Thursdays in the Park (31 page)

‘Shall I take my things upstairs, get them out of the way?’ he was asking, although he seemed only to have brought his small leather holdall. He saw her looking at it. ‘That’s not all; the rest’s in the car.’

The evening was a triumph of restraint. The elephant sat in the room and no one even gave it the time of day. They all focused on Ellie, on the new baby’s imminent arrival, on the sense of family they could still enjoy. Jeanie saw Alex searching her face occasionally, but she was determined to
live in the moment and enjoy her granddaughter’s infectious excitement.

As they made their way home, George slipped his arm in hers, and she made no attempt to remove it. The sleeping arrangements had been settled the night before, George insisting that the sofa was his and to Jeanie’s surprise making no fuss about the arrangement, so she wasn’t concerned about sending the wrong message. Both of them were a little drunk, but both, she thought, relieved that the evening had gone off so well.

‘Nightcap?’ George asked when they got in. Jeanie agreed, feeling suddenly reckless and devil-may-care as she waited for George to fetch the bottle of brandy he’d stowed in his suitcase. I’m in control, I’m brave, I will survive all this, survive both these men, she told herself, ignoring the bubble of hysteria lurking not far beneath the surface.

‘So how’s it going, Jeanie . . . you up here?’

She could see George was more than a little drunk: his face soft in inebriation; his features, which could be closed and almost prudish at times, now defenceless. He smiled at her.

‘Eh? How’s it going?’ he repeated when she didn’t answer.

‘It’s OK, George . . . strange, of course.’

‘Strange for me too. In fact downright odd, you not being there.’ He paused. ‘I haven’t liked it, you know.’

Jeanie said nothing.

‘Have you?’

She heard it almost before he spoke, the sudden hardening
of tone, but her defences were also down; she was too tired to prevaricate.

‘No, George, of course I haven’t liked it. You can’t
like
separation after such a long marriage.’

He stared at her, obviously trying to work out what she was saying.

‘You’ll come home, then.’ He stated it, rather than asking if it were true, but there was no relief in his voice.

‘I didn’t say that. I just said it was difficult.’

‘But you just said you didn’t like us being apart. Well, what could that mean but that you want to come home and be together?’

His frustration drew him up off the cushions and out of his relaxed sprawl to lean towards her across the coffee table.

‘Please, don’t start. We’ve had such a good evening.’

He stood up, his long arms tense at his sides.

‘You can be a real bitch sometimes,’ he snapped, glaring at her impotently. ‘I honestly don’t believe you know what you want, but you’ll keep me on a string till you decide. Is that it?’

Jeanie was shocked. He’d never called her that before, although God knows she’d deserved it. Perhaps for the first time she saw herself and her behaviour as George must see it: selfish, capricious, cruel.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘That means nothing. Sorry about what? That you don’t know what you want? That you’ve ruined a perfectly good
marriage?’ He came and stood over her. ‘What exactly are you sorry about, Jeanie? I’d love to know.’

Jeanie got up, facing his rage.

‘I’m sorry for it all, George.’

George took a deep breath. ‘But what does that mean, Jeanie?’ Now he was quietly pleading as he reached to take her hands in his. ‘Tell me, I need to know.’

Jeanie looked into his intensely familiar face and couldn’t speak for the pain she saw there, and the knowledge that she had caused it.

‘I
am
a bitch. Don’t think I don’t know that. And perhaps you’re right and I don’t know what I want. All I know is that I can’t live with you in Somerset, George. I can’t do it. We want different things from life now.’

George held tightly to her hands, and she knew he was trying hard to control his tears.

‘It’s not about geography, though, is it?’ he said softly.

She looked at him for a long time, then slowly shook her head.

‘No, it’s not about geography.’

That night they slept together in Jeanie’s bed. Not just for the comfort of being close to each other at the moment they both faced life alone, but also, unconsciously perhaps, as an acknowledgement that this was, finally, the end.

Christmas morning dawned. Jeanie and George slept late, battered and saddened by the night’s realizations, and said little as they dressed and made coffee. The day stretched
ahead of them like a marathon they had no choice but to run, and Jeanie, at least, was daunted by the prospect.

‘They’re expecting us around eleven,’ she said. ‘Alex said lunch at one; they don’t think Ellie will last otherwise.’

George nodded. ‘We’ll have to take the car because of the toy box.’

They had bought presents for each other, but neither felt like opening them. The packages, hers a small, neat box-shape, his the soft bulk of a sweater, sat unopened on the coffee table.

‘Shall I get something from the shop as a family gift?’

George laughed. ‘Not sure they’ll want some dodgy wheat-grass juice or three-bean salad on Christmas Day, will they?’

‘I meant organic olive oil, or a farm cheese,’ Jeanie retorted, then laughed with her husband. ‘OK, maybe not.’

‘No, that’s a good idea, good olive oil never goes amiss.’

So while George packed the presents into a bag, Jeanie ran down to the shop.

‘I’ll meet you down there.’

It was a beautiful day: bright, bright sunlight; cold, sharp and crystal clear. The fresh air smelt like freedom to Jeanie, cooped up as she had been with all that tension. She felt her spirits lift as she fitted the key in the shop door, almost missing the slim brown-paper package, tied with red ribbon, that sat propped against the step. Curious, she bent to pick it up as she opened the door. There was a small white card slipped under the ribbon. Turning it over she saw no words, just three kisses, written in black ink, in the centre of the
card. She knew who it was from immediately, although she had never seen his handwriting before, because the package contained a CD –
Chet Baker in Paris
, the music to which they had made love.

Nothing had prepared her for this. And with her mind still steeped in the shared sorrow of last night’s full stop to her marriage, she was unable to take in what it meant. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, the present held carefully in her hand, but suddenly she heard George’s voice outside, saw his head peering in at the door.

‘What’s taking so long? Do you need help choosing?’

She scrabbled Ray’s present guiltily behind the counter.

‘What’s up? Are you OK? You look dreadful.’

Jeanie managed a smile. ‘Thanks, just what a girl needs to hear.’

‘I didn’t mean that, but you’ve gone so pale.’

‘I’m fine, really.’ She hastened to the shelf with the olive oil and yanked off a bottle at random. ‘Just tired.’

‘Hardly surprising,’ he commented dryly. As they got in the car, he went on, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve decided to go home today, after lunch. I think it’s better.’

She nearly said that he didn’t have to, that it was fine for him to stay; it was habit and she felt so sad for him, for them. But she resisted, realizing that she was barely holding on till she could be alone again. The silence in the car was solid, dead. They had nothing more to say to each other.

‘Will he be OK?’ Chanty gazed out into the street after her father’s departing car. The meal had been subdued, almost hurried, everyone dying to be able to dispense with Christmas niceties. Chanty looked utterly exhausted, holding her swollen body with both arms as if in an attempt to keep it together. Alex remained largely silent.

‘Did you fight?’ Alex asked when he came back from putting Ellie down for her nap.

‘No. Well, sort of . . . the usual back and forth. I think he’s finally realized it’s over.’ Without warning, Jeanie began to cry and seemed unable to stop, try as she might in front of her daughter and son-in-law. But they did not react with the horror and embarrassment that she expected, as if they had long been waiting for it. She felt her daughter’s arm go around her.

‘I’m so sorry, this is the last thing you two need to deal with right now. I’ll be OK, it’s just been so hard. I love your father, but I can’t live with him any more, and that makes it harder. That toy box is so beautiful, Ellie loves it. This isn’t to do with your dad, he’s a good man, but it just doesn’t work any more . . . I’m so sorry.’ She babbled on, splurging out everything that came into her mind on the subject of George and her marriage, and her listeners just nodded sympathetically.

‘Do you think he’ll stay down there?’ Alex asked eventually.

Chanty nodded. ‘He told me he likes it, likes the people. Sally comes in more often. He’s got his two obsessions, the clocks and the garden. I don’t think he’s as lonely as we think.’

Jeanie’s tears began to slow. ‘It’s just so sad,’ she said quietly.

‘And it’s really over? I mean forever? How can you be so sure, Mum, if you still love him?’ Chanty queried.

‘I’m sure, I really am sure,’ Jeanie said firmly.

Jeanie lay on the sofa and played Chet Baker over and over again. She let the music sink into her, flow round her, through her, the long, sweet notes taking her back to those unforgettable moments that changed her life. Tonight, for the first time since she had embarked on the separation, she felt free to indulge these memories – because George had finally understood.

Ray’s present could mean only one thing, but she hesitated before she got in touch with him. This moment of hope, before the stomach-churning uncertainty of a love affair, seemed so precious to her.

Her Boxing Day text to Ray asked if they should meet.

His reply to Jeanie agreed that they should.

Her text to Ray said:
In the park, midday?

He sent her kisses in reply.

She spent a lot of time that morning in front of the bathroom mirror. Bright sunlight with nowhere to hide, she thought, then chided herself for her vanity. For once she really cared what she wore, tearing clothes from her cupboard she had never worn, trying them on, discarding them in a panic. In the end practical considerations won out – it was cold, it was lunchtime; she would wear jeans, boots and her favourite cream cashmere sweater.

He was there when she rounded the bend that led to the playground, sitting on the bench by the ducks where she had so often found him in the past. Her heart nearly somersaulted at the sight of him.

He stood when he saw her and for a moment they both seemed frozen in time, time past and time present.

‘Oh, Jeanie,’ Ray whispered, holding out his arms to her. And she went to him, leaning close against his chest, his arms tight round her, and felt an almost insane happiness.

There seemed nothing to say, as if saying anything would break the spell, so they wandered, mostly silent, hand in hand through the park, down the hill and on to the Heath, to the only cafe they thought might be open on a bank holiday.

‘You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,’ Ray said, when they were seated in the warmth of the winter sunlight on rickety metal chairs. Dogs swarmed round the area, their owners pulling and nagging at them to rest while they drank their coffee.

‘I have,’ she said, with feeling. Neither of them could stop smiling.

‘But you thought it wouldn’t work with me.’

‘No, I thought I shouldn’t leave George.’

‘So what changed your mind?’

‘You, I suppose.’ She laughed. ‘Then I saw you with that beautiful girl and I thought it was all over, that you’d moved on.’

Ray looked puzzled. ‘What beautiful girl?’

‘You can be honest. I saw you together, under the umbrella. You seemed very close.’

Ray thought for a moment, then suddenly threw his head back in laughter. ‘Mica, that was Mica! You thought we were an item?’

‘Well, you had your arms round her . . . you looked very close,’ Jeanie said, disconcerted by his laughter.