by Lulu Taylor
‘No, it’s fine.’ Olivia thinks for a moment. ‘I suppose it’s like having adopted children, but more intense. First, I know that they have a big bit of Dan in their make-up – how much is yet to be revealed. And second, I grew them inside me and gave birth to them, so they feel like mine. I mean, really and entirely mine. The hair colour and . . .’ She suddenly remembers Andrew’s comments about Bea’s eyes and it shakes her, although she’s not quite sure why. ‘Well, all that doesn’t really seem to matter,’ she finishes a bit lamely. ‘So it’s all good. And how are you?’
Claire talks a little about her life since the divorce from Jimmy and the problems she’s had with her oldest child and the strain of moving to a smaller house in a less convenient position, while Jimmy has moved into his new wife’s ex-marital home in a very smart area of Islington. ‘It sticks in the craw somewhat,’ Claire says. ‘His midlife crisis rewarded him with a younger wife, a nicer house, more money and only having the kids every other weekend, which is exactly how he liked it when he actually lived with us.’
‘I’m sure he misses them,’ Olivia says.
‘Maybe.’ Claire shrugs. ‘So, what have I missed with the gossip? How is everyone? How is Cheska?’
‘Cheska . . . well . . .’ Olivia wonders where to start. A couple of months ago she would have said, ‘It’s all just the same – Cheska is one of our best friends.’ But now she doesn’t know quite how to answer. She tries to explain a little about the new arrangement and how it came about, realising as she does how strange it sounds.
Claire holds up a hand. ‘Wait, hold on. Are you telling me that Cheska is now living with you and Dan and the children? In her house?’
‘Not exactly living. Staying.’
‘How long so far?’
‘I don’t know – three weeks or so? Maybe four.’
‘And is she planning to leave any time soon? I mean, she still has a home in Geneva, right?’
‘I don’t really know when she’s going. She told Dan soon, apparently. But builders have just arrived at the house, so she might be with us a bit longer.’ She leans in towards Claire. ‘If I’m honest, that’s partly why I got in touch. I’m finding it all a bit weird. And I can’t help wondering why she wants to muscle in like this. She’s always been a bit of a mystery to me, and I thought you might be able to tell me a bit more about her.’
To her surprise, Claire starts to laugh, almost guffawing.
‘What is it?’ Olivia asks. ‘What’s so funny?’ She frowns, a little hurt that she has been the source of such amusement. ‘Claire . . . what’s so funny?’
‘I’m sorry! It’s not funny at all. In fact, it’s tragic. It’s just—’ Claire struggles for breath. ‘It’s just that after all these years, Cheska’s dream is finally coming true.’
‘What dream?’
‘You must know!’
‘No. About what?’
‘About how she feels about Dan! I wondered if it had faded away over the years – I mean, she seemed relatively normal for ages – but obviously not. Hasn’t he told you?’
‘Well . . .’ A nasty sick feeling is growing in the pit of her stomach. ‘He said that she might have had a crush on him at some point in the past. At university. But I got the impression that it hadn’t lasted beyond then.’
Claire rolls her eyes. ‘Well, I never said anything because it didn’t seem right just to bring it up apropos of nothing at all. You and she seemed so close as well, so either you knew, or it wasn’t appropriate to mention it. Francesca did not just have a crush on Dan. She was obsessed by him. Obsessed! Well, you know that Dan was a bit of a babe magnet. He had girls after him all the time, he could take his pick at college. Jimmy and I used to laugh about it. He’d go to a party and look at a girl, and boom, she was his for the night. He literally didn’t have to try at all. Of course he was handsome but it didn’t hurt that he was also clever and funny and well read and all the rest of it. And then there was Francesca, who was such a timid little thing at first, in the same year, the same college, reading the same subject as Dan, and they were supervision partners.’
‘Yes, she said that.’ Olivia remembers Cheska talking about it, laughing about how she could never understand a word of Dan’s essays.
‘So they were friends and Dan obviously liked her. But not like that. At least . . .’ Claire frowns and trails off.
‘What?’ Olivia asks, almost fearful.
Claire looks pensive. ‘He . . . he was really fond of her. Almost protective at times. Because when she arrived, she was a bit of an outsider. Shy. Dressed incredibly tartily at first, in very silly high heels and tight skirts when everyone else was wearing Converse and jeans, but then acted like a maiden aunt half the time. She was odd.’ Claire is evidently thinking back, remembering. ‘She was clever, though, and quirky, and a bit different, and seemed to be going places. Dan liked that. And he used her shamelessly, getting her to do half his work for him. I suspect he rather liked her puppyish adoration, the way she followed him around, obeying his orders. Once he bet Jimmy he could get her to go all the way to the cafe at the end of town to fetch him a particular kind of bun. Cinnamon or something. And she did. All the way there and back, to get Dan what he wanted. He could be a bit unkind.’ Claire laughs suddenly. ‘I remember seeing her trailing from library to library, trying to find him so she could sit and study with him. And at a party, she’d have her eyes glued to him, watching him work the room and pick up whoever he fancied. You could almost feel her agony. Poor thing, I did feel sorry for her. I don’t even know if she realised how obvious it was.’
Olivia takes it all in, the picture she has had of Dan and Francesca’s friendship resolving into something new and different. Perhaps she has always sensed that there was something like this below the surface, because she isn’t surprised. It makes things fall into place, even while it raises new questions.
Claire says, ‘Jimmy always thought that Cheska didn’t get the First she was predicted because she spent so much time mooning over Dan. She was supposed to become a hot-shot lawyer, but that never happened either.’ Claire shrugs. ‘I don’t think that was anything to do with Dan, though.’
Olivia says slowly, ‘So Dan just . . . accepted her adoration, did he?’
‘I think so. I don’t really know, Olivia. I got the impression something happened between them – some kind of showdown. There was a scene at the May Ball, the last one we all went to together. Francesca and Dan went off alone for a very long time, from before midnight, and we didn’t see them again until almost dawn. It looked like Francesca had been crying, but she was also happy and Dan had his arm around her. I wondered if they’d got together, but Jimmy was certain they hadn’t. He said Dan just didn’t fancy her. But . . .’ Claire’s expression becomes dreamy, remembering. Olivia can tell that she is seeing them all again, as they were years ago: young and dressed up in their ball gear, the future ahead of them, long before midlife crises and messy divorces and the pain of breaking up. ‘She did look lovely that night.’
‘Cheska?’
‘Yes. She looked so pretty, I remember it. I think I have a photo of us all, on our way to the ball. I remember scanning it in to Facebook. If Dan was ever going to fancy her, it would have been that night.’
Olivia feels something cold in her chest, like a stone. All this is almost too much to take in. She feels torn between anger that she’s never known the truth, and pity for Cheska’s thwarted passion. She knows in her heart that Cheska is no threat. Dan doesn’t love her, she’s sure of it. So why does she have some kind of hold over him? I can sense it. The way her hand was on his leg, it was like she knew she could do that and he couldn’t say no.
It didn’t square with the picture of them at university: Cheska his faithful lapdog, him the swaggering Casanova, deciding whether or not to slake her passion.
She feels Claire’s hand on hers and looks up into her sympathetic eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Olivia, I didn’t mean to upset you.�
� She looks remorseful. ‘Cheska’s nuts. She should have put it all behind her years ago. I can’t believe she’s still crazy about him after all this time.’
‘You haven’t upset me. Really. I didn’t know, but it’s not a shock. I know very well what Dan was like. Don’t forget, I was almost put off by his arrogance.’
‘I’m glad you weren’t. I meant what I said, that stuff I wrote in your hen party book. He’s been a better person since he met you. Honestly he has.’
She manages a smile. I’m not so sure. Maybe he’s just learned to act better. ‘Thank you.’ Then she says, ‘Do you know anything about her marriage to Walt? How that came about?’
Claire shakes her head. ‘Not really. Only that it was sudden. Not long after we left university. She met him and almost immediately she got engaged. But if I’m honest, I don’t think she ever stopped loving Dan, even though she pretended that was all in the past. I mean, we all just let it go and accepted that Cheska now loved Walt and her feelings for Dan had mellowed into friendship. Dan got together with you, and Cheska seemed fine with it.’ Claire’s expression changes swiftly, and she frowns.
‘What?’ presses Olivia. ‘What is it?’
‘Well, I just remembered your hen party. I caught an expression on Cheska’s face when she was reading your book. It was . . . pain. I wondered if she had a headache or something. But now . . .’ Claire looks over at her, her expression grave. ‘Maybe her passion for Dan has never changed after all. If I were you, I’d get her out of the house. Or get yourselves out. But get away from her somehow. It’s just not healthy.’
‘No. You’re right.’ She realises that at this very moment, Francesca and Dan are at home together, with the children. Just the four of them. Without her. She has an overpowering need to be there, right now. Putting down her cup, she stands up, breathless. ‘I’m sorry, Claire, I have to go. I’ve got to get my train. I need to go at once.’
Claire looks at her knowingly. ‘Yes, you should. Take care, Olivia. I’ll see you before too long, I hope.’
On the train home, Olivia cannot quell her feeling of anxiety. There is no more reason to be afraid now than there was this morning, she tells herself, and she was perfectly happy going off then.
She checks her phone but there is still no message from Dan. She phones him on his mobile but he doesn’t pick up and she doesn’t want to call the landline, just in case Francesca picks up. Instead she leaves a message on his phone.
‘Hi, honey. I’m on my way home. I hope you had a good day and all is well with the twins. I’ll be at the station at around five-ish, if you want to pick me up. I’ll text the exact time when I’ve checked it. See you later, bye.’ She rings off, wishing he had answered. The ability to communicate all the time is wonderful except when there is unexpected silence. What if something has happened to the twins and he is at the hospital with them, unable to check his phone? What if there has been a fire, and they are all lying in the ashes, the phone melted?
For goodness’ sake, Olivia, calm down, you’re being stupid. Everything is all right. In a couple of hours you’ll be home and you can talk about everything with Dan.
She sits back in her seat and takes a few deep breaths, grateful that there is no one in the seat beside her and she can enjoy some privacy. The trolley comes past, pushed by a steward, and she buys a small bottle of white wine and a packet of peanuts. She wouldn’t usually drink on the train in the afternoon but she feels the need to take the edge off her anxiety, so she pours out the drink, and opens the nuts. The wine is warm and bitter and she abandons it after just a sip or two, but she manages to eat the nuts, flicking through the day’s news on her phone. Then a text pops up and she rushes to read it. It’s from Claire.
Hi, Olivia. Lovely to see you today. Made me realise how long it’s been. Let’s keep in touch, I’ve missed you. Don’t worry about Cheska, she’s not all bad. By the way, take a look on Facebook, that picture is in my photos. I’ve sent you a friend request. Love Claire x
Olivia goes to Facebook and sees Claire’s friend request. She accepts it and at once is able to access Claire’s page and all her information. There are her photos, and she scrolls down through them until she sees the one she wants.
There they all are, familiar from photographs in Dan’s collection, standing in front of a college, dressed in their finery. It must be early in the evening as they all look well turned out and sober. She spots Claire in a bright red dress with matching lipstick, her hair up in a haphazard style.
Ouch. That’s a bit nineties.
Then she spots Francesca, and remembers how Claire said she had looked really pretty that night. She wasn’t wrong. She looks lovely. There’s something timeless about her style: innocent and sweet, with a vintage charm. She’s always thought of Francesca as polished and well turned out rather than attractive, but in this photo she looks rather adorable. She certainly stands out. And there, at the other end of the group, is Dan, unmistakable with his rakish good looks, his hair still plentiful and dark, his eyes intense as they stare out of the picture as though he knows he looks good in black tie and rather fancies himself as a pin-up.
Olivia studies the faces that stare out of the photograph, so familiar and yet so changed.
What went on between you that night? she wonders. Dan and Cheska stand so separate but by the end of the evening he had his arm around her. And she’d been crying. If Claire remembered it right.
She frowns. But I know Dan. I know there hasn’t been anything between them. I’m sure he would have told me.
But, she reminds herself, she thought she knew Cheska too, and now she’s beginning to doubt that. At once, she wants to scold herself for making the comparison.
Dan is my husband. I know him. I trust him. I know how his brain works.
Or . . .
Do I?
He never told her about Cheska’s crush. He never breathed a word until she pushed at it and made him tell her. And then . . . She thinks back to the other thing about him that’s always puzzled her, and the time she privately called the Dark Night of the Donor, when they argued and argued and she realised to her horror that he wasn’t going to give in. Then, suddenly, he did give in. But she never knew why. What changed?
Olivia leans her head back against the train seat. They are flying along, the afternoon chalky blue sky outside like something from a Regency colour chart, and she is keen to get home. There is still no word from Dan, and she wishes he would get in touch. Another call to his phone brings his voice up on the answer machine but she can’t bear to leave another message. He’ll see the missed calls and know that she wants to reach him.
She can’t understand why he hasn’t been in touch all day. That’s unusual. But she tries to put it out of her mind as the train brings her closer to home with every minute that passes. Instead, she thinks about the children. Later, when she’s home and they’re in bed, she will tiptoe into their rooms and kiss their sleeping faces, inhale their soft sweet scent and feel herself restored by the balm of their presence.
That’s what she longs for more than anything else.
She urges the train onwards.
Home, home, home . . .
Chapter Twenty-Nine
May Ball, Cambridge, 1995
Francesca is excited. Her ball dress is exactly what she wanted: an emerald-green shantung silk, strapless, with a tiny tight waist and falling gently to her mid-calf. Underneath is a light underskirt and a layer of netting, just enough to swell the skirt out a little bit. The mid-calf length gives it a sixties look, which she has enhanced with a pair of shoes she found in a vintage clothing shop; with bright pink satin, long pointed toes and kitten heels, they are the real thing. Around her neck is a string of pearls – not real but looking very like it. Her hair, which is shoulder-length, has been teased up into an Audrey Hepburn beehive, around which she’s tied another string of pearls, and her black cats-flick eyeliner, mascara’d lashes and pale lips complete the look.
She tw
irls in front of the mirror. She looks elegant, kittenish, pretty and sexy. Exactly as she wanted. Standing in front of her reflection, she takes a deep breath. Tonight is the night. She’s going to do her level best. After all, she’s spent three years watching Dan getting off with other girls. Now their exams are finished, and Cambridge will soon be over too. They’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks. There is no saying when she will ever get another chance.
‘This is my night,’ she tells her reflection firmly. She is certain this is the best she has ever looked, and it feels as though all her years at Cambridge have been leading towards this point. She remembers how she arrived here, with the wrong clothes and the wrong accent, with no friends and no idea of anything except that she desperately longed to fit in with the gilded crowd – the clever, sophisticated ones from their private schools, with their confidence and drawling witticisms.
And now here she is: she knows how to dress and make a joke and smoke a cigarette and pop a champagne cork. She is about to meet her friends – a group of the university’s brightest, best looking and funniest – and they will spend the evening drinking and dancing, celebrating the end of their university days and the beginning of the rest of their lives.
Francesca snatches up her wrap, slips her room keys, ball ticket and some money into her evening bag and hurries out to meet the others.
There are drinks first, in a pub near the college. The streets are thronging with ball-goers; the townspeople ignore them but the tourists are enraptured by the spectacle, taking photographs of the students in their finery. There are newspaper photographers out too, looking for the best-looking girls to snap for the tabloids, to show their readers how the posh kids spend an average Saturday night.
Jimmy, who has family money, buys two bottles of champagne and they drink them outside to warm up for the evening ahead, smoking cigarettes and talking.
