The Moment You Were Gone (38 page)

Exeter was a different city now. It was the landscape of his dazed, lovesick happiness. It was the place he walked through holding Lorna's hand, sometimes stopping to pull her roughly against him. In its little restaurants and bars, he sat opposite her and couldn't take his eyes off her. In crowded clubs where he talked and joked with friends and pretended he was there with them and not simply consumed with waiting, he could feel her come through the door even when his back was turned. When she spoke, though her voice was low and quiet, it pierced the air like a laser beam focused on him alone. In his room, which had previously been squalid and comfortless, he woke to see her soft hair spread on the pillow beside him and had to remember all over again that he wasn't dreaming.

‘In a few days, term will be over,' he said one morning, drinking coffee in the café they'd first gone to after they'd met in the bookshop.

‘Five.'

‘I'll miss you.'

‘Me you, too.'

‘What will you do?'

‘Oh, you know. The usual things. Buy last-minute presents, get things ready.'

‘Is it hard?'

‘Without Mum, you mean? It was pretty gloomy last year. Horrible. Dad moped and drank too much and tried to make up for that by getting everyone to play charades and board games. Phoebe got hysterically overexcited and then had a fit of crying that lasted for hours. Polly was really, really quiet. Dad's mother stayed in bed, and at the last minute Mum's father didn't come. Jo and I had our work cut out.'

‘Let me guess. You did all the cooking and stuff.'

‘We did it together. The turkey was dry and the sprouts were mushy and the potatoes were greasy. I'll do better this year. I didn't know what I was doing then.'

‘But now you've had practice.'

‘Lots of practice.'

‘Do you ever mind?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Being a surrogate mother.'

‘But I'm not. Really. I'm nothing like her. They don't feel I'm their mother.'

‘You are, though. I've been there, remember? You're the one they turn to now. They depend on you. And so does your father.'

‘You mean surrogate mother, surrogate wife?'

‘Kind of.' He picked up her hand and carried it to his lips. ‘I don't mean it in a bad way.'

‘You may be right, but what can I do? He's so lost and they're so young. We don't have many aunts and uncles or grandparents and sometimes I think they're hanging together as a proper family by a thread. It's my job, Ethan. I don't have a choice, do I? So I just have to get on with it.'

‘But this should be the most carefree time of your life
yet every time one of them is ill or upset you go rushing back. It doesn't seem fair on you.'

‘Fair? You mean I should get resentful and bitter? I don't see it like that. I don't want to.'

‘No, you wouldn't. I can see it like that for you, though.'

‘Well, thank you,' she said.

‘I'm serious!'

‘So am I – thank you.' She smiled up at him and pushed his unruly hair behind his ears.

‘But anyway, here's the thing – I've had an idea. Come to us at Christmas.'

‘To you!'

‘Yes.'

‘You mean leave them on their own?'

‘No, of course not. I mean all of you come to us.'

‘Everyone?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘You're mad!'

‘No. It'd be great.'

‘Ethan, I've never met your family, never even set eyes on them, so it would be weird enough if it was just me. You're talking about my three sisters and Dad as well.'

‘They'll love you. And you'll like them, I know. They're cool.'

‘No, Ethan. What would the girls think, anyway, if they were grabbed out of their family home and taken to the house of strangers?'

‘I'm not a stranger.'

‘You've met them once.'

‘We got on, didn't we?'

‘Oh, they think you're on a par with Johnny Depp.'

‘So …'

‘We've been together for a week, Ethan.'

‘What's that got to do with anything?'

‘Do you know what I love about you?'

‘What?'

‘Your ability to –'

‘No. I mean, do you realize what you just said?'

‘Ssssh. Everyone's looking at us.'

‘You said you loved me.'

‘I said, do you know –'

‘– what I
love
about you.'

‘Ethan!'

‘The L word! You've not said it. I've said it to you but you've never said it to me.'

‘It's nearly time for my seminar.'

‘Say it again, Lorna.'

‘I'll pay for this, shall I?'

‘Please.'

‘What?'

‘Say you love me.'

‘If you insist.'

She leant across the table and took his face between her hands, studying him intently. She stared into his eyes and, for a dizzy moment, felt she was going to disappear inside him. ‘I love you, Ethan Myers,' she said, loudly and emphatically enough for the neighbouring tables to hear her clearly. ‘I love you very, very much. There. Will that do?'

She kissed him on the mouth, feeling his lips smile under hers, then become serious once more. Her hands tightened on his skull. His breath was hot in her throat.

‘Oh,' he said, when she let him go and sat back. His face was wiped clean of any expression.

‘I've got an idea,' she said.

‘Mmm?'

‘Do you want to hear?'

‘Anything.'

‘How about if I brought Polly, Phoebe and Jo up to London for the day to go Christmas shopping?'

‘Yes,' he said dreamily. ‘You can stay the night with us.'

‘Maybe. You should talk to your parents, though. They might not fancy four strange girls descending on them out of the blue.'

‘Mum would completely love it.'

‘We can go on the London Eye or something. Or skating at Somerset House – that might be the best.'

‘I'll arrange it. I'll arrange everything! A surprise day. Leave it with me. When, though? When will you come?'

‘I'll let you know. Now I'm going. No, you don't need to come. Finish your coffee. What time are you meeting your father?'

‘Midday. He's going to ring me before his train gets in and I'll be at the station. It's the oddest thing, him taking a day off. Positively unnatural.'

‘Perhaps he misses you.'

‘Yeah – I hope everything's OK at home.'

‘Of course it is.'

‘See you tonight?'

‘Yes, tonight.'

‘I can't wait,' he said.

She giggled, standing up and pulling on her coat. ‘You have no choice.'

‘Miss your seminar.'

‘No! Anyway, your father's about to arrive.'

‘We've got half an hour at least.'

‘Ethan, I'll see you tonight.'

‘Think of me.'

She bent towards him, her coat falling open. He saw the swell of her breasts and the delicate sharpness of her collarbone. He closed his eyes as her perfumed hair fell over his face and her lips brushed his.

‘I'll think of you. Not a minute will go by that I'm not thinking of you. Enough?'

‘Never enough.'

As soon as Connor saw Ethan walking towards him, thinner than he had been when he'd left and with a dreamy, vacant sweetness in his face, he knew he was in love. A pang passed through him; he understood Ethan's capacity to be hurt and wanted to warn him against caring too passionately. They embraced awkwardly on the station forecourt, passengers surging past them in both directions.

‘Dad,' said Ethan. ‘This is nice.'

‘Well,' said Connor, ‘I wasn't around when you left and we haven't seen each other – I thought it'd be good to catch you before …' He faltered under Ethan's candid gaze. ‘The truth is,' he said, ‘there's something I needed to talk to you about.'

‘Oh, God. I knew it.'

Connor took his son by the forearm. ‘It's all right,' he said, in his doctor's voice. ‘Let's go and find somewhere to sit down and then we can talk.'

‘It's Mum. She's ill. I knew there was something wrong when I last saw her. She's got cancer.'

‘No. Gaby's fine.'

‘Really?'

‘Really.'

‘And you're all right? You're not ill or anything? You look a bit peaky.'

‘No, I'm perfectly all right. Where can we go? Do you want to eat?'

‘You're having an affair. She's having an affair.'

‘No!'

‘I knew as soon as you said you wanted to come and see me in the middle of the week, a few days before I was coming home anyway, that something was going on.'

‘Is this really the best place to talk about it?'

‘I don't see why not.'

‘Can't we at least find somewhere to sit down?'

‘OK, if you want – there's a café over there with free tables. Will that do?'

‘I suppose so,' said Connor, doubtfully.

‘Come on, then. We can have lunch afterwards.'

‘You might not want to have lunch with me afterwards,' said Connor, as they went into the café.

‘For God's sake, Dad. Just tell me.'

‘Shall I order coffee for both of us?'

‘Whatever.'

‘Just filter coffee?'

‘I don't care. Mud and water would do. Just tell me.'

‘Two coffees,' said Connor, to the woman behind the counter. ‘One white and one black, please.' His knees were trembling and when he picked up the mugs his
hands were shaking so much that coffee spilt over the rims and splashed his wrists. He walked over to the table Ethan had picked and put them down, then sat opposite his son.

‘OK,' said Ethan. ‘Tell me why you're here. What's up?'

Connor took a deep breath and made himself look his son in the eyes. ‘It goes like this,' he said.

Gaby didn't hear a car, but as she sat in bed, draped in a blanket and drinking her first glass of wine since she'd arrived at the cottage, there was a loud knock at the door. She frowned and glanced at the time. A few minutes past nine – who could be here at this time of night? For a few seconds, she thought it might be Connor, but Connor would never arrive unannounced, just as he wouldn't ring her or write. She had often thought that in a relationship people tended to treat each other the way they wanted to be treated themselves. She had said she wanted to be left alone to think, and he would honour that to the letter. If it had been the other way round, she knew she would have been unable to resist contacting him. She would have sent him the postcards and left the messages on his voicemail that she would have liked to receive herself. She would have tried to get him back; she would never have let him leave.

So if it wasn't Connor, who was it? Who else knew she was here? Only Gilbert. Would Gilbert drive all the way out here to check on her? She scrambled out of bed, pulled the blanket round her and went into the bathroom to press her face against the window. There was a car outside, but she didn't recognize it. Maybe it was a burglar. Burglars didn't usually drive up to the front door and
knock, though. She went downstairs slowly and stood by the door. ‘Who is it?' she called.

‘Me.'

‘
Me
. That's no answer.'

‘Come on, it's raining out here.'

‘What if I don't want to see you just now?'

‘Then tell me to go away.'

‘Will you?'

‘No, I'll sit in the car and wait. Come on, Gaby.'

‘OK.' She opened the door and Nancy was standing there in her canvas jacket, with a neat holdall in one hand.

‘Christ!' said Nancy. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Why?'

‘You look – well, have you seen yourself?'

‘I'm trying not to look in the mirror. I just haven't dressed today. Or washed or anything. Not for days, actually. It's quite nice sometimes, not making an effort. I wasn't expecting visitors.'

‘Are you going to invite me in?'

‘Do come in,' said Gaby, with exaggerated politeness.

Nancy stepped over the threshold and put down her bag.

‘How did you find me?'

‘I spoke to Connor.'

‘Oh.'

‘He told me you'd gone away.'

‘That's right.'

‘And I persuaded him to tell me where you were. I needed to see you.'

‘Shall we go into the kitchen?' Gaby took a pile of dirty
dishes off the table and dumped them in the sink, then gestured to a chair. ‘Wine?'

‘Thanks.'

‘I can't offer you anything to eat. There's no food left in the house. My car won't start. Its battery went flat on the first day and I was ill anyway, and my phone doesn't work here so I've been housebound. It's been quite nice, really. Odd. I sometimes think I could easily go mad, you know. This wine's going straight to my head.'

‘Drinking on an empty stomach – you look half starved.'

‘You're the first person I've spoken to for – how long have I been here?'

‘A week.'

‘A week, then. Except to myself, a bit.'

‘I've got jump-leads in my boot.'

‘You would have. You probably have a first-aid kit, too, and a jack you know how to work.'

‘I'll do it tomorrow morning.'

‘Are you staying the night, then?'

‘I've brought a sleeping-bag.'

‘You can have the main room.'

‘Shall I go and buy us some food?'

‘No. It's not worth it. I'm probably leaving tomorrow, and I've no idea where a shop is that would be open at this time. You can have a stock cube, if you want.'

‘A stock cube?'

‘You have to dissolve it in boiling water, of course, but then it's like having soup. Or there's a tin of octopus chunks.'

‘Hmm.'

‘And some ancient rice, plus a few eggs in the fridge.'

‘That's a bit more like it.'

‘What?'

‘Leave it to me.'

Gaby sat back, swaddled in her blanket and sipping wine, and watched Nancy busy herself, washing dishes, cooking rice in the chicken stock, wiping surfaces. The room was warm and she felt mellow and heavy-limbed. Nancy put two plates on the table, knives and forks, the bottle of wine. Then she set down a dish of steaming rice, over which she had arranged chunks of hard-boiled egg and octopus.

‘Here we are,' she said.

‘It's like nail stew,' said Gaby.

‘What's nail stew?'

‘It's a story my mother used to tell me. There was this old couple living in a hovel in a forest, and although they had worked hard all their lives, they were always poor and had to struggle to survive. There came a time when a great storm raged round their home, bringing trees crashing down, and they couldn't go out. Soon there was nothing left to eat. Then there was a knock at their door. When they opened it they found a weary traveller on the threshold, asking for shelter. They invited him in and said he was welcome to share their home, but they had nothing to offer him to eat. “Aha!” he said. “But I have a magic nail. I will make you nail stew.” He set a cauldron of water to boil on the fire and then he searched the room. He found potato peelings in the sink and a bone, he found an old carrot on the floor and the end of a parsnip. There were some stale crusts in the cupboard, as well as
an onion and some grains of rice. He threw them all into the cauldron. Some dried herbs were hanging from the beams and he added them to the mixture. Then he pulled a rusty nail out of his pocket and threw that in too. After half an hour or so a delicious smell filled the hovel, and he ladled out three bowls of flavoursome stew. He said, “You can always make a meal, if you have a magic nail.” Something like that anyway – my mother used to tell it better than that.'

‘Eat up, Gaby.'

‘This is all right, you know!' She shovelled hot forkfuls into her mouth, gulped red wine. ‘God, I didn't know how hungry I was. Is there more?'

‘Plenty.'

‘Pity we don't have any pudding. We could eat the stem ginger.'

‘Good idea.'

‘So why are you here?' Gaby got up to fetch the jar from the cupboard.

‘Two reasons. First, I was worried about you. I needed to make sure you were all right. Connor said you didn't want anyone to disturb you, but I thought – well, actually, I thought, What would Gaby do in my place? And the answer was that you would charge in.'

‘So you charged in?'

‘Yes.'

‘And the other reason?'

‘I thought – this might sound peculiar, given the circumstances. I thought that perhaps this was our second chance.'

‘Second chance for what?'

‘To be friends.'

‘Oh. I see.'

‘I was thinking. I never told anyone about what happened, not a soul; there was no one I could possibly tell. But if it hadn't been you I'd betrayed, I would have told you, if you see what I mean.'

‘I think so.'

‘I could have told you because you were the only person in the world who would understand me, understand what it felt like to me. Because you knew me so well.'

‘Hmm,' said Gaby. She speared a piece of ginger and put it into her mouth, letting its sweetness dribble down her throat. A terrific happiness lurched in her stomach. She tried not to smile.

‘What does “hmm” mean?'

‘I've got a condition to lay down.'

‘What condition?'

‘That I don't forgive you.'

Nancy grimaced and opened her mouth to speak.

‘Wait. We can't be friends if you're the sinner who's been forgiven and I'm the saint who's forgiven you. I'm not going to be the sweet, virtuous, noble one who's suffered and come through. I hate that.'

‘I am the sinner, though.'

‘Oh, fuck that,' said Gaby, with joyful gusto. ‘You're just human like the rest of us. That's the trouble with you and Connor, you're so bloody principled. Rigid with principles – it's dangerous. You can't sway and bend, you have to resist or break.'

‘I know you don't want to forgive me, but I want to be forgiven.'

‘Forgive yourself, then. Shall I show you photos of Ethan? He's your non-godson after all.'

‘I'd like that.'

‘He's lovely, you know.' She drained the rest of her wine and felt her head spin. ‘A humdinger. The very apple of my eye.'

‘Gaby?'

‘Yes.'

‘You should go home to Connor.'

‘Yes. I know I should, but nothing will ever be the same again.'

‘Nothing ever is. It's called being alive.'

Later that night, Gaby woke and lay with her eyes wide open in the darkness, listening. She could hear no sound coming from Nancy's room. At last, she got out of bed and crept across the cold landing, dragging her duvet after her. She opened the door and moved into the room, just able to make out Nancy's shape on the far side of the double bed, like a caterpillar in the sleeping-bag. She climbed into the bed beside her, pulling her duvet over the two of them. She put her arms round her, laid her face against Nancy's back and closed her eyes.

There are compensations for the fact that the landscape darkens, she thought. There are mysteries in the shadows that the sunshine never shows. After a few minutes she fell asleep to the rise and fall of Nancy's breathing.