Out of My Depth (12 page)

I gave Amanda a hug, feeling the surprising bulk of her. Amanda was polished, as I had known she would be, with a deep tan that may or may not have been real, heavy eye make-up, and gold jewellery. But she was fat. In fact, she felt nice to hug. She felt like a mother. We kissed each other on both cheeks, and I realised that I really had missed Amanda, and that I was genuinely glad she had come. Her breath smelt alcoholic.

The children were bigger than I had expected, and this was intangibly annoying. They seemed polite and I knew at once that their parents had them under control. My nightmare — a house full of ADHD kids — was unlikely to be realised. The boy and girl said hello, looking at me closely, sizing me up. I stared them out without any problems.

I kissed Patrick, marvelling at the fact that he had lost almost all of his hair since Izzy’s wedding.

‘Seen the others?’ I asked, suddenly buoyant and confident. I rubbed Amanda’s shoulder. Everything about her — her very Amandaness — was as familiar as my own reflection. I was hit by a wave of slightly sickly nostalgia. We should have stayed in touch. It seemed impossible that such a close friendship could be shattered so abruptly. It would be rekindled. I knew it. Something good had already come out of the weekend.

‘Mmm.’ Amanda frowned. ‘We met Izzy at Stansted. Then she and Tamsin were chatting on the plane. Thick as thieves.’

‘And here they are!’ said Patrick jovially. I looked at him curiously. He clearly had no idea what role he was meant to be playing. ‘Excuse me,’ he added. ‘I’ll sort out the hire car. Amanda, do you want to drive, or not?’

‘Not,’ she told him firmly.

Two women were approaching. I realised, to my horror, that the fat one had once been Isabelle. Her short hair did nothing for her neck or her chin. I sized her up in an instant. Now I understood why she had been worried about everything on the phone. She had no confidence.

Tamsin, on the other hand, had blossomed. She had sorted out her hair, dyeing it almost the same colour as my own, and cutting it into a jaw-length, fringeless bob with plenty of layering, which suited her perfectly. She had traded her glasses for lenses, which revealed her eyes, as wide and suggestive as her little brother’s had always been. She was beautifully dressed in classic black pieces. I felt overdressed. I knew the hat had been a mistake.

When Tamsin looked at me, and our eyes met, something inside me recoiled. I inhaled sharply, and then blinked and smiled.

Izzy, Tamsin and Sam had a trolley between them, and Sam was sitting on top of the cases. The women were still chatting as they watched me approaching.

‘Hello there!’ said Izzy, breaking off. She opened her arms. ‘Susie! It’s good to see you.’

‘You too,’ I said, adjusting my hat, and vowing to ditch it when we reached the car. ‘And you, Tamsin.’ Tamsin’s hug was less flamboyant. I rubbed her bony back to compensate. And you must be Sam. Hello, Sam.’ I didn’t quite know how to talk to someone who was three. I probably sounded offhand.

‘Hello Susie,’ Sam said, gravely. He was a cute-looking child, with blond hair and a button nose.

‘Right,’ said Izzy briskly, taking Sam’s hand to try to encourage him off the trolley. He pushed her away.

‘Susie, I’m not allowed to ask if you’ve got a baby in your tummy,’ he said solemnly.

I stared, and took a deep breath.

‘Ask, if you like,’ I told him, thrown off balance. ‘I haven’t got a baby in my tummy, because I don’t want one.’ I looked sharply at Izzy. ‘Does that answer everyone’s queries?’

The drive home had never felt so long. I had planned to chat airily about this and that; to begin catching up with my friends’ lives. Instead, I felt the presence of Tamsin next to me as a kind of black hole. Every time I opened my mouth to say anything, Tamsin stopped me. The fact that Tamsin was next to me stopped me. Izzy and Sam were in the back, but when I tried to talk to them instead, I couldn’t get a conversation going. It was stilted, because Izzy was embarrassed at Sam’s earlier rudeness, and I was sorry that I had snapped at them, but I didn’t want to say so. More than that, though, I was confused about Izzy. I had, somehow, stolen her looks.

We passed through a village. I normally sped through places like this, but today I followed the law and slowed down to a frustratingly sedate fifty kilometres per hour. There was an oldish woman standing on the verge, and she gave me a suspicious look. I waved at her, and the woman held my gaze sternly, as if she knew that I normally hurtled past, heedless of old people, children, or dogs.

‘Do you know her?’ Tamsin asked, craning her neck back to watch the woman receding behind them.

‘No,’ I said.

‘So why did you wave?’

‘Because she was staring and I wanted to make her smile.’

‘But she didn’t.’

‘Worth a try.’

‘Mmmm.’

In my rear-view mirror, I watched Patrick, who was driving the hire car a safe distance behind me, ignoring the woman, who was now staring at him and Amanda. Tamsin’s existence, in my own passenger seat, was tying my stomach in knots and making my heart race. I gripped the steering wheel. There was no backing out now. I was going to have to go through with this.

As I drove downhill to the turning to the house, I put my foot on the brake. We had passed through countryside and villages, past maize fields and sunflowers, for nearly an hour. I wanted the arrival at my own domain to be dramatic. So I indicated right, slowed to a stop, and turned to Izzy in the back.

‘Right,’ I said, brightly. ‘Here we are. This is it.’

And I swung my car round the corner.

Tamsin had been adjusting the air conditioning all the way back. It was irritating. On a baking day like this, I liked my car to be chilled. I liked slight goose pimples up my bare arms, because then I got to enjoy the heat all over again when the journey was over. I liked to arrive crisp and refreshed, like an iceberg lettuce from a fridge.

Tamsin raised her eyebrows. ‘We’re there?’ she said.

In front of us stood a stone farmhouse. It had three windows upstairs and two windows, a big wooden door, and a smaller kitchen door downstairs. The shutters were bright blue. Everyone except Sam, who was asleep, narrowed their eyes at the glare the sun made as it hit the pale stone. I sighed as I looked at the thick walls. Nobody would have any idea how much expense had gone into them. The scaffolding had been up for months and Roman and I had been forced to spend almost all our time in my tiny London flat, entertaining friends with tales of French builders, aware even as we told them that the stories were clichés incarnate. Roman had had an attack of cabin fever almost immediately. He could happily spend a week in London, drinking, eating Thai and Indian food, and going to the cinema, but after that he hated being away from his waves and his mountains. He was a funny mixture of sports fanatic and hedonist.

The house was rustic and beautiful. It had, now, been gorgeously renovated. It was set a little way back from the road, and the front garden was grassed over, with a small wrought-iron table and chairs, and climbing roses covering the walls.

I drove slowly past the house, and pulled in on the driveway to the side. I looked expectantly at my three passengers. Sam was asleep at an awkward-looking angle on the little booster seat. Isabelle and Tamsin were both looking at me and laughing.

‘Good God, Susie,’ said Isabelle. ‘Is this your house?’

I smiled and nodded.

‘Nice one, Susie,’ said Tamsin, laughing. ‘You win.’

It was a knife through my heart. ‘What do you mean, I win?’

‘I mean you’ve clearly beaten us all.’ Tamsin pushed her glossy dark hair back from her face. ‘I mean it nicely, Susie. It’s a wonderful house. Can we see the inside?’

I forced a dazzling smile and told myself not to take it the wrong way. Tamsin had always been slightly abrasive, and God knows she had a reason to be. I unclicked my seat belt and jumped out, into the heat, eager to hear what Amanda had to say.

Amanda had a headache. The blasted heat didn’t help. She sat on the bed and massaged her temples. The guest room was lovely. The walls were rough and white and the view of the trees was almost relaxing. Susie had gone to a stupid amount of trouble. There were budding flowers in a vase, and the whole room was slightly scented with lavender oil. The sheets were white linen. It was like a secret hotel.

If only she didn’t have so much on her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Susie had told them to meet at seven for cocktails on the terrace. If only she could lie down now and sleep for an hour or so. That would make everything better. She would be able to perk up in time for drinks. In fact the very idea of cocktails was soothing.

Patrick plumped down next to her on the bed.

‘All right, old girl?’ he said kindly. He stroked her hair. She slapped his hand away.

‘Don’t call me old girl,’ she muttered.

‘I’m sorry. Try to relax. This is a great spot and Susie’s very nice. We should think about a place in France. It’s civilised. I know you can enjoy yourself if you let go a bit.’ He started massaging her shoulders. ‘We’ve got a couple of hours until we’re needed. Let me try to help you unwind.’

Amanda frowned. This was Patrick’s stock response. If anything at all was bothering her, he suggested sex. He did not understand her at all. She shook him off. Now, as well as everything else, she had to feel guilty about turning him down yet again. Ever since their marriage, Amanda had been keeping a mental list of reasons why Patrick might leave her. Her lack of interest in what she liked to call ‘the physical side of things’ was currently heading the list.

She turned to look at him. ‘What do you mean, “Susie’s very nice”?’ she demanded.

Patrick snorted. ‘It’s not in code, is it?’

‘Do you fancy her?’

He sighed. ‘No. I do not fancy her.’

‘What if you weren’t married?’

‘Not even if I wasn’t married.’

‘If I died, ten years later?’

‘No.’

‘If you’d never met me?’

‘No.’

‘You are allowed to say yes, you know.’

‘I know I am allowed to, but my answer is no. Susie is nice but I could never have any of those sort of feelings for her, not under any circumstances.’

Amanda hated herself. She knew that Patrick probably did fancy Susie, because he was a man and Susie had become weirdly beautiful. She also knew that he would never admit it because, on one occasion only, he had given the ‘what if you weren’t married?’ question serious consideration and had agreed that yes, if he had never met Amanda, he would have found the woman in question fairly attractive. Amanda remembered vividly who this woman was. She had worked at an exclusive little nursery that Jake had attended as a toddler. Amanda had withdrawn Jakey at once and had not spoken to Patrick for four days. That admission had been Patrick’s greatest mistake of the marriage. At least, Amanda hoped it had.

‘The kids’ll be in the pool,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you take your book down there and keep an eye? Work on your tan? Make them put some suncream on, while you’re at it.’

Patrick seemed about to protest, but instead he sighed, and picked up his book. On the way out of the door, he turned back to her.

‘You’re all right?’ he asked. ‘Do you promise? No tears when I’m gone?’

‘No tears when you’re gone,’ she confirmed. ‘I’m just a bit tired and headachy. I might have a lie-down. Come and wake me at half six.’

She lay back on the impeccable sheets and tried to sleep. She didn’t even have much of a headache, and she knew that Patrick probably did. Her mind would not shut down. What would she wear this evening? Everything seemed strange and different from the way she had expected it. Things felt formal. Susie was slightly aloof, and unrecognisable from her old self. All three of them had changed more than she felt she had.

She ought to shower before dinner. It would take an hour to shower, dry her hair, change, and do her make-up. That meant she had to get going at six. It was twenty to five. There was still time for a nap.

She never wanted sex any more. It wasn’t Patrick’s fault; it was her own. She knew she was too stressed. She hated her body and she could not bear to have it exposed. A bath was depressing enough. She had long ago lost the sexual urge anyway. Nothing turned her on. Patrick never had, not really, not fully. That part of her life was over. From time to time, she did as Patrick wished, but that was purely to stop him from getting it somewhere else.

On paper, her life was perfect. She knew that she was going to spend the evening showing it off. Look: my two beautiful, well-mannered children. Look: I’m the only one with a husband! Look: we have a house in Clapham, yes a house, a whole house with three storeys and a garden. Look at me: I don’t have to work, I go to an expensive gym, I drive a huge car, we’re off to the Caribbean for Christmas.

Look: my compulsive eating has finally overcome my bulimia and made me fat. I can’t be bothered to throw it all up any more. Guess what? I usually do the afternoon school run drunk and Patrick probably secretly knows that but does nothing to stop me. Look: I cannot settle for one instant because I am obsessed with thoughts of the first cocktail of the evening and I am really, really hoping that Susie has got something chocolatey for pudding.