Women of a Dangerous Age (20 page)

‘How apt!'

Both the boys grinned. Lou felt it inappropriate to show her amusement as they pulled out chairs and started helping themselves. ‘Wine anyone?'

‘Yes, please.' Jamie moved the heap of letters and newspapers from the side of the tabletop to the floor so there was room for his glass. ‘The next thing we know, Emma'll be expecting.'

‘Jamie, don't!' Nic looked horrified.

‘Well, think about it. How else is he going to keep her? A woman her age is almost bound to want children sometime. And if he won't give them to her, she'll find someone else who will. The maternal urge is strong, isn't it? You should know, Nic.' He batted away the tea towel that she flicked in his direction.

‘If that happened, his kid would be the same age as his grandkid,' Tom said thoughtfully, staring at Nic's
micro-bump. ‘How embarrassing would that be? For him, I mean.'

‘I suppose you think it would be cool. You're pathetic.' Nic rested her hand on her stomach again. ‘I'm just embarrassed to have a father who's turned out to be such a filthy old lech.'

‘That's enough,' interrupted Lou, seeing things were sliding out of control. ‘Whatever Hooker's done and, I agree, some of it leaves a bit to be desired, he's been a great dad to you all—'

She pretended not to hear Nic's outraged ‘A bit!'

‘—and a good husband to me.' Perhaps that was going too far.

‘Mum! How can you say that?' Jamie banged his glass on the table. ‘He must have been playing away for years.'

‘You don't know that.' Despite herself, despite everything, she still felt a residual loyalty to Hooker. And she was right to. It hadn't all been bad. Whatever else he'd done, he had never let anything disrupt the children's lives. He could have left them to fend for themselves. None of them should complain.

‘No, but I can make an educated guess.'

‘Educated? You? Some hope.' Nic poured herself some more cranberry juice.

Why did Nic sideswipe at her brothers whenever she could, Lou wondered. When they were growing up, she'd always thought Nic was well placed with a brother on either side of her. But instead, Nic had always felt that life never played her fair and one or other of the boys was always being favoured over her. Being a middle child
was never easy, as Lou knew from her own experience. Her older brother, Sam, was the one praised for his achievements, sporting and academic, while no one noticed hers. Jenny was the baby of the family and had all the attention that went with that. Now she understood how her parents tried to favour her, but how she had rejected them in the same way Nic rejected her and Hooker's attempts to show how much they loved and supported her. Nothing was ever enough.

‘Have you lot just come round to have a row? If so, I'm leaving you to it.' Lou refilled her glass and went through to the sitting room where she flumped into the Eames chair and put her feet up.

‘Sorry, Mum,' Nic called through, making her second apology of the night – a higher strike rate than usual. ‘We'll be right through.'

She could hear the sounds of tidying up and muttered voices, closed her eyes and tried to let her mind go blank. Impossible. Tomorrow's tasks immediately invaded the space, chasing through her mind: finish jacket commissioned by Fiona's friend, order fabric, pay outstanding bills, chase up journalist who'd left her contact details on the email, check website orders and write new blog.

‘You know what,' said Jamie, coming into the room. ‘I think it'll be quite cool to have a little brother. You don't mind my saying that?'

She opened her eyes. ‘Of course not. I'd rather you did. I know it'll be awkward at first but—'

‘Mum, don't worry. We'll make sure it's all right.' He threw himself into the armchair, stretching out his legs in
front of him. ‘How hard can it be to get on with an eleven-year-old kid? None of this is his fault. And it's up to us to work out how to deal with Dad. I know Nic's taken it badly, but that's Nic. She'll get over it. She just needs a bit more time to get used to the idea. I'll talk to her. Promise.'

Lou relaxed. She could always rely on Jamie eventually taking the lead and, whatever the objections, on the other two falling in line. ‘I know you will.' She reached out a hand and caught his for a moment. He returned her squeeze.

‘So what's going on in the great world of retail?'

She began to answer as the other two came in. ‘Going OK, I think. So far I've sold enough to cover my overheads but I'm going to have to step it up a bit. The website should generate more summer sales once the weather warms up. I've got some great styles I've made up for commission and I've renewed contact with various bods I used to know who are still in the business. So fingers crossed.'

As she talked, Tom came to sit on the floor by Lou's legs, his back against her chair. She reached down and started stroking his hair. Nic lay on the sofa, looking more content than she had only minutes ago. Jamie leaned forward to poke the fire and throw on another log. Sparks shot up the chimney. Flames began to lick around its base.

Despite the occasional tears and tantrums, what more could she want than the company of her three children? She didn't need anyone else. For now, knowing that her
family was intact, or as intact as it could be, gave her the strength to deal with whatever other surprises Hooker might have up his sleeve. What was important was that she and the children should stand firm under the weight of the revelations of his personal life so they moved forwards without giving way to recrimination and resentment.

She couldn't help wondering whether, if she'd behaved differently within the marriage, putting him to the front of the queue for her attention, he would have behaved differently too? She'd never know. As it was, she had spent too many evenings waiting for him to come home, wondering where she had gone wrong. The time for blaming herself was well and truly over.

They had almost completed their first lap of the park when a young Staffordshire bull terrier came barrelling up behind Ali, chasing and nipping at her ankles. Running on the spot, watching Don disappear into the distance, she looked for the animal's owner as the dog dashed about in excited circles making it impossible for her to continue. There, halfway across the football pitches, ambling towards her, was a young lad, his tracksuit bottoms indecently low on his hips, the jacket of his hoodie flapping open, the hood covering a black baseball cap, his phone to his ear.

‘He yours?' Ali shouted, still jogging on the spot, the dog in a frenzy around her legs.

Whether the lad heard her or not was unclear. He didn't acknowledge her, just yelled, ‘Lash! C'm'ere.'

The dog took no notice and his owner made no attempt to hurry as he finished his call. His nonchalance infuriated Ali.

‘For God's sake, control your dog.' She was risking a scene, but there were other people around to rescue her if she provoked anything serious.

‘Or what?' The lad was standing in front of her, staring her down, his sallow complexion brilliant with acne, his eyes insolent.

‘Or I'll …' she flailed about for a suitable threat, ‘I'll report you.'

‘Oh, yeah!' he replied, grinning, as he eyed her up and down and attached a leather lead to the dog's heavy studded collar. ‘To who and whose army?'

Without a ready answer and feeling suddenly vulnerable in her skimpy running kit, Ali didn't stop to discuss this detail, but ran off, pumping her arms, pounding the earth path that had been worn down by countless runners before her. She overtook a lonely anorexic struggling to shed more calories, feet barely leaving the ground, before a muscle-bound hunk doing fartleks in the opposite direction almost knocked her flying. As he raced by her, she imagined that, above the rasp of his breath, she could hear the chafing of one massive muscular thigh against the other. She followed the curve of the park and entered the avenue of plane trees, their branches silhouetted against the flat Tupperware coloured sky. Music blared out from one or two windows of the estate on the other side of the park railings. A tabby cat was curled on a post, eyes half shut, observing the world go by. A knot of rudeboys huddled together gave Ali a passing glance, then returned to their business.

She had thought of Lou and Hooker frequently since that late-night call after Lou had discovered the existence of Hooker's love child. What a bastard! When he'd protested to her that he'd done his bit towards populating the world, he hadn't been joking. The knowledge only confirmed her
desire to have nothing more to do with him. What she didn't really understand was the way that Lou's feelings still seemed to blow hot and cold about her ex. In her position, Ali would have just cut all contact with Hooker, but Lou seemed unable to sever completely the ties between them. Was that what having children did to a couple?

Although her friendship with Lou was young, it had quickly taken root, surprising Ali by how much it already meant to her. Being taken into another woman's confidence was something that she hadn't experienced before. Just the last few months had already shown what she had been missing. She loved being able to chat openly with Lou, being asked for advice, being trusted and, even more, being able to expect the same in return. For the first time in years, she had begun to let someone in and the feeling was good. She was excited by the thought that Hooker would eventually find out about her friendship and business involvement with Lou. It wouldn't be long now but the fact of Rory's existence had put everything else on the back burner. Yes, she thought, revenge would be definitely a dish best served cold.

In the distance, by the gate to the main road, Ali could see Don running on the spot looking round in her direction. His physique, now resplendent in shorts over Lycra, a faded Led Zeppelin tour T-shirt and state-of-the-art trainers, was that of a man who looked after himself. She liked that. When he saw her, he jogged over.

‘What kept you, slowcoach?'

‘A savage dog, is all. Where were you when I needed you?'

Their breath clouded in the cold air.

‘I'm sorry. I'd no idea. I was so determined to beat last week's time that I didn't notice.'

She laughed. ‘You're hopeless. I thought we were meant to be doing this together. A gentle Sunday run, you said.'

‘We are.' He took her hand as they stepped aside to let the same muscled hunk race past them. ‘We are. I just got a bit carried away. We'll take it easy for this lap and I'll stick by you whatever happens.'

‘You'll have to catch me first!' Ali sprinted off, taking Don by surprise. Within a couple of hundred metres, she slowed her pace, hearing his footsteps coming up behind her.

‘I meant that, you know.'

‘What?' She looked sideways. They were running exactly in step now, at a speed that was stretching but not too uncomfortable. Sweat ran down the groove of her spine.

‘The bit about sticking by you whatever happens.' His expression said everything she needed to know about how serious he was. ‘I'm not going to let you go again.'

‘What a moment to tell me that!' She tried to lighten the mood. ‘If I wasn't running, I'd hug you.'

‘You do feel the same, then?' Sweat was making his T-shirt stick to his chest and between his shoulder blades, his hair to his forehead.

She glanced at his face, as familiar as if it were her own: the thin white scar under his right eyebrow, the mole by his left ear, the changing planes depending on his mood.

‘Indubitably, Holmes.'

They ran together without talking more until Don broke the silence.

‘You know what? I'd like to see Eric again. What if we go up for a weekend?'

His question came so far from left field that Ali almost stopped, then speeded up again. ‘Why?' she asked.

‘I want to help you clear up what happened to your mum. I know how much her disappearance has been nagging at you since you last talked to him.'

She touched her mother's ring with her thumb. ‘There's nothing more to say. I've tried and he's told me all he's going to.'

‘But you said you were sure he wasn't telling you everything. I thought I might be able to help.'

‘What? Man to man?' She heard how scornful she sounded and hated herself for it. ‘Sorry. But there's nothing left to say. Shit happens. I've come to terms with her taking off like that. If she'd wanted to know me, she'd have been in touch.'

He looked unconvinced but, instead of protracting the conversation, he tapped his watch to signal that their pace was flagging. Keeping in step, they picked it up until they were running just too fast for easy conversation. As Ali focused on pushing herself forwards out of her comfort zone, Don's words echoed around her head. Of course, he was right. After all these years, she did want to know what happened to her mother, and whether she herself was in any way to blame for her leaving. She did want her relationship with Don to last. She did want her life to change.

Then, as the effort required to keep up with him took over, she lost track of all thought, giving herself up to the physical demands of their run. As she closed out her
surroundings, she felt her body respond to what she asked of it. The sweat pricked, her lungs burned, legs ached and, as eventually the park gates came into view, the familiar and satisfying sense of achievement kicked in.

Later, back at her flat, Don returned to his subject as he watched Ali carefully bite the curve of chocolate off a Tunnock's Teacake until a perfect dome of white foam was left. She was contemplating the pieces of her latest jigsaw, Velázquez's
Las Meninas
, having separated out all the edge pieces. Now, she joined a couple together.

‘Seriously, Al. Why don't we go up to see Eric together?'

She put the biscuit on her plate and licked chocolate from her fingers before moving all the pieces belonging to the back of the artist's canvas to the left of the table. ‘Because it won't achieve anything.'

‘How do you know that? He and I got on well before.'

An image came to her of the two men building a bonfire at the bottom of the garden while, with very bad grace, she made ham sandwiches in the kitchen. ‘That was years ago. So much blood's gone under the bridge since then, and he's got very set in his ways.' The words ‘like me' remained unspoken but very present.

‘Up to you.' He picked up one of the newspapers that he'd spread over the sofa and surrounding floor just as she identified a couple of pieces belonging to the dog's paw and fitted them together. ‘But he might listen to me. Just saying.'

The thought echoed in her head. If Don could change her then maybe he could change her father. Perhaps she should at least let him try. ‘OK, I give in. At the worst, I
guess you could help where Lou and I left off with the attic, and I could sort out some of Mum's clothes for the shop. Lou wouldn't take them last time.'

‘She could always come with us?' The suggestion sounded rather half-hearted.

‘Nice thought, but no. She's too preoccupied with the arrival of Rory and what that'll mean to her kids, especially her daughter.' She began to look for dog-coloured pieces of puzzle.

‘The father sounds an idiot.' Don's attention was half on the article he was reading on a major oil spill in the Pacific.

‘Think so?' Ali didn't trust herself to say more, disturbed by the unintentional turn in the conversation. Hooker was not a subject on which she wanted to linger. As she moved the pieces around the table, she wondered if Don was hiding anything from her, and whether he'd mind if he ever found out what she was hiding from him. All she had told him was that her last boyfriend had dumped her without ceremony after having asked her to live with him. She hadn't needed to name him. He didn't need to know everything that bound her and Lou together, particularly not the more intimate details of her relationship with her friend's ex-husband. She had also decided not to tell him about all her past lovers' marital arrangements. She was nervous about how he would react. Not that she was ashamed of the path her personal life had taken but she wanted him to understand, not judge, her. The way Lou had. For the time being, her silence was best kept.

Distracted from the jigsaw, she gazed out of the window. Outside, a toddler had just fallen over on the pathway and
was being comforted by its mother. If only, she thought: fruit cake in front of a roaring fire and a mother to soothe the pain and sort the ills of the day. Hers might have provided that once upon a time but for almost as long as she could remember, Ali had relied on herself to get through. She smoothed out a wrinkle in the rug with her foot. ‘I think I'll just go upstairs and change.'

‘Sounds like a plan. I might make a start on something to eat. No!' He stopped her from interrupting. ‘My treat. I bought some stuff for lunch when I got the papers.'

She shut her eyes, took a deep breath in and out. ‘I'm not sure I deserve you.'

‘Nor am I. But I'm willing to hang on until you reach such a state of grace when you do.'

She smacked his arm. ‘Twit! I'll be down in a minute.'

‘Sure you don't want company … help with a zip or a hook or something?'

He sounded so hopeful, she felt bad refusing – but not quite bad enough. ‘Tempting, but no. Give me a few minutes to get myself together.'

He nodded and went back to the paper. She appreciated how he understood her need to have her own space from time to time. Upstairs, her bedroom usually provided her with a reliable safe haven where she could lie down and think. Less so that day, however. She picked up Don's socks and pants where he'd left them on the floor. She hung up his jacket that lay on the bed and folded his jumper before putting it into one of the drawers that she'd allocated to him. Although he still had his rented flat, he spent so much time here, his clothes needed their own space too. She
stripped off, putting her clothes in the laundry basket as she went.

In the bathroom, she swilled water round the basin to wash away the little black hairs left from Don's shaving and lifted the dissolving soap from the pool of water where he had left it. Having lived alone for so long, she was used to things being just so. Her other men friends had rarely stayed long enough to rattle her. She didn't want to admit it, even to herself, but with Don she was finding it hard to adjust to having someone in her flat on quite such a regular basis. But what was a bit of disorder compared to the feeling of completion that she felt in his company, the sense that everything was right with the world? The experience was completely new to her.

So now life was going to be different. She dropped Don's running shorts into the laundry basket, then picked up a towel from the floor, folded and draped it over the heated rail, straightening it so it was perfectly aligned with the one beside it. She remembered the newspapers covering the floor downstairs, then imagined the state her kitchen would be in by the time he had made lunch. She stopped dead.

What was she doing? By letting Don share so much of her life, wasn't she on the brink of giving away her freedom, her independence, the things that had always mattered so much to her? Until now, she had let their renewed affair dictate its own pace, so caught up was she in the delirium of finding Don again, of being able to share her life in ways that had not been possible before. Yet again she was struck by how much they had still to find out about one another.

When she eventually returned downstairs, her hair damp
at the ends from the shower, Don was taking roast pine nuts from the oven and sprinkling them over a chicken salad. Thank God he hadn't been any more ambitious than that. The potential chaos had been contained.

‘Let me make the dressing.' She crossed the living area and began to get the ingredients from the cupboard, watching as he went up the spiral staircase.