Love Nest

by Julia Llewellyn

  ‘I understand. It’s what we were just saying. When somebody’s ill you feel you can’t deny them anything. Their wishes have to come first.’

  Karen sniffed as she looked at her with her piercing cobalt eyes. ‘And do you ever regret the sacrifices you made?’

  Grace paused. ‘Yes and no. I loved my mother. I was at her side when she died. But… yes, now I have to build up my life from scratch and I do wonder if I should have been a little more self-centred.’ She felt shocked to have expressed the thought. She continued. ‘So if you really don’t want to come here, you should stand your ground. Actually, there was another offer on the table.’

  But Karen didn’t hear her. ‘It’s not just that I don’t want to move here. I’m…’ She swallowed. ‘I’ve got a friendship.’

  ‘A friendship?’ Grace looked puzzled, then the penny dropped. ‘Oh my goodness. A friendship! You mean an affair?’

  Karen shook her head.

  ‘No, no. It’s just… well, yes, it is. It is an affair and I’m so… confused.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never had such an experience but I imagine so. Who is he?’

  ‘He’s the brother of an old boyfriend.’ God, it sounded so tacky. ‘But that’s not the issue. The point is I’ve married the wrong man.’

  ‘Really?’ Grace didn’t appear to be judging her.

  ‘For thirteen years I’ve been behaving like an ostrich. Trying to convince myself that what Phil and I had wasn’t crazy and passionate but that crazy and passionate was a bad idea, that what was more important was friendship, stability. And we did have that friendship. I could talk to him. He made me laugh. But I’m not sure any of that’s true any more. I gave so much to Phil when he was sick, but by the time I got him through it I think my last vestiges of love for him had vanished. He survived but the love died.’

  Grace said nothing. Karen carried on.

  ‘We’d always been different and somehow we’ve come through something as life-changing as him almost dying even more different. He wants peace and green fields and pottering around all day talking to builders. I still want dirty streets and bright lights and noise. And we can’t talk about it. He just ploughs on with his plan and I go along with it because I feel terrible not supporting him. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You have to talk to Phil,’ Grace said. ‘And you must end things with this other chap.’

  ‘I will,’ Karen said. ‘I mean, I’ve already ended things. I’m not taking his calls even though it’s killing me. And I will speak to Phil. Somewhere where there are no distractions. We’ll go out for dinner. On Saturday. I’ll book a table. And we won’t leave the restaurant until we’ve thrashed this out once and for all.’

  28

  All the way home, she ran through her plan of action. She’d go to Devon. She definitely wouldn’t see Max again. She would go home and talk to Phil. They’d go out for a romantic dinner, when they would really talk.

  Who’d have thought that in the end her confidante would be Grace Porter-Healey? Grace who’d led such a sheltered life. But who had listened to her so sweetly, without interruptions or criticisms. And who was right.

  Stopping at her service station, she checked her phone. A text was waiting.

  Are you free this evening? M

  Heart thudding, she tapped out an immediate reply.

  No. Sorry. Afraid I’ll be busy for the foreseeable future. Kind regards.

  She pressed ‘send’ and leaned back in the driver’s seat, dizzy with grief at what she was throwing away. But what was the alternative? Carry on a couple of months and leave anyway when she was even deeper in?

  Ridiculous. She’d done the right thing. She wasn’t going to think about Max any more. She was going to turn all her attention into making a new life for them all in Devon. Into what All Woman! would call Relationship Repair. They’d illustrate the article with a photo of couple lying on a bed divided by a zigzag line.

  The thought should have made her smile, but it didn’t.

  Gareth stood in the middle of the so-called wobbly bridge over the Thames – the wobbles that had plagued its opening had long been sorted out but the nickname remained for perpetuity. He was killing time before a viewing on a quirky little flat in Ave Maria Lane. It should have started at three thirty, but the client had called saying he was going to be late. Gareth didn’t mind. He stood admiring the view, dominated by the Gherkin: St Paul’s to his left, Tate Modern to his right. Sometimes Gareth wished he was back in Dorset, but when he took in this panorama he knew he was in the greatest city in the world. He leaned against the parapet feeling master of all he surveyed.

  ‘Hello,’ said a voice beside him.

  Gareth jumped. Standing beside him was Anton Beleek, gazing dolefully out at the grey river.

  ‘Anton! Didn’t see you there.’

  ‘No? You were right beside me.’ Anton snorted. ‘I’m pretty missable though.’ He snorted again. Gareth felt a little alarmed.

  ‘So are you well, Anton?’ he tried.

  ‘As well as can be expected. Yourself?’

  ‘Fine. You know, it’s not been easy this past year, trying to sell houses. As you would know. But we’re all surviving.’ Looking at Anton’s pale profile, Gareth wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Anton said, and then after a second he shook his head and said, ‘Sorry. What did you say?’

  Gareth was uneasy now. Anton had a mind like a wheel clamp. Nothing escaped its clutches. ‘I said we’re all surviving.’

  ‘Ach. Yes. I suppose so. Yes.’ He paused and then said, ‘It hasn’t all been easy recently, Gareth. I’d begun to think about settling down. Thought I’d found the woman to do it with.’

  ‘You and Lucinda did seem right for each other.’ Gareth was uncomfortable.

  ‘I daresay everyone’s laughing at me.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Gareth lied, thinking uneasily of some of Joanne’s recent remarks in the Fox & Anchor about sad old gits.

  ‘Still, she has the right to do whatever she wants. There was never any agreement between us.’ Anton turned suddenly to Gareth. His face looked like a condemned building smashed by a demolition ball. ‘I thought… I thought I was getting on my feet again. That I could be happy with her. But fate is very cruel. Everything I love is snatched from me. I’ve got to accept that’s just the way it goes.’

  He turned and started walking back towards St Paul’s. Gareth thought it best that he follow. He was scared Anton was going to throw himself in the water. But suddenly he turned back.

  ‘It wasn’t the big thing that some people made out. No woman’s ever managed to nail me down, ha-ha. Nice to see you. I’m sure I can trust you not to pass on anything I’ve said.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Gareth said, but Anton was already striding off into the crowd, his long raincoat flapping behind him like raven’s wings.

  Ludmila didn’t want to babysit. ‘I’m sorry but it’s the annual au-pair get-together this week in Dunstable and I have been looking forward to this all year. I must attend. If I do not go I will return to Slovenia on next aeroplane.’ Her bottom lip started to quiver. Karen backed off.

  Fine, so no romantic dinner out. Never mind. She’d prepare a fantastic meal at home. Karen went through phases with cooking. She’d loved it before the girls were born, but years of lovingly prepared nutritious meals being thrown on the floor or rejected outright ‘because the peas are touching the fish fingers’ had turned it into simply another chore. Phil had made it even more onerous. Before the cancer they’d existed on pasta, alternated with fish, with a roast chicken at weekends. But since his recovery his meals had to be vegetarian, preferably vegan and all organic. If Karen ever gently pointed out how much that cost, her husband’s response was the usual. ‘It’s only money. We can’t take it with us. What price on health?’

  Tonight, however, she was going to pander to Phil’s every whim. As the girls sat gripped in front of Hannah Montana on the new HDTV screen, more spoils from Phil’
s post-recovery spree, she embarked on a Nigella couscous dish. Swedes, parsnips, carrots, tomatoes – you couldn’t get much more bloody vegan than this. She’d make some Quorn meatballs to go with it. She’d open a bottle of organic wine. Wear a frock. Put things back on track.

  Her phone beeped.

  Please can we talk. At least?

  ‘What’s up?’ said Phil, strolling into the room and tousling Eloise’s hair, so she cried, ‘Oi! Get off, Daddy!’

  Guiltily, Karen shoved the phone in her pocket. She eyed her husband as if he were a stranger. Bald – well, that was hardly his fault. Deathly pale because he now never let a ray of sunshine touch his skin. Max was so much more manly, with the surprisingly dark hair on his forearms, his wide muscled back.

  ‘What’s all this cooking for?’

  ‘I’m making us a special dinner,’ she said.

  ‘For tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He looked troubled. ‘But darling, didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘I’ve got yoga again.’

  ‘Phil! What is it with all this yoga? You’ve got all day to do it, why does it have to be in the evenings?’

  ‘Because that is when the best classes are.’

  ‘And you can’t miss just one? I’m making us a special dinner. A treat.’

  ‘Kaz, this is about my health. You can’t argue about it.’

  ‘What about us, though? Aren’t we important too?’

  ‘You’re everything to me. That’s why it’s so important I stay healthy. Why we need to move to Devon.’

  ‘I don’t want to move to Devon,’ Karen suddenly yelled. ‘I love it here. I love my home, I love my friends, I love my job. I’ll be miserable in the middle of the country. I can’t do it.’

  The impossible was achieved. The girls took their eyes off the television and stared at her.

  ‘But Mummy, in Devon we’ll have a swimming pool,’ Bea said. Her eyes switched back to the screen.

  A look of incredulity crossed Phil’s face. A bit like the expression when the doctor had given him the diagnosis. Karen felt like the worst wife in the world. ‘Kaz. What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘I tried to tell you. I don’t want to go.’

  ‘It’s my dream, Karen. I’ve been focusing on this for so long. You know it’s what’s kept me sane, thinking of what lies in store for us.’

  ‘For you. Not us.’

  Phil inhaled deeply. ‘I’ve given you everything. I worked for years number-crunching, commuting, wearing suits and ties just to give you the best – the best house, the best schools, to allow you to have a nanny so you could continue with your precious job. And look what it did to me. I have to think of myself for a change. I almost died, Karen.’

  ‘But you were doing your job before you met me. And I’m not saying you should go back to it. But…’ She lowered her voice, glancing at the girls. ‘Can we really afford it? How are we going to pay for university? What about our old age?’

  Phil shook his head. ‘We’ll be fine.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Love, don’t take this the wrong way but I’ve got to go. We’ll have your delicious dinner when I get back and we’ll talk about this more.’

  ‘I may not be here when you get back,’ Karen snapped, more loudly than she intended. Bea looked round panic-stricken.

  ‘Mummy! You can’t go out. Who will look after us?’

  ‘She’s only being silly, pumpkin,’ Phil said.

  Eloise stood up, her eyes full of tears. ‘Why are you being so horrible to each other? What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Sorry, darling,’ Karen said. Her heart felt curled up, burnt to ash. ‘We weren’t really being horrible to each other, we were just…’

  ‘You were being horrible. I’m not deaf, you know. Now say sorry.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Bea chimed in. ‘Go on. Give Daddy a kiss. Then Daddy, you give Mummy one.’

  Karen looked at Phil. She didn’t love him any more. She’d married the wrong man. Married him because she was scared and insecure and thought no one else would ever love her. She’d made a terrible mistake and she’d get no second chance.

  ‘Go on!’

  Dutifully, she leaned forward and kissed Phil softly on the cheek.

  ‘Daddy!’

  He kissed her back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘I will be here when you get back,’ Karen said, her voice level. ‘But I will be in bed. Asleep. And tomorrow evening, I’m going out. So you’re in charge.’

  ‘Going where?’

  ‘Just out. Now, off you go. You don’t want to miss yoga. I’ll leave some dinner out for you.’

  He stared at her for a moment, then turned and left. Karen furiously started ripping off the swede’s skin with a peeler. A swede made a very unsatisfactory hate object. She threw it on the floor.

  ‘Girls,’ she said. ‘How about McDonald’s tonight?’

  They looked at her disbelievingly.

  ‘Yay, Mum,’ said Bea, as Eloise said: ‘I don’t know, Mummy. That food’s junk.’

  ‘Never mind that. Get your shoes on. I just need to text someone.’

  She pulled out her phone and sent a message to Max.

  Could I meet you tomorrow?

  29

  In the Parenthope Clinic, Bridget lay on a couch as Sian, the nurse, rubbed gel on her tummy. Sitting on a chair under the photo gallery of Parenthope babies, sent in by grateful parents, Gemma watched anxiously. Nearly a month had passed since the discovery of the ovarian cyst. Now was the moment of reckoning when they’d find out if it had gone.

  ‘Did you watch The Apprentice last night?’ asked Sian, who’d just scanned Gemma’s womb and found it ready and willing. ‘I couldn’t believe it. Sacking Maggie when it was obviously all Ian’s fault for ordering too many veal cutlets. Sir Alan shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it. Alex not with you today?’

  ‘No, he’s waiting for the verdict on his trial. The judge summed up yesterday and the jury could return at any time. I mean, it could be a day, it could be a month.’

  ‘Madness,’ Sian said absently, peering at the screen. ‘I don’t know, he’ll chose the wrong candidate in the end, he always does. Do you remember that year he let the dolly bird win instead of the lesbian, but then she got up the duff? Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean that to sound offensive. Hmm. Good. The cyst has gone.’

  ‘Really?’ Bridget sat bolt upright. Gemma’s hand flew to her mouth. How could Sian be so casual, when it was the best news in the history of the entire world?

  ‘Really. So. Your womb is all prepped. So we’re finally good to go. We can extract the eggs and take a sperm sample on…’ She glanced at the calendar. ‘Wednesday. Yes. Your husband can come in at noon to give his sample then, can’t he? Not going to be too busy being Judge John Deed?’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Gemma said. She’d insisted Alex request the judge give everyone a day off court for ‘urgent medical reasons’.

  ‘Nice one. So we’ll start you on pessaries and patches to thicken your womb lining and in nine days we’ll have you back here to see if it’s ready to receive the embryo.’

  Nick was on his way to the studio. Another couple of weeks and the album would be finished. And then they were going to be touring America. He hadn’t reminded Kylie that this was imminent and she hadn’t asked. Nor had he told her he was exchanging on the flat two weeks on Friday and ‘completing’, which meant he’d actually get his hands on the keys, a month later.

  And obviously he hadn’t told her that he and Lucinda had a regular thing going. They met twice a week at Flat 15 while Gemma Meehan was having reflexology, whatever that was, and they had excellent sex. After which they lay and chatted for around an hour or so – about their fathers mainly and how they wished they knew them better. Something he’d never been able to talk to Kylie about, a side of his life that he’d always kept locked in a private place, because it was too painful to take out and address. He was su
rprised at the connection he and Lucinda had. But a connection wasn’t what Nick wanted. He wasn’t looking to be close to Lucinda. He didn’t love her. She was sexy. She was posh. But her prejudices drove him nuts. He hated her amazement he’d never been riding or skiing, her inability to acknowledge that you could get by perfectly well in life without a university degree. Nick had always wanted to better himself, but the more he learned about Lucinda’s world, the less he was enamoured of it.

  Meanwhile, Kylie continued to be her gentle, sweet self. A self who cooked him special meals and listened to each version of a new song, who ran him baths and jumped in with him. Thinking of her, Nick’s heart softened like apricots soaked in milk. Why couldn’t she just dress a little more subtly, have a bit more attitude?

  What he really wanted, he realized, was a blend of the two women, someone with Lucinda’s class but Kylie’s docile nature. He was going to have to ditch both of them and keep on looking for the perfect woman. Maybe he’d find her in America.

  His phone rang in his pocket. ‘Hello, Charles,’ said Nick, seeing the caller ID.

  ‘Hi, mate.’ As usual Charles sounded as if he’d just run up one of the Brecon Beacons. ‘Just calling to see how it’s all going?’

  ‘All right. We exchange on the flat two weeks on Friday.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. I was just calling with a word of advice about that. The market’s still dropping, so I think it’s time you did a bit of gazundering.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Drop your offer at the last minute. By, say, fifty grand. You’ll have the sellers by the short and curlies, their sale will be about to go through and they’ll have to accede.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Nick felt uneasy. He’d spent so much time in Flat 15 recently, he felt he’d sort of got to know the Meehans. He admired Alex M’s taste in music, lots of Dylan and punk. Felt sorry for Gemma when he saw all the books on the shelves about conception and saw the dozens of nutritional supplements in the kitchen cupboards. Doing the dirty on them was…