Inside, the pub boasted pink-painted woodwork and exposed-brickwork walls. Framed sepia photos of bridges and barges and the River Nene hung between brass bugles, copper warming pans and corn dollies. Consulting the slightly sticky menu decorated with photographs of the food, James opted for the lamb steak and chips with onion rings and salad. Diane chose a beefsteak sandwich.
He ordered at the bar, returning with shandy for himself and pink grapefruit juice for her. ‘So,’ he began, taking the wheel-back chair opposite hers, ‘what made you introduce yourself to Valerie?’
She shrugged. He had to fight to keep his gaze away from that square neckline. ‘She’s my sister-in-law, apparently, lying injured just along the corridor from Gareth. I’m sure it would be rude to ignore her. And I’d have to be made of concrete not to be curious, especially if what you say about the accident is true. She could’ve made me a widow.’
‘And now you’ve met her?’
She sipped her drink. ‘Yes. Now I’ve met her.’
He frowned. ‘Now you’ve met her, what do you think?’
Another shrug.
He studied her narrowly. Nine out of ten women would exhibit huge curiosity about an instant sister-in-law. Valerie had certainly been agog about Diane and the screen of lies Gareth had erected between his wife and the family.
Her eyes flickered to his. ‘She and Gareth seem very fond of each other.’ The pale brows shifted very slightly. ‘To an … unusual degree.’
James laughed. ‘Whatever Valerie’s foibles, I’m certain an unhealthy affection for her half-brother isn’t among them.’
Her expression didn’t change. ‘But they enquire after each other like over-anxious lovers.’
The food arrived, plates in the hands and balanced casually on the forearms of a pretty, blonde girl who looked about nineteen.
James used his fingers to pop the first scalding chip into his mouth. ‘In my view,’ he said, when the swallowed chip lay like an ember in his gullet, ‘it’s about acceptance. I try and police her drinking, whereas Gareth actually enjoys her being her flawed self. Hence, he ended up aboard a helicopter she was piloting when she’d been on the pop.’
Diane was cutting her sandwich into tiny triangles. ‘I’ve no idea what it’s like to fly in a helicopter.’
‘It’s not much like being on a big airliner or even a small plane. The damned thing always feels as if it wants to crash, dancing about in thin air. Especially when it takes off, it’s as if you’re one of those plastic ducks at the funfair and some kid has just hooked you up in the air. It’s flying for show-offs, so Valerie loved it. Her favourite, the newest chopper that the flying club owned – that’s the one she crashed.’
‘Do you think she’ll go back to piloting helicopters, when she’s fit?’
‘If she can survive the Civil Aviation Authority enquiry into the crash and pass the medicals, I don’t doubt it. But the CAA is deadly serious about air safety and regulation. They make the rules and pilots follow them – you can see where the conflict’s going to lie between them and Valerie.’
‘How will it affect her if she can’t fly? Does she fly away on business, for instance?’ A tiny frown pulled at her brow.
He laughed. ‘Nothing so functional. Valerie flies for fun. She does meet friends at the Fenland Airport for lunch or whizzes us off to Silverstone for the Grand Prix, occasionally. But, generally, she flies because she likes flying.’
Diane sipped her drink. ‘I can see why Gareth’s fascinated by such a flamboyant display of wealth. With her he could be Gareth-with-money, whereas he had to remain Gareth-without-money with me in order to avoid the sharing of it.’
Tucking into his lamb, James cocked his head. ‘Why wouldn’t Gareth want to share his money with you?’
She abandoned the sandwich, stretched – interestingly, he thought – and sighed. ‘We’ve never had enough money. And my parents didn’t want me to marry him, a boy from a council estate.’ She laughed, but her eyes were angry as she balled her napkin and flipped it into the middle of the table. ‘They said he’d never be able to give me what I was used to – they were right. But I didn’t think it mattered.
‘As well as giving me a clothes account my parents had bought me a brand new Mini Cooper, green, with white rally stripes. I loved it. After I got married we sold it and bought a cheap Ford Escort van and did some decorating with what was left over. I think Gareth hated the car as a symbol of what he couldn’t provide.
‘“Don’t come running to us,” my parents used to say. “You’ve made your bed. If we helped you out financially we’d be playing into his hands.”’ She sipped her drink.
‘And they were right about us never having enough money, but it was almost as if Gareth manipulated things so that we wouldn’t. He always “had” to help his family. First his mum, then his brothers, forever leaving us just that bit short. I don’t know if he was punishing me for my parents’ snobbery or if he thought that if we were perennially broke my parents would relent and help us.’
‘He had to help his brothers? Even when they were grown men?’
‘Still does. He’s always sorted out everything for them with the result that they became adults who were bad with money, spending it the instant it landed in their hands. They award themselves a reasonable standard of living – Sky TV, cars, computers, things we don’t feel we can afford – but they’re always a payment or two short at the end of the month. That’s when they come to Gareth.’
He couldn’t suppress the question that was burning his lips. ‘And did Gareth see you as a conduit to your parents’ money?’
Her eyes were bleak. ‘I’ve spent so many years denying it —’ She sighed. ‘But, yes, of course. I think that was why his love seemed angry – which was exciting for a long time but eventually crumbled under pressure. He was waiting for my parents to break. But they never did. Gareth blamed me for having all that financial potential and never realising it.’
James turned back to his meal, using the serrated knife to slice the steak into small pieces but not eating much of it. It wasn’t very good. Veins of gristle ran end to end. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t brought Diane here, where the dining was cheerfully cheap; where there were no tablecloths and the cutlery came wrapped in thin, blue-chequered paper napkins. It was all right, but all right was only all right. He would never have dreamt of bringing Valerie here, or Tamzin, Natalia or Alice.
