through 24 metres of silt and sludge, a caisson was built – a watertight box on the river bed in which the miners could work safely. The caisson itself would go on to form the foundation for the massive tower to grow above. That was how it felt to Joe – he was willingly inhabiting a hermetically sealed space in which home life with Tess, even with Emmeline and Wolf, could develop and flourish. This time together, this safe and private caisson, would become the bedrock on which their relationship could prosper.
So she made a large batch of scones. And he made porridge for everyone. They drank wine and tea and had hot chocolate at elevenses. She sewed on his loose buttons and he tinkered with her car. She gave his bathroom a spring clean and he put the border up properly, permanently, in Emmeline's room. It was as though they were playing house, as though they were practising Happy Families and the more enjoyable it was, the more viable and real it felt. With Wolf improving by the hour and Em sleeping through the night and the constant pleasure of each other's company – whether chatting in the kitchen, or sharing quiet in the sitting room, or combining their bodies in bed, or being intrinsically aware of each other while they slept – it ceased to feel like playing or acting, it all felt pretty effortless. And because reality was apparently so easy to construct, the euphoria they felt became the norm, just a regular emotion, a state they were determined to cherish and maintain.
This was not the time to say, Joe, tell me more about your mother. Nor did Joe feel it appropriate to ask Tess why she'd left London in such a hurry. She didn't dare think about the French fancy with the BlackBerry in bed and he wasn't going to waste time wondering about some bloke called Seb who knew where she lived. Instead, he said, show me how to change a nappy, then. And she said, why don't we paint your bedroom. And they sorted out the larger shed in the garden and she found out he was just as wary of spiders as she was.
They'd kiss under the humming neon strip in the kitchen, as well as in the moonlit garden and of course in the thrill of a cool, dark bedroom. And late one night Joe said, Tess! I didn't know you'd do that! when she sucked his cock and swallowed. And early one morning she said, Joe! I didn't know I could do that! when he made her come twice in quick succession.
They grinned at Em when they broke away from one embrace in the courtyard to find her chortling and clapping. And they praised Wolf when he managed to wag his bandaged stump in response to Tess and Joe larking about with a tea towel and the water spray she used when she did the ironing. And when she did the ironing, Joe came up behind her and put his hands lightly on her waist and laid kisses up her neck and breathed in the scent of baby shampoo from her hair. And when he was doing The Times crossword, she sat herself on the edge of his tub chair and slipped her arm around his shoulders, laying her head against his to help him think. It's clipper, she said – 10 Across is clipper – trim shipshape. And he said, you're not just a pretty face, you know. And then he said, you don't actually know how naturally pretty you are, do you? He said, it's one of the things I love about you – you and your appalling hoodies and crap jeans. But Tess didn't hear the jibe about her clothes; her head was filled only with the sound of Love.
A week later, however, the phone went when they were in the kitchen debating whether 7 Across could be lummox because that meant 5 Down could be Achilles. They listened to the ringing for just a second too long to ignore.
‘Perhaps you ought to get that?’ said Tess.
‘You're probably right,’ said Joe.
It was only a phone call but the intrusion seemed a shrill and portentous disruption to their self-imposed isolation. As Joe went to the hallway to answer the phone (thinking, hang up, hang up) Tess sat alone in the kitchen, unable to do the crossword, unable to decide who would be an acceptable caller. Listening to Joe, it did not take her long to deduce it was only the vet. With a lurch, she realized they'd missed Wolf's appointment.
‘God, I'm so sorry,’ Joe was saying. ‘We could bring him down this afternoon? Five sounds good. We'll see you then.’
Joe returned to the kitchen. ‘I clean forgot about Wolf's appointment – I wrote it down somewhere.’
‘You lummox,’ said Tess, thinking to herself, he said we – he said we could bring him down. He said we'll see you at five.
So they all piled into Joe's car.
Driving through Saltburn it felt as if they were returning after quite some time away. There seemed to be more people around and, after days of fine weather, more colour too. There were children on bikes and teenagers in T-shirts and pensioners without headscarves or hats. Some of the shops now ventured their wares outside, promoting them in racks and baskets on the pavement. The milkshake booth was open on the lower prom and there was quite a queue. The cliff lift was in operation. The pier was packed, the sand was speckled with families and the windbreaks looked like colourful punctuation marks.
Joe had to carry Wolf into the surgery because Tess's coaxing hadn't worked; in fact the dog's quaking and whimpers had started in the car when they headed out of Saltburn towards Marske. This, in turn, set Em off but the pair of them yowling and resisting merely made the grown-ups roll their eyes and laugh.
The vet was pleased with Wolf's progress. The bandages were changed (Em was invited to choose and went for orange and mauve) and the dog was extravagantly praised. Finally, the plastic collar was ceremoniously removed and another appointment made for a week's time.
‘I won't be around,’ Joe said, ‘but Tess'll bring him in.’
This torpedoed through Tess like a bolt of lead. Quickly, she forced herself to concentrate on a packet of organic dried pet food because her eyes were smarting at the thought of Joe's departure. She didn't know when, exactly, it was to be. But what she did know was that he would indeed go. And soon. Where? Where was he going?
Stop it! He's still here.
As they walked back to the car, she slipped her hand into his, giving him little surreptitious tugs to slow the pace.
‘I will have to go,’ he told her the next day, as if he'd been conscripted.
‘But not tomorrow.’
‘Not tomorrow,’ he said, as if the notion was preposterous, ‘but by midweek.’
And though she was about to put her arms around him just then, he quickly set off swanning around the garden, picking up anything he came across. Twigs. Leaves. A peg – as if it was a pressing job earmarked for precisely that moment. He kept his face turned.
‘Belgium,’ he said, ‘then France.’ He was putting the items on the garden table, arranging them into a pointless pattern as if it was all part of the chore.
Tess knew she couldn't afford to comment because the sharp pressure at the base of her throat would reveal itself as a telltale crackle to her voice. She couldn't comment because the notion of Joe's indisputable departure suddenly stripped her of confidence in their closeness. France! she goaded herself, you know who's in France. All she could do was stick a banal smile on her face and busy herself too, picking up the odd leaf or peg or plastic bottle top that Joe had missed on the lawn. How she had felt herself blossom this past week – now she could sense her petals closing; furling themselves tightly around her core.
Joe wanted to be able to say, I'll try and come back most weekends. But he knew he couldn't because actually, he just didn't know when he'd next be back. He also wanted to be able to go over to her and take the garden debris from her hands and raise her face to his and let a thoughtful kiss say it all. But he couldn't do that. Because he found that he was already walking to the house under some ridiculous pretence of checking if his Gore-tex
