The Olive Tree (27 page)

‘She’s too ashamed to come out of her room. She says she can’t face anyone at the moment.’

‘I can understand that. Would it do any good if I went to talk to her? Tried to make her see that no one’s judging her? That none of this is her fault? We all just want to help. If
we can.’

‘Dunno if it’d do any good or not,’ Rupes shrugged. ‘It’s her pride, you see.’

‘Of course.’ Helena laid a hand on his arm. ‘It’ll be all right, you know. These things always are.’

‘No, it won’t be all right.’ Rupes shook her hand away. ‘Dad’s ruined all of our lives. It’s as simple as that.’ He stood up and walked across the
terrace and around the house, heading for the sanctuary of the vines. Helena knew it was because he didn’t want her to see him cry. She walked into the kitchen and saw her mobile was
blinking.

It was a text from William.

‘
Hi. Sacha not good. Call u later
.’

Helena studied the text, realising what was missing. There was no kiss.

After lunch, Angelina loaded the children into her car to drive them up to the village. Rupes was still off on his own, and Sadie hadn’t yet returned to Pandora at all.
Taking a deep breath, Helena went upstairs and knocked softly on Jules’ bedroom door.

‘It’s Helena. Can I come in?’

There was no response.

‘Jules, I can quite understand you might not want to see anyone, but can I at least get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Triple vodka?’

Helena was just about to walk away when a voice said, ‘Oh, what the hell! Why not? If you promise to make the vodka a quadruple. Door’s open.’

Helena turned the handle and walked in. Jules was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, still wearing the gold top from the previous night. There were clothes flung everywhere, and the
enormous suitcase lay half packed on the floor.

‘Are you leaving?’ Helena asked.

Jules shrugged. ‘I thought I would, so I started packing, then I remembered . . .’ she choked back a sob, ‘I don’t have anywhere to go.’

‘Oh Jules.’ Helena went to her and put an arm round her. ‘I’m so, so sorry. For everything,’ she added.

‘How
could
he have let it get so bad without telling me?’ she cried. ‘I’m not an ogre, am I, Helena? I mean, unapproachable? I’ve tried so hard to get him to
talk to me about work, but he just clams up and pours himself another drink.’

‘Of course you’re not, and I’m sure Sacha didn’t mean not to tell you. I suppose that things reach a point when you’ve lied so much that another lie doesn’t
seem to matter.’ Helena sighed. ‘He was very stupid not to share it with you, and none of this is your fault. You must remember that.’

‘I’ve tried, but every time I think of him standing there, drunkenly parading our dirty washing in front of all those strangers, I think what they must have thought of me: a woman
whose husband couldn’t turn to his wife in his hour of need. I’ve tried to be a good wife, I really have. And my God, it’s been hard sometimes.’ She shot a look at Helena.
‘Sacha is not a William, as you know.’

‘No, I’m quite sure he isn’t. Listen, all the kids are up with Angelina in the village. The house is empty, so why don’t you freshen up, then come downstairs and
we’ll have something to eat on the terrace?’

Jules nodded. ‘Okay. Thanks, Helena.’

Ten minutes later, Jules was sitting at the table on the terrace, devouring a chicken sandwich that Helena had hastily prepared, and drinking a large glass of wine.

‘I’m literally speechless, to be honest. I just don’t know what to think or say. I suppose I must take what Sacha said at face value and assume everything’s
gone.’

‘You really need to sit down and have a proper talk with him, find out exactly how things stand.’

‘I know how things will stand if I set eyes on that idiot at the moment: he won’t have any teeth left to talk
with
! No’ – Jules shook her head – ‘I
really can’t face him just yet. And if he calls you, please tell him not to come near me until I say so.’

‘If it’s any consolation, I doubt he’s feeling any better than you are.’

‘He’s not getting an ounce of sympathy from me ever again. Things are bad enough, but why the hell he had to publicly humiliate not just me, but the children as well, I really
don’t understand. What got into him, Helena?’

‘Desperation, fuelled by booze, I would think.’

‘Oh, I know he’s got a drink problem – has done for years. But I’ve rather given up, as if I even mention it, he calls me an old nag. Like my horses, the poor
things,’ said Jules, taking a gulp of her wine. ‘So, what can you do? Until he accepts he’s got a problem, it’s a road to nowhere. A bit like my future looks right
now.’

‘I know it must feel that way, but there’s always a solution, Jules.’

‘Forgive me, Helena, I know you’re trying to help, but I’m not in the mood for wholesome Pollyanna-type platitudes. The truth is, he never loved me, and God only knows why he
married me in the first place.’

‘Don’t say that, Jules, please! Of course he loves you.’

‘No, he doesn’t and he never has.
Fact
. I’ve always known it. The trouble is, I let him get away with blue murder for years just so I could hang onto him, grateful for
any small nugget of affection he cared to throw my way.’

‘I’m sure—’

‘Don’t even waste your breath,’ Jules snapped. ‘I know it’s made me bitter, but if you only knew what I’ve had to turn a blind eye to, you wouldn’t
believe it . . .’ Jules paused, then turned away and stifled a sob. ‘Really, I’ve tried everything, from supporting his ambition as an artist, having children – even
adopting the baby girl he always said he wanted when we couldn’t seem to make one of our own – to a comfortable home and a hot meal on the table every night. I even tried a full
selection of Agent Provocateur undies, but it hasn’t made any difference. You can’t force something when it just isn’t . . .
wasn’t
there.’

Helena said nothing, knowing all she could do was listen.

‘I think Sacha was looking for someone to “fix” him,’ Jules continued. ‘I was always grounded, and he was a dreamer, with his head up in the clouds. I brought him
down to earth, I suppose, organised him. Responsibility has never been his strong point, as you know so well,’ Jules sighed. ‘But you know what really galls me?’

‘What?’

‘It’s the way everyone feels sorry for
him
! “Poor old Sacha, having to live with that dreadful woman!” And don’t tell me you and William don’t think
it, Helena, because I know you do. You all do!’ Jules thumped the table and Helena just caught the bottle of wine before it toppled over. ‘Even now, I’ll bet the sympathy’s
with him, not me. And even Viola, my own daughter, protects and defends him against me. I know there’ll be a certain element who will be thrilled to see me getting my just reward.’

‘Jules, I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Oh come on, Helena!’ Jules rounded on her. ‘You and William tolerate me so you can see him! I’m not a complete idiot, you know, and I’m sick to death of it! I
really am.’

Jules topped up her glass again as Helena looked on. ‘God, I wish I was like you.’

‘Why on earth would you want to be like me?’

‘Because everyone adores you, Helena. You glide round in your golden light, gathering people to you, bathing them in your glow, so that when they’ve been near you, they feel as
though a little of the Helena magic has rubbed off on them. But I
don’t
have empathy or natural charm like you. I’m awkward, not comfortable socially,
shy
if you must
know, so the things I do and say often come out wrong. Whereas I’m sure that even if you
have
done wrong, you know what to say and do to put it right.’

‘I promise you, I don’t, Jules. I’ve made some terrible mistakes,’ Helena said with feeling.

‘Haven’t we all?’ Jules looked away and took another large gulp of wine. ‘And maybe . . . just maybe,’ she breathed, ‘this is the best thing that could have
happened. Perhaps I need a fresh start. God, Helena, I just want someone who loves me. It’s as simple as that. Anyway, I know I’ll have to face Sacha and talk the situation through, but
not yet, not until I’ve got my thoughts into some kind of order. There’s only one thing I know for certain; our marriage is over.
Finito
, dead and buried. And please don’t
tell me it isn’t, because I promise you I shall scream.’

‘I won’t, I promise.’

‘And don’t worry, I won’t be here for much longer. My family has already wrecked what should have been a relaxing holiday for you all. Just give me a couple of days to think
what to do, okay?’

‘Really, Jules, there’s no rush. Of course you can stay as long as you want.’

‘You know what, Helena? You really are a sweetie, despite everything . . .’ Jules sighed. ‘Right, I’m going to go up and try and get some sleep. That wine’s done
the trick. I didn’t get a wink last night.’

‘I’ll be here when the kids get back. Don’t worry about them.’

‘Thanks. And no matter what’s happened in the past, you’ve been a good friend to me. I really value that.’ Jules squeezed Helena’s hand so tightly, it was all she
could do not to wince.

With a heavy heart, Helena watched as Jules walked across the terrace and into the house.

And wondered which of the two of them was feeling worse.

22nd July 2006

Forgive me, but . . .

I just have to say it. I’ve been holding out, and can’t do it any longer. So here goes . . .

This afternoon was fun. An entire family of Cypriot strangers, offering us revolting cake, inedible biscuits and coffee with bits of grit added for extra substance.

They talked to us – and boy did they talk – but there was only one little problem . . .

It was all Greek to me.

Hah! I’ve said it now.

And I won’t say it again.

Halfway through the Mad Hatter’s tea party, Chloë disappeared. She said she was popping along to the shop. I begged her to let me go with her, but she said she needed to
buy ‘ladies’ things’, which is a total no-no as far as I’m concerned.

That whole secret area of a girl’s life is another world to me. At my old school, the female members of the class spent hours in corners chatting away about
‘stuff’. As soon as myself or another male approached them, they’d giggle and whisper and tell us to ‘eff off’.

It’s such a shame, really, when the great male and female divide happens at the onset of puberty. Up until the age of eleven, one of my best friends was a girl called Ellie.
We used to chase each other round the playground and share lunch together, and secrets. She’d confide in me who she fancied, and I’d confide in her that I fancied no one. Year six at my
local school was not exactly bursting with Scarlett Johanssons or Lindsay Lohans.

They say beauty is only skin-deep. That’s a bit like saying you’d choose the most hideous sofa to sit on for thirty years just because it was comfy. You’d still
have to look at it every day of your life, and be embarrassed when your friends came round and thought you had dreadful taste.

I would have chosen the elegant, uncomfortable version, every time.

Maybe I’m shallow, but Chloë is the metaphorical chaise longue of the female world. She is narrow, with an exquisitely carved back, delicately turned arms and so slender
that you’d no doubt fall off occasionally when you dozed. But she would always be a thing of beauty, and would be auctioned off for thousands at Sotheby’s in a hundred years’
time.

She’s a bit like my mother, I suppose. They’re not blood-related, and yet they share definite qualities.

And I hope one of those, for everyone’s sake, is fidelity.

Going back to my friend Ellie, I always had a sneaking suspicion it was
me
she fancied. Those were the halcyon days when I didn’t need a ladder to look my female
classmates in the eye.

In fact, one could say that I was the stud of my class. At the after-show party for the school production of
Oliver!
– during which I had given such a moving rendition
of ‘Where Is Love?’ it had apparently reduced our boot-faced headmaster to tears – they were literally lining up behind the art block for a snog. I had to get them to form an
orderly queue.

I learnt then that fame is a powerful aphrodisiac.

That was just before all the girls grew into giantesses in year eight and morphed into strange, secretive creatures from another planet. When bra sizes and lip gloss and . . . yuck!
. . . those monthly things that sound disgusting beyond belief combined to become a world my gender couldn’t begin to comprehend. It was like our hormones separated us out of a mixed scramble
and formed a huge gulf between us, never to be closed.

It’s nearly midnight here.

Dad and Sacha are still ‘away’ and won’t come back until Mum has hidden every sharp object in the house to prevent Jules killing her husband. Jules swept Rupes and
Viola off for supper in the village earlier tonight and Sadie is still AWOL, though she has texted Mum to report the hideous details of her ‘shag-fest’.

(Mum should know by now that if she leaves her mobile lying around I’ll read her messages. She hasn’t worked out yet how to add a lock-code on it, and I’m
certainly not going to tell her.)

It was actually very nice to have supper with Mum and the little ones with no added extras. I’d also sneaked into Mum’s bedroom earlier and checked there were no
suitcases packed. By either of them. So Dad hasn’t left her. Yet. And over supper, she didn’t sound as though she was thinking of leaving him either.

Yet.

She was far more concerned with Chloë texting her, saying she’s with Michel and will be home ‘later’. So that’s where she snuck off to during the tea
party this afternoon! Oh dear. I know I must grit my teeth, that Chloë must be allowed her freedom until we are wed, but sometimes it’s hard. And it’s especially hard knowing
she’s with Mr Fix-it’s son . . .

Having said that, on the way back home from the tea party, Viola begged Angelina to pull in at Mr Fix-it’s house, so she could at least run in and give her daddy a cuddle.
(Talk about ironic; a bankrupt alcoholic taking refuge in a winery!) And she elected me to be her wing-man.