The First Wife (18 page)

The Metro freaked him out all over again, but when he found the right line, the green one, and got on a train, he felt a bit better. He stood next to his backpack, swaying along with the motion of the carriage, feeling like a real traveller. Just another guy on the Barcelona Metro. When he realised he was travelling in the wrong direction, when the first station he reached was Plaça del Centre when it ought to have been Tarragona, he even managed to grab his bag, leap off, and change direction before any harm was done. He had to change Metro lines at Espanya, which he accomplished, he felt, with a certain nonchalance. Before he knew it, he was walking up the steps at Arc de Triomf, past a load of roadworks and standing, map in hand, wondering which way to go from here.

He found it in the end, with help from three separate passers-by. His apartment was in one of the real European apartment blocks, on the fourth floor with no lift. He pressed the buzzer for flat six, and when a woman said something, he said,
‘Hola,
soy
Jack
.’ A hoarse buzzer sounded, and he pushed the front door.

The hallway was dark and dusty and beautifully cool. The floor was covered in cracked grey tiles, and a stone staircase led upwards. Ignoring the closed doors on either side of him, he set off upwards, in search of flat six.

He was in.

Saturday

I was sitting in the beach café, wearing a pretty flowery dress and ballet shoes, and my hair was clipped up with hairpins, exactly as Grandma’s used to be, though with more strands escaping than she would ever have allowed.

I stared out of the window, at the tiny waves lapping lazily at the shore. Harry was opposite me, preoccupied. This happened from time to time. He was still affected by what had happened to Sarah, and every now and then he would tune out from real life for a few minutes. He had explained to me that he needed head space, sometimes, and I was happy to give it to him.

‘Nothing to do with you,’ he reassured me. ‘At least, only in a good way. It takes me by surprise, occasionally, the way everything has changed this year.’

I watched him thinking. He was cupping his coffee cup in both hands, and it was a touching, childish gesture.

I was scared of my own happiness. If and when this ended, I had no idea what I would do with myself. The very idea made my breath come in panicky gasps which I quelled with an effort.

‘Lily,’ he suddenly said, and I saw that he was looking at me, while I had still been staring at his hands.

‘Yes?’ I said, with a smile. I was always nice with him, always eager to do what he wanted, because he made me so happy.

‘You know something? I’ve got a car in the garage out the back, and I never drive it. Let’s trade it in for something fun.’ He was grinning like Tommy, a little boy thinking about his toys.

‘OK,’ I agreed. ‘Today, you mean?’

‘Today, I do mean. We can drive it into Truro and see what we can do. The sun is shining, the sea is sparkling, and the most beautiful girl in the world is sitting opposite me. I think we need something small and sporty. What do you reckon?’

‘Um, I know nothing about cars. That sounds lovely, but you know, I’d be happy with anything.’

‘I know you would, my darling. But I’m in the mood for some fun.’

We drove into Truro in his old car, which still looked new to me, and he was soon deep in conversation about ‘part ex-ing it’ with a man at a garage. I could tell that his enthusiasm was unusual, from the man’s reaction. The man, dark-haired with a thick moustache, looked very much like someone who could not believe his luck.

‘What’s grabbed your fancy?’ he said. He looked at me and smirked a little.

Harry followed his gaze. ‘Something fun,’ he repeated firmly. ‘Two-seater. Can we test drive that MR2?’

We test drove the MR2, but Harry declared that he needed more luggage space, and we moved on to another dealership, and then another. By the middle of the afternoon, we were on the road back to Falmouth in a nearly-new red BMW The old car was left behind, and Harry had paid an eye-watering amount of money on his credit card for the balance.

We drove home with the roof off, my hair streaming back in the wind. It was too noisy for conversation, but we held hands whenever Harry’s left hand was not needed for the gears. I cringed at the way everyone looked at us as we passed them, because I had never imagined that I would be a person in a show-off car, and it was hard to sit there and try not to imagine what they were saying about us. I tried not to mind. I tried to say, ‘Let them stare.’

Harry grinned all the way home, and squeezed my hand whenever he could. I could see that he loved the attention the new car got us. The interior was walnut-effect wood, and the seats were white leather. It was a car from Hollywood.

He reversed it quickly into a space outside the house, and turned to kiss me.

‘I’ll keep it in the garage really,’ he said, ‘but for today, I want to leave it where I can see it through the window.’

‘And where the neighbours can see it,’ I suggested.

‘They all think I’m having a midlife crisis anyway. Might as well provide the wheels to confirm it.’

We worked together to secure the top of the car, fastening it down.

‘I should probably be going,’ I said. I had told Mia I would be home tonight, and I thought I would offer to cook dinner.

Harry took me by the shoulders and turned me around to face him. I loved it when he did that. We were standing on the pavement, in the shade of the tree in his front garden. Dappled light fell on us.

‘Lily,’ he said, his voice so low and gentle that I had to concentrate even to hear him properly. ‘Lily. Will you stay here? Stay with me tonight?’

I took a little step back. ‘Stay with you?’

He knew about my absolute lack of experience. I wanted to stay with him, to sleep with him; but the idea of sex felt like a horrible and embarrassing hurdle. ‘I don’t know if I’m . . .’ My voice tailed off.
Ready
was what I had been going to say. But I was ready – I was just terrified. ‘I would have no idea what to do,’ I said quickly. ‘I’d be terrible.’

He laughed. ‘Believe me, you would not. If you don’t feel ready, that’s fine. The last thing I want to do is to pressure you. But I just . . .’ He took my hand and played with my fingers, pushing each one up and down in turn. ‘I just have a feeling that you’re letting it be a huge barrier in your mind, and it doesn’t need to be. I promise you, you’ll enjoy it, and once you’ve discovered that you enjoy it, there’ll be a whole new horizon open to you. But like I said, the last thing I want to do is to make things difficult for you. If you want to go more slowly, come and spend the night with me with no funny business whatsoever.’

I smiled at him.

‘Oh, Harry,’ I said. ‘Thank you. Could we sleep in the attic room? I’d feel a bit weird . . .’

‘Of course we can,’ he said.

‘I’ll need to call Mia and rearrange things.’

‘She sounds like a girl who’d understand.’

When I woke the next morning, it was half-past ten. Birds were singing outside the window and the room was bathed in sunlight, because the curtains were white and flimsy. I was alone in the attic room.

I closed my eyes again. That had been a momentous night for me. We had started off taking it slowly. We had ended up not taking it slowly at all. I grinned. I was no longer a virgin. I loved Harry completely. It had all been far better than I had hoped for.

I heard his footsteps coming up the little flight of stairs. There was a muttered ‘Bugger!’ as he hit his head on the low beam. Then he was in the doorway.

I sat up in bed, holding the duvet close, newly shy. He was carrying a tray which had a bunch of red roses on it, a full cafetière of coffee, two mugs, a plate of toast and a newspaper.

‘Good morning, my darling,’ he said, smiling broadly. He had been out, and he was dressed in a pair of blue sailing shorts and a blue and white striped T-shirt.

‘Hello,’ I said, and our eyes met and I tingled all over. ‘You look like a sailor.’

‘You look like a mermaid. I’m glad you’re not.’

‘Me too.’

He sat on the bed. ‘How are you doing this morning?’

‘I’m doing great.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Completely sure. Harry? Thank you.’

‘Thank
you.
You have no idea how honoured I am.’

I smiled at him. I would smile at everything today. I felt I had conquered Everest. If my parents were here, I would smile at them and thank them for leaving me, because by doing that they put in motion the chain of events that had led me here. I loved everyone and everything.

‘What would you like to do today?’ he asked. ‘Take the new motor for a run? Or stay at home?’

‘I wouldn’t actually mind,’ I said, ‘staying right here, all day long.’

The following weekend, Al and I got off a bus at a stop on the dual carriageway that led to Truro, and walked down small roads until we reached the King Harry Ferry It was an old-fashioned chain ferry, and I loved it at first sight. I loved it that the cars were queueing all down the road, while we walked past them straight to the front of the queue. I loved the bench with a realistic sculpture of a man sitting on it.

‘Look,’ I said, pointing.

Al, who seemed preoccupied and looked haggard, nodded.

‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘He’s cool.’

‘What’s wrong? Is it Boris?’

He sighed. ‘Can we not say that word, please?’

‘Oh. Did he—’

Al turned on me. ‘I said, let’s not talk about it! Of course he did. Now let’s talk about something else. I cannot go there.’

We walked onto the ferry before the cars were allowed on. It was completely open, like a bit of road that clanked across the wide river. The sky was filling with clouds. We climbed up a set of metal steps and stood on the cast-iron balcony. There was a sculpted sea captain up there, lifesize and lifelike. We leaned on the railing and looked at the huge ships. They were moored here, incongruous in the picturesque scenery. There were three of them, chained together, higher than a tall building, looking sad and forlorn as they overshadowed the trees and the tiny boats around them. They were massive ocean-going liners, in a completely bucolic setting.

‘Wow,’ Al said, perking up briefly. ‘They are something. Wonder where they’re from?’

I gazed at them as we clanked across the river. Wherever they had come from, it was thousands of miles away. I had never been anywhere and suddenly, unexpectedly, I felt a pang of longing. I wanted an adventure. I had never wanted anything like that before.

I looked at Al. I thought I saw the same thing on his face: some sort of longing.

‘You want to get away, don’t you?’ I said.

He carried on staring straight ahead. ‘If I don’t get away from here, I’m going to lose it. I keep going to Truro, and hanging around outside the lovely family home where Boris lives with his darling wife and their perfect nuclear family. I just watch them. It feels like the only thing in the world I can do. She called the police on me the other day. I have to get out.’

‘What did the police say?’

‘Nothing, because Boris came out and told me to scarper before they got here. And I came home feeling like I’d won, somehow, because he’d spoken to me.’ He sighed. ‘I used to love living here. Never imagined I’d go anywhere else. I ended up in Cornwall because it was the end of the line. That’s what all the crazies do. We get on a train because Cornwall sounds like a cool place to go, and then we get off in Penzance and see where we end up. I made it to Falmouth because I wasn’t like the rest of the nutters. I was doing all right. Then this shit happens with Boris and . . . Lily, it scares me. I can look at it when I’m with you and see my behaviour is irrational. But I can’t stop doing it.’

Neither of us said anything.

‘There’s a wide world out there,’ he added, after a few minutes, ‘and it’s not all about me. I could go to Africa or something, you know. Do some good in the world.’

I took a deep breath of salty air. ‘I’d miss you.’

‘Oh, you’re fine. You’ve got Lover Boy now. Marry him, have a kid, divorce him and get rich.’

‘Al!’ I stared at him.

‘Sorry. It’s what I’d do if I were you.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s not at all. I know how you feel about Boris, Al. I do, because I feel the same about Harry. So don’t say rubbish like that to me. Please?’

He shook his head and looked at me properly.

‘No. Sorry, Lily. I’m talking crap because – well, because it’s hard not to be cynical about marriage, right now.’ The ferry clattered to a halt. ‘Ignore me.’

‘Well, I’m not marrying for money,’ I said forcefully. ‘I’m going to have a career, you know. I followed your advice. Got myself on a one-year access course. Starting in September, at Truro College.’

He smiled at that. ‘Good girl.’

Although there were a few drops of rain in the air, we sat at a table outside. I had scraped some cash together, and the fact that Al didn’t drink alcohol made a trip to the pub a much cheaper prospect.

‘Lemonade?’ I stood up, ready to go into the bar.

Al twitched. ‘Mmm. Actually . . .’ He bit his lip. ‘Yeah, OK, lemonade. Oh, sod it. Let me buy them.’

Despite my protests, he made me sit down. While he was at the bar, I picked up a local paper that had been abandoned on the next table, and started to flick through it. It seemed to be mainly about council meetings and the possible resiting of the Post Office, with an update about the man who had been knocked down at Christmas and was still in a coma. He had come back into the news lately because of a potential new witness, but he did not seem to be getting any better.

I turned the page and saw a huge photograph of Tommy, wearing a wetsuit, standing on the beach with a group of other children. The smile spread across my face as I read the headline:
Falmouth Children Win Council Award.
I tried to imagine how chuffed Tommy must be with his appearance in the media. He and his surf club friends had won a prize, I read, for collecting litter from the streets. I vowed to go there later in the afternoon and congratulate him.