I step inside the house and close the door behind me. And then I freeze. My nerve endings prickle. There are voices coming from the kitchen. I cock my ear. There’s music playing, and it sounds like someone’s laughing. It must be Sophie. Has she let someone else into the house? I don’t think I’m very comfortable with that. No, I’m definitely not happy. In fact, my palms have begun to sweat. What if it’s her abusive partner who’s discovered where she is?
There’s another short burst of laughter. I know that voice. It sounds like…
I stride into the kitchen and throw open the door. Despite it being a bright day outside, the blinds are closed, and the lights are on. I realise that Sophie is still wary of anyone spotting her through the windows.
Right now, she’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of tea, while Ryan and Sonny are seated at the kitchen table, their homework spread out before them. The radio’s playing some dance track while a DJ talks about tomorrow’s breakfast show. Sophie immediately straightens up when she sees me, her eyes wide and suddenly fearful.
‘Hi, Mum!’ Sonny waves. ‘Sophie’s helping us with our homework. She’s really good at it.’
‘Hello.’ I’m not sure what to make of this scene. ‘Why are you two home so early?’
Sonny rolls his eyes in an exact imitation of his brother. ‘It was a half day, Mum. Teacher training. You forgot.’
‘So how long have you been back?’
‘Ages,’ Sonny replies. ‘Sophie helped us make lunch.’
‘Uh, I hope that’s okay.’ She’s almost cowering. I hate to think that I’m the reason for her uneasiness.
‘Of course that’s okay.’ I smile, trying to put her at ease. ‘I’m grateful to you for helping them.’
‘Oh, I’m happy to do it. They’ve been telling me all about the regatta. Sounds great. I’d love to be able to sail. It sounds like such good fun.’
‘I could teach you, if you like?’ Ryan says, reddening.
I realise he might have a bit of a crush.
‘I’d love to take you up on that one day,’ she replies. ‘I didn’t realise you were a sailor.’
‘He’s really good,’ Sonny pipes up. ‘He used to win all his races.’
‘Used to?’ Sophie give Ryan a questioning look.
I walk over to the kettle, gasping for a cup of tea.
‘It’s just boiled,’ Sophie says.
‘Great. Dying for a cuppa. Do you want a top up?’
‘No, I’m fine thanks.’ She turns back to Ryan. ‘So, does that mean you aren’t racing tomorrow?’
Ryan’s face clouds over and he shakes his head.
‘That’s a shame. Why not?’
‘He doesn’t sail anymore,’ Sonny says.
‘Shut up, Sonny,’ Ryan mutters.
‘Hey!’ I turn to my eldest son. ‘Don’t talk to your brother like that.’
‘Why don’t you sail anymore?’ Sophie asks. ‘Sorry, don’t mean to be nosy. It’s just, if you’re so good at it, it seems a shame not to carry on.’
I wait for Ryan’s rude response. I can’t even mention sailing these days without him snapping my head off. But to my surprise, he slumps down in his chair and sighs. ‘I wish I was sailing tomorrow.’
I have to play it carefully now. Too much enthusiasm from me could put him off. I try to sound as casual as possible. ‘It’s not too late. I can get you entered if you like?’
‘Really?’
My heart swells at the hopeful light shining in his eyes.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But I haven’t practised in ages.’
I check my watch. ‘There’s normally a Friday training session at four. Why don’t you go and get changed and join them. Then, if you feel up to it, you can ask if they can put your name down for the under twelves.’
‘Do you think?’
‘I just said so, didn’t I?’
‘Thanks, Mum, you’re the best!’ Ryan gets to his feet and races out of the room, his feet pounding up the stairs.
I’m the best? This is a Ryan I haven’t seen for months. How come it’s taken a virtual stranger to turn my sad and moody child into a boy who’s almost excited about life again? Offering Sophie some temporary shelter may just have been the best decision I ever made. I glance over to see her talking to Sonny about his science homework. He’s really listening to her, totally engaged. I shake my head in wonder. She’s a regular Mary Poppins.
Sophie and I are sitting in the lounge, with the blinds and curtains drawn, eating cheesy pasta off trays on our laps. The kids ate earlier, as Ryan was ravenous after he got home from training. Turns out one of the juniors got sick and had to pull out of the under twelves race, so Ryan managed to nab their spot. He’s on cloud nine, and I’m pretty sure it’s all down to Sophie. I managed to persuade him to have an early night so he’s fresh for the race tomorrow; he didn’t take too much convincing, as he was shattered from his time out on the lake.
Conversation between Sophie and I has been a little stilted so far. She said she was fine having her dinner in the attic, but I thought it would be weird with her up there and me down here, so I said she should come down. I also need to broach the subject of what she’s going to do next.
I chew my food slowly and try not to dwell on the silence of the room. I usually read or watch TV in the evenings, followed by an early night. It’s strange having company. ‘I don’t know what you said to Ryan earlier, but I haven’t seen him this happy in ages.’
‘Really?’ Sophie’s feet are pulled up under her as she delicately spears a broccoli floret with her fork and pops it into her mouth. ‘I didn’t do or say anything special. The three of us just chatted while they did their homework.’
‘Well, whatever you did, thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to have him actually talk to me without grunting.’
She shrugs. ‘He’s a teenager, I guess.’
‘Nope. He’s only eleven. Tall for his age though. And another thing, how did you get them to do their homework? They usually leave it until the last minute on Sunday evening.’
‘I don’t know. I was up in the attic and I heard the front door slam. I thought it was you so I came down. When I saw it was your children, I wasn’t sure what to do. But Sonny was really cute and friendly and asked what was for lunch. So I thought I’d make them something – hope that was okay? I couldn’t think of what to talk to them about at first, so I just asked about school. Ryan said he had some really hard maths homework. I offered to help him with it after lunch.’
‘Well, I’m grateful.’
‘Not as grateful as I am.’ Sophie looks down at her barely touched pasta and sets down her fork. ‘Actually, I’m not really very hungry. Do you mind if I…?’
‘No, that’s fine. Leave it if you don’t want it.’
‘Sorry. It’s a waste.’
‘No, it’s…’ I shake my head. I seem to have lost my appetite too. I put my tray on the coffee table. ‘Actually, Sophie, we should probably have a chat about what you want to do next.’
She gives a brief nod and stares down into her pasta bowl.
‘Have you managed to have a think about it?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her voice is small and wavery.
I feel like such a bitch for pushing her. But she can’t stay here indefinitely. Especially as I don’t even know what it is she’s running from. ‘Can you at least tell me what kind of trouble you’re in?’
‘It’s complicated. It’s better if I don’t tell you.’
I don’t like the sound of that. By helping her out, could I have put myself and the kids in danger? ‘Look, you know I’m taking Sonny and Ryan to the regatta tomorrow, so you’re welcome to stay here another day. And then it’s Sunday, so you may as well stay here for the weekend. But let’s work out a plan for Monday, okay? We’ll ring round a few shelters and get you fixed up with some proper help.’
Sophie nods again without looking up. ‘Thank you.’
; I feel guilty for putting a timescale on this, but I can’t have her living with us permanently. ‘So you’re okay with me contacting a shelter?’
She shrugs.
‘I think it’s for the best.’
‘I don’t know. But you’ve been really kind letting me stay. There aren’t too many people like you in the world.’ Sophie’s tone suddenly turns bitter.
‘I’m sure there are.’
Her lip curls into a cynical sneer and she shakes her head. I notice her fists are clenched. ‘People are mainly horrible. And that’s me being nice about them.’
‘Well, hopefully your life will get better and you’ll meet some good people.’
‘I doubt it.’
A series of heavy thumps on the front door makes me sit up.
‘Are you expecting visitors?’ Sophie asks, her eyes wide.
‘No, I’m not. Unless… it could be my friend Tia, but she’s never thumped on the door like that.’
‘Don’t answer it!’ Sophie slides her tray off her lap and onto the sofa cushion next to her before jumping to her feet. ‘We should go upstairs. Hide.’
My heart starts racing at the fear in her eyes. ‘Hide? This is my house. Whoever it is can’t get in. The doors and windows are all locked.’
‘That won’t stop him.’
‘This is ridiculous.’ I stand and try to think what to do. There’s another series of thumps on the door. ‘I’ll have to answer it. Whoever it is, is going to wake the boys up and I don’t want them involved or frightened. You go on up to the attic and don’t come down until I tell you.’
‘Aren’t you coming with me?’
‘No. I’ll get rid of them.’
‘How? Don’t let them in, will you?’
‘Quick, go on upstairs.’ I walk out of the lounge and turn off the hall light, ushering Sophie out and up the stairs. She starts to say something else, but I give her a stern glare and wave her away. I think I must look braver than I feel.
Once her footsteps have receded and I hear the distant sound of the attic door closing, I take a breath, put the chain across the door and pull it open.
Eighteen
FIONA
I slip on the oven mitt and slide the salmon en croûte out of the oven. It’s far too hot to be cooking, but Nathan is fond of home-cooked meals whenever he manages to make it back in time for dinner, so I always keep a few standby meals in the freezer.
Right now, Nathan’s sitting at the table out on the deck. He’s sipping a glass of wine and scrolling through his phone. I won’t say anything, even though he always has a go at me if I ever dare to look at my phone while we’re eating. His short brown waves are perfectly swept back off his face by insanely priced hair wax. Even his relaxing-around-the-house clothes are smart – a pale-grey short-sleeved shirt, designer shorts and sunglasses. Beneath my apron I’m wearing an Issey Miyake green crepe dress that Nathan bought me last month. He said it looked perfect with my chestnut hair and hazel eyes. My hair is naturally wavy, but Nathan prefers it when it’s straightened.
I dish up the salmon, remove my apron and take the plates outside. There’s already a bowl of mixed salad leaves and a bottle of chilled wine on the table. Nathan looks up and smiles, setting his phone down next to his plate.
‘This looks and smells amazing, Fi. So do you.’ He looks me up and down appreciatively.
‘Thanks. Hope it tastes as good.’
‘I’m sure it will. You’re a fantastic cook. I’m so lucky to have such a talented wife.’ He leans back in his seat. ‘Successful in business, incredible in the kitchen and spectacular in the bedroom.’
Normally I’d lap up his praise, but today I don’t feel anywhere near as wonderful as he’s making out. I feel like I’m barely holding it all together.
Nathan’s expression darkens at my lack of response. ‘Everything okay, Fi? I just complimented you, you know.’
‘Sorry, Nath. Thanks. I’m not quite with it. Got some stuff on my mind.’
‘What stuff?’ He cuts into the salmon en croûte, and stabs a chunk with his fork, blowing on it gently.
‘Molly handed in her notice.’
Nathan takes his first mouthful and chews. ‘Delicious. You could give Ed a run for his money, Fi. Set up a rival gastropub.’
‘Thanks. It’s quite easy to make though.’
‘Don’t run yourself down. I’ve told you about that before. You’re a bloody good cook.’
‘Yes, okay, you’re right. Sorry. Did you hear what I said about Molly?’
My plan is to mention the fact she’s pregnant and see what his reaction is. The thing is, if I’ve started having maternal thoughts, maybe his mind has changed too. Maybe he’ll be open to the idea of having a family. Although part of me knows that if this was the case he’d have let me know straight away. I’ve never known Nathan to shy away from saying what he thinks. I always used to love that about him. His directness.
When Nathan and I first met it was refreshing to have a man tell me he liked me without playing all those ridiculous dating games. He actually called me when he said he was going to call, rather than waiting an arbitrary amount of time so as ‘not to seem too keen’. It felt like I was being wooed by a proper man, not some stupid kid who didn’t know his own mind. Nathan certainly wasn’t afraid of commitment. He knew what he wanted, and he went for it. And what he wanted was me. But how might he feel about the idea of children now? I need to plant a seed without being too obvious.
‘So Molly’s leaving.’ He shrugs. ‘So what? Big deal. Assistants like Molly grow on trees. She’s not exactly winning any employee of the year awards.’
I need to play this carefully. ‘It’s nice she’s pregnant though. Her boyfriend proposed as soon as he found out and they’re moving away to be closer to family. It’s exciting for them. Starting their own family. A new adventure…’
Nathan takes a few more mouthfuls and then breaks to pour some more wine. I’ve barely touched my food. My appetite seems to have disappeared. I blame cooking in the heat, but deep down I know it’s more than that. Nathan is deliberately not engaging with my conversation. It’s boring him. He doesn’t want to talk about assistants and babies. He isn’t interested in starting a family, and I don’t feel brave enough to tell him how I really feel.
I briefly think about mentioning the tax officers, but those words stick in my throat too. Instead, I pick up my wine glass and take a few large gulps. The cold liquid feels good sliding down my throat. I like the way it blurs my thoughts and dulls my anxieties, blocks things out, allowing me to gaze out across the water and imagine I’m a bird skimming across the surface of the lake, heading out somewhere far from here where there are no worries.
‘How’s the Carmichael job?’ Nathan asks.
‘Good. They’re going super contemporary.’
‘Sounds expensive. That’ll be good for your portfolio.’
‘Although they do like to change their minds, so who knows what we’ll end up with.’
‘You need to be firmer. Show them your design and make them stick with it. Don’t take any shit.’
I nod. ‘You’re right.’
‘You know it.’ He raises his glass to mine, and we clink.
Although it’s not as simple as telling clients what they want. You have to tread carefully around people like the Carmichaels. They need to feel like they’re in control. Like it’s their own vision and I simply carried it out for them. They want all the creative glory for themselves. That’s why I’m so successful – I praise and flatter my clients for their impeccable taste, even though the ideas are all mine. I won’t try to explain this to Nathan. He’ll tell me I’m being ridiculous.
I take another sip of wine. ‘Paul Barton called round today.’
‘What does that dickhead want? Is he hassling you about taking over the showroom again?’
‘It’s fine.’ I put my glass down. ‘I’ve told him I’ll give him my decision by the end of the month.’
‘
Fi, there is no decision. Tell him to piss off. Better yet, I’ll tell him.’
‘No, no, don’t worry, it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine. You need to keep hold of that showroom. Salinger’s is a prestigious business. It’ll send out the wrong message if you downsize. And I won’t be able to recommend you to any of my colleagues if you run a poky little shop rather than an impressive showroom.’
Nathan has never recommended Salinger’s to a single one of his work colleagues, but sometimes, especially after a few drinks, he likes to take credit for keeping my business going, even though he has absolutely nothing to do with it.
‘Don’t forget, that’s my name attached to it.’
‘Hello.’ I give him a little wave. ‘Fiona Salinger here.’ I grin to show him I’m teasing.
He smiles back. ‘You know what I mean, Fi. Everyone knows who I am. They know that’s my name. I didn’t mind you naming your business Salinger’s, but you have to realise that because it has my family’s name, it has to keep up a certain reputation.’
I don’t remind him that he suggested I change the name of my business from Fiona’s to Salinger’s, because he said it sounded more premium. He was right, of course. The surname is much better. But it irks me when he acts like he did me this huge favour letting me use the name.
I suddenly realise that if Nathan finds out about the tax audit from someone else – someone like Paul Barton, who has a way of discovering everyone else’s business – he’ll be absolutely furious. The thought chills me. I don’t think I have any choice but to say something about it. I take another huge sip of wine and decide to launch straight into it.
‘Nathan, there’s something else I need to talk to you about.’
His head snaps up. Under his steady gaze, I really feel like chickening out, but I can’t risk not telling him. His eyes narrow. ‘Well? What is it?’
One of Us Is Lying: A totally gripping psychological thriller with a brilliant twist Page 11