He let out a sigh, as if reluctant to answer the question. ‘In short, anything of value that isn’t a structural fixture or is on your person, so your wedding ring and such is safe, but other than that, pretty much everything, unless an item can be proved to be of educational necessity or a disability aid, that kind of thing.’
‘Oh God, I need to go and move stuff. I need to go and hide things! I need to get boxes from the basement, and I need to act fast!’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed, with what sounded like relief.
Nina cracked the window a little, grateful for the lifting breeze in the small, safe space. She found it hard to concentrate on any one thing as a tsunami of thoughts and ideas tumbled through her mind. She pictured tearing through the house looking for what might be of most value before the bailiffs arrived – and then where would they go? Where on earth would they go? She pictured her boys’ faces as she told them they would not be coming back to school. Both ideas were too horrific to contemplate. She thought about their friends, neighbours and acquaintances who had brought casseroles to the house, written heartfelt cards of sympathy and held her tightly but briefly upon leaving. She pictured her brothers-in-law, wondering if they could help. Who did she feel comfortable asking for money from? How many of them could she confidently pick up the phone to and ask if they could all come and stay for a while . . . ? The horrible truth was that she didn’t know. She made the decision to hit the phone the moment she got home.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs McCarrick.’ She jumped at the sound of his voice; she was so lost in her thoughts she had quite forgotten he was on the end of the line.
‘Yes.’ Everyone was sorry; it didn’t help her one jot.
‘I know it’s probably of little comfort, but we have a farm out at Saltford. There are empty barns and a lot of space. If you need storage – and you might – please let me send one of the horseboxes down to collect and keep anything you might want for you for as long as you need.’
‘Thank you. I will think about what I need to pack and how to get it done.’
‘Please do. And I can’t stress enough that time is of the essence.’
‘Right. Thank you.’ She knew she had to go home and start making calls and packing, but wished she could instead run, and keep running.
‘It’s the least I can do for Finn. He was a good man and often did me a favour. We wanted a stable block converting to holiday lets. McCarrick Construction did a magnificent job and his invoice was very fair. Anyway’ – he coughed – ‘the offer’s there.’
‘Thank you.’
Minutes later she heard the glorious, familiar sound of her son’s laughter.
She rolled her window down a sliver further, watching Connor and his friends approach through the rearview mirror.
‘No way!’ Charlie shouted, and shoved George on the arm. ‘I think you like her and this is your way of distracting us, by ribbing me.’
‘I don’t!’ George protested, ‘I like Florence, which is pointless because she thinks I’m a dick.’
‘Because you are a dick,’ Charlie added.
‘Thanks for that!’ George laughed. ‘And as for you, Connor, not only are you a dick, but you are an unpopular dick, and girls like Phoebe only go out with the popular boys. She is way out of your league.’
Connor placed his hand on his heart and feigned being wounded. She could see from his hesitant stance that he was trying to join in, trying for normal, as if he weren’t living under the wearying shadow of grief. ‘Hey, I know I’m not popular, but playing rugby for the first team can’t harm my chances.’
‘Mate, it’s your only chance!’ Charlie slapped his friend’s back.
The sound of their comical banter and easy laughter made Nina’s stomach lurch. She remembered when she had enrolled Connor into the primary school, the pride she felt at being able to drop into conversation that her boy was going to be attending. It had felt wonderful. In her mind, it elevated her, as tangible proof that she had risen above her life of hardship. She was no longer a poor girl from Portswood, Southampton: her son went to Kings Norton College, and that was really something. She wore her wealth like a suit of armour; it offered protection from all that had frightened her growing up. Marrying the newly wealthy Finn meant she didn’t have to worry about hunger, discomfort or displacement; their financial position gave her stability. Or so she had believed.
‘Smoke and mirrors,’ she whispered, ‘smoke and mirrors,’ as she watched her boy flick his long fringe from his eyes before opening the door to the passenger seat.
‘How was your day, love?’ she asked, as calmly as she could manage.
‘Okay,’ he responded as he pulled his phone from his pocket and began texting, likely someone who he had seen in person not a minute before.
‘I saw you chatting to George and Charlie. What are they up to?’
Connor shrugged. ‘Not much.’
Nina nodded and stared ahead. Today silence was welcome.
Soon Declan appeared – relatively chatty, though a little more subdued than was usual, but that was no less than she expected. She did her best to nod in the right places, but all she could think of was telling the boys of the situation they were in. So many questions spun in her mind. Would it be better to tell them right away and give them a chance to say goodbye to their teachers, their friends? Or to give them one more night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep, and let them enjoy the normality of their routine? If only she could consult with Finn. Nina pictured him again, leaving for work with a smile and a wink, sipping his coffee and kissing her on the cheek.
‘I could have helped. You could have trusted me. I would have liked that chance.’
‘What?’ Connor turned his head towards her.
‘Nothing.’ She cleared her throat, surprised that she had spoken out loud.
Nina pulled into the driveway and tried to hold the front door key steady in her shaking hand. It was hard not to consider how many more times she would perform this ritual, walking into the only proper home she and her boys had ever known. Her eyes lingered on the decadent vase of blooms and the wide, plush staircase. Suddenly she felt the flush of wonder at the magnificence of it all, just as she had when they had first moved in: when it took an age to sink in that this fine property was actually hers, it was her key that fitted the lock! She had the same feeling she got when a wonderful holiday was coming to an end. The sight of the sea in stunning moonlit iridescence, the sand that felt extra fine under the soles of her tanned feet, the clink of ice in a glass . . . The whole house was suddenly alive with the same awe she felt on the first day she saw it, because she knew that, very soon, she would be leaving it all behind. A little voice in her head spoke calmly: You didn’t really think this was your life, did you, Nina? Didn’t really think that someone like you deserved all this?
She looked at the grain of the front door and committed it to memory. Her heart lurched at the prospect of what might come next. Where might they go? It was as if the problem were too huge to consider, and she could only see the vast sum of money, as if written on a cheque in the air: Eight million pounds . . .
‘When you’re ready.’ Connor stood slightly to her right and nodded at the door, irritated by his mum’s unhurried pace.
The boys dumped their bags at the foot of the stairs and clambered up to their bedrooms. She stood frozen in the foyer. What had she done with her life, other than marry well? She had sworn when she left Portswood that she would never be poor again, that she would accomplish something, take up nursing – the profession that had called to her during her childhood, perhaps a result of losing her mum and wanting to learn, as best she could, how to fix people. But what had she actually done? Other than becoming a mum and learning how to arrange flowers? Not much. Without Finn and his money, she was helpless.
The reverie broke. Nina walked briskly into the kitchen and flicked the switch. The light reflected the diamond-like sparkle in the black granite counter-tops.
She pictur
ed herself at eight years of age, standing with a chipped plate held to her chest, turning in a circle, looking for a place to sit or stand to eat the stew her gran had made for supper, the thick gravy of which threatened to slop from the shallow sides with every move she made. ‘Sit and eat! You’re making me dizzy,’ Gran had shouted, but that was the trouble: she couldn’t find a space. The chairs were piled high with laundry, both clean and dirty, and the drop-leaf table was crowded with all manner of clutter: a stack of newspapers, and seedlings that had taken root in the soil-filled bottoms of old cordial bottles, which had been lopped in half for this very purpose. There was a pair of boots with one sole flapping like a thirsty mouth, awaiting glue, and a fancy padded rainbow-filled box of make-up that belonged to her Aunty June. How she would have loved to stick her little hands inside and dabble in the unknown, plaster her face with the powders and preparations that her aunt was so deft with, applied liberally before she went out on the town in her short, short skirts. But she was too shy to ask.
‘For the love of God, sit down and eat your bloody tea!’ her gran had barked again. Nina jumped, her daydream of blue sparkly eyeshadow broken, and suddenly the gravy was dripping like a sludgy, dark waterfall over her white school shirt, onto her skirt, and dribbling onto the hairy carpet.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ her gran had shouted, which meant another jump of fear and the chewy blocks of stewing steak tumbling like tiny meat rocks down her front. The dog ran over, hoovering up the treat and licking at the carpet. Tiggy laughed into her hand, her grandad turned his doughy face away, as if he might be able to distance himself from the whole affair. Nina remembered looking up at her gran, her legs shaking as she waited to feel the full force of her wrath . . .
Nina shook the memory from her mind. She needed to focus. She picked up the phone and called Finn’s brother Anthony, rehearsing in her head what she might say. ‘Hi, Anthony, I know this is a little out of the blue, but we need somewhere to stay . . .’ You can’t just blurt that! She tried again. ‘Hello Anthony, I was hoping to ask you a favour . . .’ She felt a combination of relief and disappointment when the answering machine eventually kicked in. ‘Hi, Anthony, it’s Nina, erm . . . if you could give me a shout, that would be great. Thanks.’
Michael answered her call immediately. ‘Nina, it’s good to hear from you.’ She felt uncomfortable at his intonation, as if the lack of contact could be laid squarely on her shoulders, hers the responsibility to call him, and not the other way around. ‘How are you?’ He kept his tone low.
She closed her eyes, as if the words might flow better if she could hide a little. ‘Not so good actually, Michael.’
‘I’m sure. That was a daft question, of course you’re not good. I can’t believe he’s gone, so God only knows what it’s like for you and the kids.’
She felt her muscles unknot a little at his words of empathy. ‘The thing is, Michael, we are in a bit of a fix.’
‘Oh?’
Nina steadied herself against the counter-top. ‘We need to get out of the house, it’s being sold, and I was wondering if we might be able to come and stay with you and Marjorie for a bit.’
‘Come and stay with us?’ His tone made the request sound ridiculous.
‘Yes,’ she managed.
She heard him swallow. ‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate.’ She pictured her dad, hands in his pockets, asking at the next shop, ‘I need a job. I need it, man. I have two kids, and things are tight . . .’ She remembered the stench of desperation that had hung around him and the way he turned to her after each rejection with a big false smile that made her tummy flip. She now knew how he felt. And it killed her.
‘Desperate?’
She ignored the humorous inflection to his question.
‘Yes. We are bankrupt. Things are pretty bad.’
‘Wow. Bankrupt, really? I’m shocked. How come?’
She paused. ‘I guess a combination of things outside of our control, one thing too many for us to cope with, and things have folded.’
‘I feel terrible, Nina, of course I want to help you out, but we are tight on space. Marjorie’s mum lives with us now and so that’s the spare room gone.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Yes, ever since her fall . . .’ His voice trailed off.
She felt her energy fade. ‘Does Anthony have the space?’ she pushed.
‘He’s just sold his house. He and Netta are downsizing to a flat in Bournemouth, but not before going on a three-month cruise. Their stuff is in storage. I don’t know what else to suggest.’
‘That’s okay, Michael,’ she lied.
‘Look, if you are really stuck, then of course you can all come and crash on the lounge floor for a night or two.’
She noted the way his volume had dropped, as if hiding this offer from Marjorie. It told her all she needed to know.
The call finished with the usual politeness and she stared out of the window, her eyes roving the covered wood store. It gave her an idea.
‘Just stepping out for a minute, boys – be right back!’ she called up the stairs. She walked out into the dark, making her way along the winding road, using her phone as a torch. Before she lost her nerve, she knocked on Mrs Appleton’s door. The neighbour had been one of the first to arrive in the wake of the news of Finn’s passing, and had brought a peach cobbler, along with a prayer card. Nina closed her eyes, thinking she might be the answer to her particular prayer.
‘Oh, Nina! Hello, dear.’ The old woman spoke with clear relief that she recognised the person rapping on the door in the dark, her gnarled hand at her chest.
‘Mrs Appleton, I am sorry to disturb you, and this is going to sound like a very odd request.’
The woman’s brow wrinkled with curiosity as she remained half hidden behind the door.
‘The boys and I need somewhere to stay for a while and I was wondering if you had ever considered having lodgers here, or whether we might stay in your guest lodge in the garden?’ The low, flat-roofed building sat at the bottom of her rambling garden.
‘A lodger?’ The old lady fingered her pearl necklace.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t ask, only we are a bit stuck.’ Nina tried out the false smile that had stood her dad in good stead for all those years. ‘We would be no trouble and only clutter up a couple of your bedrooms, or as I mentioned, we could take the guest lodge?’
‘It’s a trailer!’ Mrs Appleton pointed out.
‘Yes, it would be fine. We’d be happy out there.’
The woman shook her head. ‘It would not be fine. You would not be happy out there. It’s out of the question. It has a big hole in the roof. It’s waterlogged, ready for knocking down – no one can stay in it.’
‘I see.’ Nina took a step closer. ‘Well, then how would you feel about having lodgers in your home for a while?’ It took all her courage to be this pushy, but desperate times called for desperate measures. ‘I’d be happy to pay, Mrs Appleton. I have some money and can get more, once Finn’s affairs are settled.’
‘I don’t want your money! Good Lord!’ The woman’s lip curled in repugnance as she retreated a little further inside. ‘And lodging here is out of the question too. Mr Busby hates strangers and noise and children.’
‘Mr Busby?’
‘My cat.’
‘But . . . but we are people, and we need help, and I am asking you for that help, and he is a cat! A cat!’ She hadn’t meant to raise her voice.
The old woman pushed the door until she was speaking through a small crack. ‘You can’t come here in the dead of night and shout at me!’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout at you,’ Nina stammered. She chose not to point out that it was only teatime.
‘And the fact is, Mr Busby is my cat and this is his home.’ With that, she closed the door and the light disappeared from inside the hallway.
Nina retreated into the dark, walking along the lane with her h
eart hammering in her chest. Grinding her teeth, she felt the stirring of anger, even hatred, towards the man she grieved for. He had placed them in this situation and she had been swept along like flotsam on the tide. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Finn?’ she shouted into the night air. She whipped her head around to check no one was within hearing distance.
Back in the kitchen she grabbed two fat steaks from the fridge and then got to work on the onion rings and fresh garden peas. Preparing the food helped block out all the upsetting and intrusive thoughts that rattled around inside her skull. After supper she would start to pack.
She called to the boys to come and eat. Eventually both boys loped into the kitchen and took up their regular seats at the table. She hovered, sipping a glass of water. The boys ate quickly, eager to get back to their rooms where they too could drop the act and do as they pleased.
‘I need my kit for the holiday training, Mum.’ Connor swallowed a chunk of steak. ‘Coach says he wants me to bulk up a bit, so more protein, and I’m going to start lifting some weights.’
She gave a small nod. ‘Have you ever thought about joining another rugby club outside of school?’ She hoped she sounded nonchalant.
Both Connor and Declan let out loud bursts of laughter, as if she had told the funniest joke in the world.
‘Another rugby club?’ Connor stared at her. ‘There is no better place to play rugby. We have produced more England players than any other school. We are at the top of the school league for the fifth year in a row. We have pitches that professional teams come and practise on. The squad is trained by an ex-international coach. What other club could top that?’
‘I just thought it might be nice to meet other people, broaden your horizons a bit.’ Nina busied herself at the sink.
Connor returned to his supper, as if her suggestion were so crazy it didn’t even warrant a reply. When his plate was clean, he scooted his chair back from the table. ‘Thanks,’ he called as he raced up the stairs.
Declan laid his knife and fork on his plate. ‘Mum?’
‘Yes, darling?’ She looked up. ‘Oh, Dec, don’t cry.’ She rushed to him and held him close in a hug.
The Art of Hiding Page 8
