by Jenny Oliver
Julia was reluctant to take her eyes off the road. ‘Isn’t it illegal to undertake in England?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant as she opened the packet of Mr Kipling cakes. She didn’t even know they still made French Fancies.
‘Yes.’ Amber gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been driving since I was fourteen, Julia.’
Julia nodded. She could just imagine it. She handed Amber a pink cake and took a yellow one for herself. Julia had failed her driving test first time round, causing quite a stain on her family’s first-time pass rate. Her dad and brother never let her forget it. On family journeys she was never allowed to drive, as if one failure meant she’d never passed at all.
She looked out of the window, taking a bite of the little cake. They were cruising past patchwork fields and petrol stations. Amber was bombing along at a crazy speed. Julia thought how, since the house move and the spreadsheet, she and Charlie never drove above sixty-seven miles per hour. He set the cruise control after calculating the optimum speed for efficient petrol consumption to save money.
They sped past a Travelodge and then another. There would be no stopping, Julia realised, the synthetic sweetness of the French Fancy infusing her senses. And she was beginning to realise she was secretly quite pleased.
Chapter Seven
The sun was burning through the windscreen glass. They zoomed past fields of cows, the litter-strewn hard shoulder and giant adverts for a McDonald’s and BP garage up ahead. Internally Amber was still sniggering re Julia’s drug dealer fears and feeling a bit sick from too many French Fancies. She wanted a cigarette. The satnav was not hopeful about their chances of making the Eurotunnel, which would be a disaster.
Glancing across, she was quite pleased Julia was in the van with her. There was nothing worse than driving alone. And it made up for her son, Billy, not being there, sitting bare feet up on the dash, sometimes with his guitar that he strummed terribly but Amber didn’t care because he let her sing terribly.
Julia was looking at the pile of food and drink on the passenger seat. ‘Could I have some of your water, please?’ she asked, tentatively polite.
‘Of course,’ Amber replied. ‘You don’t have to ask. Have anything you like.’
Julia picked up the bottle of Evian.
In the cup-holder, Amber’s phone rang.
Traffic was pouring onto the motorway from a joining slip road making her have to slalom through the available gaps in the traffic in order to maintain her current speed. Next to her, Julia was busy unscrewing the top off the bottle of water, so Amber reached forward and pressed answer, putting it on speakerphone.
‘Hello,’ she said, squinting against the sun streaming in overhead.
‘Hi, Mum, it’s Billy,’ her son’s soft deep voice filling the van.
‘Hey, Billy, how are you? Is everything alright? How’s Germany?’ Amber asked, immediately alert as to the fact he was ringing. Billy never rang. He WhatsApped her messages or presumed she’d see his Instagram. He most likely wanted money.
‘Yeah fine,’ he said.
Amber glanced at Julia. ‘Guess who’s in—’
‘Mum,’ Billy cut her off. ‘There’s something I have to ask you,’ he said, very seriously.
Amber frowned. Ideally she’d pull over at this point and take it off speakerphone but they had just under ten minutes to get to Folkestone. ‘Can I call you back in about half an hour, Billy?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, Mum, I just have to ask you a question.’
‘What is it?’ Amber asked.
‘I want to know,’ he said, quiet and serious, ‘is my dad my dad?’
Amber realised suddenly that she had been en garde for this question his entire life. Except for right now. Because it took her so much by surprise she almost crashed into an overtaking Hovis van and beside her Julia had to brace herself against the glove compartment.
‘Shit,’ she said, braking hard and flashing the van to get out of the way.
‘What?’ Billy asked, concerned. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing,’ Amber said, the Hovis driver swearing at her as he pulled back into his lane. ‘I’m just driving.’ She didn’t know what to say to Billy. Her usually quite crafty, good-in-a-crisis mind was blank, frozen to just the sight of the cars up ahead, the central reservation and the endless motorway. She had a million answers prepared for if this subject ever arose but she couldn’t think of one that would roll naturally off her tongue. And now she had been silent for too long.
‘Well…’ Billy asked, voice a bit tinny on speakerphone. ‘Is he?’
Amber felt her cheeks get hot. She could feel Julia listening. If her son had been there, in front of her, she’d be able to handle it. She’d have a quick-fire reaction. She could touch him at least. But he wasn’t in front of her. He was miles away in a different country. In the end she stammered out the first thing that came into her head, ‘Why do you ask that? Of course he’s your dad.’ But the strange hitch in her voice was enough of a giveaway.
It was silent on the other end of the line.
Next to her, Julia shifted in her seat.
‘I know you’re lying,’ said Billy, all sad, quiet voice.
Amber wiped the sweat off her forehead. She checked the speedometer. She checked the time. She glanced at Julia, who was head down, awkwardly toying with the pleats in her skirt. ‘I’m not lying, Billy,’ Amber said, feeling like she was sitting on an overstuffed suitcase, trying to close the clasps while everything inside made a bid for escape. This was completely the worst time for this to be happening.
‘Mum,’ Billy sighed, his disappointment in her evident, ‘it was Dad who told me he’s not my real dad.’
‘Oh fucking Ned!’
‘Mum!’ Billy shouted over the speaker.
In the passenger seat, Julia looked like she was hoping the floor might open and suck her out onto the hot tarmac.
This was all going from bad to worse, spiralling out of her control. Amber gritted her teeth. She had a sudden memory flash of the farewell lunch they’d had for Billy at Ned and bloody stupid Marcia’s. The world’s best stepmother to her son, all calm and collected with her I-work-at-Google-so-I’m-really-rational take on everything. The moment Amber’s ex-husband Ned married Marcia, Amber knew it was all going to take a turn for the worse.
For the whole time Amber had known Ned he had adored her. He was three years older than her and, growing up, had lived in Amber’s block of flats on the floor above. He’d wait for her in the car park so they could walk to school together even when she’d tell him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to walk to school with him. He’d give her his past Maths and English papers to copy and invite her to McDonald’s for dinner but she’d always refuse. On Valentine’s day, every year without fail, he bought her a Forever Friends teddy and a padded card. Amber had thought him a nice enough person but not someone she’d ever in a million years go on a date with. He had been her friendly nuisance – someone to talk to if there was no one else about, someone whose house she could eat Marmite on toast at and watch Neighbours if her parents weren’t home. He was just average, nice but nothing special Ned from upstairs. But then suddenly he became her saviour when one day Amber appeared on his doorstep pregnant, alone and broke. By then Ned had a good job, his own flat and, still starry-eyed in love with her, he took Amber in, no questions asked, promising to raise her son as his own. For six years, Ned finally achieved the dream of catching Amber Beddington in his net. They split when Amber had become more financially solvent, Billy was happy in school, and their relationship had reached a level of platonicness that Amber felt it unfair to keep Ned tied to her, however much he was happy to be there.
And then for the following ten years, Ned had been happily single-ish in his ground-floor garden flat with a room for Billy, his neat stack of five work shirts washed and ironed by the dry cleaner up the road, his little white dog Alfonso, his PlayStation, his Mumford & Sons albums, and a constant supply of good Ri
oja that Amber would drink when she stayed for a drink after dropping Billy off.
Amber had Ned exactly where she wanted him. Life was good. Then suddenly, in waltzes bloody Marcia who had him dressing in Hugo Boss and eating coconut-infused lobster foam in Michelin starred restaurants. Marcia loved a man with long hair so suddenly Ned stopped getting haircuts and grew a man bun. ‘Forty-year-olds can’t have man buns,’ Amber had scoffed.
Ned had done an infuriating smile and replied, ‘Marcia says you purposely try to chip away at my self-confidence.’
Amber rolled her eyes. ‘I do not,’ she said, getting out her fags, offering one to Ned. ‘I’m doing you a favour. People will be laughing at you.’
‘See, there you go again.’ Ned waved the cigarette away and got out his vape. ‘I’ve given up. Marcia wants me around to see old age,’ he’d said all sanctimonious.
And Amber had heard Marcia getting into Billy’s head, too. Infecting him. ‘You should study business and economics, Bill, and then after that maybe take a cookery course,’ Marcia had said at Billy’s bon voyage lunch.
Marcia had also taken the opportunity to drop the news that she and Ned were expecting a baby. A baby! Ned was too old to do all that again, surely? But Amber had smiled her disbelieving congratulations all the same. Marcia had carried on with her lecture to Billy. ‘I just think these days, the best tools are those that will put you at the forefront in the larger corporate environment. You’ll always be able to use a business degree, Bill. Don’t you agree, Amber?’
‘No,’ Amber replied. ‘He’s good at cooking.’ She had wanted to add: he’s not going into the corporate environment, he wants to be a chef, you stupid woman, and don’t call him Bill. But she hadn’t, she’d sloped off for a cigarette in the garden to escape. Billy, who would usually have come out to chat with her, had got distracted by Marcia yapping on about Google’s graduate programme while Amber stood outside and watched Ned come to stand behind her, his arms round her waist, hands protective of her tiny bump.
The scene had felt too good to be true.
When she’d gone back inside, aware of the pervading smell of cigarettes by the scrunched up look on Marcia’s face, Billy was saying, ‘Wow, could I come?’
Ned had shared a quick glance with Marcia and said, ‘Of course.’
Marcia had tipped her head to the side and cooed, ‘Oh Bill, that would be so fabulous.’
‘Come where?’ Amber said.
‘Vancouver Island,’ Billy replied.
Marcia stepped forward. ‘It’s where I’m from. We’re moving back. It’s a really nice place for the baby to grow up.’
‘Nice.’ Amber nodded, secretly thinking that when she got home she’d remind Billy that everyone knew Canada was the most boring place on earth. ‘Don’t forget, you’re going to university in September, Billy,’ she reminded him.
‘Yeah, but I could go in the holidays or maybe I could defer?’
‘Whoa,’ Marcia laughed, ‘I think let us have the baby first, Bill.’
Billy nodded, immediately reining himself in.
Amber shot her a look. ‘Let the kid dream,’ she said. ‘He’s just getting excited.’
‘No it’s fine,’ said Billy, forcing a smile. ‘Maybe next year or something.’
Marcia gave a simpering smile.
Amber fumed.
After lunch Billy took Ned’s dog, Alfonso, for a walk so he could phone his girlfriend, Pandora, and talk about whatever they needed to talk about that wouldn’t be covered in the next month on the train across Europe.
‘What are you going to do about Alfonso when you go to Vancouver Island?’ Amber asked, watching the little dog circling its lead round Billy’s ankles out the window.
Marcia, who was arranging expensive-looking truffles on a plate, said, ‘There’s a couple across the way who said they’d take him, they love dogs.’
Amber almost spit out her coffee. ‘Ned, you’re giving away Alfonso! You can’t – you’ve had him for years.’
Ned was about to say something when Marcia cut in, ‘We love him, but I don’t want a dog in the house when I have the baby.’
Amber made a face. ‘What do you think’s going to happen?’ she asked, tone mocking.
Ned shot her a warning look.
Marcia ignored the question and settled herself down across the table from Amber, placing the plate of sugar-dusted truffles between them. Then she beckoned for Ned to sit next to her.
Amber hated truffles.
Once Ned was seated, Marcia gave him a nudge on the elbow. ‘OK,’ he said in a slightly harassed whisper.
Amber put her cup of coffee down. ‘What’s going on?’
Ned cleared his throat. He looked mildly terrified. ‘Marcia would like—’
Marcia nudged him again on the elbow.
Ned corrected himself. ‘We would like,’ he paused, cleared his throat again, ‘to tell Billy the truth.’
‘About what?’ said Amber, wondering if she still hated truffles as much as she thought she did because she was still really hungry, Marcia’s lunch portions were decidedly small.
‘About his parentage,’ said Marcia.
Amber’s head shot up. ‘Excuse me?’
Marcia raised her brows. ‘I think you know.’ Then in quite a slow hushed voice said, ‘About Ned not being his real father.’
Amber stared wide-eyed at Ned. ‘I can’t believe you told her.’
Marcia slipped her hand over Ned’s. ‘We don’t have any secrets.’
Ned was staring intently at the truffles.
‘Why would you tell Billy? It’s been eighteen years. He’s your son. You are his real father. I can’t believe this.’ Amber stood up, fast, spilling her coffee.
Marcia immediately mopped it up with a napkin.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Amber swiped her fringe out of her eyes, holding it back with her hand on her head. ‘Why would you do this to him? Just to stop him popping over to Canada every now and then for a holiday? He’s not the bloody dog, Ned! You can’t just give him away just because Marcia doesn’t want him upsetting the baby.’
‘OK. Time out.’ Marcia stood up doing an intensely annoying T shape with her hands. ‘Let’s all take a minute.’
‘Fuck off.’
Marcia gasped.
‘Amber!’ Ned stepped in front of Marcia like she needed a shield. It was all very un-Google.
They stood in a silent stand-off.
Marcia held up her hand and said, ‘You need to go someplace and cool down, Amber.’
‘I do not need to cool down, thank you very much. Come back to me in eighteen years when some jumped-up pain-in-the-arse tries to screw your kid over.’
‘I’m not trying to screw him over, Amber,’ said Ned, the tips of his ears going red like they did when he was stressed. ‘Marcia – I mean – we just thought that maybe the truth would be better, but I— I don’t want to upset Billy,’ he stammered.
Amber glared at him, incredulous. ‘What did you think it was going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ned looked at his hands for a second, then at Marcia who was clearly unhappy at this capitulation but was saying nothing. ‘The last thing I want to do is hurt Billy,’ he said, looking at Marcia, imploring.
Marcia folded her arms over her chest. She did a little shake of her neatly bobbed hair. ‘No,’ she said, looking only at Ned, refusing eye contact with Amber. ‘No, we don’t want to hurt Billy.’
Well, thought Amber, as she hurtled along the M20, a silent Billy on the other end of the phone, they had clearly changed their minds.
Why had she not suspected? Because she had presumed she’d silenced Ned – that he would do as he was told, as he always did. And she had stupidly thought that if she could just get Billy to eighteen it would all be OK, it would never come out. How wrong she’d been.
‘Billy,’ said Amber, the satnav was showing a line of red, gridlocked traffic up ahead, ‘let’s not talk about this now. Don’t ruin your holiday
.’
‘It’s already ruined,’ he said.
Amber bit her lip. ‘Don’t be daft. Listen. I can’t talk to you properly now.’ The traffic was slowing to a standstill. Amber could see her turning up ahead. She glanced at the clock, trying to work out what to do – how to catch the train and placate Billy just for long enough to formulate a plan. In the end she decided to appeal to his neat little brain’s constant concern about her ability to pay the mortgage and said, ‘Billy, I’ve got to get this train otherwise there’s a possibility I’m going to lose my job.’
‘What?’ Billy said, suddenly all worry. ‘Why?’
‘It’s OK,’ said Amber, feeling suddenly bad for worrying him, while also deciding that the only thing to do was to bomb it up the hard shoulder, bypassing three lanes of gridlock. ‘There’s just been a couple of problems with some of my Emerald House rooms. So, Billy, I need to get this train and then I’ll call you and we can talk properly. OK?’ The van hit a branch of a low hanging apple tree. ‘Shit!’ Amber gripped the steering wheel as it smashed against the windscreen.
Julia screamed, clearly thinking they’d hit something much worse.
‘Mum, what’s going on?’ said Billy, concerned.
‘Nothing, darling. Nothing.’
‘Don’t drive like a maniac,’ he warned.
‘I’m not.’
Julia made a sound of disbelief next to her. Clearly regretting coming on this trip. No amount of French Fancies would make up for the current debacle.
‘OK listen, darling,’ said Amber, ‘I’ll call you when I get off the train. Yes? Are you OK?’
‘Yes fine,’ said Billy, his mind now distracted by the practical concern of Amber not killing herself. ‘Please drive safely.’
‘I will,’ Amber replied, speeding along the slip road past lanes of hot, sweating holidaymakers inching forward at a snail’s pace, furious with Ned, worried about Billy, trying desperately to work out how best to handle the situation so it didn’t escalate, while also wondering if a VW camper van counted as freight because, if so, she could bypass the car check-in traffic and hurtle up the lorry lane.