by Karen Clarke
‘That’s a shame.’ She sounded disappointed. ‘I wanted to give Finny a wave.’
‘I tried to keep him awake, but he didn’t have a brilliant night.’
‘You must come and stay, as soon as you can,’ she said, as though it was that simple.
My last proper holiday had been two years ago – my honeymoon to Italy. I had a flashback to sun-drenched hills, to walking hand in hand through ancient, cobbled streets and drinking coffee in the shade of the town square, Dom’s eyes on mine.
‘I’d love to, Mum, but it’s not possible right now.’
She gave a soft sigh, then sipped from a floral teacup I recognised as one that used to belong to my grandmother. As she dipped her head, I spotted a slice of luminous blue sky through the window behind her and wished I was there.
‘How’s Dom?’
‘Fine. He’s at work.’
Her pale eyebrows drew together. ‘On a Saturday?’
‘He’s dealing with a new account, but there’s a problem with it.’ At first, I thought Dom had gone for a run, but when he hadn’t returned by the time I dragged myself downstairs to get Finn his breakfast, I saw he’d left a note saying he had to go to the office for a couple of hours and hoped I was OK.
I knew he was worried after my reaction to Elizabeth keeping Finn out the day before and not answering her phone or any of my frantic messages. I’d been on the verge of calling the police when she finally returned, smiling with mild bemusement when I demanded to know where she’d been.
‘I told you I was taking him to the stables to see the horses,’ she’d said, bending to scoop Finn out of his buggy before I could get to him. I couldn’t recall her mentioning it, and ended up snatching Finn from her grasp, making him cry. Not my finest moment. Elizabeth had looked dumbstruck by my reaction, her hands flying out as though to take Finn back, but I turned away, murmuring I was sorry while hoping she wouldn’t tell Dom. I knew she often called him after a visit, to give him an update on how I was, and he’d return from work with worried eyes. Yesterday had been no exception, and I realised it was a look I’d come to dread.
‘I overreacted, I know,’ I said, as soon as he walked through the door. ‘I forgot your mum said they would be out for a while and when I couldn’t get hold of her, I panicked.’
‘It’s fine. She’s sorry – she didn’t mean to worry you.’ He’d taken me in his arms and kissed my hair. He smelt of his favourite aftershave – the same one he’d worn on our first date – and I wept weakly on his shoulder, my mind lumpy with fatigue. Finn had cried on and off for most of the afternoon, once Elizabeth left.
‘I sometimes wish she wouldn’t tell you everything.’
‘You know it’s only because she loves Finn and wants to help you too.’
Loves him too much I’d wanted to say, but he moved away to pick up Finn from his playpen and I dried my face and heated up a lasagne I’d found in the freezer. While we ate, he’d asked about my lunch date with Liv and I exaggerated how well we’d got on, because I couldn’t bear to see any more anxiety and disappointment in his eyes.
‘We’re meeting again on Monday,’ I told him, relieved when his face had relaxed into a smile, reminding me of the cheerful, laid-back man I married. ‘Hopefully, Finn will get to play with Evie, the little girl she looks after.’ I decided not to mention Clare and Gary. He didn’t need to be reminded of them.
‘That would be great,’ he’d said, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
Tuning back in to my mother now, I sat forward on the sofa with the mug of coffee I’d made, angling myself to cast my face in a more flattering light. It was tiring, keeping up the pretence that everything was fine for her benefit. She was a hard act to live up to, having single-handedly raised me after my dad died of a brain aneurysm when I was two. She’d worked hard throughout my childhood to pay the rent and bills on our little house in Stevenage, and to make sure I didn’t go without, and had been a loving and supportive parent. If she’d struggled, she never showed it, but while I didn’t for a second begrudge her the happiness she’d found with Tomas and her new life abroad, I couldn’t help feeling like a failure in comparison.
‘Where’s your necklace?’ she said suddenly, eyes dipping to my throat. My fingers automatically went there, feeling its absence.
‘I took it off when I had a shower and forgot to put it back on.’ I didn’t mention it had happened yesterday morning. My grandmother bought me the silver butterfly for my twenty-first birthday and although it wasn’t expensive, it meant a lot to me. When I realised it was missing at bedtime, after settling Finn, I’d gone to retrieve it from the bathroom, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t in the bedroom either, though the paperback I hadn’t been able to find the day before was back on my bedside table.
I hadn’t mentioned the missing necklace to Dom, either. I didn’t want to give him another reason to suggest I visit the doctor.
‘So, what have you been up to?’ Changing the subject, my mother’s tone was hopeful. I knew, despite my efforts, she wasn’t convinced I was coping. I suspected she’d been in touch with Dom but couldn’t bring myself to ask.
‘Actually, I’m thinking of getting back to work,’ I said, impulsively. ‘Maybe retrain to teach history, or see if there’s somewhere local where I can put my skills to use.’
‘Sophy, that’s great.’ Her tone was careful, as though I’d suggested taking up ice hockey. ‘But Finn needs you right now, so don’t feel you have to rush into anything.’
Stung by her lack of enthusiasm, I continued, ‘Oh, and I’ve made a new friend. She’s called Liv and lives a couple of streets away.’ I sounded like an eight-year-old schoolgirl, eager for her teacher’s approval.
‘That’s wonderful!’ Mum instantly brightened. ‘Does she have a child too?’
‘She’s nanny to a little girl, nine months older than Finn.’
‘Lovely.’ Mum’s smile was warm. ‘Talking of nannies, how’s Finn’s other grandma?’ She hadn’t exactly warmed to Elizabeth at the wedding, intimidated by my mother-in-law’s social standing, worried that a widow with a much younger, Portuguese boyfriend wasn’t in the same class as the Pemberton clan who, Elizabeth had confided, were descended from royalty on her father’s side.
‘She’s fine,’ I said, not wanting to mention just how hands-on Elizabeth was in case it hurt Mum’s feelings. ‘Keeping her hand in.’
‘I’m glad you have some help.’ Mum paused, as if there was more she wanted to say on the topic, before changing her mind. ‘So, this friend of yours …’
‘Liv.’ I glanced at the time on my phone. ‘I’m going round to see her for coffee when Finn wakes up.’ I’d made up my mind when I saw Dom wasn’t there that I wanted to see where she lived. It would be good to get out of the house, especially now the rain had stopped, and I knew Dom would be pleased that I’d taken Finn out. If Liv wasn’t in, or was busy, maybe I’d carry on to the park.
‘Well, I’ll let you get ready.’ Mum sounded pleased for me. ‘Tomas sends his love, by the way. He’s on a tour with some last-minute guests this morning.’
‘Say hi, and love from us all.’
‘Give Finny a big kiss from his gran and send us some more pictures.’
Smiling, I rang off. Feeling unusually galvanised, I tipped my lukewarm coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug, then loaded Finn’s baby bag into the bottom of his pram. Once he’d stopped arching his back in protest after I woke him up, I wrangled him into his coat and shoes, strapped him in the buggy and set off for Lavender Drive. I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with fresh, cold air, more alert than normal. It felt good.
Squashing a flare of anxiety as I left The Avenue, I turned the corner onto Willow Grove, neatly lined with trees and immaculate, detached houses, before crossing onto Lavender Drive, my boots clicking the pavement in time with my heartbeat.
The houses were bigger here, spaced further apart and set behind stone walls or well-tended hedges, hidden from view. I was sure
Liv had said it was the last house on the street. I paused outside the wrought-iron gate for a moment and took some deep, steadying breaths. My neck prickled. Some sixth sense made me spin round, certain someone was approaching, but apart from a shiny car pulling out of a driveway, the street was deserted.
‘Get a grip,’ I murmured. Finn gave me a quizzical look from his pushchair and I bent to ruffle his hair. ‘It’s OK, little bear.’
Making my way up the path to the house, I noticed there were no cars parked on the drive and the blinds were drawn inside the windows.
Despite sensing the house was empty, I pressed the bell, hearing a chime reverberate inside. Finn kicked his heels and strained his arms, hands grasping as if to get out.
‘Not yet,’ I murmured, stepping back from the door, not sure whether I felt relieved or disappointed there was no one home. Maybe Liv had taken Evie to the park.
Finn was red-faced now, his toy cat Jiggles lying on the neatly trimmed grass at the side of the path where he’d thrown it. ‘Nana!’ he shouted.
Nerves prickled through me. I picked up Jiggles, dusted it off and handed it back. He immediately tossed it out again. I stuffed it in my pocket and rummaged a rice cake from his baby bag, handing it over like a peace offering. Mollified, he settled back and pushed it into his mouth.
On a whim, I headed round the side of the house on the off-chance Liv might be in the garden, which turned out to be a sweeping stretch of perfect lawn with a swing-and-slide set beside a drooping willow tree at one end. Behind it was a much smaller building made of bricks with a steep, tiled roof and two windows, like a child’s drawing. This must be the nanny pad Liv had mentioned, where she lived. Like a dog in a kennel. The thought was oddly upsetting.
As I hurried away with the feeling I’d glimpsed something I shouldn’t have, I felt a chill sweep over the back of my neck. Turning, I scanned the street. Had someone just darted out of sight, a darker shadow against the trunk of a tree? My heart began to race. Despite the cold, my forehead was clammy. Finn started crying, the rice cake crushed to crumbs down his front. Rain fell in a sudden deluge and the wind picked up, pushing my hair around. No point going to the park now. I pointed the pushchair towards home and ran all the way back.
Chapter 11
Liv
‘She’s a little beauty, Liv; you’ll miss her terribly, I know you will,’ Freya said as I made my way across the lounge with a tray of mugs. She was sitting on the brown Dralon fabric sofa Mum had had since Ben and I were children, her legs curled under her slim body, Evie asleep in her arms, cuddling her teddy bear. It wasn’t the first time I’d brought Evie to Mum’s – a modern terraced house on Chells Way in Stevenage – and there was no doubting Mum and Freya adored her. Truth was, I’d grown pretty attached to the little one myself over the last two months.
‘I will miss her,’ I said, putting the tray on the low table. But I won’t miss Gary’s wandering hands.
‘She loves this old thing, doesn’t she?’ Freya stroked the pink ears of Evie’s well-loved teddy bear.
‘God, yes – if I ever forget it, she sobs her little heart out.’
It was just gone eleven, and I’d been at Mum’s for almost an hour, but I’d only just announced I was giving up my job looking after Evie, though I hadn’t mentioned Gary was the main reason. It would only upset her.
‘So have you got another job lined up, Liv?’ Mum said, as she tickled Sparky’s fluffy ears. She hadn’t mentioned Sophy since I arrived, and neither had I. But now, it was time. I handed her one of the mugs of tea, and remained standing, feeling more confident that way.
‘I’m going to kill two birds with one stone.’ It was an awful cliché. I had no intention of killing Sophy. I would make her suffer, yes – and if that drove her to do something stupid, then I liked to think that that would be Karma.
‘I’m hoping to get a job looking after Sophy Edwards’s little boy.’ I couldn’t think of her as Sophy Pemberton; didn’t want to.
‘Oh, Liv, why would you do that?’ Mum wheeled her chair closer, and I plonked myself down in the armchair.
‘I want to …’ There was no point trying to explain. In fact I hadn’t planned what I would do exactly. All I knew was I had to get close to Sophy and play with her head. Punish her.
‘Be careful, Liv.’ Freya picked up a mug and blew on it. ‘You don’t want to do anything silly. Revenge is never sweet.’
My blood pumped around my veins. ‘I’m not being funny, Freya, but it’s not really any of your business.’ I regretted the words instantly. I liked her. Appreciated how good she was with Mum. She was quietly spoken, kind, had qualifications and experience that way surpassed what was needed to care for Mum.
‘So Sophy has a son,’ Mum said with a sigh. ‘She took my boy, and now she has one of her own.’
‘Don’t go there, Martha, please.’ Freya leant over and covered Mum’s hand with her own.
‘His name’s Finn,’ I said. ‘And the irony is I think Sophy needs help with the boy. She says she’s not on medication, but there’s something not right with her. She looks terrible, like she hasn’t slept for months, and she slurs her words.’
‘Do you think she drinks?’ Mum asked, a prickle of concern entering her voice.
‘Maybe.’ I shrugged, and picked up my mug. ‘She used to work at Apex TV with her husband Dom Pemberton. I’m pretty sure being a mother doesn’t agree with her.’ It was hard to imagine Sophy working too, being with colleagues, researching history, or whatever it was she used to do.
‘Postnatal depression, perhaps?’ Freya stroked Evie’s hair, rocking gently.
I sighed, and rose. ‘Actually, I think I’ll go to my room. Are you OK there with Evie for a bit, Freya?’
‘Of course.’ She beamed with pleasure. ‘She’s beautiful.’
As I climbed the stairs, passing the family photos in mismatched frames on the 1970s orange and brown floral wallpaper, I focused on a school photo of Ben. I was only thirteen when he left home, and never met any of his university friends until after his death. He never graduated in the end. Came home before his final exams. There was no doubt, looking back, that he was behaving oddly at the time. Locking himself in his room, not eating, or wandering the streets alone. He’d only been back home six weeks when he took his own life.
My eyes caught on a photo of Mum and Dad smiling on a holiday in Yarmouth, long before Ben died. If Dad had stayed, would Mum be in a wheelchair now?
Tears filled my eyes as I passed Ben’s room. The door was closed, as always. A Sabbath sign saying Do not enter hung on the peeling paintwork. Mum had never had the heart to remove it, or change anything about his room.
Thoughts of the night before he died drifted in. I’d been on my way out, heading to meet up with mates. We would hang around the fountain in Stevenage town centre. At sixteen, we had no idea what to do with ourselves.
‘Hey, cheer up, bro, it may never happen,’ I’d said, meeting him on the landing. His eyes were dark and heavy, his hair greasy and too long.
‘It already has,’ he said, and smiled. ‘You haven’t got a minute, have you?’
‘No can do, I’m afraid.’ I pulled on my hoodie. ‘I’m late already. Let’s talk when I get back, yeah.’
‘OK.’ He’d turned and headed into his room, closing the door behind him. It was the last time I saw him, alive.
I hadn’t seen his desperation. I’d shoved the headphones of my MP3 player into my ears, and raced down the stairs two at a time, not looking back, eager to hang out with my mates.
Now, I entered my bedroom. It looked much the same as it had when I was a child. I sat down at the small desk by the window, and looked out over the sprawling estate, a heavy grey sky lying over the rooftops. I’d been so happy here as a kid.
I pulled out a sheet of paper and pen, staring up at the ceiling for inspiration. Watch Elizabeth, I wrote. I folded the note and shoved it in the envelope, and addressed it to Sophy. I would drop it through her door aft
er dark. It would unnerve her, put doubts in her already fragile mind about her ever-present mother-in-law.
Next I picked up my phone and called Ryan.
Ryan sat at the bar drinking a pint of lager, when I walked into the pub in Hatfield, where we’d agreed to meet. It wasn’t even noon. He was wearing a red-checked shirt and scruffy jeans.
I wheeled Evie in her pushchair across the patterned carpet towards him, the smell of beer and pub food mingling in the air. Imagining how horrified Clare would be if she knew her precious daughter was in a run-down bar.
Ryan turned, seeming to sense my approach. ‘Hey, Liv,’ he said, and smiled, a lovely smile that refused to light up his blue eyes. They were shadowed, bloodshot – he looked a bloody wreck. He dragged his hand through his dark, greasy hair. ‘Drink?’
‘Lemonade,’ I said, and handed Evie’s cup to him. ‘Some tap water in there too. Cheers.’ I moved to the corner by the window, and sat down. Waited.
He approached with the drinks, and sat down opposite me.
The first time I met Ryan was at Ben’s funeral, when he introduced himself as Ben’s best friend. He got pissed at the wake, and cried. Being younger, I hadn’t really absorbed how desperate he was, too focused on the damage done to my own family. But over time we became good friends. Leant on each other a fair bit. But that’s all we ever were – friends. In fact, he almost became my replacement brother for a while.
‘It’s good to see you, Liv,’ he said, and turned to Evie, who was chewing a cloth book that she’d been playing with at Sophy’s, that I’d forgotten to give back. ‘And who’s this little one?’ He looked into my eyes. ‘Have I missed something?’
I laughed. ‘God. No. This is Evie. I’m her nanny.’ He knew I’d trained in childcare, I’d told him before, but he didn’t seem focused back then.
‘Ah. OK.’ He took a swig of his lager. Rubbed his hand across his stubble. ‘She’s a cutie.’
‘She is.’
‘So what have you been up to, Liv? I haven’t seen you in ages.’
