The Winter Children (38 page)

They kiss, deeply, until the car jerks again and they move downwards. Now there are only a few minutes until they reach the bottom and have to disembark. They part slowly, drawing away from one
another as their eyes stay locked.

‘So, have I dissuaded you from Stevie?’ he asks with a grin, stroking her bare shoulder with his fingertip.

‘Hmm. I’m not sure.’ She wonders if she has any lipstick left now that she has been so wonderfully and completely kissed. Someone seems to have lit a row of sparklers in her
belly and they are fizzing and glittering delightfully. She wants to be kissed again as soon as possible.

‘Not sure?’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘I must be losing my touch.’

‘You must be,’ she returns. They can be seen from the ground now, and she knows there’s no question of another kiss. ‘May I have another drink, please?’

He passes her the bottle and she takes a deep draught, then sighs. The evening, so far, is bliss.

On the ground, they act as though nothing has happened. She plays a more delicate game now, withdrawing her attentions a little from Stevie, though not completely, and turning them more to
Dan, but not so much as to make him think she is a done deal. She intends for him to chase her, and he does. The kiss must have pleased him. When they go to the tent to watch the headline act, a
famous band performing their biggest hits, he dances with her although she makes sure to spin away and dance with the others too. But she is triumphant. He wants her still.

Dan is hot and sweaty in his dinner jacket. He heads to the bar at the back of the tent for a drink and she takes her opportunity, following him. He glugs down a glass of water, and buys a
bottle of champagne for them all to share. As he goes to leave the bar, she grabs his hand, stands on tiptoe so she can bring her mouth to his ear, and says, ‘Why don’t we take that
outside?’

He looks down at her with a knowing half-smile and nods. They go together through the back door of the marquee and head out into the soft summer darkness.

She already knows where she will take him. It is all planned. At the side of the college there is a walled garden, closed to ball-goers, but with a little gate that is seldom locked. There in the garden they will have some privacy. She takes him
to the big oak tree that grows at the back, and they sit together under its spread of branches, in the semidark. Stars glitter high above them in the blue night and a gibbous moon shines its
three-quarter light. Dan pops the champagne and hands her a plastic cup he took from the bar. They light cigarettes and smoke them, talking lightly about nothing much, letting the tension between
them rise pleasurably.

‘So,’ he says when he’s stubbed out his cigarette, ‘did you like our kiss?’

‘Of course.’ She lies back beside him on the cool grass, her shoulder blades resting against the softness, her arms raised above her head in abandon. ‘Did you?’

‘Too much,’ he says.

‘Oh. Good.’ She smiles at him, winsome.

‘Who are you, Francesca?’ he asks, picking a blade of grass and running it down her face and over her nose.

‘Who do you want me to be?’

‘What kind of answer is that?’

‘I want to be the girl you kiss tonight.’
And every night.

‘I think we can arrange that.’ He moves towards her and slowly, tantalisingly, he puts his mouth on hers and kisses her. She knows she is lost.

They lie on the grass for a long while afterwards. She pulls her skirts back down and gets him to zip up the back of her dress. The mood has changed since the passion built up between them is spent. She feels luxurious and complete but he seems melancholy and a little distant.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks, taking a cigarette from him and lighting it.
After all
, she thinks,
what is living if not smoking a cigarette and drinking champagne after
making love in a Cambridge garden to the man you adore?
The thought makes her want to laugh.

‘Of course.’ He lights his own cigarette and they both sigh out smoke on long exhalations.

She hums lightly and reaches for the champagne. The night is not over yet. They smoke for a while, passing the bottle between them.

‘Cheska,’ he says carefully after a while, when they have stubbed out their cigarettes.

‘Yes?’

‘You know what just happened . . .’

‘Yes.’ She giggles throatily. ‘Of course.’

‘I . . . I shouldn’t have done it.’

She freezes. ‘What? What do you mean?’

‘I don’t mean it wasn’t lovely,’ he says hastily. ‘It was. But . . . we got carried away a little. By the night and the way things have been for us, our friendship.’ He laughs a little sheepishly. ‘I guess this was bound to happen. But
it’s a kind of goodbye, isn’t it?’

She stares at him in shock. In her fantasy, this was the beginning of their life together, not the end. Once they kissed, he would know it was right. He would understand the power of their
connection, the inevitability of their being together. He looks away as though he can’t take the expression on her face.

‘Dan.’ She moves towards him on the grass, taking his hand. ‘What are you saying?’

‘You know this is just a one-off . . . a lovely, sweet happening but only for tonight . . . You understand that, don’t you, Cheska?’

Grief wells up in her. All her pleasure drains away as though it has never been there at all. Nothing seems to have any point if she can’t have Dan. She lifts his hand and presses it to
her face, kissing it, tenderly at first and then with passion. Is this really the last time he will be hers? Can it really have been so brief? It’s too much to bear. Tears rise up in her and
pour from her eyes, wetting his hands and trickling through his fingers.

‘Oh, Cheska, little Cheska,’ he says gently, as if moved by her sadness.

‘Dan . . .’ She looks up at him, her eyes wet. ‘I love you. You know that. I always have, since the first day I saw you. I’m not like those other girls, the ones who fall
at your feet and fancy you rotten because you’re handsome. I love you –
you.
I know you’re arrogant and selfish and conceited, but you’re also clever and sweet and talented. I know everything about you. My world revolves around you. I
can’t live without you. I’ll do anything, anything.’

She knows she’s abasing herself, undoing everything she tried to achieve earlier, but she can’t help it. He has to know now, here, in this beautiful garden, because this is her last
chance and she knows that her grief is touching his heart. She bows her head over his hand again, holding it to her heart. His lips touch her head, and then his hand strokes her hair and her neck.

‘Cheska,’ he whispers.

‘I love you,’ she says meekly. ‘Always.’

He lifts her face to look at her. ‘Cheska, I’m half in love with you too, you know that.’

Her soul wells up with hope. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we can be together?’

‘Of course we can. Yes.’ He sounds firm, determined. ‘We will.’ He bends to kiss her again. ‘Why the hell not?’

She falls back into his arms, more hungry for him than before.

When Dan drives Olivia to the station first thing in the morning, Francesca feels a sense of calm mixed with a need to prepare for what she feels will be an important occasion. She is looking
forward to spending the day without Olivia, relishing the opportunity to experience what it is like for the four of them to be alone together. It will help her understand what must be done.

Dan has had it his way all these years. I did what he wanted. Now he has to do what I want.

She is not entirely sure what that is. She had decided it was sending Olivia away but now she is not so certain. Besides, it would not be easy. Olivia is bound to kick up a fuss about that. So
there has to be some other way of establishing her rights over the children, allowing her to share them somehow.

Perhaps I should tell her. Explain. Maybe she wouldn’t mind my sharing, once she knows the truth.

While she ponders this, she spends a happy morning with the twins, playing with them in the garden and inside on the play mat. She is expecting Dan at any minute but he doesn’t come back for ages and she starts to suspect that he has gone into town to do some shopping or have a coffee somewhere.
Perhaps he’s trying to avoid me. I wouldn’t be surprised.

The long-buried feelings of hurt are beginning to rise to the surface. She has spent nearly a lifetime keeping them hidden, but they are bubbling up without her even really wanting them to.
Flashes of the past start coming into her head, reminding her of what she gave him and what he took.

I let him forget it. I never punished him for it. And then, when he needed me, I was there for him. I helped him.

She doesn’t remind herself that she was the one who made the suggestion, and who pressed her offer on him even when he seemed reluctant, precisely so that she might finally regain some
power over him. She doesn’t want to think about that, and she won’t think about that.

Instead she tells herself again that he has had it all his own way for too long. Then she looks at the children with glee.
But not anymore. Now there are the twins. He can’t make me
erase them. He can’t rub them out. He can’t make me pretend they never happened.

When her phone rings mid-morning, Francesca thinks it must be Dan calling to say where he is but she doesn’t recognise the number. Instead, she hears the voice of the builder she has
hired to demolish the old pool.

‘Mrs Huxtable? It’s Terry Ellis here. I just wanted to let you know that we’re on site. We’re getting ready to start the demolition work. I wondered if you’d like to come round and take a look before we begin.’

‘Well . . .’ She looks over at the twins, who are playing with the train set she has put together for them. It will do them good to get a little air. ‘Yes. Yes. I’ll come
round. Give me twenty minutes.’

By the time she has the twins dressed and in their jackets, and has given them a snack – she didn’t mean to but she can’t resist their smiling pleas for biscuits and rice cakes
– it is more like forty minutes before they are walking down the broad avenue at the back of the house.

The children get excited as they approach the avenue and start shouting about rabbits and cats and owls but Francesca can’t see what they mean, and anyway she is in a hurry to get to the
building site and have a look at what Mr Ellis is up to. They finally round the eastern wing, which really is a horrible sixties mess in Francesca’s opinion, and can’t be gone soon
enough. She can see the bulldozers brought on site by large trucks, and men in hard hats walking about, taking measurements and staring up at the building, talking in earnest voices about what
needs to be done.

As she nears them, a man leaves the others and walks towards her, holding out his hand. ‘Morning, Mrs Huxtable. Glad to see you. As you can see, we’re getting ready to make a
start.’

‘Morning, Mr Ellis.’ She smiles politely, and lets go of Stan’s hand to take the builder’s and shake it. ‘How long until you can start knocking it down?’

He turns to observe the brick building that houses the old pool and gymnasium. ‘We’ve got some surveying to do yet, but it won’t be long. The boys are looking forward to it. They always enjoy a bit of demolition. The walls and ceiling
will come down pretty quick, and then we’re basically carting away debris. As we get on with that, we’ll start digging out the old tiles from the pool itself. Then we’re ready
to start anew at about the same time. I’ve got the plans if you want to have a look.’

‘No, that’s all right. I don’t want to hold you up,’ she says. Bea is straining at her hand, trying to get away. ‘What are you doing, Bea? Stop pulling like
that.’

‘Then we’ll get on,’ Mr Ellis says. ‘Are you stopping around for the knocking down? It won’t be too long now.’

‘Oh no. I’d like to, but it’s a little dangerous with the children.’ She looks about for Stan, whose hand she was holding a moment ago. ‘Stan?’

‘You had two, did you?’ Mr Ellis says. He looks about as well. ‘Where’s he gone?’

A nasty sick fear churns through Francesca. She looks about for the bright pink jacket that Stan wears, but she can’t see it. ‘He was here a second ago.’ She calls out,
‘Stan! Stan!’ There’s no answer and he’s nowhere to be seen. ‘Stan, where are you?’ Panic is rising in her voice. She’s suddenly aware of the enormous
number of dangers in the immediate vicinity, from the huge bulldozers lumbering slowly but crushingly over the churned-up soil to the piles of tools and the open doors that lead into the abandoned
building. If Stan has wandered into the house, he could be lost forever.

‘Oh my God,’ she says, real fright in her voice now. She is shaking, her heart pounding so violently it threatens to prevent her from speaking.

‘We’d better find the little fellow,’ the builder says grimly. ‘Hold on to that one, will you?’ With a shake of his head, he adds, ‘Small kids, the bane of my life on a building site. Why do people bring them?’ He strides off,
calling to his men, alerting them to Stan’s absence.

Francesca picks up Bea and holds her wriggling body close. ‘Come on,’ she says breathlessly, looking wildly about. ‘We have to find Stan.’

The builders are passing on the news of the missing boy to one another and beginning to search the site. But what if he’s not there at all? What if he’s wandered further off? There
are so many places he could be. An image erupts in her mind.
The pond in the rose garden.
She sees the little figure leaning out to touch the surface of the water and toppling in. At once,
she starts off along the long walk behind the house, in the direction of the rose garden. Bea jolts in her arms, too surprised by the sudden movement to do more than cling on to Francesca and
whimper.

As she races along the walk, past the topiary, she is frantic with panic, nauseous with the thought of having to tell Dan and Olivia that she has lost Stan. She longs to see his little figure
with such ferocity that it feels as though she can will him back. But the seconds tick past and there’s no sign of him.