The Great Escape (31 page)

‘Oh, it’s such a nice day, it seems a shame to be rushing about all over the place.’

‘I suppose so.’ Ryan is a little apprehensive now about how this picnic will turn out: his first family outing with Petra in more than three years. Perfect Petra, with her wicker picnic basket and swanky butter who’s now, he notes with a jolt of alarm, pulling out a bottle of champagne from the fridge. ‘What’s that for?’ he asks lightly.

‘My birthday.’ She grins and tosses back her hair which gleams inky-black in the morning sun.

‘But … isn’t your birthday next week?’

‘Yes,’ she says quickly, ‘but seeing as we’re all together, I thought I’d celebrate early. I mean, this doesn’t happen very often, does it?’

‘What, your birthday?’ He feels stupid now for trying to make a joke.

‘No –
us
.’ Her eyes meet his, causing a strange fluttering in his stomach. ‘So what d’you think?’

‘What, take the champagne? Yeah. Why not?’

With a smile, she sweeps through to the living room, leaving Ryan to cut more ham sandwiches, quartering each round into the neat triangles he knows Petra will approve of. She’s only suggested a picnic to celebrate her almost-birthday, he tells himself. As far as Ryan can see, dutifully wrapping the sandwiches in the greaseproof paper she’s put out for him, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

FORTY-EIGHT

If Johnny had ever imagined meeting Lou Costello again, he hadn’t envisaged having two carrier bags bulging with assorted groceries plus a bright blue bottle of Toilet Duck at his feet. But here he is now, with not just Lou, but Hannah and Sadie too – the Garnet Street Girls. They’re tucking into an extravagant brunch in an airy pub with jazz playing quietly in the background as they fill him in on the past thirteen years of their lives.

And if Lou had ever imagined running into Johnny again – which she has, countless times, when Spike’s behaviour has soared up the irritation scale – she’d never have imagined he would have grown into such a ruggedly beautiful man.

She is sitting beside him, and every now and again his arm brushes against hers. It’s not his
actual
arm – just his baggy-elbowed sweater sleeve. Yet each time it makes contact, she feels a small jolt which takes her away somewhere else, away from this trendy pub populated by a young, mildly hung over clientele to a place where she’s conscious of every nerve in her body. Hannah, Sadie and Johnny are showing each other pictures on their phones. ‘That’s Dylan,’ Sadie explains, ‘and that’s Milo, looking scrubbed and presentable for once …’

‘They’re
so
like you,’ Johnny exclaims. ‘God, Sadie, the double whammy – you must be so proud.’

‘I suppose I am,’ Sadie laughs, bringing up another picture. ‘Anyway, this is Barney, my husband. It still sounds funny saying that sometimes, even though we’ve been married for four years …’

‘Well, he’s a lucky guy,’ Johnny says with a grin. ‘And you’re a country girl now, huh?’

‘Yeah, or trying to be …’ She laughs again. ‘But really, I don’t know about Barney being lucky. Right now, I think I’m the lucky one.’ She looks around the scratched oak table and smiles. ‘Here I am, away for the weekend with my favourite people in the world – apart from my family, I mean. That’s a different kind of favourite …’

‘I know what you mean,’ Johnny murmurs, shifting in his seat, making Lou flinch as his sleeve tickles her arm.

Sadie’s eyes have moistened. ‘It’s funny – I was expecting Barney to be calling every ten minutes, asking what he should do about this, and where do we keep that …’

‘You expected him not to cope,’ Hannah cuts in.

Sadie nods. ‘But he’s only phoned once and everything’s fine …’

‘You’re virtually redundant!’ Johnny teases her.

‘Yeah. I guess I am. It still feels strange, you know, being away from my kids …’ She grins, spearing a mushroom with her fork. ‘But it feels great too.’

‘Like the old you?’ Lou suggests.

‘Yes, just about.’ More coffees arrive, and the conversation veers towards Johnny’s allotment and his green-fingered lifestyle these days. Lou wants to ask him so much, but everyone is talking over each other, butting in in that way that old friends do. She places her cutlery on her plate, barely having made headway into her meal.

‘So how about you, Lou?’ Johnny has turned to her.

‘Oh, you know … crappy job, dingy little flat, but I’m working on it – I’m coming up with some kind of plan …’ She stops, realising she hasn’t the faintest idea of what that plan might be, and hoping he doesn’t ask for further details. She senses her cheeks reddening and takes a big swig of coffee.

‘So … you’re still with Spike?’ Johnny asks.

Lou feels all eyes on her. ‘Yeah, still ticking along.’

‘And, er … how is he?’ Johnny asks brightly.

‘Oh, he’s great! Just the same.’ She pauses. ‘Well, you know what he’s like.’

‘Just the same, yeah?’ Johnny repeats.

Lou nods, realising he’s moved slightly closer to her now, and that his woolly sleeve is in constant contact with her bare arm. ‘Yep, pretty much,’ she says, turning to smile at him, hoping to convince her old friend that as soon as she gets back to York, she’s going to put her plan into action. Yet, when his soft grey eyes meet hers, Lou knows he doesn’t believe her at all.

FORTY-NINE

There’s nothing wrong with being in Hissingham Woods with two girls, Barney tells himself – nothing at all. It’s just
harmless fun
. So here they are, clutching silver reflectors and, well, not doing much else to help, admittedly, but Magda and Amy are obviously quite happy for them to be here. Barney isn’t so sure that Sadie would be happy, but if she does find out – which she won’t – Barney will explain the situation for what it is: just a pleasant outing, all Pete’s idea. No, there’s nothing wrong with watching Magda take pictures of Amy, who arrived in a bluish-green cobwebby top which, after she disappeared behind a tree and whipped off her jeans, now appears to be an extremely tiny, fragile-looking dress. All this is
fine
, Barney reassures himself, because his babies are here. Babies are wholesome. Nothing untoward can ever happen when they are around.

‘That’s great,’ Magda enthuses, taking shot after shot as Amy moves ever-so-subtly, raising a shoulder, tilting her chin, and sort of collapsing back against a sturdy oak as if suddenly needing it for support. ‘Let’s go further into the woods,’ Magda suggests. ‘There’s a place where this little bit of sunshine comes in between the trees, it’s really beautiful.’ And now, with the reflector trapped under his arm while he pushes the buggy with difficulty along the muddy path, Barney is starting to think maybe it’s
not
okay, and that they’re stepping into dangerous territory.

Amy is now lying in that wisp of a dress, on a scattering of leaves and twigs as if she’s fallen into a dead faint. ‘That looks
really
good,’ Pete observes sagely. ‘There’s a lovely feel to it, the way the dress and, er … the browny textures of the ground are merging,’ he continues, as if he sees himself as creative director of
Vogue
and not a wine importer who buys cheap plonk from God knows where and knocks it out at vastly inflated prices.

Having been relieved of reflector-holding duties – ‘Maybe Pete should do that, being taller,’ Amy points out helpfully – Barney crouches down in the dappled shade from where his children are regarding the proceedings with interest. Maybe it’s educational for them, he thinks, with a growing sense of unease, watching a young woman writhe on the ground like that.

‘Now that’s beautiful, I love the languid, sensual feel of that,’ Pete enthuses as Amy stands up, picks out a few twigs that have become lodged in the holes of her dress and flops her head to one side, as if something’s wrong with her neck.

‘Yes,’ says Magda. ‘It’s like … she’s part of the forest, you know?’

‘Yeah,’ Pete said thoughtfully. ‘She really is.’

‘Like a little fairy.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Or a nymph,’ Magda adds, moving in a little closer.

‘Exactly,’ Pete agrees. ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking.’ Pete is somehow – although only just, Barney suspects – preventing his tongue from lolling out and dragging across the forest floor. What
are
they doing here?

Barney’s knees click painfully as he straightens himself up. He’s old enough to have dodgy knees, yet is behaving like a teenager, going into the woods with girls. He needs to get away
now
, be responsible and remove himself and his children from this wood nymph photo shoot situation. Magda takes a few more pictures, and just as Barney is about to say something, she announces, ‘Well, I think we’re done for now … I’ve got everything I need.’

‘That’s it?’ Pete asks, unable to conceal his disappointment.

‘Yes, the pictures look great. We should get something to eat, don’t you think?’

‘That’s a great idea,’ Pete replies, and Amy murmurs in agreement.

‘I’m not really hungry,’ Barney lies. With all the multi-tasking this morning, all he’s managed to cram into his mouth are the remains of Milo and Dylan’s baby porridge, which tasted like food for the ill. No wonder they often spit it out.

‘Well, I am,’ Pete remarks. ‘I’m starving. Breakfast was hardly forthcoming this morning, was it, Barney …’ Barney presses his lips together and chooses not to answer.

‘We could go to the pub,’ Magda suggests as they amble back along the winding path to the place where Amy left her jeans. She disappears behind a tree and comes back fully clothed, now a little less nymph-like.

‘I’d better not,’ Barney says quickly. ‘In fact, I should get the boys home for lunch, it’s almost one …’

‘That’s in the schedule, is it?’ Pete teases.

‘No, I’m just saying …’

‘I thought you packed those jars of sloppy stuff in there?’ Pete adds, indicating the baby-essentials bag, which now has a few leaves stuck to it.

‘Er, I don’t think I did actually …’

‘I’m sure you did,’ Pete says, grinning infuriatingly, clearly delighting in winding him up. ‘Chicken and sweetcorn casserole, wasn’t it, and some of those little biscuit things.’

‘No, I don’t
think
so …’ Everyone looks at him expectantly. But he can’t go back to the Black Swan, not for a second visit in twenty-four hours. ‘Sorry, I really need to get home,’ he says firmly.

As they reach the edge of the woods, he senses Magda glancing at him. ‘Well, maybe we all could meet up some other time,’ Amy says lightly. Barney feels better out here in the sunshine – less trapped with the clear blue sky above him.

‘That’d be great,’ Pete enthuses, flipping his phone from his pocket in one swift movement. ‘What’s your number, Amy?’

Barney hovers as she tells him, gripping the buggy handles, and Magda bobs down to bid the children a fussy goodbye.

‘I’ll see you around, Barney?’ she adds, straightening up as they prepare to part company.

‘Yes, I’m sure you will.’ He forces a small grin.

‘I work Mondays and Fridays in the café. I’ll show you the pictures next time I see you, okay?’

‘Yeah, great …’

She gives him a warm smile. ‘Your babies are lovely but it must be such hard work. I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Well, y’know.’ He shrugs, feeling his cheeks burning, and is relieved when they finally part company with the girls.

‘Poor single dad,’ Pete murmurs as they stride back towards Barney’s house.

‘Shut up.’

‘Poor Daddy, managing to look after two babies all on his own with no woman to help him.’

‘Fuck off, David Bailey,’ Barney splutters, bursting out laughing despite himself.

They reach Barney’s front door and awkwardly ease in the buggy. ‘Honestly,’ Pete adds, mimicking Magda’s soft, wispy voice, ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

FIFTY

The drive to Glasgow in the band’s converted ambulance has been horrendous. Spike’s lower back aches and he has a crick in his neck. He’s often thought how much he’d enjoy being back here, checking out his old haunts. Yet now, with his aches and pains, plus a lingering wine/beer/Père Magloire hangover and the horror of Harry’s erratic driving, all he wants is to be in bed. Glimpsing his reflection in the ‘superloos’ at Glasgow Central station, he decides he doesn’t look super at all. His face is clammy and beige, like one of those chicken fillets Lou left for him in the fridge back home.

Spike splashes cold water on his face, wipes it dry with his sleeve, then fishes out his wallet from his pocket and counts his money carefully beside a washbasin. £32.47. It’s not a lot, admittedly, to see him through the rest of today, and Saturday night, plus whatever tomorrow might throw up. But he’ll manage. If Lou
isn’t
up to anything – and Spike now feels utterly confident that she isn’t, which makes him wonder why he endured that stomach-swirling journey – then he can probably sneak into the girls’ hotel room tonight and kip on their floor. Surely they wouldn’t mind. He can also borrow a bit from each of them for the train fare back to York – spread the cost. In fact, the prospect of being among Lou and her friends as they lie on their beds, painting their nails and indulging in all that lovely girlie grooming makes him feel momentarily better.

Spike glances around the superloo, scanning the row of cubicle doors. Satisfied that he’s in there alone, he pulls up his plain black T-shirt and inspects the waxed area just above his left nipple. The spots have died down, thank God. The rectangle is still creepily bald, though – just the one strip, as if someone had started to mow a lawn and given up when the rain came on. Picking up his rucksack from the floor, and trying to summon up a sense of positivity, Spike struts up the stairs and out onto the bustling station concourse.

Outside, he pauses to light a much-needed cigarette and takes in the lively street scene before him. Glasgow feels buzzy and youthful, and Spike senses his crippling tiredness subside as he makes his way towards Puccini’s, an old-fashioned Italian café. They’d all hung out here – the Garnet Street Girls, that twat Johnny and a gaggle of art students who’d cottoned onto the fact that you were allowed to dawdle over one cup of coffee for an entire afternoon. Spike pushes open the heavy wooden door, inhales the aroma of coffee and pizza and steps in.