by Susan Lewis
Stunned by losing out on the possibility of earning as much as five thousand pounds for a couple of days’ work, Susannah could only stare into the void that was yawning wider and wider in front of her. ‘Is it too late?’ she managed to ask. ‘Are they interviewing again tomorrow?’
‘No, the part’s cast now. Linda Gooding got it, which we all expected, with her being married to the creative, but who knows, if they’d seen you they might have changed their minds.’
Not the way she was looking now, Susannah wanted to say, but managed not to. ‘Why didn’t Dorothy mention the casting in her message?’ she asked. ‘I’d have called back right away if she had.’ Too late she realised that whatever Dorothy’s call was about, she was supposed to jump to it when her agent rang. ‘She only said she wanted to talk to me about rearranging the office.’
‘Oh yes, she does, but she isn’t here at the moment. It’s nothing major, just that she’s going into semi-retirement, so she won’t be handling you personally any more. I think you’re going to Samantha Walsh, but let Dorothy tell you about it. And the call for the commercial didn’t come in until after she rang you yesterday. She was going to tell you when you rang back.’
Since kicking herself didn’t even come close to what she wanted to do for allowing her fears to stall her, Susannah did the only thing she could and forced herself to let it go. There was no point getting angry and berating herself, it was too late now, she just had to make sure that the next time her agent rang she didn’t immediately assume the worst.
After putting the phone down she glanced up the stairs, wondering if she should go and talk to Neve yet. She could hear her crying, and had to swallow a lump in her own throat. This wasn’t how it should be between them, arguing and hurting one another. She longed to pull Neve into her arms and make everything all right, the way she used to when she was little, but there was no kissing these wounds better, or putting a plaster over them until they healed.
Deciding to give her a while longer rather than risk the row erupting again, she went to set up the ironing board, wanting to get through at least half the pile before she and Neve walked over to Lola’s for tea. After, she’d accompany Neve across Battersea Bridge to Sasha’s house on Cheyne Walk, where she was spending the night. Unless Neve had changed her mind about going, now she was unable to shop tomorrow. She didn’t usually back out through lack of funds, instead she gamely went along, advising and admiring, and not letting on how unhappy she was until she came home and cried on Lola’s or Susannah’s shoulders that she hadn’t been able to buy anything herself.
With a horrible dryness in her throat Susannah plugged in the iron, and as she waited for it to heat up she stood looking at the phone. She was so desperate for someone to talk to, someone who’d understand what she was going through and be sympathetic, even if they couldn’t really advise. Lola was wonderful, of course, but Susannah hadn’t told her even the half of how bad things really were, she’d only worry and suffer all the same feelings of uselessness as Susannah and there was no point in that. The person she really longed for was Pats. OK, she might not have the answers, but Susannah had always felt stronger and safer when Pats was around. Since she’d left for Sydney it was as though a piece of Susannah had gone missing, and speaking on the phone never really filled the gap.
‘It’s only for a year,’ Pats had assured her before she’d left. ‘They want me to set up an office and run it until I find someone local to take my place.’
It was a career opportunity she couldn’t refuse. As the marketing director of an American-based cosmetics firm, the assignment in Australia could project her right to the top if she made it work. And she was succeeding, there was no doubt about that, because Patsy’s emails were full of the excitement of growing a new business in a city where her sister and brother-in-law lived, plus her niece and nephew, and now her parents, who’d emigrated six months ago to be near their family. So to think Pats would ever come back was just plain delusional, and Susannah certainly wasn’t about to pour her troubles down the phone when Pats had felt bad enough about leaving her in the first place, with Duncan in prison and Uncle Fred, Lola’s husband, only recently dead.
‘We’re past the worst of it,’ Susannah remembered telling her. ‘Fred’s Alzheimer’s means he hasn’t been with us for a long time, so it’s a bit of a blessing that he’s finally let go, and with Duncan out of our lives things are bound to get better.’
Feeling her throat turn dry at the ludicrous but nonetheless unsettling attempt Duncan had made to sell the house, she tried comforting herself with the reassurance she’d received from the CSA when she’d called this morning. To her relief, she’d been told that he wouldn’t be allowed to make her and Neve homeless. Moreover, he’d be liable for child support if he had any money, which actually was laughable given the circumstances, but she supposed it had to be said. Hugh, of course, was worth zillions, but she’d rather die than take any handouts from him, even if he were prepared to offer any, which he almost certainly wouldn’t be. He’d never been generous with money, not even with his own niece. A simple card at Christmas with twenty quid inside, and nothing for her birthday, probably because he didn’t have the faintest idea when it was.
After she’d pressed a fresh blouse for work that night, and some jeans and a top for Neve, she decided to leave the rest, because time was running short and she needed to try and make up with Neve before they went to Lola’s.
The upstairs landing was so small that it took barely more than three steps to get from the top of the stairs to either of the bedroom doors. Her own was on the right, and Neve’s was opposite, with a loo at right angles between them, and a tiny guest room opposite the stairs.
‘Hi, can I come in?’ she said, knocking as she pushed Neve’s door open.
Neve was lying on her bed, facing the wall and clutching the tattered rag doll she’d had since she was a child. There were other cuddly toys piled up against the headboard, and along the wall. On the dressing table, under the window, was her carefully arranged collection of make-up and skin-care products, most of which had been sent over by Pats for birthdays and Christmas and any old time in between, because Pats was thoughtful and generous like that. The walls were covered in posters, mainly of boy bands or soap stars, but Beckham featured quite largely, along with Jose Mourinho whom Neve had put up for Susannah, though she’d admitted to quite liking him too, even if he was old.
Going to sit next to her, Susannah put a hand on her shoulder and felt her heart contract as Neve turned on to her back to look up at her. Neve never stayed angry for long and was probably already working out how to apologise, so making sure she got in first, Susannah smoothed the hair from her daughter’s blotchy face, saying, ‘I’m sorry. You know I’d do anything …’
‘No, it’s me who has to be sorry,’ Neve interrupted, her voice thick and nasal. ‘I shouldn’t have said those horrible things … I didn’t mean … You’re the best mum in … the world.’ As she started to cry again Susannah wrapped her tightly in her arms.
‘Ssh,’ she soothed, ‘there’s no need to be upset. It was all in the heat of the moment.’
‘But it was horrible and you don’t deserve anyone being mean to you, because you’re never mean to anyone. And anyway, I don’t care about that stupid trip. I’d rather stay here with you.’
Susannah bit her lip hard to stop herself crying. ‘Maybe next year things will be different,’ she said.
‘It doesn’t matter. All that’s important is that we’re together.’ Then, pulling back to look into Susannah’s eyes, ‘You won’t ever leave me, Mum, will you?’ she asked, fear showing through the cracks of her bravery. ‘You won’t go away and not ever come back?’
‘Oh Neve,’ Susannah choked, knowing the insecurity was rooted in the way her father had abandoned her – and Pats too, if the truth be told. ‘You’re the most important thing in the world to me. I’d never leave you, you know that.’
Sniffing, Neve said, ‘Are
you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
Neve’s bloodshot eyes were still on her mother’s. ‘You might not be as rich as everyone else’s mum,’ she said, touching Susannah’s face, ‘but you’re ten times more beautiful and special and easy to talk to and I’d never swap you for anyone.’
Summoning a wavery smile, Susannah said, ‘Well I’m glad about that, because I’d certainly never swap you.’
‘We’ll be all right,’ Neve said, her eyes widening earnestly.
‘Of course we will. We’re just having an expensive time right now, with so many bills coming in. I’m really sorry I’ve had to let you down about the trip and the shopping tomorrow, but one of these days …’
‘Mum, it’s OK. I can always borrow something of Sasha’s for the party. We’re the same size and for me it’ll feel like something new.’
Wondering if it were possible for her heart to ache any more, Susannah hugged her again. ‘I swear,’ she said, ‘that once we’re through this bad patch, I’ll make it up to you somehow.’
‘You don’t have to. I know how hard you’re working, and one of these days, when I’ve left school and been to university, I’m going to get a job and earn shedloads of money so we never have to go without anything again.’
Though touched by the promise, Susannah felt troubled by the way Neve seemed to be taking the onus on herself to provide. It told her that Neve was starting to lose faith in her ever being able to make things right, and at Neve’s age she shouldn’t have to be thinking that way at all, much less worrying herself so much about her mother.
‘I don’t want you to be unhappy,’ Neve said.
‘I’m not,’ Susannah lied.
‘I know you are, but I’ve had this brilliant idea. It came to me a couple of weeks ago and I really think it could work.’
Susannah regarded her warily.
‘It’s to do with us and how we can become rich, or less poor anyway, and make you happy, but it’s my secret, for now. I’ll let you know what it is when I’m ready to.’
And if that wasn’t enough to make her uneasy, Susannah was thinking as she hugged her again, she couldn’t imagine what was.
It was almost four in the morning by the time Cathy dropped Susannah home after a crazy evening at the club. Just like the night before, both private rooms had been booked out, as had the restaurant and bar. Since it was Friday there had been two shows, neither of which Susannah had watched, but that wasn’t unusual, because she rarely did. Besides, the stage wasn’t visible from inside the private room where she’d just spent the past three hours as a nude hostess, weaving amongst groping hands, squirming off laps and pretending the whole thing was a highly erotic tease that she was enjoying as much as the diners.
During the journey back through the dark, damp streets of Kensington, then Chelsea, she and Cathy hadn’t spoken much. They were both tired and there wasn’t really much to say, though Cathy kept glancing at Susannah, wanting to say something, she just couldn’t find the right words. In the end, when Susannah got out of the car Cathy only said, ‘Try to get some sleep. Things might not look so bad in the morning.’
Knowing they were going to look a hundred times worse, Susannah thanked her for the lift, then turned in through her front gate. The For Sale sign was still there, jutting up with attitude, as though proud of the fact that it remained yet another problem still unresolved.
After letting herself into the house she went to the bathroom and started to fill the bath. It might relax her a little to soak in some of the therapeutic oils Pats had sent at Christmas. Taking one of the bottles she emptied it into the cascade and stood watching the yellow liquid swirling around in the steaming water, constantly changing shape like the thoughts inside her as it got caught in the rushing current of bubbles and steam. Then, returning to the kitchen, she put on the kettle to make some tea.
As she waited for the water to boil, she sat down at the table with her hands and knees pressed tightly together. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue and stared at nothing. There were no specific thoughts in her head, only vague whispers of what needed to be done tomorrow, or today as it already was. She had to be up by nine for her cleaning job at the school. It was a three-hour shift with other women who were probably no better off than she was, yet somehow they seemed to manage. Or did they? Who knew what went on in other people’s lives, what secrets they might be hiding, or what lies they might tell?
She needed to create a lie of her own now, for Neve, who would be sure to ask, when her mother turned up unexpectedly at Sasha’s at lunchtime, where the money to buy something new for the party had suddenly come from. Then the confusion over how they could now afford the trip to Barcelona would follow. She’d say she’d taken an advance on her wages. That was easy enough to believe, for both Lola and Neve, so yes, that was definitely what she would say. They didn’t need to know the truth, the burden of that was hers to bear, along with the terrible fear that she’d just embarked on the beginning of the end.
‘Still no answer,’ Neve said, clicking off her mobile, ‘but she was working late last night, so she’s probably still asleep. Or she might be at the school already.’
‘Remind me which disco she runs,’ Sasha said, yawning as she turned on her laptop.
‘It’s called Moonshine.’
‘Oh yeah, that’s right.’ Sasha yawned again. ‘You know, I think it’s really cool having a mum who runs a disco. Wish mine did.’
Neve’s smile was faint.
‘Honestly, the way mine nags,’ Sasha went on with feeling. ‘Ugh!’ Then, switching her attention to the computer, ‘OK, we’re connected. Shall I check my messages first, or do you want to?’
‘I don’t mind waiting,’ Neve answered, going to sit cross-legged on the bed she’d slept in, which was one of two facing each other across a room that had a plasma TV with Sky Plus, DVD recorder/player, three different game consoles, a video iPod and two docking stations, an electronic keyboard, and a humungous wardrobe so packed full of clothes it was hard to get the doors shut. Also, there was an amazing dressing table that ran the whole width of one wall and was covered in all kinds of make-up and beauty stuff, from Chanel, to Bobbi Brown, to Lancôme. Sasha even had her own bathroom with twin washbasins and a steam shower she could actually lie down in, like a sauna.
‘Are you girls decent?’ a voice called from the landing. ‘I’ve brought your breakfast, but someone needs to open the door.’
‘Coming,’ Neve shouted, jumping up and slipping into one of Sasha’s robes.
‘Here we are,’ Sasha’s dad declared, entering with a tray. ‘Muesli, toast and croissants. Oh, and orange juice. Did you sleep all right, the two of you?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ Neve answered, quickly clearing a space for him to put the tray down on the end of Sasha’s bed.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Sasha asked, glancing over her shoulder.
‘She had to go into the office, and it’s Ping’s day off, so I’m your slave for this morning, but this is your lot I’m afraid, because I’m off to the gym in half an hour, and I’ve got a stack of work to catch up on later.’
‘You’re supposed to be helping us with our maths homework this morning,’ Sasha reminded him.
‘So I am. OK, let’s meet in the kitchen at eleven. Will that suit?’
‘Perfect. You can go now.’
Neve bubbled with laughter as Mr Phipps gave her a wink, then grabbing Sasha by the shoulders he rubbed her cheek with his unshaven chin.
‘Get off me,’ Sasha protested, trying to push him away. ‘You’re horrible and scratchy and it hurts.’
Loving the way they pretended to fight, Neve laughed with delight as Mr Phipps scooped Sasha up in his arms, carried her to the bed and dumped her there. He was always full of fun, unlike Sasha’s mother, who took herself, and life, much more seriously, but as a lawyer Neve supposed she would, while as the head of some Internet music thing Mr Phipps was really cool.
After he’d go
ne Sasha began tucking into some muesli, while Neve went online to check her emails. ‘Oh my God, there’s one from Jason,’ she cried excitedly.
Sasha sprang forward. ‘What does it say?’
Neve’s heart was beating fast. ‘He’s definitely going to Melinda’s party tonight, and wants to know if I’ll be there too.’
‘No. Don’t answer straight away,’ Sasha cautioned as Neve started to type a reply. ‘You don’t want to seem too keen.’
‘Definitely not,’ Neve cried, taking her fingers off the keys as though they’d started to burn. ‘My God, what was I thinking.’
‘Anyway, Harry Gelson’s going to be there too, so you need to make up your mind which one you want.’
Neve’s head fell back. ‘What am I going to do?’ she groaned. ‘I like them both.’
‘That’s the trouble with looking like you,’ Sasha told her, ‘you get all the boys. It must be such a pain.’
Neve turned to look at her. ‘Yeah, and like you’re really ugly! I don’t think so.’
Sasha grinned, showing her braces, and made Neve squeal as she crossed her eyes. Though she was never going to be as striking as Neve with her mousy hair and pale complexion, when she was made up and wearing all her trendy gear, as far as Neve was concerned Sasha was seriously hot.
‘I’ll bet that’s Melinda,’ Sasha declared as her mobile started to ring. ‘I’ll tell her to come over as soon as she’s ready. Check who’s online in case there’s anyone we want to talk to.’
As Sasha answered the phone Neve turned back to the computer, and a few minutes later, as Sasha ended the call, she left the desk to go and fetch some juice.
‘I should try Mum again,’ she said, putting the glass down.
‘You’ve already left a message,’ Sasha reminded her. ‘She’ll call when she wakes up, or goes on a break.’
Neve nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. It’s just we had a bit of a row before she went to work last night …’ She shrugged. Then, returning her attention to the computer, ‘I just checked to see if there was anything from you know who.’
