Читать книгу Forget Me Not - Isabel Wolff - Страница 10

TWO

As I eased the car into the usual space outside my house, I thought of the lovely autumn I’d spent with Xan. It was a time of liquid sunshine and lengthening shadows, somehow suited to the intense sadness I felt about my mother, but also the near euphoria at being with him.

‘It’s thanks to you,’ I’d said to Sue over the phone. ‘If you hadn’t persuaded me to come with you that night, I’d never have met him. You were my fairy godmother!’

‘I’m delighted to have been,’ she replied. ‘He’s good- looking, he’s clever and it’ll be great for you to have some romance in your life after so much sadness. But it’s early days,’ she cautioned. ‘So don’t fall for him too hard, will you?’

‘Of course I won’t.’

But I already had.

Xan and I got into a pattern, early on, of meeting at least twice during the week, to see a film or play, or we’d just hang out together, either at my place, or at his flat in Stanley Square. It was full of exotica from his nomadic childhood: a suit of antique armour from Japan; colourful textiles from Guatemala and Sumatra; a piece of delicate fan coral that he’d picked in Belize.

‘I feel bad about it,’ he said, ‘but that was thirty years ago and no one gave much thought to conservation then.’

There were a lot of travel books and an antique globe that his parents had given him for his eighteenth birthday. They’d retired years before and lived in Spain.

‘They lived abroad for so long they couldn’t settle here,’ Xan said as we strolled through the communal gardens at the back of his flat a week or so after we’d met. The leaves were beginning to turn bronze in the mid-September sunshine. ‘My sister Emma’s the same. She teaches English in Prague. And what about your siblings? Tell me more about them.’

‘Well … Mark’s an eye surgeon – as I told you. We used to be close …’ I felt a wave of sadness. ‘But he’s distanced himself from us all over the past year or so.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because … he had this awful row with my parents – over his new girlfriend.’

‘What was the problem?’

‘They just thought she was completely … wrong. He’d only known her a month but I knew how excited he was about her, because he rang me to tell me that he’d met someone really special. So I asked him about her, and I must say it didn’t sound that great because he said she was eight years older – forty-one – divorced with two teenagers. But Mark said that he just felt this incredible affinity for her. He said he didn’t care about her age, or even the fact that she didn’t want more kids. He said he just knew that he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life.’

‘What did she do?’

‘She’s an actress.’

‘Is she well known?’

‘I don’t think so – her name’s Carol Gowing.’ Xan shrugged. ‘I’d never heard of her,’ I went on, ‘though I’ve since spotted her on TV a couple of times – usually in small parts on things like Holby City or The Bill. Then in April I saw a photo of her in Hello!. She was at the BAFTAs with her brother, who’s an artist, and her father, Sir John Gowing, who owns Northern TV – he was up for some lifetime achievement award. The article underneath said that Carol had been successful in her twenties but that her star had faded. But she’s certainly beautiful and Mark was smitten.’

‘So he brought her home to meet your folks …’

‘No – it was still too early for that. But he took her to Glyndebourne for her birthday, and by chance my parents were there too that night and they bumped into each other as they came out for the long interval. So they had their picnics together, and apparently Mum and Dad just … loathed her on sight.’

‘Because of the age gap?’

‘I guess so. Plus Carol let slip that she didn’t want any more children, so I can understand Mum feeling disappointed, but on the other hand …’ My voice trailed away.

‘It was Mark’s life.’

I heaved a sigh. ‘Yes. My mother was wonderful in many ways but …’ I felt a stab of disloyalty. ‘She could be … interfering. In a benign way,’ I added guiltily. ‘She only ever meant well. She believed she knew what was best for her children – long after we’d all grown up. She didn’t seem to accept that we had to make our own mistakes.’ I thought of all the advice she’d given me. ‘The next day Mum went to see Mark at his flat in Fulham and apparently there was this dreadful scene, in which she told him point blank not to get involved with Carol. I don’t know the details because Mark wouldn’t discuss it; but shortly after that they split up. Perhaps Carol wasn’t that keen on him anyway – I’ll never know – but I’m sure my mother’s coldness would have put her off.’ I suddenly wondered whether, if and when I met Xan’s family, his mum would take against me. ‘Mark blamed my parents,’ I continued, ‘especially Mum. He was so angry with her – he said he’d never talk to her again – and after that he became distant with us all. The next thing we knew, he’d got a job at a hospital in San Francisco.’

‘And does he come home?’

I felt a pang of regret. ‘No. He came for Mum’s funeral, of course, but he only stayed one night. He looked so … terrible. His face was a mask. But he must have felt even worse than we all did, because of the rift he’d had with her.’

There was a rustle overhead as two squirrels chased each other along a branch, then suddenly turned and faced each other, backs arched, their tails aquiver.

‘Have you been over to see him?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think he’d want me to go. In fact, he barely communicates with us now – apart from the odd e-mail, or dutiful birthday card. I’ve tried e-mailing him, telling him how sad I feel, and asking him to keep in touch, but so far I’ve had a cold response. It’s as though he’s punishing us all.’

‘That seems unfair.’

‘I talked to my dad about it but he just looked sad and said that he thought Mark was “finding himself”. Then he added, very regretfully, that he thought he and Mum had handled things “terribly badly”.’

There was more rustling from above, as a conker fell through the leaves, landed with a light thud and bounced away, the impact splitting its spiny green shell.

‘And what about Cassie?’ I heard Xan say, as I stooped to pick it up. ‘Is she like you?’

I prised the chestnut out of its soft white casing, admiring its mahogany perfection. ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Not at all. She’s the physical opposite – short, curvy and very dark – you’d think she was Spanish or Italian.’

‘Whereas you could be … Icelandic. Your skin’s so pale, I can see the veins at your temple; and your hair …’ He tucked a lock behind my ear. ‘It’s so blonde it’s almost white.’

‘Mark’s very fair too, as was Dad when he was younger. Cassie’s a bit like my mum, but bears no resemblance to the rest of us, in looks or personality.’

‘What does she do?’

‘That’s a moot point – not much; or rather she does lots of things, but none of it adds up to anything.’ We sat down on the wooden bench that encircled the base of the tree like an anklet. ‘She mostly temps – flitting from job to job. She’s twenty-six now so I try to persuade her to have some sort of career plan. But she just spouts that bit in the Bible about the lilies of the field and about how they toil not neither do they spin.’

‘Is she religious?’

‘Cassie?’ I snorted. ‘Not in the least. She’s also worked as a lingerie model – my parents never found out about it, luckily – and then as a croupier; they were horrified, but she said the money was great. She’s forever short of cash.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because she’s always lived beyond her means. She rents a flat in Chelsea – it’s very small but it costs a fortune. I said she should try and buy somewhere in a cheaper area but she won’t compromise on postcode; plus she has very expensive tastes – designer clothes, luxury holidays, smart restaurants – things that I, on my City salary, would have hesitated over, Cassie just goes for.’

‘So she’s a hedonist, then.’

‘Completely – and she’s got this old MG that’s continually breaking down. She’s always running to Dad to pay her garage bills.’

‘Does he mind?’

‘He doesn’t seem to. He’s always indulged her – all her life.’ I felt the familiar stab of resentment. ‘Almost as though he were trying to compensate her for something,’ I suddenly added, although I’d never had this thought before.

Xan stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. I stared at his pale suede desert boots.

‘And how’s your dad been coping since your mother died?’ I heard him ask.

I heaved a deep sigh. ‘Not well.’

I went down to the house every weekend. Dad didn’t talk much, so we’d watch TV and do practical things – the shopping and gardening, his washing and ironing. He stopped listening to music because it made him cry. He’d left all Mum’s things just as they were. It had taken him three weeks to wash the wineglass she’d been using. It still had her pink lipstick marks.

I couldn’t console Dad, any more than he could console me – but I did my best to distract him. I’d encourage him to ring his friends, or go to the golf club.

‘Not yet,’ he’d say quietly. ‘I just … can’t.’

During the week I’d spend my free time with Xan. I’d wake in his arms, feeling excited but at the same time intensely comfortable. It was as though we’d known each other years before, but had recently met again and were keen to resume the relationship. Yet the truth was I hadn’t known him that long.

How long? I wondered one morning in late October as I sat in one of my horticulture lectures. The tutor was asking us to devise a planting plan for dry, shady conditions. Anemone japonica, I wrote down and Helleborus argutifolius. Acanthus mollis thrives in shade, as does Pulmonaria – that does wonderfully in dark corners and the dappled leaves are still pretty when the flowers have faded. It was a month since I’d met Xan. I looked out into the garden below, admiring the Indian bean tree beneath the window. No, I realised, it was more. We’d met on Friday the tenth of September so that was – I discreetly glanced at my diary – nearly seven weeks. I flicked back through my diary again, then forward, then a little further back. And now I saw that there was a red ring round a date in late August.

A sudden jolt ran the length of my spine …

I’d been late before, I told myself as I walked briskly up Flood Street on to the King’s Road at lunchtime. My cycle had probably changed due to stress. Shock can do that, I reflected as I went into the chemist’s. I looked at the range of tests.

‘We’ve got these on 3 for 2 if you’re interested,’ the pharmacist said benignly.

‘Erm … no thanks,’ I replied as I paid. One would be more than enough, I thought as I half walked, half ran back to the Physic Garden, my heart pounding.

I wasn’t pregnant, I told myself as I peed on the stick. If I were I’d know, because you’re supposed to get symptoms pretty early on, aren’t you? I tried to remember what they were. Nausea, obviously. When did that start? Wasn’t the taste of metal said to be an early sign? I slotted the stick back into the cartridge to await the result, which would take two minutes. I flushed the loo, then washed my hands. And wasn’t a bloated feeling a giveaway? I wondered as I yanked down the towel. Well, I didn’t feel bloated. Another minute to go. Engorged breasts? A perfunctory feel suggested nothing out of the ordinary. Twenty seconds now … Did I look pregnant? I peered into the mirror. No. Right then … Holding my breath, as though about to dive underwater, I picked up the test …

It was as though I’d stepped into a crevasse.

A blue cross in the second window means that you are pregnant.

I stared at the blue cross in mine – so strong it seemed almost to pulsate. With trembling hands I retrieved the carton from the paper bag and reread the blurb. Then I sank on to a chair and closed my eyes. Now I suddenly remembered what I’d said to Xan the night we met: I’m about to start a new life …

Xan … I’ve got something to tell you …

I couldn’t tell him something so huge over the phone. But he was filming in Glasgow and was then going to Spain to see his parents, so I wouldn’t get to see him for five days.

In the interim I tried to imagine his reaction. He’d be shocked. Not least because he’d said no pressure. I laughed darkly. No pressure? So, no – he was hardly going to be overjoyed. But if he could just be accepting – however grudgingly – that would be more than enough.

But what would I do about my course? I’d wonder, and my new career. The anxiety would make me feel sick. Then my mood would lift and I’d be entertaining a pleasant fantasy in which Xan was putting his arms round me and telling me that although, yes, it was rather soon, it would all be fine and we’d buy a house together a bit further out, with a nice big garden. And I was mentally landscaping said garden with a glorious play area complete with swing and slide, and a tree house – yes, a really great tree house – when the phone rang. My heart surged.

‘Anna …?’

‘Xan …’ I sank on to the chair with relief.

‘I’m back and, well …’ He sounded tired but then he’d been travelling.

‘I missed you, Xan.’

‘I missed you too,’ he said, with a kind of surprised sadness. ‘But … look … I need to see you. Can I come over?’

‘Yes… Yes, I’ll cook. Come at eight.’

He arrived at half past, carrying a huge bunch of pink roses. He kissed me on the cheek, which struck me as oddly formal. He seemed remote, but I put it down to fatigue.

‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,’ he said, almost regretfully, as we ate our risotto.

I looked at his plate. ‘But you’ve eaten so little.’

‘Yes …’ he said distractedly. ‘So have you.’

‘Well … that’s because …’ Adrenalin burned through my veins. ‘Xan …’ I put down my fork. ‘There’s something I have to tell you …’

So I did.

Xan froze, as though someone had poured liquid nitrogen over him. In the ensuing silence all I could hear was the hum of my computer.

‘You’re pregnant?’ he whispered. ‘But how?’

‘Well …’ I shrugged. ‘In the … conventional way.’

‘But …’ He was shaking his head. ‘We’ve been so careful.’

‘Not the first time. We weren’t careful then.’ I remembered rummaging in my bedside table, mid-passion, for a stray condom that had been at the back of the drawer for ages.

‘The first time?’

‘I think that’s when it happened. In fact, I’m sure.’

Xan had gone white. ‘Oh. God …’ He was blinking at me uncomprehendingly. ‘Are you saying you got pregnant the night we met?’ He emitted a burst of mirthless laughter. ‘But – we’d known each other two hours!’

‘Yes …’ I nodded nervously. ‘I suppose we had.’

‘So that was …?’

‘Seven weeks ago.’

‘Seven weeks?’

‘That fits with what my GP said. And I had an early scan on Monday. I don’t think there’s much doubt. They date it from two weeks before, which means I’m actually nine weeks.’

Xan’s grey-blue eyes were staring wildly. ‘But … this is … terrible.’ My heart plummeted. ‘It couldn’t be worse.’

‘Well, actually, Xan, it could be – it really could,’ I stuttered, taken aback by his hostility. ‘Because, OK, it’s very serious – I’m not denying that for a minute – but far worse things happen every day, don’t they, really terrible things that people can never get over, like what happened to my mother for example, there’s no getting over that. But with this at least … at least no one’s … dead, are they?’

‘No,’ Xan said grimly. ‘But someone’s alive!’ He got up and walked over to the window. ‘Oh Jesus, Anna …’ He turned and stared at me, his smoke-blue eyes blazing with wounded fury.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I … understand that you’re … shocked. I was incredibly shocked myself.’

‘Were you?’ He was staring at me with naked scepticism.

‘Yes. I was! I didn’t do it deliberately if that’s what you mean! But’ – I lowered my voice, anxious to keep the conversation as calm as possible – ‘I’ve had five days to think about it all and I believe it’ll be OK. I really do.’

‘No, it won’t! It’ll be a disaster!’

I was taken aback by his vehemence but tried to stay calm. ‘Look, Xan, I’ve thought it all through and of course I don’t expect you to marry me or even live with me if you don’t want to.’

‘Well, that’s big of you,’ he said bitterly. ‘Because I can tell you right now I’m not going to be doing either!’

I felt a stab to the stomach. ‘All right,’ I breathed. ‘If that’s how you feel.’

He threw up his hands. ‘Of course it’s how I feel – I’ve known you for less than two months! And how do I even know that it’s mine?’ At that I felt a pain in my chest, as though Xan had physically injured me. ‘You say it happened the night we met. But how do I know that you hadn’t thrown yourself at some other poor sod the day before?’

I stood up. ‘There’s no need to insult me. Of course it’s yours.’

‘How the hell do I know?’

‘Because for one thing I wouldn’t lie about it.’

‘Why not?’ he spat. ‘Plenty of women do!’

‘And for another I hadn’t slept with anyone for six months before I met you. But we’ll do a DNA test if you don’t believe me.’

Something in Xan’s softening expression told me that he did. He dropped on to the sofa, his head sinking into both hands. I heard him inhale deeply, as if trying to steady himself.

‘An iceberg,’ I heard him murmur. ‘I said you looked like an iceberg, Anna, the night we met. And I wish I’d been more wary. Because now I’ve been holed by you and this will sink me.’ I heard him emit a low groan.

I came and sat on the chair near to him. ‘Please don’t be like this, Xan,’ I tried again, my voice catching. ‘There’s no need. We’re both in our thirties, we both have resources and I repeat that you don’t have to make any kind of commitment to me. But the reason why I feel reasonably optimistic about the situation – although I agree it’s not ideal and I’ve been sick with worry myself – is because we live so near to each other and …’

‘Anna …’ he interjected wearily.

‘Please let me finish – and that’s the key thing, that you’ll be close.’

‘But …’

‘As for the responsibility,’ I went on, ‘I won’t expect you to go halves with me on that, or even on the money. I’ve always been independent and that won’t change. All I’d want …’ My throat was aching now. ‘All I’d want’, I tried again, ‘is for you just to be there. To play some part, however small. To be a father …’ I felt my eyes fill. ‘Even if our relationship ends, which, judging by your very angry reaction I think it might …’ I pressed my left sleeve to my eyes. ‘You only have to be there.’

‘But I can’t be,’ I heard Xan say. I looked at him. He seemed stricken now, rather than hostile. ‘That’s the whole problem.’

I stared at him non-comprehendingly. ‘Of course you can. We live less than two miles apart.’

‘Yes,’ he said. Hope rose in my chest. ‘We do now. But as of next week … we won’t.’

I stared at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

Xan heaved a profound sigh. It seemed to come from his very depths. ‘I’ve got a job, Anna. That’s what I was steeling myself to tell you this evening.’

‘You’ve got a job? Oh. But that’s … great.’ I stared at him. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Not in every way.’ He sighed. ‘No. Because this particular job means I’ll be leaving London. In fact,’ he added quietly, ‘I’ll be leaving the UK.’

I suddenly felt as though I was slithering down an icy incline. ‘You’ll be leaving the UK?’ I repeated. ‘But why?’

‘Because I’m going to be a foreign correspondent.’

‘A foreign correspondent?’ I echoed blankly. ‘Where?’

Paris? I wondered in the two seconds before the axe fell. Or Rome? Rome’s not that far. We could have weekends together if he went to Rome. Madrid would be OK too – or Frankfurt for that matter.

‘Indonesia,’ I heard him say.

From outside I caught the distant wail of a police siren.

‘Indonesia? Oh. But that’s … far.’

‘Yes. It’s very far, Anna. I’m sorry.’

‘But … Indonesia’s nearly Australia.’

‘Yes. And that’s why I won’t be there for you – if you go through with this.’

If you go through with this …

I stared at Xan. ‘For how long?’

‘Two years.’ He sighed. ‘Renewable. Or what’s more likely is that I’ll be posted somewhere else after that.’

‘And when do you go?’

‘Next Thursday. They’re arranging my work permit now.’

‘But … you didn’t tell me you were applying for jobs overseas.’

He shook his head. ‘Because I wasn’t. This has come completely out of the blue. The guy who was due to go has had to pull out because of family difficulties. They needed to fill the post quickly, preferably with someone who knows the region well – and they knew that I do. I lived there when I was a teenager – my parents had a posting in Jakarta; and I did business there when I was based in Hong Kong.’

‘Oh,’ I said faintly. ‘I see.’ I went over to the table, picked up our plates and carried them into the kitchen.

‘And I told you, Anna – I’m a nomad. I could easily live abroad.’

I banged down a bowl on the worktop. ‘But I want you to live here. Near me. I’m going to need you, Xan. We’re going to need you.’ Tears were streaming down my cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he groaned. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Say you can’t take it,’ I wept. ‘Tell them your circumstances have changed. Tell them you’ve got “family difficulties”!’ I sank on to the chair.

‘But it’s agreed – and the point is I want to go.’

I pressed a napkin to my eyes. ‘You came here tonight to break up with me,’ I whispered. Xan looked out of the window. ‘That’s why you brought me the flowers.’

‘I’m … sorry, Anna, but don’t you see? I’m lucky to have got this – it’s a fantastic break. But yes, I knew it would spell the end for us, so I’d been bracing myself to tell you because I really like you and I felt sad at the thought of not being with you, but now … this …?’ He was shaking his head. ‘Please, Anna,’ he said. ‘Please don’t do it. We’ve been together for less than two months. It’s not long enough.’

‘It is for me!’ I shouted. My hands sprang to my face. ‘It’s more than long enough for me to have fallen in love with you!’

Xan emitted a frustrated sigh.

It was more than long enough for my parents too, I reflected. The same thing happened to them, in much less liberal times, but my dad had just done the right thing.

‘Let me come too,’ I croaked. And in the split second before Xan replied, I saw myself rocking a wickerwork cradle on a veranda, on a hot, humid night, beneath a slowly rotating fan.

‘No,’ I heard him say softly. ‘It’s out of the question.’

I stared at a tiny mark on the carpet. ‘Yes,’ I whispered after a moment. ‘You’re right.’ I’d only just started my course and my father needed me – I couldn’t abandon him now. I looked at Xan. ‘I can’t possibly go. Even if you wanted me to, which you probably wouldn’t.’

‘Anna – we haven’t been seeing each other long enough to make any plans – let alone have a child together. A child?’ he repeated. ‘Jesus Christ!’

I thought of my parents’ wedding photo – my mother’s conspicuously large bouquet of red roses not quite concealing her burgeoning bump.

‘And what if you weren’t going abroad?’ I asked. ‘How would you feel about it then? If you were staying here?’

Xan looked at me. ‘Exactly the same.’

‘Oh,’ I said quietly. ‘I see.’ I stared at the carpet again, scrutinising the little mark. I now saw that it was shaped like an aeroplane.

‘Don’t do this, Anna,’ I heard Xan say. ‘You’ll wreck both our lives – and the child’s …’ – he seemed unable to say the word ‘baby’. ‘It’s so unfair on it, not having a father from the start. Children have the right to be born into a stable family unit, with two parents to love them.’ I stared at him. ‘Please, Anna. Don’t. I do want children one day, but I want to be a father to them – not some absent stranger.’ His eyes were shining with tears. ‘It’s still early days and you have a choice. Please, Anna, don’t do this. Please …’ he repeated quietly.

I stared at Xan, too shattered to reply. Then he picked up his bag and walked out of the house, closing the front door with a definitive click.