by Penny Feeny
When Toby came out of the bathroom in another respectable jumper, Jess threw a cushion at him. ‘Such a traditionalist!’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you choose one of mine?’
He plucked at his sleeve, puzzled, until he realised she was talking about the sofa. ‘I hadn’t really noticed. Most of this stuff was bequeathed by my predecessor. I’m afraid I live in a bit of a time warp.’
‘That must be what we love about you! Centuries of perspective.’
He tossed the cushion onto the nearest chair. ‘You know I’ve bought my own house now? A two-up two-down terrace in the Kite, easy pedalling distance. I’m still sorting out the furniture, but, rest assured, you will make your mark on it. Material for curtains at the very least. I was toying with taking you to see it but I think the weather’s against us.’
‘Next time, then.’
He said, in a rush, ‘It’s good to have you here, Jess.’ There was a pause. ‘Now, what can I get you? A drink?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘I’ll light the fire and make you some tea.’
‘Please don’t bother. I don’t want any tea.’
‘You’re shivering, you need to warm up.’ He struck a match and the gas roared in the pipes. ‘Why don’t I give your hair a good rub with the towel? Sorry I don’t have a dryer here.’
He sat beside her on the sofa and she bent her head forward as he instructed. She rarely went to the hairdresser so she wasn’t used to the sensation of someone else massaging her head. She enjoyed it and didn’t want him to stop.
‘How’s that?’ he said, after a while. ‘Dry enough yet?’
She scrunched a damp handful. ‘That felt really good. I bet it looks a sight though.’
‘Would you like me to brush it for you?’
‘Oh… go on, then… yes, please.’
She fetched her hairbrush from her bag and turned her back to him. The bristles tingled against her scalp but the slow rhythmic motion of the brush strokes was as soothing as the hiss of the gas fire and the thud of the rain on the window panes. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘Very nice.’
He lifted her hair from her nape in a single sweep and smoothed it forward over her shoulder. This left a portion of her neck exposed and he dropped a light kiss on it. Jess was startled and swung to face him; impulsively she fixed her mouth to his. Toby responded as if this was the most natural thing in the world. When they broke away for air, he said, ‘I’ve always wanted to do that.’
‘I know,’ said Jess, attempting to laugh it off. A kiss between long-standing friends – was that so unusual?
‘Did I make myself so obvious?’
‘Not at all. I hope you don’t mind, but Alex told me.’
Something in her voice must have alerted him. ‘Ah… Alex… Things not going well?’
‘It’s since the move. You said to give it time, do you remember? I thought he’d adjust. But it’s been over two years and he hasn’t; he’s not happy.’
‘I’m sorry.’
The need for his touch had taken her by surprise; so, now, did her tears. She wiped her eyes, swallowed and said, ‘Whereas you’ve really fallen on your feet, haven’t you? Prestigious position and all of this. Don’t get me wrong. I think it’s terrific. You deserve every bit of it. You’ve worked hard and you’re clever and thorough and dedicated and—’
‘Stop it, Jess.’ He caressed her cheek. ‘Nobody ever has everything they want.’
She was tempted to take the hand that was being so tender with her and bite it, with the ferocity of an animal in pain. Instead, her words came out muffled and miserable. ‘Looking back, I can see that Alex and I have been drifting apart. And now he’s keeping something from me. We never had secrets before.’
Toby chose his words with caution. ‘You mean an affair? Didn’t you both believe you were above a bit of infidelity? You used to say it wouldn’t faze you.’
‘That was cocky, wasn’t it? Thinking we could keep our options open without losing what we’d found together. But actually, up to now, neither of us ever put it into practice.’
‘Nor would I. If I could get you into my bed, Jess, I wouldn’t share you with anyone else.’
‘Oh, Toby, that’s sweet! But the point is…’ she shifted position so her head was resting against his shoulder, her legs curled under her and her bare feet digging into the sofa cushions ‘… we undertook to be absolutely honest about everything. If Alex was seeing anyone else, he should have told me. Straight up. Instead I have this horrible sense of betrayal. I know he’s lied to me.’
Toby said with an awkward laugh, ‘Before we go any further, I need to come clean too. I’m expecting a visitor any minute.’
She bolted upright and swung her feet to the floor. ‘What visitor?’
He looked uncomfortable. It must be a woman. Toby was nearly forty, it was about time he settled into a serious relationship. Perhaps that was why he was now more smartly dressed and better organised. She was pleased for him. He’d admitted he’d always wanted to kiss her and there was no reason for it to affect their friendship. She still loved her husband, didn’t she, whatever he might have done? She wasn’t looking for new romance – although this afternoon, especially since the rain storm, had a fragile enchanted quality like a bubble before it burst.
She was about to ask, ‘Who is she?’ when Toby, rather sheepishly, said, ‘Gerald.’
‘Gerald! Your uncle?’
‘Yes. You haven’t seen him, have you, since you were last in Sicily?’
‘No, we haven’t.’
‘I didn’t say anything earlier because I didn’t know how you’d take it.’
‘How is he?’
‘Oh, much the same. He’s visiting because I pulled a few strings for him. You know, he’s been doing all this research into Stesichorus? Well, he finally got enough material for a book. He’s giving a lecture tonight to promote it and he’s my guest at dinner. He’s over the moon about it, which is how I manged to get rid of him and meet you. Packed him off with a friend from the Classics faculty. But I didn’t know this was how our day would turn out.’
She said, ‘Do you want me to go?’
‘No, that would be ridiculous. Unless you’d prefer to…’
The McKenzies had left Villa Ercole abruptly. The day after they’d rescued the children from Carlotta, they’d driven north and booked rooms in a hotel in San Vito lo Capo, making the excuse that it was more convenient for the airport. There had been a brief correspondence with Gerald immediately afterwards, apologies on both sides, civil rather than sincere. Jess might have forgiven him by now, but for Carlotta’s letter crackling in her handbag.
‘The summer of 1977,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t want to go away.’
‘What does that mean, exactly?’
‘Oh, it’s complicated…’ She wished she could have stayed snug in Toby’s embrace, petted and pacified, but that would have been greedy. She went to sit at the far end of the sofa, just in time: after the briefest of knocks, Gerald waltzed in. Waltzed was a fair description. He skimmed over the carpet on the balls of his feet, gaunt and white-haired, but buoyed with new importance.
‘Wonderful fellow, Crispin,’ he said to Toby. ‘Had a fascinating afternoon.’ He made straight for the sherry decanter and was holding it aloft when he noticed Jess. ‘Sorry, didn’t see you had a guest.’
Jess rose, determined to be polite. ‘Hello, Gerald.’
‘Jessamy! Good Lord! How lovely to see you. How are you? And the family?’
‘I’ve been escaping them,’ she said. ‘I was in London yesterday and I hadn’t seen Toby for God knows how long so…’
‘Did he tell you about my book?’
‘Yes. Well done.’
‘You must have a copy,’ he said, putting down the sherry and unlocking his briefcase.
She said cautiously, ‘Is this what you were working on when we last saw you? You were putting a lot of effort into it.’
‘Soaked in my blood, sweat an
d tears,’ he said, passing her a slim volume.
The binding was crimson, good quality, smooth to the touch. She opened it and riffled through the pages. There was an index, a glossary, a plethora of notes, but no acknowledgements.
‘I had it published privately,’ said Gerald, as if he knew what she was looking for. ‘At my own expense. One has to keep the page count down.’
‘Alex helped you quite a lot, didn’t he?’
‘To a limited extent, my dear. I dare say he thinks he’s an authority on many things but perhaps none of us are quite the experts our egos would have us believe.’
‘Why don’t you pour some drinks, Gerald?’ said Toby, trying to change the subject.
He’s still hurt, thought Jess, noting the tremor in Gerald’s hand as she took the dainty sherry glass from him.
He said, ‘Does he continue to charge about in his shining armour, your husband? Attending to the distress of all and sundry, seeking dragons to slay?’
‘That’s not fair,’ said Jess, her loyalty roused. ‘There’s good reason for Alex to be the way he is. People can’t help being influenced by their circumstances, whether they’re aware of it or not. His father made the ultimate sacrifice, didn’t he, dying for his country? It’s a lot for a boy to live up to. He believes it’s his duty to make the world his father fought for a better place and I admire him for trying.’
‘Naturally you defend him,’ said Gerald. ‘And I am a lazy jaundiced cynic. And yes, Jessamy, you’re right. I did run some of my writing past him for advice. But the fact is, Alex couldn’t help with the translation because he doesn’t know any Greek. However, I shall be delighted to inscribe the flyleaf to the two of you with my compliments.’
‘It’s not that we bear a grudge,’ she began, as he uncapped his pen. ‘But after what happened that summer, why on earth did you think giving our home address to Carlotta Galetti would be remotely helpful?’
The fountain pen paused, mid-flourish. ‘Dear girl, I did no such thing.’
‘You didn’t?’ He had sounded genuinely shocked. ‘Then who did?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’ He completed his signature and handed her the book. ‘Do you mean to say the woman’s been writing to you in London?’
‘Yes. In fact…’ Did it matter how Carlotta had discovered where they lived? A new thought swirled into her brain. Gerald wanted to make amends. He might have spent years translating classical texts, but a sheet of Italian would only take him a couple of minutes.
23
Lily and Harry were now at the same school. This had drawbacks – when he was being an annoying year 7, for instance – but advantages too, when she wanted to play hard to get. No, she told Drew, she couldn’t go to the café in town for a Coke because she had to make sure her kid brother got home safely on the bus. This was a gamble, because she had fancied Drew for ages, but when it resulted in a date arranged for Saturday, her spirits soared.
She was feeling both excited and mellow as she and Harry walked home from the bus-stop. Sometimes it was frustrating to be living in the middle of nowhere, but she loved the cosiness of the cottage, which Alex had christened the ‘Whispering Pines’ because of the towering Leylandii planted by the gate. The front garden was a tangle of rose bushes, the porch was full of Wellington boots and old umbrellas and the front door opened directly into the living room, which had bright rugs on the floor and a wood-burning stove and a surfeit of cushions covered in Jess’s off-cuts.
Today it felt less welcoming than usual, though both their parents were in. A line of light crept beneath the study door and Jess’s bag was dropped beside the staircase. Lily was puzzled that Jess hadn’t rushed to hug them after two days away, but she supposed she must be busy in her workshop. She and Harry shouted out that they were home and went up to their rooms to change. Lily loosened her hair from its scrunchie so it fell around her shoulders and searched her wardrobe for something to wear on Saturday. She picked out a new top with a slash neck and batwing sleeves and tried it on to see if it looked sexy enough. She slicked on some lip gloss and pouted at the mirror. She was struggling with the zip of her jeans when Harry poked his head around the door and whistled.
‘Piss off,’ she said. ‘What d’you want?’
‘They’re having a row,’ he said.
‘They can’t be!’
‘Come and listen.’
Harry’s bedroom was over the study and sounds floated up through the chimney breast. Usually this would be Alex at his electric typewriter, the tap of the keys like birds pecking at a frozen puddle. Not today. Today there were agitated voices, which was unheard of. Their parents’ fight was always against external forces, never with each other.
‘What’s the matter with them these days?’ said Harry, in a tone of grown-up exasperation.
Jess and Alex were no longer in their old stroking/cuddling/brushing against each other routine – the routine where they communicated instinctively with quick smiles and tiny gestures. In fact, they hadn’t been for a while; there was a tension between them. Lily didn’t understand why her parents, who had once been so different from everyone else’s – so much more relaxed, so much more fun – had become restless and dissatisfied; why the atmosphere sometimes felt stifling, as if the air was trapped and couldn’t circulate; why Alex was so often absent. She worried that it was her fault because she’d been the prime cause of their move, but that was ages ago now and this afternoon, in her present glow of contentment, it wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on.
‘There’s someone with them,’ she said.
‘You mean it’s someone else who’s arguing?’
‘I don’t know, but every now and again you can hear another voice. Female, but not Grandma or Dinah.’
‘We should see who it is,’ said Harry. ‘They can’t ignore us. They know we’re home. Come on.’
Intrigued, Lily followed him. The cottage stairs were steep and narrow and thinly carpeted. They tried not to make too much noise, clattering down. ‘Shhh, wait,’ said Lily, putting her ear to the panel of the closed door.
An angry voice said, ‘How can you possibly understand what I have endured? Do you think it is easy to leave your home and everything you know? To live in strange cities… bad relationships… terrible jobs…’
‘Who’s that?’ said Harry.
‘Let’s find out.’ She knocked first, as a warning, and then, sensing a dramatic entrance was required, flung open the study door.
Alex fumbled with something on his desk. Jess gaped as if she didn’t recognise her. ‘Lily?’
‘Why are you staring at me like that?’
‘Are you wearing lipstick?’
‘What’s wrong with lipstick? Anyway, it’s gloss.’ She looked around the room, perplexed. ‘Where is she?’
‘Who?’
‘The woman you’re arguing with.’
‘There’s no one else here.’
This was irrefutable. The room contained a wall of bookcases, a studio couch, which doubled as a spare bed for visitors, a large desk and a chair. Harry might have hidden in the kneehole of the desk or under the couch but no adult was likely to crawl there.
‘But we heard her!’
A quick, desperate look passed from Jess to Alex. He reached out and pulled Lily towards him. She came up to his shoulder and knew she wasn’t likely to grow any taller. On the desk behind him was a sheet of graph paper covered in blue ink. At first she thought it might have been torn from one of her rough books where she sometimes scribbled private confidences, but she realised it was a letter when she saw the envelope with the foreign stamps. Then she spotted the tape recorder.
‘Is that where the voice came from?’
Jess sank onto the studio couch and buried her face in her hands. Alex said, ‘Yes.’
‘And the letter? Is that from the same person too?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s this all about? Who is she?’
Alex said, ‘I don’t kno
w if you remember Carlotta Galetti?’
Harry said, ‘No. Who’s Carlotta Galetti?’
‘Oh, Harry!’ said Lily. ‘You’re hopeless! She was the woman with the Polaroid camera in Roccamare, the one who took us to Favignana.’
‘Oh, yeah. She was okay. Apart from the fishing. I am never going fishing again.’
Alex said, ‘Jess is upset because I’ve been in touch with her.’
‘No,’ said Jess. ‘I’m upset because you didn’t tell me.’
‘I was trying to protect you.’
‘That’s so bloody patronising! Thinking you can play God. It’s not what we’re about.’ She corrected herself. ‘What we used to be about.’
Lily wriggled away from Alex and went to sit beside Jess. She put her arm around her, anxious to placate her. ‘Why does it matter?’ she said. ‘She doesn’t tell the truth, you know.’
Jess’s head jerked up. ‘Carlotta lies? How would you know that?’
‘When we were on the island,’ said Lily, ‘She pretended she couldn’t swim when she could. It was odd because it’s usually the other way around: people claiming they’re good at stuff and then making excuses not to do it.’
‘How do you mean? Did she fake drowning?’
‘No, she asked me to teach her. I had to help her learn to float and practise strokes.’ She could still see Carlotta’s golden body splashing through the water and perching on the rock like a mermaid. ‘She wanted me to hold her.’
Jess said softly, ‘There was probably a reason for that.’ Then she said to Alex. ‘You went along with her scheme, you encouraged her. You’ve a lot of explaining to do, so you’d better make a start.’
Harry planted himself against the door. ‘You’re not going to send me away. I want to hear this.’
‘Yes, you should stay,’ said Jess. ‘It affects us all. But try not to interrupt.’
Alex stood with his back to the window and his face in shadow. He said to Lily, ‘I expect Carlotta wanted to get close to you because she believes – and I have to stress we can never be certain of this – that you are her daughter.’
