The Unwelcome Guest

by Amanda Robson

  You’ll soon be gone, you selfish skinny bitch. You won’t get away with this.

  72

  Miles

  I am standing on the landing, face stinging after you have slapped me. Suddenly I am looking at the scene as if from a distance. An aerial view. A photograph. Every time we row, Mother has something to do with it. Hayley caused trouble. Hayley mentioned Mother. Aiden caused trouble. Aiden mentioned Mother. Julie was the centre of the last problem and she definitely blamed Mother. Mother, Mother, Mother, who has always doted on me too much. Maybe I should have listened to you about my mother years ago, Saffron. Maybe it is my mother who is tearing our relationship apart.

  ‘Come on, let’s get back into our bedroom,’ I tell her. ‘Everyone can hear us. We’ll wake the boys up next.’

  You stand firm, eyes like granite. ‘Why should I do what you say?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘Come on, Saffron. Let me explain. I can assure you I’m telling the truth. It isn’t what you think.’

  You stand eyeballing me as if you hate me. ‘Saffron, I love you. Please give me another chance to explain.’

  ‘OK, OK.’

  You walk across the landing and step back into our room. I follow you and close the door. My stomach contracts in embarrassment. Everyone in the house must have been woken up and listening.

  You turn towards me, eyes spitting. ‘Go on then, explain why you were caressing our nanny.’

  ‘I wasn’t caressing her. That’s inflammatory.’

  ‘What were you doing then?’

  ‘Hayley has a crush on me, and Mother must have noticed. I think you’re right. She must have lied and told Hayley she thought I had feelings for her too. To cause trouble between us. To hurt you.’

  ‘So you’re finally admitting your mother has done something wrong?’

  I bite my lip. ‘Yes, Saffron, I am.’ I pause. ‘And Mother must have contrived for Hayley and me to be alone, with yet another of her blasted headaches. Hayley then tried it on with me. I rejected her. I threatened to dismiss her, but she was so upset, I decided to give her another chance.’

  ‘And the hug?’

  ‘I’ve told you already, she hugged me in relief. She didn’t want to lose her job.’

  73

  Saffron

  ‘Just admit your mother is a prize bitch who has caused a lot of trouble and I’ll forget about it,’ I tell him.

  ‘It’s true, Saffron. Mother has been a prize bitch.’ Miles swallows quickly, as if he’s choking on his words.

  I shake my head. ‘It’s not a one-off. Tell the truth. You have got to face facts: she is a prize bitch.’

  He steps towards me. ‘She is a prize bitch,’ he repeats, voice stronger this time.

  I gesticulate for him to come closer. ‘Let’s go to bed. You can listen to Tosca with me.’

  74

  Miles

  ‘Now you can listen to Tosca with me.’

  You press the Sonos controller. Maria Callas’ voice floats around our bedroom.

  You perform a striptease in front of me. Slowly, provocatively, dancing to the opera and removing your clothing.

  75

  Caprice

  Opera music blasts from Miles and Saffron’s bedroom. What are they doing making so much noise at this time of night? They need to turn it down or they’ll wake the boys. I put my dressing gown on and walk across the landing. I knock on the door. No reply. But I can hear heavy breathing. Breathing. Gasping. Screaming.

  ‘I love you, Saffron.’

  More screaming.

  Disgusting. Like feral animals. I pad back to my room. I’ll talk to them about this in the morning.

  76

  Hayley

  Breakfast time. The boys race into the kitchen.

  ‘Tie your laces,’ I snap. ‘And tuck in your shirts.’

  Caprice, sitting with a plate of cracked eggshells in front of her, nods in approval. I lay the table as the boys tidy themselves up.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask Caprice.

  ‘A cup of camomile tea, please.’

  I make her brew.

  ‘Thank you. That’s a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know we had any,’ Caprice says, as I hand it to her.

  ‘Saffron bought some last week.’

  I sit at the table and begin to eat my granola. Miles and Saffron enter the kitchen holding hands, and Caprice’s body stiffens. I feel hot and know I’m blushing. Seeing Miles, so lovey-dovey with his wife, so soon after my faux pas, is beyond embarrassing. I watch Saffron making her usual bright green smoothie, whisking it with spinach in the liquidiser. At least she is behaving normally. Miles helps himself to muesli, avoiding eye contact with me. Saffron decants her concoction into a large insulated cup and comes to sit next to me.

  ‘Can we talk? Miles is going to take the children to school, so now would be good.’

  My stomach curdles. This is it. She is going to fire me.

  I take a deep breath, stretch my mouth into a tense smile, and reply, ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Let’s go and sit in the drawing room,’ she suggests, as she stands up, smoothie in hand.

  We settle ourselves in antique walnut chairs either side of the white marble fireplace. In this room, which drips with antiques: walnut coffee tables, a crystal chandelier, Indian rugs. A photograph of a young Saffron on the mantelpiece. Thick quirky glasses, even then.

  She takes a sip of her smoothie. ‘I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your work here. I’m sorry there has been a misunderstanding. I trust you. I trust Miles. So let’s move forwards and forget this. I hope you’ll continue to be happy with our family.’

  I look into her ice blue eyes. ‘Thank you, Saffron.’

  At this moment I’m not sure who I love most. Miles or Saffron.

  77

  Saffron

  It’s true that you are a real prize bitch, Caprice. First making out that I’m unfaithful, then that Miles is. There is no limit to how low you will stoop to destroy our relationship. Now there is no limit to how much I hate you.

  78

  Caprice

  I’m sitting in my bedroom, when there is a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Miles’ head appears around the door. ‘Hey, Mother, do you have time for a chat?’

  I smile my best smile. The one Rupert always loved. When I smiled like that he would pull me towards him and hug me. My stomach lurches as I remember his touch.

  ‘All the time in the world for you,’ I say. ‘You know that. Always have. Always will.’

  He steps inside. Casual today. Jeans. White T-shirt. Such a good-looking man. So talented. He could have done anything he wanted. He is musical too. He can sing. Play the guitar. I always imagined him as a lead singer in a band. With his large eyes and well-balanced face he has a look of Simon Le Bon about him. How the fans would have swooned. But he’s buried in academia now.

  He sits in my floral armchair and folds his arms.

  ‘I’m fed up with you trying to come between me and Saffron.’ His words pierce into me.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ I ask, wounded. ‘I do everything I can to help this family.’

  ‘You told her I love Julie.’ He pauses. ‘You told Hayley I have feelings for her. You insinuate that Saffron is unfaithful.’ Another pause, longer this time. Angry eyes stabbing into mine. ‘What are you trying to do?’

  ‘Being honest. Saying what I think. Honesty is what makes a family. There are three important rules about family life. Communication, communication and communication. Honesty is intrinsic to that.’

  ‘Oh shut up, Mother. You sound like Tony Blair talking about education. It’s a repetitive sound bite that doesn’t work. It’s not communication or honesty. It’s lying and destructive.’

  My stomach knots. Miles has never spoken to me like this before. ‘I’m not a liar. How dare you accuse me of that.’

  ‘Let’s put it this way, you’re not telling the truth.’
>
  I shake my head. ‘It’s the truth as I perceive it.’

  He laughs. ‘If you’re wanting a philosophical diatribe about truth and perception, I can give you one, I assure you.’

  ‘I bet you can. But I won’t listen.’

  He clenches his fist. ‘If you try and come between Saffron and me again, I’ll … I’ll …’

  ‘You’ll what? Kick me out? You can’t. I own a large chunk of this house. It’s my home.’

  ‘Saffron and I can move to somewhere smaller with you out of our lives.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be so cruel. You always promised your father you would look after me if I lived longer than him.’

  I put my head in my hands and cry. As I cry, I watch his reaction through the tiny gap in between my fingers. His eyes grow softer the harder I weep. He stands up and walks towards me, face riddled with concern. He pats my back.

  ‘Look, Mother, I’m sure it won’t come to that. But please, please, stop causing trouble. I love Saffron. Nothing you can do will tear us apart.’

  Miles leaves my room, closing the door softly behind him. I sit up, dry-eyed, and smile. Nothing? Saffron isn’t looking after you properly. Of course my next plan will work.

  79

  Hayley

  I’m sitting in Jono’s squat, drinking cider, watching him wolf down pie and chips from the takeaway on the corner. It is weird how much he eats and yet he is so thin. His stomach is a bottomless pit. He wipes away the grease from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Did you fall asleep at the opera with that dickhead? I bet it was a real snore.’

  I shake my head. ‘I like opera, actually.’

  He grimaces. ‘Oh, Little Miss La-Di-Dah.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Snobby. Up yourself.’

  ‘Do I need to like grunge or death metal to live up to your high musical standards?’ I snort.

  He grins. ‘Yes.’

  He reaches across to his iPhone and selects a track from his playlist. ‘Break Stuff’ by Limp Bizkit pounds out.

  ‘Come on, Hayley, dance with me. I’ll show you how to have a good time.’

  He pulls me towards him and vibrates to the music, banging his feet on the floor, punching his fists in the air. I gyrate with him, the damp smell of the squat sharpening in my nostrils. They say the sense of smell is the most rapidly adapting sense. That your brain blanks out smells when it is used to them. But my nose hasn’t adapted to the stench in this abandoned flat yet. I distract myself by mimicking Jono’s foot stamping and air punches. When the track finishes we collapse, laughing, onto his soggy mattress. We rip off each other’s clothing. We fuck. Short but not sweet. The usual thing these days. Magnificent orgasm for him. Nothing for me.

  Pushing rope-like legs back into his drainpipe trousers, Jono says, ‘I just don’t want that nancy boy getting any ideas, taking my girl to the opera, wining and dining her and impressing her.’

  ‘Well,’ I reply, sarcastically, ‘he has a lot to compete with.’

  ‘Sometimes you are such a bitch, Hayley Manville Smith.’

  80

  Miles

  It’s Christmas Day. The turkey is in the oven and your nut loaf, with spinach and cranberry, is gently wafting the scent of garlic and ginger around the house. Our favourite Christmas compilation track blasts cheerily from the Sonos. I’m glad Aiden is away at his villa in Barbados. I wasn’t in the mood to spend the festive season with him this year.

  Bubbles in our glasses, we sit in the drawing room, to open the presents Santa Claus left late last night. His reindeer ate the carrots Ben, Harry and I scattered in the garden. We found their remnants half chewed up on the doorstep this morning. The whisky and mince pies the boys left for Santa in the hallway had also been enjoyed.

  ‘No wonder Santa’s so fat, Daddy,’ Harry said, ‘if he eats and drinks that much at every house.’

  Despite his wide girth, Santa managed to squeeze down our chimney and arrange the presents beneath our carefully decorated tree. The tree you and I spent hours fussing over. A real tree of course. We have a real tree every year, and decorate it with unusual silver and gold ornaments, all individually designed.

  Mother puts her champagne glass on the mantelpiece. ‘Let’s get the boys’ presents out first.’ She bends beneath the tree and starts to pull them out. Ben rips his first gift open. A magic set from Santa. His eyes light up with excitement.

  ‘This afternoon I’m going to give you a show,’ he says grinning widely, displaying his gappy teeth.

  Harry’s next, squealing with delight as he opens a walking, talking robot. He winds it up and it begins to walk across the drawing room threatening to kill us. Mother’s lips tighten in disapproval. The presents for the children go on and on. Gravitrax. Lego. More Lego. A Harry Potter knight bus. A David Walliams box set. A telescope. A duelling Stomp Rocket. A baseball bat.

  Hayley, who was only too delighted to accept our invitation to spend Christmas with us, as she would have been alone otherwise, is wearing a Christmas jumper and flashing reindeer antlers. I’m not sure she is keen enough on Jono to want to spend Christmas with him, but she didn’t have the option. He has gone to Scotland on his motorbike with a daredevil friend whom she disapproves of. If he is worse than Jono, he must be bad. She is stepping around presents and discarded wrapping paper, taking photographs of the children on her iPhone.

  You are resplendent in a red silk and lace minidress, so flimsy it could be a nightie, sipping champagne and watching our sons, a smile playing on your lips. Since I had words with Mother this house has been so much more peaceful. It feels like a different place.

  ‘Adults now. Hayley first,’ Mother insists, brandishing a yellow Selfridges bag in the air. ‘Here you are, my dear,’ she says, handing it to Hayley and hugging her.

  ‘Thank you so much. I wasn’t expecting you to give me a present.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure, for a lovely girl.’

  Hayley sits on the sofa and opens it. A Chanel Coco Mademoiselle box set. Perfume. Talc. Soap. Body lotion. The works.

  ‘It’s wonderful, thank you.’

  ‘And now you, Miles.’ My mother steps towards me and hugs me. She hands me my present from her. I open the gift-wrapped package, tight with ribbons and bows. A Brora cashmere jumper, so soft, slips out. ‘Thank you, Mother. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘And now you, Saffron,’ Mother says, walking towards the tree. She reaches behind the tree and drags out a large present. She attempts to lift it but doesn’t manage, and stands rubbing her back.

  ‘Can I help you, Mother?’

  ‘Yes, please, dear.’

  I lift the box and hand it to you. It isn’t very heavy. Maybe Mother should go to yoga or Pilates to build her strength up. You open your present. A Kenwood cake mixer.

  You look across at Mother and smile. ‘Thank you very much, Caprice.’

  ‘I know you don’t bake, or eat cake. But you’ve got to start looking after this family sometime.’

  You don’t say anything, Saffron, but I see the pain in your eyes. And I know the battle has begun again.

  81

  Saffron

  I’ve got to start looking after this family sometime, have I?

  We are sitting in the dining room, having just pulled the crackers I went into Harrods to choose specially. Eating a meal that I cooked for you animal eaters, even though I am vegan. Turkey with apricot and plum, and chestnut stuffing. Homemade cranberry sauce. You have a choice of red wine jus or gravy. I have also provided devils-on-horseback, bread sauce, croquette and lyonnaise potatoes. Roast potatoes. Sprouts with almonds. Carrots in orange sauce and roast parsnips. The wine, which I also chose, is perfect. A rich burgundy. Gevrey Chamberlin 1er Cru Les Champeaux 2003.

  Wait until you see the cheese course, and the desserts I have made. And what about all the money I have earnt over the years to support your son and grandsons? Miles’ career is just a hobby.

  And I have to start
looking after the family sometime?

  82

  Hayley

  Saffron is in such a bad mood that she went to bed straight after lunch. Maybe Caprice is right about Saffron and Miles’ relationship. Caprice has insisted that she clears the dishes whilst Miles and I play with the children. I started to help, but she waved me away and insisted that she did it alone. So I’m back in the drawing room with Miles, Ben and Harry. Ben is sitting reading the instruction booklet for his box of magic tricks, frowning as he reads, a silky handkerchief and a wand balanced on his knees. Miles and I are helping Harry build his Lego quadrocopter. It’s very tricky. We are lying on the drawing room floor, heads together, puzzling over the instructions.

  I glance across at Miles’ face, deep in concentration, and my stomach rotates. We are so comfortable together. How can he be completely happy with Saffron, when they have so many bitter arguments? The truth is I haven’t got over him yet. One day, perhaps, I will finally have a chance.

  83

  Caprice

  Boxing Day, 6 a.m. My back was aching so much all night that I couldn’t sleep. Now I’m feeling peaky in the kitchen, brewing coffee. Hoping it will pep me up. Hoping it will help me cope with the day. My morning is not helped by you walking towards me, Saffron, wearing your mini-bathrobe and Ugg slippers. I don’t think you should leave your bedroom without getting dressed. It makes you look slovenly. I guess you weren’t properly brought up and that is why you are so nonchalant with your own children.

  I know it must have been hard for you, being brought up by a single parent. An irresponsible young woman who had allowed herself to get knocked up when she was still in her teens. Even though I also came from a simple background, at least I had two parents who loved each other. I had stability and that is why I am a loving homemaker, in contrast to your coldness.