The Partridge and the Pelican

by Rachel Crowther

  “Briefly.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Hello.”

  “Thank you for your letter?”

  “Not in so many words. But I think hello conveyed that general sense.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m glad I caught her early on,” Olivia said. “James’s presence complicates things rather.”

  “Yes,” said Robert. “Yes, I can see it might.”

  The next time Faith returned to the servery she set down her tray of dirty plates on the trolley, then hesitated for a second before darting across to the corner where she and James had hung their coats. James’s mobile phone was tucked into his top pocket. Flicking the screen open to check that it was turned off, Faith slipped it into the invisible pouch in her belt. Then she opened up the refrigerated cabinet and took out two trays of desserts. By the time James returned with the last of the cleared plates, she was already moving down the first table, beaming with enthusiasm for her strawberry pavlova, her chocolate cheesecake, her lime pie.

  The speeches hit, as was to be expected, a bittersweet note. The loss of Sarah’s beloved father – and of course her mother, a few years earlier – featured in the opening sentence of Guy’s address, before he moved on to praise Sarah’s devotion, fortitude and grace under pressure, and then to attest to his own good fortune and the privilege of joining her family at a time of such emotional consequence. He ended with a nicely-judged remark, straddling the awkward ground between humour and pathos, about the fact that his own position in his wife’s affection might at least now be unassailable. Few in the audience understood the full import of this observation, but one who did squeezed his hand with unreserved feeling.

  Sarah’s brother Andrew, who had given the bride away in his father’s place, and whose children constituted the majority of the bridesmaids, spoke more simply, but none who heard him could doubt his affection for his sister nor his esteem for his brother-in-law. Wiping a tear from his eye, he confirmed that his only regret was that neither his father nor his mother could be there to see Sarah looking so beautiful and, despite the circumstances, so happy.

  The best man, a model of discretion rarely seen in that role, gave a modest summary of the bridegroom’s achievements in scaling the higher points of the planet, declared that no one less charming nor deserving than Sarah could have tempted him to forsake them for matrimony and an accountant’s office, and sat down again without a whisper of a double entendre about early conquests or soaring peaks.

  Sarah herself, blushing in the best tradition of bridal bliss, stood up to thank her many friends and relatives for their support and sympathy, making special mention of Olivia Conafray (which elicited another blush a few seats away from her) and her sister-in-law Karin, who had been a tower of strength in the last fortnight. She also wanted, she said, to express her gratitude to Faith Sargent of Faith’s Functions, who had stepped into the breach so magnificently at very short notice. Her eyes scanned the room enquiringly, and the assembled company turned in its seats to salute Faith. And so, in the moment of silence before it became clear that Faith was no longer in the hall, two hundred guests were collectively privy to the unmistakable and startlingly extravagant sound of smashing crockery.

  Olivia was on her feet in a moment. James, she thought. There is something very odd about James being here, after all. She glanced at Sarah, indicated that she was going to see what was happening, and smiled reassurance. The initial shocked silence in the hall had given way to nervous laughter and curious chatter. When the bride and groom sat down again, the noise rose gradually to its former volume and the backstage drama was dismissed.

  Eve saw Olivia making her way down the hall, and pushed her chair back before she had time to work out why she was doing so. It hadn’t crossed her mind until that moment that there had been any connection between Olivia and James in the last twenty-five years, but who knew, if they both lived in Oxford, even though Olivia had that nice-looking husband and that bevy of boys. There had to be more to James’s presence here than met the eye, and if there was anything to uncover she wanted to be there to uncover it. If there was a denouement to be played out, she would damn well be part of it.

  Robert hesitated for a moment, then followed Olivia. He had no idea what was going on, but he hadn’t relinquished the notion that there was something suspicious about this James person, and about Olivia’s fascination with his house. In any case, Olivia was fragile at the moment: it was advisable to be there to offer a comforting arm, in case things got out of hand.

  It was perhaps fortunate that the domestic bursar had gone home before the speeches, leaving his deputy to oversee the end of the function, and was therefore not present to witness the College crest skittering in every direction across the floor of the servery, among shards of dismembered china and scraps of pastry and root vegetable. A final volley of crashes echoed from the polished tiles as Olivia pushed open the swing doors, Eve and Robert close behind her. James had positioned himself behind a stainless steel trolley stacked high with dirty plates, but the scatter of china around the room suggested that Faith’s aim tended more towards drama than accuracy.

  “Bastard,” she was hissing. “Lying cheat. How dare you? How did you think you could get away with it?”

  There was a moment, just a moment, of silence, while the new arrivals took in the scene, then Eve started laughing.

  “Good on you,” she said. “Once a bastard always a bastard, eh, James? Good to know nothing changes.”

  “For God’s sake.” James held up his hands in a desperate attempt at a truce. “What is this: an inquisition?”

  “The ghosts of the past.” Eve’s eyes were glittering. “You here to defend him, Olivia?”

  “No,” said Olivia. “To clear up a few things.”

  “Me too,” said Faith. “Though James is going to clear up this mess.” She dropped another plate on the floor just in front of her. “You know what I can’t believe? That you offered to come here, bold as brass, never thinking there might be people you knew. Was it a game, taking that risk, a bit of a thrill? Did you reckon you’d get away with it? Or are you really past caring about anyone except yourself?” She threw another plate over his shoulder and it shattered against the wall behind him.

  In the brief silence, Olivia seized the initiative. There was no need for logic, she thought. Faith’s approach was just fine: chuck things at random and watch him duck and dodge. This was showdown time.

  “Who’s Amelia, James?” she demanded.

  “Amelia’s his wife.” Faith brandished the mobile phone in the air. “I’ve just been on the phone to her, in fact. You know what: she’s been trying to get hold of him this evening because one of his daughters has broken her leg in a skiing accident. His daughter who’s almost the same age as me.”

  “You married someone with the same name as your cousin?” If Olivia was aware that this avenue of enquiry was of less interest to the rest of the company, that wasn’t going to stop her pursuing it. They’d all get their chance.

  “What?” James looked perplexed. “Which cousin?”

  “The one with Down’s Syndrome.” Olivia stared at him, realisation dawning. “She doesn’t exist, does she? Poor little Amelia, such a consolation to her parents. Was she a figment of your imagination all along? What about the little boy cousins who drowned?”

  “Or the wife who drowned?” demanded Faith. “Did you make her up too, you sick bastard?”

  James shrugged his shoulders. “You win,” he said.

  “We win?” Eve laughed. “We win? God Almighty. A pretty hollow fucking victory, at this point. What’s the prize? A trophy for the victor ludorum?” Her eyes scanned the shelves: if there had been a silver cup anywhere about, a claret jug or a gravy boat, she might have thrown it at James.

  Olivia’s mind was moving slowly; facts that had been settled for so long took time to dislodge. But surely it was too much of a coincidence, she was thinking, for that name to have co
me into James’s mind back in 1983, unless.

  “How long have you been married?” she asked. “How old is your daughter?”

  “Twenty-four,” said Faith. “Unbelievable. Born when he was twelve, eh, James?”

  Olivia looked at Eve: the maths didn’t need to be spelled out. The real maths. The birth in 1984.

  “Lord,” said Olivia. What price the moral ideal now, she was thinking? What price the regrets she’d allowed to be rekindled these last few months, the standard against which she’d judged herself? It was impossible to know, just at the moment, which would be more powerful: relief or chagrin.

  “I’m amazed she’s stuck with you,” Eve said. She looked almost jaunty, but Olivia knew her too well to be deceived. “Amelia. Rather her than me, that’s all I can say. That’s the only consolation: my disappointment came all in one go. Was she pregnant too, that summer?”

  “What do you want?” James asked now, his voice veering between petulance and aggression and settling somewhere dangerously close to amusement. “What exactly do you want from me? Such old scores.”

  “Brand new scores in my case,” said Faith. “Though I can tell you flat, I don’t want anything from you after you’ve cleared up in here and paid for the damage. Not a single thing, ever again.”

  “I should have blown your cover years ago,” said Eve. “Suave, charming James, left to go about his nefarious business all this time. Spinning his bloody web.”

  “I should have known, sod it,” Faith said. “I can’t believe I swallowed it all. Being fitted in when your wife was away, all these months. Not asking questions. Even that story about the dead baby, after you missed your birthday dinner.”

  “Dead baby?” Eve looked venomous.

  “Some story about being up all night looking after a girl who’d left her baby to die in a phone box. That wasn’t true, was it?”

  “It was true,” Olivia said, swaying slightly as the world shifted around her like a stage moving into position for the next scene, “but it happened a long time ago. It happened to us.”

  She was standing close enough to touch Eve, but she didn’t. She’d lost track of where they were on the spectrum between tragedy and comedy, farce and gritty realism. It seemed that no one else knew the next lines either; that the run of ad lib dialogue had dried up.

  “Come on,” said Robert. It was the first time he’d spoken, the first time any of them had noticed him standing there. “I think we’ve heard enough to satisfy everyone’s curiosity. Shall we go back into the hall? Olivia? Eve? Faith, the bride was hoping to thank you.”

  As they moved back into the corridor, Olivia’s arm brushed against Eve. Too late now, she thought, for her denial. She imagined herself explaining clumsily that nothing had happened between her and James, and Eve’s sneering response: Aren’t you the lucky one? That was her chief regret at this moment: that she’d missed her chance to settle things with Eve.

  Chapter 47

  Olivia and Robert left the reception well after midnight, cycling away through empty streets bright with sodium light and dotted with merrymakers returning from late night revelry. The midwinter cold had mellowed as the night wore on, so that there was, despite the sparkle of frost, an almost spring-like freshness in the air as they made their way towards home.

  During the last hour of the wedding, when the final stray bottles of champagne had been consumed and the scene in the servery had begun to pass into folklore, Olivia had felt strangely solemn. She had been moved by the sight of Sarah dancing with her husband, settled at last and brimming with happiness, and of Eve slipping away early and alone. She had marvelled at the thought that it was twenty years since she and Robert had got married, and that their children were fast approaching the age they’d been then. The circularity of life was inescapable: the chain-link of weddings and funerals, deaths and births, and the glorious, laborious business of striving towards one landmark or another.

  But now, liberated by the mystique of moonlight, she felt skittish. This was life too, freewheeling in the dark, balanced on two narrow tyres. The past she’d revisited over the last few months was confined now to history; the world lay open, expectant, before her. She steered a fanciful sine wave along the deserted roads, watching the feeble beam from her headlight swooshing to and fro over the tarmac and Robert’s back proceeding steadily ahead of her, faintly comical, as large men always are on bicycles. She would recognise Robert instantly from this view, she thought. She would recognise him from any view: his gait, his voice, his silhouette. She knew his laugh in another room, and his shape in the dark. This was one certain thing she had to show for her life, an understanding of intimacy.

  As they turned into their road she felt a shiver of pleasure at the thought of arriving home together, late and tired and slightly drunk, amorous from the romance of a wedding. She felt the potency of having stayed the course; the way twenty years had made the bonds between them more vibrant and vital, not less. It was no longer a question of whether she’d made the right choice or the wrong one: this was the choice she’d made, the only one it was possible to imagine now. She wouldn’t swap places with Sarah, she thought, for all the allure of bridal lace, all the suggestive possibilities of that tracery of gaps and spaces.

  She dismounted in front of the house, and while she unlocked the front door, Robert bolted the bikes together under the bare winter branches of the silver birch tree.

  “Hey,” he said, catching her on the doorstep, and she turned to kiss him, still skittish, smiling in the way she remembered doing when they were students, still exotic to each other.

  They saw the light in the kitchen as soon as she pushed open the door. They stood for a second, just inside the hallway, Robert’s hand still on her waist, and looked at each other.

  Tom was slumped at the kitchen table with a glass of beer untouched beside him. A glass, Olivia thought, not a can: what were they to read into that? An adult distress, perhaps, requiring the refinement of a glass. A lack of conviction in the necessity of the beer, except as a prop.

  “Hi,” she said. “Everything all right?”

  Tom lifted his head slightly. “Yeah.”

  “Sure?”

  There was a grunt and a sigh, and Tom levered himself upright. His jawline was a man’s, Olivia thought, angular and dotted with stubble, but the look in his eyes was little boy hurt.

  “Rough night?” asked Robert.

  “Dumped.” The word came out hollow-sounding, full of self-deprecation.

  “Oh dear.”

  And there it was, Olivia thought: the adult world spread before him. Pain, great and small, from which she couldn’t protect him.

  “Should’ve seen it coming,” said Tom.

  “Easy to say, with the benefit of hindsight,” said Robert. “How about something stronger? Fancy a whisky?”

  “Yeah, all right.”

  Olivia sat down opposite Tom. “Was it someone we’ve met?” she asked, lightly, like a passing thought.

  Tom shook his head. “Don’t think so. Bit older than me. Should’ve known it wouldn’t last.”

  Robert slid a glass of whisky along the table. He raised his eyebrows at Olivia, who shook her head, then relented.

  “Just a small one, though. Too much champagne already.”

  “How was the wedding, anyway?” asked Tom.

  Olivia grinned. “Eventful.”

  “Your mother,” said Robert, “was like one of those TV detectives this evening, uncovering a ring of vice.”

  “Hardly a ring,” protested Olivia, laughing. “And hardly vice, either.”

  “At a wedding?” said Tom. “Sounds more interesting than I expected.”

  He took a long swig of whisky, pulled a face, set the glass down in front of him.

  “I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” said Olivia. “D’you want to talk about it?”

  Tom shook his head. “Nah. Probably better off, to be honest.”

  “Mocks next week, isn’t it?” asked Oli
via.

  Tom grinned. “More fish in the sea, Mum.”

  “You’re a force for good, you are,” Robert said, as they curled up against each other half an hour later.

  “I’m not,” Olivia murmured into his back. She felt too tired, now, for anything except sleep. “When have I done anyone any good?”

  “All the time. That poor girl this evening.”

  “Faith’s Functions?” Olivia made a little laughing noise, but she felt a shaft of pity for Faith. For the drowned wife and the drowned cousins, she thought, and the string of deceived women stretching back twenty years. For her, and for Eve. It was almost funny, except that it wasn’t.

  “She’s been spared some misery, perhaps,” said Robert.

  “That wasn’t me, it was chance. The pure chance of us all being there together. The weirdest thing, don’t you think?”

  “Life is weird.”

  “Sometimes.”

  Robert rolled onto his stomach and lifted his face towards her.

  “What about Tom’s girlfriend?” he asked. “Might she be your ghost, do you think?”

  “Who knows.”

  Part of Olivia didn’t want to think so. She knew Lucy wouldn’t be back, either way; and either way, she was sorry to lose her. Lucy had filled a gap, she thought. She’d played a part in the last few months, at least in Olivia’s imagination.

  Robert cupped his hand around her face.

  “I love you,” he said.

  He kissed her clumsily, and rolled away again with a sigh. Olivia laid her head against his shoulder and listened to his breathing settling into a regular rhythm. She’d let the wave of sleep pass her by, she thought, while they talked. She’d let other things into her mind, things she couldn’t dismiss so easily.

  She could feel Robert’s warmth against her; the rise and fall of his chest; his legs bent to enclose hers. She felt like a tug nestled against an ocean liner, a temptress who could move mountains. She felt her skin pressed so close to his that she wasn’t sure where she stopped and he began.