by Frances Pye
“It’d be like living on the streets.”
“And she’d never tell us.”
“No.”
“Silly girl. Too proud for her own good.”
“I think it’s time we had a word with Sean.”
“We promised Mara we’d give up. Not force him on her anymore.”
“We’re not going to force him on her. This isn’t about getting her back into dating. This is about us sorting out her house.”
“She’ll never accept help. You know that. We’ve tried often enough.”
“She won’t get the chance. This time we’re not going to offer. We’re going to do it.”
fifty-seven
“There’s something there, I tell you.”
“Fine, Clive, fine. But what is it?”
Clive paced around the large, book-and video-filled office of Nigel, the newspaper’s editor-in-chief. His boss. It was late afternoon, already dark outside. He was being grilled about the Lily story. Or the Lily nonstory. “I don’t know that yet,” he was forced to admit.
“Yet? You’ve been on this story for weeks.”
“I’ve got a lot of stuff. Like Jules, you know, the upper-class one, was rushed to hospital in a taxi last night; she’s still there now. The girls have all been to see her, but not Sean.”
“Yes? And?”
“I think she had a miscarriage.”
“So?”
“So I just haven’t found out what it all means yet.”
“Clive, dear, I’m sure it’s all fascinating, but there’s no story if you can’t connect up the bits. Who is he? Why is he seeing all three friends? What are they doing together? Where’s the beef, love? Where’s the beef?”
Clive gritted his teeth. Nigel could be a patronizing bastard. But he had the power to keep Clive on the story. Or order him to forget it. “I’ll find it. I will. I just need more time.”
“I don’t know.”
“Please, Nige. This could be really big. Front-page stuff.”
“Hmm. You’re very keen, aren’t you? Perhaps you’re too close, what with Lily being your ex? Maybe I should put someone else on it?”
Clive held himself back. Better not to say anything. Nigel liked to make his underlings squirm. It was part of what made him a good editor, they said.
“So what is it between you two, then?”
“Nothing. I’m just interested in what she does. She’s a new kid in town. And you know how people eat up stuff about the latest thing.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure.”
“I know this is something big. Come on, Nige, I’ve got great instincts. You know I have. When have I ever been wrong about a story? Remember, you all laughed at me about Scott Lineham. And there he was, fucking his coach’s wife. You said after that you’d never doubt me again.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. You did.”
“All right, drop everything else you’ve got going, concentrate on Ms. James. I’ll give you another week. But no longer. If you don’t know what’s going on by then, you’ve got to forget it. Completely. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” said Clive. What need to mention his determination to carry on on his own time? With any luck, it wouldn’t take more than a week to connect the dots and paint in the details….
fifty-eight
Sean turned off Chiswick High Road onto Mara’s street, unaware that he had been followed by a man in a late-model Porsche ever since he’d left King’s Cross. The builder found a parking space in front of the railway memorabilia store; Clive drove past and turned into the next street. He had no need to see where Sean was going; ever since they had reached the edge of Chiswick, he’d been pretty sure his target was going to Mara’s. And their arrival in Elliott Road had only confirmed that. The journalist parked and looked back, waiting to see the builder pass by before he got out and followed.
Sean locked his car and turned to walk to Mara’s but was distracted by the railway-shop window. He stared at all the displayed toys and couldn’t help but think how the boys would have loved an old-fashioned train set. He could have set it up in the attic, arranged the miniature rails and the tiny signal boxes and the little stations, and let them play with it to their hearts’ content.
For a moment, he let himself dream: of himself and Mark and Ben, back together, watching the perfect replica of a 1920s steam train go around and around, the boys’ voices piping their excitement as it passed through a tunnel or over a bridge….
Sean shook off the fantasy. And told himself that it was just that. A daydream. Nothing more. It wasn’t going to happen. Even if he did ever find Mark and Ben, they would probably be past the age of train sets by then, preferring things like skateboards and music and football. Even girls.
He left the shop window and walked along the road to Mara’s house. God, it was in terrible shape. The windows looked rotten, the walls were in desperate need of repointing, and even from the ground he could tell that there were holes in the roof. No wonder Lily had asked him to sneak a look at the place and tell her how much it would cost to fix it up. If Mara carried on like this, soon she wouldn’t have a house left.
MARA HAD been horrified to see Sean on the doorstep. She’d thought her friends had promised to let her alone, to stop forcing him on her. But when he explained that he had been in the area looking at a job, had just wanted to say hello, and so had gotten her address from Lily, she’d relaxed and let him in.
In response to his request to see the house, she’d given him the grand tour. Just as they were finishing, Moo and Tilly had come home from school and he’d ended up trying and failing to help them with their homework, then playing video games with them, laughing at himself as he went out at the first level over and over. Delighted to see her girls having such fun, Mara had asked Sean to stay for dinner; now it was eight-thirty, Moo and Tilly were in bed, and the adults were sitting by the fire, finishing the bottle of wine Sean had run down to the off license to buy.
He hadn’t said much for the last half hour. Whilst the girls had been there, he’d been animated, joking with them, teasing her, telling them funny stories about being a builder. But since Mara had tucked them up in bed, he’d seemed totally lost in thought. Not that she minded; she was happy to sit and look into the flames. The room felt properly warm for once—maybe it was the extra person—and she hadn’t had a coughing fit for hours.
But now he seemed to be on the verge of talking. A couple of times, he had opened his mouth, apparently about to speak, but had then thought better of it and said nothing. Mara had received enough confidences in her time to recognize a man desperate to discuss something but not sure of how to introduce the subject. Or whether he ought to do so. She settled in to wait. Sooner or later he was going to tell her what was on his mind.
“Mara?” Sean finally said five minutes later.
“Yes?”
He was silent again. For another minute. Until:
“Mara?”
“Sean.”
“I…Can I ask you something?”
“Of course you can.”
“It’s about Terry.”
“Oh. Okay.” What was this? Terry?
“This is in confidence, okay?”
“Of course.”
“You see, I had this fight with Jules. About the baby. And then after, I went to see Terry. Only I got a bit wasted and…and I kissed her.”
“You kissed Terry?”
“Yes. And she pushed me away. But I can’t just leave it like that.”
And all Sean’s feelings came pouring out, his undeniable desire for Terry, his attempts to understand her apparent attraction to, then abrupt rejection of, him, his need to see her, to talk to her, to explain, to try to persuade her to forgive him for making a move on her while going with her best friend.
Mara listened. And heard a man in love. Whatever Sean might call it—liking, desire, attraction, guilt—Mara was convinced it was love. And judging by his description of Terry’s reaction to him, it s
ounded as if at least some of those feelings were mutual. But what should she do? The only way to explain Terry’s actions to Sean would be to tell him the truth about her. Her past experiences with men, her inability to enjoy sex, her determination to remain celibate rather than continue hoping. But that would mean Mara betraying her friend’s confidence and she was not prepared to do that.
Still, she couldn’t just say nothing. Some instinct told her that, despite all the sharing, despite Lily’s and Jules’s involvement with Sean, he might be the man for Terry. There was nothing obvious there but she sensed a similarity in them, of outlook maybe or background or beliefs. Something, anyway. And if Terry had reacted to Sean’s kiss the way he described…
At heart, Mara was a romantic. She’d had her great love and she wanted the same for her friends. For Terry. Maybe she shouldn’t interfere—she could hear Jake telling her not to meddle, that it never paid to get involved in friends’ love lives—but for once she ignored her husband’s advice. She couldn’t help herself. Sean wasn’t for Lily or Jules, but he might be for Terry. Lily wouldn’t mind—in the end one man was much like another to her—and Jules had already pushed him too far. But Terry was another matter. Maybe it would be a disaster, but Mara decided the possible gain was worth the risk.
“You need to persevere.”
“Persevere?”
“Yes. Go round. Make her see you.”
“How? If she won’t speak to me on the phone.”
“Ask Paul to help if you have to. Get into the flat. Talk to her.”
“Suppose she still despises me?”
“I don’t think she does. Or ever did.”
“But I made a move on her. She’s got to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m her best friend’s boyfriend.”
“Ah.” She hadn’t thought about that. Of course, from Sean’s point of view, with no knowledge of the friends’ scheme, it would look that way. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Terry’s never been the judgmental type.” Well, it was the best she could come up with on short notice. And after all, it was true. Terry had always believed in letting people make their own decisions.
“But Lily…”
“Is a very strong person. She can look after herself. She always could.”
“I betrayed her.” Twice, but he wasn’t going to mention that. Even though this conversation did seem oddly like a confession. “I feel like such a shit.”
“Don’t. Please. There’s no need.” Mara couldn’t bear the fact that Sean was eaten up with guilt, convinced he’d betrayed Lily when all the time he’d been used by her and the others. She had to help him. But how to put it without letting slip that she knew all about his and Lily’s relationship? She might feel desperately sorry for poor Sean but she still didn’t want to be disloyal to her friends. “You and Lily aren’t exactly permanent partners, are you?” she asked.
“No. We see each other only a couple of times a week. Lily wanted it that way.”
“And you’re free to do what you want the rest of the time?”
“Yeah. Yeah. She insisted on it. No commitment, that’s what she said.”
“Then there can be no betrayal. Can there?”
“No. No, I guess not.”
“You know not. Go and see Terry. Talk to her. She won’t hate you. She won’t even be angry with you.” Mara crossed her fingers behind her back. There was a chance of course that Terry would be both those things, but Mara was convinced it was an outside chance. “The worst she’ll be is confused.”
“But what do I say?”
“What you’ve just told me. Tell her how you feel.”
“Really?”
“Really. Only take it slowly.”
“Slowly?”
“Terry’s very sensitive.”
“She doesn’t come across like that.”
“I know. But she is. Just try not to pressure her. Physically, I mean. I can’t say any more, so please don’t ask. I shouldn’t have said this much.”
“I won’t.” Sean leaned over and gripped Mara’s hands. “Thank you. You’re amazing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. One hundred percent amazing.” Sean found himself smiling for the first time in weeks. Nothing had happened yet, he knew that, but Mara had given him the reassurance and the hope he’d needed.
Sean looked around him at the dingy room, the smoke stains on the ceiling, the patches of damp in the corners, the slight bow in the front wall. The place was in a terrible state. Lily had been right when she’d sent him here, Mara did need help. But he didn’t think the kind of simple repairs Lily had in mind would do. The house needed almost complete rebuilding. “Now, in return for the fantastic food and the clever counsel, would it be okay if I gave you some advice?”
“If you like.”
“It’s your house.” Sean looked at Mara, trying to decide just how much to tell her. “I’m afraid it’s in pretty bad shape.”
“I know the roof needs work.”
“It’s not just the roof. It’s an old property. And they take a lot of upkeep.”
“I’ll manage somehow.”
“I’m not sure you will.” Sean paused, trying to decide what to say. And came down on the side of the truth, even if it was not what Mara wanted to hear. She deserved honesty in return for her kindness to him. “Mara, you don’t just need a new roof. You need new windows, new brickwork in places, your chimney needs rebuilding, that illegal fire of yours looks like it smokes, and you’ve got to do something about that wall that’s out of kilter. Not to mention a full damp course and the central heating.”
“I thought just the roof and the heating and a lick of paint.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But it’ll cost a fortune.”
Sean nodded. “About thirty thousand pounds at a rough guesstimate. Maybe more if there’s any rot upstairs.”
“Thirty thousand pounds.” Mara was horrified. It was impossible. Much, much more than she had thought.
“Hey, it’s not that bad. I can find you guys who’ll do a proper job, not rip you off. And I get discounts on materials, that should knock off a bit.”
“But I could never pay for all that. I don’t have anything like thirty thousand pounds. I don’t have five hundred.”
“Then I’m sorry, but you’ve got no option. You’ve got to sell.”
“I can’t.”
“I know it’s hard.”
“I bought this house with my husband. We were happy here. The children came here as babies. I can’t sell.”
“Then it’ll fall down round your ears. Guaranteed.”
“Surely it won’t. Houses don’t just collapse. It’ll be all right. I know it will.”
“Mara. The longer you leave a place like this, the more quickly it declines. Think about it. How many leaks were there last winter? How many are there now?”
“I can’t sell. Jake wouldn’t like it.”
“He wouldn’t like you living in a place like this either. Besides, Jake isn’t here.”
“No. But I know what he’d want. And I owe it to him. He gave me everything.”
Sean was tempted to enlighten Mara about her beloved husband. Lily had told him all about the blessed Jake after the evening of the dinner party. But he couldn’t. It had to be one of her girlfriends. Not some man she hardly knew.
“He was the best husband. I couldn’t, I just couldn’t sell the house we shared. Watch someone else come in and change the place, throw out the bath he washed in, the kitchen he ate in.” Mara was working herself up into a panic at the thought of selling her memories.
Sean realized that her attachment to her dead husband was so strong that she would not accept the truth, whatever he said. She’d continue to hope that something would turn up, that it would be all right in the end, until she was out in the street, homeless.
“I can’t even consider moving. It’ll be fine. It’s no worse than it was this morning. It’s
the roof that matters. And the heating. Surely the rest can wait. Of course it can.”
For the moment, there was no point in his arguing with her. Maybe it had been her ability to talk herself into believing whatever she wanted that had gotten her through the last few years alone. But now it was in danger of leaving her homeless. He would have to talk to Lily. She, Jules, or Terry had to come clean with Mara, and soon. Otherwise the house would be uninhabitable and worth not much more than the land it was crumbling upon.
For now, though, he took the line of least resistance. “I suppose I could be wrong. It was getting dark when I arrived, I didn’t see the house in the daylight.”
“Yes. You haven’t seen the whole place properly. It’s just the roof. Just the roof.”
fifty-nine
“So what do you think he’ll say?”
“Nothing. He won’t talk to you.”
“But why not? I agree it’ll be difficult, but if I wrote a nice letter to explain?”
“I thought we covered all that last week. A letter won’t do it.”
“Then I’ll wait in his office. If I’m there for long enough, he’ll have to see me.”
“Jules. Knock, knock. Anyone home? He doesn’t want to hear from you.”
“How do you know that? I’m different now. I learned my lesson.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. I did. I won’t ask him to disappear. He can see the baby every now and again if that’s what it takes.”
“Feeling generous, are you?” Terry dug her fingernails into her palms, struggling for control. Once again, Jules had managed to respin events to her benefit. So that she didn’t have to face any unpleasant truths.
“Don’t be nasty.”
“I’m not being nasty. I’m being sensible.”
“You don’t think I could persuade him? Not if I tried very, very hard and was very, very contrite?”
“It’s not that you couldn’t. I think you shouldn’t.”
“But why not?”
“Because you used him. He knows that. You know that.”
“And I’m sorry. I am. What more do you want me to say?”
