She’s still crying, and I wipe away her tears with my fingertips.
‘But that’s so stupid, Mum – all those years wasted.’
‘I know,’ I nod. ‘I know I’ve fucked everything up. But I want to make up for it now. Please tell me it’s not too late.’
She doesn’t respond. Just lays her head on my shoulder, brings her arms around my neck and squeezes me hard. It’s like she’s five years old again, and her embrace feels warm and wonderful.
After a few minutes, she breaks away and I caress her cheeks tenderly and look her straight in the eye. ‘Ella, is there anything you can tell me? Anything that might help us have a better understanding of who Robyn is and why she’s doing this?’
Ella shakes her head, wipes her nose with the back of her hand. ‘No, I mean, I told you. She said that you and her dad had an affair, and that although her mum found out and eventually forgave him, she never really got over it. Robyn said we’d both been hurt by you. Me, because you weren’t a good mum, and her, because you hurt her mum. She also said that her dad died six months ago of a heart attack.’
‘Did she ever tell you his name?’
‘No. Just her mum’s. Cynthia, like I told you.’
‘OK, thanks, darling. Stay here.’
‘Mum, I don’t want to be alone. I’m frightened.’
I don’t say it out loud, but I’m frightened for her too. Because although I have my suspicions as to who’s behind all this, that’s all they are right now. Suspicions. There are too many ifs and buts, too many pieces of the puzzle I don’t know how to fit together just yet, and all that makes me nervous and unsure of my next move.
‘Drive to your brother’s,’ I say. ‘See how he’s doing, but don’t tell him about your dad and Freya or whatever the hell her name is.’
‘He’s bound to ask if I know what’s up with Dad.’
‘Just say you have no idea. Don’t mention any of this until I’ve sorted things out.’
‘What are you going to do, Mum?’
‘Don’t worry about that for now. I’ll text or phone when I have something.’
‘OK,’ she nods. ‘Be safe, Mum.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile, grateful that my daughter no longer appears to despise me. But someone does, and I need to find out for certain who that is.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Greg
Now
Sitting here alone, the house seems so big and empty, and it makes me feel vulnerable, twitchy. I get up and pour myself a whisky, then go and sit back down, switch on the TV, flick through the channels, but quickly switch it off again. My pride is wounded by the way Amber tricked me into believing she cared for me, and I feel nothing but shame knowing that her walking into the bar that day was no coincidence; that she somehow knew how low, how starved of affection I was, and played on this, using her beauty and feminine charms to entrap me. I was a sure thing, and I ate her seduction up like a naive schoolboy.
I am disgusted with myself; a pathetic middle-aged man who should have known better. Of course, I never set out to hurt my son, but how will he ever forgive me if he discovers the truth?
The hardest thing is not knowing why all this is happening. I believed Chrissy to be genuine when she swore she didn’t have an affair with Amber’s father, but I wonder, how does she know for sure that Amber (or Dr Cousins to her) isn’t, in fact, the daughter of the man she had an affair with? Couldn’t she be? Couldn’t Chrissy be legitimately mistaken? Unless, that is, her former lover is still alive and lives locally, in which case she may know the identity of his children.
I thought she might finally have told me who her lover was while we were on the phone, but she avoided the subject again. It makes me even more certain it’s someone I know or once knew. That’s why her guilt is so acute. And Janine’s silence still puzzles me. Assuming she saw Dr Cousins’ face, she should have been livid with her, stormed her way into her office and demanded to know what the hell she was up to. Surely that would be the reaction of a best friend?
I don’t care what Chrissy says, Janine’s my friend too, and I can’t sit here any longer. I’m going over to her place, and I’m going to ask her myself what the hell’s going on. Besides, why should I listen to Chrissy? Her affair is the nub of our children’s pain. And even now she refuses to be upfront with me. For once, I’m going to play it my way, and I don’t care if that pisses her off.
I get up, make for the hallway, sling on my coat and head out the door.
* * *
Janine lives in Swiss Cottage, and so I could easily walk there. But it’s cold and damp, and I just can’t face it, so I hop on the Tube and in no time at all am exiting the station and turning right onto her street. I’m bound to make it there before Chrissy. As I walk I send a quick text to Miranda, Any joy? even though I know she would have called the minute she learned anything worthwhile.
When I reach Janine’s house my stomach is in knots. I’ve always felt comfortable around her. She’s never been one to put on airs and graces and she’s been a consistently loyal friend, protective of Chrissy and our family. So it disturbs me that I should suddenly feel uneasy around her.
I press her buzzer, nerves pricking my insides, and at the same time receive a text from Chrissy, telling me she’s on her way to Janine’s and checking that I’m at home. I quickly respond, No, at Janine’s, then put my phone on silent and slip it into my pocket. I expect she’ll be livid with me and that she’ll try and call, but this way I won’t hear her.
Just then, the door opens and Janine is there to greet me. She has this kind of glassy smile on her face, looks so calm, almost like she’s on tranquillizers. It unnerves me.
‘Janine, are you OK?’ I ask as she beckons for me to come inside.
‘Never better,’ she smiles. ‘Would you like some tea? I’ve just made a cup for myself.’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
We sit down next to each other on a sofa in the living room, and I can’t hold it in any longer. ‘Janine, why didn’t you tell Chrissy you saw me with Dr Cousins in Deco’s? I mean, thinking back I’m pretty certain you did see her face because of the mirror behind me.’ Nothing. ‘You told her that you thought I was having an affair, but not who I was with, when you knew very well. Why?’
She’s silent, and I feel even more on edge. And angry.
‘Janine,’ I persist, ‘I didn’t know the woman I was seeing was Chrissy’s psychiatrist. I swear I had no idea. She just came on to me in a bar one evening and told me her name was Amber, and that she worked in PR.’
Still nothing.
‘Janine, for the love of God, she seduced both my son and my daughter, and none of us had any idea that we were seeing the same woman. Do you know what she’s up to? Speak, for fuck’s sake!’
Her silence is driving me crazy. It’s like the woman’s gone insane; doesn’t even register what I’m saying.
‘Do you hear what I’m saying?!’ I shout.
And then I can’t help myself. I grab her shoulders and shake her violently, as if I’m attempting to wake her from a coma. She looks at me blankly, and slowly I release my grip, tell myself to calm down or I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret.
Then, without saying a word, she gets up from the sofa, goes over to a bureau nestled in the far corner of the room, opens a drawer, removes a large brown envelope and brings it over to me. ‘Here,’ she says, ‘have a look inside.’
I take the envelope from her in something of a trance, wondering what the hell I’m about to see. My heart accelerates as I open the seal and place my fingers around what feels like several large photographs. Photos of me with Amber?
But they’re not of me and Amber. They’re of Chrissy and her lover in some car park. Kissing.
Words cannot describe how I feel when I realize who the bastard was.
Nate. Janine’s husband. My best friend.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Janine
Before
It’s been such a happy day, and I can’t wait for the dancing later. I’m the only one who knows what your and Greg’s first dance is (I haven’t even told Nate), and that makes me feel so special; important, even. That’s how close we are, Chrissy, how strong our friendship is. We’re like sisters, you and I, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. Before you came into my life, I felt lost. Nothing but a burden on society. My mother was horrid to me. She always wanted a son, so I was a disappointment to her from the beginning, and my father – a spineless womanizer – was equally disinterested. Perhaps his womanizing was another reason my mother was so cruel to me. I was her human punchbag, someone to take her pain out on. But you can’t do that to a child, can you? Children can’t be expected to suffer for adults’ mistakes. That’s cruel and unfair, and all it does is mess them up for life.
You look incredible in your wedding gown. Like a model. Not that I’m surprised, because you always look stunning, even in jeans and a baggy jumper with barely any make-up on. I should feel insanely jealous of you because you always overshadow me whenever we walk into a room together. I’m like one of the ugly sisters to your Cinderella. But I don’t feel jealous, I feel proud and lucky to have you for my best friend – my one true best friend who loves me for me and who I know will stand by me through thick or thin. It’s a wonderful thing to have found a friend like you. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck.
I was never popular at school. Never chosen for school plays or sports teams, never had a look-in for head girl or been invited to cool parties by the cool girls. I’ve always lacked confidence, despite being a gifted writer. I’m plain, although with a bit of make-up I look decent enough. Always been on the portly side, although I’m not fat as such, just lack definition around my waist, plus I have thick legs with little shape to them. Unlike you, who has a great pair of pins, lithe and toned.
There was this girl at school. She was good at everything. At sport, academically, and she had loads of friends, got invited to all the parties, and she was nasty to me because I was the complete opposite of her. Sometimes, I would imagine what it would be like to wipe that smug look off her face. I’d imagine stabbing her through her stony heart, pushing her off a cliff, poisoning her food. Secretly, I once put a heavy dose of laxative solution in her water bottle one lunchtime when she wasn’t looking, and she was off sick for two days. It was the day after she embarrassed me in the playground when she said I needed to lose a good ten pounds to even be considered for a place on the netball team. Fuck, it made me so mad, almost drove me crazy with anger, but it was so satisfying to play that trick on her and make her suffer. She got her comeuppance. Since then, I’ve played similar tricks on others who’ve hurt me, although I’ve never taken things too far, despite wanting to. For example, when my ex-boyfriend, Ben, dumped me.
I loved Ben, and I thought he loved me, but he had a roving eye and I found out he was sleeping with this girl at the tennis club he belonged to. You never liked him. You told me repeatedly that I should leave him, and it pissed me off at the time. But turns out you were right. It all worked out for the best because – although I didn’t know it then – my dream man was just around the corner, waiting to whisk me off my feet. Ben’s cat met a nasty end, though. I never liked the stupid mog, so mowing it down in front of his house didn’t cause me to lose too much sleep.
I’ve been tempted to teach Miranda a lesson too. It’s been so hard holding back, but I can’t risk being found out and losing your friendship. It maddened me, the way she wormed her way into our lives. She’s so fake. Although you always try and see the best in people, I know exactly why she pretends to be your friend. It’s because she’s obsessed with Greg, despite now being married to that moron, Duncan. It’s the only way she can stay close to him. You might not see her for the fraud she is, but I do. I hate people like that. People who pretend to be something they’re not. Take today, for instance. She’s been gushing about how beautiful you look, about what a wonderful happy day it is, but I know she’s seething inside. I know more than anything she wishes it was her in that wedding dress, exchanging vows with Greg, not you. I suppose I shouldn’t be quite so critical. I mean, you and I are the lucky ones. We’re both loved by very special men, while she’s had to settle for second best.
Meeting Nate was a gift from God. I still can’t believe he chose to marry me out of all the women he could have picked. It was you who introduced us, another thing I’m thankful to you for. It was sort of a blind date. I was still feeling low after my break-up with Ben, but you insisted that I meet this guy from your work, a good friend of Greg’s. I agreed, but wasn’t looking forward to it. And when I first saw Nate, he seemed so out of my league, I almost resented you for even daring to try and hook us up. I was also slightly hurt, because I wondered if you were playing some kind of joke on me, wanting to get my hopes up about someone who clearly wasn’t on my level, and yet you were supposed to be my best friend. But to my surprise, Nate seemed genuinely interested in me. He was funny and warm, and not in the least bit fake or full of himself as I’d expected.
You and Greg excused yourselves early (not very subtle), leaving me alone with Nate in the restaurant. I felt nervous as hell, but Nate sensed this and made a real effort to put me at ease. He told me he was fed up with beautiful, yet highly superficial City women, who either fawned at his feet because they were shallow, money-grabbing social climbers, or were so consumed by their own careers it made any meaningful relationship impossible. And I guess that’s why he was attracted to me. He liked the fact that I wasn’t a power-driven career woman, or obsessed with my looks, or with money, or with finding something better. And, deep down, although he’d never say as much out loud, he knew I’d never stand a chance of nailing someone better than him, and therefore he could count on my loyalty.
He loves me because I love him unconditionally; for him, and not because of his money or success. He feels safe with me; knows he can trust me to remain true to him for as long as we both shall live.
You were so nervous this morning, and you told me you’d hardly slept for nerves. I wasn’t nervous on my wedding day. In fact, I slept like a baby the night before. Nate and I got married in Mexico on the beach, just you, Greg and Nate’s brother and parents there to help us celebrate. My parents were dead by then, not that they would have come anyway. It was so relaxed, and the entire affair took very little planning. I think that’s why – unlike you – I didn’t have any pre-wedding jitters. I was there with the man I adored, along with the people I loved and who loved me most in this world. So what did I have to feel nervous about?
You, on the other hand, have almost single-handedly organized a wedding for 200 guests, and with that has come a myriad of obligations. I cannot begin to imagine how stressful it has been for you, on top of working long hours at your law firm. I offered to help numerous times but you declined, and it was just like you to consider accepting help – even from your best friend – to be an admission of defeat. You’ve always been a high achiever – dare I say it, a bit of a show-off – and I guess you felt you needed to prove to yourself that you could organise the perfect wedding and wow all your guests on your special day all by yourself. That’s the difference between us, I suppose.
I never thought I’d be married before you, certainly not back when we were at uni and you had a string of boyfriends while I went on no more than a handful of fruitless dates. It was a whirlwind romance with Nate, and I thought I was dreaming when he proposed after four months. But I guess people can date forever and then, when they do get married, they’re disappointed when it feels no different to how it was before. Nate and I didn’t live together before we were married. So I guess there was something new and exciting to look forward to when we did tie the knot. It felt special, incredibly romantic, when he lifted me over the threshold of our new home for the first time.
You and Greg have been dating for more than two years now, and I just pray the romance, the desire, is still there for you both like it
was for Nate and me. I suspect you were a tad jealous when I told you we were getting married. You’re always so competitive; it must have bothered you that I’d got there first. Beaten you at something for once.
Earlier, I made you down a vodka to settle your nerves before you put on your dress. You looked at me with grateful, almost sad, apologetic eyes as I handed you the glass, and when I asked you, ‘Why the sad face?’ you said that I’m just such a good friend and that you don’t deserve me. For someone like you to say that to someone like me was quite something, and it made me feel pretty damn special. Not for the first time, I couldn’t believe how different my life has turned out to how I’d expected it to before I met you. You completely transformed it, and I have you to thank for my happiness today.
The ceremony was so beautiful I cried, not caring that my carefully applied make-up was now smudged. And as I watched you and Greg exchange vows, bowled over by how much Greg loves you – it was so obvious from the way he looked at you, almost the same look I gave Nate at our wedding – I locked eyes with Nate, and he gave me a knowing smile, a smile that said, I love you too. Now we can welcome our good friends to the married couples’ club.
We’re now at the top table, and the speeches are drawing to a close with Tom, the best man, at the end of the customary ‘embarrass the hell out of the bridegroom’ discourse. There have been tears of joy, much laughter (not to mention a look to kill from Miranda I couldn’t fail to notice when Greg was professing his love for you), and I expect there’s a lot more of that to come. And now the speech is over, and we’re giving Tom a rousing round of applause. As the clapping dies down, I notice you whisper something in Greg’s ear, then you stand up and announce to those in our immediate vicinity that you need the loo.
She's Mine Page 27
