The Story of Us (29 page)

‘Not at all,' Jack interjected smoothly, lifting his hand to briefly cover mine where it rested on the wooden banister. ‘I understand perfectly how you must feel. Losing Emma would be unthinkable.'

A silence fell over the hallway. I swallowed so noisily that I'm sure all three of them heard it. ‘And this is my mother, Frances.' I hastily filled the void with a totally unnecessary introduction.

Jack extended his hand and after a moment or two of awkward hesitation, my mother placed hers within it. ‘It's a pleasure to finally meet you, ma'am,' Jack said, his smile warm and genuine. ‘Emma talks about you so fondly all the time, that it feels like I already know you. I was really hoping I'd get the chance before I go back to the States to tell you how much I admire your work. There's a wonderful piece of yours hanging in my rental home. Emma tells me you painted it in France and it is, without doubt, one of the most captivating paintings I have ever seen.'

His words hit just the right note with my mother, who seemed to suddenly relax in his company – which was particularly unusual with strangers – and swell with pride at his compliment. Was it his admiration that had pleased her, I wondered, or was it that he'd said he was soon returning to America? Because she certainly
hadn't
looked happy a moment earlier, when his hand had briefly covered mine. If my personal life was ever divided into teams, there was very little doubt whose side Mum would be cheering for.

‘I like your parents,' Jack said when we were in his car and pulling away from my house. ‘They seem like really good people.'

‘They are.' I fidgeted slightly in my seat, still feeling uncomfortable about what had happened as we were leaving. ‘I'm sorry about just now… my mum, she gets muddled quite easily.'

His hand left the wheel and gently patted mine. ‘It wasn't a problem,' he assured me, returning his hand to the wheel, ‘don't give it another thought.'

But I couldn't help it. The thought was there. Constantly. Today's incident just served to underscore it. As far as my mother was concerned, nothing would ever really be right again until the day she saw Richard and me get married.

Jack had been helping me into my coat, when my mother had spoken for the first time. ‘Are you one of Richard's friends?'

There was an awful moment when I looked hopefully at the ground, to see if a hole might just have appeared. Unfortunately, all I saw beneath my feet was beige carpet.

‘No, Mrs Marshall,' Jack replied gently, ‘I've only met him a few times and don't know him that well at all.' He looked down at me with a kind smile. ‘But I
am
one of Emma's friends.'

My returning smile was full of apology and thanks.

‘You know who this is, Frannie,' my dad interceded. ‘I told you earlier. This is Jack Monroe, he's the gentleman who helped Emma and Caroline after the accident.'

My mother nodded, as though this was an interesting but somewhat trivial fact, and not what she really wanted to talk about at all. ‘And will you be going to their wedding, Mr Monroe? Emma and Richard's wedding?'

I looked at my dad, who shook his head helplessly. She knew that we had called things off. Or at least she had done just the day before.

‘Mum,' I began, ‘you remember that Richard and I—'

‘She'll make such a beautiful bride,' Mum interrupted. ‘Of course, they had to postpone it; that was only right. But I think they've waited long enough now. Don't you?'

Dad looked uncomfortable and I felt vaguely sick with embarrassment. Jack, however, seemed quite unperturbed by the bizarre conversation. ‘Emma will indeed make a beautiful bride, but I'm afraid I won't be around to see it. I'm not going to be here much longer, and I'm actually not a big fan of weddings.'

The knife slid in and then twisted in the wound, as Jack's comments cut deeper than he could ever have realised. From behind Mum, my dad mouthed an apology to us both, as he gently took my mother's elbow and steered her back to the kitchen. They were almost at the doorway when her final comment rang into the hall. ‘Who was that nice young man with Emma? Was he a friend of Richard's?'

‘She's not always that confused. That's what makes it so frustrating,' I said. ‘You just never know how she's going to be from one day to the next. It's so hard on my dad.'

‘And you too,' Jack observed sympathetically.

I shrugged. ‘They've been married for nearly forty years, and the thought of not having her around terrifies him.'

‘Yes, she's clearly a big fan of marriage.
Your marriage
in particular
.'

‘
I guess most mums want to see their daughter happy and settled, but with mine it's become almost an obsession.'

Jack was silent for a moment, concentrating on his driving.

‘And, of course,' I continued, ‘she really loves Richard.'

‘Don't we all?'

I gave a loud snort of laughter which was neither ladylike nor refined. He took his eyes from the road and flashed a quick grin at me, which made me feel warm in places a smile didn't usually reach.

‘What will she do when she realises that your marriage isn't going ahead?'

I sighed, all laughter evaporating at his question. ‘I don't know,' was my honest answer. ‘I hope she'll accept it, and that it's not going to make her worse. I couldn't bear that, to be the catalyst that tipped her over. I couldn't live with myself if that happened.'

His fingers flexed tightly on the wheel, and he seemed to be carefully considering his words before speaking. ‘Just don't let yourself get sucked back into a relationship with him, if it's only to please your parents.'

I didn't reply. He took his eyes off the road for much longer than he should have done. There was no smile on his face at all this time. ‘Emma, you can't be serious. That would,
without doubt
, be the worst thing you could do.'

‘It would make a lot of people happy,' I said with a sigh.

‘Are
you
one of them?'

‘No.'

‘Then, don't do it. Don't even think about it. Take it from me; don't marry someone to make other people happy. It just doesn't work.'

I suspected that Sheridan had suddenly joined us in the car. Oh yes, there she was in the back seat, sitting right next to Richard. There were suddenly far too many exes for anyone to cope with, and I was determined that neither of them was going to ruin my afternoon with Jack.

We drove on with the surprisingly warm April sunshine filtering through the windscreen. The car was a warm and safe cocoon, taking me far away from the emotional endurance test my life currently resembled. I was happy to let it.

‘What will happen with your mom when your dad can no longer cope alone?' Jack asked, returning to a subject I thought we had finished with.

‘I don't know. I've looked at a couple of residential places, but Dad won't consider them, not even for respite care.' ‘What about home care? Could you get someone to live in to help? Would your father go for that?'

I sighed. ‘I don't know. Maybe. Richard and I looked into it a while back, but even with our combined salaries, it wasn't something we could afford.' I gave a humourless laugh. ‘And somehow I don't think his offer to help still stands.'

‘Then how about me?'

‘Pardon?'

‘I could help you. I'd like to.'

His words were so completely unexpected, they took a second or two to register. And in those moments I caught a glimpse of another life. I saw my father, unbroken by exhaustion and worry. I saw him going out to play golf, or popping down to the pub with his friends, all the things he was no longer able to do. I saw too the changes it could make to my own life. I could go back to London, resume my career. Become a daughter to my mum, instead of a carer. I saw it all, and then I slammed the door on those reckless dreams.

‘No. Absolutely not.'

I don't think my words surprised him, although he breathed in sharply when I laid my hand on his upper arm. ‘Please don't think I'm not grateful, Jack. It's really generous of you, but it's not something we could ever accept.'

‘What's the point of being successful and earning more money than I can possibly spend, if I can't help other people?'

‘That's what charities are for.'

‘I already give to charity. That's not why I offered.'

‘Then why did you?' Perhaps my question sounded more confrontational than I intended, but I really wanted to know the answer. He took a long time before replying.

‘Because I care about you, about what happens to you. I want to make your life better.'

‘Thank you for the offer, Jack. I really mean that. But no.'

Jack took his eyes from the road for a moment. ‘Just promise me this: if the time ever comes when you
do
need help, you won't do anything stupid like rob a bank, or take three extra jobs… or get married, just to fix things.'

I wanted to ask him which of those options he thought was the worst idea, but I think I already knew the answer.

Jack must have sensed my need to drop the subject, because he skilfully took our conversation in a totally different direction, and spent the next twenty minutes relating an amusing anecdote about something that had happened on a book tour of the Far East. But it was his evocative description of the country and the people which captured me most, making me yearn to book myself on the very next flight to Shanghai.

‘Your life is so very different from mine,' I said, my voice sounding unintentionally wistful.

‘In what way? Explain.'

I sighed, not wanting to sound as though I was moaning, just observing. ‘In just about every way imaginable. You do a job you clearly love, and you're very good at it.' Jack shrugged modestly. ‘You travel; you get to see the world. You aren't tied down by responsibilities.'

We had reached the turn-off for the lake. ‘Here?' he asked. I nodded. He hadn't needed me to navigate at all and I wondered, not for the first time, why he had asked me to come today.

‘You could have all those things too.'

I gave a long exhaled breath and shook my head regretfully. ‘I don't think so. Not for the time being, anyway.'

His mouth drew into a line, and I think my answer may have disappointed him slightly.

‘You shouldn't give up on the things that are important to you. Your family matter and you want to do right by them, but you shouldn't give up on your dreams, they're what make you
you
. Sure, you have responsibilities, and commitments, but then everyone has those.'

‘Do you?' I asked unthinkingly.

He paused for just a moment before replying. ‘Yes, of course I do. Really important ones that I can't ignore – that I wouldn't
want
to ignore.'

I twisted in my seat, my curiosity aroused. Who or what were the commitments he was referring to, the things that had brought such a serious tone to his voice? But he was done with sharing. He unclipped his belt and reached for the door handle.

‘We're here,' he announced with a smile.

Jack held his hand out to me as we approached the lake. For just a second I hesitated, before placing my palm against his and allowing his fingers to firmly twine around mine. He was a tactile man, that was his nature, and by now I should know better than to attach too much importance to his frequent physical contact. But that was easier said than done, when my heart had a habit of leaping and my lungs constricting whenever his skin touched mine.

We circled the lake twice and I was grateful for his supporting arm when the ground was uneven or slippery, and even when it wasn't. Jack seemed preoccupied, perhaps lost in a twist or conundrum within his plot, although I suspected there might be more on his mind than just the perfect murder location.

I watched him closely as he stood at the shore of the lake, knowing the image of him silhouetted against the water was going to stay with me long after he returned home. He'd be gone from my life in less than two weeks and I honestly didn't know how that made me feel. What I did know was that after today I would never again visit this lake. It was too tied up in memories of him.

I spread the blanket we had brought from the car on to the same flat rock as before, and waited for him to join me.

‘It must be very strange spending your entire life plotting crimes and how to get away with them,' I observed when eventually he sat down beside me on the tartan rug.

‘You'd be surprised at how liberating it can be,' he replied with a smile. ‘I like to think it makes me a better adjusted human being.'

I raised my eyebrows. He looked at me for a long moment, and I once again felt he was on the verge of telling me something, standing on the edge of a precipice and then deciding not to jump. He looked back at the lake. ‘There's something about this place…'

He had his back to me, and I noticed how his hair took on an almost blue-black sheen where the sun caught it. I let myself stare, because he couldn't see me. I picked up one of the large flat pebbles from the ground beside us and began toying with it nervously.

‘It doesn't feel like the sort of place where a life should end,' I began, not sure if I was talking about his book or our own reality, maybe both, ‘but more where something could begin.'

I felt my heart race, knowing how much I had just given away with my words. Had he even understood what I was trying, very clumsily, to convey? Did he have any idea of his effect on me? I think he must have done, because his hand slid across the blanket between us and covered mine. My breath caught in my throat.

‘There is something about you, Emma, that manages to get to me in a way no one else has been able to do for a very long time.'

‘I don't know what it is – if it even
has
a name,' I replied, my voice dropping to a whisper as though my words were a guilty secret that the trees might pass on, ‘but I think I feel it too.'