Ten Years On (29 page)

Suddenly I feel angry. Why can’t I enjoy this evening? Am I always going to hang on to the past? Isn’t it about as useless as hanging on to an old pair of shoes that don’t fit any more?

The waiter brings a bottle of wine to our table. I hadn’t even noticed Andrew ordering it. He presents the bottle in front of us, expertly pours a small amount into Andrew’s glass.

‘May I?’ I find myself saying.

Andrew hands me the glass. I sniff the wine and swirl it around. It’s like a wine helicopter.

I take a sip. The wine throws a punch, as Joe would say. It’s crisp, smells of lime or maybe gooseberry. I think it’s a Sauvignon. ‘It’s lovely, thank you,’ I say, before the waiter proceeds to fill my glass.

As Andrew and I talk about our day-to-day lives, I see Joe’s confidence when he stands in front of his wine students. I see his vulnerability when he’s talking about his father. When we were showing Francis around Winchester College I saw kindness.

‘Was he
trying
to replace Olly?’ Janet had asked.

‘I’m sorry, have I put you to sleep?’ Andrew asks. ‘Rebecca?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I gasp when I realize I have no idea what he has just been saying to me.

‘I’m boring you. I haven’t been on a date in some time,’ he says. ‘But who am I fooling? I was never very good at this at the best of times,’ he admits with self-deprecating humour.

‘It’s not you, Andrew, I promise. I have a little boy, Alfie, and I haven’t slept properly for weeks. In fact I’d
love
you to put me to sleep.’

He laughs with me.

‘I haven’t been on a date in months, years either,’ I confess.

‘Steven mentioned your husband died. I’m so sorry.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, touched. So what if he has pine-needle hair? Make an effort.

We talk about my art, his work again, his first marriage (briefly), my son (almost as briefly).

He has no children. As we talk, Joe continues to gate-crash my date. ‘I fell for you back at Bristol, you know that. We had that one night together, but I could never have you.’ Only last night I woke up after a deep dream where I saw him with someone else. He was in love with another woman. I couldn’t breathe. I felt that sense of loss all over again, that I’d let him go. ‘You meant everything to me. You still do.’ I’m going to call him, I decide, realizing how much I want to see him again. I need to see him. I don’t want to look back in regret.

My mobile rings, sending a shiver down my spine. Why do I think it might be Joe, after all this time?

‘Please, go ahead,’ says Andrew, knowing he’s defeated by my tiredness this evening, that my mind is far away from him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say, excusing myself.

I look at the screen, and am overwhelmed with disappointment. Mum knows I’m on a date. Immediately I think of Dad. Has something awful happened?

*

Outside, Andrew hails a cab for me on St James’s Street. He mutters something to the taxi driver, before opening the passenger door. I step inside and sit down.

Andrew waves goodbye and I turn to watch him walk away, down the busy street, a solitary figure carrying his briefcase. No doubt he’s heading back to an empty house. There is too much loneliness in this world.

As the taxi drives on, I stare out of the window, replaying the conversation with my mother, tears in my eyes.

45

St Cross Church, Winchester

‘Well, I’ll be jiggered,’ the vicar begins.

There’s laughter from the congregation. ‘Janet would be amazed by how many people are here today.’ Although I’m not. I turn to see many people standing at the back, including Henry from the wine class, wearing a suit with his antique watch chain. Tentatively he waves and I wave back. There is still no sign of Joe. I’d called him to let him know, telling myself not to get too emotional when I heard his voice. He didn’t answer and I was both relieved and disappointed. I know he would have heard about Janet from Michel, but I still left a message on his voicemail, telling him the time and date of the service. At the end I said I hoped he was well. I wanted to say how much I missed him,
that I’d love to see him again, and that Janet’s death had put so much into perspective, but why is it we can’t say how we feel? ‘I hope you are well’ is overused and lame. What does it really mean tagged on to the end of a message?

‘We have come here today to remember before God Janet Grace Morris, and to give thanks for her long and varied life,’ the vicar continues. ‘We come to honour a remarkable woman, someone of great courage and uncomplaining in adversity. Right up to her final days she took a huge interest in life and in people …’

I think of how I saw Janet only a fortnight ago, how she listened so patiently to me talking about Joe when no doubt she was feeling fragile and unwell, though to be fair she managed to put away three custard creams.

I look down to the service sheet and the photograph of Janet as a younger woman, with Gregory, a river in the background. Underneath the photograph is the inscription I recognize. I remember her saying it to me when we were out on the Stockbridge Downs:

He whom I have loved and lost

is no longer where he was

he is forever where I am.

Janet’s death was sudden. Michel was with her at the time, which is comforting to know. She had mentioned to him that she felt unwell, a huge admission on Janet’s part as she was loath to complain or talk about her health. She didn’t want to eat out, nor did she feel up to going for a walk. Michel had popped out of the sitting room to pour her a glass of sherry and make them both a cheese-and-pickle sandwich, only to return to find her asleep. Then he’d realized she wasn’t asleep.

I look over to him, his face etched with pain. No matter how much you say someone is old or they have had a good innings, she was our great friend and she will be missed.

‘We remember with affection the devoted love of Gregory and Janet,’ the vicar says, and I hold back more tears.

I sense Janet telling me to stop looking so sad. ‘What a wonderful way to go, Rebecca! I didn’t have to suffer years in Cherry Trees nursing home.’ I can hear her gutsy laugh. ‘I shall miss you, but now I can be with him.’

‘Many of you may not know everything about Janet,’ the vicar says halfway through his address. ‘During the Second World War she was a Wren and carried out
highly classified work plotting the movement of convoys and enemy submarines.’

I hadn’t known that. I wish now that I’d asked her more questions about her life.

‘She would have been taught never to mention or discuss her work, and I think anyone here today will know that Janet was the kind of person to keep her word. She suffered in her life. During wartime she lost her fiancé, a naval officer. She was very young at the time, but she went on to meet many years later her beloved Gregory, who had also fought in the Second World War, in the Coldstream Guards. They met well into their forties and a great regret was they were never able to have children.’

I reach across to Mum, grip her hand. Pippa sits on my other side, but she didn’t bring Oscar and Theo. They’re having tea with friends after school today. Alfie is being looked after by Mum’s tennis friend, Marjorie. She will drop him back at my parents’ home this afternoon.

‘During her last few years,’ the vicar continues, ‘she found great comfort and happiness in her friendship with Michel.’ I hear steps across the stone floor, someone entering at the back of the church. I turn and, when I see his face, swing back, knocking my handbag on to the stone floor.

*

Mum and Dad have organized tea and cakes at home, after the service.

As we leave the church Joe grabs my hand, pulls me away from the crowd. Without thinking we hug, forcing people to swerve around us. He thanks me for letting him know about Janet. He digs into his pocket for a handkerchief, hands one to me. I’m crying for Janet, for Olly, and now for Joe.

‘How are you?’ we both say, before answering, ‘Fine’, and then smiling.

Where do you start when there is so much to say?

‘Rebecca?’ I hear my mother call, searching for me.

‘Are you coming back for tea?’ I ask him.

‘Alfie, come and meet my friend,’ I say, out on the lawn. Mum and Dad have inherited Woody, who’s playing with Alfie, in the hopes that he’ll be fed biscuits. It’s a warm summer’s day, the sky a Wedgwood blue. Alfie rushes towards me and I scoop him into my arms. Joe ruffles his hair, says, ‘How do you do, Alfie?’

Joe admires my son’s T-shirt with a crocodile on it. Alfie runs off to see Granny and the plate of shortbread.

‘He has your hair,’ Joe says.

I gaze over to my son and watch him grab a biscuit
in his podgy hands. Alfie’s hair is chestnut brown, with a hint of red, and it’s thick with angelic curls.

‘And Olly’s eyes,’ he says quietly.

‘How are you, Joe?’

He loosens his tie. ‘Good. It’s lovely to see you.’

I take his hand and hold it for a second too long before losing my nerve and letting it go, but he reaches out and takes my hand again.

‘I was sorry to hear about Janet.’ His grip tightens. ‘I know you two were close. She used to pop into the wine bar every now and then with Michel. I could hear her laughing from downstairs. She was a special person. A wise old owl.’

I smile, agreeing that’s exactly what she was.

‘Alfie loved her too. How do I tell him he’ll never see her again?’

We’re both silent, pretending to be absorbed in watching Alfie playing with Woody. ‘How’s your father?’ I ask at the same time that he says, ‘Are you enjoying being back in London?’

‘Not great, but he’s happy in the new place. It’s distressing – he doesn’t really know who I am now.’

‘Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry.’

Glass hangs between our words, both of us too scared to mention what happened the last time we were together. ‘How’s Mavis? And Adam?’

‘Becca, I’m sorry …’

‘No,
I’m
sorry.’ From the corner of my eye I can see Alfie running towards the back gate. ‘Hang on, Joe. Don’t move.’

When I come back he isn’t in the garden any more. I search inside the house. Maybe he went to the loo. Is he in the sitting room? Not there. I run into the kitchen where Michel is talking to Janet’s sister. He’s not there either. ‘Rebecca?’ Michel says, sensing my panic.

‘Have you seen Joe?’

‘I think he left. Is everything all right?’

Without answering I rush out of the room and into Mum’s conservatory to ring him on my mobile, but thankfully I don’t have to. He’s standing by the pine dresser. When he turns to me I am overwhelmed by relief, as if I have managed to catch something valuable that was about to slip through my fingers. I notice now how smart he looks, dressed in a shirt and black tie, and his thick dark hair is swept away from his face, highlighting those grey eyes. There’s no trace of arrogance left in Joe; all I see is a friend I have missed.

‘Maybe Joe came along too soon after Olly,’ Kitty had said to me, when I’d dared to explain my feelings after hearing about Janet, and when recounting my date with
Andrew. ‘The truth is, I think you’ve been in denial about Joe for some time,’ she said. ‘You’ve been scared to admit it to yourself, worried you’d be betraying Olly again.’

‘I thought you’d gone,’ I say.

‘I had to take a call. Is Alfie OK?’

‘Oh yes, he’s fine. He’s with Pippa. What were we saying?’

Say it again, Rebecca. Say how sorry you are too and that you want to be friends. Maybe more than friends. Say
something
.

‘Mama!’

Pippa holds his hand, his knee bleeding. ‘He fell off the swing, it’s nothing serious,’ she explains. ‘I have to run, pick up the boys.’ She senses the atmosphere. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll call later.’

‘Mama!’ he wails again.

‘That looks nasty, Alfie,’ Joe says, ‘but I’m sure you’ll be brave for your mum.’

‘Mummy, hurts.’

‘I know, sweetheart.’

‘I must go,’ Joe says, quickly kissing me goodbye on the cheek.

I lift Alfie into my arms. ‘Wait!’ I call out. Joe turns. ‘I’ve missed you, Joe.’

‘I’ve missed you too.’

Michel catches me watching him leave. ‘He’s a special man, that Joe. Works too hard, that’s his trouble. It’ll be good for him to take a long break.’

‘Long break?’

‘Didn’t he tell you? He’s going away,’ Michel says, making it sound so final, as if he’s about to disappear off the face of the earth.

I see Joe standing in front of me today, holding me close, saying how sorry he was about Janet. I haven’t just missed him. I love him. I’m such a fool.

‘Going away? Where, Michel? Where?’

46

Early evening: Alfie and I play sharks and crocodiles in the bath. ‘He’s coming to get you! He’s going to eat you all up!’ I say, holding the crocodile over Alfie’s head before plunging him into the water.

Michel told me Joe moved house well over a year ago. He gave me his new address, but he’s off to Australia to visit his Uncle Tom, who is now well into his eighties. ‘Other than that, I have no more details, Rebecca.’

I fear that if I don’t tell Joe tonight that I love him, I never will. I need to take a risk. I know what I have to do.

I scoop Alfie out of the bath and put on his favourite shark-print pyjamas. Olly must be thrilled that his son hasn’t yet shown any sign of interest in ladybirds and bugs but loves sharks, crocodiles and snakes.

*

I join Mum and Dad in the kitchen. It’s 6.30 on the dot. My father is on drink duty.

‘Can you read to Alfie tonight?’ I grab my car keys. ‘I’m going out.’

‘Out?’ Mum asks, vodka in hand, as if I’ve said I might climb Mount Everest. ‘Where? Is something wrong?’

‘Don’t have time to explain,’ I say, already halfway out the door. ‘Though nothing’s wrong. In fact, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.’

‘What’s she on about?’ I overhear Dad saying.

‘Why won’t you put your hearing aid in, Harvey?’

I slam my foot on the accelerator, but my dilapidated old Ford Focus (bought third- or possibly fourth-hand) grunts in protest.