by Jess Ryder
‘Honestly,’ I say, ‘it was nothing.’
‘It wasn’t – you saved her bloody life.’
‘The story’s not over yet,’ Lori says quietly, topping up our glasses.
‘I know, but I’m still going to thank Stella for everything she’s done, okay?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. I didn’t mean—’
‘Please, it’s fine. I really don’t need any more thanks,’ I say.
There’s a pause, during which I consider these two women, who seem to be the unlikeliest of friends. Not just their personalities, which couldn’t be more different, but their social status and even the way they talk. Abi speaks clipped RP, whereas Lori has the local estuary twang.
Sipping at my wine, I ask, ‘So, how did you two meet?’
‘At school.’ Abi reaches out and squeezes Lori’s hand. ‘We’ve known each other as long as we can remember, haven’t we, hon?’
Lori nods. ‘She was the brainbox, always at the top of the class. I was the thicko.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Is too and you know it.’
‘She always puts herself down,’ Abi says, releasing Lori’s fingers. ‘The things she could have achieved if only—’
‘Not now, eh? Stella’s not interested.’
Abi leans back into the saggy deckchair and crosses her ankles. ‘You can see how close we are; we tear each other to shreds.’
I observe her silky black tights and expensive leather ankle boots, a far cry from the baggy jogging bottoms and stained mules that Lori turned up in weeks ago. She catches me staring and I look away, pretending to study some leaves brushing the window in the wind instead.
‘Well,’ she says, after a pause. ‘As pleasant as it is sitting in this ice box of a summer house, what I’d really like is a tour.’ Leaving Lori to do the honours, I retreat to my room, feeling ever so slightly pissed off. Maybe it’s simply because Lori lied to me. She insisted she hadn’t told anyone where she was living, but she obviously gave Abi this address. No wonder she was cross with her for turning up unexpectedly. Who is Abi, anyway? How come I’ve never heard of her?
Never mind, I think. I shouldn’t be so grudging. It’s nice for Lori to see a friend; she’s been isolated for too long. And Abi seems like a no-nonsense type, very pro-women; she’s unlikely to tell Lori to go back to Darren and put up with the beatings. Maybe she’ll talk some sense into her, shatter this stupid dream that he’ll change and the family will be reunited. If she really is Lori’s best friend, perhaps she’ll invite her and the children to come and live with her.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a tap on my door. ‘Come in,’ I say.
Lori enters with Abi at her shoulder. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’
‘That’s okay. What do you think of Westhill House?’ I ask Abi.
‘Big,’ she replies, looking around, her gaze landing briefly on the enormous marble fireplace. ‘Loads of potential.’
‘That’s what everybody says.’
She smiles. ‘I gather you’ve been let down by your builder.’
‘So it seems …’
‘And your husband.’
‘He’s my partner,’ I correct, wondering whether that’s even true any more.
Lori winces. ‘Abi, please …’
‘He’s, er, staying in London for the time being,’ I continue, flustered. ‘For his job. It wasn’t working out, commuting and trying to manage the, er …’ My words die away and I cast my eyes downwards. I’m sure Lori’s told her everything.
‘Basically, you’ve been left in the lurch,’ says Abi. ‘When the going gets tough, the women get going but the men run for the hills, right?’ She laughs wryly.
Lori edges forward. ‘Abi wants to help.’
‘Sorry?’
Abi grins. ‘With the project management. I hear you’re snowed under, have lost control of the budget.’
‘Well, not exactly …’
‘Look, I’m between contracts, on gardening leave for a couple of months – that’s what they call it, only I don’t have a garden,’ she laughs. ‘I’m moving to a rival competitor and I’m not allowed to start my new job until there’s been a gap. Anyway, I’m bored out of my skull and looking for something to get my teeth into.’ She waves her arms expansively. ‘This is the perfect solution.’
I consider her smart clothes and expensive haircut. ‘What kind of work do you do?’
‘Management consultancy.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, none the wiser. ‘Do you live locally?’
‘No, no, I moved away years ago. I’m in Bath now.’
‘Why would you want to spend your time doing building work?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’ She smiles. ‘I’m really grateful for what you’ve done for my dear old friend and I want to pay you back in some small way.’
‘That’s very kind, but it’s really not necessary.’
‘I know, but I want to do it,’ she presses. ‘I was going to volunteer at the hospital, but I thought, actually, this is more worthwhile. I could really make an impact here, move things forward, get you back on track.’
‘She’s so organised, she could run the country,’ says Lori proudly.
Abi casts an affectionate glance in her friend’s direction. ‘Well I wouldn’t go that far, but I do have a lot of experience. And I’m a great believer in women taking control and doing it for themselves.’
I glance down at her left hand. No wedding ring, I note. It doesn’t surprise me. She’s way too scary for your average guy. That’s not to say she isn’t attractive: those dark, sultry looks are very alluring – thick wavy hair, jet-black with lightning streaks of silver, unblemished olive skin, amazing brown eyes. She might be in her forties, but she’d still turn any man’s head.
‘Well?’ she says. ‘Will you let me help you out for a couple of weeks at least? Just to be clear, I don’t need paying. I’m still collecting my salary.’
‘Er, to be honest, I don’t know what’s going on. Lori and I have been doing our best, but … Maybe I should just quit, put the house back on the market and walk away.’
‘But you don’t want to, do you? You want to see this through, just as you planned. Am I right or am I right?’
Her gaze burns into me as she waits for my answer. ‘I suppose that is what I want,’ I mumble eventually.
‘Then let us help you.’
‘But I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. It’s so complicated. There are things I need to sort out with Jack.’ I press my fingers against my temples, trying to subdue the raging thoughts that are threatening to burst out of my brain.
Abi looks at me kindly. ‘We won’t discuss it now. Sleep on it and we’ll talk again in the morning.’
Lori steps in. ‘Is it okay if she stays over tonight?’
‘I’m happy to share the airbed, don’t mind roughing it,’ Abi adds. ‘It’ll be like old times, won’t it?’ She breaks off suddenly. ‘Of course, if you’d rather I found a hotel …’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say, recovering myself. ‘Please stay. And thanks, your offer is incredibly generous. We’ll discuss it over breakfast.’
‘Great. I don’t want to force you,’ she says. ‘Although given the mess you’re in, you’ll be an idiot if you turn me down.’
* * *
I get into bed and lie there for a few moments, staring at the familiar cracks in the ceiling, reluctant to turn off the lights and plunge myself into darkness. The atmosphere has subtly changed since the arrival of our new guest; it’s as if the house itself is shifting about uneasily, disturbed by her presence. Something about this Abigail person isn’t quite right, but I can’t put my finger on it. Why is she here?
As I drift off to sleep, the empty rooms above me start to fill with ghosts. I can hear footsteps running across the floor, children play-fighting, babies crying, the chatter of female voices, the drone of a vacuum cleaner. Cigarette smoke is wafting down the stairs; there’s the sharp
smell of bleach and the sweet stench of dirty nappies, aromas of different dinners being cooked all at the same time. Chaos in the kitchen, laughter in the lounge. A silly argument kicking off in the hall. I see women pegging out washing in the garden – getting on with the stuff of life. Or curled up in armchairs staring blankly into space, wondering what’s become of them and what future lies ahead. It’s there in full colour, playing like a movie – only I’m not watching, I’m in it.
The sense of the past is overwhelming. I can feel the house’s heart beating. It feels so real I could switch on the light and there would be women sleeping on makeshift beds all around me. But I stay in the darkness, feeling their emotions break over me like waves.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stella
Now
I stare at the laptop screen, my vision blurring with stupid tears I can’t hold back. The last few months of bank statements make for grim reading – the ‘out’ column packed with almost daily cash withdrawals and contactless payments and no income set against it. I click on ‘make a transfer’ and top up the current account from my savings yet again. There are still thousands left, but the pot is dwindling, my inheritance running through my fingers like sand. Worst of all, I’ve no idea where all the money’s been spent.
Leaving the room, I go upstairs. It’s still early, the dawn barely broken, and neither of my guests seems to be awake yet. I stand at the large bay windows of the so-called master bedroom and look out. The sky is grey but strangely luminous, the clouds edged with a pink glow. There’s a silvery sheen on the sea and the mud is shiny, as if it’s been polished in the night. It’s not conventionally beautiful but it still takes my breath away.
The room, however, is a total wreck. It looks as if Alan kept starting jobs then gave up and moved on to other things. Several floorboards are missing and there’s a tangle of wiring between the joists. A partition wall has been taken down and the bath suite removed. There are holes in the saggy ceiling and cracks in the cornice; the radiator has been wrenched from its moorings. I shiver, folding my arms across my chest. The place couldn’t be further away from the beautiful mood boards I created, which now feel like a sick joke.
Moving on, I go to the back of the house, where the Romanians were working. The earthy smell of new plaster fills my nostrils as I enter the room where the violent drawings were. They’re still here, of course, just hidden. I run my fingers over the flesh-coloured walls, tracing the pictures that are etched on my brain – the stick women with the triangular skirts and flicked-up hair, the man holding a weapon dripping with blood.
‘There you are,’ says a voice. I nearly jump out of my skin and turn around to see Abi. She’s fully dressed, hair brushed, make-up applied, as if about to leave for work. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.’ She hovers at the threshold.
‘Didn’t hear you coming,’ I reply.
She enters cautiously, looking around the empty room as if searching for something. ‘Why are you in here?’
‘Just checking what’s been done and what hasn’t.’
‘Hmm …’ She goes to the window and stares out, transfixed for a few moments by the view. ‘Have you made lots of changes in here?’
‘Yes. There used to be a shower room in the corner. The house was divided into tiny bedsits, you see, so the women and their children had a space of their own.’ She nods, still gazing down into the garden. ‘There were some drawings on the wall that I had covered up.’
She swings around on her heel, her eyes wide. ‘What sort of drawings?’
‘Scenes of domestic violence. They looked like a child had done them; they were very … vivid. Explicit.’
‘Which wall? Show me.’
‘This one,’ I say, pointing to the clear expanse of drying plaster. ‘Lori found them when she stripped the wallpaper. It was very upsetting.’
‘Not as upsetting as witnessing the real thing,’ she replies, staring at the wall.
‘No, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply—’
‘Children are often the most badly affected. Even if they’re not physically beaten themselves, the impact on them can be devastating and can affect the rest of their lives,’ she continues all in one breath. She gulps in air, holding her hand to her throat, the smart, glossy facade cast aside for a second to reveal somebody younger, more vulnerable. ‘Sorry, can we get out of here? I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic.’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I know what you mean, there’s a creepy atmosphere. I thought once it had been replastered it would be okay, but obviously not.’
We go downstairs together, and by the time we reach the ground floor, Abi has composed herself. ‘Sorry about that,’ she says, glancing behind her, then lowering her voice. ‘I was thinking about Lori. Those poor kids. I don’t know exactly what they saw, but it must have been really bad for them to be taken into care.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that.’ We go into the kitchen and I reach for the kettle. When in doubt, make a cup of tea, I think. ‘My mother was a foster carer; we had troubled kids in the house all the time. I’m sure some of them came from violent homes. When I was little, I had no idea, I mean, nobody told me what they’d been through. I was just told their mummies and daddies couldn’t look after them, I didn’t understand.’
‘Why would you?’
‘There was this boy called Kyle …’ I bite my tongue, wondering why I’m telling her all this. I’ve never even spoken about it to Jack.
‘And?’ she prompts.
I feel myself colouring up. ‘Nothing … it doesn’t matter … He was very damaged, that’s all … Tea? Toast?’
‘Please.’ Abi opens the cupboards, looking for mugs. ‘Domestic violence is damaging to everyone involved. Usually the victims blame themselves.’
‘You mean Lori.’ I take four slices of bread out and pop them into the toaster. ‘I don’t mean to interfere, but I don’t understand why she wants to save the marriage. Darren’s never going to change, is he?’
Abi puts a finger to her lips and closes the kitchen door. ‘I’ve been telling her to leave him for years,’ she says quietly. ‘But she’s got this idea fixed in her head that all children need their fathers, which simply isn’t true.’
‘If she’s not careful, she’ll lose the kids altogether.’ The kettle comes to the boil and I pour water into our mugs.
‘Or worse.’ Abi screws up her mouth. ‘Thank you for keeping her safe. One of the main reasons I wanted to come here was so I could work on her. Get her to see sense.’
‘You sound like a very good friend. I wonder why she didn’t come to you in the first place.’
‘Darren knows where I live.’ She pours milk into her mug and puts the carton back in the fridge. ‘Anyway, enough about that. Have you decided about my offer of help?’
‘Er, yes. I’d like to accept, if that’s okay.’ The toast pops up and I grab the hot slices, dropping them onto a plate.
‘Excellent,’ smiles Abi as I put on the spread. ‘We’ll make a list of what still needs doing and pull together a schedule. Then I can start contacting builders for quotes.’
‘I went through all that last time and it wasn’t very successful. They were all way too high.’
‘Hmm, going with the cheapest quote is often a false economy.’ She sips her tea, then puts the mug down on the counter, leaving a red lipstick mark on the rim. ‘I’m happy to take a look at your budget.’
I laugh grimly. ‘There isn’t one really. Just a pot of money in the bank that keeps going down.’
‘Oh dear. We’d better get it under control before there’s nothing left.’
As I go to agree, my phone starts to play a familiar ringtone from my jeans pocket. ‘Sorry, I need to take this.’ She smiles assent and I open the kitchen door. ‘Hi, Jack,’ I say, moving rapidly down the hallway and into the bedroom.
‘How’s it going?’ His gruff accent chokes me up.
‘So-so, not too bad. How about you?’
‘Yeah, I’ve been saying that.’
‘I know, I know, I’ve been avoiding you, but you’re right. We can’t go on like this.’
‘What do you mean, being apart?’
‘We need to resolve things. And I’m running out of underwear.’ He emits a small chuckle but I don’t join in.
‘Okay. Shall I come to Dom’s or do you want to come down here?’
‘I’m really busy at work and … I presume Lori’s still there?’
‘Yes.’ There are two of them now, I add silently. Double trouble.
‘Would you mind packing some of my stuff up and meeting me at St Pancras?’
I feel a spark of irritation. ‘I’m not Deliveroo, Jack. I’m completely cool with having a proper conversation about our relationship, but if all you want is a few more shirts and your guitar—’
‘I couldn’t care less about any of that,’ he interrupts. ‘I just thought, if you’re coming to London anyway …’ His sentence tails off. ‘Look, forget it.’
There’s a very long pause. I pull at a loose thread on the duvet cover, determined not to be the first one to speak. The silence aches between us and my stomach twists itself into knots. Why does he want more of his things?
‘Look, I’m really sorry your parents died,’ he says finally.
‘Sorry, I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Everything! When we met, I knew you were grieving, but I didn’t realise just how badly it had affected you. I was a shoulder to cry on, nothing more.’
‘That’s so not true,’ I say hotly. ‘We fell in love.’
‘It all happened too fast. I moved into your flat after a month—’
‘Your lease was up, it made sense.’
‘It was too soon. The next thing I know, we’re moving out of London, buying a mansion by the sea. I felt like you were just going down your own track, like it didn’t matter what I thought. Then Lori turned up and you ignored me, like I was the old toy you no longer wanted to play with.’