A Question of Love Read online

  ‘I…do.’

  ‘But it’s quite true. Here…’ She pushed the cat off her lap, then lifted up the hem of her rather smart silk dress. Through her stocking I saw a large scar above her left knee, the indented stitch marks like teeth on a zip. ‘And I kept thinking afterwards, how did that wild bird know that I was in distress? And how did it know the means to summon help? I decided that there could be only one explanation…’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘That I had somehow been able to communicate with it psychically, which had enabled it to save my life. This made me realize that I had the precious gift of clairvoyance—a gift I mustn’t waste. So that is how I became a psychic,’ she concluded. ‘If you like, I’ll give you a reading by way of saying thank you for being so neighbourly.’ She put her hand on my left wrist. ‘I can do one based on the electrical vibrations your watch emits.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I withdrew my hand. ‘But I don’t believe in that sort of thing.’

  ‘You don’t?’ She seemed flabbergasted.

  ‘No.’ Her surprise annoyed me. ‘And I don’t believe in Father Christmas either, or the tooth fairy, or elves, or ghosts or little green men or the Loch Ness Monster, and I must say I have my doubts about God. I’m afraid I believe only in what can be proved. It’s facts that ignite me, not fantasy.’

  Cynthia was shaking her head. ‘“But there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio”, etcetera etcetera…’

  ‘That may be true. But I tend to the belief that phenomena have natural, rather than miraculous, causes.’

  She looked disappointed. ‘Well, that’s up to you. But are you sure you don’t want a reading?’

  ‘Quite sure. Anyway,’ I went on, determined to change the subject, ‘what did you do before you became a psychic?’

  ‘I used to be an…actress.’

  ‘Really? What were you in?’

  ‘Oh, a number of films.’

  ‘Anything I might have seen?’

  ‘Well, this was a long time ago—in the late fifties, but I was very young, just out of school.’ From this I figured that she must be in her early sixties—at least ten years older than she looked. ‘I was a Rank Charm School starlet.’ Ah. That explained the Fenella Fielding-like voice. ‘They were only B movies but it was thrilling. I was shipwrecked five times, kidnapped twice, abducted by aliens four times and eaten alive by giant killer ants.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘It was a marvellous life.’

  ‘And what were you in after that?’

  ‘Oh, well, once I got to my late thirties my career seemed to…well…you know how it is with acting…’ She seemed reluctant to elaborate and I didn’t want to seem inquisitive. ‘Look, are you sure you don’t want me to give you a reading?’ she persisted. ‘I’d really like to because I find your aura rather fascinating. I can see it you know. Quite clearly.’ She sat back and looked at me appraisingly. ‘It’s green and yellow with a hint of lilac. Do let me.’

  ‘No. Thanks all the same. To be perfectly honest, Cynthia, I think all that stuff’s a load of bunkum.’

  ‘In which case there’s no problem,’ she declared triumphantly. ‘Because, if it is a “load of bunkum” then what harm could it possibly do you to have a reading, hmm?’

  Defeated by her logic, I agreed.

  She clasped my left wrist with her right hand and closed her eyes. Then she suddenly opened them again, and stared into the middle distance, her large, grey eyes narrowing as if she was trying to focus on something that kept bobbing below the horizon.

  ‘You’re going in a new direction,’ she announced. That’s very insightful, I thought cynically. ‘You’ve been unhappy.’ Yeah. Who hasn’t? ‘But your mood is lifting.’ Stunning percipience, I said to myself. ‘Romance is in the air.’ Her guesses were getting warmer. I thought happily of Luke. She closed her eyes, inhaled noisily—the end of her nose twitching like some woodland mammal—then she opened them again. ‘You’re taking control of your life,’ she declared. Like most professional women of my age. This really was tosh. I’d humoured her long enough. But now Cynthia closed her eyes again, as though she’d fallen into a deep, deep sleep. In the ensuing silence I found myself gazing at her eyelids, which were crepey with age, and frosted with silver eye shadow. I was aware of the tick of my carriage clock—a wedding present from my parents—on the mantelpiece. And I was just wondering how long Cynthia was going to stay like that and at what point it would be polite to wake her, when she suddenly re-opened her eyes, wide, and stared at me with an intensity which startled me.

  ‘You’ve lost someone,’ she said in a voice that was no longer husky and theatrical, but clear and penetrating. ‘Haven’t you? Someone’s missing from your life. Someone who was very important to you. But there was a…tragedy, and now he’s gone.’ I was aware of a strange, warm feeling, from my toes to my sternum, as though I’d been dipped in hot wax. ‘You’ve been bereft, Laura.’ She closed her eyes again, inhaling deeply. ‘Bereaved.’ Another silence descended which seemed to hum and throb. Then she opened her eyes. ‘Isn’t that right, Laura?’ I stared at her. ‘Isn’t it?’ I could hear myself breathe.

  ‘Yes. It is.’ I heard myself say.

  ‘I knew it!’ she exclaimed happily, evincing more delight at the apparent accuracy of her analysis than any concern for me. ‘I sensed it the second I laid eyes on you. I could feel it—’ she looked around the room, then shivered slightly—‘there’s a very high vibratory level in here. Anyway,’ she added. ‘Let’s carry on.’

  ‘I’d rather not,’ I protested. But still she kept hold of my hand. ‘Really, Cynthia.’ I tried to withdraw it. ‘I think we’ve done enough.’ She looked into the distance again, this time blinking rapidly. Then she clapped her left hand to her chest.

  ‘I can see him.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I can see him. Quite clearly.’ Now I felt not so much warm, as chilled. ‘He’s standing in a field…a field full of…’ she drew in her breath, her eyes widening in wonderment, ‘…flowers. Beautiful flowers. He’s surrounded by them. It’s a marvellous sight. But even though he has all these exquisite flowers around him, he’s looking mournful and sad.’

  ‘I’d like to stop now.’ I reclaimed my hand with a sharp tug. I could still feel the pressure of her fingers on my wrist. ‘He isn’t in a field of flowers. That’s absurd.’

  ‘No. It’s not. It’s quite true. But that’s not all. There’s someone else.’ I felt sick. ‘Isn’t there?’ I stared at her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that there isn’t just one person missing from your life—there are two.’ I felt the hairs on my neck rise up. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. ‘I can’t see the second person, but I can feel their…presence. I can feel it.’ I got to my feet. ‘You didn’t know them for long…but you loved them. You didn’t want it to end…Now,’ she said benignly, ‘does that mean anything to you?’ I stared at her, aware that goose bumps had stippled my arms. ‘Does it?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not a thing. No.’

  ‘It gave me the creeps,’ I told Felicity the following evening. I was sitting at her kitchen table in Moorhouse Road with Olivia gurgling on my lap, while Fliss washed the salad at the butler sink. ‘She said that she could see Nick standing in a field of flowers. What do you think?’ Felicity stared out into their small walled garden where dusk had just descended.

  ‘It sounds much too good for him. Positively Paradisal.’ She tucked a hank of tangled blonde hair behind one ear. ‘He didn’t deserve such a pleasant fate.’

  ‘Oh come on, Fliss. Don’t be too hard.’ Via the baby monitor, we could hear Hugh, moving about upstairs in the bedroom. Every time he shifted, it caused the arc of lights on the display to flicker and ripple.

  ‘No, Laura,’ Felicity went on. ‘I’m not afraid to say it. Nick was a shit to do what he did—and with no warning! I know some people might take a more compassionate view but he caused you too much pain for me t
o forgive him.’

  ‘It isn’t for you to forgive him, Fliss,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s for me. In any case the idea of either of us forgiving him is somewhat academic in the circumstances.’

  ‘I guess it is—as he’s on eternity leave.’ She laughed darkly.

  ‘That’s horrible, Fliss.’

  She pulled a guilty face. ‘But did this Madame Arcati character say anything else?’ I thought of what Cynthia had said right at the end, but I didn’t tell Felicity. Although she’s always been so open with me about her life there are some things she’s never known about mine. ‘Couldn’t she communicate with Nick?’ she went on. ‘Ask him why he did it, maybe? Put us all out of our misery?’

  I shifted in my seat. ‘She’s not a medium, and I wouldn’t want her to try. As for why he did it…the fact is we’ll probably never know. But please, don’t mention what happened to him to anyone, Fliss. It’s very important because I don’t want it getting in the press.’

  She tipped the salad into a bowl. ‘O…kay.’

  ‘Afaclathaollaollagazzzagoyagoyagoya,’ said Olivia.

  Felicity turned round and beamed at her with a smile so wide I thought her face would split open. ‘Is that what you think my darling? I love the way she talks,’ she added with a giggle. ‘She sounds like a little alien with her strange, unworldly utterances.’

  ‘Thekzellagoyaobbadobbagertertergoya.’

  ‘Is that what they speak on the planet where you come from my little babychops?’

  As I held Olivia’s plump little person on my lap, her fair, downy hair brushed my chin. I stroked her soft arms with their little pillows of fat, and dimpled elbows. I squeezed her podgy knees. I love Olivia, but it’s a bittersweet kind of love.

  ‘You’re so…adorable, Olivia,’ I said longingly. ‘You really are.’ I kissed the top of her head.

  She twisted round to look up at me, her big blue eyes gazing unflinchingly into mine, with benign interest. Then she raised her right hand, with its stubby little fingers, like a starfish, and touched my cheek. ‘Thizclalefafffooohethana-gagoygoyagoyagoya.’

  ‘Goyagoyagoya to you,’ said Fliss, coming over and planting a kiss on her cheek with a noisy smack. Olivia giggled, so she did it again, then went back to the sink. ‘I stand over her cot,’ she confided quietly. ‘At night. When she’s asleep. I lean right over her cot, and feel her lovely breath on my cheek, like a tiny zephyr, and I still can’t believe that she’s mine. I love her so much,’ she said as she began to slice a tomato. ‘I could spend all my time just gazing at her; kissing her little face, I love her more and more each day, I—’ I heard her voice catch—‘I never knew that one could feel such love.’

  ‘I know,’ I murmured. Felicity’s knife stopped for a moment. ‘I mean, I can…imagine.’

  ‘And it’s a completely different kind of love from anything one’s ever felt for a man. To be perfectly truthful, Laura, I find the relationship I have with Olivia totally fulfilling. I almost envy single mothers,’ she confided, guiltily. ‘It must be rather cosy if it’s just you and the baby, with no-one else to consider.’ As she said this, we heard Hugh sniffing and coughing slightly as he walked about, opening drawers and cupboards. ‘He’ll be down in a minute for supper.’ She took the top off a baby bottle and handed it to me. ‘Would you give Olivia her milk? She gets formula in the evenings because by then my boobs are all in.’

  While I settled Olivia in the crook of my arm, Fliss opened the fridge and took out some steak, a pot of cream, and a tub of butter.

  ‘Are you on the Atkins diet, Fliss?’ She certainly needed to be. The average weight gain in pregnancy is twenty-eight pounds, but Felicity, voluptuous to start with, had managed to put on four and a half stone.

  ‘Atkins? You must be joking.’ She opened the freezer and grabbed a bag of chips. ‘I love my carbs too much. Anyway, I’m still breastfeeding so I shouldn’t be dieting at all. That’s my excuse.’

  ‘But the milk’s drawn directly from the mother’s fat reserves, so if you did lose a few pounds, you’d still be fine, Fliss.’ For weeks!

  ‘I know I should.’ She pinged the elastic waistband of her old maternity trousers. ‘I’m still two stone over.’ And the rest! ‘But I thought—’ she frowned—‘that if you carried on breast-feeding the weight just fell off.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a myth. You do lose weight when you first breastfeed, apparently, but then it often plateaus and remains…stuck.’

  Felicity gave me an odd look. ‘How do you know?’

  I stared at her. ‘I read it somewhere.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Felicity went on. ‘I’m too happy to care how fat I am, and Hugh’s too busy with his silly inventions to notice. On the rare occasions that I need to look smart I wear my atomic knickers to flatten the lard.’

  ‘Don’t neglect yourself, Fliss. That’s what the books all say.’

  ‘Oh it’ll come off in the end,’ she said airily. ‘And Hugh isn’t shallow.’ I didn’t think he was either, but hoped she was right. ‘Anyway, don’t give me a tough time about it—okay? It’s hard enough for me as it is, having two slim sisters.’

  Noticing an expensive looking little bag on the high chair, I changed the subject. ‘What have you been buying?’

  She reached for a towel and dried her hands. ‘Something scrumptious.’ She opened the bag, and pulled out a sheath of pale yellow tissue in which lay a miniature pink cardigan of exquisite softness. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’

  I felt my throat constrict. ‘It is.’ Olivia grabbed at it, trying to stuff one sleeve in her mouth. ‘It’s cashmere,’ I added as I stroked it.

  Felicity grimaced. ‘I know. It cost eighty quid and she’ll only wear it for three months, but it was so delicious I couldn’t resist. In any case, why shouldn’t my little girl have the best of everything?’

  Olivia has that all right. She is dressed in beautiful baby clothes from Oilily, BabyDior and Petit Bateau. She sleeps on linen sheets. She is transported in her Bugaboo Frog pram, which cost £500, and her sheepskin-lined Bill Amberg sling. Her beaming face adorns a personalized tote bag from Anya Hindmarch, and her newborn feet were cast in solid bronze. The silk christening gown Felicity has had made for her baptism this Sunday is costing £220.

  ‘Can you afford it?’ I asked as Olivia sucked contentedly on the bottle.

  ‘Of course not,’ she replied. ‘But I don’t care because I’m on my babymoon, Laura, so I’m not going to stint, because I will never have this time again.’ This is a frequent theme of Felicity’s. That she will never get back this special time of her life, so it must be perfect in every way. Then she began talking about the christening and about how much she likes the vicar, and how it’s a nicely high church, not a ‘ghastly happy-clappy one’, and about all the lovely music there’s going to be, and the top-notch caterers she’s booked, and all the people she’s invited, and the new suit she’s going to wear.

  ‘And when are you going back to work?’ I asked her as I tilted the bottle up for Olivia. ‘Your maternity leave must be up soon.’

  Felicity drew in her breath. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve decided, Laura.’ She opened the fridge. ‘I’m not going back. At least, not for three years,’ she corrected herself as she rummaged around. ‘But don’t mention it in front of Hugh. I only told him this morning, and he’s not taking it very well.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’ I knew they had a huge mortgage, not least because of all the fertility treatment. ‘It’ll be hard for him, Fliss.’

  She shrugged. ‘That’s his own look out—he had a good job. I know you’ll think me hard-hearted,’ she went on as she took out a bottle of French dressing. ‘But for seventeen years, I’ve looked after other people’s little darlings, and now I want to devote myself to my own. I expect Hugh to support me for a while and that’s all there is to it. If my decision forces him to go back to work again, then so much the better, because this bloody inventing lark’s not goin
g to work out.’

  ‘I don’t know—he might come up with something, really, you know…handy.’

  ‘They haven’t exactly been brilliant inventions so far, have they? That thing that looks like a Pritt Stick, but is filled with butter instead of glue, “to save washing up”; those two tiny umbrellas you clip to the front of your shoes…’

  ‘Oh yes. To protect them in the rain.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s right. The umbrella with a skylight so you can check if it’s stopped raining without getting yourself wet…’

  ‘Mmm—and those edible picnic knives and forks.’

  ‘I know. Useless,’ said Felicity with a bitter laugh. ‘Whatever next? An inflatable dartboard?’ I heard a creak on the stairs. Then Olivia sucked the last of the milk with a contented sigh.

  ‘She’s finished it, Fliss.’ I dabbed the corner of her mouth.

  ‘That was quick. Here, darling…’ she took Olivia, lifted her aloft, kissed her twice, then put her on her left shoulder. ‘I mean, I can think of some useful things Hugh could invent.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Hugh, slightly stiffly, as he came in. He’s very tall—six foot three—and slightly shambling-looking in his old corduroys and his Guernsey jumper, but he’s very handsome, in a boyish sort of way. ‘Hi Laura.’ He beamed at me, then gave me a fraternal kiss. ‘What useful things would you want me to invent, Fliss?’