The Next Best Thing (32 page)

‘I can just imagine,’ said Will with distaste, eying up Lydia’s thighs, ‘Jane has this deluded fantasy that she’d like to move out somewhere like this, but I always
say to her, that’s all very well but who would you see?’

‘I wouldn’t mind mixing with the expats,’ Jane said. ‘I’m not sure how fascinating our London friends are, to tell you the truth. And there must be some French
people round here.’

‘Not what you’d call A-list,’ said Lydia. ‘Nothing you’d cross the road to invite to your barbeque.’

‘Uugh, barbeques!’ said Will. ‘Unspeakable things. Meat burned on the outside, raw inside, or else dry as boot-leather, only made palatable by the slapping on of chilli sauce. And such an eyesore, those hideous constructions that people build in their gardens.’

He scanned the terrace as if in hope of finding one.

‘Don’t worry, Will,’ said Lydia, ‘you won’t find anything so modern here.’

Liberty came running up the steps to the terrace, her eyes alight. ‘Mummy, there’s a swimming pool, please can I go in,
please
?’

‘Have you said hallo to Lydia?’

Liberty shyly turned to face her. ‘Hallo.’

‘Hallo there, Liberty,’ said Lydia in the patronising tone of those unused to children. She spoke slowly and loudly as though to someone deaf or foreign. ‘How you’ve
grown! And don’t you look just like your dad?’

‘Dominant genes,’ said Will smugly, wondering why Lydia had suddenly started speaking like Joyce Grenfell.

‘Can I go in your pool, please?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ll get your costume,’ said Jane, ‘come with me, the bags are still in the car.’

Liberty went skipping along beside her. ‘I love it here, Mum,’ she said, ‘do you love it?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Jane replied, ‘I really do.’

‘Aren’t you going to join her for a swim?’ Lydia asked Will in her normal voice.

‘Nope. Not pools. I swim in rivers and oceans and lakes, but never in pools. For me they represent the artificial taming of the landscape, symbols of petty domestication . . .’

‘Ours isn’t a pool, it’s a
bassin,’
she interrupted. ‘It’s made of stone and it’s grey, not that artificial blue, so I think you’d be all
right.’

He gave her a superior smile. ‘I’ll pass all the same, thank you.’

That evening, they went into the village for dinner at a restaurant. Will was relaxed and expansive, his good mood enhanced by Rupert’s refusal of his half-hearted
attempt to split the bill.

‘Well, this could be a lot worse,’ he said, restoring his credit card to the safety of his wallet. ‘You can say what you like about the French, but they certainly know about
food. One remembers their gastronome Curnovsky who said that to do justice to his job he would need to have twelve mouths and twenty-four anuses.’

‘Thank you for that, Will,’ said Lydia, ‘though you do see his point. I think if I lived here all the time I would be the size of a house. Let’s face it, there’s
precious little else to do other than stuff your face. Apart from write to the mayor to complain about the neighbour’s extension or the frequency of the rubbish collection.’

‘I disagree,’ said Rupert. ‘It’s far more satisfying to lead a simple life, not always be chasing around after things you’ll never have.’

‘I think it was Bertrand Russell who said that being without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness,’ said Jane. Will looked at her as if to ask who had
rattled her cage. He was the one who came up with the clever quotations.

‘What nonsense,’ said Lydia. ‘It’s getting the things you want that makes you happy, and I for one would rather cry in a Rolls Royce than laugh on a bicycle. Once
you’ve given up the chase, you might as well just lay down and die. Like that couple over there,’ she added in a loud whisper, nodding towards an elderly couple who were tucking into
their dinner without exchanging a word. You can’t tell me they’re happy.’

Four pairs of eyes were suddenly focused on the unfortunate couple. Only Liberty took no notice, intent on colouring in the picture book that Jane had brought along to keep her quiet.

They’re stuck, that’s what they are,’ Lydia added. They come out here to retire, and then one of them will drop dead and leave the other one even more miserable.’

As she spoke, the woman leaned over and said something to her partner. He leaned towards her and murmured something in reply, at which she laughed. Jane saw the love in her eyes.

They’re happy enough,’ she said softly, ‘they’ve got each other.’

Rupert was sitting opposite her and he turned back and caught her eye.

‘Happiness, schmappiness,’ said Will scornfully, ‘it’s been downhill all the way since the right to happiness was written into the American constitution. As though
it’s a pot of gold that can be found as long as you get the right rainbow. I don’t buy it, myself. Life is a cruel and purposeless charade that ends in death. The point is, how best to
entertain yourself until that moment.’

‘That’s a rather bleak view,’ said Rupert. ‘Perhaps you should be seeking psychiatric help.’

‘Not at all! People should realise it’s normal to feel bored and depressed. The ones who need psychiatric help are the self-delusionists who believe they should be feeling happy.
They’re the ones who are deranged.’

‘So how do you intend to struggle through the rest of the pointless charade that is your life?’ asked Rupert, amused.

‘The way I always have. By travelling and immersing myself in my art. Bringing enlightenment to people’s lives, entertaining them with stories from other cultures. I offer a broad
view of the world, not the limited glimpses afforded by the deckchair of a retirement home in the sun. You won’t catch me measuring out my life in the coffee spoons of small domestic
comforts.’

He drained the last of his cognac and put his arm round the back of Jane’s chair in a gesture of self-satisfaction. Jean-Paul Sartre pushing back the barriers of intellectual understanding
on a balmy southern night. This holiday was proving more enjoyable than he had imagined. Jane moved away from him fractionally and stroked her daughter’s silky hair.

‘We should go,’ she said. ‘Liberty’s getting tired.’

‘Oh, there you go again,’ he said impatiently. ‘Just as things are getting interesting, you have to put a dampener on it.’

‘You stay,’ she said, standing up, ‘I’ll take her back.’

‘Fancy another one, Rupert? You can’t claim the old excuse that you need to be up early for the office. I know what you banker types are like in London, always rushing off early to
prepare for another day of money-grubbing.’

Rupert ignored the jibe. ‘No, I’ll go back too. I don’t want them walking home alone in the dark.’

‘Old-fashioned gallantry, eh? The true English gentleman, alive and well in the South of France. Maybe you’ll he able to change a few wheels on your way.’

'I'll join you in another glass,’ said Lydia. ‘We are on holiday, after all.’

There was a scraping of chairs and good-night kisses as Rupert and Jane left the table with Liberty and headed off into the darkness.

‘Just like old times,’ said Will, once they were out of earshot. ‘Do you think Rupert minds playing the noble escort?’

‘Dear Rupert,’ said Lydia with satisfaction, ‘he does love to do the decent thing.’

‘Where decent rhymes with faintly boring?’

‘Now, now.’

‘They just don’t get it, do they?’ said Will, summoning the waiter to bring them two glasses of cognac. ‘The first hint of animation and they go creeping off like a
couple of party-poopers.’

‘At least you’ve got me to drink the night away with.’

‘At least I have. And I don’t mind telling you that I am beginning to feel stifled by domesticity. Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter, but it’s just the endless
routine of it all. It’s becoming clearer to me every day, I’m just not cut out for regular family life.’

‘Family life.’ Lydia shuddered. ‘It just sounds so depressing.’

‘Don’t get me started on the vocabulary: after-school club, kids’ menu, parenting classes, family room, mini yoga, Baby Gap . . .’

‘What I really can’t stand are those baby-on-board stickers,’ said Lydia. ‘It’s like, feel free to smash into everyone else’s car.’

‘And the curse of the five o’clock shadow falling over kitchens around the land as kids sit down to chicken nuggets and raw carrots, tended by their martyred mothers.’

‘Making big casseroles and freezing the leftovers,’ sneered Lydia, ‘looking forward to the high point of the week that is the family walk in the park.’

Will sighed in recognition. ‘Jane’s a great girl, and at least she doesn’t make a fuss about me doing my own thing. But you don’t create literature by respecting regular
meal-times and early nights. There’s no getting away from the fact that dull people make the best parents. I see myself more in the mould of the glamorous, visiting father returning from his
exotic travels with a silken dress for his little princess.’

He stared into the distance, thinking himself into the role. It was making more and more sense to him. You didn’t catch Byron cutting short his travels through Greece in order to be home
for Sunday lunch. That was a clerk’s life, the life of the salaried family man. Pooter he was not.

‘Rupert has always said he wants kids, but I’m not that keen,’ said Lydia. ‘I can just see him getting into the ante-natal classes and hunching over a pushchair. But
it’s not my bag, I’m afraid, much too limiting. Everyone I know who’s had children has become so boring. It’s like they go overnight from being a really good laugh to
someone who’s half dead. Then they claim it’s improved them, that they’ve calmed down, or they’ve mellowed, as though that’s a good thing.’ She took a sip of her
cognac. ‘I don’t like mellow, I like spiky. And I don’t like sameness and routine, which seems to me pretty much what having kids boils down to. I like variety. There’s a
big world out there, so much to do, so many things to have and places to go.’

Will leaned forward, intimately. ‘My own philosophy entirely,’ he said. ‘Drink up and let’s get another, the night is yet young.’

Away from the restaurant, Rupert and Jane were walking slowly down the village street, breathing in the soft night air and the scent of the blossom. Liberty had found her
second wind and was running ahead of them, making a game out of not stepping on the lines between the paving stones.

That was a lovely dinner, thank you,’ said Jane. ‘I hope you weren’t offended by Will, he does like to provoke an argument. I don’t know why he’s got such a thing
about bankers.’

‘No, he’s quite right about that,’ said Rupert, ‘I can’t wait to get out of it.’ He swiped a branch of a tree as they went past. ‘And I couldn’t
give a damn what he says about me. But what I don’t understand is how he can go on about life being so meaningless. When he’s got you. I don’t know what’s the matter with
him.’

‘He’s only being an existentialist,’ said Jane. ‘It’s nothing personal.’

‘Mummy, look!’ Liberty had stopped in front of a stone gargoyle by the old pump. She pulled a face to match it, and skipped up on top of the water trough, walking along the edge,
balancing with her arms.

Rupert came up behind Jane and slipped his arms round her waist, hidden in the darkness. ‘Come away with me, Jane,’ he murmured into her hair, ‘come and live with me here and
be happy.’

She felt his breath warm through her hair and allowed herself to imagine it. Falling into bed with him every night, watched over by the shepherdesses on the wallpaper. Taking breakfast on the
balcony, seeing the seasons change in the garden they created together. Having dinner together every night, growing old and tender with him like the couple in the restaurant.

‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Yes you can, give me one good reason why you can’t.’

‘She’s standing in front of you.’

Liberty had turned round now and was facing them with her arms outstretched, a small figure in her flared trousers adorned with sparkly flowers that they had chosen together, her face perfectly
trusting.

‘She’s the centre of my life,’ said Jane, I have to put her first.’

Rupert stood back, gracefully accepting defeat. There was no way he could compete with a seven-year-old girl.

The three of them turned up the road that led to the house, hearing the night crickets sing in a darkness you never saw in London, stars shining brightly in the biggest sky Jane had ever seen.
As they turned into the drive, past the caretaker’s cottage, the dog barked on cue as if to justify the
chien mediant
sign that hung on the gate and Jane realised that everything she
wanted was right here. She didn’t care about the bigger outside world, she didn’t need to explore the frontiers of far-off lands like Will, or climb the glittery ladder to A-list
glamour like Lydia. She’d be perfectly happy to spend the rest of her days in a faded floral frock, helping Rupert to import English roses for the sun-kissed gardens of Provencal expats.

Jane took Liberty up to bed, then checked her phone messages. One from Alison to say she was up in town for the day and how about lunch; that was a lucky escape. Then Marion,
hoping she was having a good Easter. Then someone with tortured vowels whose name she didn’t catch wanting to know if Liberty was
‘a bite’
this week. She replayed it, and
listened more carefully. ‘There’s a message for you from Cosima’s mum,’ she called to Liberty who was brushing her teeth in the bathroom next door, ‘inviting you to
stay. Thai’s nice, isn’t it, maybe you can go next holiday.’

Liberty appeared in the doorway, her eyes wide. ‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘J could have ridden her pony.’

‘Never mind, there’s always next time,’ said Jane, cross with herself for bringing it up. ‘Anyway, you’re having a nice time here, aren’t your?’

‘Yes, and there’s a swimming pool here;I don’t suppose Cosima’s got a swimming pool,’ said Liberty, turning back to her tooth-brushing.

I wouldn’t count on it, thought Jane. I’d put money on a pool and a tennis court and probably a full-size gym.

She tucked Liberty in and went downstairs. Rupert had set out a pot of tea on the terrace, and lit tall citronella candles to ward off mosquitoes. When she came out and saw him sitting there,
the valley spread out below him in star-studded darkness, it was like a déjà vu of how she had imagined it would be.