The Next Best Thing (39 page)

Liberty kissed Will goodbye then Jane helped her into the taxi.

‘Waterloo, please,’ said Jane. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them they were halfway down the street and Will was out of sight.

At the Eurostar check-in an excited party of little girls and their mothers were congregated at the bottom of the escalator that separated international departures from
run-of-the-mill commuters. Miss Evans was standing in the middle with a clipboard, ticking off the arrivals.

‘That seems to be everyone,’ she said, raising her voice, ‘could we please have the children lined up behind me, and the three mothers who are joining us: Mrs Khan, Mrs
Phillips, and Mrs Rhys-Baker.’

Liberty tugged at Jane’s sleeve. ‘What about you?’ she hissed.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Jane, and turned to Miss Evans. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I think I’m down as one of the mothers. Don’t you remember, you said I
should come because of Liberty’s leg being in plaster.’

Miss Evans looked dismayed. ‘Oh, so I did, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot! I must have got confused because Mrs Phillips wasn’t down to come, but then she was particularly
keen to, because of Xanthe’s separation anxiety, and I was thinking we needed a third mother . . . I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Thacker, but I don’t think we need you after all . . .
and I haven’t got a ticket for you.’

Liberty squeezed Jane’s hand. ‘You have to come, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘What about my bath? You have to put that plastic cover thing on my leg.’

‘Can’t I come along anyway, as an extra?’ Jane asked. ‘I could go and get a ticket now.’

Miss Evans looked flustered, it’s the accommodation,’ she said, I don’t know how it would work. I’m sharing a room with Mrs Khan, then Mrs Phillips is sharing with Mrs
Rhys-Baker, I know the hotel is fully booked . . . oh dear, this is all so very last minute, maybe we could get you a room somewhere else . . .’

Liberty was pulling at Jane’s hand again. ‘MUM,’ she said, ‘let’s just not go.’

‘What?’ Jane crouched down to talk to her daughter. ‘But you’ve been looking forward to it,’ she said.

I don’t care, I don’t want to go any more.’ Liberty looked down at her shoes, then up again to meet her mother’s eyes, I don’t want you staying in a different place
. . .’

‘They might be able to swap it around, or you could come and stay with me at a different hotel . . .’

‘No. Please, let’s just not go.’

‘We really should be going through now,’ said Miss Evans.

‘All right,’ said Jane, relieved. ‘If you’re absolutely sure, Liberty?’

Liberty nodded, and Jane turned back to Miss Evans. ‘I think it’s probably better, in the circumstances, if we don’t come,’ she said. ‘I do hope you don’t
mind, only I think, with Liberty’s leg, it was probably a bit ambitious, and in view of the mix-up . . .’

Miss Evans looked relieved. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’ ‘Yes, we’re sure.’

‘I am sorry about the confusion.’

‘Don’t be, it really doesn’t matter.’

And she. and Liberty retreated to the café, where they ordered two croissants and two
p
ains au chocolat,
and sat eating them as they watched Liberty’s classmates filing
through the ticket machines.

‘Do you mind?’ Jane asked, dunking her croissant in her coffee.

Liberty shook her head. ‘I’d rather be with you.’

‘And I’d rather be with you than with all those other children. And I certainly wouldn’t fancy sharing a room with Mrs Khan or Mrs Phillips.’

‘Or Mrs Rhys-Baker.’

‘Or Mrs Rhys-Baker. Though I daresay they wouldn’t fancy sharing with me either.’

They ate on in companionable silence.

After a bit Liberty asked, ‘Mum, is Daddy going to America?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘So what will we do?’

Jane looked at her carefully. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

‘Are you and Daddy really going to live in separate houses?’

Jane didn’t ask her how she’d worked that out. She had to tell her the truth. ‘Yes, we are. But don’t worry, it’ll be all right.’

‘I know.’

Jane felt as if a great weight had been lilted from her chest. She thought about what Rupert had said, about the hardest thing being to know what you really want. Once you knew that, the rest
was easy. She looked at Liberty’s trusting face staring up at her and realised that everything was going to work out. There was no longer any need for her to settle for the next best thing,
no need to throw away her chance of happiness and claim it was all for Liberty’s sake.

She looked up at the departure board. There was a train to Paris leaving in thirty minutes. From Paris, it was three hours to Marseille by TGV, and then about an hour in a taxi. They could be
there by nightfall.

‘I did wonder, Liberty,’ she said, ‘whether we might go and see Rupert. What do you think?’

She waited, hoping for a favourable reply. Although she realised that she had already made her decision.

‘I’d like that,’ said Liberty.

Rupert had just finished watering the pots on the terrace and was sitting down for some reheated
pot au feu,
though he had little appetite. After two weeks of waiting,
he now had to face the truth. Jane wasn’t coming.

He tried to picture her at home. What was she doing now. Was she at her desk, or watching television, or sitting in her garden? The wallflowers would be out now, the first blaze of colour in her
hot summer-bed. He steered away from imagining her with Will. Lydia had told him earlier they had been quite inseparable at the hospital, united by their concern for Liberty. He hadn’t wanted
to hear about that. Jane had asked him not to call her until she had sorted things out, and he had respected that though it had been hard. And now she’d told him she was staying with Will.
For all he knew they were enjoying a second honeymoon, you did hear that, couples becoming even stronger after an affair had ended.

An affair. The words were so cheap, so throwaway. He hadn’t told Lydia there was someone else, there was no point. He couldn’t have married her anyway, it would never have worked.
His only regret was not ending it sooner, instead of dragging it out like the miserable coward he was. He still felt bad about doing it by phone, he had planned to go back to speak to her, but
hadn’t trusted himself. Once in London, he knew he couldn’t have resisted finding Jane and begging her to change her mind, but that would have been unfair on her, and at least he could
say he’d behaved honourably towards her, which was all that counted.

Soon he would be able to engage in his life here. People had been very kind, he’d had no end of dinner invitations, but he didn’t have the heart for it without Jane. A nice Icelandic
couple in the village were particularly keen to rope him in for a Wagnerian blonde they had staying, but he had managed to keep them at bay so far.

It was getting dark and he could only make out the white roses against the dark mass of the borders. He picked up his plate and glass and was heading back to the house when he saw the headlights
at the gate. His first thought was that it was the Icelanders, come to fetch him for dinner. If he won’t come to us, we’ll have to go to him, they must have said. He stood and watched;
he could hardly pretend he wasn’t at home, you couldn’t get away with that down here. Someone was getting out and opening the gates, then the car door was slammed shut and it was coming
up the drive towards him. It was a taxi, he saw that now.

He watched in disbelief as Jane opened the door and stepped out onto the drive, followed by a sleepy-looking Liberty. He’d imagined the scene so often, he couldn’t believe it was
really happening. The driver was opening the boot, taking out Jane’s suitcase. She was walking towards him uncertainly, her arm round her daughter.

‘Is it still OK?’ she said, though she knew she didn’t need to ask. She had come home now.

He opened his arms and gripped them both in a clumsy embrace.

‘It’s more than OK,’ he said. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never make it. Come into the garden.’