No Place to Hide

by Susan Lewis

  “OK, I’m at the airport now, no delays apparently, so I should get into Heathrow around eight in the morning.”

  “Which means you’ll be home by ten. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Same here. I’ve really missed you, and I’ve been worried out of my mind…”

  “Stop, I’m fine, I promise.”

  “But you shouldn’t be up and about already.”

  “The doctor said there was no reason for me not to go back to work, as long as I don’t overdo it.”

  “Which would be fine if he was talking to someone else; as it’s you…”

  “Matt, I’m over it, honestly. Everything’s back to normal, and that’s how we need it to be, for the children’s sake as much as for ours.” She wasn’t going to tell him, or anyone else, that her heart was still breaking over the second miscarriage she’d suffered in the past eighteen months. It wouldn’t help anyone, least of all her.

  “I shouldn’t have left you,” he said. “I felt terrible, I still do…”

  “You had to go,” she reminded him, “and once we knew it had gone there was nothing you could do here.”

  “Apart from take care of you.”

  “Darling, don’t let’s keep having this conversation. Cheryl and Gina did a great job of running everything.”

  “I’m talking about you, not the business.”

  “And they took very good care of me. As did Abby. She’s decided she might be a nurse now, instead of a singer.”

  With a smile in his voice he said, “Heaven help the sick and wounded. Surely that doesn’t mean the end of her girl band?”

  “Never let it be said, except the members keep changing by the week. Wes has joined them now, so technically speaking they’re not a girl band anymore. And only time will tell how well that’s going to work out.”

  Laughing, Matt said, “Is he planning on singing with them at the village hall on Christmas Eve?”

  “As far as I know, and he’s a part of the surprise they have planned for when you get back in the morning. I think you’re going to enjoy it.”

  “Having you all there would be enough for me,” he said, “but I’m intrigued to find out what it is.” With a sigh he added, “LA’s a great place to be when you’re all with me, but this is the fourth time this year I’ve had to come on my own and I’m not liking it much.”

  “But you’re loving the reason you’re there.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “Matt, flight’s up,” she heard someone say.

  “Who’s with you?” she asked, turning into the village, where rows of dazzling Christmas lights were strung across the high street, adding their own seasonal splendor to the German market stalls crowding the pavements. There were fewer people around than she’d expected, probably thanks to the rain.

  “Hayley,” he reminded her.

  Of course—his editor, who might be joining them for Christmas if she could get out of a prior commitment.

  Justine couldn’t say she was much looking forward to that, since Hayley wasn’t her favorite person. “She must be very pleased with the way things have gone,” she remarked, blowing a kiss to Ruby, the florist, who blew one back.

  “Everyone is. We’ll just have to wait and see if it all comes together now. Sorry, I should go. I’ll call as soon as the plane gets in.”

  After ringing off, Justine popped into the butcher’s, where Ronnie and his assistants were red-cheeked with the cold and a short queue of locals were waiting to be served. Catching his eye, she helped herself to a dozen eggs and carried them off, knowing he’d add them to her Christmas order. It was usually Matt who picked up the eggs from a nearby farm shop, but she didn’t want to ask him to call in on the way through in the morning. He’d be eager to get home, and she didn’t want him to end up feeling bad if he forgot.

  It was incredible the way things had taken off for him over the past few years—in fact, since their first trip to California, when they’d met the videogame genius Hachiro. Within a year Hachiro and his team of technical wizards had turned three of Matt’s stories into action-packed, interactive challenges for all major consoles, and thanks to a highly organized and targeted marketing campaign, they hadn’t taken long to catch on. So there were now McQuillan’s Masters, McQuillan’s Majors, and McQuillan’s Monsters, which had recently launched in time for Christmas. This one was causing some controversy, since the previous two had been suitable for all ages, whereas the British censors had slapped Monsters with a 12 certificate.

  Matt was leaving others to deal with that. His interests these days were more focused on the political thriller he’d taken three years to complete, which was now enjoying a huge success. The McQuillan name had some currency, it appeared, for he’d been reviewed and interviewed extensively leading up to publication, and the book was now sitting at number seven on the Sunday Times bestseller list, where it had been, in various positions including number one, for five straight weeks. And the reason Matt and his editor had flown to the States ten days ago was to meet his new US publisher in New York before going on to LA for discussions with a major studio that had offered a substantial sum for the movie rights.

  “Seems like some people have all the good luck,” Maddy had commented grudgingly when Justine had broken the news of the possible movie deal on her first full day back at work. “While the rest of us have to pick up the bad.”

  Justine had breezed past it. She was used to Maddy’s snipes by now, and she certainly wasn’t going to remind her of the reason she’d recently been off work. Losing a baby could hardly be called good luck, any more than the previous miscarriage could, or the countless other stresses and challenges they dealt with as a family or in the business.

  Finding Maddy behind the counter now as she let herself into the deli, Justine clocked the handful of customers, some at tables, others browsing the shelves—apparently the rush was over—and after making sure everything was running smoothly she went to join Ben and Chantal at a window table.

  “Hey, you two,” she said, sitting down with a steaming cup of camomile tea. “How was Longleat?”

  “Yeah, it was cool,” Ben answered, his eyes glued to the portable console he and Chantal were using to play Monsters. As Matt’s son, he’d had no trouble getting hold of a copy, and as far as Justine could make out, he’d been playing it morning, noon, and night ever since.

  It surely wasn’t good to be so obsessive; in fact, Ben was so single-minded and rigidly focused at times that it had ended him up in all sorts of scrapes simply for being unaware of what was going on around him. On the other hand, he’d always thrown himself, body and soul, into everything he did; he was determined to master whatever was put in front of him, and why would she want to change that when his grades were so good and it pleased him so much to do well?

  “Did you see the lions?” she asked.

  “Yeah, they were awesome,” Chantal responded, as distracted as Ben by the game. She was like a china doll, petite and pretty with feathery dark curls and huge sea-green eyes.

  “And the meerkats?”

  “Yeah, they were awesome too. Ben, no! No! He’ll get you if you do that.”

  “No he won’t. I’m going through the tunnel.”

  “He’ll be at the other end and smash you up.”

  “He can’t be. Look, watch.”

  Sipping her tea, Justine took a moment to watch her son, knowing she must soon go to help Maddy and the part-time servers who were on today. It had taken some time, but she’d just about stopped having a heart attack every time he climbed a tree now, which was something he seemed to do a little too often; she sometimes even wondered if he did it purposely to scare her. Or perhaps not to scare her, but to remind her of what had happened when he was five.

  Amazingly, unbelievably, considering how hard his head had hit the ground that hot July night, he’d ended up suffering no more than a mild concussion, and a cut that required just four stitches. Nevertheless, the emergency doctor had decid
ed to keep him in hospital overnight, just to be on the safe side, so Justine and Matt had stayed with him while Simon and Gina had taken care of Abby. Justine wasn’t sure if Matt had ever truly forgiven himself for the accident; they didn’t tend to talk about it anymore, but she knew there were still times when he woke up in the dead of night panicking that he might have let his son fall to his death.

  Thank God it hadn’t happened, but it had felt so close—or that was how it had seemed that night—and she could never think of it now without turning cold to her core as she heard the sound of Ben’s head smashing into the concrete.

  The love she felt for him and Abby surpassed everything, and never had it seemed more profound, more overwhelming even, than during the times she’d failed to carry a baby to full term. It was as though she was being reminded of how blessed she was to have them, how meaningless and worthless her world would be without them. Nevertheless, it didn’t change the loss that churned in her heart or turned her empty arms heavy with longing. It was a cruel trick of nature, the mind making itself ready for new life long before the body could deliver. It was as though she’d already held her baby, felt its breath on her skin, its hunger as it fed, its tiny fingers wrapping around hers. And unlike the fragile life in her womb, the feeling wasn’t yet ready to go away.

  While lying in bed recovering, she’d wondered if the loss was some kind of punishment for the way she worked so hard. Her conscience was always telling her that she should spend more time with Abby and Ben, take more of an interest in their music and sports, treat them to a day out at Longleat herself instead of relying on someone else to take them, but it never quite worked out that way. She tried, she really did, and it wasn’t often that she missed one of Abby’s concerts or an important match of Ben’s, but the pressure of the business was such that she was always being distracted by something, or forced to be somewhere else, and it was much the same for Matt. He did his best as a coach and a roadie, a homework assistant and improviser of musical instruments, but his commitments these days were even more pressing than her own. However, at least she was always there to see them off to school—being the ages they were now, they didn’t need her to take them when it was no more than a ten-minute walk with dozens of others along the back lane to the end of the village—and she was at home most nights to eat with them, and listen if either of them wanted to talk.

  Though she felt sure that what she did with them wasn’t enough, they were the first to tell her to stop worrying, they were fine and didn’t need to be babied. Indeed, they were a pretty independent pair, with, she quickly reminded herself, reassuringly good school reports, and more friends than she could remember the names of. At least Abby’s social skills were good, and her friends were certainly plentiful—and noisy. By contrast, Ben’s character was more introverted and somber, and his circle of friends wasn’t a large one, mainly due to his unusual sense of humor, Justine and Matt suspected. Even they had to admit it was strange at times, especially when things that simply weren’t funny had him laughing uproariously, or when he’d blink in mute confusion, even disdain, at a joke that had sent everyone else into paroxysms. Still, that was Ben, and just because he was a little different in some ways didn’t mean they loved him any the less—perhaps it made them love him more. Even his violent temper didn’t detract from the fact that he was probably one of the most generous children around when he wanted to be. He also continued to excel at sports, though his aggressive tactics often got him into trouble and had even earned him a few suspensions over the last couple of seasons. And his uncle Simon, who’d started taking him clay-pigeon shooting with Wesley, had repeatedly threatened to leave him behind if he didn’t learn to wait his turn.

  Looking at him now and feeling her love for his complexities warming her heart, Justine resisted smoothing his hair because he didn’t like it, and started to stand up. A sudden dizziness made her sit down again. A moment later, to her surprise, Ben said, “Mum? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, knowing she would be in a second or two.

  He and Chantal were both looking worried.

  “I lost my balance,” she explained. “I thought you two were too engrossed to notice.”

  Letting go of the console, Ben suddenly stood up and put his arms stiffly around her.

  Melting, she hugged him back, and found herself wishing he could be this affectionate more often.

  “Shall I let you into a secret?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Yes please,” she whispered back.

  “We know Father Christmas isn’t real.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “He isn’t?” she cried. “So who brings all the presents?”

  He glanced at Chantal.

  “Mummies and daddies do,” Chantal told her.

  “But where are we supposed to get them from if Father Christmas doesn’t exist?”

  “From the attic,” Ben informed her. “Me and Abby saw Uncle Simon hiding them up there.”

  “Oh, you rascals, you were supposed to be asleep.”

  “Abby came and woke me up. I think there’s a new bike up there for me.”

  “Oh, do you now?”

  “Chantal’s having one too.”

  Chantal nodded eagerly. “We sneaked into our attic to see what was there, didn’t we, Ben, and we found this pink bike with gears and a basket and a bell. You won’t tell Mummy we went up there, will you, Auntie Justie?”

  “OK, as long as you promise not to tell Uncle Matt that Father Christmas isn’t real, because he still believes in him.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” Ben scoffed. “He’s too old to believe.”

  “Well, you know Dad, he’s not like other people. Now, I’d better go and help out. Do you want another hot chocolate?”

  “Yes please,” they chorused.

  “Are we having tea here or at home?” Ben wanted to know.

  “You can have it here if you like. You should let your mum know if you’re not going home, Chantal.”

  “Her mum and dad have gone to pick up her granny,” Ben reminded her, “so she’s staying with us tonight.”

  “Of course. Sorry, it slipped my mind. You can have tea wherever you prefer. I’ll be here until eight, or Win’s at home if you’d rather have it there.”

  “We’ll stay here,” Ben declared decisively, and sitting down again, he promptly returned to the videogame.

  Going over to the counter where Maddy was serving someone with a large carton of Cheryl’s homemade fig béchamel cheese sauce, Justine handed one of the servers her teacup and took an apron from a hook on the kitchen door.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” Maddy tossed over her shoulder. “I can manage on my own; we’re not as busy now as we were earlier.”

  Catching the subtext, that she was a bit late in the day to be of any real help now, Justine said, “I’m fine. In fact, if you want to go early…”

  “No, I’ll stay. We don’t want you overdoing it.”

  After topping up the bowls of sun-dried tomatoes, pesto rice salad, and paella, Justine took over the till while Maddy helped an old lady out to her car. This was the thing with Maddy—as cutting and belligerent as she could be at times, she had a genuine soft side that never failed to remind Justine of how brave, resilient, and caring she was. Heaven only knew how she got through each day with the fear that her son’s blood cells might turn on him again. Every time he appeared overtired, didn’t feel hungry when he should, or threw up, she and Ronnie surely had to be racked with terror.

  Thankfully, for the past three years Neil had been exactly like any other normal, healthy child, though he was a year behind at school because he’d lost so much time when he was ill, and he’d only just in the last few months managed to get on the school football team. What a triumphant day that had been for the Hawkins family, and for the rest of the vale. Everyone had celebrated the occasion by throwing an impromptu party in the park. Justine had only found out later that Maddy, having downed al
most an entire bottle of vodka, had tried to seduce Matt. And when that hadn’t worked she’d turned her attentions to Brad, Cheryl’s husband, who’d ended up helping Simon and Ronnie to carry her home before she got herself into any serious trouble.

  As maddening and embarrassing as her drunken flirtations could be, no one ever held them against her, or reminded her of them later—how could they, when life had dealt her and her son such a rotten hand? She had to let go somehow, and it seemed that for her, flirting, or even full-blown sex—with someone other than her husband—and alcohol provided the necessary escape.

  Looking up as the door opened, Justine broke into a smile as her leggy whirlwind of a daughter came rushing in waving a copy of the latest NME and wanting to know if her father was still coming back tomorrow.

  “He’s already on the plane,” Justine told her.

  “Yes!” Abby shouted, punching the air. “He is going to be totally blown away when I tell him that Eric Burdon’s bringing out a new album in January. That’s what it says here. Or no, we have to try to get it for him for Christmas. Do you think we can?”

  “It’s worth a try,” Justine assured her.

  “And we have to get tickets for Madonna’s tour starting in May. She’s in LA first, so we either have to go there or somewhere else she’s playing, I haven’t got all the details yet, but we definitely can’t miss it.”

  “I’m sure that won’t happen.” Justine smiled, knowing that Matt, in spite of not being a big Madonna fan, would never let her down.

  “Ben, Chantal,” Abby shouted, turning to them, “come on, we’re going to practice our carols. We need to have them right for when Dad gets home in the morning.”

  “We’re having our tea here,” Ben protested.

  Abby spun round to her mother. “Can I have tea here too?”

  “Of course. Where’s Wesley? Did he go shopping with you?”

  “No, he’s with his grandpa today. We need him for rehearsals, though, so I should ring him, and I would if I had a mobile phone.”