A Desirable Residence (32 page)

‘The bank?’ Liz stared at him uncomprehendingly.

‘A few weeks ago. You were going to see the bank. What did they say?’

‘Oh yes.’ Liz forced herself to recall the meeting. ‘They said we had to sell this house. We haven’t got enough capital invested in the tutorial college.’

‘Or what?’

Liz shrugged. She found this questioning rather irksome.

‘I dunno. Repossession, I suppose.’ She gave a little giggle. Marcus seized her wrist.

‘It’s not funny!’ Liz stared at him.

‘What’s all this about? What does it matter?’

‘It’s your livelihood,’ said Marcus furiously. ‘Of course it matters. Your business deserves to succeed.’ He stopped. When he spoke again, it was in a different voice. ‘Daniel got his scholarship,’ he said. His mouth twitched a few times. ‘Top scholarship to Bourne,’ he added. This time, he couldn’t help grinning.

‘Oh good,’ said Liz. ‘Listen,’ she continued, ‘when are we going to see each other properly?’

Marcus stared at her in astonishment.

‘Is that all you can say?’ he exclaimed. Liz shrugged.

‘What do you—’ She broke off. The back door had opened, and the voice of Duncan was coming unmistakably across the garden. ‘Into the garage,’ she hissed. She hurried Marcus in, closed the door and stood facing him, breathing heavily across the blackness. ‘They won’t see us if we don’t turn the lights on,’ she murmured, and tilted her face up to be kissed. But Marcus pulled her chin down irritably.

‘Don’t you care about your own business?’ he exclaimed softly. ‘You know, your husband is working wonders.’

‘I’m sure he is,’ retorted Liz. ‘Good luck to him.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, you know,’ said Liz. A drunken excitement began to grow inside her. It was all going to happen now, she thought. Marcus was going to ask her if she still loved Jonathan. She was going to say no. And he was going to ask her to marry him.

‘No, I don’t know.’

‘Us,’ said Liz shyly, and put her hand tenderly up to Marcus’s chin. He looked at her in horror, and tore it away.

‘Us?’ he exclaimed. ‘There is no us!’

‘Of course there is,’ said Liz truculently.

‘Not any more,’ said Marcus. ‘It’s over. Over!’ His voice filled the small garage with a shocking ferocity. Liz took a small step backwards.

‘What do you mean?’ she whispered.

‘You heard him.’ A small, shaking voice came from the corner. Marcus and Liz turned as one, and watched in disbelief as the tiny flame of a cigarette lighter flickered alight. Alice, curled up in the corner, all fringes and long legs, looked with huge eyes from one silent face to the other, then slowly, jerkily, lit a cigarette. She took a few deep drags to get it going properly, then slowly got up, her gaze still darting between Liz and Marcus. She came towards them, threading her way through the piles of boxes and junk, and faced Liz. For a moment she seemed about to say something. Her lips quivered frantically, and she took several drags on her cigarette. Then she seemed to think better of it. She pushed her way roughly between them, out of the garage, and slammed the door behind her. Liz stood completely still for a few minutes.

‘Christ,’ she said. ‘Oh Christ!’ Her voice rose to a wail.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Marcus in more subdued tones. He looked at Liz without particular affection. ‘We’d better go and see if we can limit the damage,’ he said drily. ‘And I suggest you stop that noise first.’

When the phone rang, pealing insistently over the sound of the music, Ginny froze. She looked frantically around for Piers. But she couldn’t see him. And Duncan had led a party into the garden. There was only her. She looked over to the telephone, and, to her horror, saw a hand reaching towards it.

‘Stop!’ she screamed. ‘I mean, I’ll get it.’ The owner of the hand, a small chap in PR whose name Ginny had quite forgotten, smiled at her apologetically.

‘I thought it might be someone wanting directions,’ he said. Ginny ignored him, and grabbed the receiver. But Piers had got there first, on the upstairs extension in their bedroom.

‘Hello?’ he was saying, in the carefully modulated tones he always used to impress.

‘Piers? Alan Tinker here.’ Ginny thrust the phone down and looked paranoically around the room to see if anyone had overheard the name. But the few odd glances she was attracting were not those of curious actors. Nobody had guessed.

She stood immobile for a few seconds, balancing lightly on the soles of her feet, thinking light-headedly that their entire fate was being decided in this one telephone call. The thought almost made her want to laugh. Then, slowly, she began to thread her way unobtrusively through the crowded room, marvelling at her own ability to smile gaily at people, blow kisses, even spontaneously compliment some dim actress girl on her jacket. At last she reached the hall. Slowly, silently, she climbed the stairs, counting the steps to herself. At the sixteenth step was Piers and the answer.

She reached the top just as he reached the door of their bedroom. One look at his face was enough. He hadn’t got it. He hadn’t got the part.

A searing pain seemed to rip her stomach in two, and she smiled brilliantly at him.

‘Well, never mind,’ she said. A pair of tears forced themselves to the surface of her eyes. ‘You didn’t want that crappy job anyway.’

‘No,’ said Piers, ‘I didn’t.’ He looked at her expressionlessly for a few seconds, then suddenly his face crumpled, and he gave a heaving, shocking sob. Ginny stared at him, aghast. ‘I did want it,’ he cried. ‘Christ, I wanted it more than you wanted it. I was scared at how much I wanted it.’ He sank to the floor. ‘They gave it to Sean. The one they asked back. I fucking knew it. The bastards.’ He thumped the ground. ‘Why did they make us wait?’ Ginny crouched down beside Piers and took him in her arms. Another pair of tears forced their way out onto her face. She couldn’t think what to say; what to think. All her thoughts, for the last three months, had been anchored in
Summer Street
. Oh God. No. It couldn’t be true. Another pain in her stomach made her double up.

‘Ginny?’ A voice made her head jerk up. Alice was standing on the stairs, looking worriedly at her, puffing furiously at a cigarette. Her face was deadly white, and her hands were trembling. ‘Ginny, something awful’s just happened.’ Ginny looked up at her. Bloody little Alice. The timing almost made her smile.

‘I was in the garage—’ Alice was saying.

‘Alice?’ Ginny interrupted brightly. ‘I don’t want to know, all right?’ She crawled over until her face was close to Alice’s. ‘I bloody well don’t want to know, do you hear?’ Her voice rose to a scream. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you can bloody well fuck off and die!’ Alice physically jumped.

‘What . . . ?’ she began in a quavering voice.

‘If you hadn’t been so fucking clumsy this morning,’ yelled Ginny; ‘if you hadn’t come round here; if you didn’t have such a fucking crush on Piers, then perhaps you wouldn’t have ruined his audition! Now just go! Go!’ And she burst, at last, into wrenching sobs.

Alice didn’t hesitate. Her heart thumping wildly, eyes darkened in shock, she scrambled as best she could down the stairs, through the front door and out into the night.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Clarissa in surprise, poking her head into the hall. ‘Is something wrong with that little girl? Should someone tell her parents?’

Liz tottered into the house with a quailing heart, and went up to Jonathan with what she hoped was a normal expression on her face.

‘I’m a bit worried about Alice,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Have you seen where she’s got to?’

‘No, I haven’t. Has she been drinking too much?’ Jonathan looked anxiously at Liz. ‘Honestly, she is a silly girl!’

‘No, that’s not it,’ faltered Liz. She looked frantically around. ‘Haven’t you seen her anywhere?’

‘Excuse me!’ A bright, blond, slightly pregnant baby-faced girl tapped Liz on the shoulder. ‘Are you the mother of the little girl in the fringes? I thought you should know, she’s just run out into the street. She looked a bit upset.’

‘I’ll go,’ muttered Liz, and started to push her way past Jonathan. But he put his arm out to stop her.

‘No, I’ll go,’ he said firmly. ‘You stay here and enjoy the party. And talk to Anthea. I don’t think you two have properly met, have you?’ Liz stared, dumbfounded, at Anthea, who smiled vivaciously at her. ‘Thank you,’ added Jonathan to Clarissa, who waved her glass merrily back. ‘I won’t be long,’ he added, and suddenly was gone.

Liz looked at Anthea. She had nothing to say to her. But Anthea was brimming over.

‘Your husband is a genius,’ she began. ‘I can’t tell you how wonderful he is. I’ve never seen anything like it. His patience, his sense of humour . . . and he’s so good at explaining things so that children understand them!’ She paused. ‘Of course, you know about our son’s scholarship?’

‘I heard,’ murmured Liz, staring at the floor. ‘Tremendous.’

‘Isn’t it? We’re absolutely thrilled. Aren’t we, darling?’ Liz looked up in surprise, and through a horrified daze, saw that Anthea was gazing up at someone. And the someone was Marcus. And he was putting his arm affectionately around Anthea’s shoulders, and bending over and kissing her as though he still loved her.

A black hatred settled in Liz’s chest, threatening to break into heaving tears at any moment. She would stay for one more minute, she told herself, then go. But go to what? To Jonathan? To Alice?

‘I’ve told all my friends about your tutorial college,’ Anthea was saying. ‘And lots have signed up. They all think it’s wonderful. When I tell them about Daniel . . .’ She paused significantly. ‘And do you do Common Entrance coaching too, Mrs Chambers?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Liz. She looked directly at Marcus’s unflinching eyes. ‘I’m not sure what I do these days.’

Jonathan found Alice running along the street, panting and wheezing and sobbing, with make-up smeared across her face, and a trail of cigarettes behind her. As he caught up with her, she was flicking her lighter frantically, swearing and crying out as the wind blew it out again and again.

‘Alice!’ he called as he caught up with her. ‘Alice! Slow down!’ Alice turned, saw her father’s face, then burst into a frenzy of sobs. ‘Come on!’ said Jonathan. He hooked an arm round her, then when she had slowed down enough, put another arm round her. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Really. Everything’s OK.’ For a few moments, Alice shuddered silently against his shirt. Then she looked up at his face, and gave an anguished cry.

‘Oh Dad! I’m so sorry!’ Her voice tailed away into a wail.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ said Jonathan calmly. ‘It was a boring party anyway.’ He grinned at Alice.

‘But you don’t understand!’ she began. She looked around her, at the dark, empty street. ‘Oh God! It’s so awful!’ A fresh stream of tears spurted from her eyes.

‘What
I
think is so awful,’ said Jonathan, regarding the thin white trail of cigarettes behind them, ‘is that you’ve been smoking for so long without telling us.’ Alice gasped.

‘How do you mean?’ she said, a note of resentment creeping shakily into her voice.

‘I thought when Genevieve went away, you might stop. But obviously not.’ Alice gaped at him.

‘Did you know? All that time?’

‘Subtlety, Alice,’ observed Jonathan, ‘is not your strongest point. The cigarette butts in the garage were a bit of a give-away.’

‘But you never said anything!’ There was a long pause.

‘Just because you know something,’ said Jonathan clearly, ‘it doesn’t mean you have to tell it to everybody. Or, indeed, anybody.’ He looked at her. ‘Do you always put your hand up in class when you think you know the answer?’ Alice shook her head mutely.

‘Exactly. Sometimes you leave it to someone else. Sometimes you’re not quite sure. Sometimes you decide the best thing is to wait, listen, and learn.’ Alice looked at him. Thoughts were buzzing around in her head.

‘Dad . . .’ she began, then stopped.

‘Yes?’ He looked at her anxiously. There was a moment’s silence. Alice pushed a hand through her hair, and forced a shaky grin onto her face.

‘Can I have a cigarette?’

Duncan went upstairs to find Ginny and Piers, and heard muffled sobbing coming from their bedroom. Oh Jesus, he thought, realizing immediately what had happened. His face sagged, and suddenly his whole body felt heavy. Although he had never confessed as much, he had hoped and wished as much as they had. For a few moments, he stood outside the door, stupidly wishing he could go in; share his disappointment; give his commiserations. At least they had each other.

Then a sound from downstairs galvanized him. The party. No one at the party must be allowed to find out. He turned briskly on his heel, ran lightly down the stairs, and picked up two open bottles of wine that stood on the hall table.

‘Who needs more booze?’ he cried. ‘Turn the music up!’

‘Duncan?’ Ginny’s friend Clarissa was tugging sweetly at his sleeve. ‘Do you know where Ginny is? We want to say goodbye.’ Duncan hesitated only for a second.

‘Well, between you and me,’ he said, grinning wickedly at her, ‘I think Ginny and Piers would rather not be disturbed just at the moment.’ He winked at Clarissa, and she gave a delighted peal of laughter.

‘Oh, all right then,’ she said. ‘Do tell them we said goodbye, won’t you?’

Liz stayed at the party until Duncan started bringing in cups of tea on trays. Then, realizing how late it was, and with only a little reluctance, she gathered together her coat, her scarf, her gloves, and went out into the freezing night air. Her resentment against Marcus; her apprehension at seeing Jonathan; her fear as to what Alice might have blurted out; all seemed to have evaporated. She walked home swiftly and evenly, thinking that what she would do when she got in was make a mug of tea and put plenty of sugar into it, and sip it, warming her hands against the sides of the mug. Beyond that, she couldn’t think.

But as she crept into the kitchen, she gave a gasp of shock. Leaning against the side, sipping from the very mug she had envisaged using, was Jonathan.