Deep Water, Thin Ice (36 page)

She turned into ‘her’ road for what she knew would be the last time, opened the gates to the house and drove in to park. She looked up at the house she’d shared with Simon and felt the familiar assault of a host of memories. With a deep breath, slowly exhaled, she grabbed her bag and got out of the car.

*

‘What’s happening down on that nature reserve?’ Ben asked, pouring lavish amounts of ketchup over his veggie burger. ‘Have you seen anything rare there?’

It was the Friday evening. Alex had handed the house keys over to the estate agent first thing that morning and had then done a little shopping. She’d met Ben from school and had taken him swimming while Erica took advantage of her freedom to have her hair done after work. Now they were in his favourite burger restaurant while Erica went to her weekly Italian class.

‘We’ve got a bittern,’ Alex said, and then wondered at her choice of pronoun. She’d only been back down to the Grenloe once since Mick had called at the Hall and it had been a strange visit. She’d been keen to catch up on the place and desperate to see the bittern’s nest. She’d done it too to prove that she wouldn’t be put off by Theo’s pointed disapproval. But it hadn’t felt easy the way it had before. She’d hoped to pick up her friendship with Mick – seeing him up at the Hall had emphasised for her just how much she’d missed him - but they were stiff with each other, a little polite perhaps. The prospect of her forthcoming wedding loomed in both their minds it seemed and couldn’t be ignored.

‘What’s a bittern?’ asked Ben, breaking into her thoughts, and she went on to describe the shy bird and its little cup-shaped nest built in the reeds. Her nephew was animated and unusually chatty, excited at the change to his routine – he usually spent Friday evening at his friend Jake’s house.

‘You like Jake, don’t you?’ she enquired.

‘Yes. He’s OK. But his mum
always
gives us fish fingers.’ He pulled a face. ‘Disgusting.’

Alex laughed.

‘So why don’t you tell her you’ve become a vegetarian?’

‘People can be funny about it. Mum still insists on giving me fish too.’

Alex’s thoughts inevitably turned to Erica.

‘I was surprised to hear she was taking Italian,’ she said. ‘She’s never been into languages much before.’

‘It’s beginners.’ Alex drank some Coke. ‘She thinks we should go to Italy some time and get some culture. You know: galleries, monuments, Roman amphitheatre.’ Ben hesitated, picked up his fork, and then added, casually: ‘If that’s what she’s really doing of course.’

Alex, chewing a mouthful of burger, stared at Ben’s face, her brow puckering into a frown.

‘Why? Where else would she be?’

Ben shrugged his narrow shoulders. He was a little small for his age. He would never be a big man, she thought, but what he lacked in stature, he more than made up for with mental acuity. But he’d taken her by surprise with this one.

‘Maybe she’s got a date,’ said Ben. ‘She had her hair done and she said she might go for a drink with some of the class after.’

‘Because I’m here with you.’

‘No, she’s done it before.’

Alex thought of the mysterious visitor Erica had been entertaining when she’d rung about the wedding.

‘But why wouldn’t she tell you?’

‘I think she’s scared of upsetting me with another man – ‘a father figure’. And she’s scared of putting off a boyfriend by introducing her difficult eleven-year-old son.’

‘You’re not difficult.’

‘That’s not what she says. In any case,’ he remarked, in that studiously poised way he had, as if he didn’t care, ‘she’s probably right. I guess a man might be nervous about taking me on too.’ Ben worked his way through some more chips. ‘Maybe I’m wrong, but I haven’t seen her doing much homework. Anyway, she’s done it before. Only last time she said it was a book club. I don’t think it was; I think it was a boyfriend – they kept changing nights – but of course I couldn’t be sure.’

Alex grinned. Ben was maybe too smart for his own good.

‘So would you like ‘a father figure’ then, or not?’

‘I’m not bothered. I like things the way they are.’ He finished his burger and pushed the plate away. ‘Will we still be able to do this when you’re married?’

‘Of course. Didn’t we do it before?’ She smiled ruefully. ‘No, well maybe not often enough, I suppose; I was always too busy. But it’ll be different this time. And you can come down to stay with us in Devon too.’

‘You don’t think Theo would mind?’

‘Good Lord no. Why should he?’

Ben didn’t answer but drank the last of his Coke while Alex finished her meal.

‘I’d like to come,’ he said eventually. ‘I’d like to see the reserve again.’ A couple of minutes later, he added: ‘Are you planning to have children with Theo?’

Taken off guard, Alex hesitated. She’d asked Theo if he wanted children not long before coming away and he’d looked surprised, as though the idea had caught him unawares. ‘If
you
do,’ he’d said, flashing his smile, ‘I do too. Yes, why not?’ It hadn’t been the considered response she’d hoped for.

‘I’m not sure I’d cope if they were as smart as you,’ she said now, teasingly. ‘Have you finished? Shall we go home?’

‘Yes. Let’s go and look up bitterns on the internet.’

*

Alex was staying till the Tuesday. On the Saturday morning she had a lesson with Francine which she’d arranged by phone the week before, though by the time she arrived she was a bundle of nerves and nearly turned away. Francine lived and worked in St. John’s Wood in a small, quirky detached house set back from the road. Alex rang the bell and fidgeted on the doorstep. It brought back so many memories: arriving as a child, excited but awestruck; coming in her mid teens, often after a row with her mother, looking on it as a refuge and a way out; coming for last minute practice before exams; and, more recently, coming to fine tune a performance, to work on particular technical issues or a difficult piece of music. There had always been something to learn from her old tutor. When Francine answered the doorbell and Alex followed her through the house, it felt like she was stepping back in time.

Francine’s home was warm and lavish, with an eclectic mix of art and antiques and mementoes from her travels. Francine had never married though occasional comments had suggested a passionate love affair in her youthful past, but her home showed no record of it; it was hers alone. Her music studio was in a room at the rear of the house where a baby grand piano stood near the patio doors out to the garden. On the shelves each side were books on music, musicians and singers, and photographs of people Francine had taught: in concert, collecting awards, alone or posing self-consciously by her side. While Francine went to get a glass of water for Alex – a routine that never changed – she glanced along the photographs. There were two pictures of her: one of her receiving the prestigious Kathleen Ferrier award and a second of her singing at Cadogan Hall, her hands unconsciously raised in an eloquent gesture to confirm the thrust of the song.

The session went surprisingly well. It was like putting on an old and comfortable sweater. Vocal exercises, old songs she knew by heart – Francine cajoled her and shouted at her, pushed and chivvied. There was no time for conversation – there never had been. ‘Stand straight; stop slouching and lift your head up. Feet apart Alex, come on, feet apart. Now…’ She’d play a chord. ‘….again please.’ Everything was reassuringly the same. Alex left feeling tired but invigorated and nervously excited. She’d forgotten just how exquisite the singing could make her feel, deep inside. It touched a part of her nothing else ever had.

The rest of the weekend was for the family. It stayed fine and dry and Alex went out with Erica and Ben. They went for a boat trip on the Thames, visited the Natural History museum and had a picnic up on the heath. On the Monday, Alex had another gruelling lesson with Francine and parted with her promising to get in touch when she got back from her honeymoon. On her arrival back at Erica’s house, while the wind was still beneath her wings, she rang Ros and asked her to start looking into possible singing engagements.

That evening, her last in London, with Ben already in bed and the sisters getting ready to go up too, Alex finally mustered the courage to offer setting up a trust fund for Ben.

‘Would you mind?’ she ventured, wary of Erica’s reaction but keen to do it anyway. ‘I’d like to help. He can use it for his university fees or whatever you both think.’ Erica said nothing, biting her lip. ‘You’re offended?’ Alex went on. ‘Please don’t be. I’ve just got money enough to spare, especially now I’ve sold the house, and it’d be my way of saying thank you for all your support – to both of you.’

‘I’m not offended Alex.’ Erica sounded quite emotional. ‘It would be brilliant – obviously. It’s just...’ She shook her head. ‘No, it’s nothing. Take no notice of me. If you’re sure? Have you discussed it with Theo?’

‘With Theo? No.’ Alex was surprised at the suggestion; that hadn’t crossed her mind. ‘It doesn’t affect him,’ she added dismissively and then smiled. ‘Good, that’s settled then. I’ll get on and set it up. I’d like to get it sorted before the wedding.’ She walked to the door but before she could open it Erica joined her there, put her arms round her and gave her a long hug.

‘Thank you,’ Erica said huskily. ‘Whatever I’ve said, I’m sure Theo’s a great guy. I hope you’re going to be really happy with him. You deserve to be happy Ali.’

*

Alex had been back from London more than a week when Francine’s letter landed on the doormat. The violet envelope was instantly recognisable. Francine, who never used a word processor and still used a fountain pen, refused to use electronic mail, declaring it an abomination. Frowning, Alex returned to the snug, edging her finger under the flap to rip the envelope open.

My dearest Alex,
it began in the familiar sloping writing.
Good to start getting that voice of yours back into shape again. I was pleased with your progress in such a short time last weekend; you hadn’t deteriorated as much as I thought you might have done.

Alex raised an amused eyebrow; from Francine this was praise.

I hope you’ll keep at it now and not let any more time go to waste.

You know I don’t like talking in lessons – it’s so distracting – but there has been something on my mind I’ve been wanting to say to you and I thought I’d prefer to write to you. You know I don’t find the personal things easy to say.

Alex frowned, a knot of irrational foreboding forming in her stomach. She read on:

I never told you that I saw Simon on the day he died.

Without taking her eyes off the letter, Alex eased herself down to perch on her favourite armchair.

We’d met by chance coming out of Chappell’s music shop. We discussed the concert by the Berlin Symphony Orchestra the previous week. I thought he’d been there – I knew he was expected – but he’d missed it. I remarked that he’d missed a few things lately and it occurred to me that he was looking a bit pale so I asked him if he was feeling quite well. He insisted he was fine but that he was supposed to be meeting someone for lunch at Leone’s Bar, someone he hadn’t seen in a long while, and he was feeling a bit pressed as he was running late.

Anyway I’m telling you this because there was all that nonsense in the newspapers when Simon died suggesting that he’d been depressed, that your marriage was on the rocks, and that he had killed himself. I didn’t think he looked depressed at all, just preoccupied – which as we both know was only normal for him. I’d asked him if he was going to be conducting the Christmas Oratorio this year, and he’d said quite cheerfully that certainly he would be; he wouldn’t miss it.

Doubtless I should have told you before but I thought the last thing you needed was yet more speculation and discussion. Perhaps more honestly I didn’t know how to bring it up when you were so upset. With your forthcoming marriage, it seemed the right time now to tell you and hopefully clear your mind so you can start afresh.

Good luck Alex. I hope I’ll see you again soon.

Alex reread the letter and then sat staring at it. Simon hadn’t been to the BSO concert, had ‘missed a few things lately’? She shook her head, staring at the paper. ‘No,’ she murmured. She automatically tried to think back and then stopped herself; she’d relived those last few months too many times already. However kind the impulse behind the letter, she couldn’t bear to go over all that ground again now. ‘No, Francine,’ she said more loudly. ‘No. Not now.’ She didn’t want to feel all that pain again. She tossed the letter in the basket by the hearth to burn later.

With the rain finally stopped and the sky clearing, Alex let herself out of the house and picked up the footpath down to the village. It had rained at some point every day since her return from London and the ground was sodden. Taking the ferry up to Southwell the day before, the Kella had been pregnant with muddy water, overstepping its banks in places, the fast and powerful current forcing the tethered boats to tug dangerously at their moorings.

The path down the hill was wet and slippery but Alex stepped out as briskly as she dared, relieved to be moving. The wedding was now just five days away and she was desperate for it to happen. All the arrangements were in place: the venue all organised, dress and accessories checked and rechecked, the guest list completely up to date. All that remained was the waiting and she’d never been good at that. She found she couldn’t settle to anything. Even the vocal exercises she’d taken to doing every day lacked what Francine would have called ‘commitment’. It was impossible to concentrate.