‘I’ve spoken to my solicitor,’ Andrew had explained, more gently now. ‘And I’ll be as fair as possible, but I have to warn you, Gina, I won’t be able to give you much at all. That flat of mine is costing an arm and a leg just to rent. And my solicitor says that, basically, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to get yourself a job—’
‘A job!’ shrieked Gina, horrified. ‘But I don’t work. My job is looking after my husband! Why should I have to suffer when I haven’t done anything wrong?’
Andrew shrugged. ‘The law is the law. You don’t
need
me to support you. You have this house . . . Marvin suggested that you might like to take in lodgers.’
The prospect was more than terrifying, it was unthinkable. When Andrew had - with undisguised relief - left the house thirty minutes later, Gina had made every effort not to think about it. By midnight she had come to the unhappy conclusion that pretending it wasn’t happening wasn’t going to make it go away. Andrew’s third suggestion, that she might sell the house, move into a small flat and live off the interest on the money saved, was out of the question. She had spent her entire life here and the future was going to be scary enough without having to uproot herself from the only home she had ever known.
A job . . . the mere thought of it sent a shiver of apprehension through her. Apart from two terrible years spent ricocheting from one office to another in search of a job that was even semi-bearable, she had never worked. Andrew had burst into her life and she had abandoned the tedium of nine to five, office politics and fifteen-minute tea breaks without so much as a backward glance. The relief had been immeasurable; looking after a husband and a home was all she’d ever wanted to do, for ever and ever, amen . . .
The very idea of allowing strangers into her house - lodgers, tenants, paying guests, call them what you will - was equally alarming. Pausing finally to consider this unpalatable option, Gina actually poured herself a vodka and tonic. Who hadn’t heard the horror stories, after all, of dubious, fraudulent, sinister and sometimes downright sex-crazed characters lulling their landladies into a false sense of security and then either making off with the entire contents of the house or finishing them off with machetes? Gina, only too easily able to envisage her remains bundled into the chest freezer alongside the sole
bonne femme
, took a hefty gulp of her drink. Then she realised that she
was
going to pieces. The tonic was flat.
‘I still don’t understand,’ said Katerina in challenging tones, ‘why you’re doing this. Why
did
you go back to see my mother and ask her - us - to come and live with you?’
It was a shame, Gina thought, that the daughter hadn’t inherited her mother’s happy-go-lucky nature. She thanked God that her house was a large one.
‘I didn’t ask her to come and live with me,’ she replied coolly. ‘I offered her a place to stay, and she accepted.’
Katerina dumped the assortment of cases and bags on to the narrow bed and gave the rest of the room a cursory glance. Magnolia walls, beige-and-white curtains, beige carpet; not awfully inspiring but exceptionally clean.
‘But why?’
Gina decided to play her at her own game. ‘If you must know, it was sheer desperation. If you really have to know,’ she continued, her tone even, ‘I need the money.’
‘Of course,’ murmured Katerina, not even bothering to sound scathing. Moving across to the window, she looked out over leafless treetops at the roofs of the elegant houses lining the street, and at the gleaming, top-of-the-range cars parked outside them. Gina’s claim to ‘need the money’ was so ridiculous it was almost laughable, but she wasn’t in a position to laugh. And Izzy had insisted that she behave herself.
‘Well thanks, anyway.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Gina awkwardly. ‘I hope you’ll both be happy here.’
‘We’ve always been happy,’ Katerina replied simply. ‘Wherever we’ve lived.’
Then, glancing out of the window once more, she spotted an ancient white van hiccuping down the road. ‘Great, here comes Jake with the rest of our things. I’d better go down and guide him into the drive.’
‘Into the drive,’ echoed Gina, paling at the sight of the disreputable vehicle being driven by a man whose hair was longer than her own. Marjorie Hurlingham was cutting back her forsythia next door. She prayed that Jake and the van wouldn’t stay long.
‘I can’t get over it, this is fabulous!’ declared Izzy later that afternoon. Seeing her new home for the first time, and observing with some relief that relations between her daughter and their new landlady weren’t as bad as she had feared, a smile spread over her face. Katerina had obviously decided to behave, the house was wonderful and there was real central heating that actually worked . . . It was eight-thirty in the evening. Izzy, her plastered leg flung comfortably across Jake’s lap, was still regaling everyone with tales of her stay in hospital. Rachel, Jake’s wife, had opened another bottle of wine and was singing happily along to the music playing on the stereo - which appeared to be the only electrical appliance Izzy possessed. Katerina, lying on her side on the floor, was eating raisins and looking through an old photograph album, pausing from time to time to show off the more embarrassing snaps of Izzy during her flower-power days.
Gina perched unhappily on the edge of a chair. She felt rather like a hostess no longer in control of her own party. Not having had time to think about Andrew - and the ritual of brooding over her past life with him had become comforting, even necessary - she was also feeling somewhat dispossessed. And Izzy, Katerina and their friends were so utterly relaxed in each other’s company, laughing and teasing and giving the impression of being entirely at home in Izzy’s bedroom, that she felt even more of an outsider than ever. This was her
own
home, she reminded herself, yet already her immaculate guest room was unrecognizable.
Despite his long hair and gold earring, Jake had seemed remarkably normal; nevertheless, Gina was glad when he and Rachel finally made a move. He might be a lecturer in history at one of London’s largest polytechnics, but she couldn’t help wondering what the neighbours would be saying about his terrible van. And now that they were leaving, she could do likewise and retire to the sanctuary of her own room. To sit in peace and think about what Andrew might be doing, thinking and saying at this moment . . .
‘Don’t go,’ Izzy urged, rolling on to her side and stretching out for the half-empty bottle of wine. ‘Sod it, can’t reach. Kat, do the honours will you, darling? Fill Gina’s glass to the brim. Gina, don’t look so nervous! Come on now, relax.’
Relaxing didn’t come easily to Gina, particularly when she was instructed to do so. Her legs were knotted together and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Glancing at her watch, she said, ‘I really should be—’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ said Katerina unexpectedly. Handing Gina her drink, she added, ‘You’re looking a lot better than you were when I last saw you, but you’re still twitchy. Why don’t you tell Mum what’s been happening with your ex-husband? She’s awfully good at cheering people up.’
Katerina still hadn’t forgiven Gina for her selfishness the previous week, but she was also slightly ashamed of her own behaviour that day. This was her way of making amends.
‘Of course I am, I’m brilliant,’ said Izzy, her dark eyes shining. ‘Tell me all about it, every detail. It’s so unfair, isn’t it, that men should be such pigs. Why on earth do we still fall in love with them?’
‘. . . he was my whole world,’ Gina whispered fifteen minutes later. Her wineglass, unaccountably, was empty. Her feet were tucked up beneath her. ‘When we were first married I thought we’d have a family, but Andrew told me that we didn’t need children to be happy because we had each other. After that, every time I mentioned it he just said he didn’t want children . . . they were too expensive or too time-consuming or he needed to be able to concentrate on his career . . . and if I got upset he’d buy me a nice necklace or take me away on holiday . . . I wanted a baby
so much
, but he always managed to convince me he was right. And now,’ she concluded hopelessly, ‘he’s got some woman pregnant and he’s changed his mind. So I’m left on my own without a husband or a family and it’s too late for me to do anything about it. I’m too old to have children now . . . I haven’t got anything . . . it’s all been
wasted
. . .’
Izzy, who had been listening intently, now looked perplexed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, eyebrows furrowed, ‘but I’m not with you. He’s been a bit of a shit, I’ll grant you that, but why exactly has your marriage been a waste?’
‘Because now I don’t have a husband or a child,’ sniffed Gina with a trace of irritation. ‘If he’d told me ten years ago that he was going to leave me eventually, I could have cut my losses and married someone else who
did
want a family.’
Izzy’s frown deepened. ‘But you’re only thirty-six.’
‘Exactly! How long is it going to be before I even
feel
like looking for another man? How long is it going to be before I find someone I want to marry? It’s just not fair,’ Gina sniffed, tears glittering in her eyes. ‘By then it’ll be too late, I’ll be too old.’
‘This is crazy,’ Izzy burst out, jack-knifing into a sitting position and spilling half her wine into her lap. ‘If you want a baby that badly, you can have one. Nobody’s going to stop you!’
Gina wondered for a moment what it must be like to be Izzy, to live so carelessly and with such total disregard for the conventions which had dominated her own life.
But it was too great a leap, even after three unaccustomed glasses of wine.
‘
You
don’t understand,’ she said defensively, hanging her head. ‘I couldn’t do that. It isn’t the kind of thing I could cope with on my own.’
‘But you don’t know that,’ argued Izzy, struggling to curb her natural impatience. ‘You just
think
you wouldn’t be able to cope . . . I’ll bet you any money you like that once it all started happening you’d sail through it. Well,’ she amended with a grin, ‘I would if I had any money to bet with.’
‘It’s no good, I’m not that kind of person,’ Gina replied, defiant now but still close to tears. It
wasn’t
any good; she had hoped that some of Izzy’s optimism might rub off on her, but all she felt was intimidated. Their personalities, their attitudes to life were just too different. Rising somewhat unsteadily to her feet, she said, ‘I’m going to bed.’
Izzy, equally frustrated by Gina’s inability to realise that what she had been trying to say made absolute sense, glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only ten o’clock. Stay and have another drink,
please
. . .’
‘I’m going to my room,’ put in Katerina helpfully. ‘I’ve got two essays to finish.’
‘No, no,’ said Gina, wondering what she had let herself in for. Her guest room looked and felt different - it even smelled different, thanks to Izzy’s scented candles - and now she was beginning to feel like a hostage here. It had all been a terrible, impetuous mistake, which only served to underline the vastness of the gulf between them. She simply wasn’t cut out to be impulsive and she was damned if she’d ever do it again. ‘I’m tired,’ she concluded, not daring to even glance up at the cuckoos who had invaded her own private nest at her own stupid instigation.
‘OK,’ said Izzy, conceding defeat. Then she brightened, because it was only a temporary defeat. ‘There’s no hurry, after all. We’ll talk about it again tomorrow.’
Chapter 7
‘So, how’s it going at home?’ asked Simon as Katerina cleared a pile of text books from the chair next to his and collapsed into it with a sigh. It was lunchtime and the sixth-form common room, buzzing with gossip, sounded more like a cocktail party in full swing. Handing her his half-empty can of Coke, he admired afresh Katerina’s clever, slender fingers and her ability to look so amazingly good, even after three rigorous hours in the physics exam. Having quietly idolised Katerina Van Asch throughout their years together at King’s Park Comprehensive, actually getting to know her and eventually becoming her best friend meant more to him than anything else in the world. If it hadn’t been for Kat, he would have left school a year and a half ago; she was the one who had persuaded him to stay on and study for A levels and for that he would be everlastingly grateful. He had a sneaking suspicion that abandoning further education in favour of bumming around the country as a bass guitarist in a rock band might not, after all, have been as much fun as he had first imagined.
He was, nevertheless, fascinated by Katerina’s bizarre lifestyle, wonderfully Bohemian in his eyes and as far removed as possible from his own sedate upbringing. Living in a semi-detached in Wimbledon with a bank manager father, housewife mother and two pain-in-the-neck younger sisters wasn’t exactly wild.