at the house on her own, that maybe she should go back there. Luke tells her that he’s just seen her when he picked up her clothes and she seems fine. She was having a cup of tea with a neighbour when he got there and that Charlotte’s nanny is there now and she’s staying the night.
I can’t imagine Lucy’s too thrilled about that!
Still, it seems to appease Charlotte and because, after all, she is eleven, a few minutes later she wants to go and see Daisy.
Daisy has this little gym in Eleanor’s bedroom, she lies there on her back, bashing mirrors and foil and kicking her little fat legs. Charlotte could literally watch her for hours, so I set it up for them and then I make a drink and some sandwiches for my latest visitor and then I head back in to face Luke.
I’ll know he’ll be as direct with me as he was with Charlotte.
‘What are you doing, Sir Bob?’
I like Luke’s rare, dry humour and he can always make me smile.
‘I happen to admire Bob Geldof.’ I can feel Luke’s eyes on me. I know he’s looking out for me but I don’t need him to in this. ‘You don't get it,’ I tell him. ‘She's my children’s sister.’ Then I have to concede a bit, because it is mad - I'm looking after my late, ex-husband’s daughter and I’ve already got more than enough on my plate. ‘I don’t know Luke – I can’t just turn my back.’
‘Lucy’s trouble,’ Luke says. ‘Gloria, you don’t know the half of it… Jesus!’ He stands up and he’s pacing and I can see that he’s conflicted, that there’s more that he wants to say. ‘After the funeral…’ he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hurt me, he can’t trust my reaction, I mean, he can’t really tell me, can he? But, I admire him for trying and, more to the point, I already know.
‘Lucy and Noel?’ I say and Luke double-takes, and then he just stills.
‘You know?’
‘I know a lot of things, Luke…’ and he stands there. ‘I know he was your friend but I know too what he was like. I know what went on in our marriage.’ It’s getting too personal and I don’t know why I’m defending her. ‘I think it was the same for Lucy…’ I’m not going to explain it; I’m not going to tell him just how shit you feel when your husband will screw anything with a pulse except you.
‘Anyway, I don’t really know that. It’s not as if we’ve spoken about it. I’ve never spoken to Lucy till last night.’ He sits down on the sofa. ‘Oh, and one other time.’ I correct. ‘Though, it was hardly a conversation. Remember the boat?’
He gives a pale smile because, even if we’ve never spoken about it again, we all remember that night.
‘It didn’t help that you were seasick,’ Luke says.
‘I wasn’t seasick,’ I laugh. ‘I was pissed. I’d had five Bacardi and cokes before I even got there. I knew that he was leaving me, I knew that Lucy had upped her demands and wanted more than a shag now and then.’ I close my eyes and I can picture that night, more than that, I can feel it, I can hear it - I’ve got my head over the edge of the boat and I’m throwing up into the water. The boat’s turning around and when we get back I know he’s going to go with her. I want the boat to keep sailing. I want the Thames to never end, because my marriage is and I did everything I could to save it.
Everything.
I am there again and I can feel the fear and the shame and the dread for all that’s ahead. I can hear the music the DJ was playing; I can actually hear Don Henley’s, Boys of Summer, pounding in my ears as I lean over the boat to be sick. Then later, when we dock, I lose my temper with her for the first time, actually the last time. I’ve told him where he can go, but not quite so politely and then he and Luke got into a fight and it’s then I see her. That’s when I say it. ‘I got the best years of him.’
But there was a bit before that and I look over to Luke and I know he’s remembering it too. On the boat, as I rushed past Luke to