by Rosie Fiore
‘Why are you being so vile?’
‘Why are you being such a left-wing pussy?’
Esther looked at Isabella, whose face was twisted into a snarl. She didn’t understand what had just happened.
‘Listen, just go, okay?’ Isabella said. ‘You make me sick. Just go. And don’t come back. I don’t want to see you.’
‘Isabella…’
‘Go. Fuck off with your lefty principles and your soft-on-crime stance. Just go.’
And Isabella turned her face to the window and refused to look at Esther at all.
Esther sat there for a moment, then carefully folded the newspaper, put it in her bag and walked out of the room. She walked down the long, white corridor that formed the spine of Isabella’s beautiful home. It had a skylight that flooded the whole house with light. She found Sally in the kitchen, her hair mussed from sleep, painstakingly putting pills into little plastic containers.
‘I heard shouting,’ said Sally, without looking up.
‘I’m so sorry we woke you. She picked a fight with me about gun control,’ said Esther, bewildered. ‘She came out with a tirade of right-wing, pro-gun views I didn’t know she held.’
‘And then she told you to go away and not come back.’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s done it to everyone who’s come in the last few days. Everyone important. Our mum, even.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I think she wants people to stop coming. I think it’s too hard for her.’
‘Physically?’
‘No. That’s not it.’
‘She doesn’t know how to say goodbye,’ said Esther, realizing.
‘She’s never been good at the soppy stuff. She’s always said so.’
‘She’s been doing it to everyone?’
‘Pretty much. Everyone she really loves. She lets the odd random person in and doesn’t yell at them. No rhyme or reason, really. She’s just dismissing people, it seems.’
‘Except you.’
‘Oh, she tells me to go away all the time. But she knows I have the drugs, so she doesn’t really mean it.’
‘Should I keep coming?’
‘You can try, but she sent Mum away this morning without seeing her. I can’t promise she’ll let you in. She’s making her choices. We have to respect them.’
‘I suppose we do,’ said Esther, not sure whether she wanted to cry or be sick. ‘I just don’t want the last time I see her to be… her telling me to fuck off.’
‘I know. But it’s Isabella. She’s always told people to F off. Even when she wasn’t dying.’
It wasn’t the last time Esther saw her. She visited later the same week, but Isabella refused to see her. Then she returned the following week, and Isabella let her in, grudgingly. She dozed for 90 per cent of the time Esther was there. When Esther was certain Isabella was asleep, she stood up quietly to go. Isabella opened her eyes. ‘This is the last time, old friend,’ she whispered. ‘For me. Don’t come back. Please.’
Esther nodded. She didn’t kiss or touch her. She walked out without looking back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The weekend after Esther and Lucie’s visit to Sally’s new house, Lucie went to stay with Stephen and Melissa. For the first time in weeks, or even months, the stress in Esther’s life seemed to have abated slightly. She was experiencing a temporary lull at work – the short-term arrangements had all been made, and it was a case of waiting for the changes to take effect. Those who were leaving had yet to leave, but the plans were in place for them to do so, and while new timetables had been drawn up, they had not yet been put into practice.
Esther and Michael went out for a peaceful dinner at a local restaurant on the Friday evening, and Michael proposed a lie-in on the Saturday morning.
‘But there’s housework to do,’ Esther protested, unenthusiastically.
‘Indeed there is,’ said Michael. ‘And it’ll still be there at lunchtime, when we get up. Come on. We haven’t had a lazy morning in bed in forever.’
It did sound appealing – dozy lovemaking, maybe a little desultory reading, and an indulgent mid-morning nap. ‘Well, if I must. Of course, I’d much rather be hoovering. But for you, I’ll make the sacrifice.’
‘Thank you, my love,’ said Michael, taking her hand. ‘You’re so selfless.’
Knowing they’d be having a lazy morning, they stayed up late, sharing a couple of bottles of wine when they got home and talking until the early hours. When Esther’s mobile rang at 6 a.m., she was so deeply asleep that it took thirty seconds or so for her to isolate the ringtone from her dreams. When she finally jerked awake, she sat up abruptly, her heart pounding, and grabbed the phone. She could see Lucie’s number on the caller display. As she fumbled to answer it, the call cut out and her phone must have gone to voicemail. Why would Lucie be ringing at six in the morning? Something terrible must have gone wrong. She tried to ring back, but Lucie’s phone went to voicemail too – she must be leaving a message. She was too worried to wait and listen to the message, so she just kept hitting redial. Blearily, Michael stirred next to her and turned over.
‘Wha…?’
‘Lucie,’ she said, dialling again, her fingers shaking.
Michael glanced at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. ‘Six in the morning? Must be the baby.’
The baby. Of course. On this attempt, finally, Lucie’s phone rang and she answered immediately.
‘Mum! Mum! She’s here! We had to get up in the middle of the night because Melissa’s waters broke at, like, ten last night. Dad wouldn’t let me ring you till now. Anyway, she’s here! We’re at the hospital. I just held her. Mum, she’s amazing! I’ve got a little sister!’
‘Is Melissa all right? And the baby?’
‘Melissa’s fine, just tired. And Dad’s so proud – he keeps crying, how lame is that? He’s taken about a million pictures.’
‘That’s lovely, darling.’ Esther tried not to think too much about Stephen’s rather less enthusiastic reaction to Lucie’s own birth. He’d been there, and he’d held her, but as a younger, deliberately cynical man, he’d felt the need to make sarcastic comments about how squashed and red she was. He certainly hadn’t wept or taken photos. Clearly, as a fifty-year-old, he felt more able to be emotional and open. Well, good for Melissa for softening him up. ‘Does the baby have a name yet?’
‘Lyla. Isn’t that lovely? They chose it to go with my name: Lyla and Lucie. She’s got lots of black hair at the moment, but Melissa reckons that might fall out and she’ll be blonde like her. And her hands and feet are so tiny…’
Michael was lying on his back, watching Esther, and she mouthed, ‘A girl, all fine,’ to him. He nodded and gave her the thumbs up.
Lucie was still chattering excitedly about the baby and how brilliant the nurses had been. Esther made a few encouraging murmurs, but then Lucie suddenly said, ‘So, can I stay? Please?’
‘What, sweetie?’
‘Can I stay at Dad’s next week? We’re taking the baby home later today, and Melissa says she could really do with my help with bathing and nappies and things. Dad says he’ll come past yours to pick up my school things. Can I stay? Till Wednesday or so?’
‘Oh, Lucie, I don’t know. School…’
‘I’ve done all my homework. Dad says he’ll drop me and collect me every day – he’s not working for the next couple of weeks anyway. Please, Mum.’
How could she say no? Lucie’s little sister – half-sister – had just been born. Of course she would want to be there.
Predictably, Wednesday got extended to Friday, and then Lucie begged to stay until the weekend, so, in the end, she didn’t come home until the following Sunday. Esther tried not to mind; on a practical level, it made her working week easier, and she knew she should be glad that Stephen was again nearby and keeping Lucie involved, but she missed her, and she couldn’t help nurturing a deep, ugly knot of resentment at the idea of them all snuggled up together lik
e the perfect nuclear family – Stephen and his trio of girls.
Monday morning began well enough. Lucie, for once, was up bright and early. But it soon transpired that this was only because she wanted to Skype Melissa and see how little Lyla was doing. She sat at the kitchen counter with her laptop open, cooing at the screen as she watched Melissa changing Lyla’s nappy. Esther, rushing around trying to get ready for the week, waved a distracted hello and tried to sound sweet and not hectoring as she reminded Lucie that she needed to get ready for school. Lucie ignored her, and Esther, busy with her own preparations, didn’t keep too close an eye on the clock until, at 8.20, she realized that Lucie was not dressed, hadn’t had breakfast, and was now going to be unconscionably late unless she herself made a detour and drove her to school.
‘Lucie,’ she said, quietly, and then, more sharply, ‘Lucie! Look at the time.’ When Lucie ignored her and continued to chat, she had no option but to lean in so Lucie’s webcam showed her on screen and say, ‘Melissa, so sorry, but Lucie has to get ready for school. She’ll catch up with you later.’
Lucie signed off, but she was furious. ‘That was so rude, Mum! How could you? I’m so embarrassed. Poor Melissa!’
There was no point in trying to talk sense into her, or argue. There simply wasn’t time. She had to resort to barking instructions, just to get Lucie into the car. They left ten minutes later than she would have liked, and those crucial minutes dropped them bang in the middle of rush hour, adding forty-five minutes to her journey time to the university, making her half an hour late for a seminar. Naturally, the students had taken advantage of the university’s staff lateness rule – they had waited the regulation fifteen minutes, then departed, reporting her absence to the department office.
It was the ammunition Craig had been waiting for. After she had rushed to the seminar room and made sure no students were there, she went back to her office to collect books and notes for her next class. She had to walk past Craig’s office, with its open door (‘I’m there for all of you, anytime, anytime at all,’ he had announced expansively at the first joint departmental meeting). He glanced up as she passed and beckoned her in.
‘Ah, Esther, my sweet,’ he said, his voice warm and jovial. ‘Come in! Come in!’ Hesitantly, she did as she was asked. ‘Sit down! Can I get you anything? Coffee?’
‘No, thanks. I’m running a bit late, as it happens, and I need to get ready for a class.’
‘Yes,’ he said, his tone confiding and sympathetic. ‘I did hear you didn’t make it to your early seminar.’
Esther said nothing. She had no idea how he had heard, and so quickly. She certainly wasn’t going to apologize or make excuses.
‘You’ve been having a bit of a rough time, I believe.’ Craig leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together as if he was praying. ‘A lot of absences, time away from the university. I took a look at your personnel file – I hope you don’t mind.’ His face was bland and friendly. She did mind, very much indeed. But she knew that as her boss, he now had the right to look at her file and she couldn’t do a damned thing about it. ‘We all know your mother died. I’m so sorry.’ He didn’t sound sorry. ‘And then there was that little jaunt you took, without the principal’s approval, you saucy minx. A naughty weekend in Venice with the new man, I heard.’
It was grotesque – a parody of intimate gossip. She felt certain he was going to click his fingers and call her ‘girlfriend’. This wasn’t the real him – he was faking it, pretending they were buddies as he dripped his poison, obliquely threatening her.
‘You’ve been at the university how long?’ he asked, smiling innocently.
‘Twenty years,’ she said flatly, knowing full well that if he had looked at her personnel file, he would know that.
‘Wow, that’s a long time. You must get tired, teaching year in, year out.’ He paused for a long moment. ‘After all those years, it would be such a pity if anyone had cause to doubt your… commitment, or to think you’d become complacent.’
She sat silently, her hands in her lap. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of a reply, let alone an argument.
He grinned broadly. ‘Let’s chat again soon,’ he said, turning back towards his computer monitor. ‘I’ll keep an eye on how you’re getting on and see if there aren’t ways in which we, as a department, could help you.’
He began to type, quickly and efficiently, and Esther realized she had been dismissed. She got up, and with as much dignity as she could muster, left Craig’s office without saying goodbye.
‘It’s verging on constructive dismissal,’ Michael said, standing in the kitchen that evening as Esther viciously chopped tomatoes. ‘He can’t fire you or make you redundant, so he’s going to make your life an absolute misery, to the point where you’re forced to leave. He knows what he’s doing as well, because he hasn’t said or done anything that would be considered illegal if you went to tribunal. He’s a clever little bastard.’
‘So what do I do?’
‘You have two choices. Stick it out, and make sure you’re above reproach in everything you do, so you don’t give him ammunition—’
‘He’ll manufacture ammunition if I don’t give him any.’
‘Possibly.’
‘What’s my other choice?’
‘Leave.’
‘And go where? I’ve looked around – there’s nothing. It’s not as if I have a rare area of expertise, or I’ve recently published some ground-breaking book. Craig’s right. I have become complacent.’
‘Why go anywhere?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Take early retirement. Write. Why not?’
‘Early retirement? I’m forty-eight! What would I live on? I’ve got years yet to pay into my pension.’
‘But what if…’ Michael hesitated. ‘Well, I’ve got a lump sum, quite a big one, from selling the house when Lisette and I split up. What if we paid off the mortgage?’
‘Wait… Hang on… You want to pay off my mortgage?’
‘It’s one possibility.’
‘So I would be retired, with a very limited personal income, and you would own half my house? Are you completely insane?’ Michael looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she realized she was shouting. She didn’t stop. ‘This is my only security,’ she said harshly. ‘This house, and my job. This is all I have for Lucie and me. I’m not about to give it up to be a dependant.’ She spat out the last word angrily, and she saw Michael rear back slightly at her ugly tone.
‘I’m sorry you see it that way,’ he said. ‘I thought the plan was that this would be our house, until we bought one together. I had this quaint notion that we were planning a future life together. A kind of… till-death-us-do-part arrangement, where we help each other when we can, through difficult times. I must have got it wrong.’
She wanted to shout some more, to rail against his tone of injured pride, but she knew, from years of battling Stephen, how it was all too easy to say things that could not then be unsaid. Not every point needed to be scored, not every fight needed to be won. With great effort, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t trying to swoop in and take over, really I wasn’t. I wasn’t offering a solution whereby you give up your independence and don a frilly apron to make my dinner. I was just offering a starting point. I wanted you to know that I’m here, that there are other options. If that’s not the right one, maybe we can find a compromise. Who knows? I would say, “I’m only trying to help”, but then I would fully understand if you threw a spatula at my head.’
She smiled weakly. ‘I know you want to help,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I flew off the handle.’ She stepped into his arms and he held her, but there was something tentative in both of them, as if what was between them might have been bruised.
She turned away from him and went to the fridge to refill her wine glass. ‘Do you want some?’ she asked over her shoulder. He shook his head. She knew she was drinking a lot,
more than she used to, and that Michael, conversely, seemed to be drinking less. But she didn’t care. Alcohol seemed to be the only thing that quelled the over-the-top-of-the-rollercoaster feeling in her belly.
Luke and Oliver came to London again that weekend, arriving on the Friday afternoon when Esther was still at work. She had imagined that sleeping on sofas and floors would put them off visiting until there were better arrangements, but she was wrong. Her house was much closer to central London than Michael’s Surrey home had been, and the boys had obviously worked out that it was a useful base for nights out in town.
When she got home on Friday evening, tired from a week of battling Craig and teaching great crowds of indifferent first years, all she wanted was to get a cold beer or two from the fridge and sit on the deck in the gathering dusk, listening to the birds. But Luke, Oliver and six of their friends had colonized the deck, and with it, all the beer. They were good boys, and as soon as she came in, Luke jumped up and apologized. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘The guys just came round to say hi. We’re on our way out in half an hour or so. Can I nip out and get in some more beer?’
There wasn’t a shop nearby, not within easy walking distance anyway. She knew he didn’t have a car, and even if he had, he’d been drinking. ‘Of course not.’ She smiled. ‘Enjoy yourselves. I’ll be inside with a glass of wine if you need anything.’
Luke grinned at her. He had Michael’s sweet, heart-melting smile. He gave her a warm, one-armed hug. ‘You’re amazing, Esther,’ he said. ‘So, so cool.’ He bounded back outside, where the boys were laughing loudly and singing along to a song blaring out of someone’s phone.
And of course, she had to be cool. They were Michael’s boys, and they were as sweet and considerate as two great, lunking six-foot boys could be in a small space not designed for them. They took up a lot of room, ate a lot and slept late. None of this was malicious or deliberately difficult. Nevertheless, as she loaded the dishwasher for what seemed to be the hundredth time, tripped over big trainers left beside the sofa, and opened the fridge to discover it was empty again, she found it incredibly hard not to be tight-lipped or judgemental.
