I pushed my face into the pillow, hating him, myself, the world. I heard the door close gently behind him.
Later that evening, when I was lying on the couch and feeling marginally more human – although no less terminally wretched – Matt came back from wherever he’d been. I sat up and tried to smile. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t kiss me. I felt my heart sink. He went to the kitchen and I could hear the clink of bottles.
When I heard him walking towards me, I turned my head. He was holding out a glass of what looked like murky tomato juice.
“Here you go,” he said. “Have a hair of the dog. I think you’ve suffered enough.”
Immediately, I felt ten times better. I reached for the glass and took a sip. He’d made it strong; for a second I felt myself gag as the burn of the vodka hit my poor, abused stomach.
“Thanks,” I said. “I phoned Bob and grovelled.”
“Good,” said Matt. “Well done. I’m sure it’s nothing he’s not seen before; he teaches freshers, for God’s sake.”
I laughed a little, weakly. “Thanks for the drink.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Idiot.”
I laughed again and relaxed back against him as he sat down next to me. I smiled up at him and kissed him. The vodka was making me feel almost normal again. He tightened his arm around my shoulders.
“I shouldn’t have been so hard on you,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot lately, it’s understandable you’re going to react in some way. “
“Thanks,” I said. I snuggled myself more firmly into his arms.
“Just don’t do it again,” he said.
“Of course not,” I said, and laughed lightly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Chapter Ten
Forgiven or not, Matt was stiff with me the following morning. Our breakfast was normally punctuated by the singing of random song lyrics (Matt had a particular fondness for Bob Dylan in the mornings) but today, quietness reigned over the cornflakes. I kissed him goodbye at the front door and he kissed me back, but with lips that did not yield.
Alone in the flat, I mooched around, picking up a magazine and dropping it again, collapsing on the sofa and then getting back onto my feet. I looked at the clock; eleven am, surely not too early for a gin and tonic? A pre-lunch aperitif? I gathered together a few bills and shuffled them about on the desk, swigging at my drink. God, I hated paperwork. I was bored again, bored and restless. Stupidly I thought that perhaps I should think about getting a job. Then I remembered the money that would soon be ours and told myself not to be so ridiculous.
The G&T went down so nicely I poured myself another. The telephone rang as I was flicking through the television channels, in the faint hope I might find something worth watching. Mr. Fenwick’s dry, correct voice greeted me as I picked up the handset.
“It’s the estate, my dear,” he said after the preliminary pleasantries. “I’m so sorry to bother you but we really do have to have a think about what we’re going to do with it.”
“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t think – I mean, I know I have to decide what to do about the house and so forth.”
“Indeed. You’ll have to decide whether you want to keep it, perhaps rent it out, or sell it. Mrs. Green will want to know if her services are required, plus there’s the casual staff and so forth.”
“Yes,” I said again, hesitating. I didn’t want to think about it, any of it. “Perhaps – perhaps I might take a trip up there and see if I can help – I mean, I can decide what to do.”
“I think that’s a fine idea, Maudie. Oh, I am sorry to have to pressure you but really, I think it should be your decision, yours and Matthew’s, of course. If I thought Matthew would be happy to take charge – do you think he would?”
I answered without pause. “Oh no, Mr. Fenwick, he’s far too busy at the moment. I’ll be fine, I can do it.”
“Well, that’s marvellous then, Maudie, as long as you think it won’t be too much for you. Perhaps you could give me a call when you get back to London?”
After I put the receiver down, I sat for a moment, staring out of the window at a grey-skied winter day. I had no idea what to do about the house, or the staff. I wanted to ask Matt his advice, but I thought it might be better to present myself as capable and able to take care of myself; to reassure him after my behaviour at the restaurant and at the party. I decided to present him with a fait accompli.
“I’m heading up to Caernaven tomorrow,” I said to him over dinner.
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Why’s that?”
I told him of Mr. Fenwick’s telephone call.
“And he thinks we should sell it? Well, I suppose we should at least think about it. We’ve got to do something about it, sooner or later.”
I pushed at the food on my plate before answering. “I don’t...”
“What is it?”
I put down my fork and reached for my wine.
“I don’t know if I want to sell it.”
Matt looked at me steadily. “Why not, Maudie? It’s not like we spend a lot of time there. You’re not saying you want to live there, are you? Darling, it’s so far away! We’d spend half our time driving back and forth.”
“I don’t know what I want to do. I’m just – I’m just going up to have a look, that’s all. To have a think.”
Matt had paused in cutting his steak. Now he picked up his knife again. “I’m not sure you should drive all the way up,” he said, after a pause. “It’s a very long drive for you to do alone.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ve done it hundreds of times.”
“Well, I’ll worry about you.”
“Oh really,” I said, uncomfortably. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Matt,” I said, without a thought of what I was going to say next.
“What happens if you have another – another episode like the one the other night?” he said, not looking at me.
I was struck dumb for a moment. I thought, with a quake of shame, that I didn’t know which episode he was referring to. “What do you mean?”
“You know – at the restaurant.”
“I’ve explained that,” I said, hating the querulous sound of my voice. “And I’ve said I’m sorry.”
Matt sighed. He put his knife down again. “Alright,” he said. “I don’t want to argue. Just – just be aware that I worry about you, that’s all.” He got up and took his half-eaten steak over to the counter. “We all worry about you,” he said, so quietly I barely heard him.
I didn’t eat much after that. I put the plates in the dishwasher and watched television desultorily for an hour. I opened another bottle of wine. I was thinking hard. Perhaps I should sell Caernaven; it was no doubt worth a huge sum of money and I knew it cost almost as much to run. But it wasn’t as if we were going to be strapped for cash anytime soon. Perhaps it would be the best thing; let some other family fill it up and make their own memories there, happy ones this time.
I left early the next morning, so early I was out the door before Matt was fully dressed. I kissed him goodbye and he told me to drive safely.
I hesitated before I left, wanting to say something else, but I couldn’t think what. As I drove out of London and joined the motorway heading north, I began to feel angry. Why was Matt acting so continuously hard-done-by? I seemed to annoy him constantly at the moment. Alright, so I’d forgotten a few things and drunk a bit much a couple of times, but so what? My fucking father’s just died, I said to him, arguing with the version of Matt that I carried around in my head. That was my excuse and I was sticking to it, but I felt a momentary qualm. I’d tried for so long to seem normal. It hurt to think that he might soon look at me and think I was about to slip. Perhaps he was already thinking that, after my behaviour at the Ivy. But I’m not, I told myself fiercely. I’m perfectly fine.