And besides, it meant he could see so much of Abi.
The hurt of the memories had gone; he just longed now to go back to where they had been. She clearly felt quite differently; and working with her on the festival, seeing her more on her home turf, so to speak, he imagined himself through her eyes: very sound, nice, bit dull, someone she had once undoubtedly been fond of, and had fun with, a good friend, but who really was not in her orbit of consideration for anything more…
Laura was sitting in her mother’s kitchen, crying. She was in complete despair over Charlie. Jonathan’s moving out had made him slightly less tense, but his behaviour was no better. Indeed, his year tutor had said that his work was increasingly erratic, “and quite honestly, Mrs. Gilliatt, he seems to have lost most of his social skills as well.”
She had tried everything: persuasion, threats, bribes, even emotional blackmaiclass="underline" “you could do it for me, Charlie, even if you won’t for Dad. It upsets me so much, your behaving like this, and life is quite… quite difficult just at the moment.”
She got little response beyond the now horribly predictable shrug; he clearly felt she must bear some of the blame for his father’s behaviour.
Occasionally she thought she had made a breakthrough; one night he had found her crying, after the girls had gone to bed. He had sat down beside her on the sofa, put his arms round her, and asked her if there was anything he could do.
“I’m so sorry, Mum; it must be horrible for you.”
Laura told him it would make her feel better if he started working at school again, and told him what his year tutor had said; that had been a mistake.
“Mum, I don’t mind helping at home, or trying to cheer the girls up, but I can’t go back to being good little Charlie again. He’s gone. Dad’s sent him packing.”
“But, Charlie, that’s not fair. To me or to you. You could perfectly well start working again if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to. Maybe in time, but not right now. I don’t see the point.”
“The point is your future, Charlie. Doesn’t that matter to you?”
He shrugged. “Not much, no. I couldn’t care less about it.”
“I don’t know what to do, Mummy,” Laura said now, blowing her nose. “He’s just wrecking his own life and I can’t get that through to him.”
“I’m no psychologist, darling, but I’d say he was feeling completely disillusioned with everything. He idolised his father and he feels utterly let down. And not just with Jonathan, but Jonathan’s way of life. Why should he try to be like him, to emulate him in any way, when he despises him so much?”
“But that doesn’t make sense!”
“I think you’d find it did to Charlie. He’s rejected the way Jonathan brought him up, and that includes working hard and doing well.”
“Oh, God,” said Laura, “it’s all so hideous. Tell me what to do. Mummy, I can’t think straight anymore.”
“Nothing for now, darling. Give it time. You have no idea how things might turn out.”
“Yes, I do. Jonathan’s not coming back, because I couldn’t bear it if he did. Charlie won’t forgive Jonathan, or change his attitude in any way. I can’t see how anything could change.”
“Laura, just now neither can I. I only know, after living for quite a long time, that things do. Stuff happens, as the horrible expression goes. Try to be patient.”
“Oh, Mummy, you know what I often think?”
“No, what do you often think?”
“That if it hadn’t been for that bloody car crash, everything would have been all right. I’d never have known about Abi Scott; it would have played itself out; Jonathan would have got sick of her…”
“He might not have.”
“Well, thanks for that.”
“Darling, don’t get me wrong. I think what Jonathan’s done is dreadful, unforgivable. I can hardly bear to see you so unhappy. And if he wanted to come back, if you did forgive him, I’d find it very hard to accept. All I’m saying is that men do seem to need these… relationships sometimes. Well, saying they need them rather overdignifies them. They decide they’re going to have them. Especially at Jonathan’s age, it’s a grab at their lost youth. If it hadn’t been Abi Scott, it might have been someone else.”
“Daddy didn’t do that, did he?” She stared at her mother, suddenly understanding for a brief moment how Charlie felt, the shock of betrayal.
“No, he didn’t; he never cheated on me, thank God, but several of my friends had to endure it. Some of the marriages survived. Well, most of them, actually. They did in those days. And there was a lot of turning a blind eye, pretending you didn’t know.”
“So… are you saying I should take him back?”
“No, of course not. Unless you really want to. And as I say, I wouldn’t find it easy if you did. I’m simply saying that you’re not the first woman to have to endure this.”
“No, I know.” She hesitated. “He… well, he did say he was about to finish the relationship. That it was over.”
“Well… that’s something in his favour.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“Laura, you know Jonathan a great deal better than I do. If you believe him, then I’d trust your judgment. And maybe you’ve been too perfect, too good to him. You do-well, you did-spoil him dreadfully.”
“Would you like to go for a walk, Russell, dear?” said Mary, walking into the morning room where Russell was reading the Financial Times. He had been persuaded to take it instead of the Wall Street Journal; he complained every day about how unsatisfactory it was, and made a great thing of reading the Journal online, but Mary had observed he still became totally absorbed in the FT for at least an hour and a half each morning. Which was a relief, actually; now that all the excitement of the wedding and Christmas was over, Russell was often restless. He spent a lot of time on the Internet studying the markets and then instructing his broker to buy this or sell that. And he was on the phone for at least an hour a day to Morton discussing the business. Mary had a pretty shrewd idea that Morton didn’t welcome these calls, and indeed he had told her over Christmas that it was wonderful to see his father so relaxed and happy.
“He really seems to be letting go of the reins at last.”
“The reins?”
“Yeah, of the business. He was supposed to have retired ten years ago; we gave him a dinner, everyone made speeches, we presented him with a wonderful vintage gold watch-that was a kind of a joke, of course-and he even wept a bit, and said good-bye to everyone. Monday morning, nine a.m., he was back at his desk. He’s cut down a bit since then, of course, but I’d like to see him taking it really easy.”
Mary could see very clearly that what Morton meant was that he’d thank God on bended knees for his father to be taking it really easy, and assured him that she absolutely agreed and that she had all sorts of plans for the coming year: “A bit of travelling, for a start. We haven’t had our honeymoon yet, and I’m not letting him get away with that,” she said, “and he seems to have plans for making over some of the land here to what he calls a vegetable farm. So that we can be self-sufficient.”