Later, as the sun goes down and the others have either gone home or to bed, I find myself alone with Beatrice. The room has darkened and Beatrice closes the French doors and flits about the room, lighting the candles on the mantelpiece.
‘Did you enjoy meeting everyone?’ she asks as she flops on to the sofa next to me. ‘They’re a great bunch.’ When I don’t answer, she turns to me, concerned. ‘Didn’t you have a good time? Is it about Lucy? If you want to talk—’
‘I’ve got my counsellor for that,’ I snap, my jealousy of earlier still niggling at me. I want to hurt her, push her out. Even as I do it, I know I’m not being fair.
Her eyes widen in shock and an injured expression flashes across her face. Instantly, I’m remorseful. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m just tired, I didn’t mean to snap.’ And before I know it I’m opening up to her about seeing my counsellor, the post-traumatic stress disorder, my problems with paranoia, although I omit the details about Alicia and all that came afterwards.
‘Oh, Abi,’ she says when I’ve finished. ‘Thank you for telling me. And I’m here for you, if you ever want to talk. You know, I’ve had my own problems – nothing like yours, admittedly, but I had a kind of breakdown. I was …’ she pauses as she rests her head against the soft cushions, her eyes appearing even larger in the candlelight. ‘I was extremely hurt by someone I loved.’ She tells me of her first year at university when she met the man she thought she’d be with for ever, how devastated she was when it all ended. How she couldn’t cope emotionally. ‘I had to leave Exeter, I couldn’t be anywhere near him afterwards, it was too painful to see him. So I went travelling.’
‘You went to Exeter University?’
She frowns as if irritated that I’ve interrupted her flow, her tale of lost love and broken hearts. ‘Yes, why? Did you?’
‘No, but a friend of mine did,’ I say, thinking of Luke. He wasn’t going out with Lucy then, of course, they didn’t meet until a couple of years after. But I remember the conversations we all had about our student days, sitting around our favourite table in our local pub, desperate to outdo one another with tales of debauched parties and recreational drugs. Luke always had what he thought was a funny anecdote about Exeter and Lucy would tease him that the place was his first love.
Beatrice is staring at me, her face serious. ‘Abi? I said, what friend?’
‘Only someone from my past. I don’t see him any more.’ I can’t bring myself to explain; it is too painful to remember how it all was. Before.
‘Oh, that type of friend.’ She laughs, almost as if she’s relieved. I can’t be bothered to correct her. I lay my head next to hers, the way I used to do with Lucy. We’re silent for a while, then her eyes snap open and she lifts her head from the cushion, staring at me, excitement bright in her eyes. ‘What did you think about Niall?’ Her eyes are shining, hopeful.
‘Very handsome.’ I give her a conspiratorial smile, but she frowns.
‘Oh, he is, isn’t he?’ She leans forward to retrieve her wine glass from the coffee table and takes a sip. Her hair falls in her face, hiding her expression, as she says, matter-of-factly, ‘As soon as I saw him I thought he’d be perfect. For you.’
When I’m certain Beatrice is safely ensconced in her own bedroom I go to him.
He’s lying on his side in bed with his legs pulled up to his bare chest, a stripy cotton sheet draped over him. The doors to his balcony are ajar so that a thin voile curtain ripples in the slight breeze. The light from the moon illuminates his face, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks and I have a sudden urge to bend down and kiss him where the freckles cross his nose. He’s so like his sister. His eyes slowly flicker open, aware that he’s being watched. ‘Bea?’ his voice is thick with sleep.
‘It’s me, Abi,’ I hiss.
He blinks as if his eyes are adjusting to the dark. ‘What’s going on?’
‘That’s what I want to know.’ I kneel down so that my face is inches away from his and I can smell the red wine and cigarettes on his breath.
He frowns. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Beatrice is trying to set me up with Niall,’ I say in a loud whisper, fuelled by the four glasses of wine I drank earlier. ‘If you feel anything for me at all, we have to tell her. It’s not fair.’
A slow smile spreads across his face and he reaches out and gently brushes my hair from my face. ‘Okay, so let’s tell her.’ Then he throws aside his duvet, revealing his long tanned legs. He’s only wearing his boxer shorts. I crawl in beside him as he pulls the cool sheet over us, cocooning us from the outside world, and curl myself into him, relishing the warmth of his skin, the soft fuzz of his chest against my cheek. In his arms I can believe that nothing bad will ever happen again.
And as his mouth finds mine he unzips the back of Beatrice’s dress, and wiggling out of it I discard it on the floor where it lies in a crumpled heap, forgotten.
Chapter Eleven
Their favourite bench has been pelted with huge white dollops of bird droppings and Beatrice can’t help but see it as a bad omen as she reaches out to touch its arm, the wood warm under her fingers from the sun that continues to beat down relentlessly. She is unable to stop the tears spilling out from under her lashes. Maybe if she gives in and cries, gets it over with, she can begin to get on with her life, can begin to forget.
She angrily wipes away her tears with the back of her hand, and clutching her flip-flops in the other hand, she moves away from the bench towards the edge of the hill, the grass coarse and prickly beneath her bare feet. She could be Gulliver up here, gazing down on the city sprawling beneath her; her very own Lilliput. She can make out the many arches and four turrets of the Abbey to her left and, a little further behind, the curve of the Royal Crescent. A dog yaps behind her and she can hear the shrieks of children in the nearby playground.
Beatrice realizes she should be happy for her brother; she is happy for him. It’s been two weeks since Abi moved in and suspecting, knowing, she’s with Ben only serves to remind her how alone she is. She always thought she would be married by now, maybe with a baby on the way. But meeting him changed the course of her life, like a train forced to make a detour along another track to a different town, so that she’s lost, unable to get back on the right track to where her destination should be. And here she is, thirty-two years old, with no lover, no marriage and definitely no babies. She thought moving to Bath would help, a fresh start, but he’s here with her, always with her, in her head, in her heart. Wherever she goes, he will always follow. For the rest of her life. It’s been thirteen years, she thinks. Over a decade since her heart was not just broken but crushed, so why can’t she get over it? Ben doesn’t understand; she knows he’s been in love before and got hurt, but he was able to let go of his pain and move forward. Why can’t I?
Ben. She thinks of her brother’s kind hazel eyes, his ski-slope nose. She can’t lose him. He’s the only family she’s got left. By opening her house to other artistic types she feels less alone, part of something, a community, but they aren’t true family, they aren’t blood. Only Ben shares her genes, her DNA.
I can’t lose you, Ben. I need you.
A hand on her shoulder makes her jump and she turns to see Ben standing behind her and she’s in shock for a moment, as if it’s not really him but a mirage caused by standing in the sun for too long.
‘I knew I’d find you here.’ He holds up a striped plastic carrier bag. ‘I’ve bought some drinks. It seems our bench has been used as a toilet though.’ He wrinkles up his nose in disgust and she laughs, relieved that he’s here next to her. They sit in companionable silence under a cedar tree, shaded by the canopy of velvet leaves, watching scantily dressed young couples sprawled on towels; the men in shorts, their chests bare, the girls in bikini tops that leave little to the imagination. A large group of women are picnicking with their toddlers and gossiping under a neighbouring oak.
‘Are you okay, Bea?’ he asks, as he hands her a can of Pi
mms, which she takes and guzzles gratefully. ‘You seem a bit melancholy.’
Anger surges through her along with the alcohol. ‘What do you expect when you’re constantly lying to me?’
The sun has brought out the freckles on his face so that he looks tanned and healthy, and he runs a hand through his hair, something he always does when he’s anxious. She can tell that he’s inwardly debating whether to continue lying to her and she wants to warn him that it’s very important what he decides to say next. It could mean the end of everything.
‘You’re talking about Abi, aren’t you?’
She’s relieved that he’s decided to be honest with her. ‘You’ve been sneaking around behind my back for the last few weeks. But what hurts the most is why you didn’t just tell me?’
He has the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, Bea. I didn’t know how to explain it to you. Abi wanted me to tell you. She felt so awkward about it. She thinks a lot of you. And, well, I know you don’t agree with romances between housemates.’
She places the can next to her on the ground. ‘You’ve broken the rules, but it’s not only that,’ she says, without looking at him. She pulls a dandelion up by its root and begins to methodically pick off its petals. ‘I care about Abi, but she’s incredibly fucked up.’ She twists her body around so that she’s facing him. ‘You do know that, don’t you? You’ve seen the newspaper article about Lucy. Abi blames herself for her death. She sees a psychiatrist and she told me herself she suffers from paranoid delusions and survivor’s guilt. She’s fragile, probably not the best person to start a relationship with. And she thinks I haven’t noticed those scars on her wrists. Well, I have, Ben. Haven’t you?’
He nods, slowly. ‘I did suspect,’ he admits.
‘She hasn’t said, but I bet she’s been on a psych ward. Be careful, that’s all I’m saying.’
Ben pauses, as if weighing up whether to be honest with her. ‘I do like her a lot. I’ve not felt this way—’
She doesn’t want to hear it. She throws the dandelion, now bald without its petals, on to the ground. ‘I understand,’ she interrupts, trying to keep her voice even. They sit for a while, watching a group of teenagers playing football. ‘Do you think we should be honest with her? About the past, about what we did?’
Ben gapes at her as if he doesn’t know who she is, his face turning crimson. ‘You’re fucking joking,’ he splutters. ‘We said we would never tell anyone, ever.’ He downs the rest of his Pimms and crushes the can in his fist.
‘Abi’s different. You said so yourself. You want to lie to her?’
‘We’ve done something awful, Bea,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Abi would never look at me in the same way again. Or you. You would ruin everything. Is that what you want?’
She tuts. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Abi would never understand, and she definitely wouldn’t forgive it.’ He emits a manic bark of laughter. ‘Our lives would be ruined. We’d have to move away again. We’ve made a life here now.’ His face darkens. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Ever.’
The Pimms swirls around in her empty stomach, making her nauseous. ‘I know. But I feel so guilty, Ben.’ She takes his hand as they sit in silence, staring out over the rooftops of Bath. Bile rises in her throat at the thought, but she’s compelled to ask, ‘Are you sleeping with her?’
He drops her hand as if it’s diseased. ‘I’m not answering that.’
She blinks back the sting of tears. Fury builds in her chest. ‘You make me so fucking cross,’ she hisses. ‘I told you that it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with her. She’s my friend, I’m the one who found her. I’m the one who’s supposed to be helping her, and you’re going to ruin it, the same way you ruin everything …’ She can hear her voice rising. The women sitting under the neighbouring tree turn to look at her, clutching their toddlers to them as if she might be some drunk, some threat.
Ben grabs her hand and squeezes it hard. ‘Stop it,’ he urges. ‘People are looking.’
‘You don’t care about my feelings at all, do you? It’s bad enough that you’ve decided to begin a relationship with her regardless of the house rules,’ she cries, her anger cancelling out any embarrassment. ‘When we moved in together we agreed that we would respect each other … we said …’ She pauses, takes a deep breath.
‘I know what we said, Bea.’ His face is sweaty, panicked.
‘Then why are you shagging her, Ben? Under my roof, in my house—’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, for fuck’s sake,’ he spits, making her flinch. ‘And it’s our house, Bea. Our house.’
‘Whatever.’ She’s crying now, knows she’s making a scene. Several other people have turned to look at them and one of the teenagers calls over to ask if Beatrice is all right.
‘She’s fine,’ Ben snaps, standing up and pulling her to her feet. ‘Come on, we better go.’
Beatrice thrusts her toes back into her flip-flops and follows Ben as he stalks down the hill, the plastic bag filled with their empty cans swinging from his arm. She wonders if she’s said too much, gone too far? She has to run to catch up with him, but he doesn’t stop until he’s halfway down the road and by the time she’s reached him she’s panting and out of breath. She grabs his arm and he spins around to face her, his eyes hard.
‘What the fuck is the matter with you, Bea?’
She hangs her head, surprised by his sudden burst of anger. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And you can hardly talk. What about Niall?’
She freezes. ‘Niall? Nothing is going on with Niall. He’s a friend, that’s all. And he doesn’t live with us.’
He glares at her disbelievingly. Then sighs, shaking his head and she can tell his anger is dissipating like air being slowly squeezed from a balloon. But when she makes a move to take his arm, he shrugs her off.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asks, hurt swelling behind her eyes at his rebuke. ‘I’m sorry I caused a scene.’ She knows how he hates to row in public, hates attracting attention.
‘It’s not that.’
‘Then what?’ She takes a tissue from her pocket and blows her nose.
He hesitates. ‘Abi means a lot to me, you know.’
A chill creeps around the back of her neck, despite the heat. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I want to give things a go properly with Abi. And I want you to take us seriously and stop this jealousy, Bea. I know it’s hard for you, you’ve always been the most important woman in my life. I get that. But I don’t see why Abi can’t be my girlfriend and your friend. We don’t have to bicker over her.’
‘I don’t think it’s the right time for her to be getting into a relationship,’ she says weakly. ‘I thought that if I could help her then it would make everything else okay, somehow.’
‘Not this karma shit again, Bea?’ He sighs. ‘Nothing is going to make up for the past, for what we did. You know that, right?’
Her head is spinning and she leans against the wall of someone’s front garden for support. How can she explain it to him so that he understands? She’s losing control, over him, over their life. She was only trying to help Abi, but instead it’s all been thrown back in her face. She closes her eyes and massages her temples. She needs to think, to figure things out in her head. When she opens her eyes again, Ben is watching her very intently, a guarded expression on his face. Her gaze falls to his Armani shorts, his cherry-red Ralph Lauren polo shirt and finally to the very expensive and brand-new Tom Ford sunglasses that are perched on top of his sandy hair. Even working in IT he doesn’t earn that much money, and she knows that to get through to him she has to hit him below the belt, to where it hurts.
I hold the power, Ben. I could ruin everything for you.
‘Nice sunglasses,’ she says pointedly, and by the blush that creeps up his throat she can tell he understands exactly what she’s implying. He’s always been the clever one, after all. When she offers her arm this time he doesn’t brush her away but takes it and t
hey slowly make their way down the hill towards home, in silence.
Chapter Twelve
The country is in the grip of a heatwave, the likes of which we haven’t seen for seven years apparently, and our days are spent languishing under the trees in Beatrice’s garden, playing tennis or sunbathing in Alexandra Park with the city of Bath spread out like a model village beneath us. We pack picnics, consisting mostly of cigarettes and wine, and sit for hours, chatting until the sun turns into a burnt-orange ball and goes down over the city. Sometimes, usually when Beatrice is working on her jewellery, Ben and I manage to steal off by ourselves to the botanical gardens, where we kiss, hidden by huge flowering shrubs with exotic names. Occasionally we talk about Lucy and I find myself opening up about her, my guilt, and he assures me, as his sister has before him, that it was an accident. When I tell him I can never forgive myself, he stares at me with a faraway look in his eye, as if he’s not seeing me at all but is trapped in a memory of his own. ‘I know how you feel,’ he says eventually, as if snapping out of a trance. He tells me a bit about growing up in Scotland, but when I begin asking him questions about his mum and dad and his grandparents, automatically reverting to journalist mode, he clams up and changes the subject, and I sense that, even after all these years, it’s still painful for him. Will there ever be a time when I will be able to talk about Lucy without that familiar pressure in my chest as if I’m being sat on by a sumo wrestler, without having to fight back tears?
Ben has turned down two contract offers in the past few weeks. ‘I’m not going to work in this heat,’ he says, and it’s as though I’m a student again with no job to go to and no responsibilities, although I know it can’t go on. I’ve eaten into the last of my savings and I can’t keep living off of Beatrice’s generosity.
The Grip Lit Collection Page 9
