Crystal stared at Becca, mouth open. 'You?' She managed to get about fifteen vowel sounds in the single word.
'I've met someone…'
'No! I don't believe it. You?' Crystal shook her head. Becca wasn't sure if she should be flattered or offended by Crystal's astonishment. 'You're having an affair?'
'No,' Becca said quickly. 'It hasn't gone that far.'
'Have you...you know?'
'Of course not,' Becca said, starting to regret telling Crystal about it. 'We've just talked. And kissed.'
Crystal gave a sharp intake of breath. 'Who is it?'
Becca shook her head. 'I don't want to say. You mustn't tell anyone about this, promise me?'
Crystal nodded, her eyes concerned. 'Of course I won't. I'm just a bit stunned, that's all. Whoever he is, he must be pretty special.'
'Oh, Crystal, you've no idea. It's so romantic.' Becca smiled, thinking of the text messages Paul had been sending at least three times a day. She couldn't stop herself from sharing. 'I feel he understands me, really deep down. He knows so much more about me than Martin ever did.'
'Come off it.'
'No really. Sometimes I don't even need to say anything, and it's as if he knows what I'm feeling, what to say to make me feel better.'
'Becca.' Crystal took her hands in hers. 'Everyone feels like that at first. Take it from me. I'm the queen of new relationships. I know what it's like, it's wonderful when you first meet someone, you can't eat, you can't sleep, all you can do is think about him. All good sense goes right out of the window. You're no different from anyone else - except you have Martin and Lily. You're playing with fire.'
'I know,' Becca said. 'I know you're right. I know I ought to stop seeing him. But there's knowing what you ought to do, doing it is quite a different thing.'
'Is he married?' Becca nodded. 'Kids?' Becca nodded again. Crystal sat back in her seat. 'If you leave Martin for this man, you wreck so many people's lives. You know how upset you've been over your parents. Now think of what it'd be like for Lily.'
'I didn't say anything about leaving Martin.'
'But that's where it ends up, isn't it? You can't just go on meeting, having heart to hearts and passionate kisses and that's that. Sooner or later one of you at least is going to want more.' Becca turned away from her but Crystal persisted. 'It's all very well saying this is romantic, but no red-blooded male is going in for just kissing. It's bound to go further. Give it up now before it does, before it gets more about sex than romance.'
Becca felt like sticking her fingers in her ears and going la-la-la so she couldn't hear what Crystal was saying. There were altogether too many resonances with the scene in the people carrier. But Paul wasn't like that. She knew he wasn't.
Crystal caught hold of her hand and stared into Becca's face, her expression creased with anxiety. 'Please, Becca. Think what will happen if Lily or Martin find out. For Lily's sake, give it up, if not for Martin's.'
For Lily's sake. I don't want to give him up, Becca thought. I don't want to be found out either. Martin would be devastated if he knew. What should I do? Paul seemed more real at that moment than either Lily or Martin. She could see him in her mind's eye, his face as he concentrated on fastening the bracelet round her wrist. She was wearing it now, and twisted it round and round. Aren't I entitled to a bit of romance? she wanted to wail.
'Give him up,' Crystal said, and Becca now regretted having told her She didn't want to know what Crystal thought any more, but Crystal was determined to tell her. 'What you and Martin have is really precious. You're so lucky to have someone like him, a solid relationship. Stop before you go too far.'
- ooo -
What to do what to do what to do? rattled round in Becca's brain as persistently as the hamster ran on its wheel. Becca frowned, suddenly diverted away from thoughts of Paul. She hadn't heard the hamster for ages. She made her way to the utility room to check, what to do being replaced by could she do it could she do it could she do it? She knew what she should do, it was the doing that was going to be difficult. She thought of Paul, his energy, his dear face. Impossible to let him go.
Becca peered in the cage. It looked OK, hardly any droppings anywhere, and most of the bedding neatly inside the little plastic house the hamster liked to make a nest in. She could see the curve of hamster fur tucked up in its nest. It was suspiciously still. She opened the cage and gave the little plastic house a nudge. Nothing happened. She pushed it again, harder this time. The hamster carried on sleeping. If it were asleep.
Her heart beating fast, she reached a trembling finger and prodded the body. She took a sharp intake of breath. Quite stiff. Oh God, the poor little thing. The hamster was dead. How? Why? Her eyes swooped to the food bowl - empty. The water bottle - not a single drop.
She stormed to the bottom of the stairs. 'Lily,' she yelled upwards. Lily had been in her room all afternoon. 'Come here right now.'
'What?' Lily's voice drifted downwards.
'Come here now,' Becca shouted. The memory of the starved little body, curled around itself fuelled her anger as surely as Lily hadn't fuelled the hamster. 'I mean it. Right now. I've got something to show you.' Becca waited while Lily dragged her body downstairs, more zombie than teenager. She took Lily's arm and dragged her to the utility room. 'Look.'
'OK, I'll do it later,' Lily said, pulling away and rubbing her eyes. 'Just not now, Mum, I'm a bit -'
'No. Look.' Becca undid the clips that held the top of the cage onto the base and pulled out the little house. 'Truffle's dead. I told you you needed to look after him. The poor little thing has starved to death.'
'I did feed him,' Lily said, tears welling up. 'I did. I did.'
Becca felt torn between wanting Lily to realise the dreadful thing she had done and compassion for her wounded white face. 'OK. When did you last feed him?'
'I...I...I can't remember. Just recently. I know I did.'
'He needed you to look after him, he couldn't go out and find food on his own.' Becca felt her own guilt rise. She should have reminded Lily, but she'd nagged her so often, at what point did it stop? Her own eyes filled with tears. I should have checked, she thought, I should have nagged Lily more. She imagined the hamster frantically licking at the water bottle, tiny incisors scratching the ball bearing in the hope of finding some moisture. Its needs had been so small, so minimal and yet they hadn't managed to fulfil even those. It had lived its lonely life, going round and round on its wheel frantically running to nowhere.
Tears were now rolling down Lily's face, and Becca hugged her. 'I'm sorry, Lily, but you've got to learn. Otherwise there was no point to Truffle's life at all.'
'I didn't mean it.' Lily sniffed, her mouth making a perfect downwards semicircle. 'I didn't mean it. I loved him.'
'But not enough to feed him, and give him water,' Becca said gently to soften the truth that had to be said.
Lily was crying properly now, great sobs that shook her shoulders. 'Everything's gone wrong,' she wailed. 'Everything's awful. I wish I were dead.'
'Oh, sweetheart, it's not that bad.' Becca hugged her, feeling the sobs shaking Lily's body. 'We'll give Truffle a proper burial in the garden.'
'It's Kevin,' Lily wailed. 'He's going out with Hannah. Grace texted me. They've been going out with each other for ages. Kevin says Hannah's really fit and I'm too fat.'
'You're not, darling, you're perfect, just as you are,' Becca said, stroking Lily's hair.
'Everything's so dreadful,' Lily wailed. 'Kevin gone off with Hannah, and Truffle's dead. Gran and Grandpa are getting divorced and he's all on his own, and going to die just like Truffle cos no one will look after him, and it's awful, I can't bear it.'
'Darling, don't worry, it'll be OK,' Becca said, patting her back. 'I'm sure Grandpa is going to be fine, it's going to be years before he needs a coffin, brass handles or not.' She hoped that was true. 'Let's have supper in front of the television and watch something nice, just us girls.'
'There isn't anything to watch.'
Becca settled her in front of the television. 'Look, Casablanca' s on in a couple of minutes, we could watch that together.' She managed to persuade Lily that it wouldn't be boring, and quickly made turkey and salad sandwiches for them both. Lily was looking small and fragile, as if she had diminished over Christmas. Lily leaned against her, and as the film progressed, Lily's head became heavier and heavier. Becca stroked her hair, thinking that sleep was the best thing for her. Poor Lily, it had been a bit of an emotional time.
Ingrid Bergman as Ilsa glowed in black and white, Humphrey Bogart as Rick was rugged and manly. Paul Henreid as Ilsa's husband Victor Laszlo reminded her of Paul in a way, both being tall and thin with defined cheekbones and a slightly receding forehead. Paul was probably gliding down the piste at this very moment, or drinking Gluhwein. They'd drunk Gluhwein together at the Christmas market. Becca could feel the spiciness on her tongue, the scent of cinnamon and cloves.
Crystal had said she was playing with fire. I can't give him up, she thought. Not like this. I can't give him up without... Without what? Without having sex with him? Was that what she wanted? Was that where it was heading and she was choosing to be in denial?
Stop it now, Crystal had said. Stop it before you go too far.
Lily shifted against her shoulder with a grunt. When she'd been a baby she'd made little grunting noises when she slept, like a piglet rootling for acorns. She'd been a beautiful baby with thistledown hair, nestling into the crook of Becca's arms as if she'd been made especially for them. My baby, she thought, kissing the top of Lily's tousled black head. My love.
Lily stirred and sat up, mouth opening in a pink yawn, before settling back down against Becca. In the film, they were at the airport - Morocco seemed surprisingly rainy for a desert country - and Rick was telling Victor that Ilsa had lied when she said she loved Rick in order to get the papers they needed. 'Here's looking at you, kid?'
And Ingrid Bergman had never looked as beautiful as when she said goodbye to Rick, when she left her romance behind and stayed with her heroic but frankly boring husband. I know Crystal's right, Becca thought. I have to stop playing with fire. But I don't want to. It - Paul - makes me feel alive.
Lily woke up at the credits and twisted round to Becca. 'You're crying, Mum.'
'It's the film, love,' Becca said stroking her hair. She knew what she had to do; she only hoped she had the willpower to do it. 'It always makes me cry.'
- ooo -
Before Christmas Lily had been full of plans for going out to an all-night party on New Year's Eve, but after the day Truffle died, there were no further arguments. Becca assumed Lily didn't want to be anywhere that would spotlight her Kevin-less state. Instead, they were all going to stay at home and have a family supper. Becca invited Frank, but he declined, so it was just the three of them for smoked salmon and champagne. Lily's eyes were red from prolonged weeping and she only just managed to stay up until midnight before trudging off to bed.
'I wish I could take the pain from her,' Becca said to Martin as she snuggled up against him on the sofa.
'She's got to go through it - we all did.' He stroked her back. 'You coming to bed?'
'Mmm. I just want to tidy up before I go.' She got up and stretched.
'Leave it till the morning,' Martin said also getting up. 'It'll keep.'
'I suppose.' They went up to bed, each following their own routine, although without speaking, neither put their nightwear on before slipping under the duvet. They kept their eyes on each other's face as they made love, slowly, quietly, kissing each other gently, with tenderness.
Afterwards Martin gave a sigh of deep satisfaction. 'Happy New Year,' he murmured.
'And to you.' Becca stretched in bed, her body heavy, thoughts of Paul far away, already a distant memory. 'Any resolutions?'
'Get round the marathon. And you?' Martin wrapped his arms around her.
'The usual. Drink less, exercise more, learn to speak French.' It felt wonderfully warm and secure in Martin's arms. As she went to sleep she vaguely remembered there was one other resolution she had made, but that was one she could never share with Martin.
- ooo -
Becca pushed the door open to the Holburne Museum, pleased to get out of the driving rain outside. Paul was already there, and despite her best intentions and determination, her heart lifted. She hadn't seen him for two weeks. Strange how he appeared, at once familiar and unfamiliar. We forget how they look over time, she thought. Perhaps if I was separated from Lily I would forget. I would carry a picture of her in my heart, but the image would get blurred.
He turned, and smiled at her. Her physical reaction was electrical and immediate, despite her best intentions. I must remember Lily, she thought as she walked towards him. Lily and Martin are my family, not this man I hardly know.
'Lovely to see you.' He kissed her cheek, as if they were friends meeting casually, but one hand on her shoulder pulled her to him so for a moment their bodies were aligned. She moved away, head down to hide her face, not wanting him to see her confusion. It was one thing to decide to give him up when he wasn't there, quite another when he was.
They walked to the ticket desk, his hand in the small of her back. Such a familiar gesture, that gentlest of pressures, protecting and guiding. One that from today she would no longer experience. She quickly glanced up at him. The light played on his cheekbones highlighting the contrast between the delicacy of the shaping round the eyes and the masculinity of the strong brows and nose that she loved. She caught herself in time. No, not loved. You couldn't love someone you didn't know. And not in the same way as a child you had given birth to.
Paul handed over a note to pay for their tickets. 'No, let me,' she said, opening her bag and searching in the depths for her wallet, not wanting to be beholden.
'Too late,' he said, smiling down at her.
Too late. The story of her life maybe, she thought as she climbed the grand stone stairs, Paul by her side. 'The first floor has all the porcelain and silver,' she said. 'We'll start at the top, where the paintings are, if you like.'
'I will follow where you lead,' he said gallantly, but paused by the window on the stairs. 'Are the gardens open?'
'Sydney Gardens? Yes, all the time, as far as I know.' Lily had spent much of the summer hanging out with her friends in Sydney Gardens doing heaven knew what. Usual teenage things, Becca assumed. Talking, listening, playing tag with childish bursts of energy before collapsing into teenagerish inertia. She didn't like to think Lily's peer group activities also included smoking and drinking.
'It's wonderful to see you,' Paul said. He was standing on the step below her so their eyes were level. 'I've missed you.'
'What, with all that skiing going on, and Christmas and everything?' Becca said, keeping her voice light. She wanted to stroke his face, smooth a strand of hair away, but that was not going to happen. She could hardly bear to look him in the eyes.
'You were with me all the time. Here.' Paul pressed one of her hands to his chest. Now she'd made her decision, he seemed more desirable than ever. She so wanted to be able to hold him, press herself against him, the two halves coming together to make a whole.
'We need to talk,' she said, and despite her best efforts at self-control, she felt her eyes filling with tears.
He held her chin and tilted her head as he searched her face. 'That sounds serious.' Paul dropped his hand to his side, his body language wary. 'Come on, let's go and look at these paintings. I could do with a dollop of culture after all that fondue.'
They climbed the stairs to the top floor in silence. Becca couldn't work out how to begin. How to explain rationally something that was irrational? Love - not that she was in love with Paul, of course - was supposed to conquer all. People gave up everything for love, abandoned husbands, wives, children, betrayed countries, trampled on convention, swept all before them. They didn't meekly settle for something less just to avoid hurting others.
Mind you, that was what Ilsa did in Casablanca. She settled for fighting the good fight with her husband Victor rather than running off into the sunset with Rick. She put duty and obligation above love. Becca glanced up at Paul, thinking how good-looking he was, especially with a tan from skiing.
They were the only people in the top gallery beyond the custodian. Most of the paintings were portraits. They stopped in front of a painting of a young girl dancing. 'Portrait of Henrietta Laura Pulteney,' Becca read out. 'Most of the roads round here must be named after her - there's Pulteney Bridge and Pulteney Street, Laura Place and Henrietta Gardens.'
Paul peered at the portrait. 'She looks pleased with herself.'
'You wouldn't have your portrait painted if you weren't, would you? I mean, you wouldn't commission an artist when you were feeling depressed, or you'd just lost a fortune.' Becca knew she was delaying the moment when she'd have to tell Paul about her decision. She had suggested the Holburne because she'd guessed correctly that it would be a quiet space at this time of year, but now she wished the gallery was full of visitors, bustling and talking, anything that filled the empty spaces of the top-floor gallery with something other than her need for him, and her determination to tell him it was over.
'Suzy had the children's portraits painted last year,' Paul said.
'Were they any good?' If only one other couple, one other person walked in right now, she wouldn't have to tell Paul, she could wait for another opportunity. She wistfully looked at the entrance, but no one else came. They were alone.
'Nothing special.' He paused, as if considering the question for the first time. 'Rather old fashioned, in fact. I suppose it's a good likeness, which is what Suzy required. That, and looking good above the mantelpiece.'
'I wish I'd had Lily done when she was younger,' Becca said. 'Not a painting, but one of those really smart photographs in a studio.'
'Why didn't you?'
'I don't know,' Becca said, moving away from him. For the first time she realised with a pang she'd subconsciously waited until she had another child so that he or she could join Lily in the photographer's studio, hair neatly brushed, best clothes on. Too late now. Firstly, Lily didn't brush her hair at all as far as Becca could tell, let alone brush it neatly. And also, something deep inside her flinched from the idea of underlining Lily's solitary state with something as permanent as a photograph.
There was a bench in the middle of the room and she sat, facing away from the guard, hands clasped on her knees in front of her. Paul sat next to her. 'I can't see you again,' she blurted out.
He swung his head to look at her. 'Why not? Did something happen? What happened over Christmas?'
'Nothing, nothing,' she said, laying a hand on his arm to reassure him. 'I just can't see you again.'
'I see. Why?'
'I can't do this.' Becca leaned forwards, head in hands. 'I can't lie to everyone all the time, I can't treat Lily and Martin as if they don't matter. What we have - whatever it is - comes at their expense. I can't risk hurting them. And I don't want to hurt your family either. We shouldn't have let things get this far, but at least we haven't...' She looked up at him and thought he had never looked more desirable, more handsome, more unobtainable. 'We are married people and we shouldn't be seeing each other. We are not free.'
'And if we were?' Becca turned away from him, unable to answer. Paul gave an anguished sigh. 'Do you think emotions can be turned on and off like a tap?'
She shook her head. 'That's the point. Every time we meet, we go a little bit further emotionally. At least, I do.' I could fall in love with you so easily, she thought. 'We have to stop.'
'Don't.' He screwed his eyes up as if in pain. 'Don't do this.'
'There isn't a choice.'
'There are always choices,' he said sharply. 'I could leave Suzy. You could leave Martin.'
It was all going too far, too fast. Becca felt out of control, as if she were sliding down the mountain towards the edge and there was nothing to stop her. 'No... If you left Suzy because of me, think of all the pain you'd cause. Think of your children.'
'Children are tough. They'd get over it.'
'I don't want Lily to be tough, I don't want her to have to get over it. My parents are splitting up right now, and it's hurting me - and I'm an adult.' She hugged her knees close to her. 'I can't do that to a child, any child, let alone my own. We have to stop seeing each other before it's too late.'
'But it already is too late.' He took her face in his hands. 'I've fallen in love with you.'
'You can't have.' Becca whispered. 'You don't know me.'
'I do, and I love you more and more, every minute, every day. I've never loved anyone the way I love you now. Even when you're saying we can't see each other again, I love you. I love you for being brave, and wanting to do the right thing.' His eyes were large and shining and he spoke with great conviction. He's an actor, Becca thought, trying to keep her feet on the ground. 'But darling, don't you see?' Paul continued. 'You can't just walk away. It doesn't work like that. If we know anything about life, it's that love isn't just hanging around waiting to be picked up. You have to search for it. And if you find it, you don't throw it away.'
Becca pulled her head free from his hands. 'Don't make it hard...'
'I want you to see what you're doing. Do you think you can live without love?'
'There'll always be the memories,' she said, echoes of Rick telling Ilsa that they'd always have Paris. But memories of what? A few stolen kisses, a few surreptitious meetings? It wasn't real - except it felt the most real thing she'd ever known. 'Please, Paul. Let me go.'
'I can't,' he said, turning away from her and putting his hand to the bridge of his nose. 'You've been the one good thing I've had these past few months. I won't let you ruin it.'
Becca touched his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, wanting to cry herself. 'If it's any consolation, I can hardly bear it. But I have to go before I get in too deep.'
'Aren't you in too deep already?' he whispered.
She stood up. 'I have to go.'
'Tell me you don't love me. Say it.'
'I don't love you.'
And that was when Becca knew. She bent and quickly kissed him, took one last look at his face. 'I have to go.'
She turned and walked out of the gallery. She could hear Paul call her name but she carried on. If she stopped, she'd never get the strength to leave again. Becca went down the stairs faster, her feet clattering on the stone steps, her face wet with tears. Her feet were going faster, faster, her breath coming in short puffs. She put her hand to her mouth to stop the sobs coming out. And then she was in the lobby and out the front, with the rain still coming down. Where now? She guessed Paul's car was in the Holburne car park. She turned the other direction and ran through Sydney Gardens to the canal. Then down, and along, hardly looking in her need to get away from him. Rain washed her face, mingling with the tears. The towpath was covered in puddles, a few ducks contentedly quacking. She slowed to a walking pace, frightened of slipping in the mud. The rain was pelting down. Ahead, the canal went into a tunnel and she ran for it.
It was nearly as wet under the tunnel as outside. She leaned back against the mossy walls, and howled. The sound echoed round the tunnel, muffled by the rain falling in large sploshes on to the still brown water. She slid down the wall, not caring what she did to the back of her coat and crouched in a foetal position at the foot of the tunnel wall. I can't bear it, she thought. I can't bear it. I can't live without him. Oh God, help me. I didn't know I loved him until now.