Authors: Madeleine Wickham
`Fine,' said Isobel calmly. Ìt's not him I've brought you to see, anyway. There's someone else who's come to see you.' She switched off the engine and looked at Milly. `Brace yourself for a shock,' she added.
`What?' But Isobel was already out of the car and walking towards the house. Hesitantly, Milly got out and began to follow her, crunching on the gravel. Automatically her eyes rose to Simon's bedroom window, in the far left corner of the house. The curtains were drawn but she could see a chink of light.
Perhaps he was behind the curtains, watching her. A dart of apprehension went through her and she began to walk more quickly, wondering what Isobel had been talking about. As she neared the front door, it suddenly opened and a tall figure appeared in the shadows.
`Simon!' said Milly, without thinking.
`No.' Rupert's subdued voice travelled easily through the evening air; as he moved forward his blond hair was visible under the light. `Milly, it's me.' Milly stopped in astonishment.
`Rupert?' she said incredulously. `What are you doing here? You were in London.'
Ì came down by train,' said Rupert. Ì had to see you. There was no one at your house, so I came here.'
Ì suppose you've heard, then,' said Milly, shifting her feet on the gravel. Ìt all came out. The wedding's off.'
Ì know. That's why I'm here.' He rubbed his face, then looked up. `Milly, I tracked down Allan for you.'
`You've found him? Already?' Milly's voice rose in excitement. `Where is he? Is he here?'
`No,' said Rupert. He walked slowly towards her across the gravel and took her hands. `Milly, I've got some bad news. Allan's . . . Allan's dead. He died four years ago.'
Milly stared at him in stunned silence, feeling as though a bucket of icy cold water had hit her in the face. Allan dead. The idea circled her mind like some sort of foreign body, impossible to digest. It couldn't be true. Allan couldn't be dead. People his age didn't die. It was ludicrous.
As she gazed at Rupert, a sudden desire rose within her to giggle; to turn this into the joke it must surely be. But Rupert wasn't smiling or laughing. He was gazing at her with a strange desperation, as though waiting for a reaction; an answer. Milly blinked a few times, and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry like sandpaper.
`What . . . how?' she managed. Visions of car crashes ran through her mind. Aeroplane disasters; mangled wreckage on the television.
`Leukaemia,' said Rupert.
A fresh jolt hit Milly and the base of her spine began to tingle unpleasantly.
`He was ill?' she said, and licked her dry lips. Àll that time, he was ill?'
`Not while we knew him,' said Rupert. Ìt was afterwards.'
`Did he . . . suffer much?'
Àpparently not,' said Rupert, a low, suppressed anguish in his voice. `But I don't know. I wasn't there.'
Milly gazed at him for a few silent seconds.
Ìt's all wrong,' she said eventually. `He shouldn't . . .' Something was constricting her throat. `He shouldn't have died.' She shook her head violently. Àllan didn't deserve to die.'
`No,' said Rupert in a trembling voice. `He didn't.'
She stared at him for a moment and a thousand shared memories seemed to pass between them. Then, in a moment of pure instinct, she reached out her arms. Rupert half fell against her, stumbling on the gravel, and buried his head in her shoulder. Milly held on tightly to him and looked up at the inky sky, tears blurring her view of the stars. And as a cloud passed over the moon it occurred to her for the first time that she was a widow.
As Isobel entered the kitchen, Simon looked up warily from his seat at the huge refectory table. He was cradling a glass of wine and in front of him was the Financial Times, open hut-Isobel suspected unread.
`Hi,' he said.
`Hi,' said Isobel. She sat down opposite him and reached for the wine bottle. For a while there was silence. Isobel looked curiously at Simon. He was staring down, avoiding her eye, as though experiencing some kind of internal struggle.
`So,' he said at last. Ì gather you're pregnant. Congratulations.'
`Thanks,' said Isobel. She gave him a little smile. Ì'm really happy about it.'
`Good,' said Simon. `That's great.' He reached for his glass of wine and took a deep swig.
Ìt'll be your half-brother,' added Isobel. Òr sister.'
Ì know,' said Simon shortly. Isobel looked at him sympathetically.
Àre you finding this difficult to deal with?'
`Well, to be honest, just a tad!' said Simon, putting down his glass. Òne minute you're going to be my sister-in-law. The next minute you're not going to be my sister-in-law. Then all of a sudden, you're going to be my stepmother, and you're having a baby!'
Ì know,' said Isobel. Ìt is all a bit sudden. I'm sorry. Truly.' She took a thoughtful sip of wine. `What do you want to call me, by the way? "Stepmother" seems a bit of a mouthful. How about "Mum"?'
`Very funny,' said Simon irritably. He took a swig of wine, picked up the newspaper and put it down again. `Where the hell's Milly? They're taking a long time, aren't they?'
Òh come on,' said Isobel. `Give the girl a chance. She's just found out that her husband's dead.'
Ì know,' said Simon, Ì know. But even so . . .' He stood up and walked to the window, then turned round. `So-what do you think of this Rupert, then?'
Ì don't know,' said Isobel. Ì have to say, I was expecting a complete bastard. But this guy just seems . .
.' She thought for a moment. `Very sad. He just seems very sad.'
`The truth is,' said Rupert, Ì should never have married her.' He was leaning forward, his head resting wearily on his knuckles. Next to him, Milly wrapped her arms more tightly around her knees. They were sitting on a low wall behind the office wing; above them, like a second moon, was the old stable clock. Ì knew what I was. I knew I was living a lie. But, you know, I thought I could do it.' He looked up miserably. Ì really thought I could do it!'
`Do what?' said Milly.
`Be a good husband! Be a normal, decent husband. Do all the things everybody else does. Have dinner parties and go to church and watch our children in a nativity play . . .' He broke off, staring into the darkness. `We were trying for a baby, you know. Francesca was pregnant last year. It would have been due in March. But she lost it. Now everyone will be thanking God that she had that miscarriage, won't they?'
`No,' said Milly uncertainly.
Òf course they will. They'll be calling it a blessing.' He looked up with bloodshot blue eyes. `Maybe I'm being selfish. But I wanted that baby. I desperately wanted that baby. And I-' He faltered slightly. Ì
would have been a good father to it.'
Ìt would have been lucky to have you,' said Milly stoutly.
`That's sweet,' said Rupert, a faint smile coming to his face. `Thanks.'
`But a baby isn't glue, is it?' said Milly. À baby doesn't keep a marriage together.'
`No,' said Rupert. Ìt doesn't.' He thought for a moment. `The odd thing is, I don't think we ever had a marriage. Not what I would call a marriage. We were like two trains, running side by side, barely aware of each other's existence. We never argued; we never clashed. To be honest, we hardly knew each other.
It was all very civil and pleasant but it wasn't real.'
`Were you happy?'
Ì don't know,' said Rupert. Ì pretended to be. Some of the time I even fooled myself.'
There was silence. Somewhere in the distance a fox barked. Rupert sighed and stretched out his legs in front of him.
`Shall we go in?' he said.
'OK,' said Milly vaguely. Rupert looked at her curiously for a while.
`How about you?' he said at last.
`What about me?'
`You know Allan's death changes everything.'
Ì know,' said Milly. She examined her hands intently for a moment, then stood up. `Come on. I'm getting cold.'
At the sound of the front door opening, Simon stood up, as abruptly as though a small electric current had been passed through his body. He smoothed back his hair and began to make awkwardly for the kitchen door, checking his appearance as he passed the uncurtained window. Isobel looked at him with raised eyebrows.
`She probably won't want to talk to you,' she said. `You really hurt her, you know.'
Ì know,' said Simon, halting at the door. Ì know. But ...' He reached for the door knob, hesitated for a few seconds, then pushed the door open.
`Good luck,' called Isobel after him.
Milly was standing just inside the front door, her hands deep in her pockets. At the sound of Simon's tread, she looked up. Simon stopped, and stared at her. She seemed suddenly different; as though the events of the last two days had remoulded her face, her entire person.
`Milly,' he said shakily. She gave a faint acknowledgement. `Milly, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean any of the things I said.' His words came tumbling out like apples from a tree. Ì had no right to speak to you like that. I had no right to say those things.'
`No,' said Milly in a low voice. `You didn't.'
Ì was hurt, and I was shocked. And I lashed out without thinking. But if you give me another chance, I'll ... I'll make it up to you.' Simon's eyes suddenly shone with tears. `Milly, I don't care if you've been married before. I don't care if you've got six children. I just want to be with you.' He took a step towards her. Ànd so I'm asking you to forgive me and give me another chance.'
There was a long pause.
Ì forgive you,' said Milly at last, staring at the floor. Ì forgive you, Simon.'
`Really?' Simon stared at her. `Really?' She gave a tiny shrug.
Ìt was understandable, the way you reacted. I should have told you about Allan in the first place.'
There was an uncertain silence. Simon moved forward and tried to take Milly's hands but she flinched.
He dropped his hands and cleared his throat.
Ì heard what happened to him,' he said. Ì'm really sorry.'
`Yes,' said Milly.
`You must be-'
`Yes.'
`But ...' He hesitated. `You know what it means for us?' Milly looked at him as though he were speaking a foreign language.
`What?' she said.
`Well,' said Simon. Ìt means we can get married.'
`No, Simon,' said Milly. Simon paled slightly.
`What do you mean?' he said, keeping his voice light. Milly met his eyes briefly, then looked away.
Ì mean, we can't get married.' And as he watched her in disbelief, she turned on her heel and walked out of the front door.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MILLY DIDN'T STOP walking until she reached Isobel's car. Then she leaned against the passenger door and scrabbled in her pocket for a cigarette, trying to ignore the burning ache in her chest; trying not to think of Simon's startled face. She had done the right thing, she told herself. She had been honest. Finally, she had been honest.
With shaky hands she put the cigarette in her mouth and flicked repeatedly at her lighter, but the evening breeze blew the flame out every time. Eventually, with a little cry of frustration, she threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped on it. She felt suddenly powerless and marooned. She couldn't go back into the house. She couldn't drive off without a car key. She didn't even have a mobile phone.
Perhaps Isobel would come and find her in a moment.
There was a sudden crunching on the gravel and she looked up, then jumped as she saw Simon striding towards her, a look of serious intent on his face.
`Look, Simon, don't even bother,' she said, turning away. Ìt's over, OK?'
`No, it's not OK!' exclaimed Simon. He reached the car, panting slightly. `What do you mean, we can't get married? Is it because of the things I said? Milly, I'm just so sorry. I'll do anything I can to make it up. But don't give up on us just because of that!'
Ìt's not about that!' said Milly. `Yes, you hurt me. But I told you, I forgive you.' Simon stared at her.
`Well, what, then?'
Ìt's more basic than that. It's . . . us. You and me as a couple, full stop.' She gave a small shrug and began to walk off.
`What's wrong with you and me as a couple?' said Simon, starting to follow her. `Milly, talk to me!
Don't just run away!'
Ì'm not running away!' said Milly, wheeling round to face him. `But there's no point talking about it.
Take it from me, it just wouldn't work. So let's act with a little dignity, shall we? Goodbye, Simon.'
She paused, then began to walk quickly off again.
`Fuck dignity!' exclaimed Simon, hurrying after her. Ì'm not going to just let you walk out of my life like that! Milly, I love you. I want to marry you. Don't you love me? Have you stopped loving me? If you have, just tell me!'
Ìt's not that!' said Milly.
`Then what's wrong!' His voice jabbed at the back of her head. `What's wrong?'
'OK!' said Milly, suddenly stopping. 'OK!' She closed her eyes, then opened them and looked straight at him. `What's wrong is that . . . I haven't been honest with you. Ever.'
Ì told you, I don't care about that,' said Simon. `You can have ten husbands for all I care!'
Ì'm not talking about Allan,' said Milly desperately. Ì'm talking about all the other lies I've told you.'
Her words rose into the evening air like birds escaping. `Lies, lies, lies!'
Simon stared at her in discomposure. He swallowed, and pushed his hair back.
`What lies?'
`You see?' cried Milly. `You have no idea! You have no idea who I really am! You don't know the real Milly Havill.'
`Kepinski,' said Simon.
Milly's eyes narrowed; she turned round and began to stride away.
Ì'm sorry,' said Simon at once. Ì didn't mean it! Milly, come back!'
Ìt's no good!' said Milly, shaking her head. Ìt won't work. I can't do it any more.'
`What are you talking about?' exclaimed Simon, hurrying after her.
Ì can't be what you think I am! I can't be your perfect Barbie doll.'
Ì don't treat you like a fucking Barbie doll!' said Simon in outrage. `Jesus! I treat you like an intelligent, mature woman!'
`Yes!' cried Milly, turning with a spatter of gravel. Ànd that's the trouble! You treat me like some thinking man's version of a Barbie doll. You want an attractive intelligent woman who wears expensive shoes and thinks soap operas are trivial and knows all about the effect of the exchange rate on European imports. Well, I can't be her! I thought I could turn into her, but I can't! I just can't!'