A Perfect Heritage (45 page)

‘Yes, all right, all right, I’ll come. I can see my problems can’t begin to compete with Saul’s!’

‘Oh for God’s sake, do we have to have this, every time, even now. It’s so childish, Bianca. I never, ever complained about any of your bosses, or backers, and the hours you need to keep. But I’m not the automatic go-to for domestic backup any more, we have to share it, more than ever now with the Milly situation.’

‘Oh, all right,’ said Bianca wearily. She could feel Patrick slipping back very fast from his position on the Milly day, as she thought of it. He really wasn’t the Patrick she had been married to even six months earlier. She wasn’t sure what her predominant emotion was, but there was certainly some fear within it somewhere. And she felt horribly alone.

Susie had agreed to meet Henk in a wine bar, her local, just a few doors down the street. It was dangerous in one way, but she’d feel safer in another, knowing that she could get home quickly if he turned nasty.

She had googled suicide and read various websites, and the only thing she properly took in was that there was a rise in suicides among the young, and that there was a suicide helpline. God, she needed some help through this.

She was even more frightened of losing Jonjo – and he had been scarily silent all day, no texts, no emails, except one cancelling an arrangement for the following evening with no explanation. God, it was all so horrible. So unfair.

She felt worse as the afternoon went on; half wishing she’d not made the arrangement with Henk at all, wondering if she could cancel, knowing it was impossible.

She’d agreed to meet him at half past six and at half past five she went to the ladies’ to get ready. She wanted to look the opposite of sexy so she wiped off most of her make up and tied her hair back. A wave of terror hit her, as she looked at herself in the mirror; terror and nausea. How had she ended up like this? How?

The door opened and Jemima came in; she smiled at Susie in the mirror.

‘You look tired. Been burning the candle at both ends?’

‘A – a bit.’

‘Lucky you. Wish I had.’

‘No you don’t,’ said Susie, and overwhelmed by a new flood of fear, she suddenly started to cry.

‘Susie, Susie, whatever is it? You’ve been so much happier lately – you haven’t gone back to the boyfriend, have you? The one who beat you up?’

Susie stared at her. ‘I – well, not exactly. But how . . . ?’

‘Oh honestly!’ said Jemima, putting her arm round Susie’s shoulders. ‘I’m not a complete moron. I was so worried about you. So glad when it all seemed to have stopped.’

‘Oh, Jemima . . .’ Susie looked at her helplessly. ‘Jemima, I’ve made such a hash of things. A total, utter hash.’

‘But why, how? Look, everyone’s gone home including Bianca. Let’s go into my office and I’ll get us a coffee or something.’

‘No, no,’ said Susie. ‘I’ve got to – got to meet someone at half past six.’

‘Well, text and say you’ll be half an hour late. Go on. You can’t go out in that state. Who’re you meeting, anyway, new boyfriend?’

‘No,’ said Susie and started crying again. ‘There isn’t a new one. There might have been if I wasn’t so stupid. Oh, Jemima, it’s all such a filthy mess.’

‘Look,’ Jemima gave her a gentle shove in the direction of her office, ‘go and sit down, I’ll get the coffee.’

Jonjo, having spent a wretched day grieving over what had promised such happiness and had become such misery, hurt and shocked beyond anything, almost more than when he had discovered his wife was being unfaithful to him, was waiting for Patrick in his office.

He hadn’t seen Patrick since the night of the private view, when he had met Susie for the first time and the sight of him brought it back rather vividly.

‘Hi,’ he said rather listlessly.

‘Hello,’ said Patrick. ‘How’s it going?’

Jonjo was too miserable to lie. ‘Badly. Since you ask.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Patrick without inquiring what.

‘Thanks. You?’

‘Er, fine. Yes.’

How would it ever be otherwise, Jonjo thought, for Patrick with his perfect wife, his perfect family, how could he know about rejection and deception and pain?

‘You coming or going?’ he said.

‘I was waiting for Saul. But he’s been held up, got to cool my heels for a couple of hours.’

‘You haven’t got time for a drink I s’pose?’

Patrick looked at his watch, hesitated, then said, ‘Oh, why not? Otherwise it’s research on Georgian architecture.’

‘Doesn’t sound too much like Saul.’

‘No, no, it’s for Ruby. She’s working on a project.’

Jonjo managed half a smile. ‘I thought Saul had liberated you from projects. Come on, quick one won’t hurt.’

In the bar, halfway through his beer, Patrick said, ‘So everything OK, then?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Really? Come on, Jonjo, you haven’t asked me down here to discuss the weather.’

‘No, I know. But I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Well, start, see how you get on. We can always switch to the weather.’

‘That is just so appalling,’ said Jemima. ‘You poor, poor thing. Oh, Susie, no wonder you’re in a state. And you’re going to meet him? That’s awfully brave.’

‘I know. But I thought it might help. I don’t see what else I can do. I can’t get any advice from any of the professionals, they all say they don’t give second-hand advice. And I can’t just ignore it. I know everyone says people who threaten it never do it, but I don’t know that, I certainly can’t be sure.’

‘No,’ said Jemima, ‘you absolutely can’t. He already feels abandoned, it would simply be making it worse.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘You thought right. How ghastly. How totally unfair.’

‘I know. But Jemima, what can I do?’

‘What I would suggest,’ said Jemima slowly, ‘is try and persuade him to see a psychiatrist, or a therapist, not just the counsellor he says he’s seeing. I know it won’t be easy but that’s the best thing you could do. And maybe offer to go with him, if he’ll let you. It would show him you were properly concerned. Although it might encourage him to think you still cared about him.’ She stopped, looked at Susie, then said, slightly hesitantly, ‘You know, Susie, suicide is the most aggressive act possible. It forces everyone to think about that person for the rest of their lives. What they’re saying is: I can’t bear this any longer, you’re going to have to bear it now. He’s massively envious that you’ve got your life together, as he sees it, and he’s turning his aggression on whatever has attacked him – in this case you.’

Susie stared at her. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about it.’

‘I should do,’ said Jemima with a sigh. ‘I’ve been training as a psychotherapist for years. Keep failing my exams,’ she added.

‘No!’ Susie was jolted out of her misery. ‘Jemima, that’s amazing. Why didn’t you mention it before?’

‘I didn’t want everyone to know. Specially Bianca – she’d have thought I wasn’t going to be properly committed to the job. So I’m trusting you not to say anything.’

‘Of course I won’t. God, you’d be a wonderful psychotherapist. Wish you were mine!’

‘Well, I shouldn’t even be playing at it,’ said Jemima, ‘because I’m not qualified. But I have learned a lot. And I do know quite a lot about suicide – one of my case studies was one.’

‘Well – well, I’m glad you think I’m at least on the right lines, doing what I am.’

‘I do. But I also think the whole thing is a bit dangerous. Walking on a field of landmines, doddle by comparison. Would you like me to come with you this evening?’

‘No, he’d just freak out.’

‘Well, ring me, the minute you feel you can’t cope. I mean, he’s violent, Susie.’

‘Well, he says he’s having counselling for that. And ever since the last time he’s shown no signs of it at all. Except for almost knocking my door in,’ she added, ‘when I told him there was someone else.’

‘What! You should have gone to the police.’

‘I know, I know. But somehow . . .’ She trailed to a stop. ‘Anyway, the neighbours underneath me, lovely people, they’ve kept an eye on me ever since, told him to go away and he just did.’

‘Interesting,’ said Jemima, ‘that he should be so easily dissuaded.’

‘Is it? I wouldn’t know.’

‘I think so. So who’s this someone else?’

‘No one,’ said Susie, ‘any more.’ And burst into tears again.

‘I thought – well, I almost thought I’d found Miss Right,’ said Jonjo. ‘Bloody gorgeous Patrick, she is – well, you’ve met her – she was at Guinevere’s party.’

‘Well, she seems very sweet,’ said Patrick cautiously.

‘And I thought she was pretty damn perfect. We were doing so well . . .’

‘For how long?’

‘Oh, well, not that long. Actually. Only a few dates. But you can tell, can’t you?’

‘Sometimes,’ said Patrick.

‘Well, anyway, I was wrong. She’s bloody cheating on me. Got someone else.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I heard her talking to him. She was sitting in my bed, for Christ’s sake. I was in the shower, came in, there she was. Saying she was so relieved to hear his voice. I mean, you don’t imagine that sort of thing, do you?’

‘Not usually,’ said Patrick. ‘But you don’t know the background. Did you ask her?’

‘Course I didn’t bloody ask her! I didn’t want to hear any pathetic excuses. I just went to work. She left a little note, saying she’d like to explain, but – well, pretty hard to explain that sort of thing. Oh shit! Another of those? Or do you want to move on to something stronger?’

‘No, I’ve got to work later. In fact, I think I’ll go for Saul’s tipple. Tonic and tonic. It’s a really good drink.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! Have a beer. You’re a bit obsessed with Saul, you know that?’

‘That’s what Bianca says,’ said Patrick, trying to sound light-hearted. ‘Anyway, I think you should have it out with her,’ he added, as Jonjo waved at the waiter, ‘ask her what’s going on. You never know, might be different from what you think.’

‘How?’ said Jonjo.

‘Well, might have been her dad or something. I just think you should presume innocence till proven guilty, that’s all. I admit it sounds a bit dodgy. But you don’t know. I’d go and see her if I were you. Talk to her.’

‘Patrick, I just couldn’t. I’d feel like the total loser I seem to be, listening to some half-arsed explanation. Look, let’s talk of happier things. How is Bianca?’

‘She’s fine,’ said Patrick, ‘but – excuse me.’ He looked at his phone. ‘Jonjo, I have to go. Saul’s back, waiting for me in his office.’

‘You know what, Patrick?’ said Jonjo. ‘You shouldn’t be quite so in awe of Saul. Drink up, he’ll wait ten minutes, he doesn’t own you.’

‘Yes he does,’ said Patrick, grinning. ‘Anyway, my advice still is, go and see her, try and sort it out. I must go, Jonjo. Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ said Jonjo. ‘And ask Saul to call me.’

He watched Patrick leave the bar and then downed his gin and tonic in a very few gulps. It made him feel better. He decided to have another before going home to his apartment. His extremely empty apartment. Where Susie had sat, in his bed, staring at him with huge frightened eyes, breaking his heart. Bloody women. Always causing trouble. Much better without them really . . .

‘Hello, Henk.’

He didn’t look too bad; in fact, he looked rather well, not gaunt and hollow-eyed as she might have expected.

‘Hi.’ He stood up, kissed her cheek, indicated for her to sit down.

‘Sorry I’m late. Hope you got my text.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I did.’

‘It was just that I had to—’

‘Work late.’ He grinned. ‘You know, that used to be the excuse of the errant male. Those were the days – when men had it all. What would you like to drink?’

‘Oh, white wine spritzer please.’

She could sip at that for a long time without getting drunk, and it didn’t look like she wasn’t drinking at all, which might seem a bit headmistressy.

‘So – how’s it going?’

‘Oh, fine, thanks. Yes. Work’s good. You?’

‘Oh fine. Yes. I’ve got a job as an assistant to a studio photographer.’

‘You have? That’s great!’

‘Yes. Doing some work of my own too.’

‘Good. How did the shoot for the
Sketch
go?’

‘You remembered! Fine. Yes. Cool. And they want me to do another one.’

‘Henk, I’m so pleased for you.’

‘Thanks.’

There was a silence. Susie sipped her drink.

‘Henk . . .’

‘Yeah?’

‘Henk, we need to talk properly.’

‘What about?’

‘You know what about. Your – your texts. It’s terrible for me, getting them, Henk, terrible.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes. Look, I’ve been thinking and—’

‘You’ll finish with this bloke?’

‘That’s not what I was going to say! I – I think you need help, Henk. Proper, professional help, not just a life counsellor.’

‘No I don’t. I keep telling you. I just need you back. I’ll be fine then.’

God, thought Susie, he really is a bit mad. She must be very careful.

‘Henk,’ she said, as gently as she could, ‘I really am so, so sorry I’ve caused you such distress.’

‘It was all so good,’ he said, his voice almost plaintive. ‘We were so good together. I just don’t – don’t understand where it went wrong.’

Susie saw a possible strategy here. God, how she longed for Jemima. ‘Yes, well we were once,’ she said carefully, ‘but things have changed.’

‘But why? How? I don’t understand.’

‘Well, that’s why I think you need help. Because you
don’t
understand. And—’

‘Look, Susie, I feel how I do because you want to leave me. Nothing else. No shrink can change that.’

‘Henk, I know that, but I do think we should go and see someone, to talk about it. Together maybe. So you can understand. And – well, I can understand a bit better too.’

‘Do you think so, babe? Do you think that would really help?’

‘Yes, yes I do. Would you like me to try and find someone?’

A long silence. Then, ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, possibly.’

Jonjo looked round the bar. It was almost empty. No one to talk to. And he needed to talk. Not about Susie, Patrick was the only person for those sorts of conversation and even that was a struggle. But he felt really lonely suddenly. God, if only he had Susie to talk to, she’d understand. Only – no, she wouldn’t, because it was down to her that he was so miserable and had no one to talk to. Which was terrible. Because, God, she was fantastic. In every way. So loving and fun and sexy and utterly gorgeous. Only she had someone else. But did she? He didn’t actually know for sure. It looked like it, but maybe Patrick was right. Clever old sod, Patrick. Always had been a good friend too. Maybe he should do what Patrick said, give Susie a chance. To explain things at least. He wouldn’t be any worse off, even if he was right and she was cheating on him. At least he’d know. Yes, he’d do that. He’d just have one more drink, and then he’d get in a cab and go over and see her. And talk to her. But he wouldn’t tell her he was coming, or she’d have a chance to cover her tracks if she was – well, if she really was carrying on with this other bloke . . .