‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Tilly flounced to her feet. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’
Ben pushed down the lever on the toaster. ‘She’s talked about nothing else.’
‘And get your stuff together,’ I called after her, irritated. ‘Your father wanted to leave at eleven and I can’t bloody wait!’ Rob had been stalking up and down the front room, looking at his watch, since 10.29 and I was ready to swing for him.
Tilly stomped back towards me. ‘You are so bitter and nasty!’ Her eyes were narrow slits. ‘What if Dad hears you?’ I was just about to tell her I didn’t give a toss and that if he ever pitched up on my doorstep again I’d disinherit her, when, bang on cue, Rob appeared from behind me.
‘Your plumbing’s in need of attention,’ he announced.
I swung around, my annoyance ballooning into full fury. ‘I KNOW the plumbing needs attention! I have been waiting for the plumber to come and give it some. When he is over his various crises that have involved floods and exploding boilers and his girlfriend crashing her car, all of which have conspired to prevent him getting to me on any of the sixteen occasions he’s promised to!’ I took a deep breath as Rob took a half-step back.
‘I just hope,’ I continued shrilly, turning to include my offspring in my wrath, ‘that when he does eventually deign to turn up he doesn’t charge more than ten quid because–’
‘Oh no, I should think–’
‘BECAUSE,’ I yelled over ex-husband’s interjection, ‘that’s all I have left after you lot have eaten your way through my entire salary and doubled the electricity bill!’ As if to illustrate my point a blackened piece of toast sprang into the air, making me jump.
‘That’s not fair! You–’ I saw Tilly’s eyes flick towards her father for support.
‘It certainly is!’ I shouted across her. ‘I do everything for all of you. You are spoiled and indulged and–’
Ben was looking at me wide-eyed, his hands out in front of him as if to ward off an approaching tsunami. ‘Sorreeee’, he mouthed, with a lop-sided smile.
‘TOTALLY SELF-CENTRED!’ I screeched.
‘I’ll go and buy a newspaper,’ said Rob heavily. ‘You’d better hurry up,’ he added to Tilly. ‘We’re leaving when I get back.’
‘I need to get dressed too,’ I said to Ben, when Tilly had stormed upstairs. ‘You can let him in.’
Ben nodded, his mouth full. ‘Are you going to tell David?’ he mumbled.
I glanced at my phone lying on the kitchen counter. It was a question I’d been asking myself since dawn. If I said we’d caught someone, he’d want to know who it was. Perhaps I’d just take the CCTV back and say Malcolm had provided some instead. Let Malcolm’s chap install some for a week or two, then report nothing doing.
Ben swallowed. ‘Gabe’ll lose his job if his boss finds out,’ he said. ‘And he won’t get another one. He told me last night. Said nobody will ever give him work again if they know what he did.’
‘Well, of course not,’ I replied sharply. ‘What does he expect?’
Ben shrugged and slotted another slice into the toaster. ‘I’m just saying …’
‘Gabriel can’t expect us to lie for him,’ I said.
‘He doesn’t.’ Ben was rummaging among the pots in the cupboard and didn’t look at me. ‘But we don’t have to be the ones to drop him in it, either.’
I stomped upstairs, still annoyed. I didn’t want to drop anyone in it, but David had been falsely accused by Jinni, and was clearly harbouring return suspicions about her, and Gabriel was guilty of criminal damage. Even if he had cleaned up after himself. He was bloody lucky we hadn’t called the police.
Jinni wouldn’t want to admit to David she’d made a mistake. But he should at least be told he was in the clear …
As I stood under the shower, letting the hot water hammer down on my back, I suddenly felt a deep weariness that went beyond lack of sleep. I wanted peace and quiet, some space in which to think clearly–
‘MUM!’ It was Ben’s voice roaring from the bedroom beyond.
‘Dad’s only gone and told Malcolm!’
‘What the fuck were you doing?’ I demanded furiously, ‘answering my phone in the first place?’
Rob looked peeved. ‘It was ringing and ringing,’ he said. ‘I saw the caller was “Newspaper”, so I thought it might be important. I was trying to be helpful,’ he continued huffily. ‘In case it was your work.’
‘On a Saturday?’ I said crossly. ‘And since when have I worked for the press?’
I sighed loudly as Ben continued to look aghast. Not only had Rob decided to act as my receptionist, he’d explained where I was and given the full lowdown on why I’d had such a late night. I still wasn’t washed.
Malcolm had asked a lot of questions.
‘He’s a journalist,’ I snapped. ‘You didn’t have to answer them.’
‘How was I to know?’ Rob muttered back.
‘Could you tell him Dad got it wrong?’ put in Ben hopefully.
‘I don’t think so.’ I turned back to my ex-husband and glared. ‘What did he say anyway?’
‘Said to tell you he’d make sure the boy never worked again.’
Oh Christ. I didn’t know what had propelled Gabriel to do something so insane to impress Malcolm – but I was sure he was misguided rather than a criminal. ‘Can you talk to your mum about it?’ I’d asked as I’d sent him on his way. He’d shaken his head bleakly, looking utterly wretched.
I wished now I’d listened longer. Maybe it would have helped me to put in a word with Malcolm. The answerphone was on at the news office now and I’d never known his mobile number. We always emailed.
I remembered him writing down his postcode when he’d invited me to eat – had he written a phone number too?
I left Rob shouting at Tilly to get a move on and stamped to the kitchen to make coffee. How the bloody hell had I ended up in the middle of all this?
I was rifling through the various bits of paper piled up on the kitchen worktop when I felt a hand on my waist. I jumped. ‘What?’
Then I felt a warm sensation on the back of my neck and realised Rob was breathing on me again.
I twisted around and narrowly avoided head-butting him. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Are you happy?’ he asked.
What?
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Ecstatic.’
Rob sighed. ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘Despite your–’ he paused, ‘–outburst.’
I gritted my teeth but he was still talking. ‘I’m still very fond of you, you know that, don’t you? And if ever–’ He abruptly clasped me to him and transferred his hot breath to my ear. ‘I would always be–’
I pushed him back against the freezer. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said briskly. ‘Enjoy the move with Fiona!’
Rob sidled forwards again. ‘But I’ll see you when the baby’s born. And we’re grandparents together–’
I frowned, not keen on his emphasis on the last word.
Not if I see you first.
Usually I’d fret about his liver, but when Ben announced his hangover had just kicked in and retired for a lie-down with his iPad and the last of my Paracetamol, I felt only relief.
I thought uncomfortably of the indecent haste with which I’d waved my daughter off too.
‘I’ll see you in three weeks,’ she’d said grumpily through the open window, as Rob made a meal of adjusting his mirrors.
‘Will you?’ I’d heard the surprise in my voice, quickly trilling: ‘how lovely!’ and just stopping myself from adding: ‘so soon?’
‘It’s your birthday, remember?’ Tilly frowned. ‘Won’t you want to do a dinner?’
Not really, no, I thought as I picked up my phone and went into the garden. I had not given my impending anniversary a single thought and if I considered it now, spending the day horizontal with a glass of wine and a cheese sandwich sounded much more the ticket than hours in the kitchen.
I had three text
s. I was surprised Rob hadn’t thought to read them too and apprise me of the contents via bullet points. I thought of his sweaty hand clamped over mine before he’d finally got into the car and shuddered.
The first was from Caroline. ‘Fab to c u darling. Will phone when facialist gone. Got goss. Xxx’
Another new man? I hoped I’d have some ‘goss’ myself later when I’d finally got round to David’s. The second one was from him.
‘Looking forward to having you for dinner…. X’ which sent me into a small paroxysm of anticipation and further deliberations over what I might wear.
The third was another desperate-sounding one from Gabriel, saying he needed to speak to me urgently and could he come round? I sighed.
First I would have to see Malcolm.
Chapter 36
The sat nav took me to the outskirts of Northstone, out past a petrol station and the garden centre and left down a long country lane. The hedgerows were dotted with wild flowers in pinks and purples, the sun shone over the fields beyond. I saw rabbits beneath trees, cows munching, two walkers with rucksacks crossing a meadow towards a stile.
I envied them strolling across the springy grass, in the soft breeze, listening to the birds, heading for the woodlands in the distance. I wanted to wander with the warmth of someone else’s hand in mine. (Not Rob’s clammy one, obviously.) I was still suitably stunned by his assumption that I would consider, in my wildest dreams, falling back into his flaccid, liver-spotted arms.
I imagined David’s well-toned triceps closing around me and enjoyed a small frisson at the thought of this evening as I rounded a final corner past the sign for Haverfordsham and saw the church spire and postcard-pretty cottages clustered around a tiny green.
I knew Malcolm lived in a village but I’d expected his abode to be functional and bachelor-like. The low whitewashed house around the corner at the far end of the main street, set back behind a hedge, was the loveliest of them all, its thatched roof and tangle of roses in the front garden like something straight from a selection box.
I looked for a name in case there was some mistake. The oak front door had no number but the words Sunny Dove in faded white paint were just visible along the top of the slightly rickety gate. I pushed it open and went up the path, suddenly anxious. But Malcolm had suggested brunch this weekend – he wouldn’t mind my coming however angry he was with Gabriel. I picked up the big brass knocker and knocked.
The woman who opened the door – early sixties, blue-checked overall, severe grey hair – regarded me sternly. I stepped back.
‘OH!’ I said, stupidly. ‘I was hoping to see Malcolm.’ She continued to look at me impassively as my brain whirred. He’d never actually said he was single – had just implied it with tales of multiple divorces. I looked at the cloth in her hand and deciding she must be there cleaning.
‘I’m Tess,’ I offered, smiling at her. ‘I’m a friend of his.’
‘Another of his lost causes?’ The woman sniffed. ‘I should get in quick before he’s given it all to the refugees.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’m the housekeeper.’ She had her arms folded now, as if determined to block my entrance before I made off with the silver. ‘He’s out the back with that bird of his.’
Had he got a girlfriend as well? Feeling like I’d stepped into an episode of Downton Abbey, I followed her down a narrow hallway through a large sunny room with antique furniture – I took in a beautiful chaise longue and carved writing desk – and out through a pair of French doors onto a breathtaking country garden of hollyhocks, more rambling roses, ornamental thistles, giant poppies, hibiscus and banks of flowering bushes I couldn’t name.
A large, curved pale sculpture stood in the middle of the emerald lawn at the centre. Water tumbled down it into a shallow bowl, overflowing and glinting in the light as it disappeared below. I stopped, mesmerised.
Beside me Mrs Hughes-Bridges sighed. ‘Shed,’ she said.
She stepped across the grass to a weathered wooden hut half-hidden behind a mass of pale-mauve lavatera and put her head through the open door. ‘Your friend is here,’ she announced grandly. ‘I’m going to finish the mirrors.’
I poked my head into the dim, warm interior. It smelled of earth and creosote. Malcolm was squatting down among watering cans and garden tools, apparently engrossed in some sheets of newsprint. He didn’t look around. ‘Can’t fly yet,’ he said over his shoulder.
I went further in and peered around him. A young blackbird was squeaking on the newspaper, beak straining open. I watched, entranced, as Malcolm proffered a lump of what looked like mashed fruit, touched by the delicate movement of the tiny tweezers in his large hands.
I crouched down too. ‘No parents?’
‘Don’t seem to be and a cat will have him if I let him out.’
Malcolm straightened up. ‘I thought you couldn’t make it today?’
‘Not for brunch no, but–’
‘You’ve come about that despicable little twerp. He’ll wish he’d stayed in America when I get hold of him.’
He walked outside, waited for me and closed the door gently behind him. ‘Let me send Vera the Smearer packing and I’ll make some tea.’
‘So she’s your housekeeper?’ I enquired, smiling.
Malcolm snorted. ‘She’s supposed to come for three hours a week to dust and hoover but because she drives her own husband to distraction and he spends his life hiding from her in his shed she turns up here to plague me until I’m forced to hide in mine. Always got some little job to finish!’
‘She’s probably lonely,’ I said.
‘Never stops talking.’
I pointed to the sculpture. ‘I didn’t think you were into modern art.’
Malcolm looked at me with pity. ‘It’s a bird bath you daft mare.’
He left me sitting on a bench outside the French doors with the sun on my face and disappeared inside. I watched a bumble bee crawling along a buddleia flower and breathed deeply. Despite his words, he did not seem as enraged with Gabriel as I’d thought he would be. It would be hard to feel anger for long in a garden like this.
‘Do you do it all yourself?’ I asked, when Malcolm had returned with two china mugs and sat down beside me.
‘Yes! There’s an old boy in the village who thinks he does it. But he’s bent double and can’t see. Turns up, cuts what he thinks are deadheads off my prize dahlias, pokes about in a flowerbed for five minutes, I give him twenty quid and he goes home. Then I do the rest.’ Malcolm suddenly chuckled. ‘Can’t stop him when he’s that old. Did you want a biscuit?’
I shook my head, heartened by this display of employer care.
‘Gabriel was so upset,’ I said, ‘He was shaking.’
‘Because he was caught.’
‘No it was more than that – he seemed …’ I trailed off, unable to find the words for the desperation in Gabriel’s eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have told you.’ I said. ‘Rob shouldn’t have either.’
‘Have you taken him back?’
‘I’d rather chew my own leg off. I was furious that he said anything.’
‘I knew already.’
Malcolm leant back, the top of his arm touching mine. He felt warm and solid and for a strange moment I wanted to put my head on his shoulder. I turned to look at him. ‘Did Jinni–?’
Malcolm was staring straight ahead up the garden. ‘I suspected him as soon as he did it to you.’
‘But why? He’s become like family. He–’
It was the same question I’d asked Gabriel the night before, sick with hurt that he’d cause me distress after the affection we’d shown him. The question that had left him shaking his head hopelessly, repeating ‘I’m sorry,’ over and over.
‘Don’t you know?’ Malcolm was still looking stonily ahead.
‘To have something to write about – for you?’
‘Not for me.’
‘You can’t just sack him.’
‘I most certainly can.’
‘If you’d seen him – he looked so defenceless – like he’d been stripped bare–’
‘What do you want me to do? Get him counselling and give him promotion?’
‘Just talk to him. See if you can find out–’ I didn’t really understand why I felt so upset for Gabriel, despite all he’d done, but my gut told me he wasn’t a bad person. It didn’t make sense.
‘I should have sacked him last time.’ Malcolm’s voice was grim. ‘Instead of listening to you. And the females in the office wailing because I was shouting at him on the day his mother had died or whatever it was.’
‘What?’ I sat bolt upright. ‘His mother’s died? Jesus, Malcolm, no wonder the poor boy’s in a state. Why didn’t he tell me?’ I was almost shouting now. ‘Why didn’t YOU?’
‘Not literally that day, you silly woman. It was ages ago – a year, two years.’
‘That’s not long. I had no idea – all those times I’ve said his mum must be proud of him. Oh my God.’ I put my head in my hands, mortified. ‘You can’t sack him now, no wonder he’s messed up. I’ve been a mother substitute and–’ I stopped and glared. ‘Why didn’t you let me know?’
‘Why would I? How did I know you didn’t know already?’
I was on my feet, pacing in front of him in fury. ‘You listened to me talking about her! I can’t believe how selfish and unfeeling you are. And don’t you dare call me a silly woman, you chauvinistic old–’ I stopped, floundering for a word that would sum up my feelings of rage as Malcolm regarded me impassively, ‘–GIT!’
‘My wives said I was a bastard,’ he said calmly.
‘I’m not fucking surprised!’ He flinched and I felt a pang. It disappeared as he ploughed on.
‘So your poor little wounded soldier lied and connived and created a whole fantasy world in which he could be the hero. He slashed tyres, broke windows–
‘No, he didn’t. The tyres and the nasty letter he was looking into,’ I said, ‘they were real. But that gave him the idea. To carry it on. He said he’d heard about another town that got a new station and the house prices doubled and there was a lot of bad feeling against the city people who moved in, and he thought–’
Mum in the Middle Page 27