‘How’ve you been?’
‘Not bad. I still don’t feel one hundred per cent, though. I can’t seem to shake off that bug.’
‘Are you still feeling sick?’
‘A little bit. Nothing I can really put my finger on. Just a bit of queasiness occasionally, that’s all.’
‘Perhaps you should see a doctor?’
‘Nah, it’s not that bad. I’m sure it’ll go away.’
‘And are the kids okay?’
‘They’re fine.’ He laughed ironically. ‘Cranky, but fine. Drew’s just starting the eventing season and she’s on at me for not being here the last two weekends to cart the horse float around, and Zak’s got some issues at school by the sound of it. Frankly, I think it’s nothing a good swift kick up the backside wouldn’t fix. I’ve got a meeting with his form teacher tomorrow at lunchtime.’
‘So you’ll be in need of a good stiff drink by six o’clock too!’
‘I suspect I will be.’
‘We can compare notes tomorrow then.’
‘Who’d be a parent?’ I laughed bitterly. It seemed everyone wanted to be — even my teenage daughter.
‘The trouble is it never seems to have an end to it. I mean, I thought now that Charlotte’s at uni and Adam’s in the sixth form, things would be a lot easier. But it just keeps getting harder. I remember when they were little, I looked forward to this time — I thought it would be a doddle compared to those sleepless nights when they were babies.’
Even though I hadn’t felt able to confide in Simon on the phone, I felt a little less shaky after talking to him. I went upstairs to Charlotte’s room to find her on her cellphone to Jenna. She seemed to be talking about Peter as if nothing had happened. I motioned to her that I needed to talk.
‘Hang on, Jenna, Mum wants something.’ She held her hand over the speaker and looked at me.
‘I’m just popping out to see Nana,’ I said. ‘I’ll be back soon. Will you be okay?’
She nodded and went back to talking to Jenna. I figured I was surplus to requirements for now.
It was just after eight and St Joan’s had locked its front door but the security man recognised me and opened up. I was quite taken aback at the state Mum was in. Sure, it was past her bedtime and she was tucked up in bed, but she was lying on her side, curled up and sucking her thumb like an oversized baby.
The bedside light was on, and she looked at me when I came in, but didn’t say anything intelligible. Instead, she emitted a sort of low moan, as if she was trying to say something. I drew closer to the bed but still couldn’t work out what it was. Eventually she stopped and went back to sucking her thumb, her other hand clawing at the edge of the bed sheet.
‘Would you like me to pull that up for you, Mum?’ I lifted the sheet and blanket but she brushed me away, scratching the top of my hand with her sharp nails.
I sat with her a while, chatting about my trip, how busy it was at work and how the kids were well and seemed fine — anything I could think of to keep the one-sided conversation going. But I got no response other than the occasional moan so, after a while, I gave her a kiss, stroked the top of her head and left.
All the way home, I was haunted by the sight of her, so reduced in stature from the stroppy, bossy mother I’d known. She’d managed to keep us three kids in line — most of the time. Whenever we fell out, whenever we fought over something, she’d be down on us in an instant and whatever we’d been fighting about paled into insignificance in the face of her wrath. Yet there she was, a gaunt, helpless, semi-lifeless soul, alone and completely adrift in her mind. I felt so sad I went straight in to see Dad when I got home and asked him how long she’d been like that.
‘Och no, lassie. She is not like that during the day. She’s sitting up in her chair when I see her.’
‘But can she talk to you? Can you understand what she’s saying?’
‘Aye, sometimes.’ He looked cagey.
‘Da-ad. Come on, I need to know what’s going on.’
He turned away and fiddled with the remote control, turning it over and over in his hand. Suddenly the volume on the television rocketed up to an ear-splitting roar. I grabbed it from him and muted it.
‘She is not too bad, really. She’s forgotten about that Jamieson man now, anyway. His family moved him away somewhere else.’
‘So does she acknowledge you now? Does she recognise you?’
He didn’t answer, just kept looking at the soundless pictures changing on the television screen.
‘Dad?’
‘No, she doesn’t know who I am anymore. She hasn’t for a long while.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad. I thought maybe without Mr Jamieson hanging around she might have turned back to you.’
‘No. Without him, she seems to have gone into her shell. She doesn’t talk much at all.’
‘And what about that funny noise she makes?’
‘What sort of noise?’
‘A sort of moaning.’
‘Aye, that’s true. She has been making that noise a lot. It’s terrible, listening to it all the time. But I can’t get her to stop, no matter what I do.’
‘Have you talked to anyone at the dementia unit? Have you asked them what’s going on?’
‘No, I don’t like to. Besides, there never seems to be anyone around when I’m there. Just the girls serving tea, and they wouldn’t know.’
‘Well, maybe we should have a talk to the doctor? You know, the geriatrician. Dr Tomkinson.’
‘You go ahead, lassie, if you want to.’
‘But I’d like you to be there too, Dad. You must have some questions, surely?’
‘I don’t know it will be much use.’
I let it go. I could see he was being evasive. Maybe he knew something about her condition he wasn’t letting on. I determined to phone the doctor the next day and make an appointment. I could work on getting Dad to come along nearer the time.
• • •
The following day brought a work schedule that quite exhausted my brain, if not my body. Friday is always busy, but having been away for so long, I still had a big backlog to catch up on. On top of that, I was now in complete turmoil after Charlotte’s news and felt almost as much in need of rehabilitation as some of my clients.
I quickly made an appointment to see the geriatrician on Tuesday before the day got away on me, temporarily resolving one family issue. Then I spent twenty minutes after my lunchtime trip to the gym researching the criteria for abortion, just in case Charlotte changed her mind. Various websites said it was legal if two consultants agreed the pregnancy would seriously harm the mother’s physical or mental health. I was relieved to see that the father couldn’t prevent or force the abortion and it was, as I had thought, best performed before twelve weeks, though could be done later if absolutely necessary.
I hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy to Charlotte when I’d seen her in the morning. She’d originally intended to go back to her father’s at the weekend, but said she’d changed her mind and asked if it was okay if she stayed home with me a bit longer.
‘Of course it is,’ I’d said, beaming with delight, holding out my arms to her. ‘I’d love to have you here for as long as you want. This is your home.’
She’d given me a quick hug then fled out the door with her backpack and cycle helmet, heading off to the university library to study. I suspected she’d wanted to get away before I could mention ‘the baby’. I had to concede I wasn’t all that keen to mention it either. I needed to give the whole situation a lot of thought.
I spent a good deal of Friday on the phone and, in between reassuring Sarah the librarian that her presentation to the councillors would go fine, I visited the unrepentant Santangela in her hotel room. It was a luxurious suite on the top floor of one of the city’s best hotels, with a sweeping view across the city to the harbour and its fleet of sailboats, reminding me poignantly of the calmer waters I’d been in just a few days previously.
The woman was i
mpossible, I quickly concluded. She refused to take any notice of my advice to stay away from the media for a while.
‘Why should I?’ she demanded truculently, as she raised a glass of chilled Perrier to her blousy lips. ‘I know I am right. I was framed.’
I gave up reasoning with her, having managed to gain only one concession: that she would stay off national television.
‘I will never talk to them again,’ she agreed. ‘They made fun of me. They tried to make me look like a foolish woman who is confused in the head. And they refused to film me on my good side.’
Sarah phoned near the end of the day to report that the councillors had been more interested in whether Alan was going to bring a lawsuit for constructive dismissal and how much it might cost than any of the stickier questions she’d been expecting.
‘There I was worrying about all the schoolkids stranded in the children’s library while Alan was running amok, and all the councillors wanted to know was how much we were going to have to cough up to get rid of him, since that wasn’t in the budget! They’re so … so … political!’
‘Well what did you expect?’ I laughed. ‘That’s why they’re councillors.’
Chapter 26
Just as I was about to flee the office at five, Stephanie phoned me on my mobile, reminding me that I’d completely forgotten to return her call last night. But I felt no remorse — her incessant neediness was driving me round the bend.
‘Impeccable timing, Stephanie,’ I said. ‘I’m just finishing for the day and I need to run.’
‘Don’t mind me,’ she sighed melodramatically. ‘I’ll just manage this media maelstrom all by myself.’
‘Media maelstrom? Why? Who wants your story now?’ She had a way of hooking me in but I always regretted getting involved.
‘I’ve had another cash offer,’ she said.
‘How much this time?’
‘The same. But it’s a better magazine. Classier.’
‘None of those magazines are the slightest bit classy, Stephanie. They’re all catering to people who are into Schadenfreude, who like to know that despite all your wealth and glamour, you’re just as unhappy and messed up as they are.’
‘I’m not messed up.’
‘Really? So what you did with Jumping Jack Flash is perfectly normal behaviour?’
‘Don’t call him that. And don’t start on him again.’ She sighed loudly. ‘You’re so conservative.’
‘Yes, and thank God for that,’ I said, closing down my laptop with my free hand and gathering up a pile of papers to take home. ‘Look, I really have to go.’
‘But you’re the one who knows about all this media management malarkey. What am I supposed to do?’
‘Okay, here’s the thing. Yesterday you were worried about losing Marcus. And now you’re seriously contemplating selling your sad and sorry story to another magazine so you can collect ten thousand dollars. You can’t have both, Stephanie. If you want to persuade Marcus you’re not the cheap trash you appear to be, you have to start by turning down this ridiculous offer. If you don’t care about Marcus or your reputation, take the money and accept the consequences.’
There was a brief pause. ‘You’re right.’ Steph sounded slightly subdued. ‘You make it seem so simple. But I’m so used to chasing after publicity for my books that I just don’t know how to say no. Would you do it for me?’
‘Good grief, I’m not your agent!’
‘I know. But she would probably tell me to say yes.’
‘I don’t believe she’s that callous.’
‘I don’t trust her. Not like you. You’re tougher than her. You wouldn’t let any bolshy bloody journalist push you around.’
I could see the only way I was going to get rid of Stephanie was to agree. By now I’d managed to collect all my stuff and throw it into Rosie’s tiny back seat, but I couldn’t start the car until I put the phone down. I let myself be chivvied into phoning both magazines, along with a list of other journalists, to tell them Stephanie was unavailable.
‘But you have to promise not to take any calls, not from anyone.’
‘I promise,’ she said happily. ‘I’m taking Marcus away to a quiet little island in the middle of the Pacific where nobody can reach us. There are no cellphones and no newspapers and no intrusion from the outside world.’
‘So he’s forgiven you?’
‘No, not yet. But we went to the therapist together and he’s agreed to give me one last chance. We’re going to work it out while we’re away.’
‘You’d better mean it this time, Steph.’
‘Oh, I do. I don’t want to lose him.’
‘Hmmm. I don’t doubt your feelings for him right now. But what are you going to do the next time you go overseas and run into another famous hunk?’
‘I’ll take you with me to keep me in check,’ she laughed.
‘Not on your life.’
‘I’ll have to make Marcus come with me then. Or I won’t go away at all.’
• • •
There was no time to go home and change before I was due to meet Simon so I drove to the marina, paid a small fortune for a park and found Simon at a table with a view across the harbour. I did a double take when I looked at him more closely.
‘Goodness, you look like something scraped off the bottom of one of those yachts. What’s up?’
‘I haven’t been feeling that great since we got home, to be honest. I think I must still have something left over from that tummy bug. But don’t worry.’ He made an attempt at brightening up. ‘I’ll come right.’ He held his hand over his stomach and burped. ‘God, sorry, Penny. I can’t seem to get rid of it.’
‘You really ought to see a doctor.’
‘I will, I will. Don’t worry.’ He took a swig of his ginger beer. ‘This seems to help.’
I smiled. ‘They say ginger has great digestive properties. You stay there, I’ll go get myself a drink.’ He stood to go to the bar for me. ‘No, I mean it. I’ll go.’
By the time I returned with a pinot noir he seemed better.
‘See, I told you I’d come right. And I’m so glad you’ve managed to shake it off anyway. You must have a cast-iron constitution.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Now, I’m dying to hear your news.’
I told him about Charlotte and the dilemma I faced.
‘I was dying to confide in you the whole time we were away together, Simon,’ I said apologetically when I’d finished the story. ‘But Charlotte’s lecturer is on your campus. I was afraid if you knew, you might go and thump him or something.’
‘I would have been sorely tempted to,’ Simon said. ‘I hope it’s nobody I know.’
‘I doubt it. Different faculty.’ I took his hand. ‘It’s just that, now there’s a baby on the way, I can’t keep it to myself any longer. Honestly, Simon, I don’t know what the right thing to do is — whether she’s better off getting rid of it and carrying on with her studies, or having the baby and giving it all away.’
Simon looked out the window at the calm waters of the marina and blew out a sigh. ‘It’s a hard choice, whether or not she should keep the baby. But there’s one thing I’ve learned about teenagers and that is you can’t make them do something they don’t want to do. Whatever happens will be Charlotte’s decision in the end.’
‘I know. And right now she’s determined to keep it. But what sort of life will she have, bringing up a baby on her own? And she will be on her own. The father doesn’t want anything to do with it. And I’m not sure I could cope with having a baby at our place.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You’d make a wonderful granny!’ He grinned mischievously at me.
I didn’t return the smile; I was too worried. ‘It just doesn’t seem right. I feel as if she’s been violated by this creep. I could kill him for what he’s done to her.’
‘I can understand how you feel. I’d feel exactly the same if one of Drew’s teachers did that to her.’
‘I feel like marching round to his hous
e and giving him a piece of my mind.’
‘And what’s that going to achieve?’ Simon said softly. ‘There’s no point in involving him any further. It’s not his decision. It’s not yours. It’s Charlotte’s.’
I sighed. ‘I know, I know. Point taken. I suppose the best I can do is try to influence her to make the right decision. And you know, the more I think about it, the more I think the right decision is for her not to have the baby. For her to go on and lead the normal sort of life she deserves, finishing her degree, seeing a bit of the world, starting a career, finding herself in her own time and having the chance to grow up into the sort of adult she wants to be. Not suddenly losing everything she’s aimed for because some middle-aged creep is having a midlife crisis and coercing his gullible young female students to go to bed with him.’
‘You seem to know what you want for her, Penny. But what if she doesn’t want that?’
‘She needs a reality check on the consequences. If only I could show her what it will really be like. I don’t think she realises just how hard it will be.’
‘Didn’t that friend of yours have a daughter who went through with it? Didn’t she keep her baby?’
‘You mean Pamela, who I went to school with?’ I thought for a moment and tried to picture her daughter Millie. ‘You’re right, she did. Millie had a baby about three months ago. I remember now. There was a big wedding and lots of joking about when the baby was due, and I think she had a wee girl. Why?’
‘It depends how well she’s doing, I suppose. If Millie is coping well, then Charlotte will see that it’s possible. But if she’s not …’
‘I see what you mean. I suppose there’s one way to find out.’
Simon came back home with me later that night but there was no mad passionate love to be made. His tummy bug returned with a vengeance about the same time we made it to the bedroom and he spent the rest of the night running back and forth to the loo to throw up. All I could do was mop his brow with a cold flannel, get out the disinfectant and clean up after him. It would hardly go down as the most romantic of evenings.
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