by Lulu Taylor
‘Oh God . . .’ Caz goes round the table to him, putting her arms around him. ‘Oh Rory. It’s too terrible. I’m so sorry.’
As long as Ady was in his comatose state, Kate’s absence made no difference to him. But now . . . This makes it all different. But I swore. I swore I wouldn’t tell.
Another voice in her head says, But she doesn’t know about Ady.
Does she want to know? She wouldn’t talk about him. She wouldn’t mention him. She wouldn’t mention Heather either. Both of them were off limits, as though the only way she could cope was to erase them from her mind. Except, Caz remembers . . . one time on the phone, Kate said to her, ‘They want to take Heather away from me.’ And she thought, how can they do that when she’s already been taken away?
She pulls away from Rory and sits down next to him.
‘I don’t know what to feel,’ he says huskily. ‘I haven’t told him about Heather yet. I can’t. I’ve just said that Mum and Heather can’t be with us right now. I’m happy I have him, that he’s going to be all right. But, Caz . . . when I think about what I’ve lost.’
She hushes him gently, putting a comforting hand on his. She looks into his eyes and they are full of tears. ‘Oh Rory,’ she says, her heart aching for him. ‘You’ve been through so much. I’m sorry it’s still so terrible. But Ady is back with us. That’s wonderful.’
‘It’s not complete without Kate.’ He looks up at her, agonised. ‘Caz, I’ve always been your friend, haven’t I?’
She nods. It’s true. When Philip left, Rory was there for her. He came round whenever she needed him, mending the boiler or putting up shelves, just helping out. He didn’t ask about Philip, just said, ‘Are you all right?’, accepted the coffee or beer she offered him, and got on with sorting out her problems. The practical ones, at least.
But Kate is my best friend. She has been right from the start, when I was pregnant with Leia and Kate had Ady on the way.
They met at their antenatal group. About the same age, with similar backgrounds, both working in those hectic office environments where the to-do list is never quite ticked off and the desk never completely clear, they hit it off at once and became firm friends. Two years later, they had their second children just a few months apart. Caz had Mika before Kate had Heather, and Kate helped out, taking Leia when Caz desperately needed to focus on the baby. Later, when Heather came, Caz did the same for her. As things returned to an even keel, they used the same nurseries and minders so that they could share runs. Their children were in the same class at school, and they passed each other tissues at nativity plays and assemblies. They discussed kitchen blinds, the merits of almond milk, causes of eczema and how to get rid of nits – they always had to delouse at the same time, with spending so much time together. They jogged in the park when they were feeling energised, and sat about watching reality TV with wine and snacks when they weren’t. They invented the rolling babysit: one couple took the other’s children from Friday night until Saturday afternoon, when the other couple took delivery of all four until Sunday afternoon. They took turns for the plum prize of Saturday night and Sunday morning; the first shift was easier knowing the pleasure that lay ahead: a Saturday night out and a lazy Sunday morning with the papers and breakfast, made all the sweeter by the knowledge that in the other house, there were screaming demands for pancakes and cushion fights in front of a Pixar movie.
Caz and Kate seemed to feel the same things as if by instinct. They moaned and laughed together, but never argued, except over reality show contestants. If they were irritated with each other, they took it home, offloaded on their husbands and let it go. They showed apology by suggesting a night out at their favourite bar, eating pickled anchovies and drinking Prosecco, giggling and gossiping until the cause of the discord was forgotten.
It was a happy time. We were so close, Caz thinks wistfully.
Those carefree times ended when Phil left. It was different when they were no longer two couples. Now Caz needed Kate more than the other way around, and she rose to it. The two of them spent hours talking about Philip and the woman he’d gone off with.
‘Fucking internet fucking dating!’ Caz would say with feeling, pouring out another glass of wine.
‘Amen!’ said Kate, raising her glass.
‘I can’t believe someone was so stupid as to take him on.’
‘I expect they’ll be miserable,’ Kate consoled her. ‘Or happy in the way that idiots can be when they pair up.’
‘Yeah.’ She gulped her wine down.
‘He’ll regret it,’ declared Kate. ‘It’s obviously a midlife crisis. We should have seen it coming when he took up cycling and Lycra-wearing.’
‘He probably wanted me to find those messages to the floozy. I bet he left the phone at home on purpose. And then ringing me and asking me to look for it! He might as well have just taken out an advert in The Times: “I am having an affair and intend to leave my wife immediately.”’ Caz laughed bitterly. When she’d discovered the affair, she’d called Kate in tears. Kate had come straight round with emergency wine and tissues. Don’t do anything rash, she counselled. Wait and see what happens. You might be able to get through this.
Phil came home that night and he guessed at once that she knew, and she sensed he was glad it was all out in the open. He was gone within the week. Caz begged him to stay, desperate to keep the family together. She even invited him round, cooked him supper, opened some champagne, and tried to seduce him. He turned her down. It was the most humiliating experience of her life. But she knew then it was truly over.
Kate was there for the hours and hours Caz needed to talk it through and start coming to terms with what had happened, and to help her bear the awful act of handing over the girls to Phil every other weekend. She listened to the same stories over and over, analysed Phil’s behaviour, and hugged her when she cried, while gently pushing Caz towards letting go of the whole horrible mess. The comfort, the talking, the bolstering – Kate did it all.
When Kate moaned about Rory, as she did sometimes, Caz couldn’t understand it. Ever since she’d known them both, she’d been envious of what they had. It was true that Rory wasn’t exactly dynamic. He was one of those men who are content with their lot: he loved their beautiful house, their children and, obviously, Kate. He didn’t want more than he had. He told Caz once that he’d have been content to stay in the tiny flat they started out in. Kate had got them where they were: she earned more than he did and was always the one pushing for the bigger car, the nicer house, the things to go inside it. She wanted life just so, and she loved decorating their home, making it exactly right. She had strong ideas, vivid pictures in her head of how life should be lived, and Rory was happy to go along with it. Kate could be firm, there was no doubt about that. And Rory was the opposite – malleable and adaptable, eager to keep the peace. At first that seemed to work well but it was also, Caz supposed, how they’d got into trouble. He didn’t want to rock the boat. He didn’t want to tell her that everything she’d worked so hard for was at risk.
But sometimes in the course of those long nights, over the open bottle, when they’d talked about Phil for hours on end, it was Kate’s turn.
‘The problem with Rory . . .’ she would say, and she’d be off. It was his silence that drove her mad, his introverted ways, his preference for communicating through hints and inference rather than straightforward dialogue. The way he kept his opinions to himself and let hers just wash over him, agreeing to everything for the sake of an easy life.
‘But didn’t you realise what he was like when you married him?’ Caz asked, in half-disbelief.
‘No. Honestly, I didn’t. I think maybe I was talking for the first decade,’ Kate said wryly, ‘and I didn’t notice when he didn’t say much in return.’
Now that she had noticed, she couldn’t unnotice it. Their relationship, like most, had started with mutual enchantment and the certainty that life together would be full of lazy, sexy, laughter-filled afternoon
s, and then moved to the realisation that the other person, married with such conviction, was pretty much a stranger.
‘I never knew Phil!’ Caz exclaimed. ‘Not a bit. He was a complete mystery to me, the whole bloody time. That’s obvious now.’
‘But maybe you knew Phil at a certain point in his life. And he isn’t that person anymore.’
‘Maybe. Or maybe marriage is just a complete illusion. An attempt to pretend we’re not totally alone in the world with only a pretend togetherness to comfort us.’
‘That’s a downbeat assessment, isn’t it?’ Kate thought for a moment and said, ‘So marriage might be a duff. But what about children? That’s more than pretend togetherness, isn’t it?’
Caz nodded slowly. ‘Yes, maybe it is. That’s the only love you can rely on lasting. You always love your children – at least, I can’t imagine not loving Leia and Mika.’ She laughed wryly. ‘Okay, maybe if they were really ghastly serial killers, it would be tricky.’
‘But it’s bittersweet,’ Kate remarked, ‘because they’re always going away from you. From the minute they’re born, they are growing up and away. All you can do is treasure every moment with them while you’re the centre of their worlds.’
‘True.’
They were both quiet, considering their own children. Caz said, ‘I’m still at the lioness stage – you know, I would savage anyone who hurt them. I suppose as they grow up, that feeling must subside.’
Kate nodded. ‘It has to. I can’t imagine my mother savaging anyone who hurt me these days.’ They both laughed, because Kate’s mother was notoriously lazy and found it hard to get off the sofa unless it was to refresh her gin and tonic. ‘She prefers to savage me instead,’ Kate added and they laughed some more, because Kate’s mother had started sending emails late at night when she was, presumably, drunk and wanted to share some home truths about why Kate had turned out so disappointing.
Even though Caz understood some of Kate’s frustrations with Rory, she couldn’t help thinking that he seemed a perfectly lovely husband. Rory was completely uxorious. He never went to the pub, barely drank, never leered or flirted or patted nearby behinds. He liked being at home with the family, cooking meals for them all, pottering about, helping Kate in her latest desire to paint this room or rearrange that one. Kate had begun to take it all for granted. Caz’s guess was that Rory’s gentleness and tick-tock predictability had lulled Kate into a false sense of security. She had grown to think that her husband had no other life than what she saw, no secrets at all.
Now, when Caz thinks of how they were, she’s crushed by pain for them. No matter how much Kate moaned about Rory and thought that somehow he could be better, or do better by her, she’s sure Kate would go back to that old life in a second. Now she must know how happy she was.
‘Caz?’
It’s Rory, sitting across the kitchen table from her.
‘Yes?’ she says, snapping back to him.
‘Do you know anything you’re not telling me?’
She can’t meet his eye. She wants to look at him, into his slightly downturned eyes that make her think of a friendly dog. He’s got brown eyes with darker speckles in them.
‘Can we go through it all again?’ he asks, slowly now. ‘Just to be sure?’
‘Of course.’ She goes to the fridge, gets a bottle of Gavi that’s chilling there, and collects two glasses from the cupboard. As she pours out some wine, Rory says, ‘I’m driving.’
‘Just one then,’ Caz says. ‘Keep me company.’
‘All right.’ He lets her push one of the glasses over to him, but doesn’t drink anything, just watches as the glass mists with the chill from the wine. ‘So, let’s get this straight. You spoke to her three weeks ago. On a Monday. Right?’
Caz takes a big gulp of mineral-crisp liquid, then says, ‘Yes, that’s right.’
He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and picks up a stray pen so that he can start scribbling. ‘According to the neighbours, they saw her that day. But on the Tuesday, the car was gone and the curtains closed, and she hasn’t been seen since. So she left sometime between when you spoke to her, and Tuesday morning.’
‘Yes, she must have.’ She wishes he would pick up the glass and have a drink.
‘What was her mood like? What did she say?’
Caz thinks back to the last conversation with Kate before she put her plan into action. She could say, ‘Well, Rory, she was a bit like a general about to embark on a campaign, issuing orders and fixing her last-minute hitches. She gave me my instructions about how I was to contact her and left.’ She doesn’t say that. She feels helpless, unable to tell the truth and not wanting to lie.
‘Caz!’ Rory puts his hand out and covers hers. She jumps slightly, surprised by its soft, smooth warmth and the way it feels so human. ‘I’ve been round here several times, asking you the same things over and over. You say you don’t know anything but I don’t believe you. I think you’re hiding something. You and Kate are best friends, you tell each other everything. I just can’t believe you have no idea what’s happened to her.’
She drags her gaze up to meet his. His brown eyes, usually so soft and almost pleading, are burning and bright. ‘This is serious,’ he says. ‘Ady needs her. The police are looking for her. I’m concerned about her. You know what her mental state was like. Aren’t you worried about her?’
Caz takes another drink. ‘Yes, of course. I’m desperately worried.’
‘We both know she was in a bad way when she left. All the pills she was on.’ Rory’s eyes are expressive, although he doesn’t say out loud what he must be thinking: that Kate was intending to kill herself when she disappeared.
Caz feels wretched. She wants to tell him everything – that as far as she knows, Kate’s alive and there’s a chance she might come back. The silence from Kate is beginning to worry her deeply and she yearns to share the anxiety with someone who cares as much as she does. And surely now that Ady is awake and asking for Kate, that means she, Caz, has a whole new and different obligation to a boy who needs his mother . . .
But I promised Kate. I need to think about it. I need to be sure before I betray her.
Rory stands up, his wine glass untouched. ‘If anything happens, if she gets in touch, you call me at any time. Day or night. Okay?’
Caz nods, not trusting herself to speak.
‘If I don’t answer, I’m probably in the hospital with Ady. So text me and I’ll pick it up as soon as.’
‘Okay,’ she manages to whisper. ‘I will.’
‘Thanks, Caz.’ He looks at her, those brown eyes more intense than she’s ever seen them before. In fact, she’s never known Rory be so insistent and forceful before now. ‘Take care. I’ll be in touch.’
She watches him go and then pours another glass of wine with a trembling hand.
Oh Kate. Please, please, please get in touch. I don’t know how much longer I can keep your secret.
Chapter Eighteen
Letty is going down the high street on her way to the hardware shop when she sees Cecily, walking towards her with a friend. They are bound to pass.
‘Cecily!’ she calls and waves.
Her sister doesn’t appear to hear or see her, but carries on talking to her friend and walking sedately on.
‘Cecily! It’s me, over here!’
Cecily looks up now, her expression stony, and without a smile or any acknowledgement, she crosses the road with her friend and they pass by on the other side, not once turning to Letty.
Letty watches her go open-mouthed. So it is not only Arabella who is now considered beyond the pale. She too is to be shunned. When she goes into the hardware shop, Mr Baker, who has known her since she was a girl, is polite but cool and unsmiling too. After she’s bought her bits and pieces she leaves, and gets only a nod and a murmur in response to her cheery farewell. It is no different in the bakery, where she stops to buy a couple of rock cakes from the plate in the window, except that the reception is even
chillier. Mrs Higgins flushes brick red as Letty comes in and can’t look her in the eye. She puts the rock cakes into a bag while straining to avoid any contact with her.
‘Mrs Higgins,’ she says loudly, ‘is something wrong?’
‘No, miss. Here are your cakes, miss.’ Mrs Higgins takes the money Letty holds out and is evidently deeply relieved when she takes the bag and goes.
After that, she notices all the villagers are giving her the same treatment. What can the problem be? she wonders. She cannot help feeling hurt at this unexpected shunning. She has always been a popular figure in the village, greeted by the tradespeople and the gentry alike. It’s very unpleasant to think that, for some reason, she is now persona non grata.
The next day, unable to stop thinking about what is happening in the village, she goes out again, bicycling the two miles, and, although she fears she may be a little oversensitive, she is sure that the situation is even worse than the day before. Doors slam at her approach and the road is crossed abruptly. She is certain that unseen eyes are following her progress and that she is being whispered about as she goes by shop windows. She walks on, indignant at this treatment and more than a little wounded. At last, she reaches the church, props her bicycle against the wall and goes through the lychgate and into its cool interior. It is, she realises, a long while since she’s been here. She used to come every Sunday, and sit in the family pew, but since the Beloved’s arrival, it’s been prayer meetings in the drawing room, services in the hall, and now in the new church.
Perhaps I’ll never come back here, she thinks, looking about at the marble monuments, the pulpit, the altar in its red and gold covering, the brass eagle lectern. All so familiar and, once, so awe-inspiring. But now it has lost its magic. It is like being in a theatre after a marvellous play, and going backstage to see the props are cheap and fake, and the costumes dirty and torn close up. She can’t believe she was ever taken in by all this. But now the Beloved has shown her the truth, she feels nothing in this place is real.
