A Hidden Life

by Adele Geras

  Almost immediately, she realized that some things, a few particular times, or events did stick. She remembered the day of Matt and Ellie’s wedding, for instance, because she’d been ill. She’d spent most of the night before vomiting and wanting to die. That’s my problem, she thought. I get sick when things get too bad. I’m allergic to unhappiness. The idea made her smile.

  Constance had hardly ever talked to her. She made it quite clear that she was very unhappy when Ellie left and what’s more (how she managed this, Phyl didn’t know) that the situation was possibly temporary and that her beloved first daughter-in-law might just decide to come back and take up with Matt where she left off. She never actually said this, but Phyl was given to understand that it wasn’t out of the question. The love and devotion she lavished on Nessa and Justin; the barely disguised dislike of Lou – that was all part of it. Constance was asserting her conviction that Ellie was better: more important, more suitable, more everything. Especially, Ellie was sexier.

  Phyl hated the modern fashion for exchanging details of your sexual life with everyone you met. She never spoke about her own and was uncomfortable when other people gave her blow-by-blow accounts of what went on in theirs. She never expected any kind of revelation from Constance and that was why this particular conversation stuck in her mind. She’d been heavily pregnant at the time. Why were they in Constance’s bedroom? That detail had gone, but she’d been sitting, she remembered, in a chair with no arms, upholstered in velvet, and Constance was lying on the bed, dressed in what she called ‘a house coat’, but which was in fact made of some brocadey fabric and looked like something you’d wear to a fancy-dress party if you were going as a Chinese empress or similar. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Phyl wondered whether Constance didn’t rather overdo the Oriental stuff purely to irritate her mother-in-law. Out of the blue, then, came the first remark.

  ‘I shouldn’t think you’re in a position to satisfy Matt sexually these days, dear, are you? In your condition …’

  Phyl had blushed to the roots of her hair, and had not a clue what she was going to answer. Her first, her overriding feeling was of pure embarrassment, quickly followed by indignation. How could Constance be so … so rude? It was none of her business, but Phyl would not have dared to say that. Constance hadn’t paused for an answer, but had just gone on speaking as though Phyl were an audience rather than a conversational partner.

  ‘Men get funny when their wives are pregnant, you know. If you’re a love object, it reminds them that you’re very soon going to be a mother and somehow that does take the gilt off the gingerbread for some. The sucking of breasts …’ (had she winked as she said this? Phyl could no longer remember) ‘… becomes functional rather than erotic. Or maybe you don’t like that? I love it – I used to love it, but alas, I married the wrong person for that kind of thing.’

  She’d sat up suddenly then, and swung her legs round so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She’d glared at Phyl and said, ‘He’s useless. John. Quite, quite useless. And it’s not his fault, I know, but it’s difficult to keep on blaming his mother. Though I do. I blame Rosemary. She sent him to that ghastly school and they – they repressed whatever sexual feelings he might have had almost to extinction.’

  She laughed. ‘I revived them, when we met. For a while. I taught him. It was like rubbing life into a statue at first, I can tell you. I spent hours and hours on him and he did – he thawed out a little, but it was never … Well, I wanted more. I needed more, do you understand what I’m saying, dear?’

  Phyl thought she ought to say something, but didn’t know what. What was the appropriate remark when your mother-in-law told you your father-in-law had not come up to scratch in the bedroom? It’s none of my business, she told herself. I wish I could leave. I wish I could just get up and leave. Instead she said, ‘Why did you stay with him?’

  ‘God, darling, you are naïve! I stayed with him because he was handsome, presentable, someone respected by other people I cared about and because …’ Here she’d grinned at Phyl. ‘He couldn’t complain if I took lovers. Which I did. Many. I was discreet about it, but he knew. He must have done. So we were both happy. I’m an old woman now, but in the early days, oh, there was no stopping me. I was – well, I was a bit like Ellie. No stopping her either, was there?’

  This was especially cruel. Constance enjoyed that, Phyl realized. She was very good at the tiny little remarks which, if you challenged her, she could say were not meant in the way you thought they were … Oh, I was only mentioning Ellie because she was so like me … nothing to do with you at all.

  Not half, Phyl thought now. Constance had been comparing Ellie with what she’d been presented with after the divorce and Phyl had clearly been found wanting. She hadn’t been prepared to sit there and chat about Ellie. No way. She’d decided to make some excuse and leave. She was just wondering what she could say when Constance had gone off on another tack.

  ‘At least,’ she said, swinging her feet up on to the bed again and leaning back against a pile of about four pillows, each one edged with a frill of ornate lace, ‘John got it up long enough to father Matt! All his energies went into his books after that effort!’

  This was supposed to be a jokey remark, but Phyl felt sick.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Constance,’ she managed to mutter. ‘Matt’ll be waiting for me.’

  She’d staggered downstairs, and there was Matt, in the hall.

  ‘Anything wrong, darling?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. Just want to go home. I’m a bit tired.’

  In the car, he’d glanced across at her and said, ‘Was Mother being nasty to you, Phyl? Don’t take any notice. She can’t help it sometimes. She doesn’t really mean it.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t nasty, I’m just tired. I told you.’ She knew that Matt would have supported her if she’d complained about Constance’s behaviour, but she also knew he avoided trouble when he could and particularly didn’t enjoy fighting with his mother, so she decided not to speak to him about it. She couldn’t have repeated what Constance had told her in any case.

  She’d made a decision then to put what Constance had said out of her head and forget about it. But I haven’t, she thought now. I’ve never forgotten it. When Lou was born, things got even worse, because who would have thought that John Barrington, famously quiet and undemonstrative and devoid of passion, would lose his heart to a baby? But he had, and Constance, Phyl could see now, had never forgiven Lou for that.

  The phone rang and Phyl flew to answer it. She didn’t want Poppy woken up before she’d had time to do a bit more unpacking.

  ‘Matt? Hi …’

  ‘Hi, Phyl. What are you and Poppy up to?’

  ‘She’s napping and I’m unpacking.’

  ‘Right.’ Matt was silent for a second and then said: ‘Shan’t be back for lunch today, darling. Just wanted you to know. Hope you haven’t made anything?’

  ‘No, don’t worry, no problem at all. I’ll keep the soup for the weekend. Put it in the freezer. Anything exciting?’

  ‘Ellie’s just phoned and said she’s coming in. Wants to talk about Justin and the house, Nessa – that kind of stuff. Easier to go to lunch than bring her home, right? Over more quickly.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all, if you’d both like to come here. It’d be fine.’

  ‘Well, no, it’s okay. There’s Poppy and – well, it’s easier just to go out somewhere. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Good Lord, no,’ said Phyl, sounding too hearty, even to herself. I do mind, though, she thought as she put the phone down. I’m still jealous of bloody Ellie. I can’t help it. Matt wouldn’t do anything, would he? Of course not. He was too – what was the word for it? Too upright. But she’d been thinking about Constance and John and their sex lives – how long had it been for her and Matt? She blushed as she realized she couldn’t remember. I have to do something about that, she thought. I can’t blame everything on Poppy not sleeping well. Am I undersexed? Is
something wrong with me? Matt and I get on so well in every way that we could easily fall into something that’s more like friendship. I’d hate that to happen.

  She opened another box and started to take out the second Chinese vase. I don’t want to think about this, she told herself. I won’t. Not now. Later. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something like a shadow had fallen over the morning.

  *

  Matt put the phone down with a sigh and a feeling that he’d been let off the hook. I haven’t got anything to reproach myself with, he thought, so why do I feel guilty? He’d almost wished that Phyl had kicked up a fuss, been outraged and jealous, forbidden him to see Ellie at all, much less go out to lunch with her, but (typically of her) she didn’t, so here he was, waiting for his ex-wife to arrive and pretending to himself, his secretary, the other partners in the firm that there was still stuff to talk about relating to his mother’s will. This was not true. Constance had tied everything up extremely neatly in just the way she should have done and all he had to do was see that it was executed according to her wishes. Ellie had no more to say on the subject and neither had he, so what was this lunch about?

  She’d phoned him a couple of days ago and Matt was ashamed to admit that since then he’d turned the thought of Ellie over and over in his mind, imagining different scenarios, most of which morphed quite quickly into a sexual fantasy of one kind or another. He laughed out loud, hoping very much that no one was near enough to his open door to hear him. He was amused at the thought of any kind of shenanigans taking place at the Belle Hélène, which was where he’d decided they would go. He liked the food there and it was near enough to the office for them to walk.

  Phyl hadn’t noticed how carefully he’d dressed this morning. She didn’t notice much that wasn’t related to Poppy and it occurred to Matt that the way to get the child back with her mother was to throw himself on Lou’s mercy and confess that the presence of this beloved baby was having some unforeseen side effects – e.g. a non-existent sex life. She’d take her back at once if he did that, but he was too embarrassed to utter such a thing, and besides, he didn’t want to put pressure on Lou, who was evidently doing some kind of intensive work she wasn’t prepared to tell them about. All she’d said was, ‘It’s amazing to be able to work uninterrupted. I’m so grateful to you and Mum.’

  So – nothing was going to change any time soon, and because he loved his granddaughter he didn’t mind the disruption as much as he might have done. He stood up from his desk and went to the partners’ lavatory, where the mirror had been hung near the window. He peered into it and was quite happy with what he saw. All my own hair and teeth, at least, he told himself. And not too much grey, either. While they were married, Ellie had taken charge of his wardrobe and bought all his shirts, and she’d once told him that blue was his colour. He’d believed her. Today he was wearing a grey suit with a pale blue shirt and a tie he hoped went with both. He wasn’t going to improve his image by staring at it, so he washed his hands and left the room.

  Ellie was waiting in the comfortable chair in his office when he returned.

  ‘Ellie, hello. So sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you …’

  ‘No problem, darling. I’ve been reading the letters on your desk. Oh, God, Matt, I’m joking! I wouldn’t, honestly. All your secrets are safe with me.’

  ‘Ellie, you don’t change. Are you ready to eat? I’ve reserved the table for one o’clock.’

  ‘Let’s go then,’ said Ellie, leading the way out of the room.

  They walked down the road in the spring sunshine.

  ‘Lovely weather,’ Matt said and Ellie made a sound between a laugh and a snort.

  ‘Oh, come on, Matt,’ she said. ‘Do say we’re not going to talk about the weather.’

  ‘I was just remarking on what a nice day it was.’ Matt knew he sounded huffy and didn’t care. Why did Ellie think she could decide what was and wasn’t to be spoken about? This attitude was something she shared with Constance. It was only one of many things they saw eye to eye about. His mother used to do it all the time: tell him that some topic he’d initiated was boring or stupid or just nothing to do with her.

  ‘Oh, Matt darling,’ she’d say, ‘don’t let’s talk about that …’ or, ‘Please, Matt, not …’ and then you could insert about a thousand topics in which she had no interest whatsoever. These included him, his wife, his daughter, his work, politics, sport, movies, TV. What on earth did we talk about? he wondered. He knew the answer: they’d talked about her, about Constance. And about Rosemary, his grandmother. Relations between the two women were strained, to say the least.

  La Belle Hélène was a small and pleasant restaurant which tried to look like a provincial French bistro and almost succeeded. The tablecloths were gingham; there was a straw basket on each table overflowing with chunks of good French bread. The house red was more than drinkable and the unpretentious menu appealed to Matt. He couldn’t bear food which needed three lines of purple prose to describe it and particularly hated the term ‘enrobed’ which menu writers used when talking about thick sauces. Phyl had never eaten here, as far as he knew, which was part of the reason he’d chosen it today. He could never get her to understand why anyone would choose to eat out when there was perfectly good food at home. Restaurants in other towns was one thing, but a place just down the road from where she lived struck Phyl as silly.

  As soon as they’d sat down, Matt noticed that Mrs Blandford and a friend of hers whose name escaped him – Mrs Whitsomething … Whitford, wife of a local councillor – were at a table on the other side of the room. He turned quickly to the menu, but not before Mrs B had caught his eye and given him a flirtatious wave. He waved back, and smiled broadly, as if to say I’m not doing anything underhand or hole in corner. All perfectly respectable.

  ‘Who’re you waving at?’ Ellie wanted to know.

  ‘A silly old trout called Mrs Blandford who knows me from the time her husband left her. I handled the sale of her house after the divorce. Years ago.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Ellie said, who was already bored by the subject and considering what to order. Matt was relieved when the waiter arrived and they could turn their attention to the food. He wondered whether Mrs B knew Phyl and decided she probably did. Many people knew her from the vet’s and he could just imagine a pack of Pekinese dogs snapping at the rather thick Blandford ankles. He decided to put all thought of the ladies in the corner and what they might be saying to one another about him and Ellie totally out of his mind. Phyl knew he was having this lunch. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He poured a glass of white wine for Ellie and one for himself and said, ‘I’ve been thinking about the family lately. You met Grandmother Rosemary, didn’t you?’

  ‘God, yes,’ Ellie said. ‘John’s mother. Scary woman.’

  ‘Was she?’

  ‘Mmm, she was a control freak, I thought. Quiet and demure-looking on the surface but steely underneath. I was never fooled by the twin-set and pearls façade. I wouldn’t have crossed her in a hurry. She made your dad what he was, didn’t she?’

  The waiter arrived with their food, and as he served the vegetables, and the potatoes, Matt thought about Ellie’s remarks. He said, ‘What do you mean, made him what he was …?’

  ‘She never let him forget,’ Ellie said calmly, ‘that he was second-best. She wanted a girl.’

  ‘How d’you know that? Is it true? My father never said anything to me.’

  ‘I know because she told me.’

  Matt stared at her with a forkful of mashed potato halfway to his mouth. ‘D’you mean to say my grandmother told you this and didn’t tell me? Why, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘Because you weren’t interested, I suppose. And I was. I – I drew her out. I asked the right questions. She was bitter, Matt. A bitter woman, because she couldn’t have children of her own. That poisoned her, I think, and turned her into who she became.’

  ‘What did she actually say? I mean, really – not things you dedu
ced or inferred from what she did …’

  ‘You never stop being a lawyer, do you, Matt? Well, she told me that when she went into the prison camp, she wanted to die. She’d just found out her husband had been killed in some hideous battle or other. This on top of years and years of trying for a baby and not succeeding. It was the last straw. They’d been very much in love, she told me, and finding another husband was the last thing on her mind. But she had to take care of John. He was her friend’s son, after all. Don’t you think you’d have done something similar?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I would have,’ Matt said. ‘I’d have tried to find the mother’s relations. Or something. I’d have made an effort.’

  ‘But this was wartime. People were dying and disappearing all over the place. It must have been a nightmare keeping track of paperwork. She persuaded the authorities that John was her son.’

  Matt thought about this for a moment. ‘Why didn’t my father say anything? He was old enough to remember exactly what happened to his real mother, wasn’t he?’

  Ellie put her knife and fork down tidily on the plate. ‘He didn’t say anything because he was terrified. Rosemary told him that if he said one word about her not being his real mother, they – whoever they were – would take him away and put him in an orphanage. And by the time they got to England and she’d remarried and she and Frederick Barrington had adopted John and he’d gone off to school (which he hated, by the way) he’d almost persuaded himself that he was Rosemary’s birth child. It was easier that way, I suppose.’