Love and Devotion (49 page)

He sat in the chair nearest her and she raised her glass to him. ‘Sure you won’t join me?’ she asked.

‘Better not. I’m driving. How’s the foot doing?’

‘It’ll be fine. Why don’t we get on with why you’re here? I’m surprised you can spare the time,’ she added tartly.

‘Meaning?’

She shrugged. ‘Meaning I don’t want to keep you unnecessarily.’

‘Don’t start, Maxine. You know perfectly well I’ve always got time when it comes to the girls.’

She sniggered. ‘That’s what I hear. It used to be women, but apparently now it’s young girls you’re chasing.’

He pushed a hand through his hair and leaned forward. She could see he was angry; could see it in his mouth, the way it hardened. She suddenly remembered how it used to feel to be kissed by him, and looked away.

‘My private life is exactly that,’ he said coolly. ‘Private.’

‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t flaunt your young girlfriend so blatantly in front of our children.’

‘I resent that. I have never flaunted any relationship I’ve had in front of Gemma and Suzie.’

‘Well, you did this time! Have you any idea how much enjoyment Gemma gets out of rubbing my nose in it?’

‘She can only do that if it’s something you’re bothered about. Who I go out with should have nothing to do with you. Do I need to remind you that you’re married to Steve, not me?’

‘Oh, please, I couldn’t give a damn who you’re sleeping with, but what I am bothered about is Gemma’s need to ram it down my throat.’

He took a moment before saying, ‘I’m sorry, but that’s between you and Gemma. Have you tried talking to her about it?’

Maxine took a long swallow of gin, annoyed at the way her words had come out. She hadn’t meant for that to happen. She didn’t want Will to know that she resented growing older, or that she hated the evidence before her eyes that Will was clearly still on top of his game, while she was sliding rapidly into middle age. Pulling herself back to his question, she said, ‘What do you think? She only ever speaks to me when she wants something. As with this proposed trip to Paris. Presumably she’s wrapped you round her little finger and you’ve said she can go.’

‘Wrong. I told her you and I would have to discuss it, which is why I’m here. What do you really think about her going?’

‘She’s not going,’ Maxine said with finality. ‘For the simple reason I’m not having another daughter coming home pregnant.’

Will let out his breath and shook his head. ‘You don’t think that’s being too simplistic? It’s not a just-add-water-and-stir situation. She could be here in Maywood and get pregnant just as easily.’

‘Not under my roof, she won’t.’

‘She’s eighteen next year; you can’t treat her as a child. Or as a prisoner.’

‘Don’t you dare lecture me, Will. I know exactly how old my children are and what’s best for them.’

‘Our children, Maxine. They’re our combined responsibility. And for the record, I’m not happy about her going either. It’ll be the first Christmas without both of the children around and it feels like a milestone too far and too soon. Mum would be disappointed not to see her, too. Why don’t we compromise and say she can go for New Year?’ Smiling, he added, ‘We could even give her a joint pep talk about the birds and bees, especially those French ones. Just for the fun of making her squirm, of course.’

Maxine drained her glass and looked at Will. How did he do it? How did he always manage to make her feel so shitty? ‘Maybe,’ she demurred. ‘But she’d better get her act together meanwhile. She has mock exams in January.’

‘She’s on the ball with everything as far as I can see. A bit of fun will be just what she needs.’ He relaxed into his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘So how are things between you and Suzie?’

Determined not to lose any more ground to him, Maxine said, ‘We’re getting there. I’m organising for a decorator to turn the spare room into a nursery. I haven’t told her yet.’

Will smiled. ‘That’s great. She’ll be delighted, and if she’s not too tired, she could help with some of it. I remember you being a whirlwind of activity in the last month of pregnancy. Do you remember when you were expecting Gemma and I woke up in the middle of the night and found you downstairs stripping the wood-chip off the walls in the hall?’

Maxine cast her mind back and recalled her heavily pregnant self with a scraper in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other. ‘I’d forgotten about that,’ she said faintly. ‘How do you remember so much?’

‘You used to say I had a typical nitpicking lawyer’s brain. That I absorbed and stored away every useless detail I came across.’

She swallowed the last mouthful of gin and stared into the bottom of the glass as though searching it for more memories from the past. I’m drunk, she thought. When she looked up, Will was on his feet. He was going. She suddenly didn’t want to be alone. Even through the haze of alcohol, she could feel the pain throbbing in her foot. She was also hungry. She had missed lunch because she’d had to talk to those two wretched police officers. She thought how convenient it would be if Will was to stay and make her something to eat. But the thought of asking him for help was out of the question. However, in her experience there was a sure-fire way to get a man to do what you wanted: you just tapped into their basic urges and they were putty in your hands. She loosened the belt on her bathrobe and reached forward to put her empty glass on the table, knowing that the action would reveal her shoulder and a generous amount of cleavage. Will had always liked her breasts. She used to like it when he’d come up behind her and gently take them in his hands while kissing the nape of her neck. Her head swam at the memory, remembering how explosive they’d been in bed together. By comparison, Steve was good ... but only good.

‘It’s okay,’ she heard Will saying. ‘You stay there, I’ll see myself out.’

‘Do you have to go so soon?’ she asked, sinking back into the cushions and smiling up at him; the bathrobe had parted yet more. She caught his glance skating over her body and congratulated herself on not having lost her old seductive powers. How pathetically simple men were! She could see the hesitancy in him. Another push and she’d have him just where she wanted.

‘I’m ... I’m afraid I can’t stay,’ he said.

‘Really? Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’

‘Err ... no, I’m ... I’m meeting someone.’

‘Can’t you ring and put them off? I thought we could have something to eat. Or maybe we could...’ She lowered her gaze coyly, letting the suggestion hang in the air.

‘Sorry, he said more firmly, edging away. ‘I can’t. I’m taking Harriet out for dinner.’

His words slapped her hard. Of course! His latest girlfriend. The latest groin itch. It was only then that she registered he was better dressed than usual. In place of the regulation faded denim was a properly ironed shirt, black and white striped, open-necked, and worn casually over smart black jeans. He smelled good as well. Why hadn’t she noticed that before? Not knowing who was the bigger fool, Will for deluding himself that he could still behave like a twenty-year-old, or the fool of a girl he was bonking, she said, ‘Well, then, don’t let me keep you.’

When he’d shut the door behind him, she realised it was she who was the biggest fool of all. How could she have even thought of coming on to him like that?

She blamed it on the gin. Steve was right; she really ought to cut down.

 

 

 

 

Will drove out of Maywood in a near state of shock. He didn’t know what was scarier: a furious Maxine venting her spleen, or a tipsy Maxine coming on to him. What had got into her? Okay, she’d obviously had a bit to drink and was in a degree of pain, but to try that old number on him ... why? What had she thought he would do? Climb into bed with her for old times’ sake? No offence, but he’d sooner chew his leg off! One thing was for sure, he didn’t fancy being around when she sobered up and realised what she’d done.

To his surprise, though, he felt sorry for her. Was she lonely? Was that it? Was marriage to PC Plod turning out to be a disappointment? Or had she just been playing with him? Seeing if he’d be tempted, only then to humiliate him if he did react.

But whatever had got into Maxine, it wasn’t his business. What was his business this evening was Harriet. He’d finally pinned her down — quite literally while in bed - and got her to agree to him taking her out for dinner. ‘Most women would be cross if they didn’t get taken out,’ he’d said.

‘Nice try, but I’m not most women,’ she’d replied.

‘Funnily enough, I sussed that the first time I met you.’

‘Yeah right, that was when you thought I was a boy.’

‘Crikey! You mean you’re not?’

‘If it makes you feel better I do have a reputation for being an honorary bloke.’

He’d placed a hand on her breast and ribcage and once more marvelled at the fragility of her body: there seemed so little of it. It was only without her clothes on that he appreciated just how insubstantial she was. Except Harriet was one of the most substantial women he knew.

‘You don’t eat enough,’ he’d said that same night in bed, taking hold of one of her slender wrists and easily wrapping his fingers around it.

‘I’ll have you know I eat four times my own bodyweight every day. I just burn it off faster than anyone else.’

‘That’s because you’re usually vibrating at the speed of light.’

‘I find it difficult to relax, that’s all.’

‘That’s not good.’

‘It’s just my make-up; my metabolism.’

‘It’s still not good.’

‘Well, you can’t talk. You’re hardly beefcake material.’ She’d prodded his stomach, which even the middle-aged bloke in the mirror had to admit was in pretty good shape. No love handles for him!

‘Hey, are you calling me weedy?’

Laughing, she’d said, ‘You can dish it out but you can’t take it yourself, can you?’

Comparing Harriet’s elfin proportions to those of the previous women he’d been attracted to, Will wondered whether he’d undergone some kind of conversion. Perhaps he had, without knowing it, grown out of the stereotyped Hollywood version of glorified womanhood - the woman who didn’t exist, in other words.

Did it also mean that he was looking for a relationship that was more real and more lasting than anything he had previously experienced?

But with Harriet? Surely not. How could that ever work?

 

Joel hovered anxiously outside Harriet’s bedroom door, peering in at her as she got ready to go out. Everyone was going out. Except for him. Oh, and Granddad, he was staying in. Grandma was going out with her friend Dora, Harriet was going out with Will, and Carrie had already gone to Emily’s. Last night Carrie had told him to be good while she was away, and not to have any bad dreams. ‘You mustn’t spoil it for everyone,’ she’d said. She made it sound like he did it deliberately. He didn’t. And anyway, he hadn’t had any nightmares for ages. But maybe tonight he would. He wished Harriet wasn’t going out. He always felt better in bed knowing she was downstairs watching the telly or in her bedroom working on her computer. She was different from Mummy, but reminded him of her. If he couldn’t find his reading book to take into school, or his PE bag, she always seemed to know where to look. That’s what Mummy had been like.

Carrie said that she thought Harriet and Will would get married. But then she’d said that about Harriet and Miles. It was difficult to keep up with Carrie; she was always changing her mind. Now she thought school was great and that they would stay there for ever, even when they moved to their new house. He liked the idea of living in that nice little cottage, but what he wasn’t sure about was what would happen after school. Carrie and Harriet had explained it to him, but he’d forgotten. Would Grandma and Granddad come for them and take them to their new home, or would they bring them back here? Where would they have their tea? And something else he wasn’t sure about, all those boxes he’d have to put his things into when they moved - what if he forgot something? What if the boxes got lost? What if —

‘Joel, is that you?’

Hearing Harriet’s voice, he nudged open the door and went inside. He’d ask her about the boxes. She’d know if his toys and books would be safe.

‘What were you doing out there, Joel? Were you spying on me?’

She was smiling as she said this, but feeling silly, he blushed and looked down at his slippers - they were too small for him and his toes were pushing through the ends. He needed new ones, but Carrie had told him he shouldn’t make a fuss about them, because Harriet would need all her money to buy their new house. ‘Are we very poor?’ he’d asked Carrie.

‘Yes,’ she’d said. ‘Orphans are always poor.’

He went and sat on Harriet’s bed and watched her as she brushed her hair. She had nice hair. Long and straight like Mummy’s. He wondered if she would let him touch it.

‘You’re very quiet, Joel. You okay?’

She was staring at him in the reflection of the mirror above her desk. He nodded, kicked off his slippers and wriggled his toes. ‘Harriet?’

‘Yes?’

‘You know when we move?’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you think everything will be safe?’

She turned round to look at him. ‘Safe from what exactly?’

‘From being lost.’

She put the brush down and came and knelt on the floor in front of him. ‘Joel, I promise you, nothing will get lost in the move. I’ll mark all the packing boxes with what’s inside and you can watch every single one of them being loaded onto the van. Then at the other end, you can help me put them into your bedroom. How does that sound?’

He instantly felt better. He put his arms around her neck and hugged her tight. She smelled lovely. Sort of clean and like a big bunch of flowers. Once more he was reminded of his mother. When he let go of her, he plucked up the courage to ask if he could brush her hair.