A Terrible Kindness(90)

Walking into his bedroom is the hardest. The orange poppy duvet and matching curtains, the oak dressing table, the leather armchair, just as they always were. He scans the bare surfaces; the antimacassar stretches out on the dressing table, not rumpled and rucked without any perfume bottles or tissues. No hand cream, bracelets, safety pins or lipstick. No nurse’s silver fob watch. He opens her wardrobe and a few wire coat hangers rock gently. It’s worked. He left her so she could leave him. And now, he sees, she has.

He must have fallen asleep, but wakes to the sound of car doors closing. There’s a click and then a swish of carpet downstairs.

‘Robert? Howard?’ He moves quickly to the top of the landing, not wanting to scare them.

The men stand, faces upturned; identical expressions of surprise, swept away by broad smiles. As William comes down the stairs towards them, Robert’s arms lift, like a child to a parent.

They embrace while Howard stands with one hand on Robert’s back and one on William’s shoulder.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’ Robert stands back and grins at William.

‘I didn’t know I was,’ William answers.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ says Howard, squeezing William’s elbow.

‘Please!’ William realises he hasn’t eaten or drunk anything since this morning.

‘Toast and Marmite?’ Howard claps his hands together.

‘Yes!’

‘Just to keep you going,’ he says, disappearing into the kitchen. ‘We’ve got toad in the hole in a couple of hours.’

William and Robert go to the sitting room, hearing the rumbling kettle, the chink of a teaspoon, the opening of the fridge, through the open serving hatch.

‘How long are you staying?’ Robert says. ‘How long have you been here? Is that your car in the driveway?’

‘Robert!’ Howard laughs from the kitchen. ‘Too many questions, give him a chance.’

He sits on the sofa. Robert, on the armchair opposite, stares at him, smiling but intense and enquiring. Howard comes in with three mugs of tea and a packet of gypsy creams.

‘Start on these while the bread’s toasting.’

‘Thanks.’ Howard’s flouting of the savoury before sweet rule has always struck William as quietly, delightfully anarchic.

‘So, what’s going on?’ Robert slides to the edge of the seat, towards William. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Sort of.’ He shrugs. ‘I went to see Mum this morning.’

‘In Swansea?’ Robert is shocked. ‘From Cambridge?’

He nods.

‘Why?’

William takes a gulp of tea, holds his mug in both hands. He glances from Robert to Howard and sees the same intensity of gaze upon him. ‘It’s gone on long enough, hasn’t it? We don’t have forever.’

Robert quickly wipes his cheek with the back of his hand.

‘But she wasn’t there,’ he says, ‘she was here, wasn’t she? Picking up Gloria.’

‘How do you know?’ Robert’s cheeks are pink.

‘Her neighbour told me.’

‘And you drove straight back here?’ Howard passes him the plate of biscuits. William takes one.

‘Didn’t know what else to do.’

‘You missed them by less than an hour,’ Robert says softly.

‘We’re just back from taking them to Spaghetti Junction,’ Howard says. ‘Your mum was worried she’d get on the wrong way and end up in Ipswich.’

‘Were you going to tell me?’

‘What, that she’s been here?’ Robert gestures with open hands at the room.

‘That she and Gloria have somehow become best friends.’

Robert looks to Howard first, then to William. He exhales, shakes his head. ‘Glory be, William, none of us knew what to do for the best. But you should have talked to her,’ he says, with a pleading in his face.

‘I couldn’t! She’d have persuaded me to stay! Just like she persuaded me to marry her in the first place!’

‘She was in such a mess’ – Robert frowns – ‘and she kept saying she wanted to see your mother.’

‘Why would that matter so much?’ William asks. Again, he sees the helpless glance between the two men.

‘William.’ Howard sounds matter of fact. ‘These things are between you and Gloria, not us. You need to speak to her.’

‘I’ve told you, I can’t. Gloria getting to know Mum isn’t going to help anyone.’

‘You’re not in a position to judge that, William. Not until you’ve spoken to Gloria.’

‘Are you going to the wedding?’ Howard picks his mug up and takes a sip.

‘I wanted a proper conversation with her. I won’t be able to do that at the wedding. Don’t you think it will be odd, just being there but not being able to talk?’

‘Maybe,’ says Howard, ‘but this whole situation is odd, always has been. It’d be one hell of an olive branch, don’t you think, being there, with a big beautiful smile on your face, as she comes down the aisle?’

‘If Gloria wasn’t going to be there it would be a lot easier,’ William says.

‘How about you do this for your mother,’ Robert says, ‘and then deal with Gloria afterwards.’