One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [103]
‘He’s still a good boy,’ said Dad firmly. ‘He’s just doing some growing up, that’s all. It’s a phase.’ I nodded; couldn’t speak.
‘Oh, and Hugh’s postponed his shoot till next weekend, by the way, so you won’t be launched straight into that tomorrow.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. If I found a gun lying around I might be tempted to turn it on myself.’
He chuckled. ‘Now that would be inordinately foolish. Relax, Hattie. All will be well.’
I nodded and put the phone down. Encouraged, actually. For when my Dad said all would be well, I really and truly believed it. Believed he would make it so. As he always had done, ever since I was a little girl. But Dad wouldn’t be around for ever, I thought with a lurch. His steady hand on the tiller wouldn’t always be there. And neither, at my stage in life, should it be the one I looked for. As I stood at the window in my dressing gown, looking out at the cobbled square from the semi-darkness of the room, I felt a cold hand reach in and squeeze my heart. Loneliness. Oh, I recognized it all right. It was a feeling I’d had increasingly recently, and one I dismissed, always. With a shake of the head, or a quick call to Maggie or Laura, for a laugh. But as I got into bed, it seemed to me my legs looked heavier. A bit more like Mum’s. And as I pulled the covers over my shoulder and flicked back my hair, I knew one or two in the centre were grey now. Hardly any, the hairdresser assured me, you’ve got fantastic hair, but maybe a few highlights?
I found myself considering Hal’s hair: quite grey at the temples, and he’d been so dark. But of course, it suited men. Made them distinguished. Added gravitas. And Hal had been quite gawky, as a youth. Well, he wasn’t gawky now. And then I found myself wondering what my life would have been like if I’d gone out with him, as he’d badly wanted: taken that path in life, the sensible one, the one I knew deep down I should have taken. What if I’d married him?
Hal, with his half-amused, half-ironic smile. His watchful, clever eyes. I was amazed to find his younger self still precisely preserved in my mind, as if he’d been waiting there patiently all those years, for me to turn back the pages, and for him to step out. Yes, there he was at his desk in his room in hall, writing an essay. He had his back to me as I lay on his bed, chatting away to him, tossing a tennis ball up high, seeing if I could throw it so it didn’t quite hit the ceiling. On he wrote. I complained about his music: Albinoni, always classical, couldn’t we put something else on? The Jam? He’d say he couldn’t work to that and I’d say – well, why was he working anyway? Because, he told me, if he didn’t, he’d be up all night, as I would – why not do it now? Irritated, I’d throw the tennis ball at him, and with lightning reflexes he’d reach out and catch it, carry on writing, and oh my God, my God, it was so clear. Like a reel of film. And I’d felt so happy in those days, so carefree. I watched myself get languidly to my feet, saunter across to look at his books, wonder aloud how anyone could decipher those dry legal tomes: tease him. He’d grunted, failed to answer me, and then I’d been annoyed, I remembered: stomped out.
But now, years later, I liked the memory. Liked his single-mindedness, his drive, his ambition, which at times, I’d felt, had been too directly focused on me. I hadn’t wanted to be under the same scrutiny he afforded his law books. Hadn’t wanted those steady dark eyes to pick me out quite so precisely as he walked into the union bar. I wanted to be with my mates, having a laugh, not just alone with him. I wanted to tell him a girl couldn’t withstand being made so significant, that it was suffocating. So when he came in, I’d get up and drag him across to join us at our jolly, beery table, even though I knew he wanted to sit alone with me, at a different table. Now, I realized, I’d like to be so significant. So cherished. And I’d like the classical music too. We could go to concerts, his arm gently guiding my back as we found our seats at the Wigmore Hall.