Separate Beds (17 page)

She said, as reasonably as she could, ‘And you never do.’

From down below, Emily shouted up, ‘Are you two OK?’

Tom shot to his feet and said wearily, ‘For God’s sake, we can’t even have an argument in peace. I’m going out for some fresh air.’

‘Wait.’ Annie grabbed at Tom’s arm. ‘I’m coming with you. We have to discuss this together.’

‘Leave it, Annie.’

She tightened her grip. ‘I
am
coming with you and we
will
discuss it.’

‘Go away.’

She had seen that shuttered expression before. Oh, hundreds of times. ‘Ah, that’s it. You want to be allowed to wallow in solitude.’ She poked a finger into his chest. ‘Don’t deny it.’

Miraculously, the weariness dropped away, and he grinned down at her. ‘I’d forgotten how obstinate you can be.’

‘No, I just know you better than anybody.’

He held her gaze a few seconds longer. ‘So you do.’ He reached out a hand. ‘Come on, then.’

She searched his face. Old times? ‘Fine.’

They ended up catching a bus at the end of the road. Annie could count on the fingers of one hand the number
of times she had been on one with Tom since they were married. It was full, and they were forced to stand close, heads and bodies pressed together. She murmured into his ear, ‘You have to support Jake.’

He did not reply, but his grip on her waist tightened.

They decanted at Vauxhall Bridge and made for the path along the river embankment. The day had been warm and overcast but the evening sun had broken through the cloud layer and the atmosphere was brightening.

Inhaling river air, Annie felt better at once. This was a favourite London walk, and she headed towards Waterloo Bridge. As usual she set a fast pace and Tom strode just a fraction behind her, a bobbing presence registered at the corner of her eye.

Passing the Houses of Parliament on the north bank, which glinted under the sun, Annie stole a look at Tom and the changes she perceived in him were dismaying. He seemed stooped, and the loss of his optimism and attack was marked. ‘Why not set up a consultancy?’ She was going carefully, tactfully.

He was silent for half a minute or so, then replied that since it seemed likely that the economic outlook was no longer so rosy it would be difficult. Plus there were, oh, approximately a million consultants all chasing one assignment.

‘I know you’ve been trying, but you mustn’t give up. Yet.’

He came to a dead stop. ‘I had a job,’ he said, and a world of regret was reflected in his eyes. ‘I did have a job.’

The tourist season was not yet in full spate, and only a smallish queue had formed by Embarkation at the London Eye. Hopeful ticket touts patrolled up and down and cameras flashed.

Tom poked her arm. ‘How about it?’

She glanced at him, and nodded.

In a very short time, Annie and Tom were ensconced on the seating area in a pod and inching towards the zenith. The pod was only half full. A trio of girls in high-heeled boots and tight jeans whispered to each other. A solitary man with earphones hunched over on the bench and trained binoculars on the Houses of Parliament. A pair of toddlers careered from side to side calling to their fond and – clearly – indulgent parents.

Tom and Annie exchanged glances – and she knew he was thinking:
We were like that once
.

She placed her mouth against his ear. ‘Did we let ours get away with murder?’

‘I hope not.’

That time had gone, and their children were no longer an extension of herself. Blink, and they had grown up. How had that happened?

The pod crept upward and London’s panorama shrank. Annie shivered.

‘You OK?’ asked Tom.

‘Actually …’ Annie was surprised by the onset of her fear and dislike of being suspended in a pod above the Thames. ‘I’m not so sure about this. It’s a strange feeling. Sort of abandoned in space.’

‘That’s the point.’ Tom dragged her up from the bench and over to the viewing rail. ‘Look. It’s great. You can see things from a different perspective.’

She clung to the rail. To ground herself, she regarded her feet.
Size 39. Slight suggestion of bunion on right foot
.

‘Sissy,’ he whispered.

River, roads and buildings retreated, and the horizon now curved very slightly.
Think macaroni cheese. Think contents of laundry basket. Shirts, socks … Good
. She was beginning to feel a little nauseous.

She returned to the bench, and he made no move to stop her. Her panic more or less neutralized, Annie took stock. Tom was keenly observing Canary Wharf’s skyscrapers, his jaw set in a familiar way. She was fairly sure that he was mulling over the new words that were creeping into the language –
credit swaps, derivatives, greedy bankers
– which brought her up short. What was going on in the wider world was, at this moment, of so little importance to her that she was deeply ashamed. That was the trouble with Trouble: it had made her turn inwards, seeking the selfish survival instincts.

As they inched over the zenith, the nausea retreated and she felt more in control. Gratified that her knees had returned to load-bearing duty, she rejoined Tom and made an effort to consider the larger perspective. She pointed to the glittering towers of the City. ‘You say the future is no longer so rosy but isn’t it a good thing? Turbo-capitalism getting rid of its fat?’

‘Do you know what? At this precise moment I don’t care.’

Silence.

‘Shouldn’t you?’

He turned on her. ‘Yes. There’s a whole raft of issues to worry about.’ A tinge of colour trickled into his cheeks. ‘But I can’t get past how angry I feel about what’s happened to me.’ His fingers dug into Annie’s forearm and it was not a loving gesture.

She peeled them off. ‘And you’re angry with me, too, I
think.’ He didn’t confirm or deny it. ‘You can be angry with me, Tom, if it makes you feel better.’

He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Did I take it all too seriously? I think perhaps I did. If I hadn’t cared so much about what we did and achieved, then being banished would be easier.’

She looked directly into his wounded eyes. ‘Tom, you don’t believe that.’

‘No, I don’t,’ he admitted, after a moment. ‘You’re right. I couldn’t have done it any other way.’

‘Nor should you.’

He was silent, but she could tell that her words had helped.

Tom had once said: ‘Someone listening to the service might feel there was solidarity between humans that has nothing to do with race, nationality or religion but with what was right and loving …’

That had made her love him all the more.

‘“The baroque frontiers, the surrealist police …”’ Annie had plundered Auden to quote back at him. ‘And broadcasting wriggles past them.’ Tom’s eyes had lit up because her response signalled that the connections between them were alive and strong …

Those new-married, private exchanges had been as stirring, and as binding, as any that had taken place between them physically.

During their long discussions, Sadie and she had nibbled away at the subject of marriage. Why do it? What’s in it? How many times was Sadie going to try it before she was satisfied? The last had made them laugh. Equally, a rough tally of the millions Sadie had abandoned with her first two mega-rich husbands had had them crying into their tequila.

After they’d seen
Four Weddings and a Funeral
together – accompanied by a large tub of popcorn – they had emerged and begun to argue over it. Sadie considered the film sentimental. ‘No,’ said Annie, ‘it recognizes that we’re eternal romantics and long for the ideal …’

‘That’s because you’re sad,’ Sadie had pointed out, with the expertise of been-there-and-got-the-T-shirt. ‘Tom is never at home. From what you say, your marriage is not what it was. And you haven’t decided what to do about it.’

The feel-good delight from the film had faded. Annie’s stomach had heaved with too much popcorn. ‘Cheer me up, do.’

Sadie shot her a look. ‘One day, you and Tom will have to sort it out.’

‘Yes and no,’ said Annie. ‘Tom’s gone off-piste. I’ve gone off-piste. The children take up every spare moment. It’s that stage of our lives.’

After Mia had left and the situation between Tom and Annie was very different, Sadie again tackled Annie. ‘Why do you carry on with the charade?’ she asked.

‘Because,’ the broken Annie had replied, ‘there is no reason not to. There is every reason to stick to things precisely because they are rock bottom.’

‘Do you love him?’ Sadie demanded.

‘Yes. No. Not at the moment. Not for the foreseeable future.’

Sadie had grown angry and berated Annie for cynicism and fatalism. ‘You deserve better for yourself. If your marriage sucks, you should get out of it, like I did.’

‘OK, OK,’ Annie had said. ‘But I don’t have the energy just now.’

But, deep in her heart, she had been thinking,
What if Mia came back and found that Tom and I were no longer together?

Annie turned to look towards the west. An imminent sunset was sending fingers of pink light across the horizon and a hush fell inside the pod. Beyond the city and the confines of a small island, another lush, uncolonized world where all was well appeared to rise above the horizon and present itself to her dazzled gaze. For a second or two, she even imagined that Leonardo’s angel was winging through the darkening sky, bringing … what?

Tom was observing her closely and Annie shuddered with exhaustion. All was not well with their world.

On the way home, they resumed the discussion about Jake.

‘Jake and Maisie will have to find somewhere else.’ Tom was less vehement than previously. A good sign? ‘Otherwise it’ll be a nightmare. The house is only so big, and the money is tight, although that’s not the main reason.’

‘Jake is your son, Tom, and he’s in trouble. He needs support and help with the baby. Give him a few weeks and he’ll get on his feet.’

‘We’ve got my mother to look after.’

They were at the bus stop. A woman and her small son, alongside them in the queue, grinned as their argument became audible to the onlookers.

‘Listen to me.’ Tom pulled Annie aside. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate. It’ll be too much. Won’t it?’

Exasperated, she searched his face, but dropped her voice, ‘Tell the truth, Tom. It’s nothing to do with my comfort, it’s more that you don’t want Jake back home.’

Tom’s eyes turned icy. ‘Not true. He’s a grown man and
he can’t just pitch up on the doorstep and demand to be taken in.’

‘But that’s precisely what family is for.’ She paused to rally her forces. ‘We’ve been here, Tom, and I’m not going to let you do it again. Whatever you may feel about Jake, he’s still entitled to our support and it’s our absolute duty to give it.’

‘I’m not proposing to abandon him.’

‘Refuse to step up when he’s at a crossroads and he’ll believe that’s precisely what you’ve done.’

‘Thank you for the lesson.’

She tried again: ‘Tom, remember, if you hadn’t –’

‘If I hadn’t
what
?’

‘You know very well. Once you’ve told a child to go, they go. They don’t come back.’

Dangerous territory.

‘Shut up, Annie.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Annie spotted a 77 draw in to the stop. The doors opened, disgorged, and the waiting passengers filed on to it. Without further ado, she nipped on to the platform and pushed her way into the centre of the bus, up the stairs and commandeered a seat on the top deck.

The bus moved off. Annie looked down to see Tom running alongside it, mouthing something at her.
You fool
, she thought. Then, at the sight of his ridiculous stick figure, she laughed.

The route was a familiar one. As the bus nosed its way along the Wandsworth Road, Annie asked herself,
Was it as much my fault?
It was an old question, one she had grown weary of asking – and of never answering.

At the Junction, she disembarked and, like an addict in search of a fix, hurried up the Falcon Road and turned right. Here, the houses had as yet to be gentrified and displayed varying degrees of neglect and indifference on the part of their owners. A dispirited lime tree struggled for existence and, in the front gardens, many of the rubbish bins were overflowing.

Annie halted in front of a house with an iron gate hanging by one hinge. She wasn’t proud of herself, and knew perfectly well that she was being ridiculous. She didn’t know if Mia lived here or not. But not knowing opened a margin for hope.

Greedily, she scanned the ground-floor window and the one above, both of which sported pairs of tatty curtains, for any changes that might offer a clue. Signs of occupation? Check. Anything different? Check.

She played over a piece of fantasy theatre of which she never tired.
Mum, what are you doing here? I’ve come to see you. I am so glad you have
… And she would say:
I have searched for you everywhere, my daughter. I glimpsed your face in the crowd. I heard your voice in the street
…

A voice said in her ear: ‘Annie?’

She whipped around. ‘Tom.’

He was half laughing, half frowning, out of breath and grabbing at her hands. At his touch, Annie’s tears threatened.

‘You abandoned me … Annie, what are you
doing
here?’

He looked at the end of his tether, and so anxious that she told him. ‘Ages ago, I phoned Mia’s friend, Kate Sinclair – you remember her? – to try and get some information. She didn’t know any more than we did except she thought Mia and Pete might have rented a house in this street. So I come here sometimes.’ She bit her lip. ‘Just in case … I might see her.’

‘And you never said.’

‘No.’

He looked away. ‘You were so determined that it was my fault.’

‘Yes. No …’ Annie swallowed. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. You don’t want Jake to come home because it means you’ll have to share a bedroom with me.’

‘It’s been a long time.’

‘But you don’t want to?’

‘
You
don’t want to. It was you who said that.’

She was bewildered. ‘I said it?’