The Godmother (19 page)

I knew who it was.

“It's Ben, Mrs. King.”

“Ben, for God's sake, stop calling me Mrs. King. You're pushing forty, aren't you? It's indecent.”

“Old habits,” said Ben.

“How are you, anyway? We haven't seen you for ages.”

“Very well. How about you?”

“Keeping out of trouble, just. Campaigned to get a twenty-mile-an-hour limit set outside the school gates, then forgot myself and got three points on my license.”

Ben laughed. This was all true. It may have seemed like an odd response to an enquiry about her health but I know my mother well and what her story meant. It was intended to convey that her MS was still at bay, she was still driving, still living independently, still part of life. During those occasional bad episodes she usually says something like, “Doing a lot of puzzles” or, “Catching up with my photo albums.”

Ben and Mum chatted on. I was quite happy to let them, since I couldn't seem to open my mouth.

“Tessa told me how wonderful you were the other night,” said my mother. I grimaced silently into the other phone. “Thank God you all have each other. Anyway, love to Sasha. I'll leave you two to chat, though please remember dinner is at seven.”

Another of my mother's jokes. Since it was only three in the afternoon. Ben and I have been known to chat for hours. I didn't think this would be one of those occasions. I heard the second phone in the house go click. We were alone.

“Hello, Tess.”

“Hello, Ben.”

Silence. A strange silence, since it wasn't in the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I thought I'd lost you,” he said.

“Sorry. Didn't I tell you I was coming down here?”

“No.”

“Sorry,” I said again.

That was followed by another silence. A slightly more uncomfortable one.

“I had lunch with Sasha,” I said.

“She told me.” I waited. “She said it was great to see you,” he said.

In other words, you didn't rock the boat.

“It was great to see her, actually. She was very helpful. Gave me some good
advice.” I wondered if he was going to ask me about what, but he didn't. I'd opened the door a crack. Ben had closed it again. Even though I wanted to kick the door down, I had to leave it closed.

“She's a wise woman,” said Ben.

“Yes, she is,” I said.

“Anyway, I just wanted to check that you were all right. I know this is about Claudia, but it was horrible for you too.”

I remembered staring into the toilet bowl, then banished the memory. “I feel desperate for them. I think it's good they're going away.”

“Is that it, then? No more IVF?”

“Claudia hasn't said so, and the doctor assured me that next time would be different, so, who knows…”

“Different, but not necessarily successful.”

“They are clever, those doctors, they pick their words carefully.”

“Well, it's a business, I suppose,” said Ben. “Anyway, she was lucky to have you there. Did the orange paint work?”

“Yes. Thank you so much for coming to help me.”

“Don't be silly. You know I'd always drop anything if you needed me.”

But not your wife. My stomach lurched. Banish that evil thought. Banish it! “I know. Thanks.”

“Al rang me about lunch on Saturday, said you were organizing it.”

“I was just dialing your number when you called.”

“Well, the telepathy was a bit delayed; I've been urging you to call since last Monday. I thought for a horrid moment you'd buggered off back to the Swiss lady at the ashram.”

And so the merry dance continued for another fifteen minutes or so. We brushed against the subject a couple of times, not that anyone listening in on our conversation would have known that. I realized then that we had perfected this skill over the years since Ben had been hit by the cyclist. It was a two-way thing—we were both complicit in it—but Ben was clearly faring better out of the deal. He had Sasha. An incredible woman who suited the very fiber of his being right down to not wanting children together. I had no one. I think it was what Marilyn Monroe in
Some Like It Hot
called getting “the fuzzy end of the lollipop.” Ben was not going to leave his wife for me and, anyway, I didn't want him to. I wanted to inhabit a parallel universe that didn't exist outside
the realms of my imagination. I wanted things to be different. And they were never going to be if I didn't do something about this now.

I had to make a decision. I had to change the pattern of my life. I had to leave an imaginary twenty-year relationship. I had to get divorced from a man I had never married. I had to move on. For survival's sake, I had to accept that the man I had somehow considered mine was not, never had been and never would be. I had to say goodbye and yet he'd never know I had.

“I've got to go, Ben,” I said, more firmly than I felt.

“All right, sweetie. See you Saturday.”

Well, now it was Saturday and I felt sick. I pushed the door to the Italian restaurant open and inhaled the aroma of garlic and olive oil. Al, Claudia, Ben and Sasha were already at the table. That left three empty seats between Sasha and Ben. I kissed everyone hello. Ben first, which was probably normal. Then I sat down next to Sasha, which was not. I had done it. I had made the first break. Ben was the person I always sat next to. I wouldn't have even thought about it; it would have been an automatic response. Not any more. I, Tessa King, was in control of my destiny.

The waiters insisted on us ordering wine, brought bread and olives and then left us in peace to peruse the menu. I poured out the wine. Solemnly we raised our glasses.

“To health and happiness,” we chorused. Our big ask was getting bigger by the day.

“Helen and Neil?” I asked.

“They haven't phoned to say they're not coming,” said Claudia.

“Helen will be here,” said Al.

She'd bloody better be, I thought.

The more relaxed we tried to be, the more awkward lunch became. We all knew why we were there but no one wanted to mention it. Instead, we talked about all the places around Singapore that Al and Claudia could visit. We talked about where they were going but not why. The two empty chairs between myself and Ben were distracting me from the job in hand: that of providing Claudia a happy send off. I kept glancing at my watch.

“Maybe I should call her?” I said eventually. “I didn't actually speak to Helen, I spoke to Neil. Maybe he didn't tell her.”

“No, Helen called me to see if I was all right,” said Claudia. “She's definitely coming. It's probably got something to do with schedules or routines.”

I wanted off this subject as quickly as possible.

“Where were you this week, Sasha?” I asked, looking away from Claudia.

“Germany again. Berlin.” She shook her head and smiled naughtily. “It's a wild city. I always go out far too late when I'm there.”

“You be careful, Ben,” said Al. “Sasha will finally realize what a terrible choice she made and run off with a broad-chested, beer-swilling Bratwurst called Bruno.”

“Nice alliteration,” said Ben.

“Thanks.”

“I don't think Ben has to worry about me,” she said, looking fondly over at her husband. There were consecutive “ahs” around the table. Not from me; I was wondering who Ben did have to worry about, if not Sasha. Or did she mean he was the one who was the cause for concern?

“Actually, I've met most of the men that Sasha travels with on a weekly basis and they are mostly small, pot-bellied types with chronic overbites and—”

“Very large brains,” said Sasha, finishing for him. “Who, incidentally, control 75 percent of the European money markets.”

Ben looked at the gathered crowd. “I'm fucked.”

“Luckily I'm not looking for a sperm donor, so you're safe for the time being.”

It was a good gag, in ordinary circumstances, but these were not ordinary circumstances. Sasha knew immediately she'd said the wrong thing. I couldn't think of anything quick enough to say to get her out of it. I couldn't even make it worse, because that would have made it worse for Claudia. Sasha put an imaginary gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

“Sorry, Claud,” she said.

Claudia slapped her hands on the table. “Stop it,” she said. “All of you. Stop doing a really good job of pretending we're not here because Al and I lost another baby. That is why I wanted this lunch,” she said emphatically.
“So we don't have to do this. I haven't got cancer. I'm not dying. We tried, we failed, maybe we'll try again. Maybe we'll even fail again. It can rule my life, it has ruled my life and Al's, I am perpetually sorry for that, but it doesn't have to govern our friendship. I want to know who you've been shagging for fun, Tessa, I want to know that having children is the last thing on your mind, Sasha, I want Ben to tell Al he wants Sasha to stop demanding sex in funny positions—”

“How do you know about that?” said Ben.

But Claudia wouldn't be deflected. “You can say ‘period' without going puce. I want my friends with children to be able to moan about their children without feeling guilty. I want to tell Helen she is a brilliant mother when she arrives and the table not to choke on their vongole. Do you understand?”

We all nodded. “No more pussyfooting. No more walking on eggshells. Understood?”

We nodded again.

“So, first things first,” said Ben. “Who is Tessa shagging for fun?”

Loaded question, if I ever heard one. But I wasn't playing any more. “I came to a scary conclusion the other day,” I replied. “I'm single but not sexually frustrated, which can only mean one thing.”

“Good electronics,” said Sasha.

“Never really been an electronics girl myself,” I said.

“You should be. The only way I stay faithful on those business trips is because I take a little something with me.”

“Less of the little,” said Ben.

“Is that true?” asked Claudia. Sasha winked. A long, sexy wink. The woman is smooth.

“The boys have their porn. The women, their toys; we all go home happy to our husbands and wives. It's the ones not watching the porn or without the toys you've got to worry about.”

“And these people control 75 percent of the European money markets?” asked Al.

“Yup.”

“Honey, I think it's time to buy yen,” he said.

“I think it's time we ordered. We're getting smutty and it's not yet one,” said Claudia.

“Where the hell are Helen and Neil?” I said.

Claudia, who was facing the door, pointed. “Here they are.” Then she frowned. I turned. Helen was standing in the doorway, struggling to get an enormous pram into the small restaurant. It should have come with a “wide load” sign and some outriders. Some waiters were trying to help her, with smiles and cries of “beautiful bambinos,” which I knew were insincere: the twins were still at their James Gandolfini phase. The waiters were simply keeping up appearances. Being Italian waiters. Earning their reputation as the best in the world, and their tip. But I wasn't really focused on that. It was one thing trying not to pussyfoot around Claudia or walk on eggshells; it was another thing to bring two screaming nearly newborns to lunch with a woman who two weeks earlier had lost her own.

Ben stood up. “She looks like she could do with a hand.”

“Where's Neil?”

No one answered. Instead, we watched Helen push the ludicrously large pram through the tables, knocking people, bags and coats as she went. She must have said sorry twenty times between the door and our table at the back of the restaurant. If I had thought for one second Helen was going to bring the twins I would have chosen another place to eat, but, call me old-fashioned, I sort of assumed she'd know that it was not a good idea.

“I'm so sorry I'm late,” she said.

Late? Sorry you're late? Don't you mean sorry for being so sucked in by the importance of your own offspring that you've lost all sensitivity to those around you?

“Don't worry,” said Claudia. “I'm just glad you're here.” Sometimes Claudia's generous spirit is very irritating. Isn't anyone going to mention how inappropriate this is?

“Where's Neil?” I asked again through a clenched smile.

“Tied up, um, called into work. Sound-editing…”

Another late Friday night, then. I was not feeing hugely sympathetic. Everyone moved chairs around to make way for the twins.

“I didn't realize you were going to bring the boys,” I said to Helen when she sat down next to me.

“The nanny had the day off. Neil was going to cover, but then he had to work, and I so wanted to come, and…Any trouble and we'll leave.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Claudia. “I'm not going to see my godsons for a couple of months, I'm delighted you've brought them.”

“They've been fed, so they should sleep.”

I examined Helen closely. She was wearing more concealer than Marilyn Manson, but even Touche Eclat couldn't hide the lies. She was covering for her shitty husband, as usual. There were dark circles under her eyes and she was shaking. She used to tell me about the nights that Neil went AWOL, but after a while I suppose it got embarrassing for her, since he didn't appear to change and she didn't do anything to stop it. “Won't be late.” “One more and I'm coming home.” Or the classic, “I'm on my way home.” Yet several hours would pass; Helen would go mad with worry, then finally he'd fall through the door too pissed to undress himself. I told her to lock him out when he did that, but she was too afraid he'd leave her.

I reckoned that Helen had probably been awake most of the night, either furious with Neil—I think she was over the worried stage—or with the twins, who couldn't possibly sleep as much as they did during the day, then sleep through the night too. Maybe Neil had come home, maybe he hadn't. Either way, he wouldn't have been able to look after the twins. Helen must have tanked herself up on coffee and dragged herself and the twins to the restaurant. It would have been better not to have come at all.