Mothers & Daughters (38 page)

‘If you really want to know, I was given the boot for helping produce a satirical magazine mocking the staff and governors.'

‘Blimey. Like
Oz
?'

‘Not like
Oz
at all. Nothing terribly bad, actually, but containing opinions which deviated somewhat from the official school line. Rude rather than libellous. The print quality was so poor I'm amazed anyone could decipher it. You know what it's like when you photocopy a photocopy of a photograph, especially when you've added a pair of horns.'

‘Sounds fun.'

‘It was a total rubbish. We thought we were being edgy, when in fact we were just being boorish. But I was already in trouble for smuggling out percussion instruments for our band to borrow.'

‘Tambourine up the jumper?'

‘Castanets down the trousers, something like that.'

‘I didn't know you were in a band.'

‘Yes, and we were pretty bloody awful at that, too. Six English grammar-school boys pretending to be Aphrodite's Child. We'd never have stood an actual gig. Anyway, the upshot was, I was suspended for three days and permanently demoted. I had to behave after that or I'd have been expelled. Even my father wouldn't have been able to save me.'

‘I was always too scared to be naughty at school,' I said. ‘Too scared and too unimaginative. Mrs Blind Obedience, I was.'

David clicked his tongue. ‘There you go again, doing yourself down.'

‘And what have you just been doing? The band was “awful”, the magazine was “indecipherable”.'

‘Yes, but I was stating the truth.'

‘So was I.'

We frowned at each other across the table.

‘I still say you've a tendency to rubbish yourself unnecessarily. It's like a reflex response. You can't help yourself.'

‘Do you charge by the hour?'

‘I only meant, you're better than you think you are. There. Will that do? One day, perhaps, I'll learn to master the art of giving a straight compliment, and you'll master the art of accepting one.'

‘Quits.'

‘You're looking very nice this evening, Carol.'

‘Thank you.'

I smiled into my stew, and fought down the urge to tell him my blouse had come from the Scope shop. Let him admire uninterrupted.

Evening wore on, the sky darkened. When we were both straining to see our plates in front of us, he got up and drew the blinds and switched on the lights. The gloom had been friendly, the brightness felt like an intrusion. ‘Shall I leave the hall light on, and these ones off?' he asked.

I nodded. ‘Though I should warn you, there's a risk I'll go to sleep.'

‘I'll try and be more stimulating company for you.'

‘It's the wine,' I said, ‘not you. Anyway, you should take it as a compliment. You put me at my ease.'

‘Likewise.'

The house was stiller than mine, I noticed; no noise from next door, no grumbling joists or musical pipework. Perhaps it had absorbed less drama into its walls over the years. I said, ‘I wish we'd got to know each other better, sooner.'

David leaned forward and topped up my glass. ‘It wasn't the right time.'

‘No. I wish it wasn't the right time now, if you know what I mean.'

‘Because of Jasmine and Ian.'

‘But since we don't have a choice, I'm glad, for us. I'm drunk.'

‘You're not.'

I am, I thought.

He made coffee, and I told him about Josh's find.

‘I think Nat must have taken the photograph. They look like they're in a gypsy camp.'

‘A gypsy camp?'

‘When Jaz was about ten, some travellers set up on the field behind the surgery – not that it's a field now – but anyway, Jaz was fascinated. I think for two pins she'd have moved in with them. Phil had to ban her from going there, in the end. She was getting very intense.'

‘In what way?'

‘She seemed to feel we'd let her down. There was opposition, petitions and letters in the paper, but we weren't involved. I suppose she wanted us to pile in on the gypsies' side. Then the camp moved on, and we thought she'd forgotten about it. Five
years later, she ran away; we never found out where she'd been headed. I've been turning it over in my mind all afternoon.'

‘Do you think she might have joined up with some travellers?'

‘God, I don't know. I'm grasping at straws.'

Jaz reading out snippets from
Local News and Views
in a loud, scandalised voice. Jaz in the courtyard of the Rocket, convinced she'd found the love of her life. All at once my mood plummeted, and I felt overwhelmed with despair.

‘Oh, David, I miss them so much it's like being ill. There are some days I don't know what to do with myself. I'm angry with her, I'm angry with Ian, I'm sick of feeling anxious and churned up and frightened of a future I thought was going to bring us so much joy.

‘And it's everywhere I turn, you know? Wall-to-wall grimness and suffering. My dad, stuck in that home with no idea who he is. Eileen gone; your wife. Good people! I heard this afternoon that my neighbour's grand-daughter's had a disabled baby. She's such a lovely girl and we were all thrilled for her when she told us she was expecting, and now she's sitting in intensive care not knowing what the next hour'll bring. I just thought, Is there anything that's safe to believe in? Why do we risk being optimistic, and getting close to people, and trying to do a bit of good in the world? What's the point of any of it? Because even if Jaz comes back, she and I are broken, her marriage is gone. It all comes to nothing. It all seems to turn bad eventually.'

He listened without interrupting. Then I heard the scrape of his chair, saw his shadow as he passed between me and the light, felt his touch on my arm.

Please don't claim everything's going to be fine
, I prayed.
Don't make glib promises about things which aren't in your power. I don't think I could stand it if you did
.

‘All I know, Carol, is, whatever's ahead, you're not on your own. I'll do whatever I practically can to support you. You do understand that?'

I gave a faint nod.

‘It's the only certainty I can give you, truthfully.'

His hand fumbled for mine, and I clasped it hard.

‘Listen, I have a proposition for you,' he went on.

‘What?' I struggled to concentrate over the roar of my own emotion.

‘Well, one contribution I could make is to supply funds – no, hear me out – to cover legal procedures, private investigators, whatever you need. I've hesitated to offer till now because of – dealings – at the wedding.'

‘Oh, God. That.' Phil grumbling and muttering about passing on receipts, me making comments about Jacky's clothing budget. It made me wince to remember. ‘I didn't mean to come across as ungrateful.'

‘You didn't. Well, it's water under the bridge. But the point is, whatever you decide you need to do here, I don't want you to feel constrained by finances.'

‘That's very generous. I can't take money from you, though.'

‘It wouldn't be like that. Matty's my grandson too. It's in my interests to see him reunited with his family. All of his family, on both sides.'

If it would help get Jaz back, I'd have agreed to anything. ‘I'll think about it,' I said. ‘It's incredibly kind of you.'

‘No strings.'

‘No.'

‘I mean, absolutely none.'

‘OK.'

‘Good. I wanted to be clear on that. It's a practical arrangement first and foremost, there's no payback, no one's in anyone's debt. A job needs doing, simply that. Because the
other thing you need to be aware of . . .' David's face was strained, and for the first time ever, I thought I glimpsed his son in him ‘. . . I should probably say at this stage. It's possible I may have fallen a little bit in love with you. Do you think that's going to be a problem?'

Strange what rises to the surface of your mind at moments of crisis.

Once, when I was a little girl, my mother and I went on a day trip to somewhere with a cathedral. There are no photographs of this expedition, which I think might have been organised by the Mothers' Union, but I remember it vividly all the same. Not the name of the place, only details: the carved screens, the smell of the wood polish, the ice-smooth veiny columns, the clank of the grating underfoot. While my mother was fishing for loose change to donate, I tiptoed into a side chapel to stroke the carvings of dead knights. Ahead was a vast arched window, through which beams of coloured light slanted down, and the walls on either side of me glowed with embroidered flags. You could see why God chose to hang out here.

Looking above me, I was awed by the vast height of the ceiling, and the way the vaulting at the tops of the pillars seemed to draw together like crystal fans. The scale was humbling and exhilarating at the same time. A surge of excitement rose up in me, and I wanted to shout at the top of my voice (at least till I spotted my mother standing under the central tower, studying the information leaflets). So instead, overwhelmed by spiritual energy, I began to turn on the spot. I tipped my head back, focused on one of the painted bosses, spread my arms out wide, and revolved. I remember spinning faster and faster, till my surroundings were lost in a holy smudge. At the same moment, someone started to play the treble line to ‘Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring'. I was on the verge of being Taken Up.

My mother's voice jerked me out of it. I staggered and fell against a tomb, the scenery still whizzing past in nauseating feints. Closing my eyes made no difference. Nothing was stationary any more.

‘I think I've had a noindentt experience,' I told her.

‘You're confusing God with dizziness,' she said, and took me outside so she could tell me off properly.

I don't know why that memory came back so keenly now, unless it was to warn me how easy it is to confuse different sensations, especially when they're very strong. You can think you've received Divine Communion when, in fact, you're just giddy. You can think you've fallen in love when the truth is you're grateful, tired and lonely.
Not him, Mum, anyone but him
, said Jaz, in my head.

3.30 a.m. and I was still prowling round the house, unable to sleep. Couldn't find anything on the internet about imminent gypsy gatherings, except for the Stow Horse Fair – and that was still a month off. And what would I do if I went there? Walk round with a loud-hailer? I kept seeing David's face, the sad lines round his eyes. Thought of kissing Phil, that first time on the bridge as a teenager, and years later in the B&B where we stayed on honeymoon, those funny damp patches on the ceiling paper, and me trembling with nerves under the sheets in case the owners could hear us doing it.

‘Not now,' I'd told David. Under the intensity of his gaze I'd felt almost hysterical. ‘Everything's complicated. It's a weird, bad time.'

‘I know. That's why you have to seize the day, though. Life's short.' He squeezed my fingers in time to the last two syllables.

‘No. But it's—'
Everything
, I wanted to say. ‘Too much. You're my friend.'

‘And I can't be anything else?'

His face was so close I could have kissed him. I wanted to, dear God, I really did. My whole body was charged with longing and fear.

Instead I got up in a rush, stumbled into the hall, and without even picking up my coat, ran out of the house like some idiot schoolgirl.

I don't know who he thinks he is
, went Phil.

Next time you speak to him, tell him from me he can fuck off
– Jaz.

I've no time for all this love stuff
– Eileen, in a deckchair, her eyes hidden behind sunglasses.
It's like dancing on a cliff edge
.

Dad's face as it used to be, animated and keen –
As long as you're happy, that's all that matters
. Are
you happy
?

These pre-dawn hours were like another dimension altogether. Every second could last an hour, you could live a lifetime in one night.

I wandered back over to the computer and shut it down. Then I started a bath running, and did some stretches while I waited. Would David be in bed still, or pacing round the house, like me? What was he doing at this exact moment? My mind whirred insanely. It's past four! I kept thinking. You've got till seven to get through. I'd have given the world to be able to flick an off-switch, blot everything out for even a couple of hours.

But then, if I'd been asleep, I'd never have heard the text come in.

CHAPTER 30

Photograph 180, Album Two

Location: the back garden, Sunnybank

Taken by: Carol

Subject: Jaz, strapped into her toddler reins, and swiping at a dandelion clock. Technically speaking, it's an excellent piece of composition, even though it's one of Carol's earliest attempts at portrait. She's captured Jaz's chubby profile, the anticipatory parting of her young lips as her open grasp bears down on the seed head. It's a perfect scene of summer
.

Would you believe that, only the previous night, Jaz is at death's door? That she brews up a mysterious fever with such rapidity even Phil, dismisser of panic, is alarmed? The screaming doesn't help: high-pitched, unnatural, distressing beyond sanity. When she's still screaming at midnight, Phil tells Carol he's driving them up to the cottage hospital
.

So they bundle her and her car seat into the night air, and almost immediately she settles. By the time they get to hospital, she's cooing and chattering like a normal three-year-old. The doctor lifts her onto the examination table and she giggles in his face
.

On their way home, the radio starts to play Neil Young's
‘Heart of Gold'. Phil pulls the car into a lay-by opposite the park and, with the engine still running, climbs out, unclips Jaz from her seat, and carries her onto the municipal lawns. Then he holds her against his chest, and begins to twirl round in a lop-sided waltz. The moon and stars behind them are picture-book-bright
.