Love And Devotion Part 29

'If they were really happily married, they wouldn't feel the need to be playing away, would they?' The woman gave another burst of tinkly laughter and said, 'We can only do our best. If people are intent on lying to us, what can we do? If you're at all unsure, I suggest you take the application form home with you and read the disclaimer notes on the back of it.'

Eileen looked at Dora anxiously.

'There's always a risk involved, Eileen,' her friend said. 'You could meet the most perfectly charming man through a friend of a friend and still discover he's a lying, cheating good-for-nothing.'

Or you could be married to him, Eileen thought unhappily. She took out a pen from her handbag and said, 'Where do I sign?'

The last time Harriet had attended a parents' evening she had been in the lower sixth. She'd had to listen to her form teacher telling her parents that he thought Harriet would get more out of school if she was prepared to put more into it. 'School isn't just about academic success,' he'd told them, 'it's about joining in and helping to foster a sense of community.' The day she and Felicity had received their A-level results, Harriet had mentally told Mr Forbes to go screw himself. With A grades in maths, advanced maths, physics and a B in chemistry - that B had always niggled - she was all set for Durham, where she had no intention of being bullied into anything she didn't want to do.

That was the summer she'd ended up in hospital. It was the night she and Felicity had wanted to go on a midnight picnic and listen to the nightingales singing. Their parents, not liking the idea of two young girls wandering the fields in the middle of the night on their own, had said they could only go if Dominic and Miles went with them. The night was warm and oppressively muggy, and knowing that she had to be careful, Harriet had double-checked her pocket for her inhaler before they set off. The minute Maple Drive was behind them, Dominic produced a bottle of vodka and proceeded to pa.s.s it round. By the time they'd scrabbled through the brambles and made it to the nightingale field, they were all pretty drunk. Harriet was so drunk it was some time before she realised that she was having a full-blown asthma attack, and when she couldn't find her inhaler - it must have dropped out of her pocket on the towpath - Dominic had staggered over and told her not to worry. 'I know what to do,' he'd claimed. 'I'll give you the kiss of life.' It showed the measure of how drunk and desperately ill she was that she believed it might work. But instead of kissing her, he'd been sick on her. Miles, probably the least drunk of them, had somehow got her home safely. She was so near to collapsing that he'd had to carry her for the last hundred yards. Her mother had taken one look at her and called an ambulance. Meanwhile, her father had gone in search of Felicity and Dominic. She spent two days in hospital, followed by another two in bed at home. All of them, except for Dominic, who was beyond his parents' control now, were grounded for the rest of the summer.

Sitting in front of Carrie's form teacher, Harriet had a horrible sense of deja vu. Carrie, she was being told, was going to have to make a bigger effort to join in more. 'Carrie's a bright girl and we'd love to see her really blossom,' Mrs Kennedy explained. 'But she has to understand that school isn't simply about sitting in front of the blackboard or reading books all day.'

'Is that the latest government thinking on education?'

Ignoring the question, the woman ploughed on warily. 'I'll give you an example of what I mean. I'd planned a nature trail round the school field, giving the children the chance to learn about the variety of trees right here on their doorstep. We were going to collect leaves and bring them back to the cla.s.sroom to make a collage. But Carrie said she'd already done that at home and couldn't she stay behind and read a book.'

Atta girl! thought Harriet proudly. 'And you have a problem with that? I'd say her request was utterly logical and shows a level of maturity a lot of other children could learn from. What book was she so keen to read?'

'I'm sorry?'

'I asked what book was she so keen to lose herself in.'

'I've no idea.'

'You didn't think to ask?'

'The point I was trying to - '

But Harriet had stopped listening. What did any of it matter? Carrie was the person she was, and no amount of squeezing round pegs into square holes was going to change the poor girl. Whether this school or any other school approved of it, Carrie was destined to be an independent thinker who would never truly conform, and Harriet would be d.a.m.ned if she'd sit back and let anyone try knocking it out of her.

When the teacher had finished talking, Harriet said, 'So, what you're saying is that Carrie has consistently come top in every subject, but you'd like more from her if she's to become a model pupil?' She stood up and held out her hand. 'Goodnight, Mrs Kennedy, it's been most enlightening.'

If only, she thought angrily, as she walked away. Seeing the headmistress coming towards her with a group of parents in tow, Harriet let out a sigh of irritation. What now?

'Miss Swift, let me introduce some of the other parents from Carrie's cla.s.s. Rebecca's parents, Mr and Mrs Simpson, and Emily's mother and father, Mr and Mrs Woodward.'

After a round of handshaking, the headmistress excused herself and drifted away. One of the women, Harriet couldn't remember who it was, said, 'We keep hearing from Rebecca how clever Carrie is. We just wish Rebecca would show more interest in her school work.'

'Yes,' agreed the other mother, 'Emily's the same. All she wants to do is watch DVDs, or mess about with her Game Boy or her PlayStation.'

Harriet didn't know what to say. She'd never played this game before. What were the rules? Did one agree with them and say that yes, actually, my niece is brighter than your children, or did one deny all knowledge of ever seeing the child go near a book? She was saved from answering by Emily's mother saying, 'Perhaps we could get the three girls together sometime.'

'That would be lovely,' Harriet said quickly, keen to scotch any more attempts at polite chit-chat. The whole thing was too tedious for words. 'I'll let Carrie know.'

She had started to inch away from them when one of the fathers said, 'We were thinking of going for a drink when we're finished here. You're more than welcome to join us.' He turned to the others, as though checking this was okay with them. They all nodded and smiled.

Oh, my G.o.d, she thought. They're serious. They really want me to be in their gang. Her heart sank. Was this it, then? Being Carrie and Joel's guardian meant that she had a part to play herself when it came to oiling the wheels of their social lives? In fact, there was probably an inbuilt expectation that their combined social lives would fully interact. The thought appalled her. Would she have any time for herself? And was this what had driven Felicity to despair and her affair with Miles - the scary realisation that parenthood swallows you up whole?

'I'm sorry,' she said, tightening the scarf around her neck, 'but I have to get going. I promised I'd be home in time to read to Carrie and Joel before they went to sleep.'

She hurried away, not daring to look back for fear of catching a look of pure hatred in their eyes - there she goes, the perfect parent putting us to shame.

Little did they know that the real reason she wanted to get home, other than to read to the children, was to have a long soak in the bath before seeing Will.

When she'd called him at lunchtime, common sense had very nearly a.s.serted itself and she'd been all set to stand firm and tell him the night before had been a one-off. But the sound of his voice had dredged up the insatiable monster within and her body had ached for his touch. Before she knew what she was doing, she was arranging to see him that night.

Will had just finished changing the sheets on the bed when he heard the doorbell. Giving the room a final once over, he stuffed the dirty bedlinen into the wardrobe and hurried downstairs. His mouth was dry at the prospect of another night with Harriet. He'd spent the best part of the day antic.i.p.ating her arrival, fantasising that she might turn up on his doorstep in nothing but an overcoat. Oh, and her beret, of course. He'd confided in Marty at the pub about Harriet, and his friend had looked at him enviously.

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Will! How do you do it? All I get is a doctor in rubber gloves fondling me while you get a nubile thirty-two-year-old. Life just isn't fair.' The only news Marty had following his appointment with the consultant was that he was now lined up for some tests. It was progress, if nothing else.

Pausing briefly to check his appearance in the hall mirror - careful to ignore the middle-aged bloke who stared back at him - Will pulled open the front door with a flourish, then dropped his arms in disappointment when he saw it wasn't Harriet standing on the doorstep. It was Gemma and Suzie.

'Hi Dad,' they said in tuneful synchronisation. 'We thought we'd surprise you.'

'You have. Believe me.' He looked over the top of their heads, across the road to number twenty. Thank goodness there was no sign of Harriet yet.

'What's wrong, Dad? Aren't you going to let us in?'

'Yeah, get a move on; it's freezing out here.'

He ushered them in. 'What's brought this on?' he said, taking them through to the sitting room. Too late he realised it was set for an evening of seduction - a bottle of wine and two gla.s.ses on the coffee table, a few strategically placed candles and just the one lamp glowing softly in the corner.

Gemma took one look at the room and said, 'Dad! What are you like!' She then howled with laughter.

'Had we better go?' asked Suzie with a smile. At least one of his daughters was sensitive to his predicament.

'Had we funky-monkey!' roared Gemma. 'I want to see who she is. Anyone we know, Dad?'

'I doubt it. She's just a friend.'

Glancing meaningfully round the room, Gemma said, 'Yeah, right.'

The ring at the doorbell could not have been better timed. Marty's wished this on me, thought Will, as he went out to the hall. Either that or I'm dreaming I'm in a bedroom farce and any minute my trousers will fall down. With a further bolt of horror, he remembered his fantasy of Harriet turning up in nothing but a coat and beret. It would be just his luck ...

He opened the door cautiously: it was Harriet, fully dressed. He explained the situation. 'Just say h.e.l.lo to them and then they'll be on their way.'

'I could come back later, if you want.' She was already edging away.

'No!' he said, extending a hand and pulling her inside. 'You might change your mind and not come back.' He kissed her briefly. 'G.o.d, Harriet, you look and smell gorgeous. What have you done to yourself? You're positively glowing.'

'I've just had a long hot bath.'

He groaned. 'Naked?'

'I generally am when I take a bath.'

'Come on, let's get this over with.'

There was no mistaking the look of surprise on his daughter's faces when he introduced Harriet to them. Within minutes their curiosity was satisfied and they were saying their goodbyes. 'Sorry about that, girls,' he said sheepishly as he showed them out.

'Don't worry, we'll ring next time,' Suzie said.

He kissed them both goodbye and the last comment he heard was from Gemma as she got in Suzie's car. 'I can't wait to tell Mum about this one. How old do you reckon?'

He returned to the sitting room, where Harriet was standing in front of the fire with her back to him. She was still wearing her jacket - the well-worn baseball jacket he'd seen so many times - and observing her from behind, she looked no older than his daughters. He suddenly felt unsure about what he was doing. Don't do this, his head told him. She's too young. But then she turned round and looked at him with her pale, inscrutable blue-grey eyes and he was lost. He went to her and kissed her tenderly, his mouth just grazing her parted lips, his tongue flickering against hers. Her breathing changed in an instant and her hands began loosening his shirt. 'Not so fast,' he said, tilting her head back and kissing her neck, 'let's take it slowly tonight.' He removed her jacket, dropped it to the floor and taking her by the hand, he led her upstairs.

Later, when she was lying across his chest and he was stroking her silky soft hair, he was struck how still she was. A rare moment for her, he surmised. He would have liked to ask what she was thinking, but he didn't want to disturb her; it felt good just lying here with her in his arms. He always got the feeling that she was speed-thinking, her thoughts rattling through her head at lightning speed, like a computer. She'll burn herself out if she's not careful, he mused sadly. One day he'd suggest she slowed down, but not tonight. Tonight was perfect just as it was and he wanted to enjoy it to the full, not go spoiling it by lecturing her.

There was a lot about Harriet he didn't understand, not least the reason why she was here in bed with him, but he was determined to make the most of their time together. Like the song period of the nightingale that she had told him about, he knew this pleasure would be fleeting.

December In the midst of life we are in death.

Book of Common Prayer

Chapter Forty-Five.

A fortnight had pa.s.sed since Suzie and her sister had shown up unexpectedly at their father's. Before leaving The Navigation that night Suzie had told Gemma that they should phone him to make sure it was convenient, but Gemma had said, 'Give over, he's our dad; of course it'll be convenient.' The reason Gemma had been so eager to see their father was to try and get him on her side with her plan to spend Christmas in Paris with Marcel. Suzie had told her it was wrong and selfish to keep using Dad this way. With her usual bluntness Gemma had said, 'That's rich coming from the girl who wants to move in with him when the baby's born. How do you think that'll work when he wants to bring some woman home?'

Gemma had a point, Suzie could see that. Which was why she was going to tell Dad that she'd changed her mind and decided to stay at home with Mum, just until she'd got herself sorted. Whatever that meant, and however she achieved it. If she thought about the future too much it overwhelmed her and she became depressed. Nana Ruby said it was her hormones playing merry h.e.l.l with her, and that every pregnant woman went through more ups and downs than a big dipper. Because her grandmother was always so positive, Suzie had taken to spending more and more time with her. It was lovely to be pampered and spoiled by Nana. She had even said that if things got difficult with Mum, there would be room for Suzie and the baby in her tiny bungalow. 'It would be a bit of a squash,' Nana had said, 'but I want you to know there'd always be a welcome for you here.' Her generosity had made Suzie cry. Burrowing her head into her grandmother's shoulder, she'd wished her mother wasn't such a heartless b.i.t.c.h. 'You mustn't think so badly of her,' Nana had said. 'She has a lot on her plate. And there's that husband of hers to keep happy. Relationships are fragile things, especially second-time-around ones. And talking of relationships, I hear from Gemma that your father's seeing someone. What's she like?'

'Her name's Harriet and he says she's just a friend.'

Nana had laughed. 'Same old Will. Dear me, when is he ever going to grow up? Do you like her? Gemma said she's very young.'

'I don't know how old she is for certain; we only met her for a couple of minutes, but she looks about thirty.'

'Pretty?'

'I suppose so. She's got this intense, serious look about her. I can't imagine she'd be a laugh a minute. Not really Dad's type, I wouldn't have thought.'

'Perhaps it's time your father took on someone with a bit of substance.'

'Nana! You're not suggesting he should get serious about her, are you?'

'Why not?'

'But the age difference; its - '

'No one's concern but theirs,' Nana had said firmly. 'Would you be very upset if he did marry again?'

'It would take some getting used to,' she'd said guardedly.

That their father might marry for a second time had never been a concern for Suzie or her sister. They were so used to him playing the field, it hadn't occurred to them that he might want to be with someone on a permanent basis.

'Your father would never stop loving you, Suzie,' her grandmother had said. 'He wouldn't ever let anything come between him and you. You two girls have always meant the world to him, and always will. But you have to respect his right to be happy.'

Nana's comments combined with Gemma's criticisms meant that Suzie knew she couldn't move in with her father. It wouldn't be fair to him. But even so, she didn't want things to change. It had been all right Mum and Steve marrying, but it was different with Dad. Dad had always been there for them. He was theirs. She couldn't help it, but selfishly, she knew that she would be jealous of any woman who meant more to her father than she did.

This conversation, like so many between Suzie and her grandmother, had taken place one evening while Nana Ruby was knitting and Suzie was flicking through a baby magazine trying to picture the baby she would be holding in a matter of weeks. She couldn't believe how huge she was now or how much the baby moved around inside her. There always seemed to be an elbow, a knee, or a fist making its presence felt, usually at night when she was trying to sleep. But no matter how often she was kept awake by the baby, or how uncomfortable she felt, she didn't regret her decision. This baby was going to be the most loved child in the world.

As though to make the days pa.s.s quicker, Nana Ruby had made a special countdown calendar to go on her kitchen wall and as each day came and went, her grandmother crossed it off with a red marker pen. Suzie's due date - 15 January - was only six and a half weeks away. The midwife said she wouldn't be surprised if the baby came sooner than that.

Sinead had been in touch to see how she was getting on, but most of the phone conversation had been about her and breaking up with Richard. 'I found out he was seeing someone else behind my back,' she told Suzie. 'Can you believe it? Everyone says I'm better off without him and that they can't understand what I saw in him in the first place. I'm okay now, but I wasn't when I found out. I went a bit loopy, if I'm honest. Don't laugh, but I got very drunk and threw a brick through his car window. The girl he'd been seeing, and is still seeing, is a right stuck-up b.i.t.c.h. She comes from somewhere near you; Rochdale, I think.' This was a typical piece of Sinead geography - having grown up in Kent she heaped anywhere north of Birmingham into one enormous neighbourhood.

The conversation proved to Suzie that she'd been right to keep her silence about Richard. It proved there would have been no point in telling Richard that he'd got her pregnant; he was not the kind of boy who would have stood by her. That much was obvious.

Sitting in her father's office - he was out for the afternoon - Suzie looked up from the Miller's Guide Dad had suggested she should study, and watched a woman inspect a large jug and bowl on a pine dressing table. According to Dad and Jarvis, you had to watch every customer like a hawk; no one was above suspicion when it came to stuff being nicked. There were cameras on each floor of the Emporium, and alarms fitted to the cabinets that contained the more expensive items such as silverware and Jarvis's precious Royal Worcester china.

When the woman left empty-handed Suzie decided it was time for a packet of crisps and a Cuppa Soup. Waiting for the kettle to boil, she opened the box of Christmas decorations her father had asked her to inspect. 'Throw out anything you think is past its sell-by date and use some money from the petty-cash box to buy some replacements,' he'd said. 'But don't go mad. I don't want the place looking like a tart's boudoir.'

It was good working for Dad. She liked it that he trusted her. It gave her a sense of responsibility. Something, as her mother had told her, she was going to have to get used to.

Will was at the hospital waiting for news about Marty. His friend had been in surgery for nearly two hours now and Will had drunk so many cups of black coffee from the shop in the private wing of the hospital, his head was buzzing. Marty had told him not to be so stupid, that he didn't need anyone hanging around when he came to after the operation, but Will had told him to shut up. 'I may well be the last person on earth you want to see, but get used to the idea, because I'll be grinning from ear to ear knowing you're in such pain.'

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

From what Marty had told him, the operation was a relatively straightforward procedure, but nothing would convince Will that this was the case. Marty had been diagnosed as having a malignant tumour, and the only way forward, as Marty had put it, was to submit to the knife and be 'one man down'. 'Just think,' he'd said, 'I might be able to sing falsetto in the future.'

Apparently, only by resorting to surgery could testicular cancer be confirmed or discounted. It was b.l.o.o.d.y drastic stuff and Will had nothing but admiration for his friend's upbeat outlook. 'There's no other way to be,' Marty had told him.

Will didn't know what he'd do if he had to face a worse-case scenario - if Marty did have cancer and nothing could be done. To lose his oldest and closest friend would be like having both his arms ripped off. They'd been through so much together. He tried to remind himself of the statistics involved. The cure rate for early testicular cancer was ninety-five to a hundred per cent. For advanced cancer, when drugs and radiotherapy had to be thrown into the mix, the numbers were still good: eighty to ninety per cent. It could be beaten. That was the thought he had to hang on to.

Somewhere further down the corridor, he could hear some nurses singing along to 'Do They Know it's Christmas?' on the radio. How did they stay so jolly?

He took out his mobile phone, wanting to speak to someone who would take his mind off Marty. But remembering mobiles were banned, he went to find the nearest payphone and tapped in Harriet's number. Disappointingly, all he got was her endearingly prim, self-conscious recorded voice telling him to leave a message. The first time he'd got her recorded voice he'd left her an obscene message saying what he'd like to do with Miss Prim Knickers. He often teased her that she was at her s.e.xiest when she least realised it. It was the simple things that got to him; the way she wore her cuffs so long they dangled past her hands, or the way she sat on the worktop in the kitchen, her legs swinging. Then there was the way she b.u.t.toned her jacket right up to her chin and shook out her hair. When she did that, he couldn't help but undo every b.u.t.ton and start removing the rest of her clothes to get at her slim, fluid body. She would look at him in that measured way she had and say, 'But I was just going.'

'There's been a change of plan.'

She never tried to stop him, and not once had she ever complained that all he thought about was s.e.x - a complaint that had been levelled at him on several occasions during his marriage.

He didn't know how long this honeymoon period would go on for, but he'd come to the conclusion that it wouldn't be him who ended it. He enjoyed having her in his life. Although, to be precise, it wasn't so much his life as his bed she was in. Last night, when they were lying exhausted and slick with sweat in each other's arms, he'd propped himself up onto an elbow, and traced a finger between her small pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 'Let's go out on Friday night.'

'I'd rather be here in bed with you.'

'But I want to take you out for a special dinner, seeing as I wasn't able to help you celebrate your birthday in style.'

'You did. When I got back from Dublin you gave me a present and a ... now what was the phrase you used? Ah, yes, a right seeing to.'

Smiling, he'd said, 'You young girls, you take all the romance out of a thing, don't you?'

'It's you men. You've taught us all you know.'