Facing the Light (37 page)

Beth nodded. Alex could see her calculating whether it was worth explaining about Mark, and her relationship to him. She changed the subject instead.

‘What lovely flowers, Nanny! You like roses best, don't you?'

‘If you keep them for a very long time, they turn into beautiful dried roses. Did you know that? I used to do it. I used to make pot-pourri, which smelled better than the ones you get nowadays. All chemicals they are. Not real dried flowers.'

Alex raised his eyebrows. Life was definitely too short to discuss pot-pourri, chemical or otherwise. Beth winked at him and said, ‘We must go now, Nanny. It'll be lunchtime soon. We'll come again.' She stood up and kissed the old lady, who suddenly turned and clung to her hand.

‘She was wearing her best dress,' she said, near to tears, her voice wobbling. ‘Lilac lace, it was. She looked beautiful. But it was ruined of course. Soaked and torn and quite, quite spoiled. I gave it to Tyler to burn with the garden rubbish. The master wasn't in a state to do anything.'

‘Goodbye, Nanny,' Alex said, leading Beth over to the door. ‘Thanks for elevenses.'

*

As Alex and Beth left Lodge Cottage, a car came to a screeching halt on the drive beside them. It was Efe's Audi, with Fiona and Douggie in it, too, and although Alex knew for a fact that they'd gone into the village on some errand for Gwen, they looked as though they'd all been out for a delightful jaunt. Douggie waved at them from his child seat. Fiona seemed prettier and more relaxed than she had for days, and after she'd wound down the window on her side, Efe leaned right over her to speak to them.

‘Bloody hell, you two, you're a bit early with the duty visits, aren't you?'

‘Not duty at all. We've had elevenses,' Beth said. Alex noticed that she was smiling. ‘Remember those? We used to have them when we were kids.'

‘Rich Tea biscuits and milky cocoa,' Efe said. ‘Want a lift up to the house?'

‘Love one, thanks,' Beth said and turned to Alex. ‘Coming, Alex?'

Alex shook his head. ‘No, that's okay. I'm going into the village myself now, I think.' He didn't really need to go there, but nothing would have made him get into the same car with Beth and Efe. A shadow had fallen over the day, and he realized as he saw her stepping into the car exactly how much he'd been wanting to talk to her again once they'd left Nanny Mouse. Now he had no idea when he'd be able to get her alone. Up at Willow Court there was so much going on and so many people coming and going that it would be almost impossible. Shit. Bloody Efe sailing in there at exactly the wrong time and snatching things away. It had always been the same. Throughout their lives, it seemed to Alex, Efe had been the one to push himself forward, but perhaps it wasn't like that at all. It's probably me, he thought. I hang back too much. It isn't Efe's fault. I don't speak when I should.
I don't volunteer. I'd never have had the nerve, if it is nerve, to put an arm round Beth just now and say, no, Beth's coming with me, I'm afraid. Sorry, Efe! What would she have done? She may have gone with them anyway. Alex stood by the gate wondering whether he had the energy to walk into the village. Perhaps he was imagining it, but Beth seemed relieved to be getting into Efe's car. Relieved to be getting away from me, Alex thought. A picture of her stepping eagerly into the car and leaning over to kiss Douggie filled his mind so that he walked down the road in a daze of jealousy. She hadn't even waved at him as they left, much less actually said goodbye. You've got no chance, Alex, he said to himself, and set off down the road, staring at the tarmac, seeing nothing.

*

Oh God, Beth thought, staring at the back of Efe's head. For a wild moment, she wondered what would happen if she stroked his hair. She had both hands firmly in her lap and was happy to submit to Douggie hitting her playfully over and over again with his cloth rabbit.

I shouldn't have just left Alex, she thought. I should have gone with him and let him say whatever it was that he wanted to say. I should have been braver. She knew that one of the reasons she'd seized the chance to drive up to the house with Efe and Fiona was to avoid confronting Alex and the declaration that she knew he was preparing to make. I'm cruel, she thought. He must have been struggling for ages to say as much as he did say, and now he'll have to start from scratch. She almost asked Efe to stop the car, but they were already at the door of Willow Court.

I'm not completely cured of Efe yet, she thought miserably, listening as they got out of the car to Fiona telling her about the way they'd had to go down to the
shop and get Douggie some fish fingers, without which he apparently couldn't survive.

‘Nearly panic stations, I can tell you,' she breathed.

Beth said, ‘I can imagine.'

Efe had clearly made it up with Fiona. He'd been stroking her thigh as Beth was getting into the car, and now the two of them were going up the front steps together with their arms around one another, leaving her to take charge of Douggie. They were smiling, too, in an embarrassingly coy and revolting way. It was quite clear to Beth that they'd been making love earlier. When on earth had he found the time? He must have gone to find her straight after their conversation about Melanie Havering. Just talking about it to me, Beth thought, probably made him feel horny. You could practically smell it on them. How had they managed it with Douggie around all the time? Maybe Gwen had taken him off for a bit to play in the garden or something. Beth had a sudden vision of Efe and Fiona falling into one another's arms, unable to stop themselves, carried away, barely able to breathe for the passion that overtook them. By the time she'd followed them inside, she felt bruised and sore and breathless, as though someone had hit her hard. She peered down the drive to see whether perhaps Alex had followed the car, but he was nowhere to be seen and she was surprised at how disappointed she was.

‘Come on, Douggie,' she said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Let's go and see where Rilla is.'

*

Rilla lay in bed and wished fervently that she hadn't drunk quite so much the night before. I'm getting too old for it, she thought, and debated the wisdom of opening her eyes. When she'd first told her mother that she wanted to be an actress, Leonora had remarked rather acidly, ‘Well, dear, theatre work will be most suitable for you, won't it? You are an owl rather than a lark.'

That was one way of putting it. Rilla just thought of herself as not terribly good in the mornings. No one knew that every day since Mark's death she'd woken up with a new shock of pain that seemed to catch her just below the heart. She generally managed to push it down or put it away, or at least reduce it to manageable proportions before she got out of bed. Today was different. The weight on her heart was lighter and that was Sean's doing. She hadn't been so drunk last night that she had forgotten what had happened. It was coming back to her in every delicious detail and she stretched out under the duvet, wondering why it was that she wasn't completely, totally happy. I've been dreaming of something like this, she said to herself, longing for it, so now what's the matter?

A dream. She'd had a dream, and in the way that dreams have of floating in wisps across your mind, fragments of it came drifting back now to trouble her. Fuck, she thought. I can't even be properly happy for a few uninterrupted hours without some horrible nightmare coming and spoiling it all. What was this one about? Mark was somewhere in it, as he always was. Running out of the gazebo with his hands outstretched and there was a mirror behind him. How could that be? There wasn't any logic to dreams, Rilla knew, and she should put this one out of her mind on a day like today, that promised to be so happy.

There were things she should be doing. She ought to go and tell Mary about the strawberry shortcake. She ought to make a huge effort to look really beautiful for Sean. She ought to check that Gwen didn't need any help with the last-minute arrangements, even at the risk of being rebuffed. She ought to phone Ivan. He must think she'd vanished off the face of the earth. What she certainly ought not to do was lie in bed and cry and that was what she was doing. She could feel unwanted, uncalled-for
tears trickling down her cheeks and gathering in the crease of her neck. I did it, she thought miserably. That's why I can never, never be happy, whatever good things happen. However well everything is going it comes down to this: Mark's death was my fault. I never should have left him and I'll never forgive myself.

Rilla tucked the phone under her chin, held her lighter as far as she possibly could from the mouthpiece, and clicked it into flame as quietly as she knew how to light the cigarette that was already in her mouth.

‘Rilla? Rilla darling, is that you lighting another cigarette?'

My mother should hang upside down from a beam, Rilla thought. Your average bat is no match for her. She smiled and said, ‘Cigarette? Of course not. Must be something you heard on the line.'

Was that convincing? Rilla was an actress and in normal circumstances would have sworn she could lie to her mother with the best of them. She'd been doing it for years. Just lately though, Leonora had been particularly sharp about tuning in to what her daughter was really feeling. Rilla's marriage was over. She and Jon had come to that conclusion weeks ago, but now it was going to be public property, and even though they were both determined to have what was known as ‘a civilized divorce', the fact that Jon was a pop star meant that the whole world seemed to be interested in such gory details as there were.

There weren't nearly as many as the
Sun
and the
Mirror
would have liked, but trust Leonora to be the first to find out that the Fredericks' split had now made the front pages.

‘Listen to this, Rilla!' she said. ‘It's from the
Sun
, the
front page. I thought I should warn you. I knew you wouldn't be up yet.'

Rilla wondered how the hell her mother had managed to get hold of a copy of the
Sun
at Willow Court first thing in the morning. One of the gardening lads must have brought it into the house. Surely she can't have ordered it from the shop in the village?

She said, ‘Okay, go ahead. I'm listening.' She pulled her silk kimono from Hong Kong (heavenly turquoise embroidered with scarlet and gold dragons, a present from Jon in the days when he still gave her presents) more closely around herself and turned her attention to her mother's voice:

‘Is that true, darling?'

‘Yes, Mother, 'fraid so,' said Rilla, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Do go on.'

‘Where was I? Oh, yes. Right.

‘What do you think about all that, Rilla?'

‘Actually, I think it's rather good. Accurate, in any case, which is more than you can say about most of the stuff that appears in the press.'

Leonora's sigh travelled down the line, and Rilla said quickly, ‘Don't sigh, Mother. I'll be fine. I've got Mark, and Beth's with me for most of the time, and we're all here in my lovely house. I'm okay. I'll manage.'

‘I'm sure you will, darling, but I worry about you. Why don't you come down to Willow Court for a bit?'

‘I'll think about it, Mother, honestly. It's kind of you to ask us, but it's the middle of the week and there's school. And anyway, haven't you got your hands full with Chloë?'

Leonora laughed. ‘Yes, she
is
quite a handful, that child. Makes her presence felt, you might say. But I wouldn't worry about Beth's school. She's such an intelligent child. A couple more children here will hardly be noticed, I promise you. Nanny Mouse will be in her element.'

‘It's getting late, Mother. Markie'll be waking up in a minute and I must go and get breakfast for Beth and take her to school. I'll phone you tonight and tell you what I've decided. Thanks for ringing. ‘Bye.'

‘Goodbye, darling. Kiss Beth and that sweet baby of yours for me.'

‘I will. ‘Bye!'

She put the phone down, and there was Beth, standing quietly by the door. She was already dressed for school. At eight years old, she was self-possessed and self-sufficient, but shy. She had plaited her own long, dark hair (not as well as I would have done it, Rilla thought, but brilliantly considering how young she is) and was looking at Rilla now with a smile that lit up her serious, pale face and made her eyes shine. That smile was Jon's. It was the most attractive thing about him, and he'd gifted it straight to his daughter. Mark had it too, even though he was much more like her. The love she felt for her son seemed to Rilla like an ocean deep inside her, washing over her all the time, filling her with a pleasure that was the best thing she'd known in her whole life, ever.