Secrets (26 page)

Should he answer? Could he be bothered? Couldn't he just enjoy the meal and drink to Wolf's good health? The soup was wonderful but he fancied more
rouille
and he looked around for the waiter.

‘You are fucking this woman Tess?’

Joe looked at her. He could easily take his mind off the stress of the day by playing Nathalie. But he didn't want to. ‘Actually I'm not, Nathalie.’

She didn't look as though she believed him.

‘I don't know what you are pushing for,’ he said.

She shrugged sulkily. And after the meal and a bottle of wine at her apartment, she fucked his brains out.

Before Joe went to sleep, as Nathalie trailed her fingertips over his biceps, his chest, she propped herself up on her arm, her other shoulder back a little to display her breasts to their best advantage and she asked him again.

‘If she is no longer your house-sitter, what is she still doing at your house?’

Joe thought about it. He thought how, whenever he thought of his house, Tess populated whichever room sprang to mind. She hadn't found a new job, had she? He had asked her not to go, to stay. What was she doing right now? Pottering around, shifting his things from room to room, shunting his furniture from here to there? Making toast in the kitchen? Checking on her baby? Sanding, painting, tidying? Writing labels for jam jars? Other nights, quite possibly any combination of the above. But he thought she was most likely tonight to be mourning the huge space Wolf's absence would have created.

‘She lives there.’

Nathalie asked him again if he was fucking Tess.

He pretended to be asleep because he really couldn't be bothered to validate her question with even a one-word answer.

Chapter Twenty-one

Seb was disappointed that Tess hadn't phoned, disappointed but not despondent. She hadn't phoned him the time before either, after he'd sat in the kitchen of the big house and pulled her onto his lap for that snog and fumble. He'd given her his phone number then, tacked it onto the kitchen calendar himself, if he remembered rightly. He liked to think himself an easygoing bloke, so he was happy to wonder whether Tess simply hated using the phone. After all, his dad did and Seb never doubted his affection. Whenever Seb phoned home long-distance, which he did weekly, if his father answered Seb had come to expect little more than, hullo, son, I'll just pass you on to your mother. Some people just aren't phone people, Seb thought as he checked with his boss at the surf shop if he could take an hour for lunch. As he headed up the bank to Glenside, he rationalized that he couldn't really be disappointed because Tess hadn't actually let him down, let alone blown him out – she said she'd call after all, she just hadn't called
yet
. He liked her; he'd enjoyed her company in the pub and he'd certainly liked the stuff back at his place afterwards. He was just hoping for an action-replay sooner, he fancied a bit more of that indoor sport. So, he decided to facilitate it – and save her a phone call – by taking an early lunch hour and popping by to arrange another date now.

He really didn't need his fleece on. He pulled it over his head as he walked along Albion Terrace and tied it loosely around his waist. Not bad to be out and about in a T-shirt. Mind you, it would be May in two days. What does she do in that big old house all day, he wondered? Fancy choosing a job in Saltburn that had nothing to do with the beach and actively enforced periods of time indoors. He often marvelled that he was actually paid to do what he did. The job in itself – and the ability to be in the sea most days – was rewarding enough. Meeting someone like Tess was an unforeseen bonus – he'd been here a few months and was intending to stay for the British summer before heading home for the Australian one. He had assumed early on that, other than grandmothers and midriff-baring teenagers, there were few females in the town of his own age and standing. Well, the few he'd seen had rings on their fourth fingers and usually a toddler or two in tow. But then, along came Tess. Toddler yes, ring no, midriff – now he'd seen it – in better shape than most of the teenage contingent of town. There was also something encouraging about a fellow out-of-towner. You could say things like,
you know – that place around the corner from the station, off the street where the dodgy pub is
, with no shame for not knowing specifics. You could share a private joke at the expense of the locals without it being treason. You had common ground – finding out how each other came to be here and whence each other came.

Here he was, at the house again, the gate closed – but wasn't it always? Yes, he thought it was. Anyway, no harm in trying the bell. He rang and waited and thought the hollow reverberating clang sounded incongruously Addams Family for Saltburn. He was enjoying an image of Tess dressed up as Morticia, when she opened the door in jeans and a grey top.

‘Hey – just thought I'd pop by – just fancied a stroll during my lunch hour.’ He paused. ‘Good weekend? It was nice to see you on Friday – I was wondering if we could, you know, do it again?’

Tess twitched her lip and for a split second Seb thought, shit, she's going to blow me out right now, and he started to back away with an easygoing shrug.

‘I'm sorry – I said I'd call, didn't I?’ And while Tess was relaying the details of Wolf's accident, Seb was thinking to himself, thank you, God, it wasn't me – it was just the old hound.

‘So you'll call, will you – let me know how the old guy is doing?’

‘Of course,’ said Tess, as if Seb's visit had been in Wolf's honour all along. ‘I hope to have him home from the vet's in the next day or two.’

‘Right,’ said Seb, ‘well, I suppose I'd better head back to work, then.’

Tess thought to herself, you ought to invite him in for a cup of tea or a glass of water at the very least after he's tramped all the way up the bloody hill to see how Wolf is. ‘Would you like something? Before you go?’

Yes, he bloody well would. Her hand was on the front door, but he was over the threshold and, with little more than a subtle lean, his mouth reached hers. And once again, Tess found herself being energetically tongued. His hands, today, focusing on her bum. He stepped away and gave her a lascivious wink. ‘Phone me, babe,’ he said. ‘We can pick up where we left off.’

I only meant would you like a glass of water or a cup of tea, Tess said silently as Seb walked off down the drive, turning every now and then to salute or wave to her.

‘He is such a lovely bloke,’ said Tess. ‘I wish I liked him more.’ She stopped. ‘I don't know what to do.’ Suddenly, she was aware that she was alone in the kitchen. She'd been talking out loud forgetting that there was no longer a dog to raise his head and thump his raggedy tail against the flagstone floor at all she said.

The call Tess and Joe were waiting for came after surgery hours a couple of days later, on the Thursday evening, five days after the accident.

Tess phoned Joe directly. They'd been speaking daily. Though Wolf had been taken off the critical list, the calls had continued and had veered off at tangents. Wolf, still the reason for the call, was no longer the purpose of the call. The calls were an exercise in bridge building – Joe forming the support on one side in France, Tess forming the other back in England; Wolf was what they carried, he was the span between the two. The material Joe and Tess were using was mundane chat – and it was proving to be long and flexible. How's the weather with you? they'd ask after the update on the dog. What's Emmeline been up to? Any troubled water under the bridge? It's over a valley, Tess – I told you. Oh sorry, I forgot. Well, you've had other things on your mind. I know – I'll call you tomorrow, if you like. Please do. When's a good time? Any time, Tess – if I see it's home calling, I'll always answer. OK then, I'll phone tomorrow. Good – speak then.

So, Tess phoned him on Thursday evening. Nathalie heard the phone, saw it on the bookcase, but glanced away as if the thing was of no consequence. She increased the volume on the television. She had grown used to these daily calls between Joe and Tess. She took comfort in imagining this house-sitter cum veterinary nurse being square in fashion sense as much as physique. Just some dull, dowdy girl no doubt with a bit of a crush on Joe. He probably barely noticed her. Nathalie told herself to fear nothing – not least because Joe was rampant at the moment, absolutely insatiable.

‘Joe! Your phone!’

He came through, a towel around his waist, little trails of water dinking and darting mercurial paths through the hairs on his legs. It was Tess. If he asked Nathalie to kill the volume, he'd be obliged to take the call right here. If he didn't, he was at liberty to go back to the bedroom, or out onto the balcony – though standing there in just a skimpy towel might be unwise.

‘
Chien
,’ he said to Nathalie who nodded at the television and didn't touch the remote control.

Joe took the phone back to the bedroom, answering it as he went. ‘Tess?’

‘Joe – it's me! He's coming home – the vet phoned. He's coming home tomorrow. I can go and collect him after surgery hours!’

‘Slow down, woman – say it again?’

So she did, with exactly the same flurry of triumph and relief. ‘What a clever little chappy, hey! Fixing himself in only five days. The vet said he surprised them all. She said she'd write a paper about it! He has to have antibiotics and he'll have to wear one of those flowerpot contraptions around his neck to stop him chewing his stitches. And his dressings will have to be changed – I'm supposed to be doing that last bit, but that's fine with me.’

Joe decided not to interject; he was enjoying absorbing the information and energy.

‘Shall I phone you, Joe – when he's back? When Wolf's home again, safe and sound?’

‘You do that, Tess,’ said Joe. ‘Promise me you'll do just that.’

Tess was enjoying Friday morning very much because later that day she'd be bringing Wolf home and it was a lovely day already, balmy and bright. Spring seemed very last season though the month had only just changed. She and Lisa had met in the playground with plans to feed the children up at the house afterwards. Lisa was extracting the details of Seb's impromptu visit earlier in the week and telling Tess to get herself a bloody mobile phone soon.

‘You can't construct a relationship in the modern age without the power of the text message,’ she said. ‘Most of which I will insist you forward to me, of course.’

‘Who said anything about a relationship!’ said Tess.

‘You need to be contactable at all times,’ Lisa said.

‘Be his beck-and-call girl?’

Lisa laughed. ‘I'll bet he has a great line in dirty texts, love. You must ring him – you will, won't you? He'd be great company while you're dog-sitting.’ Lisa pushed Sam's swing and said, wheee! wheee! before turning to Tess in giggles. ‘You could phone him, Tess. Phone him and say, hey, Seb, fancy coming over to do a little babysitting, doggy style?’ Her raucous glee was infectious.

‘You dreadful woman,’ Tess laughed. ‘The very thought of it.’

‘The thought of it? The thought of a nice buff surfer's bod? The thought of a lad obviously hot for you? Yes – you're quite right, Tess. Dreadful thought – dreadful.’

Tess stuck her tongue out and then returned to pushing Em, thinking about the thought of it. Not so dreadful, really. Perhaps she ought to call him, once Wolf was settled and doing well.

Sam was fidgeting to leave his swing for what Lisa and Tess described as ‘the boingy thing’, but Em objected when Tess tried to coax her out of hers. She didn't mind, she'd always found pushing a swing comforting and meditative.

So when Joe strolled down the hill, under the auspices of filling the fridge but with a private hope of coming across Tess perhaps out for a walk, that's what he saw – Tess pushing the swing, enthralled by some daydream or other if her beatific smile was anything to go by. She'd lifted her face to the sun, she was miles away according to her expression. Joe observed them: Tess and Emmeline, happily lulled by the catharsis of peaceful playground simplicity. He thought, Tess is not wearing a hoody. He thought, her hair has grown longer. He thought, I like the way she's wearing it loose. He thought, shall I back away now and just surprise her at the house – or shall I make myself known, stop and say hello?

His decision was made for him. Tess sensed someone looking at her. When she turned and saw it was Joe her hands fell away from the swing so that when it came back, it knocked her firmly in the stomach. But she didn't seem to notice. She could only stand stock-still, mouth agape as she looked over to him. The swing touched her again, just glancing against her body this time. And then it slowed, as if it was tired, as if that's the end of the ride. And Tess didn't appear to hear Em's protestations. But Lisa did – and Lisa looked at Tess and thought, what's she looking at? And she followed Tess's gaze and alighted on Joe and Lisa thought, who the bloody hell is that?

‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ Lisa asked as Tess walked past her, Em flailing her discontent in her mother's arms. But Tess didn't notice and Tess didn't answer Lisa. She just walked straight over to Joe and they stood there, either side of the railings for a suspended moment. Lisa watched them greet each other – him lowering his head a little as Tess raised hers a little. She saw how Tess smiled, that Em had reached out and Joe had given his finger to the baby, putting his other hand gently, briefly, on Tess's shoulder as they spoke intently to one another.

Lisa thought, Jesus, Tess,
I'll
get you a bloody mobile phone – if ever there was a time to text you to say you dark horse, you dark dark horse you. You never told me you were in love with this Joe bloke.

‘I was just strolling down to pick up some food.’

‘I was just in the playground.’

‘I know – I saw.’

Tess rolled her eyes at herself but Joe just laughed.

‘Do you want to join me, Tess? You're probably more aware of what we need.’