The Love of Her Life (37 page)

‘Oh. Well, I saw Charly and Sean,’ Kate said casually.

‘You
what
?’ said her mother, holding her water-glass in mid-air, as if she’d been frozen. ‘You – what? How come? What?’

‘I saw Charly. And Sean.’ Kate was smiling.

‘
What
? Oh, my … grrr,’ said Venetia, tossing her hair and making a strange, animal sound in her throat. ‘My goodness, if I saw that little – that little
madam
, what wouldn’t I do to her … What happened?’

Kate sketched in, very briefly, the story of the letters and the meeting itself. When she’d finished, Kate looked at her mother curiously. She was almost red with anger.

‘My god, the nerve,’ Venetia muttered. ‘So what happened?’

Kate swallowed the rest of her drink. She was silent for a while. ‘You know what? I got over it, that’s what happened.

It was the most satisfying cup of coffee I’ve had in a long time.’

Her mother looked unconvinced but Oscar, who missed nothing, emerged from the kitchen at that moment carrying the burritos and the little bowls of guacamole, sour cream, cheese and chilli, and he said, simply, ‘So, sounds like it worked out for the best.’

Now was not the time to say, ‘I’m moving out, by the way.’ Now was not the time to tell them about Sue’s offer. She was home again, back in New York, she had decided to come back and she was going to make it work now, strange though it felt. ‘Yeah,’ said Kate, quelling the feeling she had inside. ‘I think it did.’ Her fingers dug into her palm, as she remembered Mac’s face, his lips on her palm, what he had said – she felt pain, sharp, shooting pain. She had made her decision, for better, for worse, and she was back.

And gosh it was lovely being back, waking up in New York in the spring, almost the beginning of summer. The weather wasn’t too hot, she didn’t have to go back to Perry and Co, and so Kate realized the next morning that she was free to simply get on with her lovely life now in New York, starting with Oscar’s much-anticipated birthday party that evening. She got up early, she rang Betty and left a message, wanting to fill her in on everything, unsure of how best to explain it all to her. The last time she’d seen Betty had been her last night in New York. She had nearly kissed that guy Andrew; how weird it was, how far away it seemed, like another life.

During the day Kate helped her mother; they went to the grocery store, they dropped by the caterers, to deliver the decoration for the top of cake that Venetia had chosen: a little plastic man playing the piano, naturally, with ‘Happy Birthday’ sticking out on top. In New York, even the cake decorations were better.

She picked up Oscar’s present, the complete Beethoven piano sonatas which she’d had bound, with Oscar’s initials stamped in gold on the front, from a store off Columbus Avenue, and she and Venetia had their hair blow-dried,
Venetia reading the
Times
and laughing gaily with the hairdresser; Kate flicking avidly through
People
, glad of a fix of US celebrity gossip that she’d missed since she’d been in London.

The salon was a few blocks away from the apartment building. Kate and her mother walked back together, arm in arm, towards Amsterdam Avenue. The streets were unusually quiet, but the blossom was out everywhere, frothing, frivolous. When she’d left, the leaves had barely been out; now the best of the spring was here, and she always thought this was when she loved New York most; Kate felt as if she were in a film. They walked under the white and green trees, like characters in a Madeleine story, in a Fred Astaire movie.

‘I missed you, darling,’ said Venetia. She looked from left to right, as they crossed the road. ‘It’s funny I always still do that, isn’t it!’ she said, patting the printed silk scarf she’d wrapped over her hair, to protect it from the Manhattan winds.

‘What?’ said Kate, watching her.

‘Look left and right, as if I were in London, and all that.’ Venetia took Kate’s hand and pulled her across the wide road, almost running. ‘I
did
miss you darling,’ she said again, as they reached the other side.

‘Oh mum, I’m sorry,’ said Kate. ‘I missed you too – I’ve been so lucky, having you let me stay here –’ she clutched her mother’s arm. ‘Honestly – what would I have done if I couldn’t have come to you, three years ago?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Venetia said. ‘Gosh, though,’ she said, in her artless, dramatic way. ‘I sometimes think you would have been better off.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kate asked, bewildered.

Venetia released her arm from her daughter’s clutches.

‘Well,’ she said, considerin g carefully. ‘Are you your mother’s daughter?’

‘Well obviously I am,’ Kate said.

‘I mean, perhaps running away isn’t the answer. It was for me, I don’t think it was for you.’

Kate saw what she meant. They were on a street corner; she could hear someone playing the piano; she stopped, listening out for the music, straining to hear notes.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Don’t know,’ said Venetia briefly. ‘I can’t hear it.’

But Kate could hear it. It was ‘Rhapsody in Blue’; how delicious, how clichéd, someone in their apartment on 77th and Broadway playing Gershwin, framed by the cherry blossom. It was almost too New York; that had been what she loved about the city; it was a cliché, a wonderland, all for her. She remembered something, then, as she watched her mother, who was fixing her scarf in place.

‘Mum,’ she said, and added, carefully. ‘Dad asked me to tell you something.’

Venetia stopped.

‘What?’ she said. ‘He – did he have a message for me?’

‘Yes,’ said Kate, wondering how she knew. Venetia’s hand fluttered on her cheek, then her breastbone.

‘Let’s walk,’ she said, softly. ‘Tell me.’

She set off at a long, fast pace, which Kate matched; they were physically very similar, she realized, so she could have got her height from her mother, or, like Dani, from their father, or both. The music faded, the languorous, slicing phrases disappearing as they walked. She fell into stride with her mother, and they were silent for a few seconds, and Kate said,

‘Well, he said to tell you he still thinks of Sheffield.’

It sounded so prosaic when she said it. ‘Sheffield’. Like ‘Terminal 3’.

‘Sheffield,’ said her mother. She was looking at the ground. ‘Wow.’

‘Yep,’ said Kate, hating this, wishing they were back at the apartment. This was it, though.

‘Are you sure?’ said Venetia. ‘Nothing else?’

‘No,’ said Kate, feeling guilty. ‘Sorry.’

‘Sheffield …’ said Venetia. She glanced at her daughter, her expression unreadable. ‘Thank you, Katy. Thanks.’

‘But Mum – what does it mean?’ Kate said, unable to quell her curiosity.

Venetia walked on a little further, past another apartment block, past a slew of pink blossom. Her mother sighed, and threw her head back a little.

‘Kate – Kate,’ she said. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Yes,’ said Kate, nodding furiously.

‘Do you know why I left your father?’

‘Erm,’ said Kate, not wanting to sound too eager. ‘No, actually, Mum, I don’t know why.’

‘Well, I should have left it another year,’ her mother said, almost conversationally. ‘I should have waited till you were fifteen or so. You were too young and it was wrong of me.

I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. You know?’

‘Mum, I don’t –’

Venetia was babbling, her voice quite without its usual girlish inflections. ‘I pay for it every day, in one way or another; when I think about how I let you down it breaks my heart every day, but I just couldn’t take it any more.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And god. I must say, your father saying that just goes to prove it.’

‘What?’ Kate said. ‘About Sheffield? What, Mum? What does it mean?’

Venetia turned to face her, and Kate saw her mother as a woman, the woman she must have been.

‘It’s the reason I left your father,’ she said, with a tiny laugh. ‘And it was selfish of him to ask you to give me the message, wicked and selfish.’

‘It wasn’t like that –’ Kate felt uncomfortable. ‘We were talking about you and I always wondered …’

‘There’s no big secret,’ Venetia said. ‘You think there’s some big secret, there isn’t.’ She wrinkled her freckled nose and exhaled loudly. ‘God, Kate, I left him because he was a nightmare to live with. He made me miserable. I used to find any excuse to go to the shops, pop out for milk, and I’d cry all the way there, all the way back.’ She began counting off on her fingers. ‘He criticized me constantly, I never knew where he was. And if I asked him – pfff! Oh, he’d go mad. He belittled me in front of everyone. He slept with countless other women, he had these terrible rages, he never did the shopping –’ listening to this, as it filtered through her head, Kate loved the fact that sleeping with countless other women was almost on a par with not doing the shopping ‘– and it got to the point where I couldn’t take it any more.’

Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and Kate stroked her arm. ‘Oh mum. I had no idea,’ she said, trying to work out what to say. She knew her father had been a nightmare to live with, he still was, but she had been protected from it – by her mother, by him, because until she grew up and had a mind of her own, she was still his little girl.

‘He’s a monster, Kate,’ Venetia was laughing, almost hysterically. ‘And I can say that because I still love him, I’ll always love him. I just can’t live with him. We weren’t good for each other. We made each other miserable. That’s why I ran away.’

‘That’s all?’ Kate said, and hurriedly corrected herself. ‘I don’t mean that’s all – it’s a lot, Mum, it’s just I always thought there was some terrible secret …’

‘On our thirteenth wedding anniversary he was playing with the Hallé in Sheffield. The Mendelssohn. I surprised him in the dressing room beforehand. He was with the first trombonist,’ said Venetia. ‘She was sitting on his lap.’ She shook her head. ‘God, it sounds like a French farce. So ridiculous.’ Drawing herself up a little, she said with touching dignity, ‘And I am not ridiculous. But she was just one of many, and god, she was so young! About twenty! I couldn’t take it any more.’

‘That was “I still think about Sheffield”?’ Kate asked with incredulity. ‘I thought it’d be some wonderful romantic story.’

‘In Sheffield? In a dressing room with peeling wallpaper and a cheap little brass player with big tits?’ said Venetia, bitterly. ‘God no.’ She put her arm around Kate. ‘Is he cheating on Lisa?’

‘I have no idea,’ Kate said, feeling a stab of loyalty to Lisa, understanding even more so now that her life must sometimes be difficult. ‘But you know, I don’t think so,’ she said. Venetia looked at her.

‘You and me – we were both in the same boat, that’s why when you turned up here, so strange, you wouldn’t talk about Sean and Charly, or Steve, or Zoe, or anything – that’s why I just let you stay, didn’t put any pressure on you. I wanted you to feel you had a home here, that you didn’t have to worry about anything.’

It was sunny on the wide street, but Kate felt a cold wind to her heart, suddenly, as she saw how prescient her mother had been. Venetia took her arm and they carried on walking.

‘And when you came back last year after those mysterious two weeks away – I know you were away that long darling, Maurice told me, really, I’m not stupid – well, I didn’t say anything, because I knew you just had to work it out for yourself.’

‘Yes,’ said Kate, nodding violently. ‘I did. I think I have
now, Mum – but I think I’ve screwed it all up even more.’

‘How so?’ said her mother.

‘Every how so,’ said Kate. ‘There was this man. I should have been with him from the start,’ she turned her head towards the sun, blinking. ‘He’s the one I was with in London. Zoe’s brother-in-law. Mac.’

Venetia nodded. ‘I know Mac. I remember Mac. That good-looking doctor who spent all night of your engagement party pretending not to look at you. Nice man.’

Of course she knew, Kate thought. Venetia missed nothing. ‘I left him, I wasn’t ready … And now I think it’s too late.’

‘Why do you think he’s the one for you?’ Venetia asked almost conversationally. She waved an elegant hand at someone walking along the pavement, the other side. ‘Hello, Karina!’

‘Um –’ Kate tried to sound articulate. ‘You know Sean?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well he was wrong for me and I couldn’t see it. Because everything was disguised with him. He looked good, but he was bad inside. He was tall and comforting, but actually he let me down.’ Kate carried on talking, though her throat was tight, sore. ‘I thought I needed someone to look after me, and actually, I was better off on my own.’

Venetia was nodding violently. ‘Go on,’ she said. She patted her daughter’s arm, comfortingly. Kate could hear the birds singing, loudly now, in the trees.

‘Mac – he’s right for me, and he wanted to look after me too, but I didn’t want that. I couldn’t see it. It’s exactly the opposite. Sounds mad I know.’

‘It’s not mad.’ Her mother looked sad. ‘I wish it had been the same with your father.’

They were opposite the apartment building now. She kissed Kate on the cheek.

‘Let’s go inside. My darling baby’ll be wondering where we’ve got to.’

Venetia tripped up the stairs, almost skipping. ‘Hello, hello,’ she cried, as Maurice came out from behind the desk.

‘I’ll see you girls later,’ he said. ‘Mr Fienstein must be very excited.’

‘He certainly is,’ said Venetia.

Maurice said, ‘He really is a very lucky man, Mrs Fienstein.’

‘Oh, he knows it,’ Venetia sang, looking up at Maurice from underneath her lashes as the lift doors sprung open. ‘Baby, he knows it.’

Kate sighed. ‘Come on, Mum,’ she said, trying not to laugh. ‘It’s nearly party time.’

Back at the apartment, the Robertsons had rung to say they were definitely coming, but Joel Robertson was worried about what to wear, and Mrs Cohen was now coming solo, because Mr Cohen wasn’t well, and Mrs Da Costa had popped by to offer to help. Oscar had a) drawn up a list of songs that he might, if asked, possibly consent to play at the (hopefully enthusiastic) gathering b) crossed it out and started again, several times.

‘I don’t know what to do for an encore,’ he said, fretfully, as Venetia and Kate arrived back. ‘What if they want something – you know, really jazzy.’

‘Darling, give ’em the old razzle dazzle,’ said Venetia, depositing the bags on the sofa and taking off her wrap. ‘You’ll be wonderful. Won’t he, Kate?’

‘Of course he will,’ said Kate, loyally, extracting the coffee beans they’d bought from the bags and putting them in the little galley kitchen, as Venetia flung her arms around Oscar and kissed him.

‘Oh Oscar darling,’ she said, repeatedly kissing his cheek. ‘Birthday boy tomorrow, party tonight, ooh la la! Look!’

Oscar grabbed her hands, and brought them in front of
him. Kate watched them, torn between slight embarrassment and real affection, and feeling something inside her, a voice that wouldn’t go away now.

‘I have a present for you, Venetia darling,’ he said, solemnly. ‘Kate, you too. Wait there.’

And he vanished down the long parquet-floored corridor towards their bedroom. Kate stood next to her mother, rather excited – what was it?

He reappeared a minute later, carrying two little bags.

‘Tiffany?’ said Venetia. ‘Oh, Oscar, no …’

Kate looked at the pale-blue confection being held out to her. ‘Oscar. Wow,’ she said, taking it and opening it up to find a little box, wrapped in white ribbon. She opened it, feeling almost nervous.

Nestling in the white silk padding was a chain and a pendant. A platinum chain, with a heart-shaped pendant, covered in diamonds, a tiny thing that bulged and glittered in the light from the lamp.

‘Oscar!’ Kate cried. ‘Oh my god. You shouldn’t have!’ She looked up, to find her stepfather watching her, a curious expression of sadness mixed with – what was it? Love? Kindness? Emotion? All those things were written on his face. She hugged him.