by Karen Clarke
It was true. Our son went to his grandmother with almost insulting haste, his little face lighting up whenever he saw her. He’d even started saying Nana, with Elizabeth’s coaching, despite her initial assertion that she’d rather he called her Lizzie. The trouble was, she wasn’t how I’d imagine a typical Lizzie, warm and cuddly-looking. She was tall and broad-shouldered, for a start, and could be an intimidating presence. She was on the board of several charitable foundations, an ex-riding instructor with a stable of horses at their home. An ex-pupil had gone on to win a prestigious horse show, and a horse she’d bred recently won the Irish Derby, leading to a spread about her in a magazine, featuring the whole family – including a washed-out version of me – on the cover. And then there was the thing I found impossible to argue against.
‘Finn means so much to Mum, because of losing Christopher.’
Christopher. Dom’s older brother, who’d only lived nine months. He’d been born with a heart defect that couldn’t be fixed. From the moment she’d cradled Finn at the hospital, I’d known it was her baby boy that Elizabeth was seeing. My heart had gone out to her, and though I couldn’t help wishing now that she’d visit less often, I tried my best not to show it.
‘Has he had breakfast yet?’ She gave me a sweeping glance as she cuddled her grandson, taking in my bedraggled state of undress. Her blue eyes – paler than Dom’s – narrowed a fraction. As usual, she was elegantly made-up, her features softened with pricey cosmetics, her ‘barely there’ lipstick matching the shade of the cashmere, polo-necked sweater, worn to disguise the loose skin around her throat that gave away her age.
‘I was about to give him some porridge,’ I said, heat flushing my face.
Elizabeth looked at Finn, who was gazing at her with such an expression of wonder, a shot of jealousy ran through me. ‘Why don’t I do that, while you get yourself dressed?’ She didn’t wait for a reply as she moved effortlessly around the kitchen, gently bouncing Finn in one arm. She was strong, from years of training and restraining horses.
‘OK.’
Neither of them gave me a second look as I backed away and trudged upstairs. I stayed up there a while, taking extra care with my appearance for once, while Elizabeth fed my son and sang a lullaby I couldn’t quite hear the words to. I wondered whether Olivia had a mother-in-law. Maybe we could compare notes. Did she live on The Avenue? She had to have money, if so. Perhaps her husband was a hedge-fund manager, or she was an entrepreneur selling handmade baby clothes, or artisan cakes from her kitchen, or maybe she was a mummy-vlogger, reaching out to millions of subscribers with her parenting tips.
Somehow, I doubted it, though I couldn’t have said why.
I chose a navy, long-sleeved dress I hadn’t worn for at least a year, and pulled out one of the scarves Elizabeth had bought me – leaping ponies on a background of cream silk – and looped it round my neck. By her own admission she wasn’t good at ‘gifting’. Natasha and I got scarves and expensive perfume for birthdays and Christmas, while Dom and his father received sweaters and luxury ties.
Back downstairs, my hair pinned in a topknot and my eyelashes weighted with mascara, I was shocked to see an hour had passed.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ I said, seeing Elizabeth taking the vacuum cleaner from the cupboard under the stairs, her sweater sleeves rolled up to reveal the slim gold watch Dom had bought for her sixtieth birthday, two years ago.
‘Well, if you won’t get a cleaner …’
She let the words hang, her thin eyebrows arched. She’d offered to loan us her cleaner a couple of mornings a week, but I’d refused.
‘I can manage, thank you.’ Finn looked up from his bouncy chair, positioned within Elizabeth’s eyeline, as if alerted by my unusually authoritative tone. ‘I’ve a guest coming for lunch, so—’
‘All the more reason to let me help.’
My words seemed to bounce off Elizabeth like ping-pong balls. ‘I just heated your coffee in the microwave,’ she said, looking around for the plug socket. ‘Why not sit down and relax for five minutes.’
It wasn’t a question. I found myself obeying, sitting on one of the cream leather stools at the breakfast bar, while Elizabeth pushed the vacuum around, keeping up a running commentary to Finn, who gurgled happily.
I sipped my coffee, grateful she’d bothered to reheat it, a practical gesture typical of how she treated the rest of her family, when she wasn’t distracted by her horses.
‘I sometimes expect a bale of hay for dinner,’ Dom’s father Robert occasionally joked, used to Elizabeth’s passion for all things equine. He was less driven than his wife, retired from his civil engineering job and happy to potter in the garden and tend his roses.
I spotted the bottle of multivitamins on the worktop, an expensive brand with an artfully drawn label. Dom must have left them out, knowing I’d probably forget to take one if they were in the cupboard and I swallowed one with the last of my coffee.
I should check the fridge, see what I could offer Olivia for lunch. I had no idea what she liked to eat. A salad would be safe if she was vegetarian. I could always add ham or smoked salmon if not. And there should be fresh bread in the cupboard. We’d had a food delivery a couple of days ago.
‘I’ll take him out, shall I, while you have lunch with your friend?’
Elizabeth was back, slipping her arms into her jacket.
I blinked at her, overcome with a wave of tiredness so strong I wanted to lay my head on my arms and sleep. ‘Sure,’ I murmured, looking round with an effort for Finn. He was in his buggy by the door, dressed in his outdoor clothes, his chunky, pastel striped blanket tucked around him. When had she got him dressed? ‘Don’t be too long.’
‘We’ll be fine.’ She gave me a concerned look as she picked up her bag. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I wish everyone would stop asking me that.’
I regretted my tone when she drew her head back, as though I’d tried to slap her, a line cutting between her eyebrows. ‘I was only asking,’ she said, her well-bred vowels more pronounced than usual. ‘We do care about you, Sophy.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Maybe you should have a nap.’
I wanted to say something; tell her to leave Finn with me, that I could be a good mother if only she’d let me try, but she opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air, and seconds later it slammed behind them.
Pressure built at my temples. I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw with a shock it was almost one o’clock. The room felt unsteady – or maybe it was me. I couldn’t face any lunch. I wasn’t up to making conversation with a stranger. I wanted to rip off my dress and go back to bed.
Should I hide?
I only had a second to register the ridiculousness of the thought when the doorbell pealed through the house, sending a jolt of adrenaline through me.
It was too late. Olivia had arrived.
Chapter 7
Liv
I recognised Sophy’s mother-in-law from the cover of the magazine where I first saw Sophy. Elizabeth Pemberton was in her early sixties, tall, and had an air of a scary head teacher. She lifted the pushchair down the steps from the front door, chirping sweetly to the little boy who I knew was Finn – though I recognised the expensive pushchair rather than the baby. Elizabeth turned and furrowed her forehead at Evie and me. ‘Are you here to have lunch with Sophy?’
I nodded, and she touched my arm. ‘It’s good to see Sophy finally find a friend. Treat her gently though; she’s fragile.’ She slipped on her sunglasses, and hurried away down the road.
I climbed the three steps and blasted the doorbell and waited. And waited. Despite the sun being out, there was a cutting wind that whipped across the porch, and I shivered.
I bent down and opened the letterbox. ‘Hey, Sophy, it’s me, Olivia. It’s bloody freezing out here. Are you going to let me in or not?’
The door opened slightly, and I rose to see Sophy, pale and heavy-eyed, peering th
rough the gap.
‘I’m not feeling too well,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time. I would have let you know, but I didn’t have your number.’ She looked down at Evie jabbering happily in her buggy. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. Was that a slur in her voice?
I swallowed a surge of anger. This was meant to be my way in, a way to find out more about her. If I couldn’t get close, how could I make her pay? ‘No worries,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it another time, shall we?’
‘Thanks for understanding.’
She went to close the door, and I pushed my hand against it. ‘I couldn’t trouble you for a drop of juice for Evie, could I?’ I hurried down the steps, and prised Evie’s mug from her sticky fingers. ‘Sorry, sweetie,’ I said, pushing back her hair from her forehead. I held out the mug towards Sophy as I ran up the steps, giving her no choice.
‘OK.’ She dashed her hand across her eyes. She was crying. ‘Oh, God, are you OK?’ I said, attempting to sound sincere. ‘I mean, I know you don’t feel well but if you need someone to talk to … a friend.’ The word stuck in my throat. She would never be a friend of mine.
She opened the door further, as though glad I’d noticed. ‘Come in,’ she said, her head down.
I lifted Evie from her pushchair, and we followed Sophy in, and through to the kitchen. I didn’t want to listen to this woman’s troubles. I wanted to grab her by the neck, pin her against the wall, and demand an apology for what she’d done to my family. I needed her atonement. Whatever was wrong with her couldn’t be as painful as losing a brother when he had his whole life ahead of him. I shook away the voice of my mother telling me to stop what I was doing, reminding me, as she’d done so many times, that when someone takes their own life, nobody is to blame.
In the kitchen, Sophy turned, and held out her hand. ‘Let me fill that for you,’ she said, her voice dull and lifeless, and I gave her Evie’s mug. While she filled it with orange juice from the fridge, she took several deep breaths. And was she swaying slightly?
I tore my eyes away from her, and glanced about me. Wow! I’d thought Gary and Clare’s house was amazing, but this was on another level of class. It wasn’t any bigger than Gary and Clare’s kitchen, but it was brighter, thanks to the bay window overlooking a patio and garden, the windowsill teeming with herbs. There was a wide range oven, a butler sink and real-wood surfaces that looked as though they’d never seen the bottom of a pan.
‘There you go, sweetheart, some juice for you,’ Sophy said, handing over the mug, which Evie grabbed and began gulping from.
‘This place is bloody amazing,’ I said. I couldn’t keep my eyes still, as they flitted around the room.
Sophy’s cheeks flushed. ‘It’s no big deal, honestly.’
Realising I’d been a bit over the top, I added, ‘I’ve never been inside a house on The Avenue before.’
‘Really? Where do you live now?’ she said.
‘Actually, I could murder a cup of tea.’ I rubbed my hands together. ‘Sorry if I’m being a bit cheeky, but it’s so cold out there today.’
‘Oh. OK.’ Her voice was heavy, slow, as though it was taking all her energy to speak.
‘We live on Lavender Drive, don’t we, Evie?’ I said. ‘The last house on the corner, but I’m originally from Stevenage.’
‘Really? I’m from Stevenage too.’ She seemed to revive a little, her eyes less glassy. ‘I grew up in the old town, on Haycroft Road.’
‘Nice.’
‘Not especially.’ She gave a small frown. ‘It was cramped, the house, really old. It was all my parents could afford at the time and they never got round to doing it up. My dad died when I was two and Mum had to work a lot, so …’ Her words trailed off as she turned to fill the kettle.
I don’t know why, but I’d thought her childhood would have been different and opened my mouth to say sorry about her dad, but she was talking again. ‘We were happy though, don’t get me wrong. I was best friends with the girl next door. We went to Almond Hill School. I loved it there.’
I didn’t bother to tell her whereabouts I’d lived as a child – where my mother still lives – and she didn’t ask. It was doubtful our paths would ever have crossed as children. In fact, they wouldn’t have crossed now, if Ben hadn’t had the misfortune to attend the same university as her.
‘Liv, Liv, Liv,’ Evie said, coming up for air between gulps of her drink and tilting her head.
Sophy narrowed her eyes. ‘She calls you Liv?’
‘Yes.’ I took a deep breath. I suddenly was worried Sophy would reject me if I told her I wasn’t Evie’s mother, but I had to come clean. She would find out somehow – she knew Clare and Gary. ‘I’m Evie’s nanny, not her mum,’ I said. ‘And my friends, and Evie, call me Liv.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Sophy’s eyes widened. ‘I hadn’t realised.’ She dropped a teabag into one mug, a spoonful of instant coffee in another, before adding boiling water.
‘I’ll drink my tea and leave you in peace,’ I said.
‘You can stay, if you like. I’ve got salad for lunch. I wasn’t sure if you were vegetarian.’
I shook my head, relieved she didn’t seem concerned that I was ‘the nanny’. ‘No, I’m a meat eater, for my sins.’
She handed me my tea, a slight shake in her hand. ‘Shall we drink this and then I’ll make us something to eat?’
‘Sounds perfect,’ I said. ‘But first,’ I added, pulling out my phone. ‘Let’s exchange mobile numbers just in case.’
The lounge was comfortable, and just as classy as the kitchen: sofas, bookshelves, wool rugs and matt-blue walls, a TV fixed to one. I placed Evie on a thick, wool rug, where she played happily with Finn’s toys, and Sophy and I sat on one of the sofas.
‘So was Finn going out with his gran?’ I said, and she nodded. ‘Shame as they could have played together.’ Truth was, Evie wasn’t much of a team player, inclined to like things her own way, a bit like her dad. Plus, she was nine months older than Finn and would have probably dominated him.
‘She’s Dom’s mum. She takes care of Finn a fair bit,’ Sophy said.
Was that why she’d had tears in her eyes? ‘She’s the mother-in-law from hell kind?’
Sophy half-smiled. ‘No, not at all, she only wants to help, I think. I’m a bit of a rubbish mum, if I’m honest. Glad she’s around.’ Sophy was all over the place, barely concentrating. ‘I miss my job,’ she went on, randomly. ‘I used to work in London. Had a great job.’
I placed my hand on her arm. ‘Tell me to mind my own business if you like, but when did you last sleep? You look exhausted.’
‘I sleep a lot, but I’m still tired all the time.’ She flopped her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m a pathetic hostess.’
I shuffled to the edge of the sofa, and put down my mug, and when I turned, her eyelids had dropped over her eyes. Was she falling asleep? ‘Sophy?’
She jolted forward, splashing coffee on her dress. ‘God, I’m so sorry. Shall we have some lunch?’ She rose, and headed into the kitchen.
I caught up, carrying the highchair, Evie trotting by my side. I slipped her into the chair and handed her a couple of wooden spoons from a pottery utensil holder.
‘I don’t mean to pry,’ I said, as Evie drummed the spoons on the highchair tray, and squealed with delight, ‘but are you on some kind of medication?’
Sophy widened her eyes, and I thought for a moment she was going to tell me to mind my own business. I wouldn’t have blamed her. But she shook her head. ‘I took anti-depressants for a while after Finn was born. They didn’t help. I felt numb and lifeless all the time, so stopped taking them. Now I don’t feel low exactly, just exhausted and odd all the time.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t explain it.’
‘But your mother-in-law comes to your rescue.’ I wasn’t happy about Elizabeth being so good to Sophy, always being there for her. I couldn’t get close if she was hanging about. I would need to do something about that.
&n
bsp; Sophy nodded. ‘She spends a lot of time here.’
My mind flashed to the magazine I’d seen, the picture of the perfect family. Didn’t the woman own horses? Well she needed to bugger off and look after them.
‘And what about Dom?’ I adjusted my expression into one of concern, pushing down anger that this woman was so pathetic, despite having help on tap. ‘I’m sure he’s there for you too.’
She nodded. ‘He said this morning I might need to see the doctor again, but I don’t want to. I’m not depressed, just …’ She waved the knife she was holding. ‘I don’t know, I’m just exhausted.’
I watched her prepare a salad, leaving her to it even though she struggled to co-ordinate.
‘So are you married?’ she asked me, running a handful of cherry tomatoes under the cold tap for too long, before returning to shred the lettuce, the sharp knife missing her flesh by millimetres. She looked up, her dull eyes, smudged with mascara, meeting mine. ‘God, sorry, what were we saying?’ she said. ‘I get so forgetful lately.’
‘Oh, I forget things all the time, can hardly remember what I had for breakfast.’ It wasn’t true. I never ate breakfast, and had a brilliant memory. I could remember every moment of that day sixteen years ago. ‘You asked if I’m married.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Are you?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ve never met anyone worthy of me,’ I said with a laugh.
She furrowed her forehead as though my attempt at a joke had slipped under her radar. She was a mess, and I realised at that moment just how easy taking my revenge was going to be.
Chapter 8
Sophy
Why had I told Liv I was forgetful? I seemed to be saying whatever came into my head, which was throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
It was true, though. Just the day before, I’d gone up to the bedroom, determined not to sink onto the sofa and doze while Finn had his afternoon nap, but to read a book – something I hadn’t done for ages – only to find the paperback that had been on my bedside table for weeks wasn’t there. Assuming I must have returned it to the bookshelf, I went to check, but couldn’t locate it alongside the biographies and crime books Dom had enjoyed reading before we had Finn and work took over. These days, he had his head stuck in accounting figures most of the time.