A Hidden Life (28 page)

‘How? We're on our way back. Gareth's mother's got Tamsin, but I do have stuff to do tomorrow in the office. Helmut's phoning in the morning.'

‘Helmut is a business associate. If he finds we're out, he'll try later. He'll think we're out on a work-related thing, which we are in a way.'

‘What d'you want to do? Have a nice meal somewhere?'

Mickey's smile, Nessa thought, altered her rather sharp features and made her look almost pretty. Because of her boyish, slim figure, and her short, very fair hair, pretty wasn't exactly how Nessa would have described her, but now the light from the sunset streaming in through the car windows made an aureole of radiance around her head. ‘You look like an angel,' Nessa said aloud and blushed. That had been the thought in her mind and she'd spoken without thinking.

‘Let's spend the night in a gorgeous hotel,' Mickey said. ‘We could do with a treat. You could do with a treat.'

Nessa imagined it: a delicious dinner. A long bath. A soft bed and nothing anywhere to remind her of her home, or her silly bloody fool of a husband, or her greedy brother, or the rest of her family. She would even forget about her beloved Tamsin for a while. It could be just her. Her and Mickey.

‘We haven't got any spare clothes – no toothbrush even.'

‘We can buy some toothbrushes. Sleep naked.'

Nessa didn't say a word. Thinking about sleeping naked in a hotel with no one knowing exactly where she was made her feel a little giddy.

‘Why not?' she said. ‘Let's go for it. What if there's no nice hotel anywhere near here?'

‘Oh, there is. I looked it up when I knew we were coming down this way.'

‘You,' Nessa laughed, ‘are a sneaky devil.'

‘I was an angel a moment ago.'

‘You're both.' Nessa was aware of a weird sensation, like something being flipped over under her ribcage.

‘You're being quite unfair. Unreasonable,' Phyl said, then aware that she'd spoken far more sharply than she'd intended, she added, ‘I know it's hard for you, Matt. I realize that, but don't you think we owe it to Lou to make life easy for her? You found out in Paris that she was writing something, and when I spoke to her the other day, I did ask her whether she wanted Poppy back. And of course there are many, many ways in which she does, but on the other hand, it's much easier for her to work at whatever this thing is without Poppy to worry about.'

‘It's her bloody job to worry about Poppy. It's not ours, Phyl.'

‘I know, but still.' She went on picking up the toys from the carpet and putting them into the box she'd moved into the lounge to make life easier.

‘Come here, Phyl,' he said, suddenly speaking in a quite different tone of voice. ‘I want to talk to you. Seriously.'

‘Gosh.' She went to sit beside him on the sofa. ‘That sounds a bit ominous.'

‘No. Not really. Only, well – I don't know how to say this, Phyl. We've never – I mean, we talk about everything else under the sun but we don't talk about these things, do we? We never have …'

‘What things?' She had a good idea what he was referring to. Was he really going to … ?

‘Sex,' he said, after a slight pause. ‘We haven't – I mean, it's been several weeks since we …'

‘I know, I know. I'm so sorry, darling Matt. It's … it's not that I don't want to, you know that.'

‘I do know that but it's hard for me. I feel … I feel unloved.'

‘You're
not
unloved. How can you say that? I love you more than anything.' Phyl felt as though a stone were dropping through her body. How peculiar!
Her heart sank.
That was exactly right. ‘I'm sorry, you're right of course. We have made love a lot less often since Poppy's been here, but how can I just tell Lou she must have her back?'

‘I'll do it if you like – and I've got an excuse. We're going to Paris. Wouldn't you like to go to Paris? I'll need to see Mme Franchard
again reasonably soon. We didn't have time to discuss the things we ought to have done. I want to make sure she's all right … her financial position, for instance. I want to do my bit. It's not often you find a long-lost relative. You want to meet her, don't you?'

Phyl nodded. It would be marvellous to go to Paris. And Matt was right – they couldn't go on like this, with every night interrupted by the baby. It was tiring. She knew that her own energy levels during the day were lower than usual because her sleep had been disturbed.

‘Okay,' she said. ‘You tell her. And then I'll speak after you …'

‘Should I do it now?'

‘No point putting it off, I suppose.'

As Matt dialled the number, she couldn't help feeling sad. It didn't matter how many arguments her husband put forward, or that it might be better for Poppy to be reunited with her mother. She, Phyl, would be bereft. She would miss the constant company, the gurgling smiles and (she'd never have admitted this to anyone), most of all, she would miss those precious minutes during the night, when Poppy was sleepy and warm and lay against her shoulder as she took her out of the cot to give her a drink and change her nappy. She'd miss singing the bedtime songs in a darkened room, and watching her granddaughter as she fell asleep at last, clutching her favourite cuddly polar bear. In return, she and Matt would make love much more often. Well, that would be nice, but Phyl had to admit to herself that the thought didn't thrill her as much as it ought to have done and she immediately felt guilty. Then there was the morning smile, like a beam of warmth and light, with which Poppy greeted her every day – she wouldn't have that any longer either. And worst of all, she wouldn't be able to watch the child growing and changing. At this age, babies changed almost overnight. By the time she saw Poppy again, she'd be a different child. She tuned in to what Matt was saying to Lou.

‘Not that we're not devoted to Poppy, darling. You know we are, but – yes, of course. Of course – you must both come down every possible weekend you can. I'll let you know when Mum and I are off to Paris.' He paused, and listened for a while to what Lou was saying. She seemed to be talking for a very long time with Matt hanging on to the receiver and nodding from time to time. Then he said, ‘All right.
That's perfect. Come down on Friday. We'll expect you at about six, is that right? Fine, fine. Give me a ring when you leave Victoria and I'll come and pick you up at the station. Yes … yes, thanks, darling. I knew you'd understand.'

Phyl waved a hand at him, and pointed at the phone and then at herself. He said, ‘Hang on a mo, darling. Your mum wants a word. Yes, yes, I will. Goodnight, sweetheart.'

He gave the receiver to Phyl, then got off the sofa and left the room.

‘Hello, Lou darling. Your dad's just leaving the room … hang on.'

‘God, Mum, I'm so, so sorry. Has it been ghastly for you?' Lou sounded very far away and Phyl hoped the mobile connection didn't suddenly go wonky, as it sometimes did.

‘Ghastly? No, of course not. The very opposite, honestly. I'll miss her like mad, you know I will. It's your father. It's not that he doesn't love Poppy, he really does, but he needs things round the house to be calm and peaceful and he says, well, he says he doesn't see as much of me as he'd like to. He says I'm always taken up with Poppy.' Phyl laughed. ‘He's right really. I
am
taken up with her. Also, he tells me he's going to take me to Paris to meet Mme Franchard. That'll be nice.'

‘I want to go and see her again as well. I'll go one weekend when you're free to look after Poppy again. You could come and stay here while I'm there. I could go for the day, but it would be nice to have a weekend and do something touristy. I could take a friend, or something.'

What was it in Lou's voice that alerted Phyl? A warmth in the words as she spoke of a ‘friend'. Did she, could she mean a man? Ought she to ask? She decided to risk it.

‘A girlfriend?'

‘Not necessarily.'

‘Have you … Do you …'

‘Don't be coy, Mum. You're asking if I have a boyfriend and the answer is very much no – but I might take a male friend.'

‘Oh,' said Phyl, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

‘You sound disappointed.'

‘Not at all, really.' Phyl started to ask Lou about her work but was interrupted.

‘Gotta go, Mum, sorry. I'm going out for a meal.'

‘With the same person who isn't a boyfriend?'

‘Don't be so nosy!' Lou was laughing.

‘Okay, bye,' said Phyl, suddenly feeling quite optimistic. Lou sounded really upbeat. That had to be a good thing.

Plastic air. That's what hotels had circulating through them, Nessa thought, lying in her single bed in a room that, even though it hadn't lived up to Mickey's dream of an idyllic country retreat, didn't seem all that bad from the outside. It wasn't bad on the inside either, not really, but somehow most of the expenditure seemed to have been directed at the public rooms and the bedrooms had missed out. For a moment, Nessa followed a daydream of the kind of place she'd have if she owned a hotel. She'd make sure that the rooms were both luxurious and simple. Lots of white. Pale grey and apricot perhaps for the curtains. Printed velvet, chenille … something that you wanted to touch. Lots and lots of Paper Roses flowers everywhere. It could be a feature of the place: unreal blooms in every room. Could you get away with something like that? She sighed and sat up, turning on the bedside light to reveal the beige and scarlet décor, the flouncy pelmets, the too-fiddly lampshades, and wondered whether it was worth getting out of bed to make a cup of tea. She was finding it hard to fall asleep. Being naked might have something to do with it. She was restless. She'd been to the loo only a moment ago and got into bed again, but now she was wondering whether a drink might help.

Mickey was in the room next door. The hotel was suspiciously empty when they'd checked in, even taking into account the fact that it was midweek and this was the depths of the countryside. No one said anything about them having no luggage. Dinner was lovely. Just being able to sit quietly and talk to someone who wasn't on her case was restful. Mickey was funny and asked all the right questions. They'd talked about everything: the divorce, Tamsin, Justin, and Ellie, too. Maybe, Nessa thought, Mickey's still awake like me.
Perhaps I'll text her – that might wake her up if she's asleep. But she usually goes to sleep late.

She was still debating what to do when her own mobile, which she was holding in her hand, trilled into life. She dropped it at once, and it fell on the floor near the bed. For a moment, she felt a chill of fear. Had something happened to Tamsin? Who on earth could be texting her in the middle of the night? She read the message:
U awake? M.
Mickey, thank heavens. She texted back
Can't sleep and bored. Do come and visit. N.

Soon, there was a knock on her door. Nessa wrapped herself in the flowery bedspread and went to open it. Mickey stood in the corridor, bearing a bottle of wine and a tube of Pringles. She was wearing her coat, a sort of trenchcoat-style mac, and she was, Nessa realized, completely naked under it, just as she was under her bedspread.

‘Midnight feast,' Mickey whispered, and Nessa opened the door wide to let her in.

‘Where did you get that bottle?'

‘I went down to the bar and sweet-talked the barman.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Yup.'

‘Before or after you undressed?' Nessa giggled.

‘Oh, after, of course – gave him a flash of my boobs as a reward.'

‘I'm full of admiration. And a bit shocked too. It would never occur to me to do that. Thanks so much. Just what I need. I can't sleep.'

‘No, nor can I,' Mickey said. ‘Can I get on the bed?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘I'll pour the wine first.' She went into the ensuite bathroom and brought back the glass. ‘We'll have to share, I'm afraid.'

‘Doesn't matter,' Nessa said. She was already in bed, suddenly very conscious of her body, feeling the sheets on every inch of her bare skin.

Mickey handed her the glass and said, ‘You first.'

She went round to the other side of the bed and stretched out next to Nessa.

They lay there for a while, not saying anything, but passing the glass between them, and drinking the wine rather too quickly.

‘Pringle?'

‘No, thanks,' Nessa spoke quietly.

‘Are you feeling sleepy?'

‘Not really. I'm a bit pissed, I think, what with the wine at dinner and now this … Mickey?'

‘Mmm?'

‘Are you stroking my hair?'

‘D'you mind?'

Mickey's hand felt wonderful on her hair. She's caressing me, Nessa thought, and closed her eyes. She is. I haven't been caressed for years. Had Gareth ever touched her hair like that? Her mind was becoming more and more fuzzy, but she couldn't remember an occasion when he had … Oh, it felt good, so good.

‘Should I stop?' Mickey whispered. She's turned over on her side, Nessa told herself. I can feel her breath on my cheek. She shook her head.

‘No, don't stop.'

Nessa didn't dare to open her eyes, in case the whole of the scene vanished like a dream: she and Mickey on the bed, Mickey stroking her hair, the wine warming her, the bedclothes lying on her body. Mickey's fingers seemed to be moving over her face now, tracing her profile and lingering on her lips, and down over her chin until they reached the bedclothes. What now? Would she – would she go on? What do I do if she asks me? What if she says something now? How will I answer? Nessa found herself shuddering into gooseflesh … Oh, please don't stop, she said soundlessly. Go on. Touch me there … and Mickey did. Oh, God, she's touching my breast … oh …