Sheer Abandon (28 page)

“Kate, stop that at once,” said Jim sharply.

“You told me to clear away. Make your bloody mind up.”

“Kate! How dare you speak to me like that! Go to your room.”

“It’ll be a pleasure. And then Little Miss Mealy Mouth can do it all nicely and you can sit and admire her—”

“Kate, you are not to speak of your sister like that.”

“I’ll speak about her how I like. Anyway, she’s not my sister, thank God. Not really.”

“Kate!”

“I think I’ll just go into the other room,” said Jilly, “watch
Monarch of the Glen
, it’s so marvellous—”

“She’s upset again,” said Helen, when she and Jim were finally on their own. Kate had apologised to Juliet and stormed upstairs, and Juliet had been comforted and was doing her piano practice. “I don’t know why. I mean, I do know it’s about her mother, but quite why at this point I—”

“I’m getting very tired of that as an excuse,” said Jim. “She can’t be allowed to behave exactly how she chooses, simply because she’s had some trauma in her life. We’ve all had our troubles—”

“Jim, I don’t think anything you’ve had to endure could compare with what Kate has been through.” Jilly’s voice came from the doorway. “I’m sorry to interfere—and I agree she was very naughty and rude this evening—but knowing she was abandoned by a mother who apparently had no interest in whether she lived or died is a dreadful thing.”

“Mummy, please don’t—” said Helen, but it was too late. Jim had stormed out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, and the sweet tinkling of Susan Hampshire’s voice had been replaced by the harsh tones of Taggart.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” Jocasta looked at Clio thoughtfully.

“Of course. I’ll go to these friends in Guildford, and they’ll put me up for a few days while I sort myself out.”

“You’ve spoken to them, have you?”

“Of course.”

It was not a complete lie; Mark Salter had called her and in his sweet, tactful way had said there was no need for explanations, Barbara had told him all he needed to know, and that nothing would make him happier than to have her back in the practice, but that he would have to honour his fortnight’s commitment to the first locum. “I’m only sorry the circumstances are so unhappy for you.”

She’d had that conversation in Jocasta’s bedroom, having explained it was rather delicate; Jocasta had clearly assumed it was Jeremy, and had made a second jug of coffee. Nick had returned by then and was smiling dutifully at her. Clio had suddenly felt appalling, a burden on a lot of perfectly nice people who were trying to have a normal, peaceful Sunday.

“I must go,” she said. “Honestly, I can’t take up any more of your time.”

“Of course you mustn’t go,” said Jocasta, “you’re staying right there. We’re not doing anything, are we, Nick?” and, “No,” he had said, after the most momentary of pauses, “no, nothing. In fact I’ve got to get back to my place and write a piece for tomorrow’s paper—Chris called while I was out running.”

“Well, there you are,” said Jocasta. “Think how lonely and lost I’d be without you, Clio. It happens all the time, you know, I get abandoned just like that.”

Clio excused herself and went to the lavatory so that they could communicate in peace; when she came back, Nick was in the shower.

“I’m sure you think he made that up,” said Jocasta, grinning at her, “but he didn’t. Anyway, we can have a nice day together.”

Clio was feeling too lonely and dispirited to protest any further.

She tried not to tell her too much; it seemed absurdly disloyal to discuss a marriage—albeit a failed one—with someone who was not a close friend, but Jocasta was dangerously easy to talk to. She sat quietly most of the time, only speaking when a silence became too long, and then in the most minimal terms—“And then?” or “So you?”

Clio tried to ignore the prompts, but as the silences grew, it became very difficult, and later, eased into greater intimacy by a good deal of wine, she told Jocasta this. She laughed.

“It’s one of the first things you learn, the pressure of the silence. Carol Sarler, she’s the
Daily Express
columnist, you know, unutterably brilliant, she told me that she once sat for nearly two minutes in complete silence waiting for an interviewee to answer one of her more difficult questions. And he did. In the end, everyone does. Or walks out. But I try not to practise it in my personal life. Sorry, Clio.”

“It’s all right,” said Clio. “I’m sure it’s done me good. In a way it’s better than some mutual friend who’ll feel they’re taking sides.”

“Hope so. It does sound like you’ve done the right thing. Maybe a bit rash actually walking out, but—”

“Jocasta, if I hadn’t walked out, he’d have talked me round. He’s a brilliant tactician. You’ve no idea how often I’ve gone into arguments knowing I’m right, absolutely knowing it, and ended up sobbing and asking him to forgive me.”

Jocasta said nothing.

“So—I’m glad, really. But it’s been very drastic. I wouldn’t like to relive this weekend.”

“How many times has he called you?”

A very long silence, then Clio said, not looking at her, “He hasn’t. Not once.”

“Clio,” said Jocasta, refilling her glass yet again, “you have done absolutely the right thing. I know I shouldn’t say that, but it has to be true. And at least you haven’t had any children.”

“No,” said Clio. And burst into tears again. This time she resisted the silence.

“I think you should stay here tonight,” Jocasta said.

“Jocasta, I can’t. And what would Nick say?”

Jocasta stared at her. “I don’t give a shit what Nick says. This is my house, my life. It’s nothing to do with Nick. This is not the 1950s. And we haven’t even started on Martha yet.”

“Martha! Have you seen her?”

“Not exactly, but our paths may cross. She wants to be an MP, according to Nick. He’s met her. Says she’s rather important and successful.”

“Well, she did seem very ambitious, even then. Funny thing, ambition, isn’t it? It seems to be in people’s genes. How about you, are your ambition genes powerful?”

“Pretty powerful. Yours?”

“More than I thought,” said Clio slowly. “I mean, when I first married Jeremy, I thought I’d want to give it all up, but I didn’t. I really minded leaving my job at the hospital—”

“What did you do?”

“I was a junior consultant. In geriatrics. I know it sounds rather dreary, but it isn’t, it’s fascinating and lovely and very rewarding. And then I really enjoyed general practice. I was so miserable the day I left. It wasn’t just because it coincided with the end of my marriage.”

“So, now what?”

“Well, for the time being I can go back.”

“And long-term?”

“I don’t know. Funnily enough, just a few weeks ago I heard from a colleague that there are a couple of new jobs in my old department. And they wanted me to apply. Of course it was out of the question, Jeremy was furious at the very idea…”

There was a silence while Jocasta clearly struggled not to comment on Jeremy and his behaviour; then she said, “But now—why not?”

“I don’t think I’ve got the stomach for it at the moment. I’m feeling a bit fragile, to put it mildly.”

“Of course you are. But you won’t always. And it could be just what you need. New challenge, all that. It might not be the best thing, going back to Guildford, where Jeremy is. Look, why don’t you call those people and tell them you’re not coming tonight? We’ve got too much to talk about, and—Clio!” She had obviously read her face. “You weren’t going there anyway, were you?”

“Not…exactly,” said Clio, “no. But—”

“Right. You’re staying. Another bottle of wine, I think. I wish you smoked, Clio—you make me feel so corrupt.”

She fetched a bottle of wine, opened it, and poured Clio a glass. “Cheers. Again. It’s lovely to see you. Even under such unhappy circumstances. Now—” There was a loud ring at the door. “Shit,” said Jocasta. “Excuse me a minute.”

Clio took a large slug of wine, not really wanting to see anyone either, half listening to Jocasta greeting someone, then speaking rather quietly (obviously telling whoever it was she had an awkward visitor), and then finally walking in and saying, “Clio, look who’s turned up—Josh!”

And there he was, standing in front of her, not greatly changed, much as she remembered him indeed, only there was rather more of him, all blond hair and blue eyes and wide, white-teethed grin, the cause—albeit indirect—of so many of her troubles. And now what should she do?

Chapter 16

         “Hi, Martha! Blast from the past. Don’t you dare say you don’t remember me!” For the second time in forty-eight hours Martha felt time jerk to a standstill. She knew that voice so well; that musical, slightly low-pitched voice. The last time she had heard it, it had been calling her name across the crowded station in Bangkok. She felt the heat again, the suffocating humid heat, and she could hear the noise, that strange, unmistakable blend of foreign babble, slurring Anglo-American, and the relentless pumping of pop music; and she felt her panic again, saw herself hurrying away, pretending she hadn’t heard or seen Jocasta, slipping into a tiny narrow street and taking refuge in the chaos of the stalls.

“Martha? It is you, isn’t it? Chad Lawrence gave me your number. It’s Jocasta. Jocasta Forbes.”

“No, of course not. I mean, of course I remember you. It’s very good to hear from you.” She could hear her own voice, astonishingly normal, pleasant, friendly, but no more.

“I’d love to see you, Martha. You know, this weekend, it’s really weird, I’ve been with Clio.”

“Clio Scott?” This was getting worse by the minute.

“Yes. Bit of a long story how, big coincidence, I won’t bore you with it. Anyway, Chad tells me you’re joining them.”

“Well, only thinking of it.”

“Really? I heard prospective candidate for your hometown.”

“No! Not yet anyway. I’m only a little way along the road. I’m sure it won’t happen. Look, it’s a bit difficult to talk just now.”

“Exactly why I’m calling. To try and fix a meeting. Chad called me because he said he thought I might write an article about you for the paper.” God. Dear God. What might she ask, what?

“In the paper?”

“Yes. The
Sketch
, I write for it. I thought Chad had told you.” Pull yourself together, Martha, she must think you’re a complete idiot. “So what about it? It would really raise your profile, you know.”

“I’m not sure I want it raised,” she said, and her voice now was really cool.

There was a silence, and then Jocasta said, her own voice changed, “Well, if you’re going into politics you’d better get used to the idea. You can’t run with a low one, I’ll tell you that. Anyway, here’s my mobile number. Give me a call if you want to meet. When you want to do the piece.”

“The piece?”

“The article.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Well, honestly, Jocasta, I don’t think so. Sorry.”

“Fine. Absolutely fine. Bye now.”

“Goodbye, Jocasta. And thanks for calling.”

“Silly bitch,” said Jocasta aloud as she put the phone down.

“I…wondered what your plans were.”

Jeremy’s voice was as she had never heard it; almost diffident, just short of nervous. Clio was standing looking at the shampoo range in Boots; she was so surprised she practically dropped the basket.

“Well, I’m not absolutely sure, to be honest.”

“Where—where are you living?”

“In a flat in Guildford. Or I’m about to be. At the end of the week. I just signed the agreement this morning. Meanwhile I’m staying with the Salters.”

“The Salters! You’ve told them about—about what’s happened?”

“That I’ve left you? Well, yes. I had to really. But look, Jeremy, I’m in Boots—not the place to have a conversation like this. If you really want to talk to me, we’d better meet.” She felt cool and in control.

“Yes. I think we should. Would you like to come to the house?”

“I’d rather not. A pub?”

“Of course. What about the one at Thursley? About six?”

“What, tonight? No, I can’t do tonight. Sorry.” She could, of course, but…

“Oh. Well, tomorrow, then? Maybe nearer seven, I’ve got a long list.”

Clio switched off her mobile and went to join the queue at the checkout; her mood of confidence and pleasure had been very short-lived. Still—it had been a beginning.

“Do you have a Boots card?” said the girl.

“Oh, no. No, I don’t.”

“Pity.” She was very friendly. “You’ve got an awful lot of stuff here. You going on holiday or something?”

“No,” said Clio, “just restocking.” Restocking her life. It was a rather good phrase, she thought. Her spirits seesawed up again.

“Jocasta, hi. I just wanted to say thanks for last night.”

“That’s OK. Anytime you need a square meal. But Josh, you’ve got to get your life sorted out.”

“I know, I know. It’s not a lot of fun without Beatrice, and I’m missing those children horribly.”

“I expect you are. Still—” Her voice softened. “I don’t suppose she means it about divorce. She’s just trying to teach you a lesson.”

“’Fraid not. She’s seen a solicitor.”

“Oh God, Josh, I’m so sorry. You didn’t say that last night.”

“Well, I didn’t want to, in front of Clio.”

“She’s so sweet, isn’t she? I really like her. But she seemed a bit…awkward with you, I thought. Josh, is there something I should know? About you and her? You didn’t, well, sleep with her, did you? While we were all travelling?”

“Of course I didn’t!” He sounded so genuinely indignant that Jocasta believed him.

“Sorry. She just seemed a bit thrown. I wondered, that’s all.”

“Jocasta, nothing happened between Clio and me. OK?”

Martha was trying to do some work when the phone rang again. It was Chad.

“Martha, what do you think you’re playing at?” he said, his voice clipped and harsh.

“What do you mean?”

“Turning down what would have been a very big article in the
Sketch
? Are you mad? It could have won you hundreds, possibly even thousands of votes. I would advise you very strongly to see Jocasta Forbes. It’s the opportunity of a political lifetime. Well, at your stage, anyway.”

“Yes, but—”

“Martha, just do it. She’s not going to say anything unpleasant about you. Even if she does, it won’t do you any harm. It’s exposure. But why should she? It’s such a charming story, all of it. Binsmow childhood, going travelling together, and then your dizzy rise in the law, the cleaner dying, converting you to politics…It’s so good it sounds as if we made it up. If you get selected, you are to call Jocasta immediately. And eat a little humble pie when you do so—she was quite sniffy about it all.”

Martha was silent.

“Look,” he said, as if he were talking to a young child, “Martha, either you do this thing, or you don’t. Politics is a high-profile profession. I thought you’d have realised that by now.”

“I’m beginning to,” she said, “and actually, Chad—” Maybe she could get out of this, even now.

“Hold on a minute,” he said, “my other line’s going.”

She sat waiting. Why had she got into this, why hadn’t she thought about it properly? She was such a fool, such an absolute fool…

“Yes, what was that?”

“I…well, I was just wondering if…if…” Go on, Martha, say it, get it over, it’s only a sentence, a few words, then you’ll be safe again.

“Martha, what is it? I’m very busy.”

“If I could change my mind.”

There was a long silence; when he spoke, his voice was absolutely incredulous.

“Change your mind? What, stand down again?”

“Well…yes.”

“Martha, what the
fuck
is the matter with you?” She was shocked; she had never heard him swear.

“Nothing. I’ve just been thinking and—”

“You’ve been thinking! A little late, I have to say. Don’t you realise the amount of effort that’s been put into this for you? That Jack Kirkland’s written to the constituency himself? That I’ve given up a lot of time for you? That Norman Brampton has been working his tail off, making phone calls, probably incurring another heart attack? How dare you start playing games like some silly tart! I’m beginning to think we’ve made an appalling mistake.”

She was silent, wondering if she dared push on, wondering which fear was greater.

“Look,” he said, “I’ve got to go. You’d better pull yourself together, Martha, and pretty damn quick. Make your mind up, one way or another.” He rang off abruptly.

A little later her phone rang yet again. It was Janet Frean. “Hello, Martha. I just called to congratulate you. You really have done awfully well. It’s hard enough when you’ve spent years in the business. I should know.”

“Thank you, Janet. Look—”

“We really need you, you know. People like you. You’re going to be the backbone of the party. I mean it. And we so need women, and especially young successful women like you. Now, I gather you’re feeling a bit wobbly. It’s completely natural—anyone would. I remember going into mega panic mode more than once. It’s pretty terrifying. But you’ll feel better again soon. Honestly.”

“Janet, I—”

“Look, if I could make a suggestion, what about a media course? They’re so worthwhile, they teach you presentation, how to deal with both radio and television, how to get your points across, even what to wear. I’ll give you the name and number of the one I did. And don’t let Chad bully you. Any worries, come to me with them. All right?”

As if, Janet, as if.

And then there was an e-mail. From Jack Kirkland. “Hello, Martha. Just to say congratulations. Very well done. I knew you could do it. All we need is about a hundred more of you. Don’t fail us now. We need you. Jack.”