The split, p.15
The Split, page 15
Would weedkiller reduce her workload? Esther wondered, eyeing up some huge, ready-to-spray dispensers, complete with shoulder straps for easy deployment, and picturing herself, Ghostbuster style, blitzing every bramble in the garden. The display was out of reach, giving her the idea of balancing on a lower shelf for a closer look. It was in this position that her attention was caught by a man who looked uncannily like Chris Mews, standing at the far end of the next aisle. Hopping off the shelf, Esther gingerly ventured nearer, using a handy cluster of yucca plants as cover.
‘Excuse me, madam, is this your trolley?’ She swivelled round, rustling the jungle of dry leaves as she stepped clear. The young man addressing her was shaven-headed and wearing overalls in the store’s trademark colours of neon-orange and yellow. He had made a point of shifting her trolley out of the middle of the gangway where it had somehow drifted during her spying mission. ‘Were you looking for something in particular?’ He threw a worried glance at the yuccas, tugging at the lurid jacket, which was emblazoned with two lopsidedly pinned badges, one saying ‘Darren’, and the other ‘HERE TO HELP!’
‘No, thanks, that is…’ Esther cast a look up at the array of weedkillers, but finding it hard to concentrate now she feared Chris might come sauntering round the corner at any moment.
The young man was suddenly grinning. ‘It’s Dylan’s mum, isn’t it?’
‘Darren,’ Esther cried, the smile and the boy’s higgledy-piggledy teeth aligning with memories of the teenagers occasionally to be found lounging round her house on a weekend morning. ‘How are you?’
‘Yeah, not too bad, thanks. Going to Newcastle. Media and Politics.’
‘Wow. Well done. How lovely.’ Esther beamed at the boy, wishing she could be the mother of a son going off to Newcastle to do media and politics.
‘Dylan all right, then?’
‘Yes… well, he’s doing some travelling…’ Esther faltered, a rising hope of information falling flat.
‘Is he? Awesome.’
‘So, you’re not in touch?’ Esther ventured, it dawning on her properly how little she had known about Dylan’s London college life compared to the goldfish bowl of the early Cambridge school years that had preceded it.
‘He kind of dropped out of our group a while back, to be honest.’
‘Did he?’
‘Better get on now.’ Darren had started shooting glances up and down the aisle. ‘Say hi to him for me, yeah?’ He waved as he started to walk away.
‘There was a girl, Mei Lin – did you know her?’ Esther called, trotting in a bid to catch up with him, which was a challenge with her trolley.
Darren turned round to answer, continuing walking backwards and swinging his head. ‘Nope, sorry.’
‘Okay… but if there was anyone you could ask?’ The boy had reached the end of their aisle and Esther had to raise her voice. ‘I could give you my phone number, or…’ But with a cheery head-nod, he was gone.
‘Giving out phone numbers to young men now?’
‘Oh, my goodness… Chris… I…’
Chris Mews laughed heartily at his own joke, hoicking the large bag of ericaceous compost he was carrying higher onto one hip. Seen close up, he looked different from their dinner date, Esther observed: fresher faced, his brown eyes full of sparkle behind the dark-rimmed glasses. His clothes looked smarter too: a short-sleeved blue and yellow check shirt tucked into crisp, navy jeans.
‘Good to see you, Esther. Sorry I’ve been silent for a while.’
‘But… I mean, there is no need to be sorry, because…’ Esther laughed uncertainly, thrown by this airbrushing of the broken agreement to desist from further communications. ‘Because…’ she tightened her grip on the trolley handle ‘…because… like I said… I mean, you shouldn’t have sent me any…’
‘I behaved like a complete knob on that date of ours,’ he interjected, shaking his head. ‘I wasn’t, as they say, in a good place. So, sending you a couple of goodies was the least I could do. I hope you enjoyed them.’
‘Well, yes, but…’ Esther faltered, picturing the red roses lighting up her piano top and the chocolates. ‘We had agreed not to be in touch any more though, hadn’t we? And to be honest, Chris, I was kind of… put out… that you had somehow got hold of my address. I mean, I re—’
He groaned, rolling his eyes in the manner of one acknowledging a misstep. ‘Oh God, Esther, forgive me for that. I am a thoughtless jerk. I was just so eager to make amends. I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable.’
‘But how did you find it out?’ Esther cried, curiosity getting the better of her and feeling more at ease because of how nice he was trying to be.
‘Oh God…’ He groaned again. ‘You are going to think me a total nutter but, when we met that time, there was an envelope with your address on, sticking out of your bag… I have a bit of a photographic memory, you see,’ he confessed sheepishly, ‘but please don’t hold it against me – I would take it back if I could. Erase it from my hard disk.’ He was swinging his head in self-castigation. ‘It was presumptuous and inexcusable, Esther. Mea culpa. The only defence I can offer is liking you and wanting to make up for having made a mess of things.’
‘Okay. Well, thanks. But now…’ She gestured at his full arms and her heaped trolley. ‘I’d better be on my way, and you too, by the look of things.’
‘Can I give you a hand with that? It looks heavy.’
‘No, I’m absolutely fine, thanks.’ Esther set off quickly, not looking back.
He accompanied her to the checkouts anyway, picking the next queue along to pay for his compost and then waiting for her. ‘I could at least help you get this stuff into your car. Then I promise to leave you alone. I’m a decent person, Esther,’ he added, with sudden, endearing urgency, as the swishing automatic doors released them both into the car park. ‘I’d hate to think you don’t realise that.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ Esther began, breaking off as her trolley almost took off down the slope towards the cars and Chris lunged in to offer assistance. ‘Thanks, that’s kind.’ She dug for her car keys while he took over, balancing his purchase on top of the lawnmower box and steering as she led the way towards her car.
‘You look great, by the way,’ he called.
‘Do I? Thanks.’ Esther threw a bemused glance down at her white top, the faint stain of pollen on the sleeve that had been there for years, and her old jeggings, doing their usual miraculous job of keeping her tummy under control and showing the best of her legs. At the car, she opened the boot and then failed in a wrestle with the clip that allowed the back seats to flatten. ‘Bloody thing.’ She gave it a slap. ‘It won’t budge.’
‘Let me have a go.’
Esther manoeuvred out of the way so Chris could take a turn, having to laugh when the clip cooperated with one easy tug. She then stood to one side, amused and helpless, as he insisted on loading everything from her trolley into the boot. Watching, Esther found it impossible not to relish the ancient, half-forgotten pleasure of sharing life with someone physically stronger, someone who, she couldn’t help noticing, was endowed with a pleasingly broad back and arm muscles, bulging under the confines of the checked shirt.
‘Will you be all right the other end?’ He slammed the boot shut and dusted his palms.
‘Yes, thank you. I don’t need rescuing, you know.’ Esther shot him a wry grin, remembering suddenly all the things Viv had said, about the first snog with Brian and not being too quick to judge.
‘I know, and it is very refreshing.’ He was grinning back, delight lighting up his face. ‘So many on that bloody website do. I’ve given it up, actually. Hard to go on when you’ve found what you were looking for.’ He threw her a rueful look as he bent down to resume command of his bag of soil, and Esther found their first easy, open phone conversation coming back to her, the one that had made her agree to a date.
Her instincts were so rusty, she reflected despairingly. She was all over the place. ‘Look, Chris, many thanks again, but I’ve a lot to be getting on with.’ She jangled her keys.
‘Yes, indeedy. Me too.’ He gave the bag of soil a fond pat. ‘Esther, could we try meeting again, do you think?’ he blurted. ‘Would you at least consider it? If I were to message you in a day or two?’ He took a step backwards, as if to show he had no intention of crowding her. ‘And I promise to respect however you reply. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Esther said quickly. Deciding to get to know someone was like gambling, she consoled herself, turning out of the car park a couple of minutes later, and seeing Chris Mews still framed in her rear-view mirror, waving. You piled your chips high, knowing each time that you could win or lose the lot.
Sitting on the lawnmower box half an hour later, absorbing the fact that it would be several weeks – possibly months – before the wall of brambles in front of her required its services, Esther found herself wondering how things were going with the daughter. Kelly. Fifteen, and being ‘poisoned’ against Chris by the wife, Sylvie. Esther shuddered, grateful that, despite all the distress and discord, she and Lucas had never sunk to such levels. Viv’s claim, that she missed Lucas, still rankled every time she thought about it; but that didn’t stop her recognising that her ex-husband – for all his selfishness and weaknesses – was, at heart, a decent person. It was one of the main reasons it had taken her so long to lose faith in him.
The gauntlet gloves were immediately useful, as were the long-handled shears. Esther began to feel powerful as she hacked and slashed, creating bouncy piles of clippings, which she ferried with her new barrow to create as tidy a mountain as she could manage along the fence. The nagging anxiety about Dylan began to recede properly for the first time in days. Just to be doing something felt fantastic. When the clippings had dried and shrunk, she would have a bonfire, Esther decided. It would be less hassle than trying to book in at the dump; Carmela, bless her, wasn’t around to moan, and she couldn’t imagine Sue and Dimitri kicking up a fuss.
By the time the afternoon was turning to dusk, the enormity of the task Esther had set herself had begun to dawn. Three solid hours of toil, and she had chopped into barely a quarter of the narrow thirty yards or so of garden. Digging up the roots once the clearing was complete was going to take even longer. Every so often she hit an easier patch, thanks to a few feet of a tunnel, burrowed by foxes, she assumed, but for the most part it was like macheteing her way through a rainforest. Sunday too, then, and for several weekends yet, Esther realised, sighing as she downed tools at last, pausing to admire her handiwork, as well as the setting sun, streaking the sky with red behind the trees beyond the railway line.
19
Lucas doubled his scarf round his neck as he set off for his Saturday evening drink with Ralph. Almost overnight, high summer seemed to have lurched into a fierce early autumn, eye-watering winds and temperatures low enough to make your bones ache. Despite two days of total rest, his calf muscle was tighter than ever, and he had a hint of a raw throat too, which he badly wanted to see off before Heidi’s return the following weekend. He would have cancelled Ralph were it not for the Master’s grenade of an email, landing in his inbox that morning, explaining that Moira, despite the best efforts of the Chaplain to persuade her into a conversation between all parties, still ‘did not feel comfortable being in the same space’ as him. Official mediation had therefore been agreed as the ‘way forward’, which meant Ralph getting sucked into the vortex. The Senior Tutor had already been apprised of the situation, the Master had added in her final paragraph, and next steps would be settled on shortly.
Lucas ploughed up the heaps of wet leaves as he walked, trying not to limp because doing so seemed to be causing an ache in the hip on the same side as his poorly calf. One pain seemed to lead to another, he brooded, feeling as if he had become like some kind of sinking ship. But maybe Ralph had some good ideas, he consoled himself, stooping under the low lintel of the entrance to The Swan. Like all senior tutors, the man wielded considerable power within the student and fellowship communities of the college. He was universally liked and had a cool head. Most importantly, he knew and respected Lucas.
It immediately transpired, however, that Ralph, too, had almost cancelled their drink. Not because of a sore throat, but because of his new knowledge about the Moira allegation and the Master’s plans for resolving it. ‘I’m just not sure we should be talking about it,’ he admitted bleakly, when they were still leaning on the bar, having just taken receipt of their pints. ‘Sorry, Lucas, it must be hellish for you, but there is the question of impartiality and so forth.’
‘Impartiality? I am being accused of a heinous crime, Ralph, which I did not commit.’ Lucas, took a long swig of his beer and set the glass down firmly. ‘You’ve seen my statement. That bloody child presented herself that day, wheedling for my attention and help on something I had no desire or qualification to give—’
‘Don’t say that at the mediation session, for Christ’s sake,’ Ralph growled, leading the way to an empty corner table. ‘At least, don’t say wheedling. The power of language…’
‘I can assure you, I am perfectly aware of the power of language, Ralph,’ Lucas retorted. ‘It is, after all, my trade.’ He folded himself into the chair that had its back to the room, drinking steadily for a few seconds and exhaling deeply after he had swallowed. ‘Apologies. I am out of sorts, to put it mildly.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Can you?’ Lucas offered a pained smile across their small table. Though the man sitting opposite was probably his closest friend, they had never been confidants. Lucas hadn’t gone in for those, at least not since Esther.
‘And hey, congratulations again to you and Heidi. What tremendous news.’ Ralph raised his glass and Lucas lifted his in response, both men aware of not managing quite the display of joy such news deserved. For a few minutes Ralph nobly quizzed him on how the engagement had come about and the time-scale of their plans, before offering up a self-deprecating account of Catherine taking three times of asking before settling on a yes. ‘Sometimes it’s sheer grit that sees you through,’ he continued kindly, ‘and I am sure we can get this awful business sorted out. I mean, it’s in everyone’s interests, right? So, chin up. How’s the rest of the family, anyway?’
‘All good,’ Lucas muttered, finding that he wasn’t up to sharing the fact of Dylan gallivanting off to Europe instead of working for his re-sits. There was only so much pity a man could take.
‘My fear,’ he blurted, when Ralph returned with a second pint for Lucas and a half for himself, ‘is that the girl wants some sort of moment in the sun. You know the kind, Ralph. She can’t quite get the attention she wants, so she tries other ways.’
Ralph was eyeing him warily. The main focus of his role as Senior Tutor was student welfare, which meant an acquaintance with the foibles of every student. ‘Yes, she struggled to settle,’ he said levelly, ‘seemed to hold herself a little apart, but…’ He paused, leaning closer and lowering his voice. ‘Asking her not to tell anyone, Lucas, now that was unfortunate, as was your choice of vocabulary. Not to mention the Post-it note with the manuscript. What the devil were you thinking?’
Lucas felt his stomach heave. Somehow, he had forgotten the scribbled ‘shhhh’ on the sticker he had attached to the folder before posting it into Moira’s pigeonhole. ‘For God’s sake, Ralph, the whole business was about trying to be kind, while not triggering a deluge of similar requests. She begged for my help, I tell you, virtually in tears. I thought she would be grateful. Trust me, I won’t be such an idiot again.’
Ralph tugged up his jumper sleeve to check his watch, a slick black smartphone band Lucas hadn’t seen before, and then got to his feet with a sigh. ‘Look, Lucas, speaking as your friend, and quickly, because I really should not be discussing it, and if I don’t go soon, I shall be hung, drawn and quartered…’ He drained the last inch of his half-pint. ‘I think I understand where you are coming from, and your statement is excellent, but to show some true sympathy and understanding for Moira is going to be not just welcome, but vital. Who knows what she inferred from your exchanges that day?’
Lucas sat still, belting his arms across his chest while a sudden, despicable urge to punch Ralph’s kindly face swelled inside. Ralph with his picture-perfect life – the easy-going Catherine, and their three peas-in-a-pod children – the only thing hanging over his head was wifely castigation for staying too long in a pub. ‘There was nothing to infer…’
‘Maybe, but that isn’t the point,’ Ralph countered, with a terseness that hurt. ‘You have to respect how she – Moira – was feeling. How your actions allowed her to feel.’ He tucked in a loose flap of shirt. ‘You cannot discount other people’s emotions in this world any more, Lucas, and, though it can get messy, it is for the best reasons. We all need Moira to feel understood if we are to move forwards on this. We need her – and indeed all our students – to feel safe, right?’
Lucas nodded because he did not trust himself to speak. He felt like a student himself, a dim one, being lectured. ‘Et tu, Brute,’ he muttered as Ralph walked away. Once the saloon door had swung shut, he went to the bar to order another pint and a double chaser, which he drank steadily and swiftly, back in the chair that faced the wall and not the room.
Paying a call to the toilets before leaving, he leaned towards the basin mirror as he washed his hands. He looked fine. Surprisingly okay, in fact. No one would know the turmoil inside.
Out in the street he was aware of both his throat and his leg hurting a little less and his spirits trying to lift. He would push for the mediation to happen as soon as possible. Get it over with. Innocence cut through bollocks – it always did. He was worrying too much, anticipating worst-case scenarios. Dylan doing a runner had made him feel fragile, that was the trouble. His skin was thinner, less equipped to deal with anything. In the meantime, Ralph was right: he just needed to retain the courage of his own convictions, power on through, stay strong. He would start by going into college for the first time in days; maybe even do a spot of work, he decided, with the wild optimism of one who has downed three pints and a double Johnnie Walker on an empty stomach.
