Читать книгу Freya North 3-Book Collection: Secrets, Chances, Rumours - Freya North - Страница 27

Tess pretended not to notice that Joe was no longer there. She refused to give the answering machine more than a nonchalant glance each time she returned to the house. In the evening, either the television or the radio was on to bypass the taunting silence of the phone not ringing. She had his mobile number, it still shared the hook with the calendar on the kitchen door and every now and then she'd look at it quickly, as if checking the correct quota of eleven numbers. It was the only mobile phone number that she knew off by heart, yet she'd never once rung it. She lacked the confidence to phone just to say, hullo, how are you, how's France.

All of this was very different – the situation, the feelings – from simply missing someone. Missing someone causes one to feel incomplete, it's a vulnerable state. Tess had missed Em in a desperate, primal way when she'd been at work; a creeping, invasive hollowness that was only counteracted when her child was back with her. Over Joe, Tess did not feel fragile or gut-wrenched, she felt simply sad and alone because his company had recently enhanced her life. And though she currently kept the study door shut, as Joe always did when he was working, she couldn't create the illusion that he was in there. It seemed to her that, whichever room she was in, Joe was like an essential item of furniture suddenly gone. Nothing seemed quite right now. The time he'd spent at home recently had been so satisfying for her that it had shrunk her world, made it seem a safer and more intimate place; his presence had formed a moat and a drawbridge around her. It was a feeling of self-sufficiency. But with him gone, she felt cut off.

Strangely, though she had thought about Mary even while Joe had been home, her allegiance was now so firmly with Joe that whatever it was that prevented him mentioning his mother, was enough for Tess to respect. If there were sides to be taken, she was on his. Thoughts of Seb too, had dispersed as if they'd been but lively sparks from a bonfire – which have no real substance, not even ash. So it was unnerving, to say the least, to come across both people in quick succession a week after Joe's departure.

‘Laura – she's gone again.’

‘Who has?’

‘Mrs S – or in your case, Mary.’

‘Mary? You sure?’

‘Just checked her room.’

‘The morning room?’

‘Not there.’

‘Playing rummy?’

‘No.’

‘Sunroom? She does like the sunroom – sits herself down right in the far corner where she can gaze out to sea.’

‘She's not in the sunroom. I told you, Laura – she's scarpered.’

‘Well, we know where she'll be headed.’

‘Doesn't make it any the less a pain in the arse – I've got better things to do than chase through town for an eighty-year-old. She's crafty, that one. She never does as she's told. I don't know why you've such a soft spot for her.’

‘She's not eighty – she's only seventy-five. It's her condition that makes her seem older.’

‘Over there! Look, Laura – there she is, pegging off past Garnet Street.’

Laura had already left the room.

There was a scatter of elderly residents of the town taking the air on the elevated position of Marine Parade above the pier and beach. Laura had never become inured to their grace – their pace, the way they sat or stood, content for silent companionship, patient with each others’ witterings. Mary, however, was practically jogging. It was as if the pensioners enjoying the view were acting their age while Mary defiantly was not. She appeared oblivious to the melancholy expanse of the North Sea, the majestic dominance of Huntcliff reaching out into it, the breadth of golden sands. She was walking off with a pace and purpose at odds with both her peers and the vista.

Laura always preferred to run before she could walk – because she knew it could startle the elderly lady if she approached at speed. So she'd run until Mary was in reach, then she'd walk briskly until she was abreast when finally she'd slow down and match her stride.

There she is. There she is. Between Diamond and Pearl Streets. Laura could slow down now.

‘Mary,’ she called in a sing-song voice from a little way off, to advise her she was all but caught. ‘Mary,’ she said again, gently this time, when she came up alongside her. She touched her elbow and fell into line with Mary's pace as if they were power-limping side by side intentionally. Soon enough, Laura gave Mary a quiet but insistent pull and the old lady stopped abruptly.

‘I just want to go home, Laura dear,’ she said with great lucidity and weariness. ‘It's been so long.’

‘I know,’ Laura soothed, ‘I know.’ Then she said, Mary love – you've come out without a brolly. She passed Mary a small red folding umbrella.

Mary pulled out a patterned plastic rain hat from her coat pocket and gave Laura a look that said, you'll have to do better than that, dear.

Laura looked out to sea. A container ship almost stuck to the horizon. At this distance it looked as innocuous as a child's drawing of a generic boat. But she knew they were over a thousand feet long; she'd seen them hulking their way for fuel at Seal Sands at the mouth of the Tees. She glanced at Mary and thought how her life was like that container ship; mostly so distant that it was inconsequential though it could suddenly loom large and in pin-sharp focus and fill her mind. But it always sailed away from her until she was just an infirm pensioner, muttering to herself while she gazed out of the window in the overheated sunroom of an old-age home.

‘Well – I wonder whose brolly this is,’ Laura murmured because she often chose to appear less bright than she was – a ploy she used with the residents because she thought it was patronizing, intimidating even, to bandy her youth and savvy in their presence.

‘Elsie's, probably,’ said Mary, ‘daft old bat.’

‘Elsie is lovely,’ Laura said.

‘Or else it'll be Catherine's.’ And Mary started to laugh. ‘She's a one. She never knows where things are. She never knows where they belong. She forgets what they're for. Her fanny being a case in point.’

‘Mrs S!’ Laura protested.

‘Everyone knows about Catherine's fanny,’ Mary said and she had to stop completely because she was laughing so much, ‘not that she does. She didn't know when it fell right out.’

‘Mary, you're unkind – it was a prolapse. It can happen to anyone.’

‘I'm not unkind,’ Mary said very straight, quiet but sharp.

Laura wanted to say, I know you're not – it's your condition that's so unkind. Memory loss one day, inertia the next, sudden aggression or unpleasantness but, cruellest of all, acute lucidity every now and then. ‘Catherine – Mrs Tiley – can't help it,’ Laura said.

‘Nor can I,’ Mary said, stopping, ‘nor can I.’ She looked at Laura squarely. ‘I may not have had a prolapse but I know something dreadful is happening to me. They're right to call me mad or doolally. I've heard them. I feel it coming. I know I try to run away – but often it's only when you bring me back again that I know I've even been.’

Laura linked arms with her and gave a little squeeze.

‘Swallows is very comfortable, Laura dear. And you are a love. But I don't want to belong at Swallows. More than that, though, I don't want the mind I have now. It's like Babel in here sometimes.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘And I'm trapped.’

‘Let's get away from this cliff – there's a strong wind today. Let's follow the road round. Let's buy a fancy something from Chocolini's. Let's not talk about sad things.’

‘Tomorrow – even this afternoon – Catherine might be talking about me because I may be talking claptrap again but of course I won't know it.’

‘Let's not talk about Mrs Tiley.’

‘I don't like what's happening to me, dear. It's the normal periods in between that make it so dreadful. I almost long for the day to come when I'll be permanently gaga. What fun I shall provide Mrs Tiley and the gang then.’

‘Come, Mary, be kind to yourself.’

They turned into Milton Street, the jewel streets running down from Marine Parade acting as a filter to the brunt of the slicing wind that can come off the North Sea at all times of the year.

‘There's that girl of Joe's,’ Mary suddenly said.

Laura looked ahead and saw Tess peering in through the ornamental grilles in front of the dusty old windows of Keith's Sports. ‘So it is.’

‘Haven't seen Joe, have we. Not for some time.’

‘No,’ Laura said, ‘we haven't, not for a bit.’

‘Dear!’ Mary called ahead. ‘Dear! Emmeline and mother! Emmeline and mother!’

Tess was surprised to hear her baby's name and more surprised to see who called her. She waited under the old iron and glass canopy as they approached.

‘What is your name, dear?’ Mary asked. ‘Laura here thinks it's Tess but I don't think that's right. Joe's girl isn't called Tess, I keep telling her. Joe's girl is called Kate. It's been Kate for a long, long time.’

Kate? Who's Kate?

Laura could see Tess trying to compute the information.

‘Not Kate,’ Tess said as if it wasn't an issue, ‘it really is Tess.’

‘Well, I liked Kate,’ Mary said indignantly, pursing her lips, which tempted Tess to say, well, Joe likes me.

‘Chocolini's,’ Laura said as if it was a password or peace offering. ‘You coming, Tess?’

Ice cream was a luxury and an extravagance that Tess couldn't allow to cross her mind too often. It was, however, the perfect day for one, with May so close and the weather mild.

‘Where are we going?’ Mary asked.

‘To Chocolini's – the fancy place you love,’ Laura said.

‘Would you like an ice cream, Mary?’ Tess asked, clearing her throat.

‘I'll have vanilla. A licky, not a cup,’ Mary said. ‘Kate, you are kind.’

‘Tess,’ Tess said quietly, feeling disconcerted by Kate, ‘I'm Tess.’

She had to extend the offer to Laura. And she couldn't deny Em. And it would look very strange if she was the only one not to have an ice cream so Tess rifled through her purse and paid as quickly as she could, snapping the clasp shut when she was midway through calculating what remained. Mary and Em derived much merriment swapping a lick of strawberry for a lick of vanilla and they chuckled and conversed as easily as if they were contemporaries.

‘He's gone again, has he?’ Laura asked Tess, aside. Tess nodded. ‘He didn't come by, you know, not this time. I don't know how, but she always knows when he's in town, does Mary. But he didn't come by this time, like.’

Tess felt compromised. She didn't want to consider that Joe might not be the dutiful son she'd like to earmark him as. But nor did she want to talk about Joe – she'd much rather ask about Kate. ‘He was very busy. I don't know when he's coming home. A week or so, I imagine.’ How to slip Kate in? Think of a way!

They licked their ice creams, both thoughtful for different reasons.

‘You been together long, then?’

‘Who?’

‘You and Joe?’

‘Me and Joe?’ The ice cream tasted suddenly more lovely.

‘You're an item, aren't you? Mary says you're Joe's girl.’

Tess knew she had a single chance, before confirming or denying this. ‘And Kate?’

‘Kate?’

‘Mary's mixing me up with Kate today.’

‘Don't worry about that, pet – she called me Hilary yesterday, if that helps.’ Only it didn't help Tess who wanted to know about Kate.

‘I'm just the housekeeper. Sitter.’

The women had not looked at each other during this exchange. But they did so now. And Laura gave Tess a canny smile, accompanied by a snort which said, who are you trying to kid, hen? And Tess gave a fleeting widening of her eyes which said, don't! you're making me blush!

‘You can start off as one thing and end as another,’ Laura said, ‘like our Aunt Win.’

Tess wondered what she meant but a slow wink from Laura suggested it was enough.

‘And Kate?’ Tess tried again. It sounded contrived, but at least it was out.

Only Mary had finished her ice cream. ‘That was lovely, thank you, Tess.’

Much as Tess still wanted to hear about Kate, it was nicer to hear Mary using her own name again. Tess decided to leave it. She remembered how her grandmother had warned against prying. It's like sunbathing, she used to say – easy enough not to know when you've had enough and suddenly you're burnt.

So, together with Laura, she linked arms with Mary and, three abreast with the pushchair zigzagging, they monopolized the pavement all the way back to Swallows.

‘Come by soon,’ Laura said.

‘I will,’ said Tess. She turned to Mary. ‘See you soon, Mary.’

‘Not if I see you first, Kate.’

This time, Tess was overtly disappointed that the answering machine remained empty on her return. This time she said out loud, why don't you phone me? Then, finding herself standing stock-still staring at nothing on her way to the kitchen, she told herself to get a bloody grip and just bloody phone him instead. She took the piece of paper off the calendar hook and scrutinized the number she knew by heart.

Phone him to say what?

When are you coming home?

Why haven't you called?

Who's Kate?

What basis, though, did she have for asking any of those questions? After all, she had nothing to go on, nothing concrete at all. All he'd done was drink wine and break bread with her, leave her a Mars Bar or two. All that had happened was that he'd come in close to tell her something when they were crossing the Tees, which she'd interpreted as feeling like the verge of a kiss. And all he'd actually said was that he'd hold her hand if she didn't like heights. That's what you say to a child, isn't it. Or to anyone who's afraid of something.

She put the piece of paper back. She couldn't phone him. She could only think about him. And she found she could think about only him. She was intending to take a mug from the dresser to make a cup of tea. Instead, the photo of Joe bare-chested, in shorts and his safety hat by the unidentified bridge, caught her eye. She took it and sat down at the table. Maybe it wasn't such a long time ago. Maybe that's how he looks when he has a suntan and a hard hat. She flipped it over. It was dated just over three years previously. Above the date, the initials K.L.

Tess slumped. She felt deflated, deluded and silly – a school-girl crush she'd let run riot. Still, she was defenceless against stampeding thoughts.

K.L.

Bloody fucking Kay Ell.

Who are you, K.L.? Kate L. Who are you? Are you still here? Is he there with you now?

How can I ever compete?

How can I ever compete?

There's nothing like the unexpected attention of others to provide a timely distraction. Tess soon took herself to task, telling herself she needed a life beyond sprucing up an old house, or taking a mangy old mutt for walks whilst waiting in torment for the master to return. So she went to the toddler group at the library that afternoon and sat herself down by Lisa to sing nursery rhymes, in a circle of friendly women, babes in their laps. A group was meeting at another toddler drop-in tomorrow and Tess said, yes, OK, I'll be there. Good. Then she went to the station and looked into trains to Middlesbrough, calculating the fare against what she estimated petrol would cost. She discovered there were free t'ai chi classes and salsa dancing here in town. T'ai chi sounded good. Very balancing. But what about Em? There was always Em to think about. Tess thought about this familiar stalemate as she pushed her daughter past the bandstand near home. After the company and the decibel level and the newness of the singalong, she was pleased to have the playground to herself but she really was glad about the mums’ group. It would be nice for Em. Not just for Em, for her too. Though she doubted whether her cheery little daughter ever felt remotely socially deprived, Tess had also been in the playground at busy times when she'd envied the other local mums their friendship. A wider circle would be good for them both.

A car horn beeping.

A car door closing.

‘Hey!’

Tess looked to the road. Wolf, nonplussed, remained sprawled across the pavement outside the playground. By his side was Seb, waving. ‘I recognized the dog,’ he called. ‘Haven't seen you in a while.’

‘I've been – busy,’ Tess called.

‘Do I need a child to come in?’ He looked theatrically up and down the street as if hoping to come across one.

Tess laughed. ‘You can share this one?’

And as Seb came through to the play area, all brawny and attractively slouchy with his nonchalant amble, his blond hair licked into flicks and kinks by too much sea water, his constant half-smile, the premature but attractive laughter lines from grinning at the sun too much while surfing; as he came towards her, Tess thought to herself, bugger Joe and his disappearing act and his secret mother and Kate Bloody El. Bugger the lot of them.

‘Haven't seen you around,’ Seb said with disconcertingly steady eye contact.

‘I've been around – perhaps you've been out on the waves.’

‘Surf's been awesome. When are you going to let me take you out there?’

‘Between you and me, Seb, you'd have more success asking me to jump out of a plane, than to surf. It's all right for you Aussies – it's in your genes.’

‘What is it with you and the water?’

‘It's not the water – it's the getting there.’

‘The sand?’

‘You could say.’

‘I didn't realize quicksand was an issue in the UK.’

‘Not quicksand!’

‘Rip tide? Sandflies? Broken glass?’ He paused. ‘Jellyfish? Dog shit?’

‘I just don't like beaches.’

‘Piggyback?’ Seb said. ‘From the prom, across the beach, straight out to sea. You're thin. I'm fit.’

‘Couldn't we just go for a coffee?’ Tess said, not quite sure whether that sounded like she was rebuffing his offer or proposing a date.

Seb looked at her. ‘You're on,’ he said. ‘How about now? It's teatime – excellent time for a cup of coffee.’

‘Weren't you on your way somewhere? Your car is pointing up the road.’

‘I was just cruising around, Tess, hoping to find someone to stand me a cup of coffee.’

‘You make yourself sound like a kerb-crawler.’

‘A coffee I'm happy to pay for,’ Seb said, ‘but not a blow-job.’

He said it so quickly it took a moment or two for Tess to register it and then he laughed at the gobsmack paralysing her face.

‘So what do you say, Tess – coffee? Now?’

She looked at him. And she looked at Em who was fidgeting in the swing and starting to gripe. She'd missed her nap in favour of the singsong. Wolf was still playing dead outside the playground. Tess looked down towards the coast, and then up inland. They were equidistant from the coffee shop and her kitchen. She tried to work out if he paid for the coffee would it be a date and would she be beholden to him? Or, if she offered to make it, would he read this as a come-on? And then she asked herself, would either be such a bad thing?

‘You could come back to the house?’

Seb's smile broadened until it was decidedly smirkish. ‘I'd love to – thanks.’

‘It'll have to be a quickie – I have loads to do.’

‘A quickie? I told you, I'm happy with a coffee – I'm not expecting sexual favours.’

‘I didn't mean –’

‘You're blushing.’

‘I mean –’

‘I know,’ he said, his smile now straight and kind.

‘I'm just up there – leave your car here, if you like. Wolf!’

The walk home took longer than usual on account of conversation impeding the pace, yet when it came to it, Tess felt uncomfortable unlocking the door and inviting Seb in. She wasn't sure how Seb would look in Joe's space. And what if the answering machine was flashing?

It was predictably empty of messages – but this too caused her momentary regret.

‘Jeez, this is a bit nice,’ Seb said and his awe made him seem young and rather gauche.

‘Glorious,’ Tess said, now wondering whether the café would have been a better option. ‘Go through to the kitchen. Can you give me a minute to settle Em in her cot?’

When she came down again, Seb was sitting at the table, his hands on his lap like a schoolboy. ‘I gave the dog some water.’

‘Thanks.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘I work here,’ Tess said before wondering why she'd been so quick to say so. ‘It's Joe Saunders's place.’ Why had she, in a single sentence, changed her home back into his house? Now she was taking the picture from the dresser and passing it to Seb. ‘His girlfriend Kate took it.’

Seb looked at the photo and wasn't sure what to say, really. He asked politely about Joe and was told he was an engineer who often worked abroad.

‘I'm the housekeeper.’

‘What a house to keep,’ Seb said. ‘What a place.’

‘Actually, I'm more of a house-sitter,’ she defined reluctantly.

‘How long are you here for?’

Tess shrugged. ‘I'm not sure, really. He said it's a long-term position. But it'll be for as long as he'll have me, I suppose.’ The notion of her impermanence, within this solid, steady house she'd so quickly called home, confronted her.

‘Show us around, then,’ Seb said.

But Tess realized she really didn't want to do that. Parameters hadn't crossed her mind until just then. A coffee was one thing. As was the gentle flirting. Ditto being on the seafront or in a playground with its public background noise. All of those were fine, manageable. But here in the kitchen, alone with a man, it was so quiet, so still – portentous almost. She could practically hear Seb think. And she thought he was probably thinking, wow, this chick has the whole place to herself.

He wasn't. He was thinking that Tess must be lonely up here on her own, cut off in such a lumbering great place; tied to it, what with the baby and the dog. And he really wanted to kiss her and he was wondering if she'd like that. And when might be a good time to try it. To suck it and see. She made a great cup of coffee and there'd been biscuits on a plate, plain digestives alternating with chocolate ones, displayed like petals.

She was returning the photo of her boss to the dresser. Seb sat as he was, watching her. He liked her bum. Her jeans were loose, sitting on hips; her waist was slim, shapely. He could already tell that she had cute tits. He pushed back his chair as she returned to the table and he pulled her right onto his lap, placing a hand quickly to her breast as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

Tess was too surprised to do anything. And it felt so good which surprised her even more. And because it felt so good, she didn't do nothing for much longer – soon enough she was kissing Seb back.

But she didn't conjure Joe.

Nor did she think Seb Seb Seb.

She was preoccupied with the sensation of being desired, of being kissed and fondled again after so long.

With increasing enthusiasm, she responded to the welling lust to kiss back, to feel and fondle a male form. It was a feeling she remembered vividly but one that she'd tucked to the back of her mind like a holiday she knew she could not afford. Now it was at the forefront and it flowed through her blood to all the zones she'd cauterized since Dick. Since Em. The seam of her jeans was up against her crotch. Her crotch was against his thigh. Subconsciously, she was already rocking her pelvis.

I could have sex with him, right now, Postman Always Rings Twice style, on this kitchen table. I could strip off my top. I could unbutton his trousers and give him that blow-job. My hands are everywhere. And so are his.

It was the silent, searching look of the dog which stopped her. When she opened her eyes to sneak a look at Seb, she found her focus alighting on Wolf instead. He was sitting, head cocked, as if to say, what are you doing? Why are you doing that with him? Why can't you just wait and see?

‘Can I have your number?’

‘I don't have a mobile.’

‘A number for the house?’

‘It's not my phone.’

‘Can I see you again, Tess – without the need for coffee?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Are you playing hard to get?’

‘No. I don't do games. My life is – complicated. My baby.’

‘Perhaps I can swing by here, then? One evening? Bring fish and chips and a DVD?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Look, here's my number. You call me.’ And Seb slipped a piece of paper over the calendar hook so it obliterated Joe's number entirely. ‘I'm away for a week but please call me when I'm back. You're cute. I really like you. It would be fun. It could be good. We're foreigners in a strange land – we should get it together, babe.’