What Women Want (32 page)

As Ellen let herself in through the front door on Wednesday evening, she was thinking about the success of Jed’s show when she noticed that all the paintings in the hallway had been moved around. She looked up the stairs to see that the familiar pictures that belonged there had been changed too. Oliver must have rehung her entire collection. She sat at the foot of the stairs, giving herself a moment in which to ready herself for the evening ahead. However well meant, his inability to leave her house alone was getting too much. She usually looked forward to coming home but she knew the atmosphere downstairs between him and Emma would be tense, Matt would be unhappy, and she would have to referee as well as being grateful for Oliver’s latest efforts.

In the few days since he’d moved in, he had already reordered the kitchen drawers (‘so much easier to find everything’), moved her books around (‘alphabetical means you can find them’), tidied away things she wanted to places where they couldn’t be found (‘a tidy house is a tidy mind’). Without intending to, he was turning the place into something that no longer felt like her home. Why didn’t she say anything? She’d asked herself that question over and over again. The answer boiled down to her fear of any conversation that would confirm her deep-rooted suspicion that, by overreacting to Bea’s interfering, she had made a snap decision that was too difficult to unpick without causing more damage. Loss of face with her ex-friends was one thing, but to go back on everything she’d said to the kids, the promise of a happy future together that she’d held out to them . . . that didn’t bear thinking about.

Any laughter and shared family pleasures seemed further away than ever. And, if she had to acknowledge the truth, the problem didn’t lie with her or the children but with Oliver. She had imagined that he would approach them and the whole house with the sensitivity and charm that had attracted her to him in the first place. How wrong she’d been. Ever since he had arrived with his suitcase and taken his things to her room, she had felt uneasy. Fortunately, his judicious editing of her wardrobe meant that there was now plenty of room for his clothes. As she watched him hang his suits, jackets and trousers in Simon’s side of the cupboard, she felt a renewed familiar ache at the loss of her husband. Would it never go away? Somehow Oliver’s physical presence in the space that had only ever been occupied by Simon made his absence more final. Oliver in her bed was one thing. His using Simon’s cupboards and drawers, putting his toothbrush into the slot that had always held Simon’s suddenly seemed something else altogether. She told herself not to be so stupid.

The only thing that hadn’t changed was the sex. Behind the bedroom door, Oliver was as attentive and loving as ever. When she was alone with him, although she rarely was now there was no flat to run to, Ellen still knew exactly why she wanted to spend her life with him. But outside the bedroom, he was a different man. The dual nature of his personality completely baffled her. If she tried to approach him about it, he changed the subject, persuading her that they had done the right thing, but he was tense about his lack of a job, his relationship with the children. Yet, despite all his earlier promises, he appeared to do nothing about rectifying either. Not wanting to accept that things might have gone wrong so fast, she was nonetheless beginning to wonder who the stranger she had let into her home really was.

She roused herself, knowing she couldn’t sit on the stairs all evening. After all, she was the one who kept the show on the road. Without her to keep the wheels of the family oiled, everything would grind to a halt or, at the rate they were going, crash. She always consoled herself with the thought that perhaps the next evening would be different. Eventually something would have to snap into place to make things work. As she approached the top of the basement stairs, stopping to look at the pictures Oliver had chosen to hang there, she realised he had done her a favour. Seeing the paintings and prints in their new positions made her look at them in a new light. She paused in front of the Caroline Fowler print she’d bought for herself as a reminder of her meeting Oliver.

Absorbed in Fowler’s trademark vibrant colours, she was brought back to earth by Oliver and Emma shouting at each other. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but as she raced to the stairs, she heard the unmistakable and shocking sound of a slap, followed by a silence, then Emma yelling, ‘If you ever touch me again, I’ll kill you.’

Ellen dropped her bag and ran down the stairs to be confronted by her daughter, a hand pressed to her right cheek, her eyes welling with angry tears. ‘Mum!’

‘Whatever’s going on?’

Oliver was standing by the french windows, his face flushed, his body rigid. He was rubbing his right hand against his thigh and in the left he held a tiny orange jumper. Startled by Ellen’s appearance, his expression changed. The anger that she had read in his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw immediately mutated into something approaching shame and embarrassment. If anything, he reminded her of a dog which knew it had been caught doing something wrong. Then, just as quickly, his self-confidence began to reassert itself.

‘I’m so sorry. I snapped. I should never have done that. I’m sorry, Em. I really am. But it is my favourite jumper.’

Ellen remembered the gorgeous burnt-orange sweater that he had worn when they had eaten out a couple of nights earlier. A tiny bit of her wanted to laugh at its demise but the situation demanded a different response.

‘I was only trying to help.’ Emma choked out the words between sobs. ‘I didn’t know it was in the basket.’

Ellen instinctively went straight to her, putting a protective arm around her shoulders, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She could feel the tension in her daughter’s body yield a little. Matt sidled over to stand beside them, the three of them together.

‘You hit Em because your precious jumper’s been shrunk?’ She spoke slowly, weighing every word, disbelieving and outraged. ‘Is that what this is about?’

‘It was a mistake.’

‘Damn right it was a mistake. Are you OK, Em?’ She got a nod and a sniff for a reply. ‘Good. Then why don’t you guys go upstairs and watch a bit of telly? I think Oliver and I have some things we need to say to each other.’

As the children trooped upstairs, Ellen could hear the clicking of Oliver’s nails, one against another. Her own hands were shaking, her fury making her feel sick. She sat at the table, shocked to the core that she could have misread Oliver’s character so completely. She contained herself until she thought Matt and Emma were out of earshot, then spoke, her voice soft but icy clear. ‘How dare you lay a finger on either of them? I know she can be difficult but nothing gives you the right to punish them like that. Nothing.’

‘Ellen. Calm down. It’s not as bad as it looks. It was just a tap and she’s overreacting.’ A hint of a smile hovered on his lips, then disappeared as he realised she was not going to be so easily reconciled.

‘A tap! Since when did you start “tapping” my children?’ She felt as if she might explode with anger.

‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry and I am. I truly am. It won’t happen again. I’d spent the last half-hour trying to talk to her and she snubbed every attempt. She was sullen and rude. When I saw what she’d done to my jumper, it was the last straw.’

‘But this is a difficult time for her. You’re an adult, for God’s sake, and you should be able to understand. As for your jumper, she didn’t do it on purpose.’

‘Are you sure?’ He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her, his expression designed to appeal to her sense of fair play. He laid the jumper between them.

‘You’re suggesting that she deliberately ruined it?’ She spoke with disbelief. It certainly wasn’t beyond Emma to have put the jumper in the wash on purpose, but even so, Oliver was way out of order.

‘Nothing would surprise me. She hates me.’

‘You’re a grown man, not a two-year-old,’ she spat. At that moment she knew for certain that bringing Oliver into their lives had been a terrible mistake. And the sooner she undid the arrangement, the better for all of them. It was as if a light had been switched on and she could see the way forward at last. With the realisation came a new strength of purpose. Everything had changed between them in the last fifteen minutes. Never mind what had happened over the last few months, his unforgivable lack of control had brought things to a head. Without thinking, Oliver had given her the opportunity to put things right. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep herself steady.

‘I think we need to talk. Don’t say anything.’ She stood up and walked over to the sink where she leaned with her back against the worktop. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot over the last few days—’

‘I know I haven’t been myself,’ he interrupted, apologetic, pushing his chair back.

Ellen raised both her hands, palms towards him, signalling that she didn’t want him near her. ‘Just listen to what I’ve got to say.’ She spoke slowly, with purpose. ‘Your moving in here isn’t making any of us happy. The children are miserable and the atmosphere’s unbearable. I’ve tried so hard and really hoped things would change and we could make it work, but now this. I’m sorry, but I think it’s better to end things now, before they get any worse.’ There. She’d said it.

‘You don’t mean that.’ His shock was evident as he slumped back in his chair. Yet within seconds he had begun to recover himself, sitting up and gazing at her in that compelling way he had.

‘I do. I really do.’ To her frustration, she began to cry.

‘Ellen, Ellen. Think about what you’re saying.’ His voice was soothing, seductive. ‘We’ve just got off to a bad start, that’s all. I know I’m to blame for being such a moody sod, but I’ve had a lot on my mind. Give me another chance and I’ll show you how good it can be.’

‘I can’t.’ She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘Don’t you see how much there is at stake here for me? You’ve hit one of my children.’

‘But I’ll make it up to her. I can do that.’ He was calm, reassuring, persuasive.

‘I doubt it. I know her. It’s almost as if you’ve gone out of your way to alienate her and now it’s too late. Can’t you see that?’ She sniffed and reached for a bit of kitchen roll. ‘You’ve got to move out before things get worse.’

‘Where to?’ His face was hidden, bent over the table, but his voice was a whisper.

‘I don’t know. Go to your friends in Cardiff or wherever they are!’

‘Cardiff? There aren’t any friends in Cardiff. There’s no one.’ He looked up at her at last, his voice steady, his eyes glittering. ‘I understand that you’re shocked and angry but you can’t throw away everything we have. I won’t let you. Look at me,’ he pleaded. ‘Look. This won’t happen again. You have my word.’

She shook her head, muttering, ‘No, don’t,’ as he stood up. But he ignored her and crossed the room to stand facing her. He held both her arms, trapping her.

For a moment his touch cancelled out everything, then the image of Emma’s tear-streaked face with one cheek splotched red came back to her. She couldn’t possibly love a man who lashed out at her children. It changed everything. She could forgive a lot but not this.

‘You’ve got a week to find somewhere. And don’t you dare lay a finger on Em again. However bolshy she may be.’ She tried to move out of his grasp.

‘I knew you’d understand. I’ll prove to you that I can make it work. Nothing like this will ever happen again, I promise.’ He tightened his grip on her right arm while he stroked her hair off her forehead with his other hand.

At that moment she realised this wouldn’t be easy. He was going to try to win her over, just as he had before. He hadn’t listened properly to a word she’d said. Why not? Because he didn’t understand the gravity of his offence, or because he didn’t want to? Torn by her own feelings, which still split her so neatly down the middle, Ellen didn’t know how to respond. He had crossed a boundary and would have to leave. She would insist when the week was up. But a tiny shaming bit of her was glad that she would still have him for a little bit longer. That it wasn’t quite over yet.

*

That night after Oliver had gone to bed, Ellen sat up alone in the kitchen reluctant to join him. Instead, she nursed a cup of tea and went over the events of the last five months. How could what had begun as something so special have turned into this nightmare? He loves me, he loves me not . . . I love him, I love him not. If only she had Bea and Kate to ask for advice. But she had chosen to bust up their friendship because she had felt betrayed. There had been times during the days since the private view that she had almost picked up the phone to Kate but had stopped herself, just as she had deleted Kate’s missed calls. She needed her two best friends and everything they gave her. But why on earth had Bea not talked to her before starting out on her ridiculous detective work?

Could she manage without the pair of them? She would have to. All she had to do was stick to her resolve and take charge of her own life. She had put a chain of events in motion that had ended in one of her children being hurt. That was her responsibility. This mess was hers and she had to sort it out and live with the consequences. But how? She sat there for ages, hardly aware of the time passing, but still a solution eluded her. Her last thought before she took herself upstairs was that perhaps she should get in touch with Kate after all.

They’d be here very soon. Ellen checked her watch – Simon’s large Tissot that she’d worn since his death. She had ten minutes in which to pace around the kitchen, wondering what she would say when they arrived. Oliver had gone out earlier. She hadn’t asked his plans. She was just relieved that she hadn’t had to think of a pretext to get him out of the house. She didn’t want him there when Bea and Kate arrived. Her eagerness to see her friends was matched by her apprehension about what they would say to one another. This was the longest she had ever gone without speaking to at least one or other of them.

It had been her mistake. Instead of shielding herself with voicemail, she had picked up the phone without thinking. It was Kate. She had been insistent that the three of them meet, refusing to take no for an answer. But although she was glad to hear her friend’s voice, Ellen had stood her ground too. When Kate suggested meeting in a café, she refused. She recognised that on neutral ground the chances were that she would fall back into what she saw as her role in the group: to be the weakest and least confident. But she wasn’t that person any more. She had changed and she wanted Kate and Bea to realise that. Being on her home turf would give her the confidence she needed for their first reunion. For the same reason she had refused to meet immediately. Kate had wanted them to get together ‘as soon as we can, to sort this out once and for all’, but Ellen was determined to be the one who chose when they met, as well as where. Small things, but they made her feel in control. Finally it was agreed they would meet the following Sunday morning at Ellen’s when the children were out: Matt at football and Emma shopping with Freya.

Ellen was longing to roll back the weeks to the way things had been. She had so much to tell Kate and Bea. She had not entirely forgiven Bea’s meddling but time and changed circumstances made her appreciate that Bea had acted out of friendship, not malice.

The few days since she’d asked Oliver to leave had been almost intolerable. He had been making enormous efforts to win the kids over to his side, to make her relent. The house was spotless. He cooked the children’s favourite meals. He returned home with books or DVDs they might enjoy. He attempted to engage them in conversation about football, school, their friends. He behaved as if nothing had changed when, of course, everything had. Emma was implacable, studiously ignoring him and his presents. Matt was confused, unsure whose side to take, obviously wishing life would go back to how it had been before. Ellen seemed to be forever hovering, anxious in case Oliver lashed out again. But he had completely reverted to the charming man she had first known, which confused and tested her resolve to the limit. In bed, she couldn’t refuse him. To her shame. That was her weakness and they both knew it. But every now and then she heard the crack of his hand across Emma’s face, and her determination to make him leave was recon-firmed. But still there were no signs of him moving out and she knew she was reaching a point at which she would somehow have to force him to go.

At last the bell rang. She ran up the stairs to the door. Although they embraced like the old friends they were, there was a noticeable tension between them. Ellen sent them into the sitting room while she went downstairs to get coffee. By the time she returned, Kate and Bea were sitting in the chairs on either side of the fireplace, leaving the sofa between them for her.

‘Why are you looking so serious? I thought you were here to clear the air.’ She passed the mugs to them – skimmed milk, no sugar – before sitting down.

‘We are,’ Kate replied. ‘But before we do, you’ve got to listen to what Bea has to say.’

Ellen tensed. ‘I thought we’d been through all that.’

‘We have. And I agree with you that Bea shouldn’t have got so involved.’ They both looked at Bea, who was concentrating on picking at the middle fingernail of her left hand. ‘But I’ve heard her out and I think she was right. You have to listen to her too. Then perhaps you’ll understand.’

‘You do know Oliver’s moved in?’ She experienced a frisson of pleasure at their surprise.

Bea and Kate looked at one another, their expressions difficult to read: Bea’s instant scowl made Ellen stop short of telling them what had happened. While she wanted nothing more than to be able to talk everything through with them, as she would have in the old days, she still didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing they had been right all along. She disliked the idea of them judging her, especially when she’d been so wrong.

‘That doesn’t make any difference,’ said Kate, firmly. ‘What you do with what she’s found out is up to you. But you should at least know. Just hear her out.’

Ellen understood that if she wanted their friendship again, she had no alternative but to agree. She sighed and sat down on the sofa between them. ‘Go on, then.’

Bea began to speak, hesitant at first, then gaining confidence as she went along. She explained how what had begun almost as an idle game had become much more. She tracked her route to Mary Keeting and on to Suzanne. As she related Suzanne’s story, the abuse and the extortion, Ellen’s eyes widened and she leaned forward in the sofa, picking up the photos that Bea held out to her.

‘I know about Suzanne,’ she interrupted. ‘Oliver told me. But you’ve got it wrong. Oliver says he was the victim in this. He was the one who was hurt.’ Despite everything that had happened between them, she still wanted to believe the best of him. He wouldn’t have lied to her – would he?

‘I’m sorry, but that’s not true,’ said Bea. ‘I’ve met Suzanne.’

‘She must be lying. No one would admit to what she did. Surely you understand that.’

‘But I’ve met his wife too.’

‘What?’ Ellen gave a little cry. ‘Don’t be stupid. He’s not married. He would have said.’ But Bea’s face told her it was the truth. However badly they fell out, Bea would never exaggerate or lie over something so important. She sat frozen, feeling completely numb.

Kate moved to sit beside her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I really am.’

Ellen looked at Bea who was holding out a piece of paper. She was saying something but Ellen didn’t understand. The words were rushing through her brain, confusing her. She took the paper, a photocopy of an article that Bea had found in the
Edinburgh Evening News
. As she began to read her face paled and she began quietly to cry. When she stopped, it was her turn to talk.

*

Half an hour later they heard Oliver let himself in. ‘Ellen! Are you there? I’ve brought you some flowers.’

When he saw the three women sitting together, obviously deep in conversation that he had interrupted, he stopped. ‘Hallo! What’s going on?’ He crossed the room to give the deep red tulips to Ellen. ‘Aren’t they gorgeous?’

When nobody spoke, he looked puzzled. ‘Ellen? Are you all right?’

‘I know about Suzanne . . .’ Ellen began, not sure yet exactly what she was going to say, despite having talked it through with her friends. She had to do this her way, not theirs.

‘Of course you do. I told you everything.’

‘You lied to me. Don’t!’ Shaking off the hand that he tried to lay on her arm seemed to give her strength. ‘I know about Marion and Natalie too.’

‘You can’t.’ His composure cracked. He glanced at Bea, who stared directly at him but said nothing. He leaned against the mantelpiece for support, and unbuttoned his jacket as if giving himself time to think.

‘Oliver, I do. I know everything now. Why didn’t you tell me that you’re married? That you have a daughter.’ Still a little part of her wanted him to prove it was all a lie, even though she knew it wasn’t.

‘But that was over long ago. That’s got nothing to do with us. The divorce is just a formality.’ There was the familiar click of his thumb and middle-finger nails again.

‘The fact you didn’t tell me makes it everything to do with us.’

‘We can’t talk about this with Kate and Bea here.’ He nodded towards the door, sounding desolate. ‘Why don’t you leave us alone so we can sort it out?’

They both looked towards Ellen, who shook her head.

‘Oliver, there’s nothing to sort out.’ Ellen stood and faced him, her fists clenched so he wouldn’t see her hands shaking. ‘It’s over. It was over when you slapped Em. I should never have let you stay then. Now you’re leaving. Bea, Kate and I will go downstairs while you pack your things.’

‘You’re not thinking straight,’ he blustered. ‘You’ve got to listen to me. Please.’

She looked at him, as if for the first time. A handsome man, but his blue eyes were empty. There was no feeling for her in them any more. There was just panic. His first concern was how to save himself. ‘I thought I loved you,’ she said. ‘I trusted you. But now I see you’re not the sort of person I want near my children, or near me. You hit Em. You assaulted your wife and Suzanne. That’s enough. I don’t want to hear any more.’

‘But where am I going to go?’ He bit his bottom lip, as he finally understood that she meant what she’d said, that there was no going back.

She shrugged, a feeling of liberation sweeping through her. ‘I don’t know. You’ll find something. But you can’t stay here. I’ll come up to say goodbye when you’re ready.’ She turned and left the room, the other two behind her.

Downstairs, Ellen collapsed onto a kitchen chair, her legs feeling as if they’d never support her again. For a few minutes, they sat alone with their thoughts. Then Kate went over to put on the kettle. ‘More coffee, anyone?’ she asked.

Bea immediately leaped to her feet, crossed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white wine. ‘To hell with more coffee. I don’t know about you two but I definitely need something stronger. Ellen, you were fantastic. I didn’t know you had it in you.’ She found three glasses in the dishwasher and set about washing and drying them.

‘Are you all right?’ Kate asked Ellen, concerned. ‘You’re awfully pale.’

‘I feel such a fool. What an idiot. How could I have been so completely taken in?’ She felt exhausted.

‘You’ll be better prepared next time,’ said Bea, wincing as Kate smacked her arm to silence her.

‘You’re probably in shock,’ suggested Kate. ‘I’m going to make that coffee for you anyway. With lots of sugar.’

‘My God, Bea. You went to France and Edinburgh for me?’ The enormity of the lengths to which Bea had gone on her behalf struck Ellen for the first time.

‘I had to,’ said Bea. ‘I know I probably went too far, but at the time there didn’t seem to be a choice. And, let’s face it, I’m glad I did. It wasn’t all bad, though.’ She smiled, remembering the night she had spent with Mark in Edinburgh.

‘How could I have done what I did to the children?’

‘You made a mistake. Simple. And they don’t need to know about Suzanne and Marion.’ Kate joined her at the table while Bea gave them their glasses.

‘And what would have I done without you both?’

‘Got out of it a little slower, that’s all.’ Bea pulled the cork and poured. ‘You’d already told him to go, remember? The cavalry – that’s all we were.’ She went over to the french windows and looked out. ‘Hate that shed, by the way!’

Ellen began to giggle, her laughter growing louder as the tension of the last few weeks was released. Bea and Kate couldn’t stop themselves joining in.

Eventually they calmed down, her two friends looking ashamed at behaving so inappropriately while Ellen was left utterly drained, her relief that Oliver was going tinged with sadness. She was aware that a tough emotional road lay ahead as she absorbed what had happened over the past months, but she was sure she was strong enough to weather whatever storms blew her way and face life alone again. And with friends like these . . . Then she remembered Oliver was still upstairs. ‘Where’s he going to go?’

‘Not your problem,’ said Bea. ‘He’s got this far in life without you. He’ll sort himself out.’

‘I’d better go up.’ At least she should say goodbye.

‘Are you sure? Wouldn’t you like one of us to come with you?’ They both got up to accompany her. She stopped them.

‘No. This is something I’ve got to do on my own.’ As she climbed the stairs, she registered the silence that possessed the upper floors of the house. ‘Oliver!’ There was no reply. She ran up the stairs to her bedroom and pushed open the door. He wasn’t in there. She pulled open the wardrobe doors. His side was empty. His case had gone from under the bed, his washbag from the side of the bath, the book he was reading from his side of the bed. She checked the other bathroom. Empty. He had gone – left without even a farewell. But what had she expected? As she went down to tell the others, she noticed a ghostly square on the hall wall that marked the spot where her Caroline Fowler print had hung. Surprised, she checked to see that it hadn’t just fallen to the floor, the string broken. No. Not content with having sold
Starship
, Oliver had made off with her own memento from the exhibition where they had met.

‘Kate! Bea!’ She raced downstairs. ‘He’s gone! Without a goodbye and – I can’t believe it – he’s bloody well stolen a picture.’

‘He can’t have got far. I’ll go after him.’ Bea was slipping her shoes on, ready.

‘No, no. Leave him.’ Ellen was resigned. That part of her life was over. ‘He’s welcome to it. But I still can’t help wondering where he’s taken it.’

‘Don’t,’ said Kate. ‘He’s gone and you’ve had a lucky escape. It’ll be hard but you’ve got to put him out of your mind and concentrate on the children. Do you think they’ll be all right?’

‘All right? They might need a bit of time to readjust again but I’d say they’ll be celebrating.’ Ellen smiled, imagining their faces when they discovered Oliver had gone for good.

Just at that moment, the french windows opened and the three women turned as Jed came into the kitchen. His hair unbrushed, paint stains on his cheek and fingers, dressed in a faded paint-daubed blue boiler-suit with a couple of brushes in the breast pocket, he nodded at them. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ Realising that he was interrupting something private, he put his mug into the dishwasher and disappeared upstairs. They heard the front door open and shut.