I Remember You

‘The English bumblebee could be extinct in five years,’ she kept saying. ‘And no one knows why. If they’d listened to Virgil in the fourth Georgic, it’d all be OK. If we didn’t have these ridiculous ideas about twenty-four-hour shopping and eating huge strawberries grown in Chile in December and destroying our countryside to build brand new things—’ she cast an angry look at Leonora Mortmain—‘then we might be OK. He knew that!’

But Leonora had said nothing. She reacted to nothing. She just sat still, until Carolyn Tey—who was devoted to her, a sort of lapdog—offered her a slice of cake.

‘Do try some, it’s quite delicious,’ she’d said, her blue eyes bright with hope.

‘No, thank you,’ Leonora Mortmain replied. ‘I have had enough.’ She clamped her thin lips together. Tess wondered once again why she was there, as she didn’t seem to be enjoying the classes—but how could she tell? Leonora never reacted to anything.

She’d been teaching for a fortnight, and she was still surprised by how much she loved it. It was a treat to teach a class that didn’t lounge in its chairs, picking its nose, staring up at her with eyes full of near-psychopathic loathing. It was a treat for her to say, ‘Who wants to start reading this passage?’ and to see ten hands shoot up. It was a treat for her to watch the awkward Ron Thaxton, whom she had come to see was extremely shy, blossom in the class, talking fluently and articulately about Augustus, about battle strategies, his stuttering anger almost gone.

And then it was a treat for her to walk the ten minutes home, threading into town, her bag swinging from her arm, popping into shops here and there that sold things you actually needed, like a needle and thread, calling hello to people as she went. She was starting to recognize faces now, old and new. Some people remembered her from before, they asked how her mum and dad were, what Stephanie was up to. She thought of London now, of travelling back home, squashed on the tube, dodging the dog shit and the cracked pavements that had once tripped her up, the rain and the unfriendly faces. Tess hugged herself; it seemed so far away. She thought of Will, his huge face like a blank canvas, looming over her the night of Guy’s wedding, as he said, ‘But Tess, don’t you see? We’re not the same sort of people. We want different things.’

She had cried, she didn’t understand what he meant. ‘But I love you!’ she had cried, clutching at his shirt—why had she done that?

‘I don’t think you do,’ Will had said, removing her hand. ‘You don’t love my friends, you were bored the whole way through the reception. Lucinda’s a really interesting girl, you could have bloody made an effort. You’re so—rigid, Tess, it has to be on your terms or not at all.’

Tess shook her head, remembering it now. Dumped because she wasn’t nice to a girl called Lucinda who wanted to charge her rent and who made a living from making stuffed animals. What a diss. But…was he right?

‘Penny for them,’ Francesca said softly, standing behind her. ‘Hello?’ Tess started.

‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ she said, and blinked.

‘Are we all OK then?’ Francesca asked. Tess nodded. Francesca patted her housemate on the arm. ‘Fancy a glass of wine before I shoot off?’

‘Sure,’ said Tess, going through into the little kitchen, which looked out over the handkerchief-sized garden via a rickety old glass-paned door. She opened the drawer, looking for the corkscrew and glanced up at the sky. ‘Hey, it’s stopped raining!’

‘It has,’ said Francesca. She slapped her hands on the sides of her thighs. ‘Spring is here, and I’m ready for romancing.’ She looked up around her, her eyes sparkling. ‘Isn’t this weird? Us, here, in this house? Isn’t it strange, completely bonkers?’

‘Yes!’ Tess said, smiling. She was pleased to see her so happy. ‘Who are you getting ready to romance? Is Adam coming over?’

‘He sure is,’ said Francesca. ‘We’re going to try the pub at the other end of town, want to come? The Cross Keys, you know it?’

The door of the fridge swung wide open, knocking loudly against the wall, and they both jumped.

‘It always does that! So annoying. Ow,’ said Tess, putting the wine bottle firmly on the kitchen surface. ‘That’s a lovely pub,’ she added, rubbing her hand. ‘Right next to where we grew up. Adam’s mum worked there for a bit.’

‘What was she like, Adam’s mum?’ Francesca asked curiously. ‘Adam never talks about her.’

‘She was lovely.’ Tess took out some olives, bought the previous day from the Jen’s Deli on the high street where Liz worked. Jen’s Deli catered for tourists wanting a picnic. The olives were three pounds ninety-nine for a small tub. She tipped them into one of the little painted bowls that sat on the kitchen mantelpiece. ‘Ooh, I love this, don’t you? I feel as if I’m in a picture book, living in my own little cottage.’

‘You are living in your own little cottage,’ Francesca pointed out. ‘So am I.’

‘Oh.’ Tess took the nice new glasses out of the cupboard. Francesca lolled against the kitchen counter. She plucked an olive out of the bowl.

‘Has Adam always lived there, then?’

‘What?’ Tess opened the bottle. ‘Lived where? Here?’

‘In that house,’ Francesca said patiently. ‘Did he never live anywhere else, after she died? Am I going out with a man who’s never lived anywhere else?’

‘So you are actually going out with him?’ Tess said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Oh, my God!’ She swallowed, hastily, realizing she sounded like a teenager. ‘So have you—I thought you two were…’ She trailed off.

Francesca tossed her hair casually behind her back; Tess had noticed that, far from doing it to intimidate, she did this when she was feeling self-conscious.

‘Ahm. I don’t know. I suppose so. I’m seeing him.’ She raked a hand across her scalp. ‘We talked about it on the weekend. I don’t know what going out means these days, do you? It’s a bit juvenile, anyway. Like, sometimes it means one thing, and sometimes it means something else…you know…’ She trailed off, and Tess was pleased to see she was blushing.

‘You like him!’ Tess hit her housemate on the arm. ‘Oh, my God, how cool. And he likes you, it’s obvious.’

‘Is it?’

‘Absolutely.’ Tess thought back to the previous Sunday, when she, Francesca, Suggs and Adam had taken a picnic up to the ruins of Langford Priory, once the greatest monastery in Somerset before Henry VIII had given it a good going over. They had sat in the grass, perching on stones scattered around, looking down over the valley towards the town, and that’s when it had happened. Tess had asked Francesca for a knife, and Francesca had leaned into the bag to get one, her hair falling in her face and, without thinking about it, Adam had reached forward and gently tucked her hair behind her ear, his big hand touching her shoulder afterwards. He said nothing, Francesca said nothing, but Tess had watched them, with affection and a pang of loneliness, realizing she was aware of something they weren’t: that her oldest friend had fallen hook, line and sinker for Francesca Jackson.

She asked, a little shyly, ‘Can I ask—when did this all…happen?’

‘Oh—properly? Well, he came round to bring that spanner he’d promised? And he ended up fixing the door and then he stayed—and he stayed…’ She blushed.

She stopped, and looked at Tess guiltily, though why, Tess wondered fleetingly—there was nothing to be guilty about, it was nothing but good news. Why shouldn’t they have sex in the middle of the day, in her own home, while Tess was off wearing a sensible cardigan and shirt, teaching people about things that happened two thousand years ago?

‘That’s—it’s OK with you, isn’t it? It doesn’t make you feel weird?’

‘Of course it’s OK with me!’ Tess said. As she said it, she knew it wasn’t, it was a bit weird. It was her flatmate and her oldest friend, after all. She’d just have to get used to it, and then it’d be fine. And if she practised looking as if it was OK, it would be.

‘Oh, good,’ said Francesca. ‘I don’t want things to be awkward.’

‘Why would they be? He’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Exactly,’ Francesca said.

The words, No, he’s my boyfriend, hung in the air, unsaid.

‘So are you hanging out in the day then?’

‘Well, it was only Monday it happened. Sunday if you count the walk. So yeah, he came round on Tuesday too, and today—well, I’m seeing him in the evening so I—I wanted a distraction.’ She picked at the side of her nail. ‘And I went shopping.’

‘So that’s it,’ Tess said, smiling. ‘It’s a substitute for shagging.’

‘No!’ Francesca smiled too. ‘How rude. He’s—oh, man.’ She sighed, mistily. ‘He is so gorgeous. You have no idea. I just feel like…’ Her shoulders rose and sank again, and she gazed unseeingly past Tess, into the sitting room. Tess followed her gaze, almost desperately, hoping to see what Francesca saw:

A kiss in a sun-dappled glade.

A gorgeous man arriving at the cottage and sweeping you off your feet.

Mind-explodingly good sex…in the afternoon.

Instead, she saw:

The batteries from the TV remote control, which were always falling out (it had no back, mysteriously).

A stack of essays on Virgil and Rome spilling out of her cloth bag.

Her main school shoes, clumpy, sensible, covered in mud, lying next to Francesca’s strappy gold flip-flops.

Francesca was like Dido or Thetis, lying on a day bed eating chocolates, a cloud of hair tumbling down her back, whilst handsome suitors arrived to pay court and ravish her. She, Tess, on the other hand, was a dwarfish teacher with a pile of marking to do, a hair growing out of her chin and footwear that even Mary Whitehouse would say could do with sexing up a tad.

‘Drink?’ Tess said, practically ripping the cap off the bottle of wine and upending it into her glass. ‘When are you going out? You meeting him at the pub?’

‘No, I’m going to his house to pick him up,’ said Francesca. ‘Haven’t been there before. That’s why I was wondering what—’ she took a sip from her glass, and flicked her hair again.

‘What what?’

‘What his mum was like. If there’s anything I should know.’

‘If there’s anything you should know.’ Tess stared into the distance. ‘Ahh.’ She exhaled, through her teeth. ‘Philippa. She was wonderful. That’s all you need to know.’

‘That’s not very helpful.’

‘I know. Sorry.’ Tess thought back. ‘I can remember her, really clearly, after thirteen years. She was just a wonderful person. It’s a tragedy.’

‘What exactly happened?’

‘It was an aneurysm. She just—dropped dead in the street one day.’ Tess swallowed. ‘She was on her way back from the shops. Mum found her.’

‘That’s awful.’

Tess nodded. ‘It was. Her, of all people. Philippa was—she was really special.’

‘Like how?’

‘Like—when we were little, she treated us like we were people in our own right, you know? She’d give you little presents for special occasions, nothing much, just personal things that were just for you.’ There was the time when Tess was eleven, and had to have braces on her teeth for eighteen months, and Philippa had bought her a special two-year diary, to count down the days till they were off, and she’d scribbled little things in it. ‘Only a year to go now!‘ ‘Who’s that beautiful girl? It’s young Miss Tennant, the one with the perfect teeth!’

‘Aah,’ said Francesca. ‘Nice.’

‘She was nice. She—’ Tess started, and then she stopped. ‘She was lovely.’

‘What happened to Adam’s dad, then?’ Francesca asked tentatively. ‘You don’t have to tell me, but he hasn’t mentioned, and I sort of thought, was it something awful?’

‘Could be,’ Tess said, sipping her wine again. ‘No one knows.’

‘Knows what? How he died?’

‘No,’ said Tess. ‘There isn’t really a mystery there, I think he’s just some guy who she had a thing with. No one knew really where Philippa came from, that’s the weird thing. That house was empty for years, and then one day she just turned up.’

‘Like Mary Poppins?’ Francesca was smiling.

‘Sort of,’ said Tess, earnestly. ‘Honestly, she never really told anyone anything about herself. Mum asked her once, why she came to Langford, and Philippa said, “I don’t know myself, to be honest.” And then she never said anything again.’

‘No,’ said Francesca, fascinated.

‘Yep. And I’ve never understood it. Why did she come to Langford? Why? I mean—we were lucky she did, but—’

‘It’s interesting,’ said Francesca. ‘Wow.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Tess, though she felt a little guilty, giving up Adam’s family secrets like that. She looked out of the window, wondering. Really, she supposed, she didn’t know what the secret actually was, so how could she give it up? Adam himself didn’t know where he came from. That was how it had always been.

CHAPTER EIGHT

One Friday afternoon, just before the first May bank holiday, Tess sat on the sofa, putting on her shoes and humming loudly so she couldn’t hear anything that might be going on in the bedroom upstairs. She had been teaching all morning and was on her way out to get some food for their picnic. She, Adam and Francesca were going to the beach the next day and the fridge at Easter Cottage had never been quite so denuded. Two sex-mad grown-ups ate a lot, Tess had discovered. It was like living with termites and a team of Sumo wrestlers.

The noises that she had been pretending not to hear from upstairs grew unavoidably louder, a crescendo, and Tess banged her feet on the floor and started singing as she searched for her keys. Suddenly, almost abruptly, there was silence, and after a minute she heard footsteps on the narrow stairs, a slight stumble and then a muffled curse—as the owner of the feet narrowly avoided the stair with a missing chunk, especially hazardous without shoes.

‘Hey there, you!’ Adam called to her, still cheerful. ‘Coffee?’ Tess looked up at him, in disbelief, as he went into the kitchen. ‘Is that Francesca’s dressing gown?’ she said, watching Adam pull the Chinese silk carefully around him as he put the kettle on.

‘Why yes, and I think it’s just lovely,’ said Adam. He scratched his thick hair thoughtfully. ‘She’s given it to me.’

‘So I can hear,’ said Tess, unable to resist.

‘Ha ha,’ said Adam. ‘Very funny.’

‘It’s not that funny,’ said Tess, wishing she didn’t sound so grumpy. ‘Sitting down here listening to you two going at it hammer and tongs.’

‘Tess!’ Adam said mildly. ‘Mind your own business.’

‘My own business?’ Tess stood up and laughed shortly, swinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘Bloody hard to, when all I can hear is you two having sex when I’m trying to read in bed. I’ve had to buy earplugs!’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Adam said, but he looked a little fazed. ‘We’re having a great time. I really like her, what’s your problem?’

There was something ridiculous about him, standing holding the kettle, with the thin silk clinging to his legs, his tall, broad frame, as his hair stuck up comically on his head. A wave of fury washed over her, that he thought it was OK. That they both did.

‘My problem?’ Tess yelled. She shook her head wildly. ‘My problem is I moved back here for some peace and quiet, and there’s no fucking coffee in the jar before you look, because you two bloody drank it all, and there’s no food in the fucking fridge because you’ve eaten it all, and when I’m trying to watch bloody Antiques Roadshow all I can here is you two, bellowing “Yes! Yes!” at each other, like you’re watching a football match!’

Adam looked at her, as she took a deep breath and was silent, and he started laughing.

‘Or—anything,’ Tess said weakly, glad the tension was broken. She was being ridiculous. ‘You know. T4 and stuff. The Wire. Anyway, Antiques Roadshow is really good, I’ll have you know.’

‘Clearly,’ Adam said, shaking his head, still laughing.

‘Last week, they had a pensioner on it.’

‘No. Amazing.’

‘And she had a teapot Josiah Wedgwood designed himself. Himself.’ Tess nodded significantly. ‘It was worth over a thousand pounds. And that lady can now buy a new walk-in bath, for her husband Roger.’

‘To think you once played strip poker with the under-eighteens Hampshire cricket team,’ Adam said ruminatively.

‘Sshh.’ She drew a circle around her with her finger. ‘Remember. It’s in our—’

‘—circle of trust,’ he finished. ‘Sorry, I forgot about our circle of trust.’

They were both silent for a moment, and then Adam said, again, ‘Antiques Roadshow.’ Tess watched him, arms folded. Adam had a big, deep laugh, that seemed to take him over completely.

‘Hey,’ he said, eventually. ‘I’m really sorry, Tess. I should have thought about you more in this. It’s just—she’s great.’ He smiled. ‘I really like her.’

‘I know you do,’ she said, pleased for him. ‘Look, I’m just popping out to get some food and stuff—’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Adam. ‘Seriously,’ he added, as she looked at him in disbelief. ‘Francesca’s fast asleep and I need a new battery for the bike lamp, too. Give me five minutes. I’ll just jump in the shower.’

‘Er…OK,’ said Tess. Adam grinned.

‘Look pleased!’ he said. ‘I’ll give you street cred, Granny.’

As they walked along the high street, Tess carried her wicker basket over her arm. Adam shook his head. ‘I worry about you. You’re turning into someone from Cranford. My godmother Diana doesn’t have one of those, and she’s…older than you. Plus they’re completely unwieldy.’

‘O tempora, o mores,’ Tess said tartly and then regretted it.

‘You think Cicero was saying we should give up plastic bags and use wicker baskets, do you?’ Adam asked, innocently. ‘Don’t show off your Latin with me, Tess. You know you’ll lose.’

Adam’s brain was a source of mystery to Tess; he never forgot anything, a quote, a story, an obscure piece of syntax. She taught Latin and Greek, and she often couldn’t remember the word for ‘ship’ in either language. But she could remember what happened one summer ten years ago as if it were yesterday, or Stephanie’s wedding, or Will’s face as he told her he loved her for the first time…Adam, she knew, had trouble remembering his own birthday.

It was curious, that tension that existed within him. She looked at him sideways as they walked along the street, he whistling, his hands stuck deep into his pockets. It was Roman, she supposed. Brilliant, practical, organized, neat—and yet chaotic, hopeless, romantic, kind at the same time. It was strange, she thought, that she, Tess, was now her teacher, and Adam, with all his brilliance—Adam was…what was he? She blinked, recalling herself to the present.

‘Er, I’m a bit sick of the deli. Cheese shop?’ Adam said, pulling her out of her reverie. She smiled at him as she spotted Liz putting a leg of ham back in the window of Jen’s Deli and looking up at the little high street in the sunshine. She waved at her.

‘Stop it,’ said Adam.

‘Oh, get over yourself,’ Tess said. ‘She’s in my class.’

‘Your class?’ said Adam.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Tess. ‘She’s pretty good actually. She’s coming to Rome. I’m part of her self-improvement programme. Just like you were,’ she added wickedly. Adam frowned as the bell sounded another lucky customer entering Mr Dill’s Cheese Emporium. ‘What do we need?’

‘Well.’ Tess tucked the basket—Adam was right, it was unwieldy—under her arm and counted off on her fingers. ‘Stuff for tonight. Stuff for our trip to the beach tomorrow. Hi, Andrea!’ She waved at Andrea Marsh, who was crossing the road.

‘Your window boxes are looking lovely,’ Andrea told her, but unwillingly, as if it cost her to do so. ‘Just going to see Miss Store, and I noticed them. Are they pansies?’

‘Yes! So glad you like them—agh!’ Tess swallowed, as a car drove past and Adam bodily dragged her up onto the pavement.

‘For God’s sake, be careful, T,’ he said, crossly.

‘See you at the meeting later!’ called Andrea, walking on.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ Tess called after her. ‘You going to that tonight?’

‘What?’ Adam said, looking back across the road. He was squinting at something. ‘Oh, the meeting? No, don’t think so.’

‘But everyone’s going,’ said Tess.

Adam nodded solemnly. ‘Who’s everyone?’

‘Well, you know.’ Tess waved her hands. ‘The people at the college—apart from Leonora Mortmain, of course—um, Ron, Suggs, Francesca—’

‘No, she’s not,’ said Adam. ‘We’re staying in and watching a film.’

‘But Adam—’ Tess remembered how curious he’d been about the campaign, the night of the first campaign meeting. ‘Suggs is organizing it. It’s going to be—’

‘Look how local you are these days,’ he said, mocking her. ‘Remember your first day back here, when you scorned the high street? Look at you now. Practically in bed with all the important people in town.’

Tess ignored him. ‘Adam, we should all go—’

Adam held up his hand. ‘I’m not going. Sorry. Let’s get some cheese. And then let’s argue about it some more.’

‘I’m not arguing,’ Tess said, even more patiently than he. ‘I am merely pointing out that—’

She swung the wicker basket behind her, as a soft male voice said, ‘Ouch.’

Tess froze, and looked up at Adam, who was gazing over her shoulder as if he’d seen a ghost.

‘Hi—God. It’s you. Forgot your name, sorry,’ said the voice.

‘It’s Adam,’ he said, and stepped a little closer towards Tess.

‘Of course. Tess’s old friend. Well, hi. I’m Will. Hi, Tess.’

She turned round mechanically, like a doll spinning on a music box.

‘Hi, Will,’ she said.

The last time Tess had seen Will was in January, at their friend Henry’s birthday drinks, at a pub on the New Kings Road. Tess had gone for one drink only and had waved, in a friendly, brisk way at Will on her way out, weaving through the crowded pub, heady with the scent of expensive perfume, cigarette smoke wafting in from outside, and lilies in huge vases on the bar, the smell of decay lingering behind their sweetness.

Will was holding hands with someone behind him; through the thick press of bodies around her she couldn’t see her face, but she knew it must be Ticky. Tess had smiled again at him, rolled her eyes as if she were fantastically busy and pushed past him mouthing ‘Bye’ as she fell out of the pub onto the pavement. There she had stood miserably in the sudden cold, her shoulders stooped, feeling like a total outsider. She hadn’t fitted in there, never would.

Now, she looked up at Will as he stood, tall and godlike on the high street. She remembered with a rush of recognition, like hearing a song that reminds you of a summer holiday, a curious feeling of alienation, of being different, an oddity, that came with being with Will.

‘Hello,’ Tess said, determined to be friendly and mature. She had practised just such a scenario with Meena in their flat—Meena!

It all came flooding back to her, now. The email! The bureau—oh, shit, that was why he was here.

‘Will, how are you?’ she said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, as Adam stood behind her. Gently he prised the wicker basket out of her hand, and put it on the ground. ‘And you must be Ticky,’ she added.

From behind Will stepped a tall, thin, fair girl, with the longest legs Tess had ever seen, enormous green eyes which bulged out from her tiny face. She was wearing what looked like a turquoise romper suit.

‘Hi!’ she said, slightly flatly, raising one hand. ‘I’m Ticky. It’s soooo great to meet you.’

Will, who was still gazing at Tess, nodded. ‘Hey, yous,’ he said—Tess had forgotten how soft his voice was. ‘You OK, hon?’

‘Super!’ Tess said, practically shouting.

‘Did you get my email, and the message? I’m sorry to just turn up here without warning, you know. But I did really want to give you back the bureau.’

He pronounced it ‘rally’ and ‘beeyurrrohw’.