Face the Wind and Fly (20 page)

Harry the Confronter. Where Andrew, wimpishly, turned from altercation, Harry challenged what he feared, even if it required a descent into rudeness.

‘Of course,’ Harry said into the silence that greeted his last remark, ‘she has always been something of a fantasist, so we were quite sure she was lying.’

He snickered. Was he expecting denial, Kate wondered? Were they looking forward to a dissection of young Sophie’s wild imaginings? Or even, maybe, half-hoping to discover that his stepmother was about to be ousted from his father’s bed, in some kind of just retribution for her behaviour half a lifetime ago?

‘And you thought,’ Andrew said quietly, ‘you’d just come and find out, the pair of you.’

Harry blanched. ‘I – we – thought—’

‘If you were sure she was lying, why have you come to ask me if it’s true?’

Kate almost admired Andrew at that moment because it was none of Harry’s business one way or the other. His next words, though, exploded her budding esteem.

‘Yes, I’m having an affair with her. We’ve been shagging each other day and night for weeks. What do you intend to do about it?’

Harry’s jaw dropped open. Jane, normally so effervescent and smiling, looked thunderstruck. Kate’s eyes grew round as she stared at her husband, unsure how to take his words.

Andrew laughed. ‘See what I mean? If I am sleeping with Sophie, Harry, that’s my affair. If I’m not, the subject is irrelevant.’

He sat back with a bland smile and crossed his arms.

Jane said, ‘But Sophie is my cousin, and I was concerned. She seemed so wound up. And she’s terribly young. I mean, half your age— If you are ... if you were... I felt I should...’

Kate had always thought Andrew adored Jane, so she was shocked by the savagery with which he rounded on her now. ‘You should what, Jane? Take her in hand? Protect her from the preying older man? Reprimand me? What?’

Jane shrank back in her chair. ‘Yes ... no ... I’m sorry, I— I see now that... Harry, we should never have come.’

Andrew said, more quietly, ‘You are always welcome here Jane, you and Harry. But you’re right in one thing, you were not well-advised to raise this question.’

‘
Wrong.
’

The voice came from the doorway and four heads swivelled as one, to see Ninian standing there, his face contorted.

‘You’re wrong, Dad. It was absolutely fucking right to raise this question. Someone had to. Someone had to challenge you.’

Andrew started to get up. ‘Nin—’

‘
Don’t start
.’ He spat the words with venom. ‘Don’t start trying to make excuses, Dad, or pretend. Don’t
lie
.’ He imitated his father’s voice, reading. ‘ “
He must have her – this girl, with her unreadable eyes and hair like the mantle of the night and lips made for love.”’

Kate stared at him, appalled. Andrew’s manuscript! He
had
seen it. Not only had he seen it, he had
memorised
it. Harry and Jane looked mystified. Kate looked from Ninian to Andrew, then from Andrew to Ninian.

Andrew smiled. ‘Ah. You read my draft.’

‘I always read your fucking drafts.’

‘Don’t swear,’ Kate muttered automatically, but no-one took any notice.

‘It’s a story, Ninian.’

‘
Dad!
’ Ninian’s fist thumped into the doorpost. It must have hurt. She could see him wince, but he ploughed on, furious. ‘Don’t give me that story thing. You always fucking hide behind it. It’s such a great cover, isn’t it, for absolutely everything. “It’s just a story.” ’

Andrew was about to say something, but Ninian cut in over him. ‘And the silent calls are part of the story too, are they?’

Andrew said, ‘What are you talking about?’ just as Kate said, ‘Silent calls?’

‘It’s
her
, isn’t it? Wanting to talk to you.’

Kate said, puzzled, ‘I thought it was Frank Griffiths.’

Ninian gave a dry, sarcastic laugh. ‘You’re so naive, Mum.’

Her head was whirling. ‘Am I? I certainly thought it was some wind farm protestor, trying to upset me.’

‘Didn’t you realise? The calls only ever come when Dad’s not around? She phones him all the time, she speaks to him whenever she can. Haven’t you heard him breaking off conversations when you come in the room? Stopping suddenly when you come in the front door? Looking fucking
guilty?’

Kate’s mouth fell open, but the moment Ninian said the words, everything fell into place.

‘And the funny-coloured car outside? Sophie, waiting to see if Dad’s around and can come out to play.’

‘No!’

‘Haven’t you seen her, Mum?’

‘No. Whenever I opened the front door, the car drove off. I thought they were spying on me.’

‘
She
was spying on you. She’s such a fucking attention-seeker. She wants Dad all the time.’ He turned savagely on Harry. ‘Maneater MacAteer was telling you the truth, Harry. For bloody once. Didn’t you realise? Remember what I told you at the engagement party? That I saw Dad snogging someone? Well, no prizes for guessing who it was he was snogging.’

He swung wildly away from them all and slammed the living room door behind him. Kate could hear him pounding up the stairs and the muffled sound of his bedroom door slamming.

She’d spent half a lifetime trying to appease and please Harry, overcompensating for her nervousness around him by a politeness that probably verged on smarmy, but now she rounded on him with a ferociousness she didn’t know she had in her. ‘See what you’ve done?’

Harry stood up, his face set and strained. ‘We didn’t mean to stir things. We thought it was funny, actually. We thought it was all some wishful invention of Sophie’s.’

Kate didn’t believe him. He’d had every intention of stirring things up, he just hadn’t anticipated having quite such a cataclysmic effect.

‘Ninian,’ she hissed, ‘is a teenager. He deserves a stable home and a loving family around him. He does not need to overhear a conversation like this.’

‘Oh,’ Harry said. ‘Like I had a stable home, you mean?’

‘Oh Christ,’ Andrew said wearily as Kate’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘Harry, I think you’d better go, don’t you?’

Harry looked mortified, Jane stricken, Andrew exhausted. Kate, watching Harry and Jane leave, felt flayed. It was, without a doubt, the worst day of her life.

Chapter Twenty-one

Kate dreamed that night of ash-coloured paint and of her mother, with her disapproving face on, saying, ‘Too
gray
, darling, too gray,’ and she didn’t know whether she meant the paint or Andrew. It was chosen for the kitchen, she supposed, but why had she selected the colour of turbines? Ninian was there too, calling to her, begging her to do something, and she knew he was unhappy and in need, but what he wanted her to do she had no idea. She was covered in the paint, rolling in it, and it was warm and sticky and glorious, then she realised it was not paint at all, but a blanket made of stars. Its light shimmered and glowed and bathed her in its beauty, and she felt alluring and powerful. Her face was being stroked, so lightly that she thought the feathers of an owl had skimmed her cheeks, but it was not an owl, it was Ibsen’s pony tail, and the realisation of that woke her, guiltily, to the cold comfort of her own bedroom, and Andrew, deep in sleep, curled beside her as untroubled as a child.

For some time she tossed and turned, picking apart the seams of her dream and clutching, like a comfort blanket in her memory, the pieces that had pleased her. But in the end, the gray dominated: gray turbines, whirling out of her reach and her control; gray hair – Andrew’s – like a reproach to her broken vows; the dismal gray days of a future that stretched in front of her without apparent end. At last, as the cold light of dawn showed itself as a slit of silver at the side of the curtains, she slotted her body, spoonlike, behind Andrew, her knees angled in behind his knees, her stomach against the smooth, warm curve of his bottom, her cheek nestling against the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, and fell asleep.

It was unlike her to sleep late. She was used to rising with the dawn. Perhaps it was because this morning there was nowhere to go – or, more likely, because her night had been so disturbed – but she woke with a start to a tentative rapping on the door and the sound of Mrs Gillies’s voice calling, ‘Hello? Andrew?’

Confused and disorientated, she shot a glance at Andrew, who was beginning to stir at the noise.

‘What is it?’ she called, slipping out of bed and throwing her dressing gown round herself.

When she pulled open the door, Mrs Gillies took a quick step back, startled. ‘Oh, Kate! You’re here.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I just wondered – I didn’t know you were here – sorry, I thought Andrew might be – it’s Ninian.’ The words tumbled out of her like drips from a leaking tap, faster and faster, splishing and splashing with increasing incoherence.

Kate said firmly, ‘Mrs Gillies, you’re not making any sense. Will you please take a deep breath and tell me what you’re so concerned about.’

One of the woman’s large hands was planted firmly on her chest, so that it moved up and down in syncopation with her rapid breathing. Kate stared at the movement, half hypnotised. ‘It’s Ninian,’ she said. ‘He’s not there.’

Not again,
was her first thought. She sighed. ‘He’ll be at the eco camp up the road,’ she said through a yawn. ‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll check it out.’

‘If you’re sure.’

‘Listen, Mrs Gillies, Ninian is my son and my responsibility,’ she said, irritable with tiredness.

Mrs Gillies retreated downstairs, sulking.

When she turned back into the room, Andrew was heading for a shower. ‘What’s up?’

‘Ninian’s not in his room.’

‘Little bugger,’ he said unfeelingly.

The scene from last night replayed itself in her head.
The Maneater was telling you the truth, Harry. For bloody once.
What had Harry really thought he was doing, for heaven’s sake? Why confront Andrew and her together? If he’d had concerns, why not have a quiet word with his father? In the light of morning, some of the fears and nightmares of the night before seemed diminished, others magnified. She could examine them more rationally, but looked at with an application of common sense, they seemed on the whole more justified rather than less.

Didn’t you realise? The calls only ever come when Dad’s not around? Haven’t you heard him breaking off conversations when you come in the room? ... Looking fucking guilty?

‘You’re still seeing her, aren’t you?’

He was tying the belt on his dressing gown, but at her words he stopped, looking like a small boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar. ‘I promised I would tell her, and I did.’

It was the classic Andrew sidestep. ‘But she didn’t accept that? Or, she couldn’t? Oh Andrew. What have you got yourself into?’

She saw his face tighten, then he swung away. ‘I’m going for a shower.’

‘What about Ninian? What about your son?’

‘Have you checked your phone?’

‘Have you checked yours?’

Like synchronised swimmers, perfect mirror images of each other, they each reached out a hand to their bedside tables, picked up their mobile phones, checked for messages, replaced the phone with a blank face, shook their heads.

‘Nothing on mine.’

‘Or mine.’

‘He’ll be at that eco camp again.’

‘Will you go and look? I can’t.’

‘Why don’t you start by calling round some of his friends? Banksy and Cuzz, for a start. He’s probably just gone off in a sulk.’

‘I’ll phone Helena Banks, but you’ll have to deal with Karen Cousins. If you can reach her. I’m sure it was Karen who encouraged Ninian to go down there. She won’t talk to me, no chance.’

He sighed. ‘Let’s not panic. Ninian’ll be holed up somewhere, making a point. I’m going to shower and dress. I’ll start phoning once I’ve got a coffee in my hand.’

Kate didn’t argue, she was inclined to agree with him. She thought it was very likely that Ninian was punishing them, though while Andrew was in the shower, her dream came back to her, and she started to fret.
He wants me to do something, but I don’t know what.

Kate had only met Helena Banks briefly, but she admired her straightforward, no-nonsense approach to life and to child rearing. ‘I’m so sorry to call so early, I just wondered if by any chance Ninian spent the night with you last night?’ She gave a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘He’s been a bit—’ she searched for a neutral word that might give some indication of Ninian’s recent behaviour, ‘—erratic, recently. Teenage boys.’

‘From cuddle to cold shoulder overnight. I know.’

There was a small measure of relief in knowing Helena understood – that she wasn’t the only parent whose son had transmogrified from dear and dependent to grumpy and testing.

‘—But I’m sorry, he wasn’t here. Just a moment.’

She must have covered the receiver because Kate heard a muffled exchange with someone in the background, and then she was back on the line. ‘Elliott says he hasn’t seen him for a few days. I’m sorry.’

‘He hasn’t been in school?’

‘As I say, Elliott hasn’t seen him. Maybe they’ve had different classes?’

‘Maybe.’ Now she wanted to get off the line, fast. She hated that Helena Banks knew that she had so little control over her son that she couldn’t even keep him in his own bed at night. ‘Not to worry, I must have misunderstood what he told me. Thank you.’

‘Kate—’

‘Yes?’

‘I know you’re a busy, working woman, but it would be nice to have coffee sometime?’

‘I’d like that.’ She put the phone down and stared at it. It
would
be nice. When had she last made a new friend? When did she last meet someone, other than Charlotte, for coffee, to go shopping, to have a girlie night out? Work and family monopolised her life and perhaps she had neglected other parts of it.

‘Not there?’

Andrew had fortified himself with a coffee and was hovering, hopefully, by her side. He didn’t want to call Karen Cousins, she could tell, and she couldn’t blame him – but it was not a call she could make. She handed him the phone. ‘Nope. Your turn.’

He took it reluctantly. ‘I could just go up to the camp.’

‘If you prefer.’

She could see him glancing at her forehead, where yesterday’s graze had hardened and darkened and the shadows of a bruise threatened to invade her eye socket. He dialled. She left him to it – she had no wish to eavesdrop on Karen Cousins’ peculiar brand of invective.

In the kitchen, Mrs Gillies was swabbing the floor vigorously with a wet mop. ‘He never goes out without eating. If he’s not in his bed, there’s cereal everywhere and a bowl swimming with milk. That’s how I knew something was wrong. There was nothing there.’

‘Mrs Gillies—’

‘He needs a bit of loving care, that one. You can see it, poor lad. He’s—’

‘Mrs Gillies,’ she said, more firmly, ‘Ninian has plenty of loving care, as you put it. He’s simply a teenage boy, testing where the boundaries of acceptable behaviour lie. Now—’

‘Father stuck in that room all the time, or off out heaven knows where, mother out at work—’ she grumbled more to herself than to me, all the time dab, dab, dabbing at the floor.

‘
Mrs Gillies
.’  This time she used her most authoritative voice and Mrs Gillies stopped and glared at her rebelliously. ‘Thank you for pointing out Ninian’s absence. Now, I think the floor is pretty much spotless, don’t you? It’s time that the dining room had a good spring clean, I noticed the brass fender was distinctly tarnished, and I’m not sure when the silver in the cabinet was last polished.’

Jean Gillies bristled at Kate’s criticism of her housekeeping, her faded brown bun wobbling ominously, but her righteous indignation was easier to manage than her possessive attitude towards Ninian. Kate sent her scuttling out of the kitchen, clutching a basket full of polishes and dusters, tut tutting under her breath, just as Andrew appeared in the doorway. She stopped abruptly.

‘The silver, Mrs Gillies.’

Mrs Gillies trudged off again, reluctance in every step. When she was out of earshot, Kate said, ‘Well?’

‘That Karen Cousins is some woman, isn’t she? I got a complete lecture on the nature and repugnancy of capitalism.’

‘Yes, I expect you did. Is Ninian there?’

‘Actually, no.’

‘
No?
’

‘Apparently he was there around eleven o’clock last night—’

After the row with Harry.

‘—but he and Stephen wandered off together and didn’t come back.’

‘Wandered off? At that time of night?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Didn’t she care?’

‘She seemed quite relaxed.’

‘Isn’t she worried about Stephen?’

‘Oh, he’s back there, sleeping.’

‘
What?
And Ninian’s not?’

‘Nope.’

‘Didn’t she wake him to ask him where Ninian is?’

Andrew laughed mirthlessly. ‘Apparently even suggesting such a thing was gross selfishness on my part. Her boy needs his sleep – though not, apparently, an education.’

‘We’d better get round there.’

‘Hang on a minute – what about phoning the school? Just in case he’s actually gone in to classes.’

Ninian was not at school. According to them, he had not registered there for a few days and his guidance teacher had a note to call us to discuss his repeated absences.

Kate looked at Andrew with mounting alarm. ‘I dropped him at the gates yesterday, on my way to work.’

‘He can’t have gone in.’

‘But why not?’

Andrew stared at her, his feelings of helplessness plain on his face. Kate loved her son, but Andrew, she forced herself to remember, had spent more time with him – and whatever faults Andrew might have she could not criticise him for being a bad father. She reached out a hand. For a second, she thought he was not going to take it, then he raised his slowly, and twined his fingers through hers. They were joined, for now at least, in their concern.

The familiar coughing of an aging engine overrode the moment. Kate raised her head. Ibsen? Here? Again?

‘Sounds like the gardener chap.’

‘The gardener chap has a name,’ she said, irritated by his condescension. ‘Ibsen Brown.’

‘What kind of name is that, for heaven’s sake?’

Despite everything, she couldn’t repress a small smile. ‘Different,’ she conceded.

‘What’s he doing here, anyway?’

They didn’t need to ask. There was a startled squawk from Mrs Gillies and Ninian appeared. Relief was swiftly followed by anger.

‘Where the hell have you been? Don’t you know how worried we’ve been? We were just on the point of calling the police.’

Kate took in his pinched, gray face and hollow cheeks and gasped. There were dark rings under his eyes and his hair looked matted and dirty. ‘Ninian?’

He avoided her gaze and pushed past her. ‘Going for a shower,’ he mumbled.

He disappeared upstairs, leaving four adults gazing up at his muddy heels.

Ibsen, hovering at the front door, said, ‘I should explain.’

All Kate’s anger turned on Ibsen. She said, ‘Yes, I think you should.’

Andrew said, ‘Can we offer you a coffee?’

‘He doesn’t need a coffee.’

Andrew was clearly taken aback. ‘I think it’s the least we can do, don’t you?’

Kate was horribly conscious of Ibsen’s proximity. This was the man she had made love to, wrapped in her blanket of stars. His presence in her house was a living reproach to her infidelity and she wasn’t sure she could hide the way she responded to him. She avoided his eyes. She avoided Andrew’s eyes.

‘Okay,’ she said gruffly, ‘come in.’

‘I was on my way home from the skittles at the pub last night,’ Ibsen said, ‘when something made me stop at the community garden. I had a sneaking suspicion that the volunteers who were there last night might not have locked away their tools properly in the hut. It was a still night, and as soon as I got out of my car, I smelt skunk.’

‘Skunk?’

‘Cannabis. Marihuana. Pot. Skunk.’

‘Coming from the garden?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Not Ninian?’

‘Ninian and that friend of his, Cuzz. They were sitting on the ground with their backs to the wall, so far gone they didn’t even notice me.’

‘Ninian was smoking
cannabis
?’

‘A rather stronger version of cannabis, yes.’

Every mother’s worst fear is that her child might become addicted to drugs. In the Courtenay household they had always talked openly about such things and Ninian knew her views.