Kiss (20 page)

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Authors: Jill Mansell

BOOK: Kiss
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Katerina, surrounded by books, grinned back at her. Izzy was indeed carrying a haversack-sized bag from the Chinese takeaway. ‘How was work?’
 
‘The pits, but what’s new?’ Collapsing on the bed and heaving an extravagant sigh, Izzy helped herself to a handful of Liquorice Allsorts. She enjoyed their nighttime chats, when it seemed that the rest of the world was asleep. ‘But I don’t care. I know you think I’m doing my usual pie-in-the-sky thing, but I really do have a gut feeling about this song-writing business. And just think, if that took off . . .’
 
If seventeen years of being her mother’s daughter had taught Katerina anything, it was never even to attempt to quash her eternal optimism.They had survived everything, and that in itself was an achievement of which to be proud. Leaning forwards, she gave Izzy an affectionate kiss. ‘If anybody can do it, you can.’
 
‘With Benny to help me,’ Izzy admitted. ‘Sam thinks I’m quite mad; he said it would be like instructing a blind man to paint a masterpiece.’
 
Katerina nodded; the observation was somewhat apt. ‘But even if you can’t write music,’ she protested, ‘you can do the lyrics. Look at Tom Rice . . . he’s made an absolute fortune!’
 
Izzy laughed. ‘Tim Rice, darling. But yes, lyrics are important.’ Here was the perfect opening, she thought with some relief. ‘As a matter of fact, I—’
 
‘Mum, if that pub’s so terrible, why don’t you leave?’ Katerina interrupted. She had been giving the matter some thought recently, and the solution was so obvious she couldn’t understand why Izzy hadn’t thought of it herself. ‘Why don’t you ask Sam if you can work at The Steps? The tips would be better, the pay couldn’t possibly be any worse and at least it isn’t a dive. It’s the very opposite of a dive,’ she added persuasively, recalling an item in last week’s
Daily Mail
. ‘And if it’s good enough for royalty . . .’
 
Izzy shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. Picking idly at the remains of the Liquorice Allsorts, she said, ‘I’ve already asked him. He said he didn’t have any vacancies.’
 
On behalf of her mother, Katerina was outraged. ‘The pig! So what does that mean, translated into English?’
 
‘He doesn’t want me there.’ It had bothered Izzy, which was why she hadn’t mentioned it at the time, but she wasn’t going to let Kat pry into the possible whys and wherefores. In her more optimistic moments she had managed to convince herself that company policy decreed no mixing of business with pleasure. And if it wasn’t that, it meant he simply knew her too well, which didn’t exactly boost a girl’s confidence.
 
Besides, she had more important matters to discuss with her daughter. ‘Kat,’ she began. ‘I’ve got something to—’
 
‘The big shit!’ Katerina exploded, her brown eyes flashing with indignation. ‘Who
does
he think he is?’
 
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Izzy, more sharply than she had intended. ‘Kat, working in a night-club - even The Steps - isn’t my ultimate fantasy. Now stop interrupting, because I’m trying to tell you something.’
 
‘Sorry,’ said Katerina, immediately contrite. Folding her arms and leaning back against her plumped pillows, she assumed a listening expression.
 
‘And this is important,’ Izzy told her seriously, ‘because you know I would never deliberately pry into your personal . . . things.’
 
If Katerina had been a thermometer, her mercury level would at that moment have plummeted. Quite simply, she froze.
 
‘This morning,’ her mother continued, apparently oblivious to the effect her words were having, ‘I needed some writing paper and I knew you’d have some, up here.’
 
‘Yes,’ replied Katerina in guarded tones. So this was it. Unable - for obvious reasons - to send her letters through the post, Andrew had taken to handing them to her as they parted, so that when she returned to the house she could read them, over and over again, in the privacy of her own room, and know that his feelings for her were genuine.
 
And whereas every other mother in the world would react with shock and revulsion to the discovery of such letters, she realised with rising panic her own mother was about to behave with typically Izzyish nonconformity. She was going to be
understanding
, and indulge in one of those embarrassing woman-to-woman discussions of hers which no daughter should ever be asked to endure. Besides, she thought as resentment mingled with panic, those letters were addressed to her, and she had taken the utmost care to hide them among the pages of her physics homework, where no sane mother would ever think to look. They were
private
.
 
‘I found this,’ Izzy continued, reaching into her bag and pulling out a folded sheet of paper.
 
‘Mum, it’s none of your business,’ said Katerina, prepared to fight.
 
‘I know, of course I know that,’ her mother replied, her tone unrepentant. ‘But now that I’ve read it, it is.’
 
She was unfolding the letter now. Realizing that she was planning to read it aloud, Katerina experienced a rush of fear. First the humiliation, then the interrogation, she thought wildly. And there was absolutely no way of telling what else Izzy might do. She wouldn’t put anything past her.
 
‘This isn’t fair,’ she pleaded, unable to even contemplate the horrific possibilities. If Izzy were to tell Gina . . . ‘It’s private, and I don’t want to discuss it, so why don’t you just give me that’ - jack-knifing forwards, she attempted to snatch the letter back, but Izzy whisked it out of reach - ‘and forget you ever saw it.’
 
‘Young love!’ exclaimed Izzy, her dark eyes alight with amusement. ‘Really, darling, I’m not so ancient that I can’t remember how it feels . . . but this is nothing to be ashamed of.’ Tapping the page with her forefinger, she continued triumphantly, ‘It’s brilliant! Better still, it
works
.’
 
‘Works,’ Katerina echoed, falling back against her pillows. That was it; she gave up. Closing her eyes for a second, then slowly reopening them, she said wearily, ‘Mother, what on earth are you talking about?’
 
Izzy said, reading aloud:
 
‘Never, never
Understood how
The rest of the world
Felt, until now.
Was I ever, ever
Alive before now?
You showed me how
It could be.
Lucky me, lucky world,
I’m a woman, not a girl.
You taught me how
To love. And now,
As long as I have you,
You’ll always, always
Have me.’
 
 
 
Izzy stopped reading. Katerina, so geared up for the confrontation that she almost shouted, ‘But that isn’t what we were talking about,’ had to exert actual physical control in order not to.
 
Her secret was safe, after all. She had been reprieved and as the realization sank in, she knew that it had indeed been a lucky escape because never in a million years would Izzy have taken the news of her involvement with Andrew as lightly as she had - for those few bizarre moments - imagined. Not even Izzy, thought Katerina wryly, was that liberal.
 
‘It’s a poem,’ she said, sagging still further into her cocoon of pillows, but disguising her relief with truculence. ‘And it’s totally crappy. You shouldn’t have read it.’
 
‘It isn’t totally crappy,’ Izzy contradicted her. ‘Admittedly, I don’t think Wordsworth need lose too much sleep over it . . .’ She paused, then squeezed her daughter’s cold hand. ‘But that’s what I was trying to tell you, darling. When I read it, it
wasn’t
a poem . . . it was a song! I heard the music . . . I knew exactly how it would sound . . . powerful and haunting, happy and sad at the same time . . . it’s the kind of song people remember for the rest of their
lives
.’
 
Despite herself, Katerina smiled. ‘Mother,’ she said tolerantly, ‘you’re mad.’
 
‘No, I’m not,’ Izzy insisted. ‘I’m right!’
 
‘Quite mad.’
 
Izzy waved the sheet of paper. ‘But will you let me give it a go? Can I at least
try
?’
 
In a few days, thought Katerina, her mother would have forgotten all about it. Her enthusiasms, wildly embraced, seldom lasted. This one would be lucky if it survived the week.
 
‘Of course you can use it,’ she conceded, ‘if you really want to.’
 
‘You’re an angel,’ declared Izzy, enveloping her in a hug. ‘And just think,’ she added with an air of triumph, ‘this could really be the start of something big . . . fame, fortune and toyboys coming out of our ears . . .’
 
‘I’m too old for toyboys,’ protested Katerina.
 
‘They’re for me, silly.’ Izzy gave her a pitying look, then broke into a grin. ‘You don’t need them - you’ve already found the love of
your
life. And speaking of love,’ she continued, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘what did he say when he read the poem? What did Simon think of it?’
 
Reminding herself that at least she wasn’t telling a lie, Katerina returned her mother’s gaze with equanimity. ‘Nothing,’ she replied, her voice calm. ‘I didn’t give it to him.’
 
Chapter 21
 
The doctor had been quite definite, although Marcy still didn’t understand how it possibly could be true. Now, back at the flat, she gazed at her naked reflection in the mirror, running a trembling, experimental hand over the rounded swell of her stomach. However could she
not
be pregnant, looking like this?
 
But . . . a phantom pregnancy, he had told her. A non-existent baby. God, nature was weird, thought Marcy, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry at the bizarre trick that her own body had played on her. And not only a bizarre trick; a particularly cruel one as well. Having longed for a baby so desperately that at times it seemed as if she were incapable of even
thinking
about anything else, the realization that she was finally pregnant had been one of the most wonderful discoveries of her life. She had felt complete . . . replete . . . and so happy it was positively sinful.
 
She had guessed, of course, that Andrew’s own initial reaction had been less enthusiastic. The professed delight had been tempered with unease, maybe even a trace of alarm, but that was only to be expected under the circumstances. Consequently, she had put no immediate pressure upon him, merely revelling in her own private joy, allowing him to come to terms with the idea in his own time and only mentioning in passing that maybe this was the excuse he had been waiting for - the perfect opportunity - to leave his unhappy marriage.
 
And gradually, as she had known would happen, he
had
come to terms with the idea. The pull of impending fatherhood was strong; Andrew had realised that this, after all, was what was important, what was
needed
in order to complete their lives, and her own happiness had in turn become absolute. It was all so perfect . . .
 
And it had all been a lie, because there was no baby. Even the cravings for salt-and-vinegar crisps and spaghetti
alle vongole
had been nothing more than an inexplicable illusion.
 
Pulling on her dressing gown, covering her traitorous body, Marcy turned away from the mirror and experienced the first pangs of fear. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t done it on purpose. But would Andrew believe that?
 
Telling him that she was on the Pill had been only the first lie. The second, that the home pregnancy testing kit had proved positive, wasn’t going to be so easy to explain away.
 
Yet she truly hadn’t meant to deceive him. It had just seemed so unnecessary under the circumstances, and upon discovering that such silly little kits cost almost ten pounds she had reeled away from the chemist’s counter in shock and spent the money instead on the latest Jackie Collins novel and a tub of Häagen Dazs chocolate ice-cream.
 
Now she fervently wished she hadn’t, but the chilling question remained: what was Andrew going to say when he found out?
 
She didn’t have long to wait. Unusually - and because, unknown to Marcy, Katerina had been unable to meet him straight from the office as she usually did - he was home by five-thirty. And this time she was painfully aware of his look of irritation when he glanced around and saw that, yet again, she hadn’t tidied the small flat.
 
‘Darling,’ she said, going up to him and giving him a kiss. It would have landed on his mouth if he hadn’t turned his head at the last moment, leaving her only his pale, aftershaved cheek. ‘You’re early.’
 
‘Would it have made any difference?’ he countered, gesturing towards the coffee table littered with magazines and teacups. He was early, hungry and tired, and still Marcy was incapable of making any effort. That, combined with the fact of not being able to be soothed by Katerina, fuelled his annoyance. In her panicky state, it also made Marcy only more hyper-aware of the precarious state of her own situation.

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