30
Easter Monday The small hours
AMBER WAKES. THE crickets have long since gone silent but it’s still raining. She gets up and goes to close the French windows but the breeze on her face is exquisitely seductive and instead she reaches for her wrap and walks outside. The scent of wet grass and soaked dust from the vineyards hangs in the night air and the pool water is as black as the sky, rippling with ever-expanding circles. It’s the first night she hasn’t been able to see the stars. The tiles are wet and cool underfoot and her hair and shoulders are quickly soaked.
A faint glow falls across the stone flags outside the kitchen. Someone else is up. She goes back in and towels herself off in the bathroom. She’s curious to know who’s downstairs at this hour. It may be Maggie, suffering from insomnia, in which case they could finish their conversation. There are things she still needs to say, and to hear.
Maggie won’t tell Vicky. How can she? The moment she tries to undermine Amber, Vicky will discover what her mother was up to all those years ago.
Her wrap is damp but the house is so hot it hardly matters. She tiptoes out on to the landing and goes downstairs. The kitchen door is closed. Whoever is in there doesn’t want to risk disturbing the rest of the household. She pushes it open and walks in. It isn’t Maggie.
Tom has lit the candles and is sitting at the table in semi-darkness, staring out at the rain, a bottle of red wine and a glass at his elbow. He doesn’t realize she’s there at first and she’s able to study him. The candlelight is flattering to the angles of his face. His nose looks even more patrician than usual, his eyes deeper.
He starts, as if roused from sleep.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t know anyone else was up. I was hungry.’
She opens the fridge and takes out a plate of cold meats covered in cling film. She isn’t hungry at all, but she can pick at it. She puts it on the table and fetches another glass. Tom doesn’t speak but he acknowledges her by pouring her some wine.
‘Penny for them?’ She rests her chin on her linked hands and waits.
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Try me. I’m a good listener.’
‘OK. I didn’t think this would ever happen to us. I thought we were rock solid.’
‘Life is full of surprises.’
He stares into his glass then finishes his drink quickly and pours some more. ‘Did you know?’
‘I knew something had happened, but not the details.’
He rakes his fingers through his hair and groans. ‘What the hell am I going to do?’
She holds out her hand and lets it rest on his forearm and he immediately covers it with his. Thunder rumbles but it’s faint now. The rain smells sweet and the air is still hot and sultry, though not as heavy as earlier in the evening before the storm broke. She twists a damp strand of hair around her finger and lets it go.
‘I can’t understand it,’ she says. ‘I’ve always thought Vicky was so blessed. She has you and her mother, love and security. I’ve never …’ She hesitates. ‘I’ve never felt secure. I’ve never felt able to take anyone for granted. I wish I could.’
Tom’s eyes drift to the damp patch on her wrap then back to her face. ‘You have Robert and Sophie.’
She smiles faintly. ‘Yes, I know I do. You probably think I’m self-obsessed, but I’ve always thought that I don’t deserve to be happy. I’ve never told anyone about my childhood and I’m not going to start banging on about it now. It was horrible, but it’s over. But there’s a legacy, a price to pay for survival. I have to work extra hard to maintain my relationships because part of me is expecting them to break down.’ She bites her lip and wipes away a tear with the edge of her hand. This isn’t an act, it’s the truth. She wants him to see her as she really is. ‘Maybe even wanting them to.’
Tom puts his arm around her and she leans into him. His body is warm and firm, and he smells of toothpaste and Factor 20.
‘What happened to you?’ he murmurs. ‘Tell me.’
She turns her head so that her hair brushes his chin and he touches her forehead briefly with his lips. She goes very still, and waits, her whole body tingling. It’s a long, exquisitely painful moment before he kisses her, their breath audible above the rain and the hum of the fridge. She holds him, twisting in her chair, shaping her body to his as the kiss deepens, and lets his hands explore where they want, digs her fingers into the muscles of his back. He kisses her neck and she moves his hand to her breast. The storm retreats, the rain settling into a softer rhythm. In the muggy heat of the night, in the candlelight, they grasp at each other, sweaty and rough, not stopping to think, Amber lifted easily by Tom on to the table. The edge cuts into her thighs but she doesn’t care. His hands are under her wrap, his lips mapping her sun-kissed skin. When he at last sets her down, the wrap slips from her body and pools at her feet. He bends to pick it up and drape it round her. He does the sash up himself.
She gazes at him, her lips parted. She feels animal, wild and abandoned.
‘I am so sorry, Amber.’
‘Don’t be. We needed … I needed to be held.’ She smiles shyly at him. ‘It was exciting.’
His smile is awkward and apologetic. He picks up his glass and takes it to the sink then rubs the back of his neck. ‘You won’t …’
She moves between him and the candles so that he can see the silhouette of her body. ‘No, of course not, Tom. It’s our secret.’
His expression clouds for a moment and she moves towards the door. It suddenly feels vital that she should be the first to go, not be left alone with the empty glasses and the shadows. She runs silently upstairs and into her bedroom, then stands behind the door with her hands on the panels, her body humming, his semen dribbling down the inside of her legs. She smiles to herself as she gets back into bed and pulls the sheet over her naked body. There is no point even trying to sleep.
‘Tom.’
She whispers his name, savouring it on her tongue, smiling to herself. Then her smile vanishes and she sits up. Her mind has shed the euphoria and replaced it with foreboding.
I am good, I am strong; I matter.
31
Monday, 12 April 2010