by Tess Stimson
POLICE
Can you tell me what kind of person she is?
PT
What kind of person?
POLICE
Is she reliable? Well liked?
PT
She’s good at her job. She gets things done. That doesn’t always make you popular.
POLICE
Does she have a temper?
PT
She doesn’t suffer fools. Nor do I.
POLICE
I understand you gave her a verbal warning a couple of weeks ago. Why was that?
PT
We had a problem at work. The buck stopped with Caz, but that’s not why she got the warning. There was a scene in front of a client. Not the kind of thing you can just let go, I’m afraid.
POLICE
Perry, do you have the—
POLICE
About two weeks ago, sir.
POLICE
Thank you. I gather she blamed Louise Page for the incident you’re referring to, Mr Thatcher?
PT
Yes.
POLICE
Was there any truth to it?
PT
Like I said, Louise isn’t like that.
POLICE
So you think Caroline Page made it up?
PT
I think Caz made a mistake, that’s all.
POLICE
How well do you know Louise Page?
PT
[Pause.] I don’t really see much of her. She only comes into the office about once a week. The rest of the time she works from home.
POLICE
Do you ever see her socially, outside work?
PT
No.
POLICE
Were you aware she has a criminal record, Mr Thatcher?
PT
[Pause.] No. [Pause.] No, I wasn’t aware of that.
POLICE
She didn’t disclose it when you employed her?
PT
Technically, she didn’t work for me, she worked for Tina Murdoch.
POLICE
Would you say—
PT
Wait. Are you sure you haven’t made a mistake? You’re talking about Louise, not Caz?
POLICE
Yes, sir.
PT
I can’t quite believe it. It doesn’t sound like her. A criminal record?
POLICE
She was convicted for breaching a Restraining Order against a man called Roger Lewison, and making false allegations and perverting the course of justice.
PT
Are you serious?
POLICE
Mr Thatcher, if you had known this information, would you still have felt comfortable allowing Louise and Caroline Page work in the same office?
Chapter 20
Louise
I wait until Sunday, when Bella and Tolly are in London with their father, before packing up our things at Andrew and Caz’s house. The kitchen at home is still only half-finished, which means we’re going to have to rough it for a bit; Tolly won’t mind, but Bella’s not going to be happy. She likes being here at her dad’s, in the centre of town; it’s an easy walk to meet up with her friends, and since it’s so close to school, she can sleep in half an hour later. She’s going to kick up a storm when she finds out we’re going back home.
I’m just sweeping an astonishing array of phone chargers into a plastic carrier bag in the kitchen when I’m startled to hear the front door open.
‘Sorry to catch you unawares,’ Andrew says apologetically. ‘I know you weren’t expecting them back till tonight. I wanted to phone ahead, but Tolly—’
‘Mummy!’ Tolly cries, pushing past his father and flinging himself at me. ‘We’re home! Are you surprised? Did we surprise you?’ His arms wreathe around my neck. ‘I didn’t want you to miss us anymore,’ he says, with just the tiniest tremor in his voice.
Tolly’s only four; even one night without your mother is a lifetime at that age. Most of the time, he takes his weekends with his father and Caz in his stride, but occasionally he gets homesick, and Andrew is sensitive enough to take his lead from his son when that happens, for which I’m grateful.
‘Thank you so much for coming home early,’ I say, hugging him tightly. ‘I was missing you terribly. I hardly slept at all, even though I knew you were having fun with Daddy.’
‘I’m going to find Bagpuss,’ he announces, abruptly pulling away from me, his ship already righted. If only motherhood was always this easy. ‘I think he’s missed me, too.’
Bagpuss! Thank God Tolly reminded me. I knew there was something I’d forgotten.
Bella almost collides with her brother as he races from the room. ‘Why are our bags in the hall?’ she demands. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Dad and Caz have been very kind, letting us stay here, but we’ve imposed enough,’ I say firmly. ‘We’re going back home. It’s going to be a bit like camping until the kitchen’s finished, but—’
‘I don’t want to go home,’ Bella interrupts. ‘I like it here. Can I stay, Dad? I’ll be fine on my own, I promise. And it’s closer to school, I can just get the bus—’
‘You’re sixteen!’ I snap. ‘You’re not staying here on your own.’
‘Dad—’
‘Sorry, Bell.’ Andrew shrugs. ‘I’m with your mother on this one.’
‘Bella,’ I interject sharply. ‘What’s that in your mouth?’
For a moment, she looks nervous, and then she lifts her chin. ‘I had my tongue pierced,’ she says.
I stare at her, horrified. ‘You did what?’
‘It’s my body,’ Bella says defiantly. The effect is marred slightly by the slight lisp from the piercing in her mouth. ‘I have the right to do what I want with it.’
‘You’re still a child!’ Andrew cries, clearly just as appalled as me.
She glares at us, her lips clamped tightly together as if we might prise the piercing from her mouth. From the expression on Andrew’s face, he’s considering it. When did our sweet-natured baby turn into this sullen, truculent stranger?
‘She must have got it done yesterday,’ Andrew says helplessly. ‘I’m so sorry, Lou. I had no idea she’d sneaked off to do it.’
‘Actually,’ a voice says behind us, ‘she didn’t “sneak off” anywhere. I took her.’
Caz joins us in the kitchen, dumping her ludicrously expensive cream Prada bag on the counter as if it’s a carrier bag from Sainsbury’s.
‘For God’s sake,’ Andrew says testily. ‘Why would you take my daughter to get her tongue pierced?’
‘She’s sixteen. It’s not illegal. She was going to get it done anyway, so I thought it’d be better if I made sure she went to a reputable place with clean needles.’ Caz shrugs. ‘And it’s not like a tattoo, it’s not permanent. She can take it out at any time.’
‘It’s not Caz’s fault,’ Bella says staunchly. ‘She’s right, I would’ve done it anyway.’
A complicit glance passes between them. Bella used to loathe Caz, but suddenly the two of them are thick as thieves, and I’m the one on the outside.
‘You had no right,’ Andrew snaps at Caz. ‘She’s my child. When she’s under my roof, she’s my responsibility.’
I don’t miss the sudden tension between the two of them. It’s not just about the tongue piercing, either. I know what Andrew looks like when he’s on the defensive. Caz is making a mistake: he doesn’t like being in the wrong, and he’ll find a way to blame her for it. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s seen the video Bella posted to her dad’s page last week. Bella didn’t mean anything by it – the clip probably popped up in her Facebook ‘throwback’ feed and she just shared it to him – but I’ll admit my motives weren’t quite as pure when I saw it and tagged Caz. She may want to rewrite history now and tell herself Andrew never really loved me, but he did, and that video proves it. Everything that went wrong between us can be traced back to that woman’s appearance in our lives, and she deserves to be reminded of that now and again.<
br />
Tolly suddenly bursts back into the kitchen, startling us all. ‘Bagpuss has throwed up!’ he cries, his eyes wide with drama. ‘It’s all over Daddy’s bed!’
‘On my blanket?’ Caz exclaims. ‘That’s Peruvian vicuña!’
My son stops short, suddenly uncertain. ‘It’s OK,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s not your fault. Caz isn’t blaming you. Thank you for telling us.’
‘Did you give him tuna, Mum?’ Bella accuses.
I hesitate. ‘Only a little bit. He loves licking out the tin.’
‘Mum! You know it always makes him sick!’
‘I assume that’s why she gave it to him,’ Caz mutters.
Andrew sighs. ‘Bella, can you just go and sort it out. Get Kit and Tolly to help you.’
Bella is about to protest, but something in her father’s expression tells her this is not the time. She sighs theatrically, grabs a roll of kitchen towel from the counter, and stomps off upstairs with the boys.
‘Look, I’ll fix the blanket,’ I say, sorry-not-sorry. ‘Get it dry-cleaned, or something. I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds. Or I’ll get you a new one—’
‘You can’t dry-clean vicuña,’ Caz says sharply. ‘And it’s irreplaceable. I bought it when I was in Machu Picchu. What is that cat even doing in my house? You know I’m allergic. Andy told you not to bring him.’
I specifically asked Andrew if it was OK to bring Bagpuss, and he said it was fine. Clearly that didn’t get approved further up the food chain. He catches my eye, and I read his wordless appeal not to land him in it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, falling on my sword. ‘I didn’t know what else to do with him. He’s so old, he couldn’t cope with my mother’s dog, and Min’s boys are so boisterous—’
Caz cuts me off. ‘Whatever. It’s done now. I suppose it doesn’t matter, since you’re leaving anyway.’
A beat late, Andrew picks up his cue. ‘Look, Louise. It’s not that we haven’t been happy to help out. It’s just, I think we all need a bit of distance going forward.’ He coughs, and shifts awkwardly on his feet. ‘I’m not sure taking the job at Whitefish was a good idea, to be honest. I’m all for keeping things civilised, but you’ve put Caz in a bit of an awkward position. It’s difficult for her to do her job properly when there’s such a personal relationship between the two of you.’ He looks at her, and then back at me, clearly trying to remember the script she’s given him. ‘We all need a bit of space. Just so no feathers get ruffled. I could … er … give you the number of our handyman, so you don’t have to call me. And Bella’s old enough to bring Tolly to me for weekends without involving you.’
My cheeks burn with humiliation. The way he paints it, I sound desperate and needy, my nose pressed against the window of their lives: a sad, unloved ex-wife who can’t move on. Why is it, no matter how successful or attractive a woman is, if a man leaves her she is defined by that rejection, an object of pity just because one weak man can’t keep his trousers zipped?
I summon as much dignity as I can muster. ‘I’m afraid I can’t let Chris down, Andrew. Not now I’ve taken on the job.’ I smile coolly at Caz. ‘I’m sure the two of us can figure things out at work.’
‘I’m sure we can,’ Caz says. ‘Now that we understand each other.’
Three weeks before the party
Chapter 21
Caz
Visiting my mother only ever goes one of two ways. There are the days when she can’t wait to see me, excitedly leaping up from her chair the moment I walk in, bombarding me with questions before I’ve even got my coat off, and sharing all the gossip on our street in the weeks since I last visited. Those are the days when her condition is at its worst, when she still believes it’s 2006 and I’m fifteen years old. She’ll ask me about my day at school, and tease me about the boy who sits next to me in maths. She has no idea who Andy is, or that her grandson Kit even exists. If I try to remind her, she gets upset and confused. I’ve learned it’s simpler to go along with her reality, because at least she’s happy there.
Then there are the days when she knows exactly who I am. Those are the days when she refuses to greet me, and turns away when I bend to kiss her. I don’t know which is worse: the bittersweet fiction of her world before the accident, or the harsh reality of a present where she’s locked herself in a prison of sullen resentment and self-pity.
Today, it’s the latter. She’s sitting by the window, staring sourly at the car park below, when I walk in. She doesn’t even acknowledge I’m here. She’s in a wheelchair, although she can walk perfectly well. The accident affected her balance, but otherwise her mobility is fine. The orderlies at the care home indulge her because it makes their lives easier.
‘Hi, Mum,’ I say, dumping my bag on the coffee table. ‘How are you doing today?’
I don’t expect an answer, and I’m not surprised by one. My mother has few friends, but it’s not companionship or amity she misses: it’s someone to fight with. When no one gives a shit what you think, it’s impossible to wound them. She ignores me because I’m the only one who’ll even notice.
I go over to the small galley kitchen in the corner of her room and switch on the kettle, even though I know she’ll refuse to drink anything I make on principle. ‘Tea, Mum?’ I say, getting out two mugs without waiting for a response. ‘And I brought some chocolate digestives this time, like you asked.’
This finally elicits a reply. ‘I don’t like chocolate,’ she announces, without turning around.
‘Last time, when I brought the ordinary ones, you said you wanted chocolate.’
‘You’ve brought milk chocolate. I said plain.’
‘Sorry about that,’ I say, unruffled. ‘I’ll bring plain next time.’
I make two cups of weak tea, exactly the way she likes it, and put one on the table next to her, then turn her wheelchair around from the window. ‘What do you call this?’ she sneers, peering into the mug as I take a seat. ‘Look at the colour of it. So weak it’s a fortnight.’
‘I can make you another—’
‘Don’t bother. You won’t stay long enough for me to drink it.’
‘Would you like me to stay longer?’
My mother looks up sharply. The unspoken rules of our game mean she can’t admit she wants me to stay, but if she says no, she can’t complain when I leave at the end of our customary hour. Her eyes narrow as she acknowledges the point. First blood to me.
I sip my tea, regarding her steadily over the rim of my mug. ‘Andy’s ex-wife just got a job at Whitefish,’ I say, knowing how much she’ll relish my misfortune. ‘She’s actually working on one of my accounts.’
Mum’s face lights up with sadistic glee. ‘Oh, I bet that’s put the cat among the pigeons!’
‘Don’t talk to me about cats,’ I mutter, still sore about my Peruvian blanket. ‘Turns out my boss on the new account is Louise’s best friend. She tried to get me fired, years ago, when Andy and I first got together. It’s only a matter of time before she gives it another go.’
‘You made your bed,’ Mum says, with evident satisfaction.
‘Yes, I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Married men aren’t fair game, Carol. I told you that when you met him.’
Despite myself, my hackles rise. ‘Don’t call me Carol.’
‘Why not? It’s your name.’
‘Not anymore,’ I snap.
Andy fell in love with Caroline, a Chelsea girl from her pearl earrings to the tips of her Hunter-clad toes. He has no idea where I’m really from, what I’ve had to do to get to where I am. Unlike Louise, I earned my place at the top table. I worked two jobs to put myself through university, and I didn’t just study business management and marketing; I studied the confident, entitled students around me, the way they talked and spoke and ate. I learned to say napkin instead of serviette, and loo instead of toilet; like a latter-day Eliza Doolittle, I picked up my aitches and spoke as if I had a mouthful of marbles. By the time I graduated, Carol was dead, buried deep below he
r net curtains and royal commemorative plates. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.
Mum reaches for one of the despised milk chocolate biscuits, and I pretend not to notice. ‘Hard man to keep on the porch, that husband of yours,’ she observes. ‘Just like your father. They all leave in the end.’
‘Dad didn’t leave. He died, Mum.’
She snorts. ‘Tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better.’
I sigh inwardly. Even when Mum is more or less herself, she still has occasional slips into a parallel world, forgetting details and becoming confused. She often insists Dad ran off with another woman. I think it’s more palatable to her than the truth: if he’s alive, there’s still the chance he might come back.
‘Andy’s not going to leave me, Mum,’ I say. ‘He just feels guilty about his kids, that’s all.’
She smiles mockingly. ‘Not worried he’s going to go back to her, then?’
It’s just a shot in the dark, but it finds its mark. ‘No,’ I say shortly.
‘You think you beat her, don’t you?’
‘It’s not a question of beating—’
‘Isn’t it? Seems to me that’s what it’s always been about.’
My mother may be mad at times, but she’s never stupid. ‘You’re in a duel,’ she says suddenly, her eyes burning into mine. ‘A duel to the death. You need to take the gloves off, Carol. Take the fight to her. Andy’s yours now. You need to remind her of that.’
I shiver. A duel to the death. It’s nonsense, of course. She’s veering back towards crazytown; I recognise the signs. But her comment unnerves me nonetheless. There’s always a shadow time between Mum’s periods of lucidity and fantasy, where it’s almost like she has some kind of sixth sense. I’ve been preoccupied with Louise to the exclusion of almost everything else for weeks now. The woman has inserted herself into my life, forcing her way into my house and my workplace, but I’m the one who let her take up residence in my head.