Page 53 of The Lie
‘How’s your Spanish, these days?’
‘Bit rusty, I suppose, but I’ll get by.’
‘OK, then. If you’re absolutely set on grinding your rump to ribbons, I’m your man. I’ll talk to Cami and see which of her zillions of rich cousins can come up with an invitation.’
‘I don’t want to be pampered like a guest, Paz. If I’m going to do this, I want to be out there chasing cattle and wild horses, riding the range.’
‘Being macho.’
‘Getting so tired I can’t bloody think any more.’
There was silence for a moment. Then Paz said, ‘And her name is …?’
Finch was glad Paz couldn’t see him cringe. ‘It doesn’t matter what she’s called any more.’
‘I see. Well, you know how much Cami loves you, Roberto, and Paris is only a train ride away. My area of special interest is currently Azerbaijan, but I’m sure I could mug up on broken-hearted soldiers, if required.’
Finch laughed and thanked him. When he came off the phone he still had a smile on his face: Paz always lifted his spirits. In fact, he was feeling better for the first time since Grace’s visit.I’ll feel better still, he thought,when I can put some distance between Romy and me.
When Grace called later that evening, Finch told her of Paz’s suggestion.
‘Right.’ Grace’s one-word response – after a very long pause – fell damply on Finch’s enthusiasm. ‘This is about Romy, isn’t it?’ she went on. ‘I knew I should never have told you.’ He heard an exasperated sigh. ‘You see? This is what happens when people speak up about stuff like that. It ruins things for everyone. And you want me to tellSam?’ Her tone was scathing. ‘There are quite enough bodies under that particular bus as it is.’
Finch was silent. He’d been down the route of begging her to get the professional help she needed so often that it seemed pointless to reiterate it again now. He’d always tried to be honest with Grace. When her mother became ill the first time, Nell had wanted to keep the cancer secret, saying that Grace didn’t need to know unless it was serious. But Finch had insisted she be told and they were both glad that he had. Grace had been such a comfort to them, especially at the end. She’d moved back into the Sussex house and helped Finch nurse her mother before the final hospice days. The girl’s energy, her humour, her refusal to be maudlin about the future had kept them all afloat, for which Finch would always be grateful. But he knew he couldn’t be honest about Romy now.
‘You don’t mind me going, Gracie?’ he asked. ‘It’ll only be for a month or so, I think. But I won’t if you don’t want me to.’ He found himself tempering his estimate, genuinely unsure how long he’d be gone and not wanting it to sound as if he were abandoning her for ever.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Grace’s pitch had risen. ‘Of course I don’t mind. We don’t see each other for months on end. I won’t even notice you’re gone.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, in a soft voice. ‘I’m sorry I ruined things for you.’
‘You didn’t ruin anything, sweetheart,’ Finch replied, with all honesty. None of this was Grace’s fault. Michael was to blame for it all … and maybe himself, too, for being so aggressive towards Romy and pushing her into a corner with her contemptible husband.
Because he still wanted to believe in her. He still waited for the phone call that would be Romy telling him she’d been utterly wrong to side with Michael Claire. But in the end it wouldn’t make any difference, he knew. Grace would always come between them.
37
Leo found his father sitting at the kitchen table when he arrived, his weak hand covered with a large, bright blue mitt – like a wicket-keeper’s glove – with Velcro straps round the wrist, and a pile of coloured ping-pong balls in a box. Michael was slowly picking up the balls from the box and transferring them into an empty one a foot away. Leo watched in silence, his father barely glancing up at him, his concentration so focused on the task.
‘Is that bionic?’ Leo asked, when a ball skittered out of his father’s grasp and went bouncing across the table, then the kitchen tiles. Leo bent to pick it up and return it to the box.
His father’s face cleared and he smiled at Leo. ‘Sodding thing.’ He glared at his hand, as if it offended him, as if it wasn’t part of him at all, just an irritating intrusion into his life.
‘You couldn’t have done that a few weeks ago,’ Leo observed.
‘That’s because I didn’t have what Imogen likes to call an “ assisted device ”. She says it’s the first stage. Apparently it’s opening my hand and forcing it to do normal movements.’ His dad started to laugh. ‘Christ, Leo, what am I like? Sitting here like a big kid, shifting balls from one box to another. You were better at it when you were two!’
Leo couldn’t help laughing with him: there was a comical side. ‘Keep that up and you’ll be playing for the county in no time,’ he said, which was a poor joke, but it seemed to make his dad laugh even harder.
‘Eat your heart out, Jimmy Anderson. Trouble with these balls is they don’t have a seam. How’s a chap to fast bowl if there’s no seam?’
Leo gawped. ‘Wait a minute! You’ve started watchingcricket, Dad?’ He loved the game, but he’d never known his father to be interested in any sport, ever.
‘I watch anything that moves these days.’ His father seemed in a high old mood today, which was encouraging, as Leo was in charge all weekend. His mum was just getting her stuff ready, and then she was off until Sunday night. ‘In fact,’ his dad was saying, ‘I’m sure you’re aware of today’s one-dayer: India at Trent Bridge … if you’re interested.’ He gave what seemed to Leo to be an almost shy smile.
Leo grinned. ‘Wow, Dad. I’m there! Hope the rain holds off.’ He’d never in a million years thought he’d be sitting watching cricket with his father. He was touched that he’d obviously planned their day and didn’t know what to say. This was so unlike the father he’d grown up with, who always seemed to hold him and Rex at arm’s length, just homing in for the occasional lecture on working hard, getting good marks at school and beingambitious.
‘Are you going to stand there all day with your mouth open? Or can you manage a coffee for your poor old dad?’ Michael was still smiling as Leo went over to the pod machine his mum had bought – despite Michael’s objections – because it was easier for him to manage. But as heunhooked the water cylinder from the back and filled it with tap water, he heard his name barked and jumped.
‘He can do that himself.’ His mother was standing at the kitchen door, looking fierce. ‘Don’t run around after him, Leo. He’s perfectly capable of makingyoua cup of coffee.’
