‘And now I’ve made it worse for her,’ Erin went on. ‘I didn’t think it would turn out like this, or I would never have come. Whatever he thinks, I haven’t done this deliberately.’
‘You mean Hugo?’
‘Yes. He always thought I was a nuisance.’ Erin laughed. ‘I probably was, too. But I promise you that I haven’t done this out of spite.’
Tessa gazed across at this other mother. They had each, in different ways, been sacrificed to this peculiar family history, but in spite of this bond she had little idea of what lay beneath Erin’s smooth, professionally groomed exterior.
‘So how do you feel now?’ Tessa risked asking. ‘Now you’ve met me at last?’ She instantly regretted her question: Erin’s answer seemed too important. For a moment Erin studied her as if she might say something big. Tessa held her breath, longing for some connection to be made.
‘Thrilled to bits!’ Erin said at last, crinkling her nose in a gesture that Tessa imagined she used when addressing her dogs. ‘You’re a real poppet, an absolute doll!’
SEVEN
The SUV with the privacy glass was there again, parked on the raked gravel behind the security gates. Mitch still had almost a week of school before the Easter holidays, but he was pretty sure that private schools had shorter terms. The house’s painted shutters, which for most of the year resolutely blanked the coveted windows that looked straight out to sea, had also been fastened back, so maybe it was possible that she was here with her father.
Mitch had only spoken to her that one time, last half-term, when she’d been walking a cute Dalmatian puppy that had taken a liking to his trainers, but she’d seemed glad to have someone to talk to. While he could scarcely believe how flawless she was, and how impossible it was to tell whether or not such perfection was the result of skilled and expensive artifice – Were her nails manicured? The blonde streaks in her honey-brown hair natural? Was the healthy golden glow of her skin genuinely from winter Caribbean sun? – he sensed and responded to something lonely and sad in her. Her voice was low and her accent a mixture of posh English and American high school movies, which would normally have had Mitch sneering in contrived contempt, but her blue eyes – were the lashes tinted, the way Lauren said she wanted? – had pleaded with him to like her. And so he did.
After all, it wasn’t her fault that her dad was some kind of film producer who worked in Hollywood and knew lots of movie stars. Or that last year her parents had bought the prettiest house in Felixham – a town with many pretty houses, most of them owned by weekenders – and then spent ten months painstakingly recreating the exact patina the place had possessed before their builders had gutted it inside and out. It was not the renovations that turned the good people of Felixham against Charlie Crawford – everyone knew the deep abrasions to brick and wood caused by salt winds and rain – but the fact that all the work was done by ‘craftsmen’ from London. They came in fancy liveried vans, some with ‘By Appointment’ crests on their sides, and made midweek block-bookings at the local B. & Bs, including Tessa’s. That income was welcome, especially in the winter, but the local builders resented these outsiders who stole their work and, in one case, even a wife, who’d run off to Essex with a specialist plasterer once the job was done. Her son, who was at school with Mitch, had reported how his dad still wondered morosely just how specialist a plasterer had to be.
Mitch stirred himself. He couldn’t stand here outside the gates until she came out with the dog, which anyway she might never do. But he’d rather think about Tamsin than about the thing he knew for sure he didn’t want to think about: his mum being upset over Nula. All the same, he did not want to risk looking like some demented fan. After Christmas, a rumour had swept around town that Cameron Diaz was staying at the house. Overnight, groups of strangers were literally camped outside, rather like the crowds of twitchers who would materialise out of thin air whenever a rare bird was sighted on the marshes. It was embarrassing.
But then, weeks later – after Mitch had got tangled up with Tamsin’s Dalmatian puppy at half-term – Carol, who came in to help Tessa with the beds and cooked breakfasts, told them that Charlie Crawford’s housekeeper, Sonia Beeston, had said it was true. But, Carol confided, Sonia would’ve been sacked if she’d uttered a word at the time because, even though the house was mostly empty, she was paid a full-time salary in return for signing a confidentiality agreement.
All of which left Mitch very much in two minds. He would rather die than have Tamsin think he was creeping up to her. (Cameron Diaz might be hot, but only girls were impressed by celebrities.) On the other hand, he was certain his first impression was right: she was lonely, a princess in a tower. Hardly surprising if no one dared be normal and friendly just because of who her mum and dad hung out with.
He made his way down to the beach, sat on a rise of shingle and passed some time throwing stones into the sea, focusing on exact aim and distance. He reckoned Tamsin was older than Lauren but definitely younger than him. Though of course it was difficult to judge, given the ineffable perfection she carried with her. He thought of Daisy Buchanan in the book they were doing for his English exam – The Great Gatsby – and the thing their teacher had quoted about the rich being different to us. And how Hemingway – who appealed far more to Mitch than Fitzgerald – had remarked: Yes, they have more money.
Mitch decided to think like Hemingway. Not the drinking and the cojones, but remembering that Tamsin was no different from him, merely another kid marooned here for Easter without even the distraction of a holiday job. If she were to spend the summer here as well, then she’d probably be unbelievably bored and isolated. And he liked her. Why not be friends?
Mitch shifted his feet amid the shingle: he knew how badly he wanted to touch her flawless skin, maybe even kiss her. He remembered the girl he’d snogged at a party over Christmas. He’d chosen her because the other boys said she was easy; he wasn’t bothered about her, just wanted to know what it was like. They were in the hallway of someone’s house and he pushed her back against the wallpaper. Her mouth tasted of rum and coke, a sweetness he found rather repulsive. But he put his tongue in her mouth and then a hand up her top and finally got a finger inside her bra, felt a nipple, and had the biggest hard-on ever. Yet part of him remained detached, watching himself do this to a girl he didn’t particularly like, and felt ashamed. He was almost relieved when she refused to let him slide his hand inside her knickers. He absolutely did not want to feel that way with Tamsin.
But, now that he’d seen her dad’s car in the driveway, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
EIGHT
Tessa chose to follow in her daughter’s wake as Lauren proudly guided Erin around the B&B. Unlike Erin’s earlier fleeting and anonymous visit, this time Tessa was acutely aware of how Erin, like Lauren, had grown up here – or at least in the original house. In Averil’s lifetime Tessa had innovated by stealth, but, free at last to impose her own taste, she had transformed the place into a boutique seaside destination. Aware of her desire to impress, she observed carefully as Erin took in the many changes, and was childishly pleased by her praise.
Yet her pleasure was mitigated by the forced acknowledgement that while she’d been immersed in the intricacies of a hip new website, brochures and costings for designer bathrooms, and Sam had been working fearsome hours in a London kitchen, their marriage had begun quietly to unravel. How stupid she’d been to tell herself that many marriages went through such arid patches, to cling to the mistaken hope that shared business interests were sufficient, that romance would return in its own good time, that in fact they were being brave and realistic to take the long view. Nula had brutally given the lie to all that.
They finished their tour in the guests’ sitting room where Erin, instantly comprehending the clever compromises and attention to detail, complimented Tessa on her sense of style and imagination. Tessa also saw Erin’s gaze drawn to the doll’s house, though she said nothing, instead entertaining Lauren with
stories about how awful the place had been when she was Lauren’s age, never mind the visitors who used to stay there! When she was little, Erin recounted, the self-contained attic flat didn’t exist. When Averil first began to take in guests, they had to give up the nicer bedrooms. Erin and Pamela had shared the box room while Averil slept on a divan in the basement snug. They had no other living room, and had always to be on their best behaviour while pretending to be blind and deaf to whatever the guests got up to.
Lauren pulled a face: ‘That’s still the same,’ she complained. ‘And Mum’s always working.’
‘I’m here though,’ Tessa protested. ‘You never come home to an empty house like some of your friends.’
‘You should get a dog, honey,’ said Erin. ‘They’re great company. I’ll show you a picture of mine later.’
‘Yeah!’ Lauren looked to her mother for encouragement. But Tessa’s thoughts were elsewhere, observing the doll’s house through new eyes, no longer as a charmed talisman, but as a relic consecrated and set apart when Erin went away. The coat left over the banisters and little white vanity case in the hallway took on a new resonance.
Erin and Pamela’s father Stanley had made the replica of their single seafront home before it became a B&B as a present for Pamela when Averil was expecting Erin. The joke, according to Grandma Averil, had been that after Erin’s birth, nine-year-old Pamela preferred to play with the baby, and it was Averil herself who’d fallen in love with the imaginary rooms. After Stanley’s sudden and premature death three years later, his terrified young widow had thrown herself into turning the real property – her only asset – into a viable business. As she’d set her sights on purchasing and extending into first one and then another of the neighbouring properties, the doll’s house had continued to occupy the same hallowed place in the guests’ sitting room. All her life Tessa had watched Averil offer her heart to the endless stream of guests who sustained the family, and realised now that it had been for them that she had sacrificed her daughter – and granddaughter. Even in old age, whenever the doorbell rang Averil had sprung to life like an actor in the spotlight, and as time went on, ensuring the guests’ comfort had seemed to provide her with all the expression of love she needed.
Erin followed Tessa’s gaze and finally went to peer in at the little rooms.
‘Shall I fetch the key?’ Tessa asked.
‘No,’ said Erin. ‘What happened to the dolls?’ she asked, straightening up again.
‘There aren’t any,’ answered Tessa, surprised.
‘I’m sure there used to be. One for each member of the family.’ Erin shrugged. ‘Well, I think it’s just fabulous what you’ve done here,’ she continued, turning away. ‘I’m going to tell my friends back home, and make sure it gets on all the secret hideaway websites. The Aussies would love this! A real English home-from-home.’
Erin went on to question Tessa about occupancy and margins and the differences between the UK and Australian star-rating systems. Lauren, bored and excluded, trailed off to the kitchen downstairs. Tessa hoped she wouldn’t start snacking before supper. A second later Tessa heard Mitch come in, and was disappointed when he headed straight upstairs. But Erin, explaining the advantages of a new booking system linked to a smartphone app, didn’t seem to twig that the energetic footsteps signalled the presence of the grandson she had yet to meet.
Tessa had been hurt by the way Erin had greeted Lauren earlier, judging it to be thin and insignificant for someone finally offered the chance to take up her rightful role as mother and grandmother. On the other hand it was clear how much she regretted upsetting everyone, so perhaps this relaxed manner was her way of smoothing things over, of demonstrating that she had no wish to elbow Pamela aside. Tessa found herself once again studying Erin’s flawless make-up – the carefully applied face powder, the glossy lipstick – for some clue to her birth mother’s deeper feelings.
‘I reckon you’re not so different to me.’
Tessa’s thoughts swam back into focus.
‘You love your work, right?’ Erin’s eyes shone. And this place, I can see that it’s all down to you.’
Erin’s insight was accurate, if uncomfortable: Tessa knew that, like Averil, she had become addicted to the glow of satisfaction she felt each time a guest departed full of happy compliments. ‘It’s great to watch people unwind,’ she admitted. ‘To hear them say how relaxed and different they feel, even after only a couple of nights. I do love knowing I had a hand in that.’
‘Sure! You should be really proud of what you’ve accomplished. And that’s what’s so great, isn’t it? So fulfilling? Knowing you made everything perfect all by yourself.’
Seeing herself through Erin’s eyes, Tessa felt a snakelike temptation to shed a cumbersome skin that was snagging, even painful, and emerge untrammelled and smooth like her. Tessa smiled at her mother. ‘It means a lot that you’re proud of me. I’m glad you came and told the truth.’
Erin looked confused, but then her face cleared. ‘Sure!’ she exclaimed. ‘The facts of life, right?’
The doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the first of the night’s guests, a young couple in their mid-twenties. Erin said she could find her own way down to the kitchen as Tessa went to let them in. After chatting about their journey from London and showing them to their room, Tessa went up to knock on Mitch’s door. He was sitting in the window seat, gazing out at the darkening sky. He had grown almost too tall to fit in the narrow space, and there was something coltish about his long limbs, clear grey eyes and straight brown hair. He turned his head to her, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, and she felt all her tension melt away as her heart swelled with love for him. Forgetting her irritation that he had not come unbidden to greet Erin, she saw the sweet, hopeful boy he had always been.
‘Supper?’ she asked. ‘Come and meet the new granny?’
He nodded, and though his expression remained serious, followed her dutifully downstairs.
They found Lauren at the kitchen table with one hand splayed out in front of her as Erin painted each nail the same vivid colour as her own. Their two heads were almost touching yet Tessa could observe no special likeness between the two generations.
Erin put the brush back in the bottle of varnish and got up, holding out her arms: ‘You must be Mitch!’
Tessa watched as her son cautiously accepted his grandmother’s embrace, and reflected with a pang of sadness how strange it now felt to have assumed for so long that Mitch, fine-featured and straight-backed, would take after Hugo.
‘My, you’re tall,’ Erin exclaimed. ‘And so good-looking. Bet you have all the girls running after you!’
Lauren grimaced. ‘It’s your turn to lay the table,’ she told her brother bossily. ‘We haven’t done the other hand yet.’
Tessa set about clearing away the day’s accumulation of clutter, pleased for once that Lauren had turned on the radio to some upbeat pop music, glad she’d thought earlier to buy a big bunch of daffodils to help brighten up the room.
Lauren held up her painted nails for Tessa to admire. ‘Chanel!’ she exclaimed. ‘Lotus Rouge.’
‘It’s lovely. But remember to take it off for school tomorrow.’ Tessa was rewarded by a scowl.
Once more bent over Lauren’s hand to paint the last nail, Erin appeared not to hear. ‘There!’ she said, replacing the glistening brush in the bottle and fanning her own fingers out beside Lauren’s. ‘Now we’re twins!’
Lauren wiggled her fingers delightedly, but Tessa also noticed her daughter’s wistful look as, screwing on the cap, Erin slipped the bottle back into the capacious handbag beside her. Lauren ought not to expect presents, but Tessa was certain that Pamela, in Erin’s position, would have gifted it without a second thought. She and Pamela had not spoken since the bombshell had been dropped two days ago: it was never Pamela’s way to have things out, and neither knew what to say. With a pang Tessa perceived that the contrast between the ‘old’ mother who wrapped herself up so tight, al
ways holding something back, and the patina of ease offered by this other, newer mother, was not as marked as she’d first thought: both hid their real selves. Was she the same? Was that why Sam had been able to slide away so effortlessly?
Erin twisted in her chair to address Mitch, who was taking his time at the cutlery drawer. ‘So you’re what, in your last year of school?’
‘One more to go.’
‘And then what? University?’
‘If I do Ok in the exams.’
‘Of course you will!’
Tessa watched Mitch cringe. If his mother had dismissed his adolescent self-doubt as airily as that, he’d have snarled at her that he was too old to believe in magic.
‘What do you want to study?’
‘Maybe law.’
‘Good for you,’ said Erin. She smiled at Mitch, but asked no further questions. Instead she turned to Tessa. ‘So where’s the gorgeous Sam?’
Tessa was aware how her children’s gazes swivelled instantly to her face. ‘Didn’t Pamela tell you?’ she asked carefully. ‘Sam and I live separately.’
‘She never breathed a word,’ Erin assured her.
Tessa knew she’d been every bit as guilty as Pamela in clinging to the fiction that her marriage was intact. Worse, her determination not to face the truth would have made it impossible for Sam to explain why he’d left, even if he’d wanted to. She sighed, thinking that soon she’d have to admit the whole truth to Pamela and Hugo.
Lauren leaned in towards her grandmother. ‘So what’s Australia like?’
‘You should come visit,’ said Erin, content to let the thornier subject drop. ‘Find out for yourselves.’
Tessa felt a glow of pleasure that, however curtailed their own relationship might be, Erin did at least want to welcome her children.
‘Awesome! Can we stay with you?’ asked Lauren.
The Bad Mother Page 5