After Ever After (32 page)

I open my mouth and close it again, wondering if there is any way I can make this better, and quickly. The last thing I need right now is for Gareth to see so clearly for himself the cracks in our relationship.

‘Fergus, I …’ I begin, but before I can say anything he walks back to the house.

‘Are you okay?’ Gareth asks me gently, any hint of smugness carefully removed from his expression.

‘I’m fine,’ I tell him shortly. ‘Absolutely fine. He’s just under a lot of pressure at work, that’s all. It’s my fault.’ I hold his gaze for a moment longer and turn on my heel, feeling Gareth’s gaze on my back.

‘I’m saying nothing!’ he calls after me. ‘Nothing at all.’

As I enter the kitchen Fergus seems to be back to his usual self, pouring drinks for our guests, who all seem to have congregated there now. My poor dad and everyone must have thought I’d abandoned them.

‘Can’t we go into the living room?’ I plead. ‘That fireplace cost us a fortune, didn’t it, Mr Crawley?’

Mr Crawley laughs and we both say together, ‘Though considerably less than it might have done.’

Georgina leads everyone out of the kitchen until just Fergus and I are left. I sense Gareth’s presence in the garden and turn my back on his watchful eyes as I try to explain myself.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the quote, but every time I ever ask you about money you tell me it’ll be fine, you tell me not to worry.’

Fergus shrugs, pouring a large glass of red wine. I remember Georgina’s words earlier and I swallow my anger.

‘This thing is,’ I continue in a studiously even tone, ‘that I’m not used to having to check every little financial detail with someone else. I’m used to being my own person, I always have been. I know that …’

‘Another thousand quid is not exactly a little detail,’ Fergus interrupts me, refilling his already empty glass. ‘And do you know how much I spent on all this crap today?’ He gestures at the empty packages and trays of food. ‘One hundred and twenty quid, for some sausage rolls!’

I hold on to my voice tightly. ‘As I was saying, I know you want to look after Ella and me, and I want you to, but that doesn’t mean that you have to carry the entire financial burden yourself. Let me help, let me work too.’

Fergus studies his empty glass for a moment. ‘You’d just be working to pay for child care,’ he says in a slightly less confrontational tone.

I take heart and press on.

‘Well, not if I had that job up at the management college. They pay well and there’s a crèche there, and anyway, once Clare’s registered as a childminder we could use her. Ella loves her, and childminders are cheaper than nurseries.’

‘Yeah, but that job will have gone by now,’ Fergus says, stuffing one of his mum’s vol-au-vents into his mouth.

‘Well, maybe it has, but I could give them a ring, and anyway, in principle you don’t object to me looking for a job?’ I ask, my hopeful heart in my mouth.

He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, leaving flakes of pastry in his fringe.

‘Kitty, I need to talk about something with you …’ he begins just as the sodding bells chime again.

‘Is it that you want to install a knocker?’ I say with a smile. ‘Tell me. I’m sure your mother will answer the door.’ I hear voices at the door that confirm my suspicions. Clare has arrived.

‘Now’s not the time. Later, when everyone is gone, okay?’ Fergus says, taking my hand. ‘We’ll discuss everything then, all right?’

I nod, and as Fergus leads me down the hallway to join the others I look over my shoulder and take one last look at Gareth, staring at the sky as if it’s about to fall in.

Clare and Ted stand on the periphery of the group, both looking terrified and shy.

‘Hiya!’ I say to her, touched by her vulnerability and shocked by Ted’s. I kiss her on the cheek and lift Ted from her arms, setting him on the floor.

‘Have you met everyone?’ I do a round of introductions. ‘Right, I’ll just check on the food. Does anyone need a drink?’

‘I’ll help you,’ Clare says quickly and follows me out of the room.

‘Smells nice in here,’ she says, looking incredulous.

‘M&S paprika-roasted chicken and whole Peking duck, preroasted potatoes and preprepared vegetables. Now all I have to do is heat up these fresh sauces in the microwave and I have a meal. I love modern life.’

Clare looks out into the garden.

‘Oh, so he is here then. I had wondered. What’s he doing out there? It looks like he’s praying for rain!’

I watch Gareth, his head still tipped back, his eyes fixed on the heavens.

‘I have no idea, maybe he is.’ I pause. ‘He had a bit of a tiff with Fergus about money. They got all blokey. You know, squared up to each other. He probably should leave.’

Clare taps on the window and waves at him. He starts when he hears the noise but quickly refocuses his gaze on her, breaking into a swift sweet smile and walking back towards the house.

‘Maybe he was praying for rain,’ Clare says as he approaches, pulling at the ends of her hair. ‘It’s started to spit.’ She admires him openly. ‘He’s all Daniel Day Lewis in
The Last of the Mohicans
, isn’t he?’ She giggles, and as Gareth approaches the house in his tatty jeans and his worn brown leather jacket, I can kind of see what she means.

‘Clare!’ he says as he enters, the first mist of a light drizzle clinging to his hair and skin in bright droplets. He kisses Clare on the cheeks and squeezes her shoulder. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Fine! I’m glad you’re here. I hardly know anyone out there. Can I sit next to you at lunch?’ she rushes eagerly.

I studiously pour out the last of my drinks order.

‘Are you staying?’ I ask him briskly.

‘No. Look, Clare, I’m sorry. I think I’ll be in the way if I stay. I don’t know if she told you, but I had a bit of a disagreement with Mr Kelly and, after all,’ Gareth looks right at me, ‘you don’t want the hired help at your lunch party, do you?’ Clare’s dismay is palpable.

‘But I thought we could get to know each other a bit more, you know …’ She catches my look and closes her mouth. ‘Well, all right, I’ll see you on Wednesday then?’ she finishes instead.

I hand Clare the drinks tray.

‘Will you take these in, Clare? I just need to check the food.’ Clare reluctantly takes the tray and heads back to the living room.

‘Don’t mess around with her,’ I say to him. ‘She really likes you.’

Gareth shrugs. ‘I really like her,’ he says. ‘Do you want me back on Monday or not?’

I stare at him, and find that I don’t.

‘No. I really think that after everything that’s happened it would be best to leave it as it is. You’ve done the basic, really good work, but I’ll finish it myself.’ I knot the oven glove I’m holding awkwardly in my hands. ‘I just think it would be best.’

Gareth sighs, pulling his hair back from his face and holding it at the nape of his neck.

‘Listen, Kitty, all that stuff I said, all right? I
do
like you. I like you a lot, it’s pointless pretending that I don’t. You’re a big girl, you can see it for yourself. But I’d never make a move on someone already in a relationship, not unless they wanted me to. I care about what happens to you, that’s all. I want to be your friend.’

I shake my head, taken aback by his sudden frankness. ‘I don’t think we can be friends,’ I say. ‘It won’t work, we’d still be …’ I can’t think of a word to describe what I’m thinking. I don’t want to.

‘Why not?’ Gareth persists, standing a little closer to me. ‘Why couldn’t we be friends? We get on. We have a laugh, don’t we? Why couldn’t we be friends at least? We are both grown-ups.’

He keeps moving forward until the air is squeezed out between us, his voice low and insistent. I turn my head away from him but he bends his face ever nearer to mine.

‘Because you want more than that and …’ I falter, biting my tongue on what I was about to say.

‘Oh, come on, Kitty.’ Gareth’s temper flares briefly. ‘I’m tired of fucking around this! Just say what you mean, for once. And what?’ He persists, ignoring, no, revelling in, my discomfort. ‘And you do too? And you want more than just friends too?’ He runs his forefinger down the length of my face and gently turns me to face him.

‘Is that it? Say it.’ I look into his yellow eyes, and in that moment I don’t know what I want except that I want him to be gone.

‘And I do too,’ I say.

In an instant he breaks the spell between us and laughs.

‘I knew it,’ he says. ‘I’m never wrong. I’ll see you Monday.’ He heads for the hallway.

‘No, Gareth! No. Don’t come back here any more! I said no!’

By the time I’ve caught up with where he should be he’s gone. I didn’t even hear the door shut.

‘Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,’ I whisper, wondering exactly what I’ve done as I head back to my guests. My cheeks are flushed, my heart is pounding, but despite my discomfort I feel awake and aroused in a way I haven’t felt with Fergus in a long time. It feels terrible.

‘Lunch is ready!’ I say, feeling the shakiness in my voice.

Fergus looks at me carefully. ‘You look like you’ve been slaving over a hot stove,’ he says lightly.

‘Well, I have!’ I answer defensively. ‘In a way. The stove is hot and I have been over it.’

‘I know,’ he says with a smile. ‘It’s just I’ve never seen what that looks like before.’

Everyone laughs and I smile. I smile really, really hard.

As Fergus is fiddling about with his coffee machine trying to make cappuccinos when all anyone really wants is instant, I count how many people I’m supposed to be having a chat with in the next couple of hours.

Chat one: my dad, probably concerning my mum’s death, although for the first time in years I’ve seen him actually take part in a social event instead of sitting on the sidelines drugged up on diazepam waiting to be taken home. I mean, he’s not suddenly transformed himself into a fatherly Oscar Wilde when it comes to conversation or witty repartee, but he’s been involved and engaged, even discussing old London buses with Mr Crawley, who seems to know something about everything. As for Joy, she seems to be a master of making people feel at ease. Within a few minutes of entering the house she had Camille and Clare involved in a conversation that had them both in hysterics until they turned naturally to conversation with each other. So chat one with my dad. With any luck he’s having too much of a good time to remember it.

Chat two: with Camille about Dora. Dora has been fine. She’s stayed with her one can of lager, sipping it almost regally throughout lunch, persistently refusing a glass despite Georgina’s attempts to foist one upon her. As the meal progressed she seemed to relax a little, and if it wasn’t for the fact she only had one can of low-alcohol lager I’d say she was a little tipsy. She even played pee-bo behind a tea towel with Ella, something unprecedented in our times. Maybe having seen her for a good couple of hours this afternoon, Camille and I don’t need to talk about her after all.

Chat three: with Dora. She saw Gareth and me talking and I don’t know what she saw or what she thinks she saw, but she’s known me the longest and she only has to look at my face to see exactly what’s going on. I’d like to keep that chat with Dora, I’d like to know what she thinks is exactly going on, because I’m not entirely sure myself.

And finally chat four: scheduled with Fergus after everyone has gone home. Chat four about money and about me getting a job, I hope, and I suppose I’d better tell him that I’ve sacked Gareth. At least I think I’ve sacked him. And then after we’ve got that out of the way, I’m going to make him feel cherished and loved just like Georgina said I should. I’m going to seduce him.

The heat of the kitchen has steamed up the rain-cold windows, the dark afternoon throwing them into a silvery relief, as if the whole house is covered in ice. The conversation around the kitchen table seems to be going on without me and I let myself drift far away from the hum of guests, trying to keep all sharp edges firmly out of focus. Even though it’s only four o’clock, I’ve already had a large brandy and then another one, so that the events of this morning seem far away now and ever so slightly unreal, as if they’d happened to someone who looks a bit like me and isn’t me at all. Oh no, hang on, that
is
me.

‘Kitty, love.’ My dad appears at my shoulder like a ghost, making me jump.

‘Shit, Dad,’ I say, sitting up in my chair. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Miles and miles away, which is exactly where’d I’d like to stay right now.

‘I thought maybe I could have a word?’ Oh, chat number one, then.

‘Sure.’ I nod encouragingly, hoping it’s not the sort of chat that’s going to involve me leaving the table.

‘Maybe next door?’ Dad asks me cautiously.

‘Of course, Dad,’ I say, unable to mask my reluctance. ‘Um, Fergus, get those chocolates out. I’m just going to have a word with my dad.’

‘Lovely cornicework,’ Dad tells me as we make our way to the living room.

‘Mmmmm, Mr Crawley. He’s fantastic,’ I tell him, and I settle down on the sofa. I feel a little drunk and sleepy. I’d really like to be asleep right now in the half light of a wet summer evening, curled up on my sofa, and to forget about everything.

‘So?’ I say brightly, blinking myself awake. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘You,’ Dad says, out of the blue. Dad hasn’t talked about me in, well, since Mum. He’s talked about Mum a lot, himself frequently, the injustice, futility and unfairness of it all often – but never about me specifically.

‘Me?’ I say, feeling uneasy.

‘Yes you.’ He sits by my side and takes my hand. ‘I’ve been a terrible father to you …’ he begins.

‘No, Dad, you haven’t,’ I say, but I don’t mean it.

‘After your mum, I don’t know what happened to me. You must understand, Kitty, that I meant to be strong for you. I promised her. I promised your mother that I’d never let you miss having a mum, that I’d be your mum and your dad, but I failed so badly, I know I let you down.’

I run my fingers across my forehead. It looks like this might be about him and my mum after all.

‘Dad,’ I say almost impatiently, ‘even if you had tried, no one could have stopped me missing Mum, not even you. Not even Nan, if she’d still been around.’