by Mark Edwards
‘It’s not as glamorous as it sounds,’ Nina protested.
‘Hey, if you want to swap, you can look after my kids for a week and I’ll go driving out to Lake Como with a hot model.’
‘I’d gladly do that,’ Nina said. ‘I love your kids.’
‘All right. Deal. Does he like frumpy mums?’
‘You’re not frumpy!’
Jessica turned to Amber. ‘So Nina tells me you two are working on a book together?’
‘That’s right. It’s a kind of photographic diary of Nina’s life, showing what it’s really like to work in this industry.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘Maybe. I haven’t got a publisher attached yet. Also, I heard there’s someone else doing something similar.’
‘Who?’ Nina asked.
‘Gavin Lawson.’
Nina groaned. ‘Oh God.’
‘Who’s that?’ Jessica asked. The name was familiar.
Amber pulled a face. ‘This guy I used to work for. I was his assistant.’
Jessica turned to Nina. ‘Gavin Lawson. Is he the one who used to go to Mind+Body?’
‘Yeah. For a little while.’ Mind+Body had been the name of Izzy’s business.
‘He’s far more famous and successful than me,’ said Amber. ‘So if he gets his book out first, no one will want mine . . .’ She trailed off. ‘Anyway, let’s not ruin the party by talking about that – or him. I might go and get some more of that rum. Anyone else?’
‘I’d better not,’ Jessica said. ‘I’m driving.’
They watched the fireworks for a minute until Amber came back with her cup of rum.
Darpak shouted over, ‘Hey! Where are the kids? They’re going to miss the big climax.’
‘Sorry!’ Jessica called, waving to Will on the trampoline. The whole family gathered round to ooh and aah.
As the last sparks of colour faded from the sky, Olivia tugged at Jessica’s coat. ‘Mummy, I need a wee.’
‘You know where it is, sweetheart.’
‘I want you to take me.’
Will spoke. ‘I’ll do it. I need to check on Caspar anyway.’ They had brought the dog with them and put him in a bedroom at the front of the house, a much better option than leaving him at home with loud bangs going off all around him while he was alone.
Will took Olivia’s hand and led her towards the house. Jessica carried on chatting with Darpak, Nina and Amber, complimenting Darpak on the fireworks and the food. ‘You’ve outdone yourself this year. I feel guilty, though. You always host everything. Why don’t you come to ours next week and let Will and me cook? Don’t tell him I said so but he’s actually—’
‘Mum!’
It was Felix. He was always interrupting her. At home she had taken to using the shortest sentences possible because it was so hard to get to the end of one without a child demanding her attention. ‘He’s actually a better cook—’
‘Mum!’
‘Felix, what have I told you about interrupting when I’m talking?’
‘But Mum, look!’ He pointed up towards the house, at the balcony outside the living room. The balcony from which Isabel had fallen. It was dark so it took a couple of seconds to see what Felix was pointing at.
Then she saw it and her heart plummeted into her stomach.
‘Olivia!’ she yelled, running towards the house.
Olivia had climbed up on to the balcony’s black iron railing and was sitting on it, with her back to them. She was going to fall. Jessica could picture it. She was going to fall and snap her neck, smash her head open on the patio, just like Izzy, and as Jessica sprinted towards the door that led into the kitchen, she saw it all unfold: Jessica and Will kneeling beside their broken daughter, a paramedic shaking his head sadly, the funeral, visiting the tiny grave, a great, black path of despair and grief stretching to the horizon.
She yelled Will’s name as she entered the house – where was he? – and took the stairs two at a time. A great wave of energy and strength powered her, and she leapt up the final three steps in one bound.
As she sprinted down the hallway, Will appeared from the bathroom. ‘I needed the loo. What’s going on?’
She didn’t reply, just kept running into the living room. There was Olivia, looking over her shoulder towards the garden. Behind her the lights of South London shone, fireworks from distant displays splashing across the sky. Jessica wanted to dash forward and grab her, but she forced herself to slow down. What if she scared her and made her fall? Feeling like she might vomit, she went through the open door slowly, trying to look relaxed, like a woman approaching a snarling dog.
The balcony was about twelve feet across and ten feet deep. There was a small round table and a single metal chair. Isabel used to sit out here in good weather and drink her first coffee of the day, or a glass of wine on summer evenings. Darpak had told Jessica he barely ever came out here now, that he had even considered getting the whole balcony removed. Oh, how Jessica wished he’d done it.
‘Hello, Mummy,’ Olivia said, turning to look at her and shifting her bottom on the railing.
Jessica took a step forward, with one arm outstretched. ‘Olivia, I need you to stay very still. Don’t move, okay? I’m going to lift you down.’
Will had arrived behind her and she heard him say, ‘Oh Jesus.’
Olivia swung her legs back and forth, heels bouncing against the metal. ‘It’s a long way down,’ she said, looking over her shoulder again.
Jessica inched closer.
‘Hi, Felix!’ Olivia lifted one hand to wave at her brother, who was standing below with the adults. Craning her neck, Jessica could see that Darpak had his arms out like he was getting ready to catch Olivia. He looked as stricken as Jessica felt. Nina looked sick too. Everyone did.
‘Sweetheart, hold the railing with both hands,’ Jessica said with a shaky voice.
Olivia ignored her. ‘Felix, hello!’
She waved her hand – and slipped. The upper half of her body jerked backwards towards open air. She let out a high-pitched squeal. Will yelled and somebody gasped.
Jessica was already moving. Powered by the adrenalin that had seen her leap up the stairs, she jumped forward. The next moment would replay in her head in the weeks to come, stopping her from sleeping, opening up the view of the black path she had already foreseen.
As Olivia began to tip backwards, Jessica grabbed her arm. For one terrifying second she thought she was going to slip from her grasp. But Jessica clung on. She clasped Olivia’s other arm and lifted her off the railing.
Jessica fell to her knees, arms wrapped tightly around her daughter, whispering, ‘OhmyGodohmyGod . . .’
‘Mummy, that hurts.’
She relaxed her grip but refused to let Olivia go. Will crouched beside them. He was talking but there was a high-pitched hum in Jessica’s ears, blotting out his words. Still holding Olivia, she got to her feet and carried her into the living room.
‘What were you doing?’ she demanded, holding Olivia away from her. ‘That was so stupid, so dangerous.’
Olivia wriggled from her grasp and crawled on to the sofa. Will locked the door to the balcony then knelt by the sofa, taking hold of Olivia’s shoulders.
‘You have to promise you’ll never do that again,’ he said.
Olivia shrugged. Jessica felt sick. She was shaking.
‘Mummy and I were scared, Livvy. Do you understand?’
Another shrug and a pout.
Jessica couldn’t bear it any more. She shoved Will aside. ‘Olivia, you could have died.’
Olivia stared at her. Jessica was sure Olivia was going to burst into tears, but instead she smiled.
‘Don’t be silly, Mummy. You can’t fall. You have to be pushed.’
Darpak handed Jessica a glass of brandy. All this drinking – it had to stop. But not tonight. Definitely not tonight. Darpak had said he’d drive them home and Olivia was asleep in the spare room, having crashed out twenty minutes after the incide
nt. Felix was upstairs, playing a video game, with Caspar stretched out beside him. Nina and Amber, who were both visibly shaken by what had happened, had left.
‘It’s my fault,’ Darpak said. ‘I should have locked the door to the balcony. I ought to be more careful.’
Jessica raised the glass to her lips and noticed how much her hand was shaking.
‘Are you okay?’ Will asked. ‘This brandy is making me feel better.’
‘Why on earth did she do it?’ Darpak asked. ‘We’re always telling the children to stay away from there.’
Jessica didn’t know what to say. Just as on Halloween, her daughter’s words had shaken her; shaken her as much as her actions. Darpak hadn’t arrived upstairs until a few seconds after Olivia had spoken.
You can’t fall. You have to be pushed.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied at last. ‘Maybe she thought she’d get a better view of the fireworks from up there.’
Jessica watched Darpak as he went over to the sink and fetched himself a glass of water. She remembered what Mum had said, about forty-four per cent of female murder victims being killed by their partner.
Will was watching her from across the table and it was as if she could feel him trying to read her mind. Was he thinking the same thing?
That Izzy had been pushed?
Could Darpak have . . . ?
No, she admonished herself. He couldn’t.
He had an alibi. And he loved Izzy. He was besotted with her. He was kind and sweet and if she’d had a brother Jessica would want him to be just like Darpak.
So why, when he came back to the table, did she feel herself inching away from him?
Chapter 6
September 2012
Isabel drifted from one couple to the next, checking on their progress, guiding the men who looked like they needed help, keeping her voice low to match the lighting in the room. One couple, a silver fox in his fifties and his wife, were struggling. He had the air of a man who had been handed a guitar for the first time, with no idea how to make it sing. They were going to need a dozen more sessions at least, but the first problem was simple: they weren’t using enough lube. She showed him exactly how much to apply and guided his wrist, showing him where and how to touch his partner.
‘Gently,’ Isabel breathed.
His wife, who was naked from the waist down but with a silk sheet draped across her lap to cover her modesty, wore a faint look of disappointment. Like so many of the nervous but willing couples who came here, she expected ecstasy too soon. But Blissful Massage, like anything that improved your life, required patience and practice.
And then the wife exhaled. A tiny sigh of pleasure. Her husband, like a kid who had just played his first chord, grinned.
‘Like that,’ Isabel murmured to the husband, who was looking at her with a kind of bashful wonder.
She stood, leaving them to it. She was perspiring beneath the loose-fitting white cotton clothes she always wore during sessions. She would need to have a word with Nina – her sister-in-law, who was also her assistant here at Mind+Body – about regulating the temperature.
‘Okay, everybody,’ she said, standing at the centre of the space, a dozen pairs of eyes turning towards her, squinting through the gloom. ‘We’re going to wrap up in ten minutes so you should be thinking about winding down. Coming back to earth.’ A communal chuckle rippled through the room and Isabel felt a shiver of pride. This was her business. She had created it, built it up herself. When she’d told people what she was going to do, her friends had been aghast. Sex therapy? Really? But look at this place, filled with happy customers, all of them paying handsomely to learn how to make their sex lives better.
A little later, after most of the couples had filed out into the autumn evening – some of them hurrying home to babysitters, others, she expected, going home to practise what they’d learned tonight – she heard a nervous voice say, ‘Isabel?’
A couple, the Brannigans, who had been coming to Mind+Body for three months now, stood by the door wearing a pair of sheepish smiles. The woman, Laura, was holding a bottle.
Her husband, Fergus, a ruddy-cheeked man with gravity-defying hair, shuffled on the spot. ‘We, er, just wanted to say thank you. A huge thank you, for what you’ve done for us.’
They caught each other’s eye and Isabel knew exactly what they were going to say.
‘It’s been years since . . . well, since things were good between us in the bedroom. And now they’re bloody great.’
It was funny, Isabel reflected, that even after they’d spent the last hour practising Blissful Massage, the Brannigans and many others like them still felt uncomfortable using the words Isabel had been using over the previous hour: orgasm and yoni and clitoris. Even sex.
Laura stepped forward and earnestly grasped Isabel’s palm with both hands. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much. Last night, for the first time since our youngest was born . . .’ She handed Isabel the bottle of red wine, clearly on the verge of tears, and the two of them exited at last, arms around each other.
Isabel smiled. Another pair of satisfied customers.
There was only one couple remaining: Gavin Lawson and his partner, Carmen. He had her pressed up against the wall, kissing her. Isabel rolled her eyes. He was a well-known photographer, the closest thing Isabel had to a celebrity client, lean and muscular with close-cropped hair and a neat little beard. He was around forty and his partner was much younger, around half his age from the look of her. They were always the last to leave; most weeks she had to virtually drag them out.
She cleared her throat and, reluctantly, Gavin tore himself away from his girlfriend.
‘Sorry, darling,’ he said as they left. ‘Got a bit carried away, didn’t we?’
His erection was clearly visible in his jeans and Isabel took a step back as he passed, leading Carmen by the hand. Priapic bastard. Isabel was glad it was his last session.
As they left, Jess came in from outside. Gavin wasn’t looking where he was going and he bumped into her, almost sending her flying.
‘Sorry, darling,’ he said, grabbing her arm. ‘You all right?’
She extricated her arm from his grip and the dirty look Jess gave him made Isabel smile. Gavin turned and left, apparently unbothered.
‘That was Gavin Lawson,’ Isabel said. ‘The new David Bailey, apparently.’
‘Oh, right. I think I’ve heard of him. Seems like a dick.’
‘As usual, dear sister, your judgement is spot on.’
Isabel gestured for Jessica to follow her to the back room and handed her the wine the Brannigans had given her, explaining where it had come from.
‘Wow, this is good stuff,’ Jess said, inspecting the bottle of Château La Conseillante. At one point in her career Jess had done PR for a wine merchant and she could instantly spot the difference between cheap plonk and the kind of stuff rich people kept in their cellars. ‘You going to give this to Darpak?’
‘Nah, let’s open it. There should be glasses in the kitchen.’
Jess went off to find the glasses and a bottle opener while Isabel changed out of her work clothes into jeans and a sweater. Jess came back with the wine in a pair of plastic tumblers.
‘This is all I could find.’
They touched the tumblers together and Isabel took a big swig. ‘Mmm. That is good.’
‘Three-hundred-quid wine. They must be having really great sex now.’ She paused. ‘Maybe I should bring Will to one of your classes.’
‘You should!’
Jess pulled a face. ‘I was only joking. Firstly, he would never come. Secondly, I really don’t want my sister telling my husband what to do with my bits. Or his bits, for that matter.’
‘You really shouldn’t call them bits, Jess.’
‘Oh, please. The day I call it my yoni is the day hell freezes over.’
Isabel laughed. ‘Was there a third reason?’
‘Yeah. We don’t need your help. We’re fine.’
; ‘Fine?’
‘Oh God, I shouldn’t have said anything to you. I really don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s just . . .’ Jess obviously did want to talk about it. ‘We’ve fallen into that trap, where it’s all about biology. Will says he feels like a mobile sperm farm. It’s not very sexy.’
Isabel finished getting changed and zipped up her boots. Her tumbler was empty already and she wanted another. After a session, she felt the way she imagined a rock star must feel when they come off stage. And while she knew she ought to practise what she preached and spend some time meditating, breathing, it was hard not to succumb to the urge to keep hold of that high. Besides, it would be rude not to enjoy the Brannigans’ gift, so she poured herself another glass and topped Jess up while she was at it.
‘Let’s finish this before we head off,’ she said.
‘Won’t we be late?’
‘We’ve got plenty of time.’
It was Mum’s birthday and Isabel had booked a table at the best restaurant in Beckenham, even though she knew Mum would think it was too posh, too ‘dear’. There was going to be another celebration at the weekend, with the whole family, but tonight it was just the three of them. Like it used to be.
‘If she mentions Larry, please don’t indulge her,’ Jess said.
‘I won’t. I promise.’
‘We need another topic in reserve so we can quickly change the subject if necessary.’
‘Hmm. What about Elsie’s toy boy?’
‘Ooh, good one.’
‘They came to one of my classes,’ Isabel said with a grin.
‘No way.’
‘Yep. They were very sweet, actually. And we get people of all ages coming here, you know. Sexuality doesn’t end when you’re thirty.’
‘I hope not! I’d only have a year left. And you’d already be past it. You wouldn’t be able to teach thingy—’
‘Blissful Massage.’ It annoyed Isabel that Jess could never quite bring herself to say it.
‘Yeah, that. Could you teach it if you weren’t doing it yourself? You’d have to go back to being a yoga instructor.’
