by Anne Coates
“Bastard. Didn’t that hurt?”
“It did at the time, but really once Elizabeth was born, nothing else seemed to matter.”
Caroline digested this. “But don’t you get bored? You don’t go out much, do you?”
Hannah smiled. “I haven’t got much energy left for socialising. And a lot of my old friends appear to have lost my telephone number.” Hannah paused. “Now that does hurt…”
Hannah gave her daughter a hug and she giggled delightedly. “We’ve got each other, haven’t we?” She tickled the baby’s toes. “I feel very lucky, privileged really. I haven’t got much time for men.” She directed these last words at Caroline whose expression was unreadable.
“Are you getting bored?”
The girl shrugged, “I miss the girls really and the excitement, but it’s nice not having to look over my shoulder. I dunno what I want, do I?”
◊◊◊
Caroline became addicted to daytime television if she hadn’t been already – and writing. She’d bought half a dozen more red exercise books and Hannah often discovered her writing away, or chewing her pencil thoughtfully. She rarely crossed things out and thoughts seemed to be effortlessly translated onto each lined page. Hannah quite envied her.
“What are you writing?” she’d asked one morning.
“Oh, things,” Caroline replied.
Hannah smiled. “What sort of things?”
“About me,” she said in an off-hand way.
When Caroline had arrived, she’d been clutching a voluminous, shocking pink bag. It apparently went everywhere with her and she’d had the presence of mind – Hannah wondered how it had escaped the pimps but perhaps there was nothing in there to interest them – to bring it with her on the night of her attack. The red notebooks now lived in there. Caroline never left them lying around and Hannah wondered if she’d be able to contain her curiosity if the girl ever did.
Early on, Hannah had explained that she didn’t have any money, she was living on an overdraft and couldn’t support Caroline. The girl had grinned. “Why don’t I pay you like a lodger then?”
“But I didn’t think…”
Caroline delved into her bag, producing a box, which revealed a false bottom that concealed a wad of notes. For once, Caroline had pulled the rug from under her. “How about 50 quid a week?”
Hannah hadn’t wanted to put their arrangement on a regular footing. Nothing could have been further from her mind. However, as the days stretched to a week, and then a fortnight, she’d been wondering how to broach the subject of Caroline’s departure. On the other hand, she couldn’t deny that the cash would come in handy. Caroline was beginning to get under her skin, although she hardly dared admit it even to herself.
Hannah found her impression of Caroline increasingly difficult to reconcile with her minimal knowledge of Princess. Had Princess ceased to exist? The smoking had of necessity, at least while she was in the house. Hannah wondered about drugs but hadn’t seen any evidence. Her language was moderated, and watching her scratching away with her pencil, Hannah couldn’t imagine her selling sex. But maybe that was because she didn’t want to acknowledge the fact. By denying the past, Hannah could live with the present and not torture herself with images of a possibly disastrous future.
Caroline did not refer to her attackers directly. “I feel safe here,” was the nearest she came to alluding to the reason for her being there.
She showed no inclination to explore the area, although she did go out on her own now and again. Hannah never asked questions; she was convinced she wouldn’t like the answers. Occasionally Caroline accompanied Hannah and Elizabeth to the park. If they met anyone, Hannah always introduced her as the daughter of a friend who was staying for a while.
Caroline was always taciturn on these occasions. She made it obvious she couldn’t wait to get away, acting like a moody teenager, which wasn’t far from the truth. But because of this, Hannah had put off telling her about a dinner party she was giving the following Saturday.
It had been arranged ages ago when Hannah was having lunch with Joe Rawlington, an old friend from college days. Joe had been really supportive during Hannah’s pregnancy, so much so that some of his friends ribbed him about being the father. Joe had been delighted. A closet gay, he’d never dared come out and Hannah had helped with the camouflage.
Now Hannah wondered what Caroline would make of him and, more importantly, what Joe would make of her.
SEVENTEEN
Saturday 31 July, 1993
“So who are these people coming this evening?” Joe filled his pipe and drew on it.
Hannah winced as a cloud of smoke rose. Pointedly, she closed the kitchen door and passed Joe an ashtray without comment. However, much Hannah went on at him, he simply refused to comply with her no smoking edict. Hannah was glad Elizabeth was safely tucked up in her cot upstairs.
“Thanks.” Joe placed the spent match in its intended receptacle. “Chris and Jane, of course, I met last time.”
“Mm, they’re always good company. I don’t know about Sarah and Gerry Lacon though.”
“Lacon. That name rings a bell somewhere. Where did you say you met them?” Joe was pouring wine into two glasses. Caroline was still in her room.
Hannah accepted a glass and they walked through to the sitting room. “Oh I’ve known Sarah for ages – professionally that is. I met her on a jaunt to Leeds years ago and I’ve seen her at press dos and so on. When I saw her the other week, I just invited her on the spur of the moment. It was strange. She looked – well – grateful, I think. She accepted, providing Gerry wasn’t on call or something. They haven’t been married all that long. And she’s his third wife.”
“And what does he do?”
“He’s a doctor – with a private practice, I believe.”
Joe passed no comment on this, although Hannah could guess his thoughts. He was very active in his local Labour Party. Everyone thought he’d make an excellent Parliamentary candidate but he would never put himself forward – he said he preferred working from the sidelines and behind the scenes but Hannah suspected it had more to do with his sexual orientation.
“And what about your other guest?” Hannah looked blank. “This mysterious Caroline who’s staying with you?”
Hannah studied her wine glass. “Oh she is no mystery. Just the daughter of a friend. She needed somewhere to stay and I needed the money, so…” Hannah shrugged. She didn’t look up.
“That’s unlike you. I thought you hated the idea of sharing your space.”
“Yes, but privacy doesn’t pay the bills, does it?” She smiled to counteract the bitter tinge to her remark.
“As bad as that eh?”
Hannah nodded. “I just seem to have lost some clients. They think having a baby addles your brain or something. It’s not true, of course. I’m much more disciplined about work now – and who I do favours for. The hardest thing is that people I thought were friends don’t care enough even to ring. Not everyone of course.” Hannah smiled.
“What about Sharon, you used to do a lot for her?”
“Well, I don’t now. She – let’s just say, she hasn’t returned my calls.” Hannah laughed. “Still the publishers were happy with my book on pregnancy, so maybe there’ll be some more work there.”
Just then, Caroline came into the room. Joe stood up.
“Caroline, this is an old friend of mine, Joe.” Joe held out his hand. Caroline stood uncertain for a moment, then clasped his hand briskly before sitting down.
“I’ll get you a drink, Caroline,” said Hannah, who returned minutes later with a glass for Caroline and the bottle to top up her own and Joe’s drinks. As she relaxed into a chair, the telephone rang. “I hope that’s no one cancelling.” She reached over and picked up the receiver. “Hello… Hello”
There was a silence on the line, then a click. Hannah looked thoughtful. “That’s happening more and more now.”
“Maybe Caroline has given your
number to someone?” Joe noticed a certain look pass between the two women.
“No,” said Hannah. “It started long before Caroline came to stay.” In fact, she thought, it started again when I first got the commission to interview her. Surely there couldn’t be any connection?
She was saved from further introspection by the ringing of the doorbell and the flurried arrival of Sarah and Gerry who seemed to fill the room with their very expensive presence. Sarah’s dress shrieked designer and her immaculate blonde hair and make-up made Hannah, in a dress that was at least three years old and past its best, feeling distinctly shabby. Gerry’s evening suit was definitely over the top for an informal dinner party. His accent betrayed his South African origins, even though and some obscure reason, he claimed to be from New Zealand.
“What would you like to drink?” Hannah’s voice seemed unnaturally loud in the silence, which followed the introductions.
Gerry Lacon! Caroline was suffocating. The room felt stifling. Her hand had touched his! She wanted to jump up and hit him with something, anything. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the wine glass, but she stood rooted to the spot. She realised that she was staring at him. His piggy eyes had looked at her only briefly before looking away as though she was of no interest to him. He hadn’t recognised her – yet.
Caroline didn’t know whether to leave the room or stay where she was. One thing was sure; Gerry Lacon must not guess her identity. Until now, she hadn’t known his name. Would he remember hers? How on earth did someone like Hannah know him anyway? Then she remembered the connection was with Sarah. Caroline glanced at her. She was too bright – as though they’d had words on the way over. How much did she know about what her husband got up to?
Caroline was aware of Joe looking at her oddly. Shit. She tried to smile at him but her lips refused to comply. She swallowed hard and stood up. “I’ll help you with the drinks, Hannah.” She managed to get out of the door without her legs buckling under her. In the hall, she took a deep breath and wondered what she could say to Hannah. There was no way she was going to sit down and eat with that man.
She followed Hannah into the kitchen.
“I hope this isn’t going to be too boring for you.” Hannah spoke into the oven as she checked the chicken. When Caroline didn’t reply, she turned to see that the girl was wide-eyed, pale and shaking. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s him!” Caroline hissed.
“Who?” Hannah was perplexed.
“Him. Gerry.”
“He looks a bit of a bore, doesn’t he?” Hannah giggled; the wine was having a pleasantly relaxing effect.
“No! Yes! But that’s not what I mean.” She paused then, looking every inch a child caught out in some misdemeanour, said in a stage whisper, “He was one of my clients.”
Hannah was pouring the drinks. She froze. The girl waited for some reaction and then realised that Hannah’s shoulders were actually shaking. When she faced Caroline again, tears were streaming down her face and she had to hold her nose to stop herself laughing.
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh yes, it is.” Hannah was almost hysterical.
Caroline was desperate. “He might recognise me.”
This had a slightly sobering effect on Hannah, but she still didn’t see the problem. “He’s hardly likely to say anything with his wife sitting there, is he?”
“No, but he might tell someone. He knows lots of people.”
“I dare say he does. A Harley Street doctor.”
“This is serious, Hannah.” Caroline looked on the verge of tears. She had to make Hannah understand without giving anything away. “I can’t sit through dinner with him, I can’t. He might tell someone.” She stressed the last word.
Hannah gave Caroline an indulgent smile. She thought it was highly improbable that Gerry, even if he did use prostitutes, had anything to do with pimps. But Caroline was clearly terrified. Red hair and glasses had transformed her, but she might give herself away with the careless remark.
“Okay, okay. Don’t panic… Let me think…” Seconds later, Hannah had a solution. “Pop upstairs and pretend to be vomiting in the bathroom. I’ll follow you up.”
Hannah walked back into the sitting room accompanied by the muted sounds of someone throwing up. “A little too much wine on an empty stomach, I think.” She smiled at her guests, watching intently for any reaction from Gerry. He looked extremely put out and Hannah could feel her skin prickle until she realised the reason. Joe had just been castigating him about private practice. Hannah breathed out, willing herself to be calm, and handed out the drinks.
“Last year we went to Madeira.” It was Sarah’s obvious intention to change the subject. “It was wonderful. Every night we went out to local restaurants. It was really beautiful, wasn’t it Gerry?” Sarah laid her hand on her husband’s knee. He did not return her smile. “And we had a simply sumptuous tea at Reid’s Palace Hotel one afternoon.”
“Didn’t you go there a few years ago, Hannah?” Joe, Hannah knew, had said this from pure devilment. Sarah and Gerry were a disaster. So full of their own self-importance, Hannah suspected they thought they were doing her a favour, gracing her home with their esteemed presence and was regretting her invitation.
“Yes, I spent a week at Reid’s.” Hannah smiled at her glorious moment of one-up-man-ship.
“How on earth could you afford that?” Sarah realised, too late, what an appalling faux pas she’d just made, but was saved literally by the bell.
Hannah went to answer the door and ushered in Jane and Chris gushing apologies and brandishing two bottles of Champagne.
Hannah’s heart sank as Gerry and Chris took each other’s measure. Dinner suit and short grey hair versus jumper and jeans and a dark pony-tail. A few words and the two men gave the impression of being diametrically opposed in every way; it was going to be an interesting evening.
In the kitchen, Hannah put the finishing touches to the meal as Jane explained the trouble they’d had with mini-cabs. Hannah hugged her. “Never mind, you’re here now and I’m really pleased to see you. I’m not sure how much of those two, undiluted, I could take.” They looked at each other and giggled. “Take these drinks through, will you.”
Hannah followed a few minutes later. “Dinner’s ready. I don’t think Caroline will be joining us.” At that moment she caught Joe’s eye. He looked distinctly skeptical and she wondered why.
EIGHTEEN
“Frankly, I don’t see how anyone in their right mind could have voted Conservative.” Hannah was just bringing in the main course and caught Chris’s comment.
“Well I don’t mind admitting not only to voting for them but canvassing for our parliamentary candidate last year.” Sarah’s voice rose as she bristled with palpable indignation.
“Why?” Chris shot at her.
“Why what?”
“Why do you support them?” Chris’s smile was pure malice.
“I don’t have to tell you that. It’s personal.” Sarah replied lamely.
“But you must tell people why you support the party when you’re out on the knock, as it were.” Chris was like a cat playing with a mouse.
“Oh, of course.” Sarah toppled into the trap.
“So, why not now? Why not tell me? Convert me?” Chris challenged.
Gerry leapt to his wife’s defence. “Sarah doesn’t have to put up with this sort of attack. Hannah, I don’t understand how you can allow your guests to be insulted like this.”
Hannah was momentarily lost for words. There was a hush as everyone was looking at her, waiting. “I didn’t hear an insult,” she said quietly, “and I think we are all old enough to stand by our convictions.” She served the chicken in silence, and then everyone started talking at once.
Chris put his hand on Hannah’s. “This is delicious. Thank you.”
More wine smoothed ruffled feathers.
“Do you have a garden?” Sarah asked.
“Just a small one.�
� Hannah forked food absentmindedly. She’d lost her appetite and the conversation was becoming deadly boring.
“Then you’ll be able to have barbecues.” Hannah groaned inwardly. “We often cook outside, don’t we Gerry? It’s such fun.” Sarah announced this as though she herself had just invented the outdoor grill.
Hannah couldn’t resist rising to the bait. “Yes, the last one I had was for 40 people.” She caught Joe’s eye and smiled innocently.
Sarah ignored her. “Gerry just loves donning an apron and taking over the cooking, don’t you darling?”
“Darling” nodded, then praised the food. Hannah relaxed a little, but she felt her attention drawn time and again to Gerry Lacon. He was, she assumed, in his early 50s, older than Sarah. He obviously took care of himself and his appearance. His hands looked cared for and his nails manicured. He certainly didn’t look the type to pick up women at King’s Cross. He looked far too fastidious and was way too pompous.
When she had cleared the table, Hannah popped upstairs with some food for Caroline. The girl was writing furiously in her red book and Hannah noticed that one of the telephone directories and her A-Z were balanced on the bed. Caroline shut them.
“I borrowed them from your study. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I do actually.”
Caroline, still looking pale, looked up. “I’ll put them back where I found them.” She couldn’t understand Hannah’s possessiveness.
Hannah knew she was overreacting, but she wanted to slap Caroline’s face. How dare she. Her study was private – not a lending library. Her face was flushed and with more control than she felt, she picked up the books. “I’ll put them back and I’d rather you didn’t go into the study. I’d like somewhere to call my own,” she muttered as she left the room.
Still fuming inwardly, Hannah was greeted with raised voices as she returned from the kitchen with the dessert.
“Of course I could, and would kill, if I had to.” Chris looked as though he’d targeted Sarah as his next victim. She looked like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights as a hand fluttered to her neck and Hannah wondered what she’d missed. “Everyone is capable of killing – if they had to protect themselves or someone they love, for instance.”