Come Away With Me

by Sara MacDonald

  Harry asked suddenly, breaking his morning silence, ‘What’s it like going back home to someone who isn’t your mum? Don’t think I’d like it. Do you have to be on your best behaviour all the time?’

  ‘Nah,’ Adam said. ‘It’s cool. Jenny makes cakes and stuff for when I get home and…well, she’s just, like, easy. She doesn’t tell me what to do or anything. She’s got me this desk with lights and everything, and I use her London laptop; it’s wicked, faster than mine.’

  ‘Lucky bastard.’ Harry was impressed. ‘My computer is so slow I can make tea while it switches itself on. What about telly? Do you have to watch girlie stuff?’

  Adam laughed. ‘We don’t have a telly.’

  Harry was astonished. ‘What do you do?’

  ‘We walk and birdwatch for a bit after school if it’s light enough, or we walk on the beach. Then I do homework and Jenny cooks supper. I do more homework, and then we talk and listen to music and stuff before I go to bed.’

  Harry was silent for a long time. ‘I can’t make up my mind whether I’m sorry for you or dead jealous. It’s, like, hell sometimes trying to do homework to mum’s EastEnders. I was thinking the other day our house is never silent. There’s always the radio or the telly on. I don’t know what the sound of silence feels like.’

  ‘You can come and stay any time, Jenny said so.’ Adam grinned hopefully. ‘Especially when it’s physics homework. I’ve got bunk beds, proper sized ones.’

  Adam had never talked to Harry about his connection with Jenny. Harry just thought that Ruth and Jenny were friends. It was something private between him and Jenny. He could not explain to Ruth his new sense of wellbeing, either. He had waited to be homesick, waited for the dull ache of missing her, and it had not come.

  Of course he missed her. But it wasn’t painful. Ruth rang most nights before he went to bed to say goodnight and they swapped news of their days. His mother seemed busy, flying off to Italy or France with Danielle. She sounded happy too. Adam was careful what he said about school because he knew Ruth’s ambivalent feelings about private education.

  Ruth would stamp on any suggestion of elitism he might feel and he was secretly, guiltily, revelling in this feeling of being safe with his own kind. He was aware that he was enjoying an easier more privileged life with Jenny. He loved Bea and James’s house in St Ives and always felt welcome. He loved having proxy grandparents and most of all he loved with passion living in Cornwall with Jenny. He felt he had fallen into a life that was as familiar as breathing. All of a sudden he fitted into his own skin and the comfort was euphoric.

  Jenny had given him a small box of photographs of Tom in uniform. Each night he took it from under his bed and allowed himself to look at one or two. He needed to ration himself because these photographs were all he had of Tom. He stared for hours at Tom in combat fatigues, in any army uniform. When he looked at these pictures he could feel his heart swell with pride and a slow-burning ambition to lead the sort of life his father had led.

  Jenny still found it hard to look at any photographs of her child or of Tom and Rosie together. He knew the big brown envelope from London was full of pictures of Rosie. He had seen Jenny’s face when she took it from Shaun, the postman: so abruptly bleak he had wanted to comfort her. She had placed it in her room and it had remained unopened.

  When he looked at her, she seemed so small and fragile sometimes. He had never forgotten the afternoon by the creek or the days preceding it when Jenny had followed him. In that moment of him turning and seeing her lying on the ground broken, everything had changed. He had felt an overwhelming need to protect her and this feeling had never gone away or diminished. In that scorching moment an instantaneous bond had sprung up. When Jenny had lain sick in the hospital, Adam’s heart had throbbed with anxiety that something might happen to her. He was so happy and he loved his life so much that he had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

  Out of the train window he spotted a bird of prey just above the trees, hovering on trembling wings. Adam lifted his binoculars. Wicked. It was a sparrowhawk riding the thermals, swooping free, soaring alone in acres of clear blue sky. Adam grinned. Free, free as a bird.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Danielle raised her glass to Flo and Ruth. ‘What a bizarre day!’

  ‘Possibly one of the most bizarre we’ve ever had,’ Flo said.

  The three of them were sitting in their favourite Italian restaurant demolishing a carafe of red wine. They looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  Ruth said, ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when I went into the fitting room and found the honourable Daisy Monkton snorting coke through a ten-pound note on your antique desk.’

  Danielle rolled her eyes. ‘You should have seen Ruth’s face, Flo. She shot back into the room with eyes like saucers, making Lady Monkton stop dead mid sentence. “What is my daughter doing in there?” she demanded suspiciously. “How long can a fitting take? Has she lost more weight?” Ruth stood there, her mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish.’

  ‘I was trying to be subtle and signal a warning to you.’

  ‘Warning! You were squeaking like a mouse. “I’m afraid Daisy is feeling a little unwell. We have not tried the dress yet.” Pff! It was so funny.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘Lady Monkton barked, “Do tell Daisy to get a grip. We have a charity event this evening and she is on the catwalk.” I think she must have thought I’d developed a twitch.’

  ‘Well.’ Flo grinned. ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever heard something like panic in Danielle’s voice. Anyway, the day was saved with Molly’s exotic sandwiches and a frantic glass of champagne. Her ladyship was diverted until you both got Daisy upright.’

  Danielle snorted, ‘The stupid girl was blissfully floating around the room with her eyes rolled back, in just her headdress and knickers, giggling. It took us ages to get her into the bloody dress, which will have to be taken in again, by the way. I had to pin it drastically at the back.’

  Flo began to laugh once more. ‘I wish I could have photographed you emerging with the honourable Daisy beaming vacuously and hanging on to you both. She looked a picture of loveliness, but still had distinct traces of white powder in her nostrils and on her upper lip. When Lady M started to tick you both off for plying her daughter with too much champagne…your faces…It was absolutely hilarious.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ Danielle said drily. ‘I do not take kindly to being spoken to like a schoolgirl when I have another fitting any moment and my desk is showing remnants of illegal substances.’

  ‘Do you think Lady Monkton is really so dim that she doesn’t notice her daughter’s addiction and dramatic weight loss?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Flo and Danielle said together.

  Flo sighed. ‘It wouldn’t have been so funny if we’d had a cancelled order. If Lady Monkton had lost face, we wouldn’t have got a penny. She would have insisted we had the stuff on our premises and, untrue or not, mud and adverse publicity stick. Come on, let’s order before we all get past it.’

  Ruth felt a surge of contentment. Life was fun. She felt she was edging somewhere safe.

  Flo, half listening to Ruth and Danielle chatting and laughing, thought of Jenny and her rippling infectious giggle, which Rosie had inherited. She missed her presence in the house and the bounce, energy and happiness Jenny had once exuded. They ordered their food and she let her eyes wander around the Italian restaurant. ‘Goodness,’ she said suddenly, as a man moved towards them. ‘It’s Antonio.’

  Ruth turned as a dark, stocky man approached their table. He beamed down at them. ‘Florence, Danielle, how good to see you.’ His eyes wandered curiously to Ruth.

  ‘This is Ruth Hallam, Antonio. She’s just joined us. She is our wonderful new PR.’

  Antonio bowed and smiled at her across the table. ‘Another beautiful woman. I am pleased to meet you, Ruth.’

  He kissed their hands and lapsed for a moment into rapid French. Then he turned to Flo. ‘
Please, tell me how is Jenny.’

  ‘She’s better. She’s doing well. I think she made the right decision to stay in Cornwall for a while. We’re all going down there next weekend to see her.’

  ‘You must miss her. We also in Italy miss her designs. Please, tell her that I ask after her, that I send her my love and best wishes. Ah, here is your food, I will leave you.’ He looked at Danielle. ‘May I call you tomorrow? I am here for only a few days and I hoped to meet with you. Fate brought us to the same restaurant, I think.’

  Danielle looked pleased. ‘Of course. I look forward to your call.’

  Ruth noticed her raised colour and wondered if she fancied the Italian.

  He was certainly not classically good-looking. He was neither slim nor tall, but he had a sensual magnetism and his eyes and his voice were delicious a ‘close your eyes and die’ voice.

  As Antonio left, he turned and said softly in a quite different voice, ‘Tell Jenny that she has remained in my thoughts and in my heart.’

  When he had gone, Flo said to Ruth, ‘Antonio was part of that dreadful, dreadful day.’

  ‘Jenny and I were having a working lunch with him the day Tom and Rosie were killed. She had planned to go with them. If Antonio had not asked us to meet him, Jenny would be dead too.’

  Danielle shrugged grimly at arbitrary fate and Ruth shivered.

  ‘He was amazingly kind to Jenny,’ Flo went on. ‘Undoubtedly he likes to do business with us, but he proved himself a loyal friend, too. After Tom’s death he invited Jenny to his house in Italy with Danielle, to get away, to rest.’

  ‘He has this most beautiful house near the Amalfi coast,’ Danielle added. ‘I had only known him as a business colleague. He turned out to be a wonderful host and friend to Jenny.’

  Flo and Ruth thought they heard a note of regret in her voice. Danielle instinctively, possibly unaware that she did so, used her sexuality all the time, even with the waiter who hurried over with the obligatory vast pepper mill. She was used to men falling at her feet. Antonio obviously had not. Ruth could not help wondering if Danielle had ever tried it on with Tom.

  As they got out of the taxi in front of the house Flo said suddenly, ‘You see that grey Audi parked over there? I could swear it’s the same driver who was in a red BMW last week. He just sits there all day reading a paper.’

  Danielle and Ruth looked. A man was sitting in the driving seat with a newspaper hiding his face.

  ‘Can he read the print in a dark car without the light on?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘I do not think so,’ Danielle said, paying the taxi driver.

  He handed her a piece of paper through the window. ‘I’ve written that bloke’s car number down. I’d ring the police if I were you. Nice houses around here. Diplomats, MPs. I’ve carried them all. Don’t want to get yourself burgled, do you, love?’

  As Flo locked and bolted the door behind them she said, ‘Even if I look a bit of a fool and it’s a private detective on the trail of adultery, I think I will give the police a call.’

  ‘I think you should, Flo,’ Ruth agreed. ‘It would be awful if something happened and we’d done nothing. It’s funny, none of us ever really thinks something will happen to us, always to other people.’

  ‘I do not think that any more,’ Danielle said quietly. ‘I agree, Flo. You are very observant.’

  When Danielle had undressed she glanced out of the window down to the street. The car had gone. Leaves blew about the street. The black cat sat on the wall of the house opposite, as it always did, its eyes glinting witchily under the yellow glare of the street light.

  She stood at the window, cold, hating this moment at the end of each day when the world stopped and remembrance of the small warm child she had loved slid into the night with her.

  She folded her arms round herself and shivered. Only one thing ever helped with the memory of bad things: sex; a rough, raw, uncomplicated fuck with a stranger banished her demons. At the moment her sex life had come to an abrupt halt by sharing a flat with Ruth. It was one of the reasons she had offered to share with Ruth. It would limit her opportunities; help her, like overcoming addiction.

  If only she could go back in time and relive the life she had once had here, relive the completeness and the small things of each day she had so casually taken for granted.

  Danielle drew the curtains and leapt into bed, pulling the duvet up round her head. In the safety of the dark she let images of Rosie into the warmth with her; tried to recapture her little cheerful voice; felt the weight and heat of the child on her hip, carrying her around the house as she worked. Dat colour, Ellie? Rodie come too? Ellie carry. Why, Ellie? Rodie can’t sleep.

  Rosie, the child she had shared with Jenny. Almost her own flesh and blood. The child who had slept beside her in this bed; the child she dressed and hugged and bathed and sang to. A child who had managed, with consummate ease, to reach and melt her sometimes empty heart.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Danielle stands with her luggage on the pavement looking for her house keys. Is Boy Wonder still here? The atmosphere of smug self-satisfaction when Tom is home tends to make her nauseous. Flo is just as bad, complicit in her adoration. It makes Danielle feel cynical and combative.

  She finds her keys and lugs her case up the steps. Inside she can hear Rosie laughing and her face lights up. She calls through the letter box, ‘Rosie, Rosie Holland, I can hear you.’

  The laughter stops for a moment, then, ‘Ellie…Mamma, Ellie back!’

  The chuckling starts again. ‘Rodie coming. Rodie coming.’

  Small footsteps patter disjointedly down the stairs and as Danielle pushes open the front door Jenny lets go of Rosie’s hand and she rushes to her. Danielle gathers her up and turns to shut the door, hiding the softening of her face from Jenny as she hugs the child to her.

  ‘Hi, Danielle.’ Jenny is standing on the bottom step, the sun from the landing window catching her wild hair. ‘So glad you’re back. I’ve just made tea, or…’ She scans Danielle’s face. ‘You look as if you need a drink.’

  ‘Definitely a drink. The plane was delayed two hours. Very tedious.’ Danielle smiles at Jenny. ‘Has true love disappeared again?’

  Jenny makes a face and laughs. ‘Afraid not. He leaves the day after tomorrow. Watch your jacket, Rosie’s been eating a chocolate biscuit.’

  Danielle tries to hold a clinging Rosie and lug her case up the stairs.

  ‘Give me your case, you’ll both fall downstairs, you soppy couple.’

  On the landing Danielle whispers to Rosie, ‘I have a present for you.’

  Rosie claps her hands. ‘Now, Ellie?’

  ‘I will bring it down in a minute, chérie. You go with maman and make Ellie a drink while I wash my hands.’

  She picks up her case and goes up to her flat, stopping to talk to Flo on the way. In her flat there are six messages on her machine. She smiles and leaves the anticipation for later.

  When she goes back downstairs, Flo is in Jenny’s kitchen and hands her a large gin and tonic. Danielle sits at the table watching Jenny spoon scrambled egg into Rosie. Rosie’s eyes widen as she sees the beautifully wrapped parcel Danielle is holding.

  ‘This is for you, my darling, as soon as you have finished all your egg.’ She continues, wondering where Tom is, ‘I knew I was right about the length of those skirts, Jen. Parisian women like to show off their legs.’

  ‘The cut was so beautiful. Obstinate, aren’t I? I think I’ll have a go with Jaeger or we could try them in Brum.’ Jenny wipes the wriggling Rosie’s hands and face, and lifts her out of the chair, and she rushes for Danielle and the parcel.

  ‘Elle, you spoil her,’ Jenny protests.

  ‘Pff! Rosie has not yet got to the age of spoilt. It is unknown to her that word. She is still pure in her feelings of pleasure.’

  Jenny and Flo grin, Danielle is always very French when she returns from Paris, but they know exactly what she means. Rosie is still unspoilt. Jenny wonders why Dan
ielle rarely shows this side of herself in front of Tom; the nice, gentler side that she and Flo see often. Danielle lifts child and parcel, and they go into the sitting room.

  The phone rings. It is Tom. Danielle watches Jenny’s eyes light up. When she replaces the phone she grins indulgently at Flo and Danielle. ’Tom’s met a friend in the gym. They’re off to the pub for an hour or so.’

  Rosie sits on the floor, tearing at the tough, bright paper, her eyes shining with excitement. Her small tongue is held between her teeth as she concentrates. Inside the paper is a box, inside the box is a small exquisite doll. Rosie squeals with delight. Danielle leans forward and pulls a little cord in the doll’s back. The doll’s mouth begins to move as she sings a French lullaby. Rosie’s mouth falls open in an ‘Ooo!’ of wonder.

  Jenny leans forward, enchanted. ‘Danielle! What an amazing doll. I covet it myself.’

  ‘Look at Rosie’s face!’ Flo murmurs.

  Bemused at suddenly owning something so beautiful Rosie sits, fat little legs splayed, with the doll in her lap pulling the cord again and again each time the song finishes. Danielle bends to kiss her. Rosie’s arms snake up round her neck and she rests her hot cheek against Danielle’s, speechless with gratitude.

  When Flo finally takes doll and child away to bed Jenny says, ‘That is the most wonderful but seriously expensive doll. I wish you wouldn’t spend all your money on Rosie.’

  Danielle shrugs. ‘Who else do I have to buy presents for?’

  Jenny hugs her. ‘You’re very generous. Come into the kitchen and talk to me while I do supper.’ She opens a bottle of wine. ‘Give me the gossip. See your many old boyfriends this trip?’

  ‘I was too busy.’ Danielle grins and tosses her glossy hair. ‘But I did meet this businessman on the way out.’

  ‘Nice?’

  Danielle considers. ‘Mm, so-so. Quite sexy, but oh, so English. Polite chat-up, then dinner. I think he likes me, but very strange, Jenny, he did not ask me to go to bed with him.’