Our Kind of Cruelty(33)

I love you, V. You know as well as I do the connection that exists between us. I would do anything for you. As ever, I crave you.

Your Eagle.



The next morning I went on a long run, across the common and down by the river where I pounded my feet along the towpath next to the scum-filled water. The sky was blue above my head and my breathing was even and regular and I felt as if I could have run forever. If V had asked me to, I could have probably enacted my promise to her. I could have probably beaten such a fast path around the world that I could have turned back time and made everything bad that had happened between us go away.

When I got back home my head felt a bit clearer and I went to the shops to buy the sort of lunch V liked. Fresh vegetables and fish, fruit and cream. I prepared it the way she preferred, simply, and poured us both a glass of cold Sancerre. We ate looking out over the garden and discussing our plans for it for next spring. Seeing it through her eyes made me realise it was a bit too clinical and it would be nice if it resembled Suzi’s garden a bit more. You shouldn’t ever see soil in flower beds, Suzi told me once, and looking out on my garden I realised there was lots of soil and gravel on show and that all the plants were spikey and architectural. They were in almost direct contrast to the beds at Steeple House, which were heavy with colour and flowers and soft, gentle foliage which undulates silver and green. You could stand by Susan’s beds and watch the wind stroke them; you could marvel at the shades and shapes before you. You could wonder at nature which produces the most beautiful, intricate versions of perfection for such short amounts of time. I was glad then that V wasn’t actually sitting beside me and that I had a bit of time to make things perfect for when she came home.

On Monday I called a garden designer and the builder whom I had liked the best and arranged meetings for later on in the week. The Spectre deal was still sliding and the chairman asked for a meeting in which he made it clear he was surprised things weren’t progressing faster. I made up an ill-judged excuse and he asked me if it was perhaps too large a project and did I need some help. I was quite shocked because I hadn’t realised that anything had seemed amiss at work, although I also realised I didn’t care that much. Jobs were easy to come by and paled into insignificance next to making sure everything was perfect for V.

I took a morning off to meet the garden designer, a woman called Anna who had a very posh accent and was as tall and thin as a sapling. She agreed with me that the garden currently was very harsh and naff, although they were her words, not mine. She asked me to describe what I was after and I told her about Suzi’s flower beds at Steeple House. I said my girlfriend was very keen to get that country-garden look and Anna said it was her favourite as well. We agreed that we might as well keep the hot tub and outdoor eating area, and Anna assured me they would be so softened by her planting they would almost become invisible. She thought maybe some mirrors at the back, perhaps even an old rusty gate in front of a mirror to give the illusion of another secret garden beyond. She told me I was lucky to have the tall brick wall at the end, which made this particular trick of the eye possible. I loved the idea. She said she would go away and do some drawings and send me a quote, although I think we both knew I was going to say yes whatever.

The builder told me he could start on my plans for a gym and sauna at the beginning of the New Year, but he warned me it would be very disruptive. I was lucky, he said, that I had a bit of a basement so a full excavation wasn’t going to be necessary, but it would still take the best part of six months to complete and involve lots of heavy digging and lifting equipment. I balked at the idea of waiting so long, but he pointed out I would need planning permission and agreements with my neighbours, neither of which I had considered. You can’t just do what you like, he said, shaking his head and handing me a quote which would have bought two houses on Elaine and Barry’s street. For an extra ten thousand pounds he offered to handle the architect and planning permission so I said I would transfer the money later that evening. It felt good to be achieving something and working towards our future. I don’t know what I’d been thinking of before, dragging my heels at making the house perfect for V.

Towards the end of the second week of the honeymoon I was feeling slightly regretful about the tone of the email I’d sent V. I had after all massively betrayed her trust and the normal rules could not be applied to us. I hadn’t actually said the words to V, but when I had written the first email I thought I had been subconsciously comparing her to my mother, which was insane. My mother was a weak and pathetic person who allowed herself to fall into the situations in which she found herself. V was nothing like that and, ergo, what I had done with Carly was as bad to her as if I had smashed her head against a wall. All in all I owed her an apology and so I sent her another email.

Dearest V,

I’m sorry if I sounded angry in my last email. I do understand what you’re doing and I know I am responsible for what is happening now. It’s just that the wedding threw me off balance slightly. It was horrible seeing you with Angus, even though I know it is nothing more than I deserve. In a funny way I feel sorry for him and all you are going to put him through, but there does I suppose have to be collateral damage in any situation such as this.

I just want you to know that I’m here. I can swoop in and rescue you at any time and I am prepared to do anything for you, V. You are, as ever, all that matters to me, my darling.