East Fortune (15 page)

He would do something mad: buy a vineyard.
Viticulture.
He even liked the word. That would finish off his former colleagues. And if he managed to achieve this he decided that he would show no signs of stress or failure. He would take his revenge by being happier than the people he had left behind.

He confessed in the middle of a picnic in the Botanic Gardens. It was such a warm day, Tessa had said, and they so rarely did anything impromptu. Why couldn't they just pack a hamper
and a cool bag and enjoy the day? She had bought bread from the Italian delicatessen together with Parma ham, melon, panforte and home-made lemonade.

The gardens were already crowded with keep-fit enthusiasts who had decided to ignore the
No jogging
signs and toddlers escaping their mothers. Angus was reminded of their children, Imogen, Sarah and Gavin. How innocent they had seemed, all those years ago, with their tricycles and scooters, their little crash helmets and their games of rounders with friends. Every time he saw a grassy bank Angus was reminded of their childhood roly-polies down the hill. He wanted to take off his glasses and do one just for Tessa – to show that he could still be young.

They found a spot by a large eucalyptus tree and unpacked the picnic together.

‘Isn't this lovely?' said Tessa.

‘It was such a good idea to come. I love this place.'

‘It's extraordinary we ever find time for each other,' Tessa was saying. ‘There's always a child to worry about or a relation to visit. But I suppose that's what retirement is for.'

‘Yes,' said Angus. He poured out the lemonade.

‘Are you all right?'

‘Of course I'm all right. Why do you ask?'

‘You just seem a bit different.'

‘How am I different?'

‘I don't know. Perhaps you are keeping something from me.'

She appeared to know already.

‘Why would I do that?'

‘I've no idea. Butyou're up to something. I can tell.' Tessa began to lay the Parma ham and the slices of melon on a plate. ‘Would you like some black pepper?'

‘You've even brought that?'

‘Of course.'

She was not going to say anything more.

‘Well?'

Angus took a bite of the melon and the ham. If he closed his eyes he could be in Italy. He finished his mouthful. Tessa was waiting for a reply. He took a sip of lemonade.

‘I'm leaving my job.'

‘Oh.' Tessa broke off another piece of bread and began to butter it.

Angus waited for her to say something more but nothing came.

‘I've quit.'

‘I see. Would you like some more ham?'

‘Thank you.'

‘Don't you think we should have discussed this?'

Angus tried to retain the authority he thought he needed.

‘I thought we could discuss it now. I wasn't ready before.'

‘When did this happen?'

‘A few weeks ago.'

‘A few weeks?'

‘I'm sorry. I should have said.'

Angus could see that Tessa was being careful not to judge him too soon.

‘Won't it be hard to find another job at your age?'

‘I don't need another job.' The response was firmer than he had intended. It sounded like pique.

Tessa was still calm.

‘But the kids? Gavin's still at university.'

Angus tried to soften his tone.

‘There's a good pay-out. We'll have enough if we're careful.'

‘A pay-out? I thought you'd resigned?'

He should have taken her into his confidence.

‘Are you telling me everything?' she asked.

‘Not exactly.'

‘Was it your decision?'

‘It was a mutual decision.'

‘Oh Angus, why didn't you say? Why didn't you tell me?'

‘I didn't want to worry you. I thought I should do it on my own.'

She leaned forward and hugged him.

‘Oh Angus, I'm sorry.'

‘No, it's all right. I'm fine about it.'

He waited as they held each other. He had to sustain his confidence amidst her kindness.

‘It was a bit humiliating at first,' he said. ‘I had to listen to a load of nonsense about corporate outsourcing and three-hundred-and-sixty-degree roll-outs, but apart from that I'm fine.'

Tessa smiled sadly.

‘I could have helped you.'

‘You didn't need to help me. I didn't need your help. I only need it now. That's why I'm telling you.'

He poured out more lemonade, and unwrapped the panforte. Icing sugar drifted on to his trousers. He tried to show his wife that it did not matter.

‘That stuff gets everywhere,' he said.

‘What are you going to do?' Tessa asked.

‘I don't know. I've had some thoughts…'

‘And?'

‘What do you think about living abroad?'

‘Oh Angus…'

‘I thought France, or even Italy. We remortgage the house, use the redundancy money, and buy a little smallholding – a little vineyard even. What do you think?'

‘Italy? You know I've never been back.'

‘I know. But perhaps we should go back. Live again. Have an adventure.'

‘Is that what you call it?'

It was the brightest of days. The trees contained a myriad of greens against the blue: olive, lime and emerald. Tessa remembered the Italy of her youth, the accident when she had burned her arm. She thought what it might mean to go back. It didn't seem possible.

‘And what am I supposed to do about my job?' she asked. ‘I can't just give it up.'

‘I know. I haven't thought that bit through.'

‘We can't really afford it.'

‘We can if we live somewhere else, somewhere cheaper.'

‘But Italy…'

Angus put his hand over hers.

‘I know, I know…'

‘Are you sure you've thought about this properly?'

Angus smiled.

‘Of course I haven't. I'm just trying to be brave.'

‘And what about the family, your parents?'

‘They can come and stay. It'll be an adventure.'

Tessa started to clear away the picnic.

‘I'll have to think about it, Angus. It's quite a lot to take in. When will you tell people?'

‘When we know what we're going to do and where we might go. I don't want to worry anyone.'

‘Or change your mind…'

‘I won't do that…'

‘I don't know.'

‘Trust me. I want to start again. I want to leave everything behind; everything except you.'

‘And the children.'

‘Of course, the children…'

Tessa stood up, put the wicker basket to one side, and began to shake out the rug.

‘I'm glad I've survived then.'

‘I can't do anything without you. You know that.'

‘It's just as well. I don't think your parents could cope with another of their sons' marriages collapsing…'

‘There is that…'

Tessa folded the rug and handed it to her husband. Her tone was still jovial but it contained mild steel.

‘You mean you're only staying with me to please your parents?'

‘Of course not. I love you.'

‘Good. I'm glad we've got that sorted out.' She handed Angus the cool box.

‘Aren't you supposed to say you love me too?' Angus asked.

‘Of course I do. I just need to keep you on your toes. I can't have you taking anything for granted.'

‘Believe me,' Angus replied, ‘I don't take anything for granted any more.'

They walked back through the Botanics. Angus began to breathe more deeply. He had told Tessa and now, whatever happened, it was going to be all right.

He could do almost anything as long as she stayed with him. His job was nothing, he said to himself, and his wife was everything. It was his last chance to reinvent his life.

Krystyna knew that she would either have to tell Jack about the baby or stop seeing him altogether. They could not go on as they were.

Travelling on the bus to see him once more, she thought back to when she was little: mushroom picking with her father in the woods and forests outside Kraków. It was one of the few things they had done together, seeking out special places that the family had passed on for years, gathering supplies of
czubajki kanie,
bringing them home and frying them up for breakfast.

She tried to think how different her life would have been if she had had no father; if her mother had had to do it all on her own.

When she arrived at the house she could see that Jack had not been out for days. There were piles of washing up in the sink, dirty coffee cups on his desk, overflowing waste-paper baskets.

‘I've been very busy,' he explained.

‘Perhaps I should not have come.'

‘You're always welcome, Krystyna, you know that.'

‘I'd like to take you out. We should go for a walk.'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘I thought we could find some mushrooms.'

‘I don't know if there are any round here.'

‘I have seen the woods close to your house. There must be some there.'

Jack stopped his work.

‘The girls used to gather them but I was always scared they might
be poisonous. Maggie was the one that knew. After she left, of course…'

Krystyna was not going to let him talk about his wife.

‘Did you never go out with the children yourself?'

‘Of course. But I was always busy. I suppose the word is preoccupied.'

‘You didn't like spending time with them?'

‘Of course I did. But I never realised how quickly their childhood would disappear.'

‘And what about when you were young? Did your parents take you out?'

‘Yes, but I always preferred reading.' He gestured to the desk. ‘I'm always with my books and papers.'

Krystyna did not believe him. Jack couldn't have been reading Latin from the age of five.

‘Are there mushrooms in your work?' she asked. ‘Does your poet talk about them?'

‘I don't think so, although Lucretius likes the bark and roots of trees, the woodland floor, nature dispersing itself…'

Krystyna wondered how long Jack could speak before realising that he was sounding ridiculous.

‘Really?'

‘And I think the Emperor Claudius was killed by mushroom poisoning. It's in Tacitus.'

‘What kind?'

‘A death cap, I think…'

‘Amanita phalloides.
Don't worry. It's too early in the year for them. I think you will live.'

‘Are you teasing me?' Jack asked. He had never seen her so – what was the word –
larky?

‘Of course. Didn't you notice?'

‘I'm not sure I notice anything these days.'

Krystyna pulled open the kitchen drawer and picked out two knives.

‘I think we should take the pastry brush, too. What do you think?'

‘I don't make pastry.' Jack tried to sound helpful. ‘I'm sorry. I know I should…'

‘We can use it to take off the soil. Don't look so anxious.'

‘I'm not anxious.'

Krystyna picked up a basket.

‘There's nothing to worry about. I think you might be more worried if you could see yourself sitting at your desk all day.'

‘But I like my books. I'm happy doing what I do.'

‘Are you really?' Krystyna asked. ‘You don't think you could be happier? You can't see your life differently?'

‘Believe me. I like solitude.'

‘I don't think people are supposed to live on their own.'

‘I used to think it was the only way I could get any work done. And after everyone had left I was used to it. Then, of course, when all this happened…'

‘What?'

‘I realised…'

‘What?' Krystyna smiled.

‘That I'm even happier when I am with you.'

‘Then I am pleased.'

‘I'm sorry if that's too much.'

‘Of course it's not. But perhaps you overestimate me. I can be quite boring…'

‘I mean it.'

Krystyna was almost amused by his intensity.

‘No, you don't.'

‘I do. I promise…'

She stretched out her arm and pulled Jack out of his chair.

‘Come on. Let's go out. We can't stay inside on a day like today.'

They left the house, crossed the main road, and headed past a disused airfield into the hills. Jack was sure they were not going to find many mushrooms. It wasn't the season but Krystyna kept encouraging him to crouch down at the base of birch trees to look for chanterelles lodged under leaves or clustered amongst moss. She taught him to recognise the safe from the dangerous, talking of blushers and grisettes,
pieprznik jadalny
and
podgrzybek brunatny.

‘You're making these names up, knowing that I can't possibly understand you,' said Jack.

‘I'm not, I promise.'

They spent an hour stooping down amidst the damp resinous smell of the woodland ('Is this poisonous?' ‘No, it's a brown birch.' ‘How am I supposed to know?')

Working low, at the base of the trees, Jack was a small boy again, searching amidst worms and earwigs, surprised by the minutiae of ants and spiders, delighting in the unseen activity of natural life: beetles in rivulets of bark, a woodlouse in the crevice of a broken branch.

The earth was alternately hard and spongy underfoot, broken up by roots and fallen branches. The rotting stumps of dying trees gave life to fungus and lichen, grub and fern. Looking at the woodland floor, Jack was forced to slow his life down. When he stood up, he even saw the sky differently. He had a dizzying, vertiginous sense of his own place in the world, caught between the overarching blue above him and a woodland floor whose roots travelled as deep into the earth as their growth climbed into the air.