One Secret Summer (49 page)

Well, she hadn’t. She’d said yes. To lunch. Maddy felt the unexpected, giddy pull of pleasure. Silly, wasn’t it? She was hardly
a teenager, for crying out loud, but she certainly felt like one. In a flash she was fourteen again, standing off to one side
at the Christmas prom, wondering why no one had asked her to dance. There, huddled together in a corner, laughing at her,
were Lindy Myerson and Andrea Halgren. Lindy tossed back her long, blonde hair, rolled her baby-blue eyes to heaven and shook
her head at Maddy’s shoes. Or her dress. Or her hair. Whatever. It didn’t matter what she wore, how she fixed her hair or
how many sandwiches she threw up … she wasn’t part of the cool crowd and never would be. Her friends were like her – misfits,
the odd ones out, the ‘artistic’ types, a code word in Iowa for
downright
weird
. She’d been lucky in New York, that was all. Amongst all the weirdness contained in several hundred drama students, Maddy
Stiller was hardly the type to stand out. Aside from her hair and her Midwestern accent, which she’d quickly learned to tame.
But here in London, it was as though she’d reverted to type. She hadn’t moved on; she hadn’t found a close-knit crowd to replace
the one she’d left – not that one or two people really constituted a crowd, but it was part of the myth about herself that
she’d created, unwittingly or otherwise, when she met Rafe, and now it was too late. If he sometimes missed the cheerful,
carefree New Yorker she’d purported to be, he never said. Like so many other things about her, he seemed to accept the slow
changes without comment or care. It hurt, she admitted with a small shrug. Being yourself, she’d realised since coming to
London, was as much about how
you
saw yourself as it was about how others saw you. Without the mirror of her friends, she’d lost herself almost straight away.
It didn’t help that the image Rafe saw when he met her wasn’t quite the whole truth. Not a lie, granted, but certainly not
the whole truth. She was no longer sure what the truth was. Who was she now? Rafe’s wife? Darcy’s mother? Dare she even think
it out loud … Julia’s
friend
?

She stood by the sink, waiting for the kettle to boil, unnerved by the pleasure that the simple thought of being someone’s
friend had wrought. What had happened to the old Maddy? The one who’d got on a bus without telling anyone and travelled alone
to Chicago to perform on a stage in front of strangers? The one who’d nailed her final-year performance, causing Julie McMahon
to write, ‘only Madison Stiller consistently breaks through the rote quality that pervades the evening. It’s not that she
gets better lines, it’s that she delivers them with such spectacular vehemence.’ She’d memorised the entire review. Where
had she put all those things – the clippings from her various performances, the emails and letters from her agent, the tickets
she’d bought Rafe to watch her perform? It wasn’t just that she’d stowed them in a box and slipped it into some
forgotten corner of the flat – it was that she’d put those things away from
herself
. It was time to bring them out again. It was time to return herself to who she really was, hard as that might be to decipher.

Maddy was already seated when Julia came through the restaurant door. She spotted her immediately and gave a quick, hesitant
wave. It was hard to miss her hair. Today she’d pulled it back off her face but it still spilled over her shoulders, cascading
down her back. She hardly ever looked at Maddy properly, Julia realised as she walked towards her. She was one of those people
who gave off a general, rather than detailed, impression. Theatrical, the wide smile showing those perfect teeth that only
Americans ever had, the laugh and those dramatic hand gestures … all distractions that deflected the attention away from her,
rather than towards her. Maddy was nervous.

‘Hi, is this OK? By the window? I wasn’t sure … we could change, if you prefer? I didn’t know—’

‘It’s fine, honestly,’ Julia assured her, sliding into the seat opposite. ‘I like windows. I like sitting by the window just
watching the world go by.’

‘Really? Me too.’ Maddy stared at her as if she’d said something extraordinary.

‘What’s so funny about that?’ Julia asked, smiling.

Maddy’s smile of relief was instant and pure. ‘I don’t know … I just find it funny. I mean, you don’t strike me as the type
of person who sits in a restaurant on their own watching—’ She stopped herself suddenly, as if aware she’d given away too
much. ‘Not that
I
do that,’ she added hastily. ‘It … it was just a manner of speaking.’

Julia looked at her, uncomfortably aware that something more was being said. ‘How about a drink?’ she asked, guessing that
whatever they would go on to talk about would be made infinitely easier with a glass of wine. Maddy nodded her head vigorously.
‘White? It’s a sunny day.’

Maddy nodded again. ‘White would be lovely,’ she said faintly.

‘Cheers,’ Julia said when their glasses had been poured. She hesitated for a second. ‘I’m glad you rang, actually.’

Maddy blushed bright pink. ‘I didn’t know if I should,’ she said, taking a large gulp. ‘I mean, I’d always wanted to, but
… I don’t know, you always seem so busy, you and Aaron.’

Julia had to laugh. ‘With work, you mean. That’s all we ever do. I always think your life must be much more exciting … all
those crazy theatre people and all that.’

‘Theatre people? Which theatre people?’ Maddy looked genuinely surprised.

‘Oh, the people you hang out with … your friends.’

‘I … I don’t really have any,’ Maddy said slowly. The smile had gone from her face. ‘I used to, back in New York. Well, a
couple, anyway. But not here.’

Julia took a slow sip of wine. Again, something more was being said. She looked at Maddy more closely. Her face was an open
book, she was surprised to notice, on which every single emotion was registered. At that very moment her expression was a
finely nuanced mixture of loneliness and a strangely hopeful quality that tore straight into Julia – it was the precise expression
she’d worn at Balliol for most of her time there, she recognised dimly. That awful, aching out-of-placeness that had never
quite left her. She was shocked to find it in Maddy, sitting opposite her in a restaurant on Upper Street looking for all
the world as though she utterly belonged there in her midnight-blue woollen dress and knee-high patent leather boots. She
looked down at her own clothes and wished she’d dressed with more care – as usual, she’d thrown on a polo-neck sweater over
a pair of black jeans, tied a scarf around her neck and found her most comfortable pair of walking boots. Next to Maddy, she
felt positively dowdy. Plain. ‘Do you like living in London?’ she asked hesitantly.

Maddy waited a moment before replying. She turned her
head towards the window, and when she turned it back again, there were tears in her eyes. ‘I hate it sometimes,’ she said,
her voice suddenly small. ‘I mean, there’s Rafe and Darcy and everything. But I find … it’s hard, you know. It’s hard when
you don’t know anyone and no one seems in any hurry to get to know you. I know I come across badly … too loud, too friendly,
too
American
… all of that. But I don’t know any other way to be. I wish I wasn’t. I’d love to be like you, or Diana, you know … the way
you English are. But I can’t.’

Julia stared at her. There was genuine anguish in Maddy’s voice. She’d never imagined that there was so much going on behind
the friendly, eager mask. ‘Is everything all right with you and Rafe?’ she asked guardedly.

Maddy nodded. ‘Rafe’s not the problem. It’s me. It’s just as you said, remember?’

Julia blushed. ‘I was probably way out of line,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Sorry. I’ve got a bit of a gob on me.’

‘Don’t apologise. I needed to hear it. Like I need to hear it now. It’s exactly as you said. Just do it.’

‘Isn’t that what Nike’s always exhorting us to do?’ Julia said with a smile. ‘Just do it?’

Maddy smiled. ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway, isn’t that another one?’

‘So why don’t you?’

‘You want to know something?’ Maddy lifted her glass. ‘This year, I will. I don’t know how yet, but I will. I can’t bear the
thought of another Christmas lunch with Diana looking at me like that. She thinks I’m a complete dunce.’

‘She thinks that about everyone, not just you,’ Julia said drily.

‘Did you get an invitation?’

‘Harvey’s birthday? Yes … are you going?’

‘Of course. We can’t
not
go. But I’m dreading it.’

‘D’you think
he’ll
come?’ Julia asked suddenly.

‘Who?’

‘Josh.’

Maddy looked at her quickly, almost furtively. ‘Well, that’d make the trip worthwhile,’ she said with a sudden giggle.

Julia found herself smiling in response. ‘He’s gorgeous, don’t you think?’ she said suddenly, lowering her voice.

Maddy nodded emphatically. ‘His wife’s beautiful, too.’

‘What d’you think happened?’ Julia asked after a moment. ‘Between them, I mean.’

Maddy shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Rafe won’t talk about it.’

‘Aaron neither. Every time I bring it up, he just about takes my head off.’

‘Same here. I’m curious, though.’

Julia smiled at her. ‘Well, if you find out, tell me.’

Maddy laughed. ‘Let’s hope they do come. I’m not sure I can stomach a whole week down there with Diana on my own.’

‘You won’t be,’ Julia said, smiling a little. ‘We’ll be there.’

Maddy looked at her uncertainly, as if she wasn’t sure how to respond. Julia felt again a sudden pang of guilt. Why hadn’t
she seen the loneliness that was so apparent on Maddy’s face? She was off to Mozambique on Monday; when she came back, she
resolved to make much more of an effort. She was surprised to find she actually liked Maddy. It took guts to reveal yourself
that completely, she realised. She herself had spent most of her life hiding what she really felt, concealing her feelings
behind a mask of self-assurance that in reality was anything but. What she’d mistaken in Maddy for silliness, eagerness, was
much deeper than that. Mixed in with the confusion and loneliness was something Julia recognised because she longed for it
in herself – courage.

JOSH

Maputo, May 2000

The heat was a wet gag placed over his mouth and skin. He fought his way out of the din of the arrivals hall and saw to his
relief that the agency had indeed sent someone to collect him. His name was roughly scrawled across a piece of cardboard that
still bore the imprint of the last person’s name. He gave a quick wave and was answered in turn. The driver, a short, squat
man with a dark, almost midnight-blue sheen to his skin, took his bags, overriding Josh’s protests. They walked out into the
blinding sunlight; despite the long journey and the strange mood he’d found himself in, it was a relief to be away from London
and the discomfort his last visit had provoked. He would wait until he’d got to the hotel room where he was due to spend one
night before heading off on the long, arduous journey north to the camp before he rang Niela. The thought of her produced
a small ache of loss in his side, which he noted with surprise – it had been years since he’d actually missed anyone, least
of all a woman.

He jumped into the pick-up next to João and they began to thread their way out of the chaos of the parking lot. The airport,
like much of the city, was under construction and there were tall, disjointed cranes everywhere. The roads were also half-built,
with giant concrete boulders and huge mounds of red earth in massed piles at the sides of the roads – a good sign, Josh knew
from experience. International investors weren’t stupid; they followed each other like packs of dogs, sniffing out opportunities
for profit wherever they could, and Mozambique was clearly on the rise. His job was never quite as straightforward. For the
next four weeks, he would be dealing with the human misery that the pull-out of those very same investors had helped create.
His briefing notes were scant – some 1.7 million refugees had begun pouring back into Mozambique from the neighbouring countries
after the decades-long civil war finally drew to a close – his task, as always, was to try and house them. Some of them. The
camp in Cabo Delgado, right up in the north of the country, close to the border with Tanzania, couldn’t hold more than a couple
of hundred thousand. It was the same story wherever he went. House those he could, forget about those he couldn’t.

The sun was at a level that struck him right in the eye as they drove towards the hotel. It was nearly five in the afternoon;
the long flight down from Lisbon had worn him out, but he’d been unable to sleep. They drove through the city centre, streets
clogged with traffic and hawkers, the same makeshift kiosks and colourful displays of wares he’d seen all over the continent.
There was something jubilant in the stances and gazes of the pedestrians they passed at a crawl – the war was over, trade
was returning, the markets were full. Scraps of white and light grey clouds drifted past the buildings above their heads;
like everywhere in the tropics, the threat of rainfall after a particularly hot day was always present. The sky was intensely
blue, despite the rapid approach of night. He gave himself up to the lurch and roll of the vehicle as João expertly negotiated
the potholes, dogs and hawkers all jostling for space.

The hotel was much like international five-star hotels the world over. After calling Niela, he stood under the shower, enjoying
what would be his last taste of luxury for quite some time. The irony of the move from the Intercontinental to the camp at
Mueda wasn’t lost on him. He towelled his hair dry, pulled on a clean T-shirt and a pair of jeans and walked down the air-conditioned
corridor to the restaurant, where he would probably eat his last decent meal. Between the gracefully swaying palms and over
the soft tinkling sounds of a piano, he could make out the faces of the international businessmen and their local contacts
and counterparts – the same plump, sweaty, shiny faces, full of eager greed. Up north, a twelve- or fourteen-hour drive away,
a very different sort of face would present itself. He squared his shoulders and drew a deep breath, preparing himself for
the sudden, shocking descent.