A Dark Beginning: A China Dark Novel

by Paula Hawkes

  A couple of days later, on the tube journey home, Philip broke his moribund silence with the announcement that he was taking China on a surprise trip to Italy the next day. They would be taking the evening flight to Turin, and staying in a boutique hotel on the Amalfi coast.

  “But what about my work?”

  “I rang your boss up. He said you deserved a break. Had been working too hard lately.” This in itself, was a shock to China. Maybe her late hours at the office had been noticed a lot more than her long lunches had. Although she did feel slightly peeved that Philip had taken it upon himself to ring her boss to ask for holiday.

  “How am I going to organise everything by tomorrow evening? Philip, this is such short notice.”

  He looked hurt. This obviously wasn’t the reaction he had been hoping for. “I thought you’d like the surprise.” He pouted, puppy-dog eyes looking sadly up at her, and she instantly softened. He was trying to be nice. Once a man had made a decision to be romantic they would rarely let reality cast any doubt upon their brilliant idea until it was far too late. As a woman it was her job to stroke his feelings, be grateful and recover the situation with some much-needed practicalities. Her mind started to think through the logistics of purchasing and packing.

  “It is a lovely surprise,” she said, soothing Philip’s cheek with a soft kiss. “Very romantic.”

  The next day was a whirlwind of thoughts and organizational activity as she set about getting ready for a week in Italy. Luckily she knew where the passports were, unlike Philip, so she retrieved those and placed them on the chest of drawers in the bedroom, along with a stack of old Euros she had saved from previous trips to the continent.

  During her morning at work, whenever she had a spare five minutes, she listed what she needed to take with her. At lunchtime the necessary purchases were made, and in the afternoon she ran through her lists again, and then imagined a ‘typical day’ while away and carefully thought about anything else she might need. Philip had reminded her the night before that Italy was a civilized country, and that so as long as they had passports, credit cards and a few clothes they could get anything else they needed there. Whilst the thought of the Italy trip turning into a clothes-buying spree delighted China, she couldn’t actually identify with the ‘few clothes’ comment. Such a male thing to say. Her biggest planning activity that day was reserved for what clothes to pack, and she Googled the weather for the Amalfi region, studying it closely, but then decided she would only be comfortable if she packed for all meteorological possibilities anyway. Of course, if Philip did want to augment her wardrobe, she wouldn’t put up much of a fight.

  For one brief moment, around lunchtime, she entertained the idea of texting Mark to let him know that her absence would be further extended. Did she owe him an explanation? He should know that her situation would never result in a regular and stable relationship for them. She railed at the undeniable fact that they were in a relationship. One that she wasn’t sure was prematurely over or not. A simple text explaining that her and Philip would be away for a week seemed a common courtesy, and would provide a sub-message reminding Mark of her true allegiances. Then, when she returned she could either pick up where they had left off, as long as Philip had given her the subliminal green light she hoped for, or she could break off that part of her life completely if there was any danger at all of losing her husband. The latter scenario was a sadly real prospect, but she was willing to make the necessary sacrifice for the love of her life. But there was always hope, and China’s newly hungry body was definitely rooting for the former scenario.

  The courteous text was sent.

  Chapter 27

  When she got home early that afternoon Philip reminded her to call her mother before they left for the airport. She sighed, already dreading the conversation. Her mother was not an easy woman to talk to at the best of times, and on the telephone she seemed even more ready to provide opinions on how her daughter’s life was being run in a less than agreeable manner.

  The initial, polite openings were as bland as ever with both of them enquiring after the other’s health and then rather insincerely, on China’s part at least, bemoaning the fact that they didn’t speak more often. China explained about her impending holiday and her mother did her usual nagging act about being careful, packing sensibly and how to behave when representing the family and country abroad. However, China did notice a melancholy undertone in her mother’s voice that she had not heard before. She seemed less confident, less bullying than normal.

  “Are you really ok, mother? You seem a bit down.”

  “Yes, I’m fine, China. You know how it is. I just live in this huge house alone and sometimes it just gets a bit much.”

  This was the first time that China had heard her mother complaining about the house that she had always loved. The one she had lived in with China’s father for most of their married life. Normally her mother wouldn’t let anything slip that might indicate that her life was anything less than idyllic or perfectly arranged.

  “It is a big place, mum.” China’s voice softened. “Maybe you could think about downsizing. You don’t need all that space.”

  There was an uncharacteristic silence on the end of the line, and China became a little worried. “Are you still there, mum?”

  “I love it when you call me ‘mum’. Just like you used to.” Her voice hitched in the middle of this confession. A slight break that was barely detectable. Then she seemed to compose herself. “But I don’t want to live anywhere else. This house is my home. It always will be. Your father wouldn’t want me to move.”

  “Dad would want you to be happy,” China said firmly. She wasn’t used to this sort of conversation with her mother. Normally the discussions were about China’s life, and how it could be improved.

  “I am happy.” But the tone of her mother’s voice did not support this declaration. “It’s only here that I can be happy. Near his things, near our memories.” There was another long and uncomfortable pause before her mother spoke again. “I miss him so much.”

  “Oh mum. So do I. He was the best dad ever.”

  “He was a wonderful father, and I loved him so much for that. I just wish…”

  “What do you wish, mum?” China asked after another hesitation.

  There were tears in her mother’s voice now. “I’m so sorry, China. I shouldn’t be saying this to you. I just wish he could have been as good a husband as he was a father.”

  This statement stunned China. Her immediate reaction was to angrily defend her father, but her mother hadn’t sounded her usual snappish self when making this accusation. She had sounded sad, desperate almost. She wanted China’s support, and China was not sure she could give it. This was her father they were talking about, the rock in her life, through both his life and his death. The memories of him were sacrosanct. Quite apart from that, China had never detected any hint at all that her parents’ marriage been anything less than idyllic.

  “What do you mean, mother?” she asked in a steady voice, after a short delay while she battled to control her raging emotions.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. You’re right. He was a great man.” Her mother’s tone was so despondent that China was unable to be angry with her.

  “Mum?”

  “It’s just that, well, if only I could have been enough for him. That was all I wanted.”

  China could not believe the way this conversation was going. She couldn’t speak as she analysed all the ramifications of that last statement.

  “He was such a personality,” he mother continued. “So, well, so alive. Nothing was ever enough for him. Apart from you. You were the centre of his universe.”

  China’s eyes started to swell and sting and her vision swam. Her breathing came in hitches as she resisted the release her mind craved. She had never heard her mother speak this way about her father. She never normally spoke about anything personal unless it was to make a point of coercing China through g
uilt.

  “I remember when you were born. He held you in his arms in that hospital ward and looked into your beautiful face with a love I envied you for. I don’t blame you, China, I never have. But if I could have received just a fraction of that love…”

  Her mother went quiet, and China was desperately trying not to hear any evidence of tears at the other end of the line. If she heard her mother cry that would be it. Any further conversation would be rendered impossible from that point. And China wanted this conversation to continue. Finally she felt as if a connection was being made. Her normally cold and analytical mother was opening up to her emotionally.

  “When you said you weren’t enough, mum, was it really so terrible that I was also sharing dad’s love?”

  There was a bitter cough of laughter at the other end, not unkind but full of self-pity and regret. “Oh no, love. It wasn’t you, my darling little girl. I may have wanted him to look at me the way he looked at you, with total, unconditional love, but I never blamed him or you for that. You know that’s when he named you. Right then and there in the hospital. He’d only set eyes on you five minutes before, he held you, your body so tiny against his huge chest, he stroked your delicate face with his big strong hands, taking so much care, worried that his calloused hands would be too rough for you, and he said ‘She’s so perfect, Jo. Her skin is so cool and smooth, like the finest china. China. That’s her name.’ There was no room for manoeuvre, and to be honest I wouldn’t have changed that. He was right you see. China was the perfect name for our little doll.”

  China’s cheeks were soaking wet now and she was unable to stop herself snuffling noisily.

  “Don’t cry darling. He loved you right up to the end. And I still love you. You know that don’t you?”

  “But what did you mean then, when you said that you weren’t enough? If it wasn’t me then what was it?” China feared she could guess the answer and she was blocking that thought. She instantly regretted asking the question. She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to hear. But she knew she had to.

  “Oh, China, it was no one in particular. And to be fair, it was never anyone important. At least to him they were never important. I don’t think he ever meant to hurt me, but he just needed more than me. He was a big man with big appetites, and he struggled to control them. One woman was never going to be enough. I always knew, he was never the most subtle of men, you know that.”

  She did know that. Her father was so extrovert, so loud. Happy loud. Life and soul of the party loud. Everyone loved her father. Some a little too much it seemed. Now she thought about it she realised she probably always knew. She could remember that he was an outrageous flirt. She could recall her mother looking on indulgently at her father’s flirtations, with what she thought was a resigned smile on her face. But thinking back, and in light of this revelation, she knew that her mother’s smile would probably have been one of sadness.

  “He was my dad. I thought I knew him. How could he do that to you?” The words were broken but she forced them out anyway. She wanted her mother to know she had her support.

  “He was your father, China. And he loved you, both of us, as much as any man could. But all men are weak. In one way or another they are all weak. It’s our job to decide which weaknesses we are willing to put up with, and which ones we are not. In your father’s case I would have put up with just about anything to be standing beside him. Even as he hurt me more than he ever knew he could, his smile, his hugs, and his love made it all worthwhile. Oh and his laugh. Do you remember his laugh, China?”

  She did, and her tears of grief were now rivers tracking down her face. But she thought of her father’s laugh, an embarrassingly loud, staccato boom that could wake the whole neighbourhood. He was always joking. He even joked as he died. She was sitting there ten years ago when he suddenly stood up from the dining room table, a look of extreme discomfort on his face, he brayed out his usual laugh through the obvious pain and simply stated ‘Ooh, that’s not good!’ as he clutched his chest and fell to the floor.

  Both women were completely unable to converse sensibly at this point and China suspected that her mother had just had the same memory. It took them both a few minutes of noisy snuffling and deep breaths to get themselves under enough control to continue the conversation and after a few more moments of mutual nostalgic misery that was also strangely satisfying and cathartic they both managed to calm down.

  “I’m glad you called, China.”

  “So am I mum.”

  They hung up and China noticed for the first time that Philip was in the room with her. “I’m guessing that didn’t go well, love?”

  China thought about it a moment. “In some ways, maybe not.” But in a very important way it was probably the best conversation she had ever had with her mother. “But we sorted some stuff out. I need to talk to her more often.”

  “Not if you’re going to end up blubbing like that!” Philip’s attempt at levity brought a despondent smile to her face.

  “We talked about dad.”

  Philip put his arm around her shoulder and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

  “You know I never really gave mum the credit she deserved before. I always just thought she was… difficult. But you know what, I think maybe she wasn’t the difficult one. She was the one holding it all together. Making it less difficult for the rest of us.”

  Chapter 28

  The hotel was gorgeous, perched up on the top of a cliff overlooking the Amalfi coast. Their balcony had the most glorious views and a gentle waft of lemons and heady blossom washed in from the trees scattered on the hillside around them. She could see for miles along the coast, pretty little multi-colour villages tumbling haphazardly down to the azure sea, rich green wooded hills and grey cliffs, racing to the lapping waves. Looking down she could see the al fresco hotel restaurant below, and a scattering of other guests’ balconies. The heat was just perfect and a breeze played with her hair as the sun toasted her back. She had to admit that Philip had judged this perfectly. She let out a long breath that she felt she had been holding in for months, releasing a wave of private tension. A week here is just what she needed. She had hardly thought about Mark at all since arriving. As she stood there admiring the magical Italian coastline, there was just a slight moment of sadness, more at her betrayal of her marriage vows than from actually missing her young lover. Although the sex had been so very good, she thought naughtily, and a smile crept across her face.

  Philip called out from the bedroom behind her. “I’m famished. Shall we go down to dinner?”

  She wasn’t hungry at all and was rather hoping that Philip might prefer some other form of satisfaction first, but as this whole break was his idea she wouldn’t begrudge his stomach first priority call.

  “Ok then, just let me change first.”

  “No need,” he said snuggling up behind her. “You look beautiful.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck, bringing her some hope that maybe her carnal needs might just trump his stomach’s. She was wearing a flighty long dress of light linen that let the breeze through in deliciously cooling licks, and wrapped itself closely around her curves in a way she couldn’t help being rather pleased with. Whoever said, if you’ve got it flaunt it, China was beginning to realize that they were right. What was the point of having a few curves if no one was able to admire them. Maybe she wouldn’t change. They were on holiday.

  The dining room of the hotel was a classy affair. Understated, clean, white linen everywhere and lacy material draperies fluttering gently at the open doorways to the terrace.

  “Let’s sit outside,” she pleaded.

  “Of course. Whatever you want.” He kissed her again and they walked out onto the restaurant patio holding hands. The sun had baked this area even more than their room’s balcony so the heat was initially striking, hitting them in the face and making them wince, but as they selected a table under a vast blue umbrella near the railings, the breeze once again ca
ught up with them and made the whole atmosphere delightfully bearable. The menu was perfect, a selection of pastas and sauces, China’s favourite kind of food, and a good selection of meat and fish dishes for those preferring to keep away from the carbohydrates. China selected a simple Carbonara that she suspected would be different to any she’d tasted back in England, while Philip went for pork medallions in a light, white wine sauce. Philip then dutifully took over the wine selection and they ended up with a crisp white Pinot Grigio that suited the food so well.

  That first afternoon was like a beautiful dream for China. Everything was so right, exactly how she imagined the perfect Italian holiday would be, great food and wine, sun and breeze, views to die for and making slow, tender love on crisp, clean sheets in the shade of their room. They didn’t go downstairs for dinner that evening as they had dozed off after their lovemaking, both drifting in and out of consciousness as the sun dipped below the horizon in an impressive farewell serenade of reds and umbers. They only really woke up late in the evening in order to pull the covers up over their bodies and then settle into a blissful spooning cuddle. The stars sparkled over the Mediterranean in competition with the scattered villages lit up along the coast, as they fell asleep again in love’s embrace.

  Because they had fallen asleep so early the night before, they both woke up just before the sun came up. There was an almost instant transition from the dark blues of pre-dawn to glorious sunshine and azure blues and they were both up and dressed and sitting on the balcony reading the room service offerings before anyone else could be heard moving about.