Missing You (34 page)

fifty

Fen takes Connor to pick blackberries from the bramble bushes at the lower, untidier end of the alleyway that runs downhill at the back of their garden. Connor has a red plastic colander and is wearing rubber gloves to protect his hands from the thorns and the little autumnal spider webs. Fen holds him up so he can reach the best fruit, and when they walk back up the hill, trailing spilled berries, she sees that his cheeks are smeared purple.

‘Connor Weller, did you, by any chance, eat any blackberries even though I said we ought to wash them first?’ she asks, pulling the sleeves of her jumper down around her fingers.

‘No.’

‘Are you
sure
about that?’

Connor narrows his eyes, passes her the colander, turns his back to her and wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Fen laughs.

‘What?’ asks Connor.

‘Just you,’ Fen says. ‘Just you’re the best five-year-old in the whole wide universe.’

‘Mum, I’m
six
! You know I’m six now. You’re just being
stupid.
’

He leans down to pull up a sock which has worked its way into the toe of his blue Wellington. Fen opens the gate to their garden and he runs on ahead awkwardly in his boots. She goes up the steps and through the open kitchen door, then puts the colander in the sink and runs the cold tap over the fruit, which is over-ripe and leaking juice, sticky with insect residue and sugar. Then she hears the knocking at the front door.

She can’t help her heart racing; she can’t help hoping every time somebody comes to the door that it’s going to be Sean. Today is Sunday and who else would call on a Sunday? She checks her reflection quickly in the small mirror and hitches up her jeans, and then she goes to the door.

On the step is a dark-haired, slightly overweight woman wearing a duffel coat and a scarf, and behind her is a tall, thin young man with his hands in the pockets of his Green Day hoodie and hair all over his face.

‘Hi,’ says the woman. ‘I’m Lola and this is Boo. I know it’s rude to turn up unannounced but I’ve been calling Sean all day and he hasn’t picked up his phone, so we thought we’d surprise him. Is he in? My degenerate brother?’

Fen makes tea and Lola props herself up against the kitchen counter while Fen explains what’s been going on. In the living room, Boo and Connor watch
Top Gear
and Boo explains the various automotive technical terms to Connor, who is sitting on the arm of his chair, bombarding him with questions.

Fen passes Lola a mug. Lola takes it and blows air up across her face so that her fringe lifts and then falls again.

‘Bloody hell,’ she says, ‘it’s all a bit of a mess, isn’t it?’

Fen nods.

‘So you haven’t spoken to him?’ asks Lola. ‘You don’t know how things are over there between him and Belle?’

Fen shakes her head.

‘He used to call all the time,’ she says, ‘only I couldn’t bear to speak to him . . .’

Lola puts down her tea, steps across the kitchen and takes Fen in her arms. Her gentle, sweet-scented kindness is so comforting, it’s such a relief, that Fen almost faints with gratitude.

‘You smell nice,’ she says.

‘Knock-off Chanel,’ says Lola. ‘Subliminally it makes people think I look like Nicole Kidman.’

Fen sniffs and laughs. Lola fishes a tissue from up her sleeve and passes it to Fen.

‘No wonder he hasn’t been in touch with us,’ says Lola. ‘Poor bastard. He really likes you, you know. He never stopped talking about you. We were all hoping things would work out.’

‘So was I.’

‘What we need to do,’ says Lola, ‘is think about this situation logically. Sean probably didn’t tell you, but I’m training to be a counsellor, so I know a bit about relationships, and if Belle wasn’t happy with Sean before all this, and frankly I
do
have some sympathy with her, he can be the most irritating sod and
I
certainly couldn’t live with him, but if she wasn’t happy before, well, why should things be any different now?’

Fen nods in agreement.

‘He’s trying to do the best for Amy,’ she says. ‘I think they both are. She was . . . damaged by everything that happened. Sean and Belle want to give her some stability.’

‘Hmmm. I’m not sure the words “Belle” and “stability” belong in the same sentence. Listen, nobody, least of all Boo, knows that I smoke, but I’m dying for a fag,’ says Lola. ‘Can we go into the garden and you can tell me absolutely everything. Maybe we can think of a plan.’

‘Thank you,’ says Fen. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘There’s an element of self-interest. I need a decent case study for my coursework.’

Fen smiles.

‘Don’t worry, ’ says Lola. ‘I’ll protect your privacy. I won’t refer to any of you by name.’

fifty-one

Sean’s in his office playing Battleships on his computer when Lina’s number lights up on the internal phone. He picks up the handset and holds it between his head and shoulder.

‘What?’ he asks. He’s playing expert level and is on course to beat his best-ever time. Concentrating on not blowing himself up is one of the few, sure-fire ways he’s found to take his mind entirely away from its worries.

‘“Thank you for contacting me, Lina,”’ the voice at the other end replies in a heavily sarcastic voice. ‘“You obviously have some important and pertinent information to share with me so I will, in future, answer the phone in a polite and respectful tone of voice.”’

Sean ignores this, clicks on a square and explodes the screen. ‘Shit,’ he says.

‘Just because your life is shit doesn’t mean you have to bring everyone else down too,’ says the voice at the other end.

‘Lola? Lo, is that you? You’re here? In the office? Are you stalking me?’

‘Well, what was I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls and you didn’t tell me you were living back in Swindon. Can I come up, or are you going to take me out to lunch somewhere nice where all your colleagues won’t be able to hear us discussing your embarrassingly dysfunctional private life?’

‘Lo, Christ, yes, of course we’ll go out for lunch. Blimey,’ says Sean, running his fingers through his hair and wondering how much Lola knows, and how he will explain everything to her.

They buy sandwiches and sit on a bench outside the Abbey. Most of the tourists have gone, and the pigeons peck and strut. Sean sees the city through Lola’s eyes and realizes how extraordinarily beautiful it is. He thinks of Fen. The Gildas Bookshop is only a few hundred yards away. He wonders what she’s doing, what she’s having for lunch.

But there’s not much time for thinking of Fen, because Lola demands his attention.

She asks Sean about himself and about Belle and Amy and he opens up, he tells her everything. He feels slightly ashamed of himself, regurgitating all these private facts and feelings, but he is so stuck in the situation he can’t help himself. It all pours out in a verbal torrent, and once the words are out he feels empty and unburdened.

He looks sideways at Lola, who is patting her lips with a paper napkin and appears completely unfazed by what he has told her.

‘Were you even listening?’ he asks.

‘Of course I was. Trust me, I’ve heard far, far more complicated than that in our role-play situations at college.’

‘It gets more complicated than that?’

Lola raises her eyebrows and tucks in her chin, pulling a knowing face. ‘You couldn’t make some of it up.’

‘Really?’

She holds up a hand. ‘No, don’t ask me. I’m bound by the ethics of confidentiality.’

But she’s dying to tell him.

Sean torments her with silence for a moment and then he asks: ‘So what would a relationship counsellor advise in my situation?’

‘A counsellor wouldn’t advise anything. They’re supposed to listen and help people come to their own decisions. They’re never supposed to interfere.’

‘So you can’t help me?’

‘In my professional capacity, no. But as your sister . . .’

Sean tries not to smile.

‘As my bloody brilliant sister, what do you think?’ he asks. ‘I can’t see any way out of this mess.’

‘There’s always a way,’ says Lola.

fifty-two

For three days he thinks about what Lola told him. On the fourth day he gets up early and takes a cup of tea to Belle, and he sits on the bed beside her, takes her hand and says: ‘Belle, we’re going about this the wrong way.’

He says: ‘You’re like a square peg in a round hole. And so am I. The way we are, the way we’re living, it’s not good for any of us, least of all Amy. You need to find out what it is
you
want, what you really want, and once you’ve done that we must find a way to make sure you get it.’

Belle looks up at him, childlike. He feels a surge of both pity and frustration.

He tries to remember what Lola said, how she said to phrase the words so they wouldn’t sound critical, aggressive or demanding.

He says: ‘You said you’ve never been happy here, in this house. Well, that’s nearly all our married life, Belle. That’s a lot of time for somebody to be unhappy.’

‘I know.’

He rubs his chin.

‘Maybe your affair with Lewis was a way for you to try to escape this unhappiness. And when that didn’t work, instead of trying something else, we’ve gone back to how it was before. That’s all we’ve ever known, you and I, and it doesn’t feel right to me any more, and I think maybe you feel you’re back in the same old cage.’

Belle leans forward, her eyes wide.

‘That’s exactly how I feel!’ she says, and Sean says a quiet, internal ‘thank you’ to his sister. ‘Sean, you understand! At last you’re beginning to understand me! I do feel like I’m trapped. I thought being a wife and a mother and living in a nice house in a nice place was what I was supposed to want, but it’s not. It makes me feel like I’m being buried alive.’

Sean nods. ‘I know,’ he says.

And it’s true. He does. For the first time ever, he appreciates how it feels to be Belle and he is sympathetic.

‘So what is it you do want to do with your life, Belle?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Then let’s find somebody you can talk to, somebody who can help you work it out.’

‘I’d like that.’

‘I’ll help you,’ says Sean. ‘I’ll be there for you. But when we’ve worked out what’s right for you and what’s best for Amy, then I’m going to do what’s right for me.’

fifty-three

Fen used to think she was different from other people. Now she knows she is exactly the same as everyone else, and knowing that is a relief, it makes her feel less lonely.

She knows that most people go through life doing the best they can with what they have, and that sometimes good people do bad things when they are desperate and desperate things when they’re trying to protect the people they love. Other people are sometimes hurt along the way. All you can do is do your best.

She has made a resolution. From now on, she’ll stop thinking so much and get on with her life. She is going to do the best she can for Connor.

She will be a better mother. She’ll take him out more, she’ll make friends with the other parents at the school and talk to people in the park, invite the neighbours round.

And she’ll put more effort into her work. She has already suggested to Vincent that they start a reading group affiliated to the shop. It will mean him having to make shelf space to accommodate some more modern novels, but he was not averse to the idea. He told Fen that she would have to be Person In Charge of the reading group and Fen agreed. She taped a notice in the shop window and already more than a dozen people have signed up. It means twelve book sales for Vincent and a new group of friends for Fen. It’s probably the first time she’s ever taken the initiative at work and Vincent is pleased. Lately, he’s started hinting that he wants to spend more time with his family. He’s considering semi-retirement. He’d like Fen to take over the reins, he said. Before, Fen would not have considered herself capable. Now she thinks she might, with his support, be able to run the shop by herself.

For a while she drank out of
The End of the Affair
mug, but Vincent accidentally-on-purpose knocked it off the counter and broke the handle. She put it on the shelf, meaning to bring in some glue, but she hasn’t bothered to repair it. These days Fen drinks her coffee from
Brave New World
.

In her bed, warm beneath the forget-me-not duvet, Fen yawns. She rubs her eyes.

The first thing she needs to sort out is her finances. She is broke, at the far end of her overdraft. She misses Sean’s rent money. That was what made the difference to her between scraping by and living reasonably comfortably.

There’s an easy way to improve the situation.

She will clean out Sean’s room. It’s been more than a month since his sister came by and she hasn’t heard anything from either of them since. His music system, his CDs, an assortment of clothes and other bits and pieces are still in there. She won’t give them away; she’ll put them somewhere safe. And she’ll turn the mattress and buy some new bedding, then she’ll write a new postcard and somebody else will come to live in Lilyvale and a new chapter of her life will begin.

She won’t look back.

She’s trying not to look back. If she keeps herself busy, if she finds other things to fill her mind, then she can manage without Sean. One day, she hopes, she’ll wake up and she’ll no longer miss him.

She reaches out and checks the clock on her phone. She has time for a cup of tea downstairs, on her own, before she wakes Connor. She gets out of bed and puts her cream-coloured dressing gown over Sean’s green T-shirt and she pads barefoot downstairs, shivering a little. The central heating has warmed the air, but the vinyl that covers the kitchen floor still holds the night’s chill.

She fills the kettle and plugs it in, setting it to boil. She takes a mug from the hook and pours in half an inch of cold milk from the bottle in the fridge. While she waits for the kettle to boil, she steps over to the window and gazes out.