Thursdays in the Park (8 page)

‘I’m meeting Rita tomorrow,’ she’d told George.

George had looked up from his crossword, nodded. ‘What are you seeing?’

Jeanie had busied herself loading the dishwasher, rinsing off the cutlery and putting it handle-down in the basket.

‘Not a film, just a girls’ night . . . Lily might be coming too.’

‘How is Lily? Shame she can’t make the party.’ He’d smiled a secret smile, pushing his glasses straight. ‘Not long now,’ he’d added with glee.

Jeanie was barely conscious of her impending birthday. It was the last thing on her mind. In fact the only thing on her mind was the lie she was telling. And Ray. It seemed that both were emblazoned on her forehead in neon lights. But, amazingly, George didn’t seem to notice a thing.

‘Coffee?’ She’d moved towards the cafetière, knowing what her husband’s response would be, since she knew all his responses as if they were her own. A few weeks before she would have considered this knowing a comfort, but now it
was an irritation. She’d wished, unfairly, that just for once George would say, ‘No, tell you what, I’ll have a drop of nettle tea today, dear.’

Now, here she was, cold and almost sick with anticipation, being shepherded towards the west gate of the park, which led to the main entrance to Highgate cemetery.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I thought the new Greek at the bottom of the hill.’

Ray seemed as tense as she felt. Gone was the measured calm and the roguish smile, replaced by a shyness she had never seen before.

‘Come back, grandchildren, all is forgiven.’ He gave a short laugh.

‘I think I need a drink.’

‘I know I do.’

They both began to chuckle. ‘This can’t be a good sign, us needing medication to be together,’ she said.

‘It’s just I’ve been building this up in my mind since your text,’ Ray confessed, much to Jeanie’s surprise.

They kept walking, not looking at each other. But hearing what he said, Jeanie took a deep breath and began to relax. Part of her had accepted that she was the silly one, the one with the fantasy, and that despite the obvious overtures, Ray was just going along for the ride. She didn’t mind this, it was what she expected, but now she realized that perhaps he shared her sense of turmoil.

The restaurant was almost empty, except for one young couple by the window drinking beers from the bottle and sharing a plate of meze. Jeanie was relieved. She’d been checking every passer-by since meeting Ray, waiting for one of her many local acquaintances to spot them together and report back, en passant and quite innocently no doubt, to George. The restaurant felt very new, the waiters over-solicitous, the decor too pristine, as if the atmosphere were waiting to arrive. They were shown to a table close to the other couple – Jeanie supposed most people liked the illusion of company when they ate out – but Ray chose one at the far end of the room instead.

‘What do you think?’ He looked around.

‘I don’t really mind . . . it’s fine,’ Jeanie replied honestly.

Now they were sitting opposite each other, the essential bottle of wine ordered, she felt the fluttering, the churning, the out-of-control pounding of her heart begin. She wanted to catch his gaze, to feel again that first shocking intensity, but hardly dared, so she busied herself tidying the cutlery and unfolding the puce paper napkin, placing it carefully in her lap.

‘Cheers.’ They raised their glasses to each other and took an appreciative sip. She hoped the wine might calm her.

‘Tell me, then,’ Ray was saying, ‘tell me everything.’

Jeanie laughed. ‘Everything about what?’

‘You, your life, where you were born and who your best friend was . . . your favourite song . . . do you like carrots . . . just the normal stuff.’

‘How long have you got?’ They were both laughing now, the miraculous connection making it almost irrelevant what they said. It was enough just to be there as the light faded outside and the waiter lit the small table candle, to be allowed to watch each other without censure.

‘Do you really want to know?’

Ray nodded.

‘Born in Norfolk, near Holt, father a Church of England vicar . . . zealous, worthy . . . scary. He might have been happy if he’d thought it was God’s will, but he saw life as grim sacrifice. I’m not sure he even noticed us, he was so totally wrapped up in his calling. Mother a parish worker, had a good heart but was annoyingly neurotic. One brother, two years older, who died when he was fifteen, and sent my mother off the rails. Both parents now dead a long time. Best childhood friend Michelle, who was half Canadian and went to live in Toronto.’ She paused for a moment, wondering what Michelle would think of all this. ‘What were the other things?’ She saw Ray about to speak. ‘No, got it . . . I sort of like carrots . . . or maybe I’m indifferent to them . . . I prefer them raw, and my favourite song is . . . impossible to choose.’

‘What did your brother die of?’

‘Cancer. He’d probably have lived these days, there’s such a good cure rate for children now . . .’ She gabbled on about the wonders of science and the magical advances of chemotherapy to avoid having to address how she really felt about her beloved Will’s death. It was something she had
hardly talked about since the morning her father had come into her bedroom and told her he was ‘now with God’. Neither of her parents had been able to help her, and there was no one else she’d felt might care.

‘How horrible,’ Ray was saying.

In her head she still heard Will’s screams. At the end he’d been nursed at home by her mother and a woman from the village, but every time they moved him, day or night, she would listen to his exhausted howl of agony and feel her heart torn from her chest. ‘He’s on the mend,’ her mother would reassure her brightly, and Jeanie went along with it, even as she saw the truth in her mother’s tortured gaze. Because although she knew it was impossible that the yellow, emaciated figure that had once been her brother could ever be well again, she was unable to contemplate the alternative.

‘You must have been devastated,’ he said, and his face told her that he knew what she had gone through.

‘It was a long time ago,’

‘That doesn’t make much difference.’

Jeanie nodded. ‘It does and it doesn’t.’ She felt her throat tighten with decades of unshed tears. Ray’s hand reached for her own, then the waiter arrived to lay the food on the table and they sprang apart like two teenagers caught in the front porch.

‘Sorry, it still catches me unawares sometimes.’ She helped herself to a hot pitta bread automatically, without really wanting it. ‘Your turn now,’ she insisted, swallowing hard.
‘Tell me what happened to your girlfriend, the one you left your wife for.’

Ray looked away. ‘We were together for eleven years . . . and then she died. A massive tumour on the adrenal gland. She said she felt tired, nothing more than tired, and a bit of what she thought was indigestion. By the time she saw someone they said it was the size of a grapefruit. Anyway, there was nothing they could do, and she died six weeks later.’ He paused, looked at Jeanie with an echo of the original shock still burning in his eyes. ‘It was the tenth anniversary of her death in January.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘She smoked a lot,’ he added, as if he were still trying to find an explanation.

Neither of them spoke for a while as they allowed the ghosts of the past to settle. The food lay almost untouched on the table.

‘So where does your husband think you are?’

‘Girls’ night with my friend Rita and her friend Lily.’

‘Will he ask about it?’

Jeanie shrugged. ‘Depends. If he’s on one of his compulsive benders, we could be discussing the whys and where-fores for ever.’ She shuddered at the prospect, wondering how she had ever dared agree to this meeting with Ray.

There was an awkward silence at the mention of George.

‘Sorry . . . bad subject,’ Ray muttered, offering Jeanie the saucer of hummus.

Jeanie scraped a small amount up with the pitta bread as
she spoke. ‘I could make the excuse that I have a dreadful marriage, that my husband is a shit or a bore, or both, that I don’t love him, but . . .’ she looked Ray straight in the eye, ‘but that wouldn’t be true.’

Ray waited.

‘We’ve been happy.’ She paused at the mention of the word, which suddenly seemed inappropriate. Thinking about it, she hadn’t felt really ‘happy’ with her husband for a long time now. Whatever had happened to him all those years ago seemed to have changed his outlook on life. He no longer wanted to socialize, eat out, or go to the theatre or cinema, even when she offered to organize it – that’s why she had taken to going with Rita. ‘It hasn’t been a bad marriage.’

‘You don’t have to convince me. Thirty-odd years of living with anyone is impressive.’

Jeanie sighed, ‘Of course it’s not you I’m trying to convince, is it?’

She saw his eyebrows raised in question.

This time Ray took her hand firmly in his. ‘Jeanie, I don’t want to be the cause of your distress. I can’t say I’m not attracted to you, but it’s early days: we can still walk away before we do any damage.’

Damage, she thought. Such a powerful word. But her mind refused to face what ‘damage’ might imply. Nothing had happened yet, nothing will happen, she repeated to herself like a mantra, but each time her assertion seemed weaker and less convincing.

‘Can we just do this . . . now . . . and not think . . .’

He held her gaze and this time she made no attempt to look away.

‘The park’ll be closed . . . it’s after eleven.’

They changed tack and began to walk along the road that traced the south end of the cemetery.

‘How can it be after eleven?’ Jeanie checked her watch, incredulous that they had spent over five hours together. Hours that had passed in a heartbeat.

She was a little drunk, and the darkness was cool and anonymous.

‘Kiss me,’ she said, turning to him as he walked beside her.

Without a word he steered her gently into the lee of a tree overhanging the cemetery railings.

Nothing had prepared her for this. As his lips touched hers she felt herself taken up in pure, exquisite sensation which seemed to appease a longing she had not known she possessed.

‘God.’ It was more a sigh than a word that she heard him whisper. ‘You’re trembling,’ he added, putting his arms tightly round her body.

‘Do you blame me?’ Her laugh sounded soft and shivery in the night air. ‘I can’t go home . . . he’ll see . . .’

‘See what? He’ll be in bed, won’t he?’

Jeanie nodded with relief. ‘I’d forgotten how late it is . . . I hope so, but I’d better get back. I don’t want him phoning Rita in the middle of the night.’

They began to walk arm in arm up the hill, Jeanie grateful for the support.

‘What does Rita think?’

‘Oh, Rita . . . she’s my friend . . . you’d love Rita.’

Silence fell as they both contemplated the possibility of their two worlds coinciding.

‘Will you meet me again, Jeanie?’ he asked quietly.

‘So?’ Rita’s voice was charged.

‘Ummm . . .’

‘What happened? Come on, darling, every detail, please. No holding back.’

‘I’m in the shop.’ Jeanie moved to the kitchenette, but was aware that Jola could still hear. ‘Can we talk later?’

She heard Rita growl with frustration. ‘How can you do this to me? You know I don’t do patient.’

Jeanie laughed. ‘Meet me at Nero’s in half an hour?’

‘Done.’

Her friend’s face was alive with anticipation as they settled with their cappuccinos. The small cafe was hot and packed as usual, a large contingent of mothers, or perhaps nannies, with their oversized buggies and roaming under-threes creating a pleasant chaos.

‘Spill . . . now,’ Rita ordered, rapping the round wooden table.

‘God . . . where to start.’ She looked at Rita, embarrassed suddenly. ‘He’s wonderful, we just . . . I don’t know . . . connect. How can I describe how he makes me feel without sounding like Mills & Boon?’ She tailed off. ‘It’s just so easy to be with him, we talked for hours.’

‘Never mind the talking, did he kiss you?’

‘Yes.’ Jeanie found herself blushing.

‘And?’ Rita was leaning forward eagerly.

Jeanie took a deep breath. ‘Heaven.’

Her friend clapped. ‘Hurray . . . God, you deserve it, darling.’

‘I do?’

‘Well, doh. I should say so, with a husband who’s withheld sex for decades.’

‘Only one decade.’

‘Splitting hairs, darling. Believe me, you deserve this. Is it just lust, or are you falling in love with him?’

‘I can’t even think straight. We agreed not to label it. Just let it be what it was.’

Rita harrumphed. ‘Sounds a bit touchy-feely to me. It’s me you’re talking to, Mrs L. You can agree all you like not to label it with this park fellow, but you can tell
me
. Are you in love?’

For some inexplicable reason, Jeanie found herself beginning to cry.

‘Darling, what’s the matter?’ Rita reached for her hand, looking contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to be pushy.’

‘It’s not you, it’s just . . . I don’t know. Rita, I’m married, and George is a decent man. But Ray is . . . well, he’s wonderful. I haven’t ever felt so strongly about anyone, not even George, not in this way . . . and I don’t know what to do.’