Going Home (30 page)

‘And you will,’ Dad said soothingly. ‘That’s loads of time. Oh, Mike, I do wish you’d understand how good this is—’

‘You don’t know what these guys are like,’ Mike said.

‘Whoever they are,’ Dad said suddenly, showing a steeliness he usually kept hidden, ‘and believe me, I don’t
want
to know, they’re businessmen, aren’t they? They’d rather
have the money than not. We’ve got the contract from Monumental and you can show it to them. They’re paying us almost immediately. It’s a delay of a week, no more.’

‘Who the hell is Sophia Gunning, anyway?’ Mike growled. ‘I’ve never met her before. How the fuck do you know she’s not pulling the wool over your eyes? Taking you for everything you’ve got?’

‘She’s not,’ Dad said. Chin still said nothing, but was standing there squinting up at her brother, the sun shining in her eyes.

‘But how do you
know
?’ Mike repeated. ‘I don’t like this, John. I’m not saying what I’ve done’s right but, as head of the family, I have the controlling share and you ought to have—’

He got no further. With a scream like a steam train, Chin launched herself on him, pummelling him, slapping him, shouting at him so loudly that I could barely make out what she was saying.

‘You MONSTER! How DARE YOU? Have you seen what you’ve done? Have you been here to see it? No, you wanker! You’re there in New York fucking hiding from all your problems, breaking that poor woman’s heart, and then you fucking SWAN IN HERE the day before my – my wedding, and when we present you with the perfect solution to this total FUCK-UP of yours, what do you say? How DARE YOU? God, every day I ask myself…’ she came up close to him, still breathing heavily. I thought I’d misheard what she said, but I hadn’t. ‘Why did Tony have to die, and why is Mike still here? That’s what I ask myself every day. Every. Single. Day.’

‘Chin, that’s enough,’ said my father, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her away. She was shaking. ‘Don’t ever mention Tony like that again. It was a horrible thing to say.’

‘I don’t care!’ Chin said, sobbing now. ‘After everything
I’ve done today, to be questioned like this by him – I don’t believe it.’

Dad put his arms round her. ‘I know, darling,’ he said softly, into her hair. ‘But none of us could be prouder of you than we are now. It doesn’t matter about Mike. Don’t worry about him.’

‘You’re pathetic, Mike,’ Chin said, eyes ringed with mascara.
‘Pathetic.
This dream you have that Keeper House is the magical happy place you remember when you were little Master Mike and you didn’t have to run away from it to preserve it in aspic, you can’t get over it, can you? You can’t move on. You’re like an antique.’ She hiccuped. ‘Like an antique Just William, pretending he’s still a boy, wanting everything to be the same as you remember it. Well, it wasn’t like that then, and it isn’t like that now. And you know why? Because of
you.
You’re the one who’s done this. Grow up.’

Mike was still standing there, looking totally shell-shocked. I hurried through to the kitchen.

‘What’s all the yelling about?’ Rosalie called.

‘Practising speech-making for tomorrow,’ I muttered. ‘Loosening the vocal cords. Gavin the vicar told them to.’ Stupid woman, what did she think it would be about?

‘Right,’ said Rosalie.

Sophia picked up her mobile phone.

Rosalie looked at her, then at me. She swung herself off the bench and came over to the kitchen window, leaned on the window-sill and took off her glasses.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘All OK?’ Rosalie asked. Her long nails beat a tattoo on the sill.

‘Yup, fine, thanks. You?’ I said.

‘I’m really well.’

‘Me too,’ I said, reminded of the scene in
Annie Hall
where Woody Allen and Diane Keaton have one rather boring conversation and a separate conversation in subtitles beneath.

‘It’s great to be back,’ Rosalie said.

I am not a crook.

‘Well, it’s fantastic you could come.’

Are you and my uncle back together again?

‘Yes, I’m so glad I was able to get the time off.’

Yes, I’m so glad I took him back. You see, I’m stupid.

‘How come?’

Why on earth did you do that? What if he just breaks your heart again?

‘I finished one big project and I’ve got a few days before I start another. Isn’t that good luck?’

It’s a risk I’m willing to take. And in any case he thinks he needs me more than I need him. It’s actually the other way round, you know, but don’t ever tell him that.

‘It is good luck.’

I won’t. Trust me. I’ve enjoyed this little chat.

Rosalie grasped my hand through the window and winked at me. ‘You’re a good girl, Lizzy. What’s this I hear about you and Miles, then?’

‘How on earth do you know that?’

‘Young David told me. He’s been amazing in all this, you know. Practically tied your uncle up and forced him to talk to me and sort it all out. God bless him, he’s great. But whatever.’ She shook her head. ‘So, you and Miles – it’s going well, is it?’ She looked like a bright little bird, her head on one side.

‘Yes, it really is,’ I told her. ‘So – so David knows about us, does he?’ I’d not had the courage to ask Miles again if he’d talked to his brother.

‘Honey,’ Rosalie said, ‘he knows. I think he’s fine with it.
That’s what he told me, anyway. Why shouldn’t he be? It’s a little weird for him, sure, but it’s no big deal, is it?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t agree more.’ I couldn’t work out why I felt rather deflated after she said this; after all, it wasn’t a big deal.

‘I’m coming through. Stay there,’ said Rosalie. ‘I need a drink.’

‘Yes,’ I said, gazing past her into the garden. ‘So do I.’

By the time Miles arrived to pick me up, I was glad to be getting out of the house – and who could have predicted that a few hours earlier when we had been crying with joy that the house was saved. The atmosphere was as thick as pea-soup and we were no longer dancing around with joy. The reason, of course, was Mike. And it wasn’t really his fault, more that all the stress of the last forty-eight hours, or perhaps the last five months, was finally catching up with all of us. Anyway, as is usually the way with large family gatherings, I’d changed my mind about wanting to spend as much time as possible in the bosom of my family and was practically standing by the side of the road with a sign saying ‘Take me Away from Here’ when Miles zoomed, too fast, round the corner in his zippy Mercedes at precisely one minute to seven, I was sitting on the grass verge with my case under my feet. Thankfully, the others were still at the wedding rehearsal.

‘Hello, beautiful,’ he said, as he screeched to a halt.

‘Hello,’ I said, jumped in and kissed him.

His dark hair was sticking up in peaks because of the
wind, his face was flushed, and he looked so pleased to see me that I was infected by his enthusiasm.

‘Don’t you want me to come in and meet the family?’ he said, teasingly.

‘No. I just want to get out of here and be with you,’ I said, trying to sound like an exotic Soviet spy, but instead sounding rather desperate, like a sex-starved librarian who couldn’t give it away.

‘God, you’re gorgeous,’ said Miles, and as we kissed again, I felt all my cares disappear. He was a great kisser. The house wasn’t being sold. Chin’s wedding was tomorrow. The weather forecast was for twenty-five degrees and sunny. And I was going out on this lovely evening to be a proper grown-up. I would have sex, which is always a great prospect at the start of an evening.

‘Mm,’ Miles said, shifting in his seat. He brought me closer to him, and I relaxed even more. ‘Mm,’ he repeated.

‘Mm,’ I said back, then saw that Mum, Dad, Chin and Gibbo were staring at us from the other end of the bonnet. They must have walked back across the field from the church.

‘Oh, my God,’ I said, leaping away from Miles and pushing him away as if I were being assaulted by a complete stranger.

‘Hi there,’ said Gibbo, smiling broadly.

‘Hello,’ said Miles, confidently. ‘I won’t keep you. Lovely to see you, Mr Walter, Dr Walter, Chin, Gibbo. Good luck for tomorrow. We’ll see you then. We’re off.’ He put the car into gear and shot off, before we could enter into any further conversation. I turned and waved as my family disappeared into the distance.

‘So,’ said Miles, as the sommelier retreated, leaving us to enjoy an insouciant little dessert wine from the company of Overpriced and Curlicues. ‘Is this really all OK? Are you enjoying yourself?’

It’s always about me when I’m with Miles. Am I happy? Am I enjoying myself? Is Miles pleasing me? I found it odd at first but relationships are all about balance, aren’t they, and if both of you are content why fight it? It’s like when people say, ‘If I had all the money in the world, I still wouldn’t want to do nothing all day, I’d soon get bored.’ Rubbish, you’d like to try it for a while, wouldn’t you?

Before David, most of my previous relationships had been characterized by me running to catch up with men who didn’t like to be seen in public with me. My ex-boyfriend after university, Jim, whom I went out with for three years on and off, was a nice man – but we drifted apart. I was pretty upset when it ended, but a couple of months later I was relieved. I should have known it was on the skids when I agreed to cater for a dinner party he was having for five other friends
to which I wasn’t invited.
I went, I cooked, I laid the table. We even had sex in the bathroom before the guests arrived. Then I left, having angled desperately for an invitation to stay. Jim dumped me a couple of weeks later and I don’t blame him. I’d have dumped myself after that.

Anyway, my point is that I was used to being a table-laying geisha-style girlfriend, rather than the stroppy princess who has to be placated with mini-breaks, expensive meals, flowers and jewellery. Part of me worried about why Miles did this. Perhaps he felt guilty about David. I did. Perhaps we should have talked about it, but Miles didn’t like talking about it, and neither did I.

Secretly, I didn’t really like the imbalance it created between us – like I was the girly girl and he was the cash-heavy man who took his lady out and threw money around. Once in a while I wished I could take him out, or cook him a meal, or do more normal things, like see a film, but we didn’t and over the last couple of months I had got used to living this rather glamorous life.

The Oak Grange was very nice. Plush, dimly lit, all mod cons and very tasteful, with some of the charm of the original sixteenth-century house but brought fully up to date. We were by the window in the dining room, which was wide, low-ceilinged, with the doors flung open on to the flagstoned patio. Actually, it was all a little bit Crossroads: the gerberas on each table were fake, in those tiny jars with clear gel to hold them up, and the music drifting over from the ‘lounge area’ was distinctly Dion-esque. I couldn’t have cared less, but Miles was anxious: he’d thought we’d signed up for the last word in exclusivity, and the plastic gerberas were a big disappointment to him. Several long discussions with the head waiter about the sea bream, the white wine and the Reblochon had soothed him, though, and he was now more relaxed, no doubt helped by the copious amounts of wine we’d drunk.

‘I’m having a wonderful time. What about you?’ I said.

‘Me too,’ said Miles seriously. ‘I’m sorry to be fussing.’

‘You’re not.’

‘I just feel guilty about being such a plonker this morning on the phone.’

‘You weren’t. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your texts. I should have done – you understand now?’

‘Of course I do. I was just worried all of a sudden, that’s all.’

‘Don’t be,’ I said.

‘I can’t help it.’

I finished my wine and wished I could help myself to more.

A few other people were dotted about the dining room, mostly couples. I wondered if any were staying there for the wedding. A couple near us, a few years older than us, were sitting in total silence. The man looked bored and boring, the woman cross. She had one of those sinewy, grasping
faces and pale blue eyes. I let my gaze drift over the others. Were they all having similar conversations? Were they arguing? Would they go upstairs and laugh like drains, were they happy?

Miles took my hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you so much,’ he said.

‘Why?’ I said, touched.

‘It’s so great of you to come when you could have stayed at home with your family and had a celebration.’

‘Honestly,’ I said, thinking of Chin screaming and crying, ‘I’d rather be here, you know.’

‘Really?’ Miles said eagerly.

I could be truthful about it because it was a fact: I’d rather be in this nice hotel with this lovely man than in the House of the Rising Tempers fifteen miles down the road. ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘Of course. I feel…’ I tried to work out what to say. ‘I feel…well, like I’ve been clinging to all of that for too long. To the past. Lots of things. Well, I’ve been stupid.’ Suddenly I experienced the liberating rush that comes when you know you’re saying what someone else wants to hear. ‘I’m sick of the house, and I want to be with you. I’m so lucky, I can’t believe it. I keep thinking you’ll change your mind.’

‘I won’t,’ said Miles, smiling. ‘I want you to change your mind, though.’

‘About what?’

‘About lots of things. About not supporting QPR. About moving to LA. About coming to live with me. About…’ he leaned forward, smiling wickedly, and lowered his voice ‘…about doing that thing I want you to do.’

I laughed. The couple at the table nearest to us looked over, and the woman gave us one of those typically female appraising glances that mean, ‘I’m jealous of you, but I’ll hide it by staring rudely at you.’ I do it all the time.

‘It’s getting late,’ Miles observed. He put his hand on my knee and slid it slowly higher.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Time for bed?’ Miles said.

‘That would be nice,’ I said.

We got up and left. As I walked out of the room I threw a glance over my shoulder at the woman with the pale blue eyes. But she wasn’t looking jealously at me any more: she was laughing with the man opposite, looking at the pudding menu, her necklace glowing in the twilight. She looked quite different, and as Miles put his arm round my waist and drew me towards the lift I felt a little jealous of her.

We had had sex, and Miles got up to get a glass of water. He came back into the bedroom and sat down beside me, slipping his hand between my thighs and kissing me. ‘Was that good?’ he murmured enquiringly.

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

Miles sat back on the sofa. ‘Can I ask you something?’

It’s surprising how little one likes the question that follows that one. ‘Of course,’ I said.

He bent his head over me, stroked my hair and nuzzled my neck. He murmured something. I caught his head in my hands and he smoothed my hair away from my face, section by section, lifting it behind my shoulders. He kissed the hollow at the base of my neck. ‘Better than David?’ he said.

I opened my eyes. ‘What?’

‘You must have known I’d be curious. Am I better than David?’

‘Fuck off, Miles,’ I said, and stood up, smiling to show I wasn’t pissed off, although I was. David.

Miles flung one arm across the headboard. With the other he reached out and grabbed my arm. He said, in the same maddeningly calm tone, ‘Come on, Lizzy, it’s kind of natural
I’d want to know. How did he fuck you? Was it better than this? What else did he do? What did you do to him that you won’t do to me? Anything I should know about?’

I tried to walk away but he was still holding my arm. ‘Get off, Miles,’ I said.

‘No.’

‘I mean it. Get off,’ I said, trying to walk away. But he was stronger than me and he wouldn’t move. He was pulled along the sofa and on to his knees on the floor. He laughed, like it was all a big joke.

‘Don’t be cross, Lizzy,’ he wheedled.

‘Miles! Get a fucking grip. You look ridiculous.’

Suddenly I felt nothing but contempt for him. I looked at his face, so like David’s yet so different, and felt sick.

‘I just want to know,’ he said, sounding totally unlike himself. ‘Did he make you come every time? Did you fake it with him?’

‘I don’t fake it,’ I said.

‘Liar.’

‘OK, I did once, maybe twice. But—’

‘Why?’ Miles stood up. ‘Why? Don’t I – don’t you—’

He put his hands on my face. I could smell the wine on his breath. It isn’t in my nature to demand to know what’s going on, or to cause a fuss. I wanted to smooth this over, make us both believe everything was OK. So I tried to laugh it off. ‘Well, you know, brothers,’ I said. ‘You’re very much alike, sometimes it’s hard to tell. Oh, I’m joking, Miles, calm down. Let’s just go back to bed.’ I stroked his cheek.

But he stayed where he was, staring at me, and his grip tightened. ‘You never loved me,’ he said, after a moment.

‘Miles! I’ve never said I did,’ I wrenched my head from his grip.

‘Are you thinking of him when you’re with me?’ he said.

‘No, of course not!’ I said, aghast. ‘God, no, never.’

‘Why not?’ Miles said, backing away. ‘David told me what you liked. I’ve been doing what you liked. I thought it might remind you of my big brother. I thought it might make you like me better.’

I felt dizzy. ‘Stop it, Miles,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry, Lizzy. I shouldn’t have said it.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Yes, it does. I’m a twat.’

‘You’re not, just forget it.’

So we had sex again, and I faked it much more convincingly this time, and as we lay there afterwards, Miles breathing heavily, his arm weighing down hard on my ribs, I bit my lip and stared up at the ceiling. I could have been at home. I should have been at home. David had told Miles about our sex life (not very successfully, though – if he was going to betray our deepest secrets I wish he’d been more specific in his descriptions to Miles) and Miles was – what? I didn’t know this side of him and I didn’t like it.

The difference between Miles and David was that when I found out something new about Miles it always alarmed me. Nothing David could have told me about himself, short of him being a UKIP MP or president of a golf club, would have worried me. I’d wanted to know everything about him, what he liked, what he hated, what made him sad, when he’d been most scared, what made him happy and what might make him happy.

Miles rolled over in his sleep and wrapped his arm round me, pulling me towards him. I felt his chest against my back, his breath on my neck, his twitch as something in his dream disturbed him. After a while my thoughts started overlapping and spooling together, and I slept the sleep of the dead, so heavily I dreamed of nothing and no one, until Miles woke me the next morning, and it started again.