The Lie of You: I Will Have What Is Mine (17 page)

‘How are you, Dad, really?’

‘I’m OK. I have to take a few pills and not overdo it. That’s all.’

I was still stroking his hand. His skin was thin and dry.

‘Let me rub some cream into your hands. It will feel nice.’

I went into their bathroom and found a small bottle of complimentary body lotion. It was Persian Lilac.

‘You’ll make me smell like a Turkish harem,’ he said, grinning at me.

I poured a generous amount of lotion onto the top of his left hand and gently worked it into the skin, then massaged each finger, his knucklebones and his wrist.

‘It does feel rather nice,’ he said.

I started to work on his right hand. Every time I see him now I think it might be the last time. And there is still so much unsaid between us.

‘I sometimes think our family is cursed,’ I said, as I worked the lotion round each knuckle of his right hand.

‘Why do you say that, darling?’

‘Tomas and Aunt Tanya... Maybe our genes are cursed.’

‘Tomas died of an infection.’

‘And Tanya?’

‘Tanya’s early death was tragic, such a terrible waste, but every family has its share of tragedy. Have you been worrying about this?’

I could tell him now, at this very moment. It would be such a release for me to confide my troubles to my father. I looked at his dear, kind face, his poor colour. He had already buried one of his children. He needed to believe that everything was going well with me.

‘It had an effect on me, of course.’

‘Is it stopping you having children?’ he asked gently.

I shook my head.

‘You told me Solange was never the same after Tomas died.’

‘No, she wasn’t. You see, we just thought he had a cold and that’s why he had the temperature. The doctor said keep him cool and your mother sat up through the night, bathing his limbs to get his temperature down. She fell asleep on the floor of the nursery for maybe an hour and a half. When she woke up Tomas was much worse. He was very pale and did not respond to her at all. She was frantic. We drove him to hospital straight away. He died the next evening. Meningitis comes on so suddenly, so devastatingly.’

‘I’m sorry to have brought it up, Dad. I didn’t want to upset you.’

‘You haven’t upset me. You could never upset me. I know it cast a long shadow over your childhood. Losing Tomas was almost unbearable for your mother. She adored him, you see. I was almost jealous of her feelings for him. I felt profound guilt after he died. I hadn’t helped her enough that night.’

‘You couldn’t have been a better husband to her, Dad. You do so much for her.’

He smiled sadly at me then as if he still felt he had fallen short.

‘She was ill for a couple of years. There was a time when she didn’t want to get out of bed or do anything at all. I bought her a puppy then and she made herself get up to take him out. Slowly she got better. It made me realize how fragile she was, still is in a way.’

‘She never seems fragile to me! She wanted sons and finds it difficult to like me, a mere woman.’

Now he put both his hands under my chin so that my face was cupped in them.

‘She may not show it very often but we are both so proud of our beautiful, talented daughter. Don’t be afraid of having children, darling. They bring such joy.’

I buried my head in his chest then. Of course he wanted me to have children. They were waiting for it. I could hear the faint
lub-dup
of his poor diseased heart.

We met them at the Connaught at one-fifteen precisely as instructed. Solange was in a good mood. Robert had invited my parents as his guests this time and it was just the sort of place he relished. Over the aperitifs, he told us how General De Gaulle had used the Connaught as his London residence during the war, and that General Eisenhower had been a regular at the restaurant. Robert always chooses these opulent places with their rich food and hushed tones. He recommended the chicken pie, which he said was a speciality of the house. Dad chose it; I think to thank Robert for looking after Solange that morning. They brought him a whole chicken pie in a ceramic pie dish. He cut into the crust of the pie and found a perfect soft boiled quail’s egg nestling under the dome of the crust.

‘Now, that’s a brilliant touch,’ Dad said, slicing delicately into the egg. The rich yolk ran out and mingled with the chicken gravy. He ate a mouthful of the pie.

‘Fantastic. You know that saying, “Little things please little minds”? I’ve often thought it was wrong. Little things can give great pleasure. Take this egg sitting on top of these chicken pieces. That’s a little thing but it raises this chicken pie from the merely good to the great.’

We all laughed.

Robert nodded. ‘Never underestimate the importance of small details. In analysis we think that small things can carry great meanings.’

‘You look better, Pieter,’ Solange said. ‘The rest did you good.’

‘Being with Heja did me good,’ he said, smiling over at me.

I glanced across at her. She let it pass. She was full of Tate Modern and the art and the views and her new-found alliance with Robert.

‘The views of St Paul’s are quite stunning. I think I prefer the views through those magnificent windows to the actual art in the rooms,’ she said.

Now, if I had ever chosen to invite Robert to dinner at our family home in Helsinki she would most certainly have brought out the porcelain and the silver for him!

Wednesday morning and she called a team meeting at short notice and told us that she is going to be away next week: in Cornwall; St Ives; a family holiday. She said if we had any problems we were to let Aisha know. Aisha would contact her if necessary. She was sure, she said, putting on her friendly face and smiling at each of us in turn, that there would be no need to contact her; we were a great team and she appreciated our efforts.

I sat there feeling icy cold. I could just imagine it: the pretty little family staying in the hotel; the days on the beach; Billy with a sun hat on; them both playing with him on the sand. She would wear a bikini, her large breasts on show. She is proud of them. He would rub sun-cream into her back and over her shoulders. He would have his camera with him. She would go for a swim and as she came out of the sea her breasts would almost be slipping from her bikini top. He would take photos of her then as she picked her way up the beach. He always likes to take unposed shots. He would wait until she was drying herself with a rough beach towel, rubbing herself awkwardly behind a rock, laughing and wriggling underneath the towel. And with every shared experience, with every photograph he took of her and Billy, they would be building their life together, giving it stronger foundations.

I had to see him again before he left for this week away with her. I wanted us to have our dinner in Durham. He said he would show me the site where he is going to build the arts centre. I left the office as soon as the team meeting had ended. I called his work number. The receptionist told me he was away in Durham for three days and would not be back until Friday. I felt myself filling up with silent fury. They were going away on Saturday so there was no way I could see him now until his return from Cornwall. Why hadn’t he suggested we meet in Durham this week? It would have been the perfect time to do it.

I walked back to the office slowly. She was walking down the stairs with Philip Parr. He nodded in my direction and I made a point of stopping in the foyer as they crossed the floor towards me.

I smiled at them both and then turned towards her and said, with a concerned look on my face, ‘So we are to contact Aisha if there’s a problem?’

She flushed slightly. ‘Yes, please, though I’m sure you’ll all cope brilliantly. It’s only a week.’

Philip said. ‘Or speak to me, Heja, if something crops up.’

I thanked him with a smile and she did not like that. I could tell by the way she pushed her lips together in an effort not to grimace. They walked out of the building together.

That night I sat outside her flat in my car. At first I thought I would not go in again. I was just sitting there, watching the building. The last time Markus was away that man had showed up. I wanted to see if he would show up again. As the lights in her flat were gradually turned off until the only light remaining was the orange light from Billy’s bedroom, I found myself standing at the entrance to the block. I let myself in. And then I was walking up the three flights of stairs to her flat. And then I was standing outside her front door. I knew I was taking a big risk. I’d done it before and she had not woken up. She might wake up this time. That thought made me feel very alive as I turned the key in her front door.

Perhaps I was less careful than before. Perhaps I had made some slight noise as I walked down the corridor, but once I was standing in her bedroom, watching the mound of her body under the cover, she stirred and made a little moan. I glided out of the room and into Markus’s room. I heard her come out of her bedroom and walk down the corridor to the bathroom. She put the light on and then I heard her flush the toilet. Then she walked back along the corridor right past Markus’s room, where I was standing in the shadows. She went into Billy’s room. After a few moments, she walked back into her bedroom, carrying Billy. She must have taken him into the bed with her. He was making funny little noises and she was making soothing sounds back.

I stood and I waited, my hand resting on Markus’s drawing table. Gradually my breathing settled. My eyes got accustomed to the dark and to the outline of his things. How I loathed her. This room is the only room that is truly Markus. Everything else is hers – her furniture, her mess, her sticky cooking things, her baby. She has spread her mess everywhere and she is gradually sucking him into her orbit.

I would not leave the flat until I had seen her again. I waited for a long time, sitting on the floor in Markus’s work room with my head resting on his chair. The flat was silent and eventually I got to my knees and then stood up. I walked to the threshold of her bedroom and looked in. She was lying asleep, with Billy in the crook of her arm. I stood and watched them, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, the smaller movements in the baby’s body, mother and son sleeping peacefully.

AUGUST

‘Wake up, Kathy, it’s time to get up.’

I pulled my eyelids open. Markus put a mug of coffee down next to the clock, which showed 05.27.

‘Five more minutes,’ I murmured.

‘You need to get up. I want to leave by six to avoid the traffic. You and Billy can sleep in the car.’

Markus had finally agreed to a one-week holiday, at short notice, so I had rung around and booked us into a family hotel in St Ives that my aunt Jennie recommended. I struggled into a sitting position and sipped the very strong coffee he had made me.

‘If we get there by lunchtime I might be able to get a dive in,’ he said. He was moving around our bedroom full of energy, willing me to get up.

I let Billy sleep on while I had a quick wash and got dressed. Markus had arrived back late from Durham the night before so I had packed all the bags, including his clothes.

‘You’d best check I put in everything you need,’ I said, going into the kitchen to get some baby jars for Billy.

Billy and I slept until Exeter. Markus pulled over at a motorway service station and as he switched off the engine we both woke up. We had a quick coffee and a Danish pastry and then we were back on the motorway and speeding towards Plymouth.

‘That coffee was undrinkable,’ he said.

‘I don’t think you’ll get much better in St Ives.’

‘I should have brought my own supply
and
my coffeepot.’

I laughed and he grinned over at me:

‘Am I getting obsessive compulsive about my coffee?’

‘You are a bit...’

We crossed the Tamar Bridge and we were in Cornwall. As we drove over the bridge I looked down and saw a small fleet of sailing boats tacking across the sunlit water. My spirits started to lift. It was great to be having a week without feeling pulled in two directions all the time; a week to recharge and to spend time with Markus and Billy. Markus looked buoyed up too. He was explaining which dives he would do while we were in Cornwall. He belongs to a diving club and they often dive off the Manacles on the Lizard. He told me it’s one of the best places in the country as there are shipwrecks along the seabed there.

And then he suddenly said, ‘I’d like us to live in Cornwall.’

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘It would be good to get Billy out of London and living by the sea while he’s little. Maybe we could look at some properties while we’re down here? At least see what the prices are like.’

‘Whoa, that’s way too fast for me.’ I looked at him and was puzzled at what he’d just said. Look at properties in Cornwall?

‘This hasn’t got anything to do with that road-rage incident, has it?’ I asked him.

‘I hated that that happened to you. No, it’s more about the life we want Billy to have. I know you grew up in London, but I don’t think it’s a good place for a child.’

‘It can be.’

I thought about this for a while. I had this vision of us living in Cornwall in a cottage near the sea. It would have a garden for Billy, and Markus and I would both work from home. There would be no more Philip Parr and the pressure he put on me. I’d be working for myself as a freelance writer and have peace and calm and... isolation! No, I knew I was a city person through and through. I liked living in the centre of town and I loved our Baker Street flat.

‘I’m not ready to leave London yet,’ I said.

‘You can write articles from anywhere.’

‘Yes, but I couldn’t edit the magazine from Cornwall. How long have you been thinking this?’

‘A while...’

This surprised me again because I’d assumed he was committed to his architectural practice in Clerkenwell, especially since he’d won the big commission. Perhaps that was the point; perhaps he felt more secure about his work now.