Colouring In (14 page)

But, years later, the fountain still bounces out its water just as merrily as it did that first night. I stood watching it for a while, listening to its arcs splattering against the garden silence. Suddenly an early swift swooped down, darted so fast between two curves of water that it was scarcely visible, then soared back to the safer expanse of sky. It had dared, I thought, in order to know. A sense of both wonder and absolute inadequacy swept over me. I moved on through the enclosed white garden to the coloured roses.

Somewhere deep in the leaves of a bush of Maidens’ Blush, reaching for brown withered heads, avoiding the few remaining petals of fragile pink, a picture of Bert came to me. Bert and me in the cellar. And, again, the question: what had been the truth? My truth? His truth? When would the questioning stop, the picture fade?

A walk up the hill with the dog, I thought. My father always said that when you’ve something on your mind that needs working out, don’t waste your money on bloody therapists, go for a walk. And don’t tire yourself thinking too hard. ‘Nature’ll do its work,’ he said. That belief, inherited from him, has been of immense use to me.

I called Chancer and set off up the hill. By now the sun was up, but a breeze up-turned the silver side of the poplars, and against my bare legs the long grass of the orchard was warm and dry.

I’m gutted. Utterly and completely bloody well gutted
.
What an evening! I get nowhere with Bert, go round to Isabel and Dan to find Dan on his own. Do my best to fix supper for him and have a nice evening, good wine, then – I tell myself – he goes and spoils the whole thing by leaping on me for a quick snog. Dan! Of all the faithful husbands, he surely takes the prize. Don’t know what I was thinking of, really. Nothing, probably. I was a bit pissed. I got a bit maudlin, needed an arm round me. Dan provided that … and more. It was quite comforting, though. I could have gone on. If he’d said how about it? I daresay I’d have followed him upstairs, no thought of Isabel. But then that wretched little snivelling Sylvie appeared and we jumped apart like shot rabbits.

I’ve no idea whether she saw us kissing and I don’t really care. At the moment I’m in such a rage about everything I don’t care about anyone. I suppose I should feel guilt about snogging Isabel’s husband, but I don’t … possibly will later. The interesting thing now is, what will happen? What will happen when the three of us meet again? Will Dan, the most honest man in the world, feel bound to confess to Isabel, thus exorcising his guilt? Or will he say nothing, but avoid my eyes, hide from me what he would really like us to do? Then, will I tell Bert? Ha! I can just see that. Bert in a sea of colour charts. Me on the floor flicking though the Provencal blues. Me: ‘Bert, after I left you the other night I went round to Dan and we went at it hammer and tongs all night.’ No: I think not that. Bert would be shocked. He would see it as gross disloyalty. Rather than fire him up, the thought of me and Dan, it might have the opposite effect.

I suppose what I must do is to ring Dan and see how he stands in the accusing light of day. I mean, if he’s planning to confess to Isabel, I’d better be prepared. My story will be to blame the drink – a silly moment fired by the wine. I’ll try to laugh it off, say half a dozen times I’m sorry for urging him on. Though I’m not at all. Two things Isabel must never know: Dan wanted me like crazy, and I wanted him back. Because now I come to think of it, it didn’t spoil the evening and it wasn’t a one-way thing. Bugger it, I loved every moment. I’ve fancied Dan for years.

I rang him – trembling, I admit. It was a horrible conversation. I can’t get it out of my mind.

‘Dan?’

‘Carlotta?’

‘Look, I’m sorry.’

Pause.

‘So’m I. One of those crazy things. We’d drunk a certain amount.’

‘Quite.’ Another pause. ‘Are you planning to tell Isabel? I mean, obviously you’ll say that I came round. But … nothing else?’

‘Planning to tell Isabel
?’ He sound terrified. ‘Are you mad?’

‘I just thought, having heard your views on the need for
total honesty
so many times … you’d want to.’

‘Well I don’t. Of course I don’t. And I hope you’re not planning to, either.’

‘Of course not.’

‘No good could come of telling Isabel. It was just a stupid moment we should forget as soon as possible.’

‘Quite.’

‘And next time we meet, everything’ll be as always, right? No exchange of looks or anything…’

‘Dan, what do you take me for?’

‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting Bert. D’you think Sylvie saw us?’

‘I don’t know. Sylvie was the last thing on my mind.’

‘You can be a real cow, sometimes, Carlotta …’

‘But you wanted me. Don’t ever pretend you didn’t.’

Dan put down the telephone.

This morning I got into trouble with Mrs. Beale. She said I wasn’t concentrating. She said why are you staring into space, Sylvie, not thinking about
mathematics
? As she calls it. I said I didn’t know.

I was thinking about last night. When I came into the kitchen it was so weird. Papa was red in the face and his hair was rather skew whiff. He turned to me and looked
flabbergasted
(that’s my newest word. I like it. I’ve used it twice this week). Carlotta looked rather sort of sleepy and, like, dopey. They were standing apart but rather close, for people just standing, I mean. There were empty glasses and bottles of wine on the table by the window. They’d had quite a lot, I suppose. Mama and Papa never drink that much.

Actually they both looked really goofy. But then I realised they weren’t just goofy, they were angry. They must have had a row. What about? I don’t know or care but I don’t like the idea of Carlotta and Papa having a row in our kitchen when Mama’s away. I
hated
that. Papa said he’d take me up to bed. I said
I’d rather you didn’t, thanks
, which is a very grown-up way of putting someone down. I didn’t mean to sound cross, but Papa was so peculiar I didn’t want to have anything to do with him. On my way upstairs I heard Carlotta banging the front door behind her. I don’t just not like her, now. I hate her. For ages I couldn’t go to sleep, wondering what they’d been rowing about. Perhaps when Mama comes back I’ll ask her what she thinks.

Cricket, London, New York, Oxford,
Rejection
(I’m secretly worried this is another of Dan’s attempts, one that won’t have producers clamouring) – we ambled through subjects easily enough. But Dan seemed a bit down. Perhaps he’s always like that when Isabel’s away, loving spouse that he is. I offered him the best claret that I could find on the list, but he declined. Said he rarely drinks at lunch any more. So we both had mineral water.

He’d cheered up a bit by the time we got to the coffee. It was then he told me Isabel was coming back this evening. She loves the idea of getting away for a day or two, but she loves coming home even more, he said. She was meant to stay in Dorset till Friday, but… He tailed off with a small smile. Had it been anyone but Dan, I would have called him
smug.
‘Isabel said you went round one evening when I was in Rome,’ he then said. ‘Thanks for looking after her. She doesn’t like it when I’m away…’ he tailed off again. ‘That’s all right,’ I said, lightly as I could manage. ‘She cooked me a perfect dinner.’

The subject of Carlotta followed, as I knew it would. I suppose I was feeling faintly guilty about her, vaguely keen to share the guilt. It was I who brought her up, as it were. Confessed I’d behaved rather badly last night, not taking her out to dinner when she obviously wanted an invitation in return for bringing round all her decorating stuff. There was a long pause while Dan stirred his coffee more than a small cup of espresso needs stirring. Then that smile again, and he said I needn’t have worried – she’d dropped in, not knowing Isabel was away. ‘Had to ask her in for a drink, really,’ he said. ‘In the end she stayed for something to eat. In fact she even cooked it – she’s rather a good cook.’ I said I’d probably find that out quite soon. There was another pause. I hazily imagined their evening: Carlotta being kind and efficient, Dan perhaps feeling faintly uneasy due to Isabel’s absence – though after years of friendship with Carlotta, that was unlikely.

I was bored of thinking about Carlotta. I didn’t want to talk about her. But there was just one thing on which I wanted Dan’s advice. I told him she had suggested I go and stay with her while the builders were in my house. Dan’s eyebrows raised so slightly the skin of his forehead scarcely creased. ‘I don’t have any views on that,’ he said. ‘Daresay it’d be all right. You could keep your distance if you really don’t want to be involved. Should you change your mind – well, easy access, under her roof, and all that.’

My turn to smile. Dan began his hectic coffee stirring again. ‘Isabel did mention to me you’d need somewhere for a few weeks,’ he went on at last. ‘We’ve got a perfectly good spare room. We’d love to have you. You could weigh up the various advantages and disadvantages – Carlotta, or us? Couple of good offers to choose from…’

I thanked him. I wanted to say much else, of course: ask for more advice. But it’s not the sort of talk men like Dan and I would ever consider.

‘I’ll be interested to see which you go for,’ Dan added. ‘The hurly-burly of Carlotta, or the unravished quietness of Isabel and me?’

He gave me one last smile and I signalled for the bill.

Mama was there when I arrived back from school. Yippee.

She’d brought baskets of stuff from Dorset as she always does. There were lettuces and mint and vegetables all over the table. They made the whole kitchen smell kind of green. I took one of the apples and shined it on my knee.

She wanted to know what I’d been doing. I said nothing much. Yes, it had all been fine. We’d missed her but we’d managed OK – she likes to hear that sort of thing. The only odd thing, I said, was that Papa and Carlotta had had a row.

What? she said. She didn’t know Carlotta had been round.

Just dropped in, I think I said, expecting to find both of you.

Mama was pulling leaves off a basil plant. She began to pull them a bit quicker and a bit more fiercely. Something was bugging her but I don’t know what. I mean, I specially didn’t mention that Carlotta wore her apron. She can’t possibly have been cross because horrible old Carlotta came round. Anyway, I went up to her and put my arms round her waist and my head on her chest. She smelt as she always smells, of some kind of wild flower. I hate Carlotta, I said. She pushed me away at once and looked at me so sternly I was really confused. Somehow it had all gone wrong and I hadn’t’ even got round to asking her what she thought the row might be about. Better not do that now, I thought. You can’t possibly hate Carlotta, she said. She may be a bit overpowering at times, but she’s kind and generous and clever and funny. And what’s more she’s my
friend
.

I
know
she’s your friend, I said, and walked away. But you don’t like some of my friends, so why should I like yours?

I just hoped that when Papa came home and we all had supper together everything would be all right.

Good to be home as always. I’d only got half the fruit and veg put away when Sylvie got back from school. She seemed as pleased to see me as I was to see her, and sat eating one of the orchard apples. She said Carlotta had come round last night and stayed for supper. Then she said she thought she and Dan had had some sort of row, or argument. I was sure she’d got that wrong, I said. It couldn’t have been anything serious, but they’re always bantering. They don’t share many of the same views. Then Sylvie declared she hated Carlotta and I snapped at her. Her all too apparent and intense dislike of Carlotta annoys me. Of course you can’t expect your children to like all your friends, but Carlotta’s never done anything to upset Sylvie as far as I know. Anyhow, she stomped off out of the room in one of her sulks. A taste of what we’ll be in for all too soon, I suppose – a few years of those boring teenage moods.

She was fine at supper, though, and Dan was in good spirits. My chicken salad was praised – much better than whatever Carlotta had cooked last night, put in Sylvie. Dan and I chose to ignore her.

‘Sylvie told you, then?’ Dan said. ‘Carlotta came round and was disappointed to find you away.’ I’d told her I was going. She never remembers other people’s plans.

‘I’d been looking forward to a quiet evening,’ Dan went on, ‘but it’d have been churlish not to ask her to stay. She offered to cook. Something with eggs – pretty good, actually, Sylvie,’ he added reprovingly.

‘So what did you have the row about, then?’ Sylvie asked.

‘Row?’ Dan looked bemused.

‘When I came down, you’d obviously been having a row,’ Sylvie said. There was a spitefulness in her eyes I don’t like. Where does this streak of meanness in our daughter come from?

Dan then gave the merest smile. Bewilderment cleared. ‘Not a
row
,’ he said, ‘just a difference of opinion – about Bert.’ He looked at me to signal he’d give details later.

I was intrigued. But as we never discuss our friends’ private lives in front of Sylvie, and it was time to change the subject, I went to the fridge to get the strawberries and cream. Dan and I began to talk about the new computer he was planning to buy.

Sylvie’s sulkiness returned until she went up to bed.

Jesus Christ. Cat among the pigeons. Dan whirling about in a ridiculous state of guilt. Does he honestly think a man can go for nearly twenty years lusting
only
after his wife? I’ve absolutely no feelings of guilt. I thought they might come, but they haven’t. It meant little – I mean, in terms of any feeling other than sex. I didn’t suddenly think I was in love with Dan just because he kissed me, or any of that rubbish. I fancy him, I like him, but our tiny indiscretion could not be called anything but innocent, certainly not a threat in any direction. My only regret is that there wasn’t time to go further. I could have killed that bloody child coming down to spy on us.