It's a Wonderful Life, page 7
Jack had always instinctively got where I was coming from when I spoke about my art. He had great ideas for how to get the best out of my work. We used to sit up till the early hours discussing our plans for the future. At the time I’d fantasised about us getting together properly, having a proper relationship, not the half-hearted moments which seemed to promise so much but ended up going nowhere.
Jack Stevens. I can remember him in my first year at art school. He was a self-confident strutting peacock, one among many, but there was something about him that made him stand out from the rest. Jack was going through a massive Bowie phase at the time, and oh, he was beautiful. He had a thin, angular face, with the most amazing cheekbones and blue eyes which sucked you in, making you believe he could see into your soul. He knew it of course, and was quickly surrounded by a coterie of fans, both male and female. He was always ambiguous about his preferences, playing with gender before it was even a thing, but for some reason he admitted to me when we still barely knew each other and he was very very drunk that he was a through and through hetero.
I tried to ignore him at first, thinking someone as dazzling as Jack wouldn’t be interested in me, but to my surprise he kept seeking me out. Then, one night in a club, we got chatting and we both felt an instant connection. I knew I hadn’t imagined it, and the day after that Jack asked me for coffee. I had a feeling I was heading for trouble, but he made me feel special.
‘The others are nothing,’ he’d say, ‘you’re my muse.’
It was immensely flattering, and being young and naive I believed him. I was intoxicated by the idea of being Jack’s inspiration. His room was full of sketches of me – and he even persuaded me to model for him. Even though there was evidence of other women, I chose to ignore it, because he always said that I was the only person who meant something to him, and I suppose I really wanted to believe it. Till the moment I finally realised he was bullshitting me all along …
I look around my lovely bright kitchen, where yet again I’ve caused chaos with work (memo to self, really must tidy up before Daniel gets in tonight; it’s driving him mad), and know Jack would never have given me a home like the one I have. My life with Daniel is ordered, calm, stable, secure. All the things Jack is not. We’d have probably ended up living on a houseboat somewhere. Or in a squat. And I can’t ever imagine having had children with him. I suspect if I had, I’d have done all the work. Unlike Daniel, Jack is not great father material. At least he wasn’t back then. Maybe he is now, although somehow I doubt it. But it had been so easy to fall for Daniel after Jack; good, solid, reliable, gorgeous Daniel. I know he’ll never let me down.
I stare at my wedding ring. Solid. Reliable. Dull …? I know I’m being unfair, but I can feel my nineteen-year-old self rebelling, her voice echoing in my head. Is that what you settled for, Lizzie? But no, that free-spirited girl is buried deep, deep in the heart that Jack Stevens broke. And what she could never have known is the years of happiness I’ve had with Daniel. I know Jack could never have given me that.
I look at the email again.
Hi Lizzie,
Great to see you the other week, after such a long time. Glad things are going so well for you. If you ever want to meet up and chat about the book, I’m really happy to help.
Love Jack
I’m not sure how to respond. Or whether I should respond. But then I think, what the hell? I’m reading far too much into this. He’s just being friendly. This is business, nothing more.
That sounds great Jack, I email back. Maybe we can fix some time to chat soon.
An email pings back immediately.
How does coffee sound? If you’re free you could come up to London next week?
Maybe in a couple of weeks? I suggest. I don’t want to seem too keen, but honestly, I’m so stuck with the book, I’m sure it can’t hurt to meet up with him. It’s just two old friends getting together. One thing Jack is great at is working around creative problems. It can only be good news if it helps sort out my writing block, can’t it? There’s no harm in it … Or so I keep telling myself.
Chapter Five
Lou
‘Passport, Mum,’ I say as we approach the check-in desk. Honestly, it’s like dealing with a small child. I’ve had to organise everything for this trip. I wonder how on earth she ever managed to take us anywhere when we were little. Every small decision seems to render her utterly helpless.
‘I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.’ Mum looks flustered and starts delving into her bag, which seems to be mainly full of tissues. She takes everything out, apologising profusely to the man behind us. I’m cringing, but the man gives us a sympathetic smile.
‘Oh dear,’ Mum says. ‘I can’t seem to find it.’
‘Are you sure?’ I say. I know she had it before we left home.
‘I’m sure,’ says Mum. Her purse has now joined the heap on the floor, plus a hairbrush, some lipstick, and her make-up bag.
‘Mum, you need to put all of that in your suitcase,’ I say. ‘You’re not allowed to take liquids on board. I told you that earlier.’
I’ve told her three times actually, but like a lot of the things I’ve said it’s been ignored. Back in the Dark Ages when Mum last got on a plane, the liquid rule didn’t apply. She and Dad have been content to go caravanning in the New Forest for the last ten years, or when they’re feeling daring, across to France.
‘Did you, dear,’ she says. ‘I don’t remember.’
We squat down on the floor, rifling through her possessions, and then I make her open up her suitcase. I motion to the man behind us to go ahead, but he kindly says he can wait.
Eventually Mum says, ‘Oh I know where I’ve put it!’ She rummages through her suitcase once again, only to reveal her passport hidden in a pair of knickers. ‘For safekeeping.’
Our queue friend smiles at me and I want to die. At least Mum seems oblivious to the chaos she’s causing. Aside from the man behind me, the other passengers are looking a bit mutinous.
Finally we’re done and we can actually go to the check-in desk. Thank God I did it online. At least now we have all the right documentation, so it doesn’t take too long. I hold on to Mum’s passport and boarding pass till we’re safely through security, where she causes the alarms to go off as she’s absent-mindedly put her watch in her pocket. It then transpires there is some perfume at the bottom of her bag, which she’s most put out to have confiscated.
‘But it’s my Rive Gauche,’ she wails. ‘Your father bought it for me in Paris. He always liked the smell.’
Why on earth has she brought that? As a reminder of everything she’s lost?
‘Mum!’ I am so frustrated with her. ‘Dad isn’t here, remember? Why don’t you get some other perfume?’
‘I like the Rive Gauche,’ she says stubbornly, and I can see she won’t be budged.
‘Fine, we’ll get some in Duty Free,’ I tell her. Any more of this and I might end up strangling her before we take off.
I feel mean for being so irritated. Mum is more agitated than normal, as she and Dad decided it would be good if he finally moved out while we’re away. Beth and Daniel have taken charge of the move, for which I am immensely grateful. I know how hard this must be for Mum. It’s just she’s acting so helpless it’s driving me mad. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long week.
But actually, once we get to Gatwick Village, she perks up a bit. She’s enjoying the shops and purchases not one but two bottles of Rive Gauche on her and Dad’s joint credit card. He clearly hasn’t cancelled it yet. I know he’s feeling guilty because he hasn’t worried at all about how much money we’re spending, and didn’t quibble when I booked us into a four-star hotel.
By the time we’re queuing up to get on the plane, Mum is like an overexcited puppy.
‘It’s so long since I’ve been on a plane,’ she keeps saying, ‘your dad hates flying. Thanks so much for organising this, Lou.’
She’s not so excited to discover there’s not going to be a film.
‘I’m sure there was a film last time I went on a plane,’ she says. I roll my eyes. Low-budget airlines are outside her experience. She’s also absolutely horrified by the cost of everything.
‘You mean we have to pay for our food?’ she says, scandalised. ‘I liked those little aeroplane meals. They were always free.’
‘You must be the only one who liked those,’ I say. ‘Let’s just have a snack and a glass of wine.’
Our friend from the queue turns out to be sitting next to us, and introduces himself as James Horton. He’s a widower and visiting his daughter and grandchildren in Tenerife. He’s perfectly nice and friendly, but I’d have expected Mum to ignore him once she’d made a few polite observations. But they get on like a house on fire, much to my relief. It turns out James doesn’t live too far from Wottonleigh, so he and Mum find plenty to talk about. I sit back and read my Kindle. Shame old James isn’t staying in our hotel. It looks like he’s doing a good job of keeping Mum entertained. Still, at least I can relax for this bit of the trip …
Daniel
‘Is that the lot?’ Sam, Beth, and Daniel had piled up the back of their Volvo with Fred’s possessions. Megan was out with friends, and Sam had been reluctantly coerced into helping. Fred didn’t appear to have taken much with him. Daniel sensed his father-in-law felt so guilty about everything that he didn’t want to appear demanding. He was slightly furtive and couldn’t quite look anyone in the eye.
Daniel still couldn’t quite credit what had happened. He and Beth had discussed it endlessly over the past few weeks, especially the fact that neither of them had seen it coming. What on earth possessed a man of Fred’s age to give everything up for someone new? It all seemed so odd. And it made Daniel feel weirdly rudderless – he’d always assumed his parents-in-law would be together till their dying breaths. Theirs had seemed an unremarkable marriage, but a solid one, and now it felt as if one of life’s great certainties had been torn away.
Fred didn’t seem to be able to explain it himself. Daniel, at Beth’s instigation, had taken his father-in-law out for a few quiet drinks, to try to discuss the issue.
‘There’s no point asking Ged,’ Beth had said, ‘he’ll either just pat Dad on the shoulder and say way to go, or get cross with him. Either way he won’t be constructive.’
But Daniel didn’t think his intervention had been any more useful. Fred had just sat staring into a glass saying, ‘I didn’t plan for this to happen. I know I’ve hurt Mary, and the children, but when I met Lilian, I fell in love, and I realised what I’ve been missing. I know nobody really understands.’
‘Well I don’t actually,’ said Daniel, thinking to himself – love? Surely he must mean lust?
‘It’s like this, Daniel,’ said Fred, ‘I’m going to be seventy-two this year, old boy. I may not have much time left. I’d like to be happy for what remains of my days.’
‘And this Lilian makes you happy?’ said Daniel.
‘Yes, she does,’ said Fred simply. ‘She just walked into my life and took my breath away. I haven’t felt like that for a very long time.’
‘But I thought you and Mary were always so right together.’
‘Mary and I, well, we’ve wanted different things for a long time now,’ said Fred with a sigh. ‘You know what she’s like. Everything has to be just so. I feel constricted in my own home. Lilian is a free spirit, and she’s reminded me that I am too. You know, I was like Beth once. I loved art, and would have gone to art college, but it just wasn’t the done thing for someone like me. So I got married and got a job in insurance instead. With Mary I’ve always felt there was something missing. I know it sounds corny, but I feel like Lilian completes me.’
And that was all he would say on the subject. It made Daniel both sad and slightly anxious. He’d always rather assumed that he and Beth were as solid as her parents were, that after all this time nothing could rock the boat of their marriage, but if Mary and Fred could split up, who was to say that he and Beth weren’t as secure as he’d thought? Ever since he’d got together with Beth he’d been haunted by the thought that he wasn’t good enough for her – insecurities no doubt stemming from his childhood. Despite his mum always insisting that wasn’t the case, Reggie leaving when he was so young had always made Daniel feel inadequate, as if it were somehow his fault. Beth told him he was daft for thinking it, but he had a deeply rooted fear that one day she might decide to do the same. And with Mary and Fred splitting up that fear had multiplied. Presumably they’d both thought their marriage was permanent too. Could it happen to him and Beth?
Daniel shook his head, trying to dislodge his thoughts. They were fine, just pressurised by the normal things that affected everyone: children, work, money worries. It was unsettling to discover that age was evidently no barrier to infidelity, that was all.
He and Sam got in the Volvo, while Beth and Fred took his ancient Toyota. He was keeping the car as Mary didn’t drive. Which was all fine and dandy while Lou was still living there, but Daniel could foresee a time when it might be difficult. Oh well, they’d have to cross that bridge when they came to it.
‘Is Grandpa really going through with this?’ Sam said as Daniel turned out of the drive and headed down the road for the crummy flat Fred had rented for the next few months. To everyone’s great relief he hadn’t moved straight in with Lilian. That would have been beyond awkward.
‘It would seem so,’ said Daniel.
‘I didn’t think old people did it any more,’ said Sam. ‘I mean, can he even get it up?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ said Daniel, ‘and it’s certainly not a question I’m ever going to ask. And for God’s sake don’t ever say that to your mother!’
Sam grinned.
‘Of course I won’t. But you have to admit, it is funny. My grandpa, the player.’
‘I don’t think your gran finds it all that funny,’ said Daniel.
‘No,’ said Sam, ‘but still. Those are some genes I’ve inherited. Awesome.’
Even Daniel had to laugh. It was quite ridiculous, and for the first time in months his son was actually talking to him.
‘Don’t you dare tell Mum I laughed,’ said Daniel as they pulled up outside the new flat.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Sam, and shot Daniel a conspiratorial wink.
‘You’d better not,’ said Daniel, ‘your mum would kill me.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
‘Good,’ said Daniel, and they grinned at one another.
It felt like the first time in forever that he’d actually bonded with his son. Daniel only wished it could have been in better circumstances.
Beth
The drive to Dad’s new flat is excruciating. Seeing him pack up all his stuff and knowing that Mum is going to come back to an empty house has made me hopping mad. I’ve always got on better with Dad than Mum. We share the same arty creativity. To think I thought it would do him good to take up painting as a hobby – ironic how that turned out. I’m furious with him for what he’s done to Mum. How could he? He’s told Daniel he’s in love, at his age! It’s ridiculous. He’s in lust, which is a totally different thing.
Dad tries to make polite conversation, but I ignore him. I’m worried if I say anything I might let rip and never stop, and I don’t want to do that. Maybe Dad realises it, as he stops trying to chat, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.
We get to the flat first and Dad opens the door self-consciously.
‘Welcome to my new home,’ he says. It’s horrible. The kitchen is tiny and dirty. The bathroom ditto. There’s a small lounge/dining room painted in browns and tans and a depressing-looking bedroom with a lumpy double bed. It’s easily as bad as anywhere I lived as a student, and there’s something infinitely sad about my dad moving into somewhere like this at his age. For a moment, I want to give him a big hug and say I’m sorry, but then I remember that he brought this on himself and I feel angry all over again.
Dad clears his throat.
‘Look, Beth, I know I’ve not behaved very well, but I’m still your dad …’
‘Don’t,’ I say, ‘please don’t.’ I’m not ready for a father–daughter heart-to-heart. I don’t want to hear him trying to justify himself, or saying sorry again for his behaviour. I’m still too angry. I want to punish him for what he’s done to Mum, to us.
I’m spared from further conversation by Daniel and Sam rolling up with the rest of Dad’s stuff, and the next half an hour is taken up with lugging boxes and unpacking. The whole thing is very unsettling and none of us speak very much. I dig out a spare kettle we had at home, and make some tea. I know Dad won’t have thought to go shopping, so I’ve brought him some provisions. Though God knows how he’ll manage. He can barely cook.
My phone buzzes. Jack. Oh. I get a little zing of pleasure, and squash it immediately. We’ve taken to sending the occasional text, but he’s the last person I want to hear from right now.
‘Who’s that?’ asks Daniel.
‘Nobody,’ I say, ‘just a work thing.’
