By late November, I’d finished translating Oli’s ‘History of Neuroradiology’ and I’d booked my ticket on the Eurostar to return to France for a week or two over the Christmas holidays. The break was long overdue; I hadn’t been back to France since the summer, and I’d worked as many hours as I could at the hospital in the preceding weeks in an attempt to avoid being at home. Zara was sweet and supportive, but she had her own life – including a new man, who seemed to have practically moved in with us – and she couldn’t fill the hole that Helena had left in my life, nor could she say very much to ease the sense of loss that was permanently with me.
I deliberately avoided contacting my daughter, not wanting to give her any more reason than she already had to think that I was some kind of a crazy stalker, and that I was feeding my ‘obsession’ as she’d phrased it. Catherine, Zara, Christian and Suzanne had all advised me that she’d come round in time, if I’d just back off and leave her alone. But it seemed to me that the gap between the two of us was just getting bigger and bigger as time went on. It was clear to me that she was no longer attached to me in the same way that she had once been, and I knew that this was more than just the natural progression of her journey into adulthood and the desire for independence that came with the first year at University. She no longer texted me about the everyday trivia of her life (a photo she’d taken of a meal she’d cooked, or something annoying that someone had said to her at the gym), nor did she invite me to competitions; I guessed that her coaching team now included Martin, and that I was no longer needed or welcome as a member of her cheerleading squad. Although my heart skipped a beat every time my phone rang, it was never her who was calling. It was now nearly three months since I’d last seen or heard from her, and it had left me feeling indescribably low.
I threw myself into my work. Oli had been asking me more and more often to help him in clinic, and I’d found myself becoming increasingly emotionally involved with the patients, the chronic pain and sadness that underscored their lives and the lives of their families being the only thing that could put my own torment into any kind of perspective.
On a windy Thursday morning in early December, as the country prepared itself for what was predicted to be the worst storm in sixty years, we lost one of our female patients, a girl just a year younger than Helena, who’d been battling bravely with a tumour for several months. I nodded calmly as Oli gave me the news at the end of the morning clinic, before making an excuse to leave and go back up to the office alone. I walked out of the clinic and up the steps and, to my horror, started to cry and shake uncontrollably. I brushed my tears away in embarrassment, hoping that the porters hadn’t noticed, but I couldn’t stop crying, no matter how hard I tried. As I reached the door to the office, I heard the sound of footsteps running up the stairs behind me and Oli’s hand was on my shoulder.
He followed me into the office and handed me a tissue, without saying a word. I was mortified. I’d never cried in front of him before and I didn’t know how he’d react. Some men couldn’t cope with tears, I knew, and I hoped desperately that I hadn’t made him feel as embarrassed as I was feeling right now. I blew my nose and turned my face away from him, trying as hard as I could to blink away my tears, but to no avail.
“I know how you must feel,” Oli said. “You never really get used to losing a patient, even when you know that she is fighting an uphill battle, and especially when it’s someone so young.”
I started sobbing again.
Oli took my hand. “But this is not just about Jenna, is it? It’s something more. Is it your mother?” Oli asked. “Has she become unwell again?”
I shook my head. “My mother’s just fine,” I gulped, in between sobs. “She’s doing really well.”
Oli nodded. “So, what is it? Something’s wrong? Can I help?”
I shook my head, my shoulders heaving uncontrollably and my breath coming out in short gasps. “I’m so sorry, Oli. I’m really sorry. This is so unprofessional,” I sobbed. “If you want to go and get some lunch, I’ll sort myself out, I promise, by the time you get back.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “And besides, I don’t like to eat alone.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“I think my idea is better,” Oli added.
I looked up at him, my cheeks wet. “What idea is that?”
He moved towards me and put both arms around me and held my heaving shoulders until they were still. He said into my ear, “We go someplace nice and we eat some nice food and we talk about whatever it is that has made you so very sad recently.”
I started to shake and cry again. The last time that anyone had put their arms round me and held me quite so tight – the last time that anyone had whispered into my ear – had been the day that Martin had pinned me to the ground and threatened me. I realised that I had in fact been frightened when Oli’d put his arms round me.
He held me tighter. “Lizzie. Lizzie. It’s okay.” He released me slightly as my sobbing subsided. He peered into my face. “Who has done this to you?”
I shook my head, not knowing where to begin.
He let go of me and took both my coat and his from the back of the door. “Come,” he said. “We are going. That’s it for the day. Everything else can wait.”
“But, the translation. We were going to submit it this afternoon...”
“It doesn’t matter. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“I must look terrible,” I tried to argue. “My eyes...”
Oli took another tissue from the box on the desk and dabbed at my eyes. “There. Your eyes are beautiful, as always,” he said. He took my arms, one by one, and helped me into my coat. He walked over to the desk and took out my handbag from the drawer where I always left it, and handed it to me. As we walked out of the building and down the street, the wind whipping at our coats and faces, he took my hand and held it tight. I couldn’t help feeling a little better than I’d felt in a very long while.
We ate side by side on a dark green leather sofa, next to a roaring fire, in a beautiful little pub off Gray’s Inn Gardens. I told Oli everything about Martin and Helena, about the real reasons I’d left England to live in France, and how scared I was that I’d now lost my daughter for good. Oli ate while I talked and tried to swallow a few mouthfuls of my food in between. When he’d finished his meal, Oli put his knife and fork down on his plate, neatly side by side, sat back in the leather folds of the sofa and handed me his phone.
“Call her. Call her now,” he said. “Call from my number so that if she’s with the pig, Martin, he won’t know it’s you. Just tell her you’re calling from work. Ask her what she’s doing for Christmas. If she says she’s busy and can’t spend it with you, then it doesn’t matter. At least you will hear her voice and you will know that she is okay.”
I nodded. I knew immediately that this was what I wanted to do, more than anything.
Helena picked up on the first ring. “Hello? Who’s this?” she asked.
“It’s me, Helena. It’s Mum. It’s Oli’s phone. I’m calling from work,” I told her.
“Oh, hi Mum. Are you okay? What’s up?” she said. She sounded a little hesitant, but friendly enough. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” I told her. “I just... well, I just hadn’t spoken to you in a while and I was wondering what you’re planning on doing for Christmas? I’m thinking that I’ll head back to France for a week or two.”
Helena was silent for a moment. “Oh, I’m not sure yet. Probably... probably I won’t, Mum. If that’s okay?”
I nodded and swallowed. “Yes, of course.” I gave a false laugh. “You’ve got your own life now, haven’t you? I didn’t expect that, don’t worry. I just wondered if there was anything special you wanted?”
“Anything I wanted?”
“For Christmas. You know.”
“Oh yeah.” Helena laughed. “How big’s your piece of paper?”
I laughed back, relieved at the normalcy of the conversation between us. “Well, I don’t think I can stretch to another car, in case that’s what you’re thinking.”
Helena was silent again. “Actually, Mum, I’ve got a present for you.”
“You’ve got me a present? Already? You normally go out on Christmas Eve and get me something from whichever shop’s still open.”
Oli, listening in on my end of the conversation, smiled and nodded as if to say, ‘I told you. I was right that you should phone her.’ He got up and went to the bar where I could see him ordering a nice bottle of something. The barmaid placed the bottle and two champagne flutes onto the bar.
Helena said, “I was thinking you could do with a car. So, you can have the Peugeot.”
“I don’t need a car,” I said. “Not really. Not here. It’s okay. And anyway, it’s yours.”
“Maybe you could take it back to France then? When you go?”
“Oh,” I said. “Don’t you want it anymore?”
Helena was quiet again. “Thing is, my dad’s bought me a Golf. It’s a bit... you know, newer? It’s a two thousand and nine plate.”
I was so shocked that I couldn’t speak for a moment. Martin was a swimming instructor. How on earth could he afford a four-year-old Golf? It must have cost him ten grand, at least. “Really?” I said. “Well, that’s... that’s lovely.”
“It’s just... you know. The Peugeot’s a left-hand drive and... well, it’s a bit French, isn’t it?”
“People do drive French cars in this country,” I said, indignantly. I hastily added, “But I can understand you wanting a right-hand drive. And something newer. A Golf... wow! Well, that’s... that’s lovely. You can’t go wrong with a German car. You must be very pleased.”
“You’re not hurt, are you?” she asked me.
“No,” I lied. “Of course not. I think it’s great.”
“Yeah. And it’s got inbuilt SatNav, too.”
“That’s fantastic.” That was my idea for a present out of the window.
“I couldn’t believe it when he gave me the keys, and said that it was mine. It’s an early Christmas present,” she added. “Not just a ‘nothing’ present, you know?”
“No. Of course. What does Sky think of it? Isn’t he a bit... well, jealous?” I asked. “Or has Martin bought him one too?”
Helena laughed. “No! Of course not. And Sky hasn’t passed his test yet anyway. So, can I bring the car round? Thing is, I’ve only got the one permit. You know? And you’ve still got the one you got for Auntie Zara’s street, right? So can I leave it with you? You can drive it back to France when you go, can’t you, if you don’t think you’ll need it?”
“Well, I’ve already booked the Eurostar. But never mind. And yes, we’ve still got the permit. I suppose it’ll be handy for when I go to visit Granny. What about the tax and insurance?”
“Still valid. You can just switch it over. Dad’s sorted mine.”
Of course he has. “Well, yes, okay then. Bring it over.”
“How about next Thursday? I’ll come over around seven? We can have a Christmas drink or meal or something at the same time?”
“Sure,” I agreed, my heart lifting at the thought of seeing her again. “Shall I book somewhere?”
“Why not? Okay. ‘Bye Mum. Oh, and Mum?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for, you know, giving me some space.”
I nodded. “That’s okay.” I stopped myself from telling her how much I was looking forward to seeing her again. “’Bye then.”
Oli sat back down in the seat beside me and grinned. “So?”
I handed him back his phone and looked at the two glasses of champagne sitting on the table. I hoped desperately that they weren’t going to turn out to have been premature.
“Well, it’s good news... and bad news.”
“Give me the good. Always the good first.”
I smiled and looked up at Oli’s face, which was lit up with anticipation. Most people wanted the bad news first. But then Oli was very much a bottle-half-full person, it seemed, and I hadn’t realised until today quite how much I’d got used to that, maybe even come to rely on it a little. He always had such a positive energy around him, and it was uplifting. It had certainly rubbed off on me today.
“I’m seeing her on Thursday.”
Oli placed his hand on my shoulder. “That’s fantastic. Okay, so the bad news can’t really be that bad.”
“Well, she’s still seeing Martin and it looks as though she’s going to be spending Christmas with him instead of me. He’s bought her an amazing new car,” I added. “And she doesn’t want the one I gave her anymore.”
“Pfft.” Oli shrugged. “He’s trying to buy her. That sort of thing doesn’t work in the long term.”
“I hope not,” I said. “I can’t afford to get into that sort of game with him.”
“A child never stops loving its mother,” said Oli. “It will always be you she comes back to. And as for what he did to you, well, one day the mask will slip and she will see him for what he really is. When people are not truthful, they can’t keep up that sort of pretence forever. One day he will say or do the wrong thing.”
I looked up at Oli, gratefully. “Thank you. I hope so. I just hope he doesn’t hurt her in the process.”
“She sounds like a strong person,” he said. “If she is anything like her mother, she must be an incredible young woman.”
I smiled, shyly. “I don’t know how you’ve drawn that conclusion about me. I’ve done nothing but mess things up and cry on your shoulder about it. You’re the one who’s incredible. I’m so... so in awe of your work, what you do and your dedication to helping others. You’re such a good person.”
Oli looked down at the table and said, “No. I’m not such a good person, you know. There are things about me... well, for a start, you are in a relationship with another man and all I can think about is what we are doing.”
I turned to face him. “But, we’re not doing anything,” I frowned.
He put his hands up and cupped my face. He then looked into my eyes for a brief moment before putting his mouth against mine and kissing me, slipping his hands round behind my head and neck and pulling me firmly towards him. His lips were gentle, but the kiss was unmistakably full of longing. “Yes we are,” he said.
*
We finished the champagne and walked the short distance to Oli’s flat in Rosebury Avenue. The wind was really picking up outside and we’d been told as we left the pub that it had been gale force in parts of the country and was expected to get worse. Oli took my hand and we walked quickly in silence, our coats flapping around us, the storm making conversation impossible. I knew that I was about to betray Christian, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Oli steered me into a doorway next to a photographic shop and up two flights of stairs into a small flat in the eaves of the building. Inside, he took off my coat and kissed me again. I started to unbutton his shirt and he stopped me with one hand.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his lips brushing against my mouth as he spoke. “I need to be sure, after everything you’ve been through.”
“What do you think?” I smiled. I took his hand and led him towards the nearest door.
“That’s the bathroom,” said Oli.
I switched direction. “I knew that.”
“That’s the kitchen,” said Oli.
“Okay, help me out here,” I asked him.
Oli turned me round and backed me into the bedroom. I felt the soft warmth of his bed smother my back as his body simultaneously covered mine. It felt as though I was enveloped in warmth, softness, and love, and it was everything in the world that I needed. I knew that, whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, this was something I was never going to regret.
*
Oli leaned over and pulled his watch off the nightstand. “Okay. It’s six o’clock. What would you like to do? Would you like to go out and eat, see a movie, maybe? Or shall we order in some food and stay here?”
I propped myself up against the pillows and pulled the quilt over my chest. “Martin said I was a tart,” I told him. “Just imagine his face if he could see me now, drinking champagne in the afternoon with my boss and sneaking off home to bed with him.”
“We haven’t sneaked anywhere,” said Oli. “I’m not ashamed of what we’ve done and neither should you be. This word, ‘tart’, this ‘slut’... this ‘whore’, ‘bitch’, ‘cow’ – these are words that a man like the pig, Martin, invented for a woman who didn’t want him. You notice how there are no such words for a man.”
I moved my eyes over his face, looking into his deep brown eyes and watching the dimple dancing on his chin as he spoke, passionate about his subject. I loved him for what he was saying and I also loved the new adjective that had become appended to Martin’s name every time it was mentioned. I know he’s a pig.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “‘Pig’. ‘Bastard’. That’s about it, isn’t it? And even those names don’t have the same kind of power behind them.”
Oli nodded. “Or anything to do with sex. When a man sleeps with more than one woman, the other men stand back in awe and wish it was them. If a woman does it, she is a whore. I detest these double standards.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “Although I can’t say that I haven’t done anything wrong, can I?”
“You’ve followed your heart, as have I.”
“I know. But...”
“But, nothing.” Oli stroked my hair. “You’ve been through a difficult time. I will respect whatever decision you make and I think, from what you have told me about him, so will he.”
I nodded, my heart jumping at the suggestion that Oli might want something more than what we’d shared today. But it was all too much to think about right now. I just knew that I needed to be here with him, in the moment. If there was ever a time for mindfulness, it was now.
“But that is for later,” said Oli, echoing my thoughts. “For now, we just need to eat and be happy. So what will it be?”
I touched Oli’s broad shoulders and stroked his chest. I needed to be intimate with him for as long as possible. “Let’s stay here,” I said. “It’s cosy. And besides, the weather’s awful outside.”
“Okay. But there is a penalty. We must have at least one game of Scrabble.”
I laughed. “I love Scrabble.”
“Good.” He kissed me. “Then we’ll have two games, one in English and one in French. That will be the fairest way.” He got up and pulled on his boxers. I wrapped a quilt round me and followed him into the living room. “I think there is a menu for a Chinese restaurant here somewhere,” he said, sifting through a pile of papers on the coffee table. “Do you like Chinese food?”
“I love Chinese food,” I smiled. I was starving.
Oli ordered chicken satay and egg fried rice for us both and then he showered while I switched on the BBC news. The storm was raging across the country. We’d had some of the biggest tidal waves in thirty years. They’d closed the Thames Barrier and numerous flood warnings had been issued.
“The storm looks very bad,” commented Oli, appearing in the doorway and looking at the telly. He was wearing jeans but his chest was still bare and he was rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked so handsome, he took my breath away. “If you leave here,” he added, “A big tidal wave might come down the river from the Thames Estuary and carry you away. So, you will have to spend the night here, with me, I think.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said. “What will my boss think when I turn up for work tomorrow wearing the same clothes?”
Oli smiled. “He won’t mind.” He nodded at my bare shoulders. “Trust me, he won’t be looking at your clothes. He’ll only be thinking about what’s underneath.”
I laughed. “Will it be strange? Us working together, I mean?”
Oli shook his head. He came over and sat down on the sofa beside me. “I don’t think so. Do you?”
“No,” I agreed. “I don’t think so, either.”
Oli narrowed his eyes and peered at me, but he was smiling.
I blushed and tucked the quilt a little tighter round my chest, smoothing it over my legs. “Okay. Maybe it will, just a little. And maybe this has happened for all the wrong reasons, I don’t know... but I can’t help myself. You make me feel so very good about myself. What with the things Martin said and the things Helena accused me of... well, I just haven’t been feeling like I’m a very nice person lately.”
Oli took my hand. “But, that’s exactly what he’s trying to achieve, don’t you see? That’s what they do, these bullies, and this is how domestic violence works. A man like this pig, Martin, he will attack a woman’s personality, he will criticise her and accuse her and belittle her feelings... until he has managed to convince her that she is so worthless, so ugly, so pathetic and useless that she is lucky to have him, that nobody else will want her, and that she is too stupid to survive on her own. That’s why these women, they don’t just get up and leave.”
I nodded. “That must be why it took Catherine so long. And that must be what Lindsay meant, too, when she said it wasn’t easy. She seemed so scared and down on herself.”
“Yes. And it’s the same thing that this pig, Martin, is trying to do to you too. He wants you. He can’t have you, so he will use Helena to make you feel like you are nothing, nobody.” He narrowed his eyes again and moved his head to one side like a movie superhero, making a pledge. “But I will fight him.” He turned and looked me in the eye. “Yes. That’s it. For every nasty, negative thing he does, I think I will do the opposite. I will make sure that you know you are the most beautiful, amazing person on the planet.”
I looked up at him gratefully. “Why would you do that?”
Oli grinned, and said in his French Superhero voice. “Because I am here to fight the forces of evil. He will not succeed in destroying you.”
“So,” I giggled. “You’re a bit like a French Luke Skywalker then, fighting Darth Vader?”
“Yes, that’s right. I will use the Force. I may even have special powers, who knows?”
I smiled. “That wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.”
Oli leaned over and pulled me to him. “Shall we find out?”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh. That is such bad timing.” Oli got up to answer it and came back with a big bag full of cartons of food, which he spread out over the coffee table. He fetched salt and pepper, cutlery, and two plates from the kitchen and began to dish out the rice and chicken.
“Seriously,” he said, handing me my food. “I may not be any real kind of superhero. But I’ve watched enough movies to know that you can’t fight evil with more evil. You can only fight it with goodness and light. Take today,” he said. “You didn’t have to fight him. You were just being yourself. Now you have good news. You will see your daughter. And you have some energy now.” He stroked my cheek. “No more tears?”
I shook my head. “I think I’m all cried out, to be honest.”
Oli nodded and picked up his plate of food and winked at me. “That’s good.”
I looked into his eyes. “I don’t think this is over yet. Not by a long shot. But you’re right. I have to accept that she wants to have a relationship with him. There’s nothing I can do about that for now, except to be there for her, and hope for the best.”