Sheer Abandon (86 page)

Jocasta had decided to go and see Clio; it was too important not to. She hadn’t got anything else to do, for God’s sake. She was just leaving, when Beatrice rang.

“Jocasta, how are you?”

“I’m fine. You? You amazingly wonderful and selfless woman.”

“Don’t know about that. Not too thrilled with Josh.”

“I’m sure you’re not. But it is a long time ago. Sixteen years, or whatever.”

“Yes, I know. But it still hurts, I don’t know why. I suppose because—oh I don’t know. It just doesn’t help me to trust him. Silly, I know. But clearly, this sort of thing is in his genes.”

“Not silly at all. I’d feel exactly the same. But he has been behaving himself lately, hasn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” said Beatrice quickly, “he really has.” She managed a laugh. “I sound like his mother, don’t I? Or his big sister.”

“You take a much better view of him than his big sister,” said Jocasta. “You must love him a lot, Beatrice.”

“I suppose I must. Anyway, it’s obviously best for Kate. Josh tells me she’s really happy about it.”

“Yes, I think she is. You haven’t met her yet?”

“No, she’s coming to tea next Sunday. I do want to meet her properly and we thought it would be easier if she came here.”

“I think you’ll like her,” said Jocasta, “she’s sweet. Very bright. Presumably you’re not going to tell the girls?”

“Not yet. Now, Jocasta, I’ve actually rung up to ask you something. Are you going back to Gideon?”

Jocasta was caught off her guard. “Of course not. Absolutely not.”

“I see. We’ve been worrying about you. We’d hoped that things might be better.”

“Well, they are better. We seem to be friends again. Probably because we haven’t seen each other for weeks and weeks. But we are getting divorced. And I’m altogether fine, I feel extremely happy, as a matter of fact, happy as a lark, just don’t worry about me, please.”

“Good. I’m delighted.”

“Anyway, sweet of you to call. I’ve got to go now, sorry. Speak soon, you’re a total heroine.”

“I wish,” said Beatrice.

Ed was drinking his third coffee of the day and wishing he could feel the slightest interest in what he was doing, when his mother called. She did most mornings; he wasn’t sure whether it helped or not.

“How are you today, dear?”

“Oh—you know. Bit bad, I think.”

“I know,” she said gently. “It comes and goes, doesn’t it? Mostly it comes, especially at the beginning.”

“Yes. Well, you should know, Mum.”

His parents’ marriage had been particularly happy; it was, he had told Martha, how he knew about love. “Proper love. The on and on sort. The you and me sort.”

“I do,” said Maureen softly. “And I tell you what, Edward, after a while, the memories become happier. They really do.”

“Good,” he said, “something needs to. Thanks, Mum.”

“I popped in at the vicarage this morning. Poor Mr. Hartley’s so worried about his wife. She had a fall this morning, and apparently she won’t eat, she’s just turned her face to the wall. The doctor says he’s going to have to put her in hospital, in a day or two.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry.”

“Anyway, the real reason I rang you was that Mr. Hartley says the one thing that’s cheered Mrs. Hartley up lately was your visit. He said he thinks it was you being so close to Martha, it brings her back, in a funny way.”

“That’s nice,” said Ed. He wished someone could bring Martha back for him in any way at all. Funny or not.

“Yes, well, take care of yourself, love. I’ll ring in a day or two.”

Nick had decided he must get back to London. It was all very well being at home with his parents when he was haring round doing things and enjoying himself, but being marooned there, confined to the house, was rather different. Most of the family had left; he had nothing to do but read and go for solitary walks.

And think: to a large degree about Jocasta. And what a fool he’d been. An absolute bloody fool. Why hadn’t he moved in with her, married her for God’s sake, if that’s what she wanted? From his lonely perspective now, that looked a pretty attractive proposition. All his three brothers, one of them younger than him, were married, and they seemed perfectly contented. And they had all these children, jolly little things. He often thought he’d like some children. He got on with them terribly well.

He kept conjuring Jocasta up, warm, laughing, happy, talking nonsense—and as she had been that last afternoon, lying in bed, her lovely body naked, her astonishing hair splayed across the pillow, her huge eyes brilliant as she looked at him, holding out her arms to him, telling him she loved him. Yes, she had said that, there had been no doubt about it—wanted him, talking her way through lovemaking as she so engagingly did: “That’s lovely, so lovely. God it’s gorgeous, fantastic…here I go now, Nick, I can’t bear it…go on, go on…”

He snapped his mind shut. This was ridiculous. She’d gone back to Keeble, and who could blame her. He had to get on with his life. And he’d start by going back to London. The very next day.

Jocasta reached Clio’s flat at six o’clock; it had taken her much longer than usual. She had developed a headache, driving into the sun, and was feeling rather nauseous. She wondered if this was the beginning of the pregnancy sickness. If she was going to start feeling ill, then the—well, what she was going to do tomorrow was even better timing.

She pressed the bell. “It’s me, Jocasta. Can I come in?”

There was a silence, then: “Sure.”

She was looking rotten: white and drawn. She had obviously been crying.

“Oh, Clio,” said Jocasta, “I’m so sorry to have been so beastly, and insensitive, and sorry about you. Please forgive me. I don’t deserve it, but please do.”

Clio managed a smile. “Of course. I understand.”

“I expect you do,” said Jocasta, “understand what a brat I am, what an unfeeling, pathetic brat. I need my bottom smacked very hard. Would you like to do it?” she added, with a smile. “I’m sure it would do me good.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Clio. She managed a weak smile. “What would the neighbours say?” And then two tears trickled down her face.

“Oh Clio,” said Jocasta. “Here, let me give you a hug.” She opened her arms and Clio went into them, and sobbed for a long time.

“It’s so unfair,” she said, “so, so unfair!”

“I know. I know it is. It’s dreadful for you. There really is nothing you can do?”

“Apparently not. My tubes are buggered and that’s it.”

“Well you should know. What—what about IVF?”

“It’s a possibility of course. Quite a good one—in theory.”

“And in practice?”

“It’s a pretty miserable business. Someone’s got to love you an awful lot to submit themselves to it. Dodgy, too. I mean it doesn’t work all nice and neatly the first time. There are very long waiting lists. And going privately, it’s thousands of pounds a time.”

“Couldn’t you jump the queue? Being in the business and everything?”

“Of course not!” Clio sounded quite shocked. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, I don’t know why I’m being so pathetic; who’s going to give me a baby anyway? In some new relationship? I’m already thirty-five.”

“Fergus?”

“I’m afraid not. That’s dead in the water.”

“Clio, are you sure? That’s not the impression I got.”

“What do you mean?”

“I rang him to see if he could help me get through to you. He said you weren’t getting on very well, said something about a clash of ideologies? Anyway, he’d been trying to ring you. He said you wouldn’t speak to him. Doesn’t sound quite a corpse to me.”

“Maybe not now. But it would never work, Jocasta. In the first place, I can’t approve of what he does.”

“Why?”

“It seems to me the very worst sort of cashing in on other people’s misfortunes. I know you see it differently but—”

“Clio, it
is
different. It’s helping people through them.”

“What? People like footballers who’ve been shagging six girls at a time, presenting their cases in the best possible light?”

“But it’s not all that. Look at what a lot he’s done for Kate, and he hasn’t even been paid yet, not a penny, I’ve just discovered. By my beloved nearly-ex-husband. Well, he has now. I hope.”

“Gideon! What’s he got to do with Kate?”

“He said he’d pay Fergus until Kate could. That was the whole basis for the deal. And the poor guy hasn’t had a penny out of him. Anyway, don’t you think that was amazingly nice of Fergus? When he’d never met Kate, didn’t know the first thing about her?”

“No,” said Clio, “it was only money.”

“Oh, shut up! Now, come on, what else does the poor bloke do wrong? Apart from earn a crust the only way he knows?”

“Nothing, really,” said Clio feebly. Jocasta left quite soon after that: her headache was worse, and she was very tired. They had, by common assent, not discussed her situation; she had made up her mind, she told Clio, and nothing was going to change it.

“I know you think it’s wrong of me, but we’ll have to agree to differ. At least we’re friends again.”

“You—wouldn’t like me to come back with you? Be with you tonight?”

“Oh, God, no. I am so not worried about it. Honestly. And it would be awful for you. I’ll be fine. I really will. Just totally, totally fine. Bye, Clio darling, and please go on forgiving me. Lots of love. I’ll call you in a day or two. And give Fergus a ring. Go on.”

Nick was on his way to London. He was driving; his mother had been absolutely horrified, but he said his arm was fine out of its sling, he could do most of the driving with his left arm. “I’m sorry, Mummy, but I’ve got to get back. So much to do. And I swear I’ll go and see my own quack first thing tomorrow. OK?”

Pattie Marshall sighed. “I can’t stop you, I know, but I think it’s very foolish. And you’d better not have an accident. The police would throw the book at you.”

Nick promised not to.