‘That’s quite a secret you’re keeping. Why did he ask you to keep it quiet?’
‘He said money could ruin the balance of our friendship, maybe make things awkward between the women. I took his point. I think Izzy struggles to meet normal friends, you know, women who aren’t after the glitz of showbiz connections.’
‘And your wife isn’t?’
‘Laura’s very down to earth. But I agreed with Tris, as it happens. I think she would feel awkward if she thought Izzy’s husband was bankrolling our business.’
‘So was it a loan, or a gift?’
Aidan shrugs. ‘We didn’t really discuss that.’
‘You’re a lucky man, Aidan. Lucky to have a friend who can lend you twenty-five grand and not worry about when he’s going to get it back. He’s certainly not worrying about it at the moment, is he?’
Aidan’s eyes narrow. ‘Are you trying to imply something?’
‘Not at all. Should I be?’
Aidan gives him a much broader smile.
‘You guys,’ he says. ‘What are you like? Take me off your list. It wasn’t me.’
Thirty-four
When Laura’s phone pings with an incoming text, she’s in a queue at the Co-op checkouts. Glancing at the screen to check who the message is from, she sees it’s from Izzy, and is tempted to read it there and then. But the customer ahead of her is moving on, and the young woman seated at the till is already smiling her welcome. Laura knows her, vaguely, from being a regular customer at the store. According to her name tag, she’s called Kate.
‘All right?’ she asks, passing Laura’s purchases – pasta, salad ingredients, minced beef for bolognaise sauce – past the scanner, and Laura smiles and nods.
‘Any news about Tristan?’ asks Kate, scanning the overpriced Häagen-Dazs Laura added to her basket at the last moment. Normally she wouldn’t buy it unless it were on offer, but Gemma loves ice cream, and Laura’s getting desperate to make her eat at least something. The more calories, the better.
Laura’s stuffing the shopping into a bag, wondering what Izzy has to say, praying it’s good news, not bad.
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I haven’t really heard anything.’
‘That poor man,’ says Kate, then reads off the total on the screen. Laura readies her bank card for the contactless reader. ‘He’s always so lovely when he comes in here, always has time to say hello. Makes you wonder who’d do a thing like that, doesn’t it? But we were saying in the staff room, people like that are never what they seem. Remember that Michael Barrymore? Look what he got mixed up in.’
‘I don’t think there’s any similarity between Tristan and Michael Barrymore,’ says Laura, but as she goes outside, she can’t help asking herself how she knows that’s true.
The message from Izzy is short: Can you come over? This is the first request for face-to-face contact since the day of the wedding. She’ll have to take the ice cream home first, but that’s only a short detour.
She types Be there in 20 mins x, and presses send.
At Foxcote Lodge, everything looks as it used to, in that long-ago-seeming time when life was day-to-day. The Range Rover and the Fiat are in the driveway, and Laura parks so as not to block the Fiat, thinking if Izzy’s home, Bridget will soon be leaving. As she climbs from the car, the beauty of the place strikes her afresh: the house’s old-world imperfections, the hum of bees on lavender and the scents of an English garden in full summer. As she walks towards the door, she catches sight of Bridget looking out of an upstairs window and raises a hand to wave; but Flora must have demanded Bridget’s attention, since she turns away from the window without responding.
She rings the bell, and Izzy opens the door promptly, as if she was already on her way to open it. She looks older, washed out, unhappy; her light-up-the-room beauty has faded, like a butterfly with the powder knocked from its wings. Laura steps across the threshold and wraps Izzy in a hug. There seems to be nothing of her but skin and bone.
Izzy allows herself to be held for a few moments before breaking away, laughing at herself as she brushes away a tear.
‘Tired and emotional,’ she says, leading the way to the kitchen. One of Tris’s favourite songs – Sarah Vaughan’s Once in a While – is playing in the background, the piano softly melodic, Sarah’s voice filled with heartbreak, but Izzy cuts the music off by telling Alexa to stop. Laura notices Izzy makes sure the kitchen door is closed.
‘Tea? Or something stronger?’
‘Tea’s fine,’ says Laura, and Izzy switches on the kettle. ‘Where’s Flora?’
‘Upstairs playing with her fairy castle. I asked Bridget to stay on for a little while so we can talk.’ Izzy takes mugs from the dishwasher, dropping in organic Ceylon teabags from a Fortnum & Mason caddy. ‘She’s been a rock. Though I’ve been giving her a bit extra so I suppose that doesn’t hurt.’ She rips open a packet of chocolate biscuits, pours them on to a plate and takes one for herself. ‘Sugar’s all that’s keeping me going. Sugar and a glass or two of rosé. I can open a bottle, if you like.’
Laura shakes her head. ‘I’ve got the car, and dinner to make when the kids get home. But I’m so glad to see you. How is he? What’s the news?’
The kettle boils, but Izzy’s gazing out on the garden and seems to have forgotten about tea. Overhead, they hear Flora running from one room to another.
Laura pours hot water into the mugs, adding milk to her own and a slice of lemon to Izzy’s. She carries both cups to the scrubbed pine table, sets them down and takes a chair.
‘Come and tell me everything.’
When she turns back from the window, Laura sees Izzy is silently crying, betraying what she’s truly feeling inside. Blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, she brings a box of tissues as she joins Laura at the table.
‘How he is, is one thing,’ says Izzy. ‘How he and I are, is another.’
Laura frowns, not understanding. She waits for Izzy to go on.
‘I spoke to the police. They say someone hit him with a champagne bottle. Which is an interesting choice of weapon, don’t you think? As to what they say at the hospital, I don’t know what to make of it, whether they’re being optimistic or pessimistic or if they just don’t know. He’s still in a coma, and that’s not good. You don’t need to be a rocket scientist or a neurosurgeon to know that. But they’re talking about permanent disability.’
Laura covers Izzy’s hand with her own.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Izzy shrugs.
‘That needn’t be the end of the world, for two people who love each other. But I’m damned if I’m going to play nurse to someone who doesn’t give a shit about me.’
‘Izzy! What are you talking about? Tris is devoted to you, absolutely devoted, to you and Flora!’
Izzy gives her an odd look, somewhere between coldness and despair.
‘Let me show you something, and you can see for yourself how devoted to me and Flora that bastard is.’
She stands up and crosses to the worktop, where she rummages in the handbag Laura’s always coveted before drawing out the architect’s letter and handing it over.
‘Read that, and then I’ll tell you what it’s all about.’
Laura reads, uncomprehending as to what the problem might be.
‘Is this to Tris? This says to Mr T. Savage.’
Izzy looks contrite. ‘That’s his real name.’
‘So you’re not Izzy Hart?’
‘Sorry, no. I’m Izzy Savage.’
‘And I didn’t know you were building another house.’ Laura feels hurt. ‘You didn’t tell me that, either.’
‘How could I tell you if I didn’t know? And we aren’t building another house. Tris is building it with someone else, some woman called Tina. If he hadn’t had his accident, I don’t know when he’d have let me in on the secret. May
be the day he moved out to be with her.’
Laura shakes her head in disbelief.
‘But you and Tris . . . You’ve always been so solid. He worships the ground you walk on, Izzy. There has to be some kind of mistake.’
Izzy picks up her phone, flips through her photos to find the pictures of the building site and passes the phone to Laura.
‘See for yourself. He’s building the house on land he co-owns with this woman. I checked on the Land Registry website.’
‘But who is she?’
Izzy sits back down at the table and buries her face in her hands.
‘I have no idea! I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It was all too good to be true. In his line of work, it’s just commonplace, isn’t it? A merry-go-round of relationships – marry, divorce, marry, divorce. How could I have been so stupid as to fall for it?’
Laura says the right thing – ‘You weren’t stupid, Izzy,’ – but is beginning to feel she’s been naive herself. Have they all been taken in by a slick veneer, all been fooled by the acting of a very accomplished player?
Then she asks, ‘Have you told the police?’
Izzy shakes her head.
‘But you have to,’ says Laura. ‘This might have some connection to the assault. There was no accident, Izzy. Someone was angry enough to mean Tris real harm. What if it was this woman?’
Izzy gives a great sigh.
‘Can I trust you? Absolutely trust you?’
‘You know you can.’
‘Because if I tell you something, you must swear you won’t repeat it to a living soul.’
‘I swear.’
‘There’s more. I found a phone, one I didn’t know he had. It’s full of phone numbers, only women’s numbers. A few texts, a few missed calls. Looks like my wonderful husband had quite a harem.’
‘Izzy.’ Laura looks disbelieving. ‘It can’t be. There must be another explanation. I can’t believe Tris would do that to you. To Flora.’
‘Perfect father, perfect husband, perfect life. That’s what can’t be. It was only ever a lie.’
‘Oh, Izzy, no. He loves you.’
‘Does he?’
‘There’s bound to be some logical explanation,’ says Laura, but her voice lacks conviction. ‘You mustn’t jump to conclusions. When he wakes up, you can talk to him, let him explain.’
‘There is a logical explanation,’ says Izzy, bitterly. ‘My husband’s a lying, cheating shit, and I’m just another idiot who’s been taken in. It’s a story older than time.’
The silent tears begin again, but Izzy barely seems to notice, only wiping them away as if they’re some irritant.
‘You have to take all this to the police,’ insists Laura. ‘It might easily have some bearing.’
‘You mean one of his other women might have done it?’
That is what Laura means, but she chooses her words to make them more palatable.
‘I mean if there are things going on in his life you weren’t aware of, they need to know. If you want justice for Tris.’
Izzy wipes her eyes.
‘You know what? I don’t want justice for Tris, not after what I’ve found. What I want is justice for me and Flora, and that’s for me not to be made a complete fool, and for Flora never to know the kind of man her father actually is. If the press get hold of any of this, if it all comes out, our lives will be ruined. I’ll be another ex-wife in a sea of celebrity divorcees. So I don’t care if they never find out who did it. I’ll just assume some other woman got pissed off with him the same way I am now and saved me doing the job myself. In other words, he got what was coming to him.’
‘You can’t possibly mean that, Izzy.’
‘Can’t I? If Aidan had done this to you, how would you feel? Wouldn’t you feel the same? And if you’re any kind of friend to me, you won’t say anything to anyone about this. No one at all, not even Aidan. Promise?’
‘I promise,’ says Laura, and she sincerely means it, at the time.
Thirty-five
It’s another warm evening, and windows are open to allow a through-draft to cool the overheated rooms. Aidan slides open the glass doors at the back of the house so they can eat on the deck. Gemma’s coaxed reluctantly from her room, but only plays with her pasta, picking at a few slices of tomato and cucumber from the salad. Josh, as always, wolfs his food, and offers to eat Gemma’s if she doesn’t want it, but Laura carries the plate back inside, telling Gemma she can eat it later if she’d like. The ice cream is a hit all round, and Gemma eats a bowlful while Laura tries not to watch every spoon she puts in her mouth. The nutritional content might be poor, but the calorie content is high, so Laura considers it a win.
When they’re finished, Aidan asks Gemma and Josh to clear the table before they do their homework. As the kids go upstairs, he says, ‘Fancy a glass of something cold?’
Laura nods. ‘A rosé would be great. There’s beer in the fridge if you want one.’
While Aidan’s inside, Laura looks out across their small garden. Josh’s slowly deflating football lies on the bald patch of grass in front of his five-a-side goal, the borders need tidying, and she thinks how badly it compares to the beautiful gardens at Foxcote Lodge. She’s always seen Izzy’s life as so idyllic, unashamedly envying her, believing her good fortune is fair reward for her natural gifts. Izzy herself seems so flawless. What kind of a man would feel the need to cheat on her?
Aidan places a glass of blush wine on the table.
‘You look thoughtful.’ He sits down across from her and gives her one of those smiles she loves, charged with affection and concern. At least, that’s how she’s always read it in the past. Now she knows she’s been wrong about Tris and Izzy, how can she be sure her own husband isn’t faking it too?
Laura tastes her wine. ‘I’m having a What would Dad do? moment.’
Aidan’s smile disappears.
‘Uh-oh. That’s not good. Tell me.’
Laura sighs. ‘To be honest, it’s the telling that’s the problem. I promised Izzy I wouldn’t say anything, not even to you. But I think she should be talking to the police.’
‘I’m intrigued.’
‘But I said I wouldn’t tell you.’
‘So what would your dad do? While remembering he was a decorated senior police officer who left the job with very few friends, thanks to his determination always to do the right thing. And you’ve told me that story more than once, about how you snitched on your ex-best friend at school in a Who’s been smoking behind the bike sheds? kind of enquiry.’
‘It was nothing to do with smoking. It was about nicking lunch money.’
‘But the outcome was the same. One seriously pissed-off friend who never spoke to you again. There is such a thing as being too principled, Laura. We all have to get along in life. Sometimes you have to put your faith in karma, and let others dole out the punishments and rewards.’
‘I won’t tell you, then.’
‘Then again, if you can’t trust me, who can you trust?’
Laura sips again at her wine. ‘I think that’s exactly the question. About trust. Whether you can trust the people closest to you.’
‘So come on, what would your dad do?’
‘He’d march down the road first thing in the morning and demand to speak to the officer in charge and tell him – or her – everything he knew.’
‘Consequences and fallout be damned.’
‘Consequences and fallout be damned. Exactly.’
A couple of gardens away, they hear the shouts of children playing.
Aidan looks serious. ‘Policing’s not black and white, you know. It’s awash with shades of grey. And I should know. Can I tell you something?’
‘Always.’
Laura looks across at her husband, at his still-handsome face, and watches him take a long
pull at his beer bottle, knowing him well enough to see he’s weighing something up.
‘Once or twice,’ he says, ‘while I was still in the job, I didn’t make an arrest I probably should have. One or two people, I let walk away. People I knew had just got themselves in too deep in a bad situation, who wouldn’t be doing it again. People whose lives would be ruined by a criminal conviction or even an arrest record. I made a judgement which wasn’t really mine to make. Your dad would have made those arrests, but I don’t think the world would have been any better for it. So what I’m saying is, sometimes in life you should pay more attention to the possible consequences than to playing by the rules. That’s my take on it.’
‘So you think I should tell you.’
‘You know I’m discreet. And I can give you sensible advice about whether your dad would have been right in this case, or wrong.’
‘You never liked my dad,’ says Laura, teasing.
‘I was terrified of your dad. He was like the force beacon, a shining example to flat-footed rookies like me.’
‘He liked you.’
‘I suppose he must have, or he wouldn’t have let you marry me, would he? So come on, what’s on your mind?’
‘OK. But you mustn’t tell a soul.’
‘What soul would I tell?’
‘The first bad news is the update from the hospital. They’ve been told today Tris is unlikely to make a full recovery, that he’ll suffer some permanent disability.’
‘What? Permanent as in . . . Wow.’ Aidan shakes his head. ‘That’s horrendous. Did they say what kind of disability?’
Laura shakes her head. ‘No. Izzy didn’t seem to know whether they meant physical or – God forbid – whether they were talking about some kind of brain damage. But life-changing.’
‘Brain damage? Tris? I can’t even begin to imagine how that would be for him, not when he’s such a livewire. Surely there’s something they can do? These days they seem to be able to fix everything. Poor Tris.’
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