‘This is a nice surprise,’ Alison said as Robyn sat down opposite her at the beer-garden table. It was Friday, Robyn’s day off, and she’d originally planned to spend the afternoon getting the house in order for the weekend: catching up on the laundry, with a quick whip around the supermarket if she had time. As it turned out, what she really wanted was to see a friendly face. Don’t suppose you’re free for lunch today? The White Horse? she had texted her mum hopefully.
It must have been serendipity because, not ten minutes earlier, Alison had just had a cancellation and so here they were now, at a pub equidistant from them both. Alison was being her usual comforting self, handing over a menu and saying knowledgeably that the home-made pasties were very good here, before she lifted up her sunglasses to peer more closely at her daughter. ‘Is everything all right, love?’
Robyn smiled wanly. What was it about mums that meant they had a built-in worry detector? ‘Not really,’ she replied with a sigh, turning the laminated menu over in her hands. ‘John’s lost his job.’
‘Oh no.’ Alison’s jaw dropped, mirroring the shock Robyn had experienced on hearing the news. ‘He hasn’t!’
‘He has. Redundancies across the department, apparently,’ Robyn said, grimacing. John had worked at the university for eighteen years; a job for life, or so he’d thought. He was the main breadwinner of the family, the mortgage payer, the holiday provider, the man with the golden credit card. More than that: he prided himself on his ability to provide for them, and was old-fashioned in the sense that he thought this was what a husband should do. But then two days ago, when Beth Broadwood had approached Robyn with her attempted solidarity – I was sorry to hear the news – it turned out that John’s job, and all that it meant for the family, had fractured and collapsed to the ground while she had been looking the other way.
‘I was going to tell you,’ John said glumly, when she’d built up to asking him if it was true. ‘I was just . . . trying to find the right moment.’
He looked ashamed, poor man; he looked broken by his confession. He’d hardly been able to look Robyn in the eye as he revealed the facts in a weary, defeated voice. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she cried passionately in response. ‘What a nightmare.’ She took his hand and squeezed it, wishing she could make things better for him. John’s job defined him; it was all he’d ever done. He was the sort of person who became restless during the long vacations; he much preferred being at work and getting on with the job. ‘Are they scrapping the course, or what? Is everyone going?’
He’d shrugged. ‘Dunno.’ He opened his mouth as if he was about to elaborate, then seemed to change his mind. ‘Anyway. Now you know,’ he continued, heaviness in his voice. ‘I’m sorry. I feel as if I’ve let you all down.’
‘John, no!’ she’d exclaimed. ‘Of course you haven’t. You haven’t let anyone down – it’s not your fault. It’s just bad luck, that’s all. Really rotten luck.’
‘He’s gutted,’ she went on to her mum now, remembering John’s glum face. No doubt the redundancy was the cause of all those dark moods of his, the excessive drinking, the silent withdrawal from her. He hadn’t wanted to burden her, clearly. Somehow this made her feel even worse.
‘Oh dear. That is bad news,’ Alison replied. ‘Will you be all right for money? I mean, he’s been there a while, hasn’t he? They do have to give you a decent pay-off at least when you’re made redundant – employment law and all that.’
‘He didn’t seem to know what they’d give him,’ Robyn said. ‘I’m sure he’ll find something else, but . . . It’s such a shock. He seems so crushed.’
‘Poor John. It’s a blow to his manly pride. Your dad was—’ Alison broke off, the words hanging mid-sentence between them.
‘What?’ Robyn asked. That was two mentions of her dad in the space of a week; unheard of. ‘Did Dad get made redundant?’ she asked, wondering if it had affected his health, contributed to the heart attack that had ultimately felled him. Maybe she wouldn’t have a fattening home-made pasty for lunch after all, she decided, picturing her own heart keeping time inside her ribcage.
‘It was a long time ago,’ Alison said dismissively, before changing the subject back again. ‘Anyway, no offence, but I’m guessing your job doesn’t pay all that much,’ she went on. ‘So if you’re stuck, let me know, because I’ve got some savings put aside, remember. Or maybe . . .’ She cocked her head and considered her daughter. ‘Well, you said yourself not so long ago that you might look for a more interesting job again, didn’t you? So—’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Whoa, thought Robyn. They were leaping all over the place here. She’d hardly been able to digest John’s redundancy news yet, let alone start making plans for her own career revival.
‘So this could be your chance. You know what they say – when life gives you lemons, and all that. The kiddies are old enough now not to mind, aren’t they? You could contact your old department, I’m sure they’d welcome you back with open arms. Lemonade all round!’ Alison had perked right up, with the brilliance of her idea, and was leaning forward, eyes alight with excitement. Oh, but she had been the proudest mum in the world when Robyn had passed her degree (‘The first in our family!’), and then her Masters (‘I don’t know where she gets her brains from’), and then worked as a postgrad at the university, before rising through the departmental ranks.
How Robyn had loved working there, though! She’d felt interested and challenged every single day; almost able to hear the synapses in her brain fizzing and buzzing from the stimulation. She relished being surrounded by highly intelligent people, everyone keen to learn, foraging for discoveries and information. And of course she’d met John there on a rainy night too, at an open lecture on the ‘Unknown Universe’, when Fate persuaded them both through the door in the first place, and then sat them next to each other. (‘And about time, and all!’ Alison had cried in relief, when Robyn told her she was seeing a new bloke. ‘I was starting to think I’d have to dust off a space for you on the Old Maids’ shelf soon, next to me.’)
All of this felt like such a long time ago now, of course. When Sam had been born, Robyn had taken maternity leave, fully intending to return to her job, but he’d been a sickly baby, plagued by eczema, and when it had come to the crunch, she hadn’t felt able to leave him. Then Daisy had arrived; a clingy little thing who roared with sorrow and outrage if anyone but Robyn dared try to hold her. It had been eleven years since Robyn had considered herself any kind of career woman, in short.
Had she left it too long now to return? she wondered. She did her best to keep up with New Scientist magazine when time permitted, but was surely out of the loop in terms of the minutiae of the latest developments in her field. Besides, she had lost confidence in her own abilities. Once upon a time she had been able to stand in front of hundreds of students in lecture halls and talk to them enthusiastically about genetic engineering and molecular biology. Nowadays the thought made her feel kind of terrified. She could actually feel her top lip starting to sweat with nerves as she pictured herself there again.
‘Mum, no, it’s fine. I’ll keep you posted, I’m sure everything will work out,’ she said after a moment.
‘I’m sure it will too,’ Alison replied. ‘But honestly, why do these things all happen at once? It’s been one of those weeks, hasn’t it? Did you have a massive storm on Monday as well? My electrics went and everything for a while, it was a right pain in the neck. And then there was John’s mum and dad having their bust-up, too . . . Crikey. Must be something in the air. Anyway –’ she grabbed her menu theatrically – ‘we should order, because I’ve got Elizabeth Perry’s highlights to do at two-fifteen and she doesn’t half get narky if I’m late. What do you fancy? I’m going for the pasty and some potato wedges. Sod it, it’s Friday after all.’
Robyn studied the menu. It might be Friday, but she was going to have to watch the pennies from now on, she reminded herself, at least until John found a new job. ‘Salad and a diet Coke,’ she replied, reluctantly.
It was Saturday morning, and Jeanie Mortimer stirred sleepily in the double bed, the enormous ceiling fan whirring lazily above her head. One more day of paradise, she thought, opening an eye to see bright sunshine already streaming through the gaps in the shutters. One more day, before she was due to pack up her swimming costume and floaty dresses and return to the real world. Despite the rocky start to her holiday, she’d gone on to have a very nice stay here.
She’d spent the first day in tears, mind, replaying over and over again the moment when she’d seen the young woman – Frankie – staring at Harry, frozen to the spot, and some dreadful sixth sense had sent the hairs prickling on the back of her neck, a descending scale of notes playing ominously in her head. Was there such a thing as female intuition? Whatever, Jeanie had just known.
Kathy Hallows’s daughter, Harry had confirmed to her miserably later on. ‘Me and Kathy, we—’
‘I guessed as much,’ Jeanie had replied before he could get any further. She hadn’t even felt a twinge of surprise. Instead, decades-old memories had flashed up instantly in her consciousness. The school sports day that summer, when she’d been passing the playing field, with Stephen in the pushchair, and they’d stopped to wave to Harry. There had been this very pretty young woman with long chestnut hair and even longer tanned legs, jumping up and down at the sidelines of a race, cheering on the sprinting kids, and Jeanie remembered asking Harry, ‘Who’s that?’
‘That’s Kathy,’ he’d replied, and there was something about the way he said it, something about the softness of his smile that made her shiver as they both turned and looked at her. The memory of this made her feel sick now, obviously. That’s Kathy. The woman I’m actually having an affair with, was what he hadn’t said back then, of course. And believe it or not, in thirty-five years’ time, we’ll have a right old surprise when her daughter – and mine! – turns up unexpectedly at our anniversary party.
There was more. Another flickering film-reel that had emerged from the depths of her brain: the drinks at the end of term that July, in the Bricklayers’ Arms, for the teachers and their other halves. Jeanie hadn’t thought she’d be able to make it, what with Stephen coming down with a tummy bug and John having just cracked one of his teeth at the cricket club, but her mum had offered to babysit at the last minute and Jeanie had decided that popping out for an hour wouldn’t hurt. She’d changed her top and brushed her hair out from its ponytail, she’d even dabbed some rouge on her cheeks and put on lipstick, for good measure. It had been a lovely evening, she remembered it still, because in those days it was such a novelty to be walking along the sunny street on her own, and she actually felt quite uplifted to be out like this for once, going to meet her husband for a social event. And then she’d got to the pub and she’d seen Harry sitting next to her – that Kathy girl – their heads close together, their bodies turned towards one another, and she’d heard a warning bell jangling in her head. A wife noticed these things.
‘I didn’t think you were coming!’ Harry cried, springing up away from the girl as soon as he saw Jeanie there, and the warning bell went on with its discordant jangle as Kathy glanced over at her and moved swiftly to another table.
Jeanie had kept her suspicions to herself – she had enough on her plate, with four young children occupying her time – but had breathed a private sigh of relief on hearing from another teacher friend that Miss Hallows had left town and was no longer at the school the following autumn. So that was that, she’d thought.
Except it wasn’t quite the end of the matter, after all, was it? Because here she was now, without her husband on their so-called second honeymoon, as a result. Oh, life could play cruel tricks on a person sometimes.
For the whole of her first miserable day in Madeira, Jeanie had been convinced she had made the most dreadful mistake, jetting off by herself in a trembling fit of rage and hurt; but after that, she’d jolly well pulled her socks up and done her best to distract herself from the anguish. Had she been bored? Had she heck. She’d swum in the pool every day, read four excellent books and seen her skin turn a perfect bronze.
Had she been lonely? Not a bit. She’d met a couple of very friendly women from Pembrokeshire who were holidaying together, and they’d invited her to join them for cocktails and dinner several times. Plus the staff had been unfailingly kind, bringing her drinks at the sun-lounger, encouraging her to try the cabaret evening, leaving the most beautiful tropical flowers on her pillow whenever they turned down her bed in the evening. She’d even had a bit of a dance at the Sixties Music Disco, shimmying around to Martha and the Vandellas as if she were twenty again. Obviously her case was already loaded up with all kinds of silly souvenirs for her beloved grandchildren, which she hadn’t been able to resist in the gift shop. It was one of the greatest joys in her life, being a grandma, and just the thought of her grandchildren’s dear smiling faces was enough to bring her tiny crumbs of comfort through her darkest moments.
Jeanie’s life had always been so busy, until now. As well as bringing up four children and working for twenty-five years as a piano teacher, it had still been her putting all those dinners on the table, and organizing the shopping and housework. Even when the children had grown up and flown the nest, she’d kept herself active, doing shifts as a volunteer in the local charity shop and helping with the little ones at a playgroup nearby. She’d maintained an open house for all the Mortimers, when it came to Sunday dinner – everyone welcome! – and always laid on a special party tea for family members on their birthdays: a proper Yorkshire cream tea with home-made scones as well as the cake of their choice. She was never happier than when she had her complete flock around her, all safely gathered in, when she could see them enjoying her dinners and cakes, when she could marvel at what wonderful people her children had grown up to be.
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Harry’s sisters would cry. ‘How do you find the energy?’ This was from the three of them, mind, who’d serve you shop-bought Battenberg if you went round to their houses, a Wagon Wheel if your luck was in.
Well, Jeanie found the energy because she loved looking after her family – that was the simple answer, even if, truth be told, the get-togethers took their toll on her these days, wiping her out afterwards with the exhaustion of all that shopping and baking and hosting. Not that she would ever admit it to anyone other than Harry, of course. No, because it was always worth it.
Oh, Harry, she thought unhappily, turning over in the huge bed and hugging one of the spare pillows to herself. His infidelity, his betrayal seemed to have severed her from all of that now. Whatever had possessed him to jeopardize the family in such a terrible way? Why had he gone looking elsewhere for attention, into the arms of this other woman, when she, Jeanie, had always loved him so completely? He had quite broken her heart. He had broken the family too. How could she go back and face them all when her marriage was in ruins, when the future seemed so fraught with uncertainty? Would the family ever be able to enjoy a party or Sunday dinner together in the same way, after this revelation? She and Harry had been a twosome for so long, had weathered so many storms between them, but this – this felt like a hurricane. One of those awful ones you saw on the news that wrecked everything in its path: trees, houses, lives, all tossed aside.
She was dreading tomorrow when the holiday would be over. Being here had been like escaping into a brightly lit bubble of temporary pleasures, far from the pain and embarrassment left behind at home. A bubble where she was looked after and cosseted, where she was protected from the pain of real life. But tomorrow, it ended. Tomorrow, she’d have to pack her bags, hand back the key to her room and then catch the bus to the airport, where she would wait, drearily, resignedly, for her flight home. She’d have to face Harry’s grovelling apologies, maybe even at the Arrivals gate at the other end, if he was really desperate to creep back into her good books. And then, once home, she’d have the prospect of being confronted with every last gossip on the street, their faces lighting up as they spotted her, flocking in like iron filings to a magnet. Oh, you wait – the news would already have whipped between the neighbours like wildfire, Chinese whispers from house to house. (Have you heard? He’s got a secret love-child. Yes, Harry Mortimer. Who would have thought? She left him at the airport, you know. She did!)
Worst of all, at some point, when they couldn’t put it off any longer, she and Harry would have to have The Conversation, make some decisions. Harry would tell her what he wanted to do about Her, and Jeanie would have to put her own feelings on the table in response. It’s her or me, she had proclaimed a week earlier, and she was not a woman to go back on her word. What if Harry chose her, this new daughter? What if he said he’d preferred Kathy all along? Their marriage might never recover from this hit.
Doom-laden minor chords played in her head at the prospect. It was all too terrible for words.
Rolling over in bed and nestling into the soft, comfortable pillows, she shut her eyes, not wanting to think about Harry or his betrayal any more. If only she could stay here instead, she thought longingly. Stay here and never go back . . .