16

Stella woke, disorientated, to find Iain next to her. She’d got used to sleeping alone in the past three weeks. But his presence was comforting, a reminder that she wasn’t just a mother and grandmother, although she was willingly so right now. They had made love last night – very quietly, trying not to let the old bedstead creak, trying not to giggle, although Eve’s room was at the other end of the corridor. She had found herself eager for the sexual closeness, the feel of Iain’s body against hers, and luxuriated in the sudden spike of desire his touch brought. He was a good lover, taking his time to give her pleasure.

‘Morning,’ she said as he opened his pale-blue eyes.

Iain grinned and stretched, pushing his hair back from his face. ‘Hmm … Worth the hideous journey down, that was.’ He rolled over till he could put his arm around her. ‘Should keep you short more often.’

They lay in companionable silence. The morning light was very bright, the air from the open window cool on her skin. She knew she ought to get up, get dressed, be ahead of her grandson when he woke. But sex had made her lazy; she just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep.

‘I’ll be off home after lunch,’ Iain was saying. ‘The traffic will be murder on the A21 on a Sunday night.’

‘I’m dreading it,’ Stella said. ‘I’d much rather hang out here, sit in the garden with you, catch up. Can’t we let them go on their own? Jack and Lisa would probably pay to have us bail. They only asked us because they couldn’t not.’

‘Well, I’m looking forward to finally meeting the legendary Jack Holt.’

‘No, you’re not. You think Jack’s an arse because I’ve told you he is a million times.’

‘OK,’ Iain said, grinning sheepishly, ‘well, maybe “intrigued” is a better word. I’m probably not actually looking forward to it.’ They both fell silent. ‘Behave today, Stell. Please,’ he added, his voice quiet but firm.

Jack and Stella were alone in his kitchen. The others were out in the garden. Iain was lying on his back on the small patch of grass, white-blond hair spread out behind him, while Arthur bounced on his stomach, shrieking with delight. Lisa and Eve were watching from the wooden decking, laughing at the antics on the lawn.

Stella had come in to chop up an apple for Arthur. The meal was very late and the child was starving.

‘Hope your boyfriend likes beef,’ Jack said, sweat beading on his flushed face as he opened the oven door to clouds of steam.

‘He’s a vegetarian, actually,’ Stella said, mischievously enjoying the moment. She knew how Jack would react: he couldn’t abide what he’d always called ‘fussy eaters’.

On cue, Jack turned a disbelieving face towards her. He banged the hot roasting tin down on the work surface, throwing aside the quilted pot-holder. ‘For God’s sake, Stella. Why didn’t you say? I’d have done an onion tart or something.’

Stella smiled. ‘No, you wouldn’t. You loathe vegetarians … and you haven’t got a clue how to make onion tart.’

She saw Jack chuckle as he bent to baste the joint with a long-handled metal spoon, watched him put the tin back on the oven shelf.

‘No, OK, you’re right. But what’s the poor guy going to eat?’

‘Potatoes, veg. Tin of sardines if you run to one.’

‘Ah, so he’s not a vegetarian at all. He’s a pescatarian.’

‘Either way, he’s not going to eat your beef, is he?’

Jack harrumphed. ‘You love winding me up, don’t you?’

‘How am I winding you up by telling you my “boyfriend”, as you put it, doesn’t eat meat?’ she asked, raising an innocent eyebrow.

‘What is he, then, if he’s not your boyfriend? I called him your husband the other day and you didn’t like that either.’ Jack wasn’t looking at her as he concentrated on slicing up a sweetheart cabbage on a red plastic chopping board.

‘My partner?’ She shook her head. ‘I hate that word. Consort?’ She laughed at the pretentious option. ‘Boyfriend sounds like we’re twenty-five again.’

There was silence. She was surprised at how easy it was to banter with Jack again after their previous encounter. But now she saw his face fall as he laid the knife gently on the chopping board.

Stella sighed. She thought she knew what was going through his mind. If they were both twenty-five again they could do things differently. Get a different outcome. For a crazy moment she imagined them driving back up the A21 from the Morrisons’ lunch. Evening sun, Neneh Cherry on the stereo, Jonny asleep in his car seat, grass in his curls, chocolate around his mouth from the ice cream he’d just eaten. She would be driving because Jack was tipsy, while they both deconstructed the party – one of their favourite pastimes – picking the guests apart, raving about the food, saying how charming Henry was … The image faded.

‘I’d better take this out,’ she said, lifting the plate of sliced apple and turning towards the door to the garden, eager to be out in the fresh air again, away from Jack and the memories he evoked.

‘Wait, Stella,’ she heard his voice behind her.

She turned back reluctantly. ‘What?’

He hesitated. ‘I saw Giovanna last week. At a book launch in Holland Park.’

Stella stared at him, a sliver of panic winding up through her gut.

‘We said hello. She must be in her seventies now, but she still looked amazing … Henry died last year, apparently.’ Jack spoke slowly. He seemed determined she should hear. ‘Don’t you think that’s a strange coincidence?’ he went on. ‘I haven’t seen her in decades, then I bump into her this week.’

She knew what he meant, but she couldn’t find an answer.

Jack’s expression was puzzled. ‘Given tomorrow’s date? Surely you haven’t forgotten.’

The snaking panic flared, along with anger that he should persist in pushing her like this. ‘Like I would ever forget the day our son died,’ she said quietly, biting her lip and looking away, out to the garden, where things seemed to be going on so normally. She felt her heart racing, aware that she might say something she’d regret, forcing herself not to. What does he want? she asked herself. A nice little memorial picnic under a tree? Forget-me-nots and ham sandwiches, thermos tea to soothe us as we relive the most hideous moment of our lives?

She found she was trembling, shocked by the image she had created. Jack was just staring at her in silence – the air in the kitchen suddenly very still – waiting for her to say something more. She felt as if she might collapse. Putting down the plate containing the apple with exaggerated care, she reached for the back of a chair and leaned on it, not even having the strength to pull it out and sit down. Jack did not touch her, did not speak. He seemed frozen to the spot.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled, hand over her mouth as if to stop the cry. The cry she knew she must not unleash, in case it snapped the band that was strung so tightly around her heart it was sometimes difficult to breathe. Not here, not now, not with the family just outside. But she could not control the tears. They streamed down her face as she looked up at her ex-husband. ‘I just can’t.’

The kitchen clock ticked. Arthur shrieked. Iain laughed.

‘It’s OK,’ Jack said gently. She felt his hand rest for a split second on her shoulder. Then she heard Eve’s voice from the garden:

‘How’s that beef coming along, Dad? I’m just about to faint.’

Stella hurried off and locked herself in the downstairs toilet, where she washed her face, tidied her hair, tried to breathe normally again. Her grandson’s apple still to be delivered, the family to face, she didn’t have time to think about what had just happened.

‘That went really well,’ Eve said with a sigh of contentment as they drove home through the still summer evening, the sun slanting dusty and beautiful through the trees and leafy hedgerows. ‘I think Dad was exhausted from cooking the beef, he didn’t say much at lunch. But Lisa made up for it, eh? She’s either totally silent, or like someone’s wound her up and set her off.’ She chuckled mischievously. ‘Did you see how she collared Iain, getting him to tell her the names of the butterflies and birds? I didn’t take her for the Springwatch type. Did she really want to know?’

Stella smiled. ‘Beats an awkward silence.’

‘Thanks, Mum. You made a real effort with Dad. I know you’re not finding it easy, but you seemed a bit more mellow with each other today. Or am I just projecting?’

‘No, I had a good time,’ Stella said, wanting to make her daughter happy.

‘Iain’s cool,’ Eve went on, ‘the way he gets on with everyone. It must be nice to be so chilled all the time, don’t you think?’

Stella nodded but didn’t reply. Her thoughts were crashing uncontrolled around her head. All she wanted to do was have a large glass of wine, a long bath and some time alone to think.