Tangled Lives (25 page)

Annie stared at Jodie, wondering how she could be so sanguine. ‘I thought I did like mine,’ she said. ‘But I’ve seen sides to them over the Daniel thing …’

‘Most men don’t know how to behave on a good day,’ Jodie replied cheerfully. ‘You can’t really blame them.’

Annie smiled. ‘Do you think I’m being unfair to them?’

Jodie considered Annie’s question. ‘Not for me to say, but I’d sort it out if you can. It’s so much bloody trouble having everyone at each other’s throats.’

‘Supposing I can’t sort it out?’

Jodie pulled a face. ‘Well, I guess that’s life.’

The timer went off and Annie went through to get her cake, baked to perfection, out of the oven.

She didn’t want to go home. After the bakery had closed up for the night she began the walk home, but stopped for a moment in a bus stop, sitting alone on the red plastic bench. She thought over what Jodie had said about family and felt tears pricking in her eyes. She loved Richard, she loved all her children. But she and Richard had had another fight that morning. It was one of those quiet, cruel rows, as repetitive as a stuck record, where everything has been said before, but is no less painful because of it.

‘It might be a good idea if you actually tried to
see
Ed and talk it out with him properly,’ Richard had said, his tone mildly lecturing, as he pulled the end of his navy tie through the knot.

‘I
have
tried to see him. But when we spoke, all he wanted me to say was that I was on Emma’s side, not Daniel’s. And I couldn’t do that. I offered to do anything he asked—’

‘Can’t blame him,’ Richard had interrupted curtly, and the fight had begun.

Her mobile rang, interrupting her recollection. She dragged her phone out and saw Charles’s name. She took a deep breath. ‘Hi.’

‘You sound gloomy. How’s it going?’

‘On a scale of one to ten, ten being the gloomiest, about five hundred.’

‘That bad,’ Charles chuckled. ‘Well, I’m about, if you fancy
un petit coup
and a chat. We haven’t caught up properly about the other night … meeting Daniel.’

She only hesitated for a second. ‘Nothing I’d like more,’ she said, her heart lifting. ‘But I look a wreck, so it’d better be at yours. I can’t be seen out.’

‘I’ll try to cope,’ came back the amused reply. ‘Champers on ice as we speak.’

‘About forty-five minutes then.’

Annie felt a pleasant frisson of wickedness as she set off to hail a taxi. She texted her husband: ‘Meeting Charles for a drink tonight. He wants to talk about Daniel.’ This was spiteful and she knew it, but she told herself she didn’t care.

Charles was shocked when she told him the story of Emma and Daniel.

‘Amazing that Louisa knew this sort of thing might be on the cards,’ he mused.

‘Even Louisa would never have predicted this.’

‘No … but the family-being-torn-apart bit.’

She said nothing.

‘You must be very upset. You don’t think he did it, do you?’

‘No,’ Annie said tiredly. ‘I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘I must say … although I suppose you can never tell – Ted Bundy was charm personified by all accounts – but Daniel didn’t seem the type to attack a vulnerable girl. He seemed too …’

‘Thanks for likening our son to a serial killer!’ Annie interrupted, but she was pleased Charles thought as she did about their son.

Daniel had liked his father too. The evening they met hadn’t started well. Annie couldn’t find the bar Charles had suggested – part of a new and expensive Spanish tapas restaurant off Charlotte Street, very near Richard’s office – but the frontage was subtle and easy to miss.

At six thirty, the small, plush bar was almost empty. Solid brown-leather armchairs sat around in the low light, the decor warm wood, with modern art decorating the walls. Charles was already there, a bottle of champagne on ice and three glasses set out on the table in front of him. He’d got up quickly to greet her and shake Daniel’s hand, and Annie had been immediately struck by their physical similarity – both tall, slim, long-legged, with the same wavy hair (although Daniel’s was auburn, Charles’s fair), cut below the ear.

She had filled the first awkward moments by wittering on about how hard it had been to find the bar, but soon the two men had relaxed, each obviously intrigued by the other’s presence. They had talked about theatre and wine and the state of the nation, the conversation flowing easily enough through neutral territory and the first bottle of champagne. Annie had wondered if they would even mention the fact that they were father and son. But she felt it wasn’t up to her to do so for them. In the end, it was Charles who had taken the plunge.

‘So … it’s hard to believe we’re the same flesh and blood.’

Daniel had nodded. ‘It must have been a shock for you, not knowing about me till now.’

Charles had given a short laugh. ‘Understatement of the decade! But I’m glad we’re in touch. I don’t like the idea of a son out there I haven’t met.’

‘Nor me,’ Daniel replied. ‘I … it’s been a relief to me … meeting you.’

Annie thought relief was an odd word to use. Maybe he meant it was a relief to find that his parents weren’t as her mother had implied they might be: feckless or violent or criminals.

As they silently acknowledged each other as father, mother and son, Annie felt the sudden presence of a ghost family hovering. The three of them, together for the first time, the only bond their DNA, yet, by biological definition, still absolutely a family. She wondered if the others sensed it too.

When Daniel disappeared off to the men’s room, Charles had turned to her, his expression bewildered.

‘Not sure what to do with all this now. I mean, I like him, he seems rather special. But do I see him again? Do we try and bond in some way?’

‘That’s up to both of you.’

‘What do you feel? Is it working, having him at home like a real son? Would you say you love him?’

She’d wanted to object to the word ‘real’, but she understood what he was asking.

‘I suppose I keep trying to see him as the baby I remember loving, but it’s elusive. So I’m just getting to know him as he is now … seeing where it goes. It isn’t quite love, not yet.’

‘But you’re enjoying it? Him?’

She’d hesitated. ‘I would if I was allowed to,’ she’d muttered, seeing Daniel coming through the door towards them.

Now, in Charles’s quiet flat, the windows were open to the warm night air, three butter-coloured pedestal candles on the coffee table casting the only light. She had been there a while now, sipping the chilled champagne, opening her heart to him, while he listened in silence. It was such a relief to talk to someone who did not judge.

‘I spoke to my solicitor about Daniel, after we met last week,’ Charles said. ‘I wanted to know what the situation was about leaving him money.’

‘He says he doesn’t want money, that’s not why he came looking for me … despite what my mother thinks.’

Charles gestured, his arms wide. ‘Look, I hope I’m not about to peg it, but when I do, I should at least like to leave him something. Without there being any hassle about it,’ he added.

‘You should do that then.’

‘Yes, I will. But William – that’s my solicitor – said I should first make sure he’s mine. You know, get a test?’ He obviously saw her lowering brow, because he hurried on sheepishly, ‘For what it’s worth, I said I totally trusted
that he was mine, but William says you can’t be too careful. Of course, it’s all academic if he’s disappeared.’

‘William couldn’t be more right, Charles. It’s so hard to get a good class of bastard these days,’ she said, relishing her angry sarcasm.

He roared with laughter. ‘Ooh, we are sharp tonight!’

‘Sorry. It’s just that nothing about this, except my own private relationship with Daniel, has been anything but trouble. No one sees him as a person, as Daniel. He’s a predatory half-brother; seducer; home wrecker. Feckless, sponging and dangerous, if you listen to my mother – although she’s rescinded that since she found out you’re the father.’

‘Did I ever meet your mother? She sounds terribly sensible.’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘Not. But seriously, if they would just see him for who he is.’

‘It’s not an easy situation to deal with.’

Or that difficult, she thought stubbornly.

‘But what if he doesn’t ever get in touch with me again, Charles? Do I let him just walk away? I thought I was enhancing my family when Daniel came back, but it seems instead that I’ve done the opposite. And now I’m in danger of losing both sons.’

Charles must have heard the distress in her voice, because he got up quickly from the chair he’d been lounging in and came and sat beside her on the sofa. As she began to cry he took her in his arms and held her close. For a
moment she resisted, not wanting to seem so weak in front of him. But he didn’t let her go, and in the end she gave in, resting her body against his, her cheek pressed to the laundered softness of his pale blue shirt. As the sobs gradually lessened in his comforting embrace, she felt him drop a gentle kiss on her forehead. She lifted her face to his. For a moment they looked silently at each other. Charles raised an eyebrow.

‘Not a good idea.’ She pulled away.

Charles grinned, ‘Oh, I don’t know – seems rather splendid from where I’m sitting.’

‘Stop it,’ she said, smiling too. ‘I suppose I’d better get back to my recalcitrant husband.’

‘I suppose you better had.’

Richard was fast asleep when she got home. She was relieved. Something potentially dangerous had happened with Charles.

She knew she would never give in to an infidelity, but still … it was a moment of nostalgia which reminded her of her youth, their bodies stretched out naked together on a similarly warm summer night.

‘Mrs Delancey?’

‘Mercedes, hello.’

‘You come over today, yes?’ She sounded anxious.

‘Today?’ Annie wracked her brains. She was walking to the bakery, her mind still on the previous evening with Charles.

‘The bed, it come soon. We waiting for you.’

She groaned silently. The bed. Of course. Her mother was getting a new bed and had asked her daughter to come and supervise the exchange. Neither Eleanor nor Mercedes had the slightest faith in delivery men – not even if they
were
from Peter Jones. Eleanor was sure they were criminals who would try cheat her or steal all her valuables. Mercedes just didn’t understand a word they said.

‘I’m on my way. Tell Mother half an hour … no,
half
an hour, Mercedes,’ she repeated loudly as she retraced her steps back home to fetch the car. ‘I’ll be there very soon,’ she added, enunciating the words carefully in the face of the housekeeper’s continuing fluster. Why can’t she learn English? she huffed to herself. She’s been with Mother for almost twenty-five years, she does nothing but watch English-speaking television when she’s not working, and talks daily to my mother – whose only word of Spanish appears to be ‘Mercedes’ – but she still can’t understand a bloody word I say.

‘At last, darling. I thought you’d forgotten,’ said Eleanor when Annie arrived, offering her cheek to be kissed.

Annie wasn’t going to admit this was true. ‘Are they here?’

‘Not yet. They said between twelve and five.’

Annie looked at her watch. It was barely twelve-thirty. She gave a small sigh at the prospect of spending the whole day with her mother.

‘How are you, Mother?’ she asked, thinking of all the things she had to do at the bakery.

Eleanor chuckled. ‘Looking forward to a good night’s sleep.’

‘Haven’t you been sleeping?’

Her mother harrumphed. ‘That mattress is like Brighton beach. Of course I’m not sleeping.’ She waved her hand dismissively at her daughter. ‘I’m well aware that I’m old, and that old people don’t sleep, but I don’t see why I can’t do something to improve the situation.’

‘Quite right. Mercedes sounded a bit panicky when she rang.’

‘Mercedes is Mediterranean, darling. Everything’s a drama to her. The smallest domestic problem and it’s “
Madre mia, madre mia, terribile, terribile
”, as if the world’s about to end. It’s very aggravating.’

They sat and talked for a while, Eleanor in her wing-back chair, Annie on the brown sofa. Mercedes brought them lunch: Ryvita with thin slices of ham and tomato, coffee in tiny blue porcelain cups and a Bendicks mint each – her mother’s daily favourite.

‘So, you still haven’t introduced me to the Carnegie boy,’ Eleanor said as she carefully folded and smoothed the foil from her chocolate into a thin silver ribbon.

‘Charles?’ Annie asked.

‘I thought you said he was called Daniel.’

‘Daniel, yes. Daniel isn’t a Carnegie, Mother. His name is Gray.’

‘Don’t be obtuse, darling, you know what I mean. Gray?’ Eleanor paused to consider this. ‘Rather a nondescript name. I don’t know any Grays.’

‘No, well, never mind. He seems quite happy with it.’

‘But his father
is
Charles Carnegie,’ insisted Eleanor. ‘You’d have thought he’d prefer to have the Carnegie name than be saddled with a name like Gray, wouldn’t you?’ She pronounced Daniel’s surname as if she’d just sucked a lemon.

Annie gave up. ‘He’s going up to Edinburgh. He won’t be back till September now.’ She didn’t say that she didn’t know if she would ever see him again, let alone have the chance to introduce him to her mother.

‘Well, in the autumn perhaps. Caro was stunned when I told her.’ Eleanor chuckled with satisfaction. ‘She says Charles is immensely rich, so if the boy plays his cards right he’ll be set for life.’ Her smile had a cynical tinge. ‘Obviously no fool.’

Annie didn’t bother to contradict her. There was little point challenging her mother’s default position, that people were fundamentally no good unless they had a title or a lot of land. As she sat opposite her in the quiet drawing room, she couldn’t help wondering what processes went on in her mother’s head. What had she been like when she was young, before Annie’s father died? Had she been happy then? Had she been kinder? All Annie remembered was afterwards, when her mother became more proud, more fixated with maintaining appearances. No one was
going to look down on Eleanor Westbury and her daughter just because she was forced to earn a living. She told nobody about Ralph’s appalling debts at the time, just pretended she wanted something to occupy her life now that she was a widow. And because of this stubborn pride, Annie had been intensely aware that her unwanted pregnancy had hit her mother particularly hard.