Sleeping Arrangements Read online

  He disappeared, and Hugh watched him go, feeling a sudden pang of jealousy. He was jealous of this golden-haired boy; of his easy relationship with a father who wasn’t even biologically related to him. Of the way in which that whole family seemed to take each other for granted.

  Abruptly he stood up and, trying to quell his awkwardness, walked over to the shallows of the pool where Octavia was splashing. He caught her eye and gave her a jovial grin.

  ‘Do you want to play catch?’ he said. ‘Play catch with Daddy?’ Octavia squinted puzzledly at him, and he suddenly realized he had no ball. ‘Or … or hide-and-seek,’ he amended. ‘Or something else fun.’ He gestured to the grassy area to his right. ‘Let’s go and play a game!’

  There was a pause, then, with no great enthusiasm, Octavia began to make her way out of the pool, towards him. Hugh hurried onto the grassy area, looking around for inspiration. What did children play? What had he played as a child? Meccano, he remembered. And that superb train set they’d had up in the attic. He would buy his girls a train set, he decided, with a flash of enthusiasm. Why shouldn’t they enjoy trains, too? He would buy it as soon as they got back to England. The biggest train set in the shop. But in the meantime … well, what was wrong with a simple game of It?

  ‘OK, Octavia, what we’re going to do—’ he began cheerfully, turning round—and froze.

  Octavia had not followed him onto the grass. She was pattering off in the opposite direction after Jenna, who had appeared from nowhere, carrying some brightly coloured inflatable toy.

  Hugh was marooned. Stranded alone on the grass, feeling foolish, with suddenly trembling legs. His child had rejected him. He was a thirty-six-year-old man standing alone on a patch of grass, waiting to play a game with no-one.

  For a few seconds he remained completely still, unable to think what to do, what excuse to use. No-one else had heard his words to Octavia, but he still felt stiffly self-conscious. At last, with hot cheeks, he wandered over to a nearby tree and began to examine its bark, his brow furrowed intently.

  After a few moments, Amanda pulled her headphones from her ears and looked up in puzzlement.

  ‘Hugh—what on earth are you doing?’ she said. Hugh stared back, his fingers still clinging to the bark.

  ‘Just …’ he paused. ‘I just thought I’d go and call in to the office. Check up on what’s been happening. I won’t be long.’

  Amanda rolled her eyes.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ She flopped back onto her sun lounger and, in an involuntary motion, Hugh’s fingers snapped a piece of bark off the tree. He looked at it for a second, then dropped it on the ground. Then, his face quite rigid, he turned and walked towards the villa.

  The boys had grown bored with watching Philip put up the badminton net, and had returned to the pool for a swim. Chloe watched Nat’s cautious breaststroke with a painful fondness, stopping herself just in time from calling out advice. After a few minutes, she lay back down on her recliner, trying to relax and be on holiday. Trying to obey her own instructions.

  But she was finding it just as difficult to unwind as Philip. He had woken up that morning with the same anxious frown he’d been wearing when he went to bed. And she’d woken up with the same frustrations. The same mental frustration; the same physical frustration. It was the physical need which was driving her mad as she lay in the sun, outwardly calm and content.

  One of the unspoken rules of her partnership with Philip was that they would make love, if not every night of every holiday, certainly more often on holiday than at home. Certainly on the first night. Always on the first night. They needed it, Chloe thought—to celebrate their arrival; to release the tension of the journey; to mark the beginning of a week of pleasure. And, most of all, to establish their coupledom once again. To remind themselves of each other, away from the setting of home, the cosy surroundings which could confuse familiarity with love.

  Last night, it hadn’t happened. She had reached out to Philip, and he had gently pushed her hand away. She still felt prickles of shock when she thought about it; at the time, she’d felt almost too astounded to be upset. She’d stared up at the high draperies of their bed, thinking, so this is it. This is how bad things have got.

  ‘I’m dog-tired,’ Philip had muttered into his pillow, so indistinctly she’d barely been able to make out the words. This had been his excuse. But he hadn’t even turned to face her;hadn’t even kissed her goodnight. How could Philip—dynamic, cheerful Philip—have arrived at this level of apathy?

  ‘I love you, Chloe,’ he’d added, and had gently squeezed her leg. She hadn’t replied. That morning, they had awoken separately. They had dressed separately, had breakfasted separately. They had lain on their sunbeds side by side, like polite, cautious strangers. She didn’t know how long she could stand it.

  It had been months, now. For months, their entire lives had been dominated by this takeover. Everything had become overshadowed by bloody PBL and its plans—until Philip seemed incapable of thinking of anything else. How often had she emerged from a day’s work wanting a glass of wine and a hug, to find Philip and his deputy manager, Chris Harris, sitting together in the kitchen, swigging beers and endlessly, fruitlessly speculating. They would speculate about the meaning of the latest memo from PBL; about the latest articles in the newspaper; about the long-overdue Mackenzie report, in which all their fates lay. Just shut up! she wanted to shout furiously. Talking about it won’t make any bloody difference! Talking about it won’t save your jobs! But still they went round and round, second-guessing the views of unknown, faraway people, reporting nuggets of irrelevant information and repeating confidence-bolstering mantras. ‘You can’t run a bank without people,’ Philip would say, cracking open another pair of beers. ‘You just can’t do it,’ Chris would echo staunchly, raising his bottle to Philip.

  And so they would continue, reassuring each other that everything would be fine—while behind Philip’s bravado, Chloe could see a hollowness, a fear that was eating into his life. This whole business had changed him beyond recognition.Gone was the confident, cheery, slightly maverick chap she had met all those years ago; in his place was a fearful man, hunched with depression, defeated by a disaster which had not yet struck. Which perhaps would never strike.

  The trouble was, she thought, that Philip had had too easy a life. Until now he had never suffered calamity—so he feared it intensely. He genuinely seemed to believe that all their lives would end if he lost his job, that they would never recover from such a blow. He underestimated human resilience.

  People recover, thought Chloe, turning over on her sun-bed and closing her eyes. Whatever happens, people find a way forward. When I was twenty, becoming pregnant by my tutor seemed like a pretty huge calamity—but it turned out to be one of the most wonderful, joyous things in my life. And really, there are worse things in life than redundancy. The trouble with Philip is not his job or lack of job, but his state of mind. With any luck, this holiday will help …

  A series of yells and splashes had gradually been impinging on her thoughts. Now, at a particularly loud cry, she unwillingly brought her attention back to the moment and struggled to a sitting position. Nat and Sam had begun dive-bombing the swimming pool, sending specks of water onto the surrounding terrace, onto the grass—and, Chloe, suddenly saw, over Amanda, who was silently flinching as each drop hit her.

  ‘Boys,’ she said quickly. ‘Boys, stop it.’

  It was too late. Sam had already jumped into the air and curled his legs up tight. He landed approximately a foot from the edge of the pool, and a huge wave reared up and over the side, completely drenching Amanda.

  ‘Oaohhh!’ she shrieked, and leapt to her feet. ‘You little monsters!’

  ‘Sam!’ shouted Chloe at Sam’s submerged head. ‘Sam, get out!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Nat nervously from the other end of the pool. ‘Sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t say sorry to me,’ said Chloe exasperatedly. ‘Say sorry to Mrs Stratton.’ />
  ‘Sorry, Mrs Stratton,’ echoed Nat, and Amanda nodded stiffly towards him.

  ‘Sam,’ repeated Chloe. ‘Sam, get out and say sorry to Mrs Stratton.’

  Sam heaved himself onto the side of the pool and looked at Amanda.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, and stopped. He seemed to have slight difficulty in speaking. ‘ Sorry, Mrs …’

  ‘Stratton.’

  ‘Stratton,’ said Sam huskily.

  Chloe followed Sam’s gaze and with a jolt of surprise, saw for the first time that Amanda had been sunbathing topless. She was now standing with her long legs planted wide apart, her breasts covered in droplets of water and her face flushed with annoyance. The overall effect, thought Chloe, was not a million miles from some of the posters pinned up in Sam’s bedroom at home.

  To her astonishment, Amanda seemed completely unaware of the effect she was having on Sam.

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t mean to do it,’ she was saying, in formal tones. ‘But please remember, we are sharing this pool.’ She gave Sam a frosty smile, and he nodded mutely, his eyes pinned helplessly on her naked breasts. Surely she has to realize, thought Chloe. She can’t be that stupid, can she? But as Amanda nodded across the swimming pool to her, it was clear she read into Sam’s silence nothing more than penitence for his crime.

  ‘I do apologize,’ said Chloe, walking round the pool, trying to keep her eyes firmly fixed on the woman’s face. ‘The boys can get a bit rowdy, so please, just tell them when they’re overstepping the mark.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amanda. ‘Well.’ She sat back down on her sun lounger, reached for a towel and began to dry off. ‘I don’t suppose this is easy for any of us.’

  ‘No,’ said Chloe. ‘I don’t suppose it is.’

  She watched in silence as Amanda picked up a bottle of sun cream and began to apply it to her perfect, golden skin.

  ‘Well, I’ll … I’ll see you later,’ she said at last. ‘Sorry again.’ She began to walk off, and Amanda looked up.

  ‘Wait,’ she said, and frowned. ‘I wanted to talk to you about the fiasco in the kitchen last night.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Chloe, her heart sinking slightly. ‘Yes, that was a bit unfortunate. Maybe we should—I don’t know—co-ordinate menus or something.’ She sighed. ‘It makes it all a bit formal …’

  ‘I was going to suggest something else,’ said Amanda. ‘From tonight, our nanny’s going to be cooking for us every night.’

  ‘Really?’ said Chloe, impressed. ‘Has she volunteered?’

  ‘We hired her on that basis,’ said Amanda, as though to someone very stupid. ‘Nanny slash chalet girl.’

  ‘Villa girl,’ said Chloe, smiling a little. Amanda frowned again, not appearing to hear.

  ‘The point is, if you like, I could tell her to make supper for four. We could all eat together.’ Chloe stared at her in astonishment.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘I mean …’

  ‘Of course, you don’t have to,’ said Amanda. ‘If you have other plans …’

  ‘No!’ said Chloe. ‘It’s just … well, it’s very generous of you. Thanks very much.’

  ‘Good,’ said Amanda. ‘That’s settled then.’ She lay back down on her sun lounger and closed her eyes. Chloe looked at her for a second, then cleared her throat.

  ‘ Sorry, Amanda—won’t there be six of us? With Sam and Nat.’

  ‘The children?’ Amanda opened her eyes and frowned. ‘Do they usually eat with you?’

  ‘On holiday, yes,’ said Chloe. ‘And Sam’s hardly a child …’

  ‘I have to say, I prefer to get mine off to bed at a reasonable hour,’ said Amanda. ‘Have a little adult conversation.’

  Maybe you do, thought Chloe irritably. But your children are toddlers.

  ‘The boys are used to adult conversation,’ she said pleasantly. ‘They’re older, after all.’

  She met Amanda’s eyes challengingly. For a few seconds there was silence.

  ‘Well,’ said Amanda at last. ‘All right, then. I’ll tell Jenna to cook for six.’

  ‘Great,’ said Chloe, and gave a friendly smile. ‘I look forward to it.’

  Hugh came round the corner of the villa and stopped. His wife was talking to Chloe. The two of them were alone together, apparently deep in conversation. Amanda was looking up expressionlessly behind her sunglasses; he couldn’t see Chloe’s face. What were they saying to each other? What was Chloe saying?

  A tremor of alarm went through him, and he knew he did not want to be seen. He backed away slightly, into the shelter of a frondy bush. The earth was cool and soothing beneath his bare feet, and he could smell the scent of pine. He waited silently, his heart pounding—yet again, an awkward man in an awkward situation.

  His secretary, Della, had sounded astonished to hear from him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she had kept saying. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ Hugh said, trying to sound light and relaxed. ‘I just thought I’d check up on the situation. Anything I should know about?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Della. ‘Let me see …’ He could hear her rustling papers on her desk. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was there, in her little office. ‘The recommendations from John Gregan’s team have come in …’ she said.

  ‘At last!’ said Hugh. ‘Who’s looking at them?’

  ‘Well, Mitchell’s got a copy,’ said Della. ‘And Alistair came in and took a copy for his team …’

  ‘Good,’ said Hugh. ‘That’s good.’ He leaned against the cool wall, feeling himself relax as he was transported back into the realm of work. This was the world in which he belonged. Where he succeeded; where he came alive. ‘I just hope Alistair’s taken on board what I told him last week,’ he said, with more energy in his voice. ‘What he’s got to remember is, we have to press forward with implementation as soon as possible. As I’ve said before, the key to capturing the full value of this deal is to make the transition period as short as possible.’ He paused, marshalling his words, listing the arguments in his mind. ‘We have to tackle the issue of organizational structure urgently, otherwise the benefits of consolidation are lost—and the company runs a genuine risk of destabilizing. As I told Alistair, there are already signs that—’

  ‘Hugh,’ interrupted Della gently. ‘Hugh—you’re on holiday.’

  With a start, Hugh came to. He stopped speaking and stared at himself—a dimly reflected image in a glass cabinet on the other side of the circular hall. A man with a pale face and shadowed hollows instead of eyes, holding a telephone receiver as though it were a lifeline.

  And suddenly he had felt stiff with embarrassment. What the fuck was he doing? Standing here in the gloom of the villa, talking about organizational structures to someone who wasn’t interested—instead of being outside in the sun with his family. What must Della think of him? He’d only been away from the office a day, for Christ’s sake.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, laughing a little. ‘I know I am. I just … wanted to keep abreast of the situation. In case anyone wanted a quick response from me—’

  ‘Hugh, everyone knows you’re on holiday. No-one’s expecting any response from you until you get back.’

  ‘Right,’ said Hugh after a pause. ‘Fair enough. Well—I’ll see you when I get back. Be good!’ His attempted joviality made him wince.

  ‘Have a lovely time, Hugh,’ said Della kindly. ‘And really, don’t worry, it’s all under control here.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ he’d said. ‘Bye, Della.’ He’d put down the phone and stared at his own hollow-eyed face for several silent minutes.

  Now, as he saw Chloe walking away from Amanda’s sun-bed, he felt a swell of relief. He took a cautious step out of the shadows, then moved briskly towards the swimming pool, enjoying the sensation of hot sun on his head.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ he said lightly, as he neared Amanda. ‘Talking to the enemy, I see.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Amanda. ‘We can’t jus
t ignore them. I asked them to have dinner with us tonight.’ She turned a page of her magazine and peered at a picture of a fur coat.

  ‘Tonight?’ said Hugh stupidly.

  ‘Yes, why not? Jenna’s cooking, so it won’t be any trouble.’ Amanda looked up at him. ‘We might as well be civilized about this, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hugh after a pause. ‘Absolutely.’ His eyes slid across the blue waters of the swimming pool to where Chloe was sitting. Her gaze flickered towards his, then down to the book she was reading. Slowly, she lifted her eyes again.Hugh stared back at her, feeling a sudden, almost painful desire.

  ‘Hugh,’ said Amanda. ‘You’re in my sun.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Hugh. ‘Sorry.’ He moved away, sat down on the sunbed next to hers and reached for a book. As he opened it and turned the first page, his eyes were still fixed on Chloe’s.

  After one shuttlecock had disappeared into a tree and another into a bush, Sam and Nat gave up playing badminton. They flopped on the scrubby grass of the field, slurping cans of Coke and gazing up at the endless blue sky.

  ‘What do you think of the others, then?’ said Sam after a while.

  ‘I dunno.’ Nat shrugged. ‘They seem all right.’

  ‘You could play with the two girls,’ said Sam. ‘Fix up a game, or something.’

  ‘They’re only babies.’ Nat’s voice was calmly dismissive. ‘They probably still play with rattles and stuff.’

  ‘Well, whatever,’ Sam took a swig of Coke.

  ‘What do you think of them?’ said Nat. He lowered his voice unnecessarily. ‘The mother seems really bossy!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sam after a pause, and swallowed. ‘She’s OK.’

  ‘I mean, all we did was splash her a bit. I mean, we didn’t do it on—’ Nat broke off, and nudged Sam. ‘Hey, look. It’s them. It’s that girl.’

  Sam shuffled round on his stomach and peered across the field. Jenna was striding over the dry grass, carrying two garden chairs and a blanket. The two little girls were following; one held a cushion and the other a teddy bear.