Flo put her head around the bathroom door, a worried expression on her face. “Jacob’s got the cat, Auntie Charlie. Mummy said he’s not allowed to hold her, not after last time.”
“Last time?” Charlie said, moving the phone away from her ear.
“He HURTS her.”
“OK, Flo. Go and tell him I’ll be right out—and he’ll be in big trouble if he touches Venus. Sorry, Kat,” Charlie said, returning the phone to her ear.
“Everything OK?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Sort of.” Charlie rubbed a hand over her brow. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Gracie had managed to squirm out of the towel construction. “Could you do me a huge favor and stop by my sister’s house on Victoria Road?”
“Of course. Is there anything you need?”
“Yes. Some newborn nappies. And a dose of sanity.”
Charlie opened the door to Kat fifteen minutes later, a wave of relief washing over her.
“Nappies, m’lady,” Kat said, holding out a shopping bag.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Charlie said, taking them gratefully, paying Kat and then scanning the outside of the packet. “They have instructions on them, right?”
“Why don’t I get her changed for you?” Kat said kindly. “It looks as though you might have your hands full with those two.”
Charlie followed Kat’s line of vision to where Jacob and Flo were tugging the living room curtains while jumping up and down like a pair of demented bell-ringers.
“Stop that,” she called out to the kids, while handing Gracie over to Kat and pointing at a changing bag in the corner of the living room. “Thanks, Kat.”
Kat expertly changed and dressed the baby, and a few seconds later was holding her and swaying gently, making her smile.
“Any solutions for them?” Charlie asked, pointing at Jacob and Flo.
“Yes. Emergency measures.” Kat located the TV remote and put on some cartoons. The children reluctantly let go of the curtains and settled on the sofa.
“So how come you’re in charge?” Kat asked.
“You seriously think I am?”
While Jacob and Flo were engrossed in an episode of Peppa Pig, Charlie grabbed the opportunity to prepare some milk for Gracie.
“I’ll get the kettle on,” Kat said. “You look as though you could do with a pick-me-up.”
“She said something about expressed breast milk,” Charlie said, rummaging in the fridge and finding only vegetables, yogurts and chickpea salad.
“It might be in the freezer,” Kat said, scanning the shelves and retrieving some bags full of creamy-white milk. “Bingo.”
“Frozen? That’s weird.”
“Means you always have some. Did your sister not tell you where it was?”
“There wasn’t time. She hasn’t slept for a couple of days and looked as if she was about to pass out. I sent her upstairs to get some sleep.”
“Must be tough with three of them.”
“Yes, but it’s more than that. Her husband’s left.”
“For good?”
“No—I mean, I don’t know. I’m not sure what happened, I’ve barely had a chance to talk to Pippa about it.”
“I hope she’s OK,” Kat said. “You’ve decided to stay then?”
“I think so.” Charlie thought of the missed calls on her phone from Jess. She’d only had time to send a hasty e-mail explaining she wouldn’t be returning as planned.
“Let’s concentrate on getting through today. Between us we can see to it that the kids have so much fun they won’t realize anything’s amiss.”
14
Monday, September 15
Séraphine walked along the South Sands, the autumn sunshine glinting on the water and couples in thick coats strolling arm in arm. In her bag was the photo she’d received from Carla. She thought of the last time they’d seen each other, just before she’d made the decision to come to England, cutting short their relationship.
They’d been by the river, Séraphine sitting back on the picnic blanket and Carla smoking a cigarette, slowly blowing the smoke out of her mouth.
“You shouldn’t smoke, you know,” Séraphine said, turning onto her side.
Carla raised an eyebrow and smiled. “And you never do anything you shouldn’t, Miss Perfect?”
“Not often, I suppose.”
“Not often enough, more like,” Carla teased her.
Séraphine laughed. They were the same age, twenty-three, but somehow Carla seemed older. Wiser. More comfortable in her skin. It was the first thing Séraphine had noticed about her when they were paired up on the patisserie course. While she had been consumed by worry that she would mess up the recipe, Carla was naturally confident, not seeming to notice or care what others thought. They’d worked well together, and the teacher had called the entire class over to taste their blueberry brioches.
“Have you ever done anything your parents wouldn’t approve of?” Carla said, playfully curious. “I mean, before you got together with me?”
“No,” Séraphine said, feeling a little embarrassed that she’d never stepped out of line. “Is that very boring? We’ve always got along well, so I’ve never wanted to upset them. I guess Guillaume did the rebelling for both of us.”
“But this time it’s you going against their wishes?”
“Yes. It’s not easy for me to keep such a big secret from them.”
“Does it have to be a secret? Couldn’t you tell them about us?”
Séraphine shook her head. “No. How could I?”
“I don’t know,” Carla said, shrugging. “Open your mouth, say the words—”
“It’s not that simple,” Séraphine said. “They’ve always assumed I’d marry a nice boy from the village, stay here, have lots of children.”
“You can still have children,” Carla said matter-of-factly.
“I know. But it’s not only that. They wouldn’t be able to take it in. They wouldn’t understand—and I don’t think the rest of the family would either.”
“They might surprise you,” Carla said. “My parents took the news better than I expected.”
“Your parents sound pretty laid-back, though. It wouldn’t be the same with my family.”
“It still wasn’t easy telling them,” Carla said. “It was a big adjustment. It’s OK now, but it took them a long time to get used to it.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” Carla said.
“You were sure then?”
Carla nodded. “I’ve always known.”
“I envy you,” Séraphine said. “I put a lot of energy into trying to change myself. If a boy at school asked me out, I’d go, hoping that my feelings would turn from fondness or admiration into something else, that maybe I’d start to understand what all my friends were getting so excited about.”
“And did that ever happen?”
“Never,” Séraphine replied, smiling. “So, here I am. With you. All those years, I had no idea what my friends were talking about. Now, finally, I get it.”
“Before me, you never went out, tried to meet other women?”
“Have you seen our village?” Séraphine laughed.
“OK, yes.” Carla smiled and put her hands up. “I see what you mean.”
“Barcelona must be quite different from here.”
“It’s the polar opposite,” Carla said. “More open-minded. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking, coming here. This beautiful, crazy place. But then I did get to meet beautiful, crazy you.”
Then they’d kissed.
Séraphine smiled at the memory. She looked down at the imprints that the soles of her shoes made in the soft, wet sand on the beach. However far you went, there were some things you couldn’t outpace.
15
Monday, September 15
&nbs
p; When Jacob and Flo were finally tucked up in bed, Charlie saw Kat to the door. Kat had shown her how to strap on the sling and she’d grown to enjoy the comfort of Gracie’s small body against her chest, close enough that she could feel the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
“Thanks for everything,” Charlie said.
“Any time,” Kat replied. “I enjoyed it. I’ve been missing Leo, and Jacob reminds me of him when he was that age.”
“Well, it was good of you to come.”
Kat waved it away. “It was nothing. Anyway, I hope things get better for your sister soon.”
“Me too. Maybe I’ll be seeing more of you now.”
They said good-bye and Charlie closed the front door. She went upstairs to her sister’s bedroom and knocked gently.
“Come in . . .” Pippa’s voice, groggy with sleep, came from behind the door.
Pippa was sitting up in bed. Her eyes were dark with smudged mascara, but color had returned to her cheeks.
“God, how long was I out for?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. Without another word she held out her arms for Gracie, and Charlie passed the baby over.
“Most of the day. You must have really needed it.”
“I guess I did.” She looked down at Gracie lovingly. “She looks happy.”
Charlie smiled. “I did my best.” She perched on the end of Pippa’s double bed. “Thankfully, I had some help.”
Pippa was stroking her daughter’s hair gently, and Charlie noticed a single teardrop fall onto Gracie’s face.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Pippa looked up, shaking her head. “I feel such a fool.”
“A fool? Well, tell me about it—I have quite a lot of experience in that area.” She brought her legs up onto the bed, moving closer to her sister.
Pippa smiled weakly. Slowly, she began to speak: “I’m lucky to be married to a man like Luke, I know that . . .”
She paused, her brow creased with anxiety.
“I can’t tell you why I don’t feel happy, Charlie. But each day when I wake up—if you can call it that; it feels as though, since Gracie was born, I’ve barely shut my eyes—anyway, the kids are clambering on me, demanding my attention. Luke goes off to work, and then I’m on my own. Getting everyone ready. Cleaning. Tidying. Trying to make everything seem as if it’s perfect. A lot of hard work goes into this illusion.”
Charlie thought of the times she’d envied Pippa—the expensively decorated, tidy house, her happy marriage. It seemed such a thin façade now, Charlie couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen through it.
“I love them, Charlie,” Pippa said, her voice laden with guilt. “Don’t get me wrong. But I never thought it would be this hard.”
“Have you told Luke how you feel?”
“No. Even now. I’m a good actress, I suppose.” She said the words numbly, as if she were stepping outside herself. “But Luke knows something’s wrong. He knows what he read.”
“What he read?”
“E-mails I should never have sent.” Her cheeks flushed with shame.
“Oh God. Who to?”
“Will.”
“Will Mortimer?” Charlie said, wrinkling her nose, surprised. She hadn’t heard her sister mention him since they were teenagers.
“I know.” The tears were running down her face now. “It’s ridiculous. The whole thing. I haven’t seen him since we were nineteen and I was still studying.”
“What were you e-mailing him about?”
“He e-mailed me, out of the blue, said he’d been thinking about me. I sent a reply, just chatting, you know. I thought, any day now, I’ll get a friend request on Facebook. That way I wouldn’t have to spell it out—he’d see the photos of me and Luke, our wedding day, he’d see the photos of Gracie, Flo and Jacob.”
“So he knows now?”
“No. The thing is, the friend request never came. Turns out he doesn’t even have a profile. So then I realized I didn’t have to tell him everything.”
“What did you say?”
“I started writing to him in the middle of the night, when Luke was asleep and I was feeding Gracie. That three-in-the-morning stillness where you think there’s no one else in the world who’s awake. It turned out that Will was, though—and so we e-mailed back and forth. I told him about my job as a solicitor . . .”
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
“You wouldn’t believe how glamorous it is, Charlie. Media law. Very high-flying. A lot of posh lunches on expenses, and drinks in town after work.” She gave a wry smile. “Not here, of course. I’m in Manchester.”
“OK,” Charlie said, taking it all in. “So you got a little creative with the truth, and said you had a job that you don’t. That’s not the most awful thing in the world, is it?”
“That was the start.” Pippa rearranged Gracie on her chest. The baby’s breathing had deepened and she was snoring softly now. “I sent him photos of me—I guess they were about five or six years old.”
“You didn’t mention Luke?”
“No. Or the kids. I edited them right out of my life.”
“You didn’t say anything?”
“Nope. You see what I mean? I’m a pretty awful person. And you know what makes it worse? I felt better, Charlie. I felt better being that woman, the one I invented.”
Charlie took a deep breath. “Did the two of you meet up?”
“No, never. He wanted to—but I kept putting him off. I didn’t want to meet him. I just wanted to have that taste of freedom once in a while. But last night when Gracie wouldn’t stop crying, Luke went off to sleep in the spare room. He does that occasionally, when he has a big meeting the following morning and needs a good night’s sleep. The thing is, I didn’t realize I’d left my phone in there, still logged into my e-mail. I suppose he must have suspected something was going on, because he checked my account.”
Pippa stroked the back of her daughter’s head.
“He waited until this morning to confront me. Over breakfast with the kids, he asked me who Will Mortimer was. I felt sick. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. He went upstairs, so calm, packed his bags. He said he needed some space to think, told the kids he had to go on a business trip and walked out.”
“Oh God. That’s awful.”
Charlie thought back over the past week. How had she missed things being so wrong in the house? Sisters were meant to have some kind of special intuition, weren’t they? But she’d been too caught up in her own annoyance with Pippa to see through her behavior to the underlying cause. Her marriage was in serious trouble, and what she needed wasn’t someone to pass judgment but a good friend and listener.
“How do you feel now?” Charlie asked.
“Bloody awful. Like everything’s been turned upside down.” Pippa started to sob again.
“Do you still love him?”
“Yes,” Pippa said, wiping her nose hurriedly with her hand. “I think so. Yes.”
“Then we have to find a way to fix this,” Charlie said, trying to focus her mind on a solution. “What about one of those counseling hotlines? Relate, maybe?” She picked up her phone to find the website.
“Don’t,” Pippa said, putting a hand on her sister’s arm to stop her.
Charlie paused and put down the phone.
“You know what I actually need at the moment, most of all?” Pippa said. “Time. To think. Get my energy back. Someone to help with the constant cycle of school runs and laundry and washing up. There’s so much to do, I never stop to give any thought to what’s wrong in my marriage, in my life. I need to work this out, but I can’t do it alone.”
Charlie looked at her sister. Pippa’s forehead was creased with worry, and there were fine lines around her eyes. She wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t even trying to be anymore.
“I
know I’ve been a cow,” Pippa continued. “And I don’t deserve for you to do this. But would you stay with me? I could really do with your company.”
Charlie saw the desperation in her sister’s eyes, then glanced down at Gracie, nestled in her mother’s arms. She wondered what would happen to them both if she left.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
16
Tuesday, September 16
“Charlie, you can’t just not turn up!” Jess said, furious. “I told you we needed you here. Where the heck are you?”
“I’m still in Scarborough. Something’s come up.”
“Something that means you want to throw your career away? Because it looks as though that’s what you’re set on doing.”
“I’m sorry, Jess, but it’s unavoidable. I’ve got weeks of holiday stacked up and I’m going to have to take some of it. I’d be happy to do whatever I can by e-mail—”
“I need you in the office, Charlie. That’s why you’re employed to work in the office.”
“I can’t leave right now. I’m sorry, but I have to stay another week at least.”
Overnight, it seemed as if Pippa had gotten worse instead of better. She’d sat up sobbing for hours, barely saying a word. Luke had called a few times but she’d refused to speak to him; she was convinced that he was only calling to tell her it was all over, that she’d ruined things between them.
“How am I supposed to trust you with the next edition? We’re due to go to print in a few weeks and we have no articles or reviews yet—you do realize that, don’t you?” Jess said sternly.
“Yes, I do,” Charlie said, lowering her voice so that Pippa and the children wouldn’t hear her. “And I’m working on it. But I’ll have to do it from here. I’m sorry, Jess, but this is a family emergency.”
Jess sighed. “I took a leap of faith allowing you to guest-edit this issue, and now I’m having to make excuses for you. I thought you were serious about this.”
“I am,” Charlie said, trying to keep her voice calm despite the mounting sense of desperation. “I’ll do most of the reviews while I’m here and have them edited and ready for when I get back.”
The Seafront Tearoom Page 10
