‘What do you know about it?’ Guy said. ‘It’s Francesca, isn’t it?’ She nodded, and he gave her a lazy-lidded smile. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Oh, not long,’ Francesca said. She nodded at Tess. ‘Only a few months, really, but you see you’re forgetting I’m in a unique position. I know him a lot better than you.’
Guy looked unconvinced. ‘I know him pretty well actually. How’s that?’
‘I’m fucking him,’ Francesca said. She grimaced. ‘And, unless there’s something you want to tell me about your relationship with him, I think that means I win.’
‘Oh,’ said Guy.
Tess watched her friend, not sure whether to intervene or not and wondering why she had picked this day of all days to roll out her biggest loose cannon. Guy was looking distinctly ruffled, she couldn’t work out if he was drunk, aroused, annoyed, or all three—possibly the latter, she decided. ‘Francesca—’ she said.
‘Right,’ Guy said. ‘You—’
Francesca turned to her, then. Her eyes were bright. ‘T, I’m off, sweetheart. Just fancy an early night, you stay on and I’ll see you later. Bye, Liz,’ she said and, without so much as a by-your-leave, sat on the windowsill and swung her legs over. ‘Bye,’ she said, and she gently pushed the windows shut, leaving the others gaping after her and only Tess, holding her wine glass, unaccountably disturbed by what she’d just heard, though she couldn’t say why. And outside, once again, she heard the rumble of distant thunder.
In ten minutes or so the ‘wake’ was in full swing again, the noise even louder, the heat even greater, and the takings better than they had ever been—since Mick could remember, anyway. He stood behind the bar, yelling orders to his fellow barmen, wiping his brow and looking out at the sea of people. Half the town was crowded into that one room, and for what? What were they hoping for? Some kind of shared experience, he supposed, though they were mad to think they’d get it from this, the funeral of a woman who’d done nothing for the town her whole life. Perhaps they wanted answers. Perhaps they just wanted to acknowledge what was an extraordinary situation: that the boy they’d known their whole lives was now the sole heir to that estate which, some said, ran into millions. Mick didn’t know. All he was sure about was that if he was a punter he’d rather be here, in the bar, than in the deserted function room Adam and Jean had half-heartedly booked. He turned to Suggs.
‘Run down to the cellar, will you, Suggsy? Thanks, mate.’
By ten thirty, the pub was still full to bursting. Tess had had a few glasses of wine by then, and she and Liz had stayed in the corner by the window, grateful for the small amount of fresh air it gave. The wind seemed to be picking up, she thought—or was she just drunk? She didn’t want to open the window in case Adam saw her and thought she was pruriently looking in. She had long since stopped worrying about how sweaty she was, the tendrils of hair glued to the nape of her neck. There was no point—everyone else was much drunker than her, they wouldn’t have noticed.
After a while, over the other side of the bar, she caught sight of Diana talking intently to Jan, who had been drinking white wine spritzers, she had informed Tess, in a rather sweet but ultimately futile attempt to limit the amount of alcohol she consumed. Jeremy was next to his wife, practically half-asleep. Occasionally he slapped the bar, and looked across at Jan through almost-closed eyes, and Jan would turn to him and say, as if he’d just done something hilarious, ‘Oh, Jeremy, what are you doing!?’
Jeremy would smile and turn back. He seemed to be conducting a conversation with Ron, though Ron was doing most of the talking, and there was a group around him. Phrases like, ‘I heard…’ and ‘He won’t even listen to me…’ and ‘Well, I knew him when he was a little thing…’ floated over to her, above the heads of the drinkers. Tess set down her drink, and went over to the bar.
‘Hey, Diana,’ she said boldly. ‘How did it go, over there?’
Diana turned to Tess. ‘Hello, my dear. How’s that boyfriend of yours?’
‘He’s not my boyfriend, he’s Francesca’s,’ Tess said, uneasily. ‘You—’
I meant the Italian one,’ Diana said beadily. She drank some more wine. ‘I thought you were supposed to be going to Rome this weekend?’ she said inconsequentially.
‘Oh—yes. Yes, I was,’ said Tess. ‘I’m going soon instead. I hope.’
‘I hope? Why, isn’t he there?’
Tess said, ‘He’s not in Rome…He’s had to go to the States for a bit…we’re meeting in Rome.’ She didn’t want to go into it, not now.
Diana wasn’t really listening. ‘Be hot in Rome,’ she said, blowing cool air onto her forehead. ‘Almost as bloody hot as it is here.’
‘It’s not till Christmas,’ Tess wanted to get it straight.
‘Christmas?’ Diana bellowed. ‘That’s not very satisfactory, is it?’ Tess blew her hair away from her face, trying to cool down.
‘No,’ she said sadly. ‘It’s not…’ She felt rather drunk, all of a sudden. ‘Diana,’ she said. ‘Is he OK?’
‘Who?’
‘Adam. Did it go OK? The will and everything, did they read it?’
‘Yes, and yes, and yes,’ said Diana, Sphinx-like. ‘Pretty straightforward. Though I didn’t get anything. Oh, well. Richard and I will move to Mauritius next year instead.’
Tess took another sip of her drink; it was a big mistake. The room, which before had seemed full of people she knew, chaotic, messy, exciting, was now full of strangers, the floor seemed to be shifting, the heat was unbearable.
‘I’m going to go,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’ve got to go. OK?’
‘Sure,’ said Diana. ‘You’re all right, Tess?’
But Tess didn’t hear her. Hot waves of panic, or was it merely drunkenness, were washing over her. She pushed through the rest of the drinkers, outside into the courtyard. Peter. Peter. She hadn’t thought about him all day, not once, and the thought of him now flooded over her like a cool breeze.
He was enjoying working in San Francisco; if she was honest, Tess really didn’t know what was going to happen after he came back. She wondered whether he would stay in the States, but she just couldn’t tell, despite the fact he said he wasn’t. That was the hard thing about communicating with someone who wasn’t in front of you. They spoke every day, and if they didn’t speak they were on Skype, which was hard to get used to, but they were both coming around to it. And they emailed and texted all the time. But nuances were lost, jokes didn’t work, the inflections, little eye movements were missing, all small things that built up into big things. And the intimacy of the smell of his skin, the touch of his hands—they were all gone.
Peter had promised he’d be back in time, insisted she book her flight to get in an hour after him. She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she knew one thing for certain. This time next week she’d be in Rome, out of this strange town, drinking chilled wine in a square somewhere, feeling Peter’s arms around her, his lips on hers…
There it was again: another rumbling sound—was it in the distance? She couldn’t tell. Tess walked across the courtyard, looking up at the almost night sky. The moon should have given her light; as she stepped out onto the high street it showed the streaks of dark, leaden clouds running across the sky towards the horizon. She felt sick, full of wine and no food, full of some kind of foreboding. She looked almost desperately across at Leda House, but it was in darkness. Whatever had happened was now over and the actors in that strange little drama had dispersed. Her eyes felt heavy; she felt as though she had been drugged; sweat beaded her skin, and her feet ached as she walked along the high street, a lone figure under the inky sky. Everyone was in the pub or at home, she realized. It was her, her alone, out here.
It was with some relief that she turned into Lord’s Lane a couple of minutes later. She stood in the dark, fumbling mechanically for her keys, feeling drunk, still sick to her stomach. But as she did, suddenly the door flung open, and she jumped back.
‘
Adam,’ she said, almost with relief. ‘My God—hello.’
He was doing up the buttons on his suit jacket. He looked at her. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘You didn’t,’ Tess said, leaning against the door frame. ‘You been paying Francesca a visit?’
Her tone was more judgmental than she’d intended, and she realized she must sound a little drunk. ‘I’m just leaving,’ he said in an odd voice. ‘It’s nearly midnight. I have to go.’
Tess looked at her watch. It was after eleven thirty; how could it be so late?
‘I hope today went OK for you,’ she said, putting her hand clumsily on his arm. Something wet fell onto her shoulder. ‘You know. Not too…awful, I suppose.’
‘It was fine,’ he said, not meeting her gaze. ‘Could have been worse.’ He scratched his head. ‘When are you going to Italy?’
‘Next week,’ she said promptly, unfazed by the question after her rehearsal with Diana. ‘Can’t wait.’ She looked at him. ‘Adam, do you want to stay, have a drink, talk about the day and—and stuff?’
He shook his head. ‘Tess—no. Sorry, sweetheart. Like I said, I have to go.’ He looked up. ‘Wow. It’s finally raining.’
She stared at him. ‘You can’t stay, have one drink with us, instead of disappearing off like—like a thief in the night? Where do you have to go that’s so urgent this time?’
He laughed, and she blinked, feeling another drop fall on her face. ‘Sorry,’ he said, suddenly serious. He stepped past her, onto the cobbled street. ‘I’m going away from here, T.’ He bent forward and kissed her forehead. ‘Just for a while. But I’ll see you when I get back, OK? Have a great time in Italy, too. You deserve it.’
It was definitely rain; it was falling in droplets now, on her shoulders, in her eyes. Tess shook her head, blinking rapidly. There was still no wind. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Just away,’ he said.
‘What on earth does that mean?’ she said, the alcohol and the day itself loosening her tongue so she was talking to him like the Adam she knew of old.
He brushed the rain off his forehead. ‘You told me in Rome I needed to change. That I’d stayed the same for too long. Stayed here.’ He raised his voice as a clap of thunder hit them, and the rain battered down even harder. ‘Well, I didn’t agree with you then, but I think maybe you’re right.’
‘Adam, I was being stupid, I was—’
He interrupted her, holding up his hand. ‘I’d better run, I have loads to do. You get inside. It’s going to chuck it down.’
‘But—’
‘And look out for Francesca, will you?’ he said.
‘I always do,’ Tess said, shaking her head. ‘For God’s sake, Adam, this is—it’s crazy. Stay for a drink!’
But he wasn’t listening ‘No. Sorry.’
‘Isn’t there anything I can do?’ Tess said desperately.
He looked into her eyes, as if he were looking for something, and then he patted his pockets. ‘There is,’ he said. ‘There really is. Look after this for me.’
He took out of his suit jacket a battered, yellowing, slim little hardback, no bigger than her palm. Tess remembered it from Rome. He put it into her hand. ‘This was with my grandmother when she died,’ he said. He swallowed. She glanced down at it, then up at him.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a book of love poems. Catullus’s love poems. God knows why she was carrying it around. She’s marked bits of it.’
Tess clutched it. ‘She carried it everywhere,’ she said.
‘Just—I want you to have it,’ Adam said. ‘Look after it. It must have meant something to her, if she held onto it all this time.’
‘Why do you want me to have it?’ she asked.
‘Because…’ He trailed off. ‘Because I—I want to believe that there was some love in her, somewhere. And this might be the only actual proof of that. So you should look after it, while I’m away. It’ll make me feel OK, knowing you’ve got it.’ He didn’t look at her, but he folded her fingers around the book and clutched her hand. ‘Night, Tess. I’ll see you—I’ll see you one day.’
‘I’ll see you one day?’ she repeated blankly but he merely smiled and walked away, down the tiny street. She stood, watching him, and then the rain began in earnest, heavy drops that pattered down on the stones with fury. Thunder cracked overhead, and in seconds, water was running in rivulets down her neck, washing away the sweat and grime of the day, and she stood there until long after he had turned the corner, until she was completely wet through, staring into nothing. She turned, then, back to the house, where a golden line of light shone through the crack of the door, and pushed it open.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Francesca was inside, sitting on the sofa as usual. She was dressed in her Francesca summer lounging outfit, which comprised a small pair of polka-dot cotton shorts and a flimsy pale blue vest. Tess shook herself as she shut the door. Drops of rain flew off her, hitting Francesca, but she did not move.
‘Hey,’ said Tess, trying to sound more sober than she felt. She put the book onto the bureau. ‘It’s pissing it down out there, have you seen? I saw Adam outside. Have you two had a…’ She trailed off and looked around her, in horror. ‘Francesca, what the hell’s going on?’
The tiny sitting room looked as if a poltergeist had been on the rampage. Books were pulled off the shelves; a vase (not a very nice one, from Francesca’s peak period of buying rubbish) lay in bits on the floor; Tess’s beloved cake stand next to it, cracked in half. The huge flat-screen TV had moved position, and was by the door; there was a smooth patch of rug to show where it had been before, with DVDs littered around it, crumbs and even an apple core as evidence of the girls’ laziness when it came to housekeeping. Tess stared at it all, her mouth dropping open. By the entrance to the kitchen was a huge suitcase, Francesca’s suitcase, with clothes hanging out of it, half folded, spilling onto the floor. A lamp, some iPod speakers and some coat hangers sat next to it, the only orderly notes in the room.
‘Oh, my God,’ Tess said, sitting down next to her on the sofa. ‘What did you do?’
Francesca said nothing, but continued to stare at the wall opposite. Tess said gently, patting her arm, ‘Francesca—’
‘I’ll get you a new cake stand, OK?’ Francesca pulled away from her, and stood up. ‘I’m packing.’
‘You’re packing? Where are you going?’
‘I’m leaving,’ Francesca said, standing in front of the door, her arms folded. ‘I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.’
Tess blinked, and rubbed her eyes. She was in a daydream, she must be. ‘Are you going away with Adam?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Francesca briefly, and she went into the kitchen. ‘I’m going back to London,’ she called. ‘Had enough here. I’ll pay you rent to the end of next month, that’ll be OK won’t it?’
‘Um—’ Tess stood up, and followed Francesca into the kitchen. ‘Yes, of course, but—Francesca, what’s happened? What’s wrong, darling?’
‘Leave me alone,’ Francesca said, bending over and getting some plates out of the cupboard. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, all right?’ She glanced up at Tess, her hair falling in her face, and gave her a really strange look. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Tess folded her arms, watching her flatmate. ‘Is it Adam?’ she said tentatively. ‘Have you broken up again?’
Francesca laughed, her hair flowing like silk as she did. ‘Broken up? Darling, we’re not together, we can’t break up.’
‘But—’ Tess shook her head, casting off the last vestiges of her drunkenness. She had sobered up pretty quickly. ‘You and he—you’re—’ She reached out her hand.
‘Don’t touch me,’ Francesca said. ‘Look, it’s just an exercise. It follows a set pattern.’ She swallowed. ‘Yeah. He texts me to see if I’m free. He comes round after you’ve gone to bed and we fuck each other until we’re exhausted, then we fall asleep. We don’t talk, before or
after. It’s just sex,’ she said flatly. ‘Amazing sex. That’s all there is to it.’ She chewed her bottom lip, almost ruminatively. ‘That’s—he’s not sleeping, since his grandmother died, and I don’t sleep well anyway, so—might as well enjoy ourselves, no strings, get some rest afterwards.’
Tess thought of the times she had heard Francesca crying out wildly in the night, and she thought that she didn’t believe her. Francesca looked up at Tess again and made a sad, odd sound like a sob and Tess realized she had caught her lip in her teeth to stop herself from crying. ‘Oh, Francesca,’ she said, sadly. She put her hands at the base of her spine and leaned back against the kitchen surface, as if to emphasize that she wasn’t going to touch her, and looked at her flatmate. ‘You really like him, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Francesca said, but it was unconvincing, and she put her hand over her mouth. ‘Whatever it is,’ she said, rocking backwards and forwards and frowning, as if she were trying not to crumble, ‘whatever, it’s just that I can’t do it any more. I don’t want this—’ she waved her hand around, gesturing to the debris on the floor of the sitting room—‘any more. I’ve rung my friend Kate, she and Mac are away on holiday, I’m going to go and stay at her flat for a couple of weeks.’ Tess knew about Kate, she was one of Francesca’s best friends. She nodded, watching her.
‘Francesca—are you sure?’ she said boldly. ‘It’s just—you were pretty screwed up before you got here, and being here’s done you good, hasn’t it? When you think what you used to be like? You’d been made redundant, you were behaving erratically at work. You were a bit…’ She searched desperately for the right word, but couldn’t find it. ‘A bit…mad.’
She said it awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood.
‘You’re hilarious,’ Francesca said, walking back into the sitting room. Tess followed her.
I Remember You Page 34
