The moment passed.
Melly’s neck was corrugated with muscle. I ran my hand over it, enjoying the feel of her damp coat. ‘I wonder how Will is?’
‘What sort of man is he?’ Sally batted Melly’s nose gently out of Chloë’s orbit. ‘Would he like it here?’
‘I think so. But he hasn’t time to come.’
Sally gave me back Chloë and swung herself over the fence. Her horses swirled around her and she attached a leading-rein to Melly’s head-collar, grasped a handful of the golden mane and swung herself up. In daylight she seemed older, but the thighs under her denims were toned and strong. ‘Art gives himself plenty of time. That’s the difference.’ She turned Melly, then trotted her to the end of the paddock and back again. ‘Just testing. We’ve had trouble with her hock. But she’s fine.’
In the distance, Art’s station-wagon was nosing down the track towards us. It slowed and he wound down the window. The sound of country-and-western shattered the peace. ‘Thought I’d make a detour,’ he said, ‘to say hi to you ladies.’
He drove on. ‘Now, that’s what I call passing the test,’ said Sally fondly. ‘Most days he does that.’ She slid down from Melly’s back and leant against the picket fence. Once more, her horses closed in on her.
I felt the download of sadness, anger even, that my father had not passed Sally’s test. ‘You must get tired looking after the horses.’
Sally squinted into the sun, which emphasized the fanlight of lines around her eyes. ‘You get tired of everything. The question is, what do you tire of least? My horses are easy and uncomplicated. They want feeding, grooming, and exercising, and they might, in return, love a person a little. But not too much. It’s not their nature. I know that. And because I know that, it’s fine.’
She climbed back over the fence. ‘Do you want to know why your father and I didn’t make it? He wanted to go too far, too fast. That tired me. I didn’t want the big house, the entertaining and the wine snobbery. And I didn’t want to sacrifice everything to make money. But it was hard, because we had known each other for so long.’
‘He didn’t become that rich. The business is hardly a gold mine.’
‘I made a mistake,’ said Sally. ‘I didn’t realize how a person could change as they grew older.’
On our last day Art minded Chloë, and Sally took me out on Melly. She rode upfront on the big, prancing Quincy and urged him along a track fringed by trees, which were turning every shade of yellow and ochre. The earth was moist underfoot and insects rose in clouds. In the distance the ridge of hills rose ragged and unpeaceful-looking in contrast to the warm landscape around the town. Sally pointed towards them. ‘There’s the ruins of a couple of mining buildings up there, if you look. Poor devils. They never found anything.’
Quincy’s tail twitched and I tagged behind, fussing with Melly’s reins and the angle of my foot. Every movement reminded me that I was not with Chloë. I knew she was perfectly all right, that she was safe, yet with every rustle in the undergrowth or shiver of the branches, I found myself listening for my child’s breathing. With every thud of the horses’ hoofs, I strained to hear her cry of distress, hunger or pleasure.
It was like that now, and there was nothing to be done about it.
After supper, I helped Sally to make gingerbread for the Rotary Club picnic. ‘We take the station-wagons and head up into the mountains, sing a little, eat a lot. It’s neat.’ Chloë was asleep in the little boxroom and Art was watching television in the next room, surrounded by papers and beer cans.
Sally dug a spoon into the molasses. ‘Since you’ve been here, my paperwork has gone to pot. Never mind – I’ve enjoyed it, Fanny. This has been good.’
The molasses had to be coaxed into the bowl.
‘Friends?’
‘Yup.’ She flushed a harsh red. ‘I wish… But that’s my business.’ She dropped the spoon and folded her hands across her stomach.
‘I thought you had no regrets.’
‘I don’t and I do. That’s natural.’ She poured the gingerbread mix into the tin. ‘But I have to say it’s mighty big of you to… Oh, what the heck, Fanny? What I did was for the best.’
‘Hey,’ I slipped my arm round her shoulders, ‘I didn’t mean…’
She looked up at me. ‘I chose me because I figured I only had one life and I’d better live it.’ She lowered her voice. ‘In a manner of speaking, Art was incidental.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Coincidental, more like, because he happened along at the right time. But that’s our secret.’
I leant past her and ran my finger around the bowl. ‘He’s nice, Sally.’
‘He’s a man,’ she said briskly. ‘Is any of us nice? But we come in all shapes and his suited mine.’
I licked my finger. ‘You got away.’
Sally offered me the bowl for a second helping. ‘Like I say, I’m better with horses. And that’s what I’ve stuck to. You need things, you know, to take your mind off the mess and muddle of eating and sleeping and being polite in the home. Men don’t expect to think about it all the time. Why should I?’
Just as I was climbing into the spool bed for the last time Will rang. I wrapped a rug round my shoulders and went down to the kitchen to take the call.
‘Can’t wait to see you, Fanny,’ he said.
We hadn’t spoken for three days and I felt it acutely. ‘Tell me what’s been happening.’
He had several pieces of gossip. ‘Listen to this. The PM liked the speech I wrote for him and used a couple of the phrases. “Tough care”, you know, that sort of thing. Not very revolutionary but it seemed to do the trick.’
I told him about riding through the larch woods and the ruins of the mining buildings. ‘They sat up there during the winter, freezing and dying.’
‘They wanted a better life.’ He sounded like the Will I had first known.
‘If you come out here we can ride up into the mountains.’
‘Yup,’ he said. ‘I’d like that.’
Arriving home in the airport in London, I spotted Will before he saw Chloë and me. He was deep in conversation with a girl with a blonde ponytail and tight leather trousers.
He was smiling and talking, and gesticulating, in the way that he had when he wooed a listener around to his way of thinking. This was Will at his most persuasive and the girl was listening intently.
Despite my burden of Chloë and the luggage trolley, I almost ran up to him. ‘Will?’
He whirled round. ‘Hallo, darling. Hallo, my poppet.’
The girl melted away. ‘Who was that?’ I asked.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Will hugged Chloë. ‘She said she recognized me from television and admired what we were trying to do, so I was just explaining to her how it would work.’
I clung on to him. ‘Am I pleased to see you. The last few days went so slowly.’
‘For me too.’
Will handed back Chloë and took over the luggage and we made our way out to the car. ‘It’s good isn’t it,’ he commented, as he strapped Chloë into her seat. ‘My face is getting known.’
All the way home, I kept looking at him, ravenous for every detail. ‘Did you really miss me?’ I asked.
He turned his head and looked at me and, for a moment, I thought I saw a shadow in his eyes, a wariness that I could not place. ‘I missed you more than you can possibly imagine.’
I laid my hand on his thigh and let it rest there.
11
Back at Stanwinton, the brown leather diary was lying on the hall table. Tucked into it were typed lists and invitations. Bowling club tea. The single-parents’ jumble sale. The Ladies’ Guild ball…
‘Mannochie’s been busy,’ I said.
Meg came hurrying out to meet us. ‘Welcome home, Fanny. Are you exhausted? Oh, Chloë, you’re such a big girl… There’s coffee and sandwiches in the kitchen. Come and see what’s been done.’
Along with the alterations to accommodate Meg, my kitchen had been given an overhaul. It sm
elt of paint and to my jet-lagged sensibility, it seemed to exude a fresh, optimistic feel – if such a thing were possible. While we were planning the alterations, Will suggested that we splash out and buy a new oven. And there it was: chunky and reliable looking. I showed it to Chloë, who considered it extremely exciting when I banged the door shut.
Meg’s tiny kitchen space sparkled with fittings and equipment, and matching pink towels hung over the heated towel rail in her bathroom. I touched one: it was soft and expensive, and the colour matched the bath hat hanging on the door.
Meg hovered behind me. ‘Fanny, I haven’t thanked you properly… for agreeing to me living here.’
I turned round. ‘You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad we can do something.’
‘I do have to thank you,’ she insisted. ‘I need somewhere safe and secure so that I can… beat… well, you know what I have to beat. I can’t seem to do it on my own but I promise that I will be as helpful as I can, to make it up to you. I plan to find a job as soon as I can. Part-time, so I can help out with Chloë.’ She smiled a little bleakly. ‘I will try and earn my keep.’
I left Meg talking to Will, hefted Chloë on to a hip and went upstairs to our bedroom. I opened the windows and Chloë chuckled as I wrestled with the catches. She looked so gorgeous, so edible, that I caught up a fat fist and kissed it.
The rooks cawed in the trees. A curtain fluttered, and my inner eye caught the peaceful, supremely domestic vignette and settled it alongside all the other pictures and echoes stored in my mind. I sat down on the bed, held Chloë close and rested my chin on her curly hair. ‘We’re home, Chloë,’ I said.
I had weaned Chloë in America, a process that had involved a few struggles on Sally’s swing seat. I was giving her the goodnight bottle in the bathroom when Will came in. Chloë let go the teat and turned her head in his direction.
‘Did you see that?’ He was pleased. ‘She knows me.’
‘Of course she knows you.’
‘You were away so long that she might have forgotten she had a father. Here, let me.’ He hoisted Chloë on to his knee and gave her the bottle. Chloë fussed a little and then settled. He cuddled her closer. ‘Fanny, now that we’ve sold the flat, how do you feel about renting a house in Brunton Street?’
With the birth of Chloë, we needed somewhere bigger in London to roost, and before I left for the States I had put Will’s flat on the market. It had been snapped up within ten days.
‘Why?’
‘It’s so close to Westminster.’
‘But Brunton Street? It’s full of narrow little houses that cost the national debt of most African countries.’
He had been gazing down at Chloë and now he looked up at me. ‘I’ve learnt a few things, lately, Fanny, and taken soundings. We’ve got to entertain and make contacts, get our faces better known. Talk to ministers. I think you’ll love it. Interesting people…’ He shifted Chloë. ‘Actually, I’ve been to see one with Meg, and she thinks it would be perfect.’
I threw Chloë’s mucky dungarees into the laundry basket. ‘She does, does she?’
Will said quickly, ‘I was sure you wouldn’t mind.’
I don’t know why that tiny disloyalty stung quite so much, but it did. I took refuge in sarcasm. ‘Would it be too much to suggest that I went and had a look too?’
Chloë finished her bottle. I winded her and we put her down in her cot. I wound up the musical mobile and we watched from the doorway as she drifted into sleep.
‘Will…’ I whispered. ‘You are quite sure we can leave Chloë with Meg? We wouldn’t be putting them both at risk? What would happen if Meg went on a binge and I was up in London with you?’
‘Very unlikely,’ Will replied, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘Despite everything there was actually never any problem when she was in charge of Sacha. I know she would never let anything happen to one hair of Chloë’s head.’
‘I hope you’re right, Will.’
He slipped an arm around my waist. ‘I know that Meg would walk on water for Chloë.’
Meg appeared the following morning in the bedroom with breakfast on a tray. ‘I thought you would be so exhausted.’ She settled the tray on my lap. ‘I’ve given Chloë breakfast and Will’s playing now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t with her. I don’t know who’s enjoying it the most.’
Meg had taken trouble with the tray. The marmalade had been put into a little dish and there was hot milk for the coffee. I thanked her and enjoyed my breakfast and felt extremely guilty that I wished she had not done it.
On the Monday, we left Chloë with Meg, and Will and I drove up to inspect the house in Brunton Street. Mannochie had agreed to meet us there, and the three of us looked around. I had been right: it was a narrow and gloomy building in a row of similarly narrow and gloomy buildings that had been previously occupied by a family from the Middle East.
Mannochie pointed out a tiny room off the hallway which would do as a perfect office for him when he was in London. I said, no offence, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him let loose in our home, and he smiled and said in his wry way, ‘I won’t bother you. If you give me the key, I’m housetrained and I’ll behave myself.’
So, the soft-voiced, soft-footed Mannochie would lie quietly in his basket until called. ‘Don’t you ever get sick of this, Mannochie? Do you ever stop to think what this life does to you – does to us all?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m too busy to think. You could say I’m wedded to the business.’
It was astonishing, really, how willing Mannochie was to subsume his life into ours. Perhaps not thinking was an advantage, an effective weapon. Like the orphaned lamb draped in the skin of a dead one and presented to its new mother, Mannochie would take on our taste and smell.
Upstairs on the first floor, a narrow sitting room ran front to back and mirrored the kitchen arrangement in the basement. Up more stairs and there were two bedrooms. Then another flight, and a couple of attic rooms, mean and airless, with sloping eaves and high, barred windows.
Will went back downstairs to look at the sitting room. Mannochie stood on tiptoe to view the rooftops. He surprised me by saying, ‘That’s what our politics are for, to stop segregation in attics and basements.’
‘I never heard you say anything political before.’
He said quietly, ‘You never asked, Fanny.’
On the way downstairs, he ran over the forthcoming commitments. ‘State Opening. The usual Christmas engagements at Stanwinton. Recess.’
‘And what,’ I teased, ‘is the role of the wife in all this?’
He ticked off the points on his fingers. ‘A perfect, smiling willing helpmeet who wears tights. Not so bad, Fanny?’
I grinned. ‘Bit like childbirth, Mannochie. You read about it, go to the classes, practise the breathing, but the minute it happens you say to yourself, “Hey, there’s been some mistake.’”
After completing the inspection, we went back into the street. Mannochie checked over a few things with Will and said, ‘By the way, I need to talk to you about the traffic schemes. Small shopkeepers are organizing a protest. They want you on it.’
Will looked blank. ‘Sure. I’ll listen to what they have to say’
‘But not take sides?’ I asked.
Will looked awkward. ‘It’s not sensible to take sides on local issues, is it, Mannochie? It’s better to stick to the national ones.’
‘You’re learning,’ said Mannochie.
We discussed the Brunton Street house as I drove Will to Westminster and agreed to take a decision that evening. I dropped him at the Houses of Parliament and continued on to the flat to begin the process of packing and clearing it out.
It was a mess, but that was no surprise. I did the washing up, watered the drooping house plant, threw out a month’s newspapers and Hoovered the sitting area.
For diversion, I rang Elaine. ‘Lovely to hear you,’ she said. ‘Let’s meet as soon as poss. I want to hear everything.’
We gossipe
d for a good twenty minutes and Elaine described preparations for Sophie’s coming birthday party. ‘It’s the party bags that are giving me a migraine,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to outdo Carol over the way. Rumour is there were plane tickets in hers. I’ve only got Smarties. Can I live with the shame? Am I harming my daughter for life?’
Still laughing, I rang Meg to check up on Chloë. ‘She’s fine,’ she said. ‘Just gone down for her nap.’ We discussed the weekend when Sacha would be coming to stay. ‘It’s the Giving Back I dread,’ confessed Meg, and my heart bled for her.
‘Oh well,’ she added. ‘I deserve it.’
‘Meg, don’t say that.’
‘Come on, Fanny. What do you think happened? No husband. No son, no job as yet. If ever. Dependent on a brother and his kind wife. Hardly ruling the world. But all my own fault.’
I returned to the clearing up of the flat. In America, I had resolved not to let my mind stand idle and I listened to a current affairs programme which I would later discuss with Will. This stern objective was subject to a major diversion when I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and decided I needed I really needed some new clothes. The outer woman. This was the cue for longer-lasting debate with myself over the virtues of quality over quantity, and plumping for the latter. The easy, vibrant, well-informed, up-to-the-moment me required lots of clothes.
Will phoned. ‘Just checking,’ he said, ‘…that you are there.’
I clutched the dust-pan brush to my chest. ‘I’m here.’
‘I’ll be a bit late, but not too late.’
‘Good.’
‘Miss me?’
‘Miss you.’
Next on the list in the flat was the bedroom. I switched the radio to a music programme which was playing Beethoven’s Fifth, whipped the sheets off the bed and gathered them up.
Something fell to the floor.
My knees buckled and I sat down on the bed.
Lying on the floor was a plain, white silk camisole, and it did not belong to me.
The Good Wife aka The Good Wife Strikes Back Page 12
