A Hidden Life (43 page)

Even as he said the words Matt was wondering whether he really believed them.

Matt's birthday was in the second week of August. Phyl couldn't quite remember when celebrating it had turned into a major family event but they'd had a party of some kind ever since Lou was about five or so. The character of the occasion had changed over time, but nowadays it was generally a dinner on the second Saturday of the month. This year, by a happy coincidence, the day of the celebration was Matt's actual birthday: August eleventh.

In the past, she'd loved preparing the meal. She used to spend ages thinking about possible menus, and there was nothing she liked better than shopping for whatever she'd decided to cook. What used to make it special, she thought now, was the fact that this was the one day when Constance would deign to come down to earth from the heights of Milthorpe House and sit at her table. Phyl smiled. And every year I made such an effort to see that everything was perfect. It was a kind of challenge, and most years she succeeded in wringing a few words of praise from her hypercritical mother-in-law. There had been the odd occasion when compliments had not been forthcoming and once or twice Constance had actually cancelled
because I'm not really feeling up to it, darling – you understand, I'm quite sure
but, for the most part, she was sure that Matt had nothing but happy memories of his own birthday.

There was, of course, no possibility of Constance attending this year. Phyl smiled at the thought of the old woman appearing like Banquo's ghost at the head of the table. That'd be something to see! For her part, she couldn't help feeling relieved that her mother-in-law
wouldn't be there ever again. She'd never have dreamed of confessing to Matt that those years when his mother hadn't made it to the table were more comfortable for her. She didn't have to feel as though she were competing in some kind of
Masterchef
event in her own home. That was the thing about Constance – she was the embodiment of judgemental. She judged every single thing that appeared before her. Clothes, people, food, jewels, books, films – she had an opinion on everything and in the case of books or films, didn't even feel she had to have read or seen the work in question. No, it would all be much more relaxed without her, though there were a few … what could you call them … stumbling blocks? Pieces of grit in the sandal? Irritants, in any case. Things which might go wrong.

There's me, for one thing, Phyl thought. It was now three weeks since she'd agreed to stay with Matt and she still sometimes woke up in the night full of dread …
what if?
What if he was just saying that about not going back to Ellie? What if he still went round to the flat in Brighton and they … her mind filled with such horrible images once she started on this tack that she'd had to get out of bed on several occasions and go downstairs and have a cup of tea in the kitchen till she came to her senses. She hated watching Matt like a prison warder, but couldn't help it. She knew the password on his email account and checked his messages, but Ellie, she was almost sure, didn't do email. And Matt wasn't a fool. He'd delete any incriminating texts from his mobile phone. Did Ellie know about texts? She couldn't ask him.

It's all nonsense, she told herself as she began to make the pasta sauce. She'd decided on a starter of field mushrooms with a chickpea stuffing, followed by linguine with a fresh crab and saffron sauce. Then they'd have the pavlova – a spectacular affair with meringue and fresh berries which had been ready since this morning. Matt was sincerely sorry. He really does love me, she thought. She remembered how distraught he'd looked when she was threatening to leave and allowed herself to be slightly consoled. The sex … well, she'd done her best to please him and he'd done his best to be attentive and loving and it was okay, but there was something – a shadow – over them both. It would maybe disappear over time, but just at the moment it seemed to her that Ellie was a sort of ghostly presence who managed to slip between them. I'm thinking about her, Phyl thought,
every time Matt takes me in his arms. He knows I'm thinking of her. He knows I'm thinking he's thinking of her … and so it goes. The complications made her feel sick, as though she were staring into some kind of giddying spiral and she tried hard not to bring them to mind during the day. You are never content, she chided herself. He's
not
with her, he's with me. He didn't want me to leave. He loves
me
. How many times does the poor man have to say it before I truly, truly believe him? When she was being strictly honest with herself, she knew that in her heart of hearts she never would entirely believe it.
Given the choice, no one would choose you over Ellie.
That was what Phyl thought in her most secret heart and no amount of factual evidence would convince her otherwise, but she'd lived with the idea so long that she'd managed to squash it down and squash it down till it was no more than a paper-thin wisp of an idea that clung to the edges of her mind.

‘Lou for you,' said Matt, coming into the kitchen with the phone in his hand.

‘She's still coming, isn't she? Poppy's okay?'

‘Nothing bad, darling, honestly. I've already said it's fine. Got to go.'

Phyl took the phone from Matt, who left the kitchen at once. ‘Hi, love,' she said.

‘Hello, Mum. I did ask Dad to explain but he says I've got to ask you …'

‘Ask me what?'

‘Whether I can bring someone with me tonight – an extra person. Dad reckoned you always make too much food anyway.'

Phyl relaxed. She had no idea why she assumed every single phone call would be bringing her some bad news, some difficulty, something she had to deal with. The relief she felt when it turned out to be good news, or at least not a disaster, was ridiculous.

‘Of course, darling. It's no problem. Gareth can't come, it seems. Nessa's asked if Mickey Crawford can come instead and I said yes. Who're you bringing?' For a wild optimistic moment, Phyl wondered whether Harry might possibly have …

‘It's Jake Golden, the publisher who's going to reissue Grandad's book. He wants to meet Dad because of him being John Barrington's
son. He's totally into everything to do with Grandad. He wants to meet you too of course, but it's mainly Dad. Jake's very nice. You'll like him.'

‘I'm sure I will. Okay, got to go, darling. Lots to do still. When do we expect you?'

‘About five if that's okay. I want to be able to feed Poppy and get her settled down before we start eating.'

‘Right. See you soon, then.'

Phyl went to replace the phone on its stand in the hall. She calculated numbers in her head … how many were they going to be now? Only seven because Tamsin was with Gareth this weekend so she wasn't coming either. Not exactly a full house. Briefly, she wondered about Justin. He'd sounded not quite himself when they'd spoken on the phone. And how come, she wondered as she'd often wondered before, he was so beautiful and still unattached? People were very mysterious, she decided. She'd brought Justin up but wouldn't have said she knew him at all nowadays.

You couldn't really call it a wine cellar, even though this was where Matt kept the wine. It was a large underground space, a couple of rooms under the house which were always cool even in the hottest weather. The garden furniture lived down here and so did the folded-away paddling pool and lots of cardboard boxes in assorted sizes which Phyl insisted on keeping even though, as far as Matt knew, they'd never, ever used one of them. But what if we decide to move? she'd said the last time he moaned about the boxes taking up too much space. To which his answer had been
we're not moving. Not ever.

Phyl thought he was joking, but he wasn't. He liked this house, his work was here in the town and why would he move? Even when he retired, he intended to stay exactly where he was. He'd never understood the desire people had to rush away from their lives to somewhere where no one knew them and where they had to start all over again from scratch. Now he looked carefully at the wine bottles, stored in racks against the wall opposite the pile of boxes. He knew what he was going to take up to the table – a 1996 Puligny-Montrachet – but he wasn't in a rush. He sat down on one of the
garden chairs and put the bottles on the floor next to him.

Ellie. That was a narrow squeak. Since that night, the night he'd spent with her, he'd been feeling as though a bulldozer were moving over him. He'd been churned up. Turned over and over – shaken. Everyone he loved: Phyl, Lou, Poppy, Nessa and Justin (and yes, he really did love them, even though they frequently exasperated him beyond measure), his friends, his colleagues, his practice, his home … all of that had been on the point of disappearing. He imagined the separate components of his life as though they were sweets in one of those old-fashioned glass jars common in his childhood. Sleeping with Ellie had twisted open the lid. Suddenly, everything was on the point of sliding out. He was about to lose every bit of what was precious to him.
Phyl had been packing to leave him.
Whenever he wavered, whenever he felt (and he wasn't in the habit of deceiving himself – he
did
occasionally feel it) overcome with a retrospective desire for Ellie, this sentence was enough to make him come to his senses.
Putting her things into a suitcase.
She would have gone. She would also, he was quite sure about this, have managed much better without him than he would without her. She would have gone to Lou at first and then they might have found a bigger flat together. He envisaged an idyllic life for the three of them: Phyl, Lou and Poppy getting on perfectly well without him.

Matt closed his eyes, and shuddered. He ran through the scenario that would have followed: Lou would be on her mother's side. She might have wanted not to see him again; she might have kept Poppy out of his life for ever. He couldn't even think about such a possibility without breaking into a cold sweat. His life, his comfortable, easy, pleasant life would turn into a nightmare. He would have the house, although if the matter came to a divorce, a judge may have insisted he sold it and gave Phyl half the proceeds … all kinds of consequences might have followed.

The worst of these was that he could well have found himself saddled with Ellie again. That was the real horror. She'd drive me mad, he thought, if I went back to her. She drove me mad years ago and it's even worse now. I could never, ever trust her for one moment. Life would be the very opposite of peaceful. She'd be discontented, demanding, difficult. He closed his eyes. The sex, he
had to admit, would be spectacular. Never mind, you couldn't have everything, and the days when he would have thought the world well lost for a good fuck were long gone. He picked up the bottles of wine at his feet and left the cellar, locking it carefully behind him.

‘Some people,' Jake said, ‘say a thing's fine when it's really not. Is your mom like that? I hope it really
is
okay for me to invite myself to your family celebration.'

‘It is, honestly. I was the one who told you about it. I needn't have mentioned it. And you could still stay overnight in the house. There's plenty of room.' One of the things that Lou admired about Jake was his quiet efficiency. He'd gone online and booked himself into the Hilton Park Hotel, which wasn't far away, as soon as Lou had assured him he was welcome at Matt's birthday dinner. She glanced at Jake's profile as they drove. Poppy was asleep in the child seat in the back of the car.

‘Well, between you mentioning that it was happening and me saying I'd like to come – that's a huge gap.'

‘But you should let me pay for the child seat,' she said. ‘I can't believe you just went out and bought one and had it fitted and everything.'

Jake didn't take his eyes off the road as he spoke. He was a careful driver, as Lou had known he would be. He was careful about everything, but it was odd, because being that kind of person often went with … with what? A sort of lack of passion and you couldn't say that about Jake. He was very obviously passionate about all sorts of things, mainly to do with books, but he was – she sought the right word – measured. Unsensational. Calm.

‘Look, Lou, I don't know how to say this because it's kind of vulgar to talk about money, and so forth, but it's truly okay. You don't have to pay. I guess what I'm saying is putting a child seat in a car is no big deal for me. I wanted to come and meet your dad – and your mom of course – but mainly I'm very interested to meet John Barrington's son, and a car seat just makes it easier, that's all. We could have gone down on the train but hey, this is better, right?'

‘Much better. Thanks, Jake …' They could, she realized, go on
other trips. Lou wondered if he had that in mind.

‘We can go other places with Poppy, too, now that I've got it. Had you thought of that?'

‘That's really kind of you,' Lou said.

‘I like Poppy,' Jake smiled. ‘She's cute.'

Lou came to the conclusion that she didn't know much about Jake, considering how much he knew about her. That first day in the restaurant, only a couple of weeks ago, they'd sat over coffee till after three o'clock and she seemed to have told him every single thing about herself. He was easy to talk to: unthreatening and interested. She'd had to rush to fetch Poppy and mentioned getting a taxi and he'd said, ‘No, that's okay, I'll take you,' and he'd driven her to the nursery and then all the way home. She'd sat in the back of the car with the baby on her lap that time and her part of the conversation had been directed at the nape of his neck.

Poppy loved riding in the car. And she liked Jake, grinning at him as she got out and making all kinds of happy sounds. He'd driven off with a wave and a smile. Lou had thought that was it. She reckoned she'd write the introduction and email it to him when it was finished, but he'd started to email her and phone her about this and that, mostly to do with the book and Lou found that she looked forward to his messages. When she'd told him she was going down to Haywards Heath for her dad's birthday party, Jake had asked her straight out whether he could, as he put it, ‘come along'.