The Fleeting Years Read online

  ‘Better go back to bed. Someone said they come round to check we’re all asleep. Goodnight, Mum. ’Spect it’s nice there. Have you been playing your fiddle? I’ve been imagining it. Got eight of us in this dorm. Hope they don’t wake up being miserable.’

  ‘If they do, Tommy, you’re just the man to cheer them up. Night night, love, God bless. Off you go to dreamland.’

  Then there was only the dialling tone.

  Time works its own pattern and during the coming weeks her life was almost as changed as the children’s. Only Peter’s carried on as usual; or, nearer the truth, Zina believed it did and if she could have looked in on the film set where he was working she would have seen nothing to alter her opinion. An actor to his fingertips, no one with him questioned his unchanging cheerfulness. Before his fleeting visits home he always enquired whether there was any point in his coming, would Zina be free? Only she wasn’t treated to a display of cheerfulness. He made no secret of his feelings when he phoned her one evening during the week preceding the half-term break.

  ‘I take it you’ll make yourself available to fetch the children?’ There was no smile in his tone.

  ‘I know it would be no use asking you to be responsible,’ she answered him in the same vein. She had never been so filled with such a need to hurt him – to hurt him just as he did her.

  And yet when the Friday evening came the house was filled with excited chatter. Like all children the twins were aware of atmosphere and she was determined nothing must cloud their few days at home. Supper was held back until Peter arrived, and even though the curtains were closed against the dark night, she and the children heard his car as it turned off the road at the end of the drive and approached the house much too fast, stopping with a loud squeal of brakes and throwing gravel in all directions. Peter was home.

  ‘He’s here … Dad’s come …’ and forgetting the conjuring trick Fiona had been performing, the two of them rushed to open the front door and hurl themselves at him as he got out of the car. Zina stayed behind, concentrating on checking the oven and making sure the table was ready. It’s got to be good, all of it, every moment. For the children’s sake he’s got to stop carping and being so mean-minded, expecting me always to be waiting for him with open arms – and I don’t just mean in bed, even if he likes to think I do. It needn’t be like this. It could all be so good.

  ‘Where are you, Mum?’ she heard Tommy shout as they dragged Peter in, each pulling one hand.

  ‘I’m in here, getting the table ready,’ she called from the dining room. ‘Just coming.’

  Still with the children pulling him, he was led to where she was laying the dining table. To add to the festivity she had even put the candelabra out, just as she did on the rare occasions they had dinner parties. The twins exchanged a glance, each seeming to grow an extra inch. Zina longed to be able to throw herself into Peter’s arms and, had they been alone, perhaps that’s what she would have done, but he made no attempt to free himself from the hold the twins had on him. So instead, and still clutching a handful of forks, she came towards him and raised her head to give him a light kiss on his cheek. Perhaps she did it for the children’s sake for certainly it was on their account that she made sure her voice was bright when she spoke.

  ‘You made good time. Not too much traffic?’

  ‘Enough. How long before supper? I wouldn’t mind a quick shower if the kids aren’t starving.’ By now he’d got his arms back to himself again and as he spoke he moved to the sideboard to pour a drink. ‘I’ll take this up with me. One for you?’

  ‘Not at the moment thanks, not while I’m sorting out the meal.’ Now why did she say that? Perhaps because it had always been his habit when he arrived home to pour out a drink to put the drive behind him; in the past he had always automatically poured one for her too.

  ‘Be quick, Dad,’ Fiona called as he turned to go upstairs carrying his glass, ‘we’ve got masses to tell you, all about everything.’

  ‘I’ll be so quick you won’t have time to miss me.’

  He was as good as his word and ten minutes later they were sitting at the table while he carved a joint.

  ‘This looks scrumptious, Mum. Do we get pudding too?’ Tommy asked hopefully, for in the days when they’d been at the village school, the twins’ supper was always something warm but seldom with a dessert; if Peter had been arriving late, the children would have eaten alone and been dispatched to bed and only ‘the growns’, as they talked of their parents, would have had a full-blown meal later. Going to boarding school seemed to have raised their importance in the household.

  They sat some time at the meal table while the twins regaled them with word pictures of their new life. Actually most of the word pictures were Fiona’s with just the occasional ‘that’s right, isn’t it, Tom’ or ‘Tom missed that, didn’t you, Tom, because of having to practise. Pity, because it was good fun.’ Then, with her eyes fixed on Peter, she said, ‘Dad, I waited until you were home to say about it, but we’re doing a play at Christmas. Not the usual Nativity one like we used to do in the baby school. It’s all about a beggar child at Christmas and how she gets taken into a rich man’s house out of the cold and gets to play with his children. It’s sort of showing how there is no difference in the children whether they have lots of nice things and good food or whether they have nothing. Deep down they are all the same. She has parents and they are beggars too. You’d think they wouldn’t have let her be taken off by the rich man, wouldn’t you? I suppose if they hadn’t, there wouldn’t have been a story. Anyway they did. Then they come to fetch her and the rich children share some of their things with her and the man gives her parents some money and food. It’s a sort of lesson for us all to help other people and understand that we’re all the same. Anyway, all that isn’t the important bit. The important thing is that I have been chosen for the part of the beggar girl. It’s the biggest part in the whole play and I have lots of words to learn. I expect they gave it to me because they know about you, Dad. But, you just wait, you’ll see: I’m going to make it something people will always remember. It’s not just for the school you see, it’s for parents and so forth to come.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll make it something we shall all remember,’ Peter said, his expression of pride seeming to set the two of them apart. ‘If I have to move heaven and earth, be sure I shall be there in the audience.’ Then, as if he remembered that he also had a son, he added, ‘And you Tommy? Are you in the play?’

  ‘Sort of. I’m just a kid in the crowd. And they don’t call me that – Tommy, I mean. I suppose it’s for little kids. At school I’m just Tom.’ Then, turning to Zina, he said, ‘But, Mum, Mr Messer said to tell you that he is pleased with how I’m doing with my music. And, Mum, he said – not meaning to look for pupils, but he just told me it – he said that it’s a help to learn to play the piano too, not just one sort of instrument.’

  ‘And he’s right. I started both at the same time, but always loved the violin most.’ Did she imagine that slight raise of Peter’s eyebrows as he watched her? ‘We’ll see if they can fit you in for the second half of the term if you have time for two lots of practising. Do you think you could manage?’

  ‘Perhaps he doesn’t want to,’ Peter suggested.

  ‘Oh, but I do, Dad. If you let me it would be super. I really want to do it. I don’t mind if I have to miss out on something else instead. Rugger, that’s what the older ones play, but I’d rather have extra time for practising.’

  Fiona’s chuckle took the sting out of her remark as she said, ‘Well, at least on a piano you won’t make that awful scroopy noise like you do on the fiddle.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘If you don’t, you’re more clever than I was when I first started,’ Zina laughed. ‘It’s hard in the beginning not to press your bow too hard on the strings. But it’s something that you get over as you practise.’ She was so aware of each one of them at the table, a new pride and confidence in Tommy’s (she must t
ry and remember that he was Tom now) expression as he took in what she said, while Peter and Fiona seemed to share a secret that cut them off from the others.

  But perhaps it was all in her imagination. Here they were, the four of them together, a whole weekend ahead of them. She hated to admit even to herself that she was relieved she had no commitment with the quintet until the following Thursday; so until she drove the children back to school on Tuesday afternoon she could almost believe everything was as it used to be. Why was it she couldn’t tell Peter that she had offered accommodation for the players to stay at Newton House with her after their recital in Exeter the following week? Any other friend and she would have told him, sure of his pleasure. But this time she knew she must say nothing and, with cunning alien to her nature, she hadn’t even told her mother.

  If only they had had more than just those few short days and nights, or if they had been away somewhere new to them all, a family on holiday for two or three weeks, then their future might have been very different. She tried to make believe that everything was as it had been, determined that for the weekend of their half-term break that was how it would be. She wanted to speak about it to Peter, but how could she? To acknowledge that she couldn’t feel the same atmosphere of love in the house that she had always taken for granted could destroy any hope of finding it again. But perhaps Peter had always been so wrapped up in his ‘other life’ that for him there was no undercurrent. Was the difference in herself? In him? She was frightened to look for the answer.

  For that half-term weekend she and Peter both made sure no one rocked the boat. Fiona seemed to have settled happily enough at school (or, Zina suspected, more likely she was moulding things to suit herself where possible and, faced with rules that must be obeyed, she was taking the comfortable way out and accepting). Tommy told them less but Fiona assured them he was settling and he never seemed to be in trouble with his work. He would never become a ringleader; rather he’d grow into being a private person, giving of himself just so much and no more. The one thing that was clear was that he loved his music lessons.

  ‘I hope he isn’t going to give too much of his time to learning music,’ Peter said as the weekend drew towards its close. It was Sunday night; by morning he’d be gone. In his maroon silk pyjamas he would have turned many an infatuated fan’s head as he stood in front of the mirror peering at his reflection, a silver backed brush in each hand as he made sure he was ready for bed. His tone was perfectly normal, he might have been making polite conversation to a stranger, yet Zina heard it as a criticism.

  ‘No more than Fiona will to her play-acting. If he really enjoys it and gives his mind to it, it will be with him all his life. Most things we learn at school may stay tucked away at the back of our minds, but this will be a faithful friend to him come what may – always suppose he sticks at it. And I have a feeling he will.’

  ‘No bad thing for a lad to excel at any subject, but I don’t want him to miss out on sports, teamwork, being part of a like-minded bunch of lads, accepting discipline and learning to take responsibility.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Peter. He’s only nine years old.’ She felt they were skating towards thin ice, but wasn’t prepared to hear any criticism of Tommy.

  ‘He could have learnt to play music at home with you.’

  His tone hadn’t changed and yet, for her, what he said seemed to wipe away some of the cloud that hung over them. At least he was acknowledging that music had always been part of her life.

  ‘Not the same, and anyway he’s not here for me to teach him,’ she answered as she snuggled down in bed, moving close to him as he lay down. Before the family stirred tomorrow he’d be gone. Surely now they would find each other, nothing else must matter but that. ‘It’s all gone so fast, Peter,’ she said, moving her hand across his chest as he lay on his back. ‘Monday tomorrow. Have you set the clock?’

  ‘Unfortunately. Five thirty I must be on the road.’

  She wriggled even closer. ‘Good thing we’ve come to bed early.’

  ‘Oh, hell, Zee, why can’t it be like it was? Is it just that the kids are growing up?’

  ‘It is the same, Peter, please, please, it has to be.’ She felt the warmth of his body against hers as she undid the buttons of those maroon pyjamas, excitement and joy mounting in her as she knew they were in him. His warm hand was moving on her, telling her that his need was as great as her own. ‘Nothing else matters, only us, only this,’ she heard herself whisper and, in those moments, for both of them she spoke the truth. She felt that the barrier that had held them apart was gone. She could feel the pounding of her heart. Tonight was different, tonight she believed it was as if they acknowledged they had sailed through troubled water and reached a safe shore.

  They were close again, there were no shadows or doubts. Both so aware of it, they wanted these moments to last forever and yet they had no power to slow the need that drove them. As he raised himself over her she knew from his quickened breathing and her own soft moan that it was beyond their power to slow where nature, and surely love, was driving them. Tonight their climb to the heights would be quick, there was no other way. Their movements were wild, with hands, mouths, tongues, with everything that they were, they raced to a climax that brought alive every nerve in them.

  ‘Peter,’ she gasped with hardly enough breath to speak at all, ‘Peter. Wonderful … always must be …’

  And he, rolling off her with hardly more life than a rag doll, replied, ‘Always … never change,’ words that were barely audible as he gasped his way towards recovery.

  They said no more. In those magic moments she believed misunderstandings were behind them, there was nothing they couldn’t overcome. She reached to the cord to switch off the light. Peter was already asleep. Downstairs the grandfather clock in the hall chimed and struck midnight. It was a mere five hours until the alarm would put an end to their night. Lying on her back she hugged herself. Tonight had been like a miracle, time that had seemed to lift her right out of the world and banish the misunderstandings and bitterness she had felt between them. How could he sleep after that? It was as if they had been fighting to recover something they had lost. And had they? They had made love each night of the weekend, of course they had, he’d not been here for nearly a month; and always it was good for both of them … but not like tonight. Tonight had banished all the shadows. Zina now felt cleansed of the anger and bitterness. Perhaps this was how one felt coming away from Confession. Always it was like climbing a mountain, feeling exalted when he brought her to the peak. But tonight it was no ordinary mountain; tonight was Everest. I wish I was tired, but I’m wide awake, I want to remember every second.

  She’d thought herself to be wide awake, yet within two or three minutes she was sleeping as soundly as he was himself. At five o’clock the shrill bell of the alarm clock woke both of them. Monday morning and for Peter the half-term holiday was already over.

  By late Tuesday afternoon she was driving home, the twins delivered back to school and arrangements made for Tommy to start piano lessons as soon as they could be slotted into the timetable.

  The Christmas play was everything that Fiona had confidently expected. As in any school production there were those in the cast who showed about as much life as a wooden statue, just as there were one or two who, despite all the training on voice production, couldn’t be heard clearly from the back of the hall. But Fiona fitted into neither of those groups. Perhaps it was a talent inherited from her famous father, certainly the drama teacher believed that was the case and intended to choose their future productions with an eye to her being given a leading role. And perhaps from Peter she also inherited her personality: never did she become self-important, always she was happy to praise others, always she was good-natured and eager to give of her best. And ‘her best’ was quite brilliant. She would learn her words willingly and well (often to the neglect of maths, Latin, geography and so much more which had no bearing on the goal she had set herself) and, once word-
perfect, imagine herself into the role living every emotion with complete disregard of drama teacher or audience.

  As the months went by Peter watched her with ever-growing pride. Yet as, during this same time, Tommy (or Tom as he had become used to being known) gave hours of each day to practice and brought a glowing report from his music master for both violin and piano, his father’s interest was little more than polite praise, given with a rider that ‘I hope you’re not neglecting the other opportunities the school gives you’.

  On the surface he and Zina had a stable marriage but, scratch that surface, and they were two unhappy people moving on parallel lines held apart by what he saw as her selfish indulgence in a life in which he and the children had no part. Whenever he was free he came home, first enquiring whether she would be there or was she off somewhere with her merry band of music makers. Any weekend when the quintet was playing away from the district, or even locally enough for her to get home after the recital, he decided to stay where he was. Yet when he did spend time at home, he and Zina didn’t quarrel; between them there was a superficially friendly courtesy that unfailingly led them to end the day with love-making. Still he led her to climb the mountain, although Everest remained but a distant dream.

  The only way to hide from what was happening to them was to fill their lives and make sure the image they presented was of a happily married couple sharing pride in their two children. With her mother, Zina always made sure she was cheerful, that her voice had a ring of friendliness if she spoke about Peter after one of his brief visits. But Jenny was no fool and not one to be hoodwinked by a cheerful voice. Hadn’t she always known what a selfish creature he was? He’d always assumed that his career was of major importance to the family and yet not once had he ever expressed his pride in what Zina was doing. Jenny saw very little of him but she knew Zina well enough to see behind the smiling facade she presented. She believed the trouble stemmed from their sending the children away to school; she never had agreed with it, believing that a parent’s greatest duty was the guidance and upbringing of a family. However, she had always been careful not to put her oar into their pond, so she kept a watching brief.