School Run (20 page)

She took down one of the books from the shelf and flicked through it. It was old with that wonderful dusty smell that took you back to days when lumps probably weren’t recognised early enough. ‘This is lovely.’

Gus laid a hand briefly on her shoulder. ‘Still translating cookery books?’

She grimaced. ‘And school stuff. What I really want to get into is literary translations or maybe even children’s fiction.’

That idea had occurred to her just this week when she’d been reading to Beth and wondering if she would still be around next year.

‘That reminds me. Come upstairs. I must show you what I found when I was clearing out the attic.’ She followed him, feeling awkward as he led her into a vast bedroom she hadn’t seen before.

It had to be his. There was an enormous four-poster bed with tapestry hangings. An ottoman stood at the foot with a freshly pressed shirt lying on it. Fleetingly, Pippa wondered who did his ironing. There was a mahogany side table by the bed and next to it a bow-fronted chest of drawers with a pile of yellowing Arthur Ransomes.

‘Remember
Swallows and Amazons
?’

Pippa leafed through the pages, tracing the illustrations with a finger. ‘I loved all of them. When I was a child, I dreamed of sailing away.’

‘Me too.’

He sat on the side of the bed, the book in his hand. ‘Look at this picture. How could they make fires so easily?’

‘And run off with pirates.’ Pippa sat next to him. It seemed so natural. ‘But I always wondered how their parents managed to let them do it. I’m scared if my children are out of my sight for one minute.’ She tried to swallow the huge lump that came from nowhere into her throat. ‘God knows what they’re going to do if I die.’

‘It’s OK.’ Gus’s arm was round her shoulders again but this time he was massaging her.

Pippa laid her head on his shoulder. ‘Oh, Gus, I’m so scared.’

Without warning, she felt his lips on hers. They were soft, as they had been all those years ago, but more demanding now. Meaningful. Determined. Grown-up.

Slowly, looking her straight in the eyes, he took off his shirt. His chest was broader than Derek’s. It had been so long since she had seen another man’s body that somehow she had imagined them all to be the same shape.

He held her to him, his right hand slipping down the back of her dress as he unzipped it deftly. Somehow (later, she couldn’t remember how) he helped her out of her dress. Too late, she remembered she hadn’t worn a bra because the straps showed. Scarcely believing what he was doing, she watched as he stroked her breasts, then bent his head and sucked her nipples. She shuddered with pleasure.

‘God, you’re beautiful, Pippa.’

He was on top of her before she knew it. Her body arched towards him. Wanting him. Before it was too late.

He was looking down on her. ‘Pip, there’s something I ought to—’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No. Please.’ She pulled him to her, determined, this time, not to let him get away. He seemed to hesitate. ‘Yes. Please. Oh, God.’

He was in her. The waves inside built up as though she was going to explode. Then, suddenly, she had a picture of Derek. Derek, with whom she had done this a month ago – or was it two? The same thing but different. Less exciting, but comforting – more comforting than it was with this stranger, who seemed nothing like Gus. This man who was heaving himself up and down inside her, gripping her buttocks so hard that it hurt.

What was she doing? This wasn’t make-believe or the harmless flirtation they had carried on for so long. This was real. The kind of real that got you into trouble. Too late. He was there already.

She rolled away, tears running down her face.

‘Pip.’ He spoke between gasps. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

She buried her face in the pillow. ‘You didn’t, Gus. I’ve hurt myself. I’m sorry. I’m just not me any more.’

He nodded. Gus had always known how she felt. But they had crossed the line. And now it would never be the same again.

‘Gus, there’s something I need to ask you,’ she said.

He knelt beside her and put his arms round her. ‘The question you were going to ask in the restaurant?’

She moved away. ‘Yes.’

‘Go on.’

‘At university, that day when we were on my bed and you kissed me, why didn’t you make love to me?’

Gus stood up and wrapped a towel round his waist. ‘I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. We have something special, Pippa, something that doesn’t happen often between a man and a woman. I was scared that sex would spoil it.’ He knelt down again, cupping her chin in his hands. ‘Tell me it hasn’t now. I couldn’t bear to lose you as a friend.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s still the same,’ she lied. ‘But why did you change your mind? Why make love to me now when I’m married with children?’

He covered his face with his hands. ‘In case I lose you, Pip. I’m sure the lump will be all right, but if it isn’t, wouldn’t we have regretted not doing this? Besides, you looked so fragile and scared. I wanted to comfort you.’

She held the sheet to her breasts and kissed the top of his head. ‘I needed the comfort too. But now I feel so guilty. I do love Derek, and the children mean the world to me. But they don’t understand me the way you do. And sometimes it’s all so hard at home – all work and no fun.’

‘Ssh, don’t cry. I’m here, Pip – I’m always here for you.’

‘But how can we look at each other in the same way?’

His face showed his distress. ‘We have to, Pip. I can’t imagine not having you as a friend.’

‘Nor me you,’ she whispered.

‘The shower’s through there. Shall I leave you for a few minutes?’

The water made her feel better, cleaner, but by the time she had slipped back into her dress she felt racked with guilt again. The phone rang in her bag and she answered it unwillingly.

‘Pippa!’ It was Derek’s voice. He sounded relieved. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages.’

‘Sorry. I had it on silent.’

‘The hospital rang. They’ve had a cancellation. The consultant can see you tomorrow at ten a.m. I’ll come with you.’

‘Right. Thanks.’ Her voice belonged to someone else. ‘Listen, Derek, can you ring and confirm it for me? I’m with the others at the moment. We’re just about to, er, leave the restaurant. It’s difficult.’

‘Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.’

Pippa felt sick: the sound of his voice made her feel as though he was in the room and knew what had just taken place. She switched the phone to off, wishing she could do the same to the last half-hour.

Gus was standing in the doorway. ‘Derek?’

‘Yes. Don’t panic.’ She felt sick again. ‘He doesn’t suspect anything. It’s the hospital. They can see me tomorrow.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Derek will.’

He nodded awkwardly. ‘You won’t want coffee now.’

She smiled weakly. ‘No.’

He pulled her towards him and pushed his hand inside her dress, stroking her shoulder slowly and rhythmically as she sobbed.

Afterwards, when he’d given her a glass of water from his American fridge (‘It will clear your head’) and kissed her goodbye chastely on the cheek, she got into the taxi (thoughtfully ordered by Gus to take her back to her own car), feeling both terribly guilty and, inexplicably, better. She’d been terrified about the hospital appointment, but now she felt strangely calm.

If only she felt the same about Gus.

20

MARTINE

‘Time’s coming up to eight thirty. There have been unconfirmed reports of gunfire in the American school in Ohio where a boy is holding his classmates hostage.’

Dear Diary,

I am writing this while I am waiting for the twins to arrive in the car. They are late again but I cannot be cross because they have a step-mother who does not get them up in time. Poor Nattie, she tells me all about it.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said Martine, wearily, as the twins and their little brother climbed into the back of the car.

‘Sorry – Evie left before us and she hadn’t made our packed lunches,’ said Natalie, matter-of-factly, as she fastened Jack’s seat belt.

Martine softened as the little boy sat still and beamed at her in a way Josh never had. Poor girls! It must be terrible having a step-mother, especially one like Evie who looked so hard when she frowned. When Martine became a mother, she would not frown like that. She would be happy and her children would be happy too. ‘You have food now, yes?’

‘Yes, thanks, Martine.’

That was the other twin. What was her name? Leonora?

‘Martine, do you think you could ask Sally if she’s had time to sort out that work experience at the studio she promised to look into?’

Martine frowned. ‘Work experience? You want to work for that woman? I do not think that is a good idea.’

‘W-w-why not?’ demanded Josh. ‘D-don’t be so rude about m-my mother.’

‘We’ll tell her you said that,’ chipped in Alice.

Martine shrugged.

‘I’ll ask her for you,’ said Alice.

‘Thanks. Er, Martine, did you know you just signalled right and went left?’

‘Nattie, shush.’

‘Well, she did.’

Martine pretended not to hear them. If the English drove on the correct side of the road, this would not be a problem. Besides, look at that car in front, the one with the L sign. She was driving very badly indeed.

‘The traffics!’ sighed Martine to herself. ‘Terrible!’ And it was so inconvenient having to take these children as well as Alice and Josh. If she did not hurry, she would be late for her class.

‘Stop here, Marty. No,
here
.’

‘Alice, do not be so bossy.’

‘I’m not, but you were going to miss it again. You always park too far up.’

‘Thanks for the lift, Martine,’ said Natalie, smiling.

‘You will remember to ask Sally for us, won’t you, about the job?’ added Leonora.

‘
Absolument
.
Au revoir
.’

There was, Martine thought, glancing at the clock, just enough time to go to the chemist, as Barry had suggested. However, the pharmacy in the supermarket did not open until nine o’clock and she had to wait until the pharmacist arrived. She would be late.

‘My hair, it itches.’ She scratched her head to prove the point, and the man in the white coat stepped back. ‘My friend, he say you can help. You can give me some medicine, please?’

‘I’ll just put on these and have a look.’

Why did he need rubber gloves? She was not sick!

‘Thought so. Are you in close contact with children?’

Martine nodded. ‘I am au pair. And I have a baby of my own.’

It didn’t feel like a lie. It just came out as if it was true.

‘Well, you won’t have got it from the baby but headlice – that’s what you’ve got – are easy to catch from older children. The good news is that you can get rid of them easily if you use a special shampoo. I would recommend this one.’

‘Lice? What are these?’

‘Little black creatures that live in the hair.’

‘But they are alive?
Non! Non!
’

‘Please do not distress yourself. It really is more common than you might realise and it has nothing to do with personal hygiene. On the contrary, lice prefer clean hair.’

Martine did not understand everything he was saying but she could just about work out what the children had done to her. Lice! They had given her nasty black creatures in her hair and she would see that Madame Pargeter knew about it. She would ring the agency too. Ugh! She would go home now and wash her hair in Sally’s shower, even if it meant being late for class.

By the time she reached her language school, Martine’s scalp was less itchy. Whatever was in the shampoo had calmed it down, thank goodness. The pharmacist had told her to tell the children’s mother so that the family could be treated too. Martine was in two minds about this; perhaps Sally should suffer so that she understood what Martine had gone through.

‘
Bonjour
,
chérie
,’ said Véronique, making room for her. ‘How are you?’

Martine would have liked to tell her about the lice but something warned her that Véronique might not want to sit next to her. ‘I am glad to be here, away from my terrible family,’ she whispered. That was why she loved her class; it was such a relief to find other girls who were homesick.

‘Now, class, I want you to turn to page one hundred and thirty-two. We’re doing verbs today.’

‘Ugh!’ murmured Véronique. ‘I detest verbs.’

‘Me too.’ Martine’s hand wandered to her head, which was itching again. No, she mustn’t. She tried to concentrate on the text in front of her. ‘This exercise is impossible,’ she said, under her breath, to Véronique.

Bleep, bleep
.