The Promise You Made

by A J McDine

  ‘There, there,’ I soothed. ‘She’ll be OK. You know our Dinah. She’s a feisty little bugger.’

  My words triggered a fresh storm of tears and I rubbed her back until the sobs subsided.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ I said, leading her to the kitchen table and pouring her a glass of water from the tap. She took a couple of sips, then looked at me with bloodshot eyes.

  ‘I had no idea lilies were poisonous.’

  ‘Only to cats, it seems.’ I handed her a tissue.

  ‘I thought someone was trying to send you a warning.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re the flowers everyone has at funerals, aren’t they? Mum had them.’

  I thought back to her mother’s funeral, trying to picture Juliet’s coffin as the pall bearers lowered it into the earth. Stargazer lilies had been the centrepiece of the pink and white wreath on top. ‘You’re right,’ I said, surprised Eloise remembered. ‘She did.’

  A coincidence, I wondered? But no. I’d chosen lilies for both my parents’ funerals. White ones with wax-like petals and a heavy scent, symbolising the innocence restored to the souls of the departed. Eloise was right. They were a funeral favourite.

  I became aware that she was speaking.

  ‘Sorry, honey, you’ll have to say that again.’

  ‘I should never have left them,’ she wailed.

  I looked at her, not understanding.

  ‘On the kitchen table. I should never have left them on the kitchen table. I should have put them somewhere she couldn’t reach or, better still, thrown the fucking things straight in the bin.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault. It’s just one of those things. Dinah will be fine. And we’ll both know for next time, won’t we, eh?’ I said, thumbing away the tear sliding down her cheek. ‘I tell you what, why don’t we go for a nice long walk to take our minds off it all?’

  Eloise shook her head. ‘I don’t feel like it. But you should go. I’ll be fine here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I said. The urge to be outside, striding through the trees and breathing in the damp, earthy woodland air, was like an itch waiting to be scratched. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Take as long as you want. I’ll be here if the vet rings.’

  I pulled on my wellies and coat and walked the length of the woods and back, nervous energy zipping through me like the buzz from an electric current. I walked until my legs were heavy and dusk was darkening my view. And when I went back indoors, Eloise was in the kitchen peeling potatoes. We ate cottage pie in silence and watched crap on the television until it was time to go to bed. I was going through my nightly routine of closing windows and locking doors when the phone rang.

  ‘Miss Barton? It’s Pete Harris from the veterinary practice. I’m calling about Dinah.’

  I sucked in air. ‘How is she?’

  His pause told me everything.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news,’ he said finally. ‘We gave Dinah intravenous fluids, but her kidneys were already failing. Despite our best efforts, she passed away about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I understand.’ My voice cracked. I swallowed, cleared my throat and said, ‘Was it peaceful, the end?’

  ‘It was. The vet nurse and I were both with her. She just slipped away.’

  ‘Good.’ I glanced up the stairs and wondered how I would break the news to Eloise. ‘Can I bring her home?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to bury her in the garden with the others. The other cats,’ I added hastily. ‘They’re all buried under the apple tree.’

  ‘Of course. Just phone to let us know you’re coming, and we can make sure she’s ready. I’m very sorry we couldn’t save her, but the damage had already been done.’

  ‘You did your best,’ I said, because it seemed like the right thing to say. ‘Thank you for letting me know.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’m on call tonight. I was here anyway.’

  I stumbled across the room to the sofa and sank down, cradling my head in my hands as I tried to imagine life without my insouciant little cat. Out of nowhere, I remembered something Juliet once said to me.

  You reap what you sow, Rose.

  Was it my fault Dinah died? Had my actions been the catalyst for her death by poisoning two decades later? Was it payback for my crimes?

  There was a time I’d have dismissed such a notion as far-fetched. Ridiculous, even. But doubt clouded my certainty. I wasn’t sure of anything any more.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  OCTOBER 1991

  * * *

  Seven o’clock came and went. At ten past seven, a couple of John’s pale-faced computer nerd workmates arrived at the party, dressed in head-to-toe black and clutching cans of lager and cider. Just after eight a contingent from Danny’s gym turned up, all tight T-shirts and taut muscles. At nine, a dozen traders from John’s bank bowled in, besuited and brandishing bottles of Dom Perignon and Bollinger. A pack of Juliet’s old school friends arrived soon after and suddenly it was standing room only, bodies crushed against each other, the whole flat pumping with the music of Sisters of Mercy and Bauhaus. John’s choices, because although he dressed like the traders he wanted to become, he was also a sad goth at heart.

  I found myself discussing the difference between Pilates and yoga with a sinewy American girl called Honey, although I would have bet my last pound that wasn’t her real name. And we could have been talking about the difference between William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe for all I could hear over the pounding beat of the music.

  ‘D’you know Tania?’ I shouted in her ear during a lull in the conversation.

  ‘Tania Emery?’

  I nodded, unable to believe my luck.

  ‘Sure,’ Honey said. ‘She’s right over there.’

  I followed her gaze to an arrestingly beautiful black girl in a red stocking of a dress that fitted her like a second skin. She had almond-shaped eyes and straight hair worn in a single plait down her back. Two of the bankers were vying for her attention, but the bored expression on her face hinted they were both failing miserably.

  ‘Does she work at the gym?’ I asked, surprised. She seemed too slender, too fragile, to be a personal trainer.

  ‘She’s one of Danny’s clients,’ Honey said. ‘Used to be mine, but I’ve cut back my one-to-ones to concentrate on my Pilates classes.’

  But I wasn’t really listening because I was too busy chastising myself for jumping to the wrong conclusions. Of course Danny wouldn’t write dates with his lover in his diary. Of course Tania was a client. It was obvious when I thought about it. My brain had made the leap because I so desperately wanted Juliet to see Danny for what he was: a liar and a cheat. A love rat.

  I scanned the room searching for Juliet, spotting her with her arms draped around Danny’s neck, her upturned face gazing into his. As I watched, he cupped her chin and kissed her deeply. Their bodies melded as she kissed him back. Who was I kidding? Any fool could see they were crazy about each other. A crushing disappointment knocked the breath out of me, and I swayed like a sapling in the wind.

  Honey frowned in concern. ‘Hey, are you OK?’

  I muttered something about needing the loo and stumbled from the room.

  I sought sanctuary in Danny’s bedroom, sweeping the clothes, kit bags and magazines from his bed onto the floor and burrowing under the duvet like a small nocturnal animal. Only then did I allow the tears to fall. I stuffed a corner of the pillow into my mouth, so I didn’t make a sound as the sobs shuddered through me. I didn’t want anyone seeing me in this state, least of all Juliet. The look of disgust on her face when I tried to kiss her after the Snow Ball swam before my eyes and I cried even harder. I was gripped by self-loathing. I was such an idiot. Juliet and Danny were a couple, and the sooner I accepted it, the better. The blonde DJ had been an aberration for which Danny had apologised. It was clear he was besotted by Juliet and if I truly loved her, I would be glad. And I did truly love her.

  Slowly,
my sobs subsided, and I sat up and wiped my eyes. Downstairs, the party was clearly still in full swing if the volume of the music was anything to go by. I checked the time, surprised to see it was already almost one in the morning. I debated whether or not to attempt to repair my makeup and go back down or hide up here until everyone had gone home. I decided to stay put. If anyone asked, I’d feign a headache. I could always pee in the sink if I needed to.

  I was climbing out of bed when I heard the creak of a stair and a stifled giggle. My eyes widened. Had John actually pulled? Shaking my head in disbelief, I ferreted through my overnight bag, looking for my nightie. I was hoicking it out when there was another creak and a man said silkily, ‘In here.’

  A sixth sense told me he was talking about Danny’s room, not John’s, and I darted back under the duvet, pulling it over my head and making myself as flat as possible as the doorknob turned, and the door swung slowly open.

  I lay as still as a corpse as the door clicked shut again. There was another giggle, then a muffled thud, as if a body had been pressed up against the stripped pine door. Then the unmistakable sound of kissing. Lips against lips, caught breath and smothered groans. A voice whispering, ‘Fuck, you’re driving me crazy. I want you so much it’s killing me.’ Not just any voice. Danny’s voice.

  Under the duvet, I pulled a face. Wasn’t necking Juliet on the dance floor enough for him? Couldn’t the man wait until the last guests had gone before he dragged her upstairs and shagged her? What was the urgency?

  And then I realised with horror that I was going to be forced to listen to every grunt, every moan, every whimper as they had sex a few feet away from me. And what if they retired to the bed? I imagined the mocking curl of Danny’s mouth as they discovered me hiding. He’d probably accuse me of voyeurism. But I was no peeping tom. I’d rather walk naked down Oxford Street than have to endure listening to them going at it like rabbits.

  I wanted to clasp my hands over my ears to drown out the sound, but I couldn’t risk being seen. So, I concentrated on breathing as shallowly as I could. And then Danny’s voice again.

  ‘I’m going to do unspeakable things to you,’ he murmured. I caught the almost imperceptible sound of a zipper being undone. ‘Unspeakable things.’

  ‘What about your girlfriend?’ said a woman’s voice and my stomach flipped like a pancake because I’d been wrong. Correction: I’d been right. Danny was a bastard. He was a love rat and a lying, dirty cheat, and the woman he was about to have sex with wasn’t Juliet. It was someone else entirely.

  He laughed, and under the duvet, my hands curled into fists.

  ‘She’s as pissed as a fart. She won’t even notice I’ve gone.’

  ‘Well, in that case…’ the woman cooed.

  Pictures of You by The Cure had been playing, but someone turned the volume down and Juliet’s voice rang up the stairs.

  ‘Danny!’ she called. ‘Oh, Danny Boy! Kim and the gang are off to Annabel’s and want to know if we’d like to go with them. Can we? Can we please?’

  ‘Shit!’ Danny hissed. ‘Get dressed!’

  I pictured a pair of jeans being dragged up and a dress being tugged down. Hair smoothed and lipstick wiped off. Smiles painted on faces. Excuses at the ready. Then Juliet cried, ‘Where in heaven’s name are you?’ And the door burst open and even through the duvet I sensed the light from the landing illuminating Danny and the mystery woman as if they were actors on a stage and for a moment, no more than a second or two, everything was silent.

  And then Juliet howled, ‘You bastard! You utter fucking bastard! How could you? How could you?’

  I’d been right all along. The mystery woman was Tania Emery, Danny’s newest client. When Tania had legged it out of the room and down the stairs with both Juliet and Danny in hot pursuit, I’d seized the opportunity to sneak out of Danny’s room into John’s, where I emerged moments later, my face a picture of innocence. Juliet was sitting, white-faced, at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘I was just seeing if John had any painkillers,’ I said, joining her. ‘Then I heard a kerfuffle. What on earth’s going on?’

  ‘Danny’s… Danny has…’ She gulped. ‘There was another girl. He was with another girl.’ Tears streamed down her face and she pointed to the door that separated the hallway from the rest of the flat. ‘Make everyone go home, Rose. Please make them go.’

  I nodded. ‘On it like a car bonnet.’

  John and I spent the next ten minutes chivvying everyone out of the flat. Once they’d gone, I climbed wearily up the stairs to John’s room, where I’d left Juliet with a pint glass of water and a box of tissues.

  Her tear-blotched face jerked towards me as I let myself in and as she stared over my shoulder, I thought I saw a flicker of hope in her pink-rimmed eyes.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I told her. ‘Said he’d be back in the morning when you were in a fit state to listen to him. Went off with that girl from the gym, Honey, and another girl. I think she was a client? Tammy or Tara or some such.’ It wasn’t quite the truth. I’d found Danny pushing his way through the scrum of partygoers leaving the flat, heading for the stairs and Juliet. I’d grabbed his arm and pulled him into the kitchen, where I’d told him in no uncertain terms to piss right off.

  ‘But I need to see Jules. Explain that it wasn’t what she thought it was.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ I said with a snort of derision. ‘She caught you red-handed. How are you going to explain that away?’

  ‘But I’ve signed the tenancy here. I don’t have anywhere else to go.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘Then perhaps you should have told your cock that, arsehole.’

  For a moment he looked as if he was about to retaliate, but then he hung his head and said, ‘I’ll come around in the morning. Talk to her then.’

  ‘You can try,’ I said. ‘But don’t hold your breath. She won’t forgive you this time. Not in a million years.’

  Next to me, Juliet had broken into a fresh storm of tears. I leaned towards her, about to put my arm around her, but thought better of it. Instead, I pulled a tissue out of the box and pressed it into her hand.

  ‘I feel so stupid,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. He’s the one who’s in the wrong.’

  ‘I know, but I should have realised I couldn’t trust him after last time.’

  ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater,’ I agreed. I handed her another tissue. ‘What will you do?’

  Juliet blew her nose noisily, jutted out her jaw and looked me straight in the eye. ‘I’m going to chuck him out. You were right all along, Rosie. He’s not worth it.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Eloise was sleeping when I let myself into her bedroom the next morning. I hovered just inside the door, her mug of tea in my hand, wondering if I should wake her. She was on her side facing me, one hand tucked under her chin, one slender arm on top of the covers. Her face was strangely blank in repose, the face of a mannequin. Her chest rose and fell as she sighed, stretched her legs and turned onto her other side.

  I hadn’t believed a word of the nonsense Theo had fed me the previous day. From what Eloise had told me, it was clear he had psychopathic tendencies, and everyone knew psychopaths were pathological liars. They simply didn’t care about the truth. It suited him for me to believe Eloise was the enemy. Simple as.

  I knew Eloise. I had seen her need to be loved. I had glimpsed the vulnerability at her core. She was her mother’s daughter through and through.

  For the first time in my life, I wondered what would have happened if I’d told Eloise’s social worker that I wanted her to come and live with me. I’d said no because I hadn’t wanted anyone to upset my prissy, ordered life. I hadn’t given a toss about poor Eloise, orphaned at eleven, and teetering on the brink of a life in care. In the dark days after her mother’s death, she’d had the courage to find my number and phone me, a woman she barely remembered, because she had no one else. No one. But her pleas had fallen on deaf ears becau
se I was a self-centred bitch.

  What if I had taken Eloise in? We could have been a family of two, just as Eloise and Juliet had been. The walls of my shabby, forlorn, creeper-covered cottage would have rung with the sound of laughter, of life. Yes, there would have been teenage strops, cross words and maybe even stand up rows, but the house would have been a living, breathing place, not the silent mausoleum I’d rattled around in for the last fourteen years, the only noise the depressing drone of Radio 4 and my one-sided chats with the cat.

  There would have been parents’ evenings to attend and school discos to find outfits for. Dentist appointments to meet and friendship dramas to dissect. First boyfriends and spots; driving lessons and periods. Eloise had to navigate them all alone, when I could have been by her side.

  The tea was growing cold in my hand as a swell of self-loathing rose like bile at the back of my throat. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered to her sleeping back. ‘I am so sorry.’

  I froze as she shifted in the bed, then rolled onto her back and gazed at me blearily.

  ‘Rose, is that you? Have you heard from the vet?’

  I set the tea on the bedside table, perched on the side of the bed, and took her hand in mine.

  ‘He rang last night after you’d gone to bed.’

  ‘Is she going to be all right?’ she said, her voice as hopeful as the day she’d phoned asking if she could come and live with me. I swallowed. I’d dashed her hopes then; I was about to do so again.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news,’ I said, echoing the vet. ‘Dinah didn’t make it. She died last night.’

  Her eyes widened, and a sob escaped her lips. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘She can’t be dead. She can’t be!’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said again. ‘They did everything they could.’ I held out my arms, inviting Eloise in for a hug, but she shook her head, hunkered under the duvet, and turned back to face the wall.