Secrets (31 page)

I'll sleep on it, she told herself, I'll let it lie for a couple of days, then I'll think about what to do. She wondered whether she could change her name on Joe's cheque to Lisa's – and have the cash from her. It wasn't illegal and she was sure it wouldn't be a problem for Lisa. But God, it was grim to have to consider it.

Chapter Twenty-six

‘Hullo.’

‘Hullo.’

‘It's me – it's Tess.’

‘I know it's-you-it's-Tess because it says so on my mobile.’

‘My name comes up?’

‘It says
Home
.’

They let the sound of it hang for a moment.

‘Everything OK? Wolf, Emmeline – you?’

‘Very OK, thank you Joe. I just thought I'd phone to say hi. I missed your call yesterday, or the day before.’

‘Day before,’ Joe confirmed because yesterday he'd found himself glancing at his phone from time to time, trying not to wonder if it was odd that Tess hadn't called back.

‘Well,’ said Tess, ‘I must be costing you a fortune, phoning you abroad from your phone at home. But I just wanted to say hullo.’

‘It's lovely to hear from you. Phone any time.’

‘You too,’ said Tess.

Neither wanted to say goodbye just yet, but how to truncate the pause was another matter.

Joe glanced from the apartment window. Nathalie would be back soon. ‘I'm sorry I had to leave when I did, Tess – and I hope to be back really soon.’

She didn't want to say goodbye just yet, but she couldn't find the words to say that she really would like him to come back soon, too. ‘Where are you now? What are you doing?’

For the first time, Joe asked himself what the fuck he was doing in Nathalie's apartment.

‘Joe?’

‘Hullo – I'm still here.’ But I shouldn't be
here
. ‘I'm just looking out over the little town square, thinking about supper.’ Though masking the truth had wiped away his appetite and his stomach was now quite full with leaden remorse.

Tess looked outside too, a little absent-minded, as if she was expecting to share Joe's point of view. It was closer to his than she could know and a similar lurch of dismay hit the pit of her stomach. She hadn't looked out onto some square in France but she was looking out and watching Seb coming through the gate.

‘There's Em,’ she hurried, though she hated to implicate her daughter. ‘I ought to go. Bye, Joe. Bye for now.’

She couldn't pretend she wasn't in because Wolf had been outside anyway and was currently limping over to Seb. In addition, all the ground-floor windows were open and Radio 4 was drifting out to the garden from the kitchen.

‘Seb!’ She opened the door before he'd rung the bell.

‘Hullo, stranger,’ he said, placing an easy kiss on the side of her mouth, his hand in the small of her back. ‘How are you doing? The dog's soldiering on, I see.’

‘Yes, he is,’ Tess said, coming out of the house so she could move away from his touch. It was late afternoon, still warm, the light was honey-hued.

‘What are you up to?’

Tess felt flustered by the question. ‘Nothing!’

‘Want to do nothing together then?’

‘Oh. Well – I mean, I'm about to start the whole bath-time, sing-song, bedtime palaver.’

‘Want a hand?’

Tess felt discomfited by both Seb's offer and his relaxed demeanour which, with his kiss and his touch, was verging on the intimate. She fidgeted for her response.

‘I can sing “One-two-three-four-five”.’ And he did so.

Such a nice guy. He really was. It confused Tess – had there been no Joe, there very well could have been Seb. After all, on paper he was a better match and a surer thing – younger, more even-tempered than his itinerant rival, for a start. Tess looked at him, singing away, and she nodded her head to his tune. But it didn't help. It had nothing to do with what Seb had to offer, what he was so keen to give – but it had everything to do with what was missing for Tess, what she had with Joe. The connection – quintessential, unfathomable, addictive.

Now, Seb was singing “Row Row Row Your Boat”.

‘Em is a little crotchety.’ Another lie foisted upon her daughter.

Seb pulled Wolf's ears gently through his fingers. ‘OK,’ he said at length. ‘So how about later – later tonight, or later during the week?’ He scoured her face while she trawled around the diplomacy section of her mind for something to say that could be kind but not misconstrued.

Seb, though, was too nice and Tess was just too slow. ‘You look a little tired,’ he pre-empted. ‘Let's do it later in the week. I just wanted to call by to see how you all were.’

Tess's relief wore itself as an expansive smile, easy to misread.

‘Thursday?’ said Seb. ‘Friday?’

All Tess could think was that tomorrow was Thursday so she found herself saying Friday though she felt sure this was the wrong answer.

‘Vista Mar – eightish?’

She could only nod.

‘Just give me a call if there's a problem with babysitting.’

She nodded again and let herself be kissed goodbye. How had her reluctance to have him even help with bath-time resulted in an unwanted date in two days’ time? But he was gone now, and it was done. She called Wolf to come in. She shut all the windows and closed the door.

‘Can you talk?’

‘Can I call you back in half an hour?’

On the rare occasions that Tess sought advice, any delay was potentially detrimental to her ability to listen let alone absorb guidance and therefore half an hour was too long for Tess to wait for Tamsin. So she picked up the receiver and dialled.

‘Can you talk?’

‘Course I can – you all right, chuck?’

Lovely Lisa, thought Tess. Lovely, lovely Lisa – my up-here Tamsin.

‘I'm fine – just in a bit of a muddle.’

‘Go on.’

‘How do you let down someone that you really quite like, who's a lovely person, who's done nothing wrong apart from being not the right one?’

‘How do you know he's not?’

‘Because I know, for all I'm worth, that someone else is.’

Lisa thought about it. ‘And that someone is Joe – am I right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Seb is the one who's not right – right?’

‘Right.’

‘Doesn't sound to me like you're in much of a muddle at all – sounds like you're pretty clear.’

‘It's still awkward though.’

‘What's the story exactly, Tess? You can give me the gories – I'm unshockable. I've seen the pile of porn my husband thinks he's secretly stashed in the loft.’ Lisa winked at her husband who looked aghast at his wife's revelation.

‘I'm in love with Joe,’ Tess said.

‘Tell me something I don't know,’ said Lisa and Tess felt a sudden mix of pride and embarrassment.

‘You done the dirty deed with him, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘
Before
you had your rummage with Seb?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that's something – it's not as if you're doing the dirty on Seb then, is it? You've not done anything immoral, have you, pet? You've not seen Seb for a while anyway, you'd not promised him marriage and babies. It's just circumstances, Tess. That's all.’

‘The thing is, Lisa – I know all of this – the problem is I just don't know what to say to Seb.’

‘You must have a few pat one-liners up your sleeve?’

‘Me? I've only ever been on the receiving end, Lisa.’

‘Like?’

Tess thought back to being dumped. ‘Oh, you know –
It's not you, it's me
. And –
I'm not ready for this
. Or there's always –
I think we should just be friends
. They're all awful, Lisa – they were horrible to hear and I don't want to say them. Not to Seb. Not here. Big words in a small town.’

Lisa thought about it. ‘Can you think of a way of telling the truth in a nice way?’

‘What –
Oh hi, Seb, the thing is I feel dreadful because you're great and gorgeous but actually just recently I got it together with someone else?
’

‘Sounds bang on to me.’

‘But I've stupidly said yes to meeting him on Friday.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because I was taken off my guard. Can I just phone to blow out Friday and tell him all this at the same time?’

Lisa wasn't sure about that one. ‘I'd say no – you ought to meet as planned. It's fairer. He's a nice lad, isn't he – he's around, he could become a friend. This may not be such a big deal for him anyway – thought about that, Tess? Perhaps he likes you because you're an outsider too, you're pretty and single and good company. Maybe he simply fancies you because you are
there
. But what do I know? What does your mate Tamsin say?’

Tess looked at the grandfather clock and, though of course it wasn't telling the right time, she could see that she'd been on the phone for over ten minutes. ‘I haven't spoken to Tamsin yet.’

Lisa was touched. ‘Best call Tamsin too.’

‘I will,’ said Tess, ‘and I reckon she'll say what you've said.’

‘And will she then say, tell me about Joe, or does she already know all about him?’

‘She doesn't know a sausage.’

‘I see,’ said Lisa, touched again. ‘So, Tess – tell me about Joe.’

Tess turned her back on the clock and sat down. It was the first time during the call that she laughed. ‘I love him, Lisa – it's as simple as that. I want to be with him – no one else, from now on, just Joe. I want to stay put – I've found my home.’

‘We'd better get your career here up and running then, pet.’

‘My career?’

‘Unless you want to be a fat old housewife like me? You're better than that, girl.’

‘Lisa, you are
not
fat and you're younger than me. What a weird thing to say.’

‘How about next Tuesday – at mine?’

‘Tuesday?’

‘Kick-start it.’

‘Kick-start what?’

‘Your career, pet. You bring those boxes in the back of your car, Tess. And make a menu of what you have to offer. Just you wait and see – the eyebrows and stiff necks and hairy legs and undernourished skin of Saltburn need you.’

Chapter Twenty-seven

So, there's Tess wanting to do the right thing by Joe and by Seb. And here's Joe with his head between Nathalie's legs. Because he's not quite sure what he's doing, he's keeping his head buried right where it is, doing the thing he's sure he does very well. Now he's here, he's making the most of it, giving a sterling performance, but nevertheless he's not quite sure how he came to be here. His head has been full of Tess, now his face is full of Nathalie. And yet he left England in love with Tess and he arrived in France with the emotion intact. With his forehead resting against the aeroplane window, the taxi window, even the window of Nathalie's apartment, he's daydreamed frequently back over the specifics of his time with Tess; conjuring images of her, recalling her physiognomic quirks, replaying the little things she says, the sound of her laughter, remembering the feel of her, the taste. He couldn't wait to phone her. He willed her to call him back sooner than she ultimately did. And when she did, it gave him such joy to hear her voice, to envisage exactly where she was. Yet now he's all ears to the sound of sex with Nathalie.

Nathalie is writhing and moaning. The French accent is a boon because she sounds nothing like Tess. Whereas Tess responded to his touch and their coupling with small gasps and excited, hastened breathing, Nathalie is all extravagant moaning and throaty panting. She tastes different from Tess too. The whole feel of her is different as well. Nathalie is leggy and toned but that amount of conscientious grooming has added a hardness to her body of which Joe had never really been aware until he'd slept with Tess. Tess is smaller than Nathalie, lithe of limb from pushing that buggy uphill and hoicking the toddler about but there's a softness to her figure too. Her deportment may preclude Nathalie's elegance but Tess is still feminine, even with the hoodies and jeans and haphazard hair. The salt scrubs, the firming creams, the hours at the gym, the frequent lymphatic massage all ensure Nathalie's sculpted form. High heels and high skirts enhance the line of her legs, low-cut tops complement her décolleté, jewellery sets off the sweep of her neck, aubergine nail polish presents her hands to their best advantage; her posture is perfect and to walk behind her is a feast for the eye.

Tess, though, doesn't have the time for any of that, nor the inclination as far as Joe can make out. She's fit because the demands of her day have made her so, have given her curves and dips in the right places. But hers is a real figure, too, an everyday one – a bruise on her shin, a bit of a spot on her chin, an inconsistent blush of suntan across her chest, a little fuzz under her armpits, nails it would be daft to grow. But tatty trainers don't detract from the fact that her ankles are slim, her calves are shapely and her knees are nice. That funny old floral tea-dress, not as shapeless as it would seem when it softly alights, tantalizingly, on the swell of a breast, the curve of a hip, the roundness of her bottom. And when her body is swamped from view underneath those oversized T-shirts and hoodies, the fabric might as well be transparent now because her figure has become so legible to Joe. Perhaps it is unique to Tess – because though Joe has slept with many women, it's been a revelation for him to discover that, between skin and structure, there's this enticing layer of softness too. Tess's buttocks, her stomach, the fronts of her thighs, the backs of her arms – even as Joe bucks and humps into Nathalie, he surges at the memory of sweeping his hands over and over Tess's body.

But he really is here, in France. It surprises him to find he's had his eyes screwed shut. Usually he gorges on the view. Here he is, gripping Nathalie's arms as she straddles him, as she lowers herself down, screws herself on deep and tight and rides herself to a loud orgasm. What the hell is he doing here?

Before he falls asleep, Joe reckons all of this – whatever is going on either side of the Channel as well as deep inside him – is an essay in feeling. He reasons that, the thing is, he really likes sex and he's good at it and he's been lucky because his bedmates have always been enthusiastic, accomplished and permissive. With Nathalie tonight, it's been just as fun and harmless as it's always been because it's only sex, it's just a mutually greedy exchange of fluids. It's always been thus between them. Those contractions and spurts and spasms of physical relief. She knows where he's coming from. She also knows where not to go – not that she has any true ambition to go there. As long as Joe comes to her, she's always fine about when he goes again. Because he always comes back for more – why wouldn't he, when no strings can feel so good. Joe considers how the feeling really is purely physical when it comes to Nathalie. And he considers how it has nothing to do with Tess; it really has nothing to do with her at all.

But then Nathalie turns in her sleep and as she does so, she inadvertently jabs the side of Joe's leg with a sharp toenail. The feeling adds a sudden, pointed dimension to Joe's contemplation. He realizes how this concept of feeling over which he's been musing carries with it another factor he's never confronted – that there's more to Feeling than the purely physical. He likes the feel of sex, of a horny woman bringing him to orgasm – whether she's Nathalie, Rachel, Giselle – it's never really mattered to him who. The apotheosis of the sensation comes from his balls – he'll admit that he thinks with his dick but he also prides himself on being pretty thoughtful with his cock. His women have never complained, they've always hollered for more, more, more. But here's the thing: when it comes to Tess, Joe has experienced something novel – it's not about the feel of her, it's about the feelings he has for her and for the first time he's been confronted by a gamut of them – cerebral, emotional and physical. That's why sex with Nathalie during this recent trip has been like it's always been, but that's why he continues to think of Tess. Because Nathalie and Tess might both be very good, in their very different ways, at emptying his balls, but only Tess has filled his soul.

Joe glances across at Nathalie. She is beautiful, stunning in fact. Her physical attributes – if measured on some worldwide objective scale – far outshine Tess's. But it strikes Joe that it wouldn't matter to him in the slightest if he never saw her again. And then, just before he falls asleep, it strikes him harder how truly he longs to be with Tess.