4

Jack woke with a start. It was already hot, the sun streaming in through the thin cotton curtains. Lisa was asleep beside him, her ash-blonde hair tangled about her thin face. It still surprised him that Lisa had fallen in love with him, let alone married him – fifteen months ago now.

More than twenty years younger than him, she was a make-up artist, freelancing for television and magazine photo-shoots. They had met when Jack was contributing to a late-night TV news show, where Lisa was doing hair and make-up.

Jack had been grumpy that day. Hassled by his editor into commenting on a breaking corruption scandal involving some German politician about whom he knew virtually nothing, he had barely noticed Lisa as she tried to tame his wild, sandy-grey hair. (Lisa later cropped it to a tidy Number 2 on her clippers, because she considered his long hair ageing.)

He’d mumbled his way through the presenter’s questions, qualifying everything he said with ‘It’s too early to say at this stage …’ or ‘When we know more of the facts …’ or ‘Nothing can be confirmed until …’ He knew he sounded like a sliding politician as he tried to pretend he knew more than he was prepared to say, rather than knowing a lot less. But as he slunk, relieved, from the studio, Lisa had accosted him in the corridor.

‘You were wonderful,’ she’d said, her eyes shining with admiration as she lightly touched his sleeve in an endearingly intimate gesture.

He was only human, and an ageing human at that. And he was lonely back then, beginning to feel his age and fed up with the merry-go-round of on/off relationships that wore him out. In the stilly watches of the night, he found himself increasing fearful of a future defined by ready meals for one, default consumption of red wine and no one with whom to share details of his tiresome Tube journey or appreciate his rants about the deplorable state of the nation. Lisa was still young and exceedingly attractive, with her slim figure, wide blue eyes and cupid mouth. He’d asked her for a drink, then and there. She’d readily accepted. Job done.

For the first few dates, she had appeared to be in awe of someone as clever and successful as Jack Holt, making out that she was just a silly make-up artist with no pretentions to intellect. When he got to know her properly, however, he realized she was very far from stupid. Lisa might not pretend to be highly educated, but she was intelligent, nonetheless, and fun to be with. She liked a cocktail, loved dressing up and the parties – often full of powerful and interesting people – to which he took her. He liked showing her his world and found her vulnerability touching – the way she would pretend she knew something, then suddenly laugh and blush and admit she didn’t really. Above all, he felt oddly grateful to her for loving him, especially as they had nothing much – music, books or even the food they liked – in common. He told himself this didn’t matter. Lots of couples he knew seemed to inhabit different planets with perfect ease.

Recently, however, a shadow had fallen across their marriage. Lisa had begun talking about a baby. And if there had been one thing, one solitary thing, that Jack had made clear during their courtship, it was that he did not want any more children.

At the time, Lisa had assured him firmly that she didn’t either. And that even if she did, she wasn’t sure she could, because her fallopian tubes had been damaged by an earlier infection. Not to mention the fact that she was forty-two. Jack had been thoroughly relieved. Even the thought of another baby made him feel like a traitor. He would never, could never, even contemplate being responsible for a young child he loved, ever again. But here he was, this bright June morning, being forced to contemplate just that.

Lisa opened her eyes and he smiled down at her. She reached for his fingers and brought them to her lips. Jack snuggled down, moved his hand to her breast, stroking it through the thin T-shirt she wore as he pulled her closer. For a moment, as he felt the beginnings of arousal – he’d always been a morning person – he thought he might be in luck. But that had not been the case since their last baby row. She had, he was pretty sure, been deliberately punishing him. Lisa sighed and pushed him away gently, her smile apologetic and coy as she rubbed her breasts seductively against his chest in parting.

‘Sorry, sweetheart …’ She didn’t explain further as she rolled over and got out of bed.

Jack flopped back on the pillow, resigned, and watched his wife walk through to the en suite, heard her peeing. Stella, he muttered his ex-wife’s name silently to himself. I’m seeing Stella today. The thought was not a comfortable one. The last time they’d met must have been eleven or twelve years ago, at his mother-in-law’s funeral. Jack had adored Patsy. They would always have a good gossip, a laugh together. She was fierce and didn’t suffer fools, but Jack liked that about her, he knew where he stood. Stella’s father had died when she was four from a brain aneurism and Patsy had never remarried – her life was devoted to the Montessori nursery she’d founded and run in Ealing.

When he heard she had died, Jack was in two minds as to whether he should attend the funeral, whether it would upset Stella to see him there. But he’d decided to go in the end, and Stella had – surprisingly – allowed him to put his arm around her, give her a proper, extended hug as they stood by the grave in Acton cemetery, the Tube trains trundling past just yards away. He remembered loving that moment. It had seemed like a lifetime since she had leaned on him, needed him, albeit so briefly, and even though they’d exchanged barely three sentences afterwards. But that was a long time ago. It would be very odd seeing her again, sitting at the same table, sharing their daughter and grandson … Something, sadly, they had never done before.

‘I don’t really want to go today,’ Lisa was standing at the foot of the bed, biting her thumbnail and staring at him.

Jack sat up, guiltily shaking off his thoughts, as if his wife might somehow sense what he was thinking.

‘Are you worried about Stella?’

Lisa gave a nervous laugh. ‘God, no! I couldn’t give a toss about her. I just don’t feel very well.’

Jack knew this wasn’t true. His wife looked the picture of health and cared for herself to the nth degree. Nevertheless, he was assailed by a sudden fear: morning sickness. Was she teasing him?

‘Oh, dear,’ he said cautiously. He knew that the success of the whole day would hinge on how he dealt with the next five minutes. ‘Are you feeling sick?’

Lisa sat down on the bed and gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Not really.’

‘What then?’

There was a long pause, during which Lisa intently examined the nude polish on the index finger of her right hand.

‘I don’t think Eve likes me.’ She sounded almost childlike, as if she were just home from school and telling him about a problem with one of her classmates.

Jack leapt out of bed and came to sit beside her, putting his arm around her thin shoulders, sweeping her hair back so he could see her face.

‘Of course she likes you, Lisi. That’s a ridiculous thing to say.’

She turned her wide blue eyes up to him. ‘Is it? I’ve tried so hard with her, Jack. But it’s just not working.’ She paused and leaned in to his side, picking up his hand to cradle it in both her own. ‘I don’t think I can face your lot today. You go if you like. I can potter about here.’

Jack took a steadying breath, controlled himself. He disliked the thought that Lisa saw his daughter and grandson as ‘his lot’.

‘But … Evie will be expecting both of us.’ He spoke quietly, as if he were trying to calm a spooked horse. ‘I don’t want them to think you’re not coming because Stella’s there … She’s going to be staying all summer, we can’t avoid her forever.’

‘It’s not about Stella,’ Lisa snapped, letting Jack know that it absolutely was.

‘No, OK. But still, we can’t cancel … I suppose I could go on my own if you really don’t want to come?’ He knew this was far from ideal, but he was desperate to secure his lunch with the family.

Lisa gave him a hurt look, her mouth fixed as she went over to the chair in the corner and ripped off her pale-pink T-shirt. ‘It’s always all about Evie and Arthur, Evie and Arthur. You’re obsessed. I’m your family now, too, but I just don’t know where I fit in.’

Jack didn’t bother to explain to her that he’d been a pretty crap father to Eve. That his pain and guilt had got in the way. That he’d tried his best to make it up to his adult daughter, and in the process found he absolutely adored her, and recently little Arthur, too. He knew it would be pointless at this particular juncture, when Lisa was upset and jealous. He sighed inwardly, realizing he was probably at least twice as uncomfortable as Lisa at the prospect of seeing Stella.