Invisible Women Read online

  Matt parked in one of the visitor bays and they all piled out, uncreasing themselves from the journey. Lola clocked Tessa’s outfit for the first time.

  ‘Mum! You’re wearing jeans!’

  Tessa ran her hands defensively over her hips.

  ‘Yes, so what?’

  ‘You never wear jeans!’

  ‘Which is why I thought I should. These are vintage actually. FUs. I used to wear them all the time when I was your age.’

  She didn’t mention that she had bought them on eBay after her first contact with John, to see if she really could still carry them off. The results were pretty credible, she thought, and so did he when she’d sent him a photo.

  ‘You’re too old,’ said Lola. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  Matt sided with his daughter.

  ‘I was going to say I was rather surprised to see you back in a pair of jeans,’ he said, ‘but I thought you’d probably bite my head off.’

  ‘You thought correctly.’

  ‘You can probably get away with it if you’re thin like Sandra,’ said Lola. ‘Otherwise, no.’

  ‘Well thanks for that!’

  Max came to her defence.

  ‘You look fine, Mum, take no notice,’ he said.

  They rang the intercom and passed into the disproportionately large lounge where a whiskery old lady was in her usual seat, checking out the new arrivals as she clacked away on her knitting needles. They piled into the lift which was fitted with a pull-down seat and the signature red emergency cord.

  ‘One of those in every room,’ said Tessa, ‘but what’s the betting you’ll have your heart attack in no-man’s land. Lying on the floor, mocked by the lifeline just out of reach.’

  When they stepped out on the landing, June was waiting at her open door.

  ‘There you are,’ she said, putting her arms round Max. ‘So handsome, you dishy boy. And my lovely Lola.’

  She hugged her granddaughter. ‘You must tell us all about uni, I’ve been looking through your photos on the Facebook, seems like you’re having a whale of a time.’

  She turned to her daughter.

  ‘You look tired, Tessa, are you alright?’

  ‘Yes, Mum, I’m fine.’ Tessa felt the familiar flicker of irritation at her mother’s scrutiny, but June had moved on to Matt.

  ‘I’m so glad you could join us, Matthew, I know how precious weekends are when you’re tied up in the office all week.’

  Nobody else called him by his full name and Matt was sure she did it to annoy him.

  They followed her in single file, crowding into the room where Donald sat with the crossword on his knee, cup of tea by his elbow. Tessa noticed he looked frailer than last time.

  ‘There she is,’ he said, smiling up at Tessa. ‘Pansy Potter, The Strong Man’s Daughter!’

  ‘Don’t get up, Dad,’ said Tessa, bending down to give him a kiss, ‘I’m not sure you should really be addressing me as the beefy one from the Beano, might give me a complex about my body image. Still, not as bad as Ten-Ton-Tessie.’

  ‘Ten-Ton-Tessie, I love it!’ said Lola. ‘Was that your nickname, Mum?’

  ‘Not exactly a nickname, just a term of affection, wouldn’t you say, Dad?’

  ‘She was always a lovely strong girl,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘Still is, look at her!’

  ‘Well she looks worn out to me,’ said June. ‘You should look after yourself now you’ve got time on your hands, Tessa, you’ve got every opportunity. Now, sit down everyone, you’re making the place look untidy.’

  Max and Lola sat on the floor while Matt perched uncomfortably on a stool.

  ‘Will everyone have a margarita?’ asked June, moving into the kitchen. ‘We’re hooked on them after our marvellous time in Mexico, Don will show you the photos now before we go out.’

  Donald picked up the album from the coffee table; he was the only person Tessa knew who still bothered to have his photos developed at Boots, instead of passing round the iPad.

  ‘These are really cool,’ said Max, turning the pages, ‘I’d love to go to Mexico. I’m definitely going travelling once I graduate.’

  ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said Matt. ‘And how do you intend to pay for that? Also, can you tell me when it became the thing to refer to holidays as “travelling”?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Matthew,’ said June, coming through with a tray of salt-encrusted martini glasses, ‘you’ve had plenty of lovely holidays yourself.’

  Donald winked at Max.

  ‘Your father’s right, you know,’ he said. ‘Wait till you’re old and retired like me.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen, though, is it?’ said Max. ‘We’re going to have to work till we’re eighty anyway, so we might as well do it now. Also while we’re young enough to enjoy it. It’s like Dad’s Maserati, it’s a much more appropriate car for me to drive than him.’

  ‘Oh but your father has always been very interested in the appearance of things, haven’t you, Matthew?’ said June. ‘It’s important to him to be seen to drive the right sort of car. And why not, he’s worked hard for it. Cheers, everyone!’

  ‘Loving this drink, Grandma,’ said Lola. ‘Great hit with the salt and the lime, I’m going to start making margaritas for our pre’s.’

  ‘What is preeze?’

  ‘Pre’s. You know, pre-drinks. Before we go out.’

  ‘Oh yes, that’s what you all do now, isn’t it? Whereas your mother always went to the pub with her friends, didn’t you, Tessa, when you were young. With Sandra and Harriet and all the others.’

  ‘We certainly did. No pre-drinks and nightclubs for us, just a half of lager and a packet of pork scratchings. Which reminds me, Mum, do you remember John Ormonde? He got in touch with me on Facebook the other day and we’re having lunch next week.’

  She might as well slip it in now, safety in numbers.

  ‘John! Oh yes,’ said June. ‘Lovely boy, so enthusiastic. What happened to him?’

  ‘He’s living in America, been there for years.’

  ‘He was always so cheerful and full of life,’ said June. ‘There was a time when I hoped you’d end up together . . . though of course we wouldn’t want to be without dear Matthew,’ she added quickly.

  Matt frowned.

  ‘You didn’t tell me about this.’

  ‘Didn’t I mention it? I don’t think you’ve met him, I would have invited him to our wedding but we’d lost touch by then. He went to school with Alan Doulton, we were all big buddies, with Sandra and Harriet and everyone.’

  ‘He was very keen on Tessa,’ said June. ‘Often used to pop round on the off-chance of seeing her, then stayed to have a cup of tea with me instead, when she wasn’t in.’

  ‘Watch out, Dad,’ said Lola, ‘you might have a love rival.’

  ‘Quaking in my boots,’ said Matt.

  ‘You shouldn’t sound complacent,’ said June. ‘Tessa’s a good-looking girl. And clever. She could have had her pick of men.’

  ‘I know she could, and yet she chose me,’ said Matt. ‘Much to your surprise.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said June. ‘You’ve been a very good husband. I’m just saying you’re a lucky man.’

  ‘I realise that,’ said Matt.

  He watched Tessa sipping her her margarita, standing next to her father’s chair. She looked alright in those jeans, once you got used to them.

  ‘Then you wouldn’t have had us, would you, Grandma?’ said Max. ‘If Mum had married someone else.’

  ‘That’s very true. Now drink up, everyone, and let’s go for lunch. And, Lola, I want to hear all about this new boyfriend of yours.’

  On the way home Tessa took the wheel while Matt entertained them by listing aloud the holidays his in-laws had taken since their retirement.

  ‘Swimming with dolphins, treasures of Provence – Africa, of course, in the footsteps of Livingston. Then there was the Rhine Cruise. Oh, and not forgetting Machu Picchu, I rather thought the lack of oxygen
up there might see them off, but no such luck.’

  ‘Dad, don’t be so horrible!’ said Lola, ‘just because they’re not miserable like you. And Grandma says she can’t wait to meet Ned, unlike you who shows zero interest.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Matt.

  ‘What do you mean, hmm?’

  ‘What I mean is, there’s plenty of time. You don’t need to give yourself up to the first pimply youth who shows you a bit of attention.’

  ‘Give myself up?! What century are you from!’

  ‘I’m sure he’s very nice,’ said Tessa, ‘and I hope you’ll invite him home to meet us. Take no notice of Dad, he’s just being grumpy.’

  ‘I’m not grumpy, I just don’t like seeing your inheritance frittered away. Oh, the annual winter jaunt to Antigua, how could I forget that one!’

  ‘Anyone would think you married me for my money,’ said Tessa. ‘Anyway, they’re slowing down now, the only thing they mentioned was a U3A coach trip to Yorkshire to watch rhubarb grow in the dark.’

  ‘Well yes, that’s more like it,’ said Matt. ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing they should be doing. More in line with tending the allotment, which used to be the extent of retired people’s ambition. A couple of years planting potatoes, then a swift demise.’

  ‘Like your parents, you mean,’ said Tessa. ‘Who had the decency to die before they could enjoy the fruits of their labours.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  His mum had died first, and his dad a month later, glad to have done his duty and looked after his wife until the end. ‘I can go now, Son,’ he’d said to Matt in the hospital, his face the colour of parchment beside the bright freesias that Matt had brought in, knowing they were his mother’s favourite flower. They never got to take the retirement cruise they had been planning for years, the brochures stacked neatly in the magazine rack, dog-eared from their enthusiastic browsing. Matt was damned if he was going to leave it too late.

  He extended a conciliatory hand.

  ‘Only joking, you know how fond I am of your parents. Very decent of Don to pay for lunch.’

  Max spoke up from the back: ‘And he’s given me and Lola another load of dosh for the term. To fund our student lifestyle he said, what a legend.’

  ‘Dear old dad,’ said Tessa, ‘he’s very generous. And I’m glad Mum is having such a lovely time in her twilight years. When I think back to when she was my age, her life was quite boring, really.’

  She stopped at the lights and looked at her children in the rear-view mirror. Max had opened his window, holding his face up to the breeze like he did when he was a little boy. Lola was listening to music, her turquoise-varnished fingernails resting lightly on her iPod. It had a cover that read ‘you can’t sit with us’, a hangover from her Mean Girls phase.

  It was true that June’s life seemed incomparably better now than when she was bringing up her children, stuck on the treadmill of routine household tasks. Tessa remembered her once looking up from the ironing board, with her wonderful sparkling eyes and saying, ‘I wish something exciting would happen.’

  ‘Like what?’ Tessa had wanted to know, the disdainful teenager, unable to imagine what kinds of desires you could possibly have when you got to that age.

  ‘I don’t know,’ June had replied, ‘just something. Anything.’

  Beside her mother’s bed had been books by D. H. Lawrence and the Jalna series by Mazo de la Roche, involving love in a southern plantation house, far removed from her own suburban semi. Had she dreamed of escape and romance? Would she have enjoyed reconnecting with a former admirer? More likely she would have dismissed such an idea as stuff and nonsense, she was, after all, a very practical woman. Then again, back in the pre-internet age, your options were more limited. You couldn’t just whistle up a flirty conversation with an old flame, unleashing a tidal wave of memories and a flicker of desire with the click of a mouse. This time tomorrow, Tessa thought, we’ll be together again. She could hardly believe it.

  *

  Later that evening, Sandra was preparing dinner, if you could call it that. Nigel had left earlier for a conference in Copenhagen, so it was just a few pea shoots and slices of beetroot for herself, though she had at least put a pizza in the oven for Poppy. Lucky Poppy, she could still afford to absorb the carbs.

  As she often did in moments of boredom, Sandra called Tessa.

  ‘Hey, how was your lunch?’

  ‘Massive and delicious. I’m lying down to recover.’

  ‘When’s Lola going back?’

  ‘Tomorrow. She’s downstairs watching back-to-back episodes of Made in Chelsea.’

  ‘Getting her London fix before heading back to the grisly north.’

  ‘Yup. She’s taking a load of fancy-dress outfits back with her, honestly, you’d think she was at primary school, not university.’

  ‘She’s alright, then?’

  ‘Loving it, so that’s OK. We’re the comfy old sofa she comes home to flop out on, before going back to her exciting life.’

  ‘Well don’t be a cry-baby when she leaves. I don’t want to spend the week telling you to man up. Anyway, I’ve got to go, we’re having dinner.’

  ‘You called me, remember! But wait, don’t you want to hear my exciting news?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m having lunch with John Ormonde tomorrow. At the Ritz, if you please.’

  Sandra almost dropped the pizza tray she was pulling out of the oven.

  ‘Get you! That was fast work! He’s only just got in touch and now he’s taking you to the bloody Ritz! He must be worth a bit, can we all come?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, but he seems set on a cosy twosome. I invited him to dinner at home, but he didn’t sound that keen to meet Matt.’

  ‘Course he didn’t,’ said Sandra, ‘he wants to get it on with his teenage crush. No fun with the husband in tow.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Tessa. ‘He just thought it would be boring for Matt, to listen to us droning on about old times that didn’t include him.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, very considerate of him, I want a full and frank debrief tomorrow. Maybe I’ll meet you there afterwards, I could wait in the lobby and pretend to bump into you on your way out.’

  ‘Please don’t, it would look so obvious.’

  ‘OK, OK. Enjoy and give me a ring, bye!’

  ‘Bye!’

  Sandra slid the pizza on to a plate, presenting it to her daughter who was sitting up on a high stool, tapping away at her phone.

  ‘Here you are, darling. Phone away now, please.’

  ‘You can talk,’ said Poppy, ‘you’re always on yours. Who was that?’

  ‘Only Tessa. She’s had Lola home for the weekend.’

  Poppy put her phone down next to her plate, where it continued to make intermittent beeping sounds.

  ‘Lola’s so cool,’ she said, taking a bite of pizza and wiping a string of mozzarella from her chin. ‘Mmm, delicious, why don’t you have some?’

  ‘You know why.’

  Poppy looked critically at her mother’s thin plate of salad.

  ‘You’re not a very good example, you could give me an eating disorder.’

  ‘Nonsense, you’re far too sensible. Anyway, it’s only when you get to my age that you have to start being careful.’

  ‘That’s silly. When I get to your age, I won’t care at all what I look like, what’s the point?’

  ‘You won’t say that when you’re middle-aged, you won’t want to turn into a matron.’

  ‘Like your bezzie Tessa, you mean?’

  ‘No, of course not! Tessa’s very comfortable with her curves, but I wouldn’t be. It’s a question of choice.’

  ‘You mean she realises she might as well enjoy eating because she’s had her life.’

  ‘What do you mean, she’s had her life?’

  ‘I’m not being horrible,’ said Poppy, ‘but you’re still going to be old even if you hardly eat anything. So you might as well be like Tessa. And she’s a great c
ook, her brownies are sick.’

  She reached across for her phone, smiled and tapped out a message.

  ‘It’s like your brain, that phone,’ said Sandra. ‘It’s as if you keep your brain detached from your body and it sends you messages.’

  ‘Funny,’ said Poppy, not looking up.

  She finished eating with the urgency of someone who had more important things to attend to.

  ‘I’m just going out for a bit,’ she announced.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Just for a walk.’

  She went up to her room and returned a few minutes later, with a careful black line painted along each upper eyelid, flicking up at the ends.

  ‘Nice eyeliner,’ said Sandra.

  ‘See you later, won’t be long.’

  She slammed the door behind her.

  Sandra could always tell when it was Poppy coming home, she didn’t close the door anxiously, the way Nigel did, as though there might be something frightening waiting for him on the other side. Poppy banged the door shut as if she knew exactly what she wanted.

  Sandra slid the plates into the dishwasher and made herself a cup of pearl Chinese tea. You could only get it at Harrods, cost per pearl about £1.25, which but well worth it, to watch that flower unfold in a glass of hot water. It was as far as you could get from the Typhoo tea bags they had at home. After school, Tessa and Harriet would often come round and they’d sit there and talk about boys, dunking Garibaldi biscuits – dried fly biscuits, they called them – into sweet, milky mugs.

  She took her cigarettes and went outside, to the discreet part of the garden where nobody could see. There was a missed call from Mariusz and she rang him back, wanting to hear his voice, but it went straight to voicemail. At least she could hear him delivering his answerphone message in a solemn tone that made her smile.

  There was an autumn chill in the air now, and she warmed her hands over the glass of tea, blowing smoke rings into the night. Safe behind her garden wall, she could listen to people walking past the house, with varied pace: the important click of a pair of high heels, a rush of warm laughter and laddish banter, the squeaking of a jogging couple’s trainers. Then she heard a low giggle, and someone speaking in a soft voice, and the sound of shuffling feet coming to a standstill just the other side of the wall. Sandra pushed her cigarette stub into the roots of a Japanese anemone and listened. The entreating tones of a boy, then silence, as they kissed, the timeless ritual. Feeling like an intruder, Sandra made her way quietly down the garden, and stood on a chair so she could see over the wall.