by Susan Lewis
What kind of a fool was she to doubt it?
Not wanting to run into anyone she knew, she drove around the outside of the village, plunging through the light and shadow of leafy lanes searching her memory for some sort of sign, something that would tell her when the betrayal had begun.
If there was a betrayal.
Please God there wasn’t.
Bumping over the cattle grid at the end of their drive she felt a sudden surge of anger, but quickly suppressed it. She had to deal with her father now, and Zav and Max. Thank God Tierney wasn’t coming home tonight. Did she mean that? Probably not. Actually, yes she did.
What excuse was she going to give for the dinner being called off at such short notice? Tom is having an affair and he’s decided to spend tonight with his mistress instead of us. Her name’s Julia, do you know her by any chance?
Her head was spinning.
She needed to get a grip.
‘Hi Marty,’ she said breezily as she sailed in through the kitchen door. ‘Everything OK with Dad?’
‘Right as rain,’ Marty assured her. ‘Went for a little walk down to the pub for our usual pint. You’re back sooner than I expected. Can I give you a hand in with the shopping?’
‘Oh, it’s OK, no need,’ Lainey assured him, tossing her keys on the worktop and glancing at the landline to see if there were any messages. No flashing light. Anxiety wrenched at her heart. ‘I didn’t get much today,’ she said with a smile. Going to her father, she cupped a hand round his face and gazed into his liquid blue eyes. ‘Hello you,’ she whispered, feeling her emotions trying to break over the surface of her self-control.
‘Hello, Lainey,’ he said, covering her hand with his. ‘Did you go to the market?’
She smiled and nodded, pleased that he’d remembered. ‘And you went to the pub.’
‘Marty’s here,’ he told her. ‘I haven’t seen the children this morning. Are they at school?’
‘No, they’re just out. Are you OK sitting there, or would you like to go for a lie-down?’
‘I’m fine here. Did you go to the market?’
Dropping a kiss on his head, she turned back to Marty. ‘Did you see Tom before he left?’ she asked, busying herself with a search for nothing in particular. ‘Did you speak to him at all?’
‘Only to say cheerio,’ Marty replied, reaching for his jacket.
She wanted to ask if Tom had taken an overnight bag, but she’d only embarrass herself and Marty. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said warmly, giving him a hug. ‘It always perks Dad up to see you.’
Marty smiled at his old friend fondly. ‘Did you know,’ he said to Peter, ‘that the dot over the letter i is called a . . .’ He scratched his head as though he’d forgotten.
Peter’s eyes shone with mirth. ‘A tittle,’ he finished happily. ‘And the most often used word in the English language is I.’
Marty held out a hand to shake.
They often ended their Saturdays with a factoid or two from a book they’d published over twenty years ago. It was amazing how easily Peter could recall the seemingly useless pieces of information, while trying to process what was happening now was a battle lost before it had begun.
After Marty had gone Lainey made an effort to straighten her mind. ‘What am I going to tell them?’ she asked her father. ‘What excuse shall I give for cancelling the dinner? Maybe I should go ahead with it?’ She shook her head, knowing that she really didn’t want to face their friends while she was feeling so . . . suspicious.
With a surge of anger, she cried, ‘Am I supposed to make up a lie? Does he want me to say one of the children is sick? Or the house has caught fire, or I’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness?’
Reaching for her bag she pulled out her phone. It was no surprise to find herself connected to his voicemail again. ‘I know you’ve read the text,’ she said tightly, ‘so I’m asking, who is she?’
As she clicked off the line a rogue tear dropped on to her cheek.
‘Lainey?’ Peter said softly.
Quickly drying her eyes, she tossed back her hair as she turned around. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked gently.
‘I think I might need the toilet,’ he replied sheepishly.
‘Of course, of course,’ she cried, going to him, ‘and how lovely you’re able to warn me.’ It didn’t always happen that way, in fact it rarely did, but every now and again . . .
By the time she brought him back to his chair Max and Zav were raiding the fridge.
‘What’s for lunch, Mum?’ Zav wanted to know. ‘I’m starving. Are there any pizzas?’
‘Have a look in the freezer,’ Lainey replied, casting another glance at the landline even though she knew it hadn’t rung.
‘Where is it?’ he asked.
Lainey frowned in confusion. ‘What?’
‘I said, where is it?’
‘Where’s what?’
‘The freezer.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Zav, it’s where it always is, in the second utility. What’s the matter with you?’
‘All right, all right, no need to shout. Want one, Max?’
Max wasn’t listening; he was half out of the door talking to someone on his mobile.
While Zav went off for a rummage, Lainey took her father a fruit yoghurt and tried to think when his next medication was due.
‘I scored two goals,’ Zav announced as he came back into the kitchen. ‘Max reckons I should have been man of the match, but Rufus Collins got it. He didn’t do anything good. He nearly scored, though. It was a brilliant header that hit the post.’
‘Well done, you. Two goals,’ Lainey declared, hugging him. ‘Did Dad ring you?’
‘Yeah, he left a message to say sorry he couldn’t make it. Where is he? Why didn’t he come when he said he would?’
Lainey’s heart flooded with love as she regarded him, all flushed cheeks and muddy kit. How was she supposed to answer his questions? ‘Give those to me,’ she said, taking the pizzas. ‘I’ll sort them out while you go and run a bath. Where are your boots?’
‘I left them outside. Grandpa, I scored two goals today.’
Peter’s face lit up. ‘Were you playing football?’ he asked.
Going to give him a hug, Zav treated Sherman to one too, then bounded off upstairs to clean himself up, shouting as he went, ‘And it’s a goal by Hollingsworth. And another goal by Hollingsworth.’
‘So where is he?’ Max demanded, pocketing his phone as he came back inside.
Busying herself unwrapping the pizzas, Lainey said, ‘Something came up – he had to go back to London.’
‘So what’s so important that he just took off?’
‘I’m not really sure. Something to do with the production, I think. He’ll tell us later when he calls.’ If he calls. What if he didn’t? What was she going to tell them then?
She’d have to decide that when, if, the situation arose.
Max shrugged. ‘Guess I’m off the hook for my paternal lecture this afternoon . . . Hang on, you’ve got that dinner tonight, haven’t you?’
‘It’s been cancelled. Or it will be, when I get round to making the calls.’
Max looked puzzled. Then, clicking on his phone as it rang, ‘Richmond, hey man, I was about to call you. Sure I’m up for it. I wasn’t as wasted as some of you guys last night.’
As he chattered on, Lainey put the oven on to warm and started unloading the dishwasher. It was full of that morning’s breakfast dishes, all sparklingly clean now, no longer running with honey, or syrup, or gritted with granules of sugar from the pancakes. She thought of how she and Tom had danced to ‘The Hustle’, deliberately teasing Tierney – and of how they’d made love earlier. It was hard to connect that part of the day with this part, and yet barely more than a few hours separated them.
Had he been thinking of Julia when he’d reached a climax that morning?
She had to stop doing this to herself, at least until she knew the truth.
‘Lainey,
what the fuck?’
Wincing at the language, Lainey turned to find Max glaring at her in an odd sort of way.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded.
She didn’t understand the question.
He looked at the floor.
It was littered with broken china. The last time she’d seen it like that was when her mother had flown into a rage with her father for putting things in the wrong cupboards. She hadn’t known then that it was the beginnings of Peter’s dementia.
‘I’ll get a dustpan,’ Max said. ‘Where is it?’
‘In the utility room. Second cupboard on the right.’
It was only two plates, so not a disaster. She couldn’t be sure whether she’d dropped or smashed them. She felt a sudden urge to smash more, but managed to control it.
She wanted him to come home. Or at least to call.
Who the hell was Julia?
Chapter Six
‘GRANT, IT’S LAINEY,’ she said when Tom’s brother answered his mobile.
‘Sure, how are you? Everything OK?’ came the cheery reply.
‘Yes, it’s fine, well kind of . . . I was just wondering . . . It seemed you and Tom had a bit of a falling out last night . . .’ Where was she going with this? What did she really want to say?
‘It wasn’t serious,’ Grant assured her. ‘You know what we’re like, at each other one minute, all forgotten the next.’
This was true, but then Grant had left in a hurry this morning . . . ‘How’s Violet?’ she asked, referring to Cara’s grandmother.
‘OK. Just a bit shaken up, you know. She’ll be fine.’
‘That’s good. Do send her my love.’
‘Of course.’
There was an awkward moment before Lainey said, ‘Can I ask what the row was about last night?’
Sounding oddly cagey, Grant replied, ‘I’m afraid Tom’s not very happy about the way some of his investments are performing. I kind of got him into them, and so he’s holding me responsible.’
Much like the explanation Tom had given. ‘Did he – I don’t suppose he . . . mentioned anything about someone called Julia?’ she asked.
There was a brief hesitation before he said, ‘No. Why, who is she?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s what I’m trying to find out.’
‘I guess you’ve asked him. Stupid question, of course you have.’
‘Actually, I haven’t had a chance. He’s gone off to London, and now I can’t get hold of him.’
Grant still sounded baffled. ‘So where does this Julia fit in?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. She – or someone – sent me a text during the week telling me to ask him about Julia. Are you sure you’ve never heard of her?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
He sounded convincing. Do you think he’s involved with someone else?
Realising she hadn’t asked the question aloud, she was about to speak when he said, ‘I’m going to try ringing him. I’ll get back to you when I’ve spoken to him.’
After putting the phone down she turned around to find her father watching her quietly from his chair.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, as she went to help him up.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied, wishing with all her heart that she could turn to him the way she always used to, ‘but it’s not for you to worry about. Shall we go upstairs for a nap now?’
Compliant as ever, he shuffled along the hall with her holding his arm, Sherman following loyally behind. Thankfully the dog’s arthritis didn’t seem as bad today. He managed the stairs without having to rest, and he didn’t lie down on his mattress until Peter was propped up against his pillows.
Sitting on the edge of the bed Lainey took her father’s hand between hers, and was about to say she’d look in on him again in an hour when she noticed a tear rolling down his cheek. ‘Oh Dad, what’s wrong?’ she cried in alarm. ‘Are you all right? Why are you crying?’
‘Is your mother dead, Lainey?’ he asked croakily. ‘She is, isn’t she?’
Lainey swallowed hard. ‘Yes, she is.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘Just over a year ago.’
‘Was I there?’
‘Of course you were.’
He nodded, apparently relieved by that.
A moment or two later his eyes closed and she stroked a hand across his wrinkled forehead, smoothing away what little there was left of his hair.
‘Talk to me,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me what’s on your mind.’
His words, even his tone, were a warming echo from the past, when he’d always encouraged her to confide her problems so he could help her with them. It was funny how he’d managed to make things seem better, even when they weren’t. ‘Nothing’s on my mind,’ she assured him, ‘apart from you and how tired you are.’
‘Yes, I’m tired,’ he agreed. A few moments elapsed. ‘Is Marty coming today?’
‘He’s already been. You played cards together, and went to the pub.’
Peter smiled. ‘That’s nice. He’s a good friend.’
As he drifted into a steady sleep Lainey continued to sit with him, watching his face, wondering what was really going on his mind. She didn’t want to deal with what was going on in hers; it wasn’t going to help her, and if anything it would only make things worse.
After a while she found herself gazing at the two photographs on the table next to his bed. The larger one was of her mother at her fiftieth birthday party, looking as exotic as a movie star with her smouldering eyes and wild raven hair. She was gazing out of the frame straight into Lainey’s eyes, and Lainey could almost feel her fire burning inside her.
The other photo had been taken on Alessandra and Peter’s wedding day, more than thirty years ago. They looked so young, even Peter, whose fortieth birthday had been just around the corner. There was very little grey in his hair then, few lines around his eyes, and his jaw had been finely chiselled and firm. Her mother, having recently turned twenty-one, was so fresh and radiant that Lainey could easily understand why Peter had fallen so hard. They were gazing into each other’s eyes with a sense of surprise, it seemed, as though they’d somehow won first prize and weren’t sure if it had really been meant for them. Peter was wearing a dark pinstripe suit with a mauve tie; Alessandra, toned and curvaceous, was in a knee-length cream dress with matching high-heeled shoes and a flower in her cascades of dark hair. Next to her, in a little cream dress of her own, and blue T-bar shoes, was four-year-old Lainey clutching a posy of sweet peas in both hands, her dark, tousled head tilted back as she gazed up at her mother and Peter. It was hard to see her expression, but Lainey liked to think she’d been as happy on that day as her mother clearly had.
Though she had no memories from before Peter had come into their lives, she knew that her mother had brought her to England when she was little more than a month old. They’d lived in Highgate then, with a distant relative of Alessandra’s, a great-aunt once removed called Giovanna who’d treated her great-niece and the infant kindly, insofar as she was able to treat anyone in any way, given her many afflictions. In lieu of rent Alessandra had taken care of her old aunt and run the house, while Gayle, a young Australian nurse who’d come each day to give the old lady her vital insulin shots, returned on three evenings a week to babysit Lainey while Alessandra went to work as a waitress.
That was when she’d met Peter.
The question of why Alessandra had left Italy with such a young baby was one that had haunted Lainey for years, along with who her natural father might be. She’d searched the Internet, over and over, but it had yielded no answers so she’d created stories of her own. He’d been killed in a tragic accident and her mother had been so heartbroken that she could never bring herself to speak of it. Or maybe he’d been married to somebody else, so Alessandra had been banished from the country to save her Catholic family from the shame of having to bring up a bastarda.
Though the latter seemed a more likely scen
ario, if it were true surely her mother would have admitted to it eventually, at least to Peter, but as far as Lainey was aware her mother’s past life had always been as closed to him as it had to her.
‘It’s not something she’s comfortable discussing,’ he’d tell her, ‘so we shouldn’t try to force her.’
Now, even if he had been protecting her from some terrible truth, he probably couldn’t remember what it was anyway.
Reaching into the cupboard beside the bed, Lainey pulled out her mother’s handbag and sat with it on her lap, holding it in both hands. She knew if she opened it she’d smell the Chanel No 5 Alessandra had always used, probably with a faint tinge of mustiness now. She wasn’t sure if she had the heart to do it. She missed her mother so much, in spite of – or maybe because of – the difficult relationship they’d shared. She felt sure Alessandra had loved her really, she’d just found it hard to show it – until the end, of course, when Alessandra had clung to her desperately, as though Lainey, and Lainey alone, could somehow make the demons go away. Maybe Lainey could have, if Alessandra had named them, but she never had, perhaps not even to the priest who’d come to hear her final confession.
Hearing the phone ringing elsewhere in the house, she kept hold of the bag as she ran along the landing to her and Tom’s room. It was going to be him. He was ready now to explain what was happening and everything was going to be all right.
It turned out to be the mother of one of Zav’s friends, asking if Lainey could do the school run on Monday instead of Tuesday.
After assuring her she could, Lainey rang off and quickly picked up again as another call came in.
‘It’s me,’ Stacy told her. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Kind of.’
‘No news, I take it.’
Feeling the words like small blows, Lainey said, ‘Nothing.’
‘And you’ve cancelled the dinner?’
‘I rang everyone about an hour ago. I said there was a problem on set that Tom had to attend to, and I seem to be coming down with something that I don’t want to pass around. Anyway, tell me how you’re feeling about meeting Martin’s mother tonight.’