by Karen Swan
She caught her breath as he turned, his smile brightening as he caught sight of her, illuminated and unmoving in the sunny doorway. He walked over, looking indecently good in his scruffy jeans and T-shirt, the distinctive blue bag swinging in his hand.
‘Hey.’ He kissed her on the lips, that light in his eyes that was reserved for her alone, flickering on a low flame, ready for later. ‘You took your time.’
‘Nooks,’ she whispered, hoping that would suffice as an explanation. It was all she was capable of right now. What was in that bag?
‘What’s in the bag?’
‘This?’ He held it up. ‘Something for you, of course. I should have given it to you ages ago.’
‘Really?’ Her voice was a croak and she felt alternately cold then hot, prickles of anger, rushes of panic that he was putting her in this position, beginning to ignite in her bloodstream.
‘But you can’t open it yet. Wait till we get to the pub. Poor Bas is going to keel over if we don’t get him caffeinated and carbed up.’
‘Well can I hold it?’ she asked, trying to reach for the bag. If she could gauge the weight of it, if she could glimpse the size of the box inside . . . But Henry shook his head, his long arms easily keeping it out of her reach as he fondly tapped the end of her nose with his finger. He was completely oblivious to the maelstrom of emotions raging inside her right this very moment.
‘Let’s go.’
*
Ten minutes later, they were in the Builder’s Arms, just behind the King’s Road. Henry’s bright mood had been soured slightly by the fact that its dark timbered confines had been overhauled in favour of a Farrow and Ball makeover so that the interior was now all battleship grey panelling with trendy wallpaper and black and white photos. Bas didn’t care. They had placed their orders and his food was coming. He would live to fight another day.
Cassie wasn’t saying much. Her heart had been banging repeatedly against her ribs all the way for the rest of the walk, wanting to know what was in the bag whilst desperately not wanting to know either. She didn’t want another fight.
‘So come on then,’ Anouk drawled, drumming her manicured nails on the table impatiently. ‘Let’s see what’s in the blue bag. Cassie may be able to stand it but I cannot.’
Henry winked at Cassie as he finally slid it over the table towards her. ‘Nice to see someone got lucky – again,’ Bas said in mock complaint as he rolled his eyes.
Cassie checked her hands weren’t shaking before she placed them on the bag, but she didn’t notice she was holding her breath. Warily, she peered in – only to be hit by a wave of relief. She pulled out the flat, rectangular box that couldn’t in any way have been used for what she’d feared.
An enormous smile enlivened her face. ‘Oh!’ she said excitedly, as intrigued now as she had been terrified a moment ago, biting her lip as she gently tugged on the satin ribbon and lifted the lid.
‘Passport cover,’ Henry said triumphantly as she pulled out a soft Tiffany blue leather jacket. ’I’ve been telling you for ages that you need one. It’s never looked right since you put it through the wash in your jeans.’
‘You bought me a passport cover,’ she whispered, clutching it to her chest.
‘I did,’ he grinned, delighted by her response. ‘So you like?’
‘I love it, love it,’ she replied, leaning forwards on her elbows to kiss him on the lips. ‘You’re always so amazing to me.’
‘I wanted to treat you,’ he murmured, his eyes on her lips.
‘Although you know we can’t afford –’ She stopped, as she realized suddenly that he didn’t know. Not yet.
‘Listen, there’s going to be no more worrying about the rent or eating jacket potatoes for dinner for at least six months. This expedition’s going to mean we can relax for a little while, at least –’
He stopped suddenly, growing pale, and Cassie knew he’d finally remembered the missed meeting. The grant had been a promise for so long now, he had stopped thinking about it as a variable at all; all he’d had to do was turn up at the meeting and turn on the charm – he could do that in his sleep. Only . . . ‘Oh shit.’
‘What’s up?’ Bas asked, taking in their stilted body language.
‘. . . Uh,’ Henry stalled, his mind whirring as he took in the ramifications of the missed meeting. The expedition was supposed to be leaving in a fortnight. Everything was in place – sponsors, team, the weather even; the grant was just the final instalment needed to actually cross the t’s and get everything kicked off at last. ‘I was on my way to pitch for the grant when Arch collapsed,’ he said slowly, his voice quiet.
‘Oh merde!’ Anouk exclaimed sympathetically.
Henry shook his head, distractedly. ‘Christ, it went right out of my head.’ He winced, raking a hand through his hair and looking more ill by the moment. ‘How could I have . . .’ he looked at Cassie. ‘How could I have forgotten?’
‘There’s been so much going on,’ she said quickly, pained by the expression in his face. ‘Of course you haven’t had time to think about it. You’ve been completely focused on Arch.’ And her. He’d been distracted by her last night.
‘I’m sure when you explain to them what happened, they will understand,’ Anouk offered.
He looked over at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah?’
‘Of course,’ she shrugged with utter conviction. Cassie widened her eyes, desperately trying to message her to shut up, but Anouk just gazed back quizzically.
‘You’re right.’ Henry stood up from the table, reaching for his phone in his jeans pocket. ‘I’ll call them now. I’ve left it too long as it is.’
‘No!’
He fell still, looking back at Cassie.
She swallowed. How could she tell him, in front of everyone, that that dream was dead? Well, for this year anyway.
But she didn’t need to tell him. He read it all in her face, slumping back into his seat, the phone still turned to ‘off’ in his hand. ‘. . . Oh, right.’
Bas and Anouk looked over at her quizzically but Cassie couldn’t take her eyes from Henry’s face – the way his lower lip had pulled down slightly, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed the disappointment. For this wasn’t just any lost deal – the arcane world of exploring was becoming more and more difficult to pursue. The hidden world was shrinking as cities spread and satellites peered into the most remote uninhabitable reaches of the planet from space. Even the final frontiers, the polar caps, were commonly visited now, with tourists travelling to see the aurora borealis, charity groups making ever more elaborate and obscure sponsored expeditions and every financial superpower in the world muscling in for fishing, mineral and drilling rights.
When he spoke, it was slowly. ‘Did they leave a message at the flat then?’
‘No. I met up with Bob Kentucky yesterday,’ she said in a quiet voice, her hand reaching for his.
Henry looked surprised that she even knew Bob Kentucky’s name. ‘I called the Explorers in New York,’ she said. ‘They told me he was staying at the Travellers Club so I went up to see him yesterday afternoon.’
Yesterday afternoon? Henry’s eyebrow lifted faintly as he registered what she’d been doing instead of waiting around at the hospital and guilt creased his brow at the accusations he’d thrown her way last night. He shook his head, dropping it into his hands, his fingers pulling tight against his hair. Cassie wanted to cry. She wanted to cross the table and sit on his lap and tell him everything was going to be OK. But she couldn’t, because she didn’t know that it was.
‘He wanted to give the grant to you. You were right, they were completely on board with it. But . . . they had to make a decision there and then. The other committee members were all flying out again that afternoon and with the other applicants there and you not . . .’ She shrugged. It didn’t need to be spelled out.
Henry nodded but was silent, his eyes studying the grain of the table, her hand in his as he absorbed
the ramifications of what this meant – it was over. £120,000 was too big a hole to breach. He was going to have to let go of the team he’d cherry-picked, explain to UNEP they now had a gap in their conference schedule, apologize to National Geographic who’d been making noises about branding him as the thinking man’s Bear Grylls . . . It wasn’t just a personal disaster, it was a career catastrophe.
Bas shot Anouk an aghast ‘OMG’ look as silence covered them all like a cloak. He’d never seen Henry at a loss before. No one had. What could any of them possibly say?
‘Well I wouldn’t change any of it,’ Henry said, trying to be positive. ‘Arch comes before any job.’
‘Exactly,’ Cassie murmured, still gripping his hand. ‘And you can regroup for next year. The Explorers are still desperate for you to take the flag with you.’
Henry shrugged, the movement seemingly painful for he winced a little.
‘Christ, I can’t believe you tracked him down,’ Henry mumbled after another pause, forcing a grin that couldn’t quite get to his eyes. He was putting on a brave face in front of their friends, but Cassie could see the worry in his bones. ‘Who’s the explorer in this relationship, me or you?’
‘What’s meant for you won’t go past you, mister,’ she smiled back, eyes shining with fierce love as she squeezed his hand this time.
‘And don’t I just know it!’ he replied, picking up her hand and kissing the back of it. She knew from the way his eyes locked on hers that he was referring to the small issue of having ‘waited’ for her decade-long marriage to end before he could make her his. They would weather this, somehow . . . He looked back at the others who were rolling their eyes at each other again. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss her.’
‘Thank God for tha—’ Bas began.
‘Gah, who am I kidding? Of course I am!’ Henry grinned, tugging on Cassie’s hand and pulling her towards him for a kiss.
Everyone laughed, the sombre mood broken – or at least postponed for a private moment later.
‘So what shall we do tonight?’ Anouk asked, moving the conversation onto happier ground as their drinks were brought over. ‘Do you think Suzy will come home? We could cook her a special meal. She must be dropping, after spending so long in the hospital. The food in those places is always so bad.’
‘Yeah, she’s shattered,’ Henry said, reaching thirstily for his pint of Harvey’s. ‘But now Arch is going onto the general ward, I think she’ll just have a quiet night in with Velvet. She’s missed her like mad.’
‘Poor thing,’ Cassie murmured. ‘I think a quiet night’s in order for everyone isn’t it? You’ve barely slept or eaten since Wednesday either,’ she said, tenderly pushing his hair back from his face as he drank deeply. ‘How about takeaway and a film?’
‘Sounds great,’ he part-sighed, part-groaned as he placed the pint glass, half empty already, back on the table. ‘But we’ll have to wait a day.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ve got a welcome-home party to go to at the Cross Keys tonight. My little cousin’s back in town.’
Cassie, who had been about to open a packet of crisps, dropped her hands down. ‘Henry, we can’t go to a party when Arch is so ill! That’s tactless.’
‘No, it’s actually a kindness. If we don’t go, Mum will feel like she has to and she’s stretched thin enough at the moment trying to keep the balls in the air with Suzy and Velvet. Clearly Suze can’t go and someone from the family’s got to turn up.’ He raked his fingers through his hair, looking worn out and battered. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to see Gem in a sulk.’
‘Gem . . . ?’
‘Gemma. Her dad was Mum’s big brother. Uncle Pip.’
‘Oh, right . . . I don’t think I’ve ever met her, though, have I?’ Cassie asked. She’d heard plenty of anecdotes from Suzy about Uncle Pip over the years but she didn’t recollect ever hearing Gemma’s name before now.
‘Probably not. She’s a lot younger and she’s been backpacking around the world for the past two years or so. Mum’s her legal guardian. Gem’s parents died in a house fire when she was twelve.’
‘Oh God, the poor girl!’ Cassie exclaimed, her forearm falling flat to the table like a dead thing.
‘Yeah, she took it pretty badly. As if adolescence isn’t hard enough . . .’ He took another swig, manifesting his stress that way. ‘Mum says she’s settled down now though. They’ve been emailing and she’s a lot calmer apparently.’
‘Calmer?’ Anouk echoed with eyes slitted in suspicion.
‘The fire really messed her up for a bit. She was expelled from something like six schools? Ended up at some artyfarty place in Dorset eventually, went to Sussex uni, dropped out and then went travelling.’
‘So then . . . she’s only about twenty?’ Cassie had an antenna for people living bigger lives than she had dared to do and it already sounded like this girl had done more living in twenty years than she had in thirty.
‘Yeah. Twenty-one this summer. You’ll love her anyway – she’s a blast. Talks twelve to the dozen, loves everyone, believes grass has a soul.’ He shrugged. ‘What’s not to like, right?’
Cassie and Anouk swapped alarmed looks. They were on guard already.
Chapter Six
‘Henry, you’ve got to get a bigger car, man,’ Bas said, unfolding himself from the Flying Tomato, Henry’s faded-red old-school Mini, with a groan. Cassie always found it hysterical how oversized Henry looked driving it, but Bas had another three inches on him and had cruised the Kings Road with his chin on his knees, leaving both girls crying with laughter on the back seat.
Henry reached for Cassie’s hand to pull her out and Anouk hopped easily from the back seat, looking up at the red-brick mansion blocks surrounding them on all sides. They were in the heart of Chelsea, a hop, skip and a jump from the prestigious Cheyne Walk, home to rock stars, topflight designers and aristos wise enough to live on interest, not capital.
The river slipped silently past only metres away, and mature trees cast dappled shadows on the pavements. Nothing went for under five million in this area – not a garage, not a studio, not even a broom cupboard with a pull-down bed – and there was a moneyed hush to these backstreets, which sat nestled between the river and the Kings Road, the narrow facades belying cavernous homes with dug-out, subterranean levels and meticulously landscaped back gardens with Japanese or modernist themes.
At first glance, the crowd outside the pub seemed anomalous with SW3’s groomed vibe – girls were in denim cut-offs and baggy dungarees worn, bra-less, over vests, fluoro bracelets stacked up their arms and hair piled up in scruffy topknots; the guys looked like they belonged in Shoreditch, not Chelsea, wearing skinny rolled-up chinos, tatty linen espadrilles with the heels crushed underfoot and narrow check shirts. But their tans were expensively layered – Christmas in Mustique, followed by Easter in Verbier – and their accents betrayed expensive educations that no amount of roll-up cigarettes and prolific swearing could hide.
Cassie looked down at her chambray minidress and ankle boots, feeling caught between worlds – not cool enough for this crowd, but too casual for Gem’s party? Anouk, of course, fitted in perfectly, effortlessly drawing admiring glances from the hipster girls in her slate silk harem pants and a grey linen T-shirt, with gladiator sandals and some of her own-design leather lariats, having pulled the outfit from her overnight bag like it was a bad smell but would ‘have to do’.
They all walked into the pub together, each of them pausing momentarily as they were hit by the wall of noise. It was rammed in there – every table taken, barely standing room at the bar – and Henry found Cassie’s hand, pulling her through the crowd towards the staircase to the left. The bass beat of music thumped louder as they squeezed past people standing on the stairs, all drinking and laughing above the din.
Cassie wondered where the usual pub crowd ended and Gem’s party began. Everyone in here seemed so young. Or was that just a sign that she was getting old? She frowned. He
r marriage to Gil had prematurely aged her, as she settled down throughout her twenties to a life of shoot dinners and Highland balls, but since being with Henry, she’d felt her youthfulness blossom again, as she caught up on all the things she’d missed out on: going to concerts, wild swimming, creeping onto the roof with a duvet and pillows and sleeping under the stars, drinking a whole bottle of wine and not caring about the hangover the next day . . .
She wasn’t ready to move over for the younger kids. Not yet. This was her time, her moment, when life was exactly as she wanted it, exactly as she’d dreamed – young, free and living with the man she loved in a set of rooftop rooms they’d managed to make into a home.
Balloons were clustered on the wall lights, and a huge banner made from a bed sheet was strung above the windows at the front and spray-painted to read, ‘Welcome home, Gem!’
‘So where is she, then?’ Cassie called up to Henry, taking in the sea of dewy complexions, gap-year tans and effortlessly firm flesh.
‘Do you really need to ask?’ Henry laughed, his eyes on a petite brunette dancing on a table in the far corner. Her dark hair had been woven into tight cornrows, her face and palms upturned to the ceiling – but notionally the sky, Cassie suspected – as she swayed, eyes closed, to the ambient strains of London Grammar.
‘Ew,’ Bas said, wincing at the sight of Gem’s cornrows. To a hairdresser of his international standing, cornrows were to hair what braces were to teeth.
Cassie rubbed his arm consolingly as they made their way over, Henry eagerly ploughing through the crowd ahead of them.
‘Hey, you!’ he shouted, stopping in front of Gem’s table and pointing up to her aggressively.
Gem opened her eyes and looked down, her eyes lighting up with delight as she saw her tall, handsome cousin looking back at her.
‘Henners!’ she yelled, a smile of utter delight on her face at the sight of him.
‘Who said you could start dancing on tables before I got here?’ he shouted up to her, making her throw her head back in laughter.
