Daughters (21 page)

Lara described what she had witnessed. Robin listened, refilled their glasses and asked questions.

‘I have to decide what to do.’

‘Yes.’ He considered. ‘It’s a pity you saw them, Lara. It might have been unfinished business. It might have been a goodbye. But, of course, once seen, it’s no longer innocent and impossible not to pass judgement.’

‘Innocent … I don’t think so.’

He struck his finger once against the glass. It rang and she quashed it with her finger. ‘A sailor will die.’

‘It’s possible that Eve knows about it. Those arrangements exist. But a relationship founded on a lie, or a deception, is not going to thrive. My strategy would be to tackle Andrew again, and to point this out. He’ll tell you to get lost but …’

She noted his use of the word ‘strategy’ – military vernacular suggesting a clean, authoritative approach, a corrective for worry and confusion.

‘Not talk to Eve? But I must …’

‘You’ll have to make up your mind, certainly.’

‘I’ll have to. I’m her mother. It’s funny …’ She searched for the vocabulary that would best describe the situation. ‘You imagine that the mothering bit might come to an end when they leave home. All the protecting and fussing, I mean. But it doesn’t.’

‘Of course, and I know nothing about that. But my instinct …’ Lara clasped her hands together while she listened ‘… my instinct tells me you should spare Eve unnecessary distress until you’re clearer in your mind as to what’s going on. It may be nothing and
you
weren’t meant to see it.’

‘But I did.’ Lara discovered that her fingers were now tightly clenched. Making an effort, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’ She fixed on the blue shirt and concentrated on steady breathing.

Robin observed her agitation. ‘It’s OK. This is very difficult for you.’

‘Sorry,’ she repeated. She released her fingers and the blood coursed through them. ‘I know this isn’t the same as facing a bomb. I know it’s not the same as inching towards an IED in the searing heat with nothing between you and eternity except a pair of pliers.’

‘Did I ever tell you about the real bastard one at the bridge where the main charge was tucked up under the crossbeam and impossible to reach? It’s a good story.’

She grinned wanly. ‘Be my guest.’

‘But why don’t we talk about castles and camels? There’s so much more to say.’

‘Of course.’ She blinked. ‘But I can’t come … I’m sorry about that too.’

‘Even so,’ he said gently.

They talked about Syria. She asked questions and Robin outlined his itinerary. Damascus, Krak des Chevaliers … He told her a little about the landscape, about the country’s swirling history of Ottomans, Mamelukes, Bedouins and what they meant to him. He also reiterated that, in his opinion, trouble might be brewing there now. The Middle East was changing. Fascinated, she watched and listened and wanted to respond … yet something ugly was in the way.

No fool, he got the message. ‘Lara, this isn’t working.’

‘I don’t mean to be rude.’

‘You’re not.’ He looked round for the waiter. ‘Do you want to talk it over further?’

‘Yes and no. All I can think about is Eve – I can’t bear this.’

‘Of course, and you must consider what’s best for her.’ Flipping open his wallet. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that, always with these things, you have to be careful you’re not really thinking about yourself.’

‘I know.’

‘
You
can’t bear the betrayal? Wouldn’t be such an odd thing, would it?’

She fell silent.

‘Eve and Andrew and the others, they’re young, Lara. They’ll cope. That’s what they do. There are a lot of rights and wrongs, but they have to decide which is which.’

Upset was making her stupid and clumsy. ‘Is that
what you tell your patients? That sexual betrayal could be OK?’

‘For God’s sake,
no
.’

The words whipped from him and her eyes flew to his.

‘No,’ he repeated, more moderately, and laid the wallet on the table between them. ‘But as counsellors we acknowledge each case is different, yes? Humans are wildly different in their responses, yes?’

She bit her lip. ‘Agreed.’

‘What you and I might feel about or, rather, consider betrayal is not necessarily what others feel or consider.’

‘Clearly Andrew doesn’t,’ she said.

Truth was often contrary and private, and she knew little of Andrew and Eve’s relationship, only what they chose to show her.

‘All I’m saying is, go carefully.’ He pulled a note out of the wallet.

She reached for her purse. ‘Please.’

Robin shook his head. ‘My evening.’

‘Thank you.’ She folded her hand across her bag. The strap felt comfortingly familiar and she ran it through her fingers. ‘You know, a family wedding magnifies everything, including the dramas. Everyone wants there to be hope and anticipation, fuss and frills.’ She shrugged. ‘Flowers and excitement. All that.’

As they strolled back along the Embankment to Waterloo, she continued, ‘What I mean is, weddings trick us into believing something extraordinary is taking place.’

‘In a way, it is.’

A rabble of commuters, walkers, performers still inhabited the area. London’s lights were switching on. On the London Eye, the blue pinpoints acted as beacons.

‘You’ve been kind, Robin.’

‘Have I?’

‘It’s a case of “physician heal thyself” and you counsel well.’

‘Work in progress,’ he admitted. ‘Learned between ops. The boys often needed to iron out the snarls in their heads. Combat doesn’t end in sword-into-ploughshare stuff. It’s a high-adrenalin switchback with the add-on of bullets. It’s riding tailgate in the Ranger with a dirty great weapon in one hand and thinking you’re God. It’s coming home and knowing you’re not. It’s being alone with unpleasant things. Knowing, too, that you don’t fit in any more with normal life. It’s counting the days back, not forward, to the time when you were running with your mates down Bomber Alley.’

‘Why did you join up?’

‘I had a wicked youth and it was one way of sorting me out.’

‘Did it?’

‘Yes and no.’ Robin dodged the outstretched sword of a living statue of Julius Caesar at the bottom of Hungerford Bridge. They stopped to look at it/him.

‘How Caesar has fallen …’ Robin threw a coin into his begging bowl.

‘Shush. You might upset him and put him off conquering.’

A little further on, Robin said, ‘I’m not sure if you’re
ever rehabilitated, Lara. One is unfinished business for ever.’

She thought back to their previous conversation.
The flashbacks
. ‘A realist and stoic, then.’

‘Yes.’

A final snake-trail of commuters was making its way across the bridge and towards the station, and Robin looked up as one of them clattered down the steps. ‘Tim!’

Impatient, annoyed, the man halted with a neat movement. ‘What?’ Then broke into a smile. ‘Robin!’ The two men clasped hands and shook. ‘For God’s sake.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought you’d gone out east somewhere.’

He was thin, almost gaunt, clean-shaven and neatly dressed in neutral clothes, with a pair of boots similar to the ones Robin favoured.

‘You never could keep up,’ Robin responded.

She was interested to see that Robin made an inventory of Tim’s face. Nose in one piece.
Check
. Eyes intact.
Check
. Just like I do with the daughters, she thought. Front line, parenthood, they had things in common.

‘Tim, meet Lara Russell. Lara, this is Tim West, companion in arms and the man to be with in trouble. We haven’t seen each other for some time.’

‘That’s obvious,’ she said, with a smile. And it was. The two men were sizing each other up with the fervour of people who knew a lot about each other, enough to trust them. ‘Why don’t I leave you both to it?’

However, Tim West couldn’t stop. ‘I’ll ring you, Robin,’ he said. ‘OK? I promised Daisy I’d be home. This time at least.’ He shrugged. ‘What can you do?’ With that, he
hurried off trainwards but, just before he vanished, he turned and raised a hand to Robin.

He gave a faint sigh. ‘Bad days. But glory days too.’

‘You worked together?’

‘Black ops. Don’t ask.’

Something didn’t quite add up. ‘You’re friends?’

‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘Very good ones.’

‘Then why don’t you see more of each other?’

‘It’s tangled.’

She could see him unravelling the contradictions.

‘When you return from the front line, with or without injury, you realize that you have to relearn life. Nothing new, it’s the warrior’s fate. It’s written about a lot. To do so, you must shuffle off what got you through out there. Tim and I understand that we shouldn’t see too much of each other. He has a wife.’ Robin’s laugh was edged with … not bitterness, but blackness. ‘Daisy reckons that the army’s plundered their fair share of Tim. She’s right. Carey thought that too.’ She caught echoes of resentment. ‘But she’s also wrong.’

‘I think I understand. A little, perhaps.’

He squinted down at her. ‘It would be nice if you did. Even in a small way. Fighting is muddled, surreal, breaks the spirit, breaks the body and takes you to the edge of madness. Your mind runs round in circles. Yet here we are.’

She murmured, ‘But you wouldn’t have missed it.’

Beside her, he gave a nod of assent – a gesture of surrender and rebellion.

The colour of the sky had deepened into sunset – a
lemony pink, tangerine and cassis. She pointed. ‘Aren’t they the colours of the Middle East?’

She had hit a nerve. He turned to her and she read in his face a longing and need as deep as the impending night.

An image from a dream flashed through her, of running barefoot through, of all places, the garden at Membury. Sharp, tussocky blades of grass had cut her flesh and her breath thudded in her chest.

It vanished.

Their faces and bodies were close. Something was stirring – lust, curiosity, emotions that were powerful, raw, difficult. She wanted to will herself back into the thick of passion, glorious, messy emotion and frantic physical sensation.

Yet she held herself rigid.

I can’t.

Robin stepped back. ‘I’ll see you, Lara.’

Wedding Plans: bridesmaids. Meet me: Janson’s Health Spa, Friday 6 p.m. Cost: on me

‘The bridesmaid question …’ Eve met them in the lobby at Janson’s. ‘I thought we could sort it without Mum.’ She surveyed her sisters. ‘That’s why I didn’t ask her.’

Eve was looking particularly pretty in genius-cut jeans and a tiny jacket. Jasmine had come straight from work and had the dead look of someone at the end of the day. Maudie had just tumbled off the train. She was having trouble with a contact lens and her left eye wept.

Jasmine and she regarded their sparkling, energetic sister with some acidity.

‘Why didn’t you want Mum?’ Maudie demanded.

‘She’ll have views.’

‘Of course she has views. We all have views. Hers usually suck, but she’s entitled to them, considering how she’s putting herself out for you.’

As one, her sisters turned to look at her. Maudie
never
stuck up for their mother.

‘I know she is,’ said Eve, in a low voice. ‘But she gets so involved … and then it’s difficult to sort things out.’

Maudie changed her opinion. Eve was right. Fresh air and clear decision-making were needed in the endless
wedding discussions. Particularly since she, Maudie, had other things to think about. Big things. Wonderful, scary things.

Jasmine peered at her. ‘Looking pleased with yourself, Maudie.’

‘And why not?’

‘No reason,’ said Jasmine. ‘You just do.’

Hitherto foreign to her, financial matters were becoming a source of interest. She asked, ‘Who’s paying for the wedding?’

Eve fiddled with the strap of her bag. ‘Andrew’s parents have contributed. Dad is obviously paying the lion’s share.’

‘And Mum?’ asked Maudie.

‘She’s paying for some things.’ Eve shepherded them towards the receptionist, who sat behind an arrangement of spiky succulents clearly imported from outer space. ‘Don’t look like that, Maudie. She wanted to.’

Maudie sent an unsisterly look in Eve’s direction.

The receptionist – immaculate, dewy and clad in white from head to foot – checked them in. It was, Maudie thought, like being attended by an airbrushed Disney angel. The progression from changing room (stocked with expensive creams and soaps smelling of stephanotis) to shower room (just as expensively set up) made her feel queasy. The on-show luxury was over the top. She wasn’t used to it. None of them were used to luxury: it wasn’t part of their lives.

They reassembled in the steam room, wrapped in identical white towels and turbans.

‘Bridesmaids.’ Eve plunged back into the subject.

Eve, the terrier.

Half a dozen other women, sleek and cellulite-free, were arrayed in various poses on the tiled platforms. Maudie glared at them.
My body is a temple.
Yeah. Janson’s might be a place of worship, but it was also a den of tyranny where the perfect female body reigned. No one with the slightest muffin top, the suggestion of a varicose vein, a hint of down on the lip would dare venture into it.

Eve settled herself on a platform. ‘Please pay attention.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Maudie.

One of the women uncoiled herself like a spring and stalked towards the door.

The temperature rose.

A catwalk of ghastly dresses dotted though Maudie’s mind. Only too vividly. Green meringue? Blue meringue? No, worse, far worse. Pink meringue dress. The sweat beginning to slide down her exposed flesh was only half in response to the punishing temperature.

Eve’s face gleamed like a china doll’s. ‘The thing is, I take it you’re both happy to be bridesmaids? If you aren’t, Andrew’s nieces would be fine.’

The get-out clause. ‘The thing is –’ Maudie began.

Eve interrupted: ‘Just so you know, Andrew’s fine about you being bridesmaids.’

It was an odd thing to say. Or was it? Whatever, Maudie didn’t like the sound of Andrew’s permission being sought.

If possible, Maudie’s boredom with the wedding – the blood-sucking jamboree – intensified. She lay flat on the
tiles and plotted the Great Escape. From her prone position she said, ‘Don’t rely on me.’