by Julie Corbin
‘She’s awake?’ I take the tray and balance it against my hip so that I can hold my glass of water with the other hand.
‘Feeling very rested and just a little bit hungry.’ She wipes down the breadboard. ‘Why don’t you take it through?’
I add bananas and cheese to Charlie’s shopping list, then go along the hallway to Lisa’s room, pushing the door open with my foot. ‘Wakey, wakey.’
Lisa is sitting up in bed looking out of the window into the back garden. ‘I could have got up for that.’ She leans forward to take it from me. ‘Wendy insisted. I gave in because I thought I might get in her way in the kitchen.’
‘We like spoiling you,’ I tell her. ‘All these years you’ve been the one doing the looking after.’ I perch on the end of her bed. ‘Now it’s time for us to give something back to you.’ Her face is relaxed, no sign of the pain that often creases her forehead. Her skin is pale with a smattering of freckles over her cheekbones. Her eyes are grey, the colour of morning mist. ‘You look rested.’ I smile. ‘You look beautiful, actually.’
She laughs. ‘Must be because all morning I’ve been dreaming about Mum.’ She takes a sip of tea. ‘She was playing with us in the garden. Remember the one with the overgrown orchard at the bottom?’
I nod.
‘When I woke up, I felt like I’d really been with her.’ She puts a hand to her chest. ‘I’ve been left with a warm glow.’
‘Lucky.’
‘Do you remember how she used to sit on our beds and read to us?’
I do have a vague memory, a mingled feeling of warmth and cosiness, but it’s indistinct, mixed up with feelings for my own children. ‘I don’t know whether what I remember of Mum is true any more,’ I say to Lisa. ‘It’s such a long time ago and I’ve piled imaginary moments one on top of another.’
‘I remember that she loved to wear Je Reviens perfume.’
‘Ironic, really.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t want to die, Claire.’ She reaches over and takes my hand. ‘I do remember how much she loved us. Don’t you?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I wish I did, but I don’t. I think I was just too young.’
‘I had two more years to get to know her.’
‘I wish we’d talked about her more with Dad.’
‘We did try.’
‘You’re right, we did. As far as he was concerned, he’d given us Wendy and that was an end to it. He never seemed to be able to respond to our feelings.’ I’m frowning now and am conscious that I’m grumbling, but I don’t stop. ‘Two little girls and still he always put himself first.’ And probably a third little girl. I think about Mary, approaching me, her sister, and getting nothing but grief for it. ‘He was so bloody irresponsible.’
Lisa leans to one side and starts rummaging around in the top drawer of her bedside cabinet.
‘What are you looking for?’ I stand up. ‘I’ll get it for you.’
‘I’m looking for a violin. Thought I could play you a tune.’
‘Funny.’ I make a face and then we both laugh. She pats the bed and I sit back down.
‘So what have you been doing today?’
‘Well . . .’ I take a breath. ‘Sezen is with the police.’ I tell her about finding the passports. ‘She didn’t have an explanation, and she wasn’t willing to come clean about this mysterious man she knows, so she’s at the station being questioned.’
Lisa is chewing on her toast. ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘Could this be it, do you think? Could we find out who’s blackmailing Julian and then maybe the safe house won’t even be necessary?’
‘I’m hoping,’ I say. ‘I’m really hoping. Unfortunately, I couldn’t identify Sezen’s man as one of Georgiev’s people, so nothing’s conclusive yet.’
‘You’ve looked through mug shots?’
‘Mac met me this morning and we went to a café.’ I tell her about seeing Amy with someone else.
‘Oh, no! Poor Charlie.’
‘And then I don’t know what got into me. I came over all paranoid and angry and was ready to take on this stranger, in front of his children. Luckily, Mac got me out of it.’
‘So how’s it going?’ She eats the final piece of her toast. ‘With you and Mac?’
‘Good.’ I think about the way we parted just now: me angry that I was being kept in a position of impotence; Mac, just like Julian, trying to make me see that it’s possible to both convict Georgiev and keep Bea safe. ‘He’s doing everything he can.’
‘Nothing between you both?’
‘Lisa, believe me, sex is the last thing on my mind.’ Except as a means to an end. And that will be with Julian. I fully intend to seduce him this evening. It’s the best way to have him relaxed and feeling close and willing to open up to me. And then I’ll have the information I want.
‘And Julian still doesn’t know that you had an affair with Mac?’
‘I didn’t have an affair with him. It was a one-off, a mistake.’
‘I know you, Claire. No matter how drunk or unhappy you were, you wouldn’t have had sex with him if you didn’t have feelings for him.’
‘It’s irrelevant.’ She’s right, but none of that matters any more. ‘Here and now, with all this going on, it means nothing.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She moves the tray to one side and hugs me. ‘I’m not trying to be your conscience. I just know how much you and Julian love each other. You’re great together and you have fantastic kids.’ She looks around her. ‘A beautiful house. You have it all.’
‘I do, and I’m trying to hang on to that.’ I don’t say that at the moment life feels tougher than it has ever felt. That I’m terrified of something happening to Bea and that losing her is worse than unthinkable. It sets up an ache inside me that feels cataclysmic. I will never be able to forgive myself or Julian if she is taken. We have to act in her best interests. And if Julian won’t, then I will.
By nine o’clock in the evening all I can think about is engineering some space where Julian and I can be on our own. Sezen still isn’t back. Mac called to say they would be keeping her overnight. She isn’t talking. She’s being very polite but is refusing to say who the man is or how she knows him. She has said, however, that it has nothing to do with the Georgiev case. Whether this is true or not is anybody’s guess. Megan left around teatime and Julian has been spending time with the children. We still have Lara. Bea has persuaded her to sleep in her bed with her and I settled them down about eight o’clock. Lara asked for Sezen and I told her that her mummy had to stay out for another evening but that she would be back tomorrow. She readily accepted this, nodding her small head so that her black curls bounced over her cheeks.
I know that Julian won’t come to bed before midnight. Even though he has officially resigned from the case, he’s still involved in making sure it all comes together smoothly for the pre-trial hearing tomorrow. That means I’m going to have to tempt him upstairs. I rummage in my underwear drawer looking for something special. Last year we had our twentieth wedding anniversary. It was just before Lisa was diagnosed with cancer and she offered to look after the children while we went to Paris for the weekend. We saw the city, but we also spent a lot of time in bed. After a trip to the Louvre, we strolled back to the hotel along the Rue Saint-Honoré and we shopped in the boutiques. He bought me expensive silk underwear, the sort that, although beautiful to feel and wear, is both flimsy and impractical. I haven’t worn it since. I find it at the back of the drawer and put it on. A basque, it has upwards of thirty clips down the front. By the time I’ve attached the stockings to the suspenders, I’m almost puffing. I look at myself in the mirror: front, sides and back. I don’t look bad, all things considered. Better if I had some height, though. I slip my feet into heels and automatically my legs grow longer. I cover up with a short silk robe, a swirly pattern of pale blues and pinks. Pleased with myself, I open the bedroom door and then close it again. The erotic and the domestic, they don’t mix easily, and I’m forgetting tha
t it’s not a normal weekday; there are several other people in the house. Lisa is most likely asleep but Charlie and Jack will still be awake. They are in their rooms but might just go to the kitchen for a snack so I can hardly wander the hallway like this. I cover the whole lot up with the large towelling dressing gown that I’ve had for years. It looks incongruous with the heels, but it’ll have to do.
I walk down the stairs, the basque riding up on the waist until I’m forced to pull it down. The heels are higher than I’m used to and I compensate by leaning forwards slightly and swinging my hips from side to side. Feeling faintly ridiculous, I go to Julian’s study via the kitchen, have a slug of wine, then take two glasses and a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc down the next flight of stairs. As I pass Jack’s door, I hear him talking loudly on his mobile. He’ll be busy for a while.
Just before I open the door, I have second thoughts. Do I really want to try to manipulate Julian’s feelings this way? Bugger. I look down at myself and almost succumb to a feeling of self-loathing. Perhaps I should forget Plan A and move straight on to Plan B – the plan that involves Mac. I deliberate over this for a few moments, wrestling with the fact that forcing Mac to give me the details will involve even more deceit. Julian is my husband; Bea is his daughter. We should be drawing Bea away from danger together. It’s right that he tells me.
I pull the towelling dressing gown together around me and go into his study. He’s sitting behind his desk, papers laid out in front of him.
‘Still busy with work?’ I say.
He nods. ‘Reading through some of the bundles again. I don’t want any surprises at the pre-trial.’
I put the wine and glasses on his desk, pour us both some and stand behind his chair, leaning my elbows on his shoulders and resting my face against his neck.
He pats the side of my head absentmindedly. ‘So what’s on your mind?’
‘Just thought I’d come down and see if you want to come to bed.’
‘Is Bea in our bed?’
‘No. We have a temporary reprieve. She’s sharing a bed with Lara.’
He pulls me round on to his knees.
‘Julian, I was thinking . . . you know when we met?’ I’ve always liked his hair. It’s soft and wavy and springs back under my hands. I run my fingers through it. ‘Do you remember?’
He laughs. ‘Of course I remember.’
‘When we were stuck in the lift?’
‘I bet I can tell you the whole conversation, word for word.’
‘You can?’
‘Try me.’
‘OK. Let me think. I’ll tell you where to start.’
I look up at the ceiling and cast my mind back. We met in the university library. I was a first-year law student; Julian was a third-year. The library building was huge and covered four floors. The first floor was not so much for studying as for eating and chatting. What books there were, were basic introductory texts. The higher up the building you climbed, the more serious it became. The airless fourth floor was dense with law books and heavy with disapproval should anyone make the mistake of so much as whispering. Single tables and chairs were set at intervals throughout the shelves of books. Julian and I had already noticed each other and were at the stage where we acknowledged one another with a smile. I was struggling with an end-of-year assignment and decided to ask him a question. As the atmosphere discouraged loud breathing, never mind talking, I wrote him a note. He answered me by walking over to a shelf, finding the correct volume of Halsbury’s Statutes, bringing it to me and opening it up at the right page. He pointed out the act of Parliament I needed. I mouthed a thank-you and he smiled, held my eyes for a second or two and then went back to his seat. Suddenly I couldn’t concentrate. I stroked the page where his fingers had been. My heart was racing. Somehow, not being able to speak had made our interaction feel more intimate. My face was hot. I needed air.
Leaving my papers behind, I headed for the lift. Just as the doors closed, Julian stepped inside. ‘Giving up?’ he said.
I’m brought back to the present as Julian’s hands find their way inside my dressing gown. ‘Well, well, well!’ He smiles at me. ‘Is this for my benefit?’
‘Maybe. But first you have to prove you remember what we said to each other when we met.’
‘No problem. Are we going from when we were in the lift?’
I nod.
‘I said, “Giving up?”’
‘And I said, “No. I just need a drink.”’
‘I said, “I’ll buy you a coffee.”’ He pulls the towelling dressing gown off my shoulders, out from under me and throws it across the room. ‘That’s better,’ he says.
‘And I said, “That would be great.”’
‘Actually, it was more of a stammer,’ he reminds me. ‘You were tripping over your words. You were blushing.’
‘I felt faint.’
‘Overwhelmed by my charm?’
I’m not giving in that easily. ‘It was hot up there. They never opened any windows.’
‘So that’s what it was!’ He pulls the silk robe to the edges of my shoulders and kisses my throat. ‘And there was I thinking you’d fallen for me.’
His kisses are making me tingle. I hold him away from me. ‘Then the lift started to make those grinding metal-on-metal noises,’ I remind him. ‘And you said—’
‘“Doesn’t sound very healthy.”’
‘And then the lift juddered to a stop.’
‘I thought it was too good to be true. I’d been watching you for six months and here we were stuck in a lift together.’
I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. ‘I’d only just noticed you,’ I tell him.
He laughs and leans forward to kiss me again.
‘Not so fast,’ I say. ‘We haven’t got to the best bit yet.’
‘OK.’ He leans back against the seat but keeps one hand on my thigh and the other round my waist. ‘So we used the phone to call the janitor and he said—’
‘“We’ll have you out in a jiffy.”’
‘We sat down on the floor and then—’
‘We asked each other where we were from,’ I say. ‘And we played a game of one-upmanship.’
‘Family trumps.’
‘That’s right!’ I manage a laugh. This would be fun if the reality of the emails wasn’t lodged in my mind like a violent squatter who’s taken up residence in my living room and is just waiting for the opportunity to wreak havoc. ‘We compared our upbringings.’
‘I didn’t have a pair of shoes until I was eight,’ Julian reminds me.
‘Until Wendy came along, Lisa and I cooked our own food. We stood on chairs to make scrambled egg and beans. My father thought babysitters were a waste of time because we could look after ourselves.’
‘When I was four, I was almost eaten by a crocodile.’
I laugh again, remember how he had told me this and then taken off his shoe to show me that the little toe on his right foot was missing. I marvelled at the absent toe and then said, ‘Lucky it wasn’t your whole foot. Was it only a baby croc?’
He was staring at my face and then he stroked my cheek. ‘I can’t lie to you. You’re too honest.’ He looked sheepish. ‘Wasn’t actually a croc. Nothing as exciting as that. I just caught it in a door.’
‘Must have been sore, though.’
His fingers felt cool, persuasive. I let the side of my face rest in his hand. ‘You’re really lovely.’ His voice was quiet. ‘Will you go out with me?’
‘When I was four, my mother died,’ I blurted out.
‘True?’
‘True,’ I said. ‘I win.’
‘I consider myself well and truly trumped.’
He was kissing me when the janitor prised open the door. We went down to the café in the basement. We drank coffee and we talked and then we collected our books from upstairs and I invited him back to my shared flat.
Julian’s face is in my neck again. I look down at myself. The clips at the top of the basque are straining
. I can see red marks beginning to form on my skin. ‘You can undo the top two clips, if you want,’ I say into his ear.
With the excitement of a little boy unwrapping a train set, he undoes them. ‘My birthday has come early.’
‘I remember when we went back to my flat, we made a promise to each other.’
‘That we would always be honest.’ He’s kissing the tops of my breasts.
‘Exactly.’
I lift his head so that I can see the expression in his eyes. ‘We’ve come a long way, Jules. Haven’t we?’
‘We have.’ He stands us both up. ‘And now I’d like to go a bit further.’ He drinks back his wine, keeps hold of the glass, puts the bottle under his arm and grabs my hand. ‘Bring your glass. We’re going upstairs.’
I hold him back long enough for me to lift the towelling dressing gown off the floor and cover myself up. ‘Should we say goodnight to the boys?’
He looks from left to right, then gives me a quizzical frown. ‘What boys?’
‘You really are playing along.’
‘I am.’ He looks pleased with himself. ‘And now I’m thinking ice cubes.’
‘We don’t need to go that far.’
He’s not listening. We’re off up the stairs so quickly I’m in danger of breaking my ankle. Part of me admires his ability to live in the moment. He is losing himself in the story as if . . . we are fine. No one is threatening us; no one is coming to take our daughter. We’re just another married couple with twenty-odd years on the clock spicing up our sex lives on a Sunday night. But while I do my best to join in, I’m not feeling it. In fact the last thing I want is sex. I feel like shaking him, demanding why he isn’t seeing this like I am. Why we’re not sat down at the computer emailing the blackmailer the details so that we’ll all be safe again. I want to tell him that I feel betrayed and lonely and desperate and I don’t know why he can’t see that.
When we get to the kitchen, I take off my shoes and stand next to him as he rummages in the freezer behind frozen loaves of bread and vegetables and Wendy’s fruitcake.
