Invisible Women Page 19

  By the time they got on to dessert, Tessa was feeling quite lightheaded.

  ‘This Sauternes, so delicious. Chateau d’Yquem, you see, I can even pronounce it. But not sure I can manage the second glass.’

  She pushed it towards John, who knocked it back in one.

  ‘Down the hatch,’ Tessa giggled. ‘Blimey, didn’t even touch the sides.’

  ‘I like the way you laugh,’ he said.

  She licked her spoon clean of the last drop of rhubarb coulis.

  ‘You can tell we’re not married,’ she said. ‘We haven’t stopped talking.’

  ‘I wish we were.’

  He paused, and looked intently at her as the waiter cleared their plates then took their orders for coffee.

  ‘As I was saying,’ he said, ‘I should have snapped you up when I had the chance, I was a bloody idiot.’

  You’re right, she thought. You are a bloody idiot, you should have stayed around and we would have got married like we were supposed to, and everything would be different. She was suddenly overcome by a sense of loss.

  ‘The thing is, Tessa, as I may have mentioned before, you are my dream girl. You always were, and you still are.’

  Tessa saw his face slide in and out of focus, she really wasn’t used to this.

  ‘Girl!’ she said. ‘In your dreams!’

  ‘Exactly!’

  The waiter arrived with their coffee and a plate of handmade chocolates.

  ‘I’m stuffed,’ said Tessa, trying to compose herself, ‘do you think I could sneak those truffles out in my handbag?’

  She checked nobody was watching, then deftly slid the contents of the plate into a crumpled Kleenex which she dropped into the bag by her feet.

  ‘Nice manoeuvre,’ said John. ‘We could rob a bank next, Bonnie and Clyde.’

  ‘It’s a bit tacky, though, don’t you think? Like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and loading up some freezer bags.’

  ‘Nothing you do could be tacky. Do you remember how we used to steal cigarettes from your dad’s cigarette box?’

  ‘Yes! He used to get so cross, but he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Shouldn’t have had them in the first place, filthy habit.’

  ‘They’re still alive and kicking, can’t have done too much harm.’

  ‘I told you how Mum always hoped we’d end up together.’

  ‘Even after the fag theft?’

  ‘Even then. You know what, I really fancy one.’

  ‘A ciggie?’

  ‘Yes! Don’t you?’

  ‘Wait there.’

  John left the table and she saw him talking to their waiter. He then returned to the table and put two cigarettes on the table.

  ‘Marlboro, he didn’t have Camel. Also lent me his lighter. Shall we?’

  He stood up and she followed him, unsteadily, out into the gardens, towards the lake, then into an enclosure where they were hidden from sight by a high hedge.

  They sat down rather formally on the stone bench and he handed her one of the cigarettes, putting the other between his lips.

  Tessa laughed.

  ‘We’re like a couple of addicts, sneaking out for a fix.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You’re the addict, I’m just the enabler.’

  He flicked the lighter and their heads bowed together over the flame, just as she had recently imagined it.

  Tessa felt the familiar kick, but the taste was sour.

  ‘That takes me back,’ she said.

  ‘When was your last?’

  ‘I stopped when I was pregnant with Max.’

  ‘Your son. Who should have been mine.’

  No, this was wrong, Max was Matt’s son, he shouldn’t say things like that. Tessa inched away from him.

  ‘I told you, no more shoulds.’

  ‘Alright then.’

  They smoked in silence for a minute.

  ‘Your husband’s a lucky bastard,’ said John. He was slurring his words and Tessa noticed for the first time that he was quite drunk.

  ‘Thing about you, Tessa, you were always unavailable, always with someone else. And now you’re bloody married to some bloke who doesn’t deserve you.’

  He could be right, she thought. The way Matt spoke to her, always seeking to undermine her. She drew on her cigarette and felt that anything was possible.

  ‘But I’m not having it,’ said John. ‘I’m not giving you up now that I’ve found you again.’

  He took the cigarette butt from her hand and threw it on the grass. Then grabbed her round the waist.

  ‘Don’t start a fire,’ she said.

  ‘Too late.’

  And he kissed her, quite hard.

  She thought, I’d like to stay here in this moment for ever.

  ‘You’ll stay, won’t you,’ he asked, eventually.

  She extracted herself to look him in the eye.

  ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Don’t be a household martyr. Some wives are never happy unless they are miserable, but their husbands don’t appreciate this peculiar trait.’

  Blanche Ebbutt, Don’ts for Wives, 1913

  On Saturday morning, a grim little party was gathered in Sandra’s garden, staring down into a hole that Mariusz had just excavated beside the rose that grew up around the study window.

  ‘I think deep enough,’ said Mariuzs, dropping his spade into the space to demonstrate that it was sufficiently large to accommodate the macabre bundle that was lying on the ground, wrapped up in a black bin liner.

  Poppy was standing next to Josh, leaning in to him and holding a single white carnation. To his credit he was being very supportive, thought Sandra, unlike her own husband who had stayed indoors to witness the scene from the warmth of his study. She looked up and saw his face at the window, staring out at the proceedings with no apparent emotion.

  ‘Yes that looks right,’ she said. ‘Let’s lift him in.’

  Mariusz and Josh took one end each of Leo’s concealed remains, and gently lowered him down. Poppy threw her flower into the grave and they all followed up with a handful of earth then Mariusz shovelled the remaining pile of soil, an astonishingly large quantity for one small animal.

  ‘That was a lovely idea of yours, Poppy,’ said Sandra, as they went indoors. ‘We’ll think of him every time the rose comes into flower.’

  Poppy nodded and disappeared to her room with Josh to seek private solace, leaving Tessa to put the coffee on. Mariusz followed her to the machine and put his arm round her shoulder.

  ‘I am sorry, Sandra. I know you say you don’t have feelings for this cat, but I think you are sad.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Sandra said, leaning into him. ‘It is sad, even though I am most certainly not an animal person.’

  ‘I hate to interrupt this touching scene,’ said Nigel, who had just come into the kitchen and was scowling at the sight of Mariusz’s muddy feet, ‘but would you mind taking your boots off?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Mariusz, springing guiltily back from Sandra’s side and busying himself untying his laces.

  ‘I say to Sandra, I am very sad for you all.’

  ‘Thank you, Mariusz, and please let me know what I owe you for this morning. I’m glad it wasn’t me who had to do that digging, though if I’d had my way, I would have left the poor animal in the care of our council services.’

  ‘Oh no, there is no charge for this, of course,’ said Mariusz. ‘I am happy to help.’

  ‘Decent of you,’ said Nigel, then turned to address Sandra.

  ‘I’m out for the rest of the day. I’ve got an appointment with Paola then I’ve got that mindfulness class I signed up to. I’ve got a few things to attend to after that. Should be back in time for dinner.’

  Perfect, thought Sandra. She saw him to the door then returned to the kitchen where Mariusz had pulled off his boots and was stretched out on the chaise. Eight hours at least, for them to console each other in the best way possible. Even more satis
factorily, Poppy and Josh emerged to announce they would be going round to Josh’s house, so she would be quite alone with her personal gravedigger.

  *

  Tessa turned the key in her front door, pushed it open and listened, her senses on high alert like an animal. Good, Matt wasn’t home yet. She went upstairs to the familiar privacy of her bedroom suite and ran a bath, taking off her clothes, then messing up the duvet to make it look as if she had slept there. It was the first time in twenty-five years that she had engaged in such deception, and she wondered whether Matt had ever done the same thing. He’d certainly had the opportunities, plenty of business travel, she never really knew where he was. There was a time when she would have been devastated to learn that he had betrayed her. When she was young and sexually jealous and her hormones were focused on protecting the family unit. Now she could consider the possibility with perfect equanimity. She actually wouldn’t really mind that much.

  She sank into the oval bath, enjoying her solitude. John had offered to drive her to the station, but she had preferred to slip out on her own, leaving him sleeping on his side of the massive bed, in a neat reversal of their first night together thirty-two years ago, when he had abandoned her. She didn’t want the intimacy of shared early morning rituals. Fumbling in the dark for the complicated lighting controls, she had managed to turn up the dim wall lights just enough to guide her down the stairs and out into the crisp morning where her taxi was waiting.

  Reaching for her phone, she re-read the message he had sent her when she was on the train.

  Sorry. I put a lot of stuff on you last night. Too much wine!!!

  What exactly did he mean by that? She had felt disappointed when she first read it, and rather ashamed. Was he trying to retract, was the whole shabby episode an embarrassing result of two middle-aged people getting tipsy and sentimental about the past? No. She knew that he was telling the truth when he said those things, she could feel it.

  She sent her reply.

  I think you meant it. In vino veritas.

  The response came instantly.

  Of course I meant it.

  So why apologise?

  Thought I’d better give you a get-out clause. In case you thought I was coercing you.

  No. I liked it. I liked the stuff you put on me.

  xxx !!!

  She was wrapping herself in a towel and considering her response when Sandra called.

  ‘Hey, Sandra.’

  ‘Hey? When do you ever say Hey? Already gone American then, clearly it was a success.’

  ‘Yes. Well, you know, it was lovely seeing him. As I thought it would be.’

  ‘So did you?’

  ‘Of course not, I told you I wasn’t going to.’

  ‘You did not have sex with that man, Monica Lewinsky?’

  ‘Not even in the Bill Clinton sense.’

  ‘Really?’

  Sandra sounded disappointed.

  ‘It was lovely. We passed a chaste night of teenage intimacy. Reasonably chaste.’

  ‘You’d better come over and tell me about it.’

  Tessa dressed and went downstairs to leave a note for Matt. Her phone buzzed with a new message.

  So, dream girl, when do we meet again? Next weekend, after my meeting in Manchester? Please. In vino veritas. I had to look that up!

  She took her coat and stepped out into the autumn air. It was a relief to be out of the house, she wasn’t ready yet to slip back into her regular life, she wanted to hold on to the other, make-believe world of the past few hours. She walked down the Fulham Road where people were out doing their Saturday morning shopping, buying themselves little treats: a rack of lamb, each dainty bone decked out in a miniature chef’s hat; an exquisite box of gourmandise from the French chocolatier, the dark, smooth surface of the ganache painted in fastidious gold detail; a dover sole prepared by a suave young man who looked like he’d just leaped off the boat in his fashion statement fisherman’s boots. Here were the consolation prizes to make people happy if they had missed out on the big prize that no money could buy – the prize of unexpectedly finding the thrill of a lost love coming back into your life.

  Thrill, that was the exactly the word for it, thought Tessa. Her Middle English lecturer, a harsh, unsmiling woman, had once explained that the word came from ‘thirl’, meaning to pierce or penetrate. How they had sniggered in the ranks, in the nasty arrogance of youth, believing Professor Thurston to be well beyond the age of penetration. She was probably a good decade younger than Tessa was now.

  Sandra opened the door with a flourish and made a stage sign to look over her shoulder into the room, where Poppy and a well-built blonde boy were silently eating cereal at the breakfast bar. Mariusz was lying on the floor with a screwdriver, attending to a skirting board.

  ‘We’re all playing happy families here,’ she said, ushering Tessa into the room.

  Mariusz gave a cheerful wave.

  ‘Hello, Tessa! You miss very sad thing, Leo now underground!’

  ‘Of course,’ said Tessa, ‘I forgot that was happening today. Poor old Leo, are you alright, Poppy?’

  She put a motherly arm round Poppy’s shoulders and Poppy gave her a brave smile.

  ‘This is Josh,’ said Sandra. ‘He stayed over last night, as he wanted to be here for the great interment, but don’t worry, separate rooms.’

  The boy blushed and nodded.

  Sandra took Tessa’s arm and led her into the garden. ‘Let’s go outside, shall we?’

  They sat side by side on the solid wooden swing-seat that Sandra had bought after seeing it one year at the Chelsea Flower Show and deciding she just had to have it.

  ‘It’s alright,’ said Sandra, pushing her foot against the ground to set them off on a gently rocking motion. ‘I got over the spying incident, and now he’s absolutely my new best friend. Quite a hottie, don’t you think? I’m encouraging him to stay over. It’s so dangerous for boys to travel around at night; they are much more likely to be attacked than girls, oddly.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs Robinson,’ said Tessa. ‘As long as you don’t end up in a mental institution while they run away and get married. Does Nigel mind him staying over?’

  ‘Like I said, spare room, he can’t object. And I must say I’m enjoying this new role, playing MILF at close quarters. Although they’re going round to his house later, so Mariusz and I will have the house to ourselves. To my great delight.’

  Tessa could see how happy she was.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked. ‘I am worried about you, I’m not sure you appreciate what you’re getting into.’

  ‘Excuse me! I’m not the one who spent the night in a hotel room with a man who’s not her husband.’

  Tessa looked anxiously at the house, fearing someone would hear.

  ‘Shhh . . . Anyway, as I said, it wasn’t like that.’

  ‘So you said.’

  Sandra pulled her cigarettes out of her tight jeans pocket and lit up.

  ‘What was it like, then?’ she asked. ‘I’m all ears.’

  Tessa watched her exhaling,

  ‘We smoked a cigarette, actually,’ she said.

  Sandra threw back her head and laughed.

  ‘All the teenage sins! Don’t tell me, you also engaged in heavy petting?’

  And they were back in the classroom, exchanging details of their early forays into sex. Except they weren’t. That was a stage you went through; once you were an adult it was no longer a suitable topic.

  ‘I’d rather not discuss the detail,’ she said, ‘but it was so weird. In a good way. Remember what it was like when we were at school? So exciting, like you’re really living every minute. Always anticipating the next stage. That’s exactly how it felt.’

  ‘You see! There’s you getting all judgmental about me and Mariusz, and you’re exactly the same. It’s natural, isn’t it, to want that feeling, rather than being stuck in your rutty old marriage?’

  ‘Stop right there,’ said Tessa. ‘Y
ou can’t compare my . . . meeting . . . with your outrageous affair with your builder!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, for a start, we’re not having an affair, and it goes much deeper than that.’

  ‘So you’re saying I’m a loose woman whereas you’re operating on a more noble level?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘But we’re both keeping the information from our husbands . . .’

  ‘Yes, I know . . . I don’t know, I’m confused . . .’

  ‘So are you seeing him again?’

  ‘Possibly next weekend. I can’t wait. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just can’t wait.’

  She fiddled with her rings distractedly, and gestured towards Sandra’s cigarettes.

  ‘Can I have one?’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ She passed her the packet. ‘But as your friend, I’ve got to say it’s a bad idea. Filthy habit.’

  Sandra watched Tessa light up with practised ease. It was like riding a bike, you never forgot.

  ‘Tell him that I send my love,’ she said. ‘Get him to look up my website, I’ve just posted some really good profile photos.’

  ‘Why do you need photos of you? People are hiring you to decorate their rooms, they’re not getting you as a permanent fixture, vamping it up on an armchair.’

  ‘Of course they want a picture of me! It’s an aspirational business, they want to entrust the design of their home to someone who looks the part. I’m the walking embodiment of William Morris’s edict that everything in your home should be beautiful or useful. I’m both, obviously.’

  Tessa laughed, then stopped as she heard her phone ringing. Maybe it was John, wanting to hear her voice. He’d only texted so far this morning, maybe he was calling to talk about next weekend. But it was Matt and he sounded grumpy.

  ‘Where are you? I’ve just got home to find Barry on the doorstep, he said you’d arranged for him to come over, but he left his phone at home so couldn’t call you.’

  ‘Oh God, sorry! I completely forgot, I’m just at Sandra’s. I’ll be right back. Make him a coffee or something.’