Читать книгу Women of a Dangerous Age - Fanny Blake - Страница 7

The unearthly flickering light of the tiny TV screens set in the seat backs illuminated the blanket-wrapped huddles of passengers. Walking back down the darkened aisle, Ali thought how she could justify what she’d said about Ian and his marriage so that Lou would understand. Although she’d only known her a short time, theirs was already becoming a friendship she wanted to continue. She didn’t want to derail it by not explaining herself properly. Besides that, she was intrigued by the fact that Lou obviously didn’t want to talk about her own marriage and how it had ended. No, there was plenty more to find out about each other.

But by the time she returned to her seat, Lou was out for the count.

Ali’s other neighbour was lying back, absorbed in a film, but let her pass with a polite nod before returning his attention to the screen. Denied conversation, she took out her travel pillow, blew it up and fitted it round her neck. She popped a second Imodium (probably a mistake) in response to a sudden cramping in her lower stomach, then closed her eyes and turned her mind to home, focusing on what she hadn’t told Lou, what she hadn’t told anyone: that setting up home with Ian was significant in more ways than one. It meant that her life as a serial mistress was almost over.

She hadn’t considered her relationship with Ian in any way different from those she’d had with the string of married lovers who came before him, until six weeks earlier when he suggested they rethink their relationship. None of her previous lovers had come close to suggesting such a thing. Perhaps they had all believed she was one hundred per cent against one hundred per cent commitment. And they would have been right. Until now, she had been. She suspected Lou would say that it suited them to believe that. Lou’s cynical take on life amused her, made her look at things in a new light.

Ian’s suggestion that they live together was so unexpected that, when it came, she had been unable to reply immediately. They’d finished dinner quickly, Ian looking uncomfortable, obviously wishing he had put it another way, another time – or not at all. If she agreed, she didn’t need Einstein to point out that her life and their relationship would change forever. What niggled her was how much that mattered to her. She couldn’t abandon her way of life without some thought. Being his mistress had meant the relationship ran on her terms while she allowed him to believe that it ran on his. That’s how she had preferred all her relationships with men to be since Don had left her over twenty years earlier. With him, she had enjoyed being half of the whole they made together. After they lost touch, she had remained single, unwilling to take the risk of committing herself to anyone else, scared of rejection.

Agreeing to Ian’s proposal would mean a shift in their dynamic. But why not take that risk? The more she had thought about it, the more that shift appealed. Every evening they would come home to each other. Weekends would be spent together doing those things that couples do together: cooking, talking, going out with friends, sharing interests, and getting to know one another in a new way, discovering the truth. Now it had been offered, permanent companionship, something that had been so absent in her life for so long, something she had never thought would be hers again, was suddenly something she craved. She even dared allow herself to imagine that she and Ian might have a child together. She’d read about women giving birth in their mid-forties. It wasn’t a total impossibility. She wondered what he’d say. After all, she was at an age where she could upend her life if she wanted to – as long as she held on to her independence.

Her memory of the morning following his proposal was quite clear. She had woken up beside him, her mind made up.

‘Morning.’ She’d kissed his left eye, then his right.

He’d groaned as he rolled to face her, squinting as he opened one and then the other eye. ‘God! That brandy was a mistake.’

‘But you’re usually OK.’ Their noses were almost touching and she could just smell his morning-after breath. She couldn’t help noticing the few broken veins in his cheeks, the incipient wrinkles around his mouth, his greyish overnight stubble: all reminders that time was marching on. He slid his arm around her waist.

‘Yeah, but last night was different.’ He pulled back a little and looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you the way I did. Stupid of me. I don’t want to spoil what we’ve got either. I’m happy to leave things be, if that’s what you want. In fact, perhaps that would be better for both of us.’

‘Stop right there,’ she said, not wanting him to retract anything, not now her own thoughts were changing so fast. ‘I lay awake for half the night, thinking about what you said.’

‘Did you? Poor baby. Forget it. We’re fine just as we are. Really.’ He kissed her, slow and lingering, the definite prelude for more. He slid his leg between hers.

She began to respond, then wriggled out of the embrace.

‘Come on. Don’t let a bloke down now. We haven’t got much time.’ He’d reached for her again. But she had something important to say.

‘I know, I know, but …’ She sat up, plumping the pillow behind her and adding a couple of the scatter cushions that had been relegated to the floor. ‘We’ve got to talk.’

‘About what?’ He scratched his head so his hair stood on end. He leaned across her and flicked the Today programme over to Radio 3 as the presenter announced Debussy’s La Plus que Lente. The notes of the piano swelled and fell in the quiet of the room as he waited for Ali to speak.

‘About last night. About what you said.’

He screwed up his right eye and with his right thumb on his cheekbone rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. ‘Yes?’

She heard how apprehensive he was, so hurried to put him out of his misery. ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’ She watched his eyes open wide in surprise. ‘I was shocked last night. But I’ve thought and thought about what it would mean and now I know that’s what I want too.’

‘You do?’ He sat up too, his voice coloured with disbelief.

‘I definitely do.’

He enveloped her in a bear hug, pulling her over so they lay face to face, but she hadn’t finished. ‘I love you and want to be with you. But … what about your wife? What will you do?’

‘Forget about her,’ he’d whispered. ‘You didn’t want to know about her before, so let’s keep it that way for now. I don’t want her to spoil anything.’

Remembering his words again now reminded her of how little she really knew about him. Lou was so right to have picked up on that. Aware of movement beside her, Ali opened her eyes, hoping to find her friend awake and in a mood to talk. But despite her change of position, Lou’s head was slumped against the headrest, her distinctive eye mask still in place.

Disappointed, Ali shifted in her seat, slipping off her shoes, and returned to her thoughts. She had curled herself around their secret until she’d got used to it, squeezing every drop of private pleasure from it. She was dying to see the expression on her friends’ faces when they heard she was going to settle down. Most of her women friends had become so wrapped up in their marriages and children, they didn’t look outwards any more. That was one of the things she liked about Lou, her interest in the world around her. But Ali’s friends saw her as a professional mistress – serially monogamous with other women’s husbands. And not all (if any) of them approved or thought it as amusing as they might once have done, especially not after they’d got married themselves. Then their views on marriage underwent a sudden transformation. Ali had become a threat to all they held dear. To hell with them. How gloriously gobsmacked they would be at the change in her fortunes now Ian had come along.

Opening her eyes again, she was confronted by the on-screen flight information. The cartoon plane had barely moved since she last looked. She fiddled with the control pad, trying to switch off the image. What did she care about the temperature outside the plane right now? She wasn’t intending to experience it for herself. She looked at Lou who had pulled her blanket right over her head, now dead to the world. Ali felt her stomach contract again. Cursing quietly, she excused herself from the row once again. ‘I’m so sorry but I’m not too well.’ To say she had Delhi belly seemed a somewhat insensitive euphemism to use to a native Indian. ‘Rather than disturbing you through the night, I wonder if we could swap seats?’ Lou would be horrified, but needs must.

‘If you think that would be better for you. Of course,’ he said, disentangling his headphones and gathering his possessions – a paperback, his airline toiletry bag and a bottle of water – and stood to let her past.

‘I think it might.’ Propelled by a certain degree of urgency, she transferred her belongings to the outside seat, then abandoned him to make his own arrangements.

When Ali returned, he was asleep in front of the thriller. She sat down, resigned to a long sleepless night ahead. She tuned in to an anodyne family comedy that required neither concentration nor intelligence but even so she could only think of Ian.

He had noticed how uncomfortable she was with the way he talked about his wife, and had hugged her tighter.

‘I don’t want her spoiling what we have. When I come here to your flat, I can forget everything else. I feel a different person. Do you understand that?’

‘I suppose so,’ she murmured, enjoying their closeness enough to drive away her concerns. ‘But we can’t exist in this weird little bubble forever.’

‘We can try.’ He began to kiss her again.

Once again, she pulled away, this time to his tsk of annoyance. ‘Where will we live?’ she asked.

‘Where?’ He let her go. ‘What’s wrong with here? I love this place.’

‘So do I. But if we’re going to have a new life together then I’d like to live somewhere that’s ours. Yours and mine. A new start.’ She snuggled up to him. He just hadn’t thought this through. She had moved into her flat when she had accepted she was probably going to be single forever so this was her domain, her home. The place held too many memories that had nothing to do with him, and, if she was honest, were hardly appropriate to the life they were planning. No, if they were starting a life together, they needed a place of their own. She could tell from his silence that she had surprised him. One all, then.

Despite his apparent lack of enthusiasm, she’d made up her mind that was definitely what was going to happen. She’d already put out a few feelers before she came away but as soon as she got home she’d be combing the property pages and pestering the agents. He’d come round when he realised how a move made sense. Then she’d have to broach the idea of a baby. Too much too soon? But time was against them. If they didn’t talk about these things now, it might be too late. And Ian loved her. He would understand.

Moments later, she had to leave her seat again. At the back of the plane, the cabin crew were in the galley, whiling away the hours until their more active duties resumed. The blonde I’m-Clare-fly-me one noticed Ali’s coming and going, and asked if she could help. So it was that, provided with a beaker of water, Ali found herself lying full length on an empty row of seats, reasonably comfortable at last. By the time the stewardesses began the breakfast round, she was fast asleep.

Lou was woken by the sound of the trolley and distant voices. Keeping the blanket over her head, she swallowed and ran her tongue around her mouth. The metallic taste was the side effect of her sleeping pill but her head was clear. Only a few hours and she’d be home, taking down the Christmas decorations. They’d looked so pretty all ready for her pre-Christmas Christmas dinner that she’d had with the kids before she left for India and Jamie and Rose his fiancée left for Tenerife to visit her family in their holiday villa.

Hooker had not been invited. Sitting the whole family round the table and pretending nothing had changed would have been inappropriate, not to say uncomfortable. As would a full-blown turkey extravaganza. Instead, she’d decided on the old family favourite – roast beef with all the trimmings. This was the first time they’d all be together at her new home, and she wanted everything to be right. This was the first time they’d celebrated Christmas without Hooker. She’d transformed her workroom with coloured fairy lights twinkling round the window. The chipped and scratched surface of her sewing table was hidden under a red tablecloth sprinkled with silver star confetti. No crackers this year. Instead, the table was elegant with Jenny’s white china, the only decoration being the gauzy red ribbons that Lou had tied in bows around the bases of the glass candlesticks.

The meal was a triumph, even her Yorkshire puddings, and after they’d eaten, they moved into the living room for present opening. The fire blazed, glasses were charged, chocolates and mince pies passed around. The kids had clubbed together to buy Lou a Total Pampering Package that aimed to rejuvenate and re-energise. Oh, the optimism of youth! She had given Jamie and Tom cheques, socks and a shirt each – anything else ran the risk of rejection. For Rose, there was a book about Reiki healing. Then she took the last package and passed it to Nic.

‘Honestly, Mum! You could have done better than brown paper.’

Aware of the effort that usually went into Nic’s extravagant wrappings, she just said as brightly as she could, ‘I’m saving the planet and anyway, it’s what’s inside that counts.’

As Nic tore away the paper, a loose deep green silk devoré velvet jacket slid into her hands. She shook it out and held it up to look at it, then against herself.

A pause as she examined it, then, ‘Is it one of yours?’

Lou caught the faintest hint of criticism in the question.

‘I’m afraid so,’ admitted Lou, who still smarted from the time when Nic, as a young teenager, had begged her to stop making their clothes. She wanted to go shopping with her mates, and wear what they wore. And who could blame her? Uniformity was what mattered then – for the boys too. Ever since, Lou had restricted her dressmaking to herself and to friends. But she hadn’t been able to resist this gorgeous fabric, which she had been so sure Nic would love.

Nic confined herself to shaking her head in a despairing sort of way. She slipped it on over her dress, then went upstairs to find a mirror. Despite Rose’s quiet ‘Wow!’ and Lou’s feeling of satisfaction in seeing a perfect fit, Nic’s appreciation was less than impressive. When she returned to the room, she slung it over the back of her chair and kissed Lou’s cheek. ‘Thanks, Mum. It’s lovely.’ Her lack of enthusiasm had been barely hidden. ‘It’ll be great for that flappers and gangsters fancy dress party at New Year.’

Stuck in her airline seat, blanket over her head, Lou could still feel her disappointment. How she longed to have one of those close mother–daughter relationships instead of one that blew hot and cold with no warning. The jacket should have proved to Nic how beautiful vintage-inspired pieces could be, how successful Lou’s business venture would be, but she should have known better. Nic had been as dismissive as Hooker sometimes was. They rarely thought of the effect their words might have. Well, she’d bloody well show them that she could make a go of this. If anything, Nic’s scorn had only served to stoke the fire of Lou’s determination. Who knew? Perhaps her success would bring them closer together. Success was something that Nic, like her father, respected.

The rattle of the trolley was getting nearer. She wondered what the time was, but was reluctant to brave the glare of the cabin to look at her watch.

‘Excuse me.’ An unknown voice sounded right by her ear. ‘Would you like orange juice?’

Annoyed by the disturbance, she peeled the blanket from her head and took off her eye mask only to be confronted by a familiar face in the next seat. Her knicker rescuer. Beyond him, the third seat was empty. Where was Ali? He was passing her a plastic beaker from the stewardess. She took it and unfolded her table. ‘Thanks. But that seat’s taken.’ Realising how rude she sounded, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry, that sounded awful.’

‘Not at all.’ He inclined his head and gave a slight smile. ‘Your friend was taken ill so she took the aisle seat, but I think she may now be sleeping at the back of the plane.’

Lou composed herself. She was a fifty-five-year-old woman, for God’s sake. This man had only tried to help her, not stripped her naked in front of the whole airport. Even if that was what it had felt like to her at the time. The memory of his hand holding out her knickers came into her head and she fought a desire to laugh.

‘I’m sorry about earlier on at the airport, too,’ she said. Then, ‘I’m Lou.’

He held out his hand, at least as far as the movement was possible in such a confined space. ‘Sanjeev Gupta.’

They shook, elbows digging into their sides. Before they could continue their conversation, a stewardess was leaning across, offering trays of breakfast. Lou stared at the separated lumps of scrambled egg and the warm burned sausage that floated in a thin sea of tomato juice, before turning her tray around and picking up the yoghurt.

‘Have you been on holiday?’ her neighbour asked while cutting his sausage as if expecting something foul to crawl out. He gave up and turned his attention to the roll and butter.

Within minutes, Lou was detailing their route through Rajasthan, remembering the highlights, excited to be able to talk about what she’d seen without the rest of the group, who were scattered through the plane, interrupting. She only stopped to allow the breakfast to be removed. Sanjeev was an attentive listener, concentrating on what he was hearing, interrupting only to ask whether she had managed to visit certain places she didn’t mention: Jaisalmer, Bikaner, Deogarh. By the time they’d finished their coffee, Lou was laughing.

‘Two weeks obviously isn’t anything like long enough. We’ve missed so much. I’ll just have to come back.’

Responding to her laugh, Sanjeev smiled back. ‘To Rajasthan? Or maybe somewhere else?’

‘What do you think?’ Lou wanted the opinion of someone who knew the country far better than her.

He began to tell her about the other very different parts of his country, from the unspoilt mountain state of Sikkim that lay in the Himalayan foothills in the shadow of Kanjenjunga, to the gentle white-sanded paradise of Kerala in the south. Lou listened, entranced by his descriptions and the stories of his visits there, at the same time making plans for countless future visits. Would her new business provide the necessary income? She would have to make sure it did. He took her journeying down the mighty Brahmaputra in the state of Assam, conjuring up the crowded ferries, the riverine island of Majuli, his visit during light-filled Divali, the ubiquitous tea plantations. He was describing the steep noisy street up to a Hindu temple outside Guwahati lined with stalls stuffed with devotional objects, crowded with holy men and pilgrims who had travelled there to have their wishes granted, when Ali returned to the outside seat.

Lou smiled a faint welcome but continued to let Sanjeev talk. So caught up was she in the places he was describing, she didn’t want him to stop. However, seeing he’d lost her attention for a moment, he broke off and twisted round to see Ali. He immediately asked her if she wanted her seat back. ‘Your friend has missed you. So, if you are better …’ He let the sentence hang.

‘Thank you.’ She stood to let him out, so she could slide into the vacated middle seat.

Lou was disappointed to lose Sanjeev but Ali wasn’t to know how much she had been enjoying his company.

‘What a bloody awful night,’ announced Ali, who was looking pale despite the make-up that she’d obviously applied in preparation for landing.

‘I’m sorry. I’d no idea. How are you feeling now?’ Lou felt guilty that she hadn’t even bothered to go to the back of the plane to find out. But Ali seemed not to mind.

‘Much better. Once I was lying down and the Imodium kicked in, I was OK. But I had so much going around my head, I couldn’t sleep for ages.’

‘Once you see Ian, everything’ll fall into place. You’ll see.’ Lou wasn’t sure why she was speaking with such confidence when she knew so little about either of them. ‘Is he meeting you?’

‘I wish. No. I don’t know when I’m going to see him. Depends on how things have gone with his wife, I guess.’

The pilot’s voice broke into their conversation, announcing the start of their descent into Heathrow. Lou stretched her ankles back and forth, suddenly aware that she had barely moved on the flight and that a blood clot might be lurking in a stagnant vein, waiting to finish her off. Why hadn’t she worn those awful white compression socks that had briefly graced the airport floor and were now buried somewhere in Ali’s case? Confusion and vanity had combined to prevent her retrieving them. Her grip tightened on the armrest again as her hearing buzzed and blocked and she struggled to catch what Ali was saying. She gasped as a sharp pain drilled into her eye socket, then swallowed hard. Cutting loose from her neighbours, she focused on the pain in her head and on all the methods she knew that might relieve the pressure: holding her nose; swallowing; yawning; drinking the last of her water; trying and failing to find the chewing gum buried in her bag. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it another moment and her head would split in two, the plane hit the tarmac. As it bumped along the ground, the pain began to recede as they taxied towards the airport buildings.