The House at Midnight (18 page)

'Well, why don't you tell us the facts?' he asked.

I hesitated, torn between wanting to protect Lucas and wanting them to understand. 'Lucas changed,' I began. 'When Patrick died and he got that house. To start with, I thought it was OK. He said he wasn't going to let it change anything and that he would stay in his job, even though he had so much money he didn't have to. It's not just the country place; there was a flat in Hampstead, too, which he's sold, and loads of art and investments and other things.'

'So what happened?'

'Well, you know he's always wanted to write?'

Dad nodded. He'd had a long conversation about that with Lucas once.

'Danny talked him into believing that he'd never be able to do it with a full-time job and so he resigned and now they're both living in the country.'

'Danny as well?' asked my mother, surprised.

'Neither of them have jobs, and Lucas wanted me to give up mine and go and live with them up there, too.' From the look on my father's face, I could see that he was beginning to understand. 'I began to lose respect for him. I need someone who is doing stuff. I'm not explaining this very well.'

'Actually I do see, Jo,' said my mother. 'It's very unstructured.'

'I need someone who's living in the real world. And then there's Danny.'

'Yes, what is Danny supposed to be doing, if Lucas is writing?' she asked.

'Working on ideas for films, he says, but really he's not doing anything. He's just taking advantage.'

'And what happened to his job? He was doing so well, wasn't he?'

'He was sacked.' I didn't tell her why.

Mum shook her head. 'Well, he won't be able to do that for long. He's thirty this year, isn't he? It's OK to drift along in your twenties but that won't look good when he's thirty five. He's not going to be in any position to offer a girl anything, is he?'

The idea of Danny offering anyone anything, rather than taking it, made me want to laugh.

'And what about Martha? Is she seeing anyone?'

'Mum, for God's sake, it's not the only thing worth doing, you know.'

'What does your new man do?' said Dad quickly.

I relaxed, liking that description. 'He's a software designer.'

My parents weren't really ready to talk about Greg but I was relieved to have been able to make them understand about Lucas a little. I didn't tell them about what had happened on that final night and I was glad that I didn't have to. I was beginning to see that in a strange way I was grateful to Lucas for his violent outburst. It shared the bad behaviour a little, evened the balance sheet between us.

I stayed until the light began to fade. In the end, having been slightly apprehensive about going home, I found I was reluctant to leave. I often felt a little homesick as I drove away from my parents' house and that night the feeling was stronger than usual. It was good to have cleared the air with them. I was still faintly exasperated by my mother's seeming determination to push us all into fully paid-up adulthood but in Danny's case at least I could see what she was driving at. I wondered where he did think his life was going.

As I neared London, however, my ease of spirit began to ebb away. I was going to my house for the first time since Friday. As I parked up outside, I could see that the sitting room lights were on. Martha was already back. I let myself in as quietly as possible and went straight to my room.

The following Thursday Greg got tickets for a new band that he thought I might like. The gig was at a small underground club just off Charing Cross Road and I took the bus up from Putney to meet him there. I'd changed into jeans and my new heels before leaving the office and as I walked down the street I became aware that I was swinging my hips with every step as if I were keeping a hula hoop going. I felt alive in a way that I didn't ever remember feeling before. Everything was suddenly so vivid: the motion of my body as I swung along the pavement, the bounce of my bag against my hip, the rise of the down on my arms against the light evening breeze, the feeling of my hair against my back where my top revealed bare skin. I could feel my breasts touching the inside of the material of it and it was like being very gently stroked. I had a new sense of physical awareness, a sudden and amazing hypersensitivity, both to my own body and to everything around me. The air smelt of city- car fumes and dust and cigarettes and the bodies of people still on the home commute - and I loved it. I smiled at a guy with thick dreadlocks smoking a rollie outside the guitar shop and he smiled back and gave a low wolf whistle as I went by. Instead of feeling embarrassed as I would have in the past, I laughed and exaggerated the swing still further. 'Hey, beautiful girl,' he called after me and although I knew it wasn't true, it felt it, just for a minute.

I could see Greg waiting for me on the corner of Manette Street, attracting surreptitious looks from the girls passing him on their way into the club, but I pretended that I hadn't noticed him. He was watching me but I wanted to savour the feeling of his eyes on me a bit longer. It was like being undressed by him: I knew he was picturing how my body looked under my clothes and I wanted him to. It was he who made me feel like this: connected. In little more than a week, he had revealed an extra dimension to the world. It was technicolour all of a sudden, after years of black and white, and the change was the more extraordinary because it came after I'd cut myself off from so much that I'd thought essential to my happiness.

Tonight the band would have only a fraction of my attention: the rest would be taken up by my senses absorbing as much of Greg as they could, the heat from his body as he stood close to me, the feel of his hand in the small of my back and slipping into the pocket of my jeans, the smell of him. My ears would be listening to the music but the rest of my body would be marking time until we got back to Shepherd's Bush and his bed again.

Chapter Seventeen

One night, more than a month later, I was woken abruptly from a deep sleep by a sound like an alarm. In my confusion it took me several seconds to understand that it was the telephone. I opened my eyes and looked at my clock: half past two. The thought of why anyone would call at that time caused me a rush of panic that left me wide awake. I got out of bed and went out on to the landing, feeling my way along the banister to the top of the stairs. The phone carried on ringing on the table in the hall below, a siren in the quiet of the night. I was amazed Martha hadn't been woken by it.

When I got downstairs I hesitated for a moment before picking up the receiver. If it was bad news - if something had happened to my parents or my brothers - I wanted a last few seconds in which I didn't know.

'Hello?'

'Jo?'

'Lucas.' I sat down on the bottom step in surprise.

There was silence for a second or two. 'Are you still there?'

'Yes,' I said. It was so good to hear his voice. 'How are you?'

'I miss you.'

I had no idea how to respond. My pleasure at hearing him started to evaporate as I realised that he was drunk. Of course he was, though. Why else would he call at that time of night?

'How about you?' he asked. 'Are you happy now? With Greg? Did you make the right decision?'

'Please don't ask that.'

'Aren't I within my rights to ask a few difficult questions? Surely you can allow me that, Joanna?' At the other end of the line there was a loud thump, and the sound of glass shattering on a stone floor. 'Fuck.'

'What's that? What's going on?'

'Nothing. Nothing. I just knocked my glass over. Forget about it.'

'Are you all right?'

'I said forget it. It doesn't matter.' I heard him swallow awkwardly and then, very faintly, the sound of a sob. 'I miss you, Jo. It hurts. It hurts so much.'

'I miss you, too.'

'Come back to me. I don't care about Greg. We can forget it, say it was all a mistake. We can start again.'

'Lucas.' I stopped. How could I tell him without hurting him more?'

'Please.'

'I can't. I'm with Greg now. I miss you as a friend.'

'A friend?' His voice rose. 'How can you say that? What we had was different, Jo. You and me - it's real.'

'You're one of my very best friends. You always will be.' I found that I was in tears now. 'But it didn't feel right, not to me.'

'What you've got with Greg can never be like what we could have, if you weren't so blind you couldn't see it. Can't you see that you're the most important thing in my life?'

I tried to speak but I couldn't find the words and the tears were coming fast. 'You're really important to me, too,' I said at last. 'But it isn't the same. I'm sorry.'

'You and he will never be happy, not properly.' His voice had turned spiteful. 'You can't see that you've got it wrong. I didn't realise how stupid you were. You're a fucking idiot, Jo, as well as a stupid bitch.' Then he slammed the phone down and, as quickly and unexpectedly as he had come back into my life, he was gone.

I put my head in my hands and wept. I was just outside the door to Martha's room but I didn't care if I woke her up. I wanted someone to know now how much it was hurting me, being shunned and despised. If my friendships with them were over for ever, I needed to know. I couldn't go on in this purgatory, punished every day.

Suddenly Martha's door opened and she stood in front of me. It was the first time she'd voluntarily been in my presence since the night she'd shouted at me in the sitting room. Her stripy pyjamas glowed pale in the light through the glass panel in the front door. I looked down again, willing her not to have another go at me. Then to my complete surprise she knelt down and put her arms round me. Kindness finished me at the best of times but this, with the unexpectedness of it and my sheer gratitude, was the end. I put my arms round her, too, and cried and cried. Neither of us said anything for some time and my tears soaked through the shoulder of her pyjama jacket. Eventually I stemmed the flow a bit and pulled back.

'Come on,' she said. 'Let's go and make some tea.'

The lights in the kitchen hurt my eyes after the darkness. I sat at the table while she made the drinks. The fridge hummed into the silence. There was a cardigan on the back of one of the chairs and I put it on, cold in only the T-shirt I wore to bed.

'Forget tea, let's have hot chocolate,' she said. 'I've got marshmallows.'

One of the lovely things about Martha was her ability to inject fun into even the most unlikely situations. I felt tears come into my eyes again and tried to blink them back. I wondered why on earth she would have marshmallows and then remembered: her diet was always terrible when she was unsettled. In the weeks that we hadn't been speaking, I'd noticed that the fridge had been full of pizzas, rice pudding and bars of chocolate with little life expectancy. It was miserable.

'Come on, Jo, stop crying now. You'll be all right.' She put the mugs on the table and sat down. The marshmallows bobbed on the top, ludicrously pink and white at three in the morning. 'Was Lucas really unkind?'

'A bit. No more than I deserve.'

'Was he drunk?'

'I think so. Yes.'

She shook her head. 'I've got to tell you, he's in pieces at the moment. He's drinking so much and he gets really upset. We told him not to call you, in case he did something like this. He's OK when he's sober but when he gets pissed he gets out of control. Danny's been looking after him really well but it obviously went wrong tonight.'

'I think he hates me.'

'He doesn't. That's the problem. He needs to go through a healthy stage of hating you and then come out the other side. Things would be a lot better that way.'

I wanted to reach out and touch her hand but I couldn't. 'Thank you,' I said instead. 'For talking to me.'

She pulled an exasperated face. 'I'm not a complete cow. I couldn't lie in bed and listen to you get screamed at then cry your heart out. I had to do something.'

'Well, that's what I'm saying. Thank you.'

'You're not off the hook.' She picked up one of the marshmallows and put it in her mouth. 'I haven't forgiven you yet for what you did, although I probably will as long as you don't do anything like it again. I'm prepared to admit that whatever you've got with Greg is pretty serious. He obviously makes you happy.'

'Marth ...'

'And anyway, I hate the way we've been living here in the past few weeks. It's shit. I can't stand it much longer; I've been thinking about moving out.'

'So have L' A couple of days earlier, I had been to see a room in another house. It had been nice but the thought of moving away from Martha had been so painful that I'd had to email the girl and say I'd changed my mind.

'What about Rachel?' I asked.

'What about her? I don't think she'll ever forgive you, if that's what you mean. I wouldn't even bother trying to explain or apologise - she won't hear it.'

'Have you seen her? Does she go up to the house?'

'She hasn't been up, no, but Michael and I saw her last week. She had drinks at the shop for a new designer she's launching.'

Melancholy washed over me again. In the past I would automatically have been on the guest-list for something like that. 'Did she mention me?'

'Why would she? I think she'd prefer to forget you'd ever existed.'

I took a sip of my drink to hide the fact that a new batch of tears had sprung into my eyes. I didn't want her to get impatient with me.

'I appreciate it that you haven't brought Greg here yet.'

'I wouldn't have. It didn't seem right.' I blotted my eyes on the sleeve of the cardigan.

'But if you want him to come round now, I don't mind. I do like him, as you know. This is clearly how things are going to be, so it's time for us to get used to it.'

I wished I could tell her about Greg and me. She was the one person to whom I always talked properly about my relationships. It was far too soon, though.

'Look, there's also something I want you to know,' she said. 'Something of mine.' Her voice had changed. The kind but stern tone was gone: this was the old Martha, close and confidential. Her eyes were sparkling.

'What?'

'I've started seeing someone.' She smiled, shy but proud. She folded one of her feet up under her, to cause a distraction. 'Have you? Who?'

'You've got to promise not to tell anyone.'

'Why?'

'He thinks we should keep it a secret for the moment. Just till we're sure.'

'Who? Tell me.'

She paused, about to burst the bubble of their exclusivity. 'Danny.' She laughed but a note of unease came into it as she saw my face. 'Come on. It's not that much of a surprise, is it? You know I've always liked him.'

I tried to rearrange my expression into one of neutrality. 'No, I had no idea. I mean, obviously we know he's charming. And good-looking.'

'He's gorgeous, Jo.'

'When did this happen?' Please God, I thought, not while he was seeing Michael.

'Two weeks ago. At the house, of course. Lucas got really drunk and we'd put him to bed. Michael had crashed out as usual. I don't know - we were in the drawing room pretty late and he just ... leaned in.'

I searched my brain for what to say. I felt a strong need to tell her about Michael but I couldn't think how, without sacrificing our rapprochement. I couldn't be the one to stamp on her excitement, not now. She might never speak to me agam.

'We're not doing anything wrong.' She challenged my silence. 'I know it's going to take some getting used to, given how long we've been friends, but it's fine.'

'Martha, it's not that.'

'It doesn't hurt anyone,' she said pointedly. She snatched up the empty cups. 'Can't you be happy for me? I'm getting together with someone I've always liked. I know you don't like him, for whatever ridiculous reason. You should just let it go. There are enough problems already between us all.'

'I am happy for you. I want you to be happy. Just be careful, that's all.' I decided to try and mask the message a little. 'You know he's wild.'

She smiled again. 'Part of the reason I like him.'

'Look after yourself.'

'I will but it's fine. You know, even the wild child has to settle down sometime. It'll be cool. Just don't tell anyone for now, OK?'

'Given that no one speaks to me, I think your secret is pretty safe.'

She looked at me for a moment and then we both laughed.

A fortnight later it happened again. Greg and I had been into the West End to see a film and got back to my house at about eleven. I could hear the phone ringing inside as we got out of the taxi. I fumbled for the key in my bag and pushed it into the lock. I dashed in and picked up the receiver. 'Hello?'

'Jo, it's me.'

Greg came in behind me and closed the door. He saw the look on my face.

There was silence on the phone for a second or two and then the scratch and flare of a match. I pictured Lucas turning his head to light his cigarette. 'I wanted to apologise for the last time we spoke,' he said at last.

'It doesn't matter. Let's just forget about it.'

'It does matter. I shouldn't have done it. It's no excuse but I was really drunk.'

'I know. Honestly. Forget about it.'

Greg mouthed at me, asking whether I was OK. I nodded yes and he went through to the kitchen to give me some privacy

'It's not the only thing I feel bad about,' said Lucas. 'That last night at the house. I don't know what came over me. To grab you like that ... When I think about it now, I just can't believe it. It was like being possessed or something, out of control. '

I remembered how he had launched at me and how frightening it was. He had looked out of control. But although I had been very frightened I knew that he had been pushed to it: it wasn't the Lucas I knew. 'It was my fault,' I said.

'No,' he said. 'It wasn't. I scared you and I am so sorry for that. I'll never forgive myself.'

Some of my unease began to dissipate. My first thought when I had picked up the phone, especially given the time, was that he had called to give me hell again.

'I've forgiven you,' I said. 'You were provoked and you didn't hurt me.'

'I am so glad about that.' Lucas paused. 'Weekends don't seem right without you. Jo, I want you to come back.'

I closed my eyes, glad he couldn't see me. 'I can't. I'm with Greg now.'

'I don't mean that. I mean, I want you to come to Stoneborough again.'

Greg padded back up the hall and crouched in front of me. 'OK?' he whispered. He stroked my hair and stepped round me to go upstairs.

'Was that him?' asked Lucas.

I considered not telling the truth but thought better of it.

'I'm lonely, Jo, for fuck's sake.

I want you here again.'

'Let's give it time. I don't think any of us is ready yet.'

'I'm ready.'

'Lucas, it's too soon. Trust me. When we've all calmed down, then we'll come up to the house but not until then, OK?' I'd feared it but now it happened and there was the sound of tears on the other end of the line. 'Please don't cry,' I said.