thought it was the right thing, that it showed we’d taken proper decisions. But it wasn’t very adult.’
My eyes locked on to his. At the time it was… the solution.’
Hal made no effort to touch me, and I think he wanted to bridge the gap between us, but that was right: we needed to air this subject without distraction. ‘I’m sorry, so very sorry. I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving you like that. In that scuzzy hotel where you could have picked up a terrible disease. You were sick, and needing attention. But I was so desperate not to… determined to do the work on the Yanomami. I couldn’t get over the transition from a love affair to something that threatened to pin me down, and I could only think about myself. So I made the choice.’
‘It was my choice, too,’ I offered, but my voice was not quite under control.
‘Yes, but it’s a proper, better life if we can think about ourselves
The telephone began to ring, but I ignored it. Eventually it gave up and the silence in the kitchen was shattering. I smiled at Hal. ‘I forgave you years ago. I had to, otherwise I could not have continued to be married to Nathan. I had to be clear of you to live with him. I pushed you to the back of my mind and got on with another life.’
‘Do you regret it?’
‘No. Never. I’ve been very happy. And I didn’t want it to end. But it has.’
The answer seemed to please him, and he nodded. The blue eyes were still like gentians, a rich surcote, the colour of peace and resolution.
He nudged his glass. ‘Tell me more.’
If becoming older meant loss, the loss of childhood, magic and belief, and the first flush of desire and faith, then it also gave back something unexpected. For as Hal and I continued to talk, and shaped the past into comprehensible slabs, desire reignited its lick and burn, and an old hunger and belief stirred. I was not dead. I was not finished. Neither was I invisible, nor beaten. And fresh air was blowing through the habit and expectation.
Some time later, I do not know how much later, we had talked out what we had done in the past, and what we planned for the future. Hal’s took in Namibia (again), the Yanomami (again), and the Umbrian olive farm. Mine was to rebuild my work (on different terms), earn a living, and make a new home.
‘I must go,’ he said, at last. ‘When can I see you again? Why don’t you come over to my flat?’ He smiled. ‘There are no ghosts.’ He shrugged on his jacket. ‘Or come to the farm before summer takes hold. It’s at its best then.’
With his hand on the door, he paused. ‘I’m glad I took the risk and came here.’
It took me some time to get to sleep but when I did I dreamt of floating through sunlit air, as light and unfettered as a feather drifting from an angel’s wing.
When I made it downstairs the next morning, the cat was still curled on the jumper, but I sensed it was defensive and unsettled. At my entrance, it raised its head, and its fur was as soft and golden as you could wish. I rustled up a cat meal from a packet of Parsley’s favourite biscuits, which still lurked in the cupboard, and some warmed-up gravy. I told it that it was a beautiful creature, and it listened.
It went back into the cat basket without too much trouble but protested when I let myself out of the house and down Mr Sears’ steps.
‘Is that you, Betty?’ he called.
The weather was growing warm, and the room was stuffy. Even so, Mr Sears had retreated under his rugs. He looked so small and beaten by life and his disabilities, and he was crying, copiously and silently. I knelt beside him and put the basket on the bed.
‘Mr Sears, I’ve brought you something. A present.’
‘If it’s from the council, send it back.’
I opened the basket, and the cat favoured me with a green glint. ‘You be good,’ I lectured it. ‘Know which side your bread is buttered.’
I eased it out and placed it on Mr Sears’ lap. ‘A good home is wanted, and I wondered if you would like to give it. It needs a bit of looking after because it’s been injured. If you would like it, Mr Sears, I’ll take it to Keith and get him to check it over.’
Mr Sears gave a great cry, and his hands scooted over the rug. The cat tensed, reared its head and transferred its attention from me to the tearstained Mr Sears.
He extended a finger with its horny nail. ‘Lie down,’ he ordered – against every rule of cat training. By some miracle, the cat merely arched its back, adjusted its stiff leg and did as it was told.
Mr Sears looked triumphant. ‘Some things never leave you.’
I backed into the kitchen. By the time I emerged, the cat had settled on the bed and it and Mr Sears were conducting an ongoing conversation in ‘stomach talk’, as the Japanese would have it. They took no notice of me.
I rang Hal. ‘I’ve given the cat away,’ I confessed. ‘Someone needed it more than I did but also…’
‘Yes?’
‘It would have been a going back. It would be trying to relive a stage that has gone. I’m not sure I can explain it. I’m sorry. I hope you’re not offended.’
‘Very interesting,’ he said, ‘and, no, I don’t mind.’ I could tell he meant it.
‘Hal, will you come to a party for a friend who’s getting married? I think it will amuse you.’
‘On condition that you come shopping.’
‘Which first?’
‘Shopping.’
Which is how it came about that, dressed in my French linen dress and wearing the French underwear, I went with Hal to Charles Madder’s lunch party to celebrate his wedding, which was supposed to be secret.
But the press had been working on it. When we left, we ran straight into a phalanx of photographers. The result was a front-page photograph in the next day’s paper – of Charles and Kate leaving the restaurant, followed by Hal and me. I was clutching a large carrier-bag, which contained the softest, most supple and expensive walking boots Hal could afford, and which he had insisted on buying me.
Poppy came to view the new flat. ‘I’ve been ordered to report back to Dad,’ she said. ‘And he ordered me not to tell you.’
‘Well, don’t, then.’
Poppy poked her head into a kitchen cupboard. ‘It smells dreadful – of dead insects. I hope you’re going to rip it all out and start again.’
‘There’s no need. Underneath the ghastly paint is some lovely wood. It just needs cherishing.’
While I made lists, Poppy prowled through the rest of the flat, but I gave up after a bit. I could do everything when I moved in.
‘It’s OK,’ said Poppy, but she was doubtful. ‘And the garden is twee.’
‘As long as the flat is warm and waterproof.’
‘So unlike you, Mum. You always took such pains at Lakey Street. You put so much energy into making it nice. Promise me you won’t go downhill and not care.’
‘Do I look riddled with decay?’ Poppy rummaged in a smart, expensive-looking handbag shaped like a croissant. ‘Nice bag,’ I added.
A funny little look stole over her face. ‘Isn’t it? Richard gave it to me.’ She fished out makeup and a transparent plastic envelope full of loose change. ‘Where
I poked at the envelope – not the luminous envelope I used to think about at sixteen but an infinitely more earthbound, practical one. ‘Why all the change, Poppy?’
‘Richard says we have to start saving. Pension and things. Big trees from little acorns grow. So, I’m saving my coins.’
This was yet another new light shed on my impulsive, romantic daughter. I snapped my notebook shut and tucked my hand into Poppy’s elbow. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Well… we had a big row the other day. I packed my suitcase, but Richard stopped me at the door.’
‘Are you speaking or non-speaking at the moment?’
There was a pause. ‘Speaking… sort of. I’ve got a job interview, editorial, and Richard bought me a trouser suit to wear for it, so I have to speak to him.’
