come on, Ruth, what’s upset both you and Adam?’
‘Let’s make love first…’
She rolled towards him with her head on his shoulder and put her arm round him. She felt him stiffen slightly. He drew in his breath, hesitated, started to say something and changed his mind as her hand slipped down his body. His immediate arousal excited her and she moved on top of him, kissing his neck and face and his closed eyes, surprising herself with her own urgency. She was behaving unlike herself and Peter responded, rolling her over, entering her roughly and seeming almost angry with her for exciting him. They were both unlike themselves. There was nothing cool or detached about this coupling in the attic, it was the best fuck they had had in ages.
They fell away from each other and were silent for a moment, then Ruth reached for her wine and turned his way.
He watched her as she told him about Jenny; about Tom and Rosie, and all that had happened in their few days in Cornwall. Her words caught and stumbled as she explained that Tom had been Adam’s father. She put her hand on his arm for comfort as she spoke about Adam’s fury with her and his sudden preoccupation with Jenny because of Tom.
When she had finished Peter said nothing for a while. He went on watching her in a way that made her uneasy as she waited for his careful and measured response. He did not take her hand in his own or bring it to his lips as he sometimes did. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said at last, ‘that it all happened in that awful way. It must have been traumatic for you both.’ The way he said this gave distance to his words. Polite, sorry, but somehow uninvolved. ‘I thought Jenny’s intentness with Adam was rather odd when she stayed here, but I knew she was still grieving. I didn’t say anything because she was your friend and it seemed churlish. I wish I had now.’
He poured the last of the wine. ‘Ruth, this thing with Adam’s father was going to happen sooner or later, you must have known that. You knew Adam would want to trace him at some point, we’ve spoken of it. You’ve got all the details that you could remember about him somewhere, haven’t you?’
Ruth looked surprised. ‘I’d almost forgotten that. It’s with my will. How strange that you should remember.’
‘Not really. It’s the sort of information that a man stores, especially when he lives in the shadow of that other man.’
Ruth felt a strange falling away in her stomach.
His skin underneath her hand, the hand he had ignored, burnt. She pulled it away quickly. His eyes were sad but resolute as he held hers. ’Shit timing, Ruth. I wish it could be different, but I’ve wished that for too long. I’m going to go and live in Israel.’
Ruth felt the blood drain from her face and he did put out his hand to her then. ‘Ruth, I’m sorry. It couldn’t wait. I had to tell you now.’
‘Why?’ she whispered.
He hesitated. ‘I’ve met someone.’
It was as if he had slapped her. ‘Is it serious?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
Shame flooded through Ruth. ‘But you…we’ve just made love…’
‘Yes. Ironic, isn’t it, darling.’ His voice was husky. ‘The one rare time you initiate sex—and it was wonderful—it’s too late.’
‘Then why…’
‘Because it seemed churlish to refuse you.’ He closed his eyes and said under his breath, ‘That’s a lie. I wanted to make love to you one last time, because you are my wife and I’ve loved you, it seems, for so long…’
Ruth looked down at him. She had been so involved with herself this evening that she had not seen or heard or felt his distress. As if life had stopped still because something catastrophic had happened to her.
He got out of bed. ‘You look exhaus
ted. We’ll talk in the morning. Try and sleep.’ And he was gone.
Ruth got up and took a painkiller. The drink helped her sleep for a while. She dreamt that she was driving at speed away from Cornwall. She dreamt she was running from Jenny.
When she woke in the early hours she saw that Peter was standing by the window looking out into the dark. He was crying and she understood: he still loved her. He had just given up. Some woman was giving him the single-minded attention he deserved. She thought of his new lemon cologne. Ruth knew Peter was grasping at the possibility of happiness and he deserved to. ‘Peter?’ she said softly and when he turned she held out her arms.
He came over and sat on the bed and they wrapped their arms round each other.
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll be all right. You’ll see. We’ll always be friends you and I. We’ll always be friends.’
‘I loved you so much, Ruth.’
‘I know. I know. But you’ll be happy now. You’ve done the right thing.’
‘Have I?’ he asked as they rocked together in the dark, cold morning. ‘Have I?’
‘Yes,’ Ruth said firmly, ‘you have.’ He had always been unfailingly honest and gentle and reliable. She had taken him for granted like background music. She had thrown the life she had lived with him carelessly away and now she must make it as easy as possible for him to leave.
It was too late now to say what she had been thinking driving home from Cornwall. Too late to tell him that she had been jerked out of her complacency in the last few days and had vowed to change. She said what she had to say, in what she knew was her first real act of love and unselfishness. ‘You’re going to live near your family, in a place you love. Don’t look back. Just go forward to all that’s coming your way. You deserve to be happy. You’ve made Adam and me very happy, whatever you might think.’
He got into bed with her and they slept, arms tight round each other, in the same bed for the last time.
TWENTY-EIGHT
It felt as if I were coming back from a long journey where I had been walking outside myself. All the edges were blurred. Sometimes people seemed to be on the other side of a pane of glass. I could see their mouths moving, but I hadn’t got the energy to make sense of their words.
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