‘Big of her.’ I was still trying to absorb what he’d said. ‘Tough? Why does everyone keep calling me tough?’
‘You’re a survivor, that’s why. I knew that when I met you. You never said—you never talked about how you felt. You never said you loved me. Agnes—well, she wore her heart on her sleeve.’
‘I loved you, Mickey. Oh God, how much I loved you. I just never said it because—we weren’t like that. Because I—I was frightened, I suppose. Because-because I’m tough.’ In the distance, Canary Wharf blinked at me. The sun danced on the red-brown trees that swayed gently down the hill, and he seemed genuinely surprised. I thought briefly of Silver. Perhaps none of us are as innocent as we’d like others to believe.
‘I didn’t know,’ he said quietly.
‘You chose not to know.’
‘That’s not true. You’re quite a closed book, you know.’
‘Not that closed. So, did you never—’ I swallowed hard ‘—was it all, like, pretend with me then?’
‘God, no.’ He looked at me again. ‘Jessica, when I met you I was in a really bad place. But I couldn’t keep my hands off you. You and that petticoat.’ He tried to smile at me.
‘Please, Mickey, don’t. Just don’t.’ It broke my heart to even think of it.
‘You do know that much.’
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
‘Don’t you?’ he persisted, almost angry now. ‘It’s just—I met you too soon after Agnes.’
‘Yeah, well,’ and the pain that had been festering began to rise, ‘that’s quite apparent now.’
‘I just mean that if it had been different—later, if you hadn’t got pregnant so quickly, it—it might have worked.’
The straw that broke the camel’s back. ‘Don’t do me any favours.’ I’d had enough, as a horrible thought occurred to me. ‘And what about Robbie, Mickey?’ I stood up now. ‘Did he just get in everyone’s way too?’
Louis’s head fell back, heavy with sleep. His father cradled it back onto his shoulder as he stood too, pleading with me now.
‘You have to believe me, your man there had nothing to do with me. I never even met him. Him and Maxine—well, Christ knows what was going on—but that was between them. Nothing to do with me or—or Agnes.’
‘Oh, you know that, do you? For God’s sake, Mickey, it was you who told me not to trust her. So why should you?’
‘I just know that death wasn’t what it was all about. It was only ever about Louis.’
‘Oh, right. So what about that almighty whack on the head she gave me?’
‘I don’t know, Jessica, but I’m sure she wasn’t trying to kill you. Just wanted to stop you. She’d truly lost it by then. I think she was looking for Louis’s passport. She must have heard us on the phone, and she knew I’d tell you the truth. She was trying to stop you hearing.’
I paced away from the bench. My world was still like Alice’s Wonderland. Growing and shrinking, shrinking and growing.
‘And that woman in the Tate? The model, Claudia? Was that really just a coincidence?’
He shrugged. ‘Sure it was. We’d been talking about Hopper on the photo-shoot, and Claudia was intrigued. I did tell you I’d seen someone from work, I’m sure I did.’ He looked down at Louis then with such love. ‘Look, do you think—I hoped there might be a chance we could—’ He was beseeching; Mickey, who was never humble.
Swiftly, I cut him off. ‘What—a chance for us? Don’t be so fucking stupid. Just give me Louis, Mickey.’ I pushed my hair back off my face, sweaty with fear. ‘It’s over. You must realise that. I want my son back—right now.’
Mickey moved quickly—but I followed him. I’d fight him tooth and nail for my son; I’d kill him first, this madman I didn’t know. He stood on the edge of the hill, staring down, and I steeled myself. He looked at Louis, waking in his arms, grumbling away. What did others see? The perfect portrait of a happy little family, enjoying the last of the September sun.
‘Don’t even think about it, Mickey.’
He hesitated. My gut said he surely loved Louis too much to do what he could now do, but his position was so precarious, teetering on the edge of the grassy hill, a virtual precipice. He was desperate and, if he gave Louis up, ultimately alone now. Adrenaline and fear were coursing through my exhausted body, sorrow following not far behind. I held out my arms, tried to keep them steady.
‘You owe me this much, Mickey, surely,’ I said softly. He looked at me then, and his dark eyes filled with tears.
‘What will you do?’ he whispered.
‘I don’t know. I’ll think about it. I need some time to take all this in.’
‘I am so sorry, Jessica. I would have got him back for you, you know. I swear I would. I wouldn’t have let her keep him.’
I stretched my arms out further, and Louis swung back towards me in Mickey’s grasp. The baby was about to wail, I could sense him building up to it; his bottom lip was trembling. And then, slowly, sadly, with absolute tragedy scored into his thin face, Mickey relinquished his priceless cargo into my shaking arms. Our fingers touched as I took the baby, and the pain it caused him was solid in the air—but I couldn’t think of Mickey any more. It was my time now, my time with Louis.
I grasped his solid little weight and clutched him tight against me. I didn’t look at Mickey now; I couldn’t look again. I just looked at my baby; I drank him in, his curving cheek, his fat little moon-face, his milky baby smell. And then, very carefully, with the gentle breeze ruffling my hair, with Louis tucked into my coat, I began to walk away. I walked towards my freedom, and I took my son.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:
I would have been very stuck at times without the help of some extremely talented people. Thank you to Tiggy, my first reader, for trying to guess who did it; to Flic Everett for her inestimable brushing-up, and to the rest of my Goldsmiths group, Judy Mcinerney, Guy Ware and Pyllice Eddu for providing invaluable feedback, as well as lots of wine and even more crisps. Thanks to Lou for answering my invasive questions, and to my mother for all the full-stops (you were right about Jess in the hospital, after all!).
Profound thanks to my heroically tenacious agent Teresa Chris for believing in me so early on, and to everyone at Avon, particularly Maxine Hitchcock for her insightful editing and for counting those infernal days with me time and time again; and to Keshini Naidoo for reading between the lines. Last but never least, thank you, Tim for all the domestic bits (e.g. meals)—and for wandering off so spectacularly in the first place. Thank God you both came back!
About the Author
Born in London with a love of all things dramatic, Claire Seeber began her career as an actress. Soon deciding she’d rather pull strings safely behind the scenes, Claire forged a successful career in documentary television, enabling her to travel the world, glimpsing into lives otherwise unseen. Also a feature-writer for newspapers such as the Guardian, Independent on Sunday and the Telegraph, Claire now combines (furious) scribbling with keeping a beady eye on her toddler and her new baby.
Visit www.claireseeber.com for exclusive updates on Claire Seeber.
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Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
AVON
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Copyright © Claire Seeber 2007
Claire Seeber asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Extract from Bad Friends © Claire Seeber 2007.
This is taken from uncorrected material and does not necessarily reflect the finished book.
A catalogue record for t
his book is available from the British Library
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EPub Edition © 2007 ISBN: 9780007328994
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright
About the Publisher
Lullaby Page 35