The Art of Unpacking Your Life (21 page)

‘I heard,' he murmured. ‘Awful.'

‘How could you ask me to leave them now?'

She stood up, sweaty and rather deliriously confident. It was probably the pre-storm humidity that had yet to completely melt away.

‘It's…' Julian trailed off.

Such a tiny pause, yet such an obvious clue. When was Julian ever lost for words? Connie started to worry she had misjudged the severity of the problem.

‘I've been tormented, Connie. You have no idea what I've been going through for the last seven months.'

She searched his face and saw his lost schoolboy look:
I've got into trouble, but it's not my fault, honest
. Connie wasn't about to break a habit of twenty years and ask him if his latest fling was breaking in
Mail on Sunday
. She had been publicly humiliated before, and she would be again, but she would rather sit it out in the Kalahari than in west London. Nothing would make her ask Julian about it; he would never volunteer the information. It was the power she had over him.

‘Well, I am certainly not going home for that reason. In fact, that is a perfect excuse to stay.'

She turned her back on him and moved towards the bathroom door leading to the outdoor shower.

‘Connie, we need to outwardly present a united front. There can't be any ambiguity,' he was pleading with her. ‘This time.'

She frowned. She was angry with him for breaking their code of silence on the subject of his affairs. She couldn't help thinking of Luke's probing. She hated her friends being here to witness her latest humiliation. It would make it far worse.

‘Why is it worse this time, except for my friends being here?'

‘Connie, you know, I never, ever set out to hurt you.' His eyes were watering. ‘It's Sally.'

She squeezed her hands, one on top of the other over her mouth, but a sound escaped somewhere deep in her throat.

‘Connie, please, look. We both feel hideous. I didn't know how to tell you. I kept trying. It was never the right time.'

She looked down confused, expecting to see blood dripping down her leg.

‘I was sorry for her. You know her story: late thirties and desperate for a baby. We both did, didn't we?' He lurched forward, trying to take both her hands and draw her back to him. ‘But I love you, Connie. You know I do. God knows: I'm entirely in your hands.'

She backed away from him, hitting her head on the corner of the Yellowwood cupboard by the door. The knock made her dizzy, made her feel as if she might vomit. She went out of the bathroom. He didn't follow her. She stepped out uncertainly on to the path. Her bare feet touched the brick, but her body swayed, loose and lost. She kept looking at her hands. She was drenched by the time she reached the lodge. She walked round the back path to the deck. The rain was overpowering everything. She could feel it, seeping into her bra, down through her T-shirt, her knickers, her legs, pouring down her skin like blood. Blood everywhere. Blood thumping in her head. She walked
slowly into the pool, down the steps, wading right into the centre. The water was part of her, it seeped into her skin until she was fully submerged. She was safe. But she couldn't let herself breathe. Her heart was bounding somewhere. She held her breath to suspend this moment. The longer she held her breath, the safer she was. The longer she held it, the greater pressure knocked against her eye sockets and against the back of her head, and the better she felt. Make it go away. Then slowly her mouth opened and she filled it with water. Her body was sinking as happily as her mind. She was where she wanted to be. Beyond consciousness.

She was being yanked up by her armpits. She resisted, trying to shake the hurt off. There were voices. Loud, insistent shrieks forcefully interrupted her calm. The soaked decking was beneath her. She heard someone being sick, repeatedly, until vomit swilled around her face. The voices sharpened.

‘Give her some air, some space.'

‘Connie.' Not Julian. ‘Connie.' Definitely Luke.

She looked up at him. He smoothed her hair back from her face, as Dan wiped her mouth. Luke propped her head up with a towel and then moved her legs into the recovery position. He tucked a blanket around her shoulders.

The voices were too loud. She closed her eyes again, willing the shouting to stop.

‘It's all right, Connie. I've got you.' She opened her eyes. Luke was crouched in front of the group, his face close to hers. They were all watching her with such concern, such tenderness. Here they were her oldest, closest friends. She wept for the first time in a long time.

Lizzie spotted Connie slipping on to the deck in only her T-shirt and knickers. She was soaked. She waded into the water. Sara was thrashing everyone at whist and Lizzie was distracted. It was only when she looked up again at the end of the game that she spotted that Connie was still in the pool, under the water. It took Lizzie a second more to fully understand what she was witnessing. She stood up quickly to double check that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Then she screamed. She pointed madly, terrified that the others wouldn't understand the emergency. For once, her panic made everyone move. They jumped up as one from the table. They jostled each other down the decked steps, pushing past each other to get to Connie first. It was Luke who lifted her out of the water. He heaved her up the three steps leading to the decking. He wedged the towel under her head, moved her swiftly into the recovery position, banging her on her back to force the water out of her.

Lizzie was too shocked to do more than circle Connie, watching her repeatedly vomit. First water, then breakfast and lastly bile. Lizzie closed her eyes and then blinked several times to stop her own tears. Connie finished retching. She half-opened one eye and started weeping. Connie was weeping.

Lizzie was horrified. What could possibly have happened to make Connie try and drown herself? Something must have happened to one of the children.

Luke held her close to his chest as he carried her to a sofa; Dan ran to find a member of staff to call for a doctor. Luke sat holding her hands while Sara hurried to find water from the bar. Lizzie wanted to do something, but she couldn't think what to do. She was helpless and useless.

Luke gently cradled Connie's head in his hands. ‘Tell me what happened.'

‘Sally, my housekeeper, is pregnant. It's Julian's,' Connie spoke quietly to Luke, but they all heard. She was shaking uncontrollably, but turned to Matt and Katherine. ‘I am sorry.'

Lizzie was shocked but equally appalled by her own self-deception. What on earth had she been thinking? How could she have intended to inflict this kind of pain and horror on Connie, her dearest friend? Considering how many years her fantasy about Jules had festered, her realisation was quick and utter. She was immediately ashamed.

‘Connie,' she took the water from Sara and held it to Connie's lips. ‘Here.'

‘How fucking warped,' Sara gestured gently towards Matt. ‘When you have lost your precious baby girl.' She reached to squeeze Matt's hand. ‘He is a prize cunt.'

‘Oh my God,' Matt paled. ‘I don't think that I can deal with this.' He collapsed on the arm of the sofa and put his head in his hands. Katherine moved rapidly in beside him. ‘I cannot believe that I'm hearing this.'

‘He's a bastard.' Lizzie didn't think she had ever heard Luke swear before.

Lizzie had been living in a fantasy world, where the reality of secret sex didn't have consequences or ruin lives. Of course, it did. Everything had consequences.

‘Okay, we need to think straight.' How like Sara. ‘First question: is this whore out of your family home?'

Connie looked blankly at her. ‘I don't know. No, I don't think so.'

‘Don't worry. I'll sort it. I'll call your parents and get them go up there right now.'

Lizzie wished she had come up with the idea. They both knew Connie's parents. They had stayed with them numerous times in their university holidays and after they had left Bristol.

To make up for it, Lizzie insisted, ‘I'll call them, Sara. You'll be far better dealing with Sally.'

Sara nodded. Connie appeared happy to delegate all responsibility. She let Dan and Luke comfort her. Dan held Connie's hands while Luke stroked her hair.

Luke murmured, ‘Why did he tell you now?'

‘It's going to break in the
Mail on Sunday
.' Connie said blankly.

‘I don't understand,' Dan asked gently. ‘How does Julian know it's going to be in the
Mail on Sunday
?'

‘Politicians know what's coming up in the papers before the rest of us. They get tipped off.'

Connie spoke without a trace of bitterness, which disturbed Lizzie, but not for long. Julian walked in. His face was drawn. He anxiously scanned the room. Lizzie immediately could see he had been told, possibly by a member of staff, what Connie had tried to do.

Lizzie walked up to Julian and slapped him as hard as she could across the face. She had no idea she was planning to do it. A welt rose under his eye.

He looked genuinely hurt. ‘Lizzie, I thought we were friends.'

‘My friends don't behave in this despicable way.' Lizzie heard an alien steeliness in her voice.

‘God, Emmerson, you think that you can talk your way out of anything?' Sara looked visibly upset. ‘You are a vile coward.'

Matt interrupted Sara. ‘Jesus, Emmerson, do you feel no shame? After what has happened to Katherine and me? There's you, cavalierly fucking your housekeeper and getting her pregnant?'

Julian tried to make eye contact with Connie. Luke was sitting in front of where she lay, while Matt moved to perch on the arm. Katherine was hugging him from behind, as if she wanted to shrink away from Julian.

‘I love you, Connie,' Julian threw out into the room. ‘You know that. And I'm not leaving here without you.'

‘You are, Julian,' retorted Luke who seemed to be gaining confidence from the situation.

Julian turned on him. ‘You've become very righteous all of a sudden. You ran off and left your wife, poor Emma, in not-so-sweet suburbia. Took her children away from her. You ask Connie what she thinks about that!'

Luke was shaking. ‘I never lied or cheated on Emma or anyone. I have a conscience, a moral code.'

Julian sneered. ‘Right. If you believe that.'

Luke spoke calmly. ‘I've only slept with three women in my entire life. Connie was the first. I don't have such a fragile sexual ego that I need to fuck around.'

Lizzie was proud of him for his honesty.

‘You took Connie from me to do this to her.' Luke whispered, barely getting the words out. ‘Her own father describes you as an utter cunt. It destroys him to see how you treated his only daughter.'

Lizzie was shocked. She never imagined Luke was still in touch with Connie's parents.

The last person Lizzie expected to speak was Connie.

‘Luke,' her voice was stronger than she looked. ‘I made a terrible mistake for both of us.'

Julian tripped backwards catching the edge of the woven matt with his foot. He recovered his balance and strode out of the room.

Connie made an effort to sit up. Lizzie ran forward with cushions and support.

‘Lizzie, I wasn't trying to…' Connie's voice was definitely her own again, which was such a relief. ‘You know, I was in shock.'

‘Of course, we know that Connie,' Lizzie held her tight. ‘My dearest friend.'

Lizzie didn't believe her, but she accepted her denial thankfully. Connie was strong. How she could keep up appearances when her life was so bloody?

Lizzie was so lucky.

Connie sat dangling her legs into the pool, rocking them rhythmically up and down until her scarlet toenails winked out of the water. Her white vest had dried out. She was
only wearing her knickers underneath. It was blazing hot. The storm might have never happened. The water stopped Connie from overheating, though she wanted to bake. Empty and free. She took several deep breaths and stared at the far horizon. Miles and miles of wild flowers, wild shrubs, wild life, freedom and space. It was achingly beautiful. She was emotionless. She had been rubbed out from the landscape and her own life. She couldn't stop her hands from shaking. The rest of her body had calmed down, but her fingers wouldn't. They quivered as if to remind her she was alive.

Someone sat down beside her. She didn't look round. The sun was overpowering, the sky deep blue and the wild life teeming and she wanted to sit it out in this heat on her own. Stay here until she was ready. She resented the invasion of the long slim legs that splashed into the water right beside her. Katherine, she assumed.

‘Your husband's a bit of a handful, I hear,' stated a voice, matter of fact with not a shade of sympathy.

She looked up. It was Helen, the wife of the ex-head of the British Army. Connie had already forgotten their surname. She was in an ancient swimming costume, the type that slashed Union Jack coloured stripes unflatteringly straight across the thighs without a nod to a curve. She must have been in her sixties, but she had lean legs and boyishly short hair.

Connie didn't say anything. What was there to say? Helen's statement didn't seem to demand a response. Helen repeatedly dipped her hands into the water, pouring it over the loose skin under her arms.

‘Political ones are the worst, I find. It's a haven for emotional cowards. They crave the power they don't feel inside.' She added wryly, ‘Though, believe me, army men are a close second.'

Connie tried to smile. This straightforward conversation was a relief. The horror she couldn't acknowledge was being given ironic context.

‘He is having a baby with our housekeeper, Sally. She's been living with us for ten years.'

She expected that would shock Helen. It would shock everyone in London. Can you believe? Have you heard? What kind of woman would put up with that? How low can he stoop? They would never know how it was at home in their daily life together. Sally was not some slut. She had been Connie's most trusted friend: a warm, unthreatening brunette who had been intimately part of her life journey, helping her bring up their children.