Sex and Stravinsky (38 page)

‘Hi there,’ Hattie says, stepping into the room. ‘Gosh. I’m sorry we took so long. And I’m truly sorry about last night. All the yelling and carry-on. Say, Cat! Lovely drawings.’

But her daughter makes haste to scuffle her pages together before pointedly turning them upside down.

‘Coffee,’ Herman says. ‘So what’s the story with James?’

‘Well,’ Hattie says, ‘for a start, as you may have gathered, we’re pretty certain that your drama-department tenant is no other than my brother’s son – my parents’ first male grandchild. Do you suppose the shock might finish them off?’

Everyone at the table is staring at her, and none more so than Cat.

‘Giacomo Moroni is Jack Maseko,’ she says. ‘Got by James upon the housemaid. James has a minor fracture, by the way, but in general his health is pretty dire. They’re planning a lot of tests.’

‘Giacomo Moroni is –?’ Herman begins.

‘Jack Maseko,’ Hattie says. ‘My nephew. Cat’s first cousin.’

Cat leaps up in fury, pushing drawings and paper work before her. She’s glaring daggers at her mother, as red blotches spring up all over her throat.

‘Shut UP, you stupid thicko!’ she screams. ‘Why don’t you just SHUT UP! You mean bitch, I HATE YOU!! It’s all LIES and RUBBISH!’ Then she bursts into a flood of tears.

The heirloom china jingles in the dresser as she storms out of the room. They hear her footsteps resounding on the stairs. Then the slamming of her bedroom door.

Once inside, she flings herself on the bed, overcome by howls and snot. Her horrible mother is making a fool of her. It’s what she best likes to do. Her lovely, secret liaison with the beautiful dark boy. His classy black clothes. Just like hers. His black etchings; his Giacometti poster; the dream boy for whom she’s dyed her hair and her eyelashes. First all the awfulness of last night and now this. Her mother has sussed her secret. It’s what she always does. She’s like a horrible creepy spy. And it’s all a lot of rubbish. There’s no way that the beautiful boy could be that revolting James’s son. It’s all a lie. It’s that stupid cow and the stupid midget. And everything this morning was just so fab until they had to come back. Cat wishes that both of them would stay away for ever. She wishes that both of them were dead.

In the kitchen, Herman, biting down irritation, makes ready to go after his daughter. And just what, exactly, is the matter with Hattie that she should behave like this? Ten seconds in contact with Cat and there’s another bloody screw-up. And as for that pansified, two-foot Commie – Herman remembers him from their student days. Josh Silver. What the hell is he doing here? Hasn’t he been gone for decades?

‘Christ, Snoeks!’ he says, through gritted teeth. Then he says, ‘Excuse me,’ and he’s gone.

‘I’m afraid I’ve invaded your house,’ Caroline says. She is carefully returning Cat’s art work to the portfolio. ‘I ought to be . . .’ She sweeps up the scraps of paper clippings with her hands. ‘I’m Caroline,’ she says. ‘I’m Josh’s wife.’

‘Please,’ Hattie says. ‘No need to –’

‘Your daughter is very talented,’ Caroline says. ‘This project of hers –’

‘Yes,’ Hattie says. She sits down and rests her chin in her cupped hands. ‘Forgive me for last night,’ she says. She pauses and sighs. ‘Herman may have explained about my brother. He was always very handsome, you know. Always twice my size. Golden-spoon James who’d seemed so bright and yet he was always in trouble; always on the wrong side of everything. Useless and disruptive when he was at school. Drugs, cheating, stolen cars.’

‘Stolen guitars,’ Josh throws in.

‘Something came to me only last night,’ Hattie says. ‘In the hospital, sitting beside his bed. God knows why, as a family, we were always so obtuse – or was it just a sign of the times? If poor old James had been thirty years younger he would have been diagnosed dyslexic. He’s severely dyslexic, isn’t he? ADHD and dyslexic. It’s all so glaringly obvious. These days a child like that would be labelled “special needs”. He would have got help. I mean, aren’t half the people in prison actually dyslexic?’

‘Sixty-two per cent,’ Caroline says, who always knows these things. ‘That’s according to recent research.’

‘Gertrude as well, come to think of it,’ Josh says. ‘She could never get her head around the likes of
Ladybird Book 1A
; not for all my mother’s efforts. It was just that life expected nothing of her. That’s one advantage of low status.’

‘And then there’s Giacomo,’ Hattie says. ‘Life can be really amazing.’ She reaches for the coffee pot that Herman has placed on the table, along with a clutch of little white mugs. For a moment they all fall silent.

Then Josh looks cautiously at his wife.

‘Caroline,’ he says, almost as if in fear. ‘Please tell me about Zoe. Like where is she? Is she still in France?’

‘I’m here,’ Zoe says and the three of them look up to see that the child is standing in the doorway. Minus the Moschino jacket and jeans, she stands bare-legged, a slip of a thing, in ballet shoes and voluminous T-shirt; the T-shirt given to her by Gérard that says ‘Zizou’ across the front.

What Hattie sees is a sweet, dainty child with short chestnut curls and a small scatter of cinnamon freckles across the bridge of her nose. She notes the turn of the girl’s head, the line of her shoulders, the set of her back and her legs. She observes the poise of her out-turned palms and the insteps of her little size 4 feet.

‘Dad,’ she says, ‘I’m here.’ She crosses to place herself on Josh’s knee. ‘Where were you?’ she says. ‘And where are we? I fell asleep. You should come upstairs with me. Please, Dad. You’ve got to come upstairs. There’s this sort of magic place, with pointy windows all round. It’s got like ballet things and there’s this tutu. It’s all black and silver. It’s like being inside a dream. I dreamed I saw you in the garden last night and now you’re here. Dad, can I
please, please
do ballet.
Please
say yes.
Pleeez
. I know we’ve never had the money for lessons, but now that Gran’s died . . .’ She pauses. ‘I know that sounds terrible,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Your gran’s died?’ Josh says.

‘Yes,’ Zoe says. ‘I’m sorry. It’s sort of why we’re here, I think. So we could tell you. Anyway, about doing ballet, Mum said not to say anything – and I know I’m most probably too old –’

‘Oh my darling,’ Hattie bursts out impulsively, before Josh can begin to speak. ‘You are most definitely not too old, not you. I can promise you that.’

Zoe turns and looks at her. She stares at a person who looks just like the Coppélia doll in one of the many ballet books Zoe’s taken out of the library. For a moment she’s caught up in the magic of it, but then everything that’s happened in the last few days comes surging to the surface and her eyes are filled with tears. She’s turned away from the Coppélia lady and she’s staring accusingly at Caroline.

‘
She
says I am,’ Zoe says, jutting her head towards her mother, and then she hears herself open the floodgates; hears herself spill out grievance, just as if she were somehow hovering above her own head and watching, as if some other force is switching on her voice. ‘
And
she deliberately stopped Gérard and me – just because we were dancing.
And
she’s most probably ruined Gérard’s life. Because what if he’s not allowed to come and stay? Like next year when it’s his turn to come to us?’ Then she’s turned her face to Josh. ‘You’ve
got
to phone him for me, Dad,’ she says. ‘Please, Dad. You’ve got to. You have to phone his mother’s house, because I don’t even know the code from here and anyway, she’d only scream at me. “
Merde, merde
!” like she always does. And there’s that horrible Véronique as well, who always treats me like dirt. I mean, I don’t even know for sure if he’s still there, after what she’s gone and done. I mean, what if he’s been taken into care? Then I’ll never know where he is, will I?’ And then she’s crying into Josh’s shoulder.

Caroline heaves a sigh.

‘Give it a break, will you, Zoe?’ she says. ‘Really! I’m not sure that I can take much more of this. Nobody wants to hear about it and, frankly, Josh hasn’t a single clue what you’re on about. So if you would please stop crying and screeching, we can discuss all this a bit later.’

‘He
has
got a clue!’ Zoe says, jerking her head up. ‘He
has
! It’s just
you
! You always think you know everything and all you’ve done is mess up Gérard’s life. Anyway, I am not the only one who’s “screeching”. I don’t know what’s going on around here, but there’s always someone screaming their head off. I heard this person screaming last night. I was nearly too scared to breathe. And just now there was someone else yelling and stamping and banging. That’s what woke me up.’

Hattie gets up and goes to her. She puts both her hands on Zoe’s shoulders.

‘About that black-and-silver tutu,’ she says. ‘Would you like to try it on?’

Caroline and Josh sit alone in the ensuing silence. They drink their coffee to the dregs.

Eventually Josh begins to speak.

‘This is all very strange,’ he says. ‘Gosh.’

‘Yes,’ Caroline says. ‘Sorry about the
Sturm und Drang
. Maybe it’s adolescence? But, as Zoe rightly pointed out earlier, it’s a bit like being inside a dream. It’s true that we came to find you, Josh. But now I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘Your mother,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry, Caro. What happened?’

‘Not that,’ Caroline says. ‘No, not that. Look, that’s actually wonderful, to tell you the honest truth. I’m only sorry I allowed the old bat to poison our lives for all that time.’

‘No –’ Josh says, but Caroline carries on.

‘It’s given me the chance to start over,’ she says. ‘And that’s what I mean to do. This really isn’t easy, no matter which way I say it. Not after all that you and I have been through. Josh, I’m not coming back with you. I really didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s not what I ever expected. I’ve fallen in love and I’m not coming back. I’m sorry. That’s my story.’

‘Who have you fallen in love with?’ Josh says, somewhat cautiously, after a pause.

‘With Herman,’ Caroline says. ‘With your little friend’s husband. Look. None of this is going to be easy. I do understand that much.’

Josh is quiet for such a long time that she thinks that he’s not going to speak.

‘Well, Cat evidently likes you,’ he says. ‘That’s quite an achievement.’ His response is so unexpected that it provokes, in each of them, a small, cautious smile.

‘Me too,’ Josh says eventually, staring into the dregs of his cup.

‘Pardon?’ Caroline says.

‘I said me too,’ Josh says. ‘Hattie and me. I didn’t know how to tell you.’ He’s thinking how brave and splendid Caroline is; how infinitely in keeping with herself. To risk pitching in like this and thereby saving him from himself. ‘She wants to come to England with me,’ he says. ‘It’s what she should have done first time round. Listen, Caro – I’m not wishing to diminish what we had. What I mean is that being with you has been incredible. You do know that, don’t you? I mean that you’re amazing. You do know that?’

Caroline manages a smile.

‘I suppose I do,’ she says. ‘Yes, I think I do.’

But clouds are passing across Josh’s brain.

‘I want Zoe,’ he blurts out in panic. He notes that his hands are shaking. ‘Please, Caroline. I want Zoe. I want her to come back with me.’ Then he adds, more with hope than conviction, ‘What if you had her for the school holidays? Something like that?’

Caroline has placed her face in her hands. Behind her fingers, he can tell that her mouth is contorting with pain. Then she looks up.

‘We’ll have to put it to her,’ she says. It’s as if she’s completely recovered herself. ‘We’ll ask her,’ she says. ‘Zoe’s not a baby. It’s the only thing we can do.’ Then she says, ‘I have to concede that I know which way she’ll jump.’ He watches her examine the beautiful U-shaped arcs of her fingernails, as she struggles to change the subject. ‘You can have that little mouse house, if you like,’ she says. ‘I was working on it when my mum died. You’ll find it’s in good shape. The kitchen and bathroom are pretty nice and I’ve sanded all the downstairs floors.’

‘Caroline –’ Josh says.

‘There’s a new central-heating system on its way,’ she says. ‘Courtesy of my mother. You’ll find it’s top-of-the-range. Oh, and there’s a couple of thousand pounds that I’ve left stashed under the living-room floor.’

‘Caroline –’ Josh says.

‘It’s just to the left of the fireplace,’ she says. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Josh says. ‘Caroline, please. Don’t . . .’ He’s thinking that maybe he and Hattie could relocate to Bristol. That’s if Zoe’s OK with the idea. That’s if – oh please, dear God – Zoe chooses to be part of the picture. But then there’s Mattie and Maggs to be considered and – of course – there’s the dancing boy; the Tall Merry Fellow, whose life may be in ruins. Better, after all, to stay put.

‘Why is she so cross with you?’ he says. ‘Is this to do with Herman?’

‘Oh,’ Caroline says. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Then she says, ‘Could be. But only a bit. Mainly it’s because I went to fetch her in France, after my mother died. She was living rough with a runaway boy and his boozed-up father in a wood. Her exchange partner. Nice kid, as it happens. They were hiding out in a shed. They’d been bunking off school for days. The mother was like a wound-up spring; like a ball of crazed aggression.’