‘Hi! How did it go?’
‘Really well, thanks, Ellie.’
‘Family make it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Great.’ Ellie dragged off her scarf and headed for the stairs.
‘How about you, did you have a good time with your cousin?’
‘Oh, brilliant!’ Her face lit up. ‘It was so good to see him! We just laughed and laughed like drains, the way we always do, he’s such a great guy!’
‘Wonderful,’ said Felicity. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘We did some damage to a doner kebab.’
‘OK. Goodnight, Ellie.’
‘Night. Kids asleep?’
‘I should think Cissy is, the boys might still be awake.’
‘I might pop in and say goodnight.’
‘They’d like that.’
Felicity watched as Ellie trotted swiftly up the stairs, bag and scarf swinging.
This time of year pinned everyone down for a while, decisions were put on hold. But once the celebrations were over, decisions and resolutions would be waiting, demanding attention.
Later, when she came out of the bathroom, Robin was in bed, reading his current book, the autobiography of a wayward politician. Without looking up, he flicked the open page.
‘Honestly, this guy is incorrigible. Completely without shame, but of course that’s what makes him so readable.’ She didn’t answer and now he looked at her, closing the book but keeping his finger in his place. She wasn’t wearing one of her beautiful nighties. She wasn’t wearing anything.
‘You look lovely.’
Felicity walked round to his side of the bed. She pulled back the corner of the duvet and sat down, leaning in to her husband.
‘May I come in?’
‘My darling …’ Robin dropped the book and slid back to make room for her. ‘Always.’
Eighteen
The campus bar was packed, the noise deafening, everyone seasonally sloshed on the staff bar’s cheap booze. Charity told herself she’d stay twenty minutes and not a second longer. These quasi-obligatory end of term events were her idea of hell. She was solitary by nature and liked within reason to choose her own time, place and company. Here were shiny banners screaming Season’s greetings! hung along the back of the bar and some half-hearted garlands strung around the walls. In one or two places the desiccated Bluetack had given up and the garland sagged like a drunk whose legs had given way. She’d parked herself in a corner at one end of the long bar, standing with her back to the wall. There had been a single seat at a table nearby when she first arrived but she’d eschewed it in favour of this position which would afford her a quicker getaway when the time came.
In spite of her Scrooge-like attitude, she wasn’t without company. She was like a cat who went to others on her own terms, or simply let them come to her. A couple of nice female colleagues chatted for a while and then fought their way back into the melee, and her supervisor, a dull but dutiful man, included her in his round of social obligations. Once she’d finished her small scotch with its rapidly dissolving pellets of ice she began the long struggle to the door, keeping her head down to avoid further conversation.
Outside there was a scattering of smokers, but the cold was refreshing, and she paused as she hauled on her coat. At night this view of the modern campus was almost picturesque, with the curving paths lit by round lights and the artificial lake surrounded by benches beneath the trees, also softly lit. The admin block, fiercely illuminated for security reasons, and the research building, still with one or two lighted rooms, sat to either side. She could hear the thud of music from the student bar. From tomorrow the other people, students and staff, would start to ebb away and she’d have a few days alone here but for the maintenance team. She was looking forward to it.
‘Want one?’
Someone was offering her a cigarette.
‘No thanks,’ she said, ‘I don’t.’ And then, to be clear, she added, ‘Just leaving.’
‘Happy Christmas.’
‘And you.’
‘Got far to go?’
Whoever he was – clearly not a member of staff, most of whom she knew at least by sight – he was in a chatty mood, but it was such a relief to be out of the bar that she played along for a moment, nodding towards the far side of the lake.
‘No distance at all.’
‘You live here?’
He was stocky and stubbly in a dilapidated leather jacket, but he had a lively, vivid face. Up for it, is what she thought, whatever it was.
‘Live and work.’ He nodded, no further questions. ‘You?’ she asked.
‘Having a drink with friends. Best place for it, prices are a joke. In a good way,’ he added.
She smiled agreement. ‘I’m off, nice to have met you.’
‘Me too. Hang on …’ He dropped his cigarette end and trod on it. ‘Just a thought, but fancy a curry?’
‘Thanks but no.’
‘Shame,’ he said, with a thoroughly shameless grin, ‘worth a try.’
Yes, thought Charity, it was, you cheeky bastard.
‘Just in case’ – he took a card from his back pocket – ‘that’s me. My credentials.’
She put it in her bag without looking at it. ‘I can’t reciprocate I’m afraid.’
‘No worries, I’m going to go back in and get a bit more pissed.’
‘Good plan.’
He laughed – they both did – and she headed off in the direction of the hall of residence. A glance over her shoulder showed that true to his word he’d returned to the bar.
She supposed she had been chatted up, which she wasn’t used to because something about her repelled casual social advances. Well, not repelled exactly, but certainly deterred, which was how she liked it. Until now. Her sparse social life seemed to have taken on the character of the number twenty-seven bus – nothing for years, then suddenly two within months. She told herself she was amused, choosing to ignore that she was also rather flattered.
In her room she went to close the blind. From the window she could see the staff bar, a scattering of smokers silhouetted by the light from the door. She snapped the slats down and went to the kitchen to make herself some supper.
Now that term had ended and he was on his own, Mac had time to look forward to Christmas. It was years since he hadn’t either a) gone to his married sister on the Wirral or b) stayed here on his own, of which he preferred the latter. This wasn’t because he didn’t appreciate Moira’s hospitality, or like her husband, but because he had the sense that they felt they must ask him to save him from the perceived horrors of a lonely Christmas. The only times he wasn’t invited was when they were going to their daughter’s in Scotland, and they were always tremendously apologetic, commenting on his niece’s busy life and the number of children she had. They didn’t need to apologize. On these occasions he simply treated Christmas like any other day, with added scotch – he wasn’t a heavy drinker, but he did treat himself to a half bottle of really top quality single malt and a side of Scottish smoked salmon, and was extremely content.
This year, though, he was excited by the prospect of having a guest. He had no qualms or reservations about having asked her after so short an acquaintance – Charity was nothing if not a modern young woman, and he’d soon intuited that she would favour a straightforward approach. At his time of life there was no point in faffing around. They had got on extremely well from the off (notwithstanding the disobliging circumstances of her brother’s rustication), and he found her immensely attractive. Something about her air of austerity, her sagacious expression and slight, hard-won smile … Not to mention her slim straightness, he’d always liked that sapling quality in a woman.
No … He smiled to himself as he put away the last of his paperwork in the top drawer of the desk. In this as in so many things the Bard had it right.
What is love? Tis not hereafter … In delay there is no plenty …
He would be a good host, see to her comfort and h
appiness, and who knows what might happen?
Charity found the card when she was fishing out her car key the following morning, and dropped it on her work table. When she got back from her streamlined shopping expedition (she had a system for present-buying, mostly involving vouchers) she gave it a cursory glance as she was about to chuck it in the wastepaper basket.
Luke Tanner
Tanner and Bright’s Travelling Top
All the fun of the circus in your local venue!
There followed contact numbers and an address (including email, she noticed), and the reassuring words: No animals.
Good lord. Of all the scenarios she might have imagined to account for that man’s chutzpah, this was the last. Circus? The parents had taken the three of them, long before Bruno’s arrival, to a circus on the town green in Salting, and none of them had liked it. Honor had actually wept. Fortunately Marguerite had saved them from appearing ungrateful by getting her reservations in first.
‘I hate to see animals being made to do silly things, and I always wonder what the travelling’s like for them … and where they’re kept.’
‘And the clowns aren’t funny,’ Charity remembered saying, given leave to criticize.
‘They’re creepy,’ agreed Felicity.
To comfort the sobbing Honor, Hugh had said, ‘I bet those elephants would rather trot in circles and eat buns than be out chained to logs in some god-forsaken jungle,’ but this turned out not to be helpful.
So the word ‘circus’ had unfortunate connotations. But something about the chirpy entrepreneurial confidence of both the man and his card – and the sensible ‘No animals’ – piqued her interest, and she tucked the card in the mirror.
Hugh’s line on family life, and his role in the mix generally, was one of benign unflappability. The others would have been surprised to know how seriously he took this role, which often required some effort. Kipling, whom he admired and read, had recognized that to ‘keep one’s head while all about you’ and so forth was one of the true manly virtues.
Marguerite had always worn her heart on her sleeve, her warmly emotional nature was one of the qualities that had first drawn him to her. That and her extraordinary beauty. She’d been a peach then and still was. As the babies had come along he’d coped pretty well with the lack of sleep and the general chaos (admittedly Daisy bore the brunt of it) but life got more complicated as the girls grew up.
They and their mother would have been astonished to know that he worried about them. He worried that his beautiful firstborn, Felicity, was too keen on how things looked, about what might be called her image, and that she might forfeit affection if she wasn’t careful … That Charity frightened men off, possibly deliberately, and risked loneliness as a result … And that Honor, his little round one, his girl, had no real friends of her own age, she was just too tied up with her old people. He had no particular scenario in mind for any of his daughters, he simply wanted them to be happy. And the worst of it was there wasn’t a thing you could do! Daisy sometimes tried to find solutions, to steer things, but it was a waste of time. He’d come to accept that parental love, once the bringing-up stage was over, was largely passive.
And then there was Bruno. Hugh had never been one of those men who yearned for a son to feel complete. By the time of Bruno’s precipitate arrival he considered himself an old hand – his style of parenting didn’t change because he now had a boy, and Bruno was so much younger than the others that he and Daisy had carried on as if things would pretty much take care of themselves. The system, such as it was, was in place, what could possibly go wrong?
And nothing had gone too wrong, until the incident at school. Not really. Bruno was inevitably a bit spoilt, but he was a sweet little boy and then a charming if rather idle teenager. He always had plenty of friends, so there wasn’t that to worry about. The local comprehensive hadn’t really suited, he’d been a bit wild, that was when they’d cast around and chosen Brushwood, one of the most famous of the ‘free’ schools. Free was a misnomer, it had cost a hell of a lot for a place that prided itself on not doing much. Still, things had gone pretty well. They liked the head a lot, and Bruno had been excluded only temporarily after that shocker with the maid (which they still hadn’t got to the bottom of) and had done well enough in his A Levels to get into university, albeit one of those newly-designated ones.
But though his approach had been the same for all his children, Hugh had a nagging private sense of having failed his son. Or anyway failed to get close to him – and now it might be too late.
He had never mentioned this to Daisy, it would have sent her into a tailspin to know he was worried. Hers to worry, his to pour oil on troubled waters. He could hear her upstairs now, packing for their stay at the TS’s. Or more accurately rifling through her wardrobe in order to decide what to take. Always a sensitive moment to approach, but uncharacteristic soul-searching made him reckless.
‘How’s it going?’
His wife stood with a dress over one arm, the hanger dangling drunkenly from the neck, several more items strewn over the bed and surrounded on the floor by a clutter of shoes.
‘I know I’m making heavy weather of this,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to let the side down at Christmas.’
‘You won’t,’ he said, ‘you couldn’t.’ He was about to add You always look marvellous because it was both true and what he thought, but he knew that this simple blanket approval wouldn’t cut it. Be specific.
‘I’ve always liked that green one.’
‘It’s awfully old.’
‘Timeless elegance.’
She dropped the one she was holding and picked up the green velvet, surveying it with a doubtful expression. ‘Everyone will have seen it before …’
‘No. And anyway only I will remember.’
‘I wouldn’t want Fliss to think I was just wearing any old thing when she goes to so much trouble.’
‘Come on, she doesn’t think like that,’ said Hugh. Even as he said it he was by no means certain it was true. But there was no point going there.
Ellie chose the day of the party to deliver her bombshell. She’d just returned from taking Noah to a friend’s house and the other two to the playground, and Fliss was putting finishing touches to the tree in the hall (the one by the picture window in the drawing room was done). Ellie chivvied the children as they took off their coats, helped Cissy with hers and then waited as they disappeared upstairs.
‘That looks really really beautiful.’
‘Good, do you think so? Not too much?’
‘Not at all,’ said Ellie. ‘You’ve got such a talent for this sort of thing.’
Fliss was surprised, and gratified. Ellie was no gusher.
‘Thanks, Ellie.’
‘Would you call her an angel or a fairy at the top?’
They stood gazing up. Fliss said, ‘I think in this house she’s a fairy. At home, when we were growing up, she was an angel.’
‘I reckon an angel. I’m not religious, but I was always an angel in the school nativity.’
Fliss laughed. ‘You were?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised. I bet you were the Virgin Mary.’
‘I was once,’ admitted Fliss. ‘But I did the odd angel too. And a star, there were always a few of those.’
‘I bet.’ Ellie chuckled, but didn’t move to go. She still had Cissy’s red quilted coat over her arm. ‘Fliss, there’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Right.’ Fliss leaned forward to tweak a glass icicle that was at an angle, but she felt an icy touch inside her, too.
‘I wondered about leaving it till after Christmas but then I thought no, no time like the present.’
Damn, damn. It had to happen.
‘You’re leaving,’ said Fliss, to get it over with. ‘Is that it?’
‘Handing in my notice, yes.’
Fliss continued to make minute adjustments. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Ellie.’
‘I’m sorry too
. Really sorry—’
‘Was it something we said?’
This was a bitter little joke but Ellie seemed to take it to heart.
‘No, no, far from it. I’ve loved it here. I love the kids, they’re so great. I’m going to miss you all, but—’
‘But you have to go.’
This time there was a pause, and Felicity looked round. She thought for a moment Ellie was crying, but then realized that the opposite was true – she was smiling, almost laughing.
‘I’m getting married! Back home.’
‘Ellie! Congratulations!’ Swallowing her sickening disappointment Felicity went over to her and hid her own feelings with a brief hug. ‘That’s marvellous.’
‘Thank you, yes – yes it is.’
‘Come through, this calls for a glass of something.’
‘Oh, I don’t know …’ Ellie glanced up the stairs.
‘Don’t worry about them for a moment, they know where we are.’ She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Pinot. ‘Here we go. Tell me,’ she asked as she poured, ‘does this have anything to do with your trip into town the other afternoon?’
‘Sort of. Al, my … I suppose—’
‘Your fiancé!’
‘I guess he is! Cheers! – my fiancé – he came all this way to get down on one knee.’
‘He actually did that?’
‘In the pub. Everyone cheered.’
Felicity leaned on the island, caught up now in the story.
‘Wasn’t that risky? You might have said no, in front of everyone.’
‘Yeah, and then what?’ Ellie laughed boisterously. ‘Specially when I came to London to get away from him!’
‘You did?’
‘Yup – I couldn’t handle it at all, I wasn’t ready, so like the muttonhead I am I ran away from home.’
Felicity thought she’d never come across the expression ‘muttonhead’ anywhere except on the printed page. She was rapt, in spite of herself.
‘And – what? The moment you saw him again you felt differently?’
‘Pretty much. He’s just, you know, such a great guy. The best. I feel myself with him – at home, you know?’ Felicity nodded. She did know. ‘I’d really like you to meet him, would that be alright?’
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