by Fanny Blake
He sighed. ‘Fran’s leaving me. Or to be more accurate, she’s already left.’
Goodbye, wife number four.
‘Oh, Ian. Not again.’
‘I don’t have much luck,’ he said with a sidelong glance at the next table and the red dress.
She laughed. ‘You have far too much and far more than you deserve.’
Did other ex-wives discuss what was once their greatest problem with the ex-husband who caused it? She had every sympathy with Fran. Ian had never been able to resist an attractive woman. Even at sixty-six, as they sat having dinner, his eye was wandering. He made a far better friend than a husband.
‘I should have stayed with you. We’d make the perfect elderly couple.’ His hand, flat on the table, was that of an old man. The realisation came with a shock to Isla. The years were catching up with both of them.
‘I doubt that. Anyway I might be spoken for now.’
His face was a picture of astonishment vying with an unjustified possessiveness. ‘Spoken for? By whom?’
‘A lovely man I met. Tony. It’s going well.’ It felt odd telling Ian about another man, even though they split up long ago and there had been others since.
He sipped his wine for a little longer than necessary. ‘Tony, eh? You never said.’
‘You never asked.’
He smiled. ‘I’m sorry but I’m pleased for you. Really.’
‘We’ll see. It’s early days.’ She wished she hadn’t said anything. Then an idea struck her. ‘I’m on my way to Scotland via the sisters, and he’s coming up to meet me.’ She ignored his wink. ‘It’s all fixed but Helen wants me to stay on longer to keep an eye on Charlie. I don’t suppose you’d have her, would you?’ That was the obvious solution. ‘Just keep an eye on her for a few days.’
His eyebrows rose until they were briefly hidden by the still thick flop of hair. ‘I don’t think so! I’ve got another week of the run.’
Familial duties were not something he had ever taken too seriously. When it suited him, was the way he operated.
‘But it would be such a help.’ She never gave in to him that easily.
He turned down his lip. ‘I really can’t, darling. Don’t you see? Have some of these fried courgettes.’
She saw exactly. The smooth running of his own life came before her or the journey that she had planned.
‘I’m sure Helen and Charlie have friends who’ll help out.’ She spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel.
‘Why don’t you take her with you?’ He looked at her over the rim of his glass.
‘To Scotland?!’ That would make her trip very different to the one she had planned.
‘Not necessarily. Couldn’t you put her on a train home after a few days when Helly’s back?’
Isla hesitated. How would she be able to focus on finding out more about May? What about the people she was staying with? Would they mind? But… it was a solution. And whatever happened, Charlie would have to go home before Tony travelled up for their special weekend. The thought of their being together gave her a warm glow of anticipation. He may not have been in her life long but he had been stalwart and loving in his support, especially when May died. He had put up with her going on and on about her mother’s bewildering lack of affection and how Isla blamed herself, the guilt she felt for never having addressed the issue and sorted it out. In return, she had been glad to be able to help him out financially while he got back on his feet. Not that he’d borrowed much and as soon as he found work, he’d pay her back. He’d made that part of the deal. However, the weekend in his choice of country hotel was a proper thank-you present for listening. Charlie absolutely couldn’t be there for that.
‘By the way, I thought I might go to Braemore myself for Aggie’s birthday.’ Having found the answer to Isla’s dilemma, Ian had moved on already, and was watching to see what she felt about this latest idea. ‘She asked me,’ he added, on the defensive.
‘Might you?’
‘We-ell…’ His wavering hand showed his indecision. ‘I’ve got an interview for a part.’ He waited for the congratulation that didn’t come. ‘But I’d like to see the old bird again before she pops her clogs. You wouldn’t mind if I go?’
‘Since when have you taken any notice of what I mind?’ She couldn’t help smiling.
When they parted ways, they kissed before Ian dived into Leicester Square tube with a careless wave over his shoulder at her. Isla walked to her bus stop, her mind returning to Charlie. If Helen needed her help that badly, perhaps she really ought to overcome her misgivings and invite Charlie along with her.
Four or five days.
How bad could it be?
5
Helen ended her call and slammed the phone down on the kitchen counter. Isla could tell from her expression it was bad news. ‘Keisha’s mum was my last hope. Nobody’ll have Charlie to stay – they’re scared she’ll be a bad influence – and our neighbour’s going to be away so she can’t keep an eye on her either. What the hell am I going to do? I worked so hard on the Netflix pilot, I can’t not meet the producer and team behind the series. This could be a really big break for me. You know that, right?’
Isla looked around the living room. She’d taken the photo on the mantelpiece herself. It showed a happy family of three with Helen, hair blowing in the wind, looking up in adoration at Mike who was squinting into the sun, and ten-year-old Charlie smiling and happy on a sunny beach in Cornwall, her arms round a surfboard: a very different child from the surly creature who had surfaced at eleven thirty for breakfast that morning. That had been such a happy holiday of beaches, ice creams, fish and chips and laughter. All four of them together. What a difference a few years made.
‘What shall I do now?’ Helen was almost in tears.
From upstairs the pulsing bass beat of some unidentifiable music pounded through the floorboards to where Isla and Helen sat. Helen looked up and rolled her eyes but did nothing about it. Isla had made her confess that Ian had got the party episode spot on. All four girls thought to be smoking weed had indeed been suspended from school till the start of the new school year, including Charlie. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry.’ Helen gave her one of those commanding looks that said, So don’t start now.
Isla stood up and stepped over Jock, her black Labrador and travelling companion, who opened an eye and thumped his tail on the floor. She looked out at the garden for a few minutes, bracing herself to speak.
‘I could always take her with me.’ There. She’d done it, her defences finally eroded by the thought of Charlie herself. They shouldn’t be talking about her as if she was a parcel that needed to be stored somewhere for safekeeping. She was just a stroppy teenager but she was also Isla’s only grandchild.
Helen’s face lit up as she smiled with relief. ‘Really? Would you?’
Isla knew immediately this was the right thing, whatever the consequences.
Helen jumped from her seat and hugged her mother hard. ‘Thank you. I knew you’d come through.’
Of course she did.
‘One condition.’ Isla folded the newspaper and smoothed along the crease. ‘We ask her first.’
‘No need. I decide what’s best for us.’
‘If she’s coming with me,’ Isla insisted, ‘it’s only with her agreement. I’m not taking a reluctant passenger.’ She fought the impulse to cave in under the force of her daughter’s will.
But Helen’s eyes were on the prize. ‘Okay.’ She went to the door and flung it open. ‘Charlie! Turn the music down. We need you down here. Charlie!’
The music kept on thumping.
Isla looked down at her travelling companion. ‘What do you think, Jock? Will this work?’
The old dog lifted his head at the mention of his own name then laid it down with a groan.
‘That’s not the answer I want, my friend.’ She stroked the smooth velvet of his ear.
Helen was upstairs now. There was a sudden silence as t
he music was turned off. A shouted exchange and the slam of a door. Two pairs of footsteps on the stairs, one light and quick, the other stomping behind.
Charlie followed her mother into the room, which for the moment was obviously the last place on earth she wanted to be. The tension between mother and daughter was plain. Helen’s face was tight, unsmiling. Charlie slouched, sullen in black leggings, a crop top and black Doc Martens that looked like space boots at the end of her skinny legs. Isla was surprised by the lip gloss and eye shadow that made her look older but no less vulnerable. Her mouth was wide with full bowed lips that turned up slightly at each corner. She had inherited Isla’s pointy chin (once the bane of her life) and good cheekbones (the things that she had mistakenly thought would keep ageing at bay) but her eyes were from Mike’s side: wide-set, almond-shaped, hazel-coloured and topped by thick brows. Three tiny studs decorated her right earlobe. Her granddaughter knelt on the floor beside Jock and, as her bangles slid down her arm, stroked his head. ‘What do you want?’ She couldn’t have sounded less interested.
‘Don’t speak to me like that. We’ve got something to ask you.’
‘I’m busy.’ Charlie turned over her shiny pink phone in her hand, glancing at its face.
‘We heard. Put your phone down. Please!’ Helen visibly exercised every ounce of self-control. ‘This won’t take long, I promise. You know I’m going away on Monday?’
‘Yeah.’ Charlie put her phone face down on the coffee table.
‘Keisha’s mum’s called to say they can’t have you to stay after all.’
Charlie bent over Jock so they couldn’t see her face. ‘So what? I can stay here on my own. I’m nearly fifteen.’
‘I don’t think so. Not after the suspension and the party.’ Helen’s hands were tightly clasped in front of her.
‘The party wasn’t my fault. I told you. Lucy invited those boys from the high school.’ She kissed the top of Jock’s nose.
What party? What boys? What else hadn’t Helen told Isla?
‘That’s not what her parents say.’
Charlie’s shoulders hunched, as she closed her eyes. ‘Whatever.’
Helen glanced at Isla as if to say, See what I have to deal with. ‘So we’ve had a great idea.’
We?
Isla watched them both – the two people she loved most in the world, however hard they sometimes made it – wishing she could knock some sense into them.
‘I don’t want to go with you. You’ll be working all the time.’ Charlie looked up and Isla saw the longing in her eyes that contradicted her words swiftly extinguished.
But Helen was gazing into the mirror over the mantelpiece and missed her daughter’s need altogether. She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, adjusted one of the invitation cards.
Isla spoke. ‘Perhaps…’
But Helen wasn’t going to give her the chance to backtrack. She sailed straight over her. ‘Granny’s going on a driving holiday for the next couple of weeks, and she says you can go with her. Isn’t that great?’ Couldn’t she hear how desperate she sounded?
Charlie looked up and pushed her hair back over her shoulders. ‘Me? Go with Granny? Are you serious? You’re not even going to be away for two weeks.’
‘She’ll put you on the train home before next weekend. We’ll sort it out.’
‘Yes,’ Isla heard herself say, while trying to ignore how appalled Charlie sounded. ‘Would you like to? Though you’ll have to put up with Jock. His farts can be vicious. And Betty can be temperamental at times. My car,’ she explained to their puzzled faces.
A suspicion of a smile on Charlie’s face disappeared as quickly as it came. ‘What about the end of term parties? I’ve got to be here for them.’ She turned to her mother. Each of them was as adamant as the other. Isla felt powerless, knowing any interference by her would only make things worse.
Helen shook her head. ‘No more parties.’
‘Mum! I have to be there.’ Charlie’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
‘There’ll be plenty of other parties later,’ offered Isla only to be quelled by such a look of disdain that she suddenly wished she could retract the invitation. But it was too late.
‘After the last one?’ said Helen. ‘I don’t think so. And I’m not sure the other parents will want you there either. Not after…’
‘I told you that wasn’t me.’
‘But they think it was and that’s enough.’
‘That’s so unfair.’
‘That’s the way of the world. Sometimes people don’t believe us, and sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to.’
‘You don’t.’ Charlie ran her finger down Jock’s nose.
‘Oh, believe me, I do. And anyway, I’m nearly forty, not fourteen. I’ve suffered for the privilege of doing what I want. But the point is I can’t leave you here and Dad’s away filming till August so this really is the only way.’
‘Finished?’ Charlie stood to face them. ‘I do love you, Gran—’
‘Thanks.’ Isla floated on a tide of grandmotherly love for a moment. ‘The feeling’s mutual.’
Charlie’s hand was on the door handle. ‘But I’ve got so much to do here. Mum doesn’t get it.’
‘I understand. No hard feelings.’ A glimmer of hope surfaced. Perhaps she would be travelling alone after all.
‘Thanks.’ Charlie left the room and they heard her heavy tread on the stairs. In moments, the music had started again, every bit as loud as before.
‘See how difficult she is?’ Helen flopped into a nearby chair.
‘Honestly? I see a lonely, confused, unhappy teenager. Not so different from the way you were. Don’t you remember what it was like?’ Isla did, only too well – work and motherhood: a perpetual and exhausting round of negotiations to avoid confrontation in which neither side understood the other or had time to try.
‘Don’t go all sentimental on me. I’ll spend time with her when I’m back – I promise. But right now, I’ve got to persuade her to go with you.’ She straightened her white T-shirt, picking at a teeny stain. ‘Parties! For Christ’s sake.’
‘What else has happened that you haven’t told me?’
‘Nothing major.’ She waved a hand to dismiss the whole thing. ‘Mike and I were away for the night. Charlie invited some friends over here. More people turned up than she was expecting. That’s all.’
‘And?’
‘Oh, not much. A bit of damage and one of them got carted off to A and E because they’d drunk too much.’
‘That sounds quite a lot to me.’ But Helen was playing the whole thing down so as not to put her off the idea of taking Charlie with her. She knew her daughter well.
‘No. Trust me.’ Helen closed the subject. ‘Anyway I’ll get her to see sense.’
‘I’m not taking her hostage. That won’t work.’
‘She’ll agree. I’ll make sure she does.’
A bribe of some item of new clothing had always worked with Helen when she was that age.
‘So… What are we doing tomorrow?’ Helen asked. The subject was closed.
As they discussed the exhibitions Isla might visit while in London, the shops she might go to, what she could bring home for supper, she began to relax again. Perhaps taking Charlie wouldn’t be so bad.
She thought of her granddaughter, defiant, yet underneath so vulnerable; of Helen bent on advancing her career. She thought of herself, and how she had struggled to push herself along her chosen path as a museum curator while Helen was growing up. Her employers had been so considerate, tolerating her bringing her daughter into work, or her taking time off to look after her. The world Helen had chosen for herself was much more cut-throat.
She would wait to see what Charlie decided. But, deep down, she knew how Helen would turn the tables in the three days before Isla left. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had practice.
6
Paris, 1954
May had only been in Paris for an hour or so and wa
s already infected by the unfamiliar and thrilling energy of the city. This was nothing like home. Dunfermline was miles away. But standing on the doorstep of her new home, her nerves returned. How would she and the Dubois family get on? Would this diminutive woman who had answered the door be a hard taskmaster? How was she going to make friends? How was she going to make herself understood? Would her schoolgirl French be enough to begin with? She followed Madame Dubois inside, clutching the handle of her suitcase.
What had seemed like a brave, bold decision to come to France now seemed the height of foolhardiness and fraught with pitfalls. Her lack of fluency in French being the first.
‘Oh, you’ll soon pick it up,’ her father had said. ‘Be speaking like a native before you know where you are. The Dubois said they’d fix you up with lessons. Then you can come home and work as a translator or something worthwhile. Aunt Jess will fix you up in London.’ She was his spinster sister who did something mysterious in the War Office.
Her mother had been less certain. ‘But she’ll be alone in a city of strangers, Frank. I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.’
‘Moira, stop that nonsense. She’ll be back before you know it.’
That did it. Anything to escape her mother who liked having her oldest daughter at home where she could call on her whenever she was needed. To have any freedom, May had to get away, even if it meant leaving her dear younger sister Aggie behind. A meeting between her father and a French business associate had led to her being offered the post of caring for the six-year-old child of an acquaintance of his. The job would give her some money and a roof over her head while she improved her language skills and found her way round a new city. She had jumped at the opportunity. She didn’t know much more about children than she knew French, but how hard could they be? And Paris! To think of it! On Pathé news reels in the cinema she had seen dizzying footage of men painting the Eiffel Tower without safety harnesses, shots of the city lit up at night, busy streets full of cars and people, elegant tree-lined boulevards, street cafés, the fashion houses. And now here she was.
