Balancing Act Page 17

  ‘Ma, you mixed us up pretty quickly!’

  ‘I know. It isn’t rational. It isn’t even excusable. But if I keep Morris up there, then … then I can somehow pretend that he – oh, I don’t mean that, I don’t mean that he doesn’t exist, but I can stop him sort of leaking into my life.’

  Cara watched her mother’s fingers playing with the tortoiseshell earpieces of her glasses. Then she said, in a much less conciliatory tone than she had used before, ‘Ma, that is utter bollocks.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Stoke means the world to you, because of the factory. The cottage at Barlaston is important, you said, because of creativity. Morris is all over all of that, you can’t help it, he just turned up there. If anybody’s shut out of what really drives you, it’s Pa.’

  There was silence.

  Then Susie said, ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Not in so many words. But he implied it.’

  Cara waited a moment. Then she said, ‘Perhaps he’s suddenly woken up to the fact that he’s kind of – kind of sleepwalking.’

  ‘But he isn’t,’ Susie said, too quickly. ‘We share everything. I tell him everything.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Not any more,’ Cara said. ‘You’ve got out of the habit. Buying the Parlour House wasn’t sharing. He didn’t think you should buy it, even if he let you persuade him why you had to. And now there’s Morris.’

  Susie put her spectacles on again. She said more collectedly, ‘I thought you came to say sorry.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cara said. ‘Yes, so did I.’ She let a beat fall, and then she added, ‘And then look what happened.’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Dan watched Cara come out of the boardroom and close the door behind her. He stared hard at his screen, but he was sharply aware of her going across to her own desk, saying something to Kitty, and then, to his surprise, coming in his direction. He gave no sign that he was conscious of her, but merely concentrated on concentrating. She would probably be polite and friendly and removed in her manner to him, as she had been the last few days, so he would take his cue from her and stiffly respond in kind. It was an exhausting and artificial way to behave, but at the moment there seemed to be no alternative. Cara was dictating the mood and it seemed, to his intense frustration, to be out of his hands to change it. At least there was now another date in the diary for a meeting with the management consultancy.

  ‘Dan,’ Cara said, in an elaborately relaxed way, ‘do you have a moment?’

  He decided to play her tiresome game. He said, without raising his eyes from the screen, ‘For you, I always have a moment.’

  ‘Hoo – rah,’ she said. ‘Coffee downstairs?’

  He glanced at her involuntarily. ‘Downstairs?’

  ‘In the café,’ she said, smiling widely. ‘Out of the office.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Right now.’

  ‘I have a call—’

  ‘Bring your phone. Tell Kitty.’

  He pushed his chair back and said suspiciously, ‘Do you have an agenda?’

  She widened her eyes. ‘Certainly not. Why ever would I do that?’

  ‘Oh, Cara, stop it.’

  She said, in a much lower voice, ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘In that case—’

  She indicated the boardroom door. ‘Just not in the office.’

  His phone rang. He picked it up. He said to Cara, ‘I’ll follow you down.’

  She made a drinking gesture. ‘Americano?’

  He smiled at her. It was such a relief to smile normally at her that he felt almost giddy. He said, meaning far more than just coffee, ‘Always,’ and put his phone to his ear.

  She was waiting for him at a table by the café window, looking out on to the carefully landscaped sweep of turf which hid the car park. There was a glass pot of one of the herbal teas she favoured in front of her, and a white cup and a coffee pot opposite the chair at right angles to hers. He sat down without saying anything and reached across to pour her tea.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cara said.

  Dan poured his own coffee. He very much wanted to say something, but instinct held him back. So, instead, he took a sip or two of coffee and stared at the green swell of grass outside the long windows, trying to keep his mind as neutral as he possibly could.

  Cara didn’t touch her tea. She played with the teaspoon in her saucer, and then she said, ‘It’s pretty well impossible to get it right.’

  Daniel felt his stomach clench in response. He said, ‘D’you mean me?’

  She flicked a glance at him. She said briefly, ‘No. I mean Ma.’

  He relaxed as suddenly as he had tensed.

  ‘Ah.’

  Cara said, ‘I’ve been feeling awful about her. I thought I’d bullied her, that we hadn’t taken into account all that she’s achieved, all she’s done for the business, for us. So I went to say sorry just now. I went to say that I didn’t mean to sound so hard and unsympathetic, and that we should probably rethink our proposal about her future role, and there she is, in the boardroom, with sketches of wellington boots, for God’s sake, and her laptop open at a picture of that bloody house, and she can’t even give me her full attention, can she? She can’t even really look at me.’

  She paused. Daniel decided to go on saying nothing. He noticed that Cara’s hands, lying on the table beside her teacup, were shaking very slightly, but he resisted the urge to take the nearest one and hold it, firmly and reassuringly.

  ‘And then it turns out,’ Cara went on, ‘that Ma and Pa have had a bad weekend. Ma didn’t get back till Saturday night, and Pa was playing on Sunday, all Sunday, and he didn’t want Ma to go and hear him. And Ma shows no sign of letting him meet Morris, although she’s planning to let Morris move into the Parlour House in a week or two, when contracts are exchanged. So Morris gets to live – well, camp, really – in a house Pa hasn’t even seen. And Pa is fed up about that, of course he is. He’s known Ma since she was nineteen and he’s held her hand through everything, and now she won’t let him in on the big stuff. She’s full of bullshit about it, too, coming up with all kinds of rubbish reasons why she’s keeping her life compartmentalized like this. I went in all ready to be sorry and I came out feeling damned if I was any such thing.’

  She stopped again and picked up her teacup. Then she put it down again.

  ‘Oh God,’ Cara said, ‘I’m shaking.’

  Daniel said, ‘Breathe.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘No. Breathe properly. Big, deep, slow breaths.’

  ‘I want to cry. Not sad cry – furious cry. I want to help – I want to help her – and then she makes it impossible. She makes no sense. She is full of reasons, but they make no sense. She just wants her own way, more and more. She only wants our agreement as long as it coincides with her—’

  ‘Stop,’ Daniel said. He took a folded handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out to her. ‘Here.’

  Cara blew her nose.

  Daniel said, ‘She doesn’t really want to alienate Jasper. She relies on him.’

  Cara blew again and then used a clean corner of the handkerchief to wipe under her eyes. ‘Is my mascara running?’

  ‘No. Well, only a little.’

  Cara said, ‘She’s behaving as if she doesn’t need to rely on anybody.’

  ‘It’s a reaction to change. Or the idea of change. A sort of defiance.’

  ‘It’s doing my head in.’

  Daniel put a hand out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He said, ‘Don’t lose your nerve.’

  Cara turned her head to look at him.

  He said, ‘We’re not wrong. We’re not wrong about the business, and the way things should be going. We may be frustrated – we are frustrated – but we’re not wrong.’

  Cara made a face. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘What if she just digs her heels in and re
fuses to compromise about anything?’

  ‘Then,’ Daniel said, ‘we walk away.’

  Cara’s mouth fell open. What? From the pottery?’

  ‘If we have to.’ Daniel held her gaze. ‘It’s just an idea,’ he said. ‘But you can’t find the right path unless you consider all the alternatives, even the most extreme ones. That’s all I’m saying.’

  Cara nodded wordlessly. She gulped. ‘Right,’ she said faintly.

  Grace decided that she would get a lunchtime train back to Stoke, so that she could go round to Radipole Road before she left and see her father. She decided this only at the last moment, over breakfast, when Ashley said to her as she swung out of the house, ‘Just remember, Gracie, don’t let anyone bully you. Not Ma, not Morris, not Jeff. You don’t have to let any of them make a victim of you. OK?’

  Ashley had bent to kiss Grace, and then Fred, who was sitting stoutly on Grace’s knee in his onesie pyjamas, eating blueberries with his fingers, one by one.

  Grace had nodded. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Yes, you really must. Generosity is one thing. Allowing exploitation is quite another.’

  ‘I know. At least, I’m practising. In fact, I thought I might start this morning. I thought I might go and see Pa and get a later train after. In my own time.’

  Ashley picked out a particularly large blueberry and popped it into Fred’s mouth. ‘You do that. Bye, lovely boy. Bye, Gracie. Come again soon.’

  She would, Grace thought. She’d liked it, she’d really liked the distraction of being in Ashley’s house, and the gratification of being involved in their domestic lives. It had struck her, more than once, that family life lent a distinct perspective to everything else, a robust sense of proportion. It was demanding and exhausting, but it was also supremely constructive and purposeful. After a few nights in Ashley’s spare bedroom, she felt emboldened and heartened. She would take some of these healthy and affirmative feelings round to Radipole Road and bestow them on her father. However experienced he was at running his own life, a Monday morning was always a Monday morning, and he could do with some encouragement.

  Jasper had said by text that he’d be at home all morning. When she arrived, and let herself in with her own key, she thought he would probably already be in the studio, but he was in the kitchen instead, making coffee. There was a jar of honey on the table, and a tub of butter and two plates, with a knife beside each.

  Grace kissed him. ‘Hi there, Pa. Haven’t you had breakfast?’

  He was pouring boiling water into a cafetière. He said, ‘I was waiting to feel like it. And for you.’

  ‘I had blueberries with Fred. And half the banana Maisie didn’t want.’

  ‘Maisie,’ Jasper said, ‘is very decided.’

  ‘Very.’

  He glanced at her. He said, ‘You look good.’

  ‘I feel it. Nice weekend. I forgot to keep going round in useless circles.’

  He laughed. He carried the coffee over to the table. ‘Toast?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Oh, go on,’ Jasper said. ‘Toast and honey. You know you want it.’

  ‘If you eat honey anywhere near Fred, the mess is unbelievable.’

  Jasper settled himself in his habitual chair. He said, ‘It’s incredible how sticky babies are. Have grown-up toast and honey while you can. Put some in for me.’

  Grace extracted two slices of bread from the packet. She said, ‘Ashley said you had a gig.’

  Jasper poured the coffee. He said carelessly, ‘I did.’

  ‘And?’

  He smiled at the coffee pot. He said, ‘I loved it. I did. I loved it.’

  Grace inserted the bread into the toaster. ‘Did they love you?’

  Jasper shrugged.

  Grace said, laughing, ‘Pa? I bet they did.’

  ‘Actually,’ Jasper said, ‘we wowed them. It was a sell-out and then it just – flew. I couldn’t believe it. Three hundred people. Madness.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Grace said.

  ‘I even sang,’ Jasper said. ‘I haven’t sung since for ever. I didn’t mean to – it just happened. We could have encore’d all night.’

  Grace came back to the table with the toast and dropped it on to the plates. ‘Ouch. Hot. That’s wonderful, Pa. So you’ll do it again?’

  ‘I think so, yes. Brady says they’ll be fighting to have us back.’

  ‘So a happy weekend.’

  Jasper pushed the butter towards her. ‘No, actually.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Grace said. ‘Don’t tell me—’

  Jasper spread butter across his toast with elaborate care. He said, ‘We don’t need to talk about it.’

  Grace looked across at him. ‘I think we do.’

  ‘It’s a bad patch …’

  ‘Pa,’ Grace said, ‘it’s a bad situation.’

  ‘I’m not going to complain to you.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I’m OK, Gracie. I’ll just busy myself in the music.’

  ‘No,’ Grace said. She dug her knife into the honey jar.

  ‘It used to drive me wild when you kids did that,’ Jasper said, watching her. ‘There was something about toast crumbs in the honey—’

  ‘Pa,’ Grace said, interrupting, ‘come to Stoke with me.’

  Jasper put his knife down. ‘Stoke?’

  ‘Yes. Now. Come now. Come with me, stay in my flat, go and see this cottage in Barlaston, meet Morris. Just do it.’

  ‘I couldn’t—’

  ‘Why couldn’t you?’

  ‘Behind her back, I couldn’t—’

  ‘I don’t think that she’s been exactly open with you, has she?’ Grace said. ‘Anyway, it wouldn’t be behind her back. It needn’t be. You can ring her from the train.’

  ‘Maybe I should ring her now …’

  ‘No,’ Grace said. ‘No.’

  ‘Have you and Ashley been plotting this all weekend?’

  ‘No. Not at all. I’ve only just thought of it.’

  Jasper pushed his plate away. His toast was untouched. He said, ‘I’m certainly fed up enough.’

  ‘Then come.’

  ‘But shouldn’t I wait till I’m not fed up?’

  ‘No,’ Grace said vehemently. ‘I’ve suggested this. I’ve persuaded you, I’m taking you with me on the train.’

  He looked at her. He said, ‘I’ve never been disloyal.’

  ‘Ashley would say loyalty was one thing and being a doormat was quite another.’

  ‘Do you both think I’m a doormat? Does Cara?’

  Grace bit her lip. ‘Kind of,’ she said.

  Jasper sat back, blinking. ‘Wow,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry, Pa.’

  ‘That was a bit of a blinder.’

  Grace said, astonished at her own persistence, ‘You can change.’

  ‘You mean you all think I ought to?’

  ‘We’d like it if you wanted to.’

  He sighed. ‘Of all of you girls, I never thought you’d be the one to tell me to shape up.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘And you promise Ashley didn’t put you up to it?’

  ‘All Ashley said was that I was to stop colluding with people who wanted to make me into a victim. I mean, that was her drift.’

  Jasper picked up his coffee mug. He said, ‘I can’t, Gracie.’ He glanced over his shoulder towards the birdcage, where Polynesia was dozing on her perch. ‘I can’t leave her.’

  ‘Ring Benedita. She’ll look after her for a couple of nights.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘I’ll ring Benedita,’ Grace said. ‘If you feel you can’t ask Ma to look after her own parrot for forty-eight hours.’

  Jasper took a sip of coffee. He said, ‘You’re a bully.’

  ‘And you are a coward.’

  He shrugged slightly. ‘Am I?’

  ‘Pa,’ Grace said, ‘we none of us want what’s happened. And it’s none of our faults that it has. But we don’t have to lie down
under any of it. Come to Stoke with me, and assert yourself for once.’

  Across the room, Polynesia took her head from under her wing, raised it and surveyed the kitchen. Then she said, in a chatty tone, ‘Why don’t you bugger off?’

  ‘We love this café,’ one of the nursery-school mothers had said to Leo. ‘It’s completely bomb proof and baby friendly. We usually have coffee together on Wednesdays. Why don’t you come? You won’t be the only man, promise!’

  She had been pretty, lean and energetic looking, with a baby in a sling on her front and her hair sleeked back into a high ponytail. All the time she was talking to him, she was bouncing slightly on the balls of her trainered feet, and her ponytail had bounced in unison. She’d said her name was Amanda.

  Amanda’s son, Felix, sat at the same table as Maisie at nursery school. When Leo had asked Maisie if she liked Felix, she had rolled her eyes and said, ‘Yes,’ with unaffected fervour, so it seemed to Leo that he really should go along to the Wednesday coffee morning and make friends with Felix’s mother. In any case, it would be good for Fred to be with other babies, and it would be good for him, Leo, to get a proper insight into the business of making a thorough job of domestic life. So, after he had taken Maisie to school, and peeled her from his leg in the daily sobbing ritual she appeared determined to cling to, he pushed the buggy containing Fred the two streets from the nursery school to the café.

  It was, as far as he could see, entirely filled with women. There was an area at the back, up a step, with plastic toys scattered on a smallish square of floor, but all the tables were occupied by young and youngish women, and babies. Leo didn’t think he had ever seen so many babies. They ranged from nursing babies through to toddlers, and the noise was indescribable. Dotted about in this sea of babies were the mothers, some holding a child or two – rather absently on the whole – and all of them talking. Some had their laptops open on the tables, most had cups and mugs in front of them, and they looked to Leo as self-sufficient and impenetrable a club as if there was a large notice on the café door saying, ‘KEEP OUT.’

  Leo scanned the room for another man. There was only one – apparently a grandfather – determinedly reading a newspaper in a corner, with the air of someone who has absolutely no intention of being included. He couldn’t at first see Amanda, but then he spotted her, with Felix’s baby sister on her knee, in the middle of an animated conversation. He raised his arm to wave to her in a half-hearted way, but let it fall again. Her hair was pinned back in a sleek chignon today, and she appeared utterly engrossed in her companion. It was impossible, Leo thought, to make his way between the tables to reach her, never mind know how he would conduct himself when he got there. ‘Hi’ and a weak smile just wouldn’t cut it – it would simply get washed away in all that liveliness. And anyway, how would Fred cope with a floorful of strange babies, on top of being the only child there not conventionally garnished with a mother?