‘The family is worried about you. They won’t tell you themselves because they know that you’ll react like this and they don’t want to upset you. All Felix talked about when I saw him was you and Boyce. He’s really worried.’
‘Stop it. Stop talking about Ian like you know him. You don’t know anything and nor does anyone else.’
‘I do know. I know he’s a total tit and that you are out of his league. Or should be. You‘re letting yourself down, Bee. It matters to me what you do. You matter to me.’
‘Letting myself down? You’ve got a cheek, and you’re talking out of your arse, mate.’ Her hands began to tremble as adrenalin surged with the shock of it all, ‘We’re very happy and we don’t need you trying to spoil things just because you don’t have a steady partner.’
‘Don’t make this about me, Bee, it’s about you.’
‘No, it’s about you wanting to control everything I do. You’ve never liked Ian and I understand why, but you could at least make an effort for my sake, if, as you claim, I am so important to you.’
‘In answer to your original question, no, I can’t be less hostile where that twat is concerned.’ He gulped the last of his drink and poured another, ‘You’d be better off alone than dragging through life after an unprincipled prick like that.’
‘I don’t think it is very nice of you to speak about him in that way, particularly in front of me. We are very, very happy, and as a matter of fact,’ she paused, ‘we’re planning to get married and have a family.’
‘Tell me you are fucking joking?’ The fine stem of the Champagne flute snapped. ‘Bee?’
‘No, I am not joking. We’re getting married. Soon. We already live together so what’s the difference?’
‘The difference is at the moment you could walk away and that would be that. Marriage is meant to be for life, Bee.’
‘Living with Ian is meant to be for life, Tuan.’
‘It’s a joke. It has to be. You wouldn’t commit the rest of your life to a tosser like Boyce. Bee, he’s a wanker, you must know that’
‘Here we go, resorting to name-calling. Wilson, take me back to the station. I’m going home.’
Tuan stared at her, incensed and unblinking, waiting for the retraction. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? Tell me this is some kind of wind up.’
‘No, I am going home.’
‘Not that…’
‘No it is not a joke. We’re getting married. God, you can be so nasty.’
‘You’re not doing it. No way.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘None of my business? Of course it is my fucking business.’
She knew the look well, the angry lips that made his extended canines seem longer still, the stripes on his face distorting and accentuating the expression of rage, but never before had it been directed at her with such intensity.
‘Take me to the station. I am going home. I can’t stand it when you’re like this. What is it with men!’
‘You’re are not going anywhere,’ he was livid, ‘you’re staying here with me until I can make you see what a terrible fucking mistake you are making. Jesus Christ, Bee. Are you mad? Marry? Him? Have a family? ‘
‘Wilson, I said take me to the station.’
‘Wilson values his job. Keep driving.’
‘Yes Sir. Sorry Ma’am.’
Bee tried to open the door as the car slowed for a junction, but found it locked.
She glowered, ‘Bloody hell, Tuan, why do you have to be such a bully all the time? Why do you have to ruin everything? You were the same to me at school and haven’t changed a bit. Why can’t you be happy for me, just once? I can’t move without you passing judgment and making your snide little remarks. God, if I make even the slightest comment about Char, or any other tart you’ve shagged, you accuse me of being jealous. If you can’t take it then don’t dish it out. Hardly the behaviour of a brother.’
‘For a start I am not your brother.’
‘You’re the one who called me ‘sister’!’
‘Don’t you see what’s happening? You met that man when you were, what? Fifteen? Fourteen? Thirteen? That is fucking weird in itself.’
‘He’s not that much older than me, not really. We’re both adults.’
‘Now you are, yes, but what about then? Tell me what kind of man wants to sleep with a girl that age?’
‘You know very well we did not start our relationship until I was much older. We were just friends at first.’
‘He was grooming you.’
‘Don’t be disgusting.’
‘Well he was, and you can’t prove he wasn’t. You met him when you were barely a teenager, you saw him all through uni when you should have been having a laugh with people your own age, you moved in with him as soon as you could and now… and now… what? You’re getting married to him. What’s next? Bringing him his pipe and slippers every night? Tell you what, you could bend over and be his footstool too. Dirty old bastard would love it.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Well perhaps you should ask yourself what the future holds, Bee?’
‘I can tell you what it holds.’ She took a breath, ‘I maybe pregnant, actually.’
A deep snarl escaped and he moved across, following the path of his vitriol until his face was inches from hers. ‘You know what? I really don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear about the fruits of that paedo fucking you. God! Just think, if you do have a kid with him then he could…’
She slapped him hard. ‘Stop this car or I will unwind the window and scream.’
‘Unwind it, then, and scream.’
‘I will.’
‘Be my guest.’ Tuan caught Wilson’s worried eye in the mirror, ‘It’s fine. Keep going.’
Bee took out her phone, but Tuan punched it into the foot-well and drove a heel into it. Then there was silence, nothing more than the roaming tones of the engine as the car wound on. Bee’s throat ached as she held back tears.
Tuan tried to make her face him, pulling her chin with his fingers, but she turned away and looked out of the window, thinking how strange it was that she could see everyone and no one could see her. How like life that was. Then she felt the familiar weight of his head in her lap, a place he often sought comfort when they were children, and her hand automatically rested on his hair just as it had then.
‘That was a big fight.’ As he spoke, the car slowed for the house, while the chasing paparazzi parked nearby.
‘It was.’ Bee could hardly be bothered to speak.
‘I’ll buy you a new phone.’ His arms were folded tightly and he did not move despite the end of the journey. ‘I didn’t mean to be so nasty. I can’t help it.’
Bee looked down at the mop of black hair, ‘I know,’ she said. But she didn’t.
HIDDEN TEMPEST
Bee found herself on expensive silk sheets under an even more expensive silk bedspread leaning against a heap of shell-white smoothly covered pillows on the giant bed in the guest suite.
She stared at her new phone. No one had ever deliberately broken something of hers before, and although this was far superior she wanted the old phone back. Boyce had given it to her before university, a firm directive to call in the guise of a leaving present. A relic compared to modern mobiles, that gift was now reduced to a scattering of broken pieces. Its sentimental value was irreplaceable and Bee felt the new phone would never radiate anything like the same comforting aura: familiar, reliable, practical, safe.
She wondered if all she would think of every time she used this new one would be Tuan’s grinding shoe. Or would it be the absurdly proud expression he wore as he presented her with this more expensive, more advanced, so-much-better-honestly-Bee, replacement. It was undeniably nice and did so many things her old phone couldn’t. Presumably that was a good thing. She held it up to the morning light. Was this sleek, shiny, neatly modern piece of equipment why people laughed at her old phone? She felt its weight. Perfect. It was very s
mart, even if she didn’t want it.
The theatre the previous night had been a triumph, recovering a day almost too awkward to bear. After the argument, Tuan left Bee to soak in a bath he insisted she take, disappearing for an hour to make right the wrong. Looking decidedly shifty in an old pair of blue jeans, a thick burnt-orange hooded top, sunglasses and thick foundation, he had slipped away under the noses of those patiently watching the house and was back within the hour.
Ignoring the provocatively thin silk robe hanging in the bathroom, Bee dressed before going to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Staring at Tuan as he enthused about the phone, nonchalantly sipping her drink, she showed no sign of gratitude for the gift or appreciation regarding the effort made to acquire it. Tuan’s frustration at this was obvious and as he began to voice his feelings, Bee interrupted and asked to borrow his computer. She was not in the mood to pander. He asked why she wanted it. She lied and said she wanted to email Ian about the wedding. Phone him, he muttered, pointing to the gift.
‘I forgot to forward him a file,’ came the innocent reply, ‘Besides, that phone needs charging.’
‘But the file won’t be on my computer will it,’ he said.
‘No problem, it’s attached to an email and I’d like to do it now.’
His face darkened, ‘Fine, use it, but just remember we’re leaving at six thirty, don’t be late.’
He walked away in a show of irritation.
Sweetly, Bee called after him to confirm she would be ready on time, smiling to herself. Then taking her tea she went to the study and logged on to research symptoms of early pregnancy before going on to check for anything she could find about mobile phone use and pregnancy, the effects of stress on the unborn baby, the average number of attempts before insemination, and sex during pregnancy. The thought of motherhood was a thrilling prospect and as she clicked and read and scrolled, her hand gently covered her lower belly.
The few hours between this exchange and leaving for the theatre passed by in near silence, only the murmur of the housekeeper quietly talking to the gardener interrupted the stillness of the house. Bee had no idea what Tuan was doing or where, imagining him lying on his bed sulking.
*
Random notes from the orchestra’s final preparations filled the auditorium with a pleasant disharmony, a sound as unique to the theatre as the rush of waves drawing over pebbles is to the beach. From every direction people side-stepped through rows of red velvet, those already seated bobbing up and down to allow access. With dressing for the theatre something of a lost art, most were casually smart, only one or two elderly couples treating the event with the formal reverence they felt it deserved. In a box, stage left, two younger people had chosen to treat the occasion in just such a way.
Although perhaps not providing the best view, Tuan had booked the box for privacy. With each visit from Bee there was a growing hope his feelings were reciprocated, although this particular visit was making everything in that area a little less distinct than before. Safely tucked away out of sight there could be no interruption, no focus on him that might in turn distract his focus from her. She looked beautiful, he thought, and her hair was still as fair as always, glistening golden threads beckoning him to touch. But he wouldn’t. Not until he was sure.
The Tempest had been the best available choice of all the suitable shows in London, at least for the two nights Bee was in town. Neither would have picked it but reviews were good and Tuan, determined to take her to the theatre, went ahead and booked it anyway. Bee, he knew, would have chosen something like Othello had there been the option and he thanked the Stars that particular play was not showing – a Moor consumed with jealousy would not be helpful given the day they had shared. For himself, he would have picked something much less tragic, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, perhaps, or even better would be a contemporary comedy. It frustrated him that he always relied on ancient works for the semblance of quality.
The stage was set in the way of modern interpretive theatre: chairs carefully positioned for characters not relevant to the scene, clever water features and lighting, strange shapes made from indistinct materials spread out on the floor. It did not bode well, he thought, whatever the critics claimed. But his instincts were wrong, and from the first act, it was clear the night’s performance was to be a spectacular success, and when all too soon the final curtain fell the cast proceeded to take their encores in high spirits.
The meal after had been at one of the more exclusive restaurants nearby, a place Tuan knew would participate in the pretence of anonymity. Bee was happy and at ease, having put to one side the sourness contaminating the earlier part of the day. Whilst trying not to look at the other famous faces peppering the room, she noticed one or two diners glancing at Tuan, but he remained relaxed, his radar for such things skillfully switched off.
At home they exchanged an awkward goodnight. He had lingered briefly as they parted. Later, Tuan crossed the wide landing to go down to the kitchen with the sole purpose of attracting her attention, coughing as he passed her suite, but he failed to draw her out. He made more noise on the return journey but again, only silence greeted him. Frustrated, he lay awake for most of the night.
*
And so the morning after the night before dawned, and in Bee’s hand was the fully charged new phone, reminding her of Tuan and the shocking row. She was holding it because Boyce had called to make sure she was okay, he hadn’t heard from her, he’d said, and was sorry it was so early but he was worried. She’d given a heavily edited version of what had happened, admitting only that she hadn’t liked to use Tuan’s phone to call because he seemed ‘a little tetchy’ about things. By the time she had left for the theatre, she confessed apologetically, she had forgotten all about calling home. Satisfied, Boyce told her not to forget his shirts and to have a good time, and tomorrow to send a text when the train was half an hour from the station.
Bee placed the phone on the bedside table. As the smell of frying bacon drifted into the room her stomach began to rumble. With an aroma so enticing it could crack the conviction of the most ardent vegetarian, Bee thought that if her nose was drawing in minute particles of cooked pig, why not her mouth? She got out of bed thinking of Sundays at home as a child, of the weekend sounds of the valley, of the future.
She poked her head around the kitchen door, partially stepping into the room. Inside was an explosion of ingredients and equipment. With the precision of a military operation, a full English breakfast was underway. Bread cut, table laid, sauces and juices out, coffee brewed, only arteries could not be prepared for the coming assault.
‘Where’s Misses P?’ she asked.
‘Morning. Huh? Oh, I let her have the morning off.’
Bee scanned the mess, ‘That was nice of you. Have I got time for a shower?’
Tuan paused, eyes skipping over her silk dressing gown, ‘No. It’ll be ready in two minutes. Why don’t you wait until after we’ve eaten? Could you pour the coffee? It’s just over there. Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, thanks. You?’
‘So so. Could you pass me that dish? Thanks. I thought we’d eat, shower and head straight to the museum, if that’s okay with you.’
Bee wanted to mention Jermyn Street and the shirts, but didn’t. ‘Will it be okay? I mean you out all day in such a public space.’
‘It’ll be fine, Bee. I’m not the only one with a striped face these days. I don’t know if it’s makeup or tattoos but stripes seem to be very popular again at the moment, just like when I was eighteen. Shame you can’t put a trademark on skin. Besides, I love that museum. Part of it reminds me of the old library you used to take me to when we were kids. Do you remember?’
Bee placed filled cups on the table, ‘City Library. How could I forget? We got into such trouble that day, didn’t we? Giles’ face!’
‘Don’t. Poor bloke was apoplectic. Right, let me put all this on the table and you can serve yourself. How many eggs?’
‘Ju
st one, please. Still it was fun, wasn’t it? With hindsight.’
Tuan agreed with a vague nod, but it was not a day about which much else could be freely said; the day they had first met Ian Boyce. ‘How do you like them?’
‘Soft and sunny side up, thanks.’ She stood up, ‘Look, I might just run up stairs and put some clothes on, I’d hate to get oil on this beautiful silk, it would ruin it.’
Tuan was quick to respond, ‘No! No, don’t. Sit down, please. I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s for wearing, after all. Anyway, Misses P would soon sort it out, genius that woman. You’re fine as you are. Come on. Sit down. Hope you’re hungry.’
Bee did as he asked, ‘I am starving.’
‘Great. This should keep us going past lunch. Good night last night, wasn’t it.’
‘Fantastic. I had a wonderful time. Thank you for taking me.’ She noted he was smiling.
‘My pleasure. And we’ve all day and night ahead of us. Here you are. Get stuck into everything else; help yourself.’ He smiled even more as he put the plate and its solitary egg in front of her, eyes instinctively roaming. ‘Suits you, that colour.’
‘Thanks, it’s pretty. Maybe one day you could design something for me…’ she grinned, spooning beans onto her plate, ‘… all these years and I have never had one thing designed specifically for me by you. Never mind that I am your very best friend in the whole wide world. You could make me something really special to make up for it.’
‘What? Like your wedding dress?’ Tuan tossed a piece of bread into his mouth.
‘Pardon?’ She paused and frowned a little.
‘I didn’t mean it to sound so... you know… well… like that. I would love to design you something… really I would. Maybe an evening dress?’
‘I could never do justice to something like that, I never go anywhere.’
‘You do, when you come here.’
‘Sometimes. So you will do it? Design me something… make me something? I’d love it if you did. I don’t care what.’
Tuan bit into another hunk of bread and chewed thoughtfully, ‘It’ll cost you.’
Bee was taken aback, ‘How much? I can’t afford…’
‘Not money.’