by Adele Geras
‘It was a remark he made about remembering a street party at the end of the war. You probably didn’t even notice him saying it, but I did. I realized at once that he must be at least thirty-two. And then I made a few enquiries, of friends in London. He’s thirty-four, Rilla, but that’s not all. Are you ready for this?’
‘Ready for what? I don’t care what you’ve dug up. Is he a white slaver? A drug dealer? I love him anyway. We’ll run away if everyone is going to be horrible about it. We’ll go where no one will ever find us.’
‘Nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. Just the rather banal fact that he’s already married. He has two children, one of them a girl, only three years younger than you are.’
Rilla felt as though a stone had fallen on her and crushed her so that all the breath left her body. She opened her mouth to speak, and couldn’t. She tried again.
‘Is … do they … I mean, maybe they’re separated. That must be it. That must be why he comes to the cottage. To get away from her. They must be thinking of divorce. I’ll talk to him. I’ll ask him what’s happening. He’ll tell me the truth. He has to. He won’t need to hide anything from me any more. He loves me.’
‘That may be true. He may love you, Rilla, but it makes no difference. And of course he didn’t tell you. Why should he? He was having a wonderful time with you, why should he spoil it? But he spoke to me, when I asked him to tell me the truth.’
‘What did he say? Tell me every single word he said. Every word, mind. Please, Mummy, tell me everything. When did you speak to him? Where?’
‘Here. The day before yesterday when he came for lunch. While you were out in the Quiet Garden talking to Gwen and James, I think.’
It was true. There was an hour – was it as long as that? – when she was not with Hugh. Gwen and James said that perhaps he was having another cup of coffee with Leonora, and actually remarked on how well he got on with her. Rilla closed her eyes. All the time that she was lying on the grass and looking up into the leaves of the magnolia, he had been telling Leonora all these hideous things. It was unbearable. Rilla felt pain all over her body as though someone had beaten her. It’s never going to end, she thought. I’m going to hurt for ever. Always. I’ll never stop hurting. She breathed deeply and looked at her mother.
‘Please tell me everything,’ she said. ‘Every word.’
‘He confessed to me that he was older, just as I’d suspected. He admitted that he should have had more sense than to fall under the spell of a young girl, but that he couldn’t help himself. He said he was … susceptible. Susceptible to the charms of young girls. He seemed to know that this was not something to be proud of. He looked down a lot while he spoke to me, Rilla. I asked him about his wife. She knows nothing, it seems, of the detail of what he gets up to when he’s not with her. They have one of those … what do you call them? Open marriages. He is a devoted father. His cottage here, well, that was for his pottery. That was what he told his wife. He begged me. Begged me to say nothing to her about you. Not because you were his mistress, you understand, because those are a constant in his life, but simply because you are so much younger than – and these are his words – his usual lovers. He is frank about those, if about nothing else. I told him that he must leave the cottage and he agreed. He left yesterday, I believe. He undertook never to get in touch with you, and you must never contact him again, Rilla. It’s best that way, really it is. He assured me that you wouldn’t become pregnant, because he’s had a vasectomy. For which we must be deeply grateful.’
Rilla didn’t say a single word. She got up from her chair and left the conservatory without really knowing where she was going. A whiteness filled her field of vision and her heart … what was happening to that? It felt as though someone, something, was squeezing it and she could imagine it, just behind her ribcage, throbbing and bloody and being torn apart, nothing more than offal, and not the source of all emotions after all. She stumbled upstairs and went straight to the nursery.
She sat down in front of the dolls’ house and looked into the rooms where the small figures of Lucinda and Lucas still lived, even though she’d stopped playing with them years ago. Their lives were lovely. They lived in Paradise Mansions and no one came to hurt them and tear their little bodies apart. I’ll never see him again, she thought. Her mother’s words went round and round in her head. Married. Thirty-four years old. Other lovers, other lovers, other lovers. Bastard. He was a bloody bastard and she ought to hate him. How was it then that she still loved him with every single cell in her whole body? I will never forgive her, she thought, as she picked up Queen Margarita. It’s all her fault. She shouldn’t have asked him all that. It wasn’t any of her business. He would have left his wife for me in the end. I know he would have. Rilla felt the first tears running down her cheeks and didn’t care if they never stopped flowing. She meddled in my life and fucked it up for ever. Fucked it up, fucked it up, fucked it up.
———
‘Rilla? Rilla, are you asleep?’
Sean. Sean’s voice. Rilla struggled to her feet, smoothing her hair down with one hand. ‘No. No, honestly,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking with my eyes closed. I was on the point of giving up on you. Isn’t it very late?’
‘About one o’clock,’ Sean said. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’ve been like a bloody cat on hot bricks, I can tell you. One round of drinks after another and there was I just looking for an excuse to escape. You know how it is. I didn’t want it to look as though I was longing to leave. Got to work with everyone tomorrow.’ He laughed. ‘Well, today actually.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Rilla said. ‘I’m not a bit tired. Are you?’
Sean shook his head. ‘Not at all. And I’ve brought some wine.’ He held it out to show her. ‘I had the presence of mind to get the cork out before I came down here, but I forgot the glasses. Does it matter?’
‘No, of course not. We’ll just swig.’
Sean sat down on the bench and leaned against the glass wall of the gazebo. A silence began to grow between them. Should I speak first? Rilla thought. What should I say? She was casting about in her mind for some appropriate remark, rejecting one subject after another frantically, when Sean spoke. ‘I’ve been rehearsing all sorts of things I wanted to say to you and now I’m here, I can’t think of a single one.’
‘Me too,’ said Rilla, relieved. She sat down beside him and held up the bottle. ‘May I?’
‘Sure.’
She took a gulp of the icy, dry wine and thought that no drink in the world had ever tasted better. She handed the bottle back to Sean, who set it down on the floor beside his feet.
‘What have you been thinking about?’ he asked. ‘You said you’d been thinking. Don’t say if you don’t want to. If it’s private.’
‘It’s not a bit private. I was thinking about a man I used to know. My first lover, actually. His name was Hugh.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Oh, God, it was so boring and banal. Just like a bad book, to tell you the truth. I fell for him and it turned out that he was married all the time. Very run-of-the-mill stuff, I’m afraid. Mother found out and sent him packing.’
‘And I expect you never forgave her for that.’
Rilla laughed. ‘How did you guess? Is it so obvious? No, of course she did the right thing but it didn’t feel like that at the time. I sometimes think she still looks on me as the naughty little girl she thought I was then. I don’t feel approved of, much of the time. Again, boring stuff. I’m sorry. Let’s change the subject.’
‘Nothing to do with you is boring, Rilla,’ Sean said, and she found that his hand was stroking her wrist, gently, slowly and a shiver of pleasure went through her. ‘You’re sad, though. That’s obvious. And I know why because you told me. I’ve spent the whole day thinking of you suffering like that, when your son died. There were so many things I wanted to know, to ask and didn’t feel I could.’
‘I don’t mind. Ask anything.’
Rilla looked at the floor. ‘He was there. Not when it actually happened, but he came at once. He did the best he could, but of course he was as hurt as I was and, quite honestly, I don’t think two terminally bruised and torn people can ever get things back to what they were. We couldn’t anyway. And he was angry with me.’
‘That’s unforgivable!’ Sean said. ‘Completely unforgivable. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident, surely. A tragic, tragic accident. Did he blame you? How could he?’
Rilla didn’t answer for a while. She was struggling with a sorrow that seemed to have become lodged in her throat. Her eyes filled with tears and trickled down her cheeks as she spoke. ‘He was right to be angry, really. That’s what I think. That’s what I’ve thought ever since that day. It was my fault. All my fault. I should have been here and I wasn’t. I left other people to take care of my baby and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off him. Not for a second.’
Sean put his arm around Rilla’s shoulders and she buried her face in the crook of his neck and cried as though she never intended to stop. At last, after what seemed to her like a very long time, the sobs subsided and she lifted her head and looked at Sean and smiled.
‘Oh, Sean, I didn’t mean tonight to be like this! Look at us. I’m bedraggled and snuffly and red-eyed and you’re soaked to the skin. And your shirt must be ruined. I’m so sorry. Oh, God, just thinking about how awful I feel about it makes me want to cry all over again.’
Sean removed his arm from around Rilla’s shoulder, took a hankie out of his pocket and handed it to her without a word. She dabbed at her eyes and nose.
‘No, that’s no good,’ he said gently. ‘You need to have a good blow.’
‘This conversation is getting more glamorous by the minute,’ she said, but she did as he suggested. ‘There. That’s a bit better.’
‘Have another sip of wine and we’ll begin again,’ Sean said. ‘I’ll have my turn. I’ll tell you about my failed marriage. How my ex-wife said I was a complete and utter failure who would never amount to anything, and how right she was. How I suffered when she made her way through a list of my more famous colleagues with me being the last to know anything about it. I can probably beat you in the boring and clichéd story stakes any day of the week.’
‘How could she?’ Rilla was indignant. ‘You’re a well-known director. What did she want you to be?’
‘I don’t know. Prize-winning. Visible. Glitzy. All the things I’m not, really. I just like making the programmes I want to make, that’s all. I have to be passionate about my subjects, as I am about Ethan. I’ve always loved his paintings, you know. Since I was a teenager, anyway. I fell in love with them the first time I saw them.’
Silence fell between them again. Then Sean said, ‘There’s never a proper script for this sort of conversation, is there? You know what follows, Rilla. You know what I want to say, only I’m not sure I can say it well. It’ll sound contrived. I’m very good at spotting traps in what people say, me included.’
‘What did you want to say, Sean? Tell me. I won’t laugh. I won’t think it’s the wrong thing or that you’ve said it badly, I promise.’
‘I was going to say that I fell in love with the paintings the first time I saw them and the same thing exactly happened when I saw you. There you are. That’s the sort of sentiment that shouldn’t really be expressed outside the confines of a Valentine card, don’t you think?’
‘I would think that,’ Rilla said, and she was smiling as she spoke. ‘Only I felt just the same. Like a kid. Silly and giggly and watching out for your tiniest action. Did it mean anything? Were you really looking at me like that or was I imagining it? That sort of silliness. And then I’d think, hang on a minute, you’re going too fast. It’s undignified in a woman of your age. You only met him the day before yesterday. Things like that.’
‘What I think,’ Sean said, taking Rilla’s face in his hands and turning it gently so that she was facing him directly, ‘is that we haven’t been going nearly fast enough. We’ve been wasting time. We shouldn’t waste any more.’
He bent his head. She closed her eyes and waited and then his mouth was on hers and she opened herself to him, and it felt to her as though something golden and warm … sunshine, honey, oh God, I’m losing my mind, she thought, I’m gone … was racing through every vein in her body, making her tremble with a pleasure she thought she’d forgotten, flooding her and filling her with happiness.
*
Much later, they walked up to the house together, hand in hand and in silence. I would have, Rilla thought. I would have let him make love to me, just like any randy teenager getting carried away on my first date. He was the one who behaved like a gentleman and a grown-up and said he had a better setting in mind for our first time. She smiled at how offended he’d seemed when she accused him of being middle-aged. I am middle-aged, he’d said. And so are you. It doesn’t make any difference to what I feel.
They’d talked all night, nearly. The dawn was coming up as they walked over the dewy lawn, and the sky was streaked with pale apricot and pink. This must be, Rilla thought, the most beautiful morning there’s ever been. And the day that stretched out before her would be full of amazing and wonderful things. Starting with a strawberry shortcake.
She stopped on the path to pick up her shoes and said, ‘I’ve just decided. I’m going to make a strawberry shortcake for my mother’s birthday.’ She started giggling. ‘Gwen’ll have fifty fits. They’ve got Bridget coming in tomorrow, of course. She’s the caterer. I don’t care. I’m going to do it. I might do it now, this minute, before I go to sleep. I doubt I’ll ever sleep again. Sean, do you realize? You’ve wrecked my sleep for ever. I shall just lie on my bed at night in future and long for you. What have you done to me?’
‘Nothing,’ Sean said, and they stood close together near the drawing room door and kissed as though they never meant to stop. ‘Nothing compared to what I’m going to do.’
Rilla closed her eyes and leaned against him and allowed herself to imagine it all. Everything they were going to be and do and say. Everything.
*
The kitchen was cool and quiet. Five o’clock in the morning was the perfect time, Rilla thought, for baking. She knew she wouldn’t sleep if she went to bed now, so this was quite the most sensible thing to do. Whether she was elated or depressed, cooking took her out of herself, calmed her down, and gave her something to look forward to, even if it was nothing more than a perfect batch of biscuits.
This morning, she felt as though she were walking, or floating, at least six inches off the ground. She opened cupboards and drawers silently, conscious that the whole household was still fast asleep. Mary would be up in an hour to start the breakfast, but the shortcake would be baked by then. Later in the day, she’d put it together with cream and strawberries, and present it to Leonora tonight. I’ll talk to Mary when she comes in and suggest having it for dinner, she thought.
Willow Court never ran out of ingredients. Whatever you wanted, it was always there. Sugar, icing sugar, cornflour, butter – all present and correct. Rilla put on Mary’s apron, which she found hanging on the back of the kitchen door. Thank goodness, she thought, it’s not one of those skimpy little things which cover one square inch of skirt and leave your top half waiting for any stain that’s going.
Rilla mixed, kneaded, rolled out the pastry and slid the tins into the oven. She tried to put the night’s events out of her mind, but her thoughts returned to Sean again and again. When she was with him, everything seemed possible but now, even after a mere half-hour on her own, all sorts of doubts had crept into her mind. Perhaps it was just Willow Court working a sort of magic, she thought. Maybe real life, London life, would dissolve the enchantment, and the whole thing, whatever it was (she wasn’t going to name it, wasn’t going to risk calling it love), would evaporate away from this house, this party, these few days.
&nbs
p; Rilla stepped out of the back door and looked at the Peter Rabbit garden, cool and green in the early dawn. She sat down on a bench that was pushed up against the wall and took out a cigarette. The shortcake was beginning to smell delicious. I’ll just wait for it to be ready, she thought, and then I’ll go to bed. There was going to be too much for everyone to do today for Rilla to opt out, and besides, any hour she spent sleeping was an hour out of Sean’s company.
What would he do, she thought, if I opened his door and simply got into bed with him? The buzzer on the cooker sounded at that moment, and put such ideas out of her mind. Time to take out the shortcake. She went into the kitchen and removed the tins from the oven. Perfect golden buttery circles. She smiled, put them to cool in the larder, and made her way upstairs.
She was on the landing when a noise she couldn’t identify made her start. She looked along the corridor and saw that the door to the nursery was standing open. That wasn’t right, surely? No one should be there at this hour of the morning. She tiptoed up to it, her heart beating rather too fast. Don’t be a wimp, she said to herself. It can’t be a burglar. Maybe it’s …
‘Douggie, darling!’ Rilla saw that the little boy was standing by the dolls’ house. He’d pulled the white sheet away and was holding something like a ribbon in his hand. It fell to the floor when he caught sight of her. ‘You shouldn’t be here, sweetheart. It isn’t time to wake up yet. Not nearly. Come with me, and I’ll take you back to bed.’
She went over to him and picked him up, and for a split second thought she would faint. How sweet he smelled! Markie used to smell just like this, she thought. Douggie turned half away from her and Rilla could remember how her child, too, had done that when he was struggling to leave her arms. Tears sprang into her eyes and she blinked them back.
‘Come on, Douggie. Let’s get you back to your room.’
‘Want Mama!’ Douggie began to cry.
‘We’ll go and find her, shall we? I’ll take you, darling. Don’t cry! Sssh! Everyone’s asleep.’
