by Jane Fallon
‘With an inscription in. What does it say?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It actually really does,’ I say a bit too loudly, and he shushes me nervously. ‘It matters whether it says, Here’s that book I was telling you about or something way more personal. I’m guessing something way more personal.’
He says nothing, but he looks guilty so I suppose I have my answer.
‘So, at the very least, Stella now thinks I have a thing for you? Well, that’s just brilliant. That’s going to make my life here so much more pleasant.’
‘The thing is, Laura,’ he says, rolling my name around his tongue in what I assume he thinks is a suggestive way. ‘Stella can be a little jealous. She has a tendency to see something where there’s nothing … do you know what I mean? She’ll blow up, but then she’ll forget about it in a couple of days.’ And I think that, while I may have known Stella for less than a week, I already know her better than he does.
I let out a sigh. I know I’m not in a position to push it. ‘I hope so. Listen, please don’t involve me again. I mean … I’m trying to fit in here.’
‘Don’t tell her, will you?’ he says, slightly threateningly, as I walk away. I don’t bother to answer.
Back in my annexe, I flick the kettle on, fuming. Then I flick it off again and I’m down the stairs and round to Gail’s front door before I can stop myself. I know I shouldn’t turn up announced. I wouldn’t want her to start doing the same to me. But I have to share this with someone. Have to work out if I’m being reasonable, being so furious. I ring the bell and shuffle from foot to foot as I wait. I know Ben isn’t home until tomorrow, but she might be in the middle of eating, in the bath, anything. I’m about to turn away, go back upstairs, when the door opens and there she is. She looks genuinely pleased to see me, which is something.
‘Hi. This is a nice surprise …’
‘I don’t want to disturb you,’ I say, probably sounding deranged, ‘but do you have a moment?’
She steps back to allow me to enter. ‘Of course. Everything OK?’
‘Yes. I mean, no. But yes. With the flat, I mean. All’s fine.’ I take a deep breath. Try to calm my voice. ‘I just wanted to share something with you. See if I’m overreacting. I’m really sorry to just turn up.’ I follow her into the kitchen. She has a glass of wine on the go, but I decline when she offers me one. I don’t want her to think I’m intending to hijack her whole evening.
‘So …?’ she says, sitting at the table. I join her, pouring out the whole story in one long, ill-formed sentence. Gail’s eyes grow wide, and I know I’m not overreacting.
‘I’m not surprised you’re cross,’ she says when I get to the end. ‘What a weird thing to do. He must know how paranoid Stella is.’
‘He’s obviously got some woman on the side and he panicked,’ I say. ‘I mean, I know I shouldn’t be saying this to you … you’re their friend …’ It occurs to me that this might be a huge mistake, telling Gail what just happened. Her loyalties lay with them long before she even met me.
‘In all honesty, I’ve never been so sure about him,’ she says. ‘There’s an element of … I don’t know. I said to Ben once that I think he likes to keep Stella on the back foot. So she doesn’t ever get too comfortable, you know?’
I nod. It sounds plausible. I also think Stella’s a psycho, but I’m not about to share that with Gail. ‘But why me? Why involve me in it?’
She thinks for a moment. ‘Because you’re not going to be here long? Because Stella is already a bit suspicious of you, seeing as you’re the predatory divorcee? Because you were the first person he could think of and it keeps the heat away from whoever he’s really seeing?’
‘I think it’s because he knows I won’t make a fuss. I work for him, in a roundabout way, after all.’
She ponders this. ‘You’re right.’
‘So … what? … He’s going to let her think me and him are having a fling? I’ve only known him a few days.’
‘I doubt Stella’s being that rational,’ she says, running her fingers up the stem of her glass. ‘Are you sure you won’t have one?’ It takes me a second to work out what she means.
‘Go on then.’
She gets up and fetches another glass. ‘You’re going to hate this, but I imagine he’s presented it like you’ve got a crush on him, not like there’s anything happening.’
‘Oh my god,’ I groan. ‘That’s almost worse.’
Gail laughs. Hands me a large red. ‘Up in your garret, pining away with lust …’
‘Don’t!’
‘The thing about Stella is …’ She thinks for a moment. ‘She’s ridiculously jealous, but then, she has reason to be. So who can blame her? Can you accuse someone of being jealous if their suspicions are right half the time?”
I put my head in my hands. ‘What do you think I should do?’
Gail thinks about it for a second. ‘Personally, I’d forget about it. I know that probably goes against everything you’re feeling, but do you really want to end up being drawn in further?’
‘No. But I can’t stand that she would think that of me. That anyone would.’
‘I think she’s already probably decided not to like you anyway. What’s the difference?’
I shrug. ‘Because now she thinks she has a legitimate reason. Now she thinks she was right about me all along.’
Gail puts a hand over mine. ‘Sleep on it. That would be my main advice. Don’t go storming back over there saying things you might regret.’
Of course, I don’t sleep. Of course, I lie there, tossing and turning, veering from fury at Al to anger at Stella that she would so readily believe the bad light he’s painted me in. Somehow, in the morning, despite the fact that I’m exhausted, I feel calmer. Gail was right. There’s nothing to be gained by starting a fight. If Stella asks me outright, maybe I’ll tell her it’s not true. Maybe I’ll tell her the book wasn’t from me. I’ll definitely make it clear that I have no interest in her sleazy husband. But, until that happens, I’ll just keep to myself. Wait for it all to blow over.
Famous last words.
5
Betsy is dragging her bright yellow overnight case behind her when I collect her from school on Friday afternoon, and my heart almost breaks at the sight of it. I resolve to have a chat with David about splitting her wardrobe between the two homes so she doesn’t have to lug it back and forth. She doesn’t seem bothered, though.
‘Is Felix in there?’ I say as we load it in the boot.
She giggles. ‘No. Can I bring him next time?’
‘You’d have to take him to school for the day first. I don’t think he’d like that. He hasn’t got a uniform, for a start. He’d feel left out.’
‘We could stop off at Dad’s and get him now,’ she says, looking at me hopefully.
‘Dad will be at work,’ I say, wishing I’d never opened this particular can of worms. Betsy won’t understand why I don’t have keys to David’s new place, why it wouldn’t be OK for us to go there now and help ourselves to the cat. She has never really seen us argue, beyond the normal squabbles of two people who live together about who’s turn it is to cook or what to watch on TV. We had the most civilized separation in history, mostly – I realized, in retrospect – because David didn’t care enough about me to be passionate.
I keep my head down as I drive into The Close, as I have every time I’ve come and gone since Wednesday evening. Thankfully, I haven’t come into contact with either Al or Stella, mostly because I’ve been hiding, waiting for them to go out before I emerge. I’m beginning to think Gail was right and it might all have blown over. At least I’ve stopped waiting for Stella to steam up to my front door accusing me of god knows what. She’s had ample chances. Even the most hot-headed person must have calmed down by now.
‘Do you think those girls from over the road will play with me?’
Ah.
I give Betsy what I hope is a reassuring smile. ‘I’m not sur
e … I’m a bit … I don’t really know them and I’m not sure their mum and dad would be too keen …’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, I don’t know. They’re just not terribly friendly.’
‘Can we go over there and ask? Please, Mum? I haven’t got any friends here.’
I turn and lock the car. ‘Not tonight, anyway. Let’s get your homework out of the way, and then we’ve got the whole of the rest of the weekend to do stuff.’
‘Tomorrow, then?’ She looks at me so hopefully that I almost say yes, but I know I can’t. No way is Stella going to let my daughter near hers now.
‘I don’t know, Bets. I think I’d have to ask the parents first. They’re a bit snobby about me being the lodger.’ It’s not a lie. It’s just not the whole truth. As soon as I say it, I regret it, though. Betsy looks at me as if I’ve just told her some humans don’t like animals. She has no concept of people looking down on other people’s status at this point in her short life.
‘That’s nasty,’ she says as I unlock my front door. She scowls over at their house. ‘What’s wrong with being the lodger? Just because they have a big house …’
I seem to have awoken my daughter’s social conscience. That’s not such a bad thing. ‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘Right. Who wants to go for a walk in the woods before homework?’
‘We can look for Cocoa,’ she says, Stella’s family forgotten. I breathe a sigh of relief. We dump her case inside and head straight back out. As luck would have it, we spot Eva and Cocoa up ahead almost as soon as we go through the gate. Betsy takes off after the dog and I increase my pace to catch up with Eva.
‘Hey,’ I say as I come up behind her. She turns round. Is it my imagination, or does she not look particularly happy to see me?
‘Oh,’ she says in a monotone. ‘Laura. It’s you.’
I’m momentarily confused, but then I think she’s probably just having a bad day. I look over, and Betsy is on her knees in the dirt, nuzzling Cocoa’s big brown face. ‘Everything OK?’ I ask. I wonder if Eva’s had some bad news or something.
She looks me straight in the eye and, if I’m being honest, it’s a bit disconcerting. ‘Yes. Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘Oh … um … you just seem a bit distracted …’
‘No. I’ve just … I’m in rather a hurry. Will you excuse me, Laura? Cocoa!’
The dog lumbers after her, leaving Betsy scrabbling to her feet. ‘See you soon,’ I call after Eva. I’m worried that she doesn’t seem herself, that maybe she’s had bad news. Not that it would be any of my business, but I like her; I hope nothing’s wrong. She raises a hand in response.
Betsy and I trample through the woods. I’m more confident already about finding my way back. We meet an Irish terrier called Marcel and a small hairy thing called Dora (it’s vitally important to Betsy that she finds out their names; the owners’, not so much) so, all in all, it’s a success, and it takes her mind off the idea of inviting herself round to Stella and Al’s, at least for a while. We go home, do homework, eat pasta, watch Coronation Street, and when she goes to bed I go to bed, revelling in cuddling up next to her, even though I’m not remotely tired.
The thing about The Close is that you almost never see anyone on the street. The children don’t play out there because they all have gardens the size of tennis courts out the back; the staff must either come and go in the middle of the night or they’re all locked inside for twenty-four hours a day in case one of the residents has a sudden shirt-ironing emergency. I never see them either way. No one passes through because the gate to the woods has ‘Private’ written on it in large letters and there’s a much friendlier public entrance a hundred metres or so along the main road, and no one – by that, I mean no one apart from me – walks to the shops because it’s just that bit too far to carry anything home. And why would you, when you have a giant 4x4 the size of a Sherman tank and you could use it to transport a seven-stone human and a bag of lettuce? So the only time you’re likely to bump into anyone is when they’re getting into or out of their cars on their drives or – for the few that have them – walking their dogs. Consequently, Betsy and I go through the rest of the weekend without speaking to anyone. Because she hasn’t seen me all week, Betsy seems fine with it, but I worry that as time goes on she’ll come to dread her days with me. All of her friends live near her school, near David.
I hand her over in front of the concierge again. David promises to dig out some clothes for next weekend and give them to me when I drop her off on Wednesday so she doesn’t have to cart half her wardrobe to school. It’s all very polite. I cry most of the way home in the car.
6
March
I’m sitting in my kitchen listening to the sounds of music, chatter and laughter coming from next door. Cars have been arriving all evening and The Close is lined with Bentleys, Mercedes and Rolls-Royces, some of them with uniformed drivers sitting inside, idly scrolling through their phones. I’ve seen Stella and Al cross from the other side, Katya and – I assume – Guy stroll along the street, and a smart older man/younger woman big-haired, tanned-skinned, luminous-teethed couple I assume are Bill and Anya emerge from number 8. It’s a good turn-out for a school night.
The Close has been a hive of activity all day. From my bedroom window I watched as a marquee was erected in next door’s vast back garden. Gas heaters and wood burners have been strategically placed both inside and out, and fairy lights draped in the trees. A van with ‘Clarendon Catering Services (Bespoke Party and Dinner Catering)’ emblazoned on the side has been parked on the street all afternoon. I can’t see inside the marquee, but I watched as white, gold-decorated tables and chairs were carried in, along with several fridges and countless crates of wine, followed, at about seven o’clock, by platters and platters of sumptuous food.
There’s no doubting that this is Eva and Rafa’s thirtieth-anniversary party. The one to which I thought I was invited. Except that when it came to it, I wasn’t. If I hadn’t seen Eva hand-delivering the invitations, I would have thought that maybe her mention of it the other week was enough. That the fact she had never told me the actual date was an oversight. But I’d watched as she went house to house, posting an envelope through each and every door except mine, surreptitiously glancing up at my window as she walked up the drive and past the stairs to my front door to deliver a summons to Gail and Ben.
A couple of days later Gail had confirmed my suspicions by asking if I was intending to go.
‘I haven’t had an invite,’ I said, trying not to sound like a sulky child. To be honest, I didn’t really care about the party. I would know hardly anyone, and I’d probably spend the whole evening hiding in a dark corner anyway, but it was the principle – the idea that someone I’d thought I was starting to get friendly with had decided to exclude me.
‘They probably just forgot,’ she said. We were sitting in her kitchen again, glasses of wine on the go.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, picking at the corner of the label on the bottle. ‘Last time I saw her she was a bit off with me …’
‘Eva? That doesn’t sound like her.’
I’d been thinking about this since I saw Eva circumvent my flat on her rounds. Maybe she hadn’t been having a bad day when I’d bumped into her in the woods. Maybe her problem was with me. I’d wracked my brain, trying to think of what I might have done, and the only thing I could come up with was Stella. Was it just a coincidence that Al had used me as some kind of smokescreen and then the next minute I was being treated like a pariah by Eva? OK, so I knew I was exaggerating the situation, even to myself, but something had shifted, I could feel it. Had Stella been bad-mouthing me? Did she really believe that I was throwing myself at Al, or worse, that there was something actually going on between us? I shared my worries with Gail. I hadn’t known her for long, but I was pretty sure I could trust her to be straight with me.
‘Well.’ She leaned back in her chair, hooking her long hair behind one ear. ‘No one’s
said anything to me. But then, they all know I’ve got no time for gossip.’
‘Do you think I might be right?’
She was silent for a moment while, I assumed, she considered it. I expected an equivocal answer, but she surprised me with a ‘Yes’.
‘Really?’
‘Stella can be pretty … not mean, that’s way too strong. But she makes it known when she doesn’t like someone. And she and Eva have been friends for a long time. I can imagine her pulling an “It’s her or me” if she really believed you were making a play for Al.’
‘I’ve barely even met him.’ I was incensed.
‘Well, so far as both Stella and Al are concerned, he’s pretty irresistible …’
I screwed up my face. ‘He’s really not.’
‘I know that, and you know that. But he doesn’t seem to have any trouble getting women to fall for his charms. There have been at least three that I can remember. At least, according to Stella. Nothing serious – I mean, well, it depends on how you define serious, I suppose – but nothing that lasted beyond a few weeks. And, of course, there might be more that she’s never found out about. Awful, really …’
‘But the point is, even if it’s happening again now, it’s not with me. Should I just go and talk to her, do you think?’
‘Up to you. Are you going to tell her Al was lying about the book?’
I drained the last of my wine, refused Gail’s offer of another. I didn’t feel like drinking. ‘Shit. I don’t know.’
‘I imagine she’ll go straight to him, demanding to know who it was …’
‘And now he knows it’s my company that cleans his offices …’
She nods. ‘Exactly.’
I really can’t afford to lose my contract with AJT Music. Not without another one lined up to take its place. It’s a third of my business. Gail carries our glasses over to the sink. ‘Coffee?’
‘Thanks.’
‘I don’t think he’s that vindictive. He probably just panicked, and he knew Stella was already suspicious of you …’