Thursdays in the Park (23 page)

‘I’ll be late tonight,’ she told him. ‘I’m meeting Rita.’

George looked at her sharply. ‘You only saw her yesterday.’

‘She’s got tickets for the new Tom Stoppard play.’

This was true, but she wasn’t taking Jeanie.

‘Rather you than me,’ he muttered, turning back to his crossword, a piece of toast dangling limply from the other hand.

‘I’ll go straight from the shop. I might be late; she likes to eat afterwards.’

She knew she should have just told him she was seeing Ray. But since the other night she had begun to view him differently, as if he were a hothouse plant that needed constant nurturing. She thought him too frail to deal with the truth.

‘Enjoy,’ he said, not looking at her. Then as she reached the door she heard her name. ‘By the way, we have two people coming to view the house today. The agent says there’s been a lot of interest.’

When Jeanie made no comment, he went on, ‘It’s exciting, Jeanie; it’ll be a new start for us. I know we can make it, you and I. We’ve come this far and it hasn’t been all bad.’ He grinned winningly at her and she smiled back.

‘I never said it was,’ she replied. It was as if George’s breakdown two nights ago had never existed, the pain she had witnessed on his face just a bad dream. He hadn’t mentioned it since, but she couldn’t believe anyone, not even George, had the perverse strength to bury a confession as momentous as that a second time.

‘You’re shaking,’ Ray said softly.

She wasn’t sure how she had arrived at his flat. The walk
down the hill had passed in a pall of anguish. However much she told herself that this was the right thing to do, it felt entirely wrong. When they had talked on the phone, and Jeanie had told him about the abuse, Ray had been largely silent. Perhaps he’d known what it would mean to Jeanie.

‘Ray . . .’ She had hoped to be businesslike, to tell him the truth and hold her feelings at bay. Instead, as he gathered her into his arms, the pain of the last weeks instantly receded and she found herself delighting in the smell of him, the feel of his cheek against hers, the pure pleasure of his embrace.

‘Don’t,’ he said, as she pulled away and began to explain. ‘I know what you need to say, but please, don’t say the words. I don’t want to remember the words.’

Jeanie had no more desire to say it than Ray had to hear it.

‘Let’s just have tonight,’ he whispered.

Two glasses and a bottle of wine sat waiting on the coffee table and Chet Baker’s melancholy notes filled the room. But Ray took Jeanie’s hand in his and drew her deliberately towards the bedroom.

The room was bathed in soft evening light. As she sat down on the bed, Ray knelt in front of her. He kissed her softly on the lips, his hands slipping the straps from her shoulders and moving them down across her naked breasts, her body. His touch was light, barely brushing her skin, but so sensuous and emotionally charged that she could hardly breathe.

‘You’re sure you want this, Jeanie?’ he asked, looking intently into her face, his eyes alight with desire.

She nodded, trembling. And then his mouth was on hers,
urgent and full of a long-repressed passion which was only equalled by her own. They sank back on to the bed, reaching for each other, giving and receiving the caresses of which she had hardly dared dream. And their lovemaking was beyond anything she could have imagined.

Chet Baker was a long time silent before either of them spoke again.

‘What’s the time?’ she asked.

Ray glanced towards the bedside clock.

‘Late.’

‘I should go.’ The words seemed to come from someone else. She heard Ray sigh beside her, but she was drugged with a pleasure so powerful and so unexpected that she could barely focus.

‘We make a good team,’ he chuckled, dropping a light kiss on the top of her head. ‘And now you’ve had your wicked way, you’re going to dump me.’

He got up, and Jeanie watched as he moved through to the other room and selected Miles Davis’s
Kind of Blue
from the shelf. His naked body was strong and compact, yet he was light on his feet and as graceful as a dancer.

‘I know who Miles Davis is,’ she insisted when he got back into bed, kissing her as he teased her about her musical ignorance. The jazz was more lyrical, lighter than Baker, and she sensed Ray’s joy in their lovemaking informing his choice.

‘Tip of the iceberg . . . this is jazz lite. Wait till you hear some of my hardcore collection.’

Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered why she had come. She sat up in bed, drawing the duvet round her breasts.

‘I can’t . . . I can’t leave him, Ray, please understand. It’s not to do with you or how I feel about you . . . tonight was unforgettable, for me unique.’ She gazed at him, wiping the tears with one hand, the other clutching his own as if she were drowning. ‘If he hadn’t told me about the abuse . . . if . . .’

‘Shh, Jeanie, shh, please, don’t talk about it.’

‘But I have to go, it’s past eleven.’

Despite the hour, neither felt remotely inclined to move. For another half-hour they remained entwined, warm and sleepy, in each other’s arms, until she forced herself upright.

Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed and began to gather her strewn clothes.

‘I’ll walk you home.’

They walked in silence, holding tightly to each other’s hand. The night was cool and cloudy. At the top of the hill Ray bent to kiss her softly on the lips.

‘Dear Heart,’
he whispered, ‘
the thought of you

Is the pain at my side . . .

The shadow that chills my view
.

I am afraid to lose you
,

I am afraid of my fear
.

You know where I am if you change your mind,’ he murmured, and despite the deliberately casual tone, she saw in his eyes the bleakness of loss, reflected so clearly in her own.

The house was silent except for the loud, insistent ticking
of the many clocks. The long-case in the hall wheezed the quarter as Jeanie passed up the stairs to her room. She no longer felt like crying; she just wanted to sleep forever and never wake. She didn’t turn the light on, just shed her clothes as she walked towards her bed, lowering herself on to the smooth, cool linen and pulling the duvet close around her for comfort. But as she turned on her side she let out a cry. There, next to her, was George, fast asleep on the other side of the bed.

‘Hello, Jeanie,’ he muttered sleepily, woken by her cry.

‘What are you doing here?’ Jeanie was wide awake now, and furious.

George sat up in the half-light from the window, where the curtains were left undrawn.

‘Sorry if I startled you. I thought it was time to start afresh, stop this silliness of separate bedrooms.’

Jeanie was nonplussed. ‘Without asking me?’

‘You’re my wife, Jeanie; I shouldn’t have to ask your permission to sleep in your bed,’ he replied huffily.

‘No, well, you shouldn’t have left it in the first place,’ she snapped. ‘I’m tired. Please, George, go back to your room and we can discuss it tomorrow.’

Would he guess what she had been doing? Couldn’t he sense it?

‘OK, OK, if you insist. I thought it might be a nice surprise for you.’

‘It was certainly a surprise,’ she muttered.

‘You’re very late,’ he said, as he stood by the bed, hitching up his pyjama trousers. She saw him staring at her.

‘I said I would be. Rita hates eating before the theatre.’

‘But it’s nearly one.’ His eyes continued to bore into her.

‘Go to bed, George.’ Jeanie turned her back on him. She was so close to telling him where she had really been.

Once the door had shut behind her husband, Jeanie hunched under the duvet, angry that his presence had dragged her so brutally from Ray, feeling as if her sanctuary had been violated. Fairness to George did not come into it.

Chanty called unexpectedly at the shop the next morning.

‘Hi, darling, this is a nice surprise. Where’s Ellie?’

‘She’s fine, she’s at nursery. It’s Wednesday.’

‘Is it?’

‘Are you OK? You look really tired.’

‘I am. Late night with Rita.’

‘Dirty stop-out, eh?’ Chanty laughed. ‘Hope it was fun.’ She checked around to see if Jola was listening, then, despite the fact that Jeanie was alone in the shop, lowered her voice. ‘How’s it going with Dad?’

‘It’s fine,’ Jeanie lied, the weight of George’s secret sitting heavy on her mind. But it wasn’t her secret to tell, and Jeanie realized with a shock that now she lived in a world of secrets. Chanty seemed happy to take her reply at face value, however.

‘Good, that’s good. Listen, Mum, Alex and I were wondering if you and Dad wanted to come over for supper this evening. We haven’t seen you together for ages.’

‘That would be lovely, darling. Why aren’t you at work?’ She thought her daughter looked unusually happy.

‘I’m going in now. Had a few things to do this morning.’ She seemed to hesitate, then reached across the counter to kiss her mother on the cheek. ‘Tonight, then? Come around seven, then you can see Ellie before she goes to bed. If it stays nice we’ll do a barbecue.’

After Chanty had gone, Jeanie slumped on the stool behind the till. She had had little time to dwell on the previous night, but the pleasure of their lovemaking, so surprising, so magical, still hovered around her tired body even as she worked, like a soft veil between her and the world. Ray had brought her alive, and every inch of her body reminded her of this. She refused to contemplate the probability that she would never experience it again. George had been his usual self that morning, hardly contrite about his trespass, and grilling her about every detail of the evening. By the time she left for work she was exhausted by her lies.

Ellie rushed along the hall to welcome Jeanie that evening, waiting to be picked up, then throwing her little arms round her neck. She was fresh from the bath, her hair still damp, her face glowing pink and clean. She pointed proudly to her pyjama top.

‘Gin . . . look, Gin, it says I an angel.’ She laughed and snuggled into her grandmother’s body. ‘Mmmmm . . . I bin waiting for you.’

‘Your top is right, you are an angel.’ Jeanie buried her face in the child’s sweet-smelling hair.

‘She’s been dying to see you.’ Chanty smiled, directing
them to the garden. ‘Dad’s already here. Alex is doing a barbecue.’

Jeanie took Ellie outside and settled in one of the chairs on the wooden decking. George was hovering, a glass of wine in his hand, but he seemed uncomfortably on edge.

‘We’ve had an offer.’

‘A good one?’

‘Amazingly, the asking price. They’re only the fifth couple to see it. But the agent said there were two other people after it, and they panicked.’

‘That’s fantastic. I’m not surprised, it’s a lovely house.’ Alex avoided Jeanie’s eye and addressed George. ‘So you’ve accepted?’

George nodded, but he didn’t seem to be as jubilant as Jeanie expected.

‘You don’t seem very happy about it,’ Jeanie remarkd.

He stared at her vacantly. ‘No, I am, I’m delighted. I thought it would be much more of a drama. I did call you to tell you, but your phone was switched off.’

Jeanie watched Alex poking ineffectually at the chicken pieces. It was clear the coals were not nearly hot enough, but he didn’t appear to have noticed. There was definitely a strange atmosphere; everyone, including Chanty, seemed disconnected. She did a puzzle with Ellie on the garden table. Ellie knew the jigsaw back to front and triumphantly slotted the pieces in place as quickly as her small hands could manage. It wasn’t till her granddaughter was tucked up in bed that Chanty emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne. Jeanie saw her flash a smile at her husband.

‘Are we celebrating the house?’ George asked.

Neither Chanty nor Alex replied until the champagne was poured.

‘We have something to tell you,’ she said, and Jeanie could see that she could hardly contain her excitement. Alex had stopped cooking and stood beside her, looking sheepish, as he always did when faced with a family occasion. ‘I’m pregnant.’

Jeanie was instantly lifted out of her tiredness.

‘That’s wonderful! How fantastic, darling. When’s it due?’

‘I’m about ten weeks already, so just after Christmas.’

She hugged her daughter, patted her son-in-law on the back.

‘Ten weeks and you didn’t tell us?’

‘I didn’t know till this morning. I suppose all the stuff with Ellie distracted me, and it was only when I started being sick that I realized something was up.’ Chanty leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. ‘Alex worked it out.’

‘But this is such bad timing,’ Jeanie wailed. ‘We’ll be miles away when it’s born.’

‘You can stay up here. It’ll be fine, Mum. I’ll need you to help with Ellie big time.’

‘Does she know yet?’

Chanty shook her head. ‘The books say to leave it till much later; they have no concept of time at that age.’

Jeanie smiled. ‘She ain’t going to like it!’

The conversation, mainly between the women, flowed on, no one noticing that George had fallen silent and was sitting morosely nursing yet another glass of wine in the corner of
the garden. When Alex announced the chicken and sausages were ready and they took their seats at the table, George didn’t move.

‘Dad? Come on, we’re ready to eat.’

George looked round, but still made no attempt to join them.

‘George?’ Jeanie went over to him. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Not so . . . good, old girl.’ She could hear the effort he was making to get the words out.

‘Are you feeling ill?’

George stared up at her. ‘I don’t feel great . . . muss say.’ He waved his glass at his daughter and son-in-law. ‘Wonnerful news . . . give me a grandson . . . why not . . .’

Chanty looked crestfallen. ‘Dad, you’re drunk.’

George laughed and nodded. ‘I s’pose I am . . . sorry ’bout that . . . but it’s been a helluva week.’

‘George, let me take you home . . . come on, get up.’

Jeanie gestured to Alex to help her, but George was having none of it and jerked his arm from her grasp.