‘Just put your phone down,’ Charlotte says, offering me some nuts. ‘You’ve been glued to it since you arrived.’
‘It’s work stuff,’ I say, searching around for power. Reluctantly, I leave my phone plugged in on a table over by the window. ‘Shall I draw the curtains?’ I say, reaching out to close them.
‘God no, don’t do that. You’ll bring the whole lot down,’ Annie says. ‘Christ knows how many times I’ve asked Ed to fix the pole. It’s hanging on by a thread. I keep threatening to call a man in, but he won’t hear of it. Meantime, the whole street gets to see what’s going on in my living room.’
I sit on the sofa again, conscious of my screen lighting up a couple of times before I’ve even settled down. I’ve already received four text messages from him since I arrived. I feel sick at the thought of meeting up, yet insanely excited.
‘So,’ Charlotte, says flicking her hair back over her shoulder. I’ve not seen her for a couple of weeks – one or other of us not making it to book club for various reasons. ‘How did we all find this read, then? That ending was, like, oh my God! But I have to say, I saw it coming a mile off. Clever though.’ She places the book on her lap, patting it, her expression conveying her smugness. I like Charlotte, but everything in her life is perfect. As perfect as I try to make mine except she really does it. Me, as soon as I patch up one crack, another one appears.
‘I thought it was OK,’ Megan says. Then she goes on to describe how she hated the woman in it, how she couldn’t get her head round someone messing up her life so comprehensively, how she didn’t believe anyone could get herself into such a mess without knowing the consequences. ‘She must literally be evil, to behave like that. Or stupid.’
‘Evil?’ I say. ‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘But you can see why she did it,’ Annie chips in, rolling her eyes when my phone pings yet another alert – the sound of the Double Take app. I get up, but Cath’s hand is suddenly on my arm.
‘Chill,’ she says. ‘Work can wait.’ She puts my glass of wine in my hand and shoves a bowl of corn chips on my lap.
‘No, no, you don’t understand,’ I say, my eyes wide, my heart thumping. ‘I need to check my… my emails.’ They all exchange glances.
Cath draws in close, while the others chat about the book again. ‘That’s not an email alert, though, is it?’ she whispers.
I stare at her. ‘What do you mean?’
She rests her hand on my wrist, giving me one of those looks. ‘We’ve both got iPhones, Lorn. I’d know that sound anywhere.’ She’s so close I can smell the red wine on her. ‘It’s the default tone for…’ she hesitates.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I look her in the eye, pulling my hand away. ‘I have a client in crisis right now, Cath, and I’m liaising with the intervention team to make sure she’s getting the care she needs. There’s every chance she’ll be admitted to the psych ward later and they’re going to need input from me.’ I put my wine on the table. ‘I can hardly ignore it.’ I force a brief smile.
‘Sure, sorry,’ she replies, letting me get up this time.
I grab my phone, my hands shaking, my back to the room as I cradle it to my chest. A message from Andy_jag. I hear my own breathing – short, shallow asthmatic gasps – while Megan debates with Charlotte about the wrongdoings of the woman in the book, her shrill laughter drowning out my guilt.
She’s just a friend… the message says, confusing me for a moment. I like to paint her. Then I realise he’s referring to the woman in the pictures that I asked him about. I can’t help the surge of jealousy. It must be her, then. The lodger. He never once painted me.
And I’m looking for a very special person, he continues. So you’ve not found anyone either? ;-)
Someone very special? It makes me want to throw my phone through the window. But instead, I tap out a reply, trying to sound light and normal. Sadly, no. Still waiting for a special person too. My fingers are trembling, mistyping every word. Perhaps we should meet, I add, wanting to test him, to push him. He’s still online so I send it quickly, before I change my mind.
‘Work, eh?’ Charlotte says over my shoulder, giving me a playful poke in the ribs. ‘You OK, Lorn? You seem a bit distracted.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, shielding my phone, switching it to silent. I slip it in my pocket now that it’s got a bit of charge. ‘Like I said, there’s a crisis.’ It’s not far from the truth. I slide past Charlotte, ignoring her doubting look, and pick up my wine again, drinking half of it in one gulp.
‘Anyway,’ Megan says. ‘Whatever her problems and history, what that woman in the book did was wrong. She had an affair and that’s that. Excuses or not, she deserved what she had coming to her.’
‘Meggie!’ Cath says loudly. ‘No one deserves to get murdered, you tit-brain. Not even someone like her.’ She shoves her playfully, making her slosh her drink. For a moment, Megan looks affronted but then laughs, carrying on chatting about the characters, who she liked and who she didn’t.
‘It’s just a bloody book,’ I whisper under my breath, my shoulders and neck tense as I sit down. My phone vibrates again, but no one takes any notice.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lorna
It’s not long before the conversation drifts onto other things in our lives. For Charlotte, that’s the agony of her favourite cruise ship being booked solid for the next year and having to make do with a hotel in the Caribbean. Megan is worried because her boyfriend wants a dog, but she doesn’t, while Annie extols the new head at her school, telling us how much happier everyone is at work now, not to mention the pupils, since the new timetable kicked in.
‘You’ll never guess what,’ Cath says. ‘I had a super-hot date two nights ago.’ The evening usually ends up on Cath’s love life, as though it has its own gravitational pull.
‘You’re welcome,’ Annie chips in. ‘Feel free to thank me in your wedding speech.’
‘Who was it?’ I ask quickly. She said she deleted and blocked him, but I can’t be sure she really did. He’s messaging Abbi74, so who knows what else he’s up to? I’ve no right to be feeling this way – jealousy knotting up my veins.
‘He’s really nice,’ Cath goes on.
‘Is it… is it that guy?’ I say, trying to sound happy for her. The others wait for me to explain. ‘You know, the one Annie messaged for you?’
Cath shakes her head slowly, making a pitying face. In fact, they’ve all got the same look on their faces. No one speaks.
‘What?’ I say, looking at each of them. ‘What?’
‘Oh, hon, shouldn’t we be asking you that?’ Charlotte squashes up next to me, her arm looping around my shoulders, pulling me close. The fingers of her other hand wipe under my eyes and down my cheeks, smudging away tears I didn’t even know were there. Annie dives in with a tissue as their soothing voices rain down on me, making me feel as if I’m drowning. As if I can’t breathe. As if I’m going mad.
‘What’s the matter, Lorn?’ Charlotte says. Her perfectly made-up face is close, her lips puckered up in a concerned way that makes me feel about eight years old. I reach out, gripping onto her arms, feeling dizzy, as if the ground’s falling away. I don’t feel real.
‘Shit, Lorn…?’ That’s Cath’s voice, I think, though I can’t be sure. All my senses are failing. Then my phone vibrates again, making me pull it from my pocket, clutching it between my palms, pressing it to my chest. I stand up, feeling wobbly, staggering.
‘Sit down,’ someone says. ‘You’ve gone really pale. You don’t look well.’
‘I… I need the loo,’ I hear myself saying, raising my hands as Charlotte follows me into the hallway. ‘I’m fine, really,’ I say, faking it until I get in there, shutting the door behind me and sliding the lock home. I slump down onto the seat, cradling my head in my hands, hoping that whatever’s happening will pass. My vision’s blurry and there’s a ringing in my ears. It feels as though I’m going to pass out, but I have no idea why.
It’s stress, I tell myself. A panic attack and stress… Breathe, Lorna, breathe…
Then I check Double Take. I can hardly see the screen.
Sure, I’d love to meet up, Abbi. Are you free tomorrow morning?
The vomit comes into my mouth, but I swallow it back down, coughing and choking. I spit out into the basin, turning on the tap to drown out the noise of my gags.
Andy_jag wants to meet Abbi in the morning. I let out a silent sob. But he’s meant to be meeting me in the morning. I thump my fist against the wall, sending pain shooting up to my elbow.
I flick back to the texts from Andrew to make sure I’ve not made a mistake. It’s true. He asked me – no, begged me – to meet tomorrow.
I swill out my mouth, my hands shaking as I dry them, my mind all over the place. On the Double Take app, I tap out a reply from Abbi, hardly able to get the words out. I’d love to meet you tomorrow morning. What time and where? Then I send Andrew a text message from me, just to confirm. Looking forward to seeing you. I add an X before sending.
‘You OK in there?’ Annie calls out, knocking on the door.
‘I’m… I’m fine,’ I say back.
I stare into the mirror above the basin. I’m Mark’s wife, dammit, Freya’s mother, Jack’s stepmum, and currently therapist to over twenty-four clients, not to mention the hundreds and hundreds I’ve helped over the years. I’m an accredited member of the BACP, on the PTA at Freya’s school, I have good, respectable friends, a husband who’s a dentist with a good reputation to uphold, a comfortable home in Fulham and I drive a Mercedes four-wheel drive. I shop at John Lewis, for fuck’s sake.
But, as I stare at the woman looking back at me, I have no idea who I really am, who she is, what all these things mean. What secrets lie behind her tormented eyes. She’s becoming a stranger in a body I barely recognise.
When I unlock the door and go out, Annie is standing there, wringing her hands.
‘Stop the bullshit,’ she says, leading me into the kitchen. My phone vibrates again as she pours me a glass of water, making me drink. ‘What’s going on? You’re glued to that bloody phone. You’re not yourself. Talk to me.’
My head shakes, my shoulders shrugging and tense. I sip the water. ‘I’m just a bit worried about Freya, that’s all.’
‘Go on,’ Annie says. ‘School stuff?’
I nod, latching on to anything that seems plausible. ‘Partly,’ I say, not wanting to admit that what’s bothering her is closer to home.
‘You still thinking about moving her to my school?’
‘It’s been on my mind,’ I say. ‘Some of the other kids have been teasing her about…’ I trail off. It’s hard to talk about. ‘One of her so-called friends was round to play a couple of weeks ago. Mum was there. With Dad. It was bad timing.’
‘Ah,’ Annie says.
‘You know what it’s like. I try to keep her away when the kids have friends over, but it’s not always possible. This girl Rosie was teasing Freya about how Mum is, not to mention what Dad’s like. Now all her friends are making fun of her too, saying she’s weird. Plus, she’s worried that I’ll end up the same as Mum. And that she’ll follow suit,’ I add, remembering what Jack said.
‘OK…’ Annie says thoughtfully. ‘That’s tough. But if it makes you feel any better, most kids can be little buggers at times. They speak without thinking. Have you told Freya why her nana’s…’ Annie stops. No one really knows how to describe it.
‘How can I?’ I say, picturing her worried face. ‘She’ll only ask more questions.’
‘You need to talk to her, Lorn. Kids aren’t stupid. You have to tell her something eventually, and about your dad too.’ Annie places her hands on my shoulders, tilting up my chin with her finger. ‘Thing is, Lorn, I know there’s other stuff going on with you. We all do. We just don’t know what.’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ I say, pulling away, scowling. ‘You’ve all been discussing me behind my back? Talking about the messed-up therapist. Thanks, Annie.’ I put the glass down beside the sink harder than I intended. ‘I should go now. It’s been a long day.’ I swing round, but she grabs my arm.
‘Just tell me, is everything OK between you and Mark?’ She stares directly at me, not allowing me to dodge her gaze.
I open my mouth to speak, but when nothing comes out, I run back to the living room, grab my bag and coat and leave without saying another word.
Chapter Thirty
Nikki
She’s running out of the house, the door swinging wide behind her, her coat slung over her arm and her bag bouncing against her hip as she comes down the path and crosses over the road, heading right towards me at the bus stop. Her friends are standing in the doorway, calling out to her, while one of them – Annie – follows her across the road. I freeze, unable to move. They are only a couple of feet away from me. I turn the other way.
‘Lorn, what on earth’s got into you?’ I hear Annie panting, seeing that she’s not wearing any shoes when I glance down – just black tights under her long skirt.
‘Nothing. I told you I’m fine,’ Lorna replies. I feel the bench seat jog as she sits down.
‘Come back inside. I’ll call you a cab.’
‘What, and face the third degree from you lot? I’m getting the bus,’ she says just as one comes in to view. I keep my head down when she stands up, flagging it down, insisting to Annie that she’s OK, that nothing’s wrong, that she’s just tired.
When she gets on, I get on too, completely unnoticed, taking the seat right behind her – so close I could reach out and touch her. See what he feels when he’s stroking her hair, the soft skin on her neck.
But of course, I don’t. I stare out of the window, watching the passing street scene, the drizzle that’s started up, snaking down the window. It’s like being underwater.
I screw up my eyes, fighting away the images, shutting down my feelings. I’m getting better at it, but sometimes the fear seeps out. The noise still haunts me, still wakes me at night.
‘Trauma takes a lot of work, a lot of therapy,’ someone once told me. ‘Your brain needs to process stuff.’
But what I didn’t tell them is that therapy isn’t for people like me. Perhaps not until now.
Fifteen minutes later and Lorna stands up, her hand grabbing the bars as she makes her way to the front of the bus, waiting as it slows and pulls over at her stop. At the last minute, I stand and follow her, tracking her at a safe distance as she heads for home – far enough away for her not to notice me, but still close enough for me to hear her stifled sobs.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lorna
‘Freya…?’ My daughter sits there, refusing to unbuckle her seatbelt, refusing to get out of the car. ‘You’ll be late for school, darling.’ I stretch around to the back, unable to reach her hand. Instead, I touch her knee, hating that she flinches.
‘Not going,’ she says through brewing tears. ‘I want to go home.’
Oh God, please not today. Not today of all days. ‘If you’re late again, there’ll be no chance of getting the attendance award. Isn’t it being presented in final assembly today? Anyway, it’s the last day of term, then you have two weeks off. We’ll do some fun stuff together.’
‘I don’t care about a stupid award,’ she says, staring out of the window. ‘I don’t feel very well.’
‘Freya,’ I sigh, hating myself for feeling annoyed with her. ‘How about I come in with you, help you hang up your stuff, take you to your classroom?’
She shakes her head vigorously. ‘Then they’ll tease me even more.’
I get out of the car and climb into the back seat beside her, trying to pull her close for a hug. But she stiffens. ‘Frey-frey, talk to me, sweetie. Tell me what’s upsetting you.’ I sigh, stroking her soft hair, noticing the food stain down her red sweatshirt. I should have put some washing on last night, had it ready for the morning, but when I got back from Annie’s, I was preoccupied with checking my phone, wit
h trying to sound normal to Mark, wondering if he was a bit aloof or if it was my imagination. ‘Is it to do with what you mentioned the other night? About Nana?’
She shrugs, not denying it.
‘So you’re worried in case I go like…’ I close my eyes for a beat. ‘In case I get upset like Nana sometimes does?’ It’s the best I can do for now.
Freya gives a barely perceptible nod, a fresh stream of tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Oh darling,’ I say, pulling her close again, feeling her loosen as she rests against me. ‘That’s not going to happen, OK? I promise. I’m still the same mummy I’ve always been.’ I swallow hard. ‘I’ll always look after you and love you. And I’m not ever going to be like poor Nana. Do you trust me?’ That sticks in my throat too.
‘But that’s not what Jack told me,’ she says, leaning away from me, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. She scowls as I pull a tissue from my pocket and go to dry her cheeks. She takes it from me, doing it herself. ‘He told me stuff. And he told me that people lie, especially grown-ups.’
I study her face, trying to fathom what she’s thinking, what Jack’s ‘stuff’ is. ‘Well, maybe you heard him wrong,’ I say, trying not to sound angry at him, even though I am.
‘I didn’t,’ she says, hauling up her backpack before opening the door and sliding out. She stares at me from the pavement. ‘Anyway, you already are like Nana.’ Then she shuts the car door, her words and the rush of cold air hitting me square in the face.
Slowly I get out, watching her go inside the school gates, my mouth hanging open. She’s no doubt the last pupil to arrive as usual. As she goes into the building, she gives one last look back and gives a little wave before disappearing inside. I blow her a kiss.
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