The Undomestic Goddess
Page 84
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“You could do your own thing!”
“I have responsibilities.” His frown grows heavier. “My mum—”
“She’d want you to do whatever you want to do,” I insist. “I know she would. She’d want you to be happy in your life, not give it up for her.”
“I am happy. It’s ridiculous to say—”
“But couldn’t you be happier?”
There’s silence in the garden. Nathaniel’s shoulders are bent round as if he wants to shut out what I’m saying.
“Don’t you ever want to ditch your responsibilities?” I throw my arms out wide in sudden abandon. “Just … walk out into the world and see what happens?”
“Is that what you did?” he demands, wheeling round.
“I—We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
“Samantha.…” He rubs his cheek. “I know you don’t want to talk about the past. But I want you to tell me one thing. And be truthful.”
I feel a deep tremor of alarm. What’s he going to ask me?
“I’ll … try. What is it?”
Nathaniel looks me directly in the eye and takes a deep breath.
“Do you have kids?”
I’m so dumbfounded, I can’t speak for a moment. He thinks I have kids? A gurgle of relieved laughter rises through me before I can stop it.
“No, I don’t have kids! What, you think I’ve left five starving little mouths behind?”
“I don’t know.” He frowns, looking sheepish but defensive. “Why not?”
“Because … I mean … do I look like I’ve had five kids?” I can’t help a note of indignation, and he starts to laugh too.
“Maybe not five …”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m about to hit him with his shirt when a voice pierces the air.
“Samantha?”
It’s Trish. Coming from the house. They’re home?
“Samantha?” her voice trills again. “Are you outside?”
Oh, fuck. I’m naked except for a skirt and a bra, and covered in dust and raspberry stains. Nathaniel is much the same, except in jeans.
“Quick! My clothes!” I hiss, scrabbling to my feet.
“Where are they?” says Nathaniel, looking around.
“I don’t know!” I’m trying to control my laughter. “We’re going to get the sack.”
“Samantha?” I can hear the clunk of the conservatory doors being opened.
“Shit!” I squeak. “She’s coming!”
“It’s fine,” says Nathaniel, retrieving his T-shirt from the raspberry cage. He pops it over his head and at once looks pretty together. “I’ll create a diversion. You sneak up the side, behind the shrubs, go in the kitchen door, run upstairs, and get changed. OK?”
“OK,” I say breathlessly. “And what’s our story?”
“Our story is …” He pauses as though thinking. “We didn’t shag in the garden or help ourselves to beers from the fridge.”
“Right.” I can’t help giggling. “Good plan.”
“Go swiftly, Brown Rabbit.” He kisses me, and I dart across the lawn to the cover of a huge rhododendron bush.
I sneak up the side of the garden, keeping behind the shrubs, trying not to give myself away. My bare feet are cool on the damp, shaded earth; I step on a sharp pebble and wince in total silence. I feel about ten years old, playing hide-and-seek, the same mixture of terror and delight pounding in my heart.
When I’m only ten yards from the house I crouch behind a shrub and wait. After a minute or two I see Nathaniel firmly leading the Geigers down the lawn toward the lily pond.
“I think we could have a case of powdery mildew,” he’s saying. “I thought you should see it for yourselves.”
I wait until they’re well past, then sprint to the conservatory, in through the house, and up the stairs. When I’m in my room and the door is safely closed, I collapse on the bed, wanting to laugh at my own relief, at the hilarity, at the silliness of it all. Then I get up and look out the window. I can just see them all down by the pond. Nathaniel is pointing at something with a stick.
I hurry into the bathroom, turn on the shower full blast, and stand under it for thirty seconds. I pull on clean underwear, a pair of fresh jeans, and a demure long-sleeved top. I even add fresh lipstick. Then, slipping on a pair of espadrilles, I head downstairs and out into the garden.
Nathaniel and the Geigers are by now making their way back up to the house. Trish’s heels are sinking into the lawn and both she and Eddie look hot and irritated.
“I have responsibilities.” His frown grows heavier. “My mum—”
“She’d want you to do whatever you want to do,” I insist. “I know she would. She’d want you to be happy in your life, not give it up for her.”
“I am happy. It’s ridiculous to say—”
“But couldn’t you be happier?”
There’s silence in the garden. Nathaniel’s shoulders are bent round as if he wants to shut out what I’m saying.
“Don’t you ever want to ditch your responsibilities?” I throw my arms out wide in sudden abandon. “Just … walk out into the world and see what happens?”
“Is that what you did?” he demands, wheeling round.
“I—We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”
“Samantha.…” He rubs his cheek. “I know you don’t want to talk about the past. But I want you to tell me one thing. And be truthful.”
I feel a deep tremor of alarm. What’s he going to ask me?
“I’ll … try. What is it?”
Nathaniel looks me directly in the eye and takes a deep breath.
“Do you have kids?”
I’m so dumbfounded, I can’t speak for a moment. He thinks I have kids? A gurgle of relieved laughter rises through me before I can stop it.
“No, I don’t have kids! What, you think I’ve left five starving little mouths behind?”
“I don’t know.” He frowns, looking sheepish but defensive. “Why not?”
“Because … I mean … do I look like I’ve had five kids?” I can’t help a note of indignation, and he starts to laugh too.
“Maybe not five …”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m about to hit him with his shirt when a voice pierces the air.
“Samantha?”
It’s Trish. Coming from the house. They’re home?
“Samantha?” her voice trills again. “Are you outside?”
Oh, fuck. I’m naked except for a skirt and a bra, and covered in dust and raspberry stains. Nathaniel is much the same, except in jeans.
“Quick! My clothes!” I hiss, scrabbling to my feet.
“Where are they?” says Nathaniel, looking around.
“I don’t know!” I’m trying to control my laughter. “We’re going to get the sack.”
“Samantha?” I can hear the clunk of the conservatory doors being opened.
“Shit!” I squeak. “She’s coming!”
“It’s fine,” says Nathaniel, retrieving his T-shirt from the raspberry cage. He pops it over his head and at once looks pretty together. “I’ll create a diversion. You sneak up the side, behind the shrubs, go in the kitchen door, run upstairs, and get changed. OK?”
“OK,” I say breathlessly. “And what’s our story?”
“Our story is …” He pauses as though thinking. “We didn’t shag in the garden or help ourselves to beers from the fridge.”
“Right.” I can’t help giggling. “Good plan.”
“Go swiftly, Brown Rabbit.” He kisses me, and I dart across the lawn to the cover of a huge rhododendron bush.
I sneak up the side of the garden, keeping behind the shrubs, trying not to give myself away. My bare feet are cool on the damp, shaded earth; I step on a sharp pebble and wince in total silence. I feel about ten years old, playing hide-and-seek, the same mixture of terror and delight pounding in my heart.
When I’m only ten yards from the house I crouch behind a shrub and wait. After a minute or two I see Nathaniel firmly leading the Geigers down the lawn toward the lily pond.
“I think we could have a case of powdery mildew,” he’s saying. “I thought you should see it for yourselves.”
I wait until they’re well past, then sprint to the conservatory, in through the house, and up the stairs. When I’m in my room and the door is safely closed, I collapse on the bed, wanting to laugh at my own relief, at the hilarity, at the silliness of it all. Then I get up and look out the window. I can just see them all down by the pond. Nathaniel is pointing at something with a stick.
I hurry into the bathroom, turn on the shower full blast, and stand under it for thirty seconds. I pull on clean underwear, a pair of fresh jeans, and a demure long-sleeved top. I even add fresh lipstick. Then, slipping on a pair of espadrilles, I head downstairs and out into the garden.
Nathaniel and the Geigers are by now making their way back up to the house. Trish’s heels are sinking into the lawn and both she and Eddie look hot and irritated.
