Cuckoo (13 page)
‘Now then, it’s time to call it a day,’ she said, tucking them both in again and smoothing their duvets down. ‘There’ll be plenty more evenings for stories.’
‘I can’t sleep, Rose,’ Yannis said, his lip trembling.
‘Oh dear, Yannis, come here.’ Rose lay down on the bed next to him. She knew that Flossie would be wanting a feed soon, but she couldn’t let this poor little boy lie here in the dark on his own. She held him close and hummed and stroked his head, sure she could still smell wild oregano in his hair. In a matter of minutes, he was asleep, a tiny smile traced across his lips.
Rose got up. ‘Is it OK if I go, Nico?’ she whispered.
‘He’s asleep?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then go, Rose. I’ll be fine.’ He reached over, and rubbed her shoulder.
Like a little old man, she thought as she made her way back through the main room, past Polly’s bed.
‘Liar,’ Polly muttered from her bed.
‘What?’ Rose said, startled.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Polly mumbled, half under her breath as she turned and huddled back down under the duvet. Then she sighed and softly started to snore.
Eleven
The next morning there was a deep frost. Pale gold sunlight was just beginning to soften the crunch underfoot as Rose, Flossie, Simon and Trooper crossed the field towards The Lodge on the way back from the school run.
‘So, I hear she caused quite a stir yesterday,’ Simon said, swinging the lunchbox he had forgotten to leave with Liam.
‘What?’ Rose said, following a swift as it swept across the sky. Surely it was too early for swifts?
‘Ms Novak. She was all the gossip at the school gate.’
‘Oh, yes. Well, it makes a change from you, I suppose,’ she said, arching an eyebrow.
More often than not, Simon was the only father on the school run. What with that, and his being tall, blond and not in bad nick for a dad, most of the other mothers had their eye on him for one reason or another. He had a reputation for being a bit of a flirt, but Rose put it down to him being an open and friendly sort whose good nature was misinterpreted by the claustrophobic school community of mothers who had very little else to turn their minds – or eyes – to.
For example, the fact that Simon and Rose often left the school gates together had not gone unnoticed, nor that he had regularly been seen going into her house. Rose thought the whole thing with the gossip was ridiculous. The Lodge was on the way home for him, and he had often admitted that he was all about procrastination in his morning writing schedule. It quite annoyed her sometimes, the meaningful looks directed at her outside the school. Some of those people had very small lives.
Trooper bounded up with a drool-soaked stick and Simon threw it again for him. It arced up through the air, landing at the far side of the field.
‘I haven’t seen her since yesterday, when we met up with Janet,’ Rose said.
‘So you had the boys all evening?’
‘Oh, I don’t mind that. They’re rather charming in their way. I’m getting quite fond of them. In fact, I’m thinking that it might be more practical at the moment if I move them down to the main house – at least until Polly’s well enough to pull her weight.’
‘From what I heard, she looked quite well enough,’ Simon laughed.
‘It’s all a front. She knows how to pull off a performance,’ Rose said.
They reached the entrance to Rose’s garden.
‘Got time for a spot of coffee?’ Simon asked.
‘Oh, go on, then,’ she said, holding the gate open for him.
Rose was glad Simon was coming in. He brought something of the outside world to the house – he was always going up to London for meetings with agents, editors and journalists – people who wanted his work and his wisdom. She enjoyed his talk of Soho House and the Groucho. It made her nostalgic for a life she supposed she had left behind when she moved out of London. In reality, she had rarely ventured further west than London Bridge when she lived in Hackney. But the fact that Simon managed all that urban, cultural life while still living out in the sticks reminded her of the possibilities of this place she and Gareth had chosen as their home. When Flossie got to school age, who knew what Rose might manage for herself?
Rose was surprised to see Polly in the kitchen, sitting in the armchair, with Manky the cat in her lap and a mug of coffee in her hand. She was wearing a different nightdress from the day before, but this one was just as revealing – an ankle-length skin-tight red tee with a low, curved neckline that barely contained the skinny little nipples that jutted from her chest. Her eyes were ringed and smudged with a mixture of sleep and yesterday’s make-up.
Rose looked at Simon, who reddened. He was one of those fair-skinned people who are quick to blush. ‘Polly, Simon. Simon, Polly.’ While she was glad to see Polly up, she was a little irritated that her morning coffee with Simon was being gatecrashed.
Polly lifted her free hand from the cat and held it out. Simon, rather surprisingly, bent and kissed it. Once again, Polly was having regality bestowed upon her. Rose moved over to the other side of the room, unwound Flossie from the sling and lay her in her morning sun spot on her lambskin.
‘I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with Manky,’ she said to Polly.
‘What?’ Polly said.
‘Manky. Surely you remember Manky? He was yours first of all.’
‘The cat? My God, I never even thought – how old is he?’
‘About thirteen now. Getting on a bit. Christos got him for you, remember? When you came out of hospital. Poor old Manky. I’ve got to take him to the vet later on – he’s got something wrong with his teeth.’
Polly looked down at the cat who, having just spied Trooper, leaped off her lap, digging his claws into her legs.
‘Oh my God,’ Polly said in a small voice.
‘And I took him on when you went to Greece, remember?’
‘Yes.’ Polly buried her face in her hands. They all stood there for a couple of beats, Simon turning redder by the second.
‘I’m sorry,’ Polly said suddenly, putting her hands down onto her thighs, shrugging her shoulders and smiling up at them both. Then she got up. ‘Look at the state of me,’ she said, holding her hands up like Shirley Bassey. ‘I wasn’t expecting company. Anyone want coffee?’ And she moved to the coffee machine.
‘Yes, please,’ Simon said.
‘I’ll get myself some tea, thanks, Polly. Sit down, Simon,’ Rose said, busying herself with the kettle. ‘Would you like a brownie?’
‘Yes, please, Rose.’ Simon made himself comfortable at the kitchen table. ‘I’m a great fan, Polly,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ she said, sliding the coffee-holder into the machine.
‘You were the soundtrack of my twenties,’ he told her.
‘I’ve got some new stuff I’ve been writing. Perhaps I’ll play it for you, give you the first performance,’ she said.
‘I’d be honoured,’ he said, his eyes on her.
‘Simon’s kids are in the same class as Yannis,’ Rose said, putting a brownie in front of Simon. ‘He’s a writer. He’s married to Miranda, who’s a glamorous, big-shot barrister.’
‘I don’t think she’d describe herself like that,’ Simon blustered.
‘What do you write, Simon?’ Polly asked, putting a cup of coffee down in front of him, then sitting herself opposite.
‘Novels, mostly. And the odd bit of journalism from time to time.’
‘He’s being modest,’ Rose said. ‘Simon’s a top crime writer.’
‘Not really, I—’ he protested.
‘I’d love to read your books,’ Polly said, leaning forward so that her breasts squashed together into something approximating a cleavage.
‘I’ll drop one by,’ Simon said.
‘You could form a mutual appreciation society,’ Rose said, tucking into a brownie that she hadn’t meant to eat. ‘How is the marvellous Miranda?’ she asked Simon, swallowing. ‘I haven’t seen her for ages. We must have you both round for dinner soon.’
‘She’s great. On a long case right now, up in London during the week. It’s some complicated corporate fraud case. Frightfully dull, but she seems to find it all fascinating.’
‘She’s so lucky she’s got you,’ said Rose. ‘To hold the fort, I mean.’
It was just then that Gareth came into the kitchen. He’d been in his studio since dawn – his best time, he always said. Things were beginning to go well. As usual, Rose didn’t know the details, but he had said that he was starting on a series of drawings, or diagrams as he called them, that took the colours and shapes of the fields around them as a starting-point.
The night before, he and Rose had made love – the second night in a row, which was unusual – and afterwards he had said that he thought that, even given the arrival of Polly and the boys, their big life experiment was going better than planned. Rose had held him close.
‘Hi, Simon, how’s it going?’ Gareth went over to Rose and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m dying for a coffee.’
‘You sit down. Let me get it.’ She jumped up.
‘Now who’s the lucky one?’ Simon winked at Rose.
‘I’d better go back to my Annexe and have a shower,’ Polly said, stretching her arms up above her head, more like a cat than Manky had ever managed.
‘I’ll walk up the path with you,’ Simon said, getting up to join her. ‘Bye, Rose, Gareth. Ta for the coffee and brownie. Delicious!’
‘Oh. OK. Bye, then,’ Rose said, Gareth’s coffee cup in hand.
‘That was a bit brief,’ Gareth said after they had gone out of the front door.
They watched through the kitchen window as Simon and Polly dawdled up through Rose’s herb garden. Polly stopped and picked a head off a lavender bush – Rose had left them on for the winter – rubbing it between her palms. She held her hand up to Simon’s face and he breathed in the scent.
‘The little minx,’ Gareth muttered.
Rose sat down next to him, looking out of the window. ‘He’s a big boy,’ she said. ‘He can take care of himself.’
‘I wonder,’ said Gareth. ‘Simon’s not famous for his discretion.’
‘Oh, that’s all just bollocks gossip,’ Rose said. ‘I hate all that.’
‘Easy, tiger,’ Gareth said, stroking her back.
They sat in silence, sipping their coffee, looking at the sparkle on the garden as, framed by the stone-edged window, it warmed in the sunshine.
‘Rose?’
She felt Gareth’s hand as he moved it gently to her shoulder, and turned to face him.
‘Yes?’
‘I love you so much,’ he said.
And they kissed, in the sharp sunlight.
Twelve
Gareth finished his coffee and went back to the studio, leaving Rose and Flossie alone in the kitchen, which seemed, for a second, a little too empty. She switched on the radio and set about clearing up the breakfast and coffee things to a discussion on
Woman’s Hour
about whether it was possible for modern women to have it all.
Woman’s Hour
about whether it was possible for modern women to have it all.
The cat came and rubbed himself against her legs.
‘Oh Manky,’ she said. ‘She didn’t even recognise you, did she? How shocking for you.’
Later, she took Flossie to Tesco to get toothbrushes, pyjamas, fleeces and wellies for the boys. She also bought a stack of boy-type magazines, a football net and football and some giant water-blaster gun things.
Before unloading the car, Rose knocked on the Annexe door to see if Polly was about. There was no reply. She went down to the house to look for her, but she wasn’t there either. Rose was a bit put out, because she had wanted to ask Polly before she moved the boys. But, she thought, it was a favour she was actually doing for them all, so she just went ahead and sorted out the spare bedroom anyway. She made up the beds, cleared out a set of shelves and swapped a couple of Gareth’s more cerebral paintings with two of Christos’s colour bursts.
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