The House at Midnight (24 page)

'Jesus Christ,' said Martha, knocking her coffee over the white linen cloth. The stain soaked in and left a residue of grounds like silt.

There was a tremendous crack. A bolt of forked lightning tore the sky like a piece of sugar paper. The flash was so bright that for a split second the room was lighter than day. The faces round the table were illuminated, blanched, by it. Diana started counting quietly and only reached four before the thunder came again, just as loud. 'It's close,' she said. 'But it's not raining. Everything's so dry. I hope it doesn't start a fire.' We got up and stood at the open windows to watch. Greg was behind me and put his arms round my shoulders. There was another bolt of lightning and, as it jagged down, the whole front lawn and the drive were revealed in an eerie electric light. The thunder followed almost at once, as loud as the sound of a steel-hulled liner running aground.

'Who pissed off Zeus?' said Martha.

Into the silence that followed came a quiet pattering outside on the path, like the slow introduction to a song, the beat growing more persistent. Spots the size of two-pence pieces started to freckle the flagstones. 'At last,' said Diana. She turned round excitedly, her eyes full of a new idea. 'I'm going outside to get cool - who's coming?'

Before anyone could say anything, she was gone and we heard the front door opening. There were quick, light footsteps on the stones and she appeared in front of the window, lit only by the glow from the lamps inside. 'The rain's warm,' she said. She threw her arms up as if waiting for something to come out of the sky and embrace her. Her dress was already soaked through and it clung to her gleaming skin.

'Diana, be careful. It's dangerous. You'll get struck,' shouted Elizabeth.

'No, I won't. It'll get the house first.' She pushed her hair off her face. 'Put some music on, Lucas.'

Danny was already by the stereo. He checked the CD and slid the drawer back into the machine. After a second or two the air was filled with the sound of his friend's track with its sample of the keening, sensual Spanish lament.

'Louder,' Diana called to him.

From the window we watched her as she started to move. If it had been anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous. Her dress, now black with water, stuck to the curves of her waist and hips, and her long hair snaked down her back. She closed her eyes against the rain and turned her face up towards it. She seemed natural in an elemental sense. Another flash of lightning lit up the sky. She looked, I thought, like a maenad, transported by something powerful and invisible. There was nothing virginal about the way she moved: the sensuality of it was darker and more knowing, a homage not to her namesake, the maiden goddess, but amoral Dionysus. We stood motionless, watching.

'This is ridiculous,' said Elizabeth. 'She'll be killed.' She turned away from the window and went to the table for her wine glass.

It wasn't until he appeared in the garden that I realised that Lucas had gone. Laughing, he slid his hand around Diana's waist and picked up her rhythm, moving his body with hers. Soon his shirt was soaking, too, the fabric darkening in patches until all of it was gunmetal. His hair formed dark ringlets.

'Come on, then.' Greg took Martha and me by the hand and pulled us outside.

'I don't want to,' I shouted but he didn't listen, choosing not to or unable to hear me over the pounding of the rain and the thunder and the beat of the music. Michael came to the front doorstep and kicked off his shoes. We joined Diana and Lucas and we danced as a group. I was self-conscious at first but with each crack and roar from the sky I felt less and less myself, more a tiny piece of something bigger than me and out of my control and understanding.

Lucas danced closer and said something that I couldn't hear.

'What?' The sky was electrified by another bolt of lightning

He was forced to move away as Greg danced over and wrapped his arms aggressively around me. He kissed me hard, the rain channelling over the contours of our one joined face.

'Where's Danny?' said Martha, turning round. There was an explosion of simultaneous lightning and thunder and she stopped dancing and stood perfectly still. We followed her gaze.

Inside the house, framed in silhouette by the light in the room behind them, Danny and Elizabeth were kissing, their bodies tight together and oblivious to the storm.

We had stood in the rain staring until eventually Greg spoke and we followed him inside. In the hallway we looked at each other blankly. The dining-room door was open and we kept away from it as if it harboured contagion. The storm was still overhead and the lightning played through the ring of small windows below the dome like a strobe or the lights of an ambulance, illuminating the painting with electric blue. The flickering effect brought the tableau alive: the characters seemed to be moving, each flash catching them differently, showing now the man on the couch, now the dark-haired woman at his feet, now the golden Ganymede proffering his
krater
with terrible animation.

Water dripped off us and pooled around our feet. I looked at Martha. She was trembling, subtly enough for it to be the start of a chill from her wet clothes but recognisable to me as the first sign of distress. She was biting her lower lip and her eyes were wide, as if she feared that closing them would encourage the tears she knew were on their way.

'Let's not get cold,' said Greg. 'Let's get upstairs and get changed.'

'If Lucas can lend you a T-shirt, I've got a spare pair of jeans you can have, Diana,' I said. 'They'll do for now, until you get back to the village.'

She came up to our room and I found them for her. I realised that, of all of us, she was the least shocked. In fact, she seemed hardly even surprised. The wild self-abandonment of her dancing had been replaced by a strange resignation. 'Are you OK?' I asked her.

'Yes, I'm used to it. She's been doing this since I was a child.' She hesitated, uncertain, it seemed, whether or not she should say more. 'It's because she's the last of the great romantics. She's like a teenager - she thinks that finding someone who loves her will answer every question and solve every problem. She thinks every new affair is "the one" and she's heartbroken every time it goes wrong.'

When I'd got dry, I went to Martha's room. She hadn't showered or changed out of her wet things but was lying face down on the bed. The sheets around her were damp with rainwater. I said her name quietly but she didn't respond so I put my hand on the back of her head and smoothed the tangle of her sodden hair.

'I'm an idiot,' she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. 'Go on, tell me you told me so.'

'I wouldn't.'

On the bedside table I saw the birthday present he had given her, an old leather-bound copy of
Middlemarch,
which he knew was her favourite. I had been impressed by that.

'I believed him,' she said. 'And I fell for the oldest line of all, that we only had to be quiet about it in the beginning, until we were sure. But I was sure straightaway. I let myself really care about him. I'm so fucking dumb.'

'It isn't your fault,' I said. 'He isn't like normal people. He doesn't have a conscience. He really doesn't care how his behaviour affects others. Oh Martha, it's hard now but you'll be glad in the long run, I promise. I want you to fall in love with someone who deserves you. He's not good enough to polish your shoes. Imagine if he did this later, if you'd got married and had children.' I thought how unlikely it was that he would ever do those things. 'He'd give you the biggest runaround. He'd make you so unhappy.'

'I've never felt like that about anyone. He made me feel as if the risks were worth taking. He makes everything feel ... exciting. Jo, I can't bear the thought that I won't ever wake up with him again.'

I thought of telling her about Michael. I wanted her to know that she wasn't the only person to have fallen for Danny's peacock-tail seduction. I also wanted to shock her, to decimate her image of him so that she could never be persuaded of his goodness again, even if he used the full extent of his charm on her. It was the thought of the impact the news might have on her friendship with Michael that stopped me; of us all, she was probably closest to him and I was loath to let Danny ruin that, too.

She turned over at last and looked at me. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks as flushed as though she had just stepped out of a scalding bath. 'You haven't told anyone about this, have you?' She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest. 'I couldn't stand it if everyone knew how stupid I'd been.'

The atmosphere among us was subdued for the rest of that evening. Martha stayed upstairs and Greg, Michael and I helped Lucas and Diana wash up. Then we poured large brandies and sat in the kitchen. The centre of the storm had moved off a little and was now rumbling in the distance, over the Chilterns. It was still raining, though, and we left the French windows open and listened to the strangely soothing sound of it, like blank radio interference after a disturbing broadcast. Danny and Elizabeth had gone. We didn't need to check to know it: the air in the house was different, as if its particles had changed their charge.

Later, when we were in bed, I turned over in my head the question of whether I should tell Greg about Martha. I felt as though I was boiling with secrets and I wanted to discuss them with him, partly to ease the pressure but also to rid myself of the feeling that I was being dishonest with him. If our relationship was going to work, I couldn't keep things from him. But I didn't know whether it was more disloyal to Martha to discuss it with him or to Greg not to. Then I thought about how he had been the night Lucas was taken to hospital: I was sure I could trust him. 'Can I tell you something?' I said, making the decision.

'Of course. What is it?' He sat up and puffed up his pillow. 'Martha's been having a fling with Danny.'

He stopped. 'My God. What, you mean tonight, when ...?' He shook his head, disbelieving. 'Shit. Poor
Marth.'

'I know.'

'But I thought she knew better about him. Surely she wouldn't touch him?'

'Apparently she's liked him for years. It speaks volumes that she never told me.'

'God, he's a bastard. How could he do that to her? She's such a sweetheart.'

It was a relief to talk to him about it and to have someone to share my indignation that I decided to tell him everything. His expression when I told him about Michael as well was sheer incredulity. 'So he's been sleeping with both of them and no one knows? Shit. And neither of them knows about the other?'

'No. And now it looks like he's starting something with Elizabeth.'

By morning the weather system had shifted to the east and we turned on the news and watched pictures of it wreaking havoc in East Anglia, causing rivers to break their banks and sweeping cars into ditches.

'Our beautiful British summer,' said Lucas, getting up to switch off the set.

Danny wasn't anywhere to be seen and so we assumed that he'd spent the night at Elizabeth's house in the village. It struck me as important that we took Martha back to London before he reappeared. I wanted to remove her from a situation where she might have to face him and be hurt further, either by his blithe indifference or by some turkey-cock display of his new conquest. I spun a flimsy line about having a lot of stuff to do for the
Gazette
- an excuse utterly transparent to anyone who had ever heard me talk about the place - and we left.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I was very happy when
The Times
called and asked whether I would like to work the following weekend. After the disaster of my being so late, I had been worried that I had blown it, especially when they hadn't needed me since. I hadn't wanted to give much detail that morning about why it had been so necessary to go to the country - it hadn't seemed right to talk about Lucas's fragility to someone who'd never met him but I had managed, I thought, to convey how important it had been. I had apologised profusely and promised that it wouldn't happen again.

The piece I was working on now was about a change in the legislation for funding of British-made films and I was making good progress. Looking around the newsroom I was filled with the knowledge that I'd made the right decision about my career: there wasn't anything I would rather be doing than this. It was exhilarating to realise it and I was smiling as I flicked back through my notes. I was also looking forward to an uninterrupted evening on my own with Greg. It seemed like some time since we'd had a weekend to ourselves.

Martha and Michael had stayed in London, too. Poor Martha had been in a terrible state the previous evening, when normally we would have been driving up to Stoneborough. I could see that she longed to be at the house just to be near Danny and yet was terrified at the same time of seeing him again in case she betrayed how much she had cared for him and laid herself open to his terrible scorn. Needless to say, he hadn't called. Michael was going to a drinks party thrown by one of his colleagues and he'd asked Martha to go with him. She'd been reluctant but I'd told her she should, rather than spend the evening at home feeling melancholy.

On the desk beside me, my telephone rang. I answered it, assuming it would be one of the people I wanted to interview and for whom I'd left messages.

It was Lucas. 'I need to talk to you,' he said.

'I'm at work,' I said, dropping my voice and looking over the top of the partition to see if there was anyone in the vicinity who could hear me. 'How did you get this number?'

'Your mobile's off so I called your house. Martha told me where you were so I just rang the switchboard.'

'Look, Lucas, I really don't mean to be rude but I have to get this piece done. I'm on trial here - I shouldn't be getting personal calls. Can't I ring you later?'

'It's important,' he said. 'And you'll be with Greg later so we won't be able to talk privately. I won't take up much of your time.'

My heart sank. I needed to concentrate on what I was doing and I really couldn't let myself be plunged into another Stoneborough mini-drama. And yet I remembered what had happened the last time I hadn't taken his calls. I knew I wouldn't forgive myself if it happened again. 'Go on then,' I said. 'But make it snappy or you'll get me into trouble.'

He hesitated for a second. 'OK. To cut to the chase, Jo, I think I'm falling in love with Diana.'

My immediate reaction was shock. I'd had no idea that that was going to happen. Then an unexpected and wild jealousy surged through me. 'Have you slept together?' I said without thinking, as if he was cheating on me and I had every right to know. I glanced up quickly to check no one was looking at me; I wasn't sure how loud my voice had been. I had known, of course, that Lucas would meet someone else one day but I hadn't expected it to happen so soon. It was a blow to have been replaced with such ease.

He seemed unfazed by my question. 'Last night. Diana cooked and we had supper outside on the lawn.' He paused, as if torn between wanting to keep the memory private and the need to share his excitement. 'It was really late - probably about two - and everything was so still, absolutely silent. It was like being the last people left in the world. We'd talked about everything: my parents, Patrick, Elizabeth, what it was like being round that group when we were children. It's strange, Jo. In a way I feel as if I've been waiting for her to come back all my life.'

'Lucas ...' I could see Rebecca approaching, back from buying lunch at the canteen. Her desk was two along from mine. She'd be able to hear every word I said but there was no way I could end the call now.

'And it helps, having her here now when you're off in London. And because she was there when we were children, she understands.'

I couldn't tell whether or not the barb was intentional so said nothing.

'I feel like life is starting up again. It's so weird: the last time Diana and I were together was in that wood and we found each other there again, twenty years later.'

He was waiting for me to speak now. Rebecca sat down and moved her mouse to clear the screen saver. It was unfortunate that she was in the office; she'd only come in to finish off a piece she hadn't managed to complete the previous day.

Lucas continued, provoked by my silence to greater emphasis. 'Jo, when she kissed me, it was like falling in love and everything making sense. I never thought I would say this but you were right to break it off. I think it's the real thing this time.'

'That's wonderful,' I said as quietly as possible while still being audible to him. 'I'm happy for you.' Say it like you mean it, Joanna, I thought to myself, glad that he couldn't see me. I looked up just in time to catch Rebecca's questioning eye. I made an apologetic face.

Finally, after assurances that I would call him at some later point over the weekend, he rang off. The call left me unsettled. On the one hand, the news could be seen as a relief. Perhaps if he was going to be with Diana now, the baton of responsibility for him could be passed on. It might also mean a let-up in the pressure of his scrutiny of me. But despite those things, I felt a backwash of desolation. His finding someone else was another station along the road away from our shared history, a further erosion of the bond between us. I was also hurt by the message lying like a reef beneath the surface of his words: he had wanted to tell me how out of the picture I was. I told myself off. Why shouldn't he want to gloat a little about his new relationship? I had no right to feel slighted. And he and Diana had experienced something that gave them a tighter bond than most people ever had. Perhaps she really did understand him in a way that an outsider could never do.

Rebecca stayed until the end of the day and, after I'd filed my piece and begun to pack up my things, she asked if she could have a quiet word. She indicated a desk in the corner, away from the others. Even before she began, the way she composed her face told me the news wasn't good.

'I'm so sorry, Joanna,' she said. 'I like you and I think you'll be a good journalist but I just get the impression that you have too many commitments elsewhere. We need someone who can focus on what needs to be done here. I've been trialling someone else as well and I'm afraid that I've decided to give the maternity-cover job to him.'

On the tube back from Wapping to Shepherd's Bush I sat in a state of unblinking disbelief. It was only when I reached Greg's flat that the reality of it hit me and the tears came. And the thing was, she was right: I was over committed. How could I give anything else my full attention when there was so much going on between us all and when I was responsible for Lucas's fragile emotional wellbeing? Although I knew it was partly my fault for not telling him straight off that I would call him later, my mental picture of him was now crystallising. Lucas was becoming a burden and, though I hated myself for the cruelty, I couldn't help it. Because of him, I had wasted the biggest opportunity I'd ever had.