‘On my Most Horribly Frightening Day, I decided I wanted to spin round and round, faster and faster, my arms outstretched. I just knew I had to do it. And it was wonderful. It made me feel so dizzy in a good kind of way.’
He turned around to face her. ‘All speeded up? I did that just now.’
‘And didn’t you feel like the strongest and cleverest person in the world?’
He nodded.
‘But when I stopped, everything was still spinning all around me,’ she said. ‘That’s when I got really scared.’
‘Cos you thought it would never stop?’
‘That’s right. I couldn’t understand what was happening.’
He looked at her, his face calmer now. ‘I wasn’t scared,’ he said. ‘When I was spinning round and round.’
‘Well, then you’re stronger and cleverer than me.’
‘So how did you stop feeling scared?’
He was thinking of her. She was thinking of him. It was quite possibly one of the most adult conversations of her life.
‘I called out to my dad,’ she said. ‘He came running straight away and I told him what was wrong and he calmed me down, made the spinning stop.’
It was her mother she had called for.
‘Did he give you a hug?’ said Jessie.
‘Sure. That’s what fathers do.’
‘Dad’s busy now,’ he said, solemnly. ‘So I asked you.’
She didn’t need to know why. It was enough that he had asked her.
‘Your dad’s busy because he wants to make you happy. You know that, don’t you?’
He nodded. He was so much looser in her lap now, relaxed and revived, and it made her feel: what did she feel? It made her feel safe. It was the strangest feeling in the world.
‘Do you make sandcastles?’ he said.
‘I did when I was little, like you. My dad was the best sandcastle maker in the world.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he made really big moats that let in lots of water. That was my favourite part.’ She hugged him a little tighter. ‘Do you know what a moat is?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, eagerly. ‘But I like the towers best. And the shells what you stick on. And the seaweed too.’
‘All of that. Every bit of it.’
And still they sat, close and warm, with the breeze lightly ruffling their hair.
‘Jessie!’
They turned as one, to see a flustered Adam standing at the top of the bank, towering above them.
‘I didn’t know where you’d gone.’
He jumped down and his face was white. He held out his hand and pulled Jessie up from the ground.
‘I was worried,’ he said.
‘I’m OK,’ said Jessie, quietly. ‘I’m good.’
Adam knelt down, spoke to Jessie eye-to-eye. Told him that his friends were waiting to play some very fun games.
‘Is that OK with you?’ he said. ‘Because…’ His voice trailed away and Jessie looked up towards the party.
‘What sort of games?’ he said.
‘Aunty Candace will tell you. She has some great ones lined up for you.’
‘Do I have to line up, then?’
‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.’
‘Except go to bed when you tell me.’
His father patted him on the backside. ‘You get a pretty good deal, buddy,’ he said. ‘Now off you go, see how fast you can run.’
They watched him run up the hill, a lively monkey, ready for his friends. Because this too, Hazel thought, was what it meant to be a child: to be frightened, and then to quickly forget.
Adam turned to her. ‘He just disappeared,’ he said. ‘He was here one minute and—’
‘I should have told you. I’m sorry.’
‘So what was the matter?’
‘He got a bit over-excited. But, well, he’s settled now. He’s fine.’
Adam ran a hand through his hair. ‘Thanks for looking after him,’ he said. ‘It was very good of you. And I’m sorry, I didn’t ask you here to—’
‘Adam.’ She took a very deep breath. ‘Please don’t keep saying sorry to me.’
‘But you just said sorry to me.’
And before she could say another word, he sat down beside her and clasped his hands together.
‘I couldn’t see him anywhere and I panicked,’ he said.
She took his hands in her own, uncurled their tightness, held them gently. She didn’t say a word, simply let him rest in the warmth of her regard.
‘He was so young when Thea died,’ he said. ‘And she’ll never be real to him.’
‘Do you show him photos? You must have a lot of photos.’
He nodded.
‘Do you tell him stories about her? Thea.’ She felt his hands tighten again. ‘Is it…too difficult for you?’
‘No. No. Not really.’
He was holding her gaze now, wanting or needing to say more.
‘I fell out of love with her,’ he said, flatly.
‘Was there…someone else?’
‘For Thea there was. But I’d already fallen out of love with her. Some years before.’
Hazel waited.
‘You don’t wake up and look at a face and feel differently. It’s…’ He smiled at her, wanly. ‘You know how it goes,’ he said.
‘No, I don’t, actually. But I’ll take your word for it.’
They sat in silence, holding hands. A man who didn’t want to dwell on the past, and a woman who had taken him back there. For this is how she understood it now, knowing almost nothing about love and grief and betrayal, and most of it gleaned from books. She only knew that she didn’t want to move, sitting beside him, touching him, being touched.
He looked down at the ground, then up at her.
‘I’ve never told anyone that before,’ he said.
‘About the other man?’
‘About falling out of love.’
She saw tears in his eyes.
‘Thank you for listening,’ he said.
She watched him walk over to Jessie, bend down and talk with him. She watched him walk over to Candace, lower his head and talk with her. And she didn’t mind at all that he’d walked away because she knew there was no distance between them anymore. But she loved that he returned to her, his face lit up with seeing her. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman and a five-year-old spinning child. Elated. Unafraid.
‘I want to thank you properly,’ he said. ‘I’d like to cook you a meal. I’m not a bad cook. Promise.’
She would dine on air if he asked her.
‘What about tonight?’
‘Tonight?’
‘Are you doing anything tonight?’
‘No. No, nothing.’
‘Shall I pick you up at seven, then?’
‘Seven. Yes. Do you know where I live?’
‘I picked you up last week.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ Wanting to say so much more. ‘And then you dropped me back again.’
‘So I did. I did.’
She looked across to see Jessie, who seemed happy to be noisy with his friends, while Candace was busy clearing up. Hazel would soon make her way over and offer to help and hope that her hands would stop shaking. She’d give Jessie one last hug before seeing him tonight, and then hurry home to get ready for what must surely happen next.
She was in truth relieved that Beth wasn’t home because she didn’t want to talk. Not to her best friend, not to anyone. It was hard enough saying goodbye to Adam. She, the great talker, tripping up on a single word, goodbye. But he wasn’t shying away now. He had shown her who he was and he wasn’t ashamed and it filled her with such warmth to know him. And she had helped him care for Jessie, shown Adam who she could be, when she hadn’t even known it herself.
She knew this was serious. That it might be monumental. But as she looked into the mirror, brushed her hair, she found herself laughing with sweet anticipation. She looked good, even if she did say so hers
elf, in her knee-length grey dress—a different grey dress—that showed off the curve of her arms. But she couldn’t be too provocative, could she? Jessie would be there. Even if he went to bed later. She would have to bide her time, because it was only a matter of time before Adam took her to his bed and let her into his life because it wasn’t just about sex, it had never been just sex: right from the beginning, when they’d talked. So, yes, serious. Monumental. But they would have to take it slowly, because of Jessie. They would have to consider his feelings, even though he seemed to like her. Maybe even really like her.
Knock, knock, knock.
She tried not to race to the door.
He was looking very smart, very handsome, in a dark blue shirt and dark trousers, even if his hair was messy. Oh, how she loved that messy hair.
‘Hello,’ he said.
Hello?
‘Hello to you,’ she fluttered.
‘You look very nice.’
Nice?
He cleared his throat. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we could go to a restaurant instead. Without Jessie.’
Mind? She had to stop herself from leaning in and kissing him.
‘I’m happy wherever we go,’ she said.
Still he didn’t touch her, hadn’t even pecked her on the cheek. She closed the door behind her and they made their way to the car. Silence as she did up her seatbelt, turned to look at his profile, then asked if Jessie was with Candace. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.
‘Thank you for the book,’ he said. ‘For Jessie.’
‘It’s not very—’
‘It’s great. It will keep us going for a very long time.’ He glanced at her quickly. ‘Did Jessie tell you about the noise?’ he said. ‘How it scared him?’
‘He did, yes.’
‘And what did you say to him?’
‘I told him a story.’ She kept her eyes fixed on Adam. ‘About how I’d once been frightened when I was a child. I told him that my dad made me feel better.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, it was my mother, actually, but it’s different for Jessie, isn’t it? And I told him that my father gave me a great big hug because, well, that’s what fathers do.’
She saw him shift in his seat. ‘Sometimes…’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I’m not a very good father.’
What was she supposed to say to that?
‘I don’t spend as much time with him as I should.’
Did he want her to tell him he was wrong? Boost him up?
‘I don’t want to bore you with all this,’ he said, quietly. ‘But Jessie was abandoned. I don’t want that to happen again.’
Abandoned? His mother had died, for goodness’ sake.
‘Adam. You’re a—’
‘A child needs a mother as well,’ he said.
She heard something in his voice, something sharp, and she felt her skin tighten.
‘But you’ve been a wonderful parent, Adam. You said yourself that women bring up children by themselves and—’
‘I know what I know,’ he said.
She put a hand on his arm and saw him flinch. She had made him flinch and this wasn’t going well and everything seemed to be changing again and she didn’t want to be confused like this, confused and more anxious by the second. And then without a word of warning he slowed down the car, looked in the rear-view mirror, pulled over to the side of the road and cut off the engine and her heart was knocking as he turned to look at her at last.
‘I can’t do this,’ he said.
‘What?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘I can’t.’
She felt heat rising inside her, told him that he must, but still he didn’t say a word.
‘I want to understand what you mean,’ she said.
And still he didn’t speak.
‘If you have any respect for me, Adam.’
‘Of course I respect you,’ he rushed in. ‘How could you possibly think I didn’t?’
She waited some more. She would wait all night if she had to. She saw him tug at the collar of his shirt.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ he said. ‘Us.’
Now where had she heard that line before? Or had she embarrassed him, after all, made him feel ashamed, because she’d witnessed those extraordinary tears? But he couldn’t be like that, surely? And he wouldn’t have asked her to—
‘Hazel.’ His mouth was a grim straight line. ‘Look at us. You’re so young, and I’m…I mean, it’s ridiculous.’
‘Ridiculous?’ She laughed. Because this was easy, it was going to be easy, after all. ‘It happens all the time,’ she said. ‘Older man, younger woman.’
He flushed. ‘I’m not just after sex.’
‘Well, I’m not either, Adam. You must—’
‘I know that, I know. And that’s why we have to finish this.’
‘Finish what?’ What on earth was she hearing? ‘We haven’t even started.’
‘And I don’t want to.’
She had to stay calm, think. Be rational.
‘Hazel.’ Why did he have to keep saying her name? ‘It just wouldn’t be fair on you. You’re very young, you have your whole life ahead of you. And I have a young child to care for.’
She looked at him carefully. ‘So you’re telling me…you’re telling me…you won’t start anything because Jessie might make it more difficult?’
He nodded. It was just as Beth had asked her to imagine. And yet now that he was sitting next to her, in his neat shirt and trousers and looking so dark, something told her she didn’t believe him.
‘You know I like Jessie very much,’ she said. ‘And I think he likes me. We’re getting on really well.’
Nothing.
He was retreating again, behind his wall of silence, and she needed to make him speak.
‘I’m better than the woman with loud eyes,’ she said. She heard herself sounding fierce.
‘That has nothing to do with it. It’s just…look…you need to find someone who…who you can make a life with.’
‘And you don’t want to make a life with me?’
He nodded. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.
‘You don’t even want to have sex with me?’
And then she felt a thought snap inside her head.
‘You don’t really want me at all, do you?’ she said. ‘You’re just making up a bunch of excuses.’
He didn’t say a word.
‘Tell me, then. Go on. Tell me.’
She would do this. She would get through.
He tugged at that fucking collar again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You must have read it all wrong. I’m sorry, so sorry, if I gave you the wrong impression. I didn’t mean to lead you on, honestly. I just enjoyed talking with you and, you know, just talking and laughing and finding things out. But I didn’t…I don’t…want to hurt you.’
It was more than he’d said all night, and every word was hateful.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she said, and opened the door, stepped onto the road.
‘Hazel. Please. At least let me drive you home.’
‘I don’t want at least anything,’ she said, and quietly closed the door.
Because her dignity was important. Dignity, and self-respect. There was always that to hold onto, to keep you afloat, whatever you were doing when you were walking down a street that would kindly take you home, because home was always comforting, even if it was a cramped, mean flat on a noisy highway and your friend of a lifetime wasn’t there. Because home was what you knew, and knowledge was welcome. It was important. It might be most the important thing in the world. To know where you stood and where you were walking and she couldn’t even picture his sharp ugly face anymore.
After half an hour of walking, and three bouts of honking horns and one guy giving her the finger, she decided she was hungry. Starving. She needed a large mug of Milo and a humungous piece of cake, p
referably with cheerful pink icing. She finally spotted the new café on the corner—Melanie’s, whoever Melanie was, or wasn’t—and she walked briskly, shoved open the door. Would they be serving cake in the evening? Yes. Jackpot! Cake with layers of jam and cream and mounds of chocolate shavings. Luridly yellow custard slices, so yellow they looked radioactive. But then looking again, scanning the dressed-up sugar and fat, she suddenly lost her appetite for cake. She’d lost her appetite, full stop. She ordered a cup of peppermint tea instead, relieved that the place was empty, slumped into a chair and told herself she would not, must not, cry.
She saw the café door swing open and a tall, skinny boy come fumbling in. She’d seen that kind of puzzled face before on some of her old students, as if life kept lobbing them hand grenades and they didn’t know what to do with them. But now the boy’s face was lighting up—he seemed to recognise her—walking right up to her table, goddamn it.
‘Hey, Miss,’ he said, from on high. ‘It’s Brett. Brett Marinovich. Remember me?’
And now she did remember: he’d been a boy with a badly acned face and her heart had gone out to him in a superficial way. Now here he was, two years on, his skin so much clearer.
‘How are you, Brett?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m good, real good.’ And still he was smiling, slightly goofy. ‘Hey, can I sit down? I start work here in like, ten minutes.’
‘You work here?’ Because now he was coming back to her more clearly. A very lazy boy as well. It was always an effort to get him to lift a goddamn pen.
‘I clean up after the evening shift,’ he said, ‘and get ready for the morning. I do the lunch shift too.’ He folded his body into a chair. ‘So it’s good. Real good.’
‘Well, that’s excellent, Brett. Terrific.’
‘I’m like, saving up,’ he said. ‘I’m getting married.’ Looking very pleased with himself.
He would have been, what? Eighteen? Nineteen?
‘Well, congratulations, Brett.’
What else was she supposed to say? Who’s the lucky girl? May you both have a long and happy life?
‘My girlfriend and me, we’re having a baby,’ he said. ‘In a month. And after that we’ll get married cos she doesn’t want to look fat in her wedding dress.’
‘Of course not.’
Hazel tried not to look at the clock on the wall. Another five minutes, maybe, and Brett would be getting down to work. But he didn’t seem to be in a hurry, spreading his hands on the table, his face suddenly screwed up tight.
The Art of Persuasion Page 18
