Max was pleased to see a flicker of a smile as he closed the bedroom door.
8
Grabbing a silk dressing gown from the bed, Leo thrust her arms into the sleeves. What on earth was wrong with Ellie? It wasn’t like her to be so tetchy. It felt like a bad omen for the evening ahead, and Leo couldn’t help thinking that in some way it was her fault. She had been so sure of her welcome here, but maybe it had been wrong to act on impulse.
Plugging the straighteners in to warm up, she walked over to the open window and leant her elbows on the sill. The view calmed her; it hadn’t changed in all these years. The flat green fields stretched for miles behind the house but she could just glimpse the dark hills in the distance. Her bedroom hadn’t had a window — it was more of a cupboard, really — so whenever she had been able to sneak in here she had always stood gazing at the scenery, thinking about other places, other times, and other lives.
Without warning, her mind was assaulted with a memory so vivid that she gasped. She recalled standing in this very position gazing out of the window, and she remembered the day clearly. She must have been about fourteen, and she’d been sent home from school because of agonising stomach pains. She hadn’t wanted anybody to know because there would be no sympathy, so she had sneaked into the house unobserved. She’d never said that she had started her periods, and her stepmother hadn’t bothered to ask. Leo had to take everything she needed from Ellie, or sometimes Ellie would hand over some of her pocket money. Leo didn’t get pocket money, of course.
She remembered that she had sneaked upstairs and come into Ellie’s room to raid her top drawer. It had been a day much like today, and the window had been open. Nobody knew she was there. She had no idea why her father was home that day, but he was unenthusiastically hoeing the flowerbed below the window — probably the last time the garden was touched until Ellie and Max had taken it over. She had moved back, afraid to be seen, but the voices still invaded the room, and their bitterness and hatred seemed to be tainting every surface they touched.
The first voice was her stepmother’s.
‘You can’t hide from me out here. I haven’t finished with you yet. I’ve always known you lack moral fibre, but I thought you’d finally learned your lesson. I suppose that would be too much to ask, wouldn’t it?’
‘Shut up, Denise. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Hah! You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you? But I know you. And I know what you’re up to when you’re not here. I didn’t know about your brat, but do you think I didn’t know about her mother? Your whore?’
‘She wasn’t a whore. She was my wife. And she’s dead — more’s the pity. She at least made me smile.’
‘I’m your wife. Me. Maybe I should tell the police, have you done for bigamy. As it is, I can’t show my face in the fucking village. Since SHE came, your little bastard, everybody’s talking.’
‘Your language is a disgrace, Denise. And Sandra was more of a wife to me than you will ever be. If you wonder why I have to look elsewhere, take a good look at yourself.’
‘Looking’s one thing. Touching’s another. I don’t care about those sad cows that find you irresistible. But what about those that don’t, eh? What about the clever ones who are not taken in by your slimy charms? What do you do to them? As if I didn’t know. But you don’t like it when they say no, do you? And they’re getting progressively younger, aren’t they?’
‘I’ll say it again — you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re making things up. And for Christ’s sake, woman, keep your voice down.’
‘Or what? I’ve told you — I know you. I’m not stupid. The latest one’s gone now, poor little bitch, but I know what you did. So who’s next, hmm?’
‘Just get out of my sight.’
‘Oh no. This time I’m not backing down. I want you gone. Do you hear me? Gone. You were lucky this time. But you’re not going to shame me again.’
Shaking herself back into the present, Leo pushed herself away from the window. She didn’t want to remember any more. It was years ago — maybe she hadn’t recalled it correctly. The venom in her stepmother’s voice was accurate, as was the contempt in her father’s. But the conversation? She couldn’t be sure, but it had seemed so clear as the words leapt into her head. She remembered the pain of listening to them discussing her mother, but the rest hadn’t meant so much at the time. It was just like every other row. But if her memory was accurate, what did it mean?
Leo had known from the day she arrived in Little Melham that her stepmother despised her, and she had stopped caring about that long ago. But her own mother had been special. So much fun. Hearing her described like this brought back the pain she’d been burying for years. She had been sure that her father had loved her mother, because she made him laugh and he had looked happy when they were together. She’d never seen that expression on his face again after her mother had died. But then she had avoided looking at him after the day he brought her here. He had never comforted her as she cried. Only Ellie had tried — and Leo had shunned her sister’s affection.
She bent down to her holdall, pulled out her laptop, and searched for a file marked ‘father’. Whether those words had actually been spoken or not, she was going to add them to her notes. Ellie’s mother had never told them the truth about their father’s disappearance, Leo was positive of that. And Ellie had never been able to accept that he was dead, and still lived in hope that one day soon he would walk back through the front door. Why else would she have chosen to live in a house that brought back so many bleak memories?
For her sister’s sake, Leo needed to find out where their father had gone, and more to the point, why he’d never come back.
9
As Fiona Atkinson walked down the wide staircase of her detached Edwardian home, she caught a glimpse of herself in the huge mirror by the door to the dining room. The brilliant blue of her dress with splashes of emerald green looked wonderful against her tan, and the hem of its handkerchief skirt rose from mid-calf to mid-thigh in places to give glimpses of her toned legs. Every inch of her body was honed to perfection, and her short blonde hair was gleaming. Marco had done a wonderful job with her highlights as usual. Her only concern was her shoes. She was sure that Ellie would expect them all to wander round the garden, and there was no way that these heels were leaving the safety of the house.
All eyes would definitely be on her, and that was just what she wanted. One pair especially, if he was there. She hadn’t wanted to ask, though. It wouldn’t do to seem too keen.
‘Right Charles, I’m ready,’ Fiona announced as she swept into the room in a cloud of Hermes’ 24 Faubourg perfume. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, posing with one hand on her hip.
Charles was standing by the window, looking out at their immaculately maintained garden with a glass of something colourless in his hand. She knew it wouldn’t be water. Dressed in a navy blue pinstriped suit and red tie that were entirely inappropriate to the occasion, Charles turned to look at her. His brown hair was slicked back from a wide forehead, and his dark bushy eyebrows almost met over a pair of small brown eyes, giving him the air of somebody who was constantly perplexed.
He lifted his glass to his lips, then lowered it and spoke in his usual measured tones.
‘Is that the Ferragamo you told me about?’
Fiona did a small twirl.
‘It is. Divine, isn’t it?’
Charles frowned.
‘Are you seriously wearing that? To go to Ellie and Max’s? A bit OTT, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Well, clearly I wouldn’t say or I wouldn’t be wearing it. What’s your problem?’
‘I would have thought that something a tad less ostentatious would be more appropriate, given the company we’ll be keeping.’
Fiona rolled her eyes.
‘Stop being such a snob, Charles. Ellie and Max are loaded now — they are among the wealthy, so no need to turn your nose up like that.’
He walked over to the drinks table and put his glass down.
‘Well, they might have money now, but who else will be there? Not people who would appreciate Ferragamo, I should imagine.’
Fiona could never admit to Charles that each designer dress, each piece of exquisite jewellery, was a symbol to her of how far she had come and how completely she had left her past behind.
‘It might surprise you to learn, Charles, that I don’t dress to suit anybody else. I dress to suit myself.’ She followed him across the room. ‘As far as other people invited tonight, Patrick will be there with his new woman, no doubt, and Ellie said there’d be a few others, but I’m not entirely sure who.’
Fiona glanced down to pluck a non-existent hair off her dress as she spoke, avoiding Charles’s eyes. Despite the distance between them, sometimes she was amazed at how well he could read her. He gave a soft snort of disgust.
‘Patrick and his new woman just about sum it up. He’s an idiot for leaving that rather splendid Georgia — what on earth possessed the man? What’s she like anyway, this new woman?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t met her. She’s called Miriam but apparently prefers to be called Mimi.’
‘Oh God,’ muttered Charles.
‘Ellie says she’s like a wet blanket, and Pat’s as miserable as sin.’ Fiona glared at Charles. ‘Am I getting a drink tonight, or do I have to get my own?’
‘Sorry, darling. What would you like?’
Fiona shook her head in irritation.
‘I’ll have what I always have, Charles. You ask me that every weekend, and my answer for the past five years has always been the same. A vodka martini no olive, sliver of lemon peel. And did you sort out a taxi?’
Charles busied himself at the drinks table, measuring a precise amount of vodka into a crystal glass as he spoke.
‘Well, I sorted out a car. I booked Jessops and asked them to send a Mercedes. They’re picking us up early, as you requested — about fifteen minutes from now, and I’ve ordered them to collect us at eleven.’
‘You have not. Honestly, sometimes you’re unbelievable. Eleven? We can’t leave at eleven — how old are you really, Charles?’ And what do we have to get back to, anyway, she couldn’t help thinking.
Fiona took a sip of her drink. Whatever his faults, Charles certainly knew how to mix the perfect martini. Perhaps his ability to reproduce perfection time after time was down to his obsession with precision. He couldn’t bear to go anywhere without a plan — how long to get there in order to arrive at the optimum moment; how long for each course; what would be the perfect time to make a dignified exit. He would constantly be checking his watch to make sure things were working to his schedule. But there was no way that she was going to be the first to leave tonight. She was going to milk this evening for all that she could. She was going to be the star, and wanted every man’s eyes to be on her. Charles was not going to ruin it for her.
Fiona walked across to the mirror over the sideboard, and moved a wonderful display of summer flowers out of the way so that she could see herself better. She was pleased with what she saw.
‘Well, darling, you can leave at eleven if you like, but I will be staying. I’ll try not to wake you when I get in. I’ll call a taxi.’
Fiona contemplated the evening ahead. Perhaps tonight should be decision time. She had nearly relented the night before, but had decided the game could last a little longer. Maybe it was finally time to stop playing.
The gleam of anticipation in her eyes was reflected back at her, and even through the carefully applied makeup she could just make out a hint of a flush to her cheeks.
She sensed movement behind her, and saw Charles watching her in the mirror. She quickly glanced away.
10
To Leo’s surprise, the kitchen was empty when she had finally finished straightening her hair. She was relieved. She had no intention of sharing with Ellie the memories that had been flooding her mind, but she wasn’t sure how much her face would reveal.
She hadn’t brought anything smart with her, but had a figure-hugging black vest and some white jeans that she thought would be fine if she dressed them up with a bit of colourful jewellery. She’d been going to raid Ellie’s bedroom to see if she could dig out a dark red, chunky necklace that she had bought her a year or two ago. It would go well with her lipstick. But given the earlier episode, maybe she should ask first.
She looked around the kitchen, which was amazingly well organised considering there were ten of them for dinner. But then it was a vast kitchen and nothing like the poky little hole of a room they’d had when Leo and Ellie were growing up. Now there was the most enormous black Aga that she had ever seen down one side of the room. As if that weren’t enough, there were two separate built-in ovens along one stretch of wall, and a six-burner hob with a separate griddle plate in a central island that was in itself probably bigger than the former kitchen.
On the other side of the island was a table to seat six, and over by the folding glass doors to the garden were a couple of comfortable-looking armchairs. As she had discovered the night before, the kitchen took up half of the downstairs of the barn, with Max’s playroom — as Ellie liked to call it — next door. She had only poked her nose in there, but the television screen covered most of the wall, and there were twelve recliners for added comfort. Completely over the top, of course, but then Ellie would have wanted to make sure Max had something that made moving here worthwhile. He had been perfectly happy in their modern semi.
From the kitchen, a spiral staircase led to the first floor, where there was a full-sized snooker table and various other boys’ toys that Leo wasn’t even slightly interested in. With all this, it was strange that both Max and Ellie were the most spiky that Leo had ever seen them in their nine years of marriage.
She wasn’t the world’s greatest cook herself, but Leo was just beginning to feel a bit of a spare part hanging around the kitchen and doing nothing when Ellie finally made an appearance, looking a bit more chirpy than she had an hour ago. Max had obviously worked his magic, and Leo was glad that her sister seemed more like her usual self. Her long dark hair was waving around her face, and the low-cut neck of her short black dress showed a cleavage that Leo was insanely jealous of. Ellie never overdid the makeup, but tonight she wore a touch of lip-gloss on her generous mouth, and her eyes were emphasised by a subtle hint of grey shadow.
Ellie smiled, as if to atone for her previous grumpiness. ‘Leo — you look lovely. As always.’
‘I don’t — but thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything smart. You look terrific, though. Are your guests likely to be ultra stylish tonight, do you think?’
Ellie was busying herself putting various dips into bowls for the canapés, but she stopped for a moment and looked at Leo apologetically.
‘Well, Fiona and Charles are coming — so I guess Fiona will be in some posh frock or other.’
‘Oh God help us. She’s become such a snooty bugger. Does she still wear polo shirts with the collar artfully turned up at the back as part of her “casual look”?’
Ellie grinned, but declined to comment.
‘And I’ve never worked out why she married that plonker Charles. She didn’t exactly choose him because he was sex on legs, did she? I know she was your friend at school, but I can’t believe you have a single thing in common with her now.’
Ellie gave her sister a tolerant smile.
‘She’s not always had it easy, you know. Put your face straight, Leo. There are things about Fiona that you don’t know and I can’t tell you — but half of her performance is an act. Be a bit more forgiving of people.’
‘Ellie, you are the softest touch in the world. Always have been, always will be. I, on the other hand, do not suffer fools gladly — although tonight, as they’re your friends, I’ll be on my best behaviour. So is there anybody else that I know?’
Leo walked over to the massive fridge as she spoke and found an open bottle
of white wine. She waved it in the air, and Ellie nodded as she carried on with her work.
‘Well, Pat’s coming — you know him.’
Leo pulled some glasses from a cupboard, and with her back to Ellie gave her verdict on the next pair of guests.
‘Excellent — that’s good news. Not about Pat. He’s a nice guy but a bit limp, if you know what I mean. But Georgia’s great. Tough cookie and a straight talker. Thank goodness for that. I can resist taking the piss out of Fiona and do some bitching with Georgia.’
She turned round with a big smile on her face, only to be greeted by Ellie’s look of dismay. One hand to her mouth, she muttered through her fingers.
‘Oh Christ. You don’t know, do you? Sorry Leo, I meant to tell you but it kept slipping my mind.’
Leo passed her sister the glass of wine, and watched her take a rather long drink. She said nothing and waited until Ellie was ready to talk.
‘Pat’s left Georgia. Well — Georgia kicked him out, to be accurate. And she’s my best friend so I’m on her side all the way, except that Pat is Max’s best friend, so it’s all a bit difficult.’
Leo said nothing, knowing that her sister would fill the silence without her having to ask the obvious questions.
‘It was so awful. It all started because Pat wanted babies. You know what he’s been like with Georgia over the years. He idolised her, and as she rose up through the ranks at work he did everything for her. They both put her career first, on the basis that a corporate lawyer makes considerably more than a school teacher. He could have looked anywhere in the country for a promotion, but she wouldn’t budge. And when Pat said he wanted to have kids, she said no. He said he would stay at home and look after them; she didn’t even have to give up her job. But she still said no.’
Ellie put her wine glass down and glanced at the time, obviously wanting to get this story over before anybody arrived.
‘Pat had an affair. There’s a pub that they all go to when there’s been a late meeting or whatever at school. She was a barmaid there. Max said that he should have seen it coming because he saw Pat spending a lot of time with her, but it never occurred to him. Now he thinks it was desperation on Pat’s part. He felt … I don’t know how to put it; unnecessary would be the best description, I think. This girl made him feel important. Anyway, Georgia found out. We don’t know exactly what happened, but apparently she received an anonymous text message. She kicked Pat out. I think she thought that he would come round to us and we’d talk some sense into him. But we were away for the weekend, and so he did the daftest thing. He went round to the other woman’s house, and that was it as far as Georgia was concerned.’
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