The Truth About You

by Susan Lewis

  With a sudden sunny smile, Tierney wrapped him in an embrace and planted a smackeroo on his forehead.

  ‘Yuk!’ he protested, wiping it off.

  ‘You know you love me really,’ Tierney teased, getting in beside her mother.

  ‘I do not,’ he assured her, climbing in the back. ‘Mum, are you taking me to football after school or is Alfie’s mum?’

  Unable to remember, Lainey said, ‘I’ll text you later to let you know.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Tierney insisted when Lainey finally dropped her off. ‘Everything will, I promise.’

  Lainey took the small comfort as if it were a prediction and tucked it deeply into her heart. From Tierney’s lips to God’s ears. She disliked that phrase, but it was what had come to her mind and she wanted so much for everything to be all right that a little assistance from above, or anywhere, wouldn’t go amiss.

  At the school gates Tierney turned to wave, and Lainey felt tears stinging her eyes. It wasn’t that she minded about Tierney wanting to spend her sixteenth with friends (well she did, but realised she had to learn to let go), it was more that it felt as though everything was slipping away.

  Checking the time now and calculating that Tierney would be midway through her biology paper, she sent a message for her to pick up when she came out. Hope exam gone well. Have a good journey to London. Don’t forget to call tonight. Love you, Mum xxx

  She jumped as the phone rang, and seeing it was Stacy she clicked on. ‘Hi, how’s it going?’ she asked. ‘Have you met Diana’s backers yet?’

  ‘I have,’ Stacy confirmed, ‘and everything’s looking good so far, but that’s not the reason I’m calling. ‘Have you seen today’s Guardian?’

  A bolt of unease jarred in Lainey’s chest. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Do I want to?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Tom’s got a piece on page nine about why the Coalition might not survive the next parliamentary session.’

  Lainey was still bracing herself in case Stacy went on to tell her something that might hint at, or even reveal, the personal events in his life, but it seemed that was it. ‘Do you think he wrote it this week?’ she asked, certain that no request for such a piece had gone through her, which was what normally happened.

  ‘Given the detail, he must have.’

  Lainey’s head started to throb. So while she was here tearing herself apart, not knowing from one hour to the next what the future might hold, he was at Kirsten’s dashing off articles about what it might bring for a bunch of irrelevant politicians.

  Didn’t he care about her feelings at all? He must have known she’d see the piece, or at least hear about it, so was that what he wanted, for her to realise that life was going on as normal for him – though with Kirsten at his side now, instead of her?

  ‘Are you still there?’ Stacy asked.

  ‘Yeah, I’m here,’ Lainey replied, biting down on her fury and pain. ‘Tell me more about your meeting with Diana’s backers.’

  ‘I will when I see you. I just wanted to know if you’d seen . . .’

  ‘When are you back from London?’ Lainey interrupted. ‘Why don’t you come over on Saturday night? We can open a bottle or two . . .’

  ‘Oh no, please tell me that doesn’t mean Tom’s not coming back,’ Stacy protested.

  Lainey’s heart skipped a beat. ‘I don’t think we should count on it,’ she replied tersely. ‘He seems very comfortable where he is, and now he’s given Tierney permission to go to Skye’s . . .’ She didn’t want to go on with that. ‘Did you tell your new bosses you’re going to Italy?’ she asked. Please don’t let her back out, please, please.

  ‘I did, and Diana’s sure we can work something out. Worst-case scenario, I won’t be able to stay for the entire month.’

  It would do, just as long as she was there for some of the time, especially if Tom backed out. He wouldn’t though, would he? ‘That’s great,’ she told Stacy. ‘With the way things are I might not go for that long myself. Or, who knows, if I find I have family there I might end up staying for good.’

  There was a wryness to Stacy’s tone as she said, ‘I know you’re not writing your marriage off that easily.’

  It was true, she wasn’t. The trouble was, until Tom came back there was precious little she could do to save it, if it was even in trouble, and she still wasn’t entirely sure about that. Of course it’s in trouble, you fool. He’s shacked up somewhere with another woman. How much more trouble do you want than that?

  In her worst moments, when the anger about where he was and the way he was hardly in touch became so intense she could hardly bear it, she came close to packing up his belongings, loading them into a lorry and sending them to Kirsten. If she had an address or phone number she might well have done it, but she had neither, and an Internet search hadn’t revealed anything particularly useful about the woman either. At least, not as far as her residence was concerned. What Lainey had discovered was that Kirsten Bonner had written several children’s books and three chick-lit novels in the past ten years, all under the pseudonym of Beverly Crane.

  Had Tom helped her to get published?

  Only an idiot would imagine he hadn’t.

  It was unnerving Lainey badly to find herself wondering when lawyers might start becoming involved. Would he try to force her to sell the house? The mere thought of it incensed and terrified her. She couldn’t give up her beloved home, but she couldn’t imagine giving him up either. He was the centre of her world. Everything revolved around him in a way she hadn’t quite seen until now. She’d always thought she was the one who held everything together, whom they couldn’t manage without, but it was Tom, with his humour and strength, discipline, encouragement, support and love, who made sense of it all.

  He wasn’t going to leave. He’d be back at the weekend, as promised, and somehow they’d manage to sort everything out.

  It was around four on Saturday afternoon when Lainey took a break from her duties at the village fete to pop home to see if Tom was there. She was so afraid he might not be that she almost tripped over in the rush of her relief when she saw his car in its usual spot. Since Max, Zav and her father were all down at the village hall, she sent a text to Max telling him to take over her stall, as she was going to be longer than she’d expected.

  Finding no sign of Tom in the kitchen she went through to his study, trying desperately to ignore the terrible nerves inside her. Everything was going to be fine, she kept telling herself. The sense of rejection she was feeling wasn’t real, it was all in her head. He was back to stay, she wasn’t going to walk in and find him packing his books.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, looking up from his desk as she appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot about the village fete today.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she replied stiffly, ‘as long as you didn’t forget it’s Tierney’s birthday.’

  His eyebrows arched. ‘I’d never hear the end of it if I did,’ he responded. ‘I spoke to her first thing. I didn’t get the impression she was missing us much.’

  Lainey knew she was supposed to smile, but she couldn’t quite manage it. ‘She’s very happy with her Kindle, apparently,’ she said. She wouldn’t tell him about the book she’d confiscated the other day – actually, torn up – it would serve no purpose now. ‘I downloaded a copy of The Lost Generation for her,’ she informed him.

  His interest was immediately piqued, and she knew he’d be remembering the last time they were in Paris, as a family, when they’d introduced the children to Shakespeare and Company, Sylvia Beach’s wonderful bookshop next to the river. The Lost Generation was the story behind the shop, which had fascinated Tierney at the time, and apparently delighted her when she’d found it on her Kindle this morning.

  She couldn’t help wondering if he’d been in touch with Kirsten during that weekend.

  Were all their memories going to be sullied now by his affair?

  ‘How long are you staying?’ she asked, feeling her hands clenching at her sides.
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br />   His eyes narrowed slightly at the tightness of her tone, but his own was calm as he said, ‘Look, I understand this past week can’t have been easy for you . . .’

  ‘Don’t patronise me,’ she snapped.

  He took a breath. ‘It wasn’t my intention. I just want you to know that . . . Well, obviously I need to explain what’s happening. It’s why I’m here, so we can talk.’

  She felt dizzied by a horrible beat in her heart. That didn’t sound as though he was staying. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you to spare the time,’ she told him, ‘but maybe I don’t have it right now . . .’

  He made the mistake of sighing.

  ‘Don’t you dare be like that with me!’ she raged. ‘While you’ve been tucked away in the back end of nowhere with your bloody mistress and daughter, writing articles for a newspaper, debating the merits of a useless government, not sparing a thought for anyone else . . .’

  ‘There was never a moment when you weren’t on my mind,’ he broke in angrily. ‘I wrote the piece as an escape, to try to make myself think of something else for a while, and as for . . .’

  ‘Oh, lucky you, being able to find an escape. It wasn’t quite the same for me, I’m afraid, because I was here taking calls for you, dealing with your publishers, your agent, your publicist, your public, your children, undoing your commitments, making up excuses for why you weren’t ringing people back. In other words I was lying to try and spare people’s feelings, the way you’ve been lying to me for years . . .’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Lainey . . .’

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ she shouted over him, ‘you’re trying to find a way of cutting yourself loose from us that’s not going to end up all over the press. You wouldn’t like that, would you, because you’re a very private man really, and we all know how private she is, hiding behind her pseudonym, Beverly Crane. So how are you going to make this work without causing too much fuss?’ Her eyes were bright with fury; tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Lainey, stop,’ he implored, trying to take her hands. ‘This is the very reason I didn’t call, because I didn’t want this happening on the phone. I wanted to be here so I could explain properly . . . Don’t,’ he urged, as she tried to back away. ‘It’s OK, I swear. It’s going to be all right.’

  ‘How can it be if you’re leaving?’ she heard herself choke.

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ he insisted. ‘At least, not in the sense you’re seeing it.’

  ‘What other sense is there?’ she cried. ‘If you think you’re going to split your time between her and me you can damned well think again, because even if she’s willing . . .’

  ‘That’s not what I’m suggesting,’ he told her forcefully. ‘Now will you please stop jumping to conclusions and listen. I have to be with Kirsten for a while. She needs me . . .’

  Lainey’s hands went up. ‘Stop right there,’ she said furiously. ‘I couldn’t give a damn what she needs, what matters to me is my marriage and my children. I thought they mattered to you too, but apparently . . .’

  ‘Of course they do, nothing matters more, but I told you on Monday, Kirsten’s sick . . .’

  ‘And I’m supposed to care about that? Let someone else look after her.’

  ‘Lainey, she has cancer. She needs treatment and someone has to take her.’

  ‘So why does it have to be you?’

  ‘Because that’s what she wants.’

  His eyes were burning into hers as he watched her processing his words: his mistress was seriously ill, she needed him beside her, her daughter needed her father . . . His loyalty was to them now, not to his family here. Where did they fit in? Would they ever fit in again?

  As she gazed back at him she felt a sudden urge to get away from him, to escape to a place where she wouldn’t have to listen to any more, or to deal with whatever came next.

  ‘I’m sorry that she’s sick,’ she said hollowly, ‘I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but as for where it leaves us . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t leave us anywhere.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ she snapped.

  Throwing out his arms, he said, ‘You think you’ve got this all worked out, don’t you? You’ve told yourself . . .’

  ‘We need to decide what we’re going to tell the children,’ she cut in.

  ‘Lainey, you’re rushing ahead before we’ve even had a chance to discuss this.’

  ‘Actually, you need to decide,’ she informed him, ‘because it’s you who’s doing this to them.’

  ‘I’m not doing anything to them. I’m simply trying to support someone who’s sick, and in my shoes you’d do exactly the same.’

  She almost laughed at that. ‘And if I were in your shoes, how would you feel about me going off to take care of a family I’d never even mentioned until a week ago? A man I’d had another child with . . .’

  ‘This is absurd. I don’t have another family . . .’

  ‘But you do. By your own admission you have a sixteen-year-old daughter with a woman whose needs now outrank ours. I can see why they would, I can even see that they’re your responsibility, but if you’re asking me to condone your relationship with Kirsten Bonner by letting you live between here and there, the answer is never.’

  His eyes were steely as he said, ‘You know, I was hoping we might have a more reasonable conversation than this, but clearly . . .’

  ‘Then perhaps you can tell me what’s reasonable about having a child with another woman and keeping them a secret all these years?’ she shot back.

  ‘Dad! Dad! You’re back,’ Zav cried, suddenly bursting into the room. ‘You have to come down to the village hall,’ he insisted, grabbing Tom’s hand. ‘They’re waiting for you to do the auction.’

  ‘Zav, this isn’t a good time, son,’ Tom protested.

  ‘But you promised . . .’

  ‘Just go,’ Lainey told him.

  Tom’s eyes came back to her, and remained there as Zav continue to tug his arm. ‘OK,’ he said to Zav, still staring at Lainey, ‘run back and tell them I’m right behind you.’

  ‘Yay!’ Zav cheered, and blowing his mother a kiss he zoomed off.

  Waiting until the kitchen door slammed behind him, Lainey said, ‘So, are you going back to Kirsten’s tonight?’ As the question tore through her heart she could already see the answer in his eyes.

  ‘I promised Julia I would.’

  And how could he deny a child whose mother had cancer? Especially when the child was his.

  She stared at him hard, hating him and everything that was happening, while longing for him to take her in his arms. If he told her now that he loved her, that he was sorry and Kirsten meant nothing to him, she might find a way to deal with this. As it was, he simply looked at her, his eyes masking whatever he might be feeling for her. ‘You know, you really don’t make things easy,’ he told her.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry about that . . .’

  ‘I meant for yourself, not for me. If you were prepared to listen, to try to understand . . .’

  ‘I have listened, and I understand perfectly. Now you need to go to the village. Don’t worry about coming home after the auction. We won’t keep you, you can head straight on back to Kirsten’s.’

  ‘Lainey, please . . .’

  ‘Do I need to ask if you’re coming to Italy with us next Saturday?’

  His eyes closed in despair.

  Not sure whether she wanted to scream or beg, she said, ‘I always thought you wanted to be there for me when I made this trip.’

  ‘Of course I do, it’s just the timing . . .’

  ‘I’m not changing it. We’ll go without you.’

  He took a breath, and dashed a hand through his hair. ‘If you feel you have to . . .’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘OK, but I wish you’d wait, because it’s obvious, at least to me, that your mother was trying to protect you from something.’

  ‘And whatever it was happened a long time ago. It can hardly hurt me now, and I coul
d have relatives there, people who remember her . . . I might even have . . . a father.’

  ‘You have Peter.’

  ‘Of course, and I’m never going to think of anyone but him as my real father, but I want to know about my roots. I can see that you might not understand that, because you’ve always known who you are, where you’re from, but I haven’t.’

  ‘Then at least talk to Father Michael before you go. He was with your mother at the end, he heard her final confession . . .’

  ‘Whatever she might have told him he’d be honour bound to keep to himself, and you know it.’

  ‘But she’s dead now, and if he does know something . . .’

  ‘He doesn’t.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask?’

  ‘I don’t need to. You know how the Catholic Church works. The confidentiality of the confessional is sacrosanct, both before and after death,’ and feeling more devastated than she could ever remember, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

  ‘Do you know how they describe that dress on the D&G website?’ he was asking as he reclined on the bed, watching Tierney admiring herself in the mirror. ‘They say it’s virginal and seductive at the same time.’

  Giggling as she went funny inside, she struck a model pose with her weight on one leg, and her lips moodily pouted. She could see exactly why they’d describe it that way, because it was like a little girl’s dress in a way, with a round neck and lace collar, puff sleeves and flouncy skirt that reminded her of a party dress she’d had when she was six. It was dead short, and really showed off her legs, especially now she’d put on the Jimmy Choo ankle boots he’d also bought for her. She didn’t want to think about how much it had all cost, but she knew it was mega, like probably in the thousands, which just went to show how much he liked her.

  ‘Do you feel virginal and seductive?’ he asked, topping up her champagne.

  She smiled shyly and gazed at him from under her lashes. ‘I might,’ she answered teasingly.

  They were in a totally awesome apartment, overlooking the river, somewhere around Wandsworth, she thought, but wasn’t entirely sure. She’d been too nervous during the drive here to take much notice of where they were going. Anyway, it belonged to a friend of his apparently, who was happy to let them have it for the weekend while he was in Frankfurt.