Читать книгу Women of a Dangerous Age - Fanny Blake - Страница 8

Lou’s eyes felt as if they’d been forcibly removed, sandpapered and returned to their sockets. Her limbs were leaden as she slid her suitcase through the melting snow along the path to her front door, vowing never to catch another overnight flight again. She stopped to look up at the windows, wound about with bare wisteria stems. Jenny’s home was hers now, and waiting to welcome her back. Even so, it was strange not to be returning from holiday to the home she and Hooker had shared for so long. For a second, she felt more alone than she had since their split. As she rummaged in her bag for her key, she felt Sanjeev’s business card. Would he make good his promise, hurriedly made as they walked towards Immigration, to invite her to dinner while he was in London? And if he did, how would she respond? Positively, she decided, given what she remembered of his manner, his way of conjuring up places, palaces, myths and Mughals, not of course forgetting his Bollywood good looks. And why not? There was no reason why she shouldn’t indulge in a little post-marital entertainment.

As soon as she was inside, she swapped her too-thin mac for her voluminous knee-length leopard-print faux-fur coat that was scattered with Minnie Mouse faces. Walking through the house, inhaling the familiar scent of home, reacquainting herself with everything, she glanced out of the window into the garden. In contrast to the black slush covering the London streets, here was a frozen winter wonderland, only interrupted by the paw prints of local cats and foxes. Despite having put on the coat, she shivered and went to turn up the heating, exchanging her holiday shoes for her Uggs, before making herself a cup of tea, builder’s strength.

Even though the house belonged to her now, she still felt Jenny’s presence. After months spent grieving for her younger sister, wandering round the place, remembering, Lou had finally galvanised herself. Being practical was one of the things she did best. At first she had planned to rent the house until the property market improved. She’d sorted out all her sister’s belongings before starting on a round of charity shop visits to get rid of the rest. Stuff – that’s all her sister’s possessions were now – just stuff that had little or no significance to anyone else, not even to Lou. She had found that terribly sad. Any tales about how Jenny came by certain things or why she kept them had died with her. Letters, old postcards from her friends, ancient bank statements and bills, diaries and notebooks: only fit for the bin. Lou had to go through them all first, despite hating the invasion of her sister’s well-kept privacy. Apart from one or two personal mementoes, some gifts for the children and a few clothes, all that Lou kept were the basics necessary for a rental property. If it was to appeal to any potential tenant, her job was to neutralise Jenny’s home, get rid of its character altogether.

But there wasn’t going to be a tenant, after all. The moment of realisation had come three months ago, as she planned the redecoration of the main bedroom. She was poring over a paint chart with a couple of fabric swatches in her hand, undecided between shades – Raspberry Bellini, Roasted Red or the one she knew she should choose: safe, innocuous white – when a blinding light dawned. Why do the place up for a stranger when it could be hers, done up exactly as she wanted? This could be her chance for a new start in life. How Jenny would have liked that: so infinitely preferable to the idea of a stranger taking over her home. Her sister had been the only one in the world who knew what Lou really felt about her husband in recent years, about her marriage. She would be so pleased to have helped her to an escape route. If her death was teaching Lou anything, it was to squeeze every drop out of life while you had it. There was no knowing when it would end. That same evening she had told Hooker she was leaving him.

To begin with he hadn’t believed her. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he’d said. ‘You don’t mean it.’ But she did, and over the following two weeks of protracted and painful rowing had finally got him to accept that her mind was made up. ‘You’ll be back,’ he said. ‘You won’t like being on your own.’ But the more he poured scorn on her plan, the more determined he made her. Any reservations she might have had were quashed.

In the living room, everything was as she’d left it. She tucked her knitting bag under the Eames chair that had been Jenny’s pride and joy, then sat and opened her laptop on her knee. With tea and a small(ish) slice of home-made Christmas cake on the low table by her side, she lifted her feet onto the ottoman and began to download her photographs. Unpacking could wait. As the images materialised in front of her, she was ambushed by memories: Jaipur’s Palace of the Winds; a Brahmin village chief preparing the opium ceremony; the swaying elephant ride up to the Amber Fort; groups of enchanting dark-eyed children; an old woman cooking chapattis over a fire in her front yard; and so they kept on coming.

At the same time as wishing herself back there, Lou also felt a deep pleasure at being back home. Now India was over, she was ready to concentrate on making a new life alone. The trip had given her a necessary shot of energy. Her current exhaustion aside, she felt stronger, empowered (though she hated the word), braced for whatever life would throw at her. Breaking up with Hooker had not been easy and she had an unpleasant sense that her problems might not be entirely over, but she felt ready to deal with whatever he threw at her next. The colours of Rajasthan had inspired her as much as the fabrics that she’d been shown in the large fabric emporiums where roll after roll of silk and cotton had been pulled out for her. She was itching to get on with her new summer designs for the shop. As she gazed at a photo of a sari stall in the Jodhpur market – all clashing colours, crowds and chatter – the phone rang.

‘Mum?’ Nic’s voice sounded different.

‘Darling! Did you have a good Christmas?’ Lou felt the familiar fillip to her spirits that came whenever she heard from one of her children.

‘I need to see you.’

Lou hit earth with a bump. Not even a Did-you-have-a-good-holiday? So this was how it was going to be. And just because she’d decided to absent herself for a fortnight to avoid any awkwardness over the Christmas break. She hadn’t only been thinking of herself, but of the kids who would have been caught between their feuding parents. ‘When were you thinking?’ she asked. As the high that had accompanied her arrival home from the flight began to dissipate, Lou thought with some longing of her clean-sheeted bed that was waiting upstairs.

‘Today? Now?’ Was that urgency or was her daughter just being her usual demanding self?

‘Has something happened, Nic?’

‘I’ll tell you when I see you. I’ll be about an hour.’

‘And I can show you—’

But Nic had hung up. Lou took a bite of leftover Christmas cake. Mmm, possibly the best she’d made yet. Outside, a train rattled by on the other side of the garden wall: a sound that made her feel at home.

An hour. Not long enough for that sleep which was becoming increasingly pressing. Instead Lou woke herself up with a shower, so that by the time the doorbell rang, she was feeling just about semi-human. She had discarded the coat, knowing the scorn it provoked in Nic. The thick burned orange sweater she wore over her jeans almost compensated for the fact that the water had been lukewarm and the heating had yet to make any noticeable impression on the house. Nic’s disapproving glance at the jeans as she walked in didn’t go unnoticed. And her ‘Mmmm, very ashram’ directed at the sweater was quite unnecessary. Why was it that her daughter felt she had to sanction – or otherwise – all her mother’s life choices, including those in her wardrobe? However, once Nic had hung her overcoat on the end of the stairs Lou welcomed her with a hug, then took her into the kitchen, the warmest room.

‘How was Christmas? Dad OK?’ She pulled out a bag of coffee beans from the freezer.

‘Quiet. Tom was with us. We missed you.’ That reproving tone again, something Lou hadn’t missed while away.

‘Having someone to do all the cooking, you mean.’

They didn’t speak while Lou ground the beans for the cafetière, then: ‘That’s so unfair.’ Wounded now. ‘I just think the two of you should be together.’

Lou decided to ignore her daughter’s last remark. However uncomfortable Nic was with Lou’s decision to move out of the family home, Lou was not going to let her be the arbiter in her parents’ relationship. ‘I’m only joking. Don’t be so sensitive, Nic. Of course I missed you too, but going away was the right thing for me to do.’

Nic shook her head.

‘No, really. India was amazing. You’d love it there.’ Would she though? As well as everything that she had enjoyed, Lou remembered the dirt; the stink; the poverty; families living on the pavements, in the stations; child beggars tapping at car windows; Delhi belly; the drains; the reckless driving. None of that had been enough to negate her own thrill at experiencing the country – but would her over-fastidious daughter react in the same way? ‘Look. I’ve brought you a couple of things.’ She pushed across the table a yellow and green drawstring jewellery purse, a paper bag containing a scarf she’d bought at a stall in a gateway at the Mehrangarh Fort, and a newspaper-wrapped statue of the elephant god, Ganesh, for luck.

Nic pulled open the purse and slid out the star sapphire ring that Lou had chosen with such care. ‘It’s lovely, Mum.’

Had she actually got a present right for once? Filled with disbelief and pleasure, Lou plunged the knife into the Christmas cake. Just another small slice.

As Nic slipped the ring onto her right hand, Lou thought she heard her sniff. When her daughter looked up, her face was a muddle of emotions, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘Nic? Whatever’s the matter? I just wanted to bring you back something special but if you don’t like it … well, I can’t change it, but …’

Seeing Nic so upset induced immediate and unwelcome guilt. She should never have fled the country. How selfish she’d been. Instead, she should have skipped Christmas by burying herself in Devon with Fiona and Charlie after all. At least she’d have been in reach of home. However old her kids might be, they did still need her. She worried that this still mattered so much to her when she should be letting them go.

‘It’s not that, Mum. I do really love it.’ There was a long pause during which Nic struggled to compose herself, twisting the ring around her finger, watching the six-pointed star move through the blue-grey stone. Lou stretched out a hand to cover her daughter’s. Years ago, she might have been able to soothe any problem away but now, her maternal success rate was much lower. Nic was usually so strong, so self-contained. Since she’d been sixteen and had decided on a career in family law, following in the footsteps of her godmother, Fiona, she’d always given the impression that she’d rather lie bound to a railway track than seek advice from her parents.

Her daughter gave a final sniff and looked her straight in the eye. That familiar look of defiance was back. As Nic cleared her throat with a brusque cough, Lou had a sinking sensation, recognising that her daughter was about to say something momentous.

‘It’s just that …’ Deep breath. Twist of the ring around her finger. ‘I’m pregnant.’ For a second, Nic looked just as she had fifteen-odd years ago when confessing to some childish prank, anticipating the appalled parental reaction, her justification at the ready.

Lou stared at her, her hand frozen mid-stroke. ‘You’re what?’ Of all the things Nic might have said, this was the last she would have expected. Until now, her daughter’s career had taken precedence over everything, including any boyfriends who were dispatched whenever they got too much.

Immediately Nic was on the defensive, moving her hand out of reach. ‘I knew you’d be like that.’

‘I’m not like anything. It’s a bit of a shock, that’s all.’ Lou stood up to pour the coffee, as her mind raced through the implications. Having a baby would get in the way of Nic’s life, her work, and she wouldn’t like that. Presumably she’d come to ask for her mother’s support for an abortion. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’ she asked, playing for time.

Nic tutted. ‘Of course. One hundred per cent.’

‘Who’s the father? Max?’

‘That’s irrelevant.’ She made a scything movement through the air with her hand, cutting off any further discussion about her on–off boyfriend of the last year or so. She pushed her cake away from her.

‘Nic! How can you say that? Of course it isn’t. You have to take him into consideration too.’ But Lou could see that Nic was way ahead of her. She had made all her decisions and, as usual, Lou was going to have to try to catch up.

‘He’s made it plain that he wants nothing to do with this. He wants me to get rid of it.’ She sounded both outraged and determined.

‘And you? What do you want?’

‘I’m going to keep it. This is what I’ve wanted for ages.’

Despite the relief she felt, Lou thought it wise not to point out that Nic had never suggested she’d wanted any such thing. A career, yes. A solid relationship, yes. But a baby? This was the first Lou had heard of it.

‘What about your career?’ she said, sounding like the sort of mother she didn’t want to be.

‘Mum, thousands of women have babies and return to work.’ Nic was trying to control the note of impatience that had crept into her voice. ‘You should know that better than anyone. That won’t be a problem. I’ve thought it all through.’

‘You have?’ Lou took Nic’s plate and transferred the cake back into the tin. Giving herself something to do meant she didn’t have to look at her daughter while she tried to catch up with the conversation.

‘Yes, I have. I’m going to take the statutory maternity leave and then find a nanny share. Like you did.’

This was not the moment to elaborate on the difficulties that could come with nannies however lifesaving they might be. Lou remembered how torn she’d been between her job as fashion editor at Chic to Chic and her young children. The job had been demanding and competitive, complete with the extra strain of feeling she didn’t entirely fit the role with her sometimes off-beat sense of style. And when she’d been at home … How could she forget the soul-lacerating guilt when the smallest thing went wrong, the sense of abject despair when the children turned to the nanny rather than to her, the dull background feeling of in adequacy in both spheres of her life? They were only alleviated when she eventually became a full-time mother – even though that decision was forced on her. But there was no arguing with Nic once her mind was made up. If anything, any objection raised by Lou would only make her dig in her heels. Lou needed time to think through the ramifications of the news before discussing them with her daughter. Nothing had to be decided this second.

A baby! For a moment she envisaged the two of them, heads bent over this unexpected addition to the family, sharing the pleasure together. She felt a thrill of anticipation before she was brought back to the moment as Nic spoke.

‘I just need you to help me with one thing.’

‘Of course. I’ll do whatever I can.’

Nic was fidgeting, tipping her mug back and forth, intent on her coffee, anything rather than catch her mother’s eye. Obviously something else was troubling her and she was finding a way to say it.

Lou held her breath.

Without moving her head, Nic glanced up at her, then away again. ‘Dad doesn’t know.’ There it was. The all-important missing detail lay between them like a ticking bomb.

‘Why not?’ As if Lou didn’t know.

‘He’ll go ballistic, that’s why.’

Light dawned. Nic hadn’t come to share the news with her so much as to persuade her to be the messenger. ‘And you want me to tell him?’

‘You’ll have to, Mum. The boys think so too.’ Nic banged down her mug, as final as a judge’s gavel. Decision made.

So she’d told her two brothers first. Even though Lou had been away when Nic broke the news, that hurt, too. What had gone wrong with the adult mother–daughter relationship, which Lou had anticipated with such pleasure when Nic was little? She had imagined them sharing confidences, shopping together, even taking the occasional weekend break – everything Lou had missed out on with her own mother. But none of that had happened and it now looked as though it never would. Nic had always behaved like a cuckoo in the nest, making her presence loudly felt before taking to her wings as soon as she could.

‘Shouldn’t we talk this through properly first?’

‘Mum, there’s nothing to discuss. Not now anyway. I’m not asking you to be ecstatic for me, though that would be nice, but just to help with this one little thing. Please.’ She drew the last word out into a childish entreaty. ‘I’m nearly three months and I’ll be showing soon.’

‘But I haven’t seen him for weeks.’ Lou racked her brains for a better objection.

‘Mu-um?’ Nic knew there wasn’t one.

Despite all her misgivings, it was hard to refuse her daughter. Lou remembered the excitement that had accompanied her own pregnancies, the absolute joy she had felt, the hopes for the future, the pure unfettered longing for a baby.

The news would travel among their old friends like a forest fire. Just as it probably had when they learned that Lou had moved out. How the more conventional among them would sympathise yet relish in the Sherwood family’s misfortunes. How they would sigh with relief at having been spared a similar fate themselves. That thought gave Lou strength. Who gave a damn what they thought? She had summoned up the will to ignore their views when she left Hooker, and that’s just what she would do again. Nic should be encouraged to take the path in life she chose for herself.

‘All right.’ Lou saw relief colour her daughter’s face. ‘I’ll talk to him. And I’ll give you all the support you need. Anything you need for this baby – you can rely on me. That’s a promise.’

Perhaps Nic’s motherhood would at last bring the two of them closer. Being a single grandmother had not been part of Lou’s plans, in fact it wasn’t a concept that had even crossed her mind. But at least Nic would understand what Lou had gone through trying to balance her work with the children’s demands – and that she had done the best she could.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ said Nic, getting up and flinging her arms around her. ‘I knew you would.’

Lou hugged back and for a moment all their differences melted away. Lou breathed in the smell of her daughter’s hair, noticing how tense and bony her shoulders were. But she didn’t comment or tell her to relax. Nic would tell her if anything else was troubling her in her own good time. If Lou couldn’t have all of her daughter, she would take whatever part of her was on offer.

‘Oh, and I’d keep off the cake if I were you,’ Nic suggested as she shrugged on her coat and stepped out through the front door.

After her daughter had gone, Lou washed the coffee pot, thinking over their conversation. Communication between them had clearly broken down more than she had realised. Why did Nic want this baby so badly? Had Lou and Hooker unintentionally failed her somehow, so that she needed something more in her life to love and be loved by? But they hadn’t been such bad parents, had they? Not when she compared them to all the dysfunctional families that were paraded through the pages of the daily tabloids. She couldn’t believe that their growing distance from one another had been the cause. Now finally separated, they were about to become grandparents. Another tie that was bound to throw them together again.

Sighing, she picked up the phone and dialled Hooker’s number.