The Last Resort (15 page)

But I knew he would be back for the New Year. And I was determined to make it the perfect night, no matter what it took.

On the thirty-first, I became more and more delirious with excitement and nerves the closer it came to when he said he’d be home. I kept checking out the window to see if I could spot the Jag in the street below. Finally, he got back after seven that evening—three hours later than I expected.

“Hi,” he said curtly, marching straight past me as I opened the front door. “Are you ready?”

That’s my cue,
I thought. “Of course I’m ready,” I purred completely unconvincingly, dropping my dressing-gown to reveal a new red velvet and silk balconette bra (plus matching thong—Agent Provocateur). I’d planned this moment all day and wasn’t going to waste it, no matter how I felt. “Are
you
?”

I felt a pleasurable burst of pride at how wide his handsome eyes went.

Then I realised that it wasn’t because of my vampish undergarments.

Tam stood in the doorway, poised on the threshold with his hand on the doorknob, his eyes wide and his mouth clamped shut. And a foot into the background stood a society dame (ash blonde hair, artfully smooshed into a chignon, wafting Amarige; dark glasses; her couture suit was flawless; her pearls were undoubtedly of the South Sea variety), looking faintly amused. I instantly knew who it was.

Jack’s mother.

To think I once considered tripping in front of Tam the ultimate in embarrassment—that it was high on the league table of The Worst Things Ever.

Numb with mortification, I gathered up my dressing gown from the floor, struggling to cover myself up as quickly as possible while being overcome with nausea. “Oh, oh, oh, oh God,” I whispered under my breath. This was more like it. This was what my life was usually like—a parade of embarrassments, humiliations, and slights real or imagined. I should have known my good fortune wasn’t going to hold out for much longer.

We stood in excruciating silence for a moment, the four of us, me clutching the silky material of my gown against my hammering heart. I could feel Jack physically shrinking away from my side, towards her.
Traitor
.

And then she stepped forward, nodding her thanks to Tam, who held the door open for her. I blushed furiously as I saw how hard he was trying not to grin.

“You must be—?” she asked, with that questioning lilt in her voice, understandably mixed with a touch of amusement. My heart sank even further. The first time I meet my mother-in-law, I’m in call-girl lingerie—and she doesn’t even know what my name is.

“I’m Ava,” I said simply, forcing myself not to curtsey instinctively.

“Fenella,” she said, graciously holding out her hand, which I shook demurely. (For a moment, I thought I was supposed to kiss it.) And once I had, she glided serenely past me.

I dared to look directly at Jack. He was grey with anger. “Take a seat, Mother,” he said through gritted teeth, as he led her to the sitting room off the kitchen. “Ava and I will be right with you.”

He hustled me into the bedroom, gripping my upper arm painfully. “Dear
God
,” he hissed at me, “what were you
thinking
? Have you even cooked dinner? Please tell me you have. Or even better, that you’ve ordered something and it’s already heated up and the table’s set.”

I stared blankly at him, my whole body throbbing with panic. I was missing something. It seemed that greeting his mother and brother in my underwear was the least of my worries.

“I-I’m sorry—”

He pushed his hands through his glossy black hair, then stood with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. He loomed over me, and it frightened me. “Just put on some clothes. I’ll order something from the concierge. Ava, I can’t believe you’ve forgotten.”

I felt a sting of pain. “You didn’t tell me she was coming,” I pleaded with him. “I had no idea.”

“We discussed this at least twice in the last week. Mother’s always alone on New Year—I always have dinner with her.”

I was shocked. “You do?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember us talking about this? In the car, on the way to the Tate, and then before I went to the airport?”

“We did?”

“Of course! Meeting my mother for the first time? Don’t you think I’d remember that?” His expression changed from annoyed to hurt. “I thought this was important to you. I thought you were looking forward to it.”

What was wrong with me? I started to shake. I felt sick. How could I have been so stupid?

Then he seemed calmer. “There’s no point arguing about it. Get dressed. I’ll ring down for something from Lucia’s. Mother likes osso buco.”

I hated Lucia’s, but I nodded in agreement.
I didn’t realise people still actually called their mother Mother.

“At least we’ve got some wine.”

I must have looked very sheepish.

“You mean there’s no wine left?”

I shook my head miserably.

“Have you just been drinking like a fish the whole time I’ve been away?”

I nodded, equally miserably.

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, I’ll just have to beg Franco to send out some Chianti or something. Really, Ava. I didn’t expect this from you.”

Please just hug me and tell me you forgive me
, I vibed at him. But it was no use. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and my heart gave a throb of hot pain. Tears of shock sprang into my eyes—but then, in the very next moment, they turned to tears of rage.

He didn’t tell me she was coming. And he certainly didn’t tell me Tam was coming! I would never have forgotten that.

I pulled on a pair of tweedy trousers and a cashmere jumper, and fastened a small string of pearls around my neck. I was going to have to try to salvage this in any way I could. If it meant dressing like a Sloane Ranger, so be it.

Why is he acting like this? What did I do to deserve this?

I stalked back out of the room, only to barrel face-first into my bastard brother-in-law as he made his way to the loo. (Equally likely was that he was hovering around just to annoy me.)

“Hello,” Tam purred, apparently tickled by my embarrassment.

“It isn’t nice to gloat,” I snapped, and made as if to leave.

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, and when he tried to block my path, I realised he was enjoying this little extra bit of humiliation. “My my,” he laughed, “aren’t we a little spitfire?”

“Get out of my way,” I growled.

“Of course,” he said lightly, and stepped, with sarcastic grace, out of my path. I stomped off, exquisitely aware that he was staring after me, probably with a look of amusement on his face. His eyes left a trail of ice down my back.

When I made my demure entrance into the sitting room, I realised that was just the beginning. If Tam was icy, Fenella and Jack were glacial.

Not that things were silent: in fact, Fenella supplied a constant stream of genteel chatter, against the soundtrack of twinkly piano jazz, which oozed from the sleek black speakers that nestled in the corners of the room. “Did you see Anaïs when she was in the city last week? Your
aunt
Anaïs. You
know
her—from Quebec? Oh, John.” She dusted imaginary lint from Jack’s shoulder. “Your father’s cousin; she was from Burgundy but grew up in Canada. Don’t you remember when she came to live with us? To teach you French? But she came to dinner at the house three years ago . . .”

She had plenty of experience doing this, I realised: painting over the social cracks with pretended intimacy. I noted that she barely spoke to Tam the whole night, yet he still appeared to dance attendance on her—refilling her glass at intervals, fetching her an ashtray when she produced an elegant gold case of cream-coloured Swiss cigarettes.
Aren’t they related through their father?
I wondered.
Which would make Fenella Tam’s stepmother. . .

“Will we be having that lovely squid dish again? Oh no, that’s alright—osso buco sounds lovely. Did you make it? Not? Oh well I’m sure it will be lovely anyway. Is that Daddy’s Rauschenberg on the wall, darling?”

I decided to get up and set the table after seeing Jack glare at it. Usually we ate off of our laps, in bed or on the couch: it was one of the things I loved to do with him. I tried not to wince when I felt a knife turn viciously in my heart.

“What was that wine we had last time? Did it have sulphites in it? It must not have, since I didn’t get a headache. Whenever I lunch with Penelope she insists on serving that dreadful Australian Chardonnay and I just cannot understand it. But you know it’s because that cousin of hers owns the vineyard. Or at least, her husband does. Is the food on its way, darling?”

And so it went on. Gradually, the longer I was ignored, the more the knot in my stomach loosened—at least I was no longer the centre of attention. I congratulated myself on wearing a cream-coloured jumper; it was nearly the same shade as the wallpaper, and under the circumstances, blending in was the best way to contribute to the conversation.

When the osso buco arrived, we sat around the table in pretended camaraderie. I glanced at the clock: quarter past nine. Nearly three more hours of this hell until it was finally New Year. A clammy sheen of sweat had settled over my skin.

I turned all my concentration towards picking at a piece of gristle, while Fenella chattered on like a demon. I could feel Jack refusing to acknowledge me, turning his whole body away from me, buttressing himself with a wall of indifference, and it made me feel sick with abandonment. But just as bad was the feeling of Tam’s constant stare.

What’s he looking at?
I asked myself, glad that I had something to focus on besides the cutting feeling of Jack’s coldness.

The sweat on my skin turned warm, and then hot, as I realised he simply would not look away. I glanced up once, meaning to give him a nasty stare back, but I lost my nerve at the last moment—he was looking at me with such pity  that all I could do was flinch.

He thinks I’m a whore
, I admitted to myself, despondently, thinking with shame of what that awful scene in at the front door must have seemed like to him. If he’d wondered before, he’d certainly had all his suspicions confirmed.

Just then, Fenella rose from the table, murmuring a genteel excuse and dazzling me with a bright white smile as she did so. I smiled back, tightly, miserably, wondering what she was thinking. Probably the very same thing as her darling stepson.

Once she’d left, the silence at the table quickly turned malevolent. As I felt Jack pulling away from me, so I felt Tam’s menacing stare invading the space between us. The tension made me dizzy, but I tried to be brave—sitting up straight, shoulders back. I still had my dignity, after all.

Well, sort of.

“What were you thinking, Jack?” Tam’s voice was shattering, even though he spoke softly. As usual, he’d taken me by surprise.

I turned to Jack automatically, fully aware that I was about to be humiliated even further.
Maybe this time he’ll defend me
, I thought, allowing myself a little glimmer of hope.

My heart plummeted with sorrow when I saw how he avoided my eyes. He knew what I was thinking—he knew how badly I needed him to step between Tam and me—but he wasn’t going to do it. He was going to spite me instead.

How did I get myself into this mess?

“Shut up, Tam, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He growled the words.

But Jack didn’t realise Tam wasn’t really talking to him—on the contrary, every word Tam said was directed straight at me. I was the target. “But surely you could have found someone a little more convincing. Someone a little more
brazen
, maybe. See how she’s squirming with embarrassment now? The right girl wouldn’t squirm. Provided the price was right, of course.” And he leaned back in his chair, still looking at me, with a thin smile and an air of utter satisfaction.

The blood had rushed into my face as soon as his words had left his mouth, but now that hot, bodily embarrassment was tinged with rage. The bastard. That was what he was going to be called from now on—Tam the Bastard.

I found myself glancing around, looking for something to bludgeon him with, but instead my eyes found Jack.

I think that’s when my heart broke forever.

His eyes were alert, full of admiration, as he watched Tam enjoy his joke. And he was
smiling
. He was laughing at me, laughing along with his brother at my humiliation.

Sickened tears, tears of horror and bitter disillusionment, filled my throat and nearly choked me. I’ve never been hit by a man—thank God—but surely if I had, this is what it would have felt like. The ice-cold shock of it made my whole body lurch with nausea.

Seconds afterwards, Fenella returned to her seat and the meal continued. I remember hardly anything from then on; about the only thing I can recall is seeing my shocked tears fall onto the white damask tablecloth, making little rings of moisture as I watched.

I vaguely remember moving to the sitting room with after-dinner drinks, where music was playing, and that Tam and Jack took turns to dance with Fenella. I got the impression that this family idyll was some kind of tradition—that they were re-enacting an annual ritual. I watched it like I would watch a film, even finding some pleasure in it. But then I would remember what had happened hours earlier, and my heart would break all over again.