The Lie of You: I Will Have What Is Mine (13 page)

‘You
must
tell me the truth, Heja. Why are you working at Kathy’s magazine?’

‘I love writing about buildings. You taught me to look at them properly.’

‘But
Kathy
’s magazine?’

‘It’s the best one there is. I came to London to change careers, Markus, and I was stunned when I discovered the connection.’

‘So was I when I heard you were working there. I couldn’t understand it. Magazine writer? You were a household name...’

‘The whole thing got so it sickened me. I’d had enough. I had to get out. You can imagine how furious my mother was when I walked away from all that.’

‘They can’t like you being here, so far from home.’

‘She always preferred her dogs to me. Dad misses me and I miss him. How is your family?’ I said, remembering his great rift with them.

‘I hardly see them any more, not since Granddad died. They still regard me as the black sheep!’

‘You haven’t told Kathy about us, have you?’

‘No.’

His ‘no’ hung in the air. I had prepared a simple dinner of smoked salmon and pickled herring, knowing it was a favourite with him, and tomato and cucumber salad. He sliced some rye bread for the two of us and poured more wine.

‘It’s a very large secret to keep,’ I said gently.

He didn’t reply. I leaned forward and put my hand over his.

‘Markus, we should never have parted. We shared too much too early. It isn’t possible to start again with someone else after all that.’

His skin was warm. He put his other hand on top of mine and said, ‘Always such cold hands... I’ve thought and thought about it over the years. We were so young, Heja, we met too soon.’

‘It’s not like catching a train; I’ll wait for the next one!’

‘And everything was going so well for you...’

‘Is that why you left – because I was doing well?’

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, ‘I suppose it did come between us a bit, the way you embraced the media world.’

‘It was my job!’

‘How could you stand some of those people?’

I could feel myself flushing.

‘You thought I was turning into one of them, didn’t you?’

‘No, no, I didn’t. Sooner or later the press would have got hold of it. There would have been stories about Heja Vanheinen and the student revolutionary! You might have resented me then.’

He took his hand off mine and looked out of the window and his face had the anguished look I remembered from years before.

‘Is your work going well?’ I asked, wanting to pull him back.

He looked rueful. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Tell me what you’re working on.’

And later I was brave, very brave, because I asked him about being a father. He went into raptures about Billy and showed me his photograph with such loving pride. I said all the right things, about what a fine boy he was and how much he looked like Markus. It hurt to see how much he adored his son by her; how Billy had become the centre of his life. He gave a great deal away, though, without meaning to. He told me how it had all happened so quickly. He’d only been seeing her for a few months; the pregnancy was unplanned but he was so glad it had happened. I knew then what I had suspected all along. He does not love her. Markus is only with her because of Billy.

He stayed late with me. We sat on my sofa and listened to some of our favourite pieces of music. He had walked over to my CD collection and studied the ranks of CDs.

‘Still into the Russians, I see.’

Then he looked more closely and laughed.

‘Only you would organize them alphabetically and then chronologically within the alphabet!’

‘Look who’s talking. I remember your books! Can I look at your plans for Durham?’

He agreed. We are meeting again in two days’ time, while she is still away. As he was standing in the hall about to leave, he briefly touched my hair and the nape of my neck.

‘I wanted to say all evening that I’m sorry I left you so abruptly,’ he said. Then he was gone.

I stood at my large window and watched the river. I know I am what he needs. She would get the smells and the flavours and the colours all wrong for him. She does not know his history. She does not understand his anger. Soon her mess will start to corrupt him. He will lose that incredible clarity he has always had.

JUNE/JULY

On the train to Porto we sat across from each other and played with each other’s hands and tried to rationalize the kiss as an emotional reaction to the old man’s death.

And I did not kiss Hector again. We worked hard and in harmony all day, ate together with pleasure in the evening and then we parted in the hotel corridor with glances at each other as we opened the doors to our separate rooms.

Markus has been different since I got back from Lisbon; he’s being kinder and gentler with me. He’s still working every waking hour on the Durham project. He’s making an effort too and he came to meet us at the airport. When I walked through the gate with Billy asleep in his buggy I saw him standing at the barrier, waiting for us, and he looked careworn. I felt a pang then that I had left him alone when he had so much work to do. We hugged for a long moment.

I said, ‘Have you been looking after yourself?’

‘I got a huge amount of work done. Can we get something to eat here now? There’s not much in the flat.’

‘And you forgot to eat all day?’

‘Something like that...’ he said, smiling ruefully.

We sat in the airport restaurant and Billy slept on while Markus ate his way through soup, steak and chips, and apple pie. He kept looking at Billy, wanting him to wake up.

‘Your parents are well?’

‘They’re both really well and so in love with Billy. They took him out every day while I got on with it. Dad said he got fit climbing up the hills pushing the buggy!’

‘Did the photographer work out?’

‘He was excellent and he worked very hard. His shots will be a bit special, I think.’

I didn’t want to talk to Markus about Hector. I knew I would falter under his gaze if I said anything more, so I didn’t tell him about the old man dying on the ferry. It was one of those experiences that breaks through the mundane, that I would always remember, and it was something I shared with Hector alone. Afterwards it felt as if we had known each other for years and it had led to that amazing transgressive kiss.

I did nonetheless regret the secrets and the silences that were building up between Markus and me, like a drystone wall, each secret another stone to hide us from each other.

Billy finally woke up and as I lifted him up Markus said, ‘Let me have him.’

He hugged him close then kissed his cheeks and said: ‘My best boy; how I missed you.’

When we got home and were sitting in the kitchen I saw that Markus had mended my little apple green jug that I liked so much. It was standing in the middle of the table. I picked it up.

‘Oh, thanks so much for doing that, Markus. It looks beautiful, as good as new.’

‘Almost...’ he said.

I searched in my bag and found the package, which I handed to him. ‘And this is for you. I saw it in this shop near my parents’ place.’

He opened the paper bag and pulled out the crystalline rock I had bought for him. The outside of the rock was rough and dull grey-brown. Its interior was a mass of brilliant sparkling crystals. I had seen it on my last day and thought that he would like the contrast between the rough exterior and the brilliant interior. He held the rock in both hands and moved it back and forth so that the kitchen lights hit the crystals and bounced rays of light around the room.

‘I like it very much. Thank you.’

‘You can put it on your desk at work, as a paperweight or something.’

Hector’s photographs are remarkable. They arrived at the office this morning. Some of them are really beautiful and some of them are high contrast and striking. They are all the product of his intense way of looking at the world. The art director, who is designing the guide, wants to put one of these shots on the front cover of the first issue. I haven’t shown anyone the photos that Hector took of me.

On my last day in Lisbon we had met at the ferry and had taken the boat to the other side of the river. It was his idea to go on the boat again.

‘To exorcise memories of a sad event,’ he said.

We sat on the bench on the deck and looked at Lisbon from the river. I was leaving the next morning and the city looked so seductive to my eyes. I could understand why my mother had wanted to live here so much.

‘I love that church,’ he said, pointing to a rose-washed façade. ‘Sadly, when you get close up you see that the stone is decaying and the frescoes inside are just crumbling away.’

Hector handed me two large envelopes. In the first were contact sheets of all his shots of the Torre de Belem, the Mosteiro and the Porto and Sintra sites. In the second envelope were six shots of me standing on the jetty by the Torre de Belem. He had printed them all up and had mounted one of them on to card.

‘That’s my favourite one,’ he said.

I put his photos of me away in my desk drawer and started working on some early proofs of the copy. The guide was starting to come together and thankfully Aisha was back from her holiday. My team was excited about the guide and I felt more in control of things although Philip was still being distant towards me.

At about six, as I was packing up to leave, Aisha put her head round my door and said, ‘Kathy, Eddie’s downstairs, asking for you.’

I looked at her. ‘Is he OK?’

She knew about him and pulled an anxious face. ‘I think he’s been drinking.’

‘Shit!’

I locked the office quickly and hurried downstairs. The last thing I wanted was for Philip or any of my team to see Eddie if he’d been drinking.

When I got down to the reception area he flung his arms wide with a silly grin on his face and tried to embrace me.

‘My darling K...’

I had to let him hug me and I could smell the drink on his breath. At that very moment Heja came walking down the stairs into the reception area and she saw Eddie embracing me. I pulled myself away from his hold.

He grabbed me again and said with a slight slur, ‘Don’t go...’

It must have been obvious to her that he was drunk. She looked over at him for a moment, then nodded to me and walked out of the office doors without saying a word. I watched her cross the car park towards her car. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I hated anyone seeing Eddie when he was like this, but Heja of all people, the ice queen...

‘You
can’t
turn up at my work like this,’ I hissed at him.

‘I’ve got some great news I had to tell you.’

I watched Heja drive out of the car park.

‘Not here,’ I said through clenched teeth.

I steered him out of the building and into Regent’s Park. We sat down on one of the benches.

‘I just got the most fantastic job. I’m going to redesign this huge garden in Kent. Rich people and weeks of work. I’m going to get lots of money to do it.’

He spoke in that careful way people sometimes do when they’ve been drinking and they want to sound sober.

‘That is good news. Congratulations.’

And then I looked at him without my usual indulgence and found that I was really angry that he had turned up at my place of work, really angry that he was drunk and that yet again he was blowing his chances.

‘You won’t ever get it done if you keep drinking. You’re drunk now. I can smell it.’

‘You always were a spoilsport. Can’t you be pleased for me?’

‘No, I can’t be pleased when I see you sabotaging your life like this. Grow up. Stop drinking. Start working properly and leave me alone!’

I walked away from him quickly up the path through the park, fighting back tears of anger and pity and thinking how familiar that feeling was. In the six years of our relationship I had often felt ashamed of him. I used to worry about what other people might think of him and I would have to make excuses for him so many times.

One night my aunt Jennie had invited us both to dinner at her flat, which is now mine. She was planning her retirement and her move to Cornwall and she wanted to broach the subject of us taking on the lease of the flat. At that time Eddie and I were living in Paddington, renting an overpriced mews flat. She had made us a good dinner and the evening started well, with us looking around the flat and Eddie being charming. We’d brought two bottles of wine with us. He made quick work of them and then Jennie had opened a third. I watched with increasing concern as he drank his way through that. He was being expansive about his gardening design plans and as it was getting so late Jennie suggested we stay over. I agreed and we busied ourselves with towels and the like as Eddie stayed drinking at the kitchen table.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered to her in the bathroom. ‘He’s just getting a bit carried away tonight.’

She told me not to worry and she took herself off to bed. I got him into bed eventually and he fell into a deep sleep while I lay there worrying about him, as I so often did. Finally I fell asleep.

There was a crash that woke me up in the middle of the night. I was alone in the room. He must have got out of bed and not knowing where he was he would be staggering around the flat, banging into furniture. I leapt up and hurried into the hall just as I saw him blundering into Jennie’s bedroom, stark naked and confused.

Jennie had woken in alarm and was sitting up. I grabbed Eddie and dragged him out of her room.

‘Where’s the toilet?’ he said.

I steered him to the bathroom and then pushed him back to our room and into bed. I hardly slept the rest of the night. I just lay there keeping watch over him and feeling waves of shame wash over me. Now my aunt would know just how bad things sometimes got with him. She would see that he was far more than a social drinker; she would realize he was a problem drinker.

He woke early, at around six, and as had happened many times before he had absolutely no recollection of what had happened in the night. I told him and he was mortified and said he’d go at once and please to say sorry to my aunt for behaving like such an idiot.