Sweets From Morocco

by Jo Verity

  Chapter 23

  On her return, Andrea was unwilling to discuss her absence. She was regularly in bed by nine o’clock, pleading exhaustion. The children soaked up all her energy. The nights were short and fractured, the baby still demanding a night feed and Sarah waking soon after dawn. Lewis left for work early and returned late. He spent his evenings marking books or preparing lessons and, in order not to disturb Andrea, he slept in the spare room. He knew that they should have the matter out but what you don’t know won’t hurt you, Boyo as Uncle Frank might say. And Lewis didn’t want anyone to be hurt.

  Sarah had developed a limpet-like attachment to Andrea, making sure her mother was always within arm’s reach whilst keeping a wary eye on her father, as though expecting him to make a sudden lunge and prise them apart. Starting school aggravated her timidity and there were tears every morning as the moment of parting approached. The arrival of a sibling often resulted in this sort of behaviour, according to Dr Spock.

  The baby remained an unfathomable, demanding presence who cried whenever Lewis picked her up. Biology proposed that it was in the interest of the male of the species to protect and nurture his offspring but, if this were so, he was an exception to that rule. It wasn’t that he disliked children – but so many of them were more appealing than his own.

  A card arrived, inviting them to Dan Coates’s private view. Checking the calendar, Lewis saw that it fell within the autumn half-term break.

  ‘What d’you think?’ he asked his wife.

  She reminded him that they had two small children. ‘I can’t imagine why they’ve invited both of us. They must know I can’t leave the girls. But there’s nothing to stop you going.’

  He left a decent interval before replying, ‘Sure? It seems a bit mean, abandoning you, but I’d like to see Dan’s stuff and it would be a chance to catch up with Tessa.’

  Andrea gave him a level stare. ‘That’s agreed then.’

  The book was rattling along. Tessa was three parts finished and her contacts at Ward & Cox were enthusiastic, hinting that, with the right publicity, it would be a sure-fire best-seller.

  ‘What’s this one about?’ Lewis asked when he phoned to accept Dan’s invitation.

  ‘Oh, the usual. Sex. Death. Deceit.’ She paused to allow her generalisation to hit its target. ‘It’s a pity Andrea can’t make it. You’re welcome to stay here, if you don’t fancy the milk train.’ She paused again. ‘Unless you’ve got other plans.’

  Tessa had recently bumped in to Charlotte Jamieson. It was the first time they’d spoken since Lewis’s second visit to London. Lotte had inquired, ‘How’s that adorable brother of yours? He’s so … unspoilt. A veritable libido reviver.’ Tessa had forced a smile but said nothing about Lewis’s forthcoming trip to London. Futile really, attempting to keep her ‘unspoilt’ brother out of Lotte’s clutches, especially if he was determined to scramble back into her bed.

  Attempting to keep Rundle out of her own head was also futile. She didn’t bother trying. A secret passion was undeniably nourishing and the tingle of anticipation ripened into an exquisite itch, begging to be scratched red raw. She held off until she could bear it no longer and twenty days after their meeting, she dialled his number. It was a Wednesday afternoon. He was sure to be at the garage – or wherever he worked – and she imagined the trrring … trrring fracturing the silence of an orderly room in a quiet Brighton street; pressed shirts and polished shoes in a wardrobe; a bottle of whisky in a cupboard under a sink; a pack of condoms on a bedside table.

  She phoned a couple of times the next day, and the next, knowing that it was only a matter of time.

  Dan was surrounded by clients and art dealers. Occasionally he beckoned Tessa to his side, introducing her, draping his arm across her shoulder. Not much liking the sensation of being claimed, she went in search of Lewis. Her brother had phoned, asking what he should wear. ‘Anything you like,’ she’d replied, ‘but, Lewis, please don’t try too hard. Boring will be fine.’

  He’d been one of the first to arrive, looking handsome in jeans and white granddad shirt. Now he was chatting to Jay and Liza, the three of them sipping wine and laughing like old friends. Jay in black, as usual, his amused reticence giving him the air of a guru who was privy to the secrets of the universe. Liza, wide hems of her orange velvet trousers flopping over sandalled feet, breasts barely perceptible under brown satin shirt, playing high priestess. Androgynous yet sexy. Tessa glanced back and saw Dan smiling indulgently at her. She shivered. Too much of her past in one suffocating room.

  Jay raised his hand and crossed the room. ‘Don’t panic. Your brother has nothing but admiration for his beautiful, clever sister.’

  ‘Lewis is very loyal.’ She accepted the cigarette that he offered.

  ‘Congratulations on the books, by the way. I meant to drop you a line but…’ he shrugged and smiled apologetically. ‘That summer, in Cornwall, you were always scribbling in your notebook. We should have spotted that we had a writer in our midst.’

  She had no idea if he was taking the piss.

  They talked about his work and the family’s travels. ‘It’s been good. Good for all of us. But we’re thinking it’s maybe time to come back here. At least for a few years. We’ve brought the kids with us this time. Valmai and Connor are old enough to have a say in the decision.’

  This time? ‘D’you come to London often, then?’

  ‘A couple of times a year.’ He must have detected surprise in her question. ‘Mainly to keep my gallery sweet. And to catch a few exhibitions.’

  How totally he had discarded her.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Tess … I’m not proud of the way—’

  ‘No worries. Honestly. These things happen.’ She made it sound as though the abortion had been no more than a forgotten birthday card. ‘Anyway, what sort of a mother would I have made? Twenty-two. No proper job. No family around.’ She grabbed a glass of wine – her fourth or fifth – from the passing waiter. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘That’s incredibly generous of you.’ He touched her cheek and she wanted to slap his self-righteous face. ‘Dan’s a great guy. And he’s crazy about you.’

  Lewis was over at the window, his forehead touching the glass, peering down the dark Soho street, watching taxis slow at the corner then speed off again.

  Tessa tapped his shoulder. ‘Expecting anyone?’

  He looked sheepish.

  ‘Lewis, if you can manage to juggle your “nice” family life and a nymphomaniac mistress, you have my respect and my blessing.’

  He turned to face her. ‘Does it bother you, my meeting your London friends?’

  ‘Not now that I have something to hold over you.’ She smiled. ‘I bet they’ve been giving you the third degree.’

  ‘About you? Oddly enough, they haven’t.’ He grinned. ‘They seem more interested in telling me about themselves.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’ She fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. ‘What if Lotte doesn’t show up? Will you go to her flat?’

  He shook his head. ‘I do have a modicum of pride, you know.’

  Suddenly she wanted to sort it out for him, to prove that this was her world and that she had some influence in it. ‘I’ll phone her, shall I?’

  There was a phone box further down the street, on the opposite side. It stank of urine; a wrapper, chips visible through the greasy paper, lay discarded on the shelf next to the phone. Lewis pointed at it and grimaced but said nothing.

  There was no reply when Tessa dialled the number.

  ‘What a cow,’ she whispered, grabbing Lewis in a hug.

  They stayed in the kiosk, reading the cards which Claudette and Mitzi, Raquel and Brigitte had wedged behind the cracked mirror, advertising their therapeutic services, until someone tapped impatiently on the glass.

  It was starting to rain and they hurried towards the brightness of the gallery windows. ‘What shall we do now, baby bruv?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you go b
ack?’

  ‘Probably,’ Tessa grinned. ‘Why don’t you sneak in and get our things, then we’ll find something more interesting to do?’

  ‘You’re the boss.’

  She stood in a shop doorway, out of the driving drizzle, whilst Lewis completed his mission.

  Dan was infuriatingly sanguine. ‘I spotted Lewis leaving with his bag and your jacket. I don’t blame you for mitching off. It was horribly pseudy, wasn’t it? Where did you end up?’

  ‘At that jazz club.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Fantastic.’ Lewis had been rapt but she’d been too drunk to remember much about it. ‘Then we came back here. He’ll be on the train home now.’

  ‘Jay and Liza want us to get together before they go back to Spain. It’d be nice to meet their kids. Of course you looked after the older two, didn’t you?’

  ‘“Looked after them” is overstating it a bit. They were completely feral. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I was just there to stop them killing each other. Did Jay tell you that they might be coming back to London?’

  ‘Yes. And I assume he told you that they got married last year?’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt foolish, as if she’d failed to notice that she’d put her shoes on the wrong feet. ‘I wonder what happened to all that “we’re free-loving-free-thinking-property-is-theft-don’t-fence-us-in” crap they used to ram down our throats?’

  He slipped his hand around her waist. ‘It’s not a criminal offence to change, Tess. You wouldn’t want to be forever labelled as that bolshie, neurotic Tessa Swinburne, would you?’

  ‘Better than being an arse-licking, chauvinistic bastard,’ she snapped.

  It was dark at four-thirty. Even with the fires lit, the dining and sitting rooms felt damp and draughty. Sarah had a perpetual cold, trails of green snot permanently dangling from her nose. She passed it to the baby who, unable to breathe, coughed and grizzled all night.

  ‘I’m worried she’ll vomit and choke. And Sarah keeps waking for a drink,’ Andrea explained, taking both children in to bed with her.

  Lewis moved his clothes into the spare room.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be spending Christmas Day at home,’ his mother probed when he called on his way back from school one evening.

  ‘I expect so.’

  He and Andrea hadn’t discussed it but since Sarah’s arrival they’d spent Christmases at Cranwell Lodge, his parents joining them for ‘dinner’ and returning home in the evening.

  ‘And what about Tessa? Have you spoken to her? We wondered if she’ll be coming home.’

  Home. He was sure that Tessa no longer thought of Salisbury Road as home.

  ‘You’ll have to ask her yourself, Mum,’ he muttered.

  The first Christmas cards arrived, amongst them one from Kirsty Ross.

  Season’s Greetings! Hope you are all well and looking forward to the festivities. My bit of news – I’ve moved to Bristol, to run the office here. It would be lovely if we could all get together sometime in the New Year.

  She had printed her new address and phone number under the message.

  Andrea was watching as he read the card and he made an effort to sound casual when he said, ‘That’s nice. We should take her up on it.’

  ‘Yes. Who knows when we might need a good solicitor?’

  Mantelpieces and shelves became festooned with Christmas cards and, when there were enough to conceal its loss, Lewis purloined the one from Kirsty, hiding it in his briefcase, oddly comforted to have it with him.

  They continued to avoid the issue of Christmas Day arrangements until, finally, it was Sarah who brought the matter to a head. It was breakfast time and she was composing her letter to Father Christmas when she demanded, ‘But Mummy how will he know to bring my presents to Stafford?’

  Lewis put down his cup. ‘Yes, Mummy. How will he know?’

  Andrea looked flustered. ‘Don’t worry, Sarah. We’ll write Nana’s address on the top of the letter. He’ll find you.’

  ‘So when were you proposing to tell me that we’re spending Christmas with your parents?’ Lewis asked when Sarah went in to the breakfast room to make another paper chain.

  ‘I’ll be taking the girls, Lewis.’ Andrea, her face expressionless, held his gaze. ‘I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding someone to spend Christmas with.’

  He let her insinuation go unchallenged. ‘And the New Year?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Look. This isn’t working out, is it?’

  ‘You obviously are sure then, aren’t you?’

  She sighed. ‘Can I just say what I have to say?’

  ‘Carry on. I’ll be interested to hear it.’

  ‘I don’t want to get into blame. It’s no one’s fault. Or rather we’re both at fault for letting it drag on so long.’ She paused and he nodded, signalling that she should continue. ‘We liked each other and we assumed that we could rub along; that having children would somehow transform us into a proper family. The trouble is we had very different upbringings, and hence very different expectations.’ She frowned as if double-checking that there were no flaws in her argument. ‘We didn’t take that into account.’

  It started raining, the wind whipping the treetops and driving the raindrops on to the window pane behind Andrea’s head. Are you saying I should have found a wife whose baby brother had disappeared, whose mother had lost her mind and whose father had no soul? He nodded again, wanting it to be over.

  ‘We made a mistake, Lewis. That’s all. And I think it best if we separate.’

  An image of curdled milk flashed into his head. They were on a sandy beach. Tenby? Oxwich? Tessa, who could swim, was teasing him because he still relied on an inflatable rubber ring. Their mother was unpacking the stripy canvas beachbag: metal sandwich box; Thermos and plastic cups; milk in a corked medicine bottle – because tea tastes funny if the milk goes in the flask. But the milk had ‘separated’ in the hot car, spoiling their picnic and their day.

  ‘Lewis?’ Andrea prompted, her expression moderating into concern, ‘This can’t have come as a shock.’

  Shock? No. In fact he didn’t feel anything, as if he were a bystander and this little drama had nothing to do with him. Arms extended, like a mother volunteering comfort to an unhappy child, she moved towards him. They hugged, her touch unleashing a tidal wave of relief, and he started to cry. It was as if a doctor had told him that his test results were negative; that the illness wasn’t going to kill them. Misinterpreting his tears, she muttered soothing noises and stroked his back, weeping herself.

  In the breakfast room, Sarah was singing ‘Away in a Manger’.

  During break the following morning, Lewis rang Tessa from the phone box outside the school gates.

  ‘Has she got someone else?’ was his sister’s first question.

  ‘You might at least pretend you’re sorry.’

  ‘Well has she?’

  During a night of sleepless reflection, he hadn’t even considered this. She had grown up in Stafford and it was entirely possible that ex-boyfriends were still living in the area.

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘She hasn’t found out about Lotte?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What do you know, Lewis? You’re entitled to ask a few questions when your wife tells you she’s leaving. And what about the children? You’ll be forking out maintenance money so you want to be sure—’

  ‘Stop it. Please. This only happened last night. I haven’t had time to think it through.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She paused. ‘Well I wouldn’t be surprised if there were another bloke. Andrea doesn’t strike me as the sort to go it alone.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. It doesn’t change things though. I suppose I’d better tell Mum and Dad. They keep asking me what we’re doing for Christmas. “Getting divorced” ought to shut them up.’

  ‘Poor Lewis.’

  ‘And don’t imagine you can escape. Mum thinks y
ou’re going to come down here.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, what are you doing? You’re very welcome—’

  ‘Uh-uh. Otherwise engaged, I’m afraid.’

  He waited, hoping that she would invite him to spend Christmas in London, but instead she talked about a problem she was having with her neighbours.

  Tessa’s book, re-named Lost, was published in the spring to initial mild acclaim followed by increasing interest once the newspapers had put two and two together.

  Lewis telephoned demanding, ‘What on earth possessed you?’

  ‘Have you actually read the book?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I have.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘How does it go? Frail woman has an affair with her charming brother-in-law. She bears a child. His child. Bitter, crippled husband finds out and murders the baby. How am I doing?’

  ‘We don’t know for sure he murders the baby.’

  ‘No, we don’t. But, surprise, surprise, it disappears from its pram, never to be seen again. For Christ sake, you can’t alter a few names and assume no one will spot the parallels. You can’t keep cashing in on people’s lives. I’m surprised there isn’t a phone box somewhere in it. Or are you saving that up for the next one?’ He was shouting now.

  Tessa held back the tears. Why was he being so unkind? ‘I can’t help it if everyone jumps to the wrong conclusions.’

  ‘You’re not stupid, Tessa. You must have known the papers would get hold of it. Well, congratulations. It’s inspired publicity. Can you imagine what this is doing to Mum and Dad? Oh, and by the way, they had to get their phone number changed because the press was pestering them. But I won’t give you the number because they wouldn’t want to speak to you.’