Love and Devotion (29 page)

He looked about him for some tissues, but could only find a pack of muslin he used for polishing. He pulled out a sheet, knelt on the floor and passed it to her, at the same time taking the mug of tea from her shaking hands. ‘You’re not a failure,’ he said, ‘you’re a hero for what you’re doing. Your sister would be proud of you.’

She shook her head at his words. ‘You’re wrong. I’ve let her down.’ She pressed the muslin to her eyes. ‘I’m a rotten sister and an even worse aunt, guardian, mother, whatever it is I’m supposed to be. Oh, God, I don’t even know who I am any more. What am I doing wrong? You’re a parent; tell me how to do a better job.’

He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re just on the steepest learning curve of your life. It’ll get better, I promise.’

‘That’s okay for you to say; your children don’t even live with you.’

Surprised at the vehemence of her words, and the implied criticism, he said nothing, just kept his hand on her shoulder.

In the silence, another voice spoke up: ‘Will, have you got anything else for me to polish? Oh ... hello, Harriet.’

Harriet shrugged off Will’s hand and blew her nose hard as Carrie stepped into the office nervously. ‘Are you crying, Harriet?’

‘Don’t be so silly. I’ve got something in my eye. That’s all.’

‘Is it me? Have I made you cry?’

Will could see that Harriet was fighting to keep what little composure she’d reinstated. ‘You aunt’s just relieved to find you in one piece,’ he intervened. ‘Now then, Carrie, why don’t we let Harriet finish her tea while I find you something else to polish? How about a candlestick? If you do a good job, I’ll let you come another day and you can polish all the other bits and bobs I have. But preferably at the weekend,’ he added with a wink.

‘Really?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

Leading the way, he glanced back to check if it was okay with Harriet. But she wasn’t looking his way. He thought he’d never seen anyone look more miserable.

 

Later that afternoon, in Maple Drive, Harriet was conscious that they were all behaving strangely.

They were sitting round the kitchen table for an early tea and it was difficult to know who looked the most distracted and uncomfortable. Mum was fiddling with the salt and pepper pots, repositioning them every ten seconds. She always did this when she was anxious or cross - Harriet and Felicity used to call it Tea-Time Chess. And Dad, well, frankly, Dad looked as though he’d been caught with his fingers in the till and couldn’t apologise enough for not having had his mobile switched on that day. Meanwhile Joel was swinging his legs under the table and playing with his supper but not eating it, and Carrie was sitting like a statue in her seat as though afraid that if she moved someone might notice her and start asking questions all over again.

They’d already had the Big Scene, during which Carrie had been cajoled in as many different ways as they could contrive to explain what had got into her. But all they’d learned was that she’d been bored and fancied a walk. Harriet had decided it could well be true; she had entertained the same thought countless times when she’d been at school.

When the ordeal of tea was over and Harriet was upstairs supervising bathtime, Carrie said, ‘Harriet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you going to punish me?’

‘Do you want me to?’

Carrie plunged the strawberry-shaped sponge under the water. ‘No.’

‘But I’ll tell you what I do want you to do. I want you to write a letter of apology to school saying that you’re very sorry for what you did and for causing so many people to worry. I think you might even write a thank-you note to Will. He was very good to you.’

At this, Carrie’s face brightened. She reached for the toy plastic duck behind Joel and filled it with frothy bathwater. ‘I like Will. Do you like Will, Harriet?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it. He’s just one of our neighbours.’

‘Why was he hugging you when you were crying?’

Taken aback, Harriet said, ‘I wasn’t aware that he was hugging me. Or that I was crying,’ she added hastily, noticing Joel looking at her with his luminous dark eyes. He hadn’t said a word since asking to get down from the table.

‘He had his hand on your shoulder,’ Carrie carried on blithely. ‘I think he likes you. Maybe he could be your boyfriend.’

‘Oh, don’t be absurd! He’s much too old for me.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Ancient.’

‘He doesn’t look too ancient.’

‘Well, he is. I reckon he must be about forty-five, forty-six, perhaps even older.’

Without a second’s thought, Carrie said, ‘If he’s forty-six, that makes him fourteen years older than you.’

‘Hah, Miss Carol Vorderman! That proves my point exactly. And besides, he has a girlfriend already.’

‘Does he? That’s a shame.’

 

Joel couldn’t sleep that night. Outside his window he could hear the wind rustling in the trees. He didn’t like the sound the leaves made; it was like people whispering. They whispered at school. They were always doing it. Sometimes it upset him, but usually he ignored them as Carrie had told him to.

He drew his legs up to his chest and hugged them tight. Why had Carrie tried to run away from school? And supposing she did it again and disappeared completely? What if he never saw her again? He’d be all alone. No one to cuddle up to in bed when he couldn’t sleep. No one to tell him stories about Mummy and Daddy. And he really wanted to hear those stories because he was already beginning to forget what it used to be like.

With tears running down his cheeks, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the landing to Carrie’s bedroom. He could tell that she was asleep because she was snoring. She said she didn’t snore, but she did. Sometimes she did that strange thing with her teeth — scraped them against each other, making a horrid grinding noise. As quietly as he could, he slid under the duvet next to her. Comforted by her warmth, he was asleep within minutes.

 

Disturbed by the sound of Joel creeping into Carrie’s bedroom, Eileen stirred. She was a light sleeper at the best of times, but these days the least noise woke her. She lay for a moment on her side, contemplating the day she’d had. She wished now that she hadn’t taken up Dora on her offer to join her for a coffee and then lunch. It had been a mistake, and not just because if she’d been at home to answer the phone Harriet wouldn’t have been bothered at work and rushed home and given herself an asthma attack.

But what Eileen most regretted was what she’d told Dora. It was wrong of her. Very wrong. It wasn’t as if she had any proof, just a gut feeling to go on. And a history. Dora couldn’t hide her shock that Bob, of all men, could have an affair. ‘But how do you know?’ she’d asked.

‘I don’t. All I have is a nagging sense of déjà vu.’ She explained about the two affairs during the Wilderness Years and how she could see a pattern repeating itself. ‘It’s the way he always leaves the house making sure I have everything I need. It’s his desire to please that is such a bad sign. That and the long absences.’

‘But he’s out walking the dog, surely?’

‘Oh, Dora, don’t you think I’d rather I was imagining it?’ she’d said. ‘Don’t you think it would be easier? But I just know. You see, there were days, last month, when he was out with Toby for hours at a time and he’d come home almost cheerful. Then, I don’t know why - perhaps she was away on holiday - the walks got shorter and he was permanently in the garden no matter what the weather, as if he was avoiding me. But this morning he was out for ages again, almost two hours. I’m certain he’s seeing someone. He couldn’t be out that long just walking on his own.’

‘It’s possible, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s his way of coping with his grief. Wanting to be alone.’

Thinking of all those miscarriages Bob had grieved for, Eileen knew that her husband wasn’t capable of grieving alone.

Conscious that she couldn’t hear Bob breathing beside her, she turned over to look at him. But the other side of the bed was empty. Perhaps he was downstairs making himself a drink. She could do with one herself. She pushed back the duvet and got slowly to her feet, feeling like a lead weight.

Downstairs, the kitchen was in darkness and there was no sign of Bob. The kettle hadn’t boiled recently, either. She was about to go and see if he was in the sitting room when a glow of light in the garden caught her eye. Focusing her eyes on the Wendy house, she tried to make sense of what she was looking at: Bob was sitting in the Wendy house in the light of a candle. Her heart sank. What was he doing out there? Talking to his lover on his mobile?

 

 

 

 

A week later, as she drove to work, Harriet knew she needed to make two apologies, neither of which she was looking forward to. Curiously, the two men to whom she needed to say sorry had become Carrie’s favourite people. Hardly a day went by without Carrie singing their praises in one form or another. If she was watching television and an antique programme came on, she would hurl herself into a long monologue: ‘Ooh, look, that’s just like Will’s shop. Except Will’s shop is much nicer. He’s got so much stuff in it, too. Will says that Jarvis used to run the shop but now he does. When I grow up, I want to do a job like Will’s. It must be lots of fun. Not really like work at all. Do you know what Will — ?’ On and on she’d twitter until finally one of the others, usually Harriet, would change the subject.

Unfortunately Carrie’s other hot topic of conversation was Dominic McKendrick. To everyone’s amazement, Dominic had sent Carrie an old photograph of Felicity accompanied by a brief handwritten note:

‘Good heavens, what a curious choice of photograph,’ Eileen had said when they’d all taken a look at it. The picture was of Dominic and Felicity done up as a couple of teenage punks - gelled hair, bondage trousers, ripped T-shirts and scowls this side of a held-back smirk. Harriet could remember Dominic having his ear pierced specially for the occasion - someone’s eighteenth birthday party - but when it later turned septic, he’d vowed he’d never let anyone else mutilate him. ‘Self-mutilation is the most satisfying path to nirvana anyway,’ he’d quipped.

The photograph immediately became one of Carrie’s most treasured possessions. She begged Harriet to buy her a frame for it and she placed it on her bedside table, next to her other framed photograph, the one of her parents. She then wrote and thanked Dominic. Harriet had no idea what her niece had put in the letter. She hadn’t read the note Carrie had written to Will, either, but she did know that Carrie had spent an inordinate amount of time decorating the single piece of paper, colouring in a border of pink and mauve flowers interspersed with tiny red hearts. The masterpiece was then finished off with a flourish of glue and glitter. Harriet hoped that Dominic would acknowledge the effort that had gone into it before he rolled his eyes and dumped it unceremoniously into the waste-paper bin.

When by return of post a further piece of correspondence for Carrie arrived from Cambridge - a postcard depicting a college gargoyle picking its nose, causing Carrie to hoot with laughter - Harriet began to have second thoughts about Dominic. Was it possible that he was finally showing a more sensitive side to his nature? A more genuine side that made him want to please a nine-year-old girl? If this was the case, then she owed him an apology. Within minutes of that awful scene on the towpath when she’d accused him of being incapable of real grief, she had regretted her words. But there had been no opportunity to say sorry; he’d caught a train back to Cambridge that very afternoon. Harriet was all too aware that he’d been equally vitriolic in his attack on her, but she had been the one to start it, and had deliberately provoked him. Who was she to dictate how he should publicly mourn Felicity? Especially when they had been such close friends. It had been a friendship that Harriet had, at times, been jealous of. But she’d loved Felicity too much to allow something as petty as jealousy to spoil things between them. So what if Dominic always favoured Felicity? she’d told herself. Why should she care when she had Miles? Miles was infinitely kinder than his brother and much easier to be around.

Although there was so much going on in Harriet’s life just now, what with her new job and house-hunting, her thoughts were never far from wondering who Felicity had been seeing behind Jeff’s back. Could it be a neighbour from the past, perhaps? Or maybe a work colleague? There was no one obvious who sprang to mind. She had now transferred all of Felicity’s emails onto her new laptop and was systematically going through them late each night, looking for clues as to the man’s identity. She had gone way beyond feeling guilty about her actions. She was now on a quest. Intriguingly and annoyingly, neither Felicity nor her lover had used their names in any of the messages. Why all the subterfuge? Harriet wondered. They already had a code to hide behind, so why the extra mile?

For the most part, the emails were intensely serious and highly passionate. There were times when Harriet could see what Felicity saw in this man; his adoration must have been powerfully addictive. ‘
What woman could resist such sensual words of love?’
Felicity had written and Harriet had to agree. The emails even resurrected those old feelings of jealousy Harriet had known all those years ago. What must it be like to be loved so devotedly? Certainly no relationship she’d experienced had ever been so intense or so intimate.
‘Erotic is a much misused word these days,’
Felicity’s lover had written,
‘but you provoke every erotic
instinct within me.
I
want
you here with me now. I want you in my bed every night; I’m tired of our snatched moments. I want more.’

It was evident that while Felicity wanted to be with her lover, she was not about to walk out on her children. ‘
If we’re to be together,’ she wrote, ‘I have to bring my children; they’re a part of me.’