BY THE TIME William arrives home the courtyard is quiet. Tim and Kat’s cars are missing though Fiona’s is tucked in beside the barn. At least she’s not in his space this time, he thinks. He is feeling just the least bit grumpy. Singing has been cancelled – two married members on holiday, tenor and soprano, and their musical director unwell – and he’ll miss the company as well as the physical bonus. A couple of hours singing revitalizes him: it’s a great workout for the lungs, the intercostal muscles and the diaphragm, and he always feels more alive, more energetic, for several days after his Friday evening singing.
As he climbs out of his car, wondering whether to pop in on Francis, Fiona appears from Charlotte’s doorway. She looks in good shape, sexy in her jeans and a loose shirt, smiling at him. Just occasionally he can pretend that they’ve never been apart and then all their familiar ways and shared past click back into place between them. Perhaps it’s because he stopped off at the pub for a pint, he warns himself cynically, but he receives her kiss with something of the old pleasure and his grumpiness recedes.
‘You’re looking good,’ he says. ‘Been putting Ollie to bed?’
‘I have. I got soaked during bath-time and Charlotte lent me one of Andy’s shirts.’
She links her arm into his, pulls him close, and he is pierced with lust borne out of familiarity and a sudden need for physical release. Gently he disentangles himself under the pretence of trying to find his door-key whilst he attempts to get a grip on his emotions. She seems intent on following him inside so he drops his briefcase down on the bottom stair and goes through to the kitchen.
‘Drink?’ he offers. ‘Did you have a good trip down?’
‘Yes to both,’ she answers, perching on a chair at the table, crossing her legs. ‘Lots of traffic, though. I had a very nice lunch at the pub, and guess who was there. Kat and her new man.’
He can see that she’s hoping to surprise him but he simply pours her a glass of wine and pushes it across the table.
‘Ah,’ he says, non-committally. ‘So she introduced you?’
Fiona looks disappointed. ‘You knew about him, then?’
‘Mmm.’ He sits opposite, smiling at her expression. ‘I knew but I haven’t met him. So what’s he like?’
She’s smiling again, ready to share, to gossip. Just like the old days.
‘Not in her league but rather a sweetie. Nice-looking. Sexy in a boy-next-door sort of way. The really funny thing is that there’s another woman competing for him who actually came in while he and Kat were playing footsie under the table.’
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she gives a little crow of delight. She’s always liked to shock him.
‘So what happened?’ It’s rather nice to go along with this; to let her entertain him. ‘And where were you all this time?’
‘Hiding at a table in the corner. I saw them, you see, and decided to be tactful and steer clear. Then this woman and her friend strolled in. If you could have seen her face, Wills, when she saw Kat and Jerry. God, it was priceless.’
‘Jerry? That’s his name?’
‘Kat calls him Jerry. The frumpy friend calls him Jeremy.’
He smiles and frowns and shakes his head. ‘Why?’
Fiona shrugs, swallows some wine. ‘Shortening a name is a sign of affection, I suppose. I like it, don’t you? That why I call you Wills whilst most people call you William. And you call me Fi.’
He refuses to pick up on this. ‘So then what happened?’
‘Frumpy friend tried to barge in. The bar was full and she was going to pressure them into letting her share their table. I got a glimpse of Kat’s face looking like thunder so I decided to make my entrance. I went over and apologized for being late, sat down next to Kat and saw off frumpy friend with my death stare. You know.’
She looks at him intently and then very slowly crosses her eyes, and he bursts out laughing. He can’t help himself. This has always been one of her tricks. At parties, across a dinner table surrounded by friends, it was her way of privately expressing amused dislike of something, encouraging him to share the joke.
Fiona laughs with him, clearly delighted at the success she’s having at this retelling of the story.
‘So what happened then?’
‘Well, Kat thought my arrival was screamingly funny but Jerry was just a tad discombobulated. I think he felt a bit sorry for frumpy friend. He went over to her when he was paying the bill and seemed to be apologizing. Kat wasn’t best pleased but couldn’t decide quite what to do next. I offered my room but we decided he might not be up for it.’
‘Honestly, Fi. You didn’t?’
He hasn’t laughed so much for ages: must be the wine on top of the pint of real ale. She’s laughing too, thoroughly enjoying herself.
‘I did. But then I suggested that we should all come out here together. For some reason that seemed to hit the spot. So we came out in convoy, had tea with Charlotte and Ol, and then Kat decided to take Jerry off somewhere.’
‘Where?’
Fiona shrugs. ‘How should I know? Back to his place? Everything was very jolly when they left but it’s not easy to keep up the momentum, darling, when you’re in separate cars.’
He’s still chuckling, feeling relaxed, in tune with her.
‘So are you staying for supper? I could cook.’
‘Oh, darling Wills, I’d have loved it but Charlotte offered and I said yes.’
He’s surprised at how disappointed he feels, but perhaps it’s all for the best. He feels vulnerable and fears that Fi might take advantage to make another bid to pursue her plan for a bolt hole. At times like these he can remember exactly why he fell in love with her, and married her, and he knows he mustn’t allow himself this moment of weakness.
‘If Kat doesn’t come back why don’t you come and join us?’ she’s asking. ‘Charlotte won’t mind. You know she loves it when everyone’s together.’
‘I might,’ he says. He really doesn’t want to be alone, to cook a lonely supper. He wants feminine company. ‘Perhaps you could go and check, just in case?’
‘Sure.’
She gets up, still looking sexy, infinitely desirable, and heart-rendingly familiar. She hesitates, looking at him, and he’s terrified that she might approach him, touch him, and that then he would simply seize hold of her and kiss her.
‘Great.’ He turns a little away from her, pretends to be interested in some letters that are lying on the table. ‘Don’t come back specially. Just send a text and I’ll come on round if it’s OK.’
Still she hesitates and he summons all his willpower to keep turned away from her. Then she goes out, he hears the door close and gives a huge sigh of relief . . . and regret.
Tim stands at the landing window listening to the thrush. This is the time of day when he feels most vulnerable, most alone. Very often he and Charlotte share supper. She can’t leave Oliver, of course, so sometimes he takes a prepared meal round so as to do his share. They are quite at ease together, though now and again she attempts what he calls ‘the three-degree interrogation’ about his future and he has to stonewall her. He understands that this is her way of showing an interest in him, even caring about him, but he can’t afford to lower his guard.
Meanwhile he thinks about the child in the woods and what the next step might be. It’s become a game that takes his mind away from his private suffering. The toy car was gone when he went back two days later and the stone mouth of the face was rearranged into a smile. He smiled, too, to see it, and sat for a while on the seat hoping someone might appear. As he waited patiently he could hear the cuckoo down in the valley and its ancient, haunting call filled his heart with delight and an odd melancholy. He thinks of his mother and how her life was cut short by such terrible chance and his own action. If only he hadn’t tried to open the catch on the gate; if only it had remained stubbornly closed as it always had before. It is as if the child who decorates Pan and leaves his toys embodies the happy child Tim was before his life was changed for ever.
Now, he gives a little jump as someone raps on the door and then opens it a crack and shouts: ‘Are you in there, Tim? It’s William.’
‘Yes,’ he calls with relief, hoping for rescue from his loneliness, and hurries down the last flight of steep stairs.
‘We’re having a little get-together at Charlotte’s. Bit of a picnic. Like to come?’
William looks in a very good humour, rather as if he’s been invited to a party, and Tim’s spirits rise.
‘I’d love it,’ he says. ‘Shall I bring something?’
‘What have you got?’ William follows him into the kitchen. ‘I’m supplying the wine and some cold roast beef.’
‘I’ve got some Sharpham brie,’ Tim begins to search in the fridge, ‘some olives, roast tomatoes,’ he piles the cartons out on to the working surface, ‘and a packet of sliced ham.’
‘Bring it all along,’ says William cheerfully. ‘Got a bag?’
They go out together and into Charlotte’s cottage, where she and Fiona are assembling food on the kitchen table, watched by Wooster.
‘Rather like a tapas without the glamorous bits,’ Fiona says when she sees them. ‘I feel really awful that I’m not supplying anything.’
‘You can share with me on the wine,’ William tells her and she gives him a surprised and gratified look, which he pretends not to see.
Tim notices, though, that there is a very different atmosphere this evening from Fiona’s previous visit. Fiona is much more relaxed, helping Charlotte whilst deferring to her as to where things are kept and whether she should wash the salad leaves, joking with William and clinking a glass with him when he passes her a drink.
It’s as if, thinks Tim, she has reverted to someone she once was, taking back to herself a familiar role. Gone is the spikiness of a woman trying to lay claim to territory that is owned by those she has hurt and betrayed. Something has happened to energize her and give her courage.
He remembers Kat insisting that he should come to the tea party to help to keep it civilized. ‘Three women, all feeling the least bit threatened. It’s bound to get tricky. We need the down-to-earth male influence,’ she said. Surely it can’t be simply William’s presence here tonight that has changed the dynamic: William, whom Fiona has hurt the most? Or can it be Kat’s absence?
He sees that Charlotte is quite relaxed – though Oliver is not present to cause any possessiveness – and talks to Fiona about small domestic things as they finish laying the table.
Tim receives his glass from William and raises it to him. ‘Here’s to the unexpected.’
William looks sharply at him and then smiles, such a sweet smile.
‘I’ll drink to that,’ he says – and Fiona catches the exchange, and smiles too, and raises her glass to them both.