by Paula Daly
‘I’m sure it’s something and nothing,’ Iona said, trying to smile, brushing it off as though it were a minor inconvenience. But it wasn’t. If the LEA was involved, it wasn’t.
I nodded, thanking Iona for her discretion, and told George to collect his things, quickly as he could. He didn’t make eye contact with me the whole time, didn’t say a word either. It wasn’t until I got him inside the car and was turning the ignition that he said, ‘It wasn’t me.’
I cut the engine. ‘What do you mean, it wasn’t you?’
He threw me a look that said I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and stared hard through the windscreen.
The sun broke through from behind a cloud, blinding us both. ‘George, reach into my handbag,’ I said to him, ‘and get my sunglasses. They might be in the side pocket.’
He lifted the bag on to his lap and pulled at the zip. It was in the habit of jamming and so he tugged hard a couple of times before it flew open, releasing a cloud of twenty-pound notes, which fluttered around us.
George looked at me agog. Shit, the money. I’d forgotten all about it.
‘Gather it up!’ I cried out. ‘Quick, gather it up before somebody sees.’
George did as he was asked, scrabbling around in the footwell. When we’d retrieved the last of them, we sat there in silence.
‘Are we rich now?’ he asked carefully.
‘No.’
‘Not even with all that money?’
‘Not even with all that money,’ I said. ‘It will only cover three months’ rent, sweetheart. So, no, we’re not rich. Tell me what happened at school.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Unfortunately, there’s no choice.’
A look of anger flashed across his face. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘I told them I didn’t do it. I told you I didn’t do it. But no one will believe me.’
‘What was stolen?’
‘Pokémon figures.’
My heart sank. ‘Which ones exactly?’
‘I don’t know. Leif says three were taken out of his bag, and the teachers found them in my bag.’
‘So how did they get into your bag?’
He glared at me again. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Jesus, George, if they found them in your bag – if a teacher found them in your bag – then who else could it be?’
‘But I didn’t take them.’
‘Could you not help it because you really wanted Leif’s figures and you didn’t think he would notice because he has so many?’
George sighed impatiently, saying, ‘You never forget which ones you have.’
‘So who took them?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘And why would they put them in your bag?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Have you had an argument? Have you been mean? Would another kid do this to get you into trouble?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘George! For God’s sake, I’m trying to help you! Don’t you see, once you’ve stolen stuff, people don’t care whether it was you who did it the next time or not? You’ll be blamed regardless!’
‘But I didn’t do it. And that’s not fair!’
‘I know it’s not fair, but it’s how it is!’
Why did this have to happen today? Why today, of all days?
I looked at George and he was crying. I was too angry to reach out to him. Angry with him. Angry with Winston for not being here again. For leaving me broke. Angry with myself for being such a fuck-up.
I rubbed at my face with my hands. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Okay, let’s start again. I didn’t mean to shout.’
He nodded, tears meandering down his dirty cheeks.
‘I’m all you’ve got right now,’ I said softly. ‘I’m the only person, except for your father, and surprise surprise, he’s not here. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes,’ he whimpered.
‘Christ knows I don’t need this today, George. I really don’t. But I am on your side, and I will back you up because you are my son. And whether you’ve done it or not, I don’t really care, because you’re all I have and I love you. But for me to find a way through this you need to stop being so mad at me, because I didn’t cause this. I didn’t make anyone steal anything. Whoever it was.’
I was still breathing hard, and my head was shaking. I worked to stifle a sob that was threatening to build.
‘I’m sorry,’ said George.
‘It’s okay. No one likes to be accused. I understand that.’
I turned the ignition and headed out on to the road. We’d gone about twenty yards when I became aware of George gripping his hands together so hard that his knuckles were blanched white.
‘Mum,’ he said.
‘What is it?’
‘I didn’t take them.’
‘I know you didn’t, baby. It’s okay. Let’s go home.’
34
THE SECOND PHONE call came from Nadine.
I’d barely got inside the house when I could hear her voice echoing through from the dining room. George had seen the answer machine flashing and pressed play, thinking it would be his dad. ‘So the upshot of all this is that Henry will be calling around with an invitation this evening. I’m so sorry about this, Roz, but you know what they say: If you want something doing, ask a busy woman. I do hope you’ll join us. I’m terribly embarrassed. Poor Petra didn’t know whether to say anything or not. I’ve given Scott a real earbashing. He was supposed to give you your invite at his last physio session. Anyway, hopefully no harm done and we’ll see you tomorrow.’
I stood looking at the machine. ‘No you won’t,’ I said, and went into the kitchen to find some alcohol.
A garden party, or afternoon tea, whatever you like to call it. This is what Nadine said. It was to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and was being held at a nearby hotel tomorrow. Friday. Nadine played it down on the phone – low key, nothing fancy – but this hotel was not low key. Esthwaite Manor was the place movie stars stayed when visiting the Lakes. No one I knew had eaten there, because it cost an arm and a leg, and non-residents of the hotel were not encouraged.
Anyway, of course I wasn’t going. And not that it made any difference to my decision, but Scott didn’t want me to be there – that was made clear by the fact he’d neglected to hand over my invitation. It slipped his mind, apparently. And then he mislaid it. Nadine wanted me there as Henry’s guest; of course there had always been an invitation for me, she said.
The reason she’d plumped for afternoon tea and not a full evening celebration? They were flying to the Galápagos Islands, via Atlanta, then Ecuador, on Saturday. And Scott knew nothing about it. It was something he’d talked about for years. The giant tortoises, and so on, and Nadine said if they didn’t do it now they’d never do it. So a boozy night was out of the question if they were flying long haul a day later.
She’d ended the call by saying, ‘Not a word about the trip, Roz.’ And then, ‘Can’t wait to see you!’
She was so bloody nice.
I used to smoke. Right at that moment I missed it like never before. It was the first thing I used to do when faced with a problem, a situation I found difficult. Light up, stand outside the back door, take a few deep inhalations, and the problem didn’t seem quite so insurmountable.
If I still smoked, I would smoke one after another now until my lungs were on fire. I needed a vacation from my problems; from my own brain, in fact. The party, I could deal with. I’d make an excuse for not attending and wish them well. The list for DS Aspinall, I couldn’t avoid. I had to face it. Along with the meeting with the LEA. And I needed time to think about these things. I needed space to work out what I was going to do. I did not need Henry turning up, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
I’d get out of the house. That was the answer. Avoid, avoid, avoid.
‘George!’ I yelled. ‘Wash your face, we’re going out.’
‘Where?’ he shouted ba
ck from the garden.
‘I don’t know. Wash your face, change your T-shirt, put on clean socks.’
‘I don’t want to go out.’
‘Do it!’
He ran past, flying up the stairs, treading heavily, making as much noise as possible, in the way kids do when they’re unhappy with what’s been requested of them. I’d have to tidy myself up as well. I threw the remainder of the wine down the sink and went to change out of my uniform.
Five minutes later, in a white shirt and jeans, I grabbed my bag. The front door was ajar. I could hear Dennis softly murmuring and George chattering away to him. George said once that the reason he liked Dennis so much (aside from him being the owner of a dog) was that he didn’t pretend to be interested in him. Unlike other adults.
Dennis either talked or he didn’t. He spoke when he wanted to know something but didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words just for the sake of it. Celia did enough of that for both of them.
I’d asked George if he thought I pretended to be interested in him and he’d chewed it over for a moment before answering, ‘No. You’ve got to ask me that stuff because you’re my mum.’
I went through to close the back door and, when I returned to the lounge, my handbag was lying on the sofa. I couldn’t leave with all that money stuffed inside it. I glanced out of the window and saw George squatting on his haunches, minus one shoe, now over on Celia’s side of the fence, tickling Foxy’s belly. Dennis held George’s removed shoe in his hand and appeared to be picking at the sole with a small knife.
No sign of Henry.
I unzipped the sofa cushion and began stuffing the money from my handbag deep inside. George had crumpled many of the notes, but I didn’t have time to start ironing them out so I just hid them the best way I could—
‘Anyone home?’
Shit.
‘Hey,’ Henry said.
I turned slowly. He had pushed the door open and was standing in the gap, smiling warmly.
‘Give me a minute?’ I said helplessly.
‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘Can I come in?’
‘No!’ I yelled, and he stood where he was, stock still. ‘No,’ I said again immediately, milder this time. ‘Sorry, just give me a minute and I’ll be straight out. There’s something I need to do.’
‘Ok–ay,’ he said slowly, perturbed but trying not to show it. He backed out, saying, ‘I’ll wait right outside.’
‘Shut the door, would you?’
A moment later, money hidden, I came out to find Celia had joined them and was firing questions at Henry.
‘I’m not sure what we’re having,’ Henry was saying, as Celia inquired about the following day’s celebration. Her friend Joyce from book club had eaten at Esthwaite Manor when it first opened and raved about the lemon dessert: it ‘just slipped down’, apparently.
Celia was very excited.
‘Roz, open your invitation so I can see it. Dennis, go and fetch my reading glasses.’
‘It’s not from Buckingham Palace, Celia,’ I said.
‘I know that,’ she snapped.
Henry turned to me. ‘Are you okay?’ he whispered, and I nodded quickly, not meeting his gaze, hoping he wouldn’t pursue it.
Before opening the envelope, I said, ‘I won’t be able to go to this, I’m afraid,’ and Celia did a double take, her mouth dropping open.
‘What do you mean, you’re not going? Of course you’re going,’ she said. Henry lifted his eyebrows.
‘Winston isn’t back,’ I explained. ‘He’s stuck in Cornwall.’
‘Bring George along with you,’ suggested Henry.
‘Thanks, but to be honest I don’t really think it’s a kids kind of place, especially when—’
‘You have got to go to this, Roz,’ Celia said, as though my life depended on it. ‘You cannot pass over this invitation. It’s simply too’ – she paused, trying to find the right word – ‘it’s too important,’ and she glared at me before flicking her head at Henry. As though he wouldn’t notice.
Henry said, ‘I’d really like you to come if you can. No pressure, but it’s going to be deadly dull. Scott will give one of his haven’t I done well? Speeches, and it would be so much easier to take if you were there.’
‘I really wish I could.’
‘And he’ll have all of his cronies there asking what line of business I’m in, and if I’ve ever thought of joining Rotary.’
A pause.
‘We’ll take care of George,’ Celia declared loudly. ‘Won’t we, Dennis?’
Dennis was making his way back across the garden, holding out Celia’s glasses. He agreed that it would be no trouble, smiling coyly at George, saying he could help out with walking Foxy.
I was being railroaded.
I protested again, but Celia was having none of it. She told me to stop being ridiculous, that she and Dennis were more than capable, that it was bordering on insulting, in fact, the way I was wavering over this. And then she told me to pass her the invitation.
A peculiar look of melancholy came over Celia then. She mouthed the words as she read. I watched, realizing in that moment that she was coming to terms with the fact that she would probably never be invited to an event at Esthwaite Manor. That ship had sailed. Observing her, you could almost see her letting go of a dream.
She gathered herself. Shook off the moment of sadness and got back to being Celia. She asked Henry if he would like a glass of cava – ‘We don’t do champagne on a weeknight!’ – and how about some of Dennis’s strawberries to go with it?
Henry said that he would, as I tried unsuccessfully to appear happy and grateful with the arrangements.
Inside, I was fighting the urge to run away. I wanted to grab hold of George, flee the scene, never to come back.
Which was exactly what I should have done.
35
‘WHAT DO YOU buy the couple who has everything?’ I asked Henry.
‘I’ll get a gift and put your name on it,’ he replied.
‘I can’t turn up empty-handed.’
‘You won’t be empty-handed, you’ll be with me.’
‘Okay, so what will you buy the couple who has everything?’
‘I’ll think of something.’
As it happened, he didn’t think of something, and we did as I’d feared: turned up without a present. When I became twitchy about this in the car on the way there, Henry reassured me that no one would notice, and he wasn’t wasting money on that wanker; he would take Nadine out for a nice lunch when they returned from the Pacific. ‘She’d prefer that,’ he said. ‘She’s always complaining she doesn’t get to spend enough time with me and never knows what’s going on in my life. Honestly, Roz, it’s fine.’
I wore my wedding-party staple: the chiffon dress from Coast with the tea roses on it, and a tense expression. The kind of look you see on a woman who feels fat in her outfit and no amount of cajoling can snap her out of it.
I was scared. Scared of the afternoon ahead, scared of seeing Scott in a public setting. Scared of giving my prints to the police.
I’d had a rethink with regards to the list that DS Aspinall had requested and rather than dilly-dally over sending it, I’d gone to town on it. Put down every Tom, Dick and Harry I could think of to keep the woman busy. I positioned myself three from the bottom of a list of around a hundred people, hoping that by the time she got around to fingerprinting me, something would have turned up to exonerate me.
A long shot. But it was the best I could do.
Henry told me to remain in the car whilst he jumped out, appearing on my side, opening the door and offering his arm. He wore a two-button tailored suit in blue sharkskin and he looked divine. Before we moved off in the direction of the entrance he stopped.
Turning to face me, he said, ‘Answer me this, were you reluctant to come here today because you’d rather not be with me, or because you’d rather not come at all?’
I hesitated.
He said, ‘The
truth, please, Roz.’
‘The latter,’ I said, dropping my gaze. ‘It’s not you, Henry.’
‘Okay then,’ he said, and he lifted my chin with his finger, placing a soft kiss above my brow.
His lips barely brushed against my skin but I found myself gasping at the feel of his touch. Embarrassed, I pulled away.
‘Wait,’ he said, looking at me intently.
I was aware of a car pass beside us. Aware of the breeze picking up and my hair coming loose.
With his eyes never leaving mine, Henry reached out and tucked the few stray strands behind my ear. Then he kissed me.
The smell of him, the soft push of his tongue inside my mouth, and my legs began to buckle.
‘Promise we’ll get away from here as soon as we can,’ he whispered as he led me towards the hotel entrance.
He slipped his arm around my waist, and it felt wonderful. I’d been turning up alone to these things – functions, birthdays, christenings – for so, so long. Henry pulled me in close like I belonged to him. And for one short, wonderful moment I felt like I did. I wanted to belong to him. His body was lean and tight beneath his suit. He smelled good. He wasn’t a dickhead.
‘What time did you tell your neighbours you’d be back to pick up George?’ Henry asked.
‘Around eight.’
He checked his watch. ‘We’ve got just under three hours. I reckon we show our faces, make pleasantries with the happy couple and sneak off the first chance we get.’
At that moment I felt a kind of dopey sensation drawing me towards Henry. And if he told me to follow him anywhere at all, I would do it.
Esthwaite Manor was built entirely from Lakeland Stone. It had a Gothic feel, with its three turrets, the steep pitch of its roof. When we reached the doors Henry said, ‘Brace yourself.’
It had been immaculately renovated. It was the type of place where you found yourself walking on the balls of your feet so your heels didn’t damage the flooring.
A pretty girl in a good suit who was manning the entrance told us that the Elias party was outside. If we made our way through the drawing room, she said, we’d find them easily enough. Henry took my hand and squeezed it before we continued. ‘I’m so glad you came,’ he whispered, and we were swept along by a tipsy group in their late fifties; people who populated the society pages of Cumbria Life magazine, attending charity events and whatnot. Their laughter was raucous, the accents broad, and I was happy to disappear amongst them as we moved towards the patio.
