The Winter Children

‘What was going on in there?’ she says, spooning food into Bea’s mouth. She has no patience with her daughter’s attempts to feed herself today, but Bea doesn’t like being deprived of the fun and is whining and resisting.

‘Nothing,’ says Dan. He is feeding a more compliant Stan, who likes being fed and is opening his mouth for the spoonfuls of rice and stew.

‘She put it there for a moment. It doesn’t mean anything. You know what she’s like, touchy-feely and all the rest of it. Besides, if you’d give me a chance to explain, I’d tell you that I’ve actually asked her to go.’

‘And what did she say?’ Olivia asks, diverted from the source of her anger and fear. The sight of Francesca and Dan on the sofa together has shaken her. It has given her the unpleasant notion that something is going on between them of which she knows nothing.

‘She was about to tell me when you came in. But I think she’s going to give it some thought.’ He shoots her a wry look. ‘You never know, we might get our lives back sooner than you think.’

Francesca has left them to it, perhaps sensing that the atmosphere is less than welcoming. She is normally keen to offer a hand when it comes to feeding the children and positively relishes the bedtime routine, the one that floors Olivia every evening: the supper, the cleaning up, the baths, stories and sleep rituals that the twins like to draw out for as long as possible.

‘Can you ask her again?’ Olivia urges. The idea of life without Cheska, even if it means less help with the childcare, seems very appealing. It’s been too much and too long. And, now she thinks about it, too intense.

Dan sighs irritably again, but says, ‘All right. I don’t want to get her back up, that’s all.’

‘I’m sure you won’t. She is such an old friend after all. And, according to you, she might still have a sweet spot for you.’ She looks up quickly to see how he will take this little needle.

He shoots her a look. ‘I didn’t say that. I said that years ago she might have had a little crush on me. She’s just a friend now. Okay?’

‘Okay, okay . . . Bea, please, another mouthful for me. Please.’ She slides more rice into Bea’s mouth and changes the subject. ‘I thought I might go to London actually. I sent an email to my agent to see if I could have a chat with him about some future projects and ideas I’ve got.’

With a little yellow spoon, Olivia stirs the stew in the bowl she is holding and bites back a comment. It’s always been like this. Her work has always been considered less than his because she didn’t wear a suit and leave the house at 8 a.m. every day and stride off importantly to an office. It didn’t bring in as much money as his, and it didn’t have a regular pay cheque. And even though it was writing, which he rather admired, it was just garden writing, nothing intellectual. Not like his. But it was still her work and it helped to provide for the family. Now, in fact, it is all they have coming in. She wonders suddenly if Dan is jealous. She’s been a moderate success, with her gardening books selling well enough to bring in some money each year. And she has an agent in London – a fairly useless one, but still – and now that Dan is embarking on a writing project, perhaps he suddenly and unexpectedly feels inferior. She thinks of Andrew, her agent, in his office in a tall building near Piccadilly Circus. She sent him an email today and he replied at once, somewhat to her surprise, offering to take her for lunch any day this week. He has an unusually quiet diary and can accommodate her whenever.

‘Fine with me.’ He shrugs. ‘Whatever you want. I suppose Cheska can look after the kids, if she’s still here.’

She glances over at him, cross and resentful. She has given him all these hours to write a play that she hasn’t yet laid eyes on and which appears to be no closer to being finished than it was when they arrived here. Now it seems as though he can’t even be bothered to look after the children himself.

The image of him and Francesca close together on the sofa comes into her mind. Should I leave them alone? she wonders. Then she pulls herself up. I’m being stupid. Dan has been off Cheska for ages. There’s no way he wants anything to happen. Then she thinks, But what about Cheska? What does she want?

She pushes the thought away. ‘All right. I’ll book my train ticket.’ Then another thought crosses her mind. She will send another email tonight, one she’s been meaning to send for ages. Perhaps it will help to answer the questions turning over in her mind.

Two days later, Olivia waits in the reception area of her agent’s office. It is not a glitzy building and she has to climb three flights to get to his floor, but there is something undeniably glamorous about it. In the small entrance area are bookshelves with the recent work of the company’s clients neatly displayed: picture books, paperbacks and weighty, serious hardbacks. There’s nothing by her, of course. Her last book was too long ago to be out on show.

Behind the desk, a friendly girl, who has provided Olivia with water, taps away at her keyboard and, without warning, answers calls through her headset. The first time this happened, Olivia thought she was being spoken to and when the girl said, ‘How can I help you?’, she started to reply, saying, ‘I’m fine, thank you, the water is lovely,’ only to have the girl talk over her with, ‘He’s in a meeting right now. Can I ask him to call you back?’ and then she guessed. It was embarrassing.

So now she keeps quiet and hopes it won’t be too long before Andrew is ready to see her. It is a relief to be away from home. The atmosphere has been distinctly odd, ever since she walked in on Francesca and Dan on the sofa. Something about Francesca is distant and yet gleeful, while Dan seems both cross and on edge, as though something might set him off at any time. She can’t understand why things seem to have changed, when they were all so harmonious just a short time before. It’s the price of living with people, she thinks. The strain starts to tell in the end. Maybe marriage is really just finding someone you can bear to live with full-time. Even then, it’s hard.

Dan drove her to the station this morning, still mulish and silent. It’s the side of him she likes the least, when he decides to inflict his bad mood on her but won’t tell her what caused it.

‘Will you be okay today?’ she asked, unable to shake the habit of concern for his welfare even when he’s being sulky.

‘Of course.’ He sighed as he turned the car into the station car park and looked for somewhere to park.

‘And you know where I left the twins’ lunch? In the green tub on the bottom shelf of the fridge. Three minutes in the microwave, stir and leave for a minute. Check it’s not too hot before they eat it.’

He shot her an annoyed look. ‘I know. I’ve done their lunch before. We’ll all be fine.’

‘At least Cheska will be out of your way. The builders are going to start bulldozing the old pool, aren’t they? She’ll be overseeing that, I suppose.’ She tried to sound cheerful. ‘Let’s hope we can’t hear it when they start.’

‘I’d better get my train,’ she said. She leaned over to kiss his cheek, and then climbed out of the car and that was that. She can only hope he’s snapped out of his mood by the time she gets back.

I’ll go shopping in Piccadilly after this, she thinks, and get him something nice as a present, to make up. I hate it when things are chilly between us.

The girl at the desk suddenly says, ‘Yes, I’ll send her right in.’ Then she looks over at Olivia and says brightly, ‘Andrew will see you now. First office on the left down the hall.’

Andrew is happy to see her. He’s changed a little since they last met, with markedly less hair, but he is a friendly, talkative man with a seemingly ceaseless interest in his business. They chat in his office, catching up with what’s happened over the years since the twins arrived, and then he takes her out to a brasserie down a back street, not far from the bustle and grinding traffic of Piccadilly Circus. They weave through groups of tourists who stare up at the advertisements for Sony and McDonald’s as though this is what they have come to London to see.

Lunch is very pleasant, the kind she hasn’t had for a long time. She eats a game terrine with fresh French bread and cornichons, and then a duck breast cooked with prunes and Armagnac, served with pureed potato and green beans. It’s hearty, traditional stuff, and Andrew orders a bottle of very good red wine to go with it. She drinks two glasses and enjoys the light-headed feeling. It seems so decadent to be here, thinking only of her own pleasure, when at home Dan is doing the usual demanding routine of looking after two small children.

I will definitely get him a present, she thinks, feeling even more expansive after the wine. Something really nice. Something he really likes.

‘So tell me about your possible projects,’ Andrew says, turning to business as their plates are cleared. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t get you a decent deal for a book if you’ve got an idea. The last did well. You’re in a good place.’

‘Well . . .’ She feels a little shy, but she begins by talking about the research she did in Argentina.

‘I like that idea,’ Andrew remarks. ‘There’s not a massive amount of mileage in it as a how-to book but it would make a lovely coffee table piece. That’s a definite maybe.’

Olivia feels more confident. ‘And then there’s this house we’re living in right now,’ she begins, and starts to tell him all about Renniston. His ears prick up at once, and when she starts telling him about William and the animal hedges, he’s beaming all over his face.

‘This is a wonderful story. And stately homes . . . well, we all know the very healthy market for those. A garden restored. A garden saved,’ he corrects himself. ‘One man’s labour of love. A garden through history.’ He nods. ‘You could really do something with that. Do you have any photos?’

Olivia brings out her phone and scrolls through some of the pictures on it. She’s taken some of the cottage garden and a few of the Hall gardens. There are plenty of the children too, which naturally distract them from the garden project.

‘Who’s this lady?’ Andrew asks, pointing at a picture of Francesca holding Bea, the two of them smiling into the camera. ‘Is that your sister?’

Olivia laughs. ‘No. That’s Cheska . . . I mean, Francesca Huxtable. She’s the owner of the house actually. I’d need to get her permission to do a book on it, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Why did you think she’s my sister?’

‘With me?’ she asks, surprised. She’s never thought they look at all alike.

‘No, not with you. With the little girl. They’ve got the same colour eyes.’

‘Oh. Yes. So they are. Well, Bea’s not really that dark, it’s just the light. But I can see why you would think that.’

Andrew sits back and picks up his wine glass. ‘But as you’re not related, it’s obviously a coincidence,’ he says. ‘After all, you’re their mother.’

Afterwards, when she and Andrew have said their goodbyes and she’s promised to send him some material, she begins to walk down Piccadilly. Her happy mood over lunch has evaporated, although she is not entirely sure why. Still, she is determined to get Dan a present. First she walks into a gentleman’s outfitters, a purveyor of country clothing, and spends a while browsing through the ties decorated with pictures of pheasants, and the plus-fours and plus-twos that look as though they have come from a P. G. Wodehouse story. She buys a pair of thick socks that she thinks will help combat the cold floors of the cottage, but nothing else is suitable. Dan isn’t a country gent and isn’t about to start wearing checked shirts and red cord trousers now.

Out on the street, she gazes into shopfronts and thinks about what he might like. She mustn’t be too extravagant but she has enough money to get him something nice. Maybe a box of chocolates from Fortnum’s. Then she checks her watch with a gasp. She’ll be late. She almost forgot her other appointment. She puts Fortnum’s out of her mind and hurries on towards the Patisserie Valerie on the edge of St James. As she gets closer, she sees a familiar figure sitting at a table in a window, the curly head bent over a magazine, and she rushes in.

‘Claire, hello, sorry I’m late!’ She drops her bag and sits down heavily in the chair opposite.

Claire looks up with a smile. ‘Don’t be silly, you’re not.’ She leans over for an embrace. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Olivia. It’s been far too long! I’m so glad you emailed me. So, how on earth are you?’

Olivia has worried that the meeting with Claire would be awkward after all this time, but it isn’t. In fact, it’s lovely to see her. They talk quickly for a few minutes, while the waitress takes Olivia’s order and then brings tea. Then Olivia starts to describe everything that’s happened lately and, for the second time, she pulls out her phone and shows her favourite pictures of Bea and Stan to Claire, ones that don’t feature Francesca.

Claire looks up at her, her eyes sparkling with tears. ‘I’m so happy for you, love. I remember what it was like for you in the early days, when it all looked so hopeless. I always prayed it would come right for you and Dan, and it has. They’re beautiful. Doesn’t Stan look like you? I mean, he’s got Dan’s colouring but there’s a definite look of you.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Olivia says with a soft laugh. ‘They’re IVF but not with my eggs. We had to use a donor in the end.’

‘Really?’ Claire colours lightly. ‘I didn’t know. How silly of me. I really did think he looks like you.’

Claire hesitates, then says, ‘Do you mind me asking . . . what’s it like? Having children who you know aren’t related to you? I hope I don’t sound like a buffoon, but I can’t help wondering.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Olivia thinks for a moment. ‘I suppose it’s like having adopted children, but more intense. First, I know that they have a big bit of Dan in their make-up – how much is yet to be revealed. And second, I grew them inside me and gave birth to them, so they feel like mine. I mean, really and entirely mine. The hair colour and . . .’ She suddenly remembers Andrew’s comments about Bea’s eyes and it shakes her, although she’s not quite sure why. ‘Well, all that doesn’t really seem to matter,’ she finishes a bit lamely. ‘So it’s all good. And how are you?’

Claire talks a little about her life since the divorce from Jimmy and the problems she’s had with her oldest child and the strain of moving to a smaller house in a less convenient position, while Jimmy has moved into his new wife’s ex-marital home in a very smart area of Islington. ‘It sticks in the craw somewhat,’ Claire says. ‘His midlife crisis rewarded him with a younger wife, a nicer house, more money and only having the kids every other weekend, which is exactly how he liked it when he actually lived with us.’

‘Maybe.’ Claire shrugs. ‘So, what have I missed with the gossip? How is everyone? How is Cheska?’

‘Cheska . . . well . . .’ Olivia wonders where to start. A couple of months ago she would have said, ‘It’s all just the same – Cheska is one of our best friends.’ But now she doesn’t know quite how to answer. She tries to explain a little about the new arrangement and how it came about, realising as she does how strange it sounds.

Claire holds up a hand. ‘Wait, hold on. Are you telling me that Cheska is now living with you and Dan and the children? In her house?’

‘And is she planning to leave any time soon? I mean, she still has a home in Geneva, right?’

‘I don’t really know when she’s going. She told Dan soon, apparently. But builders have just arrived at the house, so she might be with us a bit longer.’ She leans in towards Claire. ‘If I’m honest, that’s partly why I got in touch. I’m finding it all a bit weird. And I can’t help wondering why she wants to muscle in like this. She’s always been a bit of a mystery to me, and I thought you might be able to tell me a bit more about her.’

‘What is it?’ Olivia asks. ‘What’s so funny?’ She frowns, a little hurt that she has been the source of such amusement. ‘Claire . . . what’s so funny?’

‘I’m sorry! It’s not funny at all. In fact, it’s tragic. It’s just—’ Claire struggles for breath. ‘It’s just that after all these years, Cheska’s dream is finally coming true.’

‘About how she feels about Dan! I wondered if it had faded away over the years – I mean, she seemed relatively normal for ages – but obviously not. Hasn’t he told you?’

‘Well . . .’ A nasty sick feeling is growing in the pit of her stomach. ‘He said that she might have had a crush on him at some point in the past. At university. But I got the impression that it hadn’t lasted beyond then.’

Claire rolls her eyes. ‘Well, I never said anything because it didn’t seem right just to bring it up apropos of nothing at all. You and she seemed so close as well, so either you knew, or it wasn’t appropriate to mention it. Francesca did not just have a crush on Dan. She was obsessed by him. Obsessed! Well, you know that Dan was a bit of a babe magnet. He had girls after him all the time, he could take his pick at college. Jimmy and I used to laugh about it. He’d go to a party and look at a girl, and boom, she was his for the night. He literally didn’t have to try at all. Of course he was handsome but it didn’t hurt that he was also clever and funny and well read and all the rest of it. And then there was Francesca, who was such a timid little thing at first, in the same year, the same college, reading the same subject as Dan, and they were supervision partners.’

‘Yes, she said that.’ Olivia remembers Cheska talking about it, laughing about how she could never understand a word of Dan’s essays.

‘So they were friends and Dan obviously liked her. But not like that. At least . . .’ Claire frowns and trails off.

Claire looks pensive. ‘He . . . he was really fond of her. Almost protective at times. Because when she arrived, she was a bit of an outsider. Shy. Dressed incredibly tartily at first, in very silly high heels and tight skirts when everyone else was wearing Converse and jeans, but then acted like a maiden aunt half the time. She was odd.’ Claire is evidently thinking back, remembering. ‘She was clever, though, and quirky, and a bit different, and seemed to be going places. Dan liked that. And he used her shamelessly, getting her to do half his work for him. I suspect he rather liked her puppyish adoration, the way she followed him around, obeying his orders. Once he bet Jimmy he could get her to go all the way to the cafe at the end of town to fetch him a particular kind of bun. Cinnamon or something. And she did. All the way there and back, to get Dan what he wanted. He could be a bit unkind.’ Claire laughs suddenly. ‘I remember seeing her trailing from library to library, trying to find him so she could sit and study with him. And at a party, she’d have her eyes glued to him, watching him work the room and pick up whoever he fancied. You could almost feel her agony. Poor thing, I did feel sorry for her. I don’t even know if she realised how obvious it was.’

Olivia takes it all in, the picture she has had of Dan and Francesca’s friendship resolving into something new and different. Perhaps she has always sensed that there was something like this below the surface, because she isn’t surprised. It makes things fall into place, even while it raises new questions.

Claire says, ‘Jimmy always thought that Cheska didn’t get the First she was predicted because she spent so much time mooning over Dan. She was supposed to become a hot-shot lawyer, but that never happened either.’ Claire shrugs. ‘I don’t think that was anything to do with Dan, though.’

‘I think so. I don’t really know, Olivia. I got the impression something happened between them – some kind of showdown. There was a scene at the May Ball, the last one we all went to together. Francesca and Dan went off alone for a very long time, from before midnight, and we didn’t see them again until almost dawn. It looked like Francesca had been crying, but she was also happy and Dan had his arm around her. I wondered if they’d got together, but Jimmy was certain they hadn’t. He said Dan just didn’t fancy her. But . . .’ Claire’s expression becomes dreamy, remembering. Olivia can tell that she is seeing them all again, as they were years ago: young and dressed up in their ball gear, the future ahead of them, long before midlife crises and messy divorces and the pain of breaking up. ‘She did look lovely that night.’

‘Yes. She looked so pretty, I remember it. I think I have a photo of us all, on our way to the ball. I remember scanning it in to Facebook. If Dan was ever going to fancy her, it would have been that night.’

Olivia feels something cold in her chest, like a stone. All this is almost too much to take in. She feels torn between anger that she’s never known the truth, and pity for Cheska’s thwarted passion. She knows in her heart that Cheska is no threat. Dan doesn’t love her, she’s sure of it. So why does she have some kind of hold over him? I can sense it. The way her hand was on his leg, it was like she knew she could do that and he couldn’t say no.

It didn’t square with the picture of them at university: Cheska his faithful lapdog, him the swaggering Casanova, deciding whether or not to slake her passion.

‘I’m sorry, Olivia, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ She looks remorseful. ‘Cheska’s nuts. She should have put it all behind her years ago. I can’t believe she’s still crazy about him after all this time.’

‘You haven’t upset me. Really. I didn’t know, but it’s not a shock. I know very well what Dan was like. Don’t forget, I was almost put off by his arrogance.’

‘I’m glad you weren’t. I meant what I said, that stuff I wrote in your hen party book. He’s been a better person since he met you. Honestly he has.’

She manages a smile. I’m not so sure. Maybe he’s just learned to act better. ‘Thank you.’ Then she says, ‘Do you know anything about her marriage to Walt? How that came about?’

Claire shakes her head. ‘Not really. Only that it was sudden. Not long after we left university. She met him and almost immediately she got engaged. But if I’m honest, I don’t think she ever stopped loving Dan, even though she pretended that was all in the past. I mean, we all just let it go and accepted that Cheska now loved Walt and her feelings for Dan had mellowed into friendship. Dan got together with you, and Cheska seemed fine with it.’ Claire’s expression changes swiftly, and she frowns.

‘Well, I just remembered your hen party. I caught an expression on Cheska’s face when she was reading your book. It was . . . pain. I wondered if she had a headache or something. But now . . .’ Claire looks over at her, her expression grave. ‘Maybe her passion for Dan has never changed after all. If I were you, I’d get her out of the house. Or get yourselves out. But get away from her somehow. It’s just not healthy.’

‘No. You’re right.’ She realises that at this very moment, Francesca and Dan are at home together, with the children. Just the four of them. Without her. She has an overpowering need to be there, right now. Putting down her cup, she stands up, breathless. ‘I’m sorry, Claire, I have to go. I’ve got to get my train. I need to go at once.’

Claire looks at her knowingly. ‘Yes, you should. Take care, Olivia. I’ll see you before too long, I hope.’

On the train home, Olivia cannot quell her feeling of anxiety. There is no more reason to be afraid now than there was this morning, she tells herself, and she was perfectly happy going off then.

She checks her phone but there is still no message from Dan. She phones him on his mobile but he doesn’t pick up and she doesn’t want to call the landline, just in case Francesca picks up. Instead she leaves a message on his phone.

‘Hi, honey. I’m on my way home. I hope you had a good day and all is well with the twins. I’ll be at the station at around five-ish, if you want to pick me up. I’ll text the exact time when I’ve checked it. See you later, bye.’ She rings off, wishing he had answered. The ability to communicate all the time is wonderful except when there is unexpected silence. What if something has happened to the twins and he is at the hospital with them, unable to check his phone? What if there has been a fire, and they are all lying in the ashes, the phone melted?

For goodness’ sake, Olivia, calm down, you’re being stupid. Everything is all right. In a couple of hours you’ll be home and you can talk about everything with Dan.

She sits back in her seat and takes a few deep breaths, grateful that there is no one in the seat beside her and she can enjoy some privacy. The trolley comes past, pushed by a steward, and she buys a small bottle of white wine and a packet of peanuts. She wouldn’t usually drink on the train in the afternoon but she feels the need to take the edge off her anxiety, so she pours out the drink, and opens the nuts. The wine is warm and bitter and she abandons it after just a sip or two, but she manages to eat the nuts, flicking through the day’s news on her phone. Then a text pops up and she rushes to read it. It’s from Claire.

Hi, Olivia. Lovely to see you today. Made me realise how long it’s been. Let’s keep in touch, I’ve missed you. Don’t worry about Cheska, she’s not all bad. By the way, take a look on Facebook, that picture is in my photos. I’ve sent you a friend request. Love Claire x

Olivia goes to Facebook and sees Claire’s friend request. She accepts it and at once is able to access Claire’s page and all her information. There are her photos, and she scrolls down through them until she sees the one she wants.

There they all are, familiar from photographs in Dan’s collection, standing in front of a college, dressed in their finery. It must be early in the evening as they all look well turned out and sober. She spots Claire in a bright red dress with matching lipstick, her hair up in a haphazard style.

Then she spots Francesca, and remembers how Claire said she had looked really pretty that night. She wasn’t wrong. She looks lovely. There’s something timeless about her style: innocent and sweet, with a vintage charm. She’s always thought of Francesca as polished and well turned out rather than attractive, but in this photo she looks rather adorable. She certainly stands out. And there, at the other end of the group, is Dan, unmistakable with his rakish good looks, his hair still plentiful and dark, his eyes intense as they stare out of the picture as though he knows he looks good in black tie and rather fancies himself as a pin-up.

Olivia studies the faces that stare out of the photograph, so familiar and yet so changed.

What went on between you that night? she wonders. Dan and Cheska stand so separate but by the end of the evening he had his arm around her. And she’d been crying. If Claire remembered it right.

She frowns. But I know Dan. I know there hasn’t been anything between them. I’m sure he would have told me.

But, she reminds herself, she thought she knew Cheska too, and now she’s beginning to doubt that. At once, she wants to scold herself for making the comparison.

He never told her about Cheska’s crush. He never breathed a word until she pushed at it and made him tell her. And then . . . She thinks back to the other thing about him that’s always puzzled her, and the time she privately called the Dark Night of the Donor, when they argued and argued and she realised to her horror that he wasn’t going to give in. Then, suddenly, he did give in. But she never knew why. What changed?

Olivia leans her head back against the train seat. They are flying along, the afternoon chalky blue sky outside like something from a Regency colour chart, and she is keen to get home. There is still no word from Dan, and she wishes he would get in touch. Another call to his phone brings his voice up on the answer machine but she can’t bear to leave another message. He’ll see the missed calls and know that she wants to reach him.

She can’t understand why he hasn’t been in touch all day. That’s unusual. But she tries to put it out of her mind as the train brings her closer to home with every minute that passes. Instead, she thinks about the children. Later, when she’s home and they’re in bed, she will tiptoe into their rooms and kiss their sleeping faces, inhale their soft sweet scent and feel herself restored by the balm of their presence.

Chapter Twenty-Eight