Sleeping Arrangements (20 page)

She walked over to where her clothes lay, barely aware of what she was doing, trying to empty her mind of thoughts. But as she reached across the discarded black dress for her hairbrush she caught a faint smell of the exotic musky scent which the woman in the clothes shop had sprayed over her as she left. The scent of yesterday; the scent of her and Hugh.

The smell assaulted her like no other sensation. A plunge of desire went through her; she felt shaky and out of control. She reached for the chest of drawers for support and closed her eyes, trying to focus, to come to her senses. But the want, the need was too strong. Her mind was filled with an image of herself again in that room in San Luis. Sitting by the window with a glass in her hand. Hugh in the rumpled sheets behind her, beckoning her back to bed with his eyes. The two of them in a secret world, away from everything.

He had asked her to sleep all night with him; to wake up in his arms. She had refused.

And now she had ended up spending the night alone. She felt numb at the thought of what she had turned down.

For a few seconds she stood perfectly still, then forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing back her hair with a trembling hand. Moving away from the dress, from the scent, she stepped into a swimsuit, then a sundress. She combed out her hair and walked out of the room.

Passing the door to the boys' bedroom she glanced inside. Both were still sound asleep; a Gameboy was firmly clutched in Nat's hand. She gazed at them silently for a moment. Asleep, Sam looked like a child again. His face was unlined and innocent; his arms flung out on his pillow. There was a smattering of faint blond stubble on his chin, picked out by the morning sun. But it did not make her think of her son as a man. It made her think of the downy hairs that had covered his body when he was a baby, which had glowed in the sunlight as he lay outside on a rug. Next to him, Nat had kicked off his covers. His faded Pokémon pyjamas were bobbly from too much washing; on his hand was written a Biro message. Sam owes me 3 goes.

Her two sons. Staring at them in the sunny silence, Chloe suddenly found herself thinking of the story of the Little Mermaid who left the sea for her love; who renounced her old life and followed her infatuated heart. And who walked for the rest of her life on two stabbing pains.

Chloe closed her eyes, holding the door jamb to steady herself. When she opened them, it was with a new purpose. She felt a thin steel of resolution inside her, a backbone once again.

She moved off down the corridor, her steps gaining pace, her mind set.

Outside the villa, the sun was already scorching down out of a blue sky; the air was still with a new level of heat which seemed almost menacing in its strength. For a moment Chloe felt physically threatened by it. What had they been thinking of, she wondered futilely, coming to this foreign, arid mountainside, exposing themselves to such powerful, damaging forces?

Why had they not been content to stay in the safe environment of home?

For a moment she felt like turning and running, retreating into the climate-controlled security of the villa. But she knew she couldn't hide. Not from the sun. Not from him. She was here now, and she would simply have to deal with whatever came her way.

With renewed resolve she continued walking into the heat, towards the swimming pool.

She would peel off her dress and dive in, she told herself. And as the cool water filled her ears and closed over her head, the madness of yesterday would disappear. She would become her old self once more.

She headed briskly towards the swimming pool, too busy with her own determination to notice her surroundings. As she drew closer, she stopped in disbelief, her heart thudding.

Hugh and Philip were slumped in chairs before her, shaded by a parasol. Several empty wine bottles were in front of them and both were sound asleep.

As she stared at them, her focused mind began to waver and disintegrate. She tried to swallow and found she couldn't. In her mind, she had separated the two men completely.

Philip lived in one life—her life. Hugh existed in the stranger's life. But here they were together, flesh and blood and skin, breathing in and breathing out, almost in unison. Sleeping together.

As she stared, Hugh opened his eyes and met her gaze. Chloe felt a lurch of panic, as though she had been caught stealing.

'Chloe,' he said in indistinct tones, and she felt a fresh spasm of fear.

'I . . .' she said helplessly. 'No.' She turned and walked quickly away, her heart beating fast.

She headed down the wooden steps to the field, almost running through the hot, dusty grass. At the bottom of the field was the lemon grove. She slipped in among the trees like a fugitive, not quite knowing where she was going or what she wanted. At last she came to a stop. She leaned against a lemon tree, and breathed in the faint, fresh citrus scent.

'Chloe.'

She looked up in horror. Hugh had followed her. He was looking at her with bloodshot eyes, his chin stubbly, his shirt rumpled. As she met his eyes, his face broke into a radiant smile. 'Good morning, my darling,' he murmured, and bent his face towards hers.

'No!' she said, twisting away from him. 'Hugh, stop.' Desperately she tried to organize her thoughts.

'I love you.'

As his words hit the air, she felt her body respond. Her heart quickened; her cheeks flushed a betraying pink.

'No,' she said, turning away. 'No, you don't. Listen, Hugh.' She paused, steeling herself to turn back and meet his eyes. 'We . . . we made a mistake. A huge mistake.'

'Don't say that,' said Hugh.

'We both did. Look at the facts. We're on holiday, it was hot, we'd both had something to drink . . .'

'Look at this fact, Chloe. I love you. I've always loved you.'

A tingle started at Chloe's feet and slowly made its way up her legs, under her dress, hidden.

'It's too late,' she said, clenching her fists by her side. 'It's too late to say that.'

'It's not too late,' said Hugh. He came forward and took hold of her shoulders; she could feel his breath hot against her face. 'Chloe, we're like . . . prodigal lovers. We lost each other—and now we've found each other again. We should be celebrating. We should be . . .

killing the fatted calf.'

'Well, maybe we have found each other again,' retorted Chloe in sudden emotion. 'And what have we found? You're married, I'm married . . .'

'You're not married,' said Hugh.

'As good as.'

'It's not as good as,' said Hugh. 'You're not married.'

Chloe stared at him, her heart beating fast.

'Hugh, stop it.'

'I should have married you,' said Hugh, his eyes shining with intensity. 'When we were both twenty. We should have been together. We should have been a family. You, me, Sam . .

. It was meant, Chloe. I was just too stupid to see it.'

'Hugh, stop it.'

'Chloe . . .' He broke off and gazed at her, as though memorizing her face. 'Chloe, will you marry me?'

Chloe stared at him in a throbbing silence, then gave a half-laugh, half-sob.

'You're being ridiculous.'

'I'm not being ridiculous. I'm serious, Chloe. Marry me. How old are we both? In our thirties, for God's sake! We've got a whole lifetime ahead of us.'

'Hugh—'

'People do it. Why shouldn't we? Just because of one mistake, years ago—are we going to give up on what could be years of happiness?'

'It wouldn't be years of happiness,' said Chloe. 'It wouldn't be happiness.'

'How do you know?' Hugh's eyes met hers and she felt an inner jolt. For an instant it seemed that another possible future life was held between them like a stream of light. A tantalizing series of images, like a movie or a glossy magazine. She was a child again, wondering what she would be when she grew up; for a few moments she was transfixed by the possibilities. Then, summoning up all her inner resolve, she forced herself to pull her eyes away, to stare down at the roots of a lemon tree. To impress its image on her mind. Real roots and real earth.

'It was a mistake,' she said, looking up. 'What happened yesterday was just a moment of weakness. I'm sorry, Hugh, but that's all it was.'

There was silence. Hugh released her shoulders and took a few steps away, his face set.

Chloe watched him with slight apprehension.

'A moment of weakness,' echoed Hugh finally, turning round. 'That implies it takes you some effort to stay with Philip.'

'That's not what I meant.' She felt a flash of genuine indignation. 'I love Philip.'

'You may love him,' said Hugh. He looked directly at her. 'That doesn't mean you're happy with him.'

'I am,' said Chloe. 'I've been happy with him for thirteen years now.'

'I've seen you together on this holiday,' said Hugh, and shook his head dismissively. 'You aren't a happy couple.'

'Well, maybe that's because we've been under a great deal of strain recently,' said Chloe, stung. 'If you really want to know, Philip's under serious threat of redundancy. All right? Does that explain things for you? We've spent the last three months waiting to hear whether he's still got a job or not. And yes, we have both been pretty miserable about it. But that doesn't mean we aren't a happy couple. A happy family.' She broke off, hot in the face, staring fiercely at him.

'I'm sorry,' said Hugh awkwardly. 'I didn't know what the situation was . . .'

'That's the point, Hugh,' said Chloe. 'You don't know my situation. How can you? It's been fifteen years! You don't know me, you don't know my family. You have an idea of what I am . .

. but nothing more.' Her voice softened as she saw Hugh's expression. 'And I don't know you.

I don't know about your marriage to Amanda. I wouldn't dream of commenting on whether you're happy or not. That's your family life.'

Her words travelled through the dry still air between the rows of lemon trees. For a few moments, neither spoke.

'My family life,' echoed Hugh at last, and gave a strange little smile. 'You want to know about my family life? You want to know about my marriage to Amanda?'

'No,' said Chloe. 'No, I don't.'

'Try two people who barely talk to each other from one end of the day to the other,' said Hugh, ignoring her. 'Try a father who doesn't know his own children. Who spends more time in the office than anyone really needs to.' Hugh exhaled sharply. 'What I have with Amanda . .

. It's not a family life. Or at least if it is, I'm not part of the family. I'm the chequebook.' He rubbed his face roughly, then looked up. 'It's not what I wanted, Chloe. I never wanted to be a fucking . . . stranger to my children.' He took a step towards her, his eyes intensely on hers.

'And when I look at the way Philip is with Sam, when I think, I had that opportunity. I could have been that kid's father—'

'No!' interrupted Chloe in sudden fury. 'Just stop right there! Philip is Sam's father, OK?

Philip is his father. You don't know what would have happened if we'd stayed together. And you have absolutely no right to assume . . .' She broke off, trying to calm her thoughts. 'Hugh, I'm sorry that you're unhappy with Amanda. I'm truly sorry. But . . . it's not my problem.'

Hugh stared at her.

'In other words, "fuck off and leave me alone." '

'Not exactly,' said Chloe after a pause. 'But . . . pretty close.'

There was silence. Hugh thrust his hands in his pockets and took a few steps away, staring at the sandy, scrubby ground as though intently interested in it.

'You used me,' he said at last.

'We used each other,' said Chloe.

'This is your revenge, isn't it?' said Hugh, suddenly looking up. 'You wanted to punish me for what I did.'

'No,' said Chloe. 'I'm not punishing you.'

'You must have felt like it. You must have hated me.'

'No,' said Chloe automatically. But a memory was pushing itself into her head. A picture of herself, aged twenty, sitting at her aunt's kitchen table, blindly spooning mush into Sam's mouth. Grey faced and haggard, consumed with misery; with the unbearable knowledge that it could have worked. That it would have worked. If he hadn't been such a bloody coward . . .

In those black days she had despised him, of course she had. She had desired confrontation, revenge, vindication. She had conjured up scenes of passionate, almost violent recrimination, and had gnawed on them endlessly like comforters in the middle of the night.

Those scenes still existed in her mind, she couldn't deny it. But over the years they had become muted and pallid, like old forgotten sketches—lacking colour, lacking impetus, lacking the emotional drive which had created them.

'Maybe at the time, yes,' she said, looking up. 'Maybe I did hate you. But now . . .' She pushed her hair back off her damp forehead. 'Hugh, that time's gone. We're not a couple of students any more. I have a family, you have a family. You have two such beautiful little girls .

. .'

'Who don't know me,' said Hugh bitterly. 'Who don't love me. If I left tomorrow, my children wouldn't even notice I was gone.'

Chloe stared at him, her anger vanished, feeling a sudden compassion for this rich, ambitious, unhappy man who had missed out on all the things she valued most in life.

'You have to earn love, Hugh,' she said. 'You have to earn love. With time, with effort . . .'

'I want to earn your love,' said Hugh, not moving his eyes from hers, and in spite of herself, Chloe felt a pink tinge come to her cheeks.

'No.' She shook her head roughly. 'Don't say things like that. I told you, what we did was just a . . . a mistake.'

Hugh walked to a nearby tree, frowning in thought. He plucked a green lemon from it and stared at it for a few moments. Then, in a calm and certain voice he said,

'I don't believe you. You're playing safe.'

'I'm not!' retorted Chloe. 'I'm not playing safe! I love Philip, I want to stay with him—'

'We only get one life, Chloe.' Hugh looked up and she felt a tiny lurch at the intensity of his expression. 'We only get a handful of chances to change our lives around.'

'This isn't a chance.'