The Love of My Life(47)

I’ve never imagined Sheila to be lonely. Whenever I think about her, out of work hours, I imagine her entertaining large crowds and hosting visitors from all over the world. Being here with her, on a Saturday, feels like reading her diary.

She shows me a room upstairs, in which there is a large white bed and a wall hung with charcoal studies. ‘I’ll bring you something to eat in a minute,’ she says, and disappears. I try to find something to lay on the sheets so I don’t get them grubby, but I have nothing else with me. Eventually I sit down on a thick rug next to the bed, unable to make a decision about anything.

When Sheila comes up with chocolate Hobnobs a few minutes later, I am fast asleep. I get up briefly, at her request, and allow myself to be shepherded into bed. She puts a calm hand on my head for a few moments, and then I’m gone again.

When I wake the light is beginning to slope and particles of dust wait in the air. It’s 5 p.m. I can hear Sheila moving around downstairs, and for a few moments I can’t quite remember why I am here.

It doesn’t last long. I check my phone and my stomach rolls; there are nine messages and five missed calls from Emma.

Please call me.

Please come home.

Leo, I love you. Please talk to me.

There’s a knock at my door. ‘Hi,’ Sheila says. She’s dressed as if she’s spent the afternoon doing yoga. I find this mildly surprising, even though these days everyone apart from me seems to do yoga. ‘How are you bearing up?’

‘I want to die,’ I say.

She considers me for a few moments before smiling. ‘I think you need to speak to Emma first. Are you ready to call her?’

I shake my head.

‘You’re welcome to stay over,’ she says. ‘But you have to let Emma know you’re alive, and you have to meet her tomorrow. Monday at the latest. The two of you have to decide what happens next. You can’t just disappear on your daughter.’

I close my eyes. My daughter.

Sheila comes over and puts her hand on my head again, as she did when I went to sleep. Maybe she wasn’t an interrogator after all. Maybe she worked in a more human department of MI5, if such a department exists.

‘You’ll work it out,’ she says. ‘Leo, I’ve never known anyone love their partner more than you love Emma.’

‘But that only counts if it’s reciprocated, surely?’

After Sheila has left the room I sit with my phone in my hand, staring at the charcoal studies on the wall. I feel hollowed out; an empty space.

My phone starts ringing. Surprisingly, it’s Jill.

Jill is the last person I want to speak to, but there’s a part of me hoping she might be able to tell me that this is all a mistake, that I have added two plus two and made nine.

‘Jill?’

‘Leo,’ she says.

‘Everything OK?’

‘Yes, fine. I’m just trying to get hold of Emma. It’s really urgent. I tried her last night, she said she’d ring back, but she hasn’t. I must speak to her, Leo. Can you help?’

‘No,’ I reply. ‘I can’t. I’m not at home.’

‘Still?’

‘Yes, still. I found out Emma’s been involved with Jeremy Rothschild for years. And I found a message last night in her phone, saying that he was Ruby’s father. And I know you know about this, because I saw your messages too. So, please don’t waste my time denying it.’

Jill is absolutely silent.

After a very long pause, she says, simply, ‘Oh.’

‘For Emma and Ruby’s sake, I stayed the night in the shed. But I’ve gone back out again. I’m not ready to face Emma.’

‘Right,’ Jill says. Then: ‘Sorry. Just for clarification. Are you telling me you’ve left Emma?’

‘No, I’m not. I’m saying I need a couple of days to think, so I’ve gone to stay with a friend. OK?’

‘OK,’ she sighs, and ends the call.

I doubt I will ever understand Jill.

I message Emma, asking her to meet me at the house at

9.30 on Monday morning, once she’s dropped Ruby off at nursery. I apologise for walking out, but admit that I am not handling it, and don’t want Ruby to see me until I’m calmer.

She replies instantly to say yes, and thank you, and I love you. Shortly after, she sends another to say Ruby is fine.

Then that’s done, and it is only ten minutes past five, and I have no idea how to fill the hours before my body will let me check out again.

I go downstairs to find Sheila drinking red wine in her garden. I have never seen Sheila drink red wine; when we go to the Plumbers’ she always drinks continental lager, occasionally brandy. I also never imagined her drinking alone in a garden full of lush, boldly planted flowers at 5.15 p.m. Everything is out of place.

Wordlessly, she pours me a glass and we sit in silence as the afternoon bleeds into evening.





Chapter Twenty-Eight


EMMA


I take Ruby to nursery on Monday morning, swinging her hand and singing the hokey cokey as if everything is fine. Today is plant handover day and she carries the bag all the way there.

I hand the plant back to Della, Ruby’s key person, saying Ruby has loved looking after it.

‘Wow!’ Della says. ‘It’s really shrunk!’