‘Sit down. Calm down. Let’s talk.’
She halted at the foot of his bed. ‘OK, let’s talk about Stella – who I met at the cottage, today, making herself at home in your absence.’
‘She hasn’t got a key,’ he denied, instantly. And then, ‘Oh, Christ!’
‘Obviously, you’ve realised that she has. Your bit on the side.’
Gareth looked sour. ‘Must’ve got a copy cut, somehow.’ His injuries tied him to the bed literally and figuratively; the paraphernalia of the sick room, the bedpan and bottle in slots at the side of the bed; he looked exposed.
Abruptly, she returned to the chair and rearranged herself, calmly. Made her voice gentler, musing, though her heart still hammered with fury. ‘It all came from me refusing my parents’ money, I can see that, even your affair with Stella. But what I don’t know is whether you only ever put up with me because you thought money would come your way eventually.’
‘Of course I didn’t only put up with you –’
‘So it was all about revenge?’
He halted. He stroked his swollen jaw. ‘See if you can get one of them nurses with some Tramadol, will you?’
‘What hurts?’
He laughed, shortly. ‘All of it, aching fierce. Head, ribs, hip, leg. And fingers. I need my pain pills and a nap, that’ll put me right. They make you feel dead swimmy.’ Then, when she didn’t move, ‘Diane … love. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my father, or Valerie or the money. I was just …’ He drew in a breath and winced, theatrically. ‘You know I’ve never had much. I kind of felt I deserved something.’
Slowly, she stood up. ‘And I deserved you to punish me by keeping your sad little fortune to yourself? Revenge – not very attractive, but probably satisfying.’ She glanced at the blue building-society passbook that still rested protectively in his good hand. ‘What a lot of money you’ve got, Gareth. What a lot of lovely, lovely money.’ She laid his mobile phone on the bedclothes. ‘Happy texting.’
Diane rarely cried. But walking across the car park she felt as if her life was nothing but nasty surprises. There was no reason to stay with Gareth. She’d had a bellyful. And were her lies and betrayal OK because of his lies and betrayal? How sordid her marriage had become.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ A voice came softly.
She jumped, but knew before she turned that it was James. His presence was like a breath on the back of her neck.
He rose from a bench beside a fall of cream and pink honeysuckle. ‘I don’t like to see you crying.’ His eyes were compassionate. The earlier frigid scene between them might never have happened.
‘I’m teetering on the brink of thorough self-pity.’ She wiped her cheeks, inelegantly, with the backs of her hands.
‘There’s a lot of it about.’ He smiled, ruefully. ‘Tamzin’s a bit fragile.’ He hesitated. ‘In fact, I was hoping to see you. I was going to try to force you talk to me again by taking advantage of your kind nature – but I can see now’s not the time to ask your advice.’
She sniffed. ‘Ask. Might take my mind off poor little me.’
He sighed. ‘It’s Tamzin. She’s been ill for so long. Your daughter had a sickly childhood – how did you cope?’
Diane looked at the frown lines between his worried eyes, and suddenly felt hugely sorry for him. ‘She’s lucky to have you.’
He grimaced. ‘But it’s so obviously her mother’s approval that’s key and Valerie has trouble facing up to Tamzin’s situation.’
Somehow, Diane found that she was sitting beside him on the wrought-iron bench. ‘Is that where the drink comes in? Valerie trying to avoid problems?’
‘I don’t know which is the grit and which is the pearl, frankly. Is Tamzin depressed because of Valerie’s drinking? Does Valerie drink as a refuge from Tamzin’s depression? The drinking seems to have been going on longer than the depression but how much has Tamz been hiding and for how long?’
Diane frowned. Behind the silver birches came the incredibly pure warble of a blackbird. The flowerbed blazed with marigolds, the sun lazed behind a sultry haze as a breeze scampered across the lawns. Pity that on such a perfect day two people should have nothing better to do than wrestle with problems. ‘Bryony had good patches when she could race around like other children but there would always be a bad patch around the corner. We kept her away from animals but sometimes all it took was sitting with a girl who had a cat and she’d be in bed on the nebuliser – we bought a second-hand one because we’re so far from hospitals in Purtenon St. Paul. And, bless her, she only had to get excited about a treat in the offing, a birthday party or Christmas, and she’d be wheezing. It made her a stoical little thing.’
‘But she’s OK now?’
‘Much improved, thankfully. She began to grow out of it when she was about fifteen. I’ve never been so grateful for anything. She would never have been able to join this scheme in Brazil a few years ago. But now she can have fun like other people, if she’s sensible.’
‘That’s all you want for them, isn’t it? Just to be like other people.’ He passed his hand over his hair, making it bristle. It changed colour like velvet, darker when brushed the wrong way. ‘Tamzin had a good patch and I got over-optimistic. I think that’s why this bad spell hit so hard. She really did have a shitty week, you know. I wasn’t making excuses.’
Love for his daughter was in every line of his face. Diane identified with his corresponding lack of concern for himself – Parent’s Disease, she called that, having had a hefty dose. ‘She missed her fitting on Tuesday.’
His eyes darkened. ‘But you can give her time, can’t you? I’m sure contact with you is good for her. I don’t know when she’ll make another appointment, though.’
