Page 64 of The Affair
Thinking about home got her as far as the bookshop. She would browse for a while, find a nice fat detective novel with which to distract herself. Maybe buy a good bottle of wine, find a tasty dish she could stick in the oven from the ruinously expensive deli Tessa loved, and some mince pies to get into the festive spirit.
The bookshop was crowded and hot. Connie pulled off her gloves and woolly hat and opened the neck of her coat. She began to pick up books at random, taking her time and enjoying the hubbub, the company, the piped carols that filled the air.
She’d been there a while when she was aware of the opening bars of ‘Away In A Manger’. Her eyes filled with tears. Bash’s face swam in front of her: his nursery had sung it at their Nativity last year and all she could see were his dark eyes gazing dreamily from beneath the cotton-wool sheep’s ears Caitlin had made. She found herself pushing past the other shoppers, almost running from the store.
Once on the pavement, she stopped and drew a shaky breath. The cold hit her and she realized she didn’t have her hat or gloves. Cursing under her breath, she turnedand went back inside.Where did I leave them?She revisited the various tables over which she’d lingered. But they were nowhere to be seen. In the end she found a girl with a bookshop badge and asked for her help.
‘Come with me. We’ll check if someone’s handed them in,’ the girl said, leading Connie through a door saying Staff Only to a large see-through plastic container sitting in the corridor. Unclipping the lid, she asked, ‘What do they look like?’
‘A green wool hat and brown leather gloves,’ Connie told her. ‘But I’ve only just left the shop. I’m not sure anyone would have had time to hand them in.’
The girl rummaged about, nonetheless, pulling out various hats – none of them green. She looked at Connie. ‘Maybe come back tomorrow. We close at four.’
Outside once more, Connie found she was unreasonably upset by the loss of her hat and gloves. Devan had given her the hat for Christmas two years ago, when things between them were still good and a rift in her marriage was not even a speck on the horizon. She remembered trying it on and Devan taking a photo on his phone, them both laughing and agreeing it suited her perfectly, her husband teasing her that she looked like a mischievous leprechaun, such as his Irish grandmother had warned him about. Losing the hat felt like the last straw.
She stood still for a while, being knocked and bumped by the Christmas crowds, then began to plod slowly down the hill, head bowed, without any of her intended purchases. Once she turned the corner intoTessa’s road, leaving the roar of the high street behind her, she was aware of her phone ringing. Fumbling as she tried to extricate it from her coat pocket – where it was tangled in a tissue and the house keys – she pressed the green button frantically over and over. But the caller had clicked off.Caty.Tears of frustration clouding her vision, Connie immediately returned the call, but her daughter didn’t answer and it went eventually to voicemail.Noo, she wailed silently, staring at the screen in disbelief. She didn’t walk on immediately, as if the very fact of her stillness would enable Caitlin to get through. She tried the number a couple more times, but with the same depressing result. It was like being starving hungry, a delicious bite of something dangled before her, then snatched away before she could taste it.
The house was gloomy, silent, and she felt something go inside her: she had completely run out of steam. Struggling out of her coat, she lit the gas fire with a wobbly hand. Grabbing the throw, she flung herself down on the sofa and curled up into a ball, the cat in the crook of her knees, her head on a gold satin cushion, slippery and cold beneath her cheek. She was beyond tears as she lay listening to Monty’s soft snores, the hiss of the gas-fire, the tick of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Cars braked for the sleeping policeman in the road outside the house, then accelerated away; footsteps tapped along the pavement, sometimes accompanied by snatches of chatter; the mohair from the throw tickled her nose. But inside her there was only numb silence.
Lulled by the warmth from the fire and the cat’s comforting proximity, Connie dozed. When she woke the clock said it was just past five. She rolled onto her back, dislodging Monty, who scrabbled and jumped heavily over her legs onto the floor.I ought to feed him, she thought, reluctantly dragging herself upright, still groggy from the daytime nap.
Turning on the kitchen light, she washed Monty’s bowl and took a new pouch from the row of cat food Tessa had left beside the kettle, Monty purring and threading himself in and out of her legs in anticipation. As she was lifting a fork from the drawer, her mobile blared. Since the earlier missed call, she had ramped up the ring to the loudest possible, dreading another disappointment.
She dropped the pouch and the fork, racing to pick up the phone pulsating on the coffee table.Caty, she thought.
‘Ash?’ She was taken aback. He seldom called and she instantly worried it boded no good.
‘Hi, Connie.’ Her son-in-law sounded cautious, but friendly. ‘How are you?’
She gave a sad laugh. ‘Been better, I suppose.’
‘God, I’m so sorry about all this.’
‘It’s me who’s the sorry one, Ash.’
‘Listen, I know Caty tried you earlier …’ He fell silent. ‘I’m sure she’ll try again later, it’s just with Devan here …’ He stopped. ‘But she’s worrying about you. And missing you, as we all are.’
Tears misted her eyes. ‘I miss you all too. Terribly.’
‘It’s been pretty hectic –’
‘How is Devan?’ she interrupted, although she didn’t really want to hear Ash’s answer.
‘Umm, not great, if I’m honest. He doesn’t mention you much, just rants on about Jared. And his back’s bad again.’
Connie winced. There was a direct correlation between Devan’s back pain and his emotional state, his previous bout disappearing, like snow in summer, as soon as his mood improved. Now she could imagine her husband’s dark-blue eyes, bruised and flashing with hurt. She let out an involuntary sigh. ‘I can’t tell you how much this call means to me, Ash,’ she said. ‘I’m truly sorry for everything … not least ruining your Christmas.’ She wanted to hug him for being so kind, knowing what he must be dealing with at home. She wondered if Caitlin had asked him to call, or whether he’d done it off his own bat.
‘No worries. You know I’m not a fan of the festive season.’ He chuckled. ‘We’re off up to Manchester on the twenty-seventh, where Ma will no doubt feed me till I burst. Roll on January.’
Don’t go, she thought, as she sensed Ash winding up the call. She wanted to ask about Bash, to hear about this year’s Nativity and what he was getting for Christmas.But before she had a chance, Ash was speaking again, this time sounding furtive, in a hurry to be off the phone. ‘Listen, let’s arrange something as soon as we get back. Have you over … Bye, Connie, lots of love.’
28
Ash’s call was a fillip for Connie. Her mood instantly improved. She knew nothing had really changed, but at least the agonizing wall of silence had been breached. It was a ray of hope. She knew she could manage her despair if there was the prospect of seeing her daughter and grandson – dear Ash – in the new year, even if Caitlin was still angry with her. About her future with Devan she dared not think. That was much, much more complicated.
On Christmas Eve, she spruced herself up – replacing the jeans she felt she’d been wearing since the last century with her black ones – and went out to do some shopping. She’d decided she really would get into the festive spirit now, buy lots of delicious things, then hole up, be patient and wait it out.There’s nothing I can do about anything until after Christmas, she told herself.
The deli looked as if the good folk of Hampstead were preparing for a siege – and a very expensive one at that. The queue for the counter snaked onto the pavement, while the aisles were rammed with panic and sharp elbows, baskets bulging and weighed down with treats. The mood, far from brimming with good cheer, was focused, everyone hell-bent on the task in hand.
