What Women Want (19 page)

‘No. They’re dead now.’

‘I’m sorry. Where did they live?’

‘My father worked for BP so we lived all over the world when I was a child. Hong Kong, Africa, the Middle East. By the time I left home, they had settled in the north of Scotland. So home for me is wherever I hang my hat.’

‘But you’re staying in London?’ Kate glanced down the table at Ellen. She was eyeing them anxiously as they quizzed him.

‘Of course. I couldn’t leave now I’ve met Ellen.’

Emma chose that moment to leave the room to make a phone call, slamming the door behind her.

Oliver looked up the table at Ellen, who gazed back. ‘I can’t believe my luck.’ He got up to stand behind her, his hands on her shoulders. ‘Shall we bring on the pudding?’

‘Of course,’ she replied, squeezing his hand. ‘Pear
tarte Tatin
and almond ice cream – or should we have cheese first?’

‘Oh, cheese, definitely. I’ll get it, though. You sit where you are.’ He collected the plates and returned to the table with a plate of water biscuits and the cheese board. Emma followed him in.

‘Yuk.’ Matt turned in his seat. ‘What’s that? It looks totally rank.’

‘That, you little savage, is Époisses. The finest cheese known to man. Delicious. Try it. Go on.’ He bent over Matt, offering him a spoon to break through the reddish-orange rind.

‘No way.’ Matt wrinkled his nose. ‘But I’ll try a bit of that one.’

‘Comté. Good choice. We’ll make an expert of you yet. But visitors first. Kate?’

As the cheese did the rounds, only Emma and Ellen passed. No one commented but Kate was certain that Bea must have registered this uncharacteristic self-denial. Then, when it was time for the melt-in-the mouth
tarte Tatin
, Ellen gave herself the smallest sliver by far. Kate noticed her looking across to Oliver. She was talking to Paul but always kept an eye on what her lover was doing. If the conversation opened out to include the whole table, she would look to him for approval after voicing an opinion. And he always gave it, with a wink, a smile, a nod. Each time, she seemed reassured, strengthened. As the meal moved into coffee, Emma excused herself again, this time to go and visit a friend. Bea seemed to take this as her cue to begin a new round of her cross-questioning.

‘How’s the job-hunting going, Oliver? I guess it’s tough times at the moment.’

Ellen looked alarmed by the turn of the conversation, but he seemed quite unperturbed. ‘No, no. I’ve got a few irons in the fire. I’m sure something will work out. It can’t be easy in your business at the moment either, is it?’

‘It’s not. But you really don’t want to get me going on that.’

‘Yes, don’t,’ confirmed Kate. ‘Once she starts on how things have changed since the good old days, she’s impossible to stop.’

Bea gasped as if mortally insulted. ‘Well, it’s true,’ she protested. ‘But I take the point. Anyway, I’m dying to know about your gallery in France. Tell us more.’

‘There’s really nothing to tell. I wanted to move away from England. The gallery kept my head above water but I sold it once I understood that selling pottery was not what I was good at.’

Bea leaped rather too obviously at the opportunity to draw him out a bit more. ‘What are you good at, then?’

‘Bea!’ Ellen sounded shocked.

‘No, no. I asked for that,’ said Oliver, pouring a little milk into his coffee. ‘The truth is, I don’t really know the answer. I think I could be very good as some sort of curator or doing gallery work that involves paintings or sculpture but I need the chance to try. What about you?’ He turned to Kate. ‘What would you do if you had to start all over again?’

‘I wouldn’t want to change from being a doctor,’ she said firmly. ‘Ellen?’

‘I’d like to be a painter if I could ever find the time but I’d still want to run the gallery. Paul?’

‘Anything that doesn’t involve having to work at weekends. Like my dear wife’s, my time-management is rubbish.’ Paul put his napkin on the table. ‘And on that note, I really think we should go. Can we offer you a lift, Bea?’

‘That would be great. I’ve got a pile of submissions that’s threatening to take over my bedroom. I’ve got to make inroads tonight.’

They offered their thanks and goodbyes before trooping upstairs and out into the street to where Paul had parked the car.

Bea could barely contain herself as she climbed into the Peugeot and slammed the door. ‘Well, what did you make of him?’

‘He’s hot,’ said Kate, incurring a mild tut of disapproval from Paul as he flicked the key in the ignition. ‘And Ellen obviously adores him, but he’s got his work cut out with Em.’

‘Not my type. Too flash for me. But that’s not what I meant. Did you find out anything about him?’ Bea leaned forward as far as she could without the seatbelt throttling her, keen for a decent post-mortem on the lunch.

Kate imagined she could feel Bea’s breath on her neck but she kept looking straight ahead. Her brow furrowed. ‘Like what?’

Now that she’d met them together, she felt it would be disloyal to tear into Oliver behind Ellen’s back. If Ellen wanted to throw in her lot with him and he made her happy, that was good enough for Kate. Outside the car, the streets were slick with rain. A bunch of teenagers yelled and shoved each other at the gateway of a park; pedestrians trudged home, heads down against the rain; a stray dog ran in front of them, dodging between the parked cars at the side of the road.

‘Well, like anything,’ Bea insisted, thrown backwards as they rode a speed bump. ‘He was so cagey. Every time I asked him about where he lived in France, what he was doing about looking for a job, what he was interested in – all those things – he virtually stone-walled me, then headed the conversation off in another direction.’

‘He wasn’t very keen to talk about himself. I agree.’ Paul was thoughtful as he waited to turn across the road that ran up to Alexandra Palace. ‘Maybe . . .’ he paused for effect ‘. . . he’s got something to hide.’ He turned quickly to give Bea a conspiratorial smile.

‘Don’t be silly. You heard what we talked about,’ said Kate, on the defensive. Suddenly she didn’t want to tell Bea about seeing Ellen wiping off the lip-gloss or taking smaller than usual helpings. She was sure to attach more significance to them than they probably deserved.

‘No, I didn’t. When I was talking to Em, I was very careful to block him out and concentrate on her. I got a feeling things weren’t good between them.’

‘You should have been there when we arrived,’ said Paul.

Kate poked him in the thigh. ‘I thought you didn’t want to be involved!’

Ignoring her, Paul related what had happened when they’d arrived at the house and Kate’s subsequent rescue mission.

‘There you are. See?’ said Bea, almost gleefully.

‘No, I don’t see,’ Kate said. ‘I thought he was lovely and I’m really pleased to see Ellen so happy.’ She turned round in the hope that Bea would understand that, as far as she was concerned, this was the end of the matter.

But Bea completely ignored the look, if she noticed it at all. ‘There’s something odd about him that I can’t put my finger on. Something’s not quite right. I hate the idea that she’s supporting him. And apart from that, since when did Ellen ever think of dieting? She’s always been completely against anything like that in case she put ideas into Em’s head. But now she’s practically starving herself.’

‘Don’t exaggerate. You’re scaremongering. She didn’t eat much pudding. What’s the big deal?’

‘But you noticed too, right?’

‘You’re making way too much of it. So she wants to look nice for him. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. But it’s so out of character. Put that with the new hair, the new clothes and him not letting me speak to her those couple of times I called her in the evening. Bit Stepford wife-ish, isn’t it? And what about the shed? Didn’t look as if she’d used it.’

‘I think it’s great. Good for her. Much better to make the effort than not. It’s just that you’ve forgotten what that first flush is like, that’s all.’ Kate regretted her last words as soon as she’d said them, but Bea laughed.

‘Thanks so much for reminding me! Again. OK. I’m the tiniest bit jealous. I admit it. Better?’

‘I still think you’re being too hard on them. None of us is perfect after all, less so now than ever.’ She talked over Bea’s groan. ‘So it’s all about compromise. Of course we want the best for her, but perhaps Oliver
is
the best.’

‘Kate’s probably right,’ added Paul, the diplomat once more. ‘She usually is.’

‘Maybe,’ said Bea. ‘But we have to watch out for each other and that’s all I’m doing. And all that lovey-dovey, touch-me-touch-me stuff. Get a room, for God’s sake. Spare us.’

‘Leave it,’ Kate insisted. ‘You’re reading too much into things. Give the guy a chance.’

‘OK. But the jury’s still out. That’s all I’m saying.’

*

‘Your friends are a pretty formidable pair,’ commented Oliver, as he finished loading the dishwasher. ‘Not what I was expecting.’

‘Oh? What
did
you expect?’ When Ellen had shut the front door behind them, she had been relieved that everything had gone so well. Her friends had seemed to like Oliver, and whatever Kate had said to Emma had had the desired effect.

‘Well, they’re so different from you. Here, you wash the glasses, I’ll dry.’ He took the tea-towel and waited.

‘What do you mean?’ She struggled into the yellow Marigolds that he’d bought her, then dipped the first glass into the foamy water.

‘Well, take Kate. She’s like a bird, isn’t she? So tiny and fine-boned. I thought she was lovely, very calm and considerate, but I bet there’s a steel fist in that velvet glove. Am I right?’

‘Mmm.’ Ellen had never thought of Kate in quite that way. ‘She’s managed to keep so many balls in the air for years, so I guess she must have something like that. Though, funnily enough, she seems a bit lost now the kids have all but left home. Jack’s still there, of course, and at least Megan’s only in Bristol, but I know she desperately misses Sam. She’d love them to go out there and see what he’s up to, but Paul’s too busy. Not that she’s ever said that in so many words. She always holds back when it comes to talking about herself. Unlike Bea.’

‘But you said she’s lost. Why lost? Isn’t when your children leave home the moment you get your life back?’ He seemed surprised at the idea of anything different.

‘No! I can’t imagine my life without Matt and Em being here. What would I do?’ The thought of that inevitability both appalled and scared her.

‘You’d be a lot less fraught, that’s for sure,’ he said, as he turned to put the last glass into the cupboard. ‘You’d have more time for the gallery and your painting.’ He ignored her sceptical laugh. ‘And, besides, you’ve got me now, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. And you do mean everything to me but the children—’

‘They mean more.’ As he finished her sentence, he slammed the cupboard door.

Ellen flinched at his flash of jealousy. ‘That’s not what I was about to say. You know you mean everything to me. But they’re a part of me that I’ll find hard to let go. Without Simon, we’ve been so, so close. If you had children of your own, you’d understand.’

He crossed the room to her side and she took his hand. He pulled it away so he could hug her to him. ‘I know. But selfishly I can’t wait to have you all to myself.’

Staring over his shoulder, out of the window, she could just see their faint joint reflection. In that imperfect mirror, her finer wrinkles were blurred out of existence and a younger, slimmer version of herself gazed back. Was this the person he saw? she wondered. Or was it the more raddled one she gazed at in the bathroom mirror? His left hand reached out to pull down the blind and the reflection disappeared. Peculiarly, the mood of the moment disappeared with it.

Oliver moved away and started wrapping the cheese, ready for the fridge. Watching his long fingers – musician’s fingers, she sometimes thought – moving with precision so that each piece looked almost shop ready, she brought the subject back to her friends. ‘What about Bea, then? Did I give you a better description of her?’

‘She’s a great woman, a real larger-than-life character, isn’t she? Says what she thinks and probably does what she wants too. Bloody terrifying.’

‘She’s not that bad,’ Ellen protested. ‘Maybe she’s become a bit more full-on since Colin left her but that’s her way of looking after herself.’ Yes, that’s exactly what it was, she thought. Over the last few years, Bea had constructed a second, more extravagant, personality for herself: when life got too tough, she showed the world another side of her character altogether. Only Kate and Ellen knew about her insecurities and occasional fears of growing old alone.

‘Sitting next to her was like being interrogated. No wonder she hasn’t got a man. She had “needy” and “high maintenance” lit up in neon across her forehead.’

Ellen laughed and, standing behind him, put her arms round his waist. ‘Now you’re being unfair. And rude. She’s my oldest friend.’

‘I’m joking. All I’m saying is, I’m glad you’re not like that.’ He turned around to face her and she found her indignation melting away as he concentrated his attention on her. ‘I’m glad you’re you and that I found you.’

‘Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got the most perfect bedroom eyes?’ She touched his cheek, running her finger along the deep laugh line.

‘All the time.’ He leaned towards her, batting his eyelashes.

‘Oh, you!’ She pulled away, dragging him towards the stairs.

‘Hang on. We haven’t finished down here yet.’ He flicked the tea-towel at her backside.

‘I’ll do it later.’

‘What about Matt?’

She had made him agree that there’d be no bedroom activity whatsoever unless the children were sound asleep or away. His flat was the place for impromptu assignations until their relationship had been accepted by one and all.

She hesitated and in that moment the phone rang.

‘Leave it,’ he begged.

But Ellen had already picked up the receiver. It was Emma. She dropped Oliver’s hand and pulled out one of the chairs to sit down. ‘Em. What’s wrong? Slow down, darling. I can’t hear what you’re saying.’ Listening, she turned away from him, elbows on the table, cradling the phone by her ear, occasionally making noises of encouragement. ‘Of course I’ll come and get you.’ She heard Oliver sigh. ‘No, I don’t mind. No, he doesn’t either. Give me fifteen or twenty minutes.’

She put the phone down and turned to Oliver, who was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher, his lips pressed together, the corners turned down. ‘I suppose that last idea’s off, then?’ He started picking up the coffee cups and folding the mats.

‘Don’t be like that, darling. She’s had a furious row with Freya, her so-called best friend, and she’s stranded at the Angel. The tube’s not running. I’ll have to fetch her.’

‘For God’s sake, she’s fifteen. Can’t she make her own way around London?’

‘She may be fifteen but she’s my daughter. She’s upset and she’s asked me for help. Of course I’m going to fetch her.’

‘Of course you are. Sorry.’ He gave her the funny crooked smile that made her knees weak every time. ‘Another time.’

‘I’m sorry too. I don’t want us to fight over the children. I’ll be back soon. Or,’ she looked at him, ‘perhaps you could come too.’

‘Not a good idea. No, I’ll stay here and finish tidying up. I’ll scoot off before you get back. I think it might be better to make myself scarce.’

She adored him for how considerate he could be. Then a long, tantalising kiss lifted her onto cloud nine and, for a moment, she forgot her obligation to her daughter. She had begun to abandon herself to it when he pulled away. ‘Off you go, then.’ He smiled that smile again but made no move to release her.

She groaned. ‘Why did she have to phone?’

‘You could have said no, but you didn’t. Go on, get outta here.’ He let her go and the magic was broken.

*

Later that night, lying on her back alone in the dark, eyes turned to the ceiling where a feeble sliver of light cut across from the gap at the top of the curtains, Ellen let her thoughts circle at random. How many nights had she lain like this since Simon’s death, concerned that she wasn’t being a good enough parent, worrying about Matt and Emma’s schoolwork, their friendships, their fallings out and, more than anything, the lack of a father in their lives? But now she’d introduced the possibility of one, things were worse rather than better. Perhaps she’d left it too late.

Having photos of Simon by her bed had always helped calm her when she couldn’t see a way out of even the simplest problem. Sometimes, in the small hours, she had found that talking aloud to him had a therapeutic effect and helped her work out her worries. Despite Oliver’s presence in her life, she couldn’t give up on her original soul-mate, not just like that. Not after so many years. She could just make out the shape of the frame nearest her, but the photo inside was imprinted on her memory: Towan beach where a proud Matt knelt with Ellen beside the fortress they’d made in the sand while Emma tried to wrestle her sunhat from Simon’s head.

Emma had been such an open, cheerful child until Simon’s death. Matt had been too young but Emma quickly understood that her father was never coming back. She had sobbed herself to sleep in Ellen’s bed night after night. Then, as she got used to his absence, she began to hold a part of herself in reserve as if afraid to trust anyone completely. If her father could let her down by disappearing without warning, then anyone could. Was that what was eating away at her now? Even all these years later, was fear of losing her mother fuelling her resentment of Oliver? If only Ellen could think of a way to reassure her, to show her that wasn’t going to happen. But on the journey home tonight, when she’d tried her damnedest to get her back onside, Emma had clammed up. No doubt she was preoccupied by the argument she’d had with Freya – but was that the real reason? And why the hell was she fighting with Freya anyway? They were inseparable and never rowed.

The thoughts buzzed and swarmed in her head. Oliver had proved himself so good with Matt, why hadn’t his charm worked with Emma? Ellen blamed herself for not being able to find some common ground where they could meet and get on. The antagonism that existed between them had to be her responsibility so she had to resolve it. Perhaps if she had handled everything differently from the beginning they wouldn’t be in this mess. The blame lay with her for falling in love, the one thing she’d sworn she’d never do.