Chapter Thirteen
Part of Diane’s long hair was bunched up on the top of her head and the rest was a moon river down her back. Pleasurably, James turned over the memory of her hair tumbling around her nakedness in the back of his car. What had happened had happened only once and maybe he ought to be glad that his complicated life hadn’t been sent spinning by it happening again. But he would really like to see her like that again. Daily.
Although it made him feel odd to see Diane here, in Valerie’s home in the upmarket village of Webber’s Cross, he couldn’t stop watching her eating her steak and salad as if it was a treat — in stark contrast to Tamzin, who treated every mouthful as a trial. Finally, Diane sat back with a sigh. ‘You were right about the mustard sauce, Tamzin, it was wicked. And the chocolate ice-cream with mini doughnuts, even wickeder.’
Tamzin just smiled. From her lack of participation in the conversation and her pallor, James could tell that she was shattered. Soon, she’d retreat to her room. But at least Diane’s breezy presence had dragged her out of it for a few hours.
Sure enough, it was only five minutes later that Tamzin climbed slowly to her feet. ‘I’m tired.’
Diane looked up. ‘Going to bed? ’Night, sweetheart.’
‘Night, Diane.’ Tamzin wafted through the open French doors and marked her progress through the house with a trail of illuminated windows.
James, hoping that Diane wouldn’t make Tamzin’s departure a sign that she ought to be turning for home herself, poured her a fresh glass of fruit juice. ‘She had a good evening. I haven’t seen her so bright for a fortnight.’
‘How do you feel about the quantity she ate?’ Diane slapped at one of a squadron of bugs out on its evening sortie.
‘For her, it was OK. Most of a small steak and salad, plus a small portion of dessert.’
Diane pulled a face. ‘It’s funny to think that Bryony and Tamzin are exactly the same age because they don’t seem it. And Bryony would have eaten eight times what Tamzin ate. It seemed incredibly little.’
‘I suppose it does, when you’re not used to it.’ The ‘small’ steak that Tamzin hadn’t quite managed to finish had begun as the size of a modest burger; the salad consisted of a cherry tomato and two leaves of frilly lettuce.
‘I could have polished it off in three mouthfuls,’ said Diane, feelingly. ‘I pigged out on a steak like a butcher’s buttock, a mound of salad and coleslaw and what felt like half a French stick. Was it tactless to take a second dessert?’
He laughed at her guilty expression. ‘Not at all. It’s fine to eat normally in front of her. The only rule, really, is not to pressurise her to do the same.’ The light from the house fell on one side of Diane’s face. She looked relaxed, her legs stretched out, her elbows on the arms of the chair and her top clinging interestingly across her chest.
The house, once the vicarage, lichened grey stone with a slate roof and a gravel drive, stood in the centre of the village on a little square green. The village shop and the pub, The Old Dog, stood opposite, and provided them with a background noise of cars pulling up and their doors slamming. He crossed one leg lazily over the other and thought how comfortable he felt, lounging here on a balmy evening with Diane, listening to the rise and fall of her voice and her occasional flickers of laughter.
‘It’s been a pleasant evening,’ she said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘All I would have done at home alone is think what a shit Gareth has been.’
He could have made an anodyne response about enjoying her company. But he never let a sleeping dog lie if he thought he’d achieve more by giving it a good old shake. He let his voice drop. ‘Is everything all right, after that night? Do we have any pregnancy worries?’
Diane was reaching for her glass and it wobbled alarmingly as she swung around to frown at him. ‘I thought it was too good to be true that you were co-operating with me to forget that madness,’ she whispered.
‘How can I?’ he murmured. Forget her hands, her mouth, the satin of her body, her pleasure in the act? In him?
She swallowed a mouthful of juice. ‘Yes. All fine.’
‘And you know . . . how?’ The light from the window hadn’t fallen on him so she wouldn’t be able to see his smile as he delved into the subject she so obviously wished left alone.
She sent him a darkling look. ‘Dr Cooke is a sensible woman and pleasantly unshockable about prescribing the morning-after pill.’
‘Good.’ He paused long enough to let her think she might be off the hook. Then, ‘You’ve never had to consult her about anything . . . like that , before?’
‘Scandalous, do you mean?’ she returned, smartly. ‘Or perhaps a 43-year-old woman who’s had a one-night stand isn’t scandalous, in your world? Maybe it’s just what people do? And move on?’
‘I feel terrible that I didn’t phone you. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but Tamzin’s been—’ Having made the opportunity to talk about it, he hesitated, not knowing how to go on.
Then Diane sighed and the tension seemed to seep from her. ‘Yes. I can see how she’s been. I’m glad you warned me before I went in — about her arms. I had no idea.’ Her voice was sadder than tears.
He watched her shiver. The ladder of scabs and scars that ran up the soft inner of each of Tamzin’s arms made him feel like that, too. Some fresh, some old, some no more than white or pink cords. Each scar an ugly statement he couldn’t completely understand or a question he wasn’t hearing. ‘She tries to hide it. Self-harmers do that, they find it deeply personal.’
For a moment she touched his hand, her fingers cool in the evening air. ‘I’m so sorry, James. Even though you’d warned me I’m afraid it took me by surprise. I don’t think I quite carried on as if I hadn’t noticed. I’d like to understand what makes her do that.’
He laughed, mirthlessly. ‘So would I.’ He fell silent. Tamzin was that rare thing — a problem he couldn’t fix.
Diane reached for her bag and made an obvious attempt to change the subject. ‘Look, I bought a mobile phone, yesterday. I’ve made one call on it to check that it works but I’m useless with it, really.’ She held the flat black phone out for his inspection.
He took it. ‘Sensible to have one.’ His thumb moved over the touch screen. ‘There. The first entry in your phone book.’ He turned the screen so that she could see James mobile and his number. The thumb went into action again and he showed her: James home .
To view the screen properly, she had to draw close to him. And if he shifted his hand a little — even closer. ‘So they’re there forever, are they?’
‘Yes, you press menu , then phone book , then the first letter of the name. See? Then press the green button.’ After a pause a muffled buzzing soaked out into the evening air. He reached into his pocket and brought out his BlackBerry. ‘Hello?’
She giggled, taking her own phone back and putting it to her ear. ‘Hello!’
‘Now I can put you in my phone book.’ He showed her how to save the number and typed in Diane mobile beside it.
She played for several minutes inputting phone numbers. ‘Home . . . Freddy, my brother . . . Rowan, the mean git who sells some of my garments at his shop . . . the hospital.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s be adventurous. How do I send a text?’
‘Not difficult.’ He bent his head next to hers. ‘Tap this icon, select me from your phone book, type the message, then press send .’ In a few moments, his phone vibrated against his leg and a little envelope flashed on the screen, Diane mobile showing in his inbox.
They laughed at the message, ‘ I have a mobile! ’
Then, under the cloak of darkness, he took her hand.
She stopped laughing and examined the way his fingers enveloped hers. All the hairs on his arms stood up. Something in her faraway expression brought back the way she’d looked down at him when he’d been inside her, the wonder, the lust, that volcano of pleasure that erupted for him. The way she’d kissed him when she’d come down after the explosion, the sweetest, deepest, most perfect kiss. He remembered how to move, how to touch her to drive her crazy.
Gently, he squeezed her fingers. Even that chaste contact felt good. ‘I wish I’d rung you when I should have. I wanted to see if we could make each other happy — but I was caught in the middle of Tamzin’s black cloud and I felt as if I’d contaminate you with it. I had no right to ask, anyway. I’m stuck here and could never give you the relationship you deserve. And I’m being a presumptuous prick in disregarding Gareth. But I want you to know how I feel. You don’t have to say anything, I just want you to know.’ His fingers tightened. ‘I feel good just being with you. I think about you all the time. And want you. Our couple of hours at Farcet Fen was an oasis of pleasure during a shitty time. Your husband doesn’t deserve you because he’s an arse. I don’t suppose I deserve you any more than he does — and I’m just as married as you are — but none of those things stop me wanting you.’
She sounded strained. ‘I took it as a one-night stand.’
His heart began a long slow slide south. ‘If that’s what you want, it will be. Our secret.’
Abruptly, she closed her fingers around his, suddenly breathless. ‘Let me think about it.’
* * *
A big meal, a long and emotional day, she was sleepy. She kept the car windows open and Lily Allen playing loudly on the stereo to keep her awake as she drove the hypnotically long, dark lanes.
Home. Her neighbours’ houses were bright with windows where hers was dark.
Across the kitchen, through the dining room, up the stairs; a one-minute shower and she cleaned her teeth and fell into bed. She wasn’t going to think about James and the words she’d been shocked to hear emerging from her mouth . . . Let me think about it . She was going to sleep.
The phone rang. She groaned. Stop ringing ! It stopped. Thankfully, she drifted towards sleep.
The phone rang.
Swearing, she rolled out of bed and staggered down the stairs. ‘Hello?’
‘Mum! Guess what? I’m coming home!’
Diane blinked, trying to engage her brain. ‘Bryony, what’s the matter? Are you ill?’
Bryony’s laughter rocked around the earpiece, shrill and excited. ‘Dad rang me and we had a big heart to heart. He explained why he’s been so odd. Isn’t it cool about his father tracking him down? I’ve got a grandfather! Dad says he’s sweet. It’s so good that Dad finally told you. I saw him with a woman and I thought he was having an affair. It was so scary, even though he kept saying he wasn’t. But she was his sister. He’s explained . This is so good!’
‘You saw him?’ Diane repeated, blankly.
‘And it was horrible thinking that he was having an affair — I mean, what was I supposed to do? Tell you and betray him? Or be quiet and betray you? I felt such a cow. But Dad wants me to come home and, like, see him, so we can all be together again, the three of us. I’m taking indefinite unpaid leave. Dad says he’ll pay my fare. Isn’t that cool? I’m so glad that you and Dad are OK. I’ve been feeling so bad, thinking that he had a girlfriend. I felt so bad about you.’
‘Did you?’ said Diane, shaken by the enormity of Bryony having known. Even if she hadn’t known what she’d thought she’d known, she’d kept a huge secret. No wonder she’d been keen to get far, far away from home.
‘I thought you guys were going to split up, I couldn’t bear it. It was horrible.’
After a moment, Diane heard herself say, ‘I can see how it was for you.’ That was Parent’s Disease again — sympathising with your child even when the same set of circumstances were so much worse for you. But she shoved the hurt to one side. Bryony was coming home. Bryony was coming home !
And she was thrilled that Diane and Gareth weren’t going to split up.
Oh.