Keeping Secrets (35 page)

‘Are you going to London again before Christmas?' she asked Stephen one morning, shaking biscuits into Tess's bowl.

‘Don't think so,' he said, finishing his coffee.

‘But do you actually know?'

‘I might have to, but I doubt it. James will be there, and everything's winding down on site anyway. I told you.'

Miriam straightened up and put the dog biscuits back on the shelf.

‘Well,' she said, turning to look at him, ‘when you do know, can you put us in the picture?'

Stephen frowned. ‘Of course. What's the matter?'

‘Nothing.'

‘You're up very early.'

‘I woke up early.' She cleared the breakfast things, and the cups shook in her hands. Her nights, usually oblivion once she'd taken a pill, were becoming broken, restless. ‘Anyway, I'd better go,' she said, putting them carefully into the sink. ‘I suppose Jon's still asleep – we'd better do his UCCA forms, hadn't we? How about tonight? Marietta's baby-sitting, I gather.'

‘Okay.' He got up from the table. ‘I did say I might meet him in the pub.'

‘Oh?'

‘I think he could do with a change of scene. I thought I'd drop into the Swan on the way back from Norwich.'

‘Oh,' she said again. ‘Did you?' She couldn't remember the last time they'd all gone out together. ‘And what did you think I might do?'

‘Miriam …' He came over and put his hand on her arm. ‘You don't like pubs,' he said reasonably. ‘What has got into you?'

For a moment, looking up at his face, which for once seemed genuinely concerned, she almost told him. Then she saw the time on the clock behind him, and said quickly: ‘Nothing. I'll be late,' and went out quickly, gathering jacket and bag from the hall, calling: ‘Give Tess a run before you go, can you?' She pulled the front door shut and went to the garage, breathing fast. After all, she thought, getting out the car, backing into the lane with extra caution, what is the point of opening it all up now, just before Christmas, with Marietta hanging round, and everything different? Perhaps in the new year, when I'm feeling better.

She drove slowly down the lane, her hands on the wheel still trembling.

They sat at the kitchen table, the forms spread out between them. Tess was asleep, the basket creaking as she twitched and sighed.

‘Shouldn't Dad be here?'

‘We're not going to fill it all in, are we? I just think we'd better make a start.' Miriam put on her glasses and gazed at the first page. ‘You can talk it over with him in the pub, can't you? And we can finish it all off over the weekend.'

‘Okay.' Jonathan leaned back in his chair, yawning. ‘I'm knackered.'

‘I'm not surprised.' It sounded sharper than she'd intended, and he tipped the chair forward again, frowning.

‘Meaning what?'

‘Nothing,' she said. ‘I was joking.'

‘You don't like her, do you?'

‘Does it matter?'

He shrugged. ‘A bit. I know she's not a mother's dream, but she's okay underneath. She's just a bit …' He ran a finger up and down a knot in the table. ‘I don't know. Anyway, I like her.'

‘Well, that's the main thing, isn't it?' Miriam said nicely, and he smiled.

‘Good Old Mum.'

‘I'll just say one thing,' she said steadily. ‘You won't let it all get in the way of your exams, will you?' She gestured at the papers in front of them. ‘You'll need to get at least two Bs, I should think, and you've got mocks next term …'

He sighed. ‘I know, I know.'

‘It is important.'

‘I
know.
Come on then, let's get it over with.' He turned to the first page. ‘Name, age, address – I think I can manage that, should get a B in that, easy.'

Miriam smiled, and then began to laugh.

‘It's not that funny.'

‘I know. It's just …' she pulled herself together. ‘I suppose it feels quite a long-time since I had a laugh. And I'm a bit … under the weather, I suppose.'

‘Been hitting the bottle?' Jonathan asked casually.

Miriam looked at him, the laughter gone. ‘What did you say?'

‘Don't get so serious, I was only joking. As you would say.'

She didn't know whether or not to believe him. Had he known all along? Were the shakes so obvious? After all these years, was she supposed to bring it out into the open, now?

‘Far from it,' she said, equally casual, and telling, indeed, the recent truth. Out in the hall the phone began to ring. Jon pushed back his chair.

‘I'll get it, it'll be Marietta. I told her I'd go over and keep her company this evening …'

So Stephen would be coming back from the Swan alone. She thought again of the look on his face this morning, the way he had touched her arm. Perhaps, with Christmas so near, they could make a truce? But truces followed battles, and they did not have battles.

What could they talk about? The phone pinged, and Jonathan came back down the passage.

‘Okay, that's done, now let's get on with it.' She watched him come through the door. ‘You are coming back here tonight, though, aren't you?'

‘Of course. I shouldn't think the Sadlers would fancy the au pair girl having it off with me under their roof, would you?'

She laughed again. He looked so beautiful, he was so easy to be with.

‘I do love you,' she said suddenly.

‘That's what all the girls say.' He dropped a kiss on her head. ‘Me, too. Come on.'

They ran through the pages. GCSEs passed, A levels to be taken, particular interests, choice of university.

‘Where do you want to go?' she asked. ‘East Anglia, perhaps?'

He smiled. ‘That's what you'd like, isn't it?'

‘Well … yes, of course I would. But you don't have to take that into account.'

‘Don't be a martyr.'

‘I'm not. Honestly. You must go where you want …'

‘Where they'll have me, you mean.'

‘There's that, of course. But I do mean it.'

‘I know.' He drummed his fingers; there was a pause. ‘Of course, if you'd had another after me, it wouldn't matter so much.'

Miriam, as she had done in the past, on the rare occasions when Jon had mentioned a brother or sister, felt herself switch on to automatic. ‘You're the nicest son anyone could wish for.'

‘That's not the point, though, is it?' He looked at her. ‘It's a shame, isn't it?'

Miriam swallowed. Had he missed it all this time and said nothing? ‘For you or for me?'

‘More for you, I think,' he said slowly. ‘Do you mind?'

‘I did. I used to mind a lot. Then I got over it.' Another silence. ‘More or less.'

‘What about Dad?'

‘He wasn't so keen, it didn't bother him so much. Anyway – it just didn't happen.' She looked up at the clock. ‘If you're going to meet Dad at seven we'd better get on.'

‘Why don't you come?'

‘I wasn't invited,' she said lightly, adding ‘Perhaps he wants to talk to you man to man.'

‘Perhaps he wants a drink. I know I do. Okay. Let's say East Anglia; Exeter …'

‘Exeter!'

‘It's got a very good history department. There are trains, you know. Not to mention the bike.'

‘You are careful on the bike, aren't you? I mean, even round here …'

‘Mum! Exeter. York? Why not? Mike's trying for York. And two more …'

The phone rang again.

‘I'll get it,' she said. ‘You carry on thinking.'

Tess had woken up; she followed Miriam out to the hall, her tail thumping against the walls of the narrow passage.

‘Hello?'

Silence.

‘Hello? Saxham 738.'

Silence. And this time it could not be Marietta. Miriam waited, and the receiver shook in her hand.

‘Who is it?'

Again: Who else could it be?

Silence. Someone's breathing, rapid and light. She slammed down the phone.

Back in the kitchen, Jonathan was finishing off with a flourish.

‘I've put down Durham and London. King's College. After all, if I went there I could come back some weekends with Dad. Perhaps I'd better move it up the list, have you got a rubber?'

Miriam sank into her chair. ‘No.'

‘Mum?' He looked up, saw her face. ‘Hey … what's the matter?'

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.'

‘It doesn't look like nothing – who was that?'

‘I'm not sure.' God, she needed a drink. ‘I suppose you could say it was an anonymous caller.'

‘He didn't breathe at you, did he?' Jonathan's tone was teasing, trying to make her feel better. ‘Mum? Was it horrible? What did he say? Go on – you can tell me, I'm a man of the world.'

She smiled weakly, and did feel better.

‘Forget it. Anyway, it's time you went. You've almost finished, haven't you? Well done.'

He pushed the forms away. ‘I'll ask Dad what he thinks about London. But Mum – you will be okay? Why don't you come, go on, stuff the man-to-man bit. It'd be nice.'

‘Yes. Yes, it would.' But the need for a drink was overpowering; to sip at a glass of wine in a pub would be unbearable. If Jonathan was out … if she gargled a lot, and went straight to bed … they'd never know. I'm hooked, she thought. Even more than I knew.

‘Darling, on second thoughts I think I'll stay here. If you and Dad get something to eat at the Swan I can have a night off cooking, and go to bed early. The shop's been pretty hectic.'

‘Okay. If you're sure.' He bent to pat Tess, whose tail was moving slowly, hopefully, to and fro across the stone floor at his feet. ‘Poor old girl, we must give you a run at the weekend.' He got up, and went to the hall for his things.

Miriam stood for a moment in the kitchen, still shaken by the phone call. Her bottles were down behind all the old paint tins in the cellar; another few minutes and she'd be down there. She followed Jon out; he was pulling his boots on, sitting on the stairs.

‘I'll be back about one, okay? I'll leave when the Sadlers get home.'

‘All right.' She stood hovering, waiting for him to go. Looking at the telephone. She heard herself say suddenly, irretrievably, trying to make it sound as if it really didn't matter much:

‘Jon? Do you ever think that Dad might have a girlfriend? In London, I mean.'

He pulled on the second boot, and reached for his jacket. ‘It's never crossed my mind. Honest. No, I'm sure he hasn't.' He got up stiffly, doing up poppers.

‘Why? Why are you so sure?'

‘I don't know, I just don't think he would. He's too busy, for a start. Anyway, Mum, you know what Dad's like – he flirts with everyone, look at the way he eyes up Marietta – sometimes I think she fancies him. It doesn't mean a thing.'

‘I suppose not.'

‘It doesn't,' he said, coming over, and putting his arms around her. ‘He's that kind of person, isn't he? He charms people all the time, that's why he has so much work. I remember bumping into him in the summer, when we all went down on that trip to the British Museum. I met him having lunch with this woman, they were chatting away like old buddies, and she was just a client.'

Miriam said carefully, ‘What did she look like?'

‘I can't remember. Dark? I think she had glasses. Yes, those round ones.'

‘And how,' she said faintly, ‘do you know she was a client?'

‘Mum! Because he
said
so. Anyway, she was married, she was pregnant.'

It was said so reasonably, so innocently, that Miriam, even as the words roared in her ears, realised that in spite of all his kindness, and apparent maturity, Jonathan was no more grown up, or aware of grown-up lives, than Marietta.

‘Right.' He picked up his helmet and opened the door. ‘See you in the morning, and for God's sake don't wait up for me, you know it drives me mad. Have an early night. Bye!'

He closed the door, and Miriam sank, leaning against it, distantly hearing him wheel the bike out of the garage, kickstart the engine and speed away.

‘Hi, Dad.'

‘Hello, Jon, sorry I'm late.' Stephen propped his portfolio up against the seat, below Jonathan's helmet and jacket, and looked at his son's almost empty glass.

‘Another pint?'

‘Better make it a half, with the bike.'

‘Good chap – okay, back in a tick.'

Jonathan watched his father make his way to the bar: in the last week before Christmas it was busy, the biggest pub for miles, all lit up round the porch, with a tree in the car park. There were a few old boys among the regulars, but most of them didn't get out this far; they sat over their pints in the Plough, down in the village, where there was a fire, and they still had dominoes. Jonathan actually preferred it there, where they knew people, but the Swan was a good place to meet, on the way home for Stephen and halfway to the Sadlers for him. Here there was a juke box and fruit machine, and the customers were mostly young, Norfolk yuppies and weekenders. Among them, in his casually expensive clothes, with his greying curly hair, Stephen looked distinguished: neither county nor wholly London chic. He had a clever, interesting face, which over the years had seen a lot of fresh air, as well as plans and drawing boards. But watching his father smile and greet the barman Jonathan realised that he was looking older, too – tired, with more lines.

‘Had a busy week?' he asked, as Stephen returned with the glasses.

‘Alarmingly quiet, to be honest.' He put the glasses on the table and sat down, stretching. ‘Bones are getting old. Cheers. How's things? How's Marietta?'

‘She's okay, thanks. I'm going over there after this – she's babysitting.' He pulled a face. ‘It ees a bore. Cheers.'