What Women Want (27 page)

‘You’ve been doing what?’ Ellen turned to Bea, all warmth gone from her expression.

‘I made a couple of phone calls,’ Bea had blurted out. ‘I found out one or two things about Oliver that I think you should know.’

‘How dare you?’ Ellen’s voice had trembled and even though she was making a huge effort to control herself, her anger was obvious. She had taken Oliver’s hand and looked up at him, then at Bea. At that moment, Bea had known she had lost her. ‘I think you’d better go. Now.’

Then, to make things worse (if that were possible), Kate and Paul had chosen to appear. With neither friend on her side, her only course of action had been to beat a retreat. But what was she to do now?

She started walking slowly towards home, letting the cold night air clear her head, thankful she’d chosen her flat boots that morning. She berated herself for knocking back that second glass of wine. Without it, she’d probably have kept her mouth shut. But there was no point in dwelling on what might have been. Despite being wounded by Ellen and Kate’s rejection, she would find a way to put things right. Her long-time friendship with Ellen and what she knew about Oliver meant that she couldn’t possibly walk away.

She passed a parade of shops where a small branch of the Co-op was still open. Having picked up half a dozen eggs, some mushrooms and new potatoes for Ben’s and her supper, plus milk for the morning, she skirted a group of hoodies lurking near the entrance with their beer cans and fags. Turning right, she passed a new police sign asking for witnesses to a fatal incident that had occurred three nights earlier. She quickened her step, tightening her grip on her bag, aware that the short cut she was taking through the estate was not entirely well advised. The sounds of reggae and rock floated from a couple of dimly lit windows. Knots of disaffected youth hung about on corners, shouting and smoking, but to her relief, none of them appeared to notice her. For once, she thanked the Lord for the anonymity bestowed by middle age.

She emerged onto the main road feeling calmer. She took her mobile out of her pocket to call Mark. To her annoyance, she saw that the battery was almost dead. As she walked on, she thought about how considerate and sensible he’d been when she’d regaled him with Suzanne’s story. What would he say to her now? He’d lean back in his chair, rub his right cheekbone with his fingertips as he thought, close his eyes and exhale loudly. Then he’d talk slowly as if weighing every word. His advice would surely be what it had been all along: she must obtain her evidence and she must talk to Kate. Of course.

Hastening down her street, she was relieved to see the light in their hallway, like a beacon welcoming her home. Ben was back from football practice. She made omelettes and chatted, catching up with as much of his day as he’d allow. Then she excused herself to go upstairs where she could talk to Kate uninterrupted.

As she took to the chaise longue, she remembered the last phone conversation she’d had from there. She put her cup of coffee on the side table. If Kate would only listen to her, she would surely understand.

The phone was picked up after a couple of rings. She explained to a rather hesitant Paul that she had to speak to Kate. ‘I know she’s knackered but this is really urgent, Paul. Please put her on.’

‘She’s gone to bed, Bea. I don’t think I can . . .’

He was a hopeless liar.

‘Please, Paul.’ She hated begging but there was little else she could do.

There was a short silence in which she guessed they were mouthing a conversation between each other. Then, ‘I’m sorry but she doesn’t want to talk to you at the moment. It’s too late.’

‘I see.’

‘Why don’t you both sleep on it? Things will look different in the morning.’

Bea hung up. She thought about calling Mark. But falling out with both of her friends wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with him. Besides, she was ashamed at not having stuck to the plan he’d suggested. This was something the three of them would have to sort out themselves. The last thing she wanted was to lose their friendship. Ellen had every reason to be angry with her. Bea would probably feel as incensed herself if she thought someone, particularly a close friend, had been poking around in her, or even Mark’s, private life. But Kate was another matter. She had chosen to side with Ellen without bothering to hear what Bea had to say. The injustice of this fuelled Bea’s determination not to let the matter rest. Normally, if any of them fell out over anything, they would be on the phone to each other the next day to sort matters out. This time, it felt different. If Kate and Ellen were going to stonewall her, then she would leave them to stew for a few days and get on with things her own way.

She went downstairs to get
The Times Atlas of the World
, a present to Ben from a well-intentioned god-parent, but only Bea ever used it. She opened it at the map of France, then switched on her laptop and started Googling. When she found the site she wanted, she picked up her phone and dialled Suzanne. Half an hour later, with a return airline ticket booked for the next day, she stood up feeling happier, switched off the lights and went downstairs to watch TV with Ben.

‘What the hell am I going to do?’ Kate flopped, despairing, on to the living-room sofa and hugged a rose-print cushion to her stomach. ‘Bea thinks I’m siding with Ellen against her, and Ellen thinks I’ve ganged up with Bea. How ridiculous is that? But if only I’d stopped Bea trying to dig about in Oliver’s past, this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘I should think stopping Bea when her mind’s made up would be like trying to stop an express train. You couldn’t have done anything even if you’d wanted to.’ Paul pulled the small table that bore a vase of lilies back from the window and drew the curtains behind it, then walked to the fireplace and stood looking at her, warming the back of his legs.

‘I guess you’re right.’ She groaned, bending double over her knees. ‘But I feel so responsible.’

‘Don’t. I’ve already told you.’ He came over to sit beside her, careful not to disturb Mouse, who was showing his pleasure at being back on his favourite cushion with a full-throttled purr, twisting his body so his stomach was on offer to anyone who’d rub it. Paul placed his hand on the small of Kate’s back and began to stroke it as she relaxed into his touch. ‘You’ve got enough on your plate with the practice.’

‘But they’ve been such good friends and they matter to me. They really do.’ She was astonished to realise there was a tear on her cheek. She wiped it away and sniffed.

Paul put a hand over hers. ‘You’re exhausted. You’re working too hard, you know. Couldn’t you cut down on your sessions?’ Before he’d lost his job, he’d suggested this occasionally but now he was home alone he’d mentioned it several times.

‘You know I can’t. It’d look as if I didn’t care any more. Just because you’ve taken to the life of Reilly!’ She picked up one of the magazines neatly stacked on the coffee-table, flicked a few pages then put it down, regretting her outburst. ‘Anyway, my work isn’t the point here. My friends are. I’ve got to sort this mess out somehow. If I don’t, no one will. I know them.’

The phone rang. Paul got there first. ‘Bea! Hi.’

Kate reached out to take the phone from him. But he stood listening then said, ‘She’s gone to bed, Bea. I don’t think I can . . .’

He put a finger to his lips, then walked to the back of the room, saying nothing as he looked out over the garden. He listened to what Bea had to say, his back to Kate so he couldn’t see her mouthing at him to give her the phone. When she got up and tried to grab it, he held it above his head so she couldn’t reach, whispering, ‘Trust me.’

She collapsed back into the sofa and waited the conversation out, then let rip. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can be such an annoying man sometimes. That was for me. Now give me the phone and let me call her back.’

‘No.’ Paul was adamant. ‘Listen to me. I did that for your own good. It
is
too late to begin to sort this out now. Like it or not, you’re tired, tempers are frayed, Bea’s had one drink too many and you don’t want to make things worse. If you leave it until everyone’s calmed down, you’ll sort this out much faster.’

Kate gave a deep sigh, putting her head into her hands. ‘You’re probably right, dammit. But I won’t be able to call either of them tomorrow because I’m tied up all day and then we’ve got a partners’ meeting in the evening and you know how they go on and on.’ She thought for a second. ‘I think I’d feel better if I spoke to her now.’

‘Leave it, please. For once, I’m right.’ He put the phone on the mantelpiece among the clutter that had accumulated there over the years.

She suddenly hadn’t the energy to stand up and get it for herself. What was it about his brand of male certainty that made her wilt into submission? Every working day was chock full of action to be taken, decisions that had to be made – from diagnosis to treatment, from referrals to sick notes, from what to put on in the morning to which sandwich to have for lunch. Normally she would stand up to anyone in the interests of whatever she thought was right, or wanted to do, but this evening a part of her welcomed the decision being taken out of her hands. The weariness that she’d felt earlier on in the gallery was enveloping her again and she felt utterly drained. Yes, she knew Paul was right. She was putting too much physical and emotional energy into the practice but what alternative did she have? Her commitment had always been to medicine, even when she was working part-time as a salaried GP bringing up their young family. She leaned back and closed her eyes. ‘OK, I give in.’

‘Good. In that case, if you’ve got a jot of energy left, let’s talk about Africa. I’ve been trying to pin you down for days.’

Her eyes snapped open. ‘Africa? Are you serious?’

‘Yes.’ He walked over to the mahogany roll-top desk that they’d inherited from Paul’s grandfather, the laptop on its surface at odds with the Victorian design. He pulled some papers from one of the drawers. ‘Have a look at these. I’ve been looking at flights to Accra and seeing if we could combine seeing Sam with a bit of an adventure of our own. I think I may have to put us in the hands of a travel agent in the end, but at least I’ve made a start.’

She stared at him, disbelieving. Was this the man who had been turning into a middle-aged conservative eco-warrior, to whom the word ‘holiday’, let alone ‘air-miles’, had become anathema? ‘What’s brought this on? I thought you didn’t want to go there.’

‘That was when all that trouble was going on at work and I couldn’t think further than the next meeting. Now I’m at home, with nothing imminent work-wise, I thought I might as well investigate. I know how much you want to go. And what’s the point in having a socking great pay-off if we can’t enjoy some of it?’

‘What about your carbon footprint?’ she teased.

‘Sod it.’ He grinned. ‘This is in the name of Sam and in the name of us. What do you think?’

‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more.’ The idea of seeing Sam again, finding out how he was living, seeing the work he was doing and meeting his friends thrilled her beyond measure.

‘In that case, have a look at these flights and stuff and tell me what you think. February sound good to you? It’ll be baking, but we’ll miss the rainy season.’

‘Sounds amazing. You have done your homework.’ She took the printouts from him and began to look at the flight prices and thumbnail summaries of what Ghana had to offer. She was amused to see he’d ringed the eco-tourism section of one of the Ghana tourism sites. To be expected! But as she was bombarded by images of exotic wildlife, colourful native costumes, long, secluded beaches and more natural and cultural highlights than she had imagined existing there, she caught her breath with excitement.

‘Have you told Sam? What about Jack?’

‘I thought I’d leave Sam to you but I have spoken to Jack. I thought he might want to come but, believe it or not, he wants to make his own trip to visit his brother, without us. He’s getting a job to earn the money!’

‘He wants to work? Pinch me – am I dreaming?’

‘That’s what he says, so I think we should leave him to it. My only hope for him was that a life of lotus-eating in London would pale as his money ran out. And that’s what seems to be happening.’

‘What’s he going to do?’ She couldn’t believe that her youngest was finally entering the adult world. The thought of her children so grown-up made her feel ancient. But it also confirmed that the time had finally come for her and Paul to start thinking about the next stage of their life together.

‘Lord alone knows. I’m leaving that to him. He’s got to find his own way.’

‘So, just us?’ She looked down at the picture on her knee of the hippos in the Wechiau Sanctuary. They were really going to see them and so much else together, at last.

‘Yes, just us. Shall I find out more?’

The sheer pleasure she saw on his face made her leap to her feet and hug him, her exhaustion almost forgotten. ‘Absolutely.’

‘And now can we forget about your two friends for this evening and go to bed?’

*

With only a few stragglers remaining, Jed suggested that he take Ellen and Oliver to supper at the small Turkish restaurant round the corner. Ellen couldn’t refuse, despite Oliver’s badly disguised reluctance. Not that she had any appetite for food after what had happened, but overall the private view had been such a roaring success that she knew they should celebrate. The interest in Jed’s paintings had been phenomenal, better than any other view she remembered putting on.

‘I think I’ll go home. Got a splitting headache,’ muttered Oliver.

‘Home?’ Ellen couldn’t believe he’d duck out of coming with her.

‘To the flat.’

‘Oh, do come with us,’ she pleaded, when they found themselves in a quietish corner. ‘I’d like you be there.’

‘I know you would. And I’d like to be there too. But the best way to deal with these migraines is to lie down until they’ve gone. If I go now, I’ll catch it before it sets in. We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.’

She couldn’t remember him ever having mentioned that he was susceptible to migraines and wondered briefly whether it was a diplomatic illness. But he must know how much she’d appreciate him being with her. ‘I’m so, so sorry about Bea,’ she apologised. ‘I don’t know what she thought she was doing.’

‘Let’s not talk about it now. I don’t want your evening to be any more spoiled than it has been. I’ll tell you about it another time – the little there is to tell.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know. But I want to.’

They said their good nights, Ellen wishing he would stay and come back to the house with her. She clung to him, hoping he’d change his mind, but he pulled away and left her in the emptying gallery. Suddenly she felt very alone.

She and Jed didn’t take long over their meal. He saw that something was preoccupying her, and when she declined to explain exactly what it was, he had insisted on treating them to a taxi home. He had refused the offer of a nightcap, seeming to understand that she needed to be alone, and, having used the bathroom, took himself off with a final ‘thank you’ to the campervan. Ellen saw him down the path as the implications of Bea’s interference began to gallop through her mind.

Looking down the hall as the front door shut behind her, she saw the house as Oliver must see it. However hard she tried to look after the place, she couldn’t hide the evidence of children that she knew he found so frustrating. Despite her repeated reminders about not touching the walls, a faint line of fingerprints ran at hip height along the hallway and up the stairs. Shoes were kicked higgledy-piggledy down the hall to where the end of the banisters was hung about with school bags and coats. Would he ever adjust to their chaos or would he be tidying up after them and tutting about it for ever? Like Sisyphus doomed to roll his boulder up that hill through eternity. The thought amused her. She tiptoed upstairs and looked in on Emma first, neatly curled with her back to the wall, then Matt, who lay sprawled across the top of his duvet as if he’d been dropped there from a great height. She gently eased it from under him and covered him up. She kissed them both. This was the one time when she could do that with a cast-iron guarantee that neither would object.

Her mind still racing, she decided to have that nightcap on her own. In the kitchen, she was greeted by a mess of pans that had been used for chicken Kievs, mashed potato and beans. At least one of the plates had been put into the dishwasher but the rest were scattered with the half-emptied lunch-boxes around the worktop. When she’d finally got the place back to looking as if a hand-grenade had exploded, rather than a nuclear bomb, she made herself a cup of best builder’s tea and sat at the table to take stock. She attempted half-heartedly to bring some order to the opened bills in that morning’s mail but she had too much on her mind to concentrate.

How grateful she was to Jed for taking her out and giving her time to unwind. His insistence had meant that in fact she’d avoided a potentially difficult evening with Oliver, and Bea and Kate had been relinquished to the back of her mind, which, right now, was where she wanted to keep them. But they were refusing to stay put. For years they had looked after her when she needed them and she loved them for that. But this time they had overstepped the mark. Whatever their motives, she realised she didn’t want them to treat her as if she was some sort of victim any more, unable to look after herself or make her own decisions. They had fallen into the habit of casting her in that role but the time had come for her to take responsibility for her own life. If she made a wrong choice, then she would have to deal with it herself. She’d chosen Oliver and, whatever Bea had to say about him, she was going to stick with that choice. If being with him meant losing Bea and Kate’s friendship, so be it. Big decision, but that was how strongly she felt.

As she sipped her tea, having allowed herself two sugars to celebrate the success of the evening – and because Oliver wasn’t there to see – things gradually became clearer. She was sure there was nothing that couldn’t be explained and that he’d do that in his own good time. She was happy to wait and certainly didn’t need Kate or Bea’s interference. Jed was right. Life was about taking chances, or what was the point of it? To show Oliver that whatever her friends said made no difference to her, she reached another a decision. Instead of wasting any more time, she would ask him to move in with them now. Emma would have to grow up and accept that her mother deserved a life of her own. A little tough love wouldn’t do her any harm. Matt would be thrilled with the addition of a fellow sports and games fanatic to the family. She hugged herself with delight, thinking of how pleased Oliver would be. This, after all, was what he wanted too.

Staring out at the dark shadow of the shed, another plan began to crystallise. As she had yet to find the time to use it, why not let someone else? As long as Oliver remained unemployed, he couldn’t contribute financially but, if she let the studio space to another artist and sublet the flat until the lease was up, it wouldn’t matter. The sound of the campervan door slamming outside the front of the house prompted a memory of the plans Jed was beginning to make for his future. She smiled to herself. At last everything was falling neatly into place.