Women of a Dangerous Age (27 page)

So here they were, at the point, at last. Lou said nothing, unable to trust herself. Instead she ran her eye along the clothes rail behind him, reminding herself of what she had hanging there, mentally tagging the items she needed to take to the shop.

Hooker put down his empty glass and clasped his hands in appeal. ‘I've never stopped loving you, you know, whatever's been going on.'

‘Oh, please,' Lou implored under her breath, picking up her knitting again.

‘I was horrified when I realised you knew about the other women.'

‘Other women,' she repeated. ‘How many were there exactly?'

‘I'm going to be honest with you. You deserve that.' He looked at his hands, his thumb nudging at his signet ring. ‘There were others, but Shona and Ali were the only long-term relationships. Really. And none of them meant anything next to you. If only you'd just said something,
asked me straight out, I'd have confessed. I'd have told you everything and made it all right.'

‘So it's my fault?' Lou was bewildered by his logic.

‘That's not what I'm saying. I want you to understand how it was, though. I want Nic to understand. I know she's furious and has lost all respect for me.'

‘She's not alone.' Lou couldn't resist. She introduced a blue and a yellow wool into the pattern of the jumper.

‘I know, I know. Do you know how that makes me feel?'

‘Bad, I hope.'
Five stitches blue. Two stitches yellow. Repeat till the end of the row.

‘Yes, it does. Very bad indeed. I want to make things better, to have them the way they were before. That's why I've asked Emma to leave.'

Lou looked up, surprised that Hooker had taken action. When she returned her attention to her knitting, she'd dropped three stitches. She began the work of hooking them back up.

He smoothed his hair. ‘I knew she and I didn't have a future together. She was upset, of course, but I need you, Lou. Just like you need me.' He sounded as if he was expecting her agreement. ‘Nothing's changed.'

She put down her handiwork. This conversation needed her full attention. Perhaps he really did believe that there was hope for them; that they could pick up where they'd left off. God knows, she'd hung onto that same belief until she'd had to let it go. She looked out of the window into the night. Her reflection returned her stare: grave and considered. She pulled her hair back off her face and then let it go so it sprang back into place.

She heard the glug of more wine being poured. When she looked at him again, Hooker had another drink in his hand. ‘All I'm asking is for you to give it one more go. You can't like living here. Not really.' He looked around him, taking in the clothes rail, the few hats and bags on the top shelf of the bookcase, the TV almost obscured by her favourite tailor's dummy that she'd used when her last private customer came. The sitting room was so much more comfortable for a fitting – better than squeezing into her workroom where her table and fabrics took up so much of the space. Suddenly she saw it through his eyes, the general disarray, the coloured threads on the carpet that she hadn't got round to vacuuming, the balls of wool escaping from her knitting bag, the fashion prints and samplers not quite aligned on the walls, the posy of garden flowers that spilled au naturel (for want of a better way of describing the lack of arrangement) from the little white jug. She hurriedly straightened her back numbers of
Vogue
into a pile, immediately cross with herself that she let him still provoke her into tidiness. She touched the top copy so that it half slid off onto the tabletop.

‘I love it here,' she said.

‘But if you came home, we could rent this place – the income would be useful for your business, I bet – and turn the old playroom into a workroom, and Jamie's or Tom's room into storage.' His pleasure in the scheme was apparent in his face. He had it all planned and was confident she wasn't going to say no.

Lou could imagine how badly Nic would take any transformation of her room, which had stayed a shrine to her
teenage years since she moved out. There was little hope for he who dared violate it. Very occasionally, Nic would return home and shut herself in, rearrange the soft toys on the duvet, pull out the boxes from the bottom of her wardrobe, then stretch herself out on the bed and pore over her old notebooks and photos, with her favourite old bands at full volume, none of them names that Lou could remember, if she'd ever heard of them.

Being lost in the image for a second was enough to provoke memories of all those occasions that she would love to have back – family lunches, birthday celebrations, long chats in front of the fire, drinks in the garden, watching a film together on TV, Tom at the fridge door, Jamie making lumpy gravy with the zeal of a seasoned chef, the Christmas when the lights fused when Tom attempted to put up outdoor tree lights. These were the times that had fortified her and kept her going.

As long as she was living at Jenny's, they would never happen again. Perhaps she should reconsider … She stopped herself. She didn't need any extra income to keep the business ticking over, not yet at least, and as for transforming the playroom to a workroom – that said it all. A playroom was all it ever would be in Hooker's eyes. The only difference was that it would be Lou at play, rather than the kids. How could he possibly imagine that she would ever agree? There was so much that prevented them from loving one another again. And yet … She was about to voice all her objections when she realised Hooker was on his feet.

‘I've changed and I know we could make it work.'

These were the silken tones that had insinuated him into so many other women's beds, she thought.

‘Just think about it, Lou,' he said softly. ‘Don't say anything now. I'll wait till you're ready. Think how pleased the children will be.' With the deftness of a magician, he had offered her control over the decision, then whisked it away again.

Mesmerised by his manipulation of the conversation, by his ability to manoeuvre her to where he wanted despite her resistance, by the residue of feeling she still had for him – despite everything – she let him go with a murmured agreement to think about it. She took a neat step back, unable to avoid his kiss goodbye but making sure it was only her cheek that was on offer. ‘Grandparents together,' he whispered, but quite loud enough for her to hear. Then he was gone.

From behind the front door, she heard his car door slam, then the revving of the engine before he drove off. She returned to her so far untouched glass of wine and made swift work of it. She remembered how, for one brief moment, she had been tempted to agree to his proposal. He had spotted that and immediately turned it to his advantage, leaving at precisely the right moment on the right note. She thought of their children, of Nic. If she went back to Hooker, Nic would have to readjust her opinion of her father. If Lou could forgive and forget then perhaps Nic could too. That had to be an important consideration, one that definitely swayed her. And, even if her business wasn't insolvent, it would be good to have some extra money to play with. At least, living with Hooker, she
wouldn't have to deal with Jenny's garden any longer. Perhaps there were reasons why she should consider moving home. She would lead her own life, just as she had done before she left but on her terms. She would pick up her friendships that had been dropped since her departure. But was there any possibility that she could love Hooker again? That they could be happy grandparents together? Could she exorcise her anger and distrust towards the man who had so betrayed her?

And then she thought about Sanjeev.

Ali was getting dressed when she heard the sound of Don's doorbell. She applied some tinted moisturiser, then concentrated on her eyes, smudging the eye pencil and lashing on the mascara, before smearing a pale balm on her lips. The smell of coffee and breakfast wafted under the bedroom door. The standard of catering had gone up a notch since she'd been granted her wish and had been allowed to put his kitchen to rights.

A week had passed since her conversation with Lou about not wanting to give up her independence or to share her living space: a week of self-criticism and deliberation. In the end, she had decided to follow her friend's advice. She couldn't pretend to Don to be somebody other than she was. If their relationship was to stand a chance, it had to be based on the same absolute honesty that they themselves had demanded of Eric just a few weeks earlier.

Ready, she checked herself in the mirror and went to join him. In the dark inner hallway that linked the four rooms of the riverside apartment, she was surprised to hear a woman's voice coming from the living room. She hesitated
for a second, then opened the door. She saw Don turn quickly, like a man grabbing for a lifeline. Her earlier good mood was overtaken by a premonition that something bad was about to happen.

The visitor was smaller than Ali, slightly older and plumper, with a generous deeply tanned cleavage on show between the lapels of her open coat. Fading blondish hair like spun sugar was arranged around a face in which the features had already blurred with age, the flesh sliding south to settle on her jawline, and a pair of beady eyes clearly summing up what she saw in Ali. On the floor beside her was a large suitcase.

Ali was sure the woman's look of surprise at her entrance reflected her own. The fact that Don still made no move to introduce them made her the more uneasy. However, the other woman jumped to her feet and offered her hand. Ali shook it.

‘Hiya,' the woman said, immediately identifying herself as Australian as well as revealing the stain of lipstick on her left front tooth. ‘I'm Susie, Donny's wife. Just arrived.' Ali didn't miss the confrontation in her voice as she stared at her, unable to speak.

And nor, judging by the speed of his response, did Don, stung into life at last. ‘
Ex
-wife, Susie,' he corrected her. ‘Remember?' He was about to introduce Ali but Susie didn't let him get a word in.

‘Come on, Don. That's just a technicality,' she wheedled. ‘I haven't signed the divorce papers yet. Remember? And now, maybe I won't have to.'

Ali felt her legs weaken. ‘But I thought …' she began, as
she took a seat. ‘You never said.' She caught Susie's short but triumphant smile.

Don crossed the room to put his arm round her shoulders, to reassure her. ‘I'm as surprised as you are by this. I promise you.'

Susie joined them, pulling out a chair for herself. She was clearly not a woman who was easily deterred. ‘And you are?'

‘This is Ali Macintyre, my girlfriend.'

‘Mmm, interesting.' This time the smile stayed for longer. ‘Don and I need to sort out a few things, so—'

‘For God's sake, Susie,' Don interrupted her, visibly shaken. ‘This is crazy. What're you doing here? Where's Mike?'

‘Back in Melbourne where I left him.' Said with another of those smiles.

‘What? You mean you've broken up?' This was obviously news to Don.

‘We've decided to go our separate ways, yes.' Susie gave a small smile. ‘So I decided to have a few weeks in Europe and while in the UK, I thought I should look you up and see if we can't mend our fences.'

‘I think I'd better go,' interrupted Ali, anxious to get out of there before she showed her upset. She avoided catching Susie's eye although she was conscious that the other woman was making herself comfortable, kicking off her shoes and tucking one plump leg beneath her sizeable behind.

‘No, Ali, we've got the day planned,' Don protested. ‘If anyone's leaving, it's Susie.' But Susie was evidently going
nowhere. He followed Ali into the hall, shutting the door behind him to muffle Susie's querulous protest, and pulling her into the bedroom. ‘Sit down. Please. You can't leave without hearing me out. I had no idea she was going to turn up, or that she was even in the country. I promise. As far as I'm concerned we're as good as divorced. Our relationship was over long ago. Obviously something's gone wrong with Mike, the guy she left me for, but if she thinks we're going to make another go of it, she's quite wrong. Why do you think I left the country? Ali, listen to me. Give me time to explain the situation to her so that she leaves.'

His words tumbled around her as she sat on the edge of the bed, frozen, unable to take in what he was saying. All that was running through her head was the fact that he had let her down, just like Hooker. He had lied, just like Hooker. She'd believed he was different but he was just the same as the others after all. Just like Hooker. Except that this time, with his wife in another country, she'd been fooled into believing that what they had was really different. But, no. Another woman had a prior claim on him after all. She felt as if her trust, everything she believed, had been tossed in the air. If Don had told her he was still married then at least she would have known where she stood. She knew how to play the mistress. The one thing she could do well. Her priority was to get out of his apartment. She put a hand on his arm that he immediately covered with his own.

‘Don, stop! Please! I don't know what to think. You've obviously got to deal with this. Call me when you're done
and we'll talk.' She had a feeling that Susie might not be as easy to shift as he was anticipating.

She had to make herself walk away from the flat and from him, when all she wanted to do was run back inside and turn back the clock half an hour and wipe out what had just happened. Instead she pressed the button for the lift, and when it came she watched him through the closing doors as he went back inside his flat to his wife.

 

She made her way to the studio almost without thinking. Rick had taken his daughter to see his parents for the weekend so Ali knew that she would be undisturbed there. As she walked, she felt at one remove from the rest of the world. Everybody else's lives were carrying on as normal, when everything had changed for her.

She took her blue overall off the back of the door and slipped it on. As she crossed to the workbench, she kicked the metal bin out of her way, the clatter breaking the silence. She removed her Converse and massaged her big toe. What was she to do? Perhaps Don's still being married was punishment for all the affairs she'd had with other women's husbands. The wives who had always been in the background, the women whose feelings she had never considered while she was enjoying herself with their partners, rose up to avenge themselves: a battalion of wronged women determined to make her pay.

For the first time, she knew the sort of pain she must
have inflicted on all those women whose relationships and whose future she'd threatened.

Ali reached across for her portfolio that she'd left on the table and began leafing through the pages where all the engagement and wedding rings that she had made for other women mocked her. She closed it and went over to the bench, then stopped. She was too preoccupied to embark on any detailed work.

Back on the sofa, she picked up her sketchpad and began to draw, only half concentrating as her thoughts took her back to Don. This time she was not going to let go without a fight. When Hooker had dumped her, she had accepted the situation for what it was however much she disliked it. Both men had lied to her, but her different reactions only underlined the difference in her feelings for them both. And theirs for her. Don wanted her. She was as sure as she could be of that although mystified and angry as to why he hadn't confessed to still being married. Something as significant can hardly have slipped his mind. Then again, they never had talked about marriage. Perhaps he really hadn't wanted to upset her if, as he said, divorce was just a formality.

But he had kept the truth from her. Just as her father had. It had been in their interests to let her believe what she wanted to, without correcting her. Time and again she came back to this same point. After all that they had said about the necessity of truth. Then she pulled herself up short. She hadn't been entirely truthful with Don either. They had both chosen not to discuss the areas of their lives which might cause difficulties between them. All she wanted
now was for him to get rid of Susie as soon as possible so they could straighten everything out once and for all. Cards on the table. She was going to do everything she could towards achieving that goal. Making up with her father could wait.

She looked at what she'd been doodling. Her page was covered with broken hearts cracked in zigzags or speared by daggers and arrows. She stared at them for a moment. She took her pencil and was about to put a line through them, when she visualised the jottings made up into brooches and earrings: gold that glittered with rubies, rose quartz or coral. She had a feeling Lou would love them. She made some brief notes before returning to the problem of Susie. What she needed was a plan. Seated at the bench she took her soldering torch and began to anneal a piece of gold she would eventually shape into a brooch. As she hammered, she began to feel better.

 

They walked briskly, Ali setting the pace, Lou trying not to lag behind. Exercising the body was a good thing, Lou told herself. She could feel the sting of a blister on the back of her heel, her T-shirt sticking to her back, her fingers beginning to tighten and swell. Why had she let herself be persuaded into this? Ali's and her ideas of a ‘stroll' clearly couldn't be more different. When Ali had suggested it, she'd imagined them ambling around Kenwood, chatting, then after a decent interval heading for the café. Instead, she'd been dragged out on a gruelling
route march that covered the entire Heath. Ali seemed to know the place intimately as she cut through undergrowth on barely visible paths, ducked under branches to enter woods, then routed back onto the more frequented tarmac paths where joggers and dog walkers dodged the couples and families who moved at a more leisurely pace. Lou stared after them, envious of their lack of speed. Further up the hill, a yellow plastic octopus hovered high in the sky while a couple of stunt kites whirred and twisted in the wind threatening the strings of the simple coloured diamonds being launched by a couple of fathers and their less than enthusiastic kids. She was reminded of their own family trips up here armed with the boys' kites. That craze had lasted for two or three summers in a row and then was abandoned once Hooker lost interest, Tom and Jamie relieved to be able to follow suit. The kites were probably still rolled up somewhere in the garden shed, now long forgotten.

At last she crested the hill to find Ali standing by a bench stretching her quads and hamstrings, looking enviably athletic in body-hugging Lycra. Lou had said nothing when her friend stripped off her tracksuit top and jeans in the car park, too anxious about the seriousness with which Ali seemed to be taking the walk to be able to speak. Lou joined her and immediately sat down. Her throat was burning and her calves zinging. She undid her left trainer and rolled down her sock to examine her heel. The surrounding skin of the soft creamy blister was red and tender. She winced as she rolled the sock back and returned her foot into her shoe.

‘Sorry, but I can't walk, think and talk all at once. Not at that speed anyway.' Ahead of them the city spread out into the far distance like a vast architectural patchwork. Beyond the immediate trees, Lou located the familiar landmarks: the Shard, the Gherkin, St Paul's, the Millennium Wheel, the BT Tower. Under a blue sky criss-crossed by the cloudy vapour trails marking the flight paths of innumerable passenger jets, this was London at its best. She felt the sun on her face and shut her eyes, wishing away the insistent pain of her heel.

‘I'm sorry.' Ali sat beside her. ‘If I push myself, it clears my mind, helps me think.'

The faint citrusy scent of her perfume reached Lou. She squeezed her arms against her sides, aware that her own smell was less than fresh after her exertions. ‘So what have you decided?' she asked, turning her head slightly so she could see Ali out of the corner of her eye.

‘I'm angry. We've talked on the phone and he says he loves me, but she's still there! I'm angry with him for not having the balls to tell me the truth about her. And I'm angry with her for thinking she can just muscle her way back in and take over. And I'm angry with myself.' Her face was set, more determined than Lou remembered having seen it before.

‘She's hardly taking over. She is his wife.' Lou pointed out that small consideration that Ali seemed to have forgotten, taking the Twix she'd brought for this moment out of her pocket. She offered to share the melting fingers of chocolate.

Ali shook her head. ‘
Was
his wife. There's a big difference. You, of all people, should know that.'

Lou said nothing.

‘I've got to do something,' Ali insisted.

‘Mmm,' mused Lou, pointing out an unwelcome truth as she took a mouthful of biscuit. ‘I've always wondered: didn't you ever stop once to think about the wives of the men you were seeing, what they might be going through because of you?'

‘But this isn't the same at all. I really wasn't a threat to them,' Ali protested, brushing away an insistent fly. ‘That was the whole point. I told you. I knew nothing about them. I didn't want to take their men from them. I didn't think about them like that. Until Hooker broke the rules.'

‘Quite,' said Lou quietly. ‘But those women weren't to know that.'

‘I suppose. And you do know how bad I feel about Hooker.' She reached across to link her arm through Lou's.

‘Only in retrospect, because we're friends. I'd have made you feel a lot worse if I'd ever found you living with him! Believe me. Anyway, you're not about to lose Don. You said he was as stunned by her appearance as you were. He's not going to put up with her staying, is he?'