Bird of Passage (43 page)

In the kitchen she made more omelettes for herself and Finn. They tried to eat, but it seemed like a waste of precious time, and eventually they gave in to the inevitable and crept quietly up the stairs to Kirsty’s old room. Finn lighted a wood fire in there, screwing up newspaper into twists, like in the old days, while she undressed. She could hear her grandfather’s faint snores as she crept into the soft space in the wall, the feather bed beneath her, the eiderdown on top. Finn slipped off his clothes and stood in the firelight, looking at her as though, even now, he could hardly believe that she was in his bed.

She loved the very sight of him, the touch and taste of his skin against hers, the familiar scent of his body, his hair, his hands on her face. He was hard and enduring as oak, cool and long and lovely as clean water, sweet as honey. They found themselves murmuring endearments, words and phrases with meanings only for each other, the poetry of longing and loss and enduring love. 

And afterwards, when they lay, exhausted and sated, belly to back, like two spoons, she whispered in his ear, ‘You were right.’

‘About what?’

‘About India. She’s your daughter. I was pregnant when you left. It was weeks before I realised though.’

‘I knew as soon as I saw her. That photograph just confirmed it. How could I not know? How could Nick not see it?’

‘Maybe he does know. Or maybe he doesn’t look at her in that way. He loves her, that’s for sure. Are you angry?’

He turned to face her, pulling her close.

‘I can’t get angry with you any more, Kirsty. It’s like getting angry with myself.’

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. It was a while till I realised I was pregnant. At first, I thought it was the stress of losing my mum – and you. Then, Nick was there and he was so kind to me.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does.’

‘It’s over and done with.’

‘Do you think we should tell her?’

‘What good would it do?’

‘Doesn’t she have a right to know?’

‘Not if it does more harm than good.’

‘You’re a lovely man, Finn.’

He stirred, uneasily. He had to be honest with Kirsty of all people.

‘I’m not lovely at all. Oh God, don’t credit me with more integrity than I actually have. I like India, and I admire her. But I only love you. I can’t be more than I am. I can see that it would be disastrous to tell her. I know what I should feel, but I don’t feel it. I never will now.’

‘Hush,’ she said. ‘I know, I know.’

In the night, she awoke, roused from sleep by some sound outside the farm, and, just for a moment, wondered where she was, alarmed by the strangeness of it, but instantly comforted by the familiarity of her surroundings. She was curled around his body, and he was warm and relaxed in sleep. She lay quietly and listened. The call of the corncrake, nesting somewhere in the reeds by the shore, floated in at the window.

In the morning she went back down to Ealachan, told Heather that she had to look after her grandfather for a few days more, packed a bag, not forgetting drawing paper and charcoal, and returned to Dunshee, where she stayed until the day before Nicolas was due to come home. Every day she drew pictures of Finn, and herself, a series of strange sketches of the two of them as children. Every night, she pretended that she was sleeping in her mother’s room, while in reality she joined Finn in her old bed in the wall. They did not sleep very much. They tossed and turned like seals in the water and cried out with pleasure. In their element.

Later in the week, though, thoughts of India and Flora stirred her conscience.  

‘I’m fine now,’ said Alasdair, who had been up and about for a day or so and was, frankly, puzzled by her continued presence. ‘Time you got back down the hill, Kirsty. I know you’re enjoying being at home again but India will be coming home too, looking for her mother.’

Finn had overheard this conversation. He had been standing in the doorway listening, and he shrugged, almost imperceptibly.  

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there when India comes back.’

Nicolas telephoned. He too sounded faintly puzzled by her prolonged stay at Dunshee. ‘Is your grandad very ill?’ he asked.

‘He was quite poorly. But he’s much better now. In fact I was planning to go back to Ealachan today. Get ready for the girls.’

‘That’s what I’m phoning about. India’s been invited to stay with a friend outside Oxford for a week or so. And Annabel’s flying into Heathrow with Flora, so she thought they might as well go to Maida Vale for a while. India’s going to join them there.’

‘I see.’

‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No. No that’s alright.’

‘So I’ll just be coming back on my own.’

There would never be a better time, she thought, but how could she bring herself to tell him?

When she went to her mother’s old room, half heartedly packing up the bag she had kept there, for appearance’s sake, Finn followed her and pressed her against the wall, kissing her hungrily.

‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘What are you going to do? Hadn’t you better just leave your things here?’

‘I can’t bear to hurt the girls.’

‘It isn’t a choice between me and the girls. It’s a choice between me and Nicolas. I would never, ever ask you to abandon your kids. Me of all people. You should know that.’

‘I do know that.’

‘Please don’t choose him all over again. I can’t bear it if you do.’

‘I think I’ve already chosen, don’t you?’

The inevitability of it swept over her. Finn had the prior claim. Fear for her daughters, guilt over what she was about to put them through, flooded her mind but didn’t change anything.  

‘We can do this Kirsty. We can make it alright, you know. For the girls as well as you and me.’

‘But nothing can make it alright for Nicolas. And I have to tell him about us,’ she said, suddenly. ‘I have to tell him properly. To his face. I owe him that at least.’

‘But you
will
tell him?’

‘I have to. I can’t carry on like this. I can’t tear myself in two like this. Not any longer. Not even for another day.’ She looked around. ‘Alright. I’ll leave my things here. And fetch the rest up later.’

‘I’ll put them in my room.’

‘What about my grandad?’

‘He’s not daft, Kirsty. He must have an inkling. I mean look at us. We can’t keep our eyes or our hands off each other. Do you not think he might have noticed?’

‘I don’t know. I can’t think straight.’

‘Do you want me to come with you? We could face Nicolas together.’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure? He’ll be angry.’

‘He will. And he has every right to be angry. But this is something I have to do all by myself.’

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

She didn’t know how to start. It would have been much easier to have blurted it out in the middle of a row, but Nicolas wouldn’t argue with her. Whenever she lost her temper, he simply removed himself from the situation until she had calmed down, although he could be sulky when he chose.  Kirsty would flare up and have done with it. Nick could keep a disagreement going for days, waging minor wars of attrition which wore her down. So she waited until the evening, when they were alone together, and then she just came right out with it.

‘Something’s happened.’

‘What’s wrong, Christine?’ He looked up from his paperwork. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine. But I have something to tell you.’

‘What?’

 ‘I’ve decided to move back to Dunshee. To live with Finn. ’

He shuffled the papers together, as if he hadn’t heard her properly.

‘What?’ he said again, so she was forced to repeat herself.

‘I’m leaving you,’ she told him and the words sounded over-dramatic, a childish threat rather than a promise. But then, perhaps the language of separation was always like this, banal, a parody of itself.

‘You’re joking, aren’t you, Kirsty?’

‘I’m sorry, Nicolas, but I’m going back to Finn. ’

‘
Back
to Finn ?’

He pressed his pen – one of those flimsy, topless giveaways with which charities try to inspire guilt - so hard into the pad that the plastic broke.

‘I mean I’m going home.’

Worse and worse, she thought.

‘I thought
this
was your home.’

‘It was. It is.’

She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her heart was pounding with anxiety, her mouth dry. He turned around and looked at her, really looked at her, gazing into her eyes for a moment, his thin face flushed and angry. He had never looked more handsome.

‘This has been going on ever since he came back, hasn’t it?’ he said, slowly.

‘No. No it hasn’t.’

‘How long then?’

‘Just this last week.’

‘Do you take me for a fool? Do you really expect me to believe that?’

‘You can believe it or not. I don’t care. But it’s true.’

‘No!’ he said.  ‘It’s been going on for years. In your head at least. It’s been going on for years and years.’

 ‘It hasn’t.’

‘Oh but it has. I’ve been such a fool. Such a bloody fool.’

He got up and blundered out of the room, moving blindly. She heard him go out of the house, slamming the heavy door behind him, the sound of it echoing through the empty corridors.

A little while later, the phone shrilled, making her jump. It was Finn.

‘Have you told him yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did he take it?’

‘I’m not sure. He just got up and went out of the house. It’s what he always does. I don’t think he can bear confrontation of any kind.’

‘Do you want me to come for you?’

‘No, Finn.  I have to wait for him. I have to speak to him. We have to talk it through’

‘You
are
coming back to me, aren’t you?’ he said anxiously. ‘You haven’t changed your mind. He hasn’t made you change your mind, has he?’

‘No, he hasn’t. But we have to talk. I have to wait for him to calm down a bit, so that we can at least begin to talk about it. I can’t just walk out!’

‘How long will that take?’

‘How should I know? Just have patience and let me do this my own way!’

Nicolas came back into the house an hour or so later, his hair damp, his nose red with the cold, his shoes muddy. It was a rainy night. She was in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee. Automatically, she got down two mugs, used full-cream milk, the way he liked it, added his spoonful of sugar, not too little, not too much.

‘Where did you go?’ she asked him.

‘For a walk. Oh don’t worry. I didn’t go anywhere near your precious Finn. ’

‘ I was just worried about you.’

‘Bit late for that. Unless…’

‘I haven’t changed my mind.’

‘Well good for you. Why don’t you go and pack your bloody bags then!’

She took her coffee, went upstairs and continued with her packing, methodically folding clothes into an old leather suitcase. After a while, he followed her up, a glass of whisky in one hand and the bottle in the other.

‘You’re not really going through with this are you, Christine?’ he asked, sitting down on the bed. The sight of the suitcase had sobered him.

‘I’m sorry, Nick, but I am.’

 ‘I knew it,’ he said.  ‘As soon as he came back, I knew what would happen.’

‘You didn’t know any such thing.’

‘He’s been away for – what was it?  Ten years? Twelve? He comes back and the two of you are as thick as thieves again. It was as if nothing had happened.’

‘Eleven,’ she said. ‘It was eleven years.’

‘Yeah’ he said, wryly. ‘Eleven years and how many months, weeks, days? Were you counting? You’re lying to me. This must have been going on ever since he bought Dunshee! You knew it was him and you didn’t tell me. You betrayed me, Kirsty. This has been going on for years.’

‘You can believe what you like, but I only knew he’d bought it when he turned up at the door. And I thought I could just have him as a friend. Honestly. I thought we could be the way we used to be, when we were kids.  The way we always were. Like brother and sister. You don’t know what a struggle it’s been, Nicolas. I did my level best.’

‘Then your level best obviously wasn’t good enough. Christ, it’s practically perverted. Why did you marry
me
when you loved
him
?’

‘I loved you too. I still do love you.’

‘But not in that way. Never in that way.’ He  sounded more sad than angry. ‘The thing was, I didn’t know it. I couldn’t see it. I really thought you loved me.’ He paused. ‘Everyone loved me,’ he added, reflectively.