Page 38 of The Lie
‘That’s great, Mum.’ Provoked into siding with her in the face of his father’s obvious disapproval – something he’d done since childhood – Leo forced the words from between his lips.
He saw a pained look flit across his father’s face. Then the bell rang and Leo leapt up from the sofa.
Later, while his father was being put through his paces by the physio, his mother took his arm and drew him into the dining room, shutting the heavy door behind her. Leo could still hear Imogen’s monotonous exhortations from the next-door room.
‘I’m sorry about that, sweetheart.’
Leo patted her shoulder. ‘It’s OK, Mum. It was a bit of a shock, hearing it from Dad like that. But I’m happy for you, really. It’s your life and Dad has no right to make you feel guilty.’
‘He does, though.’
‘Yeah, well, he’s jealous, probably.’ He knew this now – courtesy of Anezka – although he hadn’t yet mentioned that part of their conversation to his mother.
‘It’s early days. But I like him a lot.’ She stopped, glanced away, clearly embarrassed.
Whoa, Leo thought, but said, ‘Look forward to meeting him, then.’
‘You do?’ She raised an amused eyebrow.
He gave her a sheepish grin. ‘Sort of.’
She laughed and hugged him. ‘Love you for saying it, anyway.’
Leo felt oddly tearful as he retreated to Rex’s old room ‘for a read’, as he told his mother. Why did things have to be so complicated with his parents? First the volatile Anezka and now some dodgy old soldier?
He couldn’t really believe his mother was in love with this random guy. How could she do that to them right now, when everything was so horrible, so uncertain?
25
Finch huffed and puffed as he ran up the path through the woods towards Harting Down. Normally the route posed no problem, but this morning – a gorgeously bright-blue June day – his legs felt heavy and his lungs tight. Maybe the tension about Romy, stuck in that bloody flat with Michael, was making his body malfunction. He needed to be fit for the Irish marathon he was planning in the autumn. But somehow his previously pressing need, which Grace called ‘compulsive’, to run these gruelling distances – to prove himself again and again – had dwindled somewhat since meeting Romy.
He stopped as he reached the top of the hill and took a long, thirsty swig from the water bottle he carried on a belt round his waist, enchanted, as he always was, by the sweeping vista across the Downs. He could see for miles, the air so clear it was almost intoxicating, the soft greens and greys of early summer picked out by the spiky yellow of gorse. He pulled out his phone from the belt and took a photo, sending it to Romy with the caption:Come with me next time? x
The view always reminded him of training exercises in the Welsh mountains when he was in the army. But then he’d had to carry a massive thirty-kilo pack on his back. As he moved off along the crest of the hill, he adopted a gentler pace, his thoughts returning to Romy.
They’d had such a great night together after the dim sum. They jokingly called his club their ‘love-nest’, but it seemed to have become that for them – a place that was unconnected to their everyday lives, or their pasts, where Finch felt they could shut out the world and, for a few short hours, no one else existed.
It was the very unreality of their lovemaking that worried him, though. He didn’t want to meet Romy for occasional sex, then watch her return to Michael. It was as if they were having an affair. The ‘couple of weeks’ she’d originally talked about had constantly been added to, and she was showing no signs of breaking free. From what she told him, she could easily step back, take on a monitoring role from a distance.Why doesn’t she leave?he asked himself as he ran, hearing the bare resentment in his question.
He remembered her enthusiasm, when they’d first met, for the new start she was embarking on – before she’d even considered he might become part of that.Would she give up on those dreams, go back to a life that clearly hadn’t made her happy?he wondered. But he had to face the fact – despite feeling that he and Romy were so good together – that the more time she spent with Michael, the closer they might potentially become.All those decades of marriage …
Finch got home around twelve and showered, flopping onto the bed in his towel and gazing up at the ceiling. This was the ceiling Nell had lain staring at for weeks on end while she was ill. The crack, which emanated from the central light fitting and weaved its way erratically towards the window, was still there, as was the damp patch in thecorner – the result of a leak in the hot-water tank in the roof.I should get the place painted, he thought, knowing he wouldn’t quite yet, because he still hung on to these small reminders of his wife.
His phone rang and he threw out a lazy hand to pick up the mobile from where it lay on the duvet.
‘It’s me,’ Romy said, unnecessarily.
Finch sat up. ‘Hey …’ But before he could say any more, Romy interrupted, her voice flat with resentment.
‘Leo knows about us. Michael told him.’
‘OK …’ Finch was not sure how to react. But if his own nervousness about the conversation he must eventually have with Grace was any reflection, then he could understand why she was irritated with her husband.
‘So how did he take it?’ Finch assumed badly, judging from Romy’s obvious anger.
‘He’s a reasonable person, Leo. I’m sure he wants the best for me. And he said all the right things. But I know him well. He was shocked.’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe he’s been hoping all along that Michael and I will get back together. It would be natural.’ Finch heard a short laugh. ‘And I’m his mum. It’s not the same as Michael and Anezka.’
Did Leo think this was a realistic hope, his parents getting back together?Finch wondered unhappily. ‘It should be, but I suppose it’s not,’ he replied.
