Melanie’s face was alight.
“Blimey,” said Eve. “If that’s you taking it slowly, I’d hate to be there when you’re on the fast track!”
“You ain’t seen nothing.” Melanie grinned. “Vince says he’ll have me back, but he wants some proof of commitment from me. I don’t mean anything heavy,” she added hastily, when she saw the expressions on the others’ faces. “I mean, Vince needs to know I mean it. That I’m not messing him around and won’t turn around in a week and say I’ve made a mistake. I mean, can you blame him? I’ve just put him through weeks of hell. This matters to him. He won’t let me meet Ellie unless we’re serious. And he knows I won’t agree to meet Ellie unless I am, too.”
“And are you?” Eve asked.
Melanie sipped her latte and looked thoughtful. “Yes,” she said after several seconds. “Yes, I am. This has been a wake-up call. Vince is good for me. Vince is what I need.”
The women fell silent while they considered this.
There had to be something going on in the planets, Clare thought. Not that she believed that stuff, but Lily did, and, more improbably, so did Lou, although she pretended a more scientific interest—a magnetic pull, if you liked, that brought everything into alignment. Eve and Ian were loved up again, and things seemed more settled with Hannah; Melanie was back with Vince; even Lily, Liam and Siobhan seemed to be coexisting, with no blood spilled. Lily had had “serious words,” as she’d put it, with Liam about doing his own kid’s washing, and, for now, at least, he seemed to have listened.
Only Mandy had been quiet this evening. Maybe Clare would phone her later in the week. Did the OMC rules allow for that? Clare wondered, and almost laughed aloud at herself, since she was the one who’d invented most of them. And everyone else seemed oblivious to their existence.
Maybe it was a sign, Clare thought; maybe things would start going right for her too.
“Eve knows some of this,” Clare said, then realized that could translate as Eve knows, but my sister doesn’t….
From the look on Lily’s face, that was exactly how she’d taken it.
“Will and I had a meeting, a pretty disastrous meeting,” Clare admitted. “He wants access to Lou whether I’m happy about that or not. And I’m not. So I’ve reached a decision,” she said into their stunned silence. “I’ve seen a lawyer—the head of maths recommended him, he looked after her divorce. Anyway, I was right. Will’s name isn’t on Lou’s birth certificate, so he can’t just turn up out of the blue and demand to see her. I don’t want him to, and my lawyer says I don’t have to let him.”
A bubble of horror, pregnant with shock, expanded above them and deepened their silence, like one of those glass domes the Victorians used to keep food fresh. The others kept expecting the silence to pop, but it didn’t.
Lily stared at Clare. As did Eve.
Melanie simply stared at her mug.
“Whoa,” Eve said eventually. “I thought you’d decided to let Will see her. You said you didn’t have any choice?”
“Well, I discovered I do.”
“Run that by me again,” Lily said.
Clare gave her younger sister a querulous look but repeated herself anyway. “I said, I’ve spoken to a lawyer and Will doesn’t have any rights. His name isn’t on Lou’s birth certificate. He’s been AWOL for fifteen years, give or take a few months. He hasn’t sent so much as a Christmas card, let alone a penny in maintenance. He can’t insist on seeing her now.”
“He sent a check,” Lily said quietly. “That I do remember. You tore it up.”
“That was years ago and it doesn’t count. Anyway, who told you about that?” Clare scowled at Eve, who stared back. Don’t look at me, her stare said.
“Mom,” said Lily. “Not that that’s relevant. The point is I’m sure it would qualify as an attempt to pay maintenance. And I’ll put money on Will taking this to court. And if it goes to court, Lou will be asked what she wants to happen. What do you think she’s going to say?”
“He’ll need to get DNA tests first.”
“You think Lou would forgive you for doing that?”
“Lily.” Eve’s voice sounded a warning note. None of them took much notice of Melanie, who was obviously wondering whether she was too late to get a cab back to Vince’s after all.
“Well?” Lily repeated.
“Whose side are you on?” Clare hissed.
“Lou’s…since you ask.”
“Lily,” Eve said. “Stop it. Now.”
“Why?” Lily spun to face Eve. “Someone has to tell her the truth. And don’t pretend you don’t agree. Lou’s the one who’s going to suffer if this goes to court.”
But Clare wasn’t listening. “How dare you imply I’m not on Lou’s side?”
“She didn’t say—”
“I’m Lou’s mother. I’m the one who had her.”
“We know that—”
“Clare, she doesn’t—”
“I’m the one who sat up all night with her. I’m the one who put my life on hold. I’m the one who sacrificed everything! Not you, not Mom, and not bloody, fucking, perfect Will! How dare you say I’m not on Lou’s side!”
Eve was on her feet, a restraining hand on her friend’s arm. “Lily’s not saying…no one’s suggesting…it’s just…”
But Clare was out of her seat, her coat and bag bundled in her arms. “You’re meant to be my friends. My family! You’re meant to side with me.”
“We do,” Eve started to say.
But it was too late. Clare was gone.
Twenty-one
The whole room had fallen silent. Even the hiss of the coffee machine seemed subdued.
“Well done, Lily,” Eve said wearily. “Nicely done.”
Lily set her jaw. “Don’t tell me you think I’m wrong, because you don’t. You know as well as I do that this is not about Will, it’s about Lou. And Lou has a right to see her dad, whether her mom likes it or not.”
“Lily…”
“We didn’t have a dad,” Lily said defiantly. There were tears in her eyes. “Birthdays, Christmas, Easter, bank holidays. No Dad, only Mom. You’d think she’d remember how that felt.”
“There has to be a better way to convince her.”
“The trouble with my sister,” Lily continued, her voice rising dangerously close to hysteria, “is she thinks everything is about her, her and Will. It isn’t. This is about Lou. This has nothing to do with Clare, nothing to do with her at all. The sooner she gets her head around that, the better.”
“Yeah,” Eve said, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. They came away smudged black with mascara and eyeliner. “I think we’ve grasped that.”
She couldn’t think straight. Lily was right, obviously enough. But that didn’t make the situation any better. Eve had never seen this side of Lily before. After so many years cast in the role of feckless little sister, it was rare for Lily to do more than verbally poke her tongue out at Clare. This tough-love act was a whole new persona.
“Erm, I hate to intrude,” Melanie said, “but don’t you think one of us should go after her?”
“Shit, yes.” Eve suddenly woke up from the nightmare turn the evening had taken. “Of course. I’ll go.”
Thanks to the rain, Carnaby Street was more or less empty. Clare would be taking the Northern Line home, so Eve took a guess and headed toward Tottenham Court Road. At the far end of Great Marlborough Street a distant, dark figure was hurrying, head down against the storm. It had to be Clare.
Eve started to run. Thank God she wasn’t wearing stupid shoes.
“Stop!” Eve shouted as soon as she got within hearing distance. “Clare! Stop! Wait up!”
She was surprised her friend could move so fast. But then again, as Clare would have wasted no time telling her, Eve hadn’t been running around after a child for the past fourteen and a half years. Eve was gasping, and a stitch pierced her side by the time she got close enough to cause a scene. It was her best chance; Clare hate
d a scene.
“Clare! Stop! Lily didn’t mean it. Please stop, for Christ’s sake, before I collapse!”
Eve knew it would work; Clare never could stand being the center of attention. And the smokers loitering under the awning of a nearby pub were already openly staring. Who knew what they were thinking? Eve didn’t much care, but she knew Clare would.
Slowing to a halt, Clare turned and advanced toward Eve. “Leave. Me. Alone,” she hissed, her voice icy. In the glow of a streetlight, her eyes were wet.
“Not until you listen to me. Lily didn’t mean it. She cares about you, she just doesn’t want you to be hurt.”
“She doesn’t want me to be hurt! What does she think I am now? What does she think I’ll be if he takes Louisa away from me?”
“Hurt, of course. But he doesn’t want to take her away, he just wants to see her. Your solicitor might be right, Clare. But the reality is Will’s not going to let this drop. He’ll take the DNA tests if you make him. And he’ll pass. He was your first, your only, you said so yourself. Then he’ll see you in court. You don’t have the money to fight this.”
“I’ll get legal aid.”
Clare was listening now, so Eve stepped closer. One more step and she’d be close enough to put her arm around her friend. “Maybe you will. But what if Will doesn’t stop there?”
Her friend waited.
“What if he tells Lou? What if he goes to her school? Think about it. You can’t be there all the time. You can’t move and change your number. You’ve got a job, a life. Lou’s got a life. You can’t just leave and disappear. I love you, Clare. I love Lou. You’re my best friend, I promise I’m on your side. I understand you don’t want Lou to see him, I really do. But Will’s her father. I know he hurt you, but if you stop him seeing Lou and she finds out—and Lou will, eventually—she’ll never forgive you.”
Clare sagged forward, tears washing makeup and anguish down her face.
Eve held her.
“How will she find out? How? Who would tell her?”
“Will. He’ll tell her himself,” Eve said, her voice low as she stroked her friend’s hair. “I’m sorry, Clare, but that’s the truth.”
Melanie and Lily were huddled in the street under Melanie’s umbrella when Eve returned. It was past ten and the coffee shop had shut for the evening. The rain had let up a little, but they were both still drenched.
“Where is she?” Lily demanded.
“Couldn’t you find her?”
“It’s fine,” Eve reassured them. “She’s fine.”
“Where is she then?” Lily asked. Her eyes were huge in her thin face. It looked to Eve as if the enormity of what she’d said to her sister had just hit her.
“Don’t worry,” Eve promised. “She’s going to be all right.”
Lily didn’t look convinced.
“I put her in a cab and gave the driver her address and thirty quid,” Eve said, risking a glance at her watch. She wanted to be home with Ian. She wanted to be sitting on the end of Alfie’s bed, watching his little blonde head in the glow of his night-light as he beat up baddies in his sleep. She did not want to be standing outside Starbucks in the pissing rain, in central London on a Tuesday night.
“She’ll be OK,” she repeated. “She’ll get through it.”
Not this week, Eve thought, not next. But at some point. Eventually. She’ll get through it.
Twenty-two
It’s bolognese or nothing.” Mandy kept her back to the table as she spoke.
“But Mu-um, I don’t like bolognese.” Jason was whining. Mandy couldn’t bear it when her youngest whined. Not least because there was always some other reason for Jason’s whining that would need maternal excavation later. Nine times out of ten it was Nathan-related. Tonight, Mandy wasn’t convinced she had the energy.
“Yes, you do. You’ve eaten it a million times. Anyway, that’s what’s for dinner. Take it or leave it.” Since Jason stayed where he was, Mandy assumed he’d decided to take it.
“Nathan!” she yelled. “Dinner’s on the table.” Mandy didn’t approve of yelling—it set a bad example—but needs must.
“Bring it in here, Mom,” he yelled back. “I’m watching the telly.”
“Come and eat at the table like everyone else.”
No answer and no sound of movement.
Well, sod him, Mandy thought. Nathan could come and get it or he could go without. Dumping the last of the plates and a tub of ready-grated dried parmesan on the table, Mandy sat down. Her partner, John, her eldest son, Matt, and John’s son Jack were already inhaling great forkfuls of spaghetti, not even waiting for her to pull in her chair. Other than being bad manners, it didn’t much matter.
For once, there was no need to rush in the hope of seconds, because there was plenty to go around. Izzy was supposed to have been here this evening but had canceled at the last minute. John was sulking because of it. Since Izzy was fifteen, Mandy considered John lucky to see her once a month. She’d rather pull out her own fingernails with pliers than hang around with four sullen teenaged boys. Mandy felt sorry for John—she knew he missed Izzy—but frankly Mandy had too much of a headache to care. Right now, she couldn’t help wishing that at least one of her own boys would spend more time with his other parent too.
Preferably Nathan.
“What’s this?” Jason sniffed the parmesan tub and his face wrinkled in disgust. His bowl remained untouched.
“You know what it is,” she said, taking the tub from him and sprinkling grated cheese liberally across her own bowl of pasta.
“Smells like feet.”
Matt sniggered.
“Mo-om,” Nathan hollered from the living room. “Where’s my dinner?”
Mandy hoped the others didn’t notice the shudder that ran through her. Shades of Dave, she thought.
“Come in here if you want to speak to me,” she said, feigning an indifference she didn’t feel as she began expertly twirling her spaghetti around her fork.
“Where’s my food?”
“On the table.”
“Don’t answer him,” John said, suddenly banging down his fork. “It’s about time he learned some manners.”
“Dad,” said Jack. Matt and Jason simply rolled their eyes.
“Leave it,” Mandy said. “Just leave it. He’ll come if he’s hungry.”
“Fine,” John snapped. “As long as you don’t cook him something else in an hour’s time.”
Mandy was taken aback. That didn’t sound like John at all. He wasn’t Mr. Lay Down The Law; that was Dave’s domain. Common sense told her John was upset because of Izzy, but common sense was on the back burner. “It’s none of your business,” she snapped back. “He’s my son, not yours. How I deal with him is my concern.”
Matt froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Her eldest hated confrontation. It was one reason Matt hadn’t been as upset as his brothers had been when their dad had moved out. At least the rows had moved out with him. Jack stared at the table, obviously wishing it would open up and swallow them. Or that he could go back to his mom’s for the night. Jason looked as if he’d like to go with him.
John stared at her. He looked as if she’d slapped him. “That’s how it is, is it?”
“John, don’t be—”
“Is it?”
“Of course not.”
“So this isn’t about that group you went out to last night?”
“No, of course it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m just tired, and I’ve had a bad day. Nathan! Come and eat your dinner. Now!”
Mandy had a fantasy. Well, she had lots. But her favorite, the one that felt most achievable, involved her, a bowl of pasta, a large glass of a mild red (gluggable, John would call it), the sofa, and the TV—in fact the entire house—to herself.
All night.
She might watch Corrie or she might not. Maybe X Factor, not that she was into reality TV. It irritated her, although she liked Strictly, if she had to pick one. Maybe she’d just watch the
news. She was out of touch with what was going on in the world these days. There could be a war going on for all Mandy knew. Usually was. Or she’d put on a bad film and watch that. With no one complaining, no one demanding, no one tramping in front of the television.
Just her, a TV dinner, and a glass of wine. In fact, make that a bottle. It wasn’t much to ask, was it? Even Clare had that, and Clare had drawn the short straw in most every other way. But even Clare got to eat a bowl of pasta and drink a glass of wine in peace occasionally.
Mandy had been surprised to hear Clare’s voice when she’d answered the phone earlier, but she’d been pleased. She’d really taken to Clare, despite having only met her a few times. Clare felt like “one of us.” Plainspeaking, hardworking, a nice woman who’d been at the back of the line when life’s treats had been handed out. Like me, Mandy thought. Only she wasn’t at the back of the line. She’d been standing behind the bloody door.
“I hope you don’t mind me phoning you?” Clare had sounded uncertain.
“Of course not,” Mandy had said. “Glad to hear from you.”
“I got your number from information. I hope that’s all right.”
Not Lily? Mandy thought. But what she said was, “Of course it is. That’s what they’re there for. I’m not being funny, Clare, but are you OK? It’s just…you don’t sound it.”
“No, I’m not. I need to ask you something…something personal.”
“Um, OK. Fire away.” Mandy waited. Clare didn’t seem the type to ask personal questions of people she hardly knew. Mandy wasn’t the type to answer them.
On the other end of the line, Clare took a deep breath. “The thing is,” she said, “I’ve had everyone else’s opinion, whether I like it or not. All of them think I’m wrong. I want to know what you think before I do anything definite.”
And so, Clare told her.
Everything.
About Will, about how he’d left her sobbing and pregnant on a park bench when she was seventeen, taken her heart and her hope with him and never even glanced back.
The Other Mothers' Club Page 21