Chapter 18
18
‘I’m sorry, love, but I’m not entirely sure why you’ve tied yourself up in such knots about this,’ Mum says as she sets a mug of tea and a plate containing a large slice of carrot cake in front of me.
After leaving Richenda’s, I quickly realised I needed someone to help me decompress and unravel everything that’s just happened. The only person I could think of that wouldn’t be at work was Mum, so I headed over to Paddock Wood, but I’m starting to realise that this might have been a mistake.
‘I’ve just ended a marriage, Mum!’ I exclaim. ‘I’d say that’s worthy of tying myself in a few knots about.’
‘Nonsense. His wife ended the marriage, not you.’
‘Because of me.’
‘No, because of Luke. Marriages end all the time, darling, for all sorts of reasons. We don’t all get the privilege of marrying the right person first time around. It’s not the end of the world, just look at your father and me. And Luke’s right. If he and… what’s her name?’
‘Cindy.’
‘Ugh. Poor thing. What kind of parent names their child after a doll? Anyway, if Luke and Cindy get divorced, there’s no reason why you and he can’t get together, is there? Cindy obviously isn’t the right person for him, but you might be.’
‘I don’t want anything to do with him.’
‘Oh, you say that now because you’re cross with him. But you liked him well enough before and, once the dust settles…’
‘He tried to gaslight me, Mum! He threw me under the bus at the first sign of trouble.’
‘I admit that wasn’t a very nice thing to do, but you did ambush him, darling. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about men, it’s that they’re unpredictable under pressure.’
‘You can call it unpredictable, but I’d say he showed his true colours. He’s a narcissist, a liar, a serial cheat and a coward. Oddly, if I were to draw up a list of things I want in my future husband, none of those would be on it.’
‘Hm.’
‘What?’
‘It’s just that you’re not getting any younger, Matilda. The pool of eligible men you’re fishing in is getting smaller and smaller with every passing year. You might need to start lowering your standards a little. Yes, he needs some of his rough edges smoothing off, but he’s got a good job and great prospects. Plus, you’ve got a lot in common, both being in the medical field.’
‘I’d rather die a penniless, lonely old spinster than go anywhere near Dr Luke Milne again,’ I tell her firmly.
She sighs. ‘It’s your life. Are you going to stay in contact with his mother, at least?’
‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’
‘She sounds nice, from the way you describe her. She doesn’t play bridge, does she?’
‘I have no idea. Why?’
‘Haven’t I told you? Gloria and I have started playing at a local club. Your father and Andy waste days playing golf, so this is our thing. Anyway, one of the other tables is looking for someone to make up a four, so?—’
‘You’re not inviting my ex-boyfriend’s mother to play bridge with you. That’s just too weird.’
‘No, it isn’t. She might be lonely if she’s on her own all the time. This would get her out of the house and give her the opportunity to make new friends. Did I mention that it’s women only? Strictly no men allowed.’
‘I’ve only met her twice, but I’m pretty sure you couldn’t use the word lonely to describe Richenda. She’s a force of nature. Also, you’re so transparent that I can plainly see what you’re up to, and I’m not having it.’
‘I’m not up to anything, darling.’ She takes a sip of tea and looks at me innocently.
‘Mmm-hmm? So you’re not planning to befriend her and then concoct some plan to get me and Luke back together? I wasn’t born yesterday, Mum.’
‘You have a very suspicious mind, Matilda.’
‘That doesn’t mean I’m not right.’
‘Sometimes it’s just about being a good neighbour,’ she says haughtily. Unfortunately for her, she reveals her guilt by stabbing her slice of cake aggressively with her fork, cutting off a much bigger piece than usual. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing as she tries to style it out, lifting it to her mouth and cramming it in before chewing like a hamster. ‘Here’s a question,’ she says once she’s finally swallowed it and evidently come up with a way to change the subject and get the focus off her. ‘How are you going to avoid him when you work together?’
I sigh. ‘I don’t know. I mean, our shift patterns don’t line up that often, but I will still have to see him at work sometimes. I just hope he’ll keep things professional. If he does that, then there won’t be a problem.’
She laughs. ‘Are you seriously telling me you’ll just be able to switch off everything you felt for him and forget everything you’ve done together? From horizontal tango to “I don’t know you”? I can’t see it.’
‘Never, ever use that phrase again.’
‘What, horizontal tango? What would you call it then? The beast with two backs? A bit of rumpy pumpy? I know – hide the sausage.’
‘Dear God, make it stop!’
‘At least I’ve made you smile.’
‘It’s not a smile. I’m gurning in embarrassment. Anyway, to answer the question you asked before you got all weird: I don’t feel anything but disgust for Luke now and the thought of sex with him makes me want to heave, so I don’t think he’s going to be a distraction if he behaves himself. And if he doesn’t, I’ll put a complaint in so fast he won’t know what’s hit him.’
‘OK. Promise me one thing though.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t give up. I long to see you settled down and starting a family of your own. I mean I know I’ve got Natasha and the devil child, as she calls him, but I’ve always dreamt of being surrounded by lots of lovely grandchildren.’
‘Mum,’ I say in a warning tone. This is a conversation we’ve had a few times lately and it never ends well.
‘You don’t even need a partner any more,’ she persists after a short silence.
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘You could go to one of those sperm banks. Apparently, they’re all the rage with your generation.’
‘Mum!’
‘What?’
‘I’m not using a sperm donor, OK?’
‘Shame. I read somewhere that you get to choose the donor based on all sorts of attributes. You could have a Scandinavian professor or something. Do you think it would be a good idea to freeze some eggs, just in case? I’m sure your father could help with the cost if necessary.’
‘Are you for real?’
‘Just thinking of all the possibilities, darling. More tea?’
* * *
Unsurprisingly, my conversation with my mother hasn’t really done anything to calm me down, and I still feel like a lead weight is sitting on my chest as I drive away. Luke may have no difficulty shifting the blame on to other people, but I can’t just shrug off my guilt like that. The rational part of me knows that I’m just as much of a victim of Luke’s duplicity as Cindy is, but that doesn’t stop me feeling responsible. My mind is a vortex of ‘What ifs’ and ‘If onlys’ as I thread my way through the afternoon school-run traffic. The pavements are crammed with teenagers in school uniforms, and I’m trying to distract myself by casting my mind back to the simpler times of my own schooldays when a street sign catches my eye. I must have driven past it without noticing it thousands of times before, so it takes me a moment to work out why it’s standing out now. It’s the name of the street on the piece of paper that Jonathan Barwell gave me.
It’s just idle curiosity, I tell myself as I switch on my indicator and make the turn. I can’t even remember which number is his house; I’m just driving down here to get a sense of the kind of neighbourhood he and Will would live in. In my mind, I can picture him in one of those 1930s semis, with a concrete driveway and a garage to the side. Inside would be fairly dark, with lots of antique furniture and maybe a grandfather clock, its tick being the only thing disturbing the silence as Jonathan works on his crossword.
I’m only a few yards in before I realise that my preconceptions are miles off. The houses here are large and detached, with immaculate front lawns and shiny SUVs on almost every driveway. Some even have elaborate hanging baskets outside, with bright flowers cascading down from them. Around halfway down, I have to stop behind a bright pink van with ‘Gina’s Cleaners’ written on it in a swirly font in order to let an enormous black Range Rover come the other way. It completely dwarfs the woman behind the wheel, who ignores me as she sweeps regally past.
‘No, thank you too,’ I mutter darkly as I start to pull round the van, only for my heart to jump into my throat. This road is completely devoid of actual people, apart from the one unloading what looks like shopping from the boot of a small hatchback that doesn’t fit the upmarket vibe of the rest of the street at all. As I pull level with the van, Will raises his eyes and, if the surprised expression on his face is anything to go by, my attempt at an incognito drive-by has just gone up in flames. Shit.
I’m frantically trying to think of a plausible explanation for being here as I pull over again and lower the window. My initial plan to tell him this is a street I drive down all the time is derailed when I glance further down the road and realise this is a cul-de-sac. I could pretend to know someone in one of the other houses, but that’s way too risky. I know people in these types of neighbourhoods tend to keep themselves to themselves, but it would be just my luck to pick a house at random and find Will actually knows the people that live there. In the absence of anything better, I decide to go with a version of the truth.
‘Hello, Tilly. This is a surprise.’ To my relief, Will seems curious rather than suspicious.
‘I was visiting my mum,’ I explain. ‘As I was in the area anyway, I thought I’d just check in to see how you were doing.’
‘Wow. The NHS really has upped its game. I didn’t know discharge-day home visits were part of the service now.’ He’s smiling broadly, but I can feel my skin flushing with embarrassment. ‘Are you going to switch off the engine and come in?’ he asks after an uncomfortable pause. ‘Dad would be delighted to see you.’
‘Umm, yes, of course,’ I stutter as I reach for the key.
‘I didn’t leave him on his own,’ Will says earnestly as I grab a couple of bags from the boot of his car to help. ‘The cleaner’s here, so I took the opportunity to pop to the supermarket for supplies.’
‘It’s fine,’ I reassure him. ‘I’m not checking up on you, I promise. How is he?’
‘Good, I think. Being back in his own space has cheered him up no end. He was getting quite grumpy and fidgety while we were stuck in the discharge lounge waiting for the green light to go. Who calls it the discharge lounge anyway? Sounds like some kind of disease.’
I smile. ‘I’ll tell Mike, my flatmate. It’s part of his domain. Anyway, how are you doing?’
He smiles back. ‘I’m not the patient here.’
‘That doesn’t mean you’re not important as well. It’s a lot of responsibility for you to shoulder, and you’ve had to put your life on hold. If you’re struggling…’
‘I’ve only had him home for a couple of hours,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Even I can cope with that.’
My preconceptions are shattered further as Will unlocks the front door and steps aside to let me go first.
‘The kitchen’s straight down the hallway,’ he tells me. Far from being an old-fashioned, dark and gloomy space, Jonathan’s house is bright and airy, with light neutral shades on the walls and gorgeous paintings dotted about. There are landscapes and wildlife paintings of different sizes, plus the odd still life. The only clue to the age of the occupants is the chairlift occupying most of the space on the staircase. I’m guessing that the faint sound of a Hoover from somewhere upstairs is Gina or one of her crew. The kitchen, when I reach it, is another bright and airy room, largely due to the bifold doors that take up most of the rear wall. The units are modern and sleek, reminding me a little of the adverts you see on TV.
‘Just bung them on any worktop,’ Will says, heaving his own bags onto the side. ‘Dad’s in the living room, or he should be. I’ve banned him from going into the workshop when I’m not here, not that I really expect him to listen.’
‘The workshop?’ I ask.
‘Out there.’ He points through the doors to a building in the garden. It looks like one of those home offices that have become so popular recently, but it’s much larger. ‘I do want him to start spending time out there because I think it’ll be good for him, but there are a lot of power tools and so on, so I’d rather be around to keep an eye on him to begin with. Anyway, go through and say hello to Dad. I’ll sort out the stuff in here and then come and join you. Would you like a cup of tea or anything?’
My first instinct is to say no, as it’s not long since my last cup at Mum’s, but, even though I’ve never been in a house so upmarket that they pay other people to clean it, I feel strangely comfortable here. The weight that’s been sitting on my chest since leaving Richenda’s seems to have finally shifted and I can feel myself unwinding.
‘That would be lovely,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you.’