by Faye Brann
‘Yeah, it’s for the Christmas Fair. Becky put me and Matisse in charge of the Bake-off competition and the cake stall. It’s like now she’s got me involved, she wants to humiliate me as much as possible.’
Chris chuckled. ‘You’re not cut out for this PTA lark, are you?’
‘I feel there might be better uses of my time.’
‘Like what?’ Chris took a sip of wine. ‘You said the other day you were thinking about going back to work.’
Vicky felt her heart speed up. ‘I was. I am. But it’s complicated. Logistically.’
‘What do you want to do? Something new? Or go back to what you were doing before the kids?’
‘Not exactly … but yeah, pretty much.’ The lie was already sticking in her throat.
‘Well I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t figure out, if it’s what you want to do. Hopefully you still have some contacts to get a foot in the door.’
‘I’m worried I’m past it.’
Chris shook his head. ‘You’re not dead yet. And there’s a bunch of people getting paid for doing a job when they can barely put one foot in front of the other. You know your stuff. You’ll be fine.’
She smiled at him. That was Chris. Since the day they’d met, he’d been on her side. He had a knack of settling her and making her feel safe, even when the rest of her world – a world he had no idea about – was in complete turmoil. Her affair with Anatoli had been exciting and dangerous, but it was short-lived and would have burnt out quickly enough naturally, regardless of the situation. Her and Chris – well, it sounded corny, but he really was her soulmate. She thought back to what Jonathan had said. Maybe she should have told Chris about JOPS all those years ago. It would make this conversation much easier now.
He swallowed the last of his pasta. ‘Why don’t you see how you feel after Christmas?’
She nodded. ‘Good idea. After all, I’m busy with a mission to bake cakes right now, and I won’t rest until it’s complete.’
‘Well, I hope Matisse knows what she’s let herself in for.’
Vicky mopped up the last bit of sauce on her plate with some bread. ‘She doesn’t know the half of it.’
Chapter Seven
Mike leant back in his chair and raked his hands through his hair in a slow movement.
‘Vicky, no offence but where the hell have you been that you literally know none of this shit?’
Vicky blushed. ‘Erm … parenting?’
‘Yeah, but surely you’ve got a laptop? Everyone’s got a laptop. I mean, how do you do anything without one?’
She looked out of Mike’s glass-walled office at the rest of the tech department. The windowless grey room was filled with screens, smartphones, and swiping; the small team of workers faced forward, tapping away as if their lives – or, more accurately, other people’s lives – depended on it. But for the occasional bit of banter during a slurp of coffee or a mouthful of sandwich, there was silence. The white noise of it all threatened to overwhelm her.
‘I’m pretty sure people existed for thousands of years without all … this. I can Google, send emails. I know how to get the shopping delivered. To be fair, I haven’t needed to do much else.’
‘But what about your smartphone – transferring photos, downloading music, syncing your calendar?’
Vicky bowed her head. ‘I never needed … my husband did it all, and then my son …’ She thought about the past thirteen years. When had she stopped learning things? What the hell had she been doing with her brain all this time? She looked up at Mike. ‘I had three kids. It’s not a very good excuse, but it’s the only one I’ve got.’
Mike softened his gaze. ‘I get it. My wife’s going mental trying to “have it all”. I keep saying to her, she needs to stop trying to be perfect all the time.’
‘You have kids? You’re only a kid yourself.’
‘I’m thirty-two,’ Mike smiled. ‘Our son just turned one. Mandy went back to work three days a week last month, after maternity leave finished, and she was in tears by the end of the second day. I mean, I help out when I get home, putting him in the bath and stuff if it’s not too late, but she’s juggling much more than me and getting paid less for the privilege.’
‘It gets worse,’ Vicky said. ‘Well, not worse … different. They start school and have playdates and after-school clubs and homework; you feel like you should be there for all of it, making sure they are happy and fulfilled and growing up into good people. It’s a full-time job all by itself, never mind once you add in actual work on top, and staying married. What does she do?’
‘She’s in Projects.’
‘Here?’
Mike nodded. ‘If you ever want to talk to someone. I mean, I know your circumstances are a bit different, but, you know, I’m sure she would be happy to …’
‘Thanks, Mike. I appreciate that. I think I might just depress her though. Ghost of Christmas Future and all that.’
Mike chuckled. ‘You might. Maybe lay off on the whole relentlessness aspect of the whole thing. Now, let’s get back to basics, and see if we can get you IT savvy by lunchtime.’
They turned back to the computer and Vicky tried to relax. By the time one o’clock came around, she could set up a VPN, upload photo files to HQ’s server and encrypt an email.
‘Thank you, Mike, for spending all this time on me.’ She began packing up her laptop into her bag and eased on her coat.
‘You’re welcome, it’s what I do.’ He grinned and shook her hand, giving her a slap on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be all right, you know. It just takes time.’
‘Yeah, I know. But it’s time I don’t have. I don’t want to spend hours figuring stuff out I should already know. I don’t want to feel like the new recruit. Or worse still, the granny on the team.’
‘You’re not a granny, Vicky. You’re a fast learner and a perfectionist, and, from what I’ve heard, a bit of an all-round rock star.’
‘Maybe fifteen years ago.’
‘Nothing stopping you from doing it again.’
‘I suppose so.’
She hurried back to her car, taking a more direct route through the woods than was strictly encouraged, conscious of the time and the fact that she needed to pick up James from nursery in less than an hour. It was drizzling, and she tried in vain to do up her jacket against the cold. Winter was on the way, skulking like a teenager outside a chip shop, and she really did need a new coat. Maybe with her first pay cheque she’d treat herself. She’d opened up a savings account for each of the kids, and most of her money would go to them in the long run. But she could siphon off a little bit for herself here and there.
She started the engine and pulled out of the car park onto the main road, checking to make sure she wasn’t followed. Just because she’d been out of circulation for a while didn’t mean she couldn’t do the job. She drove, keeping watch for any activity; the loyal staff of Gilbert House had done a good job of keeping their secret over the years and, as Jonathan had proudly reported in their meeting, they were yet to suffer a security breach in this quiet corner of North West London countryside. But it never hurt to be cautious.
The windscreen wipers pushed away the rain and dead leaves from the screen in droning tones, an unwanted eulogy to summer. As she passed through Harrow and Wembley, then south towards the river she checked her mirror again, and then again, to be safe. This time, she saw something. A motorbike sat, uncharacteristically patient for a bike, two cars behind her on the dual carriageway. It had been behind her for a while, she realised. Intuitively, she kept her speed constant. While other cars overtook her, the bike stayed exactly in position, matching her speed and making no attempt to pass. Definitely a tail. Another one of Jonathan’s tests or something more sinister? She searched her sat nav for a suitable detour and came off the main road at the next junction. To her surprise, the bike carried straight on. Not a tail, then. Unless there was more than one of them …
She stopped at the top of the road as she hit the tra
ffic she’d have avoided by taking the main road. She’d probably added twenty minutes onto her journey thanks to being paranoid. She shook her head and tried not to get frustrated by the stop-start of traffic lights that now lined her route back. A combination of adrenaline and irritation prompted her to shout into her rear-view mirror.
‘Why would anyone be following you? You haven’t even done anything yet.’
Yet. It was a word – a disease – that was creeping into her subconscious more and more often.
‘I haven’t told a barefaced-lie to my husband about where I am or who I’m seeing. Yet.’
‘I haven’t put anyone’s life in danger. Yet.’
‘My children and my family aren’t involved. Y—’
No. There was no getting around it; her family were already involved, by the very nature of the case. Evie and Dmitri were in the same class at school. Short of moving in with them, you couldn’t get much closer to home. But it would have always been that way, no matter who’d been put on Sasha’s tail. At least this way, she could control the narrative and know that, with her on board, JOPS would do everything to make sure Chris and the kids were protected. But she didn’t expect it would come to that, given she wasn’t exactly risking life and limb herself – and, in fact, had been given very specific instructions not to.
Vicky walked into the reception area at the nursery and checked the clock. She was nearly twenty minutes late. James stood, backpack on his shoulders, his smiling-but-clearly-pissed-off teaching assistant behind him.
‘Sorry I’m late!’ she said, bending down to receive her little boy’s embrace and lifting him up onto one hip. She saw Mrs Goodwin, the nursery manager, marching down the hallway.
‘Oh, that’s okay—’ The TA passed James’ bag to Vicky and hesitated, about to speak when the nursery manager reached them.
‘Mrs Turnbull, good afternoon.’ Mrs Goodwin nodded at the TA, dismissing her, and then turned to Vicky. She was smiling, but it appeared strained. Vicky noticed her foundation was pooling in the lines around her eyes. She looked like she needed a good night’s sleep.
‘Mrs Turnbull, I need to politely remind you that although we have no issue with offering supervision after hours in the case of emergency, our staff have to prepare for the next day and should not be expected to provide a day care service on a regular basis.’
Vicky was taken aback. Gail Goodwin had never been all that friendly for a nursery teacher, but she hadn’t expected a lecture. After all, she’d been working, not got carried away at a bloody yoga class. But under the intense gaze of the teacher, she began to feel extremely uncomfortable. She might be the one who could torture a prisoner in seventeen different ways, but Mrs Goodwin dealt with toddlers all day long and would wait for an apology as long as was necessary. Besides, she had a point. Vicky decided not to be difficult.
‘I’m really sorry. I know it’s not on. I promise it won’t happen again.’
Mrs Goodwin smiled, victorious. ‘Thank you, Mrs Turnbull. I appreciate it.’ She turned to James. ‘Good afternoon, James. See you tomorrow.’
She turned to go and Vicky, suitably chastised, bent down to give her son a squeeze. ‘Hello, gorgeous boy.’
‘Hello, Mummy.’ He gave Vicky a huge smacker on the mouth, hugging her like a snake suffocating its prey. She took in the moment, knowing it wouldn’t be too much longer before he was too big to carry and too old to dole out such unrestrained affection.
‘Mummy didn’t get to go to the supermarket this morning. Would you like McDonalds for lunch, James? Burger and fries?’ The Band-Aid solution of guilty mothers everywhere: junk food. James’s face lit up.
‘Burgers, yeah!’
‘It’ll have to be our secret though; if the others find out we’ve had a sneaky burger for lunch they’ll be super jealous.’
‘I’ll keep the secret, Mummy, I promise.’
And with that, she’d recruited her youngest son into her semi-complicit world. They sat stuffing their faces with shoestring fries and Vicky tried to ignore the shame leeching its way into her heart. Her youngest beamed at her, blissfully ignorant.
‘Mummy?’
Vicky paused her thoughts. ‘Yes, sweetie?’
‘I like having secrets. They’re fun.’
‘Well, yes, they can be. But it’s good not to have too many.’
‘Why?’
‘Because too many secrets make you lonely, James. If you have too many secrets to keep, you end up not being able to speak to anyone about anything.’
‘But it’s okay to have a few secrets?’
‘A few are fine. You just have to make sure you pick the right ones to keep.’
‘Do you have a secret, Mummy?’
She chewed the last bit of burger and swallowed it down.
‘Of course I do.’
‘Really? What is it?’
‘It’s a secret, so I can’t tell you.’
‘But it’s your secret, Mummy. So, it’s up to you who you tell it to.’
‘Yes, that’s the good thing about them,’ she said, relishing the simplicity of three-year-old logic and realising there was no reason not to apply it to her own circumstances. ‘If they get too much to keep then you can always tell them to someone.’
‘You can tell it to me.’
‘I would probably tell it to Daddy, if I needed to,’ she said, wiping James down and removing all traces of ketchup. ‘Because you’re far too little and cute and we already have a secret we’re sharing.’ She zipped up his jacket, gathered his hand in hers and they set off towards the car. ‘Now, come on, we need to stop at the shops before we go and get Evie from school.’
They stood outside in the pick-up area with the other mums, nannies and siblings of various ages, waiting for Evie. The rain was still spitting, the wind had picked up, and the grey sky did nothing to make the playground look less neglected.
Vicky walked over to Matisse, whose red lips matched the Lulu Guinness umbrella held high over her head.
‘Hi, Matisse. Are we still okay for Wednesday? Is there anything I can bring?’
‘Non. I have asked the housekeeper to make sure everything we need is ready.’
‘Okay,’ Vicky said, wondering how she would ever get any intel from someone with no facial expression and no conversation. ‘Well, I’ll see you after drop-off then … about nine?’
‘Oui, yes, this is fine. Do you need directions?’
‘No, I have your postcode from the contact sheet. I’ll just plug it into the sat nav.’
‘Use the buzzer at the gates when you arrive, I will let you in.’
Gates? Who the hell has gates? She’d have to get some intel from Jonathan on the Kozlovsky residence because, obviously, Matisse’s house wasn’t anything like the Victorian terrace she resided in. Not that she was bothered; Vicky loved where she lived. She loved that her home looked the same but different to all the other houses on the street. She loved hearing the voices of people walking past on the rickety pavement outside but never saying hello; she loved the comforting drone of the planes overhead, the idea that people might look down and wonder what she was doing. Arguably, she liked the idea of being able to keep an eye on everything and everybody. Living life behind a gate, driving in and closing off the world, didn’t appeal to her at all. But it probably rather suited Matisse.
She needed to figure out the best course of action based on this new information. ‘Is there space for me to park inside the gates, then?’
‘Non. My husband does not like his car to be blocked in. So maybe it will be better for you to park on the street outside.’
‘Oh okay,’ Vicky kept her reply bright and breezy despite Matisse’s curt response. Maybe the gates weren’t just to shut the world out. Maybe they were to keep the secrets in. ‘Is Sacha not at work then? I don’t want us to disturb him or be a nuisance.’
Matisse gave an empty laugh. ‘I am making a career out of being a nuisance to my husband, Victoria. I do not know if he will
be home or not. It doesn’t matter.’
‘I suppose not.’
Well, actually, it did matter. Vicky had assumed Sacha would be out of the house when she was there, but now she was going to have to make a contingency plan or else the baking session would be a waste of time.
How much did Matisse know about her husband’s world? Was she in on his secrets or completely ignorant of them? It wasn’t unfeasible that Sacha kept all but the essential information from her; after all, Vicky was doing the exact same thing with her husband … the thought made her squirm. She was definitely not cut from the same cloth as Sacha.
Evie appeared, rucksack slung over her back, chatting animatedly to her friends as she came out of the door. She turned to acknowledge Dmitri, who’d come out at the same time. ‘Bye, Dmitri. See you tomorrow.’
‘Bye, Evie. Thank you for helping me today.’
‘No problem.’
‘Helping him?’ Vicky asked.
‘Oui, Dmitri tells me that Evie has been aiding him a little with his English comprehension,’ Matisse said.
‘Oh … that’s great.’
‘Yeah, and he said maybe I can go over to his house one time. He’s got a massive TV and a PlayStation, Mum.’
‘Has he now?’ It was time to leave, before she was forced to make any kind of commitment. ‘Well, maybe some time you can. Okay, time to go. Bye, Matisse. Bye, Dmitri. See you tomorrow!’
Evie, James and Vicky headed out of the school gates and towards the car.
‘I like Dmitri now, Mum. I didn’t used to – I thought he was a bit odd – but he’s actually really nice and funny.’
‘Mummy’s got a secret,’ James said, out of nowhere.
‘James!’ Vicky felt herself flush red and her heart sped up.
‘We had a burger for lunch.’
‘What? Mum, you never let me have a burger for lunch. That’s so unfair—’
They squabbled good-naturedly all the way home, Vicky pacifying Evie with the promise of homemade burgers for tea instead. James was smug that he’d be getting burgers twice in one day, even though he’d spilt the beans and told their secret. Vicky was happy to sink into family life again and left all thoughts of Sacha and Matisse behind.