‘Work okay?’ she asked.
‘Oh fine. I’m doing a piece on the EEC. Running next week.’ He paused. ‘But I don’t give a flying fuck about that. I just want you back, Syl. The flat’s so empty without you.’
‘Haven’t you bought any furniture?’ She said it as a joke, but he didn’t take it as such.
‘Not a thing. I’m waiting for you. It’s as empty as when you left it. Just my bed – our bed – and your favourite armchair.’
She thought of Maggie’s crowded bedroom. She ached for space. And she feared for the end of her friendship. It may not be where you imagined you’d be right now but that doesn’t make it bad. Maggie’s words came back to her. And how the hell else was she going to manage work and a baby if she didn’t go back to Jim? But that couldn’t be the reason she did.
They reached a shady spot near a cafe and she stopped, sat down under a tree and looked out at the Serpentine where a few rowing boats were meandering over the water. She thought of sitting with Anna next to the lake in Lausanne. The expression of delight on her face when Sylvia copied her own tentative sign language to indicate her due date. The obvious pride and excitement in Anna’s face as she put her hand on her belly. Was she, Sylvia, simply an ungrateful wretch? But then she thought of Jim’s words. You’re overreacting.
‘Jim,’ she started, ‘I need you to—’
‘I do understand,’ he interrupted. He sat down beside her and took her hand in his. ‘You think I don’t, but I do – now. I admit I didn’t before, but I’ve had a lot of time to think these past few weeks – and a few choice words from Maggie.’ Sylvia’s eyebrows shot up at this. When had Maggie met with Jim? She hadn’t said anything. ‘So I’ve sat in that damn armchair and thought about what it must have been like for you, to find out you were carrying a baby you didn’t want.’ He faltered on the last word, as though he could hardly bring himself to say it. ‘And I can appreciate, now, how awful that must have been for you, even if I can’t fathom what you… contemplated.’ She opened her mouth to say, I’m sorry, I should have told you beforehand, but he held up his hand in a gentle gesture that seemed to say, just let me say this, let me get this out. ‘And I can see how horrible it must feel to have to give up the job you love – even for a short while. I know you love it, Syl, because I love mine too. But we’re in this together, aren’t we? I see that now, I really do. So while I can’t turn the clock back and stop it happening, and I can’t exactly give birth to the baby for you, I want you to know that I’m completely in this with you. I’ll do everything else I can to make the raising of this child as equal a task as possible. So I’ve been thinking, if you want me to, after the baby is born I’ll give up work and stay home and look after him – or her – so you can go back to work as quickly as you want.’
She couldn’t help the surprise shooting into her eyebrows. ‘You would do that?’
‘Yes. I mean, I could maybe try and go freelance, do a bit of work at the same time.’
‘I don’t think it would be so easy to—’
‘Okay, then I won’t freelance.’ A brief flash of annoyance shadowed his face. ‘I’ll just look after our child. Someone has to, and I’m saying it can be me.’
‘Your mother probably wouldn’t agree.’ Oh how she’d love to see Pamela’s face if Jim became a stay-at-home father!
‘Well, sod my mother. And I’ll get some jip from the boys, but I don’t care. It’s 1976. We can do whatever we want. And I want you. So this is what I’ll do.’
She shifted on the grass, unpeeling her skirt from the back of her legs.
‘I appreciate it, Jim, I really do. But it wouldn’t make financial sense, at least initially. Roger’s agreed to give me paid leave, so it would be stupid not to take it.’ She felt painfully confused when she thought of last week’s conversation with her boss, when they’d discussed the terms of her maternity leave: grateful she wouldn’t lose her job, but furious at his obvious disdain. Just make sure your mind’s on the job when you come back.
‘Only you could twist that into a bad thing,’ Jim said.
‘I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,’ she whipped back. ‘At least I know I’ll still have a job to go back to. But it doesn’t change the fact it’s the woman who has to press pause on her career. And maternity leave won’t change attitudes, I know that for certain. Not unless men get leave too.’
She’d seen how Ellis and the other men in the office looked at her now. Even Max, a little. It wasn’t a lack of respect, exactly, but a sort of assumption that she was no longer the ambitious young journalist she once was, because she must now have other things on her mind, other priorities – the inevitable priorities of a twenty-something woman.
She didn’t want to be inevitable. She wanted to surprise and impress. But it felt like you couldn’t do that and be pregnant. Instead, you were expected to spend your time chatting about names and nursery colours with the secretaries in the office, and since she didn’t want to do that, she seemed to have disappointed them too.
Jim sighed. ‘I’d love to smash the patriarchy for you, Syl, but that’s a rather big ask for one man to accomplish within a three-month deadline.’
She laughed, and it felt good.
‘Okay,’ he continued with a smile that looked so grateful, so relieved. ‘So down the line, after your maternity leave, when you’re ready to go back, I’ll quit and take over the childcare. Either that or I’ll work like a demon while you’re off, pick up some extra freelance, and maybe we’ll able to afford some kind of nanny or nursery, at least part time. Whatever it takes to make this work.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘We can make this okay, Syl. We can make this a wonderful thing.’
Music started playing from the cafe. That Elton John number that seemed to be on the radio every time Sylvia switched it on.
‘That bloody song!’ Jim shook his head, his mouth turning up in a wry smile. ‘It’s like the mantra to my summer.’
She looked at him, at his kind eyes. She touched the gold band on his wedding finger. None of this was perfect. None of this was as she’d planned. But she had so much more than some. So much more than Anna.
Don’t go breaking my heart, Jim mouthed Elton’s words.
And when she heard the next line, Sylvia knew Kiki Dee was right. She just couldn’t.
AUGUST 2016 Montreux, Switzerland
JESS
From
Darling Jess,
I’ve read your last email several times now and tried to make sense of everything you’ve discovered. I can’t fathom why Daniel didn’t tell you he was married to Anna, and what that means. I know you feel very frustrated and confused, maybe angry with him too. Remember you’re allowed to be all those things, Jess. I know how you beat yourself up about everything, but this is such an extraordinary situation, so just let yourself be whatever you need to be. It’s perfectly understandable that you couldn’t just confront Daniel when you saw him there. Wait until things settle in your head a little, and then maybe email him again? I think he owes you answers now.
I saw your father at the show the other night. I don’t think it was his cup of tea, to be honest, but he was tactful, as always, and effusive about my sets and that’s the main thing! He’s doing okay, getting through things in his own way. I know he’ll be glad when you’re back – as will I. And don’t worry, I haven’t said a thing to him about what you’ve discovered – that’s for you to do, if you wish.
Hang on in there darling, you’re making such good progress. Call me anytime.
All my love,
Maggie xx
‘Where’s maman?’
‘She’s gone to work already. So has your dad.’
‘But I want to give her this.’ Léa holds out a letter and I take it, knowing as I attempt to read it that I haven’t absorbed fluent French by osmosis over the last few weeks, much to my disappointment.
‘What does it say?’
‘I will play on Saturday and people
can come.’
I see the signature is Madame Jeanneret and I know that’s the lady who runs the tennis course, a lithe woman in her fifties with short blond hair and rather severe black-framed glasses.
‘Like a tournament? Wow! Can I come?’
‘Oui.’ Lea nods. ‘And maman and papa. I want you all to come.’
‘And Luca?’
She frowns for a second and then nods. ‘If he wants.’
‘Good. We’ll all be there, I’m sure. I’ll put this in the kitchen and make sure your parents read it when they’re home from work, okay?’
‘Okay.’ She nods. ‘I’m going to beat Céline.’
‘Is she your arch rival?’
‘What is that?’
‘The person you want to beat the most.’
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I hate her.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’ Poor Céline, whoever she is. Knowing Léa as I now do, I certainly wouldn’t want to face her over a net. ‘Now go get your swimming stuff ready. We’re meeting Jorge at the pool, remember?’
She skips off towards her bedroom and I walk to mine. I gather my towel and swimsuit into a beach bag and check my phone, relieved to see there’s no message from him cancelling on me. My stomach does a little hop at the thought of seeing him again, at having a day by the pool with some adult company.
Despite the low regard he’s entitled to hold me in after my behaviour so far, it seems he isn’t averse to spending some more time with me too, and the thought is a pleasant surprise. I just hope he doesn’t ask too many questions. Part of me wants to explain my obsession with the Chevalleys that night in the jazz club, and to tell him about my trip to Reichenbach, about seeing Daniel in the garden, a question in his eyes as he looked up and I turned and fled. I want to ask Jorge why I did that; I want him to solve this whole mess for me and stop the jitters that ripple through me when I think of Daniel potentially being my father, and of Julia possibly being the woman who’s living my life. But I don’t want to admit to the extent of my snooping in Julia’s things, of finding the letter from Anna Meier, because I don’t want to see dislike or pity or anger in his face. I want to see the smile he gave me as we sat around a table with his friends in the jazz club, the crinkles around his eyes as we laughed about Swiss washing rotas.
He’s not there when we arrive and I busy myself sorting the children out. I apply sunscreen to Luca as he tries to wriggle from my grasp, set out the towels on our chosen patch of grass and pile discarded clothes into a vaguely neat heap by my beach bag. I’m content to sit at the edge of the pool as Luca and Léa take it in turns to throw themselves in – Luca, curling himself up in a ball to create as much splash as possible; Léa holding her nose with one hand and jumping arrow-straight into the water. It’s warm and the cloudless sky is a delicious shade of blue. A slight breeze in the air keeps it from getting too hot. It should be sublimely relaxing, but my blood can’t settle. My mind’s on a treadmill.
Suddenly I feel hands on my back and my brain is purged of thoughts for a few, empty moments when all I can feel is the unpleasant, bristling sensation of water up my nose and in the back of my throat. It can only be two or three seconds until I emerge spluttering to the surface to see the kids laughing at me and a sheepish Jorge standing on the edge of the pool where I’d been sitting.
‘What the…’ A choke in my throat ends my sentence and it’s just as well. I cough and breathe deeply as my heart rate begins to slow again.
‘Sorry,’ Jorge says, but I see from the smile twitching at his mouth that he isn’t at all. ‘I couldn’t resist.’
I glare at him, wanting to both punch him for nearly drowning me and hug him for turning up. ‘Right,’ I say when I can speak again. I struggle to stop my mouth twisting into a smile. ‘Come on, kids!’ I lunge at the water and spray an arc of it onto his legs. He jumps back, but not quickly enough to avoid his shorts being soaked. He stands there laughing as Léa and Luca take my lead and soon he’s so drenched he may as well be in the pool.
‘Okay, you asked for it.’ He strips off his sodden T-shirt and it lands on the ground with a heavy thwack. He jumps in the water, sending a tidal wave over our heads, and then all four of us are having a water fight, flinging our hands through the pool so spray hits our faces and we can hardly see. Léa leaps on Jorge’s back to try and push him under, Luca’s tugging at his arm, I’m splashing his face and he’s gasping for air, begging us for mercy. And then I’m laughing, unable to stop, my stomach aching with the effort, and it feels so good, so familiar, like revisiting an old friend I haven’t seen in years and years. I need this. I’ve so needed this. Maybe Patrick was right: laughter is one of the most important things of all.
After five minutes I’m exhausted. I haul myself out of the pool and sit on the edge again, the sun prickling my skin as it dries.
‘You wound them up nicely, they’ll be knackered later,’ I say to Jorge when he joins me on the edge. He’s tanned and lean, and I’m aware of my own less-than-toned belly and the ugly tan lines from my first trip to the pool when I underestimated the strength of the Swiss sun.
‘You’re welcome.’ He grins.
‘No work today?’
He shakes his head. ‘Now the festival’s over I have a couple of weeks off. I’m staying here this week, then I’ll head into the mountains with a few friends next week.’
‘Hiking?’
He nods. ‘We’ll spend some time in the Valais, hike, camp, sleep under the stars.’
‘Sounds amazing.’
‘Maybe another time you can come. But not with these two.’ He nods to the pool.
‘I don’t know, I think they’d both be faster than me. When I went hiking with them and Michel a few weeks ago I was definitely the slowcoach.’
‘Slowcoach,’ he repeats it, savouring the word. ‘I like that.’
I forget he’s not a native English speaker, he’s so good at it. And French, obviously. And Spanish, naturally. But not Swiss German, I think, remembering my behaviour at the club.
‘I’m sorry about last week.’ I stare into the pool, avoiding his eyes. ‘I had a lot on my mind and I guess I wasn’t able to focus on much else.’
He looks at me and shrugs, smiles. ‘Forget it. Want to talk about it?’
‘Jorge, Jorge, regarde-moi!’ shouts Léa and she takes a breath, leans over, head down in the water, until she’s doing an ungainly handstand, legs akimbo.
‘Très bien. Encore une fois!’ he calls back when she emerges.
I think of him catching me snooping. Of the private letters I riffled through. I shake my head. ‘There’s nothing much to say.’ But I want to tell him, I need to tell someone. I look at him. I can be selective, I suppose. ‘Actually, I think I might have found my biological father.’
His eyebrows shoot up. ‘How?’
‘It’s a long story.’ I think of the letter, the elaborate script of A. Meier that led me to Thun and then Reichenbach. ‘This man… he’s the brother of someone who used to know Mum. I found someone here in Lausanne who once knew them both.’
‘So are you going to contact him?’
‘I already have, but I didn’t know then that he might be my father. And now I think that’s likely, I don’t know if I should contact him again. I don’t know if I want to actually meet him.’ For so long I’ve thought I needed to know who my biological parents are. But now I don’t know if I can stand in front of them, face to face, and talk to them. I don’t know if I can make them real. Because if Anna and Daniel are my real parents, what does that make Mum and Dad?
Jorge’s silent for a minute, and I don’t expect him to understand, so it’s a surprise when he says ‘Your parents will still be your parents, you know.’
I feel pressure behind my eyes and concentrate to keep the tears from forming. ‘Will they?’ I look at him. ‘What if I start something I can’t stop? I’m scared of changing my life, rewriting my history. Scared of what it means for my relationship with Dad, and for other p
eople, for…’ I trail off, thinking of Julia, the kids. If she’s her and she doesn’t know it, then I have the power to ruin her perfect life, to turn everything she knows on her head. Bitterness bubbles up inside me. My life was smashed apart, so why not hers too?
‘When I was a teenager, Dad and I didn’t get along too well,’ Jorge says. ‘I spent all my time playing music, I didn’t want to study, I failed exams.’ He pauses. ‘I think it was partly because we’d just moved here and I wasn’t fitting in too well at school. Music was my refuge.’
I look at him; wait for him to go on.
‘Mum was supportive of my music, but Dad thought I should study hard and go to university so I could get a proper job. The more he went on about it, the more I wanted to play. I think I enjoyed provoking him, it was like a game. I couldn’t see that, actually, he was scared. He wanted me to get qualifications so if the music didn’t work out, I wouldn’t end up as a janitor like him. He was angry because he thought I was throwing away a chance that he didn’t have. But I couldn’t see any of that, I thought he was just being an asshole. We fell out for a long time.’
‘What happened?’
‘I failed my final year of high school and my music teacher, who I worshipped, finally said exactly the same thing to me as Dad had: that I needed to graduate high school, I needed a fallback in case the music didn’t work out. When he said it, I realised Dad was right. I repeated my final year, studied hard and got back on track. If I hadn’t, I don’t think I’d have the job I do now at the festival. And believe me, playing the occasional gig doesn’t pay enough to live in Switzerland.’
‘So you and your dad made up?’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah. I mean, I was too much of an idiot to apologise at the time, but he forgave me anyway and we’re good now. But my point in saying all this is that even when we fell out, I knew he loved me. He didn’t like what I was doing, but he was always going to be there for me, whatever mess I made of things.’
I look at him and he looks down at the water.
The Other Daughter Page 20
