Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman

Chapter Twenty-eight

Timon rang. ‘What’s it like to grace the front page? Could you celebrate with a sandwich lunch in the office? I’ve checked with Jean. Nathan will be out on a brainstorming day in Bournemouth. You won’t run into him.’

I laughed. ‘No need for the deep cover. Nathan and I are perfectly polite to each other when we meet.’

More out of curiosity than anything, I accepted Timon’s invitation but made sure that I was more than five minutes late.

The office block looked the same and, inside, smelt the same, and the same bright pink notepad lay on Timon’s desk, flanked by a plate of sandwiches and mineral water.

He held out his hand. ‘A lot of water has gone under the bridge.’

This was so evident that I did not bother to reply. Timon’s smile was a trifle grim. ‘OK, Rose, let’s dispense with the small-talk?’

‘OK,’ I countered, and did a rapid mental review of the figures I had spotted on Kim’s desk. ‘How do you feel about the dip in your figures?’

Competition always sharpened up Timon. ‘The Daily Dispatch’s weren’t that brilliant.’

‘The Daily Dispatch wasn’t running a couple of promotions.’

We gave ourselves time to reflect on the discrepancy in favour of the Daily Dispatch. Timon offered me a sandwich and poured out the water. ‘You haven’t lost your wits. I take it Nathan has seen you all right?’

I did not see that details of the divorce were any business of Timon’s, but I knew him well enough to understand that the remark had been kindly meant. ‘Nathan has been more than generous.’

‘Well, that’s Nathan.’ Timon chewed a chicken and avocado sandwich. ‘Did you know that Minty’s moving to the consumer-affairs section?’

Without a doubt there had been an ulterior motive to this meeting, but I was surprised Timon had revealed it so early. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You have to keep your edge in this game. Keep moving. I’m not sure Minty kept her eye on the ball.’ A rim of avocado squeezed out between the slices of the bread and he caught it in the nick of time. Wiping his hands, he said, ‘You and I both know that what happens in business is not personal.’

I put down my sandwich, struck by how old-fashioned Timon sounded – a man devoured and obsessed by his work. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’

‘The rules of private life don’t apply.’

In a previous life, I had worked with these nostra. They slid easily off the tongue, were convenient and portable, like lightweight luggage. But I did not have to carry them any longer.

‘Yes,’ Timon raised one eyebrow, which made him look more a caricature than he would have wished, ‘running a business does not leave much room for scruple.’ The phone rang and Timon ignored it. This made me sit up: in the past Timon had never ignored phone calls. He went on, ‘The books pages have been disappointing. I gather Minty has had a few health problems. The sort that do take the eye off the ball.’

‘So?’

‘If I floated the idea past your delightful nose that, possibly, your old job might be in the offing, what would you say?’

I could not deny the full-blooded, deep-bellied satisfaction. I reached for the mineral water and poured myself another glass. I intended that this moment should stretch and stretch. ‘Give me the details.’

‘More money. Better contract. Kim is under-using you.’

‘Kim and I understand each other. He’s been very good to me.’

Timon shrugged. ‘Oh, well.’ He pulled his notebook towards him and fiddled with the spine. ‘There are others.’

As a threat, it did not impress me. ‘Of course.’ But I was curious. ‘Timon, what exactly has Minty not done?’

He filled in the blank page with a huge circle. ‘I just have a hunch that’s she lost it.’ He looked up. ‘My instincts are generally right.’

An imp, a devil, performed a merry dance in my head. ‘You put her there, Timon.’ I picked up my bag. ‘Thank you for the offer. I’ll think about it and let you know’ At the door, I paused. We had known each other a long time, and shared not a little. Good times, bad bumps. I turned back. ‘Funnily enough, it was good to see you.’ He had already opened a thick file and was riffling through the papers. ‘I’m sorry Minty didn’t work out.’

He sent me a little wave and said, ‘It happens. Some people don’t promote well.’ A corner of his mouth went down. ‘She’s put on weight too.’

‘Not worthy of you, Timon,’ I said, not quite repressively enough.

Poor Minty. She did not mind using her looks for whatever purpose, but she would hate, simply hate, being condemned for the lack of them.

As luck would have it, I bumped into her as I crossed the foyer.

She was heading for the exit, the kitten heels slipping on the polished floor. Her hair was cut shorter, and the glossy skin had a tired, sallow tinge. Timon was right: she had put on weight.

‘Minty?’

She stiffened and turned. ‘Rose. What are you doing here?’ Within seconds her busy brain had put two and two together, and the dark, slanting eyes were as hard as agates. ‘Oh, I see. Vengeance is mine.’

A girl in blue passed us and must have recognized me, for she stared at us both. ‘Not quite.’ I was in no hurry to give anyone any answers. ‘I haven’t made up my mind.’

‘The bastard.’

‘You could make a scene.’

She considered. ‘I’d say the die is cast. You’ve been there, Rose, you know what it’s like.’

We fell into step and I asked how Nathan was.

‘Obsessed with office politics. But you know the form.’ She gave a short, unhappy laugh. ‘How’s this? I run off with your husband and he turns into a prize bore. Even funnier, I’ve become a prize bore too.’

Her lips were chapped and bitten.

‘You look a bit run down. Are you OK?’

She patted her stomach. ‘It hurts, dammit, trying to get pregnant. It’s a pretty bloody awful procedure. Apparently I should have taken more care when I was living the good life. But it was fun. I wasn’t to know the consequences.’ The dark eyes did not blink as she looked at me. ‘The funny ha-ha thing is I told Nathan I didn’t come with a past. No ghosts, I said.’

‘I’m sorry’

‘Don’t waste your energy’

We came to a halt by the swing doors. As usual, Charlie was behind the entrance desk. When he saw me, he saluted and I smiled back.

‘You’ve done it all correctly, Rose. A nice husband, a nice house, two point four children, and a career. But be happy, Rose, you’re free now.’

I stiffened with dislike. ‘I think there are a few things you’ve missed out.’ What exactly? Humiliation, betrayal and an almost bottomless sense of failure… The fear of vanishing. Anger, acid and bitter. Desperation at the idea that I had been weighed and assessed by this woman with my husband’s complicity. The death of a marriage.

But the failure had been not so much what had gone wrong in Nathan’s and my marriage but what had not been going particularly right. Into that dangerous space, Minty had crept.

Minty scrabbled at my sleeve. ‘Nathan rants and raves about having some peace and how we can’t afford it. But I say that I have my side of the equation to think about. Just because I ran off with him doesn’t mean I don’t have a voice. I tell him I’m owed that.’

I had a vision of Minty and Nathan moving around Lakey Street, occupying separate rooms, separate thoughts, and I could not bear it for him. Perhaps this was the last thing I would do for Nathan, but I went to his defence: ‘Nathan will listen. If you don’t know that, Minty, then you don’t know him.’ I wanted to say ‘deserve him’. ‘You told me once he was a nice man, a pussy-cat.’

She bit her lip, and a tiny point of blood welled on it. ‘That was at the infatuation stage.’

I felt as though I had pushed open a door into a room that contained something very unpleasant. ‘Minty…’

She turned on me furiously. ‘I don’t want to live in your house either. I don’t want you peering at me from the corners. I don’t want your bloody wallpaper.’

‘Change it.’

Her eyes narrowed angrily. ‘Nathan says we can’t afford it.’

I took a step towards her. ‘Listen to me. You helped to destroy a marriage. You got what you wanted. You make it work.’

She raised those unblinking eyes to mine, but there was no comfort any more in their dark depth. That had vanished. ‘The joke is,’ the words dropped from the chapped lips, ‘I haven’t told Nathan yet but, against the odds – against what I deserve is what the medics mean - I am pregnant. The pokings and probings have worked.’ Fear, triumph and despair did battle on her face. ‘I’m pregnant with twins. How will Nathan take that?’

I rang Timon the following day and told him I would not accept his offer. He sighed. ‘You’re not doing me any favours but, then, I couldn’t expect you to.’

I said something that surprised me: ‘Let’s keep in touch.’

I told Ianthe about Timon’s offer and my reply as I drove her to the hospital. Ianthe clicked her tongue. ‘Don’t you need a proper, settled job?’

‘Possibly, but not that one.’ I glanced sideways. ‘I wouldn’t mind doing some travelling.’

‘Not that again.’ Ianthe stared straight ahead. ‘You’ll take care, won’t you? You won’t get in a muddle?’

By ‘muddle’ she meant Hal. ‘I don’t think so. Not this time.’

Ianthe was not impressed and tried one last assault. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t talk to Nathan?’

‘Yes.’

The hospital came into sight and Ianthe gave a little gasp. ‘Rose, I don’t want to go in. Can we drive round the block again?’

Eventually we went into the car park and slotted into a space. I stopped the engine and we sat still and silent. ‘I’ll come and see you every day, Mum.’

‘I don’t want to be a trouble.’ Ianthe grasped the crocodile bag on her knee. ‘You come in when you can. I don’t want anybody making a fuss. I don’t want anybody fretting.’

This was bit like instructing a snowflake not to melt in the sun but I leant over and kissed her. I summoned every ounce of self-control and said, ‘It’ll go fine, and you’ll be out in a trice.’

‘Your father was hopeless with illness.’ The dreamy little smile that always appeared when she talked about him played on her lips. Taney, for a doctor.’

‘Doctors know too much.’

Ianthe smiled at me. ‘I’m glad it’s you taking me in. He’d have been no good at all.’

That was the best compliment my mother could ever have paid me. I swallowed hard. ‘Mum, you go in, I’ll follow with the stuff.’

Ianthe got out. I went round to the boot and pulled out her case. There she was, framed in the hospital doors, which swooshed back. Handbag swinging over her arm, Ianthe stepped inside, and the doors closed behind her.

The streets of the city were filled with young women as I drove back through the warm evening. Bright, glossy, anticipating, they wore short skirts, cropped tops and strappy high heels. They had slender feet and rainbow nails. In the eyes and eager expressions were reflected lust, energy and greed. No grief yet. Or they hid it well. They ranted in groups, or glided singly along the pavements with rustling supermarket bags, rucksacks and shoulder-bags. Some sucked bottles of beer, some bottles of water.

The sun dipped in the sky and sweat gathered on my top lip. I thought of bitter black coffee and music. Of reading books and the glimmer of white roses in the dusk. I thought of deep, tearing sorrow, then remembered – and anticipated – the exhaustion after a night of lovemaking. I thought of grief and its fallout, and the beauty of lit candles. I thought of Parsley, and the part of my life that was over. I thought of how it was possible both to shrink and unfold, how I had experienced both, and how the unfolding at forty-eight was both joyous and unexpected. And would continue for a long time.

I thought, most vividly and longingly, of my children. That first glimpse of Sam. Still confused from pain and the outrage of giving birth, I had accepted without interest the bundle placed in my arms. At first, neither of us registered the other. Then, quiet before the adventure of his life got under way, the baby fixed on my face. In those wide, calm eyes were surprise and astonishment at the prospect of the new world he had entered. A gaze that took me back to the beginning, ready to start again.

When I got back to Lakey Street, the answerphone was flashing. ‘Mum,’ Sam sounded happy, ‘can we come over for supper? Jilly and I have sorted our plans and we want to talk them over.’

‘Rose,’ Timon clipped in, ‘I forgot. I owe you lunch at the Caprice…’

‘Mother,’ this was an indignant Poppy, ‘where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling. I need your advice, so hit the phone.’

‘Rose,’ Vee was harassed, ‘I’ve got something that needs doing yesterday. Call pronto.’

Next was Nathan. He sounded very far away. ‘Rose, all set for moving next week. There are a couple of things we need to clear up. Could you possibly give me a call in the office? Jean will patch you through.’

Finally, there was Hal, sounding much closer: ‘Rose, there’s a return air ticket to Pisa for you in the post. No questions, I’m paying. I owe it to you. I’ll meet you there on the Thursday. Good luck with the move.’

When I had been packing Lakey Street the last thing I had tackled was a box of discarded books in the cupboard under the stairs. Right at the bottom, covered in dust, was the paperback on South American politics that Nathan had been reading on the plane when I met him.

He had told me then that he didn’t rate the author, but when I opened the book, now yellow and brittle, it was covered in ticks as well as notes in his handwriting. I could only conclude that he had lied. Perhaps that tiny white lie had been told to impress me. It had worked: I had been impressed.

I put the book into the shelf in the sitting room where it belonged.

After my belongings had been taken away to Clapham by the removal men, I let myself through the french windows into the garden. The Solanum was in danger of throttling the Iceberg, a delphinium required staking, and the grass needed a good cut.

I walked round the forty-five feet that had, once, required taming and, no doubt, would need it again in the future. Irrevocably the garden would change. Neither Minty nor Nathan would pay it any attention.

I knelt by the little mound under the lilac and pulled out the tendrils of bindweed that had crept over it. ‘Sleep well, Parsley.’

The olive tree had been taken away, and my last task was to clean out the fountain. One or two leaves had fallen into it, so I sifted them out and dumped them on the compost heap. Then I gave the pump an extra thorough clean, refilled the fountain with fresh water and switched it on to test it.

The water splashed out into the pool. Always changing, yet never changing.

I turned it off, and the fountain was silent.

I went indoors, closed the french windows and locked them behind me.

Three days later, I stepped out of a car on to a hillside and into an explosion of light, warmth and fragrance. Blossom foamed over stones, the olive trees danced and shimmered, and there was a waterfall of leaf and plant – jasmine, roses and lilies. Morning glory, bougainvillaea, geranium and lavender. Colours that, in the sunlight, were bright and strong.

I felt myself swimming up towards the light, a fluid sun-filled moment of release and pleasure.