Tess hesitated again. ‘Yes, that’s it. Everything’s working out the way it should.’
He touched his glass to hers. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
One of the great things about moving away is that you get a sense of distance. The people with whom you feel no kinship but a nagging sense of responsibility: gradually they can just be weeded out. The old college friend with whom you shared everything from hair dye to tampons and with whom you have absolutely nothing in common now: in London, preserving the edifice of the friendship would be more noticeable than it is when you are a penniless teacher living one hundred miles outside London with no car, no interesting contacts and no stories of the high life. And yet, as Tess read her old friend Fiona’s Christmas card, she started thinking about how they had been, thirteen years ago, two stumpy, shy students together in the big city, and how scary it had been, how they had formed a friendship-based on the shock of the new-and what Fiona was like now. What were they both like, now?
Happy Christmas, Tess! Hope yokel land is all it’s cracked up to be and you are still enjoying your new life. We were just at a hotel near you, I think it’s owned by the Soho House people? Really lovely. When are you coming down to London? We’re off to Thailand for Christmas and New Year but come any time after that. Tom’s work is going well and we just got a new car!
Happy New Year!
Love Fiona.
The new best friend from your first teaching job, where you went to the pub after work and got hopelessly, helplessly drunk on cheap white wine, crying with mirth and sadness over shared twenties experiences: she left teaching five years ago to work in HR, and though you have dutifully met up for drinks once every six months, each time it gets harder and harder. Because basically your friendship was based on sharing the same office. And that was it.
Dear Tess,
Merry Christmas!
Wishing you all the best for 2009…Must put a new date for drinkies in when you’re next up in London!!!
Pippa
xx
And, of course, the ex-boyfriend, with whom you shared over two years and several friends, some fantastic holidays and a crucial period of each other’s lives: if Tess had stayed in London, would she have been forced into some semblance of friendship with Will and Ticky?
Dear Tess,
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
I hope this finds you well and your life in Langford still enjoyable. Hope too that things are still going well with Adam; he seems like a nice chap. Ticky and I are engaged. I thought you ought to know. I really hope you will join in our pleasure at this news. That sounds rather presumptuous, but I have been thinking of you lately, and thinking that, while I was unsuited to you, I was lucky to have you in my life for that time. I often feel that you and I may not have said the things to each other that we might have and I wanted you to know this, at least.
(sorry!)
With love from
Will
x
(and Ticky)
This last arrived the day Tess went to London with Adam again, a couple of days before she was due to go to Rome. She read it, wincing slightly, sitting on the sofa as weak winter sunshine shone into the sitting room of Easter Cottage. She tried to imagine what she could write back that would set the record straight.
Thanks so much for your charming Christmas card. Actually, Adam is not my boyfriend. We lied to you so that I would not look like a sad loser, but I now realize this was a bit pathetic. I am in fact off to Rome for Christmas, to stay with a gorgeous American called Peter, and I hope that we will pass the holiday period having lots of sex. He is not really my boyfriend, either, we merely shared an amazing week together, silly though it sounds, and when I think of him I think of a truly magical time when I became myself again-after dating you for two years had worn my soul bare, a bit like paint stripper. Anyway! Best wishes to you and your family for a cool Yule-
There was a sharp knock at the door. ‘Tess?’ came a voice from outside. ‘I’m late, sorry.’
‘Hi,’ she said, scrambling to stand up. ‘Just coming.’
She opened the door, smiling at Adam; though it was two weeks now since he’d been back, the sight of him was still a sheer pleasure to her. He kissed her on the cheek, and glanced over her shoulder.
‘What on earth is that?’
Tess turned around. ‘Oh, dear. It’s my packing.’
Adam surveyed the huge mess on the floor, a pile of tangled trouser legs, tights, and knickers. ‘Right,’ he said politely. ‘When’s your flight?’
‘Day after tomorrow, at eleven,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there for late lunch, hopefully.’
‘Wow.’ Adam rubbed his hands together. ‘Tess, this is exciting, isn’t it?’ He put his arm around her. ‘You must be really looking forward to it.’
‘Yes,’ said Tess. She kicked a stray pair of tights disconsolately towards the corner of the room and slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘So how do you feel about seeing him again?’ Adam said, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Have you two guys made any more plans?’
Tess stared up at him as she picked up her keys. ‘Who on earth are you? Oprah Winfrey?’
Adam looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘All these questions,’ Tess said crossly, opening the door. ‘I don’t know the answers. I haven’t seen him for months, you know. And he’s been away too. I have no idea what it’s going to be like.’
After a pause, Adam nodded. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Sorry, of course. I’m just rather cheerful today.’
‘Why?’
He looked at her. ‘Well-you know. Going to London, seeing-everything. And-ah, finding out about the course and everything. Still,’ he went on hurriedly. ‘I can see why you’d be a bit nervous, I bet. Like, you’re looking forward to seeing Peter again, but you’re wondering what it’ll be like.’ He whistled.
‘Absolutely,’ Tess said, nodding. She felt relieved that he had said it out loud; she felt disloyal admitting anything negative about her trip, about Peter, about anything to do with it. Still, she watched him, wondering if he was thinking the same thing as they left for London, to see Francesca once again. ‘Yes, that’s exactly it…’ She shut the door and locked it and they walked down the street together. She chewed a nail, thoughtfully. He looked at her.
‘Well, it’s nice to know,’ he said, ‘that it wasn’t just a fairy-tale romance.’
‘Yes, I-’ Tess began, but she stopped. ‘What do you mean?’ she said fiercely.
Adam gestured, his hands still in his pockets. ‘Well, like you said, it was this magical time et cetera, et cetera, and you worried it wouldn’t come to anything. You said that,’ he said mildly.
‘Oh, right,’ answered Tess doubtfully. ‘Well, yes-that’s the way it is, yep.’
They were at the end of her road, and they turned left, towards the town hall and the station. Tess looked back towards the high street, at the Christmas tree lights, shining dully in the cloudy day, at the thick yew trees that fringed the edge of the churchyard, at Langford in the middle of the morning. She didn’t want to go to London. She felt cross, crotchety, as if some unnamed irritation were upon her, like a rash settling on her skin. Adam was already walking ahead.
‘We’ll be late,’ he called. ‘Hurry up, T, we don’t want to miss the train.’
Mist was in the air; Tess shivered and pulled her collar around her, as she ran to catch up with him. They were going to London again.
Tess had forgotten things about Francesca. She had forgotten how clear her skin was, and how she smelt of something-jasmine? It was delicious, anyway. And how curiously impassive she was, how you had to know her well before you knew what she thought about something. Remembering the last time she’d seen her, that awful day in August after Leonora Mortmain’s funeral, Tess realized that was the only time she’d ever seen her lose her composure, really. She didn’t cry to get a
ttention. Inside, she might be a melting pot of insecurities, but outside, she was cool as a cucumber.
She met them off the train at Waterloo. There were carol singers from a local church underneath the famous clock, singing lustily to a crackling backing tape. Francesca stood beside them, looking vaguely irritated by their presence. A new bag, a beautiful blue Anya Hindmarch patent thing, hung from her arm. She was in dark blue jeans, patent black boots and a thick black cloak-like wool coat with a hood. She looked, more than ever, like a famous person, someone from a film, and Tess thought of Liz, humming cheerfully away in the kitchen that morning, making pancakes and wiping her hands on the apron while she chatted happily to Tess about the day ahead. Funny to think how different they were.
‘Hello, old girl,’ Francesca said, casting one last look of vehement dislike at the choir as she walked towards them. She kissed Tess on the cheek. ‘All right, Adam, my man. It’s great to see you both.’
She did not kiss Adam, but she squeezed him on the arm, and grinned her catlike grin briefly at both of them. ‘Fancy some lunch?’ she said. ‘I’m bloody starving.’
‘It’s only twelve,’ said Adam, smiling at her. ‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Breakfast, and a snack,’ Francesca said. ‘I tell you, since I went back to work my appetite’s out of control. Langford wasn’t great for my metabolism. I get hungry just walking up the stairs.’
‘I don’t know why you’re surprised,’ Tess said. ‘You did virtually nothing for five months.’
Francesca’s eyes widened for a second, and then she laughed. ‘Oh, piss off. Who bought the margarita mix, eh? And the karaoke machine?’
‘And the flat-screen TV,’ said Tess. ‘And all those huge boxes of shampoo and face cleanser I used to pick up for you at the post office while you were-er-asleep.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Francesca. ‘I left them all behind, sorry. I meant to clear them away. There must be loads. They could be recycled,’ she said generously.
Tess looked at Adam. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told Francesca. ‘They have been.’
They walked across the Hungerford Bridge to Embankment, still talking. Tess looked down at the swirling, choppy water, the huge vista of London all around her, and thought of Rome, how small it was by comparison. It was not yet twelve thirty, so they went to Gordon’s wine bar and were able to get a table. It was five days before Christmas-the centre of town was busy but with shoppers and tourists, not with workers, and a curious air of misrule hung in the air.
Gordon’s was strangely empty, perhaps because they were early. Its dark wood interior was cosy and wintry, crammed with bottles of wine and posters. They sat at a small circular table, and Tess grabbed the stool, so that Francesca and Adam could take the wooden settle. She smiled at them both as they edged in and sat down.
They made a good-looking couple, there was no doubt of that. They were both tall, and of similar colouring: he with his light brown hair that had once been white-blond; she with her beautiful caramel-coloured mane slithering over her slim shoulders.
‘Let’s get some drinks,’ Adam said, putting his hand on the table, exactly as Francesca did the same thing. Their hands were both narrow, with long, fine fingers; they turned to look at each other, and Tess found herself thinking it was almost comical, how perfect they were together.
‘Sure,’ said Francesca, and she took her coat off, picking her hair up in a ponytail with one hand and dropping it, like a silk curtain, so it fell over her back again. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
They smiled at each other as they got up, having only just sat down. ‘You be all right, Tess?’ Adam said, putting his hand gently on her shoulder.
‘Sure, sure,’ said Tess, pulling out her phone. ‘I need to phone Peter, confirm a few details about my trip.’ She stopped, realizing she sounded insane. ‘I’ll be fine!’ she called, though in fact they were already at the bar, chatting. Tess watched them, turning her mobile around in her hand. She could see they were both nervous; Francesca looked shy, she looked down at her purse several times and then, after the barman had taken their order, Adam patted her arm, and she looked back up at him, and smiled properly. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks were slightly flushed, her lips parted.
She’s still in love with him. It was obvious. It was obvious to the barman, who looked bored as he waited for Adam to hand over the money. Why wasn’t it obvious to them? Tess asked herself. And she didn’t know the answer, much less what to do about it. She looked down at her phone.
Landed! Back in my apartment. Only two days to go till we are reunited. I have almost forgotten what you look like. P xx
I have forgotten what you look like, too, Tess thought to herself. She watched Francesca’s animated face at the bar, and felt sick. She didn’t know why.
After a relaxed but fairly brief lunch at which only generalities were discussed, such as Francesca’s new job, Tess’s new classmates, Christmas plans and the weather, and nothing was said of the last time they had all met, what had transpired between them, and for Adam, and what might be happening now, they paid the bill and put their coats on. As they were leaving Adam put his hand on the door and said, ‘Oh, by the way-Francesca and I need to do something. See the man about the dog I mentioned in the pub the other day. You remember?’
He nodded, significantly, at Tess.
Tess didn’t remember, but she didn’t want to look any more out of the loop than she already felt. She said, ‘Yup, where are we going?’
‘The thing is, it’s just the two of us,’ Adam said. ‘I’m afraid. Sorry, T.’
‘Oh-! Right!’ Tess tried to cover her embarrassment by looking really pleased that this was happening. ‘This is great! I need to do some shopping, anyway. I’ll take advantage of-er-So where are you going, exactly?’
She didn’t want to know the answer, but she felt she had to ask the question, and even though it was obvious that they wanted to be alone, she did feel a bit cross with them both.
‘We’re only going to just off Albemarle Street,’ Francesca said, with a precision that surprised Tess. ‘Why don’t we meet you in an hour or so? It won’t take long, honestly.’ She smiled at her.
‘Great,’ said Tess. ‘I’ll go to the Burlington Arcade. I need to, anyway!’ She wished she could keep the exclamation marks out of her voice. ‘Still got lots to buy, I haven’t even got Peter a present yet!’
‘What are you getting him?’ Francesca asked, as Adam pushed the door open.
‘Oh…’ Tess blinked, emerging into the light from the gloom of the wine bar. ‘Probably some…I don’t really know.’
‘What a great girlfriend you are,’ Adam said, pushing her gently out of the way as a cyclist, speeding through Embankment Gardens, burst through their little group. Tess glared at him, annoyed at being pushed around. She felt cross and awkward, a little hot from the heat of the bar and the wine they had drunk.
‘I’ll meet you in Burlington Arcade at four o’clock,’ she said. ‘Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing,’ and she rolled her eyes and walked, briskly, up towards Northumberland Avenue, trying not to show how she really felt.
The walk in the cold crisp air did her good. She walked down Pall Mall, up through St James’s Square, admiring the fine tall buildings, the tasteful Christmas decorations, the old gentlemen’s shops selling proper tobacco and proper Panama hats, the gentlemen’s clubs with old men in waistcoats emerging from late long lunches. She thought about London, how she missed it, how she still loved it, but she realized as she came out onto Piccadilly that it no longer felt like home. And she also realized, as she walked along, calming down in the cool air, that she had done what she always did; aligned herself with a city because she had to. She had embraced London when she was eighteen, getting over Adam, having had the abortion, starting afresh.
She had embraced it because she had to reject Langford, leave behind that part of her childhood which had hurt her so much. She had loved the cool classical lines of UCL; th
e white stucco columns, the order in it all, the stateliness of London’s squares, the white paint and black railings of the British Museum. No more higgledy-piggledy cottages climbing over each other, no more twisting sidestreets, lanes tangled with brambles, hedgerows a riot of colour…It seemed to Tess, eighteen, bruised, alone, that London was the perfect classical city. And up until last year, even her long, straight street in Balham had had an order she found attractive.
Her phone rang: she snatched it out of her pocket, where without realizing it, she had been clutching it tightly in her hand. Peter mob.
She didn’t answer.
She looked through the railings of St James’s church where a carol concert was in full swing; they were singing ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ in a minor key; it had a powerful, melancholy sound. Sirens wailed, far in the background, looping over and around each other. The phone stopped ringing. Someone was cooking chestnuts; the slightly burnt smell was acrid in her nostrils and she wrinkled her nose. Someone else jostled her, murmuring apologies as they hastened along the street. It wasn’t a momentous moment but then, as she stared down at the phone, and then up into the sky, Tess knew, with a sadness in her heart, but also a certainty that could not be overruled, that she would not be going to Rome.
She called him back. The phone rang, and he answered immediately. She ducked into the alcove of a doorway, away from the noise on the street.
‘Hey, baby,’ Peter said. She knew his voice so well, now. But she couldn’t picture his face. ‘I just called.’
‘Hi,’ she said. She turned and stood, watching the cars rush by. The sirens started up again in the background. ‘I know. Listen, Peter…I need to tell you something.’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I Remember You Page 45
