Secrets (23 page)

With so much time spent in the house in voluntary exile, Tess developed imaginary conversations with Joe, honing gesture and expression in front of any reflective surface she passed, rehearsing as if she might have the opportunity to perform them. She would cast her eyes down before looking up at him and she practised diverse apologies and manifold ways to express them. Perhaps touch his arm for emphasis. Have him feel touched. Not to save her skin – though the thought of leaving the Resolution was so abhorrent that she refused to touch upon it again – rather, she wanted to say sorry because it was simply warranted. She knew she hadn't just picked up the wrong end of the stick – she'd made an impetuous grab and had clung on tight, refusing to loosen her grip despite the stick she'd swooped on being riddled and rotten. She'd made a reality of Joe's past and present that were so far removed from the truth they now precluded any future for her with him. He'd done nothing wrong: not kissing her on the Transporter Bridge was no crime. He was doing nothing wrong – having a French fuck was not illegal. To be estranged from his mother was a shame, but no sin.

Kuala Lumpur. Kay effing Ell. What an utter fool she'd made of herself and what a shambles she'd made for herself. So there was no Kate. No Kate at all. It was now glaringly logical that a batty old woman could fabricate a nonexistent person, whether wilfully or otherwise. What an utter waste of worrying. But if there was no Kate, now there was no Tess, no Tess at all either – and she was entitled to worry about that. How could she make amends – and was it possible? Hadn't he told her to go? But wasn't it a crime to let wholesome daydreams go to waste? Wasn't there some Richard Bach adage that proclaimed we're not given dreams without the power to fulfil them? She scanned Joe's bookshelves. No Richard Bach. She wasn't surprised.

Tess found herself by the phone often; staring at it, looking at all those numbers there for the dialling, listening thoughtfully to the dialling tone as if hoping to detect a secret message. She cursed herself for cutting up her SIM card – how she'd love to compose a text message to Joe that, despite the brevity and abbreviations of the medium, would say so much.

Pls 4giv, me so sorry, me silly, me vv embrssd – truth is i think i love u. Txxx

But no doubt her contract was suspended now because the direct debit would not have gone through. She thought about pay-as-you-go, or going to an Internet café and sending an email, even if it necessitated the cost of a trip to Middlesbrough. However, she had no email address for him – but that was OK because she couldn't bear the thought of Joe accessing his BlackBerry from that Frenchwoman's bed. She could write snail-mail – but where would she send it? And what exactly would she say? What was it that she really wanted to say? Of course she wanted to say sorry because she was very sorry – but the apology she wanted to give wasn't entirely altruistic. She wanted to elicit a particular response. If she could deliver the best sorry in the world, then Joe might be moved to say, don't go, Tess, don't leave. I'm coming back Tess, put the supper on. Stay.

She felt impotent and it made her feel small and unattractive. And then, perversely, she'd make herself feel even smaller, even less attractive, by thinking about Nathalie; taunting herself that at this very moment, Joe was probably with her. Bugger the crisis on the bridge. They were in his bed having fun. His BlackBerry on vibrate, placed on her stomach, on her thighs, up between them. Laughing and kissing and being intimate and sexy. Look at her amazing figure, at her stylish apartment. She knows all about Kuala Lumpur – she's been there. Well-travelled, high-heeled, sophisticated woman that she is. See how elegantly she dresses for some amazing job. Watch her undressing so seductively in front of entranced Joe. Why
would
he want Tess when he can be in France and have No Strings Nathalie?

The fabricated images sickened Tess more than the reality of her current situation. However, by forcing her mind to dwell on imaginings, she was able to postpone figuring out what on earth she was going to do. Not just about Joe – about everything. There'd be no pay-as-you-go phone. No train to an Internet café in Middlesbrough. There was no money for such things, there was only a small amount left now, earmarked for Em of course.

Chapter Nineteen

For a girl who hated the beach, Tess did a very good job of burying her head in the sand. Five days on, she hadn't contacted Joe nor had she made any attempt to look for another job. In fact she'd gone to greater lengths finding reasons to stay. Lisa she liked very much, meeting up with her and a couple of other mums almost daily. The friendships soon extended to tea and coffee at their houses where chat deepened and Tess told them that yes, she used to live in London but no, she wouldn't be returning – home was here now.

She found herself saying the same to Tamsin whom she finally phoned, spur of the moment and reverse charges from a call box near the station. Listening to the dialling tone, she was ready to confide, to ask advice, to be honest. When Tamsin answered, Tess found herself steering clear of anything to do with her situation. She didn't want to invite Tamsin to ask her what she was going to do. She couldn't tell her what had happened – it would just sound too ludicrous out loud.

I can't believe you thought Kuala Lumpur was Kate Someone-Beginning-With-L, you numpty.

Why on earth did you have a go at Joe for not kissing you?

You told him about his
mother
– are you mad?

He's admitted to having this woman in France? Well, what are you hanging around for?

Don't bloody phone him, Tamsin would say. She'd say, pack up your stuff and come back down here. You've done your potty Northern sojourn, now it's time to face reality. Tamsin would tell her, you're not in some Channel 4 documentary about starting a new life in some far-flung place, you know. You ran away to a seaside town in the North-East. Now you've been sacked. So come back, Tess, come back to what and where you know.

But Tess didn't want to risk Tamsin saying any of this, so she made everything sound peachy and she kept the conversation short enough so she had time and energy to phone her sister. The more upbeat she'd been on the phone to Tamsin, the more reality hit her once the call ended. She had no option other than to phone Claire and it was one call she didn't dare reverse the charges; she couldn't risk antagonizing her sister before the conversation was underway.

After pleasantries, the predictable pause. Then, the purpose of the call, which Tess requested in a voice akin to the wringing of hands. Joe had left without paying her and her funds had dwindled alarmingly. She needed her sister to help and her sister made it a horrible thing to have to ask. But Tess did ask, and after an extravagant sigh, her sister responded.

‘For God's sake, Tess, how long do you actually spend physically
house-sitting
? Surely you can do something else in between?’

Be nice, Tess thought, don't take offence. Claire wants to be humoured – like the last time I had to ask.

‘I did think about it – and there's a waitressing position at Virgo's which is a lovely place, it does all this gluten-free food too.’

‘Even better – they probably give you a free gluten-free meal per shift too.’

‘But Claire, the problem is Em. I looked into making arrangements for her – I scanned the local paper and the notices in the library but I worked out that what I'd be paid against what I'd pay out for childcare, would be so negligible as to be not worth it.’

‘You were in that situation in London.’

‘I know.’

‘So in other words, you've made no progress at all with your life have you.’

‘But I have! I mean, you're right of course, on a practical level – but to live like this here, in Saltburn, is much better for Em than living like this
there
– back in London.’

‘A change of scenery does not change a situation, Tess. God. Look, I'll pop a cheque for a hundred pounds in the post – OK? But don't bloody ask again – not till your birthday or Christmas. It's not that I can't afford it, it's that I feel I'm not doing you any favours. You've got to drag yourself out of this pit, Tess. You've been in it for long enough. I know about things like this – it becomes habit, to wallow.’

You? Claire?
Know about
this
? When you've been provided for and kept in the manner to which you so swiftly became accustomed as soon as you met your husband? You with your joint bank account into which you put no funds? Your rich, devoted husband providing you with a chequebook and a credit card, support and approval, for your every whim?

There was so much Tess could have screamed out in her defence – but she didn't dare, not during this phone call.

‘It's easier said than done,’ she said quietly instead.

‘What about Child Benefit?’

‘It's a standing order into my bank account.’

‘Well then!’

‘But my bank card—’

‘Christ, Tess. I mean –
honestly!
’

Tess had to swallow down hard – on her pride and on tears. ‘Claire – please help. I won't ask again. I'm only asking you now because—’

‘God! Come on then – give me your address,’ and the tedium in Claire's voice could so easily have reduced Tess to tears. If she wasn't so desperate, if she had more pride, if she felt more up, if Joe hadn't left, she might just have said, stuff your bloody money.

‘Your address, Tess? I have to pick up the kids.’

‘Could you not send cash?’

‘Don't be ridiculous.’

‘But if you send a cheque the bank will just swallow it whole.’

‘For God's sake, Tess, how can you
live
like this?’

‘Because at the moment, I have no choice.’

‘Don't be so defeatist. Life is what you make it.’

‘All I wanted was to make a good life – but things didn't go my way.’

‘Well, change bloody direction then.’

‘That's what I'm trying to do.’

‘I can't send cash in the
post.
’

‘Could you perhaps send a postal order?’

‘Do they still do such things?’

‘Yes, they do.’

‘You need to do
something
, Tess. Seriously. It's pathetic.’

‘I have been trying. For over two years, I've been trying. I continue to try. Why do you always imply it's something I have the power to change?’

‘Oh, come on – don't do the feeling-sorry-for-yourself act, or absolving yourself of responsibility. You can't be blameless in this situation and therefore there must be something you can do – something other than holding the fort for some old fart, dusting his doorknobs and putting out the rubbish. Why don't you get a proper job?’

‘I just said why. Anyway, this is a proper job – and it's board and lodging too.’

‘Well, why not ask Lord of the Manor to pay you more? Do his ironing or cooking or something. You'll still have time for his doorknobs and dusting.’

‘He's not here often enough.’ Tess held the receiver against her chest and rested her forehead against the glass. Oh Joe, you're not here nearly enough. Please, please come back. Please, please let me stay. ‘Please, Claire.’ She tapped her head against the glass and closed her eyes. ‘I'm – begging you.’

‘OK. OK. Give me the address. I'll sort it tomorrow. I've got to go, Tess.
God
.’

The relief of banknotes. The feel of their oily, parchmenty surface. The smell of them. The Queen's face, benevolent. The novel sensation of closing her wallet with the notes inside causing a slight resistance when she folded the leather, like a foot in a door; something in there at last. Thank you, Your Majesty.

Tess bought Em a shiny foil windmill and she treated them to soup at Virgo's. She had a window seat. Every mouthful was ambrosial after all that Marmite and toast. One of the mums she'd befriended walked by and waved. Life didn't seem so bad when there was good food in one's stomach and money in the pot and a friendly face waving, hey, Tess. And then the sun came out and Seb sauntered past just as she dunked the complimentary biscotti in her cappuccino.

On the other side of the window, Seb made the universal gesture for sipping a hot beverage, to which Tess shrugged and smiled and nodded that he could join her.

‘Hey there, stranger,’ he said, lowering his voice when he saw that Em was sleeping. ‘If I'd waited by my phone, I'd be fossilized by now.’

In her need over the last few days to suspend reality, Tess had forgotten about Seb's number on the calendar, about his trip away, about his previous offer of fish and chips and a DVD. ‘I'm sorry, Seb – something came up. It's been really full-on recently. I was going to ring – tonight.’

‘Yeah, right.’

She reddened; it sounded stupid and flagrantly untrue. But because he'd nobbled her so sweetly, she could scrunch her napkin and chuck it at him.

‘I
was
!’

‘Baby's asleep,’ Seb noticed. ‘That means I don't need to watch my language. So – what a day, what a fucking awesome day.’

His eyes were a little watery, the irises vivid, the whites a little bloodshot as if he'd just come out of the sea.

‘Nice waves?’ Tess tried. ‘Swell swell – or whatever the correct surfing terminology is?’

Seb laughed. ‘Nothing to do with the sea – though I was out first thing. No – you are looking at one rich fucker.’ He leant back in the chair and patted his puffed-up chest.

‘How so? Is that why you went away? You were only away for a week.’

‘Yeah, and I've been back a week too. No – I went to see rellies down in Cornwall – you know, we trade surf every couple of months. It's an awesome day today because of a nice fat insurance payout that's come my way.’ Seb said it as if it could have happened to anyone in the town that Tuesday morning. Apart from Tess, it seemed, who looked confused. ‘A couple of years ago I was in a car crash. My friend was driving. I sued him. The money came through today.’

‘You sued your friend?’

‘Yep.’

She baulked.

Seb laughed. ‘He's a lawyer – he told me to. It was his idea.’

‘And is he still your friend?’

‘Still a lawyer, still my buddy – despite the fact that I now set the alarms off when I go through airport security on account of the metal in my back and leg. Anyway, do you want a cake to go with your coffee? Lunch is on me.’ Seb gave a rather fey wave.

‘I can't eat another thing,’ Tess said.

Seb leant back in his seat and looked at her. ‘Will you keep me company, then?’

How nice to be asked. Tess looked at the milky foam clinging to the coffee cup and nodded.

He talked with his mouth full. He was ravenous, slightly hyper, pronging his food a number of times before it stuck to the fork. He had mayonnaise on his chin. He made her laugh and he did a lot of laughing himself. He insisted on paying for her lunch and she thought it would be rude not to accept though she was happy enough to go Dutch. They loitered on the pavement, Tess fiddling her feet along the line between slabs, Seb making small talk in unfinished sentences.

‘Thanks for lunch then.’

‘Pleasure, Tess, my pleasure. I was thinking of – I'm not working this afternoon. I don't know – do you want to go for a walk?’