Читать книгу The Age of Misadventure - Judy Leigh - Страница 10

On Tuesday morning, our first customer arrives in reception just before nine o’clock. It’s Sue McAllister – freckled, forty, tall, always smiling – for her leg wax. Amanda breezes in and asks if she’ll follow her to the treatment room. I sign the first customer in the appointments book and hear the front door open and close. A young woman in a bright green ski jacket and leggings stands in front of me, carrying a green sports bag.

I hold out a hand. ‘I’m Georgie Turner. Can I help?’

She has a charming American accent.

‘Good morning. I have an appointment with Jade Wood. Personal training. Nine o’clock.’

I scratch my head: Jade’s not back from her weekend in Brighton yet. I texted last night as I thought she’d be home that evening and received the curt reply: Don’t fuss, Mum – back first thing. I smile at the American woman. She has long fair hair in a loose plait that loops over her shoulder. She’s in her late twenties, a smooth face, pale and earnest. I check the appointment book.

‘Heather Barrett?’

She nods.

‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee?’

The woman looks alarmed. ‘I never drink coffee. Perhaps a glass of water.’

I move over to the water dispenser and fill a cardboard cup. The young woman takes it from me, frowns and sips. I glance at the clock: 9.05. My first appointment is 9.15, an aromatherapy facial. I smile at the American woman and I’m just about to make some vague excuse, when the door clicks opens and Jade’s standing in reception, grinning, glossy hair, dark sunglasses, a cream-coloured wool coat over her workout gear.

‘Sorry I’m late. It’s Heather, isn’t it? Shall we go straight down to the gym?’

Jade turns to go, whips off the sunglasses and winks in my direction. I know she’s had a good weekend. I beam back and mime drinking a cup of coffee. She nods and mouths, ‘Later.’ I breathe out relief.

We’re busy all day, ships passing. I have an appointment with a bride-to-be and her mother, planning make-up for two hours, then I pop over to Nanny Basham’s for an hour while Jade and Amanda have lunch separately. It’s almost six o’clock by the time we lock eyes again.

‘Shall we have a cuppa?’ I wave a mug hopefully.

‘Sorry, Georgie, love. Rhys has a dose of man flu and he’s working the late shift. I want to see him off.’

Amanda shrugs on a heavy green coat and, when she leaves, a chill breeze weaves through the door, cooling the warmth of the reception area. I turn to Jade, who’s in a Lycra crop top and leggings and looks exhausted. We lock the door and go upstairs to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and inspect a couple of potatoes to bake, making an effort to keep my voice light.

‘Nice weekend, Jade?’

She rolls her eyes, grins and nods.

‘He’s a talented lad, your Luis Delgado.’

She jerks her head and I think she’s about to come back with a cutting reply, but her face breaks into a smile.

‘He is.’

‘He was on TV at Nanny’s. He scored a great goal. And he blew you a kiss.’

‘Did you see it, Mum?’

I nod. ‘You were on telly, in the crowd.’

Her face has taken on a dreamy look.

‘I’m going up again on Thursday night. I’ve only one appointment on Friday so I’ll move it. He has a big game this weekend. It’ll be lovely.’

I chew my lip and hold back all the comments about love in haste, regret at leisure, and I ask, ‘Does he have a place in London?’

‘No, I told you, Mum. Didn’t you listen? He has a beautiful flat overlooking the sea in a little village outside Brighton. He and his friend, Roque, live on different floors. The view’s spectacular. Two bedrooms, en suite: Luis has sauna facilities. He has a driver, too, for when he and Roque don’t want to use their cars or the train. It’s in his contract. We don’t need to go out, really. But there’s so much to do in Brighton, which isn’t far away, and we’re only a couple of hours from London. It’s perfect.’

‘You’ll soon want to move down there, then?’

She shoots me a guilty look. ‘He’s special, Mum. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

I move the conversation forwards. ‘How do you get on with the language? Is his English good?’

‘Not bad. Much better than my Spanish. And we have the language of love.’

I sigh and stick a skewer through the jacket potatoes, throw them into the oven. I shift my position to stand opposite Jade, lean against the worktop and decide I should speak frankly to her, tell her to be careful and not get hurt. I pull a bag of salad leaves apart and take a breath.

‘It must be very glamorous, being a footballer’s girlfriend.’

She pulls a face. ‘He’s my boyfriend first, Mum. Luis won’t be a footballer forever but we plan on being together—’

‘Jade, this is all very sudden.’

‘It’s called love, Mum.’

‘But you’re young and carried away by the passion, the excitement …’

‘That’s what love is.’

‘No, it’s hard work and communication and coping with the tough times.’

‘You’re just talking about you and Dad. Luis and I are different.’

‘That’s what everyone says, but it always ends in the divorce courts.’

‘Don’t you dare, Mum. Dad says you were the one who wouldn’t communicate.’

‘What?’ I hold up the knife I’ve just chopped tomatoes with. ‘He said that?’

‘He said you were bad-tempered and cold – you shut him out.’

‘So he sought love elsewhere?’ Tears spring to my eyes. Of course, it’s because of the onions I’m hacking to pieces.

‘He was lonely.’

I sweep the salad into a bowl and shake it like it’s Terry’s neck. I squeeze mayonnaise on top, like I’m throttling his wife, Alison’s, throat. I wonder why I’m still bothered. It was years ago.

‘Well, I’m just saying, Jade, be careful. Take your time.’

‘Like you’re doing? No relationships at all since Dad? You’re cynical, Mum, and you’re unhappy, so you just don’t want anyone else to be happy.’

My teeth snap together. She’s right. Over the last few years, there’s been no one. I hurl the empty mayonnaise bottle towards the bin. It skims the metal top and clatters on the floor. I know I should say nothing but the words bubble out.

‘Well, don’t come to me, Jade, when you’re broken-hearted and—’

I realise I’ve gone too far. Jade’s staring, her mouth open.

‘Mum. Don’t you want me to be happy?’

I rush over and hug her. She holds her arms out away from me, as if I smell. I sigh.

‘Of course I want you to be happy, Jade. I’m sorry, love. I’m being too protective, aren’t I?’ I feel her nod. ‘Sorry. I’ll start again.’ I move away, go over to the cupboard and pull out a bottle of red wine. ‘Shall we break our no-alcohol-in-the-week rule and crack a bottle open? Toast you and Luis. To love and good times?’

She pulls a face, raises her arms, stretches lean limbs, and for a moment she looks just like Terry.

‘Okay. We need a bit of bonding time, don’t we? But, trust me, Mum. I know what I’m doing. And when you meet Luis, I know you’ll love him.’

I pour wine into two glasses and the soft liquid glug is calming me already.

‘I’m sure I will,’ I tell her, raising the glass and swallowing a huge gulp of Merlot.

The following week flies by. Jade returns on Tuesday, deals with a dozen clients midweek and on Thursday, she’s back on the train to Brighton. On Friday morning, Nanny Basham has an early doctor’s appointment for her heart check-up, so I drive her to the surgery, where she manages to upset the receptionist and antagonise a woman with a fretful baby. I apologise to everyone in the waiting room, and she nags all the way home about the slack state of modern parenting and how the child only needed a comforter to stop it screaming. I nod and concentrate on the road. Nan and Uncle Wilf never had children.

Then we’re busy all day, hardly a moment to stop for breath. Amanda leaves at six, excited about a romantic evening she has planned, and when I go to lock up at seven o’clock, I notice a hunched shape sitting on my front step. Bonnie looks up, her face in shadow, and I open the door and propel her inside. She’s quaking with cold, huddled against her handbag. I shut the front door behind us.

‘Bonnie, what’s the matter? What’s Adie done now?’

She’s shaking. Her eyes leak and her make-up is smudged; the blusher shines livid against the pallor of her face, but the worst thing is the haunted expression in her eyes.

‘He was out until three last night. He said he was at a meeting but he smelled of perfume. I asked him if he’d been with someone else and he said no, but when I kept on nagging him, he said it was just some random woman at a business party and it didn’t matter. He said I shouldn’t make a big deal of it …’

I hug her. ‘Well done for walking out, Bonnie. You’re staying here with me now. How did you get here?’

‘I got a taxi.’

‘From Frodsham?’

‘He has my car keys. He told me I couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t let me.’

An engine roars and Adie’s car turns into the drive. There’s hardly room for him to park next to my X5, so he leaves his Porsche at a diagonal and throws the door open, marching towards us, his head down like a bull, his bald spot shining pink.

Bonnie hides behind me and he moves towards her but I bar his way.

‘No, Adie.’

It crosses my mind he could simply push me to one side and I’ve no idea why I’m standing between my cowering sister and her tall, smug husband. I put my hands on my hips, lean forwards and impersonate an orangutan. The Alpha female.

‘We can go inside to talk, but I’m telling you now, if you make a scene, I’ll call the police. We do this my way or not at all.’

The blood drains from his face and I breathe out slowly. He nods. His hand clutches a mobile phone. His knuckles are white. He looks at Bonnie.

‘Are you all right, love?’

She nods. I fumble for my keys and stare at him, then her.

‘She’s obviously not all right, Adie. You’ve cheated on her. It’s not acceptable …’ I shake my head. Not acceptable? It’s worse than that.

‘Bonnie, I’ve been so worried. I mean, all this fuss over a silly woman. It was nothing, I swear …’

He ignores me, standing with my hands on my hips, and rushes over to Bonnie, wrapping his arms around her. His fingers move to her wrist, over the gold charms on her bracelet, and back to her face. His shoulders are hunched and I can see the tension in his spine through his coat. Bonnie stands stiffly, gripping her handbag, her eyes reflecting her misery.

‘Come in, both of you.’ I sound like an ancient schoolmistress. ‘We have some things to talk about, don’t we?’

In the kitchen, we sit down. Adie takes off his coat, puts his phone next to him on the table and scans the screen, head bent. I make coffee. Bonnie sips from a mug, inhaling steam; she looks washed-out. I hand her a tissue and begin the conversation.

‘Right, Adie. What’s going on? It’d better be good.’

I bite my lip and stifle a smile. I could be a United Nations special envoy. But this is serious. Adie wipes his face with his hands. His brow furrows, sweat lodged in the deep seams.

‘Bonnie, I’m so sorry.’

I thump the table with my fist. ‘I’m sure you are, Adie. But it’s not the first time you’ve played away, is it?’

Bonnie looks from his face to mine and her expression is blank. He focuses on me.

‘I love her, Georgie. Other women don’t matter. I can’t be without her.’

I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. ‘How much did you love her when you had your arm round another woman last night?’ I notice Bonnie’s eyes start to fill up again.

He sighs. ‘There are some things happening in my life right now – things I can’t talk about.’

‘Philandering is not one of them.’ I sip coffee. ‘You have a lot of explaining to do. You won’t cheat on her again, Adie. I promise you that.’

He turns a glare on me and his eyes are bitter. ‘You’re just angry because Terry cheated on you. You don’t understand.’

I lean forwards and keep my gaze straight, my eyes boring into his. ‘Try me.’

He turns a tender gaze on Bonnie, reaches out and puts his hand over hers. Her face softens. He takes a deep breath.

‘I’m a businessman, Georgie. I make a lot of money so I can keep my wife in a plush house. We have nice things. But sometimes I have to take risks and—’

‘What does that have to do with other women?’ My voice booms like a politician, retaliating during Question Time. I’m taking no prisoners.

Bonnie’s holding his hand. He brings it to his lips. Suddenly, I’m terrified he’s winning her round.

‘It was a business party. There were all sorts of women there, you know. I had to fit in: it would have been rude not to. It’s all a bit difficult at the moment. I’m having some temporary cash flow problems. A client of mine is pressing for a deadline and I didn’t want to say no to hospitality and offend him. It’ll take me a week to sort out the funds but then it’ll be fine. It was just the once, a woman I’ll never see again. I don’t even remember her name.’

I face him, square on. ‘Bonnie’s your wife, Adie. You can’t just go with other women and pretend it doesn’t matter. It’s disrespectful to everyone. And it’s not the first time. Why do you think she left you just before Demi’s wedding?’

Bonnie winces but she’s still gazing at Adie. I look from her to his face – he’s staring at her, all apologies, pretending to be sorry, and her lip trembles as she whispers his name. Love is blind. And stupid.

He puts a thumb to her cheek, brushes the skin as if it’s delicate silk and sighs. ‘Bonnie, please forgive me. I’ll never look at another woman again. I promise.’

She sniffs and a tear rolls down her face, then another. He has her where he wants her.

He takes her face in his hands. ‘Let’s go away, you and me. Let’s take a long trip. Goa, Sri Lanka. Let’s go tomorrow, stay for three months. Georgie can keep an eye on things.’

I snort loudly. He doesn’t notice.

‘A second honeymoon. Just think – we could renew our vows. We could stay as long as we like. Away from this awful place. Just you and me. What do you say, Bonnie?’ He pauses and then goes in for the killer persuader line. ‘Bon-Bon?’

I open my eyes wide. Bon-Bon? The chair scrapes and Bonnie staggers to her feet, snuffles and runs away. I hear her gasp and sob.

Adie glances at me, his face full of loathing, and then he chases her down the steps to the reception level below.

I rub my hands across my face and through my hair. I long for a shower, a piece of toast. I squint at the clock. It’s half nine. I wonder if she’ll leave with him. I hope not. I remind myself that on Sunday I’ll go to Nanny Basham’s to make her lunch. Bonnie could stay here and we could go together.

Below, I can hear Adie’s voice talking, lilting with emphasis. There’s a brief pause, a soft whisper, so I assume she’s sobbing and then he starts again, all syrup and persuasion. I try to ignore them, breathe deeply, but instead I pick up a paper napkin and shred it between my fingers into a hundred pieces.

His phone is across the table. I glance towards where Bonnie and Adie have gone downstairs. There’s no one around, so I reach for it and flick it open. I know I shouldn’t, but I wonder how many other women he’s in contact with: his phone could have evidence of his philandering.

I check his most recent phone call – there are no details of a number, but he’s spoken to the same unidentified caller three times today and five times yesterday. I look back through his other calls. He’s tried to phone Bonnie a dozen times, more. Then I notice he has an unopened text, and I press the button and catch my breath. There it is, the photo of Bonnie and me and the man, Duncan Beddowes, taken in Adie’s office. Bonnie’s posing, smiling for the camera, and my face is twisted in annoyance. Just below it, the message reads: I never make empty threats. The phone nearly slips from my fingers.

I hear voices becoming louder, Adie’s protesting and Bonnie’s petulant tones. I thrust the phone to the other side of the table and start to play with the shredded napkin, sip cold coffee. The happy couple appear, holding hands, Adie cheerful again, Bonnie looking sad. She can’t meet my eyes. Adie’s smirking, triumphant. He speaks first.

‘We’re going home now.’

‘Bonnie?’ I stare at her. ‘Bon, are you sure?’ She shakes her head, nods and shrugs. I stand. ‘I want you to ring me later, Bonnie.’ I stare at Adie, who’s wrapped an arm round her and is now helping her into her coat, a true gentleman. ‘Seriously, Adie. I want to know she’s all right.’

He lifts his coat, turns his back and points her towards the stairs. ‘You don’t need to worry, Georgie. But thanks for your help. We’re all fine now.’

He’s eradicated his infidelity in one sentence. I glare at him. He remembers his phone, scoops it from the table and pushes it in a pocket. Bonnie looks over her shoulder as she’s ushered away.

‘Georgie, I …’

‘Ring me.’

He steers her down the stairs and the last thing I see is her staring over her shoulder, a round-eyed gaze and smudged make-up. I breathe in and out like a seething dog and clench my fists. An image is soaking into the screen of my mind and words follow: the picture of Bonnie and me either side of a man we don’t know and the warning underneath: Remember …

Adie’s made a very real enemy and he’s definitely in trouble above his head. I wonder what sort of corrupt business he’s involved in. A shiver goes through me, from my shoulders right down to my toes.