Swimming Pool Sunday

by Sophie Kinsella

‘No?’ she said in disbelieving tones. ‘Oh, good.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Then you’ll come?’ said Sylvia. ‘It’s next Friday.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ said Barnaby, ‘I’ll come.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Sylvia, moving off down the path towards the vicarage. ‘You can have some fun and forget all about that gruesome court case.’

  When Barnaby arrived at Larch Tree Cottage, Sylvia’s words were still in his mind. He knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, went round to the garden. Katie and Amelia were sitting on the grass, listening to Louise tell them a story. They all looked up when they saw Barnaby.

  ‘Daddy!’ squealed Katie, and leaped up to greet him.

  ‘I’ve got some news,’ said Barnaby, looking at Louise. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard it. It’s about Hugh. Perhaps’, he glanced at the girls, ‘we should go inside.’

  After he’d told her, Louise sat completely still for a while, staring blankly out of the window, allowing her thoughts to settle.

  ‘It could have been anything that caused it,’ she said suddenly. ‘Couldn’t it?’ She met Barnaby’s gaze, urging him to convince her.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, a little too late. ‘It could have been anything, I’m sure.’

  ‘I mean,’ said Louise energetically, ‘loads of people have heart attacks, don’t they? I mean …’ She broke off and looked at Barnaby. ‘I feel awful,’ she said more soberly. ‘I had no idea …’

  ‘I don’t think anybody had,’ said Barnaby.

  ‘This bloody case …’ said Louise, then she stopped. There was no point having another row with Barnaby about the court case. He would never understand her misgivings. He would just start telling her again how important it was to put Katie first, and how she had to stop being so irrational … ‘I mean,’ she continued weakly, ‘it’s completely taken over our lives.’

  Barnaby looked at Louise. He supposed she was talking about her life and Cassian’s life, not his life. He didn’t count any more. A dull familiar pain began to gnaw at his chest. Somehow, while Katie had been in hospital and Forest Lodge, it had almost seemed as though he and Louise were, in some sense, back together again. They had been united as Katie’s parents, like a proper family. But now, suddenly, he could see that as Katie got better and better, and as Louise and Cassian built up a life together, he would once again find himself being pushed onto the sidelines. He would be marginalized. Forgotten about.

  He looked at Louise; she was waiting for him to reply. What were they talking about? Oh yes, the case; the gruesome court case. Barnaby suddenly felt sick of the case, sick of the whole thing. It was the court case which had turned Louise and Cassian into a couple. It was the court case which had given Hugh a heart attack. What else would happen before it was over? Was it really worth it? Was it really worth …

  ‘Barnaby?’

  Barnaby stared miserably at Louise and thought how scathing she would be if she knew what he was thinking.

  ‘Well,’ he said automatically, ‘once they’ve issued the writ, things ought to start moving. And … and it’ll be worth it in the end. For Katie.’ Louise looked at him silently for a minute.

  ‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘It’ll be worth it for Katie.’

  And they looked blankly at each other, in a dull dissatisfying silence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alexis stood in Daisy’s sitting-room, waiting for her to come downstairs. In less than two hours she was due to perform Brahms’s second Piano Concerto in Linningford Abbey, and Alexis had never felt quite so nervous about anything in his whole life.

  He stood staring out of the window, clenching his fists inside his pockets, imagining the gradual assembling of people that was to take place that night; that perhaps was already starting to take place. The orchestra gathering together; the audience filing slowly into the abbey; the expectant faces; the anticipation; the tension.

  And then he imagined Daisy walking out, alone, into the middle of all that, into the bright lights and the attention. Daisy, who blushed if she caught the eye of a stranger in the street, who apologized as she let others through doors first, who shrank from public scrutiny like a shy deer. His quiet timid Daisy. He couldn’t begin to imagine her surviving such an ordeal, yet that was what she was about to go through, and that was what was making him clench his fists, and disguise his nerves with a heavy frown.

  There was a sound from the stairs and Alexis looked round. Coming into the room was Daisy. She was wearing a long navy-blue taffeta dress, with a narrow waist and a full rustling skirt. Her skin looked pale and milky against the deep blue and her dark hair fell like an inky cloud down her back.

  ‘Hi,’ she said shyly. ‘Do I … do I look all right?’

  Alexis stared back at her in foolish silence. He had never seen Daisy looking so beautiful, or so sophisticated.

  ‘You look …’ he began. He stopped. His eyes had landed on her hands, clad in a pair of red woollen fingerless gloves. Daisy followed his gaze.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said, and giggled, ‘I mustn’t forget to take them off, must I?’ She frowned and wriggled her fingers.

  ‘I’ll just do a bit more warming up,’ she said, and abruptly sat down at the piano. A series of exercises, by now familiar to Alexis, immediately filled the little room. Alexis sat down and waited. He had something to give her, something which he should have whipped out of his pocket as soon as she entered the room, but her appearance had taken him by surprise. She looked suddenly poised as well as graceful; elegant as well as beautiful. She looked, he supposed, grown-up.

  Eventually Daisy came to a stop. She paused, played a few random passages from the concerto, then got up and closed the piano lid firmly.

  ‘That’s enough,’ she said. She rubbed her hands together briskly, and looked at Alexis. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘In a minute,’ said Alexis. He felt in his pocket. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ Daisy watched with huge eyes as he took a leather box out and handed it to her.

  She opened it awkwardly and pulled out a gold necklace; a thin sinuous chain which trailed over her fingers and gleamed in the early evening light.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Daisy softly. ‘I can wear it tonight, can’t I?’ She gave a sudden childish smile of delight. ‘I can wear it tonight and it’ll bring me luck! Oh, thank you!’ She came close to Alexis and stood, beaming at him, rustling slightly in her taffeta dress. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, and kissed him gently. ‘I love it.’

  ‘And I love you,’ Alexis found himself saying. Something which he’d never said to her before. ‘I love you, Daisy.’

  There was a short beating silence. Daisy’s cheeks filled with a dark pink colour and she looked down. Alexis stood perfectly still and waited. Eventually, slowly, Daisy’s eyes rose to meet his.

  ‘And I …’ Her old stammer had returned, and Alexis cursed himself. What kind of pressure was he putting her under? Tonight, of all nights. Bloody thoughtless idiot.

  ‘And I l-love you, too.’ She gave a little surprised gasp, and Alexis suddenly pulled her close to him, feeling the shiny fabric of her dress slipping against his shirt, smelling her rosy scent.

  ‘You’re going to be wonderful tonight,’ he said fiercely. ‘You’re going to be just wonderful. And I’m going to be so proud of you …’ He broke off. Daisy was panting slightly. He released her and looked at his watch.

  ‘OK then,’ he said more normally. ‘Enough talk. Let’s go.’

  Louise was getting ready for Sylvia Seddon-Wilson’s barbecue. It had taken a lot of persuading to make her agree to go to it, particularly when she discovered that Cassian was going to be away in London that night, discussing the final draft of the writ and statement of claims with Karl and Desmond. To her surprise, however, it had been Cassian who was most keen that she should go.

  ‘You mustn’t turn into a recluse!’ he’d said, when she told him about it. ‘I don’t think you’ve been out since the accident, have you?’

 
‘Of course I have,’ retorted Louise.

  ‘When?’

  Louise stared at him and cast her mind back over the summer. What had she done in all those long summer evenings? All she could remember was sitting in hospital with Katie, or driving back from Forest Lodge, or slumping with exhaustion onto the sofa.

  ‘Well, OK,’ she said, ‘maybe I haven’t been much of a socialite. But to be honest, I don’t really feel like seeing people at the moment.’

  ‘Exactly,’ exclaimed Cassian. ‘That’s what you’ve got to fight against. You’ve got to get back to your old sparkly self.’ He grinned at her. ‘Think of it as a dry run for next week.’

  Louise grimaced. Cassian had arranged for them all to spend next week – the week before the girls’ school term began – in London. A friend’s nanny was going to look after the girls, while Louise and Cassian were going to spend the time doing nothing, as far as she could make out, but having lunch with people, or drinks, or dinner and the theatre. The busier their schedule became, the more pleased Cassian seemed and the lower Louise’s heart sank.

  ‘Why don’t you buy a new dress?’ Cassian was now saying.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Louise irritably. ‘Anyway,’ she suddenly added, ‘I can’t go. What about the girls?’

  ‘Barnaby can have them.’

  ‘He’s going to the barbecue.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cassian frowned. ‘OK then, get them to spend the night with a friend. Children still do that, don’t they? They’d probably love it.’

  And so it had all been fixed up. Katie and Amelia had been dispatched, with squeals of delight and plans of midnight feasts, to the house of Emily Fairly, a friend of Amelia’s with a sensible mother. Cassian had driven off to London, promising to return the next morning with the writ, and Louise had been left alone to put on her party dress and brush her hair and try to pretend that she was looking forward to the evening.

  She looked in the mirror and pulled a face. She looked, she thought, terrible. Her blond hair appeared lifeless; her skin was dull; and the turquoise cotton dress that had fitted so well last summer now hung, sack-like, off her frame.

  Quickly she brushed a glowing bronze powder onto her cheeks, sprayed her hair with tiny shiny droplets, and painted her lips coral pink. She stared at herself. Now the surface was a little glossier, a little brighter, but underneath, she was still the same. She screwed up her face, then grinned energetically at herself, but above the grin, two dull defeated eyes peered back at her. Something’s all wrong, she thought suddenly. Something’s all wrong with me, but I don’t know what it is.

  By seven-thirty the abbey was nicely full of people and the orchestra was assembled. Alexis, who had chosen a seat as near the front as he dared, stared round at all the people who had gathered together to hear this concert – to hear Daisy – and felt a strange awed amazement, punctuated only by terrible pounding nerves. Daisy wasn’t on until the second half; somehow he would have to sit calmly through some dreary piece of Mozart, clap and smile at the end, stretch his legs in the interval, all the while feeling this unbearable petrifying tension.

  ‘Alexis!’ At the sound of his name he jumped, as though expecting bad news, but it was Frances Mold, standing in the aisle at the end of his row and smiling cheerfully. ‘I got here a bit late,’ she continued, ‘so I’m at the back. I just thought I’d come and say hello. It’s exciting, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m absolutely terrified,’ admitted Alexis. Frances laughed merrily.

  ‘She’ll be fine!’ she exclaimed. ‘Look, I’d better go. See you in the interval?’

  ‘Can’t you sit up here, near the front?’ said Alexis. ‘What about those seats in the front row?’

  ‘They’re reserved,’ said Frances. ‘Never mind! The sound will be just as good at the back.’ And she hurried off. Alexis looked crossly at the empty row of reserved seats. Who was it, he thought angrily, that hadn’t even bothered to take advantage of their privileged position; hadn’t even bothered to turn up?

  During the first half he found out. The first piece – a nondescript little overture about which he hadn’t even bothered to consult his programme – was over, and the applause from the audience had begun, when suddenly there was the sound of footsteps from the back of the abbey. Looking round, Alexis saw a smartly dressed couple hurrying up the aisle. Behind them, moving more slowly, was a twenty-something young man, dressed in ripped jeans and a crumpled T-shirt.

  ‘Come on, Alistair,’ Alexis heard the woman exclaim as she passed his row. ‘We’re late enough as it is!’

  A jolt of recognition went through Alexis. Alistair – he knew that name. Of course – this must be Daisy’s brother; the one who seemed to spend all his time travelling round the world, and those two must be her parents. This was Daisy’s family.

  He stared at them in surreptitious fascination as they sat down; these people about whom he knew so much, but had never met. He watched as Daisy’s father sat down, stretched out his legs, and opened his programme with a shaking-out movement as though it were the Daily Telegraph. He watched as Daisy’s mother began to take off her smart cream jacket, realized there was nowhere to put it, and shrugged it back on again. He watched as Daisy’s brother sank easily into his chair and began to drum aimlessly on his denim-clad thigh.

  As he watched, he began to feel an uncomfortable guilt at observing these strange-familiar people while they sat, completely unaware of him. At the same time, he felt a warm, overflowing friendliness towards them. Here was the most important part of Daisy’s life to date, sitting a few feet away from him. Here were her roots; her background; her formative influences. He stared at each of them in turn, looking for Daisy’s features, searching for her expressions and mannerisms.

  Suddenly the young man, Alistair, became aware he was being watched. He turned round, caught Alexis’s eye, gave a puzzled frown, then turned back again. Alexis quickly looked away. Ridiculously, his heart began to beat more quickly, and for the first time, he began to wonder what he must look like to them.

  Louise arrived at Sylvia Seddon-Wilson’s house to find the garden full of people, music playing, and the smell of barbecuing meat filling the air. She paused at the gate, tossed back her hair, and tried to summon a feeling of cheery self-confidence, but the sight of the party in front of her filled her with an unaccountable sensation of sick anxiety.

  She took a deep breath and swallowed, and tried to force herself to move forward, but her legs were tense and pinioned to the ground. She bit her lips, and looked around desperately for a friendly face to focus on, a kindred spirit whom she could quietly approach; but the bright faces in front of her all seemed to be those of threatening strangers.

  ‘Come on,’ she said aloud, ‘stop being so stupid.’ With a huge effort, she took a couple of steps forward and put her hand on the gate. Then suddenly, through a chance separation of the throng, she saw Barnaby. He was sitting on a low wall munching a chicken leg, talking animatedly to some woman she didn’t recognize. And the sight of him – smarter than usual in a creamy pale shirt, but still instantly, almost joltingly familiar – filled her with a warm feeling of confidence. The crowd suddenly seemed benevolent. As she looked again, some of the apparent strangers metamorphosed into people she recognized; friends, even.

  Without waiting for her fears to return, Louise strode forward into the garden, struggling through the crowd towards the low wall. When she got there Barnaby had vanished, and for a moment she felt a resurging panic, but suddenly she heard his voice from behind.

  ‘Louise!’ He was holding a plastic cup in one hand and the remains of his chicken leg in the other. ‘Haven’t you got a drink?’ he said. ‘Let me get you one.’ And to Louise’s dismay, he began to move off.

  ‘Barnaby!’ she said. ‘Can I come too?’ she added more softly. ‘I don’t …’ She shrugged. ‘I’m a bit nervous about standing here all on my own.’ For a moment Barnaby stared at her in puzzlement. Then, gradually, his face softened in underst
anding.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘we’ll go together.’

  As they walked, Louise cast around for something to say. She had spoken to Barnaby about nothing over the last few months except Katie and the case. It would have been easy to slip into the same well-worn grooves of conversation; begin with some comment on Katie’s progress or what Cassian had said about the writ, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to talk about something else; something different; something new. Surreptitiously she eyed Barnaby. What she would really have liked to ask was how come he’d bought himself a new shirt, but something made her hesitate. Did she still have the right to ask that kind of thing?

  ‘Do you like my shirt?’ said Barnaby suddenly. ‘It’s new.’

  ‘I know,’ said Louise. ‘It’s very nice.’

  ‘I suddenly felt like wearing something new tonight,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why. So I bought a new shirt.’ He spoke proudly. ‘It was easy.’ Louise grinned.

  ‘You look very good in it.’

  ‘Really? Do I?’ Barnaby turned to face her and she felt herself blushing slightly.

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly, ‘you do.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I’d bought something new. I feel so grotty.’

  ‘You don’t look it.’ Louise gave a short laugh.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do. I look dreadful.’ Barnaby looked carefully at her.

  ‘You look a bit tired,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Louise. ‘I look tired and washed out and about forty-five years old.’

  There was a pause, then Barnaby said, ‘Rubbish.’ Louise grinned.

  ‘Nice try, Barnaby.’

  They had reached the drinks table, and Louise watched as Barnaby poured her a plastic cup full of white wine.

  ‘Cassian’s taking us all to London next week,’ she said, and noticed with a slight obscure satisfaction that Barnaby’s hand wavered.

  ‘London? Why?’

  ‘To have some fun; to meet people and see things and go shopping …’

  ‘Oh.’ Barnaby handed her drink to her. ‘Just your kind of thing.’