Thursdays in the Park (19 page)

Her phone had rung at the moment he was reversing cautiously into a space. She didn’t have her glasses on, so she couldn’t read the number, but she was sure it was Ray.

George had turned the engine off and was watching her. ‘It might be Chanty,’ he said, when she let it ring.

‘It’s not. I don’t recognize the number and I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.’

‘Shall I answer it for you and say you’re busy?’ George had asked, reaching for the phone.

Jeanie had hurriedly dropped it into her bag. ‘No! Thank you.’

George had shrugged, but as she got out of the car, Jeanie had had the depressing realization that all her conversations with her family now had to be monitored and edited to avoid mention of Ray.

She smoothed cream over her face and neck, patted another round her eyes, peered long and hard at her complexion, brushed her hair, then sighed and turned away from the visual reminder of her age. She must be mad, she told herself, to think anyone, let alone an attractive man like Ray, could find such an old crone sexy.
Just don’t ever let him ask to be my “friend”
, she pleaded into the darkness.

Rita was enviably bronzed from a fortnight on the Antiguan beach, her body easy and confident in the skimpy scarlet swimsuit. It was the first time this year, however, that Jeanie
had exposed her body to the naked eye. She struggled into her black Speedo, horribly aware of the see-in-the-dark paleness of her unbuffed skin and lumpy cellulite. Every summer, Rita dragged her friend for as many swims in the Hampstead ponds as the weather permitted. The Women Only pond, Rita insisted, was the best, and surrounded as it was by the wild vegetation of the Heath, ducks paddling happily amongst the swimmers, it did seem like a secluded corner of country. Jeanie had the feeling of belonging to a private members’ club – despite the entry being almost free: an elite whose membership were tough, fit, no-nonsense women of character.

The day was once again boiling hot. Jeanie knew that the water would be anything but. After the initial shock, though, it would be deliciously fresh and cool, without the claggy chlorine miasma of a pool.

Rita was in ahead of her.

‘Come on, you wimp,’ she shouted, as Jeanie hesitated, toes on the swaying wooden ladder, hands clutching the chilly metal handrail. The other swimmers turned to watch, leaving her no choice but to dive forward into the water.

‘God!’ she gasped, immediately piling into a fast front crawl to get the circulation moving again.

After a while they began swimming alongside each other, lapping the pond in the company of a male and female mallard.

‘You poor thing.’ Jeanie had just told Rita about Ellie. ‘That must have been hell.’

By the time she had explained the rest of that day’s dramas they were both sick of swimming.

‘I can’t leave you alone for a minute. I’ve only been gone two weeks and your life slides into meltdown,’ complained her friend after they’d dried and were setting off in search of an ice cream.

The cafe near the Lido was pulsing, as usual, with children and dogs.

‘Let’s not sit here, we can walk,’ Jeanie decided. ‘I’ll get them. Double or single scoop?’

‘Oh, double of course, throw probity to the wind.’

As Jeanie wove her way through the tables, she noticed the back of a man’s head in the queue and knew instantly it was Ray. He was with Dylan and another boy, the boys leaning against the tray ledge and swishing back and forth in their boredom until Dylan’s friend knocked a tray to the ground, luckily with nothing more on it than a tuna and sweetcorn sandwich in a plastic packet.

‘OK . . . out. Go and wait for me outside. But don’t run off, stay by the tables.’ Ray chivvied the boys in the direction of the door, and they obediently did as he asked. As he turned to check they had gone, he noticed her and pushed his way back out of the line.

‘I’m with my friend . . . Rita,’ she said at once, looking round nervously.

‘And you don’t want me to meet her?’ His welcoming smile had faded.

‘No. I mean, yes, I’d love you to meet her, but . . .’

Ray waited, looking a little hurt. ‘You said she knows about me.’

‘Yes . . . but it could be awkward.’ Jeanie didn’t know why she didn’t want Rita to meet Ray.

He shrugged. ‘OK, up to you.’ He rubbed his hand across his head. ‘Listen, I’d better get these boys a drink or all hell will break loose.’ His smile was fleeting and forced.

‘It’s just . . .’
Just what
, she asked herself.

But Ray was gone while she deliberated, not even bothering to get the drinks, shepherding his two charges firmly away from the cafe at a brisk march. As Jeanie watched she could see Dylan’s upturned face protesting at his grandfather’s decision.

‘Where are the ice creams, then? You’ve been an age.’ Rita was by her side.

‘That was Ray.’

‘Where . . . which one? Which way did he go?’ Rita was looking round eagerly. ‘Why didn’t you introduce us, darling?’

‘I don’t know . . . I . . . wait here.’ And she was gone, running in the direction Ray had taken. It wasn’t long before she saw them, meandering towards the Lido.

‘Ray! Ray, Dylan.’

All three turned round. Dylan grinned widely, but Ray didn’t.

‘Hi.’ She was out of breath, as much from anxiety as from running.

‘Hi, Gin,’ Dylan said, adopting Ellie’s name for her.

‘This is Ben.’ Ray indicated the fair-haired boy. ‘Dylan’s friend.’

‘Hello, Ben. Ray . . . can I have a word?’

They stood looking at each other for so long that the boys lost interest and went ahead.

‘Please,’ she went on, ‘come and meet Rita.’

‘You didn’t seem so keen earlier,’ he commented, his gaze non-committal.

‘I didn’t want you to be scrutinized,’ she said softly.

‘And found wanting?’

Jeanie looked at the ground. ‘Not judged, I didn’t mean that. And even if I had, I think you’re the most wonderful man in the world. How could you think I’d be ashamed of you?’

Her words hung in the air between them and she realized what she had said.

‘Jeanie.’ Ray made no attempt to touch her, but she wanted desperately to take his hand in hers. ‘If you’re not comfortable introducing me, that’s OK.’

She looked him in the eye. ‘What we have is sacred. I didn’t want anyone else, anyone from my other life, to be part of it, of you.’

He nodded, but she could see he didn’t get it.

‘Rita’s my dearest friend, but she’s only human, and prurient in her way.’

Ray laughed. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

Her own laughter was hesitant. ‘You do understand. You’d be objectified as my lover, you’d be scrutinized, gone over with a fine-toothed comb. It’s not the way it should be.’

‘Listen, it’s fine, this is getting way too intense.’ He looked around for his grandson. ‘I’d better go, they’re getting away.’ He gazed at her for a moment longer. ‘I told you there could be no good plan.’ As he turned he held his hand briefly against her bare arm.

‘Bye.’ She waited till he was out of sight, then plodded back towards the cafe, where her friend sat kicking her heels on the low boundary wall. Rita didn’t speak, just raised her eyebrows.

‘I’ve just messed everything up. He thought I was ashamed of him.’

‘And were you?’

‘Of course not!’

Now it was Rita’s turn to be offended.

‘So it’s me who’s the embarrassing one, is it? Not cool enough?’

‘Yeah, right,’ she said tiredly.

‘Anyway, I saw him when you were both talking. He’s cute all right.’

‘Cute?’ Jeanie was miles away, with Ray.

‘Um yes, it’s a modern slang term which designates the sex-worthiness of a member of the opposite sex, usually applied by moronic youth to their equally moronic peers,’ Rita intoned.

‘OK, OK.’ Jeanie covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, Rita, I’ve blown it. He’s hurt now. What can I do? Shall I ring him?’

Rita got up, grabbed Jeanie’s arm and began dragging her
along the asphalt path. ‘No idea, darling. The pair of you are behaving like a couple of teenagers. I wash my hands of you both.’

It was a week since Ellie had come home from the hospital, and the little girl was full of beans, nothing remaining from the bang on her head except a small yellowing bruise on her temple. Jeanie had been round to the house many times, and seen both Alex and Chanty. In the time-honoured tradition of the Lawson household, nothing more was said about anything that mattered. Alex was subdued, it was true, and Chanty a little too bright for her mother’s peace of mind, hardly letting a space occur in the conversation, as if she were frightened of what might pop in to fill the silence. Jeanie knew she was mulling something over in her mind, but there was much for her daughter to think about. The call Jeanie had dreaded since that moment in the hospital came when she was making tea in the kitchen of her shop.

‘Alex has offered to babysit. Do you fancy supper tonight?’ Jeanie heard her daughter pause. ‘Without Dad.’

‘I’d love that.’ Jeanie felt her breath quicken. ‘What shall I say to Dad, though? He’ll want to come.’

‘Say it’s a girls’ night. He’ll understand.’ Her tone was not hostile, but distinctly tense.

Someone spoke to her in the background, and Chanty became businesslike. ‘Got to go, Mum. See you at eight, at the French caff on the hill?’

‘Look forward to it,’ she said, although nothing could have
been further from the truth. She knew Chanty must be shattered from recent events, and understood that what she was doing would cause her daughter additional untold pain, but the fact seemed not enough to hold her back from seeing Ray.

The incident with Rita outside the cafe in the park had ruined the perfect accord that Jeanie had taken for granted between her and Ray. She knew it was fallout from the situation they were in, but seeing his pained expression when she refused to introduce him to Rita had been like a physical blow. Looking back, she couldn’t understand, any more than he or Rita had, why she had made such a stupid fuss about it. And because Rita had lost patience, it was hours before she was alone and could ring him.

She and her friend had parted at the bottom of the hill, and she had raced home, holding herself together long enough to reach the sanctuary of her locked bathroom. Like the teenager that Rita had accused her of being, she had then given vent to violent sobs. When she finally called Ray’s number, her voice was still choked with regret.

‘It’s OK, Jeanie,’ Ray had assured her, but he had sounded raw. ‘We knew this wouldn’t be easy.’

‘But you know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

‘My ego was temporarily bruised. Serves me right for having one,’ he joked.

‘It wasn’t about being ashamed of you.’

‘Yes,’ he said firmly, ‘I know.’

‘I hated seeing you upset,’ she murmured, and couldn’t help her tears.

‘Oh, Jeanie . . . please don’t cry.’

‘What – as we’ve said before – are we like?’ She laughed. ‘Even Rita called us juvenile.’

‘And like any teenager worth his salt, it may be hard, it’s certainly intense,’ he said quietly, ‘but I wouldn’t be without it.’

‘Nor would I.’

The French restaurant was empty inside, but full and rippling with voices and the tinkle of glasses and cutlery outside in the small walled garden at the back. The sky looked thundery, but it was still warm, even sticky, and thunderflies hovered above the table candles. Chanty was already there, sitting hunched over her BlackBerry at a corner table, responding to the never-ending flow of work. She smiled at her mother as Jeanie approached and put away the device.

‘Saved by the bell,’ she said, obviously relieved to be given an excuse to stop.

Jeanie noticed a bottle of white wine already open in an ice bucket alongside the table; Chanty’s glass was nearly empty. Her daughter waved the bottle and poured another glass for them both.

‘This is nice,’ Jeanie commented, and experienced a genuine sense of well-being as she sat in the fading light with her beloved daughter. Maybe Chanty felt the same, eager not to ruin the moment, because for a while neither of them spoke.

‘How’s Ellie?’

‘Mum, you only saw her yesterday,’ Chanty teased, knowing full well her mother could discuss Ellie till the end of time and still have more to say.

‘Just checking. More to the point, how are you, darling? This last week can’t have been easy.’ She didn’t specify which particular load on Chanty’s shoulders she was referring to.

‘I’m not really OK,’ she replied, with her usual directness. ‘I’m having trouble getting past what Alex did.’

Jeanie waited.

‘I know you’ve always thought him an arse; you’ve made that pretty clear, so I don’t want a rant about his shortcomings,’ she warned, then added, ‘I’m not stupid, Mum, I am quite aware he can be selfish at times.’

Jeanie thought this an understatement worthy of framing, but said nothing, as instructed.

‘But this might have impacted on Ray’s life in a way that could never be undone – the “no smoke without fire” syndrome. And I wonder at what point in the fiction he would have fronted up if Ellie hadn’t got ill.’

‘I’m sure he’d never have let you involve an outside authority.’

Chanty fixed her mother’s gaze. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes . . . yes, I am. He’s selfish, not evil, although I suppose selfishness is a kind of evil. He had a fit of pique when his ego was threatened by another man, and did a childish thing. He’d never have let it go any further.’

Chanty’s laugh was wry. ‘You support him at the same time as damning him, Mum . . . very clever.’

‘I’m not trying to be clever. But darling, you can’t have fallen in love and married this man because he was selfless and altruistic.’

‘No. I’ve always known exactly what he’s like. That’s why I keep forgiving him, because I’ve no unrealistic expectations.’

Jeanie thought this sad. Why had she chosen such a man? He was hardly an echo of her father.

Chanty saw Jeanie’s look. ‘That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?’

Jeanie nodded.

‘Alex isn’t second best, Mum. I love him, but I understand him, that’s what I mean. He’s damaged. He had a terrible childhood. His father left when he was four; he never saw him again till he was sixteen, and then only for a cup of coffee in a transport cafe on the A3. His dad had moved to Guernsey and ran a successful taxi business, but he was so scared of his ex-wife he made Alex promise never to mention he’d seen him. Alex said he liked him, he wanted to keep in touch, but his dad never contacted him again and wouldn’t answer Alex’s calls.’ Chanty took a deep breath. ‘His mother was the monster – totally obsessive and controlling. Alex says she monitored his every breath, always touching and stroking him, catering to his every whim. But even as a small child she made him feel responsible for her, so if she was sad or cross it was his fault. He had to help her choose her clothes in the morning, and praise her figure and the way she looked. Creepy. She even
pretended he had a heart condition so she could keep him at home all the time and stop him from playing sport or taking part in any physical activity.’