‘Oh Dad—’
‘I just wonder,’ Duncan said, ‘if stepmothers have something to do with a feeling like that?’
Slowly, Elizabeth pulled herself up on to one elbow.
‘I don’t—’
‘It’s as if,’ Duncan said, turning to look directly at her. ‘It’s as if stepmothers have come to represent all the things we fear, most terribly, about motherhood going wrong. We need mothers so badly, so deeply, that the idea of an unnatural mother is, literally, monstrous. So we make the stepmother the target for all these fears – she can carry the can for bad motherhood. You see, if you regard your stepmother as wicked, then you need never feel guilty or angry about your real mother, whom you so desperately need to see as good.’
Elizabeth drew a long breath.
‘Yes.’
‘And we exaggerate the wickedness of the stepmother to justify, in some human, distorted way, our being so unfair.’
Elizabeth turned herself round and sat up, putting her arms around her bent knees and leaning her shoulder against Duncan’s.
‘I find all that very convincing.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Except that I can immediately think of an exception.’
‘Can you?’
‘Rufus,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Oh, my dear—’
‘You know when something like this happens, something unbearably painful and sad, the way you keep saying to yourself, “Is this the worst? Is this the darkest hour? Is this the bottom of the pit?”’
‘Yes.’
She moved a little.
‘I did that all last night. I expect I’ll do it for nights to come. And I kept having to admit to myself that, however awful it’s all been already, the worst, almost the worst, is yet to come.’ She put her face down into the circle of her arms, and said in a whisper, ‘I still have to tell Rufus.’
The pub was full. Half the customers had spilled out on to the pavement and were lounging about in the sunshine, leaning against parked cars, sitting on each other’s laps on the few chairs there were. Tom saw Lucas almost immediately, taller than most people and with a preoccupied air, standing by the bar and holding out a twenty-pound note above the heads of the people in front of him.
‘Gin and tonic?’ he said to Tom, almost without turning.
‘A double,’ Tom said. Lucas glanced at him.
‘A pub double is nothing,’ Tom said.
‘Two double g and t’s,’ Lucas said loudly to the barman.
‘I thought you drank vodka—’
‘Like you,’ Lucas said, ‘I’ll drink anything just now. In any quantity.’
‘It’s kind of you,’ Tom said, ‘to sympathize so—’
Lucas glanced at him again.
‘I’m afraid it isn’t all sympathy.’
The barman handed up two glasses of gin and two tonic-water bottles, held by their necks.
‘Ice?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Lemon?’
‘Got it.’
‘I’ll take them somewhere,’ Tom said. ‘While you collect your change.’
He took the glasses and bottles from the barman and, holding them high above his head, threaded his way towards the darkness at the back of the pub. There was a low bench, in a corner, under a mirror advertising absinthe in elaborate art deco lettering.
‘Why couldn’t we meet at home?’ Lucas said, joining him and stuffing his change haphazardly into his jeans pocket.
Tom handed him a glass and a tonic-water bottle.
‘You know why.’
‘Isn’t she out at work?’
‘She’s taken this week off.’
‘Oh,’ Lucas said. He poured the whole of the tonic into his glass and put the bottle under the bench. ‘Staking her claim.’ He took a swallow of his drink. ‘It just means I’ll have to tell her separately.’
‘Tell her what?’
‘Amy’s left me,’ Lucas said.
Tom stared at him.
‘You don’t mean it—’
He pulled a face.
‘Real soap-opera stuff. The ring and a Dear John waiting on the table.’
Tom put his drink down on the floor by his feet. He leaned forward and put his arms around Lucas.
‘Oh dear boy, dear Lucas, poor fellow—’
Lucas let his head lie briefly against his father’s.
‘It wasn’t a surprise.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
‘It was a shock – I don’t mean I don’t feel it, I feel awful, I feel utterly bloody, but I can’t pretend I didn’t see it coming.’ He pulled himself gently out of Tom’s embrace. He said, ‘I wasn’t putting her first. Or second, really, if I’m honest.’
‘I’m so sorry, so sorry—’
‘Yes,’ Lucas said. ‘Thanks.’ He gave Tom a quick, sidelong glance. ‘Same boat, then.’
An expression of extreme pain crossed Tom’s face. He bent to retrieve his drink.
‘Maybe.’ He paused, and then he said, ‘Did Amy blame Dale?’
‘She blamed my attitude to Dale.’
‘Yes.’
‘It wasn’t the only thing, but it was a big thing.’
Tom said, hesitantly, ‘Elizabeth said—’ and then stopped. ‘What did she say?’
‘That we weren’t doing Dale any favours, you and I.’ Lucas gave a little mirthless bark of laughter. ‘We don’t have much choice.’
Tom leaned forward.
He said earnestly, ‘But is it Dale? Is it just Dale?’
Lucas took another mouthful of his drink.
‘I suppose,’ he said slowly, ‘that it is, but only because Dale’s been honest enough to know that it’s no good her looking anywhere else for love. We’ve both tried it, haven’t we, and I’ve come to see that I don’t think I’ll ever find it here; I can’t somehow, round Dale. That’s why I’m going to Canada.’
Tom’s glass shook suddenly in his hand.
‘Canada!’
‘Yes,’ Lucas said. He looked down. ‘Sorry.’
‘Why Canada?’
‘The new company that’s bought the radio station owns stations in Canada. They said would I go because they couldn’t keep me on in England and I said no, at first, and now I’m going to say yes.’
‘Where?’
‘Edmonton,’ Lucas said.
Tom put his free hand across his eyes.
‘Sorry,’ Lucas said again.
‘No, no—’
‘It was Amy going that finally did it. And, well, thinking that we were all going backwards somehow, back to somewhere we should have moved on from.’
Tom took his hand away and gave himself a little shake. He said, a little unsteadily, ‘Good for you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I mean it. I just wish—’ He stopped.
‘You can’t, Dad,’ Lucas said. ‘There’s Rufus.’
‘I know. I didn’t mean it, really. There was just a moment, a wild, fleeting moment—’
‘Yes.’
Tom looked at Lucas.
‘Where has Amy gone?’
‘To Manchester. She has some idea of a new life there.’
‘She might be right.’
‘I think,’ Lucas said sadly, ‘she was right about quite a lot of things.’
Tom dropped his eyes to his drink.
‘And Elizabeth,’ he said quietly.
‘What is she going to do?’
‘Go back to London. Buy a house instead of a flat. Get promoted to the very top of the Civil Service.’
‘Has she moved out?’
Tom gave a small smile.
‘There was almost nothing to move. You never met anyone less imposing of themselves on anyone else. She left her car parked outside, tank full of petrol, keys on the hook where she’d always hung them. I find—’