Читать книгу What Women Want, Women of a Dangerous Age: 2-Book Collection - Fanny Blake - Страница 14

Chapter 5

In the car, on the way to her mother’s, the voice of the Radio 4 presenter was overwhelmed by the noise of the motorway. Not that Bea noticed what she was missing. Her mind was on her son. These days, Ben was being less communicative than she could remember him in all their sixteen years together. He had barely mustered a grunt when she’d left, refusing to tear his attention from yet another old episode of Skins. Not even ‘Have a good time’ or ‘Love to Gran’. She left him lying on the sofa, his glass on the floor under his discarded socks, a faint whiff of sweat and feet hanging in the air.

She visualised his worldly possessions scattered in his room upstairs where they’d last been used, then buried under the T-shirts, pants and socks dropped on top of them. His wardrobe door hung open, revealing a row of empty metal hangers and shelves with various knots of tangled clothing that had somehow spread their way across to his unmade bed. Whenever she nagged him to tidy his room, he put the whole lot in the laundry basket downstairs – much easier than hanging it up again. If the door was shut, she always knocked – she had done ever since he’d shouted at her to keep out of his business. She hadn’t even commented on the last poster he’d Blu-tacked to the wall – two girls going topless, one touching the other’s breast, both slightly smiling with their topaz eyes staring out from under their strawberry blonde fringes. Ben had bought it from a boy at school last year. When she’d seen it, she’d frowned but managed not to say a word.

This morning, despite all attempts to bite her tongue, she’d been less successful.

‘I’m just off to Gran’s,’ she’d said, in her cheerful let’snot-get-off-on-the-wrong-foot-this-morning voice.

‘Right.’ Eyes fixed to the screen.

‘Darling. You will tidy up, won’t you?’

No reply.

‘If you could just try to do something with your bedroom so we can at least see the floor . . .’ The hope in her voice was met with silence. ‘Well, I’ll be back late tonight, then.’

‘Yeah. Right.’ He hadn’t even glanced round.

Since Colin had left, Bea had watched Ben turn more and more in on himself. Apart from having to deal with the inevitable teenage hormonal soup, he’d had to watch the father he’d adored go off with his PA, a woman almost young enough to be Ben’s older sister. Within a year, she had given birth to twins. Colin had never explained to Bea why he had fallen out of love with her. She sometimes wondered whether he had ever been in love with her at all. But, her own feelings aside, it had been hard to answer with any truth twelve-year-old Ben’s endless questions about why Dad had gone. Apart from the obvious one, she didn’t know the answers.

Together they watched as Colin morphed from a suit-and-tired executive into a complacent new husband and on into an even more self-satisfied but exhausted new father of two. Plumper than he had been, his skin shinier and more tanned, he oozed self-satisfaction. His hair, though greyer, was cut fashionably short; his clothes were no longer mail order (too busy to shop) but designer (‘Carrie helps me choose’). The idea of the pair shopping together made Bea laugh. The Colin she knew would no more set foot in a clothes shop than he would in a supermarket. But she had to hand it to Carrie: that girl had got Colin wrapped round her little finger in a way that Bea never had.

As soon as he’d announced he was leaving her for Carrie, Bea had known it would be only a matter of time before they started a family. Carrie would want kids and the only way Colin would keep her was to give them to her. What she hadn’t bargained for was the vigour with which he threw himself into second-time fatherhood. She hadn’t bargained for how upset she’d feel either. Colin had discovered the joys of nappy-changing, of bottle-feeding, of getting up in the night. When he looked for sympathy, complaining of how tired he felt at having to do all this and go to work, the floodgates of Bea’s fury opened.

‘Tired? How many women do you think feel exactly the same and have been working and looking after children for centuries?’

‘But, Bea,’ he had protested, sheepish, ‘that’s not the same. They’re used to it.’

‘Bollocks they’re used to it! What do you think I felt like when I was still breast-feeding Ben and struggling to keep my job going?’

‘But that was different,’ he had protested.

‘How? How was it different?’

‘Well, you wanted to do it.’

‘Wanted to? I only wanted to because I didn’t want to lose my bloody job. I would have felt a whole lot better if I’d had someone else getting up in the middle of the night to help.’

‘But they’re so sweet in the night. Cora—’

‘I know that, Colin. I was there with your firstborn. Remember? Shame you weren’t there most of the time too.’

‘Well, OK. I regret that now. I should have helped more. I wish I had. That’s why I’m going to do it differently this time round. I’m going to be a good father.’

‘Well, remember you’re Ben’s father too. That’s all I can say.’ Bea gave up. There was no puncturing his unbearable self-satisfaction. She refrained from pointing out the smear of baby sick that ran down from the shoulder of his expensively relaxed Etro shirt. Let him face the world with his badge of fatherhood. Carrie must be finding her two young daughters such hard work (Bea sincerely hoped so) that she hadn’t noticed. This was not the man who had fathered Ben. She knew Ben recognised that too and was hurt by it. He didn’t want to go round to Colin and Carrie’s to have it rubbed in his face, but Colin didn’t understand that. He thought that by including Ben every now and then he was completing his happy family. Happy families – huh!

Her attention was brought back to the road as she joined the exit to the motorway too fast and came screaming up beside a red Saab that had earlier overtaken her. The two young guys turned and the passenger screwed his finger to his head, mouthing something at her. For God’s sake. She stuck her tongue out at them as they roared off. Not very grown-up, Bea, she admonished herself. All the same she felt much better.

Instead of returning to Ben, her mind flitted to Coldharbour. How safe was her job? She knew Adam Palmer’s reputation as a ruthless, manipulative boss who would do anything to raise his staff’s so-called performance levels. In his last incarnation, he’d turned round an ailing Pennant Publishing by wasting no time in getting rid of all the dead wood, building a small and fiercely loyal team who had successfully shaped and tightened the list. Would he be bringing any of them with him? If he did, how would that affect her?

As she approached the outskirts of Harmchester, she took a right into the narrow lane that led to her mother’s house. She loved the drive down there, so familiar that memories of her childhood rushed into her mind as she turned into the open gate at the top of the drive, which led to the house that stood just as it had since she, Will and Jess had been brought up there.

She crunched over the gravel to the porch, a relatively recent addition to the faded but still elegant Georgian house. Gumboots crowded the small space below the ancient duffel coats and scarves that she, her brother and sister had forgotten when they’d finally left home. It was just as if they were about to return. Housekeeping had never been her mother’s strongest point, she reflected, noticing the dried mud on the flagstones, and the cobwebs above her head. Even Miss Havisham might have set slightly higher standards. However, at least she and her siblings had been allowed to get on with their own lives, blessed with a mother who would take her independence to the grave with her, if she had any control over her future. And let’s hope she does, Bea willed.

‘Mum! Where are you?’ she yelled, as she let herself into the dim panelled hallway. Bending to pick up a few scattered letters, mostly bills and mail-order catalogues from the floor, she balanced them in the minimal space available on the small gate-legged table that held the phone.

She called again, putting her head round the door into the sitting room. The knitting left mid-row on the comfy plum-coloured sofa and the voices from Any Questions? on the radio signalled that Adele couldn’t be far away. The gilt mirror over the mantelpiece could have done with a good dusting and the hearth might have benefited from being cleaned out. The books were crammed higgledy-piggledy onto the shelves at either side of the chimney breast. Not for the first time, Bea thought her mother might benefit from moving to somewhere smaller. They had talked about the huge task it would involve, but Adele was waiting until the time was right. Whatever that meant.

‘Mum!’ She heard the familiar edge of impatience creep into her voice. Making a mental note to control it, she tried once more. ‘Mum.’ Better.

‘Here, dear. I’m in the kitchen . . .’ The crash that followed made Bea run down the flagged corridor past the stairs and through the door at the end of the passage. Her mother was on the floor, rubbing her leg, surrounded by saucepans and the rail that was supposed to suspend them within easy reach above the ancient Aga.

‘What on earth are you doing? Are you all right?’ Bea’s relief at seeing her in one piece swiftly turned to exasperation. She righted a fallen chair to where it belonged under the table, trying not to let her irritation show.

‘I’m absolutely fine. I was just trying to straighten the rail. I suppose I should have taken the pans off first. I just pulled a bit too hard and the whole thing collapsed.’ Adele rubbed her elbow where she’d caught it on the Aga.

‘But why didn’t you wait for me to do it for you? We’ve talked about this thousands of times. You could have been hurt.’ Bea couldn’t stop the edge creeping back into her voice.

‘Oh, rubbish, darling. I didn’t want to bother you. Anyway, I wasn’t expecting you,’ she announced breezily.

As Adele got to her feet, brushing plaster dust off her cardigan, Bea registered that she was still wearing her pyjama bottoms and slippers. ‘But, Mum, I’ve come to take you out to lunch. Don’t you remember? We arranged it on Wednesday.’

Adele rolled her eyes to the Kitchen Maid adorned with damp tea towels and her underwear. ‘Of course. How stupid of me. I’ll just be a minute.’

‘But you’re not even dressed yet.’

‘Nor I am.’ Her mother dived into the laundry basket for some tights. ‘It won’t take me long, darling.’ She disappeared along the corridor and up the stairs.

Bea stayed where she was, bending to pick up the pans. Should she be more concerned about Adele? Her feelings of responsibility for her mother weighed heavy even though she knew they weren’t wanted. If something happened to Adele, it would be her fault. After all, of the three children, she was the one who lived closest. Will had married his Australian girlfriend and won the bonus prize of a new life in Sydney while Jess was wrapped up in her perfect family of one long-suffering husband and two children (she’d have had the point-four if she could have arranged it) in spick-and-span heaven outside Edinburgh. Bea resolved to bring up the subject of moving house again, but not right now. She didn’t want to spoil the afternoon ahead.

Tempted though she was to do the bit of washing-up piled by the sink, she ignored it, knowing that her mother would only take her help as a form of criticism. Instead she returned to the sitting room to put the fireguard in place before standing and staring out of the window at the long garden stretching towards the copse beyond. Just the sight of it brought back all those years of hide-and-seek, bonfires, camping. If only Ben could have enjoyed the place in the same way, but childhood was different these days. Nobody was thrown outside after lunch and told to ‘go and play’ for a couple of hours any more. She could imagine Ben’s reaction if she’d ever dared to try.

‘I’m ready.’ Adele came into the room, having put on a taupe cotton skirt with a neat white blouse, car keys in hand.

‘I’ll drive, Ma.’ Although Adele’s doctor seemed to think she was still capable, the idea of her mother driving scared the hell out of Bea. She wasn’t frightened for Adele but for everybody else on the road. ‘You can navigate.’

‘Where are we going again?’

‘The Hare and Hounds in Ludborough. If we get there early enough we’ll be able to sit outside.’

The lanes were almost empty as Bea drove, ignoring Adele’s uncertain directions and relying on the satnav. They arrived without mishap and pulled into the already busy car park alongside the pub. Above the porch, darkened windows winked out from behind the profusion of vivid pink and red petunias, yellow golden eye and trailing blue lobelia crammed into the window boxes. Mother and daughter picked their way through the dim lounge bar, ordering their drinks en route, and out into the back garden, blinking at the sudden light.

It was the best kind of English summer’s day – blue sky with puffs of cloud chased across it by a light wind. Sitting in the pub garden at a table in the shade of a whispering beech tree with a bowl of soup, a chunk of crusty bread and a glass of lager, the world seemed a better place. Inevitably, the conversation moved immediately to Bea’s own life. As usual, her mother could be relied upon to put her mind to good use when listening to Bea, helping her to get matters into some sort of perspective.

Although she was of the generation of middle-class wives whose pregnancy had put an end to their ambition and who had stayed at home to bring up their children, Adele was an intelligent woman, whose husband had trusted her good sense when he had had to make his own business decisions. She had known exactly how his bank functioned, who worked there and what they did or didn’t contribute and how he was able to manipulate them to his success. As a result, she had developed a pragmatic stance from which to view life. So, as far as she could see, whatever happened at Coldharbour, there was nothing Bea could do to influence events. If she wanted to keep her job, or until she had decided whether or not she did, she should put her head down and work hard, adopting the stance that Adam Palmer expected: tough, go-getting. When she’d won his confidence, she’d be in a position to make a choice. As for Ben, had Bea ever seen a monosyllabic twenty-two-year-old who spent all day in front of the TV? Of course not. The boy would grow out of it, just like all the others. Bea had a nasty feeling that there were plenty of twenty-two-year-olds who never had.

Later, as Adele was laughing at the story of her daughter’s latest dating fiasco, Bea’s phone rang.

‘Bea, it’s Kate. You’ll never guess.’

‘Well, for God’s sake tell me, then.’

‘It’s Ellen. She’s got herself a man!’

For a moment Bea was thrown. ‘Ellen? Hang on a minute.’ She held up one finger and gestured to her mother that she wouldn’t be long.

Adele nodded, quite content to watch what was going on at the tables around her while she waited for Bea to finish.

‘Yes, Ellen. Your old university friend who’s been single since her husband died. That Ellen.’ Bea could hear Kate’s excitement. ‘I went to the gallery this morning and she told me. He’s one of her customers!’

‘You have got to be joking. After all this time? Who is he? When did she meet him?’ Bea was ashamed to admit to herself that, instead of sharing Kate’s evident pleasure, she was piqued by the idea that, after years of apparent indifference to the opposite sex, Ellen had beaten her to it. Somehow the natural order of things seemed to have been skewed.

‘They just met and he’s moved in with her already. Well, at least until the kids get back.’

‘What?’ For once Bea was speechless.

‘It’s true. He’s not even forty. And she wants us to meet him. I said I’d tell you to expect a call from her.’

Moved in with her? That couldn’t be right. Ellen would never do anything so hasty. Although she had made some canny snap decisions over the artists she took on at the gallery, outside her work life this was a woman for whom ‘dithering’ was a watchword. But what appeared to be indecision was really circumspection. And Kate didn’t make mistakes. She listened, absorbed what she was told and considered her next course of action. She wouldn’t have told Bea any of this unless she was absolutely sure it was true.

Bea ended the conversation more abruptly than she meant to. She couldn’t share Kate’s pleasure in the news, not just yet. She needed time to take it in, get over her own feelings of what felt horribly close to envy. She was ashamed of herself. What an unpleasant person she must be, if she couldn’t share in a friend’s happiness without thinking of herself first.

But why didn’t Ellen tell me? Bea wondered. We’ve been friends for almost thirty years, seen each other through so much, and yet she told Kate. Kate, to whom Bea had only introduced Ellen about ten years ago when Kate and Paul had moved to London from Manchester. Bea disliked the insidious needle of resentment that pricked her when she was reminded of the strong relationship between her two friends. But it was true that, having introduced them because she thought they’d get on, there were times when she felt the odd one out, such was the bond that had developed between them.

‘What is it, darling? I’ve lost you.’ Adele’s voice brought her back to the present.

‘That was Kate telling me that Ellen’s got herself a man at last.’

‘But that’s wonderful. She’s been lonely for so long.’

‘Lonely?’ That wasn’t the way Bea saw her friend at all. ‘What makes you say that? She’s had the kids, and Simon’s family have always supported her, as well as Kate and me. She’s always said she didn’t want anyone else.’

‘Bea, dear, try to be a little more understanding. Of course lots of people have loved her and looked after her. But that’s not the same as being in love, is it? It’s not the same as having someone special to share things with, someone to provide a buffer against the world outside, someone who makes you feel safe and loved. Your father did all those things for me – all those things that I know you’re looking for yourself, although you’d never put it that way.’ Adele reached across to grasp Bea’s hand while Bea looked away, suddenly self-conscious – her mother knew her far too well.

She wasn’t in the mood to discuss the truth of her own feelings so briskly changed the subject, making her mother laugh as she regaled her with the story of the date who had come to pick her up in his van. When she’d opened the door, the first thing she saw was a made-up double mattress in the back. All she’d let him see of her was her back as she beat a hasty retreat into her house.

By the time Bea and her mother left the pub, everything was back on an even keel and they headed into the nearby town to buy something for supper and to stock up Adele’s fridge for another week.