Michael talked enough for both of them, keeping the conversation deliberately light, as if in compensation for the trauma of their first course – Jasper’s exploits (the dog he still took out); his eccentric next-door neighbour, who wore a ginger toupee; a recent little triumph in a golfing competition.
Tessa saw her chance. ‘Yes, you work at the golf club, don’t you? What’s your actual job there?’
‘I’m the assistant secretary, which means checking members’ records, keeping track of all the competition results, organizing the social events, answering the mail – anything and everything.’
‘Do you know a Dr Reynolds?’ she asked casually. ‘Dr Alan Reynolds – a GP? He’s a member of High Pines.’
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘I know Alan pretty well. Eileen and his wife were close, so … Good Lord! Is that the time – twenty-five to three? We’d better get our skates on, if we’re going to have that walk. Have you finished your tea?’
She nodded, annoyed that he’d digressed from Dr Reynolds. But once they were out walking, she could always steer him back again, ask a few more questions, move from Dr Reynolds to his partner, Dr Edwards. It was becoming clearer by the moment that Michael Chalmers was part of her whole destiny. It wasn’t just coincidence that he knew Alan Reynolds well.
‘You’ll need a coat, and boots, Tessa. What size shoes d’you take?’
‘Sevens,’ she admitted, grimacing at her feet and wishing, as always, that they were dainty and petite.
‘I take seven and a half, so with two thick pairs of socks, my wellingtons should fit you. And you can borrow my brown golfing jacket. It’s got a nice thick furry lining and a hood. And how about another sweater, to cover up that gap?’
She felt warmer already, basking in his kindness. She followed him into the hall, stopping abruptly as she caught sight of the phone. ‘Oh God!’ she exclaimed. ‘I haven’t rung my mother to tell her where I am. She’ll be going round the bend.’
‘But I thought you said …’
Tessa struggled to remember what she had said; could recall nothing but a splitting headache, and legs too weak and groggy to take her to the phone. ‘I wasn’t feeling up to it earlier on. Do you mind if I try now?’
‘No, go ahead. I’ll pop upstairs and sort you out a jersey, then you can make the call in private.’
Private! Tessa winced at April’s voice – a blast of rancour and reproach exploding down the phone with such volume and sheer vehemence she was certain half the street could hear.
‘Where in God’s name have you been, Tessa? I was about to ring the police. I’ve been going almost spare – didn’t get a wink of sleep, pacing up and down all night, imagining you raped or murdered or cut up into bits. I kept turning on the news, listening out for accidents or bomb scares, wondering how the hell we’d cope if you’d lost your legs or something. You promised you’d be back at half past one. You must have known I’d worry. Couldn’t you at least have picked up the phone or …?’
Tessa tried to interrupt, but her mother was in full flood, blaming ‘that bloody cretin Michael’, saying if she ever met the swine, she’d tell him exactly what she thought of him – how he’d changed her lovely daughter from a hard-working and considerate girl to a selfish slob who never spared a thought for …
‘Look, Mum, I’m really sorry – honestly I am.’ She kept one eye on the stairs, watching out for Michael; shuddered at the thought of trying to explain to him who the ‘bloody cretin’ was who shared his name. Or perhaps she should explain …
She was so startled by this new idea, she hardly heard her mother ranting on. It had only dawned on her this minute that she actually had a ready-made solution – a man called Michael, whom she could introduce at home. Of course, she’d have to fill him in first, confess the whole dilemma, and then beg his help, connivance. He was miles too old to be accepted as her boyfriend, but, looking on the plus side, he was white, English, law-abiding, well-mannered and well-spoken, with a safe and steady job – which, compared with all the horrors bristling in her mother’s mind, would make him very nearly Mr Right. And he wasn’t even married. Widowed was a different thing entirely. April might well sympathize, since she’d been widowed herself, in a sense.
‘Listen, Mum …’ She swallowed, cupped her hand round the mouthpiece to muffle any sound, though her voice had already stumbled to a halt. The idea was still a risky one, which could land her in a worse mess if she didn’t think it through, and put Michael in a spot as well. Yet if he was going to be important in her life, as catalyst, intermediary, the man who led her on to Michael Edwards, then wouldn’t it be easier if April got to know him? She couldn’t keep on lying to her mother, dreaming up excuses as to where she was, and why.
She switched the receiver to her other hand, put a new determination in her voice. ‘Mum, you’ve hardly let me get a word in edgeways, and there’s something that I …’ She broke off in mid-sentence, hearing Michael coming down. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. No, it isn’t Michael – someone else. I can’t explain. We’re late. Yes, I’ll be back this evening – promise. And Mum …’
‘What?’
‘Happy New Year.’
She was frowning as she put the phone down, distressed by April’s anger and her own audacious plan. There were so many complications, so much that could go wrong.
‘Everything all right?’ asked Michael, noticing the frown.
She nodded, chewed her thumb.
‘Your mother wasn’t too upset?’
‘No,’ she lied. ‘She understood.’
‘D’you live with your parents?’ He handed her a sweater – what looked like a brand new one in cosy Shetland wool.
‘With my mother, yes.’ She said nothing about her father, though if she did introduce Michael as her boyfriend, she would have to make things clear, acquaint him with the facts about her parents’ lives, her own life.
‘And what sort of work do you do?’
She was beginning to feel harried by his questions; muttered something about having been unwell the last few months.
The responsive hazel eyes instantly signalled their dismay. ‘But I can’t drag you out into two foot of snow if you’re ill, or convalescing! We’d better stay here, in the warm.’
‘No, honestly, I’m over it now. And I’m really looking forward to our walk.’
‘Okay, but do wrap up really well.’ He delved into the cupboard, produced a pair of wellingtons, a mohair scarf and some thick red woolly gloves.
‘I’m all set for the North Pole!’ she grinned, pulling on the heavy rubber boots.
‘Well, you can’t be too careful if you’ve been off-colour or run down. I always used to say to Eileen …’
The phone cut through his voice. She retreated to the kitchen, to grant him the same privacy he’d kindly given her; though he was back in just two minutes.
‘That was a dear friend of mine, inviting me for tea. I told him I had company already. People are so good, you know – always ringing up to see if I’m all right, or asking me round for meals, or dropping in at weekends, to make sure I’m not too lonely. It’s funny, though,’ he added, almost talking to himself now, ‘it seems to make it worse, in a way, as if it’s rubbing in the fact that I’m alone. I don’t actually think that anyone can ever understand, unless they’ve been through a bereavement themselves.’
‘I understand,’ she whispered, daring to meet his eyes. She watched them flood with gratitude, his face flush in confusion.
‘Yes,’ he murmured shyly, passing her the gloves, his hand lingering slightly longer than it needed. ‘I think you really do.’
‘Sit, Jasper!’ Tessa ordered, thrilled when he obeyed; his dark eyes fixed on hers, the white ears pricked to hear her next command.
‘Okay, fetch!’ She hurled the stick and raced after it herself; Jasper trying to beat her, the two pouncing on it together in a flurry of legs and snow.
Michael panted to keep up, laughing as he saw them wrestling f
or the stick. ‘He’ll expect this every week now. I can see I’ll have to get in training! All I usually manage is a sedate stroll round the pond, not this sort of marathon.’
‘I’m surprised he can run so fast, when he’s only got short legs.’ Tessa flung the stick again, watched Jasper streaking after it.
‘Four, though, to our two.’
‘When I was a kid, I always wanted a Dalmatian – or a hundred and one Dalmatians, if we’d only had the room for them. Imagine – four hundred and four legs!’
Michael laughed again, an easy, friendly laugh. He seemed much more relaxed since he’d left the house behind, as if he’d escaped from all the memories of Eileen’s tragic illness; from the cold black hand of death. ‘How come you never had a dog at all – a smaller breed, at least?’
‘My mother was always working, so it wouldn’t really … Jasper, look at you, you tramp!’ Tessa knelt down in the snow to remove a trailing bramble from his coat; put her arms round him on impulse and kissed him on the muzzle. The dog had taken to her from the moment they first met; his stubby tail wagging almost off; his eyes intrigued and trusting; no flicker of suspicion or alarm. Rare to be accepted, when she’d become so used to hostility, or out-and-out rejection. And it was equally unusual to be enjoying so much company – not just fellow dog-walkers whom Michael knew already, but even total strangers who would stop to fondle Jasper or exchange comments on the weather. They’d got chatting to a poodle-owner, and a stout arthritic woman with her stout arthritic Airedale; then cheered up an au pair girl, battling with three boisterous boys and an unruly Irish setter.
Everything conspired to make people less restrained – the sun, the snow, the holiday, the antics of the dogs, as they romped and frisked and slithered in the snow. Only now did she realize how alone she’d been – living in a sort of purdah, shunning any social life. But this afternoon she’d blossomed in her new-found family, becoming not only Jasper’s mother, but also a child again herself. She had forgotten the simple pleasure of playing ball and tag, running for the sheer hell of it, scrunching through untrodden snow – snow which looked like a clean white page, inviting her to write on it. She found a pointed stick, used it as her pencil. ‘TESSA’, ‘JASPER’, ‘MICHAEL’, she wrote, then traced a second ‘MICHAEL’ underneath – a larger, more triumphant one, a symbol of new hope.
Jasper seemed tireless, was prancing round in circles now, echoing her own exhilaration. Those printed letters in the snow would melt to watery slush, but the letters in her mind would last for ever – ‘MICHAEL’ engraved in bronze, in beaten gold.
‘Shall we feed the ducks?’ she suggested, keen to prolong the childish treats. Just as they were leaving the house, Michael had gone back to the kitchen to hack off a chunk of bread, which he’d wrapped in a paper bag and stuffed in his coat pocket. All his pockets were bulging – Bonios for Jasper, a chocolate bar for her, the ball, a rubber bone. Her father Dave kept nothing in his pockets; wouldn’t dream of spoiling the line of his expensive city suits.
‘Yes, let’s,’ said Michael, patting his pocket to check the bread was there still. ‘I always like to bring them something, especially at this time of year when the poor creatures are half-starved. We’ll go back by the boating pond.’ He pointed to the right-hand path, swinging Jasper’s lead in rhythm with his step.
Tessa pounded on ahead again, Jasper in pursuit, then doubled back to Michael so he wouldn’t feel left out. Once they reached the pond, they joined a motley group of humans, dogs and wildlife – the snow blazoned with their traces: footsteps, pawprints, pram-tyre marks, and the tracks of every sort of bird from swan to coot to sparrow.
‘Won’t Jasper chase the ducks?’ she asked.
‘Oh, no. He’s too well-trained. He’s a show-dog, remember, so he’s had to learn to behave in the ring – not attack the other entrants, or bite the judge.’ He walked down to the water’s edge, passed the bread to Tessa. ‘Leave!’ he ordered Jasper, who was already eyeing a large mallard with quivering curiosity. ‘Sit! Stay!’
Jasper obeyed instantly, but sat there looking like a rocket ready to explode, primed to leap up from his haunches the very second he received the next command. The temptations were severe – a squawk and squall of water-birds were threshing all around him; new arrivals swooping in, landing on the pond with a cascade of spray; webbed feet splaying out as they hit the surface of the water. Coots, ducks, moorhens, gulls tussled with each other over every smallest scrap; one drake almost choking as he gulped his down too fast. Tessa threw some more, fascinated by the different shades of white – the bread, the swans, the gulls, the dog – and all the variations in the snow, from blinding white to dirty sludgy-grey, and a glistening golden white where it sparkled in the sun. It was years since she’d fed ducks. Her mother had always been too busy to fit in outings to the park; hated walking anyway – which was hardly any wonder when she usually attempted it in flimsy high-heeled shoes and skin-tight skirt.
She started chewing absent-mindedly on a crusty piece of bread, still upset about her mother. If she did bring Michael home to meet her, maybe that would help. Or make things even worse. Could April accept an age-gap of close on thirty years?
‘Hungry?’ Michael asked.
She shook her head, then nodded. ‘Well, yes, I am a bit. It seems awful, after all that lunch, and a whole bar of Toffee Crisp.’
‘Lunch was only sandwiches, and you’ve been going like a steam-engine since then! Let’s treat ourselves to tea. There’s this rather special tea-shop just round the corner from Hampton Court Bridge, which does home-made cakes and wonderful hot chocolate with frothy cream on top. We’ll take the car, to save the long trudge back.’
‘Oh, yes!’ she said. ‘I’d love tea out.’ She didn’t want the day to end, or dusk to fall, and darkness threaten again; wished it could be summer – eternal childhood summer with frothy cream on top. She turned back to the water, threw the last small knob of bread. ‘Jasper’s just amazing! He’s hardly moved a muscle, yet he’s itching to dive in and scare the living daylights out of a duck.’
Michael bent down to fondle the white ears, his expression one of pride and deep affection. ‘They’re a marvellous breed, you know, exceptionally intelligent.’
Tessa let her hand brush his, as she ran it slowly from Jasper’s head, along his wiry back and up his jaunty tail. ‘I feel quite ashamed that I’d never even heard of them.’
‘Well, their history goes back donkeys’ years. They were used on the Spanish Armada – or so Eileen’s dog-book says – to catch rats on the ships.’
She recalled the rat in the waiting-room, the one she’d wished a happy new year. With any luck, her new year would be happy, too, now that she’d met Michael – Michael I. Chalmers. ‘What’s the ‘‘I’’ for?’ she enquired.
Michael looked completely baffled. ‘What eye? What d’you mean …?’
‘The ‘‘I’’ in your initials – M.I.C.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He made a face. ‘It’s ‘‘I’’ for Ivor. I loathe the name. My mother called me after Ivor Novello – one of her great heroes. I fear I proved a dreadful disappointment, though. I can’t even sing in tune!’
‘I suppose we’re all a disappointment to our mothers.’
‘Yes,’ said Michael sadly, as they set off towards the Teddington gate, where they’d left the car in a quiet cul-de-sac outside the park.
All except Michael the Archangel, Tessa didn’t say. She could see her lover in her mind, much clearer than he’d been for months – the burnt-almond eyes, obstreperous hair, hair damp from the May Morning rain. He was chatting to her in the car, as they hurtled through the countryside, to Woodstock and their steak-and-strawberry breakfast.
‘My mother named me after the conqueror of Satan, and I’ve always felt I couldn’t let her down.’
‘And have you?’ she had asked.
‘In my mother’s eyes I can’t do any wrong.’
The picture was already fading; another Michael t
aking over – blue eyes caged in glasses; straight hair lying flat; the voice itself quite different – less arrogant and dramatic.
‘Michael …’ she began, feeling totally bewildered. Two Michaels, but both lost now; both dissolving like a mirage; nothing in her mind except emptiness and longing.
She stumbled, almost fell. Michael Chalmers grabbed her by the jacket to stop her keeling over; linked his arm through hers so that she wouldn’t trip again. She stared at him, half-dazed, hungry for some reassurance, some sense of safety, certainty. Yes, his face was real enough – not crumbling like the other two – a man of flesh and bone and blood; a Michael she could touch. Thank heavens he had come, and was actually physically supporting her. That was surely appropriate, because with him as prop and mainstay, she too would be a conqueror, rejoin her conquering archangel.
‘I’m afraid I’ve overtired you.’ He was frowning in concern, deliberately slowing his pace.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m better now. I just came over dizzy for a second.’
‘It’s my fault, Tessa. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you out.’
‘Of course you didn’t drag me,’ she insisted, determined to dispel the guilt now clouding his whole face. ‘And I’ve really loved the walk. It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed myself for weeks.’ She could feel hope growing like a tiny seed embedded in dark earth, about to sprout and shoot, burst out and touch the sky.
Michael, too, was heartened, still drinking in her words; obviously delighted to be the source of her enjoyment. She allowed herself to lean on him; liked the way he held her arm with something close to tenderness, as if the arm were an injured creature which needed cosseting. Yet she was aware that he was embarrassed by the contact, even slightly shocked that it had happened in the first place. It seemed to overwhelm him, put paid to conversation, and they continued tramping through the snow in a tense, self-conscious silence, though closer than they’d been before – closer in all ways. Jasper filled the silence for them, barking into rabbit-holes, growling at a Doberman, whining in excitement when he glimpsed a squirrel or ferreted out some luscious doggy smell.
Michael, Michael Page 35
