by Jo Verity
‘Right,’ he said, ‘I hear what you say but…’
‘But?’
‘It’s too theoretical. Clinical. Okay. The world needn’t know. But you know, and you can’t fool yourself into believing nothing’s changed.’
‘There,’ she said, ‘that’s exactly my point.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I tell you and right away you’re telling me what I should do and how I should feel.’
‘That’s not fair, Vivian,’ he said. ‘I only want what’s best for you.’ It sounded trite. Patronising.
‘Good.’ She closed her eyes as if she were in rapture. ‘I feel fantastic. Clean. Light. Free.’
‘Well that’s wonderful,’ he said. ‘I’m delighted for you. Really I am.’
‘I hoped you would be.’ She stretched, reaching up, her fingertips almost touching the ceiling, smiling as though she’d woken from a satisfying sleep. ‘I need the loo.’
‘Carry on. I’ll start lunch. Steak and salad okay?’
Now that he had a few minutes to organise his thoughts, his primary feeling was one of concern. She was being totally irrational which, considering her usual cool-headedness, was disturbing. This revelation vindicated those weird feelings she’d had about Carey but, by anyone’s reckoning, she’d received earth-shattering news. The ramifications were mind-blowing. Surely she couldn’t imagine something so fundamental could be dismissed so lightly. She didn’t really believe she could carry on as before.
But the last thing she needed at the moment was someone to drag her off her cloud nine. He’d simply have to go along with her for the time being.
She returned and, while the steak was cooking, they compared recipes for vinaigrettes. He opened a bottle of wine and she helped set the table. It was like any run-of-the-mill Saturday lunchtime.
They had started eating when her phone rang. ‘It’s Richard,’ she said, rejecting the call and tossing her phone back into her bag. ‘He can’t accept that I’m delighted that Philip Carey, Farleigh Road and the two of them are nothing to do with me. I’ve decided not to talk to him or John ever again. I’ve wasted too much time being Philip Carey’s daughter. Now that I’m not, I refuse to waste any more.’
She drained her wineglass and refilled it. ‘Can we talk about something else, please?’
‘Sure.’ He sliced through his steak, watching the pink juices puddle on the plate. ‘I gather you’re off to Cologne soon.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A week on Monday.’
So cool. So matter-of-fact. She didn’t even ask how he knew.
‘Looking forward to it?’ he said.
‘Yes, I am. The timing couldn’t be better.’
They talked about protests in Egypt. The arrest of a neighbour for the Bristol girl’s murder. Floods around Brisbane. Three short weeks ago they’d slept, side by side, in front of the fire. Now they were strangers.
Whilst he struggled through his steak, she cleared her plate.
‘You’re not hungry?’ she said.
‘I had a late breakfast,’ he lied.
He carried the dishes into the kitchen and opened a fresh pack of coffee. The kettle was boiling, making its usual racket, and she said something he didn’t catch.
‘Sorry?’ he said, stepping back into the living room.
She was facing away from him, lowering the stylus on to an LP. Billie Holliday. ‘God Bless the Child’. She couldn’t know what that voice, this track, did to his gut.
She turned and held his gaze just as she had when they were making the snowman and he took her photograph. ‘You have to go back to Coffs Harbour.’
‘Do I?’ he said. He could feel a gob of steak wedged in his gullet.
‘Of course you do.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because I had the father I hated,’ she said, ‘and Polly doesn’t have the father she loves.’
He wanted to laugh but he could see that she was serious. ‘Oh come on, Vivian. What kind of cockeyed logic is that? You know it doesn’t work that way.’
‘How does it work?’
‘Well there’s certainly no divine being sitting up in the sky, weighing out fathers on some celestial scales of justice. As it happens you’re wrong. Polly doesn’t love me. She despises me. And she’s bloody stubborn. Once she’s made up her mind, nothing will shift her. My going back wouldn’t change a thing. It’d probably make it worse.’
‘You can’t know that,’ she said.
‘I know she didn’t ask me to go back.’
‘Were you listening? Really listening?’
He took a step towards her, hoping to put an end to the exchange, but she held up her hand to stop him.
‘So you’re telling me you don’t intend doing anything,’ she said. ‘You’ll carry on as if nothing has happened.’
He couldn’t let that pass. ‘Hold on. Something pretty fundamental’s happened to you too but you’re allowed to do nothing and I’m not?’
‘Our situations are entirely different. You have it in your power to change the future. I can’t change the past. Your decision affects half a dozen people. Mine affects no one but myself.’
How carelessly she trampled on his heart.
She pulled her coat off the hanger. ‘If I stay any longer, we’ll fall out. And I couldn’t bear that.’
‘Really?’ he said. ‘You seem more than happy to get rid of me.’
‘I didn’t say your leaving would make me happy. I said you have to go.’
That evening, Gil visited most of the pubs in Kentish Town. When he finally made it home, he played his way through his Miles collection until Oskar knocked the door, pointing out it was past midnight. Gil apologised, invited him in, and they listened to Coltrane and finished off the dregs of a bottle of brandy.
Next morning he bumped into Feray in the shop.
‘You look terrible,’ she said. ‘And what’s that all about?’ She pointed to the packet of cigarettes in his hand.
Before he knew it, they were in her flat, drinking sweet gritty coffee, and he was telling her about Polly’s threat to give away his granddaughter.
‘Does she really mean it?’ she said.
‘Poll’s always been a drama queen,’ he said. ‘But she’s not a kid any more. This is a real life changer. The problem is, she’s boxed herself into a corner. Time’s running out and I’m scared she’ll go through with it.’
‘You and she talked?’ she said.
‘Yes. A couple of times. To be honest it wasn’t great. She was frosty to say the least.’
‘What did she say about the baby?’
‘She’s worried she won’t make a good mother. But this adoption business only flared up after I left. Janey’s blaming me, of course. She insists everything was trotting along nicely until I turned up.’
Melissa appeared, still wearing her pyjamas. When she saw him she smiled, apparently unfazed by his reappearance in their kitchen after so many weeks.
‘Hi, Gil,’ she said then turned to her mother. ‘I can’t find my black leggings, Mum.’
Feray sighed and went to address the crisis leaving Gil thinking how easy it was to talk to her and, bearing in mind their history, how generous she was to listen.
‘All sorted?’ he said when she returned.
‘In her drawer, of course.’
‘I’ve been banging on about myself,’ he said. ‘How are you? Still seeing that guy?’
‘Yes, I am. And we’re still taking it slowly.’
‘That’s terrific.’
‘And your girlfriend?’ There was no resentment in her voice.
‘Vivian was never my girlfriend,’ he said. ‘I fooled myself into thinking she might be. She needed me for a while but now she doesn’t.’
‘I’m not sure I like this Vivian. She sounds selfish to me. But if she’s the one you wanted, I’m sorry it didn’t work out. More coffee?’
She refilled the long-handled copper jug and set it on the gas ring. ‘You once told me
you came to London to live your dream. Maybe it’s time for a new dream.’
‘Maybe.’
When Feray said that she’d love to have the portrait back, he knew she harboured no hard feelings towards him.
Kevin took his resignation pretty well. Gil had implied that his flit was down to ‘women trouble’ which ensured Kevin was on side, and which was true – although not in Kevin’s terms.
‘Might as well square the books mate,’ Kevin said, rigging the dates so that three weeks’ notice looked like the statutory four. ‘Once the heat’s off, you might want to come back.’
42
‘I wasn’t sure you’d want to come,’ she said.
‘Don’t be daft.’
He took off his coat and she saw that he was wearing the blue shirt and bow tie he’d worn when they went to the Roundhouse.
‘You look nice,’ she said.
‘Thanks.’ He tugged the folds of the tie. ‘Mmmm. Something smells good.’
‘Goulash,’ she said.
She’d wondered whether he’d want to risk another meeting and, rather than phoning, she’d emailed to give him time to consider. Her first attempt had included an apology and something about not parting on bad terms. But in the end she’d kept it short. Come to supper on Saturday? V x
‘How was your week?’ he said.
‘I was fine. Richard’s stopped calling, thank God. Work was manic – but that’s how I like it. It’s good to get back on track. Mrs Sachs came in for a coffee. She’s going to keep an eye on the flat and put my mail to one side. And I’ve made a list of what to take. Just clothes really. Everything else is there.’
‘So you’re all set,’ he said.
‘I think so.’
She poured two measures of whisky. ‘Have you heard from your family?’
‘I had a letter from my mum. She says all she wants is for me to be happy. I don’t even think she’s being ironic.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Like you said, I’ve got to give it a go. Babies don’t stick to a schedule so I need to get on with it. I’m leaving in two weeks.’
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ she said, feeling a tug of regret. ‘Sorry I’ve been so horrid.’
‘No. Don’t apologise. I appreciate your honesty. I needed the wake-up call.’
The flat was filled with the scent of paprika and caraway and, if she closed her eyes, she was a child, helping her mother set the table for Sunday lunch.
‘I’ve started writing a story,’ she said.
He looked puzzled. ‘I didn’t know you write.’
‘I don’t. But sometimes we need stories to help us understand things. See what you think.
‘There was once a tall man with black hair, grey eyes and narrow feet. He was kind and clever. He loved drawing and numbers and finding out how things worked. One day he met a young German woman. I’m not sure where. Paris or Berlin or London. Anyway, they fell in love. Deeply, deeply in love. Then something terrible happened – I don’t know what – and he disappeared. Vanished. Forever. Not long after that the woman discovered she was pregnant. Then…I think she must have gone a bit crazy.’
His eyes were fixed on her face and she knew he was waiting to see how she would tackle the next part – the unfeasible part – of her story.
‘That’s as far as I’ve got,’ she said. ‘It’ll do for now.’
He reached out and touched her hair. And somehow, without discussion, they accepted their separate futures.
After supper, she showed him the letter that had arrived two days earlier.
Dear Miss Carey,
I hope you don’t mind but I opened your letter to my sister. I’m dealing with Irene’s mail as she’s not up to it at the minute. She’s not been at all well and the doctors don’t want her being on her own, so she’s staying with us here in Maidenhead. I don’t know how much she told you, but she’s not had an easy life. I think the terrible business of the bomb affected her more than we all realised. We’re crossing our fingers that she will soon be better. She often spoke to me about your kindness. Thank you.
Best wishes
Lillian Dobson
‘It’s sad,’ Vivian said.
‘It is,’ Gil said, ‘but I can’t say it comes as a shock.’ He handed back the letter. ‘Her sister sounds like a nice woman. It’s some responsibility she’s taken on.’
‘Yes. I hope it pans out for them both.’
‘Me, too,’ he said. ‘The truth is we’re all a whisker away – or should I say, a lost cat away – from becoming an Irene.’
They’d opened a second bottle of wine and were both a little intoxicated. She must be careful what she said now. It would be too easy for alcohol to get the better of her. There had been moments when she’d come near to loving him. But she didn’t love him and it would be unforgiveable to mislead or confuse him with an ill-considered remark.
‘I read the book,’ she said. ‘It was appalling. But I see why your mother called you Gillon.’
‘She’s a romantic at heart, bless her,’ he said.
She took the book from the shelf and offered it to him. ‘One of your children – or grandchildren – should have this.’
He shook his head. ‘I’d rather you binned it than they did.’
‘I won’t bin it,’ she said.
She couldn’t say where the time went. They didn’t talk much – in fact barely at all. But it was exactly how she’d hoped it would be.
‘Will you stay?’ she said.
This had been on her mind all evening and was part of the reason she’d drunk more than she might have done.
‘I’d like that,’ he said. ‘On one condition. No, two.’
‘What?’ She couldn’t imagine what he was going to say.
‘You wear those stripy pyjamas. And we sleep – as in sleep – together.’
‘You’ll make me cry,’ she said.
At some point in the night she surfaced. She was curled on her side, Gil pressed close behind her, his deep, regular breaths warm on the back of her neck.
The next time she woke it was light and she was alone in the bed.
‘Gil?’ she said then tried again, a little louder, ‘Gil?’
When she went to find him, his coat had gone from the hook.
He’d held it together pretty well, he thought. His exit had been on the cheesy side but he wouldn’t have got through breakfast without making an idiot of himself. Now all he had to do was get his head round the fact that he’d never see her again. She wasn’t going to come with him to Coffs. Polly wasn’t going to phone to say she was keeping the baby. Or that she wanted him to stay in London and be happy.
He wondered how to tell the family he was coming back. It was a tricky one. It mustn’t look as if he were expecting a medal, or a guarantee that his return would put everything – or indeed anything – right. Rachel’s ‘prodigal’ dig was still raw in his memory. Maybe it was best to turn up unannounced. It was a tad melodramatic – here comes the cavalry – but once they knew he’d given up his job and his flat they’d realise he intended sticking around.
Then there was the problem of cash. He was broke. His mother would put him up for as long as he wanted to stay, he was certain of that. But he couldn’t sponge off her for long. He’d have to find work straight away. In a bar or supermarket – anything would do. And – this was the big one – he didn’t have enough to cover a plane ticket.
He’d recently audited his worldly goods but he did it again on the off-chance he’d overlooked something. The only items of value were his camera and his laptop. The laptop was nothing special. It would fetch a couple of hundred pounds at most. On the other hand, the camera and lenses should raise enough for a one-way fare. He was reluctant to part with it. It was a nice camera and might be the means of earning a few quid but he had no alternative, and within twenty-four hours of pinning a ‘for sale’ card on the staff notice board, he’d had several enquiries.
He was reasonably on track with his leaving sche
dule, when Louise Skyped. She assured him that it was a social call, but he suspected there was more to it. They limbered up with small talk about the floods and their mother’s upcoming trip with her quilting group. When he could no longer avoid asking after her family, she said they were fine but in the next breath blurted out that she and her husband were having problems.
‘Big problems?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. He won’t talk to me. He’s preoccupied. Not sleeping. Snappy. The kids have started to notice.’
She dipped her head, her image on the screen freezing and tearing but he knew she was crying.
‘I’m sorry, Gil. I didn’t mean to dump this on you.’
‘Dump away,’ he said. And despite his earlier resolution, he told her that he was coming home in a couple of weeks. Home for good.
His news brought on more tears. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘It’ll mean so much to Mum. To all of us, in fact.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘I feel better already.’
Once he got in the swing of it, distributing his possessions turned out to be fun.
He gave his jazz albums to Freddy Kimura. Gil had picked them up in charity shops and he’d more than had his money’s worth of enjoyment from them. Freddy – a vinyl nut – insisted on paying him a hundred pounds. It was reward enough seeing them go to a good home but, given that Freddy was a surgeon and that he – Gil – was strapped, he accepted.
The television went to Feray (for her bedroom). Also the best of the crockery and kitchen stuff. The kids were thrilled to have his posters. As recompense for putting up with years of his music, he gave Oskar his guitar. He left a box of books on the front step with a sign inviting passers-by to help themselves. (And they did.) The furniture would have to stay. Everything else – bedding and clothes he wasn’t taking – could go into black bags at the last minute.
He and Vivian hadn’t discussed whether they would stay in touch. It would have come up over breakfast – another reason why he’d left the way he had. A clean break was brutal, but he knew himself well enough to know that it had to be that way if he were to commit to life in Coffs. He mustn’t cling to one single atom of hope. Vivian would understand.
