The Unwelcome Guest Read online

  I know I need to be patient with him until he forgives me. I take a deep breath. ‘Well everything I suppose.’

  He takes a sip of whisky, leans back and crosses his legs. ‘As a matter of fact I’m working on vagueness, conditionals and supervaluationism at the moment.’

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask, feigning interest.

  ‘Are you sure you want to know?’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I’m arguing that vagueness produces counter-examples to modus tollens.’

  ‘Do I need to understand Latin now?’ I pause. ‘Is it even Latin? I don’t know.’

  ‘Of course it’s Latin. You studied it at Charterhouse.’

  ‘I took it for a few years, but it might as well have been Double Dutch to me.’

  ‘Well you are right, it is Latin.’ He pauses. ‘And modus tollens is a deductive argument form. And a rule of inference. Would you like me to explain?’

  I do not want him to. But I so want to make friends with him again that I swallow and nod my head.

  Miles continues, ‘This is how it works. “If P, then Q. Not Q. Therefore not P.” It is an application of the general truth that if a statement is true, then so is its contrapositive. The form shows that inference from “P implies Q” to “the negation of Q implies the negation of P” is a valid argument.’ He pauses. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘You’re joking aren’t you? Trying to bait me? Trying to make me feel stupid.’

  He uncrosses his legs, puts his whisky down on the table in front of him, and leans forwards. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s so complicated I find it hard to explain.’

  ‘Philosophy makes my brain ache. It makes most people’s brains ache. But then you were always such an intellectual weren’t you? A cut above the rest.’ I pause. ‘And now you are a professor, you really need to learn how to explain things clearly.’

  My voice is rising. I need to be careful. I invited him over to make friends, not to antagonise him.

  He hesitates. ‘Sorry I expressed myself badly. I really wasn’t trying to score points against you.’

  I smile uncertainly. ‘OK. Well let’s just start again.’ I pause. ‘What about the children? Why don’t you tell me about them? How they’re getting on?’

  His eyes darken. ‘You see them every Sunday when you come for lunch.’

  ‘Stop being arsey. I invited you over because I want us to be friends again.’

  ‘You’ve always been my friend.’ Miles pauses, eyes full of sadness. ‘I just want you to stop flirting with my wife.’

  I lift my shoulders and raise my palms to the ceiling. ‘I’ve apologised. I won’t do it again.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure I believe you.’

  ‘If you don’t believe me how are we going to move forwards?’

  ‘It’s not my fault we’re both attracted to the same woman. But I’m her husband, for God’s sake. We love each other. You need to forget about her. Back off.’

  My stomach twists. ‘You don’t need to remind me.’

  ‘You need to find someone of your own. Someone special. You had Julie. It just didn’t work out. Next time it will. Use Tinder. Whatever. Just make more of an effort.’

  I smile. ‘OK. Good idea, mate. I will.’

  I cannot tell him the truth. I never loved Julie, and she knew. That’s why she left me. The only woman I’ve ever loved is you, Saffron. No one compares to you.

  56

  Miles

  I leave Aiden’s flat and walk along the King’s Road towards the tube station, dust from passing traffic misting my eyes. How can I hold a grudge against him when I have everything I want? Aiden has everything, and yet, nothing. Life is not built of bricks or possessions. It is far more ethereal. Full of electricity and emotion. Made up of what I have with you, Saffron.

  57

  Hayley

  I know you mean something to him. Something new. Something big. Caprice’s voice shouts across my mind. I’m sure I’m right. I’m sure I’m right.

  Oh, Miles, I have been suppressing how I feel about you for so long. Pushing love away. Trying to be magnanimous. To think about Saffron. To think about your family. Not all out for myself. But now Caprice’s words have unleashed the full power of my emotion. It pulses like a tsunami inside me, building and building.

  Alone in my designer bedroom, I sink naked into red silk and allow myself to dream. I close my eyes and fantasise. You are lying next to me. Pulling me towards you. Telling me that you love me. Telling me you want me. Telling me that things with Saffron aren’t working out.

  I lie in bed thinking about you, playing with my clitoris. I experience the best orgasm I have ever had. Panting as I recover. Heartbeat reducing slowly.

  Miles Jackson, I’ve had you in my imagination. Now I want you for real.

  58

  Saffron

  Ted steps into my office, smiling. A real smile that reaches his eyes. The kind of smile he hasn’t given me for a long time.

  ‘The bank have granted us a nine-month loan.’

  Relief floods through me, warming my blood, my body. I stand up, pull him towards me and hug him. He smells of coconut and musk. I pull away and open the office door.

  ‘Come here, Julie,’ I shout.

  She scuttles into my office looking worried.

  ‘It’s good news. The loan has come through. We’re going out to celebrate.’

  We’re in the cocktail bar at the RAC Club, Pall Mall.

  ‘Here’s to BPC. Long may we survive,’ I say as I raise my glass.

  We clink champagne flutes, Julie, Ted and I.

  ‘Thank you for being patient about last month’s salary. You’ve both been so understanding,’ I say.

  Julie smiles her clean-edged smile. ‘It’s been worth it, Saffron. I love our team. I love my job. I love our trust. Our friendship.’

  And my stomach tightens. I should have trusted her more. I should have believed everything she said about Miles and Aiden. My birthday necklace is hidden in a drawer, I can’t bear to wear it, after the way I behaved.

  ‘And I love our team too. Saffron, we’ve been together since we were teenagers,’ Ted says enthusiastically.

  I pull my thoughts away from the necklace that I do not deserve to own. I smile inside. Ted and I have been friends almost forever. We were at the same school, same class, same set for English and Maths. We used to walk home together, winding our way along the High Street. Stopping to buy sweets. Browsing in shop windows. We would turn left down the passageway, past the cricket club, towards the housing development where we both lived.

  The narrow passageway was lined with gnarled trees, trunks bent like arthritic fingers. The canopy of leaves above entwined together. That was where we shared our hopes and fears. Our secrets. Such close friends, our peer group assumed we were a couple. But we weren’t. We told everyone we were cousins. They seemed to need an explanation for our relationship.

  This evening, in the cocktail bar at the RAC Club, Ted’s eyes shine into mine.

  ‘I told you it would be all right, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘I’ll believe everything you both say from now on, I promise.’

  We finish our champagne and leave the bar, stopping in the grand hallway of the RAC Club to admire the Christmas tree, stretching up into the stone rotunda above us, a Pantheon-like structure with a giant oval window in its dome. Its elegance and beauty fill me with awe every time I visit, and I have been a member of this club for many years. But it never looks as beautiful as it does in December with a Christmas tree fit for royalty filling it.

  We move away, across opulent patterned carpet towards the Brooklands Room, where more Edwardian elegance opens out in front of us. Arched windows stretch from floor to ceiling. Panelling, paintings, pillars, livened up with modern furniture. A masterpiece of simplicity and sophistication.

  A waiter leads us to a table by a marble pillar. It doesn’t take us long to order and water
and wine arrive promptly. Not much later, our starters are placed gently in front of us. Raw courgette and toasted hazelnut salad for me. Smoked salmon for Julie. Chicken liver parfait for Ted.

  ‘We still need another big client,’ I say between mouthfuls.

  Ted leans towards me. ‘We’ll get one soon.’

  ‘We will,’ Julie says. ‘You need to believe Ted and me about that.’

  ‘I’m turning over a new leaf. No criticism. No disbelief.’

  59

  Caprice

  So, Saffron, my plan to make you mistrust my son because of his relationship with Julie didn’t work. But I have a new, more enticing project now. How will my son be able to resist the wholesome reality of a beguiling young woman like Hayley?

  As usual you are home late, and I’m watching cartoons with the children.

  ‘Would you like to go and see Frozen 2 next Saturday?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s for girls,’ Ben and Harry reply in unison.

  You are out next Saturday; I heard you telling Miles you were going Christmas shopping. I grit my teeth in disappointment. Taking them to the cinema would have just been so easy. All I would have had to do is ply them with sweets, fizzy drinks and popcorn, close my eyes and sleep. But now I’ll have to up the ante. What about a trip to the theatre? The Lion King? I know they want to see that. And then McDonald’s at the back of Waterloo station. Going to McDonald’s always seems to please them.

  I log into the Ticketmaster website and spend a small fortune on the best tickets in the house.

  60

  Miles

  Thursday night. Curry night. Mother, Ben, Harry and I are tucking into a takeaway. Lamb rogan josh, okra with chilli and ginger, Bombay potatoes, peshwari naan and pilau rice. Hayley is at the pub with Jono. You have escaped home and work, Saffron, for a rare outing on your own.

  ‘Ben and Harry, I’ve booked a special treat for you this Saturday,’ Mother announces.

  ‘What, Caprice, what?’ Harry asks, almost jumping out of his seat with excitement. ‘Tickets to see The Lion King, and then tea at McDonald’s.’

  The boys jump out of their chairs and race around the table jumping and whooping.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mother. Now, boys, calm down and finish your curry.’

  One more circuit of the table and they obey me.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ Ben says as he slips back onto his seat.

  ‘Miles,’ Mother says in her instructing tone, ‘I need to ask you for some help this weekend. I want you to help Hayley plant some rose bushes that are being delivered from David Austin’s in Wolverhampton this Saturday. And keep an eye she plants them properly. I’d supervise myself if I hadn’t booked this treat.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit late for planting roses?’

  Mother smiles. ‘No. Late autumn fall is a fine time to plant. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bought them. And Hayley loves plants. Helping me with this is a real treat for her. So what do you think?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure. Maybe we could see if there are some tickets left for The Lion King so that Saffron and I could come along too?’

  Mother stiffens. ‘Saffron is going Christmas shopping on Saturday.’

  ‘She was, but her plans have changed.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘She decided to go tonight instead. She was offered a special ticket with twenty-five per cent off tonight, to the late-night Christmas shopping event at the Bentall Centre. I hadn’t mentioned it because I didn’t think it was pivotal to your plans. She’s decided to spend Saturday with her family instead. So what do you think? It would be fun if we all went to the theatre together.’

  Mother’s eyes are hard. Her chin is jutting out. ‘What about the roses?’ she asks, voice sharp.

  ‘I’ll plant them during the week. And Hayley can have a day off this Saturday. Is that a problem?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  61

  Caprice

  You came to the theatre, Saffron, and spoilt my special treat with the boys. And you dragged Miles away from his assignation with Hayley.

  You don’t like fast food, so after the show we visited a plant-based restaurant at the back of Waterloo station. It smelt damp. Not surprisingly, as is true of all vegan cuisine, the food was tasteless. Ben and Harry, even though they loved the musical, were crushed with disappointment about the choice of supper.

  So now I’ll just have to instigate another plan to make sure Miles gets his opportunity to find happiness with an attractive young woman. You’ve left your computer in the kitchen. Its metallic surface shines in the sun pouring through the window. I open it and type in your password. I have stood behind you so often as you boot up. Watched where your thin little fingers tap: 1979. The year you were born. Not very high security. You could have been more inventive, don’t you think? A few more taps and I’m into your calendar. Friday 15th November. Monthly meal out with Julie and Ted. A regular office social event that you never miss.

  I think the boys will be going to a sleepover to one of my school gate chums that night. Just you wait and see, Saffron. You won’t have a chance against a young piece of perfection like Hayley, who actually likes children. Your husband resents how often you are away, and your skinny little body is really starting to show its age.

  62

  Hayley

  Friday night. I’m finishing earlier than usual because the boys have gone straight from school to a sleepover at the Chadwicks’ house. All arranged by Caprice. Caprice Jackson is quite a socialiser with the school gate mums. She knows so many people.

  I pop into the kitchen to fetch a can of Diet Coke and find her sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands. ‘Is that you, Hayley?’ she asks without looking up. ‘I’m getting a migraine.’

  ‘You poor thing. Can I get you some ibuprofen?’

  ‘I need something stronger than that. My prescription drugs are in my room. I’m going up to bed, I’ll take some when I get upstairs.’

  She stands up, back bent, leaning towards the floor. I watch her hobble across the kitchen towards the door.

  ‘Goodnight, dear.’

  ‘Feel better soon. Ring my mobile if you need anything.’

  A weak smile as she leaves the room. ‘Thank you.’

  I grab a Diet Coke from the fridge and open it. I take a sip. My phone rings: Caprice.

  ‘Come quick.’

  ‘What do you need?’ I ask. ‘A glass of water? Some toast?’

  ‘Just you.’

  I dash upstairs and step into her bedroom, which is Sanderson pink. Roses and peonies on the curtains, on the duvet. The distressed white bedroom suite is curved and pretty. In the middle of the dressing table, there is a photograph of Caprice and Rupert, entangled together. Caprice looks so giddy and happy. So relaxed. In the middle of this kaleidoscope of pink and florals, and past happiness, the modern-day Caprice is lying on her bed groaning.

  ‘I need you to do me a favour,’ she mutters between groans.

  ‘Anything you need. Anything.’

  ‘I was going to the opera with Miles this evening. Saffron is out, again, even on a Friday night when she should be spending time with him. So I booked a treat to cheer him up. But I feel so ill, I just can’t go. Could you go instead?’

  My mouth opens in surprise. No words come out.

  ‘Well come on. Answer me. Can you go instead?’

  ‘Of course. No problem. I love opera. It’s very kind of you to suggest I take your place … But I’m worried about you. Isn’t there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?’

  ‘No, I just need to lie down. It’ll pass. It always does.’ She pauses. ‘And I prepaid for a meal at Rules. A special meal – a taster menu.’

  ‘Can’t you rearrange or get a refund?’

  ‘No. It was a one-off. On offer. You must go with Miles and enjoy it.’

  63

  Hayley

  ‘The opera was magnificent, wasn’t it?’ you say ent
husiastically, looking particularly delicious this evening in a tightly cut black jacket lined with satin.

  I’ve already admired it. Hugo Boss apparently. I hope you are impressed with the dress I’m wearing, recently purchased at New Look.

  ‘Tosca is my favourite,’ I tell you. ‘My dad and I flew from New Zealand to Sydney Opera House to see it last year. For my eighteenth birthday.’

  ‘That must have been awesome.’

  ‘It was. And now this. Another special for my diary.’

  ‘Mother booked the taster menu. Is that OK with you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I beam.

  ‘It’s quite a treat coming here. It’s not exactly the sort of food that Saffron likes.’

  Is this code? Is this a comment on your relationship?

  The waiter approaches our red velvet booth, brandishing a bottle of wine. ‘Would you like to try the first wine? It’s a Joseph Drouhin Mâcon-Villages.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He pours some into your glass. You take a sip and nod. The waiter fills our glasses. Another waiter appears, with two plates on a silver tray.

  ‘Your amuse-bouche: caviar and fennel, with red pepper and creamed goat’s cheese on a bed of savoury chilli shortbread.’

  He waves each plate in the air before he places it in front of us. ‘Compliments of the chef,’ he announces twice.

  We exchange glances and I bite my lip to suppress a giggle.

  The wine and the amuse-bouche are exquisite. I have never eaten in as fine a restaurant as this. It’s December, so Rules is already decorated for Christmas, and I have never been in a room as beautiful. Garlands of fir, decorated with red baubles and gold tinsel, are strewn across the ancient panelling. Red seating. Red carpet. I will describe every detail in my diary.

  ‘Do you miss home?’ you ask, resting your brown eyes on mine.

  This is it. This is my big opportunity. If Caprice is right, and she seems so sure, so definite, I need to give you some encouragement. I take a deep breath.