Distant Voices Page 24

  Sue shook her head. ‘Let him rent it to someone else. I’d like to stay where we are.’ In her head she had called it the cottage of dreams, though her own had not come true, and neither, as far as she knew, had Joe’s.

  Until now with the proper job.

  He nodded. ‘I hoped you’d say that. It’s all those plants you’ve put in the garden. Awful waste if we moved again.’

  ‘Joe.’ She looked up at him, and put her hand over his as it rested on the table. ‘Tell me what you want most in the whole world.’

  He smiled. ‘You really want to know?’

  She nodded.

  ‘To stay in this job. I love it. I really do. And to stay in the cottage with you – the new happy you.’ His smiled broadened. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you grin a lot these days, and I’ve even heard you singing over the washing-up.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Have so.’ He turned his palm over and squeezed her fingers. ‘Stay happy, Sue.’

  ‘And that’s all you want?’ She glanced suspiciously into his face.

  ‘For now.’ He winked. ‘You are happy, aren’t you?’

  She thought for a moment and then she nodded. ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘What about the job?’

  ‘I didn’t like the jobs.’

  ‘I meant your real job. The one you gave up for me.’

  ‘I don’t miss it so much now.’ She looked down at her plate. ‘In fact I think I’m quite glad to see the back of it. I didn’t realise at the time how tired and stressed and hyped up it made me. And you’re right I had a whole set of priorities which no longer seem to be valid. Even though I didn’t want it for myself and I was always measuring myself against what other people had, what they did. Celie and Jane and Liz – with their children and their Volvos and their dogs and school runs. And Janet and Martina with their high-powered jobs and their mobile phones. They all seemed so much more competent and fulfilled than me. Now, none of that is important any more.’

  ‘Perhaps you’ve proved to yourself that you are competent and fulfilled as well,’ Joe said slowly.

  ‘Perhaps I have.’

  ‘So, do you feel properly settled in now?’ Julia was walking her dog up the lane as Sue, puffing, was mowing the front lawn. ‘I heard you were going to stay.’

  Sue nodded. She walked over to the gate and leaned on it, twiddling her fingers at the old spaniel which sat down with relief to rest while they talked.

  ‘And have your husband’s dreams come true yet?’ Julia grinned mischievously.

  Sue laughed. ‘Not all of them certainly.’

  ‘It’s only a matter of time.’ Bending to fondle her dog’s ears Julia shook her head.

  ‘Silly woman,’ Sue muttered to herself as she went back into the cottage. Going through into the kitchen she was about to wash her hands under the tap when a small sound caught her attention. Spinning round she stared at the window sill. The toy soldier was back in place, and he was rocking gently.

  Shocked, Sue stood quite still. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked out loud.

  The bland face beamed at her silently.

  ‘I suppose you think you can just come and go as you wish?’ Sue turned back, crossly, to the tap and finished washing her hands. Silence.

  ‘And I suppose you think you’ve won? You and Joe between you. You think I’m going to provide you with hordes of screaming children to play with and spend the rest of my life vegetating in the country.’ Reaching for the towel she turned round. ‘Well?’

  The hat seemed at a jauntier angle than before; the red-painted mouth more cheeky, the black eyelashes curved like birds’ wings on the white plastic face. As she stood and watched the toy began slowly to rock again. And at last she heard again his cheerful chime.

  To Adam a Son

  Picking up the handful of letters from the mat I threw them on the table while I fetched myself another cup of coffee. Paul, my two-year-old son, was playing happily in one of the kitchen cupboards, unloading saucepans all over the floor. Sitting down, I sorted through the post. Two were bills, two circulars, one a business note and one … I stared at the envelope in disbelief. It was Adam’s handwriting, there was no mistaking the sharp black italics on the white paper. Ms Claire Sutcliffe, it said. I snorted at the ‘Ms’. How like him!

  I had heard nothing of Adam for over two years and now, this, out of the blue. Still not opening the letter I turned to look at Paul. He had Adam’s black hair, his blue eyes, his smile, his charm.

  I had tried so hard not to think about the old days that it was a shock now to find it all coming so vividly back to me.

  Adam had known me since I was a child and from the time that I was about seventeen, he was years older, we had become more and more inseparable. Then there had been that terrible car crash which left me with a twisted leg and a limp for life and Adam with recurring headaches. We had never been lovers but I think there had always been an understanding that one day we would marry. I had treasured the hope, and planned secretly for the day that I would move into Adam’s beautiful house as his wife. He was an important man in our town and his wife would have to be a superb hostess. I used to practise my cooking on all our unsuspecting guests with this in mind. How I longed to entertain in his elegant drawing room.

  After the crash however it all changed. Although we still saw each other just as often it became increasingly clear that I would no longer be considered as a potential wife. It dawned on me eventually that a woman with a limp did not fit Adam’s plan. I just could not really believe this of him, but no sooner had the idea crossed my mind than it began to torment me. At the first opportunity I challenged him with it. How badly I chose my moment! He had one of his headaches, and, as he had been doing more and more regularly, he had been drinking heavily. We had a dreadful row and I screamed at him, did he not think he owed it to me to marry me now; after all, the crash had been his fault.

  I had never mentioned to him before that I knew or cared whose fault it had been – I didn’t – but obviously I had struck a very exposed nerve. I remember it so clearly. He went white, even his lips, and then he hit me, hard, across the face. Gasping with shock I paused only a second before hitting him back and it was a matter of moments before we were rolling on the floor exchanging punches like two spoiled children. I suppose technically it would be correct to say he raped me. His anger turned to a passion before which I was helpless and then back to anger, and when eventually he had slammed out of the door, leaving me lying practically naked and terrified on the floor, it had been a long time before I could get up and dress myself and creep wearily home through the dark.

  The next morning I left town, nursing my bruises and an unbelievable fury. I even contemplated going to the police, but my pride stopped me in time.

  It was comparatively easy to pack up the flat where I had lived since my parents died, and make the journey to London. I stayed quietly in a hotel for a while, living on my savings while I got my breath back, so to speak; then I found myself a flat and a new job.

  Two months later I knew I was pregnant. A chance in a million but that’s the kind of luck I had. I had been brought up a Catholic and although I never went to church now, I had enough beliefs left to know that I could never contemplate abortion. It took me nearly two months more to make the decision to go back and see Adam.

  I don’t really know what I had in mind; or whether I was even going to tell him about the baby. I think I hoped that when we were facing one another again I would know instinctively what to do.

  Choosing a time when I felt fairly certain he would be home I drove my hired car up to his house. I felt really sick and frightened as I stood on the doorstep ringing the bell, and while I waited I turned to look at the bleak windswept garden with one or two rain-blackened roses still clinging to the bushes.

  Eventually I heard footsteps. Adam’s younger brother Colin opened the door.

  ‘Claire!’ He was plainly astonished to see me.

>   ‘Hello Colin.’ I smiled brightly. ‘Is Adam home by any chance?’

  ‘Not yet.’ He looked slightly puzzled. ‘They’ve only been gone four days.’

  ‘They?’

  I must have looked a little bewildered for Colin suddenly invited me in. Leading the way into the living room – where it had all happened four months before – he poured me a glass of wine.

  ‘We looked for you everywhere, Claire. Where on earth did you go? Why did you leave so suddenly?’

  ‘Adam knew,’ I said briefly.

  Colin looked even more puzzled. ‘But he said …’ He stopped suddenly, obviously deciding not to pursue the subject and it was then, after taking a sip of wine himself, that he dropped his bombshell.

  ‘Adam got married last week, Claire. He and Alison are away on their honeymoon.’

  I remember the beautiful cut glass falling harmlessly from my fingers onto the soft white carpet, and the pale gold stain as the wine lay for a moment in a pool before it soaked away into the deep pile.

  Then Colin was pushing my head between my knees and gradually the room stopped swimming.

  After a fainting exhibition like that I could hardly pretend I didn’t care, but I don’t think Colin guessed the real reason for my weakness. I was fairly certain my pregnancy didn’t show yet, and anyway I had dressed to make absolutely sure that it would not on this occasion!

  Eventually I got away, without leaving any address, and I returned to London to work out my problem alone.

  I was extraordinarily lucky really. I still had some savings left, and some money my parents had left me. I had a really super little flat, not too expensive, and found that my landlord would not mind a baby, and my job – I was a designer – was very easily changed so that I could work at home. I became a freelance, fitting out my bedroom as a studio. The tiny box room became the nursery and I spent many happy hours decorating it.

  Paul arrived at last and I was thrilled to bits with him. It was the happiest moment of my life when I took him home and laid him for the first time in the little wicker crib.

  Strangely enough I very seldom thought about the lack of a man in my life at all. Or perhaps it would be more truthful to say I never allowed myself to think. Sometimes in the evenings when I was tired and depressed I would lie on my bed and abandon myself to tears of frustration and loneliness, but as time went by and Paul grew older I had less and less time to myself for self pity. He became more active during the day and so I had to work at night, sometimes going on till one or two in the morning to get it all done. Then there was no time for tears. I would be asleep almost before my head touched the pillow.

  The people I worked for were tremendously kind and all very sociable, so I was not really lonely, I suppose. Occasionally I had to take Paul into one of the offices with me if Mrs Martin next door could not have him for an hour or two and he was always spoiled outrageously.

  I wore only trousers or long skirts now, so my twisted leg never showed, and I think my limp became far less noticeable as time went by. My hair had grown very thick and lustrous during my pregnancy and I was very lucky, it stayed that way. I grew it long and although I shouldn’t say so, I think I became much more attractive over those two years, certainly more self-sufficient, more confident.

  I made a point of never thinking about Adam and Alison, although once, at the dentist’s, I saw a picture of them in one of the society magazines. I tore out the page when I thought no one was looking and kept it for months on the kitchen dresser. Then one day it got torn and I threw it away without a thought.

  And now, here I was beginning to tremble as I looked down at Adam’s letter in my hand. Slowly I tore it open and extracted the single sheet of paper. Dear Claire, I read. I wonder if I could come and see you next Wednesday evening. I’ll be there about nine if you agree. Adam.

  How on earth had he found my address? I gazed down at the two lines of neat writing, trying to see so much more than he had written. Of course, I couldn’t guess what he wanted after all this time, but I knew a moment of crazy, idiotic hope.

  The next few days passed in a whirl of uncertainty. I longed for Wednesday and yet I dreaded it even more. I was puzzled too about what to do about Paul. Did Adam know about him or should I try and hide all traces of him?

  In the end I tidied all the toys out of sight into his bedroom, folded the pushchair which usually sat in the hall and put it under my bed in the studio and swept the bathroom clear of baby powder, potty and toy boats. Paul practically never woke up at night so I was fairly sure there would be no sounds from the nursery.

  I was carefully dressed and made up long before nine and rapidly feeling more and more sick. I tried to get on with some work to kill the time but I got very little done.

  The doorbell rang at three minutes past nine and I walked very slowly to answer it.

  ‘Hello Claire.’ Adam stood for a moment smiling before he moved to step forward. I was staggered by his appearance. He had aged about ten years. His hair had begun to go grey and his eyes were sunken and dull. There were premature lines around his mouth and nose and as he came into the living room I saw that he stooped slightly.

  I was acutely conscious suddenly of his gaze on me too. That at least had lost none of its intensity. I was relieved that I had taken so much trouble to look nice; casual but elegant clothes, immaculate hair and nails.

  I was about to pour two glasses of whisky – I had bought a bottle specially – but he stopped me with a raised hand.

  ‘I’m sorry, Claire. Could I have coffee? I’m on the wagon these days.’

  I put the bottle down, surprised. ‘You don’t drink any more?’

  ‘I had too many warnings, Claire. Too many times when … well, when I didn’t know what I was doing.’ He glanced at me sideways and in spite of myself I felt a blush coming to my cheeks.

  ‘Okay. I’ll put the kettle on.’ I screwed the top back on the bottle.

  I had just whisked a small yellow car out of sight into a drawer when I realised Adam had followed me into the kitchen. I don’t think he saw.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said as I filled the kettle, ‘how did you get my address?’

  He grinned wryly. ‘There are ways of finding people if one has to.’

  ‘And did you have to?’

  As there was no immediate reply I turned to face him. He was frowning vaguely.

  ‘You look very beautiful, Claire. You’ve changed a lot.’

  ‘You mean I wasn’t beautiful before?’ I raised my eyebrow archly.

  He smiled. ‘Of course you were. I wouldn’t have loved you otherwise.’ He hesitated. ‘But now you’re …’ he paused, ‘you’re quite lovely.’ He seemed lost for words and I was suddenly embarrassed. I busied myself making the coffee and Adam carried the tray back into the living room. I knew he was studying me carefully as I walked in front of him – my limp had almost gone now – but he made no comment.

  We sat stiffly opposite each other in silence, cautiously sipping the hot coffee. I kept a weather ear open towards the small bedroom, but there was no sound.

  ‘You didn’t tell me how you found me, Adam,’ I prompted at last.

  ‘There are firms which specialise in that sort of thing.’

  ‘You mean a private detective?’ I was scandalised. ‘You haven’t had me watched!’

  ‘No, no.’ He laughed at the rising note of horror in my voice. ‘Only traced, Claire, not watched.’

  Even so, he must have been told about Paul. I felt myself growing cold.

  ‘Why have you come, Adam? I think you had better tell me.’

  He leaned forward to the low table and put down his coffee cup.

  ‘My divorce came through last week.’ He said it so quietly, so flatly, I did not for a moment understand. He went on, ‘You knew I was married? Well we separated five months after the wedding. The whole thing was a disaster from the start. I never should have married Alison.’

  ‘Then why did you?’ I kept my voice de
liberately low.

  ‘I suppose it was …’ he fumbled for words and then with a wry smile at me he went on, ‘it was on the rebound really. The night you and I parted was so terrible. I came to find you the next morning but you had gone. I searched everywhere.’

  ‘But not with a private detective?’ There was a touch of sarcasm in my voice but he ignored it.

  ‘No, I didn’t think of that then. When I couldn’t find you I got very angry. Alison seemed to be everything I wanted in a woman; she was beautiful, sophisticated, intelligent …’

  ‘And she didn’t limp.’ I could have bitten out my tongue after I had said it.

  ‘Claire, Claire, you’re wrong.’ His voice was anguished. ‘It wasn’t your limp, my darling. As if that mattered. I thought that perhaps I would never be able to marry – not anyone – because of my injuries, injuries I didn’t tell you about, not yours.’ He glanced at me. ‘I thought I was going to die, Claire.’

  I was stunned into silence.

  ‘Then soon after you disappeared I determined to marry Alison to prove to myself I didn’t care, however long I had. To prove that all I wanted was a beautiful hostess just like you said.’ He paused a moment. ‘You had your revenge for what I did to you, Claire. We were miserable.’

  We sat in silence for several minutes. Then he went on. ‘They operated on my head. It wasn’t as I feared.’ He mustered a smile. ‘Once they put all the bits back together I was as good as new.’ He glanced at me again. ‘I still love you Claire. I always did. Will you give me another chance?’

  I was not the type to fling myself on his neck crying, but for a moment that is what I wanted to do. The flood of relief which swept over me brought home suddenly just how much worry and unhappiness I had had over the past two and a half years. And just how much I still loved him. I glanced up, fighting the pricking behind my eyelids, but he held up his hand.