"Oh cool! You mean Dad"s writing one of those Jura.s.sic Park type scripts? With dinosaurs? Oh Mum, that"s real Hollywood stuff, we"ll be rich!"
"But how extraordinary." Mimsy"s brow puckered. "He never mentioned it."
"Well, as I said, it is a bit you know. Under wraps." "Which ones?" persisted Ellen.
"Sorry?"
"Which dinosaurs?"
I regarded this boffin-child before me. I was grateful to her, naturally, for getting me out of a tight spot, but now, I wished she"d die. I was tempted to grab the candlestick and do it myself, actually. I was also beginning to realise why Charlie felt the urge to escape this probing pair with their persistent questions; these inquisitors, who wanted the lowdown on one"s every waking moment. My mind fled back to an outing with Ben and Max to the National History Museum. I wished I"d paid more attention.
"Oh, just the usual ones," I said airily, "for this project, anyway. Just, urn, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Stratosphere Rex-"
"Stratosphere! Don"t you mean Stegosaurus?" said Ellen, incredulously.
"Possibly," I conceded, tight-lipped.
"And you"re the expert? I mean you identify them?" "Well-"
"How d"you do that, then?" Her spectacles flashed.
"Bones," I hissed finally, through gritted teeth, spotting a handy tomb, no doubt full of them. "We have bones, of course. How else d"you think we do it?" I demanded witheringly, and perhaps a trifle vehemently, in front of her mother.
There was an exhausted silence as they took all this on board. I"d floored them, finally, with a baffling litany of career moves, and they were grappling now with the implications. Visions of me on my hands and knees, fitting dinosaur bones together like a jigsaw puzzle, perhaps in my leisure momentsat the Antiques Roadshow, perhaps during a coffee break in the Pet Rescue studio, perhaps at Kit"s, or out on location with the BBC all scenarios were doubtless springing, bewilderingly, to mind. Ah, the left fibula ... this must be a Triceratops ... oh, sorry Hugh, you"d like me to value an eighteenth-century porcelain dog?
"Gosh, Lucy, what a fascinating career you"ve had," said Mimsy at length, with evident feeling.
"Yes, I suppose I have," I conceded, equally exhausted. "So. Two big vases either side of the altar, d" you think?" I grabbed one and made to take it away, my heart pounding. I"d had a lucky escape.
"Lucy?" echoed Ellen, suddenly. "I thought Dad called you Laura?"
I froze, the vase in my hands. A terrible hush fell over the church. A ghastly, sickening silence, punctuated only by the crows, cawing in the ancient yews outside, swooping around the gravestones, calling to one another as they soared into the sailor-blue sky. Finally, Mimsy spoke. I couldn"t look at her. Could only stare at the cut-gla.s.s pattern glinting before me. But I had a feeling her face was pale.
"Ellen, wait for me in the side room, would you?" she said quietly. "There are some colouring pencils and books in there, left over from Sunday school. I won"t be long"
Her daughter went without a word, perhaps sensing in her mother"s voice something serious, perhaps even recognising the situation for what it was. I hoped not. I put the vase back down on the table and stared at the thick, erect sterns before me. I seemed to be seeing stars, as well as flowers. There was a silence as Ellen"s footsteps shuffled away. A door banged, then a voice seemed to come, as if from on high.
"Are you having an affair with my husband?"
I breathed in sharply, and inadvertently rattled the vase on the table. For a moment, I couldn"t look at her, but then I knew I had to. I forced my eyes up. Her face was indeed very pale, and I saw faint lines fretted around the eyes and mouth; the green eyes no longer sparkled with fun and vitality, but were flat, defeated, vulnerable. I saw the face of a sad, middle-aged woman, who"d already had her share of grief, and who was now enduring more, heaped on her, by me.
"I well. No, I I"m not," I whispered. "I mean not quite. But we were going to."
"Going to?"
"Yes, we we haven"t actually got round to it yet," I muttered miserably. Oh how awful. Like getting round to having a dinner party. Only the entertainment I was contemplating was infidelity with her husband.
"I see. You mean ... the intent was there."
I hung my head, eyes slithering away from hers in shame. I felt despicable, dirty, cowardly. "Iwas going to meet him tonight," I admitted, swallowing. "After I"d done the flowers here."
"After church," she said flatly. "Off to a hotel. How fitting. And he"d told me he had a meeting up in London."
"I"m so sorry!" I gasped desperately, looking up. "I had no idea he was your husband."
"And that would have made a difference? If you"d known?"
I shook my head in shame, eyes slinking away again. "I don"t know. I mean yes, now, but I don"t know, then. But it does make a difference, now. I mean, you"re so nice, and so totally not what I expected, and I almost felt I had anexcuse," I blurted out, "because he"d said you were so oh G.o.d, I"m so sorry!" To my utter horror and shame, I burst into tears. I covered my face with my hands, and wept. In an instant she was round the table, and to compound the shame, swooped to put her arms around me.
"Not that that should have anything to do with it," I sobbed into her shoulder, quite unable to stop myself now, "whether you"re nice or not. I shouldn"t have done it anyway and oh G.o.d, this is even worse!" I gulped between hiccups, desperately pulling away, and wiping my face with my sleeve. "It should be you in tears, not me! You should be the one having the breakdown. I can"t even get that right, had to be a selfish cow about that, too!"
"Oh don"t worry," she smiled sardonically, still squeezing my shoulder. "Even if you weren"t hogging the limelight, I wouldn"t be having a breakdown. I"ve had too many in the past over this kind of thing. Haven"t got the energy."
"You mean," I glanced up quickly, fighting for control, "this has happened before?"
"Oh yes, quite a few times," she sighed.
"A few!" I was aghast. My eyes dried dramatically, and I stepped back, horrified. So appalled was I, in fact, that I had to lower my bottom onto the little wooden pew against the whitewashed wall. It felt cold. She sat down beside me.
"Well, let"s say more than twice," she said hurriedly. Kindly, even.
"But I thought I was the only one!" G.o.d, how naive it sounded. How familiar, out there in the open. "He said said he"d never felt like this before, never strayed. Always been a model husband and-"
"Ah yes, he"s quite good at that line. Or so I"ve been told."
"You"ve been told?" I said incredulously. "By who?"
"Oh well, let"s see now," she frowned. "First there was Jenny, who ran a garden centre somewhere near Cirencester -she left mud everywhere, all over his clothes, I had to wash them constantly - and then there was Patrouska - ridiculous name, nightmare woman, too. She was an actress in one of his plays in London. Kept ringing up in the interval, wanting to tell me my husband was a genius, daahling - silly tart. And then of course there was Eleanor ..."
"Eleanor?" I echoed faintly.
"One of my best friends. Well, a new best friend, actually, moved down here quite recently. She kept suggesting we all go on foursome boating holidays together, barges down the river, that sort of thing, and no doubt I"d be stuck with her wally husband Malcolm, with the freckly bald patch. Happily we resisted that temptation."
"Good G.o.d," I said humbly. "I had no idea." I thought back to Charlie"s protestations of love; of deep, true and meaningful love, all, if I"m honest though, couched in rather physical terms of endearment.
"So," I said tentatively, sneaking a look, "so in fact, you"re not really very surprised?"
She sighed. "Surprised, no. But always disappointed. You see, when he"s not seeing anyone - and I usually know if there is someone on the scene - I always think, Oh good, he"s better. But then it happens again."
"Better?"
"Yes." She gave a sad smile. "He"s only been like this these last four years, you see. Before that, we couldn"t have beencloser. We were so happy, he wouldn"t have dreamed of straying."
I struggled. "Four years? But why-"
"That"s when Nick died."
"Oh"
"And this is his way of trying to forget. To distract himself." I frowned. "You think?"
"Oh, I know. He"s desperate, Lucy. It"s his way of coping." "Because your son died, because-"
"Because he knocked him over."
I stared, horrified. "Nor She nodded. "He was coming out of the driveway. Too fast, in his car. Zipping round the corner, just as I was walking round with Nick. I"d picked him up from school, literally from just across the road, and had hold of his hand, when Charlie"s red Mercedes came swinging round the gate-post. Nick was on the wrong side. Knocked him flying in the air."
"Oh G.o.d!" I clutched my mouth, froze. Slowly I lowered my hand. "How awful! He never said-"
"No, of course not, how could he? He can"t accept it himself. Can"t bear what he"s done, so when he meets new people who don"t know, he tells a slightly different story. People like you"
"But surely everyone around here knows!"
"Of course, but it"s not mentioned, because Charlie feels so terrible about it. And how do you get over something like that, Lucy? It"s bad enough for me, losing a child, but far worse for him. He has to look at me every day. Look at himself in the mirror. He can"t forgive himself, so he tries to lose himself. Tries to reinvent himself. Jenny lived in Cirencester, far enough away not to know, Patrouska in London, you and Eleanor were both new to the area ... perfect. Then lots of frantic s.e.x to make it all go away."
"He"s not well," I said soberly.
She shook her head. "No, that"s too strong. And too easy. As I said, it"s his way of coping. We all have to find a way." I looked at her. "And you found G.o.d?"
She smiled. "Is that what he told you? That there were three of us in the marriage?" She pushed her fringe out of her eyes. "Yes, that"s what he told Eleanor, too. And in the beginning, yes, it was true. I was desperate, and Charlie and I couldn"t begin to look at each other, so I did turn to G.o.d. And I was infatuated to start with, fanatical, on fire, evangelical, sure, whatever you like. But like any new love, new pa.s.sion, it can"t go on like that, at that rate, for ever. That frenetic pace has to settle down, find some balance. So now ... well, now I"ve got it more in perspective. I still have a very strong faith, it"s still my rock, but now it"s part of my life, not my whole life. And yes, I do come here a lot. But I come here to feel calm, to find peace, like a lot of people do." She smiled. "So sadly, I"m not the mad, breast-beating zealot that Charlie would like me to be. Not the convenient excuse he needs. Maybe I was once, four years ago. I don"t know. I was quite mad then. Mad with grief. I know that."
I nodded slowly. "Four years ago, I was mad too"
She nodded. "I know. I knew that. So you see, you do know how it is. You know how I"ve tried to cope, and how Charlie"s tried to cope. We do crazy things. Grief does crazy things. I don"t know you very well, Lucy, but I"d hazard a guess you"re not the type to sleep around with married men."
I swallowed. "Now you"re giving me an excuse," I muttered. "Letting me off the hook."
She shrugged. "Maybe, but let"s see. By rights you should be living in London, now, with Ned. A big house, perhaps near the river, long garden, two small boys, and maybe another baby, maybe a little girl. Perhaps a weekend cottage in the country, dinner parties with friends, holidays in Cornwall. But then, your life was shattered, just as mine was. Who"s to say what that does to us? When we"re forced to take a completely different route, one we don"t recognise; and who"s to say, as we"re groping blindly in the dark, which side lane we might inadvertently slip down, when we"re at our most vulnerable, at our lowest ebb?"
"But I thought I was better," I said. "Thought it had taken me four years to get to Charlie. I thought he was my salvation, my compensation, even, for all those ghastly years. I couldn"t see it was still the wrong lane."
"Because you wanted to be better. You"d made up your mind you were going to be. I"ve done that so many times. Seen so many things as a miracle cure. It"s only now I"m realising it has to come from within. That no outside influence, no other person, can cure you"
We sat silently together, side by side, on that low wooden pew, in that tiny, vaulted, whitewashed room. A single shaft of sunlight streamed through the high, mullion window and fell on discarded stems on the trestle table; pools of water glistened in the light. I thought how marvellous she was. How strong and brave, and I wondered if it would have been different if I"d known earlier, at that first meeting with her, here, with Lavinia, in church. Would I have shied away from Charlie then, if I"d known? I hoped so. But then, I thought suddenly, at the time, I"d thought his wife was someone else. I"d thought . .
"Oh!" I said aloud. "How odd. The reason I didn"t think it was you, originally, was because when I described someone to Charlie, someone I"d seen coming out of your house - blonde, slim, pretty - he said, "Yes, that"ll be the wife." I remember he put his arm around her shoulders, walked her to a blue Jeep. Discussed a shopping list."
She nodded. "Probably Helen, my sister-in-law. She"s been a tower of strength to us. Always coming down, even though she lives in London. Wonderful with Ellen, always having her to stay, with the cousins. Integrating her."
"Your sister-in-law! Charlie"s sister?"
"Exactly. And same blue Jeep" She grinned. "Although I"ll have you know I bought mine first."
"Yes, of course. Because I saw her again when she dropped Ellen off at the flat in London. I knew I recognised her, through the door, but couldn"t think where from. Saw the car behind her, too."
She nodded. "That would be it, then."
We fell silent again. Both lost in thought. I remembered that day at his flat. Shivered.
"I"ll ring him," I murmured, getting to my feet.
She stopped me, reaching up and touching my arm. "Please don"t. Please go to him, go and meet him as planned. Tell him gently. Or even," she hesitated. "Even, carry on."
I stared down at her. "What!"
"I just don"t want him to be hurt," she said quickly. "To suffer any more. And somehow, knowing it"s you, and that Ilike you ... well, I"d rather it was you than someone else." "You can"t mean that!"
"I ..." She licked her lips. Struggled. "Look. Just don"t write him off altogether, that"s all. He"s a good man, a kind, loving, funny man, and that"s why you fell for him in the first place. Why I fell for him, too. Please remember that, and if you feel like doing anything for me, please try to help him. He"s still in anguish."
I felt humbled by her strength. Her compa.s.sion. "Oh Mimsy, I - I couldn"t," I mumbled. "I mean, I just don"t feel the same way about him. Knowing - well, knowing about you"
"No, I can see that," she conceded. "But he"s not a bad man, Lucy, remember that. We were so happy together, years ago, and one day, I know he"ll come back to me. And I so badly want him back in one piece. Be gentle with him, won"t you?"
She fixed me with her sea-green eyes, unblinking, clear and true.
I gazed at her. Nodded. "Of course I will," I whispered. "Of course."
And I might also tell him, I thought, as I crept out of that vestry and off down the long, flagstone aisle to the door, how lucky he is to have you.
Chapter Twenty-five.
I arrived at the Hare and Hounds some time later, and drove into the car park with a heavy heart. Charlie"s blue convertible was already there, tucked away in a shady corner, sheltering under the boughs of some trees. I got out and shut my car door, locked it slowly, and then stood still for a moment, staring down, gathering myself. Eventually, I turned and crunched across the gravel car park towards the stable door at the side of the pretty, whitewashed pub. As I pushed on through, absently noticing the abundance of pots and tubs about the porch, frothing over with pink and white summer bedding, I dropped down a step to the cool slate floor within. Inside it was softly lit and muted, but as I glanced around in the gloom, I saw him immediately.
The pub wasn"t crowded, just one or two men lounging around the bar, and a few couples, bent over little round tables on the periphery. He was sitting by the far wall, over by the huge brick fireplace, both arms stretched along the back of an old oak settle, head back, and laughing with a couple of old men who sat opposite him on an identical seat. Their gnarled faces looked for all the world as if they"d been carved from theoak itself, as if they were permanent fixtures. I could see he was in his element already; buoyed up, excited, entertaining the locals with tall stories as they guffawed into their beers. My heart lurched as he swept a hand back through his dark hair, brown eyes dancing. I swallowed hard. Charlie. My Charlie. But it was not to be. He saw me and raised a hand.
"Lucy! Hi darling - over here!"
"Hi."
I made myself walk over. His eyes were alive with excitement and he looked more attractive than I"d ever seen him. The beer, and the fact that we were twenty miles from Netherby in the depths of Gloucestershire, away from prying eyes and keen ears, had emboldened him. These old boys were not likely to know our circ.u.mstances. He encircled my waist with his arm. Squeezed.
"My girlfriend," he beamed, "Lucy Fellowes. I didn"t catch your names . .
Ron and Dud introduced themselves with toothless grins and nods over their pints. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," one of them leered, looking straight at my chest.
I gave a tight smile back. Charlie had obviously been here some time, judging by the glinting eyes and flushed cheeks all round, but now he was getting up, skilfully distancing himself from them, and leading me over to another table.
"I"ll get you a drink," he promised, parking me on another bench. "Helped to pa.s.s the time," he muttered in my ear, winking at the old boys by the fire. "Bye, guys, take it easy now!" he called over.
"Oh we will, but not as easy as you"re gonna take it, I"ll warrant!" one of them quipped, nodding at me. The other one cackled hard. Nearly fell off his bench.
I cringed, but wondered, if things had been different, if I might have cackled back? Winked and nodded knowingly, raised my gla.s.s to them, toasted my night of pa.s.sion ahead, enjoying my child-free evening in the bar with these delightful fellows, thinking only what a relief it was not to have to put the pair of them to bed, brush their rotten old teeth and tuck them up with a bedtime story. As it was I stared hard at the beer mats on the table, my cheeks flushed, until Charlie came back from the bar with the drinks.