A Most Desirable Marriage (15 page)

Lawrence had moved between them now. ‘Gerald, stop it, for God’s sake. That’s ludicrous. Jo was a child. She had nothing whatever to do with the boy’s death.’

But her father, still strong enough to do so, pushed him roughly aside. ‘Stay out of this.’

Jo didn’t reply to her father. Her mind was elsewhere, back at that clear spring morning. How she’d got up, desperate to be outside, smell the cool air, feel the early sun on her skin. Duke, the Labrador, had been a willing companion as they left a trail of footprints across the dew-soaked lawn, making for the small gate behind the fruit cage which led to the open fields beyond. The Wellington tree, large and ancient with the oddly spongy bark she loved, sat in front of a wall of rhododendron bushes to the right of them. Something caught her eye as she drew level with the tree, and she turned to look. At first she couldn’t process what she was seeing. It looked like a scarecrow dangling there, turning in the breeze, half hidden beneath the branches, dappled by the morning sun. But as she drew closer, she realized it was Bobby, seventeen years old, from the correctional facility down the road, helping with the garden that summer under the watchful eye of Mr Bennett, their full-time gardener.

Yes, she’d met Bobby in passing, around the garden, noticed his slim, dark good looks, his shy smile. She was fourteen, went to an all girls’ school, hardly met members of the opposite sex of her own age. But she’d never said more than ‘Hello’ to him. He’d never said even that back, just shot her a shy grin.

She didn’t remember much about the mayhem that followed her discovery. Only Duke barking frantically, jumping up at Bobby’s swinging feet, heavy in the black scuffed work boots, half-laced. Then her running, heart bursting from her chest. Her mother screaming and screaming. The police. And her father, his face a mask, quietly patrician and in charge as he dealt with the local constable, but not speaking to, or looking at her or her mother throughout. Not once.

Then watching out of her bedroom window two days later, as he left the house without saying goodbye to her, throwing one small holdall into the boot of his precious ultramarine Alfa Romeo Giulietta. Setting off down the gravel drive at a sedate pace, as he might if he were heading for the golf club for a round with his friends. But never coming home.

‘
Did
your mom seduce the boy?’ Travis was asking.

Jo was hardly aware that she’d been speaking out loud. ‘Who knows. I couldn’t ask, but I very much doubt it. He was so shy and so . . . young. Mr Bennett said the police put it down to Bobby being a bit disturbed, the location of our garden just a “convenience” . . . such an odd choice of word. The boys weren’t popular in the area, as you can imagine. People attributed all sorts of stuff to them, mostly unfairly I’m sure.’

‘But she had before . . . I mean with other men.’

Jo nodded. ‘Apparently. My father said so anyway. Made a point of telling me what a dreadful slut Mum was the next time he saw me.’ She paused. ‘And he was certainly right that she was very flirtatious with men. But whether or not she seduced Bobby . . . and if she did, was it a contributory factor in his death, no one will ever know. She was certainly different after that: tearful, nervy, very needy. I felt I had to look after her.’

‘Christ . . . how tragic. But he never accused you of pimping for her till four years ago.’

‘No, that was a new one.’

‘What did you say when he accused you?’

‘He didn’t give me a chance to say anything. Just went off on this crazy rant, as if Mum was the Madame of a brothel and I was the chief prostitute. I was just so stunned I couldn’t speak. Lawrence had to drag me out. Dad even followed us outside, still yelling. It was appalling.’

‘Must have had some kinda brain episode. It happens. They go a bit crazy sometimes, old people: lose their inhibitions. Basically lose their minds.’

‘I know. But he seemed so sane until he started shouting at me. And he obviously remembers it, or he wouldn’t have said what he did just now.’

‘Tough on you whichever. Doesn’t go away, shit like that.’ Travis laid his arm across her shoulder, pulled him towards her. She closed her eyes, rested her head against him, grateful for the support.

‘Jo?’ She opened her eyes to see Lawrence standing on the other side of the grey laminate table, his eyes wide with surprise.

She sat up. ‘Lawrence! What are you doing here?’

Her husband glanced at Travis, then at her. She knew she ought to feel embarrassed, but she had no energy for it. Travis had withdrawn his arm, but he still sat close, almost protective.

‘I thought . . . you said you weren’t coming. I just thought someone ought to.’

She nodded, touched that he would bother.

‘Is he . . .?’ Lawrence pulled out a chair, scraping the legs on the polished linoleum floor, and sat down.

‘I spoke to him about an hour ago. He’s very weak. But he was talking, knew who I was.’

Lawrence was clearly constrained by Travis’s presence and the American got up.

‘I’ll go get some fresh air. Text me.’ He touched her briefly on the arm and walked out through the swing doors. Jo watched him for a moment, then turned to her husband.

‘Don’t go there,’ she warned, as she saw his eyebrows raised in question.

Gerald died that evening. Without a fuss, as he had lived. He waited till Jo, who had been sitting by his bedside all afternoon, holding his hand, slipped out for another cup of tea. He hadn’t opened his eyes again, hadn’t spoken to her in the interim. To Jo, his earlier apology seemed like the beginning of something, not the end. And although she knew better than to expect him suddenly to gaze into her eyes and say he loved her, she found herself waiting nonetheless; waiting for something more.

Jo sent Lawrence home. At one point he’d tried to hug her, but she held him off. She was anxious not to rely on him, it would have been too easy, because their shared history with her father seemed to supersede what had happened since – Lawrence knew her better than anyone else in the world.

‘What do you want to do?’ Travis asked, when the preliminary formalities had been dealt with. It seemed to Jo to be pretty straightforward, dying. A few forms to sign, a bag of personal possessions – which she didn’t want but Travis insisted she take – numbers exchanged. Now they were making their way to the car park. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning, drizzling and cold. Jo shivered, clutched his arm.

‘Don’t know.’

‘I can drive you home . . . or we can hole up somewhere, get some sleep.’

‘I’d rather go home. Unless you’re too tired to drive.’

‘Home it is.’

Cassie must have been listening out for them.

‘God, Mum. I’m so sorry.’ She came down in her dressing gown, wrapped Jo in a long hug. ‘I’d have come, but you made it sound like it wasn’t serious.’

‘It’s OK,’ she said. And it was. Travis had warned her she would have a reaction later, when it sunk in that her father was dead, but Travis had loved his father. She knew the only reaction she felt – and would continue to feel – was relief.

*

The funeral was miserable. Just Jo and the children, Janet from next door, Beth, the girl who’d cleaned for Gerald, huddled in the chilly crematorium in Margate. The vicar – a tough, direct woman in her fifties with the grey pudding-basin haircut so favoured by women priests – had called Jo in advance for background about her father for the eulogy. But Jo found it almost impossible to answer her questions. She put her in touch with Janet, who seemed to know him better.

The three of them sat in silence in the car on the way home.

‘Are you sad, Mum?’ Cassie asked.

‘Sad for him, I suppose. I’m not sure he had such a great life. And selfishly, sad for me . . . that I didn’t have a father I could relate to, one I could properly love.’

Neither of her children replied. She wondered if they were thinking about Lawrence, who’d asked if he could come to the funeral, but Jo had said no. He’d sounded upset that she didn’t want him there, but pretending they were all still a single unit seemed like a lie. Was she punishing him? In a practical sense it didn’t seem much of a punishment to be let off a visit to a dismal crematorium, miles from anywhere, for the funeral of a man he had hardly admired. But still, she knew she was exerting a mild form of retribution, telling him: you can no longer take it for granted that you’re part of this family.

1 November 2013

‘You’ll come to the last-night party?’ Jo was sitting with Travis and Cassie in front of the fire in the sitting room, each with a glass of red wine. ‘It’s after the show Saturday.’

‘Won’t it just be the actors and play people?’

‘I’m coming,’ Cassie said, ignoring her mother.

‘Reckon it’ll be everyone,’ Travis said. ‘And Nicky’ll want you both there.’

Jo wasn’t so sure about that. Nicky had been strange since the funeral. She’d rung him a few times, left messages, but he hadn’t responded. When she asked Travis if he was all right, the American had seemed unaware that there was a problem, beyond the usual one of the girlfriend, of course.

‘Have you spoken to him?’ she asked her daughter.

‘Briefly, this morning.’

‘It’s just he hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts.’

Cassie shrugged. ‘You know Nicks. Not the greatest multitasker on the planet. It’s Amber, Amber or the play, the play or Amber. You may get some action when at least the play’s off the slate.’

‘Maybe. I feel I’ve hardly seen him for months now.’ She knew she was sounding peeved. She had to admit that her son’s obsession with his girlfriend had proved surprisingly painful for her – despite always pitying women who couldn’t let their children go. But it wasn’t that at the moment. She was sensing a different sort of snub from Nicky.

Both Travis and Cassie were looking at her with sympathy, and she quickly made a joke of it. ‘Yeah, yeah . . . jealous of another woman. Pathetic, isn’t it?’

‘Know how you feel,’ Travis grinned. ‘Hardly seen him myself, except on stage. Those two are so totally full-on.’

‘He’s pussy-whipped, poor boy,’ his sister said, her tone infinitely superior. ‘But he’ll get bored, watch this space.’

*

Jo didn’t need to worry about who would be welcome at the party at the theatre bar. As Travis had implied, the world and his wife were there, the place packed, the crowd chattering and ebullient, most holding drinks – some sort of sparkling wine, glasses of which were laid out in serried ranks along the length of the bar which ran the entire right-hand side of the room. Dotted around the walls were hanging posters of the play, a blurred image of Travis, his eyes dark and hypnotic, staring out from behind the play’s title.

Cassie spotted Nicky and Travis talking with a group of people by a pillar in the centre of the room and they began to push their way towards them. There was no sign of Amber.

Travis saw them first. ‘Hey . . . you made it. Great. I’ll get you a drink.’

He began to elbow his way in the direction of the bar. Jo turned to Nicky.

‘Hi, darling.’ She went to hug him, but his face tightened and he stood stiffly, unwelcoming. ‘Hi, Mum.’ He gave her a perfunctory kiss on each cheek, then turned away almost immediately to talk to Cassie.

Jo was shocked. She wanted to grab him, ask him what the matter was, but she couldn’t, not in this crowd of his fellow-actors and associates. She stood, numb, until Travis returned and thrust a glass into her hand.

‘Cheers!’ she said, putting aside her confusion to raise a glass to him. ‘Congratulations!’

He grinned, ‘Thanks. Yeah, it’s been awesome. But kinda gutting when it’s over and you know you’ll never do it again. I guess the end of a run always feels like you lost a limb.’

She drew closer to him. ‘Nicky’s being weird with me . . . do you know why?’

The actor looked puzzled. ‘Yeah? He hasn’t said anything to me.’ He glanced across at her son, who was studiously ignoring them both. At that moment, a wiry, intense woman in her fifties, faded-blonde hair past her shoulders, dressed in jeans, a gold-coloured camisole and black jacket came up and grabbed Travis by the arm.

‘Come with me, dearest, I need you to meet one of your biggest fans.’

‘The producer,’ Travis whispered to Jo, giving her an apologetic grin. ‘Back in a sec.’

Jo didn’t know what to do. She stood, clutching her glass, trying not to stare at her son, feeling foolish and very much alone in that crowd of chattering thespians. She tapped Cassie on the shoulder as she was talking to one of the other guests.

‘I think I might sneak off.’

‘Now?’ Her daughter frowned. ‘It’s only just started.’

‘Parties aren’t really my thing.’

‘OK . . . do you want me to come with you?’

‘God no! But will you say goodbye to Nicky for me? Say I wasn’t feeling well or something.’

Cassie gave her a puzzled look. ‘He’s just there, Mum.’ She pointed to where Nicky stood, only feet away. ‘Can’t you tell him yourself?’

‘Umm . . . don’t want to interrupt . . . it’s his night . . .’ She kissed Cassie quickly on the cheek and moved off before her daughter could ask any more questions.

She tried to catch Travis’s eye, but he was leaning against the bar engrossed in conversation with a balding man about her age – heavy grey-tweed coat hanging open to reveal an expensive white shirt and jeans – whose florid complexion implied that he hit the bottle rather more than he should.

Jo walked home, hardly aware of the journey. She knew what was wrong with Nicky. Sensed it as soon as he stopped returning her calls. Lawrence. He must have told their son that he’d seen her in Travis’s arms in the hospital canteen, the day her father died. And obviously Nicky was blaming
her
, not his friend, because Travis hadn’t noticed anything amiss in their relationship.

On an angry impulse, she called Lawrence as she walked, not caring that it was late.

‘I just asked him what was going on,’ was Lawrence’s reply to her accusation. ‘I assumed he knew. You weren’t talking to me, and I didn’t want to bother you when your father was dying. But I think I have a right to know who you’re having a relationship with.’

‘You don’t have a right to one single thing about me or my life, Lawrence.’

‘All right . . . take that attitude if you like. But why are you so angry? And why haven’t you told the children?’

‘Why do you think? I know you don’t find it the least bit embarrassing to be having sex with someone young enough to be your son, but I certainly do.’

There was silence at the other end of the phone, broken only by a martyrish sigh.

‘So you
are
having sex with him. Nicky said that was ridiculous.’

‘Well it might be ridiculous to him, and to you too, obviously. But I am. And I’m enjoying it hugely.’ Her anger drove her to emphasize the last word with unnecessary relish.

‘God, Jo . . .’

‘What? Too much information?’

‘No . . . no, of course not.’ He sounded jumpy. ‘I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.’

‘I don’t see why it matters to you.
You’ve
got what
you
want.’

‘It does matter to me. Of course it does.’ There was a pause. ‘He’s living in my house, for starters.’

Jo was so astounded at Lawrence’s words that her mobile almost slipped from her hand. She grabbed it and pressed it back to her ear.

She took a deep breath, steadied her tone. ‘So basically it’s the house –
your
house – you’re worried about. Your concern has nothing whatever to do with Cassie and Nicky.’

‘That’s being childish. But it does make me wonder if he’s the reason you’re hanging on to it.’

‘I’m not even going to answer that,’ she said.

‘You’ll have to deal with the house situation sooner or later you know.’ He had adopted his head teacher’s tone. ‘You can’t keep burying your head, Jo, carrying on as if nothing’s happened. And there’s the children.’ He was on a roll now, pompous ass. ‘Even if you don’t think I have the right to know, they certainly do.’

Jo didn’t answer, regretting the impulse to call her husband in the first place. She was not going to admit to him that he was right about the children, although he was; she should have told them weeks ago. But just thinking of what she and Travis did together made her blush. And imagining Cassie and Nicky imagining it made her feel absolutely sick.

‘Let’s not argue,’ she heard him say, his tone infinitely weary.

‘No, let’s not.’

The silence that followed implied they were unable to find a way to talk without doing so.

‘Please don’t discuss me and Travis until I’ve had a chance to talk to them,’ she begged, hearing an echo of Lawrence’s own words all those months ago, about Arkadius.

‘I won’t. But I really think we should get going on the house. Otherwise we’ll have to wait till after Christmas.’

His words sounded suspiciously like blackmail to Jo: I won’t cause trouble with the children over Travis as long as you play ball and put the house on the market. She didn’t want to have another fight, so she said, ‘I don’t want to talk about that right now.’ But there was no way on earth that she would even consider his request until after the New Year.

When she got home she was cold and shaken. She ran herself a hot bath and soaked in it for hours, her mind whirring. Thoughts about Cassie knowing – would Nicky have told her yet? – about facing Nicky, about Travis. Travis. The play was over. It wouldn’t be long before he was offered another job. And it wouldn’t be in London. It was bound not to be in London.

Jo dried herself and got into her pyjamas, but she knew there was no chance she would sleep yet. Maybe I should wait up and talk to Cassie tonight, she thought. So she wrapped herself in the rug and settled down to some late-night TV, channel-hopping back and forth, taking in little of the mainly brash, braying Saturday night chat shows or stand-ups on offer as she waited for the others to come home. When she heard the key in the lock, she sat up quickly, swung her legs off the sofa. Cassie, looking exhausted and hollow-eyed.

‘What are you doing up, Mum?’

‘Waiting for you.’

‘Yeah . . .’ Cassie peeled off her coat and scarf and threw herself in the armchair next to the sofa. She gave Jo a steady look, which she found hard to interpret.

‘Nicky told you?’

Cassie nodded, let out a long breath. ‘And I spoke to Travis. Nicky’s furious. He and Travis are having it out as we speak. Nicks said he was only waiting till the play was over to say something.’

‘I should have been more honest.’ She couldn’t meet her daughter’s eye.

‘You should. But I can see why you weren’t.’

Jo was surprised that her daughter didn’t appear more upset.

‘I do feel a tad foolish . . . you two sneaking about behind my back, all loved up . . . and me not having a clue what was going on.’

‘I know. I’m really sorry, darling. I’m ashamed of myself. But I thought you’d be so disgusted with me. Donna said I should come clean ages ago, but I just didn’t have the nerve.’

‘God . . . like I ever imagined my own parents . . . Go, Dad. Go, Mum. Tied first in the Most Embarrassing Parent competition.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Her daughter was silent for a moment.

‘But you know what? Finally it’s your life. Dad started it. I honestly don’t blame you.’

‘You don’t? Even though he’s so much younger than me?’

Cassie pushed her hair back from her face, gave out a big yawn. ‘Our family used to be so normal it was almost worrying. Now look at us.’ She started to laugh.

Jo, from sheer relief, joined in. Cassie came over and sat beside her mother, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘You’re not in love with Travis are you, Mum?’

Jo held her breath. Love. She didn’t know how to answer. ‘It was so unexpected, finding him attractive like that,’ she said eventually. ‘And I never thought he’d feel anything for me in a million years.’

‘Doesn’t answer my question.’

‘No . . . well, I’m not sure I can.’ Jo took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, he’ll be off soon. And we both knew he would be. It’s just . . . what it is.’

Cassie laughed. ‘Right. That’s perfectly clear then.’

‘Sorry . . .’

They both stopped talking at the sound of Travis opening the front door. He came in without a word and sat down heavily in the chair Cassie had just vacated. He shook his head at them both.

‘I guess I had it coming.’

‘What happened?’ Jo asked.

‘We rowed, then I took off before he had a chance to land one on me. Boy was he mad. Said we’d all betrayed him . . . including Cassie. Said you must have known about us this whole time.’

‘He’s such a baby,’ Cassie said. ‘And I reckon that Amber girl winds him up. Us-against-the-world sort of stuff. It’s how she keeps him onside.’

‘Where was Amber by the way?’ Jo asked.

‘Probably at home starving herself,’ Cassie said.

‘Cassie . . .’ Jo gave her daughter a reproving glance.

‘She’s been in all week,’ Travis said, ‘waiting for Nicky at the end of the show.’

‘Then it’s us she’s trying to avoid,’ Jo said. ‘Can’t blame her. I’m so sorry Nicky was such a pain,’ she added, apologizing yet again. But she was sorry. Not that she and Travis had got together – she’d never regret that – but sorry it had caused such fallout.

‘I’m going to bed,’ Cassie declared, dragging herself off the sofa. ‘Night guys. Sleep well.’ Jo saw the embarrassed look her daughter shot between her and the American before she left.

Travis came and sat beside her as soon as they were alone. His arms went round her and she clung to him.

‘Feels good,’ she whispered as he bent to kiss her.

*

‘Where have you been all my life?’ Donna shrieked, as soon as she saw Jo outside the hut the following morning. ‘Come in, come in. I haven’t seen you properly in weeks.’

It was still early and the hut was absolutely freezing, despite the blow-heater blasting away in the corner. Donna hadn’t started work yet. She was sitting on her bench, cradling a mug in hands encased in fingerless mittens. She was wrapped as if for the Arctic, her small body bulky and misshapen with layers of jumpers and scarves, a brightly coloured, knitted Chullo hat with earflaps pulled down over her dark hair. Jo shivered, clutching her jacket round her body against the cold.

‘It’ll warm up in a minute.’ Donna waved a hand towards the steaming coffee pot. ‘Help yourself.’

Jo shook her head. ‘Where’s Max?’

‘Waiting inside till it’s hotter. He’s no fool.’ Her friend watched Jo settle on her favourite stool, then with one eyebrow raised said, ‘So? Been too busy bonking actor boy to talk to your old friends?’