by Lucy Dawson
Oh my God… he really is watching.
‘You look very tired, Sophie. You didn’t think yesterday that, as you knew you were having a big party tonight, you might just have given yourself an early night?’
He was within touching distance of my mother, just moments ago.
‘Sophie? Hmm, it’s not often I say this, but today I think the hair of the dog might actually be what you need. Ah, and here’s the champagne. Oh, for goodness’ sake, Alice, these glasses are revolting.’ Mum glares at my sister – who shrugs as she passes me one – before ordering, ‘Small sips, Sophie. You want to keep a clear head.’
She has no bloody idea.
‘In fact, if you’re going to drive us all back to your house after this, you’d better have no more than half that.’
I grit my teeth and put the glass down. ‘We don’t need to go back to mine.’ I don’t want any of us in that house, which he got into so easily. ‘I’ve got clean clothes I can wear with me here.’ I reach into my bag on the floor and pull out my hurriedly grabbed cords and rather scrunched-up top.
Mum stares at me in disbelief. ‘We’re not going to a farm, Sophie. Anyway, the appointment we have is at your house.’
‘But—’
‘Why is this a problem?’ Mum demands. ‘I don’t understand.’
Both she and Alice stare at me curiously, and I realize I’ve got no choice. Protesting like this just looks weird and the more I resist, the more suspicious they will become.
‘Fine,’ I say quietly, standing up to look for my shoes and my car keys. ‘I’ll get dressed now and we’ll go.’
Mum looks at her watch. ‘We’ve got about ten minutes. Imogen said she was on her way, but she always fibs and says she’s left when she hasn’t.’
I whip my head up. ‘She’s going straight to mine and she might have already left?’
‘Apparently,’ says Mum.
‘We have to go now!’ To their evident surprise, I quickly take off my pyjama bottoms so I’m standing in just my knickers, and yank on the cords. What if he’s already on his way there? I can’t have my sister arriving at the house alone. She’s a mother – I’d never forgive myself. ‘No, don’t worry about your drink, Mum.’
‘But we’ve got pains au chocolat, too,’ she protests.
‘Just bring it with you! We’ll eat it in the car!’
‘Sorry, Soph, but what’s the rush?’ Alice looks at me, utterly bemused. ‘Can’t I even—’
‘No, you bloody can’t!’ I explode. She frowns at me in a ‘What the hell?’ sort of way, but gets up nonetheless and marches off to her room, muttering something about us all being mad. She reappears slightly sulkily two minutes later, also dressed, with shoes on and carrying a bag. ‘Come on then,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’
We’ve barely driven more than half a mile before Mum looks at me, astonished. ‘Just slow down. What on earth is the matter with you?’
‘Yeah, Soph,’ Alice says warningly from the back seat. ‘What’s up?’
‘I…’ I trail off, then say pathetically, ‘I don’t want to be forty.’ It’s the best I can manage. I see Alice frowning at me in the mirror and steadfastly ignore her, focusing on the road in front.
Mum softens, however, and reaches over from the passenger seat, pats my knee and says kindly, ‘I know, darling. I know. It’s very hard.’ There’s a pause, and she adds, ‘How do you think it feels knowing that you’re old enough to have a daughter who’s forty?’ She turns and looks out of the window. ‘Not very marvellous, I can tell you. By the way, I meant to say to you about tonight and your father. I know he’s bringing –’ she pauses and says, as if there is now a bad smell in the car – ‘Margot.’
‘Of course he is,’ says Alice from the back. ‘She’s our stepmother.’
‘No, she isn’t,’ Mum says briskly. ‘She’s your father’s second wife. There’s a difference.’
Alice sighs.
‘I’m talking to Sophie, thank you,’ snaps Mum. ‘I just want to say that if there is any requirement for us to be in any photos together, I’m quite happy for that to happen, but—’
‘MUM!’ barks Alice.
Mum rounds on her furiously. ‘Alice, will you kindly put a sock in it? I just want to say, I have no problem with being in a photo with your father and Margot – I think she’s a perfectly nice woman, actually – but I’d rather she wasn’t in all of our family shots.’
‘I really wouldn’t worry about it, Mum,’ I cut in. ‘It’s not like there will be an official photographer there. Why would there be? It’s just my birthday, isn’t it?’
There is nothing, of course, that she can say to that without entirely giving the game away, and the rest of the journey passes in comparative silence.
When we arrive at mine, the drive is mercifully empty. My sister hasn’t arrived yet.
I turn off the engine without taking my eyes from the house. Imogen wouldn’t have been able to get in without me, of course, but that’s not the point. Everything looks exactly as I left it; the curtains are still pulled like we’ve gone on holiday and are trying to pretend the house is occupied to deter burglars.
Mum starts to climb out and I say sharply, ‘Just wait here, Mum.’
‘Why?’ she asks, not unreasonably.
I ignore her and, reaching for the bag that contains the letter, clutch it to me tightly. I feel my heart start to thud as I walk up the path to the front door. There are no visible signs of any forced entry at all: no scratches, the door is closed, and my key slides into the lock easily.
I take a deep breath and push it open, staying on the doorstep as I look up the stairs in front of me. The lights are all still on. I glance down the corridor to the kitchen. It all looks completely normal…
‘For goodness’ sake, Sophie,’ says Mum, suddenly right behind me. ‘Are you sure you’re not still drunk?’ She steps neatly around me and marches off down the passageway. ‘I’m going to put the oven on and warm these poor pains au chocolat before they go completely stale.’
‘Mum, wait!’ I call desperately as Alice appears next to me, looking confused. ‘I think there might be a gas leak!’
She stops and spins around, now really cross, slamming the basket down before sniffing the air violently. ‘It’s absolutely fine.’ She frowns at me. ‘What is it that you don’t want me to find?’
Alice steps forward urgently. ‘Mum, leave it. There’s nothing. No one’s here, OK?’
I round on Alice in astonishment, who instantly clutches her mouth like she swallowed a wasp, as Mum says quietly, ‘Who said anything about there being someone here?’ She turns her head slowly and fixes me with a furious glare. Before I can say anything, she marches towards me, pushes past us, and stomps off up the stairs.
‘You stay there,’ I instruct Alice, and run up after Mum, petrified. ‘Mum, wait! Just stop, please!’
She ignores me and bangs into Isabelle and Olivier’s room, then re-emerges and turns straight into our bedroom, before yanking the wardrobe door open. I am almost sick with relief when it, too, is empty. Turning on her heel, she stalks off to the spare room – still ignoring my pleas to stop what she is doing – then finally checks the bathroom and even the airing cupboard.
‘Mum! Have you gone mad?’ I grab her arm.
‘You’ve been acting bizarrely since the moment I arrived at Alice’s. Who were you expecting to be here, exactly? I’m not a fool, Sophie.’
Oh God – she thinks I’ve got a lover hidden away up here? Hiding among the towels? It might be quite funny, in a bedroom-farce sort of way, if it wasn’t completely terrifying for reasons she can’t possibly appreciate.
‘I’m not Dad,’ I shoot back. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong! I don’t know why on earth Alice said that. Who the hell else would be here except me or Marc?’ I’m starting to shake slightly.
She scans my face. ‘I don’t believe you. Something is going on.’
I open my mouth, but fear catches in my throat.
What if while he was in the house last night that man bugged it, or fitted a camera? He could be listening to every word we’re saying right now. I need to be very, very careful. I clasp the bag, and the letter within it, to my body more fervently.
‘I know I’m getting married today,’ I blurt, my only defence being attack. Mum goes as white as a sheet. ‘I found out about two hours ago. Is it any wonder I’m a little on edge?’
She takes a step back, the wind taken right out of her sails. ‘Who told you?’ she whispers.
I can’t drop Alice in it. ‘A friend emailed to say she can’t make it because of an emergency. She must have thought she was sending it to Marc, but it came to me.’
Mum closes her eyes briefly. ‘I told him it wouldn’t work, that someone would make a stupid mistake like that. Oh, that poor, poor boy – he’s going to be devastated. He’s worked so hard.’
‘He doesn’t have to know,’ I say quickly. ‘I can pretend if you can.’
‘Are you two all right up there?’ calls Alice from downstairs.
I squeeze Mum’s arm. ‘You can’t say a word to anyone. You promise me?’ As I’m saying it, I know it’s a ridiculous request – tantamount to a house of cards, built on sand, in the middle of a gale. Mum is the least subtle person I know.
She uncharacteristically bites her lip, but then draws herself up a little more proudly. ‘I won’t breathe a word.’ There is a glint in her eye as she challenges me to disagree. ‘After all, I’ve managed to keep it successfully from you this far. Now go downstairs and tell Alice. I’ll join you in a minute.’
I nod, and hasten to do as I’m told. Alice is waiting in the hall, and I yank her forcibly into the sitting room.
‘I know, I know!’ she bursts out, before I can say anything. ‘I didn’t think – my mouth just said it. You arranged to see Rich because Marc was away, didn’t you? You were terrified we were going to find him here.’
I pause, then exclaim in exasperation, ‘Of course not! I told you, nothing is going on like that!’
She looks at me sceptically. ‘Well, I’m still really sorry. I’m spinning out a bit, to be honest, that you can be so sure that you want to go ahead with tonight…’ She shakes her head. ‘And when he and Lou are going to be there too! It’s really messed up. But I’m not going to say anything else. If I don’t calm down, this is all going to go tits up before ten o’clock. I get it.’
‘Thank you. And I’m going to sort him being there, OK?’
‘Sort who being where?’ says a light voice behind us, and we both spin around to see Imogen standing in the doorway.
Alice, true to her promise, immediately steps up. ‘Oh, hi Gen,’ she says nonchalantly. ‘Sophie is worried Marc isn’t going to get back from Berlin on time for the party.’
‘Of course he will,’ says Imogen brightly, entering the room. She is fully made-up and her hair is immaculate; she’s wearing a tea dress and heels, and carrying a basket not dissimilar to Mum’s. She looks like Dorothy minus Toto, only in her mid-thirties, a bit too thin and with visible shadows lurking under carefully applied Touche Éclat. ‘Anyway. Happy birthday, Sophie! I’ve made you some birthday cupcakes!’ She reaches into her basket and pulls out a bright pink cake, on top of which is a giant sugar paste – and very orange – flower. It looks like a Mr Men drawing. She inspects it anxiously, before holding it out.
‘Thank you.’ I manage to take it, feeling like someone has smashed me over the head with a baseball bat and no one else has noticed.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she says proudly. ‘But it’s actually just a Wilton 2D nozzle and a standard bag.’
Alice stares at her. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s not what she’s thinking, Gen.’
Mum appears behind us, once again cool, calm and collected. ‘Hello, darling.’ She kisses Imogen, then looks at her watch. ‘You didn’t leave when you said after all, then?’
Imogen flushes and says tersely, ‘Liza’s back is out and because we are now effectively her employers, we’re having to pay her sick leave, which means I can’t afford a babysitter, so Ed is having to look after Evie all day on his own. I had a lot to organize and leave out for them before I could go.’
‘I’m not criticizing, Imogen,’ says Mum airily. ‘Just remarking. That’s wonderful that Ed is looking after her all day. You are brave.’ Imogen looks stricken, but Mum has already turned away, only to spy me holding the cake. ‘I don’t think so,’ she says. ‘Put it down.’
I hand it to Alice in silence, who shrugs and starts to eat it.
‘We want to be able to fit into our party frock later, don’t we?’ Mum looks at me pointedly and gives me a huge theatrical wink, but luckily neither of the other two notice: Alice is licking icing off her fingers, and Imogen is fretfully texting Ed, presumably to ask him if he’s sure he can cope.
What I really want to do, more than anything, is escape them all, so I can try to think. There has to be something I can do, something that will—
‘Now, Sophie.’ Mum appears right next to me, taking my elbow like I’m an invalid, before guiding me towards the sofa. ‘We have a little treat for you. We’ve arranged for a very nice lady to come to the house and give you a treatment. It’s a detoxing sort of thing. Very good for drainage.’ The doorbell suddenly rings. ‘Ah, that will be her now.’ Mum smiles brightly. ‘Do you have a bus to catch?’
I have no idea what she’s talking about – what bus? Where? I stare at her dumbly.
‘You’re still holding your bag.’ She motions patiently to it. ‘Put it down, and do try to relax.’ She says the last bit with emphasis before turning to my sister. ‘Imogen, go and answer the door, will you, dear?’
I look around, trying to decide where is going to be the safest place to keep the letter. I don’t want to let it out of my sight. I can’t run the risk of losing it. I’m still holding the bag, paralyzed with inaction, when Imogen reappears carrying a huge bunch of flowers. ‘It wasn’t her – it was these.’
‘Ahhh!’ chorus Mum and Alice. ‘Good boy, Marc,’ Mum adds approvingly, which makes me blush in spite of myself.
Gen passes me the bouquet of white lilies and chrysanthemums, and I put the bag down at my feet so I can open the card.
‘I love you, Sophiiiiieeee,’ teases Alice, watching me read it. ‘You’re so beeeauutiful.’
But there’s actually nothing on the card at all. It’s completely blank. I turn it over in confusion, and then look at the envelope. It simply has Sophie Gardener printed on it. I look up at Imogen. ‘Was there nothing else with them?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She looks at the lilies. ‘Bit funeral flower-ish, aren’t they?’
‘Imogen!’ scolds Alice. ‘Don’t be so rude!’
‘I’m not! Everyone knows that about white lilies.’
‘I didn’t. They’re just nice flowers.’
‘No, she’s right. They are traditionally funeral flowers. Especially chrysanths,’ Mum confirms.
‘There must have been something else.’ I search in among the cellophane as Imogen taps away on her phone, then exclaims, ‘Ha! See, Alice? I am right.’ She begins to read aloud: ‘Lilies are a symbol of death, and at one time were placed on the graves of young innocents and…’ she pauses briefly, presumably for another page to upload, ‘in Europe, including France, Italy and Spain, chrysanthemums are only used for funerals, similarly in China and Japan, white chrysanthemums represent lamentation, while in other countries they mean honesty.’
‘Read that bit again,’ I say slowly.
‘They mean honesty.’
‘The bit before that.’
She looks puzzled. ‘The bit where it says they’re used for funerals in China and Japan, and Spain and France?’
Marc didn’t send these.
She did.
You didn’t need to sign the card, did you, Claudine? I get the message.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘You didn’t notice which florist it was?
’ I ask Imogen, as calmly as possible.
‘No. I know it’s frustrating not to know who’s sent them, but…’
I exhale. With a company name, I could call them and ask for the details of the sender, although I’m sure I’m right. It just sums Claudine up: a beautifully packaged, heavily scented threat. Funeral flowers? That’s a truly horrible thing to send. And what am I supposed to infer from the ‘honesty’ connection? She’s about to tell me the truth – or she knows I’m a liar.
‘You didn’t see which company it was on the side of the van, or when they asked you to sign for delivery?’
‘He didn’t ask me to sign anything,’ says Gen. ‘He just said, “These are for Sophie Gardener” and I took them.’
‘What?’ I say sharply. ‘A man just gave them to you? What did he look like?’
‘Oh, I don’t know!’ she says, exasperated. ‘He can’t have been attractive, or I’d have noticed.’
‘Tell me exactly what he said to you,’ I persist, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice.
‘He said, “Delivery for the birthday girl.”’
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. ‘How did he know it was my birthday? Did you tell him?’
‘I don’t remember. I suppose I must have done. I said, “She’s not very happy about it,” and he said, “Well, life begins at forty.”’
My mouth goes dry. That phrase again – the last thing he said to me before he left my room. It’s him. I’m sure it’s him.
I rush over to the window and scan the street, looking as far as I can, up and down the road. There’s nothing but parked cars in driveways, and no one is driving away.
I turn and sink down onto the sofa. I understand. The flowers are actually another reminder that, true to his word, he’s still here, watching…
Stick to the plan, because I can reach out anytime I like and touch you… I let the bouquet fall slightly in my hands.
‘Careful!’ says Mum sharply. ‘The pollen will drop and stain the carpet. Here, give them to me.’ I hold them out. ‘I’ll go and put them in a vase.’ She turns and makes her way off to the kitchen.