Sleeping Arrangements (27 page)

Beatrice looked like him, he suddenly realized. She had his face, his mannerisms. People had said it to him many times—and he'd smiled politely and nodded—but he'd never really seen it before. He'd never really seen his children. For the last six years he'd inadvertently been looking in the wrong direction, squinting at the wrong horizon—and only now had someone swivelled him round to see what he'd been missing.

'Oh, hello, Hugh,' said Jenna in surprise, folding up Beatrice's T-shirt. 'Did you want something?'

'I'll take over now,' said Hugh. 'I thought the girls might like a swim.'

'A swim?' said Jenna. 'But it's nearly six-thirty.'

'I know,' said Hugh. 'The perfect time for a swim.'

'Right . . .' Jenna hesitated. 'Have you spoken to Amanda about this?'

'No, I haven't,' said Hugh. 'I don't think I need Amanda's permission to take my own children for a swim, do you?'

'No!' said Jenna quickly. 'Of course not! It's just that the routine . . .'

'Forget the routine,' said Hugh. 'There's going to be a new routine from now on. A lot of things have changed.'

'Really?'

'Oh yes,' said Hugh. 'A lot of things.' He felt a renewed surge of exhilaration, and a smile licked across his face. 'Go on, Jenna. You can have the rest of the evening off if you like.'

'Well,' said Jenna. 'If you're sure . . .' She grinned. 'I might go and have a swim myself.'

As she left the room, Hugh looked at his daughters, at their wispy hair and their perfect skin, their delicate, winged shoulder blades. They stared uncertainly back at him as if he were a madman. Maybe he was. Tony Foxton had certainly thought he was.

'Come on, girls,' he said. 'Who wants to go swimming? Who wants to push Daddy into the pool?'

Beatrice giggled, but Octavia still stared at him uncertainly.

'What about our bath?' she said.

'You can have it later!' said Hugh. 'Come on. Won't it be fun?'

He looked briefly around the room for swimming costumes, but he had no idea where they were kept. No idea what they looked like.

'You don't need to wear swimming costumes,' he said. 'You can just jump in with nothing on!' He picked up Beatrice and wheeled her round in the air, and she squealed with laughter.

'Come on, Octavia,' he said. 'Let's go.'

'But Daddy—'

'No more buts! Come on!' He charged out of the room, Beatrice laughing wildly.

'Wait for me!' cried Octavia, running after them. 'Wait for me!'

'Well, come on then!' said Hugh. He waited until she reached his side, then scooped her up under his other arm and, the two girls shrieking with laughter, ran down the stairs, out into the garden.

The air was still suffocatingly hot from the day's sun and the swimming pool warmer now than at any other part of the day. As Hugh plunged into the clear blue water, he felt a joyful sense of release. He surfaced, his head wet, and grinned up at the two little girls, standing on the side. They were both wearing armbands and nothing else; in silhouette they looked like cherubs.

'Come on then!' he cried. 'Who's going to jump in first?' There was a pause—then Octavia grasped her nose and leapt into the water. A moment later, Beatrice followed with a splash.

They both swam vigorously, like puppies, thought Hugh, watching them. If adults had just half that enthusiasm—or even a quarter of it . . .

'OK,' he said after a while. 'We're going to have a race. We're going to start at this end . . .'

As he swam to the shallow end of the pool he saw Jenna approaching, wearing a busi-nesslike swimming costume. She lifted a hand in greeting—then, without saying anything, dived into the pool and began an efficient crawl.

'Right,' said Hugh, turning back to the girls. 'Ready for the race? On your marks . . . set . . .

go!'

The three of them began to splash noisily to the other end of the swimming pool. Amid the shrieks and general pandemonium, it took Hugh a while to realize that he was being called from the side of the pool. He turned and wiped the water from his eyes—and saw Amanda standing on the edge. She was holding a drink and teetering slightly, and staring at him with a cold, furious expression.

'Hugh . . . what exactly are you doing?' she said, as he neared the water's edge. 'What exactly are you doing?'

'Having a swim,' said Hugh. 'Care to join us?'

'Jenna was putting the girls to bed.'

'And I told her to have the rest of the evening off.'

'You did what?' Amanda paused, and lifted her hand to her forehead, as though trying to sort her thoughts manually. 'Hugh, are you deliberately trying to make things hard for me? Are you deliberately trying to ruin a peaceful evening?'

'I'm not ruining anything,' said Hugh. 'I'm swimming with my children. Anything wrong in that?'

'And who's going to settle them down? Who's going to get them back to bed?'

'I will.'

'You will?' Amanda started to laugh, a raucous, mocking laugh which made Hugh flinch.

'Very good, Hugh. You will.'

'I will. I want to.' Hugh reached for Beatrice, who was paddling past, and pulled her tightly to him. 'I never see these children,' he said in a low, trembling voice. 'Not from one end of the week to the other. I get home, they're already in bed. At weekends they're always off, doing things which you've organized, which don't include me. I've felt shut out, right from the start.

Ever since they were babies.'

'Daddy,' said Beatrice, wriggling away. 'I want to get the ball.'

'Off you go then, sweetheart,' said Hugh, releasing her. He watched her swim away, then looked back up at Amanda. 'I'm not going to be a stranger to my kids any more,' he said. He swam over to the steps and began to climb up, his face set. 'OK? I'm just not going to.'

'Let me get this straight,' said Amanda. 'You're blaming me because you don't see the children.'

Hugh got out of the pool and stood facing her, dripping water.

'Yes, in part, I'm blaming you,' he said, trying to keep calm. 'You act like you have a mono-poly on the children. You act as though I couldn't possibly know anything about them, or have anything to contribute to their well-being except . . . except money. You've never given me a chance to know them.'

'I've never given you a chance?' Amanda stared at him in disbelief. 'How's this for a chance? You could have taken them to the bloody donkey sanctuary this afternoon! I asked you if you wanted to come—and you told me you had to stay in and wait for an important call.

So how, precisely, did I exclude you then?'

Hugh stared back at her, discomfited.

'I did have to wait for a call this afternoon,' he said at last. 'But that was exceptional. I'm talking about everyday life, at home. I'm talking about the fact that every single second of the children's life is organized into some activity or other—none of which I feel part of—'

'I have to be organized!' snapped Amanda. 'If you think it's easy, running a house, two children, an entire redecoration project—'

'Sod the redecoration!' cried Hugh. 'We don't need the house bloody redecorated!' His eye fell on a book of swatches lying on a sunbed, and he grabbed it. 'Sod—the bloody—redecoration,' he said, tearing out swatch after swatch and throwing them in the pool.

The children squealed with delight and swam towards the strips of fabric, which were sinking gently through the water. On the other side of the pool, Jenna stopped swimming and trod water, listening.

'You never consulted me about redecorating!' said Hugh, turning back to Amanda. 'You never consult me about anything. You just swan around, making all the decisions; my opinion is obviously completely redundant. . . .'

'I never ask you, because you're never bloody well there to ask!' cried Amanda. 'If I waited to consult you every time I needed to get something done, the whole house would be falling apart by now! And as for swanning around . . .' She took a few steps towards him, her face ominously tense. 'You have no idea, Hugh, what I do. You have no idea how hard it is, sometimes, just to get to the end of the day. Do you want to know why the children's days are so structured? Do you want to know? It's because if I didn't have a bit of structure in my life . . .

I'd go mad!'

Her voice rose in a shriek, echoing over the water. Hugh stared at her, feeling as shocked as though she'd slapped him. He'd never heard her talk like that before. He picked up a towel and began to rub his hair, eyeing her warily, taking in for the first time her bloodshot eyes, her tense frown, her tight, hunched shoulders.

'Amanda . . .' he said at last. 'Are you unhappy?'

'I'm not unhappy, no. Of course I'm not.' Amanda shook her head, trying to dislodge the right words. 'But neither is my life the piece of lemon meringue you seem to think it is.'

'I didn't say it was a piece of lemon meringue—'

'You want to know the reality of being at home all day with the children? The reality is, I get bored sometimes. And I get frustrated sometimes. I miss having a life of my own. I miss my independence.' She looked at the glass in her hand, then took a swig. 'Sometimes I wish I had my job back.'

Hugh stared at her.

'You've never said any of this.'

'I don't want to moan when you get home from the office. We made a deal—and I reckon I've stuck to it pretty well. You'd earn the money, and I'd look after the children. That was the agreement. And if sometimes it's difficult—well, tough luck.' Amanda shrugged. 'There's no point either of us whingeing about it.'

There was silence. Beatrice pattered up to Hugh, dripping wet.

'Well, maybe I want to change the agreement,' said Hugh. 'Maybe I want to change a lot of things.' He began to rub Beatrice's hair with his towel. 'I've been thinking hard. About you . . .

about our life together . . .'

He hesitated, marshalling his words carefully in his mind. But before he could continue, a ringing voice addressed him from the distance. 'Hugh?'

He looked up, to see Chloe striding towards the swimming pool. 'Hugh, I want a word.'

As she neared, he saw that her face was flushed, her eyes blazing with fury, her hair a wispy blonde halo. She had never looked more beautiful, more passionate, and he felt a prickling of arousal, followed immediately by dismay. What had upset her? What might she give away? He had not got this far, only to have everything fucked up.

'Hello,' he said, as naturally as possible. 'Just having a swim with the girls.'

With my family, his eyes telegraphed. With my wife and family.

'Just having a swim,' echoed Chloe mockingly. Her eyes moved disparagingly around the swimming pool. 'Very nice, too.'

'Is there a problem?' said Amanda. Chloe ignored her.

'I suppose you feel really powerful, do you?' she said abruptly, turning to Hugh. 'I suppose you've been having a great time all week, feeling big and powerful and important. Keeping your secrets. Telling your lies.'

The ground seemed to give way slightly under Hugh's feet.

'What do you mean?' he said, playing for time, trying to work out what had sparked off this anger. She couldn't be planning to tell Amanda, surely. Not now.

'Beatrice, go and swim some more,' he said, his throat tight. He watched as his daughter pattered to the water's edge and jumped in. He wished he could follow her. The warm evening air was closing in around him like a thick, suffocating blanket.

'Chloe, what are you talking about?' he said, turning back at her, trying to transmit a 'be very careful' message with his eyes.

'You've been stringing us along the whole time, haven't you?' said Chloe.

'What?' He stared at her, puzzled.

'You knew. You knew Philip was going to lose his job. You knew how worried we were, how vulnerable we were . . . how vulnerable I was . . .'

'Oh God, that,' said Hugh, and exhaled sharply. 'Look, I didn't know—'

'You used the situation. Don't think I don't realize that.'

Her voice was blistering; the betrayal in her face unmistakable. Hugh swallowed, feeling suddenly hollow. Jesus. What exactly did she think? That he'd coldbloodedly kept the truth from her in order to better his chances of seduction? That while they'd lain in each other's arms, he'd known exactly what Philip's destiny was? 'No,' said Hugh. 'No, Chloe. Believe me.

I didn't know. Not until today. Not until after . . .' He stared at her, desperately trying to sema-phore the truth. 'I had no idea. We weren't talking about work, remember? None of us. I had no idea.'

He took a step towards her, not caring if Amanda saw the passion in his eyes. He couldn't let Chloe believe the worst of him. As he stared at her, a flicker of doubt passed over her face.

But the hostility remained. Chloe didn't want to be pacified, he saw. She had anger to unleash—and unleash it she would.

'Chloe . . .'

'Did she know, as well?' said Chloe, jerking her thumb towards Amanda. 'Have you both been laughing at us?'

'Know what?' said Amanda coldly.

'Oh. So Hugh's been keeping secrets from you, too.'

'Of course he hasn't,' said Amanda, flashing Chloe a look of dislike. 'Hugh, what's she talking about, for God's sake?'

'I'm talking about Philip's job,' said Chloe. Amanda looked at her blankly.

'Philip's job? What does he do?'

'He's a branch manager at National Southern. Was. Until your bigshot husband and his henchmen came along.' Chloe's eyes glittered accusingly at Hugh and he took a deep breath, trying to stay natural. Two holiday acquaintances, he reminded himself. Nothing more than that.

'Chloe, I did everything I could.'

'Of course you did.'

'I tried to save his job! Didn't he tell you?'

'He told me you made a phone call,' said Chloe sarcastically. 'That must have been a real effort.'

'It was,' said Hugh, breathing heavily. 'It was, more than you think. I really did try to help.'

'Oh, I forgot! You're such an altruistic person. Such a caring chap.'

'You don't know what I'm like,' said Hugh evenly.

'I know what you're capable of.' Her eyes seared into his. 'Don't worry, Hugh, I know exactly how callous you can be. If you want something, you arrange it. Sort your own life first.