A Hidden Life (20 page)

The train remained at a standstill. Passengers were becoming restless, getting up and going to the loo, peering out of the windows, and there was a lot of sighing from the overweight woman opposite her, who looked as though she might be on the point of starting a conversation. No way, Lou thought, and scrabbled round in her bag for
Blind Moon,
which she took everywhere with her. She'd covered it, primary school style, with an off cut of wallpaper to preserve the original dust-jacket. The book fell open at a passage which Lou had read so often that she knew it almost by heart:

By the time she looked up, the train was moving again and the woman
opposite had given her up as a bad job and gone to sleep. It wouldn't be long till she was there, with Poppy, with her parents. Her thoughts turned to her screenplay … this scene was very vivid in her mind. She could see the darkness, hear the voices, those screams. And no words. Or not many. She'd decided on a voice-over for some parts of the story. Voice-overs weren't fashionable but she didn't care. This story needed one. So much of it was Peter's own thoughts, and it would be a shame to lose too many of his words.

When the train stopped, Lou was the first to leave the carriage. She almost ran to the carpark, where she knew Phyl would be waiting. She saw her at once, standing by the car with Poppy in her arms.

‘Baby! Darling Poppykins baby …' She took the child from Phyl and clasped her close, aware of her solidity, her plump pink cheeks, the chubby little hands patting and patting her as if Poppy were making sure that yes, this was Mummy. There were tears in Lou's eyes as she felt herself overwhelmed with a tangle of feelings: pleasure that her baby hadn't forgotten who she was since last week; guilt that she'd been away from her for so many hours and gratitude for her health; for the fact that she wasn't the baby in Grandad's book – the skinned creature, the rabbit, the newborn who was so thin and tiny that there wasn't ever a chance of her surviving … ‘Come along, Pumpkin,' she said, ‘get back into your car seat. Granny's going to drive us to her house and then we'll all have tea and cake, won't we, Granny?'

‘You certainly will. Poppy helped me to stir it, didn't you, darling?'

‘Ummy!' Poppy pronounced and started to wriggle as Phyl strapped her into the seat. ‘Ummy yap!'

‘You can sit on Mummy's lap when we get home,' Phyl said. ‘Now you've got to sit in your car seat like a good girl.'

‘I'll sit next to you,' said Lou, and slid into the seat next to Poppy, suddenly remembering the night she was born. The pain – had she screamed? Maybe she had, but her screams had been sanitized, made safe in the white and silver hi-tech labour ward of the hospital. Then they'd given her an anaesthetic and taken her in for a C-section. Poppy had been beautiful right from the start, staring into Lou's eyes with a gaze that everyone said was quite unusual. Most babies, they
said, don't focus for ages but, in the words of one of the midwives, ‘This one's been here before.' This baby's skin had been pale and unwrinkled from the moment she first drew breath and she'd managed, unusually, to look like neither Winston Churchill nor Queen Victoria.

‘What's the news, darling? Had a good week?' said Phyl, over her shoulder.

‘I went out to dinner with Harry on Thursday.'

‘Really?'

‘Oh, God, Mum, stop it. It's not like that. We were discussing a work thing, and he took me for a curry, that's all.'

‘Is it? Is it all?'

Lou recognized the yearning in her mother's voice. She was always on the lookout for romance in her daughter's life. She'd have adored putting a big wedding together.

‘Yup. Forget it, Mum. No wedding alert yet.'

Phyl sighed. ‘I live in hope.'

‘Iven ope, iven ope, iven ope,' sang Poppy, now gurgling away in her car seat.

‘She's really getting the hang of this speaking lark,' said Lou. ‘But let's sing a song now, okay?'

She began to sing ‘This Old Man', which was near the top of Poppy's hit parade. By the time they'd reached ‘He plays five' the baby's eyes were closed, and her mouth was half open. Lou wanted to kiss her but also didn't want to wake her up. A spasm of love so strong that it was almost like a pain in her heart took hold of her and she, too, closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry.

Gareth was nuzzling her neck, murmuring endearments, moving on top of her in a way that Nessa had come to know so well that she could respond without really engaging her brain. But on this occasion it occurred to her to wonder, with a spasm of disgust, how long it had been since he'd been doing exactly this with Melanie. She tried to think of something far removed from sex: the deal Justin was going to strike with the spa people; how that might benefit her, and Paper Roses; how Tamsin needed new gym shoes and new T-shirts and
knickers, too. She seemed to be growing very fast lately and Nessa mentally went through her diary for the next few days wondering when they could fit in a visit to M&S. Gareth was nearly done. She could tell from the way he sounded, his breathing working up to its usual rather gurgly gasping shout. She made a few noises herself to show willing, and sure enough, a few seconds later it was all over. Her husband lay beside her, panting after his exertions.

‘Mmm,' said Nessa. ‘Lovely, darling.' It was what she always said. Gareth usually answered with something along the lines of, ‘Yes, darling – lovely,' and by then the snoring was only seconds away. She got out of bed to go to the bathroom. He'd be fast asleep by the time she got back.

‘Darling?' When she got back, he wasn't snoring. He was propped up against his pillows and he'd turned his bedside light on and was looking at her oddly. Nessa frowned. ‘What's the matter, Gareth? D'you want a cup of tea or something?'

‘No, it's okay. I just wanted … Well, I wanted to talk to you.'

‘Fine,' Nessa said. She was uncertain where to put herself. She wasn't quite sure what was going on but didn't feel like sliding between the sheets to lie next to her husband. He was looking uncharacteristically serious. If there was one quality about Gareth that she liked it was his carefree unconcern about most things, and the shambling, rather sweet way he bumbled through life, not fretting, not going into dark moods, not sulking for the most part. She had to admit that he was easy-going, and there was a lot to be said for being married to someone like that, especially if you were exactly the opposite. Because Nessa took everything so seriously and privately admitted that she was very quick to take offence and stalk off in a huff, she found it restful to be with someone who was even-tempered most of the time. He was going to confess about Melanie, she felt sure.

‘Go on, then,' she said, standing up again. She walked round to the chaise longue, which was pushed up next to the wall on his side and sat down facing him. She couldn't, even on the edge of what looked like being a confession of adultery, stop herself from stroking the fabric in which she'd upholstered this piece of furniture: a luscious, apricot velvet. Gorgeous. The right decision, she told herself. It
looked so good with the bronze silk curtains. She felt a small flutter of self-satisfaction.

‘I don't know how to say it, Nessa. I'm not good at stuff like this.'

Nessa tried to look concerned but she wasn't going to rescue him with helpful questioning. He'd get there in the end.

‘I … this …' Gareth heaved a huge sigh and ran a hand through his hair, which made it stick up comically. He had his ridiculously traditional pyjama top on: blue, piped with dark brown and for all she knew he'd put the bottoms on again too while she was in the bathroom. They hadn't, as a couple, ever slept naked. From the beginning, Gareth always put his pyjamas on straight after they made love; Nessa did the same, but she never wore a nightdress when she slept alone. The mere touch of cool linen on her bare skin made her feel deliciously sexy. She'd suggested it to Gareth once when they were on their honeymoon and he'd looked panic-stricken so that was that.

‘I want a divorce, Vanessa.'

Don't speak, she told herself. He never called her
Vanessa.
Her heart was thumping rather loudly and quickly and she blinked. Here we go. Should she pretend ignorance? Or admit that she knew all about Melanie? Divorce! What was he talking about? Did he really want to break up the marriage? A terrifying thought came into her mind: this house. Buggered if she was leaving. Gareth's money. How would it work out for her? What about Tamsin? Custody arrangements, tears – a trauma for their daughter, whom she loved beyond everything and who must not on any account suffer because of her father's stupidity. What should she do? She said, more to buy time than because she hadn't heard or understood, ‘What did you say?'

‘I'm asking you for a divorce. I'm in love with someone else. I want to be with her. I'm so sorry, Nessa. Truly. I didn't mean it …'

‘Mean what? What are you talking about? You're not making sense.'

‘Well, I thought it was just an office flirtation. You know how it is …'

‘Do I?' Nessa's voice was icy now. ‘You mean you've done this office flirtation thing before? Before this?'

‘Well, it was nothing serious before. Not really …'

‘How dare you say that? How
dare
you? Are you really saying you've been unfaithful to me
often?'

‘It didn't mean anything, honestly. And it was only once or twice. That's all.'

‘ALL?' Nessa was screaming now. ‘ALL? I can't believe it. And this suddenly, this new thing that you want to divorce me over – that's different, is it? That
does
mean something, right?'

He nodded, blushing. ‘She's … I love her. And – well, she's pregnant.'

Nessa put her head in her hands. She hadn't been expecting that, and found that the thought scared her. Then she looked at Gareth and spat out the words.

‘Pregnant! I see. So this new baby suddenly takes precedence over our baby. Our Tamsin. Suddenly, you don't give a shit about her, do you? She means nothing to you. You're about to get a new model. How convenient!'

‘Stop it, Nessa. You're mad. Of course this baby won't take Tamsin's place. You know she'll always be my darling daughter.' A look of terror crossed Gareth's face quite suddenly as a thought occurred to him. ‘You're not going to stop me seeing her, are you? I'd fight it in court. You can't do that, you really can't.'