A Heart Bent Out of Shape (22 page)

twenty-five

The bungalow was ablaze with coloured
fairy lights.
It
wasn’t like her mum and dad to go so over the top but this year was different, they said; this year it felt like a real holiday. On the front door a plastic Santa with a swollen belly hung crookedly. Hadley nudged her dad and raised an eyebrow.

‘I know, it’s a bit naff,’ he said, ‘but your mum couldn’t stop herself.’

Inside, the familiar rooms shone with loops of tinsel and strings of Christmas cards. A plump tree stood in the same red painted bucket they always used, and every decoration glittered with family nostalgia.

‘You’re home!’ cried her mum, in a blaze of jubilance, and hugged Hadley to her. Sam flung himself at her legs and hung on to her knees, attempting to inch himself up like a monkey.

‘She needs fattening up,’ said her dad. ‘Look at her, thin as a rake. So much for Switzerland being full of cheese and chocolate.’

‘It’s so great to have you back,’ said her mum, squeezing her. ‘You’ve got no idea.’

‘It’s good to be home,’ Hadley said.

Her mum eyed her. ‘Hadley, are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Tired from the journey, that’s all.’ Her smile faltered.

‘Something’s wrong – what is it, love?’ Her mum placed a hand on each of her cheeks and cupped her face gently. ‘We’ve missed you so much,’ she said.

The ache behind her eyes had started as they drove the last stretch into Tonridge, past the rows of pudgy tan-brick bungalows and manicured shrubs; it was quietly heartbreaking, the familiarity of her old world. She had turned her face to the window and managed to keep her tears at bay, but they got the better of her now. As her mum and dad folded her into their arms she told them all about her friend called Kristina. For a while they stood in a tiny scrum, in the middle of the sitting room. Sam clung to her ankles and began a song about a red-nosed reindeer.

Hadley was at home for a little over a week but it felt longer. She took Sam to the park and pushed him back and forth on an ice-cracked swing, his yellow wellingtons pointing at the sky. She talked with her mum and dad until late in the evening; they played cards, the old games she used to love, and drank Irish Cream from mismatched glasses. She felt herself being drawn back towards her old world, a place where she could almost imagine that she had never been to Lausanne, but this feeling never lasted longer than a moment or two, and most of the time she was glad.

One day she showed her mum and dad her Swiss photographs and Kristina was there, smiling back at her, just as she knew she would be. Kristina posing by the fountain in the old square, one leg cocked jauntily, an arm thrown out in a wave. She could almost hear her laughing,
hurry up and take it, Hadley
, and squinting at the accidental flash. Kristina leaning against the wall at the entrance to Les Ormes, the city falling away behind her, a gust of wind catching her sweep of hair. The hat she wore was wine-red and fur trimmed, and Hadley could remember the day in bright detail. They’d snuck into a café for hot chocolate laced with rum and cream and sat giggling, licking the long spoons. A sharp-eyed waiter watched Kristina from his spot in the corner. She did that; stopped people in their tracks without even realising.

The next day Hadley caught her mum looking at Kristina again, holding the photographs in her lap. And she saw her dad as he came in from the garden, stamping the mud from his boots, saying to himself,
her poor parents
. Hadley let her home do its work; she drank its tea and sank into its sofas, her parents’ words and Sam’s simplicity a comfort.

The only time that Hadley was really on her own was when she was in the bathroom, and when she went to bed at night. These were the moments when Joel found his way in. In the bathtub she sank under, closing her eyes and feeling the rush of water in her ears. She held her breath until she gasped. Pulling herself back up she rubbed soap between her hands, smoothing the foam over her winter-pale arms and chest. On her last night in Lausanne, Joel’s hands had been everywhere. His fingers had traced shapes as though writing on a misted mirror, delicate messages that ran across her back and down her front and along the inside of her thigh, and yet, miraculously, her body bore no prints. She closed her eyes and found herself drifting, smoothing the soap in circles, the water growing tepid around her.
You’re so brand-new
, he’d said, in a voice that seemed shot through with marvel.
Don’t let me ruin you, Hadley Dunn
.
She’d raked her fingers through his hair and told him to stop talking.

Her first night in Tonridge she went to sleep feeling the weight of him, inside and out. She pushed the bed sheets away from her face so that she could breathe. She wanted to be in Lausanne with Joel, not here without him, and yet, inexplicably, she was grateful for the things she knew: the rattle of her dad’s cough down the hall, the scratching of their old cat Brady at her bedroom door, the hulking outline of her old wardrobe. Some small shred of her hung on to these things as she hurtled towards the unknown.

On Boxing Day, she told her mum and dad about her plans to leave. They were in that aimless post-breakfast holiday time, when the whole day stretched ahead but no one was quite sure how to spend it. Her dad took a seat at the piano and brushed the keys back and forth with the tips of his fingers. Her mum folded and refolded the crinkled sheets of wrapping paper, keeping an eye on Sam as he potato-painted at the dining room table. Hadley curled in an armchair with a book, a jotter balanced on her knee and her pen poised for note taking. She had two assignments to turn in after the holiday and she was yet to make a start on either.

‘So,’ she said suddenly, setting her pen down, ‘we haven’t really talked about when I’m going back.’

Her dad tinkled at the high end of the piano, a cheerful ripple of music. He didn’t turn round.

‘Oh, don’t talk about leaving, Hadley, not when you’ve only just got here.’

‘I’ve been here for ages,’ she said, ‘and I’ve still got three full days left.’

‘Three days?’

Her mum held a square of creased gift wrap to her chest. Her hands looked redder than usual, as if she’d done a batch of hand washing and forgotten to wear her rubber gloves.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I have to be back in Switzerland for New Year. I thought I’d mentioned it . . .’

‘For New Year?’

Her dad shifted on the piano stool and it creaked ominously.

‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘did you think I was staying longer? I’m sorry. You don’t mind, do you? It’s my only chance, maybe ever, to spend New Year in Switzerland. I was asked to go skiing.’

‘Skiing?’ they both said, simultaneously charmed and taken aback. Sam turned around, adding to the chorus.
Skiing, skiing, skiing
, he sang, as he carried on painting.

She put her books down and went over to them. She took the folded gift wrap from her mum and pulled at her dad’s sleeve. Sam carried on at the table, smearing pink and yellow paint.

‘We thought you’d be here for longer. We’ve got a joint of beef in the freezer, we’ll never eat it all without you,’ said her mum.

‘Your mother was going to make a Beef Wellington,’ said her dad. ‘We’ve been reading up on how to do it.’

‘I didn’t know you were planning that,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. Do you mind, though? Do you mind if I go? I’ve got the money to cover it.’

‘It’s not the money, Hadley. Of course you want to be with your friends,’ said her mum. ‘It’s important to have fun, what with . . . everything.’

They held her hands and she felt traitorous. She thought, then, about telling them about Joel. But what part? Maybe the way he read passages aloud in class, his voice deep and unbending, and peppered with unselfconscious pauses. Or perhaps how he’d smile reluctantly, as though you’d drawn it out of him, and somehow in doing so you’d gained something more than just his slow, broad grin. Or even how he’d taken her to Geneva, to look in vain for a person who possibly didn’t even want to be found, and folded his arm around her shoulders as they’d crossed a snow-dusted road. But not this: how on the sofa in his apartment on a Lausanne side street he had made love to her, and that was exactly how it’d felt, more than sex, and she’d forgotten about Kristina for one huge and seeming unending moment, and instead of raging she was glad.

But instead her mum said, ‘These friends of yours, they’ll look after you, won’t they? They do know you’ve never skied before?’

She nodded, and
yes
was all she said.

On Hadley’s last night, her mum came to her room just as she’d gone to bed.

‘Can I come in?’ she said, appearing shy, standing at the threshold.

‘Of course,’ said Hadley, and patted her covers. Her mum sat down, crossing her feet in their well-worn moccasins.

‘I know you’re excited about the skiing, but, what with everything else . . . you know, you don’t have to go back. Not if you don’t want to.’

Hadley rolled over so that she was resting on her elbows.

‘But I do want to go back,’ she said.

‘I’m glad you do, very glad, but . . . I just want to say that no one would blame you if you felt differently, if you wanted to carry on the year back here. After that poor Kristina . . .’

‘Mum, really, it’s okay. I want to be there.’

Her mum took her hand. ‘You’re far braver than I ever would have been,’ she said.

‘It’s not really brave,’ said Hadley, ‘I wouldn’t call it that. Mum, I did think about leaving, but then I changed my mind; someone helped me change my mind, and I’m so glad about that. It’s strange, but in Lausanne I’ve never been sadder, but I’ve also never been happier. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but it is.’

Her mum smiled a slow, sad smile. ‘Hadley, can I ask you something?’ she said, smoothing the quilt with the flat of her hand. ‘Is there a boy?’

Hadley laid her head back on her pillow. On her ceiling there were scattered bunches of glow-in-the dark stars. They had been there for years, and they’d lost their luminosity long ago. A boy called Simon had given them to her, no doubt hoping that he would be the one to organise them into constellations, to one day lie back and see them glow for himself, but he hadn’t, and nor had anyone else.

‘How did you know?’ she said, still looking at the stars.

‘I’m your mum, Hadley.’

She finally looked at her.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘but he’s not really a boy. I guess he’s more of a man.’

‘A man? How old is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ she lied, ‘a little bit older. Not much, really.’

‘Where did you meet him?’

‘At the Institute.’

‘Is he in your class?’

‘Yes. The American Literature one. He’s American.’

‘What’s he doing in Switzerland?’

‘The same as me, just a visitor. He’s only there for a year.’

‘Was he friends with Kristina too?’

‘No, he wasn’t.’

‘Perhaps that’s a good thing,’ said her mum. ‘Is he very handsome, Hadley? One of those wonderful square-jawed Americans?’

‘I don’t think he has a particularly square jaw,’ she said, ‘not really.’

‘What do you love about him?’

‘Love?’ Hadley started smiling, she couldn’t help herself. ‘I didn’t say it was love, Mum.’

Her mum leant forward and kissed her on the cheek. Then she stood up, her hands smoothing her skirt.

‘But it is, though, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I can tell.’

twenty-six

Hadley had never been met at an
airport before, and
she
almost wasn’t. Joel’s disguise was too good. He was standing several steps behind the eager row of greeters, the types who leant on the railing with their home-made welcome signs, cellophane-wrapped bouquets and expectant smiles. He was wearing a hat she hadn’t seen before, a trapper cap with a furry lining that tickled the lobes of his ears. His smile was self-conscious, and his eyes watchful; one too-long glance in his direction and he looked as though he would turn and run, skidding down the escalators and back into the swell of anonymity. He caught her elbow and drew her into a fast kiss. His lips were tight and unyielding. His cheeks were just-shaven and unusually smooth. To Hadley, he didn’t feel a lot like Joel.

‘You came to the airport,’ she said, wheeling back to look at him.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.

He relaxed when they were inside his car. He reached across and put his hand on her knee, his fingers rubbing back and forth on the denim of her jeans.

‘I had a whole story worked out, you know, in case I saw anyone I knew. I even began to believe it myself. I was starting to look forward to seeing my old friend Jim, flown in from Madrid. That was the flight in after yours. I checked the board.’

‘Good cover,’ she said.

‘Jim and I were thinking it’d be a smart move to drive straight on up into the mountains tonight. That way we’d get to wake up to a whole new day. A fresh start. What do you say?’

‘I love that idea,’ she said, thinking they’d drive fast through the night, the car thick with jazz. Joel would keep his hand on her knee, spinning round the hairpin turns, as craggy pines in winter coats stood looking on. The roads would be slick with ice and maybe they’d slide a little, Joel grinning as they spun deeper into the mountains. Hadley settled into her seat and loosened her scarf. Her lips were stinging with the kisses he’d given her as soon as they were out of sight of the crowds.

‘Oh, I do just need to call in at Les Ormes, though,’ she said. ‘I want to pick up some more clothes.’

‘We can buy you what you need,’ said Joel.

‘No, that’s crazy. I just need to stop by quickly, I’ll be in and out in five minutes.’

‘Okay. If you have to. I just don’t want us getting pulled back into Lausanne. It’s supposed to be a getaway, I want it to feel all new.’

‘Of course it’ll feel new,’ she said, turning her smile to him. ‘How could it not?’

She already knew how to quash his reluctance. She would pull him into her funny little oblong room and push him down on to the bed, as beyond the un-shuttered windows the Lausanne night glittered. Then they’d carry on up into the mountains and it would be just like Joel said,
all new
.

‘I think you’ll be glad we stopped,’ she said, ‘when we get there.’

They joined the
autoroute
and drove quickly towards Lausanne, bumper to bumper with flash Swiss cars. Joel stared straight ahead, and his face was striped with light. Hadley glowed with the heat of her intention, glancing sideways now and again, as if daring him to guess the reason for her smile.

Les Ormes was deserted, just as she knew it would be, but she’d still had to practically drag Joel inside. He wanted to stay in the car and it was only her lips brushing his ear and the heat of her breath that persuaded him to follow her. His trapper hat went back on, and he shoved his hands into his pockets and bent his head.

‘If anyone recognises me, Hadley . . .’ he said, his sentence hanging unfinished.

They slipped inside like fugitives, clicking the corridor light into reluctant action. It blinked and fizzed and they squeaked down the hall, past the bank of mailboxes and the scrawny Christmas tree, the deserted leather sofas. No music came from the kitchens, there was no slamming of doors or chatter. Everyone had left for the holidays.

‘This is me,’ she said, stopping by her room. Her hand fumbled as she pulled her key from her bag. She turned to Joel, but his attention was caught.

‘Kristina Hartmann,’ he said, reading the name on the neighbouring door. ‘You lived next door to her?’

‘You knew that,’ she said. She reached for his hand. ‘Come on, this is my room.’

‘You never said you lived in the next room,’ he said.

‘That was the whole point. That’s how we were friends.’

‘Why is her name still on the door?’

‘I guess they haven’t got around to changing it.’

‘What, so every day you walk past and you never think to take it down?’

She had noticed, and it had surprised her that the fastidious porter or the sleek-haired woman from the university hadn’t removed it. They must have forgotten, that was all. As to Hadley, she didn’t want to take it down. It was the last trace of Kristina, and until someone else was in there, it was still her room.

‘Hadley, it’s not right that you have to look at it every day,’ he said.

He flicked the slip of paper out with his finger and held it in his hand, his thumb obscuring her surname.
Kristina.

‘I think I quite like it,’ she said. ‘Actually. In a weird way. Can you put it back?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s macabre.’

‘But it’s still her room.’

‘I’m not putting it back,’ he said, stuffing it in his pocket.

‘Then give it to me, at least,’ she said.

‘What, you want this paper? With her name on it? Why?’

‘Just . . . I don’t know. I don’t want you to throw it away.’

‘Hadley, I thought you wanted to be happy.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘You don’t need to be reminded of her at every turn. This . . .’ he patted his pocket, ‘it’s a nothing.’

‘If it’s such a nothing then why do you care?’

He draped his arm around her and pulled her into his shoulder but instead she wriggled free.

‘Joel,’ she said. ‘Please. Until someone else is in there, it’s still her room.’

He kissed her on the top of the head, his caress quietly insistent.

‘Your hair smells like honey,’ he said.

‘Joel . . . can I have the paper?’

‘Hadley,’ he said. ‘You know what’s part of accepting that someone’s gone? Letting go of the little things. This . . .’ he patted his pocket again, ‘is a little thing. You have to let it go.’

He took her key from her hand and opened the door. He nudged it with his shoulder, and led the way inside.

‘It’s practically a New Year,’ he said. ‘It’s a fresh start. There’s so much to look forward to, isn’t there?’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Okay, then.’

In the room she turned on the bright overhead light. The whispered promises were forgotten and they both ignored the bed. She walked over to her wardrobe, saying over her shoulder, ‘I just need to grab a few things.’

If he was disappointed he didn’t show it. He turned to the window. ‘This view,’ he said, ‘it makes you feel like you want to just run and jump right on into it, doesn’t it? Like it’d swallow you up.’

He opened the balcony door and she felt the blast of cold air. She heard the crunch of his feet as he stepped outside. She hastily pulled a few clothes into a bag. Glancing out at him again, she could just see his outline in the dark, a lone figure, facing out over the city. She pushed a last sweater into the bag and snapped it shut.

‘I’m done, then,’ she called.

He came back into the room, his cheeks red with the cold. He rubbed at his eyes.

‘It’s windy out there,’ he said. ‘We should get going before it starts to snow.’

The drive up into the mountains would have been perfect. The black night air was crisp and clear. The snow was banked at the sides of the road and it shone bright white under the glare of the headlights. Hadley watched the outside temperature drop on the car’s dial, as she huddled deeper into her seat, pulling her scarf tighter. They didn’t play music or talk; the only sound was the rushing of the tyres on the smooth road. Joel stared straight ahead, concentrating on the tight bends and the steep climb. She wondered what she would have done if back in her room he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her. If he had gently lowered her on to the bed, whispering that he was sorry, and that he only wanted her to be happy. Would she have loosened, tipped back her head and let him have her, as she had imagined having him? But instead he’d stayed on the chilly balcony, chagrined, their whispery, complicit mood stolen by a ripple of disagreement over a name on a door. She wasn’t grown up enough to feel her way deftly back into equanimity. They climbed higher into the mountains and she kept quiet, gazing from the window at the white world. She felt as raw as a stripped fruit, and just as easily bruised.

In the end it was simple beauty that smoothed the wrinkles. Joel drove over tight-packed snow, the tyres crunching, and they climbed out of the car beneath a canopy of still pines. The freezing air bit Hadley’s cheeks and stole her breath. In the distance the lights of the village twinkled, but their patch of the mountain was dark and silent.

‘It’s this way, I think,’ said Joel, and he took her hand, curling his fingers into hers.

The outline of a small cabin was just visible, tucked off into the trees. A lamp hung under its eaves and they made for its light, wading through knee-deep drifts. The air was so still and hard and cold that it seemed to blast right through her, taking any lingering uncertainty with it. At the porch they stomped their feet, kicking clods of snow from their shoes. Joel took a key from his pocket and turned it twice in the lock. She followed him inside as he clicked on a lamp.

It was a simple chalet, a home built for two, with a floor of slate and walls of honey-coloured pine. Wooden rafters reached to the roof, and sheepskin rugs lay underfoot. A fire was already prepared in the grate, and Joel put a match to it. The flames jumped hungrily and filled the room with a flickering light. A basket had been left for them, with two bottles of wine and bars of Swiss chocolate, a block of hard mountain cheese and a box of salted crackers. There was a note from the owner, a loopy handwritten card that said
bienvenue et bon ski
. She asked Joel again how he’d found the place and he shrugged.
I got lucky
, he said, and he bent to kiss her.

‘It’s like a stage set,’ she said, dodging his lips with a smile, ‘it’s far too pretty.’

‘What, I brought you all the way here and you won’t kiss me?’

‘I feel like a heroine, a fairy-tale one. I need to keep you at bay for a little longer,’ she said, and slipped from his grip.

‘We’ll picnic in front of the fire tonight. How’s that for a fairy tale?’

‘It sounds okay,’ said Hadley, ‘not too bad.’

‘We’ll eat upside down, chocolate first, then the cheese. Glass of wine?’

‘Let’s just take a bottle each.’

‘Hadley, listen to me. I was a bore on the journey up,’ he said.

‘You weren’t a bore,’ she said, ‘you were silent as the grave.’

‘Sorry I annoyed you at Les Ormes then,’ he said.

‘I don’t want to talk about
it,’ she said.

‘Okay, well, I’m sorry I haven’t done this yet, then.’

He began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She reached down and flicked the end of his belt from its clasp.

‘You’re forgiven,’ she said, and he pulled her into a deep, dark kiss.

Together they disappeared somewhere else entirely, a place where there was no more talking, only bitten lips and whispers and easy grace. Just once, Hadley’s thoughts flitted, and she was struck with the idea that here, in the heights of the mountains, perhaps the only things that mattered were extraordinary.