Love and Devotion (46 page)

The last time she’d been to the theatre was to take the children to a Christmas pantomine. But now that she was getting the hang of the form, she said, ‘Come to think of it, I’ve always enjoyed live theatre.’

‘Excellent.’ Another tick was added. ‘Music?’

‘I couldn’t be without it.’ Well, she did have Radio Two permanently switched on.

‘Excellent. Now that really has pepped things up nicely.’ The woman turned the page of the application form. ‘Any health problems you feel you ought to share with us? Any
mental
health problems?’ she added with emphasis.

This particular question had given Eileen some cause for concern. Dora had told her to fudge it, to keep things simple. ‘No mental problems,’ she answered truthfully, ‘but I do get very tired. For some years now I’ve — ’

The woman shrugged and gave a light, tinkly laugh. ‘Tired! Oh, tell me about it. I’m constantly frazzled down to my last energy reserves.’ She put a cross in the box and turned another page. ‘Ah, it says here that you’re separated. May I ask what timespan we’re talking?’

Without batting an eyelid, Eileen said, ‘My husband and I have been separated for some time.’ She had no trouble with her conscience over this; after all she and Bob had been living separate lives for months now. Maybe even longer. It was just dawning on Eileen that Felicity’s tragic death had revealed the stultifying emptiness of their marriage. ‘Does it matter that I’m not actually divorced?’ she asked.

‘So long as you’re honest with the gentlemen on our books and you explain your situation, we don’t mind. We’re not here to judge.’

‘But what about the gentlemen? Supposing they’re not honest? Supposing they’re happily married and playing away from home?’

‘If they were really happily married, they wouldn’t feel the need to be playing away, would they?’ The woman gave another burst of tinkly laughter and said, ‘We can only do our best. If people are intent on lying to us, what can we do? If you’re at all unsure, I suggest you take the application form home with you and read the disclaimer notes on the back of it.’

Eileen looked at Dora anxiously.

‘There’s always a risk involved, Eileen,’ her friend said. ‘You could meet the most perfectly charming man through a friend of a friend and still discover he’s a lying, cheating good-for-nothing.’

Or you could be married to him, Eileen thought unhappily. She took out a pen from her handbag and said, ‘Where do I sign?’

 

The last time Harriet had attended a parents’ evening she had been in the lower sixth. She’d had to listen to her form teacher telling her parents that he thought Harriet would get more out of school if she was prepared to put more into it. ‘School isn’t just about academic success,’ he’d told them, ‘it’s about joining in and helping to foster a sense of community.’ The day she and Felicity had received their A-level results, Harriet had mentally told Mr Forbes to go screw himself. With A grades in maths, advanced maths, physics and a B in chemistry - that B had always niggled - she was all set for Durham, where she had no intention of being bullied into anything she didn’t want to do.

That was the summer she’d ended up in hospital. It was the night she and Felicity had wanted to go on a midnight picnic and listen to the nightingales singing. Their parents, not liking the idea of two young girls wandering the fields in the middle of the night on their own, had said they could only go if Dominic and Miles went with them. The night was warm and oppressively muggy, and knowing that she had to be careful, Harriet had double-checked her pocket for her inhaler before they set off. The minute Maple Drive was behind them, Dominic produced a bottle of vodka and proceeded to pass it round. By the time they’d scrabbled through the brambles and made it to the nightingale field, they were all pretty drunk. Harriet was so drunk it was some time before she realised that she was having a full-blown asthma attack, and when she couldn’t find her inhaler - it must have dropped out of her pocket on the towpath - Dominic had staggered over and told her not to worry. ‘I know what to do,’ he’d claimed. ‘I’ll give you the kiss of life.’ It showed the measure of how drunk and desperately ill she was that she believed it might work. But instead of kissing her, he’d been sick on her. Miles, probably the least drunk of them, had somehow got her home safely. She was so near to collapsing that he’d had to carry her for the last hundred yards. Her mother had taken one look at her and called an ambulance. Meanwhile, her father had gone in search of Felicity and Dominic. She spent two days in hospital, followed by another two in bed at home. All of them, except for Dominic, who was beyond his parents’ control now, were grounded for the rest of the summer.

 

Sitting in front of Carrie’s form teacher, Harriet had a horrible sense of déjà vu. Carrie, she was being told, was going to have to make a bigger effort to join in more. ‘Carrie’s a bright girl and we’d love to see her really blossom,’ Mrs Kennedy explained. ‘But she has to understand that school isn’t simply about sitting in front of the blackboard or reading books all day.’

‘Is that the latest government thinking on education?’

Ignoring the question, the woman ploughed on warily. ‘I’ll give you an example of what I mean. I’d planned a nature trail round the school field, giving the children the chance to learn about the variety of trees right here on their doorstep. We were going to collect leaves and bring them back to the classroom to make a collage. But Carrie said she’d already done that at home and couldn’t she stay behind and read a book.’

Atta girl! thought Harriet proudly. ‘And you have a problem with that? I’d say her request was utterly logical and shows a level of maturity a lot of other children could learn from. What book was she so keen to read?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I asked what book was she so keen to lose herself in.’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You didn’t think to ask?’

‘The point I was trying to — ’

But Harriet had stopped listening. What did any of it matter? Carrie was the person she was, and no amount of squeezing round pegs into square holes was going to change the poor girl. Whether this school or any other school approved of it, Carrie was destined to be an independent thinker who would never truly conform, and Harriet would be damned if she’d sit back and let anyone try knocking it out of her.

When the teacher had finished talking, Harriet said, ‘So, what you’re saying is that Carrie has consistently come top in every subject, but you’d like more from her if she’s to become a model pupil?’ She stood up and held out her hand. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Kennedy, it’s been most enlightening.’

If only, she thought angrily, as she walked away. Seeing the headmistress coming towards her with a group of parents in tow, Harriet let out a sigh of irritation. What now?

‘Miss Swift, let me introduce some of the other parents from Carrie’s class. Rebecca’s parents, Mr and Mrs Simpson, and Emily’s mother and father, Mr and Mrs Woodward.’

After a round of handshaking, the headmistress excused herself and drifted away. One of the women, Harriet couldn’t remember who it was, said, ‘We keep hearing from Rebecca how clever Carrie is. We just wish Rebecca would show more interest in her school work.’

‘Yes,’ agreed the other mother, ‘Emily’s the same. All she wants to do is watch DVDs, or mess about with her Game Boy or her PlayStation.’

Harriet didn’t know what to say. She’d never played this game before. What were the rules? Did one agree with them and say that yes, actually, my niece is brighter than your children, or did one deny all knowledge of ever seeing the child go near a book? She was saved from answering by Emily’s mother saying, ‘Perhaps we could get the three girls together sometime.’

‘That would be lovely,’ Harriet said quickly, keen to scotch any more attempts at polite chit-chat. The whole thing was too tedious for words. ‘I’ll let Carrie know.’

She had started to inch away from them when one of the fathers said, ‘We were thinking of going for a drink when we’re finished here. You’re more than welcome to join us.’ He turned to the others, as though checking this was okay with them. They all nodded and smiled.

Oh, my God, she thought. They’re serious. They really want me to be in their gang. Her heart sank. Was this it, then? Being Carrie and Joel’s guardian meant that she had a part to play herself when it came to oiling the wheels of their social lives? In fact, there was probably an inbuilt expectation that their combined social lives would fully interact. The thought appalled her. Would she have any time for herself? And was this what had driven Felicity to despair and her affair with Miles - the scary realisation that parenthood swallows you up whole?

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, tightening the scarf around her neck, ‘but I have to get going. I promised I’d be home in time to read to Carrie and Joel before they went to sleep.’

She hurried away, not daring to look back for fear of catching a look of pure hatred in their eyes — there she goes, the perfect parent putting us to shame.

Little did they know that the real reason she wanted to get home, other than to read to the children, was to have a long soak in the bath before seeing Will.

When she’d called him at lunchtime, common sense had very nearly asserted itself and she’d been all set to stand firm and tell him the night before had been a one-off. But the sound of his voice had dredged up the insatiable monster within and her body had ached for his touch. Before she knew what she was doing, she was arranging to see him that night.

 

Will had just finished changing the sheets on the bed when he heard the doorbell. Giving the room a final once over, he stuffed the dirty bedlinen into the wardrobe and hurried downstairs. His mouth was dry at the prospect of another night with Harriet. He’d spent the best part of the day anticipating her arrival, fantasising that she might turn up on his doorstep in nothing but an overcoat. Oh, and her beret, of course. He’d confided in Marty at the pub about Harriet, and his friend had looked at him enviously.

‘Bloody hell, Will! How do you do it? All I get is a doctor in rubber gloves fondling me while you get a nubile thirty-two-year-old. Life just isn’t fair.’ The only news Marty had following his appointment with the consultant was that he was now lined up for some tests. It was progress, if nothing else.

Pausing briefly to check his appearance in the hall mirror - careful to ignore the middle-aged bloke who stared back at him - Will pulled open the front door with a flourish, then dropped his arms in disappointment when he saw it wasn’t Harriet standing on the doorstep. It was Gemma and Suzie.

‘Hi Dad,’ they said in tuneful synchronisation. ‘We thought we’d surprise you.’

‘You have. Believe me.’ He looked over the top of their heads, across the road to number twenty. Thank goodness there was no sign of Harriet yet.

‘What’s wrong, Dad? Aren’t you going to let us in?’

‘Yeah, get a move on; it’s freezing out here.’

He ushered them in. ‘What’s brought this on?’ he said, taking them through to the sitting room. Too late he realised it was set for an evening of seduction - a bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table, a few strategically placed candles and just the one lamp glowing softly in the corner.

 

Gemma took one look at the room and said, ‘Dad! What are you
like
!
’
She then howled with laughter.

‘Had we better go?’ asked Suzie with a smile. At least one of his daughters was sensitive to his predicament.

‘Had we funky-monkey!’ roared Gemma. ‘I want to see who she is. Anyone we know, Dad?’

‘I doubt it. She’s just a friend.’

Glancing meaningfully round the room, Gemma said, ‘Yeah, right.’

The ring at the doorbell could not have been better timed. Marty’s wished this on me, thought Will, as he went out to the hall. Either that or I’m dreaming I’m in a bedroom farce and any minute my trousers will fall down. With a further bolt of horror, he remembered his fantasy of Harriet turning up in nothing but a coat and beret. It would be just his luck ...

He opened the door cautiously: it was Harriet, fully dressed. He explained the situation. ‘Just say hello to them and then they’ll be on their way.’

‘I could come back later, if you want.’ She was already edging away.

‘No!’ he said, extending a hand and pulling her inside. ‘You might change your mind and not come back.’ He kissed her briefly. ‘God, Harriet, you look and smell gorgeous. What have you done to yourself? You’re positively glowing.’

‘I’ve just had a long hot bath.’

He groaned. ‘Naked?’

‘I generally am when I take a bath.’

‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’

There was no mistaking the look of surprise on his daughter’s faces when he introduced Harriet to them. Within minutes their curiosity was satisfied and they were saying their goodbyes. ‘Sorry about that, girls,’ he said sheepishly as he showed them out.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll ring next time,’ Suzie said.

He kissed them both goodbye and the last comment he heard was from Gemma as she got in Suzie’s car. ‘I can’t wait to tell Mum about this one. How old do you reckon?’

He returned to the sitting room, where Harriet was standing in front of the fire with her back to him. She was still wearing her jacket - the well-worn baseball jacket he’d seen so many times - and observing her from behind, she looked no older than his daughters. He suddenly felt unsure about what he was doing. Don’t do this, his head told him. She’s too young. But then she turned round and looked at him with her pale, inscrutable blue-grey eyes and he was lost. He went to her and kissed her tenderly, his mouth just grazing her parted lips, his tongue flickering against hers. Her breathing changed in an instant and her hands began loosening his shirt. ‘Not so fast,’ he said, tilting her head back and kissing her neck, ‘let’s take it slowly tonight.’ He removed her jacket, dropped it to the floor and taking her by the hand, he led her upstairs.