The Light of Amsterdam (41 page)

Whether out of a desire to humour a madwoman, or a genuine wish to please, she knew there wasn't much he would deny her and there were two more things that she would ask for but she would leave them until later in the day. She looked back at the square and there was still an air of slumber, of life being reluctant to start. Leaving the curtains slightly open she walked through the spindling spokes of trembling dust and lifted her watch from the bedside table.

‘I get the message,' he said, glancing at his own. ‘You use the bathroom first.' He ploughed a hand through the unkempt mesh of his hair then sank down again below the duvet.

She wondered if she should join him but what she should do seemed less important than what she wanted, as all the life of that far-off day when they rode their bikes to Groomsport and paddled in the sea held out its arms in a murmuring invitation that she knew she couldn't refuse. In the shower's heat she remembered how cold the water had been, squeezing out their high-stepping shrieks as it frothed around the mottled whiteness of their ankles. In the skating, too, she had found some lightness of being, momentarily casting off the weight of the things that troubled her, and she hoped the rest of the morning would give her that opportunity again.

At breakfast she looked for the Japanese couple but there was no sign of them. Ships in the night and it made her sad that their lives had developed without the comfort of close friends. Perhaps it had been the fault of the business and the fact that in the early stages at least it had consumed so much of their energy and time, so that nothing was quite as attractive as sitting in and doing nothing but stare at the television. But now she thought how good it would be if without formal invitations they had friends who called in, friends who just took a cup of tea and didn't need you to worry about how tidy the place was. Perhaps Richard found Anka and Celina and the others he worked with served this purpose and if that were true then now she only envied him the laughter she had heard that afternoon. She watched him at the buffet, studying everything but filling his plate modestly, thankfully resisting the temptation to think that he had to get his money's worth. The room itself was painstakingly elegant with its art deco features and lights, coloured-glass windows and even in the depths of winter flowers that were beautiful. But she was impatient to be outside in the morning light however cold it was. They had already packed and she had managed only with difficulty to get all her presents safely stored, having to farm some out to Richard's case who as always seemed able to travel lighter than her.

In the bike shop they had to leave a deposit of their passports and Richard bridled as she could see him imagining his nightmare of being trapped in the city for ever. But she didn't care and, after a perfunctory check that the saddles were adjusted to the right height and more detailed instructions about how to use the wheel locks that would prevent the bikes from being stolen, they set off down an almost empty street with the air crisp but less cold than it looked. She half-expected to see some trace of the mist, shovelled up like yesterday's snow or its spent residue still lazily layering the surface of the canals, but the city seemed sharpened into a new brightness. The lightness of traffic encouraged their confidence and within ten minutes they were cycling through the gates of the park.

It had already woken into life, its wide paths pulsing with walkers, cyclists, rollerbladers and above all joggers who mostly took the same circular route round the lakes, their expressions serious and focused, glancing at intervals at their watches, earphones hanging like stethoscopes as if permanently ready to check the beat of their pumping hearts. Some, mostly middle-aged, or even older, ran in what looked like clubs, sharing a pace, having conversations without ever glancing at each other. Richard made her lead and she just followed whatever path opened up, pleased at how relatively effortless the cycling was and how she felt they blended seamlessly into the flow of the city's people, people who wanted to stay well, people who wanted to remind themselves that they were alive. She was happy in the moment, no longer thinking of the past, and she knew if she lived in the city she would come here and be part of this shared life for as long as she would be able. Once an elderly ponytailed rollerblader put his hand lightly on her back and instructed her to keep to the right and as he scooted past she raised her hand in apology.

There was a simple pleasure in having no planned route but being able to follow whatever opened up in front and they passed an area where there was an outdoor stage and racked seating, a stretch of grass where a football game was already in progress and more small lakes where ducks browsed lazily. In a stretch where they found themselves momentarily alone Richard rode level with her and her eyes rested on the ring on his finger, its brightness reminding her of everything that had happened, until faced with incoming traffic he was forced to drop back.

After about an hour when they had ridden to all the park's various limits they stopped close to the tennis courts at a café which nestled at the water's edge. She watched the care with which he locked the wheels and then chained both bikes to the fence and she knew he was thinking about the passports. They were warm enough to sit outside with their coffees and enjoy the weak sun that was still doing its best to seep through the clouds. Their flushed faces made them smile and her legs still held the echo of the hour's cycling. From time to time he glanced over his shoulder to check the bicycles.

‘Relax, no one's going to steal them.'

‘Someone must steal them or they wouldn't give you a chain with each one.' She thought his breathing was a little heavy and asked was he all right.

‘You have the advantage over me of doing all this sort of stuff in the gym. I might have to join you,' he said, smiling and hiding his embarrassment by lifting his cup and then replacing it on the saucer.

‘Richard, I have something to tell you,' and as she saw the sudden apprehension in his face, ‘don't worry it's not a big thing.' But he straightened his back on the chair as if preparing to take a blow. ‘I'm not going back to the gym.' She waited for a response but for a moment he said nothing.

‘Is that it?' He leaned slightly towards her and she could see the confusion in his face.

‘That's it. It was very kind of you to get me it but I don't like it and I don't want to go back.'

‘Why didn't you say?'

‘I didn't want to hurt your feelings. But if we give them a bit of notice in writing we can cancel the direct debit or if you wanted we could get it switched to your name.'

‘Marion, you should have said. I thought you might like it. You don't want to go just for the swimming and forget the rest?'

‘No, it's not me and I'd rather not – if you don't mind.'

‘Of course I don't mind and you should have said sooner. I'll cancel it as soon as I get home. Is that it?'

‘No there's something else.' She felt for a second as if she was bullying him but this was the best time to tell him. ‘After this year I don't want to sell any more black Christmas trees. I want to do all the Christmas ordering next year and I don't want us to sell any black trees or any of those fibre-optic ones either. I know they sell well but I hate them and think we should do a different type of stock that if we get it right will still make good money. You'll be pleased to know that that's it. Nothing more to spring on you.'

He was staring at her, leaning back on his chair, looking like he didn't believe her, trying to take all of her in, gauge what next unexpected thing might come tumbling out of her mouth.

‘This has been one hell of a weekend, Marion. My head's starting to spin. I don't know what to say, or what you're going to say next. Where's all this coming from?'

‘I don't know and I'm sorry but that's it – there's nothing more, I promise.' She wanted to reach out to him, hold the hand that had the ring, but knew he would be embarrassed if she stretched her hand across the table. ‘At least I didn't make you go skating.'

‘I suppose that's something.'

She was relieved when he half-smiled but he was still slowly shaking his head, whether in disbelief at what she had said or in confusion, so she said again, ‘I promise you that there's nothing more.'

‘And you haven't booked us plane flights to Japan or anything?'

‘No, nothing else but I'd still like to go some day – but only if you wanted to.'

He was gazing over her shoulder into the distance. As she looked into his eyes she hoped above all that she hadn't shaken too many things, disturbed the most important elements that anchored them to the life they shared. She thought again that he seemed tired and felt regret that she hadn't noticed it before. Across the water a couple were exercising a dog, throwing it a ball to chase, and a mother was bent over her toddler delicately holding his arms as he took faltering steps towards the water's edge.

‘So what is it you've got against black Christmas trees?'

‘I just don't like them and it might sound stupid but I think it's a bit of bad luck stored up every time we sell one.'

‘I don't know what's stupid and what's not any more. And Santa climbing up our chimney – does he have to go as well?'

‘No, he can stay – our grandchildren will enjoy him. Will we have another cup of coffee before we head back?' And as he stood up and offered to get them she thanked him for coming on the bike ride.

‘I enjoyed it. Maybe we should buy a couple of bikes when we get home, try to get fit. I was a bit out of puff keeping up with you a few times.'

‘I don't think it would be the same at home; for a start there's not a bit of road that's flat,' she said as her eyes flitted across the water to the mother with her toddler. Then it was her husband she watched as he went inside to the counter to order. Perhaps he should cut back, reduce his working hours, and suddenly she was frightened of losing him. Another birthday had come and gone, another year struck off, and as always she thought of the day when they would sell the business and, although she didn't want to do it, thought of how that would also mean selling their house and moving somewhere else. She told herself that she must be prepared to do it when the opportunity came, that it might be good to find somewhere a bit smaller and easier to look after. With the profit from that downsizing and the sale of the business itself they would be comfortable in their retirement, have the time and the money to travel when and where they wanted. But, still, to leave the home where they had brought up their children she knew would be hard.

The excitement of a child's first steps. That and everything a house contained. She sipped the final dregs of coffee and then her eyes caught the upturned face of the mother and suddenly recognised it. She had looked at it so often on her computer. She knew she wasn't mistaken. The child was kicking up little flurries of dead leaves with its feet and then her mother put her hands under her arms – she couldn't tell at that distance whether it was a boy or girl wrapped in its warm clothes and wearing a yellow woollen hat, but somehow she sensed that it was a girl – and gently swung her towards the water. Swung her gently backwards and forwards then set her feet on the ground again. She watched with fascination, her heart beating a little faster at first before settling into a calmer rhythm. Just another mother and daughter in the park on a Sunday morning. Soon her own family would gather round her and she would give them the presents she had chosen with so much care and she would take theirs in turn.

As Richard returned she watched the mother and child turn from the water and make their way slowly towards the trees. He had spilled a little of the coffee into the saucers and apologised, setting one down then swapping it for the other one.

‘Marion, I'm the one now who has something to tell you.'

She anxiously searched his face for what he was about to deliver. But she could only wait, the delay intensified by his pausing to sip his coffee and the sense it brought that he was preparing himself.

‘Richard?'

‘About a week ago Judith phoned me from France about coming home for Christmas . . .'

‘She's not coming?' Her intense nervousness was already dissolving into disappointment.

‘No, Marion, she's coming. It's just that she wants to bring someone, a friend.'

‘She's bringing a boyfriend – why didn't you say?'

‘She's bringing a girl, Marion. A girl called Elise.'

She looked across the lake for the mother and her child but they had disappeared into the trees.

‘That's not a problem – it'll be nice to meet one of her friends.'

‘Marion, I'm not entirely sure, because she was a bit vague about everything, but I think Elise is not exactly a friend so much as a girlfriend.' He drank again slowly from his cup while watching her over the rim.

‘A girlfriend, as in a girlfriend?'

‘I think so but she said she would explain everything when she came home, didn't want to do it over the phone. She says she's very nice – works as a primary schoolteacher.'

‘Why did she tell you and not me?'

‘I don't know, she just did, but let's play things by ear, not get too worked up or anything. And there isn't any point in asking me lots of questions because I don't know much more than I've told you. I'm sure she'll explain things properly whenever she comes home.'