Happy Families Page 4

  (Then she belted him back and they’re still arguing.)

  Chapter 4

  VANESSA HAD ALWAYS loved the long-drawn-out preparations for a date. Even though she felt particularly nervous tonight, the clothes helped to calm her down. The oyster-coloured silk undies which she could now afford to buy brand new. The red jersey dress which she’d kept for herself from stock, rather than re-sell it. (Red was her favourite colour at the moment because it made her hair look even blonder.) And then the matching heels which had come from another regular client but which could have been made for the dress.

  She spent a long time putting each one on, savouring the ritual. It was part of the deal she had made with herself a long time ago. The more you occupied yourself, whether it was working or dressing yourself up for a blind date, the more you could block out the past in your head. She’d made a mistake that morning in the supermarket, allowing that freckled-faced boy and his frantic mother to take her back in time.

  But now, as she sat in front of her dressing table, carefully applying a tasteful line of fake eyelashes, she felt more like her old self. More like the Vanessa who had told herself, five years ago, that if she was going to survive, she had to re-invent herself.

  Part of this re-invention process had been to start internet dating. Of course everyone did it nowadays but when Vanessa had started, wasn’t quite so common. Rather daring in fact. She’d taken some risks, she could see now. Gone out with men without leaving her phone number with anyone although, to be honest, she wasn’t the type who had lots of friends anyway. People could let you down. It was simpler to have lots of ‘good acquaintances’ but never allow them to grow too close.

  She’d had the same attitude towards the men she’d met. ‘Are you looking for a husband?’ one of them had asked hopefully in the early days. Vanessa had run her eyes over the small, sandy-haired man with glasses and tried to compose a tactful reply in order to save his feelings.

  ‘Afraid not. I just want a bit of companionship, that’s all.’

  And it was true. She might have added that she also wanted to be admired. To be assured that she was still attractive in bed. But then again, she’d never let them get that far. Sex, in Vanessa’s view, was something that had to be saved. Saved for the right person if he ever came along. Not that she was looking, mind you. When you’d been bitten once, it took a long time to trust again and Vanessa hadn’t been sure until last autumn that that would ever happen.

  But then she’d met Brian Hughes.

  It had been through one of those sites which promised to match you up with local applicants. Until then, Vanessa had preferred dates that were outside her area. London or Milton Keynes. Places that she could get to easily enough but where there wasn’t a likelihood of bumping into someone after a date that hadn’t worked out. But her eye had been drawn to this one, perhaps because it didn’t promise miracles like so many.

  Meet a friend, it had said simply. That was it. No expectations of roses or champagne or wedding bells. Just meet a friend.

  Later, Brian said that the wording had grabbed him too. ‘It wasn’t threatening,’ he had said in the succinct way that had attracted her right at the beginning. His matter-of-fact manner of speaking, which had seemed slightly abrupt on the phone, was, she decided when they met in person, a mask for a rather nice, shy man, who was (according to his profile) in his mid-fifties. Not too old but not too young either, unlike some of his predecessors.

  He was stocky rather than tall, and she didn’t care much for his dress sense – ghastly maroon jumper! – but she still got good vibes about this man as he shook her hand firmly and said it was very nice to meet her. Vanessa also had this strange feeling that she’d seen him before.

  To her relief, he hadn’t bought cinema tickets at all (she hadn’t cared for the somewhat violent film on offer) but suggested dinner instead at a rather nice little Italian round the corner. Italian was her favourite and, as it turned out, Brian’s too.

  ‘So,’ he said after they’d ordered whitebait for starters followed by lasagne and then smiled, rather hopefully, because their tastes were so similar, ‘what’s your story?’

  Vanessa wasn’t used to this. Usually, internet dates initially hopped around banalities, like ‘What do you do?’ and ‘Have you ever done this before?’ But Brian got straight to the point. Instinctively, she felt there was no side to this man who spoke so courteously to the waiter (she’d dropped a previous date for being rude in a restaurant) and who now settled back in his chair, waiting for her to talk.

  So she’d given him the sanitised version of her story, minus the bigamy. Married young. Marriage didn’t work out. Husband left when daughter was three. Daughter now ‘doing her own thing’.

  Brian had listened, nodding at the right bits without saying anything and then, when she’d finished (how she hated men who interrupted!), leaned back in his chair and said, ‘My wife died five years ago.’

  Vanessa’s heart had sunk. She’d had widowers before. Usually all they wanted to do was talk about their departed loved one and weep into their wine glasses before confessing that they could never forget their dead wives but that they missed having someone to talk to. When this had first happened, she’d been sympathetic. But after a few widowers, she’d realised that the ‘someone to talk to’ had been a euphemism for something else. And when she’d said she didn’t want the bed part yet, they hadn’t bothered getting in touch again.

  ‘We didn’t have a great marriage.’ Brian’s next words, steady and clear, shook her. ‘Should never have got together in the first place, to be honest.’ He made a rueful expression. ‘But we stuck together for the sake of the kids. The kids we tried to have.’

  Then his voice changed. ‘By the time we gave up, it seemed too late to split. Couldn’t bear the idea of hurting each other.’

  This was a good man, she realised. Honest too.

  ‘Still missed her when she went,’ he added, shaking his head. ‘Funny thing, that. Despite our differences, I always thought we’d grow old together. But I get round it by keeping myself busy.’

  He suddenly jerked up his head to look her straight in the eyes. ‘Not many people know this. From the outside, Mavis and I looked like the perfect couple. But there’s something about you, Vanessa, that makes me feel I can tell you anything.’

  She was flattered. Careful, she told herself. Not so fast.

  ‘What do you do?’ she asked, wondering if she was being too nosy. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, that is.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He sat up straight as though taking pride in what he was about to say. ‘I used to teach, for my sins. Headmaster, actually, but I had to take early retirement due to health.’ Then he leaned forward; clearly wanting to make a point. ‘I’m much better now they’ve got my medication sorted. Fit as a flea, in fact.’

  ‘A headmaster?’ she repeated. ‘Round here?’

  He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Corrywood. Do you know it?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘My daughter went there. Brigid. Brigid Thomas.’

  Something flickered in his eyes. ‘Thought I’d seen you before!’

  She bit her lip. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I remember her quite well. Clever girl.’

  ‘Yes.’ Vanessa looked away. This was getting too close to home. Uncomfortably close. How much did he know exactly?

  There was a brief silence. ‘So what do you do, Vanessa?’

  She seized the opportunity to change the subject. ‘I run a shop. Vanessa’s in town. It sells second-hand designer clothes.’

  ‘What a great idea! I’m all for recycling. Got quite green since my retirement, I have!’

  ‘Really?’ She was glad to steer the conversation back to him. That coincidence about Bridget had thrown her. ‘So what do you do, now you’re retired?’

  Now he had a schoolboy twinkle in his eyes. ‘Actually, I own half a racehorse.’

  Was he kidding? Vanessa had never, ever met anyone who owned a horse, le
t alone a racehorse. Racehorse-owners were the kind of people who wore smart jackets at Ascot on the telly: always a good time for business because regulars like Pamela Gooding usually needed a new outfit for Ladies’ Day. She glanced at Brian suspiciously in that maroon jumper with worn-away elbows. ‘Half a racehorse’, he had said. Sounded like a fantasist to her …

  ‘Please,’ he said, putting out a hand as she stood up. ‘Don’t leave. I’m not winding you up. It’s like this.’ His eyes – a rather nice blue with green flecks – grew slightly dreamy. ‘When I was a little boy, growing up in Kent, my dad used to take me to the bookies. I loved it!’ His face shone with such delight that Vanessa knew he was telling the truth. ‘Loved the air of excitement as we all hung round the desk, listening to the radio. Loved the big board with all those names and numbers next to it. Loved it when my dad won and we got fish and chips for tea. Felt desperately sorry for him when he came back empty-handed and my mum would have a go at him for spending the rent money.’

  He stopped. Vanessa was hooked. ‘It was after one of their bust-ups that I decided.’ His eyes met hers again, serious this time. ‘I was going to save up for a magic horse that would win every race. I’d give the winnings to Mum and then she’d never have to worry about paying the rent again.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ exclaimed Vanessa, her lasagne lying forgotten and cold in front of her. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘I got into teaching because it was a safe job and because I like kids. At weekends, I’d hang round the local stables, offering to muck out free of charge. Drove Mavis crazy, it did. But I loved the smell. Loved the way that horses listen without judging you. Loved the warmth when you put your head against them.’

  ‘But how on earth did you afford one for yourself?’ It was, Vanessa couldn’t help thinking, a bit like her buying Harrods. Nice thought but completely out of reach.

  He put his elbows on the table. For a minute, she could see an excited little boy. ‘There was another bloke at the stable who wanted to buy this sixteen-hand gelding with potential. He couldn’t afford to do it on his own so he was looking for someone else to go halves.’ Brian shrugged. ‘Mavis had died by then. I’d got my health back and frankly I was bored with retirement. So I blew my life savings! Best thing I ever did! There’s nothing like the thrill of watching a race and knowing that yours is in it! Got myself a little van too, so I can travel round the country watching Upper Cut.’ He grinned. ‘That’s his name.’

  Wow! She’d never have thought it of him. Not from the outside, anyway. ‘That’s amazing!’ she breathed.

  ‘You think so?’ Brian looked pleased as he topped up her glass with house red. ‘I could never have done it when my wife was alive. We led a very safe life, Mavis and I. But after she went, I thought: Well, why not take a few risks in life? It’s not as though I have anyone to let down any more, is it?’

  Just what she’d thought when she’d opened the shop. She couldn’t have risked that business loan if she’d had Brigid to support. And even then she might not have done it if she hadn’t decided it was time to live life dangerously.

  Brian leaned back in his chair and gave her the kind of look that you usually only gave someone you’d known for a while. Not a first date. ‘Being on your own has its perks but it’s nice to share successes with someone, don’t you think?’

  This was moving too fast! Much faster than she usually did. To mask her embarrassment, Vanessa took a sip of wine which turned out to be a gulp. The gulp became a cough and suddenly she was spluttering all over her dress. All over her plate. And all over Brian’s jumper.

  ‘Hey, it’s OK.’ He passed her another napkin, not seeming to worry about the mess on his clothes. ‘Honest. We’ve all done it.’ He grinned. ‘At least I’m wearing the right colour! Now, how about pudding? Great! I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, I’m afraid. Another one of my sins.’

  His large hand closed over hers on the stained white linen cloth. It felt warm. Friendly. Secure, yet exciting at the same time. ‘I’d really like to see you again, Vanessa. What do you reckon?’

  Of course she wanted to see him again! Over the next few weeks, Vanessa – rather to her surprise – found herself bursting out into song every now and then in the shower or on her way to the shop; snatches of tunes that she thought she’d forgotten. ‘You seem happy,’ Kim had said suspiciously when she’d caught Vanessa at it in the stock room.

  Yes she was – but she wasn’t telling why! Both she and Brian, by mutual agreement, withdrew their profiles from the dating site. Once a week, they’d meet up for dinner or a film. It wasn’t always a Saturday because that was often a race day and Brian could be anywhere in the country, watching Upper Cut from the owners’ box.

  ‘Come with me,’ he would say but Vanessa needed to be in the shop. Besides, it would be too big a commitment, she told herself, to be seen out and about by all Brian’s friends.

  Just as it would be too big a commitment to go to bed with him.

  They’d talked about it, of course. Not in words but in gestures. Brian kissed in a way she had never been kissed before. The first time, she’d been completely blown away. It was like being taken into another room in her body that she had never entered before. Who’d have thought it? He didn’t seem that kind of man from the outside.

  They’d gone further but not much. When she thought about it, Vanessa got a funny tingle running down her spine as though she was a teenager again. But every time he tried to unbutton her top on her sofa (she wasn’t very keen on his house, which smelt musty and had Parker Knoll chairs) she gently steered his hand away. ‘I’m sorry,’ was all she would say. And to her amazement, he accepted it.

  This couldn’t go on for ever, though. Several months of dating without sex would have been the right thing to have done if she’d still been a teenager. But they were both grown-ups. Tonight, Vanessa thought nervously, while spraying on her usual Chanel No. 5, she needed to tell Brian the truth.

  As if on cue, the bell rang with its jolly waterfall chimes. Vanessa took a deep breath, checked her Silky Sienna lipstick in the mirror, pressed her lips briefly against the photograph of a teenage Brigid by her bed – something she often did, as a comforting ritual – and went to open the door.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ asked Brian, looking across at her.

  They were lying, naked on her bed, the gourmet meal for two lying uneaten in the cooker. Earlier that evening, when he’d arrived, it was as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Wordlessly, he had taken her by the hand and led her to her own bedroom, which she had had the foresight to tidy up first.

  For the last two hours, they had done nothing but touch. She hadn’t realised it could be so erotic.

  Now she nodded, watching him draw his finger along the neat scar where her right breast used to be. ‘Yes. I was scared too. But – and I know this sounds awful – the worst bit was losing my hair. It came back a different colour and the texture was different.’

  He nodded, glancing at the line of wigs on her dressing table. The wigs that she alternated every six months. Then he ran his fingers through her real hair: short, spiky and mouse-coloured. ‘I like this as well. It’s natural. Did you find the lump in the shower?’

  She nodded.

  ‘My wife did the same.’ He spoke quietly. She hadn’t realised it was breast cancer. It had been one of those subjects they’d steered clear of.

  ‘When?’ he said, moving his hand to the other breast. For the first time as long as she could remember, Vanessa felt a quickening below her waist.

  ‘Five years ago. I’ve got the all-clear now. One of the nurses at the hospital told me that I could do two things. Worry myself to death in case it came back, or put it behind me and live each day to the full.’ She smiled to herself at the thought of that kind woman; one of so many. Say what you wanted about the NHS, there were some amazing people in it. ‘I chose to do the latter,’ she added.

  He nodded, gently turning her to one side so that his naked bod
y spooned hers. She could lie like this for ever, she thought to herself. The great thing about going to bed with someone your age was that they didn’t have a perfect body either. But at the same time, she could feel herself sweating with anticipation.

  ‘Is that why you haven’t slept with anyone since Harry?’

  She whipped round to face him. ‘How did you know?’

  He smiled down at her, tracing the outline of her face with his thick index finger. ‘Instinct.’

  She nodded. ‘I wasn’t ready before and then when I was, I got this.’ Forcing herself, she looked down at the scar. It might be neat but it was a constant reminder that she had nearly copped it. Not that anyone would have cared if she had. She had felt weird, being unable to put a name in the next-of-kin box. No point in putting Brigid’s.

  ‘I think it’s beautiful.’

  Beautiful? ‘You can’t really mean that.’

  ‘I do.’ His tongue gently licked her scar. Slowly. Carefully. Exploring her. ‘It’s a sign of bravery. And a medal to show that you have won.’

  Then his mouth came down on hers and his hands began to do things that she had never known possible. ‘Headmaster,’ she murmured. ‘Are you feeling my legs, like you size up a racehorse’s?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he murmured back. ‘And I think we’ve got a real winner here …’

  *

  They were still in that lovely post-sex companionable silence when the doorbell went. ‘I’ll ignore it,’ she mumbled hazily and Brian had sleepily nodded his agreement. But the waterfall chimes continued. Again and again. Someone wasn’t going to give up.

  Then a thought hit her and she sat up. What if the shop had been broken into? It had happened to the curry place next door last month, courtesy of some lager-happy louts. Consequently, she’d had a new alarm fitted that went straight through to the call centre. It might be the police!

  More alert now, she slid out of bed, slipping on her pink silk pyjamas and pulling a cream rose-print wrap around her shoulders. Brian had gone back to sleep, sprawled over most of the bed. Part of her felt tempted to wake him up and tell him to do his man stuff. But then again, she’d managed so far on her own, hadn’t she? They might have slept together, and yes, it had been pretty amazing, but it didn’t change things. Independence was the only way forward if you weren’t going to get hurt.