A Most Desirable Marriage (14 page)

‘You do want this, don’t you?’ he whispered. ‘Say if you don’t.’

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. But, as Travis began to drop urgent kisses on her mouth, his breath ragged, his body wired as it pressed hard against her own, she forgot that she was old, forgot that she was scared. All that existed was her need. And when finally she stood naked before him, she felt no shame at all, just an overwhelming elation, an intoxicating sexual power.

*

‘God . . .’ she heard him expel a long, slow breath as he lay on his back, naked beside her. ‘That was awesome.’

She wanted to laugh, to sing, the pleasure bubbling up inside her.

‘Wasn’t it,’ she whispered, ‘Just perfect.’ Although at first their bodies had been awkward together, bumping limbs, eager but clumsy like teenagers in a car. But their desire quickly made the mechanics irrelevant as they found in each other matching heights of sexuality and passion.

‘I thought it’d never happen,’ he said.

She rolled on to her side to look at him. His body was breathtaking: lean and muscled and golden, a tan line marking out the lower, paler part of his stomach where his swimming costume must have been over the summer. Just looking at him aroused her again, she wanted to caress every inch of his skin, but she was once again self-conscious of her own less than perfect figure, reaching for the duvet and quickly pulling it over herself. He seemed not to notice her discomfort, laying his palm against her cheek so lovingly, smiling into her face. She closed her eyes for a second, revelling in his warm touch.

‘I should probably go,’ he whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the bedside clock. ‘It’s almost twelve and we don’t want to turn into pumpkins.’ He bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips, his expression breaking into a satisfied grin. ‘Can’t trust a guy to stick around once he’s had his evil way.’ He leaped out of bed, gathering up his scattered jeans, T-shirt and boxers from the floor as he went.

She lay there after he’d gone, dizzy from their lovemaking. Compared to what had become of her sexual relations with Lawrence over the past year, it had been explosive. But you can’t compare, she cautioned herself, remembering lazier but no less sensually satisfying moments with her husband over the years.

Now her body resonated with Travis’s caresses. She felt he was still by her side as she snuggled down under the duvet and closed her eyes, the final release of her desire leaving her limbs light and insubstantial, her head giddy.

Minutes later, she heard the front door closing, her daughter’s tiptoed step on the stairs and along the corridor to the bathroom. She reached over and clicked off the bedside light, holding her breath in the dark at the close call, anxious not to have to confront her and pretend all was normal. As she did so she heard Cassie whisper outside her door, ‘Night, Mum.’

‘Night, darling,’ Jo replied.

*

‘Penny for ’em . . . you were miles away.’ Cassie took the coffee jug from the table and poured herself a cup.

Jo, clutching her own mug, came to guiltily. She’d been replaying the lovemaking as she sat at the kitchen table the next morning – she almost couldn’t believe what had happened – and wondering if this was how Lawrence felt about Arkadius. Wondering, if the boot had been on the other foot, would she have left Lawrence for Travis? But however much she yearned to gaze on his face, to touch his cheek, to make love to him right now, she knew she wouldn’t even have looked at Travis if she and Lawrence had still been together. Well, she thought, repressing a small smile, I might have looked . . .

Cassie, not waiting for an answer, sat down. ‘Matt was on the phone for hours last night. He rang at bloody two in the morning.’

She did look exhausted, her face wan, huge dark patches beneath her eyes. And she’d been crying. Jo took a deep breath and tried to banish Travis from her mind for a moment.

‘What did he say?’

‘Basically, if I choose not to come home, he’ll see it as tantamount to a decision.’

‘You mean a decision to break up?’

Her daughter nodded tiredly.

‘I suppose he has a point . . . in that you’ll probably never sort it out from here.’ Cassie didn’t look at her, just picked at a bit of candle wax on the table. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘Yeah . . . yeah.’

‘If it doesn’t work out, then at least you gave it your best shot.’ Jo didn’t know what else to say. Another discussion about her daughter’s marriage – which would inevitably be circular, with almost no chance of resolution – was quite beyond her this morning.

‘You think I should go, don’t you,’ Cassie muttered resentfully.

‘I think you should, yes.’ Jo took her daughter’s hand. ‘You’re in limbo here. It’s not good for you.’

‘I suppose I could go for a week . . . I can always leave again if he’s being ridiculous.’

‘Give it a proper go, though. Don’t just issue an ultimatum and then leg it if he doesn’t comply.’

Cassie’s eyes hardened. ‘Like I’d do that, Mum. You don’t have much faith.’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Yeah, but you never thought I should have left him in the first place. OK, so your generation just rolled over and let the man get his way, however it made you feel. But we’re not like that. We expect to be happy . . . and what’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. And I didn’t “roll over”, as you put it. Dad and I had a pretty equal relationship. I didn’t let him get away with things.’

Cassie raised her eyebrows. ‘Ha! You reckon?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well . . . just that you always did all the cooking and cleaning and shopping and gardening and maintenance and childcare and he just wandered off to his much more important work whenever it suited him.’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘You didn’t even make a fuss when he left you, Mum. You just let him go as if it was another one of the perks of being married to you. Sure, darling, if you really fancy him, you’d best get off and do what you have to do.’ Cassie’s face was set and angry.

Jo just stared at her, fighting back a sudden urge to cry in the face of her daughter’s attack.

‘I didn’t see there was anything else I could do,’ she said quietly.

‘You could have fought for him! Told him not to be such an idiot, told him that he absolutely COULD NOT leave you.’ Cassie paused. ‘Told him you loved him, Mum. He was probably just testing the waters . . . most likely he never actually meant to go. But when you just sat there and let him, without a word, he must have thought you didn’t care.’

‘You have no idea what I said to your father.’

‘Haven’t I? OK, I wasn’t there, but you said on the bus from the station, when you came to stay, that nothing had really changed for you. I mean what sort of a message is that to a man? That his presence is so irrelevant that him leaving you doesn’t affect your life in the slightest.’

Jo was stunned. ‘I never said that.’

‘You did. Honest, Mum.’

She was silent, quickly dismissing the notion that Lawrence didn’t know she cared. Of course he did. Anyway, it would be ridiculous to test her in that way. And of course she’d told him that she didn’t want him to leave . . . she must have. Then she had a thought.

‘Is this really about you and Matt? About him not saying that he needs you? OK, maybe I should have been tougher when Dad told me about Arkadius. But I don’t want to be with a man who is in love with someone else . . .’ She stopped, looked hard at her daughter. ‘You don’t think Matt’s in love with someone else, do you?’

Cassie shook her head, began to laugh. ‘Blimey, not sure how you came to that bizarre conclusion. Christ no! Unless it’s Hammy, one of the new pigs . . . he does spend a great deal of time with her.’

Jo didn’t laugh. She should be used to her daughter’s onslaughts, but they always caught you unawares.

‘This thing with you and Dad,’ Cassie was saying, ‘has made me think, obviously . . . about marriage. If you two can fall apart so quickly, after so long, it makes the whole thing seem a bit pointless. I mean, how can you trust anything in a relationship?’

Jo didn’t know how to answer. Cassie’s face was suddenly contrite.

‘Listen, I didn’t mean to badger you like that. I’m not blaming you for Dad being a prat . . . he doesn’t need help with that. I just hate to see you giving in like this. As if you didn’t care.’ She put her arms round her mother as she sat there at the table and squeezed her shoulders, dropped a kiss on her cheek.

‘You know I care,’ Jo said.

‘Course I do. I just wonder if Dad does.’

Jo sighed. ‘Well if he doesn’t, then he’s a bigger numpty than either of us takes him for.’

Cassie laughed. ‘Yeah, well.’ She turned away. ‘I
will
go back . . . just not yet. I don’t want him thinking he can click his fingers and I’ll come running. I’ll go next week.’

13 October 2013

For the next two days, Cassie barely left the house. Travis kept sidling up to Jo whenever they were momentarily alone and putting his arms around her, whispering ‘Come to bed’ in her ear, making her laugh, driving her mad with lust. Finally Cassie went off to buy a new backpack, some trainers, a pair of jeans, so as to avoid the charity shops on her return to Devon.

Minutes after she had gone, Travis was lounging against the wall, watching Jo as she loaded the washing machine and thrust a pouch of lavender liquid detergent to the back of the drum.

He grinned suggestively. ‘Cassie’s out. What say you we go upstairs and fool around for a while?’

‘Now?’ She knew she must have looked shocked.

Travis roared with laughter. ‘Never saw the rule says you have to wait for cover of darkness before you make love.’

‘You’ve obviously been very badly brought up then.’

She began to laugh with him, and soon they were giggling out of control, gasping for breath. When he eventually took her hand and led her upstairs, she was ready for anything.

*

Later, as they lay next to each other, his arm beneath her head, Jo said softly, ‘You don’t mind, that there isn’t a plan?’ Their lovemaking had begun playful, teasing, this time, not like the explosive haste of that first night, but soon became just as intense. Unlike Lawrence – and Jo found it hard not to make the comparison – Travis liked to take his time, bringing her to the brink and back, taking her body to an almost unbearable pitch of sensation where she was beyond thought, unaware of anything but his expert touch. Jo’s body still sang from it, her skin almost bruised by the unaccustomed physicality.

‘A plan for what?’

‘Us.’

‘OK . . .’

‘I’ve always had a plan before. Sort of A follows B follows C. Now there isn’t one.’

Travis turned to her and kissed her hair. ‘What sort of plan did you have in mind?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sighed. ‘I mean . . . I know there can’t be one . . . but I struggle with that . . . I want to just go with what’s happening . . . but . . .’

‘Everyone’s the same,’ he said. ‘It isn’t normal not to project into the future.’

‘So you do too.’ She looked up at him.

‘Sure I do, but I try not to. I got kinda obsessed with
The Power of Now
a while back. Studied it every night for months, going over and over it, trying to leave my ego behind, stay in the moment. Real hard, but I want to live my life like that if I can. Not forever angsting about the past or projecting into the future.’

He sounded earnest suddenly, and very young.

‘Isn’t that just an excuse for wandering through life never making any commitments?’

‘The future has a habit of sorting itself out if you don’t look it in the eye too much.’ He sounded almost detached as he spoke. ‘Way Mom raised us,’ he went on, ‘it was all about waiting for Judgement Day. Which basically meant closing your life down, never enjoying any damn thing along the way . . . just in case it was a sin.’

‘At least you die good, I suppose.’

‘Die of
trying
to be good, more like.’

She smiled. ‘No fun in that.’

Neither of them spoke.

‘I don’t have anything to offer you except now, Jo,’ Travis said softly.

And she knew he was right, knew it would have to be enough.

*

The weather had turned nasty. It was cold, with autumn gales, a lot of rain. The plants in the garden were soggy and bedraggled. But Jo liked this time of year, the drawing in after the summer, the cosiness of a fire and warm jumpers, hot stews and sleeping longer because of the late dawn.

Cassie still hadn’t gone back to Matt. There was always an excuse: the dentist; meeting a friend she hadn’t seen for ages; a bad cold. So Jo and Travis took their chances when they could: breathless, thrilling, snatched moments, made better by their unpredictability.

It was after one such moment, a Sunday morning, when Cassie had stayed over with her friend Hatty, that Jo’s phone rang. She was still lying in bed beside Travis, although it was late. It was the first time they had slept together all night and they were revelling in the fact. Jo saw her husband’s name on the phone display and groaned. Classic, she thought, that he’d pick
this
morning to ring. She didn’t take the call, just waited and listened to the voicemail. He hadn’t rung for weeks now, not even to hassle her about the house, and she wondered what he wanted.

‘Umm . . . Jo, it’s me,’ she heard. ‘Will you call me as soon as you get this message. It’s important.’

Jo sat up in bed. ‘He sounds serious. I’d better call him.’

‘Shall I go?’ Travis was already half out of bed but she pulled him back.

‘Stay. I won’t be long.’

Travis sank back against the pillows as she dialled. Lawrence answered on the first ring.

‘Jo, hi. Thanks for ringing back. Listen, I just got a call from Janet . . . your dad’s neighbour? It’s . . . not good news.’

Jo held her breath, clutching the duvet to her naked body. ‘Is he dead?’

‘No, but he’s in a bad way. A massive stroke. He’s in the Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother in Margate. Janet says they aren’t sure he’ll make it.’

‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say.

‘I’ll come with you if you like.’

‘No, no. Thanks, but I’m not going.’

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

‘Jo . . . it might be best . . . to see him.’ His voice was soft, loving in a way it hadn’t been, she realized, for a long time.

‘Why did Janet ring you and not me?’ she found herself asking, irrelevantly.

‘You remember, the last time we went . . . I gave her my number as we left?’

Jo didn’t remember, but she wasn’t surprised she hadn’t.

‘And I suppose, well, she must have thought we’d be in the same place.’

She wasn’t listening to him. Just trying to beat off memories of that horrible day.

‘Jo . . .’

‘I’ve got to go,’ she interrupted him. ‘I’ll ring Janet now. Thanks for letting me know.’

She didn’t wait to hear if he spoke again, just clicked off her phone, suddenly unable to move.

Travis was looking at her. ‘Bad news.’

‘My father. He’s had a stroke. He’s in hospital.’

‘Hey . . . sorry about that. Was he sick?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for a long time . . . four years . . . maybe longer.’

‘You fell out?’ He crawled over to her and sat next to her on the side of the bed, taking her hand.

‘You could say that.’ She felt the air restricted in her chest and tried to take long, slow breaths. ‘I’m not going,’ she said, although Travis hadn’t spoken.

‘I’ll come with you.’

She stared at him, pulling her hand away. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not going.’

‘Sure I heard. But people say things they don’t mean when they’re in shock. You should go. He’s your dad.’

‘Is this some Christian thing? You think I need to forgive him?’

Travis looked puzzled. ‘Listen, I don’t even know what went on between you guys. But I know it’ll mess with your head if you don’t see him and he goes ahead and dies.’

‘Let it.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ll drive you. We shouldn’t waste time if he’s so sick.’ He stood up and began to pull on his black jeans, his shirt, his navy sweater. Jo just sat there silently, watching him.

‘I can’t.’

Travis pulled her to her feet, hugged her close. ‘Come on.’

‘You don’t know what he said to me the last time I saw him. He hates me.’

‘Doesn’t matter. He’s dying. He’ll want you there. And once he’s gone, it’s over. You won’t get a second chance.’

So she did what Travis told her, too stunned to argue. Finding herself, what seemed like moments later, fully dressed, in the car, Travis at the wheel, the Sat Nav burbling on, directing them to the A2 and Margate.

‘You didn’t have to do this,’ she said. ‘You’ll be late for the theatre.’

‘It’s Sunday.’

‘Of course it is. I forgot.’

She left brief messages for Cassie and Nicky, only telling them that her father was ill, not possibly dying. Neither of them had seen their grandfather since they were small anyway – he’d never been interested – but she knew they would be concerned on her behalf and she didn’t want them panicking. She also spoke to Janet.

‘Had he been ill?’ she asked.

‘Oh no. He was always very spry, Mr Hamilton . . . kept busy gardening and the like, tinkering with that old car of his. He never said anything to me about feeling poorly. But then he wouldn’t have, would he? Wasn’t the sort to complain.’

True, she thought, a stoic to the last. If he’d had symptoms, he’d never have mentioned them to anyone, least of all bother the doctor.

*

Gerald Hamilton lay still, his eyes closed, a drip line leading to the back of his veined hand as it rested on the white cover. Jo was shocked at his gaunt appearance, his lack of substance. Her father had never been overweight, but he’d been big, a tall man who held himself in an almost military stance, a presence in any room. Now he lay diminished, almost childlike. She had no desire to wake him, so she sat on the blue hospital armchair beside the bed and waited, feeling suddenly foolish. Why have I come? she asked herself. This was stupid. He doesn’t need me. He never did. She tried not to feel angry all over again. Then he opened his eyes.

For a moment the gaze meeting hers was unfocused. Then she saw recognition light in his eyes.

‘Joanna?’

‘Hello, Daddy.’ She found herself taking his hand, despite herself, and he clasped it weakly in response, his hand dry and icy to the touch.

‘What are you doing here?’ The question wasn’t aggressive, just bewildered.

‘You’ve had a stroke.’

He didn’t answer.

‘You’re in the hospital.’

‘I know that.’ His voice held that old sardonic note – so familiar to her.

‘OK . . . well, that’s why I’m here.’

‘I’m dying, I suppose.’

‘They say you’re very ill.’

A small smile flitted across his dry lips and Jo saw a flash of the handsome, if cold, man who was her father. ‘You never think it’ll be you.’

‘I suppose not.’

He closed his eyes for a few minutes and Jo thought he’d gone back to sleep. When he opened them he seemed almost surprised she was still there.

‘Better say what I should have said a long time ago . . .’ he paused, taking short, shallow breaths. ‘Your mother . . .’

‘There’s no need to—’ Jo said.

‘Let me finish,’ he interrupted. His pale eyes were sharp as he held her gaze. Jo was silent, intimidated even now by this frail, dying man, in exactly the way she had been all her life. ‘Your mother . . . hurt me very badly. I still don’t know why she did . . . what she did.’ He took a few more breaths, swallowing with difficulty. ‘But it was wrong of me . . . to blame you.’ More breaths. ‘Very wrong . . . unforgivable . . . for a father.’

‘It’s all right, Daddy.’

‘It’s not . . . all right . . .’

Gerald closed his eyes again, clearly exhausted by the exchange, his face falling back into itself. After a few minutes it seemed he had dropped back to sleep, his cheek-bones stark through the papery skin. She waited until the grasp of his hand loosened, then carefully extricated her own and crept from the room. Once outside she took a huge breath, as if she hadn’t breathed at all as she sat next to her father.

Travis was waiting, sitting on a moulded plastic chair against the wall in the corridor. He jumped up when he saw her.

‘OK?’

She nodded.

‘Was he awake?’

‘For a bit,’ she said. ‘Can we get some coffee?’

They sat side by side in silence in the hospital café, two sausage rolls and two mugs of strong tea between them – the coffee had looked suspicious to their spoiled London expectations of lattes and Americanos.

‘Funny how you always want to love your parents . . . even if you don’t much like them.’

‘You never liked him?’

Jo wondered if she had. ‘I think I was always scared of him. He was cold, so disapproving. And I got the feeling
he
didn’t like
me
. But just now . . . seeing him so vulnerable . . . I don’t know . . . it felt a bit like love.’

Travis stroked her hand. ‘Must be hard.’

‘He said he was sorry. Or at least he said he was wrong to think what he thought. Daddy never did do “sorry”.’

He didn’t ask what Gerald was sorry for, but now, unwillingly, she found herself telling him, reliving that day four years ago when she and Lawrence had made their annual visit to her father.

The visit – arranged always by Jo out of a sense of duty – had gone according to plan. Gerald, as usual, paid scant attention to her, his conversation mostly focused on Lawrence. They sat in the small sitting room of his seaside flat discussing world politics, particularly China, seldom referring to her or her opinions, as if the two men were totally alone. She and Lawrence had learned not to expect anything different; they just went through the motions.

As they were getting up to go, Lawrence asked if Gerald enjoyed living by the sea. His father-in-law had suddenly made the decision the previous year to move from Gloucestershire to Ramsgate. He had not looked at Lawrence, but stared hard at her.

‘It’s fine here. I know nobody. It suits me.’

The vindictive tone of his remark had puzzled her, made her wince, but she said nothing.

‘It was all right for you, Joanna. You got out.’

‘Of Gloucestershire?’ she asked, not knowing what he was getting at. He’d lived in a village not far from the house she’d grown up in for decades and seemed perfectly content.

Then Gerald’s face – normally so shuttered and controlled – had suffused with anger. He’d moved up close to her, his arms tight to his sides.

‘How do you live with it? You killed that lad. You and your vile mother.’

Jo found she was shaking, as if he’d physically attacked her. ‘Me?’

Gerald snorted, the sound harsh and cruel. ‘Oh, Miss Innocent. Yes, you. Acting as your mother’s pimp. Seducing him, drawing the poor boy in so that
she
could have him. You thought I was a fool, that I didn’t know what you were both up to . . .’