The Unwelcome Guest

by Amanda Robson

  ‘I know you’re not well, but I just wanted to share the good news,’ he says. ‘The bank have agreed to extend our loan. Jane Prescott, the contact you suggested, is sending us a letter to confirm it.’

  ‘Thank you, Ted.’

  ‘Feel better soon.’

  I put the phone down. Ted’s news has not made me feel any better. What I once craved so badly, and would have made me jubilant, seems irrelevant now that I have fallen out with Miles.

  36

  Miles

  I leave work early and drive home. When I open the front door, Mother is standing in the hallway, dressed in pale shades of khaki green, scrutinising our wedding photograph and frowning. She looks up, sees me watching her and puts it down hurriedly.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I ask.

  She smiles her slow stretched smile. ‘Never better. And you?’

  Never worse, I think but don’t say.

  ‘Your wife is upstairs in your bedroom. She didn’t go to work today.’

  I dash up the stairs two at a time, and fling the bedroom door open. There is a lump in the bed, topped by your tear-stained face. I rush towards you.

  ‘Let’s put the past where it belongs – behind us. I love you. I can’t live without you.’ I kiss you. ‘I love the passion that you feel for me.’

  37

  Saffron

  Miles is here. Telling me he loves me. That he loves the passion I feel for him. I am holding him against me. He kisses me.

  My heart sings with happiness. My life begins again.

  38

  Caprice

  I’m hovering in the kitchen, waiting to talk to Miles. I’m slowly pottering, making fresh coffee in the cafetiere, hoping to catch him alone. Excitement has been simmering in the pit of my stomach since hearing you shouting yesterday morning. I’m waiting to find out when he’s leaving you, Saffron. You’ll have to move out. I put money into this house and have a charge against it, which I will require to be repaid, if you try to stay living here.

  I look out of the kitchen window onto a sunny autumn morning. Wind toys with dying leaves, playing with them as they fall to the ground. A swathe of gold and russet carpets the play area; the swings and slide that the boys so adore.

  The boys. Ben and Harry, my grandsons. My stomach tightens. Does the fact that you are their mother give you some sort of legal priority over the house? Despite all the charges I have taken out to protect the Jackson side of the family? You’ll not get a penny if I can help it. I’ll go and see my lawyer, first thing tomorrow.

  You enter the kitchen, with Miles and the children, wearing an outfit that needs to be taken to the charity shop. Mustard-coloured skinny jeans. Not actually mustard, but grubby yellow. They don’t look clean. As usual, at the weekend, your feet are ensconced in your heavy Doc Marten boots, which, let’s face it, is an old-fashioned look. And you’re wearing a T-shirt that isn’t a T-shirt, but a piece of plastic. I can see your bra perfectly through it. You have very small breasts. Not a point of interest for most men. You have finished off your attire with a cardigan, too tight to button up, stretching across your back and stick-thin arms.

  But, despite your strange refusal to wear make-up at the weekend, you look refreshed. Laughing and smiling at something Miles just said.

  ‘It’s Saturday morning. Let’s have chocolate croissants again,’ you say.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Ben and Harry chorus.

  Miles has his arm around you. He looks at you, eyes melting like a puppy dog’s.

  ‘And then let’s go to Virginia Water,’ he suggests.

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  He moves his head towards you and your lips meet. You kiss. As you pull away I see you mouth, ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you,’ he mouths back.

  It is so over the top, I want to vomit. Miles looks towards the window. ‘Oh I didn’t see you there, Mother.’ He pauses and smiles. ‘Good morning.’

  And you, Saffron, don’t acknowledge me. My teeth clench. I am not an irrelevance. I am your husband’s mother. He wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for me. And neither would your children. I am the root of this family. Remember, remember, you wouldn’t even be in this beautiful house if I hadn’t given you so much money.

  So, my older son has made up with you, Saffron. But not for long. Wait until he finds out about your next misdemeanour. There are only so many issues a man can deal with. Keeping my son, Saffron, is a battle you cannot win.

  39

  Saffron

  Walking around Virginia Water. A family of four, holding hands in a line. Skipping through golden frosted autumn leaves. Stopping by the lake to take photographs. To feed the ducks. Standing beneath the ancient totem pole with its crudely painted angry faces.

  ‘Why are the faces staring at us, Mummy?’ Harry asks. ‘What do they want?’

  ‘They were painted a long time ago by a tribe of American Indians, and each face represents one of their ancestors.’

  ‘The top one looks like Granny when she’s in a bad mood.’

  I look up at the top face and think of you this morning, skulking in the corner of the kitchen. You looked so disappointed to see us all together, chatting and laughing. Why do you want to be my enemy? Why did I believe you about Julie? Why, when Aiden comes on to me so much, did I believe him too? You are toxic. Aiden is opportunistic. I will box clever with you both from now on.

  40

  Aiden

  I’m lying in bed with a bag of frozen peas on my face, trying to reduce the swelling and bruising. Working from home because I can’t go into the office. I don’t want my staff to see me looking as if I’ve been involved in a pub brawl. I keep running it back, Saffron. The scene with you, before Miles hit me. It moves across my mind on repeat, like waves across the sand.

  It was beyond my dreams – you kissing me back, tasting of desire. Just the thought of it gives me an erection. I know you were off your head. I had really laid it on heavy with the gin, disguising the strength of the drinks with an overdose of lime juice. I wince in pain as I push the peas harder against my bruises. Do I feel guilty? A little. Yes. But like a puppy dog who has stolen a joint of meat, the scolding was worth it. For the feel of your body against mine. The electric heat of your kiss.

  But I know I need to make amends and apologise. Otherwise I’ll never get an opportunity like it again. Throwing the peas onto the floor, I reach across my bedside table, pick up my mobile and press speed dial. You pick up.

  ‘Saffron, I’m sorry. I want to see you. We need to talk.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘You know what about.’

  ‘I know what I don’t want to talk to you about. About how you took advantage of me in my own home. Plied me with drink. Almost destroyed my marriage. Broke your brother’s heart. He used to trust you.’

  ‘I just want to apologise, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t want to see you again. Ever. If Miles wants to keep in touch because you’re his brother, I guess I’ll have to put up with it. But please, please, leave me alone right now.’

  41

  Saffron

  Ted’s pointed features are buried in a frown when I enter the office. I stop at the reception desk in front of Julie.

  ‘Good morning Julie. We need to talk. Please put any calls on hold and come with me into my office.’

  Her usually cheery face crumples. Does she think I am going to sack her?

  ‘Of course.’

  I step into my office, hang up my coat. The second I sit down, my door opens and she is walking towards me. Shoulders back, mouth in a line. Bracing herself for bad news.

  ‘Do sit down, Julie. I just need to apologise.’

  She raises her eyebrows, surprised. ‘What for?’

  ‘Hasn’t Miles told you?’

  ‘No.’ There’s a pause. ‘I mean, told me what?’

  ‘That I now know why you were texting one another. I behaved so badly, when all you were doing was organising a fa
bulous birthday present for me.’

  I feel tears pricking my eyes. ‘I’m just so embarrassed and sorry. I should have trusted you. We work together. You are such a good friend to me and to Miles. I should have trusted Miles and not taken any notice of Caprice. Or Aiden. It all got very out of hand – my fears, my emotions. My paranoia. I’m very ashamed of myself.’

  Julie stands up, leans across my desk and takes my hands in hers.

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about this. I told you when you came to West Wittering, Caprice is a troublemaking bitch; Aiden is a bastard who always wants what he can’t have. You mustn’t let them make mincemeat of you. Your husband loves you more than his life. Your business needs you. We need you.’

  I stand up and move towards her. She hugs me and Chanel No. 5 engulfs me.

  We spring apart at a knock on the door. Ted walks in. ‘I’ve just heard there’s a temporary hiccup with the loan.’

  My heart stops. ‘What?’

  ‘They want more reassurance that we have the potential to pay it back.’

  ‘But … but … I thought they’d already given us the green light.’

  He wriggles uncomfortably. ‘In theory, yes. But when they looked at our recent accounts in detail, they decided our outstanding fees give insufficient coverage.’ He pauses. ‘They want to see all the accounts, since BPC started.’ His tired eyes pierce mine. ‘We mustn’t overreact by panicking,’ he continues. ‘It’ll be all right. Don’t worry, our accounts are in apple-pie order. I’ll send them over to the bank this afternoon.’

  I am breathing too deeply, too quickly. I fear I am about to have a panic attack.

  ‘Look, you two, I’m sorry but I need to relax. Hold the fort. I’m going out for a jog.’

  Decked out in my new iridescent purple trainers and skin-tight Lycra, I step outside and begin to run. My body slips into rhythm as I concentrate on efficient arms and legs. And careful breathing. Dodging pedestrians. Trying to ignore the fumes from passing lorries and buses. Into Hyde Park.

  There’s hardly anyone here. A few mothers pushing buggies. A couple wearing office clothing, holding hands surreptitiously. I run around the lake. The Serpentine sparkles in the fresh late October sunshine. A kaleidoscope of burnished colour surrounds me, interspersed with soft green waterfalls of cascading willow.

  Breathe. Breathe. Push through the pain. My worries float in the air and dissipate. Miles has forgiven me. Julie has forgiven me. And I’ll get new clients. It’s only a delay in cash flow, I tell myself. The loan will come in.

  A stitch piercing my right side, I stop by a bench at the top of the Serpentine. I flop down on it, next to a wizened old man wearing a tweed peaked cap. He is reading a newspaper, and doesn’t look up. The silent solemnity of City life.

  I catch my breath and set off again along the north side of the Serpentine towards the Bayswater Road. Another circuit of the lake, then back towards Belgravia. Mind now comfortably numb, I warm down by walking slowly back towards the office. I’m hungry. I skipped breakfast, so I step into Tom Tom’s coffee bar to buy some falafel.

  A man with a wide-brimmed hat is sitting in the corner, drinking coffee. His face is swollen and bruised, as if he has been in a fight. He looks familiar. I double take – it’s Aiden.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I snap. ‘Why are you on my patch?’

  ‘I need to talk to you. I know you often come here for lunch. I was prepared to wait all day in the hope of catching you. Please sit down, I only want to apologise,’ he says, gesticulating towards the chair opposite him.

  Reluctantly, I join him at the table. He smiles a slow smile, wincing in pain as he rearranges his bruising.

  ‘I told you on the phone. There’s nothing to discuss.’

  He leans forwards. ‘Look, I’m so very sorry, Saffron. I have real feelings for you, but I have been selfish and allowed those feelings to cloud my judgement.’

  I shake my head. ‘You’ve got to stop this, Aiden. You know I love Miles. I will never be with you.’

  ‘Not even if you were a widow?’

  My body jolts. Has he been imagining Miles’ demise?

  ‘Not in a million years. Even if we were the last two people on the planet,’ I reply coldly.

  ‘That’s pretty insulting.’

  ‘I need to make it clear.’ I pause. ‘And you need to apologise. You need to make things right with Miles.’

  42

  Aiden

  I ring the doorbell. Miles answers it in his dressing gown and slippers.

  ‘What do you want?’ He glowers.

  I swallow and take a deep breath. ‘To explain.’

  ‘Come in.’

  I step into the hallway. He stands opposite me, face stiff, arms folded. ‘Go on then.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ he spits.

  I see his fist clench and brace myself. ‘I’m sorry I’m in love with Saffron. I’m sorry that I plied her with an overdose of gin,’ I continue.

  ‘And an overdose of lies.’

  ‘That too,’ I concede. ‘How can I make it up to you?’

  ‘By leaving my wife alone.’

  ‘I can’t agree to that. It had never happened before and will never happen again.’ I pause. ‘Please forgive me?’

  He slowly unclenches his fingers. ‘I’ll try to. After all, for better, for worse, you’re the only brother I’ve got.’ The edges of his lips curl up and then fall. ‘And most of the time you’re a good brother to have.’ A shake of the head. ‘But you’re on your last chance now.’

  43

  Miles

  Aiden leaves. I sink into the sofa in the drawing room and memories swirl around me. I’m back at public school and it’s prize-giving day. Pupils are sitting in rows at the front of the hall. Parents, stiff with pride, are sitting behind. The hall murmurs with anticipation. The self-congratulatory gathering is packed into the oak-panelled hall decorated with painted names of previous heads and regal crests. Touches of gold filigree and pillar box red.

  The head begins to call the names of the lucky winners. Each pupil walks across the stage to shake hands with the head, who presents them with silverware. Each pupil’s prize presentation is accompanied by their proud parents standing to take a photograph – and by the rest of the audience’s unenthusiastic clapping. No one seems very excited about the success of another person’s child. Proud parents rise in minute-long intervals to form a Mexican wave of expensive outfits and hats. Aiden wins the lower sixth prize for cricket. I turn and look back at Mum and Dad, standing, clapping. But Mother has a stiff, wooden, smile-free face.

  My year’s turn, the upper sixth, arrives.

  History – Miles Jackson.

  Debating – Miles Jackson.

  English literature – Miles Jackson.

  Greek – Miles Jackson.

  Latin – Miles Jackson.

  I stumble across the stage five times, beaming at the audience. Thanking the headmaster. So much silverware, I try to balance it on my knee and place it beneath my seat without clanging it together.

  Then I pull myself from the scene. I am no longer in the school hall living through the moment. I am sitting in Wellbeck House fretting about Aiden’s behaviour towards you, Saffron.

  What happened next on that school prize-giving day? I ask myself. An uneasy feeling comes over me; a realisation that something isn’t fair, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Then I remember where it came from.

  When Aiden won the sports prize that day for his year, for cricket, I watched him swell with pride as he received it, knowing it hadn’t pleased Mum, because I had seen her unsmiling face. Nothing pleased Mum except stellar exam results. She over-eulogised academia because she had had very little academic opportunity herself. And sure enough, in the car on the way home for the holidays, she only congratulated me, not Aiden.

  ‘Do you know what the head said to me at the last cricket match?’ she asked him.

&n
bsp; Aiden shrugged. ‘No. How would I know that?’

  ‘If you tried as hard at English and maths as you do at rubbing cricket balls you might have a career in front of you.’

  ‘That’s nice. Most encouraging.’

  I looked across at Aiden, biting his lip and looking out the car window. Living in my academic shadow must have been hard.

  But now I am an academic. And he is an entrepreneur. Far more successful than me. My mother should have always appreciated her younger son more. Are you right, Saffron? Is Aiden hitting on you to get back at me? Or is it worse than that. Is he truly in love with you?

  Aiden Jackson, we have shared much in life, but I am not sharing my wife. My fist clenches. Be careful, Aiden. Still waters run deep.

  44

  Caprice

  Saffron, you fly towards me like a hellcat, claws out.

  ‘Don’t ever lie to me again. Don’t ever come between me and Miles again,’ you shout. ‘Otherwise, I’ll … I’ll …’

  You stammer. You struggle for words. Who would think you’re a top-flight lawyer?

  ‘Otherwise you’ll what?’ I taunt.

  45

  Saffron

  I lie in bed, watching Miles sleeping next to me. Even though he is almost forty, his face in repose looks so young, so vulnerable; mouth slightly open, content in slumber. His thick brown hair spreads across the pillow. I lean across and gently, gently kiss his forehead. Every time I do that I imagine love is energy, and that I’m passing love from my head into his. His precious head, containing so many thoughts and ideas that I cherish.

  By what contradiction of fate did a man like Miles burst from your loins, Caprice?

  She brought up the man you love. A good man. She can’t be all bad, as she managed to do that.